Pegasus In Space

15

Peter was making his way back to Dorotea's and Amariyah's promised massage, for which he was literally aching, when he saw Cass Cutler ambling on a course parallel to his. Hi, Cass! Here to see Rhyssa?

Nope, she replied, and swerved across the lawn to join him. I'm here on special assignment.

"Oh, really?" he said aloud. Her gamine grin answered his next question. "Why me?"

'Cos they ain't caught all the perps yet and you're a lot more at risk on your own home ground than upside.

Peter halted his glide and stared at her.

"But there're psychics all around me…"

Cass shook her head. "They won't be looking out for you, Pete. I got orders from the boss," she ticked off fingers, "the general, and the admiral and that's too much rank for me to buck." She grinned again, her eyes sparkling. "Not that I would, seeing as how I have your welfare at heart anyhow." Now don't get all fussed, Pete, she admonished.

He seethed with indignation. Don't try wheedling me, Cass. I'm well able to take care of myself and I have, goddammit, proved that.

Cass nodded in agreement. It's as much for the others that I'm here.

That stopped his complaint and cooled his anger. Dorotea had felt so frail in his arms. Amariyah was so precious. Abruptly he had a sense of how Rhyssa felt about him and his Talent. It was a sobering reflection.

All right. You're not here on your own, are you?

No. Some of 'em you don't know and shouldn't see and we'll all try not to intrude. You're supposed to be on R and R down here. I'm listening for a lot of reasons, Pete. She appealed to him with her eyes and body language. Ignore us, will ya?

He smiled and continued on, Cass beside him. Sure. But who should I listen for?

Any mind you can't identify. Any person you've never seen around here. And don't, promise me, go near that ice cream parlor on the Mall! 'Port a treat in for Amariyah if she frets but don't leave the grounds.

He nodded compliance, resenting it, but having to admit candidly that he understood the rationale. Hell, he and Tirla had been kidnapped once before when they had slipped to the Mall without anyone knowing they'd gone. He was not about to have that happen to him again, or most particularly to Amariyah.

What else is new? And he mentally implied that he wanted news of Boris's investigations.

You probably know more than I do, Pete, she said with a detached shrug. I'm just the gal on the beat. "Nice catching you like this, Pete," she added out loud and took the left-hand path at the Y junction.

Amariyah had not lost her knack of massage. Relaxing as her hands gently soothed muscles and tendons, Peter wondered idly how long it was going to take him to move physically, rather than telekinetically. He mocked himself. Amariyah had already performed one miracle. It was up to him to make his way forward.

She extracted payment from him in the form of another tour of her gardens, the ones they'd missed after breakfast. He wondered what Ted and the other groundsmen had left to do. There are all those lawns!

Peter, Dorotea, and Amariyah appeared at Rhyssa's home in time for him to spend half an hour with Eoin and Chester while he told them a suitably edited account of his trip to the Moon.

Over dinner, Peter was able to tell Rhyssa and an attentive Dave more of what had been done. He tried not to wax too excited about seeing the asteroid on the Farside Telescope or the conversations that had ensued. Rhyssa knew that he had taken an astronomy course and would have been interested in that facet of First Base. Nothing more was said about Shimaz, Flimflam, and the "problem" with Limo-34. Dave did mention that all the Parapsychic Centers were actively recruiting: he was in charge of the publicity campaign.

On the way home that night, Peter wondered if Dorotea was aware that they were being "followed."

I'm not that feeble in the wits by any means, Peter Reidinger.

Thank God, Amariyah already has her hair stranded. They've put her in the 'at risk' category, you know. There will be no way she can be removed from these premises, I assure you.

He used the excuse of fatigue when Amariyah tried to cajole him into a trip to the Mall to the Old-Fashioned Parlor of Gastronomical Delights.

"But I got a new dress just to wear there with you. I'll give you another massage. A better one."

Peter chuckled. "I'm also on a strict diet to build muscle and strengthen bones and it doesn't include chocolate sundaes with every topping known to gourmets. I'll bring one in for you, if you like, and you may eat it in your room so I'm not tempted."

That was not quite what Amariyah had in mind but Peter could be as stubborn as she could. They compromised. She could wear the dress and he'd watch her eat the sundae.

The dress was blue, beautifully cut, another example of Tirla's elegant taste. Maree would soon be eleven. He must be back down here for her birthday. No, better still, he'd invite her up to Padrugoi. No use taking chances.

She had heard the physio recommend to Peter that he exercise his fingers to increase their dexterity and improve finer motor control. Although the physio thought he should try playing piano or a stringed instrument or sketching, Amariyah thought that weeding would be equally therapeutic and more useful. He said he wanted to learn how to draw. She said he could use her lightpen-she had the very best one on the market, which she used to plan her garden beds-if he'd help her weed. He agreed.

In fact, he spent a lot of time using the lightpen, clumsily at first, but gradually with more finesse. He got so he could sketch "South America" rather deftly. Then he doodled, as Johnny Greene did, only he doodled asteroids tumbling or spinning through space on their axes, or atmosphere domes and generator units. For instance, his own 60 MHz Gadriel gestalt circuits tuned to C major.

Six days later, Peter was at least refreshed when he 'ported himself to the Jerhattan telepad after Cass duly escorted him to the Center's pad. He'd kept to the Center's grounds, chatted with the young people who had just started training, and played with Rhyssa's children, and Tirla's, for she came three times. "Checking on you," she said, radiating approval of his physical breakthrough.

He waited for Johnny by the personnel carrier. The general arrived, his skin ruddy with new color, his nose peeling, and his whole manner bursting with renewed vigor.

"You obviously had a great time," Peter said, almost grudgingly.

"Sally wasn't campaigning anywhere," Johnny said, his eyes sparkling. "My sons remembered that I was their father and I got rid of my Padrugoi pallor. Now I can take another four weeks of lifting bales and toting barges." He looked Peter up and down. "How'd you get on?"

"I got seven more massages from Amariyah!" And those were actually the high points of Peter's week home.

"You didn't tell Maree your suspicions?" Johnny raised his eyebrows in a query. Peter shook his head.

"No, nothing was even whispered in her vicinity. We're to let her develop at her own pace."

"And how's your forward pace?"

Peter's shrug was a looser, more natural movement than his previous imitations of the gesture. "We'll see what this week's tests reveal, if anything, and Mike's assessment of my muscular strength."

"Our chariot awaits," Johnny said, gesturing to the shell. "I dare you to walk that far."

"Oh, no. You're going to have to wait like all the others for my-"

"Formal muscle power debut?" Johnny asked when Peter stalled for the right words.

Back on Padrugoi, Ensign Patterson was once again on duty on the boat bay and greeted them with a salute. He delivered the message that Admiral Coetzer would be pleased if they made their way to the conference room when they were settled in their quarters.

"They're going to work us hard today, I know it," Johnny said with a glance at the clock and a groan. "Maybe we should have timed our arrival for a more civilized hour."

"You picked it," Peter said.

"Then let us go about our daily occasions," Johnny said in a pompous tone. "Meetcha in the conference room in five." Johnny ported himself away.

With a nod to the ensign, who was trying to act nonchalant about the general's disappearance, Peter left as well. His quarters looked exactly the same and although the cabin was tidy-he was never quite that neat-it also had an unused feel to it. Would he have a shadow onstation, too? He dropped his gear on the bunk and 'ported to the conference room.

The monitor displayed the day's schedule with a brief note of welcome back from Dirk Coetzer and the confirmation from Lieutenant Bergkamp that the Gadriel circuits had been no trouble to add to the Padrugoi generators. Peter was as glad to be first in. He could take advantage of the time to see if he could set up his "South America" scam. He scanned the list and found the very one-only ten kilos. He'd have to change the destination to where? On Earth… someplace Johnny didn't know and would have to get a visual of. He couldn't think of a target so he invented one: a new customer-Calco laboratory-a lab facility would have features much like "South America." Calco would be "situated" in Jerhattan. God knows there were enough small companies like that in the industrial perimeter of Jerhattan, which was well within Johnny's acknowledged "limit." Speaking quietly, Peter did the necessary editing. Since he was familiar with Johnny's preference for hard copy, he touched the print button, feeling the moment of contact in the tip of his finger. He chuckled to himself. If Johnny liked to hold hard copy, Peter liked to touch keys, now that he could feel them.

"Ho, there, you beat me to it," Johnny said, arriving in the room. "Barney?"

For a single moment, Peter froze, having forgotten that the steward might be waiting in the serving alcove. He told himself firmly that Barney could not have seen, been interested in, much less suspicious of anything Peter had just done. Just then the door from the hall opened and Barney entered, carrying a tray of supplies.

"Had to collect fresh coffee, General. Good morning, Mr. Reidinger."

Peter let go a relieved breath. He really wasn't up to deception. Although, maybe, that's why he'd get away with this.

"Got our day's work organized, Pete?" Johnny asked, and, with an offhand motion, Peter passed him the paper copy. "I'll just get rid of the downside junk." He whistled. "Boy, First Base ought to pay off its mortgage with these shipments of rare earths." He paused, running his finger down the side of the sheet. "Only destination I don't know is the Calco lab."

"They sent a visual," Peter said, bringing "South America" up on-screen.

"Humph. Well, there can't be two stains like that in the world," Johnny said, settling into his chair preparatory to leaning into the generators.

"Easy to see," Peter remarked, clamping down on his inner tension. "I'll just assemble the first load to the Moon." Should he wait and give Johnny a hand if he "felt" any difference, 'porting that far? He didn't dare mess with Johnny at the outset. Better wait! Johnny must realize that he had the kinetic strength to 'port to any place he could "see." You go first, Johnny. He was real pleased with how casual he sounded, despite the way his gut was acting. How had he forgotten that aspect of sensation?

"Remember to tune into the Gadriel circuits," he said casually to Johnny.

"I certainly will. This'll make 'porting a snap."

Peter let himself "feel" Johnny get tuned to the new configuration, and the general smiled at his ease of contact. Then he started his 'port, frowning slightly as the gauge on the generator panel swung over at his usage.

"And it was only to Jerhattan"' Johnny exclaimed, baffled. "What happened? Gadriel's gimmicks were supposed to make this easier."

"Well, no," Peter said blithely, grinning fit to crack his face, "actually, General Greene, you just pushed ten kilos to the astronomy laboratory at First Base. Congratulations!"

Johnny's jaw dropped and his dark brows met across the bridge of his nose.

"I what? Say again!" There was a "general" in that command.

"I said, actually, General Greene…"

Johnny flicked an impatient hand, his glare deepened. "I know what you said. Tuning into a generator makes that much difference to my range?"

Peter gestured to the monitor. "Tuning does make a difference, I'm sure, but you ought to be able to 'port wherever you can 'see,' Johnny. As I did to the bollard in the parking lot and to the table in Watari's office."

For a very long moment, Johnny stared at "South America," jutted his jaw, cocked his head to glower sideways at Peter, then back at the screen.

"Ten kilos?" he asked in an all-too-quiet voice.

"Ten kilos of storage crystals that Dr. Pienarr ordered." Peter waited. He knew Johnny Greene well enough to see the tension building in his body and he awaited the explosion with considerable anxiety. "I changed the-"

"NEVER EXPLAIN!" The general propelled himself out of the chair and Peter backed away. Then Johnny threw his head back and howled with laughter, doubling over and slapping his hands on his thighs. "Kid, you're amazing." He took a forward step and gave Peter a buffet on his shoulder, which would have knocked Peter off balance if Johnny hadn't also grabbed his arm to steady him.

"I never thought you a devious type, Pete," Johnny said through gasps of laughter, his eyes tearing with mirth. "Hoisted me on my own petard, you did."

"About time, don't you think?" Peter asked, cocking his head and regarding the older man sardonically.

Barney emerged from his alcove, for once baffled by their antics.

"It's too early in the morning," Johnny said, controlling hilarity with an effort, "for champagne and Peter doesn't drink. Coffee please, Barney? And whatever Pete wants to celebrate his connivery. Good one, Pete! Caught me fair and square."

He wiped his eyes and dropped limply into his chair until Barney put a coffee mug in front of him and a teacup for Peter, steam from the herbal brew sending off a spiced aroma.

"I caught you, Johnny?" Peter asked, noting the odd turn of phrase.

"Yes, caught me, Pete." Johnny's eyes twinkled over the rim of his cup as he took a judicious sip of the hot coffee.

"You mean, you knew you could 'port farther?"

Johnny nodded, with a rascally expression on his face.

"I suspected but I also knew damned well that if I admitted I could, I'd be made to. Never volunteer."

"You volunteered me," Peter exclaimed with some indignation.

"True, true, but if you'd shown the least sign of strain, kid," and the general turned quite solemn, "I'd've called a halt like right then." He brought his hand down edgewise on the table in a firm blow. "Lance was sure you could do it, too, so we arranged that little bit of foolery from the Adelaide Center. I never thought you'd play the same trick on me." He gave his head an admiring shake and chuckled again.

"Lance? What about his true range?"

"Ah," and Johnny rocked his spread fingers in a gesture of doubt. "Gadriel said he's tone-deaf. He can't 'tune,' so he can't access the Gadriel circuitry, Peter." Johnny let go an understandable sigh of satisfaction that he could. "He's fine over short distances with the strength that's in him. But I don't think he could make it for a long haul. Too bad, he'd be an asset."

"To 'see' is to 'port," Peter murmured.

"For you, and you've proved that's right for me, too. But until we do find someone else with that extra little something…" In one of Johnny's volatile changes, pure mischief gleamed in his greenflecked amber eyes. "What were you telling me the other morning about a company of telepaths and teleports?"

Peter smoothed his face of expression. Johnny had been so hung over. From now on, Peter would be more cautious about what he said.

"Just testing the water."

"How?"

Peter pointed to the clocks on the wall. "Tell you later. We've got stuff to move."

Johnny nodded. "You're right there. Only, kid," and he touched Peter's elbow, "next time you give me something to 'port to First Base, warn me, will ya? I nearly ran out of tune!"

They finished the first session in complete accord and organized cargoes for the second hour's work.

"Why didn't you come with me to the observatory?" Peter asked. "Mind you, I'm glad you didn't or I wouldn't have been able to fool you."

"While you were there, I was busy talking Watari into the necessity for our abrupt and stealthy departure. Vin Cyberal was reviewing the surveillance tapes on Shimaz to make sure he'd had no contact with anyone since the Limo got there. He's been on restriction for the last month so there had been no contact with anyone."

"Restriction?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, well, complete isolation. If an offie gets real obstreperous-and that's Shimaz's middle name-he's totally secluded. Not quite cocooned as you and Tirla were but the next best thing. Food, water, and surveillance are on automatic. Not even a Moon mite could get in. And none did."

"So then he wasn't involved?"

Johnny made a grimace. "Certainly not directly. The theory is developing that this fatwa-type operation is also on automatic. Someone or ones is following his original orders to take vengeance on you, and me, for the indignities heaped on his very worthy soul." Johnny flicked his fingers restlessly. "He was, of course, working up at Padrugoi on the Josephson Junctions so Barchenka knew him. Maybe too well. But he was convicted, sentenced, and in the Lunar Prison before she plotted her little Mutiny. Uncle Riz made visits to her, so if she had opted for revenge-" His eyebrows twitched. "-and she would have loved to get back at both of us for defusing her Mutiny; that would explain how Flimflam got around so handily on Padrugoi. Fortunately for all concerned, it's doubtful that he ever passed on this information." Johnny paused thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why he was assassinated." Abruptly, Johnny slapped both hands on his thighs. "Enough of such maudlin speculation. By the way, Lance should be passing through Padrugoi this week on his way home. He's finished the current construction contract and he wants to renew his acquaintance with full gravity." Johnny winked broadly. "On your way, kid. Surprise him with your physical prowess."

As resolutely as Johnny, Peter put Barchenka, Shimaz, Flimflam, and vengeance out of his mind and turned to more profitable thoughts. Once again, he wished he could find, or train, more people to use the Gadriel gestalt. Especially since Johnny had remembered Peter's grandiose Telepaths and Teleporters scheme. Either way, two out of three was a step toward that goal. Maybe not this year, or next. Perhaps not for another decade.

You're only twenty, Peter told himself firmly to dampen his enthusiasm.

That twenty-year-old self felt like cartwheeling down the corridor.

That evening when Peter tried to book time on the station's link with Farside Telescope, he was politely told that even officers had to submit a summary of why they should have use of telescope time, what constellation they intended to focus on, and what conclusion they hoped to draw. The request could take as much as a year to be granted. For all Peter's bravado about prerogatives, he did not quite have the confidence to force the issue.

"However, Mr. Reidinger, you may not realize how much is available on file. All use of the telescopes is recorded. You might review the sessions and see if any of them correspond with the stars you're interested in seeing."

"Actually, I wanted to have a look around our own system," Peter said.

"Then you'll find all you need to know in storage," the ensign told him fatuously. Peter doubted that. No one had ever needed to know what he did. "Shall I register you for the first available space? Would you take a cancellation?"

Peter said yes to both suggestions. He wished he could have asked Johnny how to proceed. If General Greene had wanted time, it would have been made available. As Peter hadn't even formulated what he envisioned of T amp;T to tell Johnny, he certainly didn't want to muddy that idea with another half-assed concept, like breaking Tithonus free of the Patroclus group and moving it to an orbit around Callisto and using that as his place to stand. As strong a teleporter as Peter was, he doubted he was up to 'porting an asteroid. Of course, he'd need Johnny's clout and authority to obtain the new rocket drives to install on Tithonus. But that was another problem.

Meanwhile, the Arrakis was nearing completion and recruitment for colonists had begun. In another year and a half, she would be launched. Even with Johnny, Lance, and the aid of all known kinetics on Earth, the 'portation of a colony ship to its destination-even tuned to a Gadriel gestalt-was just a mote in his eye. Right now.

When he checked the archives, he found thousands of hours devoted to the solar system and the individual planets and their satellites, going back to the Voyager, Pathfinder, Galileo, Soho, and Cassini, all well before Padrugoi's link with the Farside Telescopes was initiated. The more he read about Callisto, the more he realized that Tithonus was the better solution for a base. He wondered if there were any bollards at the temporary Marspolar facility. He could imagine the expressions on the faces of Admiral Coetzer and Secretary Abubakar when he told them he'd consider supplying Mars, too.

Meanwhile he had a lot of work to do, proving his worth to both gentlemen and improving his muscular development. Peter could hardly wait until Lance got to Padrugoi on Friday. During the week he happened to be in the officers' mess at the same time Ceara was. He enjoyed talking with her, felt more relaxed when he went back to the conference room. But then, she was an empath and undoubtedly she automatically responded with a soothing aura. He didn't mind. He found her company excellent. On Wednesday he met Ping Yung in the corridor and listened to the hydroponics expert going on about Amariyah's rescue of the delicate plants.

"She really has a knack," Ping Yung said enthusiastically.

"Undeniably."

"I hope she's being encouraged."

"You may be sure of that."

Tentatively, the man added, "She may be too young, I mean chronologically," and he flashed an apologetic smile at Peter, "but there is a work experience course up here on Padrugoi. I'd be glad to sponsor her."

"She'd love nothing better. I'll mention it."

Then they separated. Peter did tell Dorotea about the offer the next time he spoke to her. He contacted her now and then, to "practice."

A little young is right, she replied but he could tell she was pleased and considering the notion. It's a distinct possibility.

No trouble there? Peter asked anxiously.

I can't even garden without someone lurking behind the nearest shrubbery. And, she paused, I think Amariyah's noticed-as much as she notices anything else when she's gardening-but she hasn't said a word. Do thank Ping Yung when you see him again.

I will.

That Dorotea and Amariyah were still being guarded bothered Peter, so he broached the subject to Johnny that afternoon.

"No real news," Johnny said. "And no real proof either even though the theory of a fatwa is still valid according to Dirk. Cimprich has been briefed."

"President Cimprich?" Peter was astonished.

"Yeah, the World President himself," Johnny drawled. "You constitute a valuable natural resource, Pete, and the good ecologically minded president is not about to have it wasted."

"That's still a possibility?"

"Naw, naw," and Johnny waved his hand in curt dismissal. "Not with the new security measures Dirk put into effect."

"You didn't tell me," Peter accused him.

"You didn't ask." Johnny returned his stare without a blink. "Effectively, there are new surveillance units in every conduit and ventilator shaft big enough for a rat. In fact, there's talk of training rats to do the patrols."

"You're kidding me."

"Not as much as you think, Pete. All offenders' wristbands have been reprogrammed. They can't so much as close a locker door but they're logged into it. All visitations are thoroughly investigated, even Teacher groups. A lot more are denied as trivial. So many folks decided to come because," and his voice turned whiny, " 'it is a public facility, built by World Funds, and everyone else on our floor in the Linear has gone up.' " He gave a derisive snort in his inimitable fashion.

PETERRRRRR! PETER! DIDA!

Peter clamped his hands on his ears though the sound was not aural but mental.

"JAYSUS CHRIST!" Johnny said, shaking his head, his eyes rolling. Cool it, Madlyn.

It's not Madlyn. It's Amariyah!

Peter 'ported himself to the personnel carrier on the transit deck. A hand on his arm as he inserted himself told him that Johnny was not going to be left behind.

Peter? He heard Madlyn's startled query but ignored it as he and Johnny 'ported the carrier to the telepad at the Center. They instantly homed in on Amariyah, kneeling beside Dorotea's body sprawled on the lawn.

From other parts of the estate, people were converging on them. Scott Gates was the first to arrive, looking startled, but Peter didn't recall that until later. He was on his knees beside Dorotea, noting her pallor, the utter limpness of a usually vigorous person.

I can't feel her. I've always felt Dida Tea, Amariyah was saying, her hands stroking Dorotea's arms, and then moving, almost tentatively to Dorotea's temples. It's here. It's clogged The blood!

Peter "felt" with Amariyah.

A blood clot, Johnny? Panic gripped him. What do we do about a blood clot?

I don't the hell know! I'm a telekinetic! I NEED A MEDIC, A CARDIAC ARREST UNIT AND GODDAMN FAST, Johnny broadcast, seeking a pulse in Dorotea's wrist. God, she's got frail. Pulse is very erratic!

I feel it, Amariyah repeated. If I can just-. With the utmost delicacy, her dirt-stained fingers were dowsing for the fine veins over the ear. Here. It's here. I can feel it. It's blocking. It's so small. She sounded surprised.

Peter had taken basic first aid. He knew what to do with fractures, heart attacks, trauma, even drowning. He knew that blood clots meant stroke but he'd never heard what to do besides call for medical assistance. He did not even know if Dorotea, to whom he owed so much, was having a stroke. So what was Amariyah talking about?

Couldn't we just 'port her to the infirmary? Peter asked desperately, watching for any sign in Dorotea's beloved face.

It's just an infirmary. It doesn't have what's needed.

What about Jerhattan General? Peter had once sworn never to return to that institution. But he also couldn't "see" the emergency facility and he hadn't been conscious when he'd been in the unit in the Henry Hudson. Where's Dr McNulty? Frantically Peter cast his mind about the grounds, trying to sense where the doctor was.

"Give us room here."

In a daze Peter heard someone giving orders. A blanket was 'ported to cover Dorotea's limp body. Yes, warm; keep her warm, Peter thought. No one knew anything more therapeutic to do.

Except Amariyah. Suddenly, she smiled and with a final caress of Dorotea's disheveled white hair, sat back.

"There," she said softly and with great satisfaction. "Just like Ping Yung's plants. There was a blockage. It's gone now. I smoothed it away."

Peter blinked. The pallor had gone from Dorotea's face and a little breath escaped her lips. Her eyelids fluttered, opened.

Lie still, Dorotea, Johnny said authoritatively.

What on earth? The mental voice was weak, confused.

Don't move, dear, Rhyssa said. Her mental voice was calm and reassuring although she was panting from having raced down from the main house.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to lie here on the ground." Dorotea's voice was thin, breathy, with just a hint of testiness. "Whatever happened?"

"What happened is gone," said Amariyah, pressing the blanket tight against Dorotea's shoulders when she tried to move.

"I felt sort of faint there for a moment," she admitted in a feeble voice.

"Let me through, let me through," cried an urgent baritone voice and Martin McNulty appeared, swinging his emergency pack to the ground beside Dorotea and opening his hand scanner. Johnny and Rhyssa made room for him while Peter "lifted" a reluctant Amariyah out of the way.

"But I did it," Amariyah said, squirming in Peter's grip. "I smoothed it away." Then she stopped twisting. "How did you get here, Peter? Are you home from the Station again?"

"You called for me, Maree," Peter said softly, cuddling her against him. "You called." His eyes met Rhyssa's; hers were huge, her face pale as she swallowed against a dry throat.

"I can't tell without a full scan," McNulty said, rising to his feet. "Probably a slight stroke. Heart and pulse are irregular. I don't like the blood pressure reading. The medicopter's on its way."

The thrump-thrump of the blades was audible, coming closer.

Don't, Rhyssa said, looking at Peter who was thinking about porting Dorotea to the 'copter or assisting it to a speedier landing. She's all right now. I can feel it. Let them do what else is required now. You two come with me back to the house. We need to talk. She nodded down at Amariyah, still held in Peter's arms.

"Dorotea's stable right now," McNulty continued, "I think the immediate danger has passed." Then the doctor frowned at Peter, suddenly realizing he was present. "I didn't know you were back from Padrugoi. No one told me to make arrangements for more physio while you're here."

"A flying visit, Martin," Johnny answered. "Officially we're still on Padrugoi." Though the general was still pale from the shock of Dorotea's seizure, his sense of humor was irrepressible.

PETER!

He winced at his name. He wished Madlyn wouldn't do that.

It's all right, Maddie, Rhyssa answered for him. Dorotea's had a slight stroke. Martin says she'll be all right. Peter and Johnny will be back shortly. Cover for them if you can.

Oh, I can if they promise to tell me everything when they get back.

A stray perception crossed Peter's errant mind: maybe Madlyn had no limitations to her telepathic range. Could she learn to tune into a Gadriel gestalt? Or was it limited to application to kinetics? She'd be as distinct an asset to T amp;T as she had been to Padrugoi. The medic team raced in, pushing past the concerned residents waiting to know about Dorotea. McNulty supervised Dorotea's removal while Rhyssa and Johnny spoke to the others who had come in answer to the psychic summons. Peter took the opportunity to glide to Scott Gates.

"I know you live on the other side of the estate, Scott. How did you get here so fast?" Peter asked. Scott was getting tall and filling out, though at the moment his face color was pasty. "Were you just in the basketball court?"

Scott gulped, gray eyes showing a trace of panic and astonishment.

"No, I was at home, at Teacher. I heard Amariyah scream. I just got here."

"You just got here. I certainly appreciate your quick response, Scott. And I know Amariyah does. Thanks."

"No problem. We're all supposed to keep an eye out for them, you know."

And, thrusting his hands in his pockets, Scott slouched away. He turned back once, when the medicopter could be heard lifting off.

They all watched it go. If Peter had had any idea of where it was supposed to go, he would have sent it.

That wouldn't be a good idea, Pete, Johnny said, squinting up at the sky through the leafing trees. Too much casual air traffic. It'll get there fast enough.

And 'porting Dorotea might just upset her, Rhyssa said. Not that we're all not upset. Then she held out her hand to Amariyah. "I need a cup of tea, Maree. Dorotea will be fine with Dr. McNulty to care for her."

"I know she's fine," Amariyah said blithely, but it was Peter's hand she took as they walked back to the house. "Did you really hear me, Peter?"

"Loud and clear." He stared hard at Rhyssa, because he wouldn't equivocate and betray Maree's trust in him. Just don't call 'wolf.' He paused but Amariyah didn't ask what he meant. If she'd heard him, she would have wanted him to explain.

"Can you stay?" she asked, pushing open the kitchen door.

"For a cup, yes."

"I've the tea you like, Peter. Will Dorotea's blend be all right for you, Rhyssa?" Moving about the kitchen with complete poise, Amariyah flicked on the kettle, took milk from the fridge and cups from the cupboard. "I believe you prefer coffee, don't you, General?"

"Yes, I'd prefer that, Amariyah."

The adults settled at the kitchen table.

Did you hear her, too, Rhyssa? Johnny asked. "Cookies would go nicely with coffee, Maree."

"There are always cookies in this house," Amariyah said firmly with a prideful tilt of her square young chin.

Her voice lifted me right out of my chair, Rhyssa replied, glancing sideways at the general.

And she lifted us right down here, Johnny replied. "I take two sugars."

"Too much sugar is bad for you!" Amariyah replied disapprovingly.

"I need sweetening."

Peter damned near tripped over his feet to get into the carrier, Johnny said.

You were holding me back, was Peter's reply.

But she didn't hear you remark about crying 'wolf,' did she? Rhyssa went on. "Oh, thank you, dear. Coconut and shortbread." Rhyssa took a nicely browned coconut cookie and passed the plate to Peter. What a range! She sighed with melancholy.

Teamed up with Madlyn, who knows how far they would be heard? Peter thought very, very privately.

She's awful young, Johnny said, selecting shortbread. She may not be able to 'path as a normal way of communicating.

She's got a little while longer to go, I think, before she hits puberty. Rhyssa sighed again, taking a sip of the tea Amariyah had served her.

Let's not make Amariyah a damned pronoun, Peter said.

Peter! Rhyssa gave him a stem look.

You know how I hate being a 'pronoun.' And we're talking behind her back.

And over her head, Johnny said, eyeing Peter with a "calm down" stare.

Peter subsided.

"Would you mind staying with me and the boys, Maree, while Dorotea's in the hospital?"

"Will she have to stay as long as Peter did? May I bake her her favorite pie?" Having served everyone, Amariyah sat down with a glass of milk. Noticing the adults' positions, she put her arms on the table, too.

"We'll see, dear," Rhyssa said reassuringly.

We'll see, Peter said in a very droll tone, reaching out his hand to ruffle Amariyah's hair.

Won't we just! Johnny put in. Rather pinpoints her psychic ability.

Not precisely, and Rhyssa spoke slowly, thoughtfully. She may well be an example of a micro-Talent that is so instinctive she won't be able to access it.

Well, she accessed it damned cleverly for Dorotea, dissolving that blood clot before it could do any damage.

That's what we think it did, Rhyssa corrected Johnny.

Whatever. Did the trick.

"When may I see Dorotea at the hospital?" Amariyah asked, using a paper napkin to wipe away a milk moustache.

"As soon as Dr. McNulty says we may," Rhyssa replied.

They finished their tea, coffee, and milk, and then cleared up the dishes. Rhyssa and Peter helped Amariyah pack a few things for her stay at Rhyssa's and lock up the house. Amariyah insisted that she walk with Peter and Johnny to the personnel carrier because she wanted to see one, having slept through the trip from Bangladesh on Carmen's lap.

In all, Peter and Johnny were gone less than an hour. Only Madlyn had any inkling they had ever been absent.