Pegasus In Space

12

In the colonel's office on First Base, Peter sat down again, elbows on the armrests and fingers lightly linked. He chuckled to himself at the memory of Rhyssa's stunned expression when he'd contacted her telepathically. He hadn't really been sure that he could 'path that lonely long distance to Padrugoi. Though why an ephemeral thought would be harder to send than a solid mass escaped him.

What's funny, Pete? Johnny asked, and for all the general's ready humor and whimsical view of life, his present mood was quite serious.

Merely Dorotea's remark about punishment fitting the crime.

Oh? That cocoon thing you were stuck in?

Peter nodded.

"Watari, is that passenger list ready?" Johnny asked, holding his hand out. I'll tell you one thing: Watari would love to have that bundle of depraved corruption totally immobilized. It's a wonder he hasn't fallen into a fault or run out of air.

There aren't faults near First Base on Oceanus Procellarum. And according to what Vin Cyberal has told me, he's not allowed outside, Lance said, though there are many who wouldn't think twice about pushing him naked out of an airlock.

Lance rose from his chair. "Pete, time for some tucker? I heard what Dorotea said. I'm not having her fault me. If you'll excuse us, Watari?"

Peter grinned, sneaking a glance at Vin Cyberal.

"Yes, yes, of course," and Watari was busy at his console. "You're dismissed, Major."

Peter rolled his eyes.

He's really worried, Pete, after Boris's little sermon, Johnny said. I'd be along as point man if I didn't have to clear up a few things here with Hiroga. It's only another thirty-six hours and then we'll be free as the birdies again.

Outside the colonel's office, Corporal Hinojosa awaited them, smiling as they emerged. She was such an anodyne to her colonel.

"I gotta get some food in this bottomless pit, Nina," Lance said, indicating Peter.

"I'll catch you after lunch, Peter," Cyberal said. "Got something to look into." He walked swiftly into the main control area.

"I didn't burn that many calories today, Lance," Peter said in mild objection.

Lance gave him a wide-eyed look. "You weren't saving any either the way you were bounding about the hydroponics unit, the back acres of Clemens, and the main storage depot. That's the best place for one telepad."

"Yes, it would be," Peter agreed absently. It had been great to know that Maree had had a tour of Padrugoi's CELSS. If they were anything like the ones here at First Base, no wonder she had been all keyed up. Poor kid. She'd want to have a good yak with him when he got home. "Do I get to the observatory this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir, you do," the corporal replied as they boarded the elevator.

"I'm looking forward to that one," Peter said. He would have liked to have seen that facility earlier but had acquiesced to the tour that Watari had planned of the important sites: the (correct) landing site; the main supply reception area; the parking fields; the sector where the containers of the REE, rare earth elements, that paid some of the costs of First Base were assembled; the emergency airlocks; and the secured holding area for sensitive deliveries. The table in Watari's office was also available for small parcels.

The elevator doors parted and Nina gave a quick look back and forth before she stepped out and led Peter left, toward the officers' mess. She also looked inside the mess, her eyes darting about the room, before she allowed Peter past her.

It'll be a bloody relief to get out of all this hypersurveillance, Peter remarked though he let nothing of his disgruntlement mar the smile he gave Nina as he passed her.

As it was well past noon, there were only four in the facility, three female supply officers at one table and a male communications lieutenant at another. The mess sergeant himself took their orders, recommending the beef stew. By now Peter was aware, having seen those facilities, that First Base produced all its foodstuffs, fresh from hydroponic tanks or the protein vats. So far the sergeant's recommendations had been spot-on so both he and Lance ordered it, plus green salads that would have been picked that morning from the tanks.

"Just what did Dorotea mean by 'punishment fit the crime,' Pete?" Lance asked. "She had a gleam in her eye that boded no good. Oops, sorry, lad. Caught that flicker."

"It's all right, Lance. It isn't generally known that Shimaz abducted Tirla and me."

Lance's expression echoed the shock in his mind. The capture and conviction of a royal Malaysian Prince for child abuse and organ farming had been well publicized. But not how the criminals had been apprehended.

"We were nabbed just as we came out of the Old-Fashioned Palace of Gastronomical Delights," and Peter grinned wryly. "Gassed and then incarcerated in foam cocoons so we'd have no tactile contact. Not even with our own bodies. A lack of sensation didn't affect me but it sure terrified the little kids. Tirla got angry enough to 'path-first time she'd done that-to Dorotea and she broke herself free."

"The cocoon wouldn't have stopped you long," Lance said loyally.

"The anesthetic did," Peter said with a grimace. "I have bad reactions to drugs. It was Tirla who got moving, got me out, and found out where we were so we could tell the Center. Tirla managed to read enough of their aircraft IDs so that Boris could check who they belonged to." Peter paused. "One was Flimflam's, the other registered to the Malaysian ambassador." Peter let out a long breath before adding, "It was Tirla they beat up. I passed out."

"All the kids were released?" Lance asked.

Peter nodded. "And that whole ring was busted wide open."

"With Flimflam on Padrugoi and Shimaz here." Lance shook his head at the irony. "Crazy universe, isn't it?"

The mess sergeant arrived with the individual stew pots and the salads.

Suddenly, remembering what Boris had said about Flimflam cooperating with Shimaz's relatives, Peter sniffed cautiously at the savory steam rising from his meal. Was it just his imagination or were his guts aching?

Shall I be taster as well, Pete? Lance asked.

God! I'm getting paranoid.

A little of that is usually called 'caution,' Lance replied. Mine tastes fine, full of capsicums, but that's the way I like it.

Some stew juice spilled on the table as Lance 'ported it out of Peter's dish.

Clumsy, Peter chided though he was quite happy to allow Lance the honor.

Hmmm. I've saved myself from some weird dysenterious episodes with my taste buds. Same as mine and absolutely no aftertaste. Eat! "However," Lance went on aloud, "it's another area to consider." Poisoning is always possible, but it's the contract cooks on duty right now and I don't think they're likely suspects.

Peter ate hungrily and had two big bowls of the fruit that was on the dessert menu. That seemed to quiet the unusual inner restlessness.

Are you coming back with us, Lance? he asked as he spooned up the last of the juice.

Naw. Got another month on this contract. Lance preferred shortterm contracts and time back at Adelaide.

Did me being here disrupt your schedule?

Not at all, Pete. Lance's smile was broad. Gave me a nice break from some of the tedious stuff.

Tell me, can you 'assemble' elements at a distance?

Lord no, Pete. That's your bailiwick, Lance said without a trace of resentment.

Why? Peter pressed against Lance's touch.

Lance shrugged without a touch of rancor. Because it just is. I see things differently, I guess.

Peter accepted that with a little smile. See things differently? Okay, Lance. "Well, here's Major Cyberal to take me walkabout," Peter added.

Alvin Cyberal had been his guide, with the corporal shadowing them, to all the points he wanted to see. Johnny usually accompanied them, fascinated by the facilities on First Base, exchanging information with Cyberal on posts where they had both served or visited. Peter did not reveal, or hint even to Johnny, what he now realized: that he could have 'ported accurately on the basis of a clear visual aid. But he'd only known that after he'd landed, the Limo between the two historic NASA markers, using a photo as his guide. A high-resolution image that he could see. Of course, many of the security points he'd been taken to on First Base were not rendered in visuals, for security reasons. Having seen them, Peter could now 'port to them. Once seen, never forgotten, a facet of the telekinetic mind. Being here, at First Base, visiting sections that other civilians would have been denied, was a personal triumph for Peter, though he was responsible enough to have wished the flight had been troublefree. Of course, if that had been the case, he might never have had such a remarkable insight.

Peter was delighted to be going to the observatory, especially with Cyberal, who had mentioned an interest in astronomy.

"Installing a telescope on the nearside wasn't very smart but the early bureaucracy made some pretty stupid errors here that we're still trying to correct," Vin said. "You may have read about the panic early this century about possibly harmful asteroids, PHAs, and near earth objects, NEOs." Peter nodded since those had been mentioned in his astronomy course. "A prime reason for a lunar base was to track them. Still is. Only now First Base has access to the Farside Space Telescopes.

"Dr. Pienarr's ambition is three Darwin-type installations on the Moon," Vin continued as they walked down the corridor to the astronomy wing on the back of Akahiro Block, "set at three different positions-to have complete observation." He made a broad gesture with one arm, grinning at Peter for such ambition. "Actually, the first is started, dug into the top of Mount Hawking in the Poincare Crater range on the farside and accessed by video links from here. Mean while he has a director's use of the Farside scopes, so the old one-a Schmidt-Cassegrain catadioptric-is used more for instruction and tracking the NEOs and PHAs. However, we're supposed to be looking for a place where you can safely put packages for the doctor."

"So am I," Peter replied. He was impressed that he'd be seeing the facility that had linked with the telescope that had discovered the M-5 planet in Altair, over sixteen light-years away, the ultimate destination of the Andre Norton. He didn't need to look that far, not even beyond this system, to find where he'd have to stand to use his Talent to get colony ships quickly and safely to new worlds.

He chided himself for having such a vaulting ambition. Rather grandiose of you, isn't it, Peter? Certainly it's a challenge. But he'd met others, hadn't he? And succeeded? You only need to stumble once, he reminded himself sternly. But that didn't mean he shouldn't TRY, did it?

"You've met Captain Opitz and Dr. Pienarr before, haven't you, Peter?" Alvin Cyberal was saying.

The corporal took her usual stance before the main door to the astronomy office. There was a foyer to the actual workspace and the telescope that was housed in a dome beyond, with the control station and an access airlock for any more radical adjustments and repairs required. These would have to be done in a space suit, so the more delicate manipulations were all handled inside. On the walls of the foyer were prints of views pertinent to First Base, including an old mural of the crew of the Apollo 12 and one of the Surveyor-type spacecraft. Cyberal pointed to the left of the main entrance, to the wall covered by a huge aerial shot.

"The Subaru Telescope, the one Ajmal admires from the last century. He wants to develop a whole new generation of telescopes for use on moons, including this one," he said in a low voice, grinning.

"Wasn't that operational at the beginning of this century?" Peter asked, lowering his tone.

"It first saw light in January 1999."

Stepping into the main office, Peter saw that the walls were adorned by programmable screens, operated from the rectangle of small ergonomic workstations facing them. Under the screens were cabinets of a type in which crystals storing huge quantities of data were carefully filed along with additional compact devices that he did not recognize but took for astronomical data-recorders. On the far wall, across from the entrance was a wide window of dark glass; beneath it was an elaborate control panel with storage cabinets below. A clearly marked airlock facility undoubtedly gave access to the telescope chamber. A locker to the right of that was plainly labeled "EMU."

Only one station was occupied. Captain Opitz and Dr. Pienarr looked up when Peter and the major paused on the threshold.

"Ah, Major, Mr. Reidinger," the blond Opitz said, quickly skirting the desk, while the astronomer moved more slowly to greet his guests. "Let me give you the safety spiel all visitors get." Mockingly she changed her voice to a fruity low contralto. "Emergency masks are situated at intervals," and she pointed to Peter's right and the one nearest him, "and there are two airlocks, right and left," and she indicated them. "Don't try the one on the far wall. That's the observatory. No air in there." She had very blue eyes, like Amariyah's, Peter thought, which the slate-gray fatigues seemed to emphasize, rather than dull. Her uniform fitted her mature form very well.

On the other hand, Dr. Pienarr looked as if he had grabbed the first coverall to hand that morning, evidently from under a pile of heavier objects that had left creases in it. There were coffee stains down the front and on the right cuff. He was balding, with wisps of dark hair across his skull and a thicker mass over each ear in need of trimming. But his hazel eyes were bright and his smile easy, one hand extended.

"I am so very glad to have you in our facility, Mr. Reidinger. Oops, hand-shaking's bad manners with psychics, I'm told," and he shoved his right hand into a pocket.

"Not at all, Dr. Pienarr," Peter said, holding his out. He was pleased with every chance he had to show a new digital dexterity.

"Oh, I say, thanks muchly." Pienarr's grip was firm and quick. "Afternoon, Vin. Thought you'd be the guide here. Got those spectroscopy images you wanted. I think," and he patted the various pockets of his coverall.

"Here," Simona Opitz said, handing him a thick white envelope.

"Oh, yes, thanks, See," and the exchange was made with thanks from Cyberal. The captain gave a little smile and executed an about-face, walking briskly to an arc of the workstations on the lower level, where she began to slot crystal data cubes into a reader.

"Now," and Pienarr rubbed his hands together, "what would you like to see? We have several projects at the moment. We always do. The SPOT…"

"The what?" Peter asked politely, not recognizing the acronym.

"SPOT," Pienarr repeated as if to an inattentive student, "the Solar Polar Ozone-finding Telescope."

"I didn't realize that it was operational," Peter said, retreating from that gaffe. The major hadn't mentioned that in his rundown of the observatory's connections.

"Oh, yes, five years now." Pienarr's manner was as if he expected criticism. "Well, with all the zodiacal dust, we had to do something to avoid the extinction that bollixed clear shots of some of the more interesting nebulae. Hubble did well enough in its day with detail down to less than one hundred milliarcseconds across. YEAST improved on that, of course, but SPOT frees us from the interplanetary dust within our own system. But importantly, it checks ozone layers of any likely planet for free oxygen in the atmosphere. It's a well-trained telescope."

Peter struggled to translate the acronyms from his earlier Teacher astronomy studies. He saw Cyberal's lips twitch.

"SPOT's a Sirius one, you see," Cyberal murmured close to Peter's ear, and then turned back to Pienarr with a carefully attentive expression.

Peter cleared his throat hastily to stifle a groan over the pun.

"Oh, yes," said Pienarr, "we spent over a year investigating the Dog Star."

Peter determinedly recalled scanning the technical arguments about where to place the newest generation of space telescopes after YEAST-just beyond the heliopause or in an orbit around the sun, highly inclined to the plane of the ecliptic where all the planets lie. The Solar had won since it was easier to achieve a polar orbit by sending the ferrying spacecraft to Jupiter and using Jupiter's gravitational pull as a slingshot.

"We have several hours on SPOT today for our latest project," Dr. Pienarr said smugly, and pointed to the workstation to which Simona had returned. "Simona is reducing our last spectrophotopolarimetric data of a likely star system within the constellation Aquila." Columns of figures now came up on the wall screen facing Simona Opitz. "Likely in that the G-type primary might have satellites so we'll also check ozone layers for free oxygen. We need a completely sampled coronographic image of the system. Now Farside Number One is looking for space ice," and he gestured to another workstation on the upper level.

"Space ice?"

"Yes, you know, frozen water, even possibly the water that was once used by a higher life-form than that which we found on Mars. One would have to purify such ice but even if it is only good for irrigation, it's a very valuable commodity." Dr. Pienarr gave Peter a telling glance for his surprise at such basic husbandry in space. "Well, that's what Farside Number One is doing, you probably passed it to starboard," he cocked his head inquiringly.

"We did," Peter admitted, and diplomatically said nothing else.

"Farside Number Two is doing a survey of the M-type asteroids of the Patroclus group," Ajmal said, very pleased. "Space Authority has been nagging us for details so they can begin mining operations. Certainly would increase resources."

"Won't that cause problems?" Vin Cyberal asked.

"Not unless they had to be moved," Ajmal said.

Moved, Peter echoed in his thoughts. "You could move an asteroid?"

"Are you asking if you could, telekinetically?" Ajmal asked, his eyes twinkling.

Peter laughed not only as an answer to the astronomer, but also to relieve his startled reaction to the very idea. Not that he thought he was likely to do so. Could he?

"Technically," Pienarr continued, and Cyberal grinned at Peter, "I suppose that could be done with the newest rockets SA has developed. Attach 'em, blast it out of its current orbit. God knows there're enough asteroids.

"That's another problem we monitor-generally on FST Number Three" and Ajmal waved toward the workstation diametrically opposite them. "Then, on that scope," and he gestured almost contemptuously to the rear wall, and the window that looked onto the Schmidt-Cassegrain, "we constantly track NEOs and the PHAs. There were several close ones in the late twentieth century-1989CF, 1997XF 11, and most particularly 1999 AN 10. Do you know what NEOs are?" His eyes fixed on Peter as a teacher's will on a student suspected of ignorance.

"Yes, I do," Peter replied easily. "Wasn't it First Base that identified the very close crossing of the 1998HH 49 in 2028?"

"Yes, it was. The Station was just operational," and a look of regret crossed Ajmal's round mobile face, "but I was not onstation then. Indeed I hadn't even decided on astronomy as a career in 'twenty-eight." He sighed. "Well, that PHA was unusual even for its whimsical type. I'm sure you understand that many small bodies cross Earth's orbit without incident. We certainly are extremely careful not to cry 'wolf' to the SpaceForce. Any PHA is well documented and ephemerals constantly projected so there's plenty of warning and no last-minute panic about Doomsday or Armageddon or Nemesis." He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes in despair of such dramatics. "October, it was, the sixteenth, and although HH49 should have passed within 560,000 miles of Earth, its orbit was perturbed by the passage of the Comet Enzuka in 2027 so action had to be taken and the PHA was rather neatly disintegrated. Of course, with a united world government, the suspicions and paranoia of the late twentieth century simply can't recur."

Peter sensed that Dr. Pienarr was about to exercise one of his favorite hobbyhorses and interposed his request.

"If it's possible, I really would like to see what you're looking at now in the Patroclus group," Peter said, eagerly.

Ajmal stepped agilely up to the nearest workstation, gesturing for them to follow him. "What we've been focusing on isn't as spectacular as…"

"Oh, don't change it just for me," Peter exclaimed, but Ajmal had already typed in an altering set of commands.

"Nonsense. Even I know you're not the usual visitor. I'll just bring up one of the more impressive ones in the Patroclus group. I've saved the coordinates of the search pattern so it'll be no trouble at all to track back. Ah, here we are," and with a grand flourish of one hand, he indicated the monitor that lit up with images.

Peter was awed to have such a sharp focus on the distant object whose orbit was following Jupiter. Seeing was required for believing, as it hung in space, moving just perceptibly against its backdrop of asteroids and stars, Jupiter not visible in this frame.

"Tithonus," Ajmal announced, tucking his hands under his biceps as he viewed the spectacle. Unnecessarily, the doctor repeated the information running along the bottom of the screen activated by his workstation. "Number 6998 in IAU, inclination 1.7, eccentricity 0.068, with a 28 km diameter. That'd be a handy one to move, at least, if you're really considering that, Vin," and Ajmal gave Cyberal a sly look. "Just fire the rockets in whichever direction you want to break it free from the L-5 point and inject it into a new orbit."

Peter could even make out what looked like "dust" on the uneven surface of Tithonus. In his previous expeditions to observatories, the emphasis had been on the main planets of this solar system or observations from the faint object spectrographs of systems that were then the subjects of intense colonial interest.

"You seem fascinated, Pete," Cyberal said in the sort of voice one used to break into intense concentration.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, I am fascinated. Thank you, Dr. Pienarr."

"Oh, not the title, please." Ajmal gave a testy wave of his hand. "Does get to you, though." His attention had returned to the image.

"I wouldn't mind your going back to the M-asteroid. I would rather not interrupt your work any more than I have to," Peter began politely. Then he pointed to the window and control panels of the telescope. "May I have a look?"

"But, of course, my dear boy, of course. Though," and Ajmal's tone became almost derogatory, "it's of a much earlier generation than the ones we now work with." After a pause, he added, "It was built in situ."

Peter glided over. The wide partition window seemed to be one of those that would turn opaque at a touch. Yes, there was a toggle clearly marked "window" on the control board. Accustomed to the usual dome protection, he was at first surprised to see the huge barrel-at least twelve meters long-just sitting out in the open. But there were no elements to guard against, only the full rays of the sun. Another control was marked "deflector shield" and he would have looked further but suddenly there was noise coming from the foyer.

Over Cyberal's shoulder, because the major stepped in front of him, Peter saw Corporal Hinojosa backing in a step ahead of several white-coated figures. Peter swallowed, getting a flashback of a scene during Barchenka's Mutiny.

"It's all right," he told Vin when he felt the public minds of the newcomers and knew they were harmless. Hinojosa's door-keeping was helpful, not deterrent.

"Just my staff, Vin," Ajmal was saying, startled by the sudden defense posture of the major. "Their shift is starting." He turned to Peter as four men and a woman filed in. "We keep very odd hours here, you see. Now, since she's making such a glorious transit, let me show you Callisto. As you may not know, once Mars Station is up and running, she's being considered for an advance base."

"She is?" Peter echoed, surprised. "Really? Isn't she covered with craters? Isn't there supposed to be a salty ocean sloshing beneath all the ice? Wouldn't that make her ineligible for a permanent installation?"

Ajmal Pienarr beamed as if Peter were a precocious student. Vin Cyberal cleared his throat in discreet warning and Ajmal shook his head.

"I thought this young man had total clearance," he said almost testily.

"On First Base, but not necessarily to all of Space Authority's future plans," the major said.

Peter forbore to find out more from a closer 'path at Ajmal's very open mind but his interest was certainly piqued.

"The Moon yesterday, Mars tomorrow, and why not the universe next week, " Peter said expansively, to show he had taken no offense.

"Yes, yes, and here's Callisto. Splendid, isn't she?" Ajmal said, stepping back a pace and folding his arms on his chest, to better admire the sight on the wall screen.

As fascinating as the asteroid had been, Peter was amazed at the size of Callisto, a brownish orange marble in a sky dominated by Jupiter's formidable bulk to the left. He knew the moon had the oldest surface of the Jovian satellites since it hadn't been constantly recycled by volcanic activity, like lo, so the moon hadn't had the chance to cover her crater scars. She had sustained multitudes of "hits," to judge by the interlocking impact craters that riddled the surface she turned resolutely outward.

"Valhalla?" Peter asked, pointing to the largest of these features.

"Correct," was Ajmal's response, nodding once again with pleasure at Peter's correct identification.

"Aj, we need to alter the tracking on Number One now," Simona Opitz said from her station, one of the white-coated men standing by her. "Or did Mr. Reidinger want to see the space ice?" She turned a very friendly but firm smile on Cyberal. "Have you remembered to ask where you want him to 'port objects in here yet? After all, that's why you're here. We can't monopolize his time, you know."

Which Peter had no trouble interpreting to mean "monopolize our time." Well, he could appreciate that now he'd seen the staff arrive; they seemed to be waiting for their day's assignments.

"You were very good to give me so much of your time, Ajmal," Peter said affably, glancing back at the astronomer who was actually pouting. "Where would it be safe to 'port in here? I certainly wouldn't want to…"

"Over there." Ajmal gestured negligently toward the window partition and the control panel, exasperated by the captain, who merely smiled back. "We don't use that area as much."

Peter took good note of the angle of the partition window, the edge of the control panel, the storage cabinet beneath it, looking very much like the comer of many other facilities. Then he saw the discoloration on the wall from the top of the window to the floor that resembled the southern tip of South America and Cape Horn. That and the windowsill would make it an easily identifiable site for him to "see." Since deciding on such a place was the real reason he'd been brought to the observatory, his business here was over. Saying all that was polite to Ajmal and then Simona, Peter left the observatory with Cyberal.

"Damned managing female," Cyberal said without rancor when they were in the corridor and the corporal was once more their advance scout. The astronomy office was on the north end of Akahiro Block. "Ajmal loves to talk, or had you noticed?"

Peter nodded with a little chuckle. "But all of that," he began as they retraced their steps, "the mining and Callisto-they depend on getting the Mars Base started, don't they?"

"It is started, you know," Vin Cyberal replied in a low voice. "It's keeping it going that's the problem. It needs more personnel, supplies, materiel, instrumentation, and air. Water's been found." He shrugged at the immensity of the task involved. "But we don't know if it's enough. That's why the search for space ice."

"Well, humans walked on the Moon mid-twentieth century and they can now live comfortably and independently on it, why not on Mars before this century is out?"

I should have asked to "see" the Mars Base while I had the chance, Peter railed at himself. For that matter, there were plenty of coordinates he could use now that Airy was the Greenwich line of Mars and there were sufficient high-resolution images to paper the walls of the old Pentagon Building.

Back on Padrugoi, Cass Cutler had disguised herself as yet another innocuous cleaner, complete with a service trundle cart full of janitorial supplies. She had trudged the corridors of the lower levels, hunting for Flimflam. She had found him late on the first day, innocently asleep in his proper quarters. The contact was enough to refresh her sense of him, but she didn't like what he was dreaming and balked at probing deep enough to wake him up and get him moving about so she could see what he was doing and where he went.

The janitorial staff was composed mainly of offenders sentenced off-Earth: offies in the current slang. They wore double wristbands, which technically limited them to the lower levels of Padrugoi. Janitorial squads were brought above the permitted level by guards, especially when the open public areas had to be cleaned up after special assemblies or brawls among freighter crews. They were searched before and after the work period. Cass observed to herself that brawls could be started. So it wouldn't be hard to leave something behind where only the intended recipient could find it. There might indeed be a flourishing black market on Padrugoi in spite of all the precautions. No anomalies had been brought to official notice since Barchenka's time. She didn't know if this was a reflection on Admiral Coetzer's more enlightened regime or not.

Until the sabotage of Limo-34. Only that had been arranged to be a space accident and no one, or no evidence, should have remained to explain the destruction. Had Flimflam, if indeed he was responsible, slipped out of a work party on the boat bay and sabotaged the spaceship? Not by himself.

The next shift started in two hours so she cleaned the dormitory hall. Ironic that the area janitorial staff lived in needed cleaning. She was accustomed, from work in the Linears, to filth, but those buildings were much older than Padrugoi. Finally men and women emerged from their sleeping quarters, to eat before going to work. No one noticed her but then, part of her value was that she could blend nicely into any sort of background. Five men exited Flimflam's room but he did not. The prospect of cleaning for another eight hours in this section of Padrugoi had no appeal whatsoever; even if the hallway hadn't been so clean since oxygen had first filtered into it.

She decided she'd better get some sleep. If she had to do any chasing of Flimflam, she'd need to be rested. Crowd control was easy compared to surveillance. She slipped into a nearby almost empty female accommodation, ignoring the pong in the room and the thinness of the mattress. She tried to set her mind to wake her up if she felt Flimflam's mind moving away from her. But she discounted the depth of her fatigue.

She was awakened by another cleaner who indignantly demanded why she thought she had the right to take someone else's bunk. Meekly, Cass left with her trundle-cart and cast about her for Flimflam's mental signature. It was well into afternoon before she sussed him suddenly at a distance; he might have come off an elevator. She couldn't 'path too far away without a partner but it was him, coming her way. She whipped out a damp rag and began to scrub.

She could feel his mind seething as he neared, so chaotic with doubts that she automatically tried to broadcast reassurances. And stopped. The day she helped Flimflam would be a cold one in Hell. Out of the corner of her eye, she was surprised to note that he was wearing tailored fatigues and the insignia of a lieutenant junior grade in Communications. He passed her without so much as a glance, fretting over the lack of news. What news? she wondered. He was twitching inside and out, jiggling one hand as he strode, outwardly confident and wearing the sort of expression that would turn aside any casual inquiries. He inserted a metal strip into the slot of a door halfway down the corridor and went inside.

"Well, well, well, and well," Cass murmured, laying her hand on the plasteel wall. He was doing something. The moment his activities inside stopped, she bent over, and her hind end was all he'd see of her. She did not make the mistake of working too industriously since the cleaners she observed never used much energy on the job.

Flimflam, his mind disquiet with a variety of anxieties about the rewards of failure, which he still vehemently denied as he examined acceptable excuses, strode past her. He was no longer clad in tailored clothes. Trouser legs of regular issue flapped about his ankles, showing regular-issue ship shoes rather than the polished leather half boots that an officer usually wore.

Well, he always was a quick change artist, she mused. She let him get out of sight and then, trundling the cart to the door he had used, she got out the special strip Commander Ottey had warily entrusted to her-it allowed entry to any room up to CIC-and got in with a quiet snick.

One look inside and she hauled the cart in as well, closing the door behind her. Staring about her, she whistled in surprise. In her haste to get in, she hadn't noticed the label on the door but whatever that said, it lied. Flimflam had converted it to his use. Part of it was his changing room for a variety of uniforms and collar tabs, no rank higher than lieutenant commander, but every type of authorized apparel from fatigues to dress tunic hung from a rail. The other part was supplies. Drawers and shelves contained sundry items from instant sustenance packets to gourmet freeze-dried foods, bottles of wine and hard liquor, drawers packed with circuit boards and tools, manuals (two marked TOP SECRET), including one for MPUs, and odd-shaped vacuum packs, identified only by serial codes. Hanging on a nail were a half-dozen wrist IDs. How had he removed his distinctive double wristband so that he could use these? The fact that Flimflam possessed spares of anything was disturbing. She jammed the bands into her thigh pocket, patting them flat. Having had a good look around, she turned back to the door, looking for any surveillance device Flimflam might have planted. There was none, but there was a sketch of sorts on the back of the door, marked with squares, rectangles, and circles, running vertically in a weird design. She stared at it, trying to comprehend its significance.

"How dense can you get, Cutler," she said, slapping her forehead as it suddenly occurred to her that this was a rough diagram of the Station's levels. She found her current location, a square, the shape of this room.

Keeping the layout of Padrugoi in mind, she worked out two more square repositories like this, one in the Mall, another in the noncommissioned officers' quarters. She fussed over the circles, which were so oddly placed, gave up on them, and tried to suss out the rectangles. The largest one ought to be on the boat bay. That made a lot of sense. If Flimflam had been responsible for the sabotage of Limo-34, and she suspected he had had a lot to do with it, he'd've had to have all his supplies for that job in one place, as well as additional help, to do it in the time available. What were the circles? Okay, Cutler, what is circular on a space station? Glancing about the room, wracking her brains, her eye caught the ventilation grille in the ceiling.

"Yes, stupid," she murmured. "Now did General Johnny give him that idea when he secreted his troops in the conduits around the Inauguration site before the Mutiny?"

There were nine circles on the rough map, ranging up and down Padrugoi's long stem. In her mind's eye, she slid a map of Padrugoi over the sketch and memorized the positions. She could hunt for the conduit and ventilation sites later. She should check the boat bay site next. But first for that evidence the boss always needed. She took out the print-recorder and ran it over every surface. It would record all fingerprints, including her own, but would provide undeniable evidence of who frequented this room. Flimflam couldn't have done the sabotage on his own. He had to have had accomplices. Maybe never allowed in this room but surely when he did that rush job on Limo-34?

Boat bay next! She removed a change of clothing, and rank, from her trundle-cart so that she could reach her destination without too many questions on the way.

Opening the door and checking to he sure the hall was vacant, she emerged as a CPO from Transport, and pushed the cart out. She closed the door, noting that it was labeled 7299A, and wheeled the cart almost to the next intersection, where she left it and walked smartly away.

The boat bay was occupied when she got there: a maintenance team was working on another Limo but too busy under the eyes of a CPO to notice her entry. Moving as if she were on an urgent errand, she strode to her target door and, slipping in the special key, was relieved when it opened. She entered, letting the door close on her as she palmed on lights. She whistled softly. Unlike 7299A, this room was a mess and was filled with an acrid smell. The grille had been removed from the ceiling ventilator; that was interesting. Improvised steps in the form of empty plastic frames suggested that someone or ones had left via that route. More important to her search, however, were the circuit boards and crystals. Careful not to smear any fingerprints on what surface there was, she peered at the yellow printing on the boards.

"Hmm. For MPUs, huh. Like they use in Limos. Very interesting." She ran the print-recorder across everything.

Tools were also scattered about an empty container, clearly marked EPOXY Type 34-AS-9, fast-acting. A large red label under that legend warned about using it without safety gloves and mask. She saw the cuff of one safety glove and several masks discarded in a corner.

Let's see now, six, seven days? There might still be residual traces on skin and clothing that a sensor could pick up. Some of those grunts don't bother washing, she reminded herself.

She took out the print-recorder and slowly scanned the rest of the printable surfaces available, of which there were quite a few. She had a stitch in her back when she finished the circuit. Hopping up the steps, she flicked the recorder around the aperture. Prints might be smudged but enough could be made of them to confirm that this had been used as an egress for those owning the prints. Then she hoisted herself up into the ventilation shaft, ducking her head as she perched on the edge. Light from other openings in both directions allowed her to see to intersections.

Hmm, Flimflam'd need to pick skinny grunts. He's not, even in tailor mades. She spread her hand, which she knew measured twenty centimeters from little finger to thumb, a reliable gauge, and decided the opening was just wide enough for a man not too broad in the shoulder. He'd've had to scrunch in his shoulders a bit. Wonder if he'll have old bruises or scrapes on his arms, she mused. At least there was reason for the boss to do a thorough examination of him. She considered if continuing would be profitable. "Maybe, but I'd get dirty and tired and someone else can do this sort of work," she muttered. "I'd better get back to the boss. I've found Flimflam and I've found evidence that should stand up in a trial."

She lowered herself back through the opening, holding on to the edge to kick the crude steps out of the way before she dropped to the floor. Dusting off her hands and uniform, she exited the room whistling merrily and didn't bother to notice if the maintenance crew had seen her.

On her way back to the commissioner's temporary office on the CIC level of Padrugoi, she realized one of the things that might be causing Flimflam anxiety: Limo-34 had landed safely at First Base, though the news had not been bruited about. So all his efforts to sabotage the flight had been in vain. Couldn't happen to a nicer sucker! She wondered who would be on his back because he'd failed. That was someone else's problem. She was here because she could recognize Flimflam's mind. The LEO Commissioner was loaning the admiral appropriate, parapsychic staff in this investigation. Not that she could, or would, probe that scuzball but she certainly could locate him and she had. She found the correct lift, inserted the metal slip of her pass, and continued on her way. As a crowd-control empath with a limited 'path range, she'd have to report in person. Besides, she wanted to see the expression on Boris Roznine's face. She also needed to get to a schematic of Padrugoi so she could identify the locations of Flimflam's other depots. She rapped on the office door.

Ah, Cass, said Boris in his unmistakably deep mental voice. Come in.

She did, pausing in surprise at the disarray in the cabin. Roznine's office in Jerhattan was always tidy but here he was surrounded by pencil files of all colors, hard copy, and two monitors displaying graphs and curves, as well as a tray with half-eaten sandwiches. Boris looked tired; even his fingers wavered a little over his notepad.

"I got proof," she said, waggling the print-recorder before she passed it over to him. "And do you have a schematic of the Station? I got some other locations I want to get down before I forget 'em."

With no hesitation, Boris flipped a sheet from under other hard copy on his desk and flipped it to her.

"Been here," and she grabbed a marker and circled the point. "Seven deck, room 7299A, and it'd be interesting to know what it's officially used for because Flimflam made it a dressing room cum food stash, liquor for bribes, tools, and too many vacuum-packed gimmicks for me to identify."

Boris let her make her notations. With a final flourish she marked the one at the boat bay. "You'll want to send a security team up there muy pronto, boss. Ottey's going to love it. Mind you, the Epoxy 34AS-9 container is empty but that was the one bit of alleged sabotage equipment I could recognize. Smell of the stuff might still make a sensor jump." She pointed to her markings. "These are places-as near as I can estimate-where he must have other drops. He put an aide-memoire on the back of the door of room 7299A." She grinned sardonically.

Boris leaned to one side of his worktop, flipped open the comm, and gave the number. When he had Ottey on-line, he gave crisp requests that were more orders than suggestions to search 7299A and the boat bay storage locker. He paused, listening to a question that was probably just as crisp, if Cass knew Ottey, and turned back to her.

"D'you know where he is right now?"

She twitched a shoulder as she sprawled into a chair. "He had assumed his lowly janitorial persona when he exited 7299A. Once I saw what was inside, I took prints and investigated the one location I was reasonably sure of finding-the boat bay. He's real worried." She paused to grin maliciously and then sat forward abruptly. "Oh, tell Ottey that the ventilator shaft in the boat bay site was open, steps up to it and all. I took good prints before I had a look. Must have used small guys or ones with narrow shoulders. Flimflam is a little too broad across the chest."

"They're on their way," Boris said, closing the connection.

"I felt it was wiser to report back to you once I'd ascertained the nature of the boat bay location," she went on, receiving a positive nod from her boss, "rather than try to discover his current whereabouts. I also found these." She withdrew the tangle of ID wristbands and let them casually fall from her fingers to the worktop.

Eyes widening with dismay, Boris grabbed the nearest one and popped it into the security clearance unit on one side of his desk. "Lieutenant Schafer, Supply?" Even as he repeated the name of its wearer, the printout informed Boris that Schafer had been transferred three years ago. He picked up another. "Commander Uskar, Engineering?" For the past two years, Uskar had been teaching at Newport Naval Base.

"I wonder Flimflam ever bothered to sleep in that cell of his," Cass observed wryly. "Though I guess that once in a while he had to be where he was supposed to be. Those first two IDs would have given him access to wherever he wanted to be. From what I saw stashed away, he could change service branch and identity any time he needed to."

Boris did not bother with the rest of the bands. He reopened the comlink. "Roznine again. Bindra? Ottey's already gone, has he? Excellent. Something else has come up, if you'd be so kind as to step down to my office?"

Cass grinned. When the LEO Commissioner spoke in that tone, "be so kind" meant like right now! Cass wondered just how Flimflam had acquired them in the first place, since such IDs were worn constantly-by their legitimate owners-and were hard to replicate; perhaps not for a scam artist like Albert Ponce. Or had he just switched counterfeits for the originals?

"For someone supposedly limited to one section of Padrugoi, he certainly had the freedom of the Station," Boris remarked at his drollest.

"What else could you expect from someone like Flimflam?" Cass could objectively admire the man's ingenuity and resourcefulness.

"I do not care to speculate," Boris said repressively, but Cass was not intimidated and grinned back. "What I find somewhat surprising is that he didn't try to leave the Station."

"Well paid to stay aboard until it was worth his while to leave?" Cass asked with an innocent expression on her face. "He's been up here long enough to explore the indigenous opportunities to the fullest. And he was involved in the White-Coat Mutiny, wasn't he?" She pointed to the secret caches she'd put on the schematic.

"He was, but only peripherally. Barchenka was no fool and he lost privileges, supporting her." Boris frowned, fingering his lower lip thoughtfully. "LEO is going to have to follow different avenues of investigation."

Cass knew he was thinking about personnel. LEO was always short of the right kind of personnel, which was one reason she had drawn this duty.

"International LEO already has cooperated with surveillance on Shimaz's relatives; those who have been up here, at least, for one reason or another, including one Ahmin Duvachek, who demanded a formal Health and Welfare appointment to ascertain if our facility was according Mr. Albert Ponce his human rights." Boris's expression was ironic.

"Ahh!" Cass drawled the syllable out. "You do remember, don't you, boss, that Flimflam was not the brains behind the child-farming scheme."

"All too true but we haven't been able to establish if Shimaz is involved in this mess. Though I remind you that he did work with Barchenka."

"Maybe he's bankrolling it?"

"Haven't traced credit transfers yet. Though Kibon does regularly transfer credits downside. He has relatives, too."

Cass opened her eyes wide. "All God's chillun got relatives."

"Credit going out doesn't worry me as much as credit coming in, and we haven't found that yet. It'll be interesting to see what Flimflam has secreted away at these points." Boris tapped Cass's marks.

"Nasty man, Shimaz, waiting so long to get back at Peter."

"Not just Peter. They've been after General Greene a while, too, but he's slippery. And confidentially, Cass, this is not the first time Peter's been at risk since he became an official Center employee."

She was clearly startled by that admission. "You mean, those clowns on his birthday?"

Boris nodded. "The Faithful Brotherhood of whatever-it-was has now been traced back to one of Flimflam's Religious Interpretation Groups."

"Really! Has anyone tried for Tirla?" Cass asked, sitting bolt upright on the chair, half-afraid, half-resentful that the girl she had rescued nearly six years ago might be at risk again. Roznine's sisterin-law, Tirla, had been more involved with Flimflam and Shimaz than Peter was.

"Oh, that one," and Boris's expression was affectionately droll. "She suspects there have been quite a few attempts. She has a finely tuned sixth sense of survival." A small smile of approval turned up the comers of Roznine's generous mouth. "It's only recently that we have correlated those incidents as perhaps part of a larger plot for revenge."

"Barchenka didn't know her," Cass exclaimed, puzzled.

"We don't know that Construction Manager Barchenka is involved at all-bar having had brief visits from two of Shimaz's relations. We're trying to find out if Ahmin Duvachek is related or connected in some way to her. Though it takes little imagination to see why she certainly would enjoy getting back at Peter and John Greene."

"That's fer damned sure, boss." Then she rose. "How's Ranjit doing? I haven't caught even a twitch from him."

Boris pursed his lips, but his light blue eyes were amused. "He's following a different line of investigations, working undercover."

She nodded acceptance of the tacit injunction. "Then I'd better get back to turning over every slimy stone in the facility. I shouldn't want that Flimflam got word we were looking for him and hide someplace he didn't mark on that door map."

"Keep your mind wide open, Cass."

"And my shields up." She slipped out the door and was gone, moments before Bindra tapped on his door.

Ottey contacted Bindra in Roznine's office and informed them that the boat bay storage locker indeed contained items that could be identified as used in the sabotage of Limo-34. It was being cleared of the evidence. Surveillance equipment had been installed as well as a fast-acting proximity-triggered gas device that would immobilize anyone who entered the locker from either the ventilator shaft or the door. A second team was already dealing with room 7299A and installing similar arrangements.

Boris and Bindra then brought the ID bands to Admiral Coetzer. Controlling his consternation, the admiral instructed Bindra to investigate possible safeguards against future theft and to initiate discreet spot ID checks. It was determined that Lieutenant Schafer and Commander Uskar had turned in the bands they wore on the day of departure downside and no one had thought to see if the bands were legitimate before destroying them, as per regulations. The two officers would have received new IDs on arriving at their new posts.

The admiral contacted the First Base comm officer for a secured line to General Greene and was informed that he was currently in conference with Colonel Watari.

"Put me through, please."

When Johnny came on, Dirk Coetzer briefly reported what had just been discovered.

"One thing sure, Dirk, there's no way Shimaz can move around First Base that easily," Johnny said.

"He's under twenty-four-hour surveillance," Watari said, subtly criticizing Padrugoi's security. "He's banded so he can't get out of his cell without setting off a general alarm."

"That's reassuring," Coetzer replied at his blandest. "Johnny, get yourself and Pete back here as soon as possible."

"Maybe we're safer here," Johnny had the impudence to remark.

"As you can well imagine, General," the admiral replied at his most formal, "we are going to review security measures relating to convicts serving sentences onstation." He glanced over at Boris who inclined his head, accepting that contingency. "However," the admiral went on, "I do appreciate that Flimflam is an unusual operator. We've had no more than minor disciplinary incidents with anyone else."

"It only takes one," Bindra remarked through gritted teeth.

"Do not, I repeat, General, do not advise anyone of your ETA."

"Gotcha, Admiral," was Johnny's rejoinder, and then First Base signed off.

"I shall have a word with the attorney general, Admiral," Boris said. "Meanwhile, Ms. Cutler is trying to find Flimflam's current whereabouts."

"When she does, I'll have him arrested," Bindra said.

"No," and the admiral lifted one hand. "If Ms. Cutler can keep track of him, it might be more interesting to see what he'll do next."

"Only if he doesn't try to revisit one of his depots," Bindra said.

"A point, Admiral, Commander," Boris began. "Ms. Cutler mentioned that he had been wearing communications tabs. Let's run the CIC tapes and see if he turns up. Or a request for any information on Limo-34 by anyone onstation."

"All contact with First Base has been on secured lines," Dirk Coetzer said and then began to smile. "How about if we just leak some misinformation and see how Flimflam reacts." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in anticipation.

Wake up, Pete. Johnny's voice interrupted his dream of spinning asteroids and gibbous leering planets that enlarged and diminished like balloons.

"Whaaat?" Peter found it hard to rouse himself. It seemed as if he'd only just got to bed.

That's right and now you gotta be out of it, packed, and ready when Nina knocks on your door.

Why? Peter demanded as he was levitating himself off the bed.

Because we're packing our tents like the Arabs and slipping away, Johnny said with mischief in his mental tone. Get a move on. She's nearly there. You don't want Nina catching you in the altogether, do you?

Peter drew in anindignant breath, suppressing the twinge tohis chest. One didn't feel vanity; it was imagination.

Just kidding, and for once Johnny sounded repentant.

Peter did not dally, though he took the time to change his appliance, as it was full enough to be emptied. He was dressed and inserting the last pencil file into his carryall when he heard a very light rap on the door.

"I'm coming," he said, gliding to it and opening it to see the corporal looking unfairly wide-awake and as pretty as ever, brown eyes bright despite the hour. He envied her exuberance.

She pointed in the direction they were to go and started off in a quiet jog trot, Peter increasing his forward motion and surreptitiously knuckling sleep out of his eyes. He hadn't even had time to wash his face.

Where are we going, Johnny? She just pointed, Peter said in complaint.

Back to Padrugoi with all possible steam and secretivity.

There's no such word. Why? How? I didn't think the Limo was ready yet. It's two in the morning, Johnny.

There are other vehicles. Flimflam's been a heavy operator on Padrugoi and there's now proof that he was involved in the sabotage of the 34. I'm taking no risks with you.

I am not, I repeat, I am not, Peter said in a fierce tone, driving us back to Padrugoi. Even if I think I could, he added very, very privately to himself. Perhaps it was just as well that they were going back to the Station. He doubted he could have talked Watari, or Opitz, into allowing him another look through the telescopes. Not that Padrugoi didn't have access to the Farside 'scopes. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he'd be able to have time on those FSTs more easily there than here. Watari would want to know why.

I, on the other hand, Johnny continued, oblivious to Peter's private ruminations and responding to his emphatic statement of intent, do not wish that you should waste your valuable energy and any calories on this trip. I personally handpicked the passengers coming back on the Limo-28, since Watari wouldn't let me take it without any. I pulled rank and got Xiang Liu as pilot, though he wasn't next up on the roster Watari conceded that choice because he wants us off First Base even faster than Dirk wants us back. Catchya when you get here.

Peter felt Johnny close the mental connection. If they were to be taking off shortly, Johnny would be doing preflight checks with Xiang.

Nina Hinojosa was leading him through Babe Ruth Block; no angry pulse at this time of night, so even Shimaz slept. They encountered on-duty officers, nodding as they passed, but stayed on the lower level, moving toward the old, original Lunar Base building. Nina paused at the steel doors across the final segment and inserted her security pass. She motioned him to follow quickly through the irising portal as soon as there was space enough for her. She waited almost impatiently for him to follow. He'd had half a mind to levitate himself headfirst through it.

An arrow on the wall told him they were heading toward B Lock. The hallway, which connected the Base to the airlock, was empty but he could smell sweat and other odors that indicated it had recently been occupied. They went up the steps of the accordion tunnel sealed to the open hatch of the 28. Nina stopped.

"Here you are, sir. It's been a pleasure to meet you," she said with a salute. Then she smiled up at him, her dark eyes sparkling.

He had no right to return the salute. Surprising himself, he bent quickly and planted a kiss on her cheek before whirling himself on board. He nearly ran Johnny Greene over and devoutly hoped that the general had not seen him kiss the corporal.

"In you git, lad," Johnny said, hauling Peter in by a handful of the coverall. "We're outta here." With a farewell nod to Nina, he tapped the closing sequence of the hatch. "Okay, Xiang. He's aboard."

Secure your stuff in bunk ten. Same one, but a different and much safer bird. Then join me forward. I saved you a good seat.

Peter did as he was bid and murmured a greeting to Xiang Liu as he took his takeoff seat.

"Bad penny turns up," he said.

Xiang smiled. "Good penny to have onboard."

A red light flashed off into green on the control panel, the signal that Nina was safely inside the departure room and the airlock secured on the Base side. The retractable access tunnel was pulling away. Another red light switched to green and they were completely disconnected from the Base.

Without touching more than surface thoughts, Peter felt the anticipation of the passengers behind and beside him. One and all were delighted to be going "home" although one and all were slightly annoyed by the unexpected hour of departure. Most were enlisted personnel or civilians and the single officer was not one whom Peter had met in his whirlwind visit to First Base.

Peter couldn't feel much motion but the view out the front window altered as the Limo was taxied to the takeoff site. Peter could feel the buildup of power, so different from the drop-off exit from Padrugoi.

He heard the formal exchanges between Lieutenant Xiang Liu and First Base and only briefly wished himself in the engineer's position. He'd done it once, when it mattered the most, when Johnny was pilot. He was not entirely sure that he was glad to be just a passenger this time, but he was tired.

"Our status is go," an unfamiliar voice said; whoever was engineer this trip. "Mr. Liu, are we scheduled for a standard lunar departure?"

"That is correct. First Base, are we green for go?"

"You are green for go on our computers, Limo-28," and Peter recognized Watari's voice.

"We have a green for go," Xiang Liu reported, and Peter could hear the relief in the man's voice.

As the Limo blasted off, Peter felt the pressure pushing him into the chair padding. He thought he preferred the easier takeoff from Padrugoi, although the surge of the rockets was exciting. For the space of the ascent, he almost felt his bones pressing against the skin of his back. This trip to the Moon had made him quite fanciful. He'd be glad to be back on solid Padrugoi.