Pegasus in Space (8 page)

“Yellow Team, what’s keeping you?” she demanded angrily into her wrist unit.

That’s more than enough of this sort of entertainment
, Johnny said cryptically.
Ready, set, GO!

NOW!
The clear mental command was not in General Greene’s voice. Suddenly the grilles on apertures halfway up the inner walls crashed down
to the floor and those white-coats nearest reacted, blasting at the metal plates. To be shot down by the many standard tranquilizer rifles that appeared in the openings.

“What the—” Ludmilla began.

As she raised her hand to redirect her troops’ weapons, a dart smacked into her throat. Even as she collapsed, tranquilizer darts rained down on her cohorts. A few, who had dropped to their knees and turned their weapons upward, were not hit. Abruptly every one of those threw their weapons away as if too hot to handle. On the hands held up in surrender, Rhyssa saw the unmistakable red burn welts.

Which they are
, Peter said smugly.
Tit for her tat!

The admiral stepped forward and removed the wristcom from Barchenka’s limp arm and the weapon from her hand.

“Now hear this! Admiral Coetzer speaking. Ludmilla Barchenka has been taken prisoner. Surrender without further violence, and I guarantee safe return to the planetary surface. This mutiny is now over. Surrender to Station personnel immediately and in an orderly fashion. I repeat, Ludmilla Barchenka is under guard and her illegal force is disarmed. This is Admiral Coetzer speaking. This Station is now back under my command.

“Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, please be calm,” and now he held his hands up, circling to be sure that he could be seen. “Are there any medical personnel who can attend our wounded?”

Johnny Greene suddenly levitated in front of the admiral, appearing to hesitate midair, reaching out with his right hand to deflect or catch something.

Got it!
Johnny cried, dropping to his feet again as he showed the knife that had been thrown at the admiral. In the same second, one of Barchenka’s thugs who was kneeling on the floor, doubled up, screaming in pain.

“I suggest that no one else attempt a similar breach of common sense,” Johnny said, slowly rotating on his heel to survey Barchenka’s mutineers.
Pete, can you do a shield around the admiral? We’re not home clear yet
.

Sure!
Peter Reidinger, looking frailer than ever against the tall, well-fleshed admiral, stepped to his side and projected an invisible barrier.

“Secure that man,” the admiral said, gesturing for two of his aides to deal with the writhing would-be assassin. Then he noticed Peter. “Ah!”

“You need Pete right now, Admiral,” Johnny said quickly in an undertone. “He’s that skeleteam I’m sure you’ve been briefed on.”

The admiral raised his eyebrows in surprise, gave Peter an abrupt nod, and then continued to issue crisp orders.

“If some of my fellow guests would be so good as to collect the arms.” Both male and female guests leaped forward immediately. Some of them cautiously nudged the weapons out of reach or gingerly touched the handles in case of residual heat. The arms were dumped in a pile that Johnny Greene then “lifted” out of the reception area.

Rhyssa crouched down by Ludmilla Barchenka’s limp body and pushed her beret back, exposing the shiny skullcap that had prevented any telepath from reading her mind.

“Oh, my word!” Rhyssa exclaimed. When she lifted the close-fitting metal plate off, a round patch of bare skin, reminiscent of an ancient monk’s tonsure, was revealed; bare skin further increased the protection offered by the cap.

“No wonder she felt dense,” Gordon Havers remarked.

“It figures,” Johnny Greene agreed after a quick glance. Then he grinned at Rhyssa.
Not that I’d like to peek into her twisted mind but someone may have to, to make sure we’ve arrested everyone involved in this little, ah, mutiny
.

Rhyssa gave a little shudder of revulsion and stood up, hands clasped together under her chin in distress. Dave put a comforting arm about her shoulders.

“General Greene?” Admiral Coetzer asked, beckoning for Johnny to come closer. He looked meaningfully at Peter, who was in earshot in his protective position.

“I’ll vouch for Pete, Admiral,” Johnny remarked in a low voice. Then he cocked his head, indicating he was all attention.

“How much of a force do you have, Greene? Enough to deal with this …” the admiral hesitated over a choice of words.

“Mutiny, Coetzer?” And Johnny’s ineffable humor provoked a slight twitch of the admiral’s lips. “I don’t have a ‘force,’ just some volunteers in strategic places.” He pointed up to the open grilles. “Another group reports that they tranked her Yellow Team in the hall so you don’t need to worry about her being reinforced.” Johnny ducked his head, scratching the nape of his neck and grimacing in embarrassment. “Your own personnel should be yours to command again … once we find your wristcom. Ah,
thanks, Pete,” he said as a wrist unit was teleported against his medals. He grabbed it.

“Thank you, Pete,”Admiral Coetzer echoed, turning to the thin youth at his side before repossessing his communicator. His regard of his youthful guard was more interested than patronizing.

The military and naval guests had taken it upon themselves to secure Barchenka’s whilom guards, conscious or tranquilized, assisted by Johnny’s irregular troops. Leaving some on guard in the apertures, trank rifles trained below, others dropped from the hatches to secure the insurrectionists. Moments later, Admiral Coetzer’s Station personnel arrived to take official charge of the captives.

Barchenka’s limp body was soon draped over several chairs, strands of sweaty blond hair lying across the shaved pate. Though the drug in the dart would keep her unconscious for several hours, her hands and feet had been yoked as a precaution.

Meanwhile, recovering from the confrontation, other dignitaries had decided that now was the appropriate time to circulate refreshments. Since the waiters and waitresses were unavailable, guests performed such duties, pouring glasses of the inaugural champagne, wines, sodas, juices, and liquors set out on the tables. Some were passing trays of canapés and other finger foods, setting aside their official positions to help restore some semblance of “occasion” in the reception area. Those who had been unduly distressed by the shocks of the last hour were being comforted. Noise soon reached a normal level for such a gathering.

“Greene,” the admiral said, after answering another bleep on his wristcom. “CIC reports shuttles leaving that were not cleared. Possibly some mutineers are trying to escape. I’d prefer not to christen the Station’s defense system today, but the crews are not responding to orders to stop.”

“An exodus like that can best be handled from Station control, don’t you agree?” Johnny said, gently guiding the admiral toward the nearest exit. “We’ll need the services of our Voice,” he added, beckoning Madlyn to come forward.
We might need everyone in CIC
. “I believe you’ve already met Ms. Luvaro, Coetzer,” and when the admiral acknowledged that with a little bow to her, Johnny went on. “She’s been our Station-to-Earth contact and she’ll be very useful right now. I don’t believe you’ve met Rhyssa and Dave Lehardt. Rhyssa’s …”

“By reputation certainly I know Ms. Lehardt and her husband,” the admiral said graciously, gesturing for the small knot of psychics to accompany him. “And Justice Havers. Though I haven’t formally met Mr. Baden,” he said, turning to Lance with an extended hand. “Your superb management of the Bangladesh Emergency was a fascinating advertisement for kinetics.”

“Not as much as today was,” Lance replied drolly.

On their way to the lift, they passed knots of white-coated men and women now guarded by personnel of Coetzer’s command.

“Admiral, sir,” Madlyn began tentatively, “you gotta reassure the grunts.”

“I beg your pardon?” The admiral leaned slightly toward the Voice who was trotting to keep up with his long stride.

“The workers, down below, they’re terrified of Barchenka and they think she’s still in control. If you don’t tell ’em
you
are, they might do just about anything.”

“That will be our second task, Ms. Luvaro. You can’t, by any chance, reassure them yourself?”

“Me? They wouldn’t
hear
me, sir. None of ’em are receivers. It’s
your
voice they need to hear on the audio. They liked you, you know. You didn’t sniff or cover your nose when you visited their quarters.”

Coetzer’s lips twitched in an effort not to smile as he adapted his stride to her shorter one, taking her by the arm and guiding her into the lift.

“I’ll see if we can’t improve those conditions, Ms. Luvaro.”

“They’ll work their butts off for you if you do, Admiral,” Madlyn said feelingly. “Oh, you know they will, Johnny,” she added forcefully as she caught the general’s amused reaction to her candor. “Only I still don’t understand why Barchenka picked such a crazy password. She hated music and wouldn’t let anyone even whistle in her presence.”

The Admiral chuckled. “What better one to choose than something totally unsuspected. Since
shelkoonchik
means nutcracker, and one figures in the Tchaikovsky ballet, it was relatively obscure, given her habits. Koryakin told me the composer was a famous Russian.” He turned toward the psychics for their opinion.

“He is indeed,” said Gordon Havers.
Well done, Pete! Neat way to disarm opponents, too. You must tell me how you heated up their weapons
.
It seemed a good idea
, Peter Reidinger replied modestly, but his visible smile was broad enough for two faces.

You did real good, Peter. Real good
. Madlyn looked up at him so adoringly that Peter edged closer to Rhyssa as the lift doors parted on the Command level.

“Admiral on the bridge,” said the sentinel at the lift as Admiral Coetzer walked into the Control Intelligence Center, the CIC, of Padrugoi Space Station.

O
nce 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 Station—just 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.