Pegasus in Space (28 page)

“Or so the company spokesman informed me,” the admiral said, his tone amused.

“Then that captain should have asked our permission for tangling in our net,” Johnny said.

“The net was not where it was supposed to be,” Dirk replied in the manner of someone reporting conversation. “Good evening, Pete. Barney, see what Mr. Reidinger wants to drink.”

“Lit up like a Christmas tree,” Johnny went on, “dense enough to be clearly visible on the antiquated screens those tubs use, and three klicks from where he should have been to reach the mooring Honeybald assigned him. That captain is suffering from a serious visual malfunction.” Then as an afterthought, “Or he wasn’t even on the bridge.”

“How did you know?” Dirk said, grinning. “And he’s captain no longer.”

“Good!” Johnny took a swig of his drink like a toast to that dismissal. “We’ve got enough problems up here without someone inventing more. Freighting’s a boring job. I wouldn’t want it. But that,” and he pointed his finger at the admiral, “doesn’t mean I would be a damned fool.”

“Ah, Dr. Scott,” the admiral said, leaving Johnny to greet another guest. “Hope that little flap on your arrival didn’t give you a false impression of our hospitality.”

“Of course not. I was impressed by the way you all handled the emergency. Good evening, Peter,” she added, nodding to him.

Ceara Scott was certainly not flustered this evening. She wore a burgundy silk suit that was a stunning contrast to her upswept red hair and fitted her extremely well. She certainly didn’t look like any medical person he’d ever encountered.

“Admiral?” Johnny’s tone chided Coetzer to introduce him and, grinning, Dirk did so.

“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Scott,” the general said, with a wide grin and appreciative glances.

“So you are the famous John Greene,” she said. “I was warned about you.”

“You were?” Johnny pretended surprised dismay. “Who would cast aspersions on my innocent head?”

“My uncle, Jerry Scott, was in your etop squadron.”

“Rosie Scott?” Johnny’s surprise was no longer pretend. “You’re Rosie’s niece?”

She nodded and sighed. “Rosie!” She added, with a grimace, “He hated that nickname.”

“Then he shouldn’t have been saddled with that shade of red hair,” Johnny replied. “Damned good etop, though,” he said in an aside to Dirk.

Dash Sakai and Madlyn Luvaro, who looked elegant in a rich emerald green, Pota Chatham, and Shandin Ross arrived in a group and that completed the admiral’s table.

Peter sat across from Ceara Scott and tried not to stare at her or worry if she was noticing him. He felt unaccountably awkward with knife and fork. He also felt awkward in answering her questions, especially when the admiral, Johnny, Madlyn, and Dash informed her of his particular part in coping with the emergency. She had watched the space drama from the sick bay.

“Didn’t put you off a space walk, did it?” Shandin Ross asked.

“If anything, I was reassured,” she replied, her glance flicking from Peter to Johnny.

“Just let us kinetics know when you’re ready to try and we’ll stand by,” Johnny said.

“A space walk is not obligatory, you know,” Madlyn said. “I’m one of
those who can’t ‘hack the black,’ as they say up here.” She gave a little shudder.

“I’d like to try, but only after I’ve got my experiments started,” Ceara Scott replied.

Johnny asked her what area of space medicine.

“It’s esoteric and I’d bore you all stiff with the process but I’d be happy to show you my lab work, if you’re interested.” She smiled at Johnny’s startled reaction to her invitation and turned to the admiral. “You must be very proud of the facilities you have up here. So much has already been done. Even under Ludmilla Barchenka.”

“Yes, so I understand,” the admiral replied at his blandest.

Ceara blushed.

Peter caught her embarrassed thought that possibly the name of the previous Station commander revived unpleasant memories.

Madlyn Luvaro reassured her and then the entrée was served and everyone’s attention turned to the excellent roast. It was all told a very pleasant evening and, toward the end of it, Peter relaxed sufficiently to enjoy it as much as the others did.

T
hree days later, he awoke to see a message flashing on the monitor. It was from the admiral’s office and indicated that a personnel carrier had to be ’ported to Padrugoi at 0845. He must have been sleeping very soundly to miss the bleep of incoming mail.

Johnny?

Join me for breakfast
. His mental tone indicated he did not wish to engage in further discussion at the moment. Like many people, he was more sociable after several cups of coffee.
We got time
.

Not much, Peter thought, seeing the screen clock registered 0815.

Why didn’t you wake me?

I had enough trouble waking me. I’d’ve thought the bleep would have rise-and-shined you
.

When Peter reached the officers’ mess, Johnny was already seated at a corner table in an almost empty room. The steward bustled over to settle the new arrival, promptly serving the herbal tea that Peter preferred. The general went on getting coffee inside him and nodded a welcome.

I needed that
, Johnny said, with a sigh of repletion as he finished the cup and beckoned the steward for a refill.

What’s the matter?
Peter asked.

You’re not prescient
.

You’re procrastinating
.

Well, I’ll give you time to have some of that swill of yours before I totally ruin your breakfast
, Johnny replied with a wry grin.

It’s that bad?

Ah. Depends on how you look at it
, Johnny said with the sort of shrug that Peter had learned to associate with bad news.

Who’s after our hides for saving the Station three days ago?

Johnny rolled his eyes and, thanking the attentive steward with a wave, blew on the surface of the hot beverage.

Space Authority is alarmed by the rate at which we acquit our duties
.

They’re the ones coming up? Why? Monday was no fault of the Station’s
.

Johnny leaned back, crooking one arm over the back of the chair.
In an odd way, it is. We’re too damned quick and efficient. There are also too many ‘dangerously’ full cargo nets, what they hold not yet delivered to their ultimate destination. Also the Mercantile Union demands a full investigation of ex-captain Maggert’s unfortunate encounter with the net
. Johnny planted one thumb on his chest and reversed it toward Peter.
And/or us
.

Was someone on the
CeeCeeD
hurt after all?

Bruises. They should have been strapped in anyhow since they were technically still in flight
.

But it was Maggert’s fault. The log proves it
.

Of course it does
, Johnny said with a snort.
The Union’s just posturing because the freight captains want a raise in fees. Union claims that Padrugoi does not employ enough of their members because the surface-to-station run is unavailable
.

It hasn’t been available for five years
.

True, and the Union was more than happy to stop having to deal with Barchenka. Admiral Coetzer is a different kettle of fish. On the other hand, Space Authority says the Station is not making an expeditious use of available shipping to supply First Base and its construction timetable
.

But SA is the one complaining about fuel costs. The turnover would be faster if the freighters could use longer burns
. Peter stopped because they both knew the answer to that. Longer burns took more fuel.

Johnny nodded, his eyes twinkling. “You got it, Pete. We’re caught either side of that barrel. Unless, of course …”

You want us to heave stuff to First Base
.

Now did I say that?
Johnny demanded, sipping his coffee and raising his curved eyebrows up his forehead.

No, but it’s the only way to clear that much of a backlog and you know it
. Peter tried not to sound either alarmed, which he was, or angry, which was another way of being alarmed. He should have known where all this was leading. He should have known not to fall into Johnny’s little trap in Adelaide with the chips Lance “had so urgently needed.” He’d wondered when Johnny was going to bring the Bollard Bag special delivery ’port out in the open.

The Union will be seriously annoyed
, Peter said with a sigh.

There will still be plenty of things for SpaceShifters; junk I sure as hell don’t want to bust my gut sending, with or without your help. We gotta lay some rules, you know
, Johnny said.

“You ever tell anyone about Adelaide?” he asked softly aloud.
Not even Dirk Coetzer?

“No, kid, I haven’t. Wasn’t the right time.”

“It is now.”

Johnny had the grace to nod, grimacing at the necessity.

Well, Dirk may suspect something. Our pet admiral has ambitions. We’re both essential to them
. Then Johnny leaned forward across the table, speaking softly, although there was no one else in the mess, bar the steward who was working in the serving alcove. “Anyway, it’s much too soon after those fractures for you to be shoving stuff, Pete, but if we could just get one light unit to First Base, it would solve a lot of problems.”

“I like the ‘we.’ ”

“Now, kid, at Adelaide, I wanted most to prove your range to
you,
” he said, cocking his finger at Peter.

Peter caught the note in the general’s voice. “And now to them. Right?”

“You got it in one.”

While Peter doubted himself, it irked him immensely that the Space Authority, which already owed a great deal to his and Johnny’s telekinetic abilities, had hesitations.

“Have they asked if I—we—could?”

“That’s one of the reasons they’re here today, unless I miss my guess.”
He paused. “But I know that crowd. What with fuel prices going sky-high,” and he made a face at using that phrase, “the SA is not at all pleased at the hike in expenses. You and I are their best bet for completing the additions at First Base. And quite likely the Mars project.”

“The Moon today and Mars tomorrow?” Peter gawked. “They don’t want much, do they?”

“You might get a reprieve on Mars until after First Base is fully operational.”

Peter stared at Johnny because the general’s tone suggested that this was within the realm of possibility.

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

Johnny shook his head solemnly and then started to grin. “Pete, I have every confidence in you.”

“What if …”

“What if be damned, Reidinger. You’ll never know until you reach the limits of your envelope,” Johnny said in a flat and serious tone. “They once said that we’d never break the sound barrier, that we’d never land on the Moon, that we’d never find other habitable worlds in this galaxy. For that matter, the abilities we have were discredited and scorned until Henry Darrow presented ‘scientific proof.’ ”

“Now, wait a minute, General Greene.” Peter lifted his hand, holding out his fingers in an urgent “stop” motion.

“Jesus, look at the time.” Gulping down the last of his coffee, Johnny rose to his feet. “We’d better get to CIC and ’port ’em up or they’ll be late for this meeting they want. Let’s ’port to the corridor outside. We haven’t the excuse of an emergency today to plonk right onto the bridge.”

Johnny glanced over his shoulder to check if the steward was still out of sight and then nodded “go.”

They went and then strode purposefully into the CIC facility. The XO gave them a cheerful greeting. “Admiral’s got a side party waiting to welcome our guests, gentlemen.”

“Who all’s due up?” Johnny asked, pausing by Linke Bevan.

“Secretary of Space Abubakar himself, his Chief Financial Officer, Alicia Taddesse, Mai Leitao.”

“Oh, the bottom-liners,” Johnny said with a displeased twitch of his lips. “Bean counters.”

“A senior officer, Georg Fraga. That’s all.”

“That’s enough. C’mon, Pete. Let’s haul their arses up here.”

Are those people difficult?

I forget that you haven’t had to deal with the Space Authority Administration before
. “Pota Chatham’s scheduled, isn’t she?”

“As you requested, General.”

“Morning, Bergkamp,” the general said aloud as they reached the engineering station. “Are the generators on-line for our use?”

“Aye, sir, they are,” Temuri Bergkamp replied formally, and gestured for the two kinetics to help themselves.

“General Greene,” said Dash Sakai from his comm workstation, “I have a request from Jerhattan to lift the personnel carrier whenever you’re ready.”

Johnny shot a glance at the time icon that read 0843 and slipped into 0844 as they watched. Johnny nodded his head and Peter joined him to make the lift. Eyes twinkling, Johnny made a gesture at Dash Sakai, asking him to open the monitor at the landing bay. As the scene lit up, they all heard the bosun’s whistle announcing the arrival on board of distinguished guests.

“Thanks, Bergkamp. C’mon, Pete. I need more coffee,” Johnny said, acknowledging the others on the watch as the two kinetics made their way out of CIC.

“Coffee, pulease, Barney,” Johnny said as he opened the door into the conference room where the meeting would take place.

“Aye, sir. Mr. Reidinger, tea for you?”

“Please.”

Johnny paused by the conference table, looking around it. “We got stalls today.” He pointed to the nameplates distributed in a semicircle facing the wide rectangular programmable screen taking up the far wall. “Ah, and whaddaya wanna bet we’ll be in direct contact with Colonel Hiroga Watari at First Base.”

“You didn’t mention him,” Peter said. He had already been introduced to the AirForce commander of the Moon Base on one of his infrequent downside trips. The colonel had given Peter a searching scrutiny and dismissed him. Though Peter was somewhat accustomed to such a reaction to his skinny, unprepossessing teenage appearance, the colonel’s scathing
regard had rankled, the encounter leaving behind it an offensive taint. Whether the colonel was aware of it or not, he exuded negative empathy. Or maybe it was just to nonentities like Peter Reidinger.