Pegasus in Space (6 page)

Equally surprised, Rhyssa exchanged eye contact and drew her lips down in a regretful moue.
She’ll be leaving on her first voyage this year. You won’t be old enough, dear, even if a kinetic would be a wise addition to her crew. It’s not as if you could push her to her destination, is it? We do have to know
where
we’re ’porting something
.

We’ve got pretty good resolutions of the planetary systems they’re going to …
Peter couldn’t actually wriggle his body but that was the impression Rhyssa had of what he would have
liked
to do just then.
Time-resolved images, they call ’em
, he said, remembering some of his astronomy.

“Not clear enough to ’port to, Peter. Not yet,” she said sadly. Dave gave a sideways glance at the pair. “Though God knows that would reduce the voyage considerably.”

“You aiming to start shifting spaceships now, Peter?” Dave asked, referring to Peter’s feat of the shuttle landing in Dhaka.

“Archimedes said, ‘Give me where to stand and I can shift the Earth,’ ” Peter replied, grimacing up at Rhyssa.

“If you figure out where that is, Peter, you’ll be assured of a place in history,” Dave said with a droll grin.

“I’m working on it,” the boy replied.

On the podium now, the World President Martin Cimprich had replaced Admiral Coetzer. With many flowing and apparently sincere phrases, the President thanked Manager Barchenka for succeeding “where so many others had been defeated by such a monumental task” in completing the Space Station on time. He added remarks about her devotion to the project, about her immense personal achievement, and how vital the Space Station would be to the peoples of Earth in their search for new worlds to inhabit. Barchenka, still standing, shifted from one foot to another, showing her usual impatience with speeches. As if Cimprich was aware of her restiveness, he cleared his throat and then, smiling at her, gestured for an aide to approach.

“It is my infinite and distinct pleasure, Manager Barchenka, to present you with this.” A splendid sculpture, a rectangle of glittering plastic showing Padrugoi Space Station hanging above the Russian quadrant of Earth, passed from the aide’s hands to his. With a very courtly bow, Cimprich presented it to Barchenka.

With a very brief smile and an ungracious snatch, she took possession of the sculpture. Then, with a flick of her fingers, she dismissed President Cimprich to his seat. She turned to the lectern and settled the heavy sculpture on its top with a thud that echoed through the audio system.

“Why do they have to mess this all up with speeches?” Peter demanded, and once again began to levitate until Rhyssa put a warning hand on his elbow.
Will we be able to get on board the spaceship while we’re up here?

I doubt it, Peter, so look your eyes full of her. We’ll see about an official visit later. Admiral Coetzer knows of your part in the Bangladesh emergency
.

“There is no way to keep the politicians and the orators away from
such a fine opportunity to exercise their own voices,” Dave said quietly, in answer to Peter’s spoken question. “Especially during an election year.”

“Don’t remind me,” Rhyssa said with a mock groan.

With no thanks to the President for his presentation, Barchenka began to enumerate the problems that she had had to overcome from day one of her assignment as Manager.

“She had to overcome?” Peter whispered, disgusted.

“Well, she did,” Rhyssa said, adding sourly, “even us.”

Barchenka appeared determined to recite every one of the obstacles in the path of the successful completion of the first World Space Station. She phrased her words as an indictment of those who did not spring willingly to her aid when first approached.

“ ‘Accosted’ is more like it,” Dave said softly behind his hand. Rhyssa could not help a wry grin.

She says nothing about
our
help
, Peter ’pathed sullenly to Rhyssa.

Did you expect her to?
General John Greene asked from his seat among the military, on the far side of the auditorium.

If it weren’t for us
, Peter said angrily,
she wouldn’t have finished on time, or ever
.

But she did
, Johnny reminded him.
And I’m not sorry I helped
.

She still should give us credit
.

Peter
, Rhyssa replied firmly,
never will she give
us
any credit. No one does, and frankly, I’m all for anonymity. About ninety-nine percent of the indigenous population of Earth is afraid of psionic abilities
.

Why?
Peter frowned at his friend and mentor.

Because, lad, the parapsychic are different
, said the distinctive voice of Australian Lance Baden,
and you, in particular, are much safer being anonymous
.

I
don’t want credit
, Peter protested, turning his head to the left, in Lance’s direction.
But
you
and the other Talents who got stuck up here deserve it
.

We don’t expect it
, Johnny said in a blithe tone.
Nor do we want it from that source. Ooops, well, she’s taking credit for reducing loss of life on the Station, too. Now to
that
I’ll take exception
.

Peter was probably the only one who was aware that it was the General who “reached out.” Even Peter didn’t at first realize what John Greene had done with that slight kinetic pulse. Suddenly Barchenka was scowling down at the prompter screen from which she had been reading her speech.
She paused, scowled, lifted her hand to adjust dials, at first calmly, but when nothing seemed to improve, she thumped the screen in several places. Then, her expression registering fury, she slewed partway around and imperiously beckoned to someone standing at the back, below the stage.

“Wait,” she said bluntly to the audience, clearing her throat and stepping aside as the technician hurried to assist her.

Peter hid the irreverent grin behind his hand.
Will she get it back?

How would I know?
Laughter rippled in Johnny’s mental voice.

Peter watched as the technician made several adjustments, turning at last with a nervous smile for Barchenka and indicating he had fixed the problem. When she again took her place and looked down at the screen, she called him back.

What did you do, Pete?
Rhyssa asked without looking at her prize student.

Me?
Peter’s expression was so surprised that Rhyssa had to believe him as he lifted his hand toward his chest in an attitude of offended innocence.

The audience began to get restless, shifting feet, clearing throats, and looking anywhere but at the glowering Barchenka. She was having words with the technician and he was still trying to adjust the screen to solve the problem. Whatever it was.

A woman, dressed in the Space Station’s new black uniform, rushed out carrying a replacement unit. Music flowed out of the audio system, to bridge the pause in the program. The defective unit was removed quickly and with no fumbling and the replacement installed. Barchenka’s speech disk was inserted and the two technicians stepped back, out of her way. The music faded.

“
Boje moi!
” were her first words. “The disk has been corrupted.” She glared around at the technicians as if they were responsible. The woman, after a brief hesitation, stepped forward and murmured to the Manager. Barchenka flapped her hand about in an angry rejection. She turned back to the lectern long enough to eject her disk, and with a furious glare at the assembled, stormed off the platform and out of the auditorium. Somehow she left the impression that, if the door had not been automatic, it would have slammed shut.

The master of ceremonies launched himself at the lectern, tapping the tiny microphone to be sure he was audible.

“Sorry about that but let’s give Manager Barchenka the ovation she deserves.”

That she might not be able to hear through the thick panel did not register with him. His script required him to ask for an ovation. He did so. Very few dutifully stood and the enthusiasm of a genuine ovation was noticeably lacking. The guests on the platform, as if they wished to provoke a more lively participation from the audience, were the last to cease bringing their hands together.

The master of ceremonies cocked his head, obviously listening to an engineer’s report. He smiled and leaning tentatively over the lectern, said: “I’ve been assured that we’re back on-line, distinguished guests. I’m sure we’re all sorry that some green gremlin,” and he paused to see if everyone responded to his little joke, “has denied us the rest of Manager Barchenka’s stirring speech but, as she so often did after the, ah, minor setbacks, let us proceed.” He turned slightly and spread his hand invitingly to Admiral Coetzer who would now address the audience in his capacity as the newly appointed Station Manager.

Rhyssa was suddenly aware that what the assembled had heard of Barchenka’s speech had not actually confirmed that transition of authority.

If the admiral seemed to hesitate briefly as he inserted his speech disk into the prompter, his face mirrored a little pleased smile when the process appeared to be successful. He began to speak in a crisp voice. He immediately mentioned the many, many agencies whose workers had generously given their time, skill, and thousands of work-hours to see this worldwide dream come true. He made special note of those whose work had been conscripted from the international Linear Labor Pool and happily announced that 32 percent of the “casual workers” had elected to stay on the Station as maintenance crew.

No other speaker experienced any difficulty with the prompting screen and they kept their remarks laudably brief. The special music composed by a Russian for this occasion marked the end of the formal part of the program and finally the master of ceremonies invited the audience to adjourn to the reception area.

Just what did
you
do, Pete?
Johnny asked in a tight ’path as he homed in on Rhyssa, David, and Peter, emerging from the crowd making for the refreshments.
From another direction, Supreme Court Justice Gordon Havers joined his fellow psychics.

Peter eyed the general speculatively.
Banging her fist on the prompter wasn’t a good idea. Possibly even scrambled her text
.

Good thinking
.

Peter did grin at the wordplay.

“
Greene!
” and the harsh voice stopped both the general and Peter in their tracks. Barchenka, her face set with anger, pulled Johnny Greene around by the arm. Alarmed, Peter stepped backward, trying to disappear into the throng. But others were as quick to leave the Manager’s presence and Peter was halted, unable to move or willing to teleport. “How did you get up here? How did you scramble my screen?” she shouted, thrusting her fist up under the general’s nose. She was so intent in confronting him that she failed to notice Rhyssa fade behind Dave’s tall figure, pulling Peter with her.

“I, Madame Barchenka? I did no such thing,” Johnny replied honestly, pushing her fist down and away, an action she tried unsuccessfully to resist.

“You have the capability,” she continued, saliva spattering Johnny’s face. Then she imperiously clicked her fingers over her shoulder. “Scan him, Grushkov,” she ordered her telempath, hovering indecisively behind her. “Is he telling the truth? Let’s hear you deny it now, Greene!” She folded her arms across her chest and glared up at the kinetic general, her complexion scarlet under her spacer’s beret. “Then you will tell me how you got invitations and who gave them to you.”

Peter wondered if he could unobtrusively teleport himself anywhere but where he was, half hidden behind Dave Lehardt’s broad frame. How Rhyssa had prevailed against the Manager as long as she had showed the depth of Rhyssa’s courage.

“I most certainly did not scramble the Manager’s screen,” General John Greene said, looking steadily at Grushkov. “My invitation came from the Secretary of Space himself in appreciation of my assistance in getting much-needed supplies to the Station, and on time.”

Grushkov was immediately disconcerted. “Madame Barchenka, he is telling the truth. Furthermore, his public mind is completely open.”

If John Greene and Peter saw the telempath blink and give John a
closer look, Barchenka did not notice the exchange, her bulging eyes fixed on Johnny’s face.

“Awrgh,” she exclaimed hoarsely, clenching her fists and waving them about in frustration. Then she barreled forward, shoving into Dave’s shoulder and pushing Peter aside with a bruising sweep of her arm. Johnny exerted a kinetic prop as the boy was momentarily off balance. Barchenka stomped onward, swinging her arms from left to right to clear her way to the long bar set up on one side of the reception room.

Grushkov muttered apologies to everyone so rudely handled as he and Barchenka’s other white-coat aides followed in her wake.

I’m sorry now I helped her in any way
, Peter said as Rhyssa, Dave, and Johnny ringed him against any other contact.

She didn’t bruise you, did she?
Rhyssa asked, concerned. Peter was much sturdier now than he had been when he had joined the Parapsychics, but he was still susceptible to contusions. Especially when he was not, as now, using any shields to prevent physical contact.
Uncouth woman!

I’ve half a mind to spike her drink
, Johnny murmured, glancing across the catering unit.

With an emetic?
Gordon Havers suggested.

Peter would have laughed if he hadn’t been mulling over something in Barchenka’s mind that upset him when her arm had made contact with his chest.

Her speech was very important
, he gasped.
She wanted to impress the World Leaders so much that they would relent and make her Station Manager in spite of appointing the admiral. She’s furious she couldn’t finish it because …
Peter faltered, ducking his head, frowning, his expression puzzled.

“
What?
” Rhyssa said aloud, shocked by the very notion of Barchenka in control of the Space Station.