3


Once in command, Admiral Coetzer contacted the commandant of the International AirForce to dispatch Earth-to-Padrugoi (etop) fighters to prevent the three shuttles-which did indeed contain Barchenka's associates-from making good their escape. Scenes of an unconscious Ludmilla, white-coats packed into the Station's brig, others surrendering, patched through to the shuttles' screens, were sufficient proof of the mutiny's total failure. Coetzer repeated his guarantee of safety. Two vessels immediately hove to, awaiting an AirForce escort. The third changed trajectory and, throttles on full, tried to lose pursuers. Coetzer did not hesitate and authorized the etop pilots to use the missiles with which their fighters were armed. The resultant explosion was vivid enough to be visible from both the Station and the American East Coast, which was at that moment passing underneath the Station. A brief newscast reassured the public, promising a full report later that day. David Lehardt, in his role as the Eastern Parapsychic Center PR chief, helped the admiral's public relations staff to put together what the public needed to know. A full investigation of the circumstances was to be carried out and the results made public at a later date.

In his initial report, General John Greene, on detached service to the Padrugoi Shuttle Squadron, crisply explained that he had possessed insufficient creditable data to present to his superiors: certainly nothing to suggest that a mutiny was being planned by Ludmilla Barchenka. He pointed out that the most sensitive of precognitive Talents, Amalda Vaden, had "seen" nothing. He himself had no vestige of the precognitive aspect of psionic Talent. On recent trips to and from Padrugoi, his interest had been caught by nebulous rumors from the grunts being returned to the surface. Nothing concrete, merely the vague and somewhat inarticulate mental anxiety of his passengers and the relief they felt when they had reached Earth again, as if they hadn't expected to survive. Enough, however, for him to become alert and to take such precautions as he could with a limited number of dedicated Talents. His personal doubts had been partially confirmed when Barchenka was so eager to clear the Station of all telekinetics and when she had "neglected" to send invitations to prominent personages like Justice Gordon Havers and Rhyssa Owen Lehardt. He was, however, aware of the grievances Barchenka harbored against those people that could certainly be the reason they had been excluded from the invitation list. When she began importing "additional catering staff," one of the Talents (Madlyn Luvaro) asked him to find out how large a catering staff for the Inauguration should be. He had privately instigated a check on the extra personnel that Barchenka was hiring to serve at the Inauguration ceremony. Except that few of them had had any previous catering experience and they all came from Slavic nations, he couldn't contest their employment. Their numbers, however, were far in excess of what a reputable catering firm would employ for a similar occasion.

Though Amalda, the Washington precog, could not give any substance to Johnny's "hunch," he decided to take certain precautions. If he was wrong, he could deal with that. Being right was unacceptable unless he prepared for that possibility. With the lowest grunt-level living quarters being closed down, it was relatively easy for Johnny to hide those who volunteered to remain on the Stationjust in case. Nor was it difficult for these men and women to infiltrate the larger air-conditioning conduits and stand a discreet vigil during the ceremony.

When, after the fact of the Mutiny, he taxed Mallie Vaden about her lack of "foresight," she replied in her own defense, "If the circumstances hadn't been altered by you, the Mutiny would have succeeded and I would have 'seen' it. Only you intervened so it didn't happen for me to 'see.' Simple!"

Barchenka's Mutiny had been stealthily plotted. For instance, her personnel manager, Per Duoml, had known nothing about it.

"As much because he was an honorable man-in his own way-and too upright to have condoned a takeover," Rhyssa remarked.

"Not that so much," Johnny Greene added in private to the other Talents after they had given their testimonies to the investigating committee, "as the fact that he had finally become disenchanted with our dear Ludmilla and, in the last month or so, had begun to distance himself."

"Did he do so because he suspected her mutiny?" Justice Havers asked. He would have loved to have sat on the tribunal appointed to hear Barchenka's case, but having been on the Station, he was considered prejudiced. Another prominent American jurist had been chosen for the panel of five.

"Couldn't say, Gordie," Johnny replied with one of his shrugs. "Duoml turned his office over to Coetzer's personnel manager the day before and was out of there like he couldn't wait to get downside." Johnny paused. "Of course, you might conclude that he knew something was up but he sure didn't want to be involved."

Fortunately, the subsequent mental probe of Duoml by Jerhattan LEO Commissioner Boris Roznine, who had been assigned to the unsavory duty by the international investigators, exonerated the man of any complicity.

"Writhing with distaste and considerable animosity toward Barchenka," Boris later told his twin brother, Sascha, "but without personal involvement. I think, though he hid it well, he had his suspicions. There're enough involved as it is. Including, and you'll love this, old Flimflam, Ponsit Prosit."

"Who?" Sascha gaped at Boris in astonishment. Sascha had deliberately put the scam artist out of his mind once the man had been assigned to Padrugoi as a janitor in the grunt level.

"Yup. Dirt loves dirt and he'd've loved doing the dirty on any Talent."

"Just don't," and Sascha paused significantly, "even think of that scuzball near Tirla."

Boris gave his brother a do-you-think-I'm-crazy look. "Nor in the vicinity of Rhyssa and Peter. They've all put that kidnapping behind them and it'll stay there."

"And Flimflam?" Sascha's voice and manner had hardened.

"Well," and Boris shrugged, "I don't think Barchenka trusted him any more than we do. He was supposed to do one of his brainwashing Religious Interpretation gigs on offenders, to get them to support her. I get the impression he isn't the least bit rehabilitated. Bets a lot, but there's no law against that up there. He can work all the scams he wants on offies and grunts. I warned Commander Ottey in Padrugoi security to watch out for any further problem from him and, well…" Boris left the rest of his sentence in the air. Sascha understood what wasn't said.

"And his Royal Highness Prince Phanibal Shimaz is safely on First Base?" Sascha asked.

"The penal unit there is isolated from the main blocks," Boris replied. "Colonel Watari's tough. Goes by the book. Shimaz is out of the way for good. That child-farm of his was too much even for his family." Then Boris sighed deeply. "And speaking of debasement, I hope I'm not required to probe Ludmilla again." Despite his long service with Law Enforcement and Order, Boris gave a shudder of revulsion.

Sascha spared his brother a sympathetic look. "Her trial's nearly over. I doubt you'll have to."

"Appalling woman. Hates us." And Boris meant Talents.

"She has reason," Sascha remarked candidly. "Of course, if, I were truly honest, I'd admit that I reciprocate her animosity with interest."

"I won't tell."

"You're all heart, bro," replied Sascha.

"So, give me some good news to go on with? I've five more of Ludmilla's white-coats to scan for the hearings tomorrow," Boris said with a heavy sigh. "Is Lance going to start training your young genius?"

"He had to settle affairs in Adelaide but Rhyssa and Peter are expecting him any day now."

The tribunal hearing the case of Padrugoi Space Station versus Ludmilla Barchenka for mutiny proceeded inexorably but with impeccable impartiality to a conclusion. The attempted hostage-taking, grievous bodily harm done several distinguished guests, and her threats against their lives were sufficient to have heavy penalties imposed on her. She was found guilty of high treason by the unanimous agreement of the tribunal that had included a Ukrainian judge and was duly sentenced to permanent house arrest in a small house outside Kiev. She wore the special double-banded wrist ID of a convicted criminal that restricted her to those premises. As an added precaution, she was surgically body-tagged with a detector that could not be removed, short of her demise. The completion bonus for the Padrugoi Space Station was sequestered and placed in a special account that would defray her costs and was budgeted to last a reasonable projection of her life expectancy. Visitors to her quarters were severely limited and those few who requested visits were scanned before and after. The pulverized remains of the plastic sculpture, which President Cimprich had presented to her, were found in the first week's refuse.

The trial of itself formed a judicial precedent, being the first action of the independent entity, the Padrugoi Space Station, against an individual. Thus the entire world became aware of the legal independence of that entity.

"Her biggest single mistake was in refusing to let us attend," Johnny said to Rhyssa and Peter two weeks later, after Barchenka started serving her lifelong sentence. They were seated in Rhyssa's second-floor office in the Henner mansion.

Johnny took a sip from his second cup of coffee and continued. "When I found out that Gordie's name had been struck off the invite list, and bearing in mind my other information, I decided Lance and I needed to meet. In his shielded quarters on the Station, of course. He actually organized," and he grinned wickedly, "our volunteers. When the ever-lovin' Ludmilla formally ended his conscription-she kept calling it a 'work contract'-she watched while he cleared his office and his computer system, not that he had left anything up on that. Then she had her white-coats personally conduct him to the shuttle." Johnny chuckled. "He walked on and then walked off through the service hatch. His was the bright idea of utilizing the ventilation ducts. Had to pick people who could fit in them, too. In fact, he'd been eavesdropping on white-coat barrack conversations, trying to figure out what was going to happen. I'll give her this-she picked the most closemouthed bastards she could find as platoon leaders. And I suspect they didn't know the whole nine yards beforehand."

Rhyssa slowly shook her head over Barchenka's tactics and how very close they had come to success.

Peter cleared his throat. "You don't know when Admiral Coetzer will let me see the spaceship, do you?"

"It'll be a lot more interesting when it's nearer completion, Pete," Johnny replied. "Never fear, skeleteam! Dirk Coetzer is not one to forget his debts."

A polite knock sounded on Rhyssa's door.

"Come in, Sascha, Lance," she replied, adding a mental invitation, and the door opened for the visitors.

Sascha had a now-is-the-time smile on his face that he directed at Peter as he stepped forward to allow the lanky Lance Baden to enter behind him. The Australian Center chief gave a cheerful wave including all in the room but he, too, was eyeing his new student.

Not that I don't think I'll be learning more from you, Pete, than you will from me.

Peter had risen to his feet, a courtesy that Lance appreciated though he was in no way a formal person.

No need to be nervous, pal, Sascha said on a tight 'path to the boy.

Don't tease, Rhyssa added, imaging her face with a severe frown. "Come in, sit down, and let's talk, shall we?" she said aloud, setting the tone for the discussion of how to train a boy who was probably the most powerful telekinetic to be discovered anywhere on the planet.

Lance settled himself in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, crossing one long leg over the other and linking his fingers together, totally relaxed. Sascha took the other lounger and waved at Peter to seat himself.

"Now, I've a full month off from the Adelaide Center," Lance began, "so what I'd like to do, Pete, is walk you through exactly what you do and see if we can develop any theories on gestalt so that others can boldly go." He glanced over at John Greene, who shrugged from where he was stretched out in the leather chair.

"I won't be too much help, Lance," the general said. "I just learned to go with the flow and I can't tell you how I managed to emulate Pete here, except that somehow, I had to keep Dave from cracking his skull open on the edge of that swimming pool."

"Using the electricity from the sun beds for the gestalt?" Lance asked.

Johnny nodded. "I wanted him to move over a meter away. He did."

"And after that you were floating drones and space shuttles to Padrugoi like so many pebbles skipping across the pond," Lance remarked dryly.

Again Johnny shrugged. "That's all I thought I was doing."

Lance looked questioningly at Peter.

"Sir, it is sort of like skipping pebbles across the water," Peter said.

"Then how do you estimate just how much of a skip you have to take in gestalt from the generators?"

Peter opened both hands in a helpless gesture. He was trying to shrug his shoulders as John Greene did but only his right shoulder twitched in response to his wish. "Some things I touch with my mind just feel heavier than others. Like orange juice or plasteel. Just looking at some stuff even I can tell it must weigh tons."

"At the base in Florida," Rhyssa put in, "the technician always had the gross weight figures of what Peter was to lift."

"That still requires some sort of calculation, doesn't it?" Lance added when Peter opened his hands in a gesture of continued dismay.

"Pete started off using the 4.5 kW generator we installed for him at Dorotea's," Rhyssa said. "And half the time now, he doesn't even need to access that."

"Very interesting," Lance said, nodding with the expression of someone who hasn't heard anything significant. "Did you use any auxiliary power during the Mutiny? For instance, when you heated up the butts of the white-coats' weapons?"

Peter shook his head, looking more and more concerned. Then suddenly his face brightened. "I did lean on the generators when I put a shield around the admiral. I didn't want anything to get through."

John Greene and Lance Baden made eye contact.

"I didn't feel any pulse," Johnny said.

"I felt yours, Pete, when you shorted out that woman's prompt screen," Lance said, grinning.

"He didn't, I did," Johnny Greene said.

"That was you, Johnny?" Rhyssa was surprised.

The general raised one languid hand. "Guilty. She was taking far too much credit."

"And all along, I thought it was you, Pete."

Now a very smug smile tugged at the boy's mouth and was echoed in his eyes. "No, I corrupted her disk."

"Ah, so that's why Grushkov thought you were totally innocent," Lance said, pretending much relief at getting the culpability straight.

Johnny nodded. "I wonder what would have happened if we had allowed her to finish that speech."

"I'm as glad we didn't, frankly," Lance said. "So, Pete-you don't mind being Pete, do you?"

"No, sir."

"When you were shielding the admiral, how did you make the weapons too hot to handle?"

"I just 'thought' them hot. But I didn't move them anywhere."

"Oh, I see. So it wasn't telekinesis," Lance remarked, one hand covering his mouth for a moment.

"Not really." Peter paused.

Rhyssa cleared her throat, Sascha ducked his head, and Johnny's eyes were brilliant with amusement.

"That's as well. Can you explain it to me?" asked Lance, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands lightly together.

"Can you suggest something that doesn't have any mass, sir?"

"Pete," and Lance waved his hands, "enough of this 'sir' stuff. I know Dorotea is very keen on social graces, but I'm just another Talent, like Johnny here."

"Not at all like me, you wombat," Johnny said with considerable force in his voice despite his relaxed position.

"For which I am indeed grateful," Lance shot in an aside to him before he turned back to a startled Peter Reidinger. "You and me," and he waggled his finger back and forth between them, "are going to be working as close as mates, and you're to call me Lance? Right?"

"Right, ssss-Lance." Peter swallowed.

"Right! Now, I'm to suggest something that doesn't have-mass. Well, everything has mass, including orange juice. Do you employ gestalt to transfer grams?" Peter shook his head. "Kilograms?" and Peter began to nod, "and definitely dead tons? Right?"

"Right."

"Do you instinctively measure the volume of what you 'port?"

Peter considered this. "Well, I did look at the mass of drones and shuttles when I was doing them. I know that something's dense by the feel of it."

"What has mass in this room that you'd need gestalt to move?"

Peter eyed the objects in Rhyssa's office and then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, pointed to Johnny Greene and promptly, those in the office heard a distant generator hum and the general, chair and all, was lifted off the floor.

"Hey, just wait an effing minute," Johnny said, his eyes round with surprise. He didn't move but his body tensed a moment before he obviously forced himself to relax. "Not even for you, Pete Reidinger," and he shook his index finger at the grinning boy, "will I be a display piece."

He and his chair were put back in place with not so much as a jar to Johnny's extended legs: the heels of his shoes fitting exactly back into the marks on Rhyssa's thick carpet.

Sascha, Rhyssa, and Lance were grinning at his indignant reaction.

"One of these days, my young friend," and the threat went unspecified. "Why didn't you pick on him?" Johnny continued, sitfing upright and pointing to Baden. "He outweighs me."

"He's my trainer," Peter replied with an impudent grin.

"That'll teach you, Johnny," Rhyssa said, having thoroughly enjoyed his discomfiture.

"I don't know about that," Johnny replied, losing all trace of petulance before indolently shooting the cuffs of his tunic and resettling himself in the lounge chair. Then he favored Peter with a genuine smile. "Just caught me unawares. I'll be very careful not to underestimate you again, young skeleteam."

"Which reminds me, Lance," Rhyssa said, putting her arms on her desk and leaning forward toward the Australian, "to tell you that Peter was fifteen just six weeks ago."

"I take due note, Rhyssa, that he is not a working Talent yet," Lance replied. "And with all kinetics and 'paths back on their jobs, I presume that you don't intend to use the skeleteam."

"Emphatically not. Now don't argue, Peter," she said to the boy, who was levitating out of his chair in protest. "Neither Sascha nor I would have condoned the use of your exceptional abilities under normal conditions. Now that we are definitely back on-line, we are morally obligated not to abuse your good nature and Talent in any way."

"But you're letting Tirla work," Peter began.

"Tirla is in residence," Sascha broke in, scowling fiercely at the boy, who recoiled from his expression, "with Lessud, Shria, and their family in a Long Island Residential Linear that is not remotely like Linear G in Jerhattan. She is definitely not working," and Sascha strung out the last three syllables to emphasize the point.

"She took you and me shopping," Peter murmured.

"Tirla has never considered shopping to be work," Rhyssa said, pathing tightly to Sascha, Stay out of this.

Sascha grinned broadly as if in response to her comment. "She's putting in every other minute she's awake studying."

"I'd say she'll need to do more shopping for you, skeleteam," Johnny remarked, eyeing the bare leg of Peter's now too-short everyday trousers.

"I could do with some duds myself," Lance said. "You blokes ought to get your thermostats fixed. This city's bloody cold."

"It's spring," Rhyssa said in surprise.

"Not to my goosebumps it ain't. C'mon, sprout," Lance said, rising and nodding to Peter. "Now we got the ground rules laid out, we can have a good chinwag on the way to getting me some warmer stuff. Or should we call on this Tirla you mentioned?"

"She's studying hard," Sascha said firmly.

"With your permission, Rhyssa?"

"By all means, Lance. Begin as you mean to go on." Rhyssa waved her hand toward the door.

Lance indicated that Peter should precede him to the door.

"Sascha and I have some schedules we must go over," Rhyssa said, pulling some pencil files toward her. "Johnny, don't you have someplace you have to be now?"

"Well, if you put it that way, " and clipping his hand toward his right eye in an airy salute, General John Greene disappeared, the generators humming slightly to indicate how he had effected his withdrawal.

Peter gave a little sniff of disdain as he exited. Behind him, Lance cocked an eyebrow at Rhyssa and Sascha and left.

"My private opinion," Sascha remarked to his chief, "is that Pete could probably 'port himself anywhere without gestalt."

"You're probably right," Rhyssa said with a sigh, and inserted the first file.

Halfway through the second week of his training time with Peter, Lance was interrupted by a telepathic touch.

Lance Baden? Carmen Stein. I have found her.

Found who? Lance was so intent on observing Peter doing a lift of a half ton of scrap metal from a yard to a steel foundry that he couldn't for the moment recall what "her" Carmen Stein might have found.

The Bantam child.

I'm not usually this slow, Lance said, not willing to direct any attention away from the screen that was graphing Peter's use of power in gestalt. Who?

The daughter of Tony and Nadezhda Bantam. You sent me a leather-bound journal, with a photograph of the three of them. The parents are dead. I have located the daughter.

My God, you haven't! Are you sure?

There was a brief pause. I am as sure as I can be.

Where?

She's very far away. Still in Bangladesh. I can pinpoint her more accurately once I am there. I apologize for not getting back to this sooner but I have been busy with LEO.

Of course you have, Carmen. We have both been occupied in other matters. If she is alive.

She is very much alive.

"Damn, " Lance said aloud, for the good news had cut his concentration on Peter's kinetic switch.

"Did I do something wrong?" Peter asked, picking up the monitor to find the mistake.

"No, boy, you didn't. But I just heard some very good news that put me off what we're doing here. Sorry about that. Excuse me a sec." Carmen, are you free to travel right now?

Yes, since you could not find the child on your own, and Lance caught amusement in her voice. That picture is at least three years old. You might not recognize her Carmen subtly suggested that a male would not be able to make the leap of the child's alteration. I definitely will.

Lance was suddenly so full of what he needed to do now that he failed to recognize the note in her voice.

D'you know Kayankira of the Delhi Center? he asked Carmen. She'd arrange for local guides, unless you're fluent in Bangla, which I am not.

Tirla is.

Ah, yes, the shopping Tirla. Good idea, and Lance grinned at the thought of finally meeting this young Talent whom Sascha was eager to protect and Rhyssa and Peter thought highly of. Peter usually saw his friend when he had an afternoon off while Lance attended to Adelaide Center business. I'll ask Rhyssa if we can take Tirla with us.

Better you should ask Sascha, Carmen said.

Whoever! Lance brushed that remark aside. Fleetingly he remembered that Tirla, who had a phenomenal Talent in languages, was, like Peter, too young to be officially employed by the Center. Why should Sascha be asked? Ah, he was head of training. Well, Lance would have to clear all travel plans for Peter, as well as Tirla, with Rhyssa as Center head. The trip to a totally different culture could be educational for both youngsters.

Speak to Rhyssa, Carmen said. My time is clear for the next few days.

Lance explained the circumstances to Rhyssa and her sympathy for an orphaned child was immediate. She granted permission for an expedition involving Peter, Tirla, and Carmen Stein.

I don't think Sascha will object, if Carmen is along.

Lance shook his head. Why would Roznine object? I understand she's not in active training yet.

Ah! Sascha has a special interest in Tirla. He rescued her from Linear G and a kidnapping attempt. I'll tell you the full story another time. Although don't be surprised at anything Tirla says or does.

I won't then, Lance promised without at all knowing what that might entail.

Will Peter be doing the kinetics?

Johnny's been wanting a long-distance test of that new carrier he's had designed. Lightweight, just a shell really, but suitable for longer-distance teleporting. I'd like to see Peter using it. Kayankira is meeting us in Dhaka.

That's right. You're good friends. Have a nice trip, and Rhyssa's mental tone briefly bubbled with suppressed laughter.

"How would you like to take a short break from our studies?" Lance asked Peter, grinning. While he regretted an interruption to this session, he realized that, since he'd been released from Padrugoi for weeks now, he hadn't even thought to inquire of Carmen about her search for the Bantams' child.

"To do what?" Peter asked, surprised.

Lance was a single-minded instructor, a much stronger telekinetic than his first teacher, Rick Hobson, had been. Peter felt he already had far more control over his energy than ever before. He certainly didn't want to interrupt these lessons.

"Remember when you dropped me and the shuttle full of kinetics in Dhaka?"

Peter nodded.

"Well, I have some unfinished business over there. We can try Johnny's carrier and some of your push-pull techniques, which we really haven't been able to do here," and Lance gestured around the old warehouse they were using as a schoolroom.

"I wouldn't mind," Peter admitted. "Though it's more Johnny's technique than mine."

"Probably because Greene still doesn't have the power you've got in your big toe."

Peter didn't like anyone criticizing his friend and averted his face from Lance. He knew he had a long way to go before he could control his expression.

"Not that I'm criticizing the general in any way, Pete. It's just wise to recognize limitations, that's all. We're to be there at sunrise their time."

"Will we be using the new carrier he sent us? That's awesome," the boy said, his eyes gleaming. He and Lance had 'ported about Jerhattan but a long 'port would be a treat. "Back to Dhaka, huh?Zia Airport again?" Peter asked. He swiveled around to the monitor, asking it for the global coordinates and sighing with impatience at the time it took to access. He had a memory that was almost eidetic so he hadn't had to call up a general map first. He'd practiced memory techniques while still in the hospital, inert on an A-frame bed with little else to occupy a busy mind. "It'd be nice to be there," he remarked, placing his finger on the site.

"Call it education. You haven't been many places yet on this ol' Earth and it's about time you did some traveling; to see how the other half lives."

"Can we go to Australia, too, while we're nearly there? You promised me I'd get to see kangaroos and wallabies and wombats," Peter said eagerly. "And Ayers Rock and Alice Springs."

"We can't just take off and go sightseeing whenever we want to."

"But-"

"I've got an errand in Bangladesh."

They spent some time looking at the towns and cities of Bangladesh. Peter was fascinated by the flat landscape with not a single residential Linear or ziggurat on the flat, deltoid plains. Even Dhaka's architecture was mainly in the traditional Bengali patterns.

The next day at the very early hour of four on a bright, crisp fall morning in early November, Lance and Peter waited by the new passenger carrier shell that General John Greene had had constructed for the purpose of kinetic transportation. It had, windows, which Lance thought a definite improvement. Carmen arrived with a slight, coffee-skinned, black-haired youngster, dressed modestly but with great style.

"Hi, Tirla, whatcha need that for?" Peter asked, lifting his arm to indicate her backpack. "We'll only be gone a few hours."

"Stuff and junk," the girl responded in a clear, faintly accented voice. "You're the Lance that makes Peter work so hard," she added, tilting her head and giving the tall Australian a searching look.

"Perhaps not as hard as he works me, Tirla." Then Lance handed a towel-wrapped parcel to her. "Keep that safe for me, please?"

She considered his answer for a moment before giving a sharp nod of her head. "Sure." She took the parcel and stowed it carefully in her backpack with a see-why-I-need-it glare at Peter. Then she pointed to the carrier. "We go in this? And Peter flies it?"

"I 'port it, Tir," Peter corrected her. "Let's go." He glided forward.

The girl snorted and crossed his glide pattern so he'd have to halt. "Ladies first!" She gestured for Carmen to precede her.

Carmen shot an Are you ready for this, Lance? before she ducked her head and took the right-hand rear seat. Tirla insinuated her slender body into the starboard-side front row.

"Hey," Peter protested. "Lance should be there."

"Why?" Tirla said, regarding him for a long moment of condescension and Lance ended a possible argument by taking the vacant place beside Carmen.

"I can watch from back here just as well," he said.

"Oh, all right." Peter was too eager to leave to delay over a minor detail. He placed an old-fashioned paper-filled notebook on the flat surface in front of him and opened it to the page he had drawn up the day before under Lance's supervision. Peter had been studying air routes and coordinates of airports and, since he'd be traveling through some sort of space-just as he had kinetically flung shuttles to Padrugoi-he felt, and Lance agreed, that ordinary flight patterns could serve the purpose of orientation.

Tirla sat straight up, craning her neck to peruse his notations.

"Looks like gibberish to me."

"You've never seen any flight plans so you wouldn't know."

Lance leaned forward. "Commercial airlines do not allow passengers to talk to the pilot in takeoff or landing modes."

"I didn't think Peter was commercial yet," Tirla replied, swiveling around to stare at Lance with confident and very beautiful pansybrown eyes.

"We're working on it," Lance replied.

Tirla continued to hold eye contact.

Be careful with this one, Carmen said without looking at Lance.

She's not telepathic?

She can hear when she wants to. But so far, only wants to hear Dorotea and Peter And Sascha, of course.

I see.

I doubt it, Carmen replied.

"Peter, let's launch this. I've promised Greene a full report on its performance and comfort in long-distance hauling."

"Peter's not supposed to work," Tirla protested, casually giving Lance Baden another of her scrutinies.

"For Peter this is play, fun, and cream tea with scones," Lance said, gesturing to Peter to proceed.

Abruptly they were not in the warehouse anymore but in very bright sun, planted on one leg of the telepad H. Safely outside the circumference of the painted circle around the telepad, Kayankira was seated at the wheel of a battered four-wheel-drive ground vehicle.

She dismounted immediately, a slender woman, a thick braid of black hair down her back, dressed in traditional Bengali garb. She ran toward them, her face beaming with delight.

You have arrived. Scarcely have I stopped the engine and you are here. How many minutes, seconds does such a journey take? Then the Delhi Center chief was shaking hands as the passengers emerged into dry and dehydrating heat. I know you, Carmen Stein. Your mind is unmistakable. Lance, it is good to see your face, no longer contorted with the anxieties with which that appalling Barchenka burdened you. And has she not had her just deserts! And who is this? She took a short step backward, throwing her arms wide in a surprise welcome, as Tirla emerged, looking about her in total amazement at the sun-washed plain of Zia Airport.

She's frightened, Carmen said, and smiled reassuringly, holding out her hand to Tirla. She's never been anyplace this open or uninhabited.

Ooh, but she looks like one of us. Kayankira touched her chest with both hands. She brought them together in the formal salute of her part of the world. Almost dazed, Tirla hesitated. In another second, she evidently recovered from culture shock. She folded her hands in front of her chest.

"Namaskar ji," she said in flawless Hindi.

Kayankira's expressive face registered total amazement.

Did you tell her everything about me?

We told her nothing, Kayan, Lance replied with a broad grin.

She gets your language right from your head, ma'am, Peter explained quickly so that the Delhi Center chief would not think badly of his good friend. She doesn't know she does it but it's what she does best.

Ah, the little one I have heard about.

"Namaskar, kya hal he?" Kayankira replied.

"Stick to English, please, Tirla," Lance said. "We all understand that."

Tirla cocked an eyebrow in his direction. "I am fine, thank you," she said to Kayankira very, very politely.

Ah, when she is old enough to be employed, I have first dibs.

Get in line, Carmen said. "Lord but it's roasting out here." She fanned herself with her hand. "I need some shade where I can concentrate on locating. What is the child's name?"

"To the vehicle," Kayankira said, pointing to it and gathering her passengers in the circle of her free arm to herd them toward it. Peter and Lance began shucking their jackets and rolling up their sleeves. Though Tirla was dressed for Jerhattan, too, she strode as if mere climate was not affecting her.

She was glad enough to reach the shade, drink thick sweet coffee, and munch her way through European-style breakfast breads in the Zia passenger terminal. She had eyes only for the fascinating promenade of passersby and their sometimes exotic-looking burdens. Peter was trying to emulate Tirla's composed manner but then she was more accustomed to Neesters from her years in Linear G.

"So, what is the child's name, Lance?" Carmen repeated when she had had a restorative sip of the coffee.

"I don't know. Wasn't it mentioned in the journal?"

"I didn't read it. When I realized that the father was dead, I used the photograph of the child as a focus."

Tirla paused long enough in her surveillance of the terminal to extract Lance's rectangle from her pack and hand it to the finder. Carmen passed it over to Lance who quickly riffled through pages, trying to find personal references.

"Ah, Amariyah?" He stumbled over his pronunciation of the written word, putting the accent on the second syllable.

"AmaREEyah, I would say," Kayankira replied. "Though it is not a common Indian name, neither Muslim or Hindu."

"Nor does it sound Russian, which was the mother's nationality," Lance said.

Peter groaned. Not another shelkoonchik?

"A nutcracker?" Tirla asked, frowning at Peter.

Kayankira's eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets. Russian, too?

Carmen gave a shrug. She can do it with any language.

How does she do it? the Delhi Center chief asked.

As well ask how Peter heaves space shuttles about, Lance said with an equally bemused lift of his shoulders.

"What has a nutcracker to do with Amariyah?" and the name flowed prettily from Tirla's lips.

"Nothing, I believe. But Amariyah is the child we have come to find. Now if you will all be quiet." Carmen put a finger on the face of the child sitting so solemnly between her parents and closed her eyes.

Tirla closed her eyes, too, so she wouldn't inadvertently distract the finder. That was one parapsychic courtesy that she always observed. She was also fond of Carmen, now that she saw the great benefits that had come of Carmen finding her in the first place.

"She's quite a ways from here," Carmen finally said.

"I cannot understand what you could have been thinking!" Sister Kathleen was saying, shaking with frustration and anger. She was holding a dusty Amariyah away from her and the girl, usually so self-effacing and gentle, was trying to twist free, flailing her arms. To go right back to tearing more hair off the scalp of the hysterically weeping Lila, curled up in the wreckage of what everyone in the orphanage knew was Amariyah's garden. All the other girls were ringed about the little tableau, well out of range of either Amariyah's or Sister Kathleen's retribution, staring in round-eyed, openmouthed fascination.

"I was thinking she has killed my garden," Amariyah cried. "She is still rolling in it. You are surely seeing that much!" Too tightly held in Sister Kathleen's capable firm grip to pull more of Lila's luxuriant tresses from her head, the furious little girl now kicked dust at her victim with her bare feet.

From the comer of the main building, Sister Epiphania came rushing to discover the cause of Lila's continuous shrieks. Epiphania paused a moment, taking in the incredible scene of the prostrate Lila and her colleague holding the struggling Amariyah.

"Oh, dear Lord, oh dear Lord, save us," Sister Epiphania chanted as she rushed forward to succor Lila, who screamed in terror when 'Phania touched her. She had her eyes tightly closed, as much against the dust Amariyah was kicking at her, as because she knew she had been caught doing something wicked. "Lila, dear Lila, it is I."

The voice reassuring her, Lila opened her eyes enough to see that she was safe. She clung to Sister Epiphania, shrieking out that she would never be married now, with all the hair pulled from her head.

"Nonsense," Sister Kathleen said, coping with Amariyah's flailing. "Do take that…" Kathleen firmly closed her lips on the adjective she was going to apply to the malicious Lila, paused, and rephrased her sentence, "that child and bathe her scalp. She's by no means badly hurt. Certainly not enough to keep caterwauling." Although, she thought candidly to herself, who would marry such a mean-spirited creature was moot.

Soothingly, Sister Epiphania managed to get Lila to her feet and led her away through the circle of watching children.

"Now, Amariyah, let us deal with you," Sister Kathleen said in her firmest no-nonsense voice. "I cannot believe that you, of all the children here, would display a vicious streak!"

"She ruined my garden!" Amariyah suddenly collapsed, sinking into a pathetic bundle, tears streaming down her dusty face as she picked up first this clump of greenery and then that. She held them to her mouth, in the age-old gesture of grief, completely bereft. She did not scream, she did not sob, but the tears kept pouring out of her sorrowful blue eyes in a manner that totally unnerved Sister Kathleen.

"Oh, my dear child, do not take on so." The nun pulled the little girl up, broken plants and all, stroking the tangled hair, rocking the slender body in her arms. "You can replant the garden," she said encouragingly.

"It is the dry season," Amariyah wailed, though she surrendered to the motion of Sister Kathleen's body. "Nothing will bud or bloom in the dry season. Surely you are knowing this."

"Go about your tasks," Sister Kathleen said, realizing that the entire orphanage was avid witness to the scene. She raised one arm to scatter the audience. "Tula, Rabiah, take the washing down before the sun bleaches all the color away. Soma, Lota, take the little ones to the banyan tree and finish telling them their story. Sakti, Reva, you were supposed to be drawing water. Be sure to put the jars in the shade to cool for our supper. Habibah, Risha, Uma… all of you big girls, you have not finished hoeing the potatoes." She shooed them all about their sundry tasks, rocking Amariyah in time to her orders.

"Now, little one, what shall I do with you?" She held the child away from her and was unutterably affected by the tears still rolling down the woebegone little face. "Never in all the time you have been with us, have you misbehaved!"

"My flowers (sob), my vege(sob)tables (sob) are all dead," and the murmured words were bitter. "Nothing I can do will bring them back to life." She opened her hands and displayed the limp and wilted remains of her once thriving plants. "Why? Why did Lila kill them? They had done her no harm. She is an assassin!"

Sister Kathleen pressed her lips together, wondering why she wanted to cry, too. Crying was not an effective answer to any problem that she knew of. She was flummoxed by the fact that this was the first time Amariyah had wept. She was such a self-contained little body, diligent with her assigned tasks, willing to do anything required of her. She had been so good with the little ones when the fever struck, even deserting her garden during the emergency. Whatever had possessed Lila? Of course, the girl was older, starting her menses when, as every woman knew, females were more likely to be perverse. Especially the Bengali girls, who matured far too young, Sister Kathleen thought. Lila would soon be thirteen and all her thoughts were on marriage. The girl refused to even consider the alternatives now available to the young women of Bangladesh. Well, Kathleen thought philosophically, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink.

"Now, child, we will wash your face and hands and dry your tears." She rose, trying to lift Amariyah to her feet, but the girl writhed out of her grasp.

Amariyah hunkered down and began tenderly gathering up the dead stalks and stems. "You must be going into the compost. You will be going with my love because you were rewarding me with your beauty and your strength. After death there can be life in another form. It is written."

Sister Kathleen stared in surprise and watched as Amariyah finished collecting the remains and walked toward the efficient composting tank, the very welcome gift of some Ladies Group in England. Kathleen did not remember where, but the gift was much appreciated.

"When you are done, Amariyah, I will wash your face and hands."

She heard a murmured response and rather thought it had to do with being able to wash her own self without help.

Sister Kathleen shook her head, wondering if, perhaps, she should have reminded the child of her manners. A reprimand right now was inappropriate. And, besides, Amariyah was one of the few girls who could be counted on for scrupulous courtesy. Father Salih and the Bahadur had both commented on her deportment. She watched a moment longer as Amariyah returned for another load of damaged plants, her expression still woeful, but the amazing tears had stopped. Sister Kathleen turned toward the infirmary where little shrieks suggested that Sister Epiphania was anointing Lila's torn scalp. Sister Kathleen caught herself smiling. Lila deserved, at least in this small measure, physical and mental discomfort for such a random act of senseless destruction.

As the cool of evening settled in, Sister Kathleen had occasion to pass the spot where Amariyah's garden had flourished. She halted, staring at the place that had been raked clean of pebbles: not even so much as one of the twigs that had provided a little fence remained.

"Oh, dear," and Kathleen was truly and devastatingly appalled at the sight. "Oh, poor dear Amariyah!" She looked about the little clumps of girls playing games. She couldn't spot Amariyah. Of course, Amariyah was always gardening at this hour. She looked again toward the wide-spreading limbs of the banyan tree where the girls were gathered. That is when she saw the dust cloud rising in the distance. She thought little of it, since this was the hour when people did undertake journeys, when the fierce sun was setting.

She was astonished when twenty minutes later the sturdy ground vehicle came to a discreet halt at the orphanage gate. The driver descended and came to the gate, a Hindu to judge by her clothes and indubitably high-caste. She scolded herself briefly for adding that to her first impression. The visitor saw her and folded her hands politely, smiling such a warm greeting that Kathleen smiled back.

"Is this the Orphanage of the Holy Innocents?" the visitor asked.

"Yes, it is." Kathleen paused for the visitor to identify herself.

"I am known as Kayankira, and I am Chief of the Delhi Bureau."

Kathleen noticed that she did not explain which bureau, but the stranger's manners and deference to her were so charming that she could not feel any harm in her.

"I am Sister Kathleen Rose. I am in charge here. My colleague is Sister Epiphania Gibson."

"Ah, Sister Kathleen," the Bureau Chief said with another polite bow, "allow me to present my companions?" She turned to a woman of at least forty years, with the most serene face the Sister had ever seen on a layperson. "This is Carmen Stein, an old friend of mine. Here is also her young friend, Tirla Tunnelle, who is traveling just now in Bangladesh. Also Peter Reidinger. And last but never least is my old friend, Lance Baden."

Sister Kathleen acknowledged the introductions in a sort of daze. Then Sister Epiphania came rushing out to stand beside her and the introductions were repeated. Sister Kathleen was aware that Carmen Stein was looking about from one knot to another of giggling girls, who had now realized the orphanage had received visitors of some importance. She did notice the tension in both Ms. Stein and in Tirla.

Suddenly, interrupting Lance Baden just as he was about to explain their presence here, Tirla went rigid and pointed.

"She's there."

"Yes, she is," Carmen replied, a rush of relief and inexplicable joy flowing across her face. Lord, but she's broadcasting enough frustration and outrage for even Tirla to hear it. "May we?"

"I don't understand," Sister Kathleen began, automatically taking a step to impede any invasion of the orphanage space.

"It is all right," Lance Baden said, stepping forward and taking her hands in his.

And suddenly Sister Kathleen knew it was, though she didn't know why or how. These people, even the gawky boy, radiated goodwill and confidence in the rightness of their presence here, this evening in the little orphanage outside Bogra. Kathleen Rose stepped back, wondering how they had disarmed her so completely.

"Oh, I'm so happy for her," Sister Epiphania said in a tremulous voice.

"Happy for who?" Kathleen asked, staring in amazement at her fellow nun.

"You know?" Lance Baden asked Epiphania who smiled beatifically at him.

"For Amariyah, of course," ' Phania said as if that were obvious.

"I don't understand " Kathleen said, shaking her head.

The dark girl, who looked part-Asian, was hurrying through the yard, past Amariyah's former garden, the boy following in a most unusual gliding step. Ms. Stein followed more slowly, as if savoring the moment.

"Yes, we are come for Amariyah Bantam," Kayankira said. "It has taken a long while to go through all the records after the flood, Sister Kathleen." She held out a sweat-stained journal and opened to the page containing a photograph. Kathleen was arrested by the picture of a much younger Amariyah, sitting straight and proud between two lovely people who obviously adored their child.

"Oh!" The odd distancing Kathleen experienced was obliterated by a sense of tremendous loss, the loss of Amariyah. "Oh, dear Lord, I don't think the child ever did wash her hands and face, or comb her hair. It's all full of dead leaves."

"Ah," and Kayankira smiled understandingly, as if she knew all about the garden and Amariyah's most uncharacteristic attack on Lila. "It is as nothing, for the essence of the child is known."

The two Sisters now hurriedly followed the others toward the tree. How had this Tirla seen Amariyah? She was on the far side of the thick tree trunk, not at all visible from the gate. Yet, as the visitors, the nuns in their wake, skirted the girls, Tirla had reached Amariyah. She hunkered down and began talking earnestly-in Bangla-to the blue-eyed orphan. The tall boy hovered behind Tirla as Ms. Stein joined them, the most beautiful smile on her face as she leaned down, touching Amariyah gently on the forehead.

"We have come for you, Amariyah Bantam. You will have a garden all to yourself and no one will defile it."

Those remarks stopped Sister Kathleen in her tracks, blinking in astonishment. Then it suddenly dawned on her that these people were psychics. They could read minds-and feelings. She hugged herself, even though she knew that the Church was tolerant of such phenomena, and worried about what her mind might have revealed to them.

Just then the squeal of brakes and the smell of petrol in the heavy air distracted her. Father Salih, too? Well, they had had the courtesy to inform him. That was correct. As if the photograph were not confirmation of her unusual waif's identity. But she must know more before she released the child to their care. Ms. Stein was not a relative; although she was dark, she bore no resemblance to Amariyah. The birth mother had the same black hair as her daughter, with glints of red. Both parents had intelligent blue eyes.

"I have come as fast as it is possible to travel," Father Salih was explaining as he joined those now observing Amariyah, Tirla, and Carmen Stein. The boy, Peter, still hovered, not intruding but very interested. Lance Baden and the Bureau Chief had stopped a distance from the trio, and now turned to shake hands with Father Salih. "Sister Kathleen, Sister Epiphania, it is all according to protocol. The bishop of Dhaka himself is reassuring me. He is calling me on the system." In excitement Father Salih often reverted to a purely Bangla cadence. "He is giving his approval for these good people to take our Amariyah with them. They are being most respectable folk, to guard, guide, and educate her. I am giving you reassurances on that head."

Father Salih tended to be overly courteous but Sister Kathleen thought he would bow himself off his hips any moment if he weren't careful. His eyes kept flicking to Amariyah, seated under the tree. She had ignored the approach of Tirla and Ms. Stein but when the woman had so gently touched her, she had begun to shake off her apathy, regarding them with gradually widening, surprised eyes.

"Oh, dear Lord," 'Phania murmured distractedly in Kathleen's ear, "just look at the state of her. Her hair," a little moan, "and she didn't really wash her face before supper."

"No one has noticed, nor is it important," Kathleen replied, sighing for the hole she knew would be Amariyah's absence from her life. But at least the mystery of the orphan from Sirajganj was solved. Her parents had been married; she had been loved and cared for as a child.

Lance Baden, whose accent she had now recognized as Australian, was addressing her. He was holding out official-looking documents, handing her his personal card. Blinking at it, she saw that he was from the Adelaide Center, not bureau, of the Parapsychic.

"Kayankira has been assisting us in finding young Amariyah. I knew her parents, Tony and Nadezhda Bantam. We met at area conferences, Sister Kathleen, so when he and his wife were listed as missing, I tried-unsuccessfully, I'm sorry to say-to locate them. We had assumed that Amariyah, here, had also perished. Carmen Stein," and he gestured to the woman who was now kneeling in front of Amariyah and gently holding her by the hand, "located her this morning."

"You are psychics, aren't you?" Sister Kathleen heard herself asking.

Lance gave her an understanding, kind smile. "We are."

"She loves things that grow," Kathleen said, and then pointed to the raked space by the outside fence. "Her garden! She could make anything grow, even in the dry season." Kathleen blinked, wondering why she should think that would interest this man. Absently she handed the documents to Father Salih, who had politely stretched out his hand for them.

"Really?" and the single word was imbued with keen interest, not bored inquiry. "We shall encourage it."

"She'll settle in better with you if she has a garden." Then Kathleen gave herself a stem shake. "Where are you taking her? Does she have family?"

"Yes. She will have family now."

"Blood kin?" Kathleen didn't know why she insisted.

"No, closer."

Then Father Salih intruded on this quiet exchange, tapping the documents he was still holding. "Ah yes, now we know her surname. You must sign here, Sister Kathleen," he said, handing her the papers and his pen. Then he turned around so she could use his back as a writing surface and she signed in her distinctive scrawl. Father Salih filled the space for witness with his precise tight handwriting.

"I think she's glad to be going," Sister Epiphania murmured to Kathleen, sounding upset.

"If she goes to where she will have a garden that will not be uprooted," Kathleen began, "she will not fret." She paused, controlling her private regret at losing the girl. "She is sure to be happy among those who are now her guardians." Kathleen turned back again to Lance, touched his arm. "Is she psychic?"

"Possibly. That is why Carmen was able to locate her. She is young yet. Who knows where her Talent will lie?"

"In gardening, of course," Sister 'Phania said, as close to being indignant as her gentle soul could get.

"Yes, gardening," Lance replied. "Exactly so."

The other girls had turned silent, their wide brown eyes watching. Lila had thrown the end of her sari over her face and she was visibly fuming that so much attention was being paid Amariyah. She glowered as Tirla, holding Amariyah's hand, walked with the boy Peter and Ms. Stein to where the other visitors were standing.

"She wants to come with us," Tirla announced to all as if there had been any doubt. "She's to have a garden." Tirla stopped and uncannily turned to stare at Lila, who gave another shriek and buried her face in her hands. "We will see that no one disturbs it."

With that, Tirla led Amariyah, who did not so much as look in Lila's direction, toward the gate. As if in a daze, Amariyah turned back and, folding her hands in front of her chest, gave the two Sisters a deep bow.

"I thank you for your help and kindness," she said in a formal tone. "I leave in sadness."

Only Carmen and Tirla knew that there was no sadness at all in her mind as she proceeded to the ground vehicle.

"Go with God, child," Kathleen said, making a quick sign of the cross at the departing orphan.

"Oh, dear, dear, dear," Sister Epiphania said, wringing her hands until Kathleen patted them reassuringly.

"You will forgive our haste, Sister Kathleen, Sister Epiphania," Kayankira was saying with much saluting and bowing. "We have come far today, we must return. We will send you a picture of Amariyah in her new home. She will be encouraged to write you. You will be happy for her. We are happy to have found her."

Father Salih was again folding himself near in half, agreeing with everything the Delhi Bureau Chief was saying, which Lance Baden reaffirmed as they reached the ground vehicle and began climbing into it, Tirla ushering Amariyah in front of her, then sitting protectively beside her. The boy seemed to slide upward and took the jump seat while Lance settled in the driver's seat with Kayankira beside him. Sisters Kathleen and Epiphania waved, Father Salih kept bowing, and then all the remaining girls-except Lila-rushed to the fence to wave and shriek farewell, good luck, and be healthy. The nuns made the sign of the cross and bowed their heads in prayer.

It took all Sister Kathleen's store of reserve to continue with the evening. First she had to reassure Father Salih, who was having second thoughts-even though the bishop had authorized the transfer-about the sudden departure of the little one. Then she had to comfort Sister Epiphania and see the girls into their dormitories and settled for the night. Lila had been reduced to total silence by the inequity of Amariyah's leaving when she was still in the orphanage and unmarried.

Her duties ended, Sister Kathleen climbed into the scant privacy offered by mosquito netting in the tiny room she shared with Epiphania. As she said her rosary, calmness seeped through her, and her aching, empty heart. She fell asleep and dreamed of Amariyah in a garden of unusual blooms and plants, all thriving because of Amariyah's loving care.

Amariyah herself was asleep at this point, held on Carmen Stein's lap as Peter Reidinger took them back to Jerhattan, their mission accomplished.


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