Pegasus In Space

11

Finally they were docked and permitted to disembark. The security officer didn't seem to take any notice once their retinal check matched their trip IDs.

Rhyssa? And she felt the touch of Shandin Ross, Coetzer's aide and telepath. I'm officially here as escort for Commissioner Roznine but the admiral would very much like you to have lunch with him. Yeoman Nizukami will collect you after your tour of the hydroponics. It's nice to see you again, Dorotea. Ping Yung is looking forward eagerly to showing off his gardens.

The aide stepped aside; making room in the cramped entryway for the short, compact Ping Yung who eagerly surveyed the crowd until his eyes rested on her.

"It is an honor to have you here, Ms. Horvath, Ms. Lehardt, and Miss Bantam. If you would be so good as to follow me…" He bowed to each in turn in the fashion of his culture.

"You are of Chinese origin?" Amariyah asked very politely.

"Yes, Miss Bantam, from Hong Kong." He bowed to indicate that being Hong Kong Chinese was special. "I have looked forward to this hour when I have the pleasure of showing you how we garden in space. This way, please." He led them off.

Rhyssa, telepathically aware of the LEO Commissioner, heard Shandin's greeting as Boris and Cass now disembarked. She was also aware that Ranjit was being hurried off in another direction by his contact. He, too, would immediately start work, investigating Flimflam's activities onstation. As it happened, only Cass Cutler of the parapsychics had had any sustained mental contact with the suspect, during Flimflam's appearance in Linear G as head of a Religious Interpretation Group. Ranjit could do the background investigating, hopefully discovering as much as he could about Flimflam, and possible confederates, before an active move was attempted. One man, no matter how technically adept, could not have undertaken the sabotage of the Limo in the time available. Boris was required to deal with provable facts rather than the intuitive or psychic realities.

According to the work roster, Albert Ponce, aka Flimflam, was supposed to be on a rest shift in the quarters he shared with seven other criminals detained on Padrugoi. He was not in his quarters and when Ranjit subtly pressed the minds of the four present in the room, his whereabouts were unknown. This was generally the case. Bert, as his cellmates called him, only slept there. They had long since learned not to "know" how he spent his waking hours. Officially, so long as he reported for his work shift, his off-duty activities were not monitored. The double wristband would not permit a detainee access to sensitive areas on Padrugoi. Ranjit then found out where he could find the main Station bookie, also an offender.

Kibon had established an "office" in a supplies closet, cleared of its authorized equipment. The furnishings, such as they were, provided the bookie with a desk that was more like a nineteenth-century clerk's stand (to fit in the cramped space), a stool, and pencil files neatly arranged in cubbyholes on the walls. With the use of a longarmed gripper tool, Kibon could reach any file without moving from his stool. An old-style thin screen was mounted on the wall and there was an equally obsolete pressure keyplate on the desk.

"Who, what, date, and wager," Kibon said in a flat, rasping tone without looking up when Ranjit entered. He was a squat man of indeterminate age, his round face scarred with acne. His hands, the first joint on both little fingers missing, were poised over the keys to make the entry. He wore a janitor's tabs on a well-worn, dingy red onepiece coverall that had been Barchenkan issue, patched and frayed at cuffs and collar and almost threadbare at the closings.

Ranjit had had dealings with illegal bookmaking operators before and was primed.

"The kid," he said, using the onstation title awarded Peter Reidinger, "return, within two weeks, ten credits, what're the odds?"

Kibon glanced up only long enough to read Ranjit's ID number. He grunted. "New here, arncha? Ten to one against."

"I'll take it."

Ranjit also "took" Kibon's public thoughts about the kid and the wager as the disguised LEO lieutenant carefully counted the credits, in small denominations, into the meaty, thick-fingered hand Kibon held out. Kibon had no opinions one way or another about the kid. He was aware that Peter was one of them psi-kicks. He'd made money on the wager that the kid wouldn't hack the black. He was willing to enjoy profit on this bet, too.

"Bert said it's a winner," the lieutenant said, imbuing his tone with a wistful hope. Kibon grunted; his thoughts about Bert were uncomplimentary and very wary. Especially since Bert had suddenly taken out of Kibon's keeping a great deal of credit. Certain other persons-Ranjit caught flashes of their faces-also frequent customers, had suddenly been flush enough to put substantial bets against the kid making it to First Base. Kibon was glad to see the credits returned so quickly to his keeping.

Scrupulously counting the quarters and halves piece by piece, Kibon slipped Ranjit's credits into a slot to one side of the keypad. Ranjit could hear them hitting others and realized that the entire body of the desk was Kibon's safe deposit box. The bookie, also listening intently to the sound, thought that he'd better empty it tonight and deposit it. He also inadvertently thought where the deposit was made. Ranjit filed away that information for future reference.

Kibon gave Ranjit a cold stare. "That all?"

Ranjit nodded, bowed humbly, and retreated quickly from the office, bumping into the skinny man who was waiting to enter. Again quick with apologies, Ranjit bowed himself away, down the narrow hall and into a broader corridor. He went into the first toilet area, which reeked mainly of antiseptic, and into a stall where he could make his report unobserved. Iswah granted to every man some small space of privacy at least once a day.

Commissioner?

Yes, Ranjit?

And the lieutenant flashed Boris Roznine the faces he had caught from Kibon's mind and reported that Bert, although off duty, was not in his quarters nor did his cellmates know where he was. Boris thanked him and relayed that report to Ottey and Bindra, the Padrugoi security officers in the office with him.

Go on a walkabout, Ranjit, just in case you might come across Flimflam.

Very good, sir.

"Do you want me to do some lurking, too, Commissioner?" Cass asked, since she, too, could identify Bert.

"That might not be a bad idea, Cass."

"An offender can't get above Ten Deck, or in the Malls without guards," Ottey said.

Cass smiled and slipped out of the office.

"Could he?" Bindra asked Ottey.

"He's not supposed to have access," Ottey replied, scowling.

"With someone like Flimflam, one can never be sure " Boris said mildly, and then asked to view the ID images of all offenders currently on the station. "The janitor staff as well. Flimflam can work a crowd a treat."

"This," and Ping Yung proudly pressed the entrance plate to his plant kingdom, "is the major Controlled Environment Life Support System, CELSS on Padrugoi. There are other, smaller units elsewhere throughout the Station."

His guests followed him onto the balcony that overlooked the many-leveled hydroponic unit that was a deep well in the main stem of the Station. Amariyah gasped, hands crossed over her chest, blue eyes enormous as she saw, to her, a horticulturist's heaven. The air was slightly humid and redolent with hints of fertilizing substances. Dorotea was impressed by its compactness and the amazing variety of recognizable plants in the tanks on the levels below. She had not given much thought to how air was purified on Padrugoi, nor how it managed to feed its population on a daily basis. She'd heard enough about the problem of fuel and supply, but not much about feeding folks, though Peter had told her the food "wasn't that bad."

Rhyssa watched the reactions of her two gardening enthusiasts and smiled. It was worth the trip just to see their faces.

They were not the only ones in the unit. Figures moved about this and the lower levels, checking the flow of nutrients into the hundreds, perhaps thousands of tanks. Rhyssa knew enough about growing things to recognize certain foliage and identify the edibles produced. Carrots and radishes were very obvious but their inclusion surprised her and she was about to comment when Amariyah pointed to the tank beside her.

"You're growing Lycopersicum esculentum in space?"

"Yes, indeed," Ping said, beaming at her. "Tomatoes are, of course, very nutritious, containing Vitamin C and being the basis for many recipes. How do you know the Latin name for them?"

"It is important to know such things if I wish to become a hydroponic gardener and work on the Station, too," Amariyah replied with as serious an expression as her tone of voice. "What varietals do you have? What does best on the Station in the tanks? Bush or cordon?"

Rhyssa had no trouble in "hearing" Ping Yung's amazement at such questions from a youngster but he was also delighted to have someone so knowledgeable to speak to, whatever her age. A nice man, in many ways as eagerly innocent as her ward.

"Amariyah is intensely interested in gardening," she said.

"That is easy to see, " Ping replied with a little bow and held out his hand to Amariyah. "We have both bush and cordon. For the most part, we cultivate Plumito and Tigarella in the bush; Mirabelle and Dombito in the cordon. But we vary them with cultigens."

"Apples?" Rhyssa asked, spotting that unmistakable fruit, trained to grow against the curving wall.

"Yes, indeed, apples contain essential potassium," Ping replied. "We'd prefer bananas but we don't have the space for such trees as they grow to a height we can't accommodate. Admittedly plantains would suit more of the resident personnel and we're trying to develop a true dwarf but without success yet. Most of what we grow here serves a dual purpose, you see: oxygen purification as well as fresh produce for minimum dietary requirements. We must have cultivars in all the ranges that do not generally exceed forty centimeters. We even have wheat, a cultigen that's only twenty to twenty-four centimeters."

"Wheat?" Dorotea exclaimed as Ping guided them around the balcony to the spiral stairs to the lower levels.

"Yes, wheat," he said almost fondly. "It's a great oxygen generator. Ten square meters grows enough for one person's oxygen-for two at full growth-and, harvested, it's made into flour, of course."

"That's Ipomoea batatas," Amariyah said as she stepped onto the lower level and pointed to the tanks of thriving club-shaped leaves.

"Indeed they are sweet potatoes," Ping said, grinning. "We eat the tubers and use the foliage the same way we do spinach."

"Which type? Ceylon Basella alba or Spinacia oleracea?" asked Amariyah.

Rhyssa and Dorotea were hanging behind the two and exchanged understanding grins.

Your student is showing off, Rhyssa said.

So long as he doesn't require me to have the same encyclopedic memory. I've forgotten most of my Latin, Dorotea replied with a wistful sigh.

"We plant both types of spinach in cut-and-cut-again tanks," Ping replied.

"I wouldn't have expected the Station to have Brassica oleracea," Dorotea commented in a casual tone, as they made their way down the steps to the next level. It's one of the few names I remember.

Good on you!

"Oh, we couldn't get along without them. We've the Greensleeves, loose leaves that don't grow too tall. Spivoy and Spitfire are within the outer height limit, but it's mainly the loose leaves," Ping went on.

"Is this unit limited to Temperate Zone planting?" Amariyah asked.

Ping glanced back up at the older women, raising his eyebrows over her intelligent queries.

"Yes. We also have tropical, twelve-hour-day-length climates that the Arachis hypogaea and Cocoyams require."

"Peanuts and taro root?" Amariyah said, with a lift of her own eyebrows.

"We try to produce the varieties that appeal to the various elements of our multiethnic population. Of course, the protein we use can be flavored and shaped to be indistinguishable from what it imitates. Chicken, beef, seafood, even the more exotic venison, ostrich, and kangaroo."

"Ahhhh," and Amariyah dropped his hand to stand in front of the quadrant sown to one crop, its lush green hiding the tank that had nourished it. "Oryza!" She could not resist touching the long stalks, carefully since the rice was close to being harvested.

Ping Yung pointed across the atrium. "And our special cultigen of Triticum."

What's that? Rhyssa asked Dorotea.

Wheat!

'Above the wheaten plain,' Rhyssa quoted.

Wrong! Dorotea replied quickly. It's fruited plain, not wheaten. It should be the fruited plane above if you're referring to Padrugoi's crop! But 'amber waves of grain' are mentioned in the song, she conceded.

I yield, Rhyssa countered.

Dorotea rolled her eyes.

During the rest of the tour, Rhyssa and Dorotea listened and watched. Both were delighted by the rapport between Amariyah and the young hydroponic specialist. Once he realized how much the girl already knew, how well read she was, he was more than willing to expand and encourage her to access additional programs on Teacher that would improve her chances of securing a hotly contested position on the Padrugoi CELSS.

He even showed her the special seedling chambers, small alcoves branching off the main facility. As was her fashion, she crooned over the young plants, stroking a tendril here, with delicate fingers righting a drooping sprout there.

"What is your success rate with seedlings?" Amariyah asked at her most scholarly.

Rhyssa sighed.

Dorotea shot her a look. You don't suppose she'll try to increase his success factor do you?

If she does, will we know? Rhyssa asked in an equally rhetorical tone. She might at that. Just look at her! She didn't touch Chester as gently when he was a baby.

Is she making a benediction or a pass of her as yet undiscovered Talent? I don't feel-wait a minute, and Dorotea held up her hand. Then she gave her head an exasperated shake. Just like my mother.

Amariyah is a micropsychic?

She is if I have any sensitivity at all. Dorotea now gave a snort of disgust. And if we put an Incident net on her while she gardens, it'd only inhibit her Your grandfather tried so hard to catch Mother at it…

Knowing what her grandfather thought Ruth Horvath did in her micro-Talented way, Rhyssa stifled her giggle. Dorotea glared at her and then grinned like a mischievous female much younger than her actual age.

Well, your grandfather really had hoped that Mother would be able to develop the therapeutic touch healing, Dorotea added.

Rhyssa was saved from an overdose of Latin, genetic selection, yield optimization, and cultivation management by the appearance of Yeoman Nicola Nizukami, coming to guide them to their luncheon appointment with the admiral.

Amariyah was loath to leave Ping Yung but he finally terminated the occasion by reminding her, ever so gently, that this was his shift and he must get back to his plants.

"I'll tell you how the seedlings do, Amariyah"' he said as a final promise to her.

No sooner were they in the lift to the Control level than Amariyah heaved a great sigh.

"I will return," she murmured.

Threat or promise? Dorotea asked.

Knowing the determination of that young lady, both. Let's do some discreet listening, shall we?

Since their visit had been so expeditiously arranged, it was unlikely that the presence of five parapsychics upstation had reached scuttlebutt. Rhyssa was of two minds on that discretion: she would have liked to sample reactions to their presence and perhaps catch other biases, but now she felt free, legitimately, to catch the prevailing mental climate of the Station. So she and Dorotea unshielded their minds, sampling the general tone of those passing them in the corridors.

Mostly people were concerned about their present duties or wondering about rest period entertainment. Neither telepath caught anything untoward: and only one officer was puzzled as to how the Limo had arrived at First Base well before its estimated time of arrival. Had it been testing the long awaited "new drive"?

Who's thinking that? Dorotea asked.

A senior grade lieutenant. Oh, it's Madlyn's crush-Dash, Rhyssa responded. And he thinks of himself as 'Dash,' too. He's a comm officer so he would probably know about it in the line of his duty.

He didn't hear about it from Maddie, did he? And Dorotea's tone was stem.

She doesn't come into his mind.

She'd be annoyed about that! Dorotea was most amused.

"This way, ladies," Nicola said, palming open a door and stepping aside for them to enter.

"Ah, Rhyssa, Dorotea," and the admiral came toward them, arms wide in welcome. Behind him was a conference table-Rhyssa wondered if this was where Ms. Leitao had collapsed during the history-making session with Space Authority. "Boris is on his way up but his cohorts are on the prowl, or so he advised me. Come, come. What would you like as an aperitif? Barney there will get it." Dirk Coetzer waved to the discreet appearance of his steward who smiled at the ladies. "By the time Boris arrives and we've had lunch, I think we'll be able to contact First Base so you can reassure yourselves that Peter Reidinger is really all right."

"Madlyn did that," Dorotea said, then she asked Barney for Campari and soda with lemon if he had it and took the comfortable chair the steward held out for her.

"If a contact is convenient," Rhyssa murmured with no demur.

"It most certainly is," Dirk said, seating her himself. "What will you have to drink?"

Rhyssa asked for white wine and then turned to Amariyah who had settled into a chair, smoothing out the aquamarine blue tunic that Tirla insisted she have for this special trip. It emphasized the color of her eyes.

"A fruit juice, if you please, Admiral, sir."

"Did you like our hanging gardens?"

Amariyah blinked. "I didn't see any hanging gardens, Admiral, sir."

"Either admiral or sir is correct, Amariyah Bantam. And, in point of fact, all the gardens up here might be called 'hanging,' because we are, as it were, hanging in space."

Amariyah accepted the correction of the proper mode of address and the interpretation of "hanging gardens" with a slight attentive cock of her head.

"Which do you prefer? Sir or admiral?"

Dirk Coetzer was obviously unaccustomed to precocious and self-confident children, no matter how polite.

"Sir will do for the admiral, Amariyah. Are you an uncle of anyone?" Dorotea asked while he was digesting her ward's unusual manner.

"Yes, several, in fact." Dirk cleared his throat and his voice. "This is a new one on me."

"We can see that," Dorotea remarked. "Life can be a very serious business, Dirk, as every adult has learned. Some of us older and some of us younger than others."

"I see." And the admiral did.

Just as the drinks were served to the ladies, Boris arrived with Commander Bindra.

"Ottey's got a bee in his bonnet," Boris said after civilities had been exchanged. Amariyah cast him a startled look. "How did you like your tour of the hydroponics, Amariyah?"

"Very interesting, Uncle Boris. There are no bees up here. They have to pollinate by hand, as Ping Yung explained to me."

"Uncle Boris spoke metaphorically," Dorotea said gently, leaning toward the girl.

"Oh!" Amariyah accepted that and took another sip of her drink.

"Lunch is served," Barney said in butlerian tones, his glance falling last on Amariyah, who loved to eat. "All has been produced here on Padrugoi, Miss Bantam," he added.

Since they had brought good appetites with them, the guests concentrated on the first course of the meal, a green soup.

"Will I be able to talk to Peter, too?" Amariyah asked after lunch, when the plates had been removed and Barney had discreetly withdrawn.

"Of course, dear," Rhyssa said. She is the soul of discretion, Boris.

"After that, Miss Bantam, perhaps you'd like to investigate our Mall. Yeoman Nizukami will escort you," Coetzer said. He addressed the girl as if she were indeed more adult than her ten years.

"Then you can discuss the important matters," Amariyah said in her usual blunt fashion.

"Exactly, Miss Bantam."

A rap on the door was followed by its swift opening and Dash Sakai came in, followed closely by Nicola Nizukami. She stood discreetly to one side.

"Ah, Lieutenant. Dorotea, you may not have had a chance to meet Dash Sakai, one of Padrugoi's communications officers," the admiral said.

Dorotea held out her hand, smiling in innocent grandmaternal fashion.

"A pleasure, Lieutenant."

He gave her a quizzical stare, bowing slightly as he took her hand, surprised at the strength of it. "My pleasure, I assure you, Ms. Horvath, since Madlyn has told me that you were her first contact with the Eastern Parapsychic Center."

"Has she, now?" Dorotea said, and smiled enigmatically.

"If the ladies will pardon, it's time to initiate the call to First Base " Dash Sakai said, striding to the console.

Dirk gestured for his guests to pull their chairs closer together at the table, facing the wide screen. They had barely gotten resettled when the view cleared to the now familiar sight of Watari's office, and the usual occupants: Watari, Cyberal, Lance, Johnny, and Peter.

"Oh, Peter," and Amariyah leaped to her feet, holding out her hands as if she could bridge the tremendous distance between them.

"Hi, Maree, good to see you!" Peter Reidinger's face warmed with real affection. "Didn't expect to. How's the garden?"

"Oh, Peter, have you seen the main hydroponics unit up here?" She had been so well behaved during luncheon that this sudden burst of enthusiasm took Dirk Coetzer by surprise as Amariyah babbled on about all she had seen and learned. "All you told me about were the decorative plants, not the Triticum and the Lycopersicum esculentum and the Brassica oleracea and two kinds of spinaches and-"

"This is not really the time to discuss the tour, Amariyah dear," Dorotea said, gently putting a restraining hand on the girl's wildly gesturing arms.

"Look, Maree, I just saw the ones on First Base; we'll compare notes when I'm downside. Okay?" Peter assured her. "But we have other very important things to discuss now, honey."

"Oh!" Amariyah could not miss the scowl on Watari's face and subsided instantly, looking almost-for her-frightened.

Dorotea pinned a far sterner look on the colonel and he cleared his face instantly.

"I'm sorry," Amariyah murmured to everyone, and moved away from the table. "Hello, General Greene, Mr. Baden. I am to go to the Mall with the yeoman now."

"Then you will see some of the small garden beds I told you about, Maree," Peter said, encouraging her. "Sorry we can't talk now. I'll be back home in another ten days. It's great to see you." His gaze flicked from her to Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Boris.

Amariyah looked back over her shoulder even as she held up her hand for Nicola to take and lead her out of the conference room. Dirk introduced his guests.

"Colonel," Boris began with a glance at the admiral, "you have an offender on First Base known as Phanibal Shimaz."

"Shimaz?" Watari stiffened, giving Cyberal a quick, almost accusatory look. The major ducked his head, rubbing his forehead. "That misbegotten son of a-" Watari gulped to a stop.

Peter gasped at both the mention of that name and Watari's uncharacteristically secular lapse. Johnny frowned with sudden understanding. Boris gestured with one hand, as if he could fill in whatever disparaging adjectives the colonel had not spoken out loud.

"Small wonder we've felt a malign presence," Johnny said, turning to Lance. "I'd forgotten all about the kidnapping."

"I hadn't," Peter said softly, his lips twitching.

"I didn't know you'd met him," Johnny said.

"I didn't. Just been his unwilling guest. In those days I couldn't have read him." Peter swallowed at the very thought and gave his head several quick shakes, dismissing something baneful.

"Just as well you haven't," Boris said.

"You were kidnapped by Shimaz?" Watari asked Peter, for once shocked out of his usual scowl. "He was sent here for… And you were one of them?"

Peter shook his head again. "No, I escaped."

"And freed a hundred others at the same time," Rhyssa said, since Colonel Watari would not have known how bravely Peter had acted. "As well as revealing that despicable commerce."

"I had no reason to forewarn you, Peter," Boris said apologetically, "since I was unaware that you were going to First Base. However, as he is the only one incarcerated on the Moon who might wish you harm…"

" 'Harm' is a little mild for what we feel passing his block," Johnny interrupted.

"There's absolutely no way Shimaz will encounter Mr. Reidinger," Watari said at his most emphatic. "Even before I knew of any connection between Mr. Reidinger and that felon, there was no chance of meeting. Shimaz is currently restricted to his cell. His wristband prevents him from leaving the prison facility. I doubt Mr. Reidinger needs to see it. As a matter of Base security, Mr. Reidinger is accompanied everywhere by well-trained security personnel."

Boris held up his hand. "That's not at issue, Colonel. What we need to establish is what records you have of any contact between Shimaz and Earth, or Shimaz and Padrugoi."

"He's not allowed any contact, Commissioner. Those are special privileges that he lost early on in his incarceration."

"Not even mail from his relatives?" Boris asked.

Watari paused. "We are required to deliver mail from bona fide relations on the authorized list accompanying the detention order."

"Would you kindly copy us that list?" Boris asked.

A flick of Watari's fingers sent the major to another console where such a list was generated. A small window appeared on the Padrugoi screen and Dash Sakai was quick to trigger the copy icon.

"I can't believe that we forgot about Shimaz, Peter," Rhyssa said, taking advantage of the lull to speak. She had been watching him intently, initially relieved by the glint of exhilaration in his thin face. He had come through a testing time and stood up well to the challenge. She was inwardly seething that that dreadful Malaysian prince had resurfaced.

"I'm not likely to see him, Rhyssa," Peter said with a wry smile. "The prison wing is not on my agenda. Anyway I'm keeping my shields up." He smiled reassuringly.

Rhyssa. She stared and the little smile on Peter's face turned up in one comer. Did you hear me speak your name? Just nod your head once.

PETER! Rhyssa gripped the arms of her chair in shocked amazement. She managed to nod.

Don't worry, Dorotea was saying, evidently totally unaware that Peter was also 'pathing Rhyssa. Peter's "voice" was clearer. Shimaz can't get to Peter.

No need to shout, Rhyssa. I can hear you perfectly. You know I can use gestalt with any generator, Peter went on.

WHY ARE YOU DOING IT NOW? She was aware that that was an inane question.

First, I wanted to thank you for that shout of yours. It saved our lives, you know. And second, I've just never had the occasion to try to link from this distance. His mental tone rippled with amusement and a certain satisfaction.

Rhyssa had difficulty coping with what he said. Then she felt Dorotea's hand close on hers, the concern the older woman was feeling, and was severely disoriented. She agitatedly waved her hand to still Dorotea's voice in her mind so she could concentrate on hearing Peter, not quite digesting the fact that Peter's mental tone was much stronger than that of the woman sitting beside her.

I can hear you very, very clearly, Rhyssa. Peter modulated his voice as if encouraging her not to scream at him. Now I know what Madlyn must have sounded like when she was just learning.

PE-ter and between one syllable and the next, Rhyssa exercised stem control and lowered her tone. She exhaled deeply. Is it just me you're talking to?

Yup! And he winked. Dorotea knows you're upset. She thinks it's about Shimaz.

You can read her all the way from First Base?

I can see her on the screen. But I shouldn't 'path more or the engineering gauges here at First Base may just start spiking with my usage. Perhaps we should both concentrate on this meeting.

Peter, don't leave me.

Now we've made contact, I'm never more than a thought away. And the mental chuckle he sent her was mischievously self-satisfied.

Dorotea's elbow nudged Rhyssa's ribs. Don't worry about that monster, Rhyssa. Watari's the last man in the world who would let that scuzball near Peter.

Rhyssa shook her head and smiled reassuringly at Dorotea.

"I know Peter's safe," Rhyssa whispered, patting Dorotea's hand. She could not, however, keep her mind on the comments about the condition and readiness of Limo-34 being exhaustively discussed. She took surreptitiously deep breaths to control her mental ferment. Not only had she been able to reach him in the Limo, but also Peter had now been able to make telepathic contact with her when she was some four hundred thousand kilometers away from him? The rarnifications of such a range boggled her mind. 'Pathing was not Peter's strongest parapsychic suit so if he could do this… Oh, Lord! she thought, reeling slightly in the chair. How else had his range broadened when he'd had to save the Limo? Was a dire circumstance the catalyst required to release Talent from inhibition? As Johnny Greene had saved himself from sure death in that etop crash? Would Peter know how he'd done it? asked another part of her brain. She shook her head. She'd had no real details about the extent of the sabotage now being discussed. She must concentrate on that. She could think of this astonishing development later.

"The release clips of the escape pods had been epoxied shut," Watari was saying, reading from his notepad. "Only one airlock is functional; the tail assembly must be replaced. The old Mylar has to be scraped off before a new coating can be applied. The sabotaged MPUs will be sent back to you so that you can compare our findings with yours."

"So, when," Admiral Coetzer broke in, "will the general and Peter be able to return here?"

Watari blinked. "We do have two other Limos at First Base," he replied in a slightly injured tone as if the admiral should have known. "As soon as Mr. Reidinger has completed his survey," and Watari turned to the young man in question. Rhyssa thought there was a respectful dimension in his manner toward Peter, "we will have a totally secured shuttle to send him and General Greene back to Padrugoi."

"The colonel has expedited everything, Admiral," Peter said, and was it only Rhyssa who noticed the subtly more mature expression on his face? "Possibly to get rid of the hotcake I seem to be."

"Mr. Reidinger," Watari protested.

This has been a learning experience for Peter, Dorotea remarked. And little was on the original agenda of 'surveying.'

"I should be finished 'seeing,' " and Peter inclined his head just perceptibly in Rhyssa's direction, "everything I might need by tomorrow."

Incredulous, she sank back in her chair, wondering why she hadn't ever considered the possibility that Peter, in gestalt with a generator-anywhere in the solar system-could 'path to her. Possibly, she told herself with rueful honesty, because she'd been able to 'path anyone she'd ever met on Earth and had never needed to extend her range until that moment of sheer terror at the thought of losing Peter. How limiting!

Why has your mouth dropped open, Rhyssa? It's not appropriate. Pay attention, child! Dorotea's tone reprimanded. Ah. Boris has just received relevant information.

Hastily Rhyssa redirected her attention to the LEO Commissioner. He had his notepad in hand.

"Two names of Shimaz's court-authorized approved relatives match those who have sent messages to Albert Ponce, " the Commissioner was saying. "I think we need files on those who have daily contact with Shimaz."

"Only the guards on a daily basis, Roznine," Watari replied. "He's been so obstreperous, he had to be placed in a separate cell. Even when we make him work, he messes up so he's really not worth the cost of the air he breathes. No one likes the man."

"Liking and doing his bidding are two entirely different matters, Colonel. I can rule out nothing in this murder attempt that might possibly show us even the most remote connections between two convicted felons on widely separated satellites, both of whom have sufficient reason to wish to harm Peter Reidinger and/or any other parapsychic."

"But surely they've known about General Greene, since he teleports supplies to Padrugoi?" Watari replied.

"Knowing, and having the materials to hand and the opportunity to use them appropriately, are also factors," Boris said.

"The equipment needed, the highly specialized type of epoxy, the MPU circuits would surely be beyond a convict's pittance-" Watari broke off.

Boris's smile stopped him. "Not Ponce's. He consistently wins large sums of credit betting. Shimaz may provide for whatever he might lack-if we do indeed establish links between the two criminals-via his relatives. There is also the connection between Shimaz and Ludmilla Barchenka. He was involved in the Padrugoi construction, you know. I don't know how friendly they were. Be that as it may, the connection between Ponce and the prince was firmly established during their trial."

"But technically-"

"Technically," Boris continued, ignoring Watari's interruption, "Ponce was a good enough technician to rig his own special effects. He has also, we noted from Station files, been accessing a variety of educational texts." Boris's grin was ironic. "From the titles, he has been keeping up to date." The LEO Commissioner held up his hand to forestall any response from Watari. "It is a facet of the penal code that a prisoner may have access to unclassified study materials to promote his rehabilitation."

"Shimaz has no such access nor demanded any."

Boris nodded. "He was accustomed to employing experts to advise him. There is a very active group on Earth that insists no man, or woman, is beyond rehabilitation."

Watari struggled not to comment on that point. He had to cope with the prison facility that sequestered those who were psychologically unable, or unlikely to accept rehabilitation.

"Your difficulties are appreciated, Colonel," Dirk Coetzer said. "Major Cyberal, as the executive officer of that facility, can you add anything that might link the two men?"

"The guards are, of course, all military. They are rotated frequently to avoid fraternization with the prisoners," Cyberal said in a wry tone. "Of course, in Shimaz's case that is unlikely since he is thoroughly despised and treated completely by the book." This appeared to be an instance when Cyberal agreed with "the book." "It is, however, quite possible that we have overlooked the power Shimaz can exert on his relatives or those who work for them."

"Really, Major," Watari started to protest.

"I have mentioned it in my reports," Colonel Cyberal said in an aside. "I have also had additional surveillance put on those who might be bribed or coerced. I have no recent," he stressed the word, "report of any incident."

"It wouldn't necessarily be 'recent,' " Boris said.

"I'll send you all relevant files in a secured blip, sir," the major said, and swung his chair to the second console.

"Include everything since Shimaz was transferred to the First Base High Security Facility at Oceanus Procellarum," Boris said at his most formal and forbidding.

"Yes, sir."

Admiral Coetzer spoke into the silence. "Then the Limo will begin its return to Padrugoi by Friday morning?"

"Yes, Admiral," Watari said.

"With passengers?"

A flicker of relief crossed Watari's face.

"Who will have been monitored by me," Johnny Greene said, straightening from doodling on the paper in front of him.

Watari shot him a look.

"Oh," and Johnny raised a hand, "discreetly, Colonel. Discreetly. While it is generally known that I teleport, it is not known that I 'path as well." He shifted in his chair, watching Watari before he added mendaciously, "Of course, I generally need to have established some sort of tactile contact to do so. In view of the problem we experienced on the way out, oblige me in this and give me a list of those who are scheduled to be on whichever Limo is used for the return trip."

"Of course," Watari replied with a brisk nod of his head. "If I might suggest it, Admiral," and he continued when Coetzer gestured for him to continue, "the tightest security at Padrugoi might be advisable."

"Already in effect," Coetzer said blandly.

"I have a legitimate excuse to remain onstation," Boris said, his eyes glancing from Rhyssa to Dorotea. "I will do so, with your permission, Admiral."

"Granted."

"I am reassured," Dorotea said sardonically. She gave a sigh. "It is too bad that the punishment does not fit the crime, isn't it, Colonel Watari?"

"Doro-te-a!" Rhyssa exclaimed, knowing exactly what her old friend and mentor meant.

Well, it would befitting and relieve the colonel no end.

Boris caught the inference and regarded the silver-haired elderly Talent with a mildly reproving glance. "The World Government does not sanction either capital punishment for offenses or unusual and inhumane restraints, Dorotea Horvath."

"And that speaks well of the current level of humanity," Dorotea agreed wholeheartedly. "Except," she added in a very low voice, "for one or two I could name."

"A long file is coming through on the secured channel," Dash Sakai said from his place at the conference room console.

"My thanks, Major," Boris said, and rose. "Bindra!" He motioned to the Padrugoi security officer who had remained silent in the background during the conference. "If you will take charge of that and initiate a review, I shall return to your office shortly." Now he turned to Coetzer. "That satisfies my immediate requirements, Admiral."

"Mine, too. Ladies?" and Dirk gestured to Rhyssa and Dorotea.

Though there were many questions Rhyssa wished to ask Peter about his phenomenal telepathic range, this was not the time. The rogue had the audacity to grin at her as if he completely understood her dilemma. Which, considering his sudden spurt of Talent growth, he probably did.

"I'll see you when I see you then, Peter. Johnny, Colonel, Major." Rhyssa rose.

Dorotea was on her feet, too. "I'd best rescue that nice yeoman from Amariyah. Be sure Peter eats enough up there, John."

"Oh, I will, Dorotea," Johnny said. He and the others had risen as well, out of polite habit even though the women were not in their immediate presence.

Watari leaned forward, fingers raised, and Cyberal broke the connection.