"We believe so, even if we don't know specifically why."

Carmen regarded him with some surprise. "It's a lovely clear mind. Like a bell--when she's asleep. She's wary and cautious awake, that one. I can touch her but not read her. And with her in the darkness, I can't even help you home in on her."

"She'll come out in good time."

Carmen shot a look that suggested that Sascha Roz- nine might--this once--be wrong. He grinned and

winked as he turned to leave her quarters.

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"Frankly, Sascha, we've run everything we got on the people Flimflam fingered for Yassim," Boris Roznine said, tossing a sheaf of hard copy onto the desktop, "and we can't find a common denominator. They're mostly able-bodies, doing enough work to keep away from Con- scriptive Work Services, only minor misdemeanors on their sheets, none of 'em known to gamble or dip."

Sascha smiled knowingly and felt his brother poke at his mind, but he kept his shield in place. He could do that to Boris, whereas Boris could not keep him out at all. "You've had a hard thirty hours, so I'll tell you. They were all fathers.''

"What?" Blood suffused Boris's face.

"Flimflam had accessed ordinary info on residents of the Linear. Mind you, it was so simple we didn't see it at first. Bertha's sensitive to females and children, Auer to the blacker side of life."

Boris scrubbed at his head. "Sometimes it is the sim- ple things we miss. So Flimflam was fingering fathers with likely youngsters, and the girl was a bonus?"

"I guess, and we're still in the daric about her," Sa- scha added, aware of his brother's next query. "Car- men's latched, but the girl's cautious and hasn't moved since she went to ground."

"Scared?"

"Strangely enough, no. I'd hazard that she's had to keep a low profile before. She's a preteen and illegal."

"That will sharpen the senses."

"How're you doing with Yassim's operation?"

"We figure he picked up at least nineteen children, maybe a few more." Boris grimaced. "We collected eight hundred and three illegal kids from Linear G. If what Harv believes is possible--mat every one of the related mothers has been having a kid a year--we're minus a possible forty. We located eighteen of that forty in a storage basement, but they've got the entry jammed. We're working on it." Boris shook his head. "They really will be better off in hostels."

"And in space?" Sascha asked wryly.

"Even in space they have a better chance than stale- mated in a Linear."

"But they won't be able to reproduce themselves." Sascha had never approved of the law that required the sterilization of illegal offspring.

Boris raised his hands in resignation. "I don't make the laws, Sascha. I only enforce them." Then he leaned forward and tapped up a new program on his big screen. "All right. Now, we have to find Yassim in his warren and save nineteen kids or more from him.''

"She's moved, Sascha," Carmen said, her tone half- triumphant, half-anxious.

Sascha consulted his watch. ' 'This time of day?''

"Linear will be crowded with those coining off work."

"Keep as close as you can to her."

"It's very difficult, Sascha. It's almost as if she isn't seeing the things she's looking at. I can't get a real fix, except that there are people all around her. Wait! She's stopped. No, that's no good. All I get is a mass of standard-issue clothing. She's still in a crowd."

"I'm in touch with our teams on the main levels of G. Just give us a direction. Carmen. Any direction." Alert to our quarry! he added in a mental call to Cass and Suz.

Tiria was relieved that it had been Mirda Khan she first came across. Mirda was full of the whole affair, her black eyes snapping with indignation and a certain sly malice that she had not suffered at the hands of the Public Health--it had been a long time since her womb had borne fruit. But she had the grace to mourn her friends' losses, of both their existing children and their hope of more.

"They will see how hard it is for those of us who have no children to sell.''

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"Was that why Yassim was there? To buy chil- dren?"

"Why else?" Mirda lifted her shoulders in an elo- quent shrug. "He would have no interest in spiritual things."

"Did he get them all?" Tiria was aghast. Yet if a big score put Yassim in a very good mood, he would be easier for her to deal with over the matter of the tieds she had been unable to wash.

"No, they got most of them. Yassim cannot have many, but those he got he got for nothing!" Mirda was indignant. "No price was paid to their grieving mothers and fathers. They ran into his arms to escape the LEOs. Ran! And no credits exchanged, not even a bargain made. Oh, he will not dare to enter G again." Then suddenly Mirda latched steely fingers into Tula's shoul- der. "What was the Lama-shaman saying? You didn't tell us. Aiiiye, and to increase insult, you did not even have the grace to accept the strand mat chose you. You have earned the undying hatred of Bilala and Pilau for not accepting his choice."

Tiria wrenched herself free. "Choice? I am nothing- why would he choose me? I think he missed. Tell Bilala that I think he was aiming for her and missed. But, as for what he said, you missed nothing. That Lama- shaman spewed stupid syllables only. Not a proper word in any language. Even in his head he wasn't using real words. He didn't mean to. He is a sham man, not a shaman. It was all set up for the Public Health to raid Linear G."

"How could that be?" Mirda was startled. "No, it could not be. Not with traders there with all their goods and some of it not things the LEOs should discover on them. And certainly not when Yassim, and every lad- rone, hitter, and sassin he employs, were also present. They would have known. Perhaps the strand was meant for Bilala, as you said. She felt that was proper for her, too, you understand, for she has been worthy. A woman

who has borne a child every year for her husband. Aiyyee, and they have taken that from her now, and his pride from him. He will reproach her until the day of her death." Mirda began to beat herself across her breasts, and Tiria used the distraction to slip away.

So, Yassim had children from G and had not paid for them. And she had tieds that she could not deal for him, which she had better return. If he had enough children, men with luck he would not take her.

It was wrong of Bilala to hate her. Tiria wished that she had asked Mirda if any more of her clients did. It was essential for Tiria to stay on good terms with ev- eryone in Linear G. She was just as illegal. Bilala or Pilau could be spiteful enough to turn her in, as a token revenge for the loss of their own children. Unless . . .

Unless Tiria could get a price for the children who had run into Yassim's clutches. She knew where he kept such merchandise. It would depend on who he had taken.

She skipped down a side aisle where, looking around to be sure she was not observed, she yanked at a con- duit grille. It resisted, and she saw that the screws had been replaced. She felt inside the grille to be sure there were no wires or eyes, but this was a small opening, one only a very small or thin child could have used, and had not been staked out. She got out the vibro-blade she had earned for some long-forgotten favor and sheered off two screws. Then she climbed into the dark conduit.

Carmen was exasperated. Just when I had a good placement--or thought I did--she's gone into the dark again. No, wait, Sascha, there's light around her now. She's in some sort of a cramped tunnel.

Sascha: Uses the bloody conduits like a subway. I'll have the schematic of G on my screen for the next year at this rate.

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Carmen: Think how well you 'II know the innards of a Residential by then.

Sascha: Thanks. Keep track of our mole.

Carmen: Wait a minute, Sascha, I think she's moving out of G.

Sascha, startled: How can she?

Carmen: She's in the underground. Red light. The freight subways are the only tunnels illuminated in red, aren't they?

Sascha: Omigod, which direction has she gone?

Sascha, Cass here. Mirda Khan was just seen talking with our quarry. Khan insists that the girl escaped from her. I'll believe that when pigs fty.

Sascha: What were they talking about?

The meeting, Flimflam, Yassim. Khan has gone into panic and isn't making much sense. She's afraid-- there's suddenly a real big dollop of guilt, anxiety, mainly fear. For herself and just a little for Tirla.

Sascha: Boris! Our quarry may be venturing into one of Yassim's industrial territories. Alert your surveil- lance.

At his desk in the Parapsychic Tower, Sascha Roz- nine experienced the sort of frustration that plagued few Talents. Hardened criminals were easier to apprehend than one preadolescent child who looked nearly half her actual age. And what on earth was the child doing in Yassim's territory? She would have done better to crawl back into her very secret hidey-hole. He was tormented with memories of the pix of vivisected child bodies.

Chapter 10

^ ^ Barchenka was furious when informed that she would be deprived of her strongest kinetics for the week it would take to mitigate the monsoon flooding. She first cried mutiny, then grand larceny, but was brought up short by her own Station Authority, who pointed out that the Talents had a legal right to attend major dis- asters such as the one that undeniably existed in the Bangladesh flooding. Also, the pilot was an off-duty volunteer, and there had been no damage to the Eras- mus, which he had returned to Padrugoi as soon as Woomera cleared him for a launch.

Massive efforts in shoring up the levees and careful manipulation of the barriers and dams prevented the Ganges from turning the lower portion of Bangladesh into a vast lagoon from Bogra to the sea. Still, whole towns had to be evacuated and necessary supplies shifted, difficult even kinetically in the appalling con- ditions. The force of the channeled flood did inundate Chittagong and coastal towns below it, but not as dis- astrously as the precog had predicted. Talent once again had reduced the impact of a major natural catastrophe.

Peter Reidinger, on the other hand, slept late into the next morning, but when Don Usenik checked him over, he seemed none the worse for his major gestalt effort. But mere was no doubt that his achievement had altered him: he neither floated nor essayed to walk--he strut- ted, chin high, with a slightly superior smirk on his face.

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"What was the saying? 'Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely'?" Sascha asked Rhyssa, peevish in his frustration over the lost girl. "He's insufferably smug this morning."

Dorotea gave a snort. "Don't overreact, Sascha! He's got a right to crow. Perfectly natural in anyone, espe- cially a fourteen-year-old boy whose only available movement until recently was tonguing a switch or blinking his eyes at tri-d to change channels. Pretty heady stuff to save a country. I scanned him pretty deeply at brunch while he was still sleepy, and there's nothing in his mind that smacks of corruption." She grinned. "A bigger generator, more derring-do, and plenty of self-satisfaction."

"Lighten up, Sascha-bear," Rhyssa said, smiling en- couragingly. "Or don't you remember some of the tricks you and Boris pulled at that age?"

' 'A telepath can't get into quite the same sort of trou- ble a kinetic can," Sascha said, grimly thinking of a girl rumbling in red-lit freightways. What was her Tal- ent?

"Peter's got a fine sense of integrity, Sascha," Rhyssa said. "He's sensitive and sensible. We have to think how to bring him back to cruel reality after his minor miracle."

"A diversion usually helps," Dorotea remarked with a gleam in her eyes. "I used that ploy often with my lads." She wrinkled her nose and sighed. "All too of- ten."

"It's going to have to be pretty good to distract him from the Erasmus stunt," Sascha said with uncharac- teristic gloom.

Rhyssa was distracted from the conversation by the mental hail of Johnny Greene. Rhyssa, you guys called a G and H. Did it have something to do with the spec- tacular landing and takeoffofthe Erasmus?

One of the phones on Rhyssa's desk rang, and being nearest, Sascha picked it up.

"Yes, Dave? No, Rhyssa's got a call on her mind. Can I help?" He listened for a moment and then re- placed the handset, his face grimmer than ever.

Johnny, Rhyssa was saying, it's very complicated.

Sascha: You haven't heard the half yet, dear. Dave's got bad news for us, too. Ludmilla 's claiming that we 've perjured our immortal souls and deliberately falsified our Register.

Johnny: Vemon's had all kinds of flak from NASA, the Space Authorities, the Padrugoi Authority . . .

Rhyssa, fiercely: Remind Vemon what kinetics are doing on the Indian continent. Sascha, tell Dave that his public pitch is that, despite all odds, Talent has kept its covenant of disaster assistance. And I want Johnny and Dave up here as fast as they can make it. Partic- ularly you, Greene. To Dorotea, she said, "I think Pe- ter's immediate illusions of grandeur are going to be heavily dampened."

Boris entered the telepathic conference. The Power Resources commissioner is also demanding an expla- nation for a G and H that caused last night's brownout and wiped out all his power reserves, he said plain- tively. The city commish wants a lot of answers. Sas- cha, you heard anything?

Sascha, savagely: No!

Vsevolod Gebrowski, urgently: Rhyssa, Barchenka is out to get you! And there's nothing I can do to distract her. I told her G and H. Her telempaths have explained that this is a Talent emergency code which needs no elaboration. She does not accept that.

Rhyssa: You tell Ludmilla from. me that she's had plenty of secrets she doesn 't share, like early-completion bonuses, as well as fines on delays. I don't question her; she doesn't question me.

Vsevolod: She does. I warn you.

Dorotea, helpfully: Amalda Vaden sees nothing un- toward.

Rhyssa: Why did you bring her in on this?

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Dorotea: / think we need all the reassurance we can get.

Sascha: Dave Lehardt, Gordie Havers, and two top NASA generals are on the same heli with Johnny.

Rhyssa remembered how satisfied Peter had looked after dealing so beautifully with the Erasmus crisis. She groaned. "He's only fourteen."

Carmen: Sascha, I've got a fix on her.

Sascha was out the door in a flash. Good luck!

Rhyssa: Right back at you!

"Peter's far more mature than most fourteen-year- olds I've dealt with," Dorotea mused. "Including you," she added, favoring Rhyssa with an admonitory glance. "And he's got all the right instincts for being Talented."

Tiria did not like using the freight subways. The red light was off-putting. However, a cargo train servicing the automatic industrial complexes all along the river- side was the only way to get to the secreted holding place Yassim used to stash his merchandise, a train go- ing into the J industrial. Then she would have to walk to the correct shunt. There were emergency alcoves set at intervals all along the right-hand side, so she could avoid being crushed by any passing cars. Dead unthink- ing things like tram trains did not frighten her. Live unthinking things like some of Yassim's sassins and hitters did.

She waited a hundred meters from the yawning red- and-black mouth of the G shunt for nearly an hour be- fore a J train arrived. It would have to slow as it reached the junction, so it was no problem for an agile person to drop onto the first segment, catch a good hold of the flange, and settle down for the trip. Flattened on the top, she was small enough to have several centimeters' clearance from the curved ceiling of the tunnel. She reset her grip as the train picked up speed again, vi- brating under her. The fetid wind, a noxious combina-

tion of overheating metal, grease, and the acrid stink of electricity, roared down across her body, and she an- gled her face down.

When the J train finally slowed with screeching brakes and made the left-hand turn into the cargo docks of its destination, she readied herself to jump off. She had to land clear of the coding machinery that opened and sorted out the goods to be delivered from the load. But she had done it with no problem before and did it again, dropping lightly down and running up the narrow ledge by the various chutes and moving ramps that began the unloading.

When she came to the first curve in the narrow tunnel and the last of the red light was gone, she used her handlight, glad that she had filched a fresh charge for it only the previous week. With the dim beam to light her way, she trotted along in a half crouch until the muscles in her legs and back ached. She dropped to her knees then and rested a moment before continuing on.

Motivated by her keen sense of self-preservation, Tiria had once taken the precaution of investigating his holding cell, a room hidden behind a false wall of bar- rels at the back of an automated factory, where the noise of the ill-tuned machinery would drown any screaming. But he did keep the children reasonably well cared for, since purchasers could view them on a closed-circuit system he provided. Disabling the archaic scanner would be no problem for Tiria, and she knew the pre- cise location of the ventilator hatch in the room's ceil- ing.

The kids had been in there nearly two days. They would be rested, she knew, and possibly feeling pretty good about their new conditions, which were, after all, a considerable improvement over squats. They might not want to leave. She wished she knew whom Yassim had grabbed--then she could figure out how to stir them to leave Yassim's hospitality long enough to force him to pay their parents proper compensation.

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She loosened the appropriate wires on the ancient scanner so that the static would snow the visual. Then, gaining entrance through the ventilator hatch, she dan- gled from the ceiling to the excited clamor of young

voices.

"Hey there, cool it way down!" she ordered in Ba- sic, repeating the message for those who might be slow to translate or need to be reassured. "Yushi, pull a mat- tress down so I can land soft. It's a drop."

While Yushi and his younger brother complied, she did a quick estimate. Yassim must have been quite pleased at his catch: twenty-four prime kids to sell. The remains of a recent meal relieved her of one obstacle-- the guards were not likely to check soon again--but it meant that the kids would have one less reason to want to leave such a cushy setup. Why, there were only two kids per bunk. They all had new gear on, and the girls were tarted up like their mothers.

"Yassim take any of you yet?" Tiria asked, imbuing her voice with trembling urgency and widening her eyes with real fear. "I got here as quick as I could!" she added, implying that maybe she had not been quick enough.

"Huh?" Yushi was good at taking orders but not at

thinking.

"They took my sister!" Suddenly little Minnalar's painted face screwed up into tears. "They took her an hour ago. And she had on the prettiest things--orange and brown with gold, and new earrings ..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Mil-malar. I did everything I could to get here in time." As Tiria lavished sympathy on the weeping seven-year-old, she could see panic beginning to spread to the others. She got madder than ever at Yassim. It was one thing to take ten-year-olds, but not seven- and eight-year-old babies'. What kind of pervs did he supply?

"Whaddya mean?" Tombi, Bilala's eldest son, asked, his manner slightly aggressive. He was nibbling

at a sweetbar; judging from the smears on his face, it was one of a series.

"We gotta git out of here," Tiria said, releasing Mir- malar with a reassuring pat. "This place has a baaaad stink."

"It ain't got any at all," Tombi replied, though he turned his head immediately to the rudimentary sanitary unit in the comer.

"They take Raina already, you all are in biiiiig trou- ble. I'm gonna get you all out. Now. Before more bad men come. You girls know what I mean," she added, waggling a stem finger at them. Tombi and Dik snick- ered. "Same thing happens you guys, too, and you know you too small for that cany-on yet.''

Tombi stopped nibbling the sweet and looked appre- hensively at the door.

"Sure they feed you up good. Sweet stuff coming out your ass, giving you a bellyache," she said, dismissing the remains of the recent meal. "This place's good to keep you from crying much. You cry plenty soon and no one hear you ever. Stick it up you good, every which way, and that's the best of it. You know what your mothers tol' you. You know what to watch out for." She was succeeding in scaring them--the younger ones were beginning to weep. She did not want them so scared that they could not move. "Yushi, Dik, Tombi, help me move the bunks. We make a stepstair. There's room up there to stand.''

"I ain't goin'," Tombi said, glaring defiance at her. He was heavier and taller than Tiria, but she kicked him so hard that he doubled up.

"You're going 'cause your mother sent me to get you," Tiria knew how scared Tombi was ofBilala. "So you're coming. Now, move! And crying won't do no good, so stop. You need your breath for climbing and walking."

Just then the enormity of moving twenty-four scared and perhaps unwilling kids sank in. Tiria allowed her-

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self only a moment to reflect on it. She had to do it, somehow, because otherwise she would have to leave G, and she did not want to. Linear G was home. She had made herself a place there, she had a business--she was safe there. Well, safe enough, if she laid low for a

while.

She chivvied and bullied all the kids up into the ven- tilation shaft, kicked the telltale bunk over, and re- placed the grille. Someone might think that the kids were small enough to escape through it, but where would twenty-four of them go7

She led the way, grouping the kids so that there were bigger ones holding the hands of the smallest. She made Tombi rear guard to give him some responsibility and put Yushi in the middle. He would always follow or- ders.

The unloading platform with its eerie red light gave her no comfort--she knew that some of the kids would not be able to manage the acrobatics needed to get on one of the drones. They could, of course, straddle tracks all the way back to G, but it was a long, long walk, and there would be danger every time one of the speed- ing trains went by.

Well, maybe they could all make it back one station to I and get lost in that industrial complex. It was safer than staying in J. Or was it? Maybe she would just take the older ones, who would be in more danger? No, they were all in danger, because whoever was left could be made to tell who had rescued the others. Maybe if she put the younger ones in a safe place and went back for help . . . Mirmalar's father adored his daughters and would do anything to save the remaining one. And Yu- shi's father was one of the strongest men in G.

The vibrations that told her a train was on the tracks beyond the shunt alerted her. How much time did they have before they would know if its destination was J?

"Hide in the tunnels! Quickly! Stand on the ledges!"

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She took Mirmalar herself, for the little girl was puck- ering up to cry again.

"Ah, there's never anyone on goods trains," Tombi said.

"Yeah, and how d'you think Yassim's people get back and forth? Dumper cars are big enough to hold a dozen people."

That shut Tombi silent and lost him more face in the eyes of the other boys. Tiria shoved him toward a tun- nel as she pulled Mirmalar after her.

The screech of distressed metal announced another goods train being shunted into J from the north. She had not counted on one arriving quite so soon. She would never get the kids on this one even if it was going in the right direction for them to get home--unless there was a dumper car.

But there was something odd here: Tiria realized with a sinking feeling that there was no cargo waiting on the platform to be loaded onto the arriving train. If a goods train was coming in here, what was it coming./w? Could Yassim have someone in the main Dispatch office? Could he know that she had emptied his cage?

There were five cars on the double-ended train. Two looked like empty dumpers. Without waiting to ques- tion such great good fortune, Tiria hauled Mirmalar out onto the platform.

"Quickly. It won't stop long. We must all get in."

They were, therefore, all on the platform when the train stopped. So none of them escaped the sleep gas that suddenly spewed out, catching them all in its mist. They fell like wilted flowers onto the plastic-coated loading surface.

"She's some kid," Sascha said as he and Carmen carefully placed the object of their intensive search on a blanket pad and covered her. "Christ, but she's a bit of nothing."

Carmen smiled slowly and turned the sleeping child's

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head to one side to see where the lock of hair had been wrenched out. Her other hand reached halfway to touch it but then stopped. "She's nothing but skin and bones, Sascha. We'll have to improve her."

Sascha frowned a bit, looking around to see the rest of the team attending the other children. "We may not want to. Carmen. Boris and I have a feeling about this one."

"So do I." Carmen smiled at him with her most mys- terious smile.

Boris: Did you catch her?

Yes, Brother dear, her and them. She'd sprung the lot of 'em. She must have known exactly where to go. Sascha spoke aloud. "I'm wondering how."

What the hell possessed her? Boris swore with frus- tration. He and Sascha had followed Carmen's lead, and while Tiria was haranguing the kids, a team had been cautiously organized, aware that Yassim had in- terests in Industrial J.

How about we find out where they were kept? Sascha asked.

What good will that do now? He's not likely to reuse a holding area that's been breached.

He might if he thought the kids had escaped on their own.

Can you manage that? Boris's tone leaped to hope- fulness.

I can try.

If you could, and rigged it, we 'd have one more bolt- hole filed on Yassim. Why did she do it?

"Let's wake Tiria up," Sascha said to Carmen, reaching for the oxygen. "If she can show us where, we can get some good out of this operation."

"We already have. We've found more than we hoped, haven't we?"

"Yes, and no. Bear with me. Carmen. There's a lot more than this valuable young girl at stake."

Revived, Tiria went immediately on the defensive, wary

and contained, her dark eyes darting around, taking in the unconscious bodies and noticing the medic, who was daubing scrapes and bmises with nu-skin. Carmen offered a restorative drink, deliberately taking a long swallow of it before handing the cup to Tiria.

Sascha, lightly trying to get inside the girl's mind, could sense only her fierce thirst. With great restraint, she took a very small sip, rolling it around in her mouth before drinking more deeply. Her bright dark eyes chal- lenged him. He sat down beside her in a relaxed posi- tion, hooking his hands around his knees and leaning back against the wall.

"Tiria," he began. He saw her start of surprise. "Oh, you're well known in G. And your bravery in releasing the children will be appreciated, and not just by their grieving families."

"How could you find me here, with them?" She glanced inquiringly from him to Carmen and then saw the lock of her hair, which Carmen still wore as talis- man. Involuntarily her hand started to the scabby patch on her head. Her shoulders sagged around her narrow chest, but any emotional reaction was carefully guarded in her mind. "I've heard of people like you. You found me because you had my hair."

"It's not witchcraft, Tiria," Carmen said gently. She handed the strand back to the girl. "I have a Talent which allows me to find lost people and things."

"I wasn't lost."

"No," Sascha said conversationally, with an approv- ing grin, "but you found what was missing from Linear G."

"He hadn't paid for them."

Carmen gasped. "You mean, once he's paid for them, he can have them again?"

"Sure. The parents live on subsistence. They need the money for extras only floaters can buy."

Sascha was well aware that the girl's seeming cal- lousness distressed Carmen, who had seen the child in

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a much different light. "Also puts you in well with your clients, who were rather upset with your abrupt depar- ture from the meeting," he said amiably.

Eyes never leaving his, Tiria nodded once.

"They're all illegal, aren't they?"

Tirla's thin shoulders lifted in an indifferent shrug. "Sure, so it's no credit out of your stash what happens

to them."

"Oh, no," Carmen said, pained. "They're alive.

They have rights!"

Tiria gave her a quick look before resuming her scru- tiny of Sascha. "Illegals don't have rights."

"Only their births are illegal, Tiria," Sascha said. "They're alive. They have the right to shelter, food, clothing, training, and useful occupation. They do not have the right to reproduce themselves." Sascha was about to explain the legal anomaly in simple terms when he realized that she understood perfectly. She was ma- ture far in excess of her chronological age, and well conditioned to the realities of Residential life. She was not a romantic like Carmen. "But they do not deserve the occupations Yassim had in mind for them." Sascha caught that instant spurt of fear, followed by the hard- ening of the young eyes and the flick of hatred. "You don't like Yassim either."

Again one of her indifferent shrugs.

"Would you by any chance help us disable him?"

She had been wary before, but now she appeared to Sascha to coil in on herself. "You're not LEO. Why do you want to queer Yassim?"

"No, I'm not LEO myself, but we have a connec- tion. Especially against someone like Yassim.''

Tiria gave a snort. "Someone like Yassim buys him- self off every time LEO collars him. He has powerful friends; LEO can never make it stick."

"You wish that LEO could?"

She hesitated briefly, then gave him a candid look.

"There will always be men like Yassim, but I could do without him very much, thank you."

Sascha would have given a great deal then to have been able to read her mind, to delve that reply. Tiria was far deeper than they'd had any reason to suspect. She sat there in front of him, cross-legged, completely composed, alert--and bargaining just as if she could get up and leave the scene at any moment.

"I want to get rid of Yassim, too, Tiria. Will you help me?"

A glimmer of a smile touched her eyes and mouth. "What's in it for me?"

Carmen inhaled in surprise. Sascha sent the finder soothing thoughts, urging her to let him handle the sit- uation his way. He flicked his fingers, fanning out crisp new floater notes.

"How did you manage that?" Her eyes widened in surprise and indignation.

Sascha did not often employ his kinetic ability, but this trick was always effective. "You help me now-- and we must be quick about it before Yassim discovers his birds have flown--and these are yours."

She eyed the notes. Casually she scratched about her ribs. Sascha kept his grin to himself, knowing that she was checking on the tied notes hidden there. She con- sidered his offer with all the solemnity of a computer analyst.

"There's the little matter of your legality, Tiria," he added gently.

Boris nudged him mentally. C'mon, Brother, we don't have time for amiable lipflap.

On the contrary,--we nave all the time we need, Brother. This is a strong personality and a deep one. I'm not rushing her.

Get on with it then.

Tiria gave him a wide-eyed bright smile. "I am the only child of my mother."

"But not her legally registered issue."

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"How would you know?"

Sascha touched her hair. "That told us. But it is a small matter that can be quickly remedied."

She regarded him from narrowed eyes. "A small matter?" The twist of her lips was cynical. "You must be in real good with LEO." She considered, obliquely watching Carmen's expression. "And I get to keep the floaters, as well?" Her tone was ingenuous.

Sascha suppressed a grin. Legality would be the most valuable reward he could offer, and still her fingers itched to relieve him of the money. Not that he had offered a large sum, but the amount would keep her in

extras for several months.

"If we get a move on--now!" he said, drawing out

his acceptance.

She spat in her right palm and held it out to him.

Without a second thought, he accepted the deal in ar- chaic ritual. Her grip was unusually strong for the del- icacy of her bones. Physical contact with the conscious and vibrant personality startled Sascha with an odd jolt--a sense of precognition that was gone too fast for

him to pin it down. Boris caught the edge of it. What did she do to you,

Sascha? I'm not sure, Brother, but this one we handle very,

very carefully. I want a special ID for Tiria when we

get back. Hear me ? To hear is to obey! Boris might sound facetious, but

Sascha was relieved by his compliance. Keep the bar- gain, but I want this wild one under control.

The deal struck, Tiria rose with lithe grace to her feet and tilted her head back to look appraisingly up at Sas- cha. "So how do we disable Yassim?"

"Can you lead me to where he kept the children?" When she nodded, he went on. "We want to fix it so that he will think the children escaped by themselves."

Tiria snorted contemptuously. "I had to frighten them

Anne McCaffrey 175

to make them leave at all. Such things I had to tell them. Though it was all very true."

' 'How would Yassim know that they were all docile? It need only look as if they had broken out. That one of the guards had been careless locking them in."

She considered that. "Yes, that could have hap- pened. They had only just brought food.'' She gave him a shrewdly appraising glance. "You will have to crawl." That seemed to amuse her.

"Up this tunnel?"

She nodded, then looked over her shoulder, for the first time betraying some apprehension. "What happens to them?"

"They can sleep on until we get back," he replied. "We've got to move now."

She led him into the tunnel, and he did have to crawl, wondering how she had managed her initial trip until he saw the small circle of light that guided her steps. She had the courtesy not to go faster than he could follow, and he had time to reflect: she might not have an ounce of telempathy, or was perhaps too wary to let down the shield that had protected her so long in her young life, but there was no question that she possessed considerable Talent.

She halted at the end of the tunnel and turned to him. "You wouldn't fit down the hatch I used, but if you know how to open that inspection door, that's an easier way to get to where he held the kids."

Sascha took the scrambler from his belt and decoded the door. He opened it cautiously, aware of the hissing intake of her breath, and listened--on another level than Tiria, who was kneeling at the lower half of the open- ing. The level and complexity of noise in the main in- dustrial complex was appropriate for an automated factory. He sensed nothing human, but it was Tiria who first slid through the door. He opened it enough for his larger frame and closed it carefully behind them.

Though the industrial space was lit only by occa-

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PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 177

sional green lights of operational machinery, Tida moved confidently forward. Sascha would have passed right by the false wall, but she went unerringly to the double drum and pinpointed the lock mechanism with her pencil light. She glanced questioningly at him.

"Electronic, I hope?" he murmured, and she nod- ded.

He scrambled the circuit, and the door swung back

to reveal the deserted room, the overturned bunk bed, and the table with the empty food packages. She pulled the door shut behind them, shooting him a disapproving look for his careless entry.

"How did you get them out?" he asked. She pointed to the darker square of the grille in the

ceiling.

"Good work." He righted the bunk bed and pushed it back into its former position, managing to stick a minuscule device on the wall behind it. Then he looked about the place. It stank of many things, not all tangi- ble. "I think you'd better mastermind this escape, Tirla. Make it look like a kid had done it."

Tiria's upper lip curled in derision. "None of them

would have!"

"Point taken, but for Yassim's benefit it should seem

so.

With her eyes half-veiled, Tirla considered the prob- lem. Sascha waited patiently, wishing he could have been in her head, noting her thought processes.

"Okay," she said finally, leading across the room to the comer where pieces of clothing had been discarded. Deliberately she tore strips from several garments, her hands clever in finding the break in a hem or seam that would rip. "There'll be a fight . . ." She hauled mat- tress pads off two of the lower bunks, and the soiled blankets off the upper ones. She went back to the comer and, using a shirt, gathered up some of the containers and the remaining food before she knocked over the makeshift table. "Now, we open the door just enough

to let kids out, and start leaving trails. Come out, I'll just close the door over a bit. Now, you drop stuff half- way to that wall. Then circle around. I'm going this way. I'll meet you at the maintenance door."

He did as she directed, and they met again in the chucking, clanking dark of the automated manufactory.

"Lock it?" Sascha held the door ajar.

"Yes."

"But how will Yassim know how they got out?"

"They're not there, are they? The cage door is open." Sascha saw her shrug and felt, rather than saw, her malicious smile. "Why should I make it easy for him?"

By the time they reached the loading dock, Sascha's muscles were protesting their abuse. The team had loaded the children into the cars, and the dock was full of cargo to be transshipped.

"You cut that fine, Sascha," the team leader told him. "There'll be a goods train through here in two minutes. We're not supposed to disrupt the service."

Tiria tugged imperiously at Sascha's sleeve. "My floaters."

With one hand he passed them to her, with the other he grabbed her wrist. "No tricks now. There's more business we can do together. We'll discuss it back in G."

Sascha did not know whether it was her surprise that allowed him to capture her or if she was willingly co- operating with him. But she entered the car ahead of him as he tried to keep his grip from breaking fragile bones.

Go! he told the driver, and the starting pressure of the special train pushed him against the padded end of his car.

"Are you taking us all to G?" Her tone was casual.

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it? To get the kids back to G?"

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"I kept our bargain." Her voice held an element of antagonism.

"So will I. Back at G. Then we deal again." She was silent for a long time, thinking that over.

Chapter 11

^ ^ Peter tried to follow the tri-d meteorologist's re- port on the latest freak weather conditions that seemed worldwide, Bangladesh being the worst example. It was difficult to concentrate when he felt "problem" hover- ing in the air. He knew he had done nothing wrong; in fact, he knew that he had done something most extraor- dinary, about which he felt very good indeed. But it was hard not to be worried. He could sense the nebu- lous anxiety emanating from Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Sa- scha. He should not have asked Dorotea about a bigger generator. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong time. But he had proved what he could do with enough power to increase the gestalt, and that 4.5 felt like puny kid stuff now.

Kid stuff! Peter grinned to himself and gave the 4.5 a little shove; it whined obediently. Like a dog. And who was he kidding? He was still only a fourteen-year- old boy. He had already absorbed enough Talent dis- cipline and seen enough examples of the sort of people Talents were to realize that he had rushed the gate. One did not climb mountains when one could not walk. Rhyssa, Sascha, and Dorotea had supported him throughout the entire Erasmus incident, ready to help him, ready to keep him from burning himself out. And he hadn't. But had it been because they had been right there to protect him? Think about that, Petey boy, and get your swelled head back to normal. There are a lot of things you can't do just yet. 179

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He poured himself another glass of orange juice and brought it to the living room as the broadcaster an- nounced that once again supply shuttles for Padrugoi had been grounded by weather conditions. The screen depicted the rank of four perpendicular space vehicles, locked into their gantries, waiting for lift-off conditions with urgently needed materiel so that the First World Project would be finished in time.

Talents were helping to do that, Peter thought with a little thrill of corporate pride. He had just started won- dering how big a generator he would need to send a shuttle safely through the foul weather when the pro- gram switched to coverage of the flooding in Bangla- desh. There were no scenes actually showing the Talents at work; teams of doctors and rescue workers were filmed rushing about. There was also no mention of exactly how the Erasmus had landed so safely at Dacca. He had not really expected to be mentioned publicly. But one would think that there would have been some comment that Talents were risking their lives in the appalling monsoon conditions. The results of their work were shown, all right enough, but somehow that did not seem to be enough.

Rhyssa and Dorotea were always subtly mentioning how important it was not to rub Talent into people's noses. People resented differences. Talent had always to be discreet. The way his mother looked at him had demonstrated that\ Peter grimaced. His own mother was scared of him now. When he had been totally helpless, she had been so good about coming to see him, hugging him, kissing him, always bringing him something: a fax clip about his favorite ball team, a couple of her special cookies, a few flowers. Now when she visited she would not hug him; she sat bolt upright in the chair and tried not to look at him when he wanted so much to show her what Talent allowed him to do.

When Mum was there he redoubled his efforts to ap- pear to walk normally and carry things properly so it

would not freak her out. How often had she said she prayed every night to see Petey on his feet and walking around? And she never looked at him now. She never once mentioned his ball team. Not that he would ever play sandlot baseball again . . . Then Peter grinned, thinking what homers he could whack and how fast he could run the bases. Maybe now he could be the pitcher he had always wanted to be ... His fastball would be something else\ Even if he only used the 4.5!

But he had gone past that sort of ordinary thing, hadn't he? When one could zap shuttles about like gameboard pieces, ordinary accomplishments no longer satisfied.

He drank his orange juice. Not all ordinary things, though. Some very ordinary and extremely homely ac- tions--like getting himself an orange juice when he felt thirsty for it--were, in a special way, far more impor- tant than what he had done with the Erasmus.

He sent the empty glass back to the kitchen, rinsed it out, and put it upside-down on the drainboard.

He had to keep things in perspective. It was more important to have the freedom to do little things and the option to do bigger ones. But, jeez, it had been a won- derful feeling to have all that power and do something no one else could have done with it--just when help was needed.

The tri-d was showing floodwater flowing obediently away from a small town and its surrounding fields. The sandbags and barriers along its torrent seemed to be containing it, but Peter could recognize the subtle signs of kinetic force. He wondered which Talent was at work. Rick Hobson? Mr. Baden? Now, if he'd had ac- cess to a generator, he would have been able to do that. He settled down to leam what he could about flood control from the program. Next time he would be ready to help. The 4.5-kpm was portable, wasn't it?

His thoughts were interrupted by Rhyssa's mental call. Peter, would you come up to my office, please?

182 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 183

Sure! He leaned briefly into the generator and sped out to Rhyssa's building and in through the front door, slowing to maneuver the staircase; he got his feet to the ground as he reached the carpeted hallway leading to Rhyssa's office. No effort!

Show-off. Rhyssa was standing by her office door, but she was smiling. "We don't have any mountains for you to move today, but there's trouble in the wind, dear boy, there's trouble in the wind."

Peter stumbled in his forward motion and corrected himself.

Trouble? Why? We didn't do anything wrong!

Her touch reassured him, as it always did. Dorotea was great: she treated him casually, as she would any of her grandchildren, and that relaxed attitude made many things easier for him. But Rhyssa was different:

her mind had so much depth--not that he had disobeyed the prime rule of mental privacy, but he could not help but sense the depth and purity that was there. She was also the most beautiful woman Peter had ever seen, on or off the tri-d. And she was so good! Everything about her was shining and brilliant. She made him feel whole and strong.

"We did something a shade too right," Rhyssa said. "And we were not quite as discreet as we should have

been."

Momentarily afraid, he reached out to see exactly what they had done wrong.

Peter!

"Sorry."

Rhyssa, more fiercely than Peter had ever heard her:

Damn that Barchenka woman!

"Was I supposed to hear that?" Peter was confused.

"Yes, and double-damn Barchenka!" Rhyssa said aloud, and waved him on through to her office, closing the door behind them.

He halted, sensing the aura of crisis. Dorotea, who was rarely perturbed, was brushing imaginary threads

from her slacks. Things must really be bad. He zigged sideways, aware that Rhyssa just missed bumping into him.

Dorotea: Well done, Peter!

"This is a strategy council, Peter," Rhyssa said, ges- turing for him to sit as she resumed her chair in the tower bay window.

Peter floated over to the conformable seat, grateful for its automatically adjusted support.

' 'Don't ever forget just how proud we all are of you,'' Rhyssa said, her gesture including the entire Center. "You've added a brand new dimension to Talent." She gave him an impish smile. "And reminded this Cen- ter's manager not to get too complacent."

Without violating etiquette, Peter could hear what she was not saying aloud: Talent was very happy; the unTalented were not.

Dorotea: The unTalented always resist a new Talent which we haven't carefully led them to expect. In this instance, you!

Rhyssa: We don't do something right, Peter, without doing something wrong! Peter sensed a second qualifi- cation behind the thought and, remembering his man- ners, broke the contact.

Dorotea: And we've got to figure out how to improve our testing methods! She cleared her throat in a busi- nesslike manner, then winked at Peter.

He thought, very privately to himself, that something bad was definitely about to happen, but he was assured of their love and approval and that was all that really mattered to him.

"If your main desire right now," Rhyssa said, smil- ing with that special twinkle in her eye which she saved for Peter, "is to have the biggest generator on the planet at your disposal"--Peter flushed, looking hard at his bony knees--"then the main desire of half the indus- tries on Earth and in space is to have you using theirs, and theirs alone."

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Space? He could get into space? He looked up in surprise, staring at her. Clearly she did not mean his

way.

"How do they know about me?" He felt suddenly very defenseless. His father was always talking about the managers working a man to death with no consid- eration for him as a human being, only how productive he was, a cipher in a gigantic program.

"They don't know it's you," Dorotea said.

"That's the problem," Rhyssa went on.

"Why?" Peter asked, thinking of big generators.

"Candidly," Dorotea said, "you're fourteen, you're only just beginning to understand your Talent, and pre- mature exposure could--"

"Bum me out," Peter finished for her, though pri- vately he did not think he could bum out--if he had the right power source for anything he wanted to shift. "But I didn't bum out..."

"Without in the least diminishing your achievement, Peter, we were closely monitoring you the other night," Rhyssa went on. "What they have in mind for you is another can of worms altogether. Speaking as a Center director, I must tell you that it has never been the policy of the Centers to assign trainees even part-time work until they're at least eighteen."

"Even I," Dorotea put in, her hand gracefully sweeping her chest, "wasn't permitted to do much until I was eighteen!" She made a face. "As a child, I thought I was just playing a game, guessing which ones in the room could hear me--people who thought they might be Talented." She shot Peter an image of herself as a five-year-old, prettily dressed--and her early beauty was still apparent in her face and manner--walking through the Center's crowded reception area.

"But I've proved what I can do," Peter said. "And I was the only one who could land the Erasmus."

"The situation is not about right or wrong, Peter," Rhyssa said, leaning toward him, a sad expression in

her eyes and face, "or even a moral obligation to re- duce suffering and mitigate disaster." Then she opened her mind to him so he could directly assess the current problem.

Peter had known, of course, that the Parapsychic Centers had had to send the best kinetics to Padrugoi to help complete the station on time. He had not realized all the undercurrents beneath the carefully contrived public image of Padrugoi, much less the machinations of Ludmilla Barchenka, who had forced the capitulation of Centers, ruthlessly stripping them of kinetics in what was basically a face-saving operation. He fumed when he saw that this Barchenka woman was threatening his Rhyssa with all kinds of offenses when it was now pa- tently clear to him that Barchenka was at fault. And he was part of the problem. No, at the moment, he was all of the problem, because Barchenka was out to add him to her force of Talent.

"And I used to think working on the station would be the most special thing you could do," he said slowly. It just was not fair!

"No, not fair, Peter," Rhyssa replied, "but Talent recognizes that completing the station is far more im- portant than individual personal considerations. Com- pleting it on time is obviously Ludmilla's personal goal. I can't deny her that, only her means of achieving it, since by her achievement, mankind has made another giant step to the stars. Don't be deflected too much by the skeletons in the space lockers. There's been no ma- jor forward progress in all of human history that has not been accompanied by some problems."

"Like letting people float out into space and die be- cause rescue would put her behind schedule?" Peter was aghast.

"That's been taken care of," Dorotea reminded him.

"By Talents, and now she thinks she can conscript tae?" Peter was so agitated that he floated above the chair.

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Dorotea, prosaically: You're drifting, dear.

Peter settled down. Well, I just won't work for a per- son like her. And you 're not going to ask me to!

"Indeed and we're not," Rhyssa assured him. "But first," she said with a grin, her eyes twinkling, "we have to prove to them that you're you\ We've been try- ing very hard to keep you sheltered until you've more control ..."

How much control do I need if I can move a shuttle

about the world?

"Peter!" Despite the sharpness in her voice, Peter knew that Rhyssa was amused by his outrage, proud of his achievement, and concerned for his future all at once. He subsided. "Thank you. Now, we were warned to expect visitors of high rank and great prestige. We wanted to brief you, since you are the cat we are about to let out of the bag."

"I rather think he's the cat among the pigeons," Dor- otea said with a sarcastic snort.

"Pigeons? War hawks, Dorotea," Rhyssa corrected, settling into her chair. Then they all heard the unmis- takable thunking of a big helicopter landing on the X outside Henner House. "Peter, don't let the fuss get to you. There's bound to be some bruised feelings and outraged sensibilities. You just pay them no heed!"

But he could not help but heed the fine but controlled aura of apprehension. They were worried. About him!

For him.

Ragnar's voice came through on the intercom. He was duty officer, and twenty years in the Center had made him impervious to rank and prestige. "Rhyssa, there's a bunch here to see you. Do I send 'em up?"

"Yes, I'm expecting them, Ragnar."

His "humph" came over the speaker, and Peter no- ticed Rhyssa's little smile. He also noticed that she was nervously running the stylus through her fingers. Dor- otea sat even straighter in her chair and managed to look

Anne McCaffrey 187

not only larger and more imposing but very, very queenly.

There was a polite knock on the door, and Rhyssa pressed the release button. The first man in the room was a telepath, Peter realized, and he was directing tight private warnings at Rhyssa. The second man, very tall, thin, and wise-looking, gazed directly at Peter and nod- ded. He knew who Peter was even if Peter did not know him, and he was also a telepath. He courteously iden- tified himself to Peter as Justice Gordon Havers.

Peter knew the third man, Dave Lehardt, who im- mediately moved to stand by Rhyssa's desk, facing the others as they filed in. He made his partisanship very clear. He exchanged a glance with Rhyssa and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. She had a slight smile on her face, and Peter sensed that she was very glad to have Dave Lehardt so close by. But knowing that Dave was not a Talent, Peter was surprised by the intimate exchange. He felt a flair of jealousy.

The next six men to enter were obviously important people; four were in uniform and only one of them was Talented. That one appeared very nervous and kept looking from Rhyssa to Dorotea. The last man to enter gaped at Rhyssa in a fashion that made Peter very un- easy--his eyes and his manner made Peter wonder if he was one of those perverts his mother used to warn him about.

As Rhyssa asked them all to be seated, Peter picked up names: Vemon Altenbach, who was secretary of space; the Russian officer was General Shevchenko, Padrugoi liaison official, and even with the shield he wore, he was bristling with aggression. The telempath was Andrei Grushkov, and Peter felt sorry for him--he had to be truthful to his employer, the general, but he felt obscurely that he was betraying Talent in doing so. There were two NASA officers, a general and a colonel, and that pervert was the world-famous Josephson- junction specialist, and a Malay sian prince besides, who

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did such fantastic programming of air and space traffic. Peter did not like the man any belter once he knew he was a genius, not when the man kept sloppily ogling Rhyssa. The man who had come in first was Colonel John Greene, and Peter watched in some awe as the most successful etop pilot of the early days of the Padrugoi Project placed a chair next to him, Peter Reidinger, and smiled quite pleasantly at him. Colonel Greene seemed to be the only one who was smiling. Even Justice Havers looked solemn.

"It would be pointless for me to deny that I am aware of the reason for your visit," Rhyssa said calmly. "Shall I call up the Eastern Center Register for you to check on our memberships?" She placed her fingers over the keyboard.

Peter regarded her with pride. She even had a little smile on her face. And that pervert kept smarming at

her.

The Russian liaison general cleared his throat. "We have already seen it, Madame. But we believe that you have not honestly declared your full kinetic strength." He crooked his head to see his telempath's face.

"Andrei can certainly assure you that our declaration is honest and complete. We have nothing to hide. No Talent does."

"Andrei has also assured me, Madame Owen," the general continued ponderously, "that no kinetic any- where could have successfully landed the Erasmus, not even the twenty-two on board her, or--" He paused dramatically, "--assisted its takeoff from the Dacca field in the weather conditions prevailing that day." His chest seemed to deflate slightly once he had delivered his accusation.

"It was me," Peter said. He wanted to get it all over with, and get that smarmy-faced man out of the room and away from Rhyssa. "I mean, it was I."

The stunned silence was worse than noisy disclaim- ers. Then Colonel Greene started to chuckle and Dave

Lehardt began to laugh. He also winked approvingly at Peter. Not one of the other visitors appeared to be the least bit amused.

"And tell me just how, young man," Vemon Al- tenbach asked, skeptically, "you accomplished such a feat?"

Stick to the facts, man, the facts, Rhyssa said, mental laughter rippling her tone.

"Well, the Erasmus needed help landing at Dacca because the kinetics had to be there to reduce the di- saster potential. So Rhyssa called a G and H--that's a Talent mayday--and I got to use the generators at the East Side power station," Peter replied. He kept his face straight, but he was enjoying the incredulity of the non-Talented in his audience; even the Russian telem- path was admiring, and Peter sat himself even straighter in the chair.

Dorotea: Well said, Peter!

Gordon Havers: In times of doubt, honesty is the best policy.

Johnny Greene: You better believe it, because they're not! Unobtrusively, he patted Peter's knee.

"You have, I must assume, a kinetic Talent?" Ver- non continued.

"Yes, sir. I'm in training as a kinetic, but I can't do as much as I'd like because the people who should be training me are all up on the station."

Rhyssa: Don't spread it on too thick, Peter.

Johnny: Nonsense. They deserve that kick in the shins.

"How much training have you had then?" the gen- eral asked.

"Well, Rhyssa and Dorotea do the best they can, but they're telepaths ..." Rhyssa, dryly: Thank you! Gordon: He's sticking to the truth. "Initially Rick Hobson was helping me," Peter went

190 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 191

on, "but we'd only just gotten past the necessary stuff when he got conscripted to the station.''

"Talents were not conscripted," General Shev- chenko objected forcefully. "They volunteered to assist in the completion of the first Great World Project.''

Peter gave a contemptuous little snort. "If you're not given a choice, you've been conscripted."

"And you expect us to believe that a frail boy ma- nipulated the Erasmusf" Prince Phanibal Shimaz shot out of his chair and stood belligerently in front of Peter, shaking his finger at him. "I, Phanibal Shimaz, prince of Malaysia West, know that this would have been im- possible from such a source! Tell us the truth, little boy!" he demanded, making the adjective pejorative.

"He is telling the truth," Johnny Greene said, rising to his feet to look down at the much shorter prince. Dave Lehardt and Rhyssa jumped to their feet angrily, ready to leap into the fray if need be.

"As Andrei confirms to me," General Shevchenko said in a hard voice. "You exceed your authority. Your

Highness."

"And I shall prove it," Peter added, glaring back at the prince. Just because he could do games with Jo- sephson junctions and traffic-flow patterns that no one else could do did not make him an authority on Talent. "Look!" And Peter raised his right arm, wishing he had enough small motor control to point a finger, but he had not quite mastered that yet.

Actually, it was easy enough with power diverted from the Center's equipment to raise and hold the big helicopter just outside Rhyssa's bay window so that all could see it--and see that the huge rotor blades moved idly in the breeze of its ascent.

"Do be careful with it, Peter," Johnny Greene said amiably, one of the few in the room enjoying the mo- ment. "It's government property."

"I'm always careful, Colonel Greene," Peter replied, feeling the euphoria of potency. He was almost sorry that

he could not think of an even more convincing demon- stration of his kinetic Talent. Dorotea was glaring at him significantly in her enough-is-enough look. He returned the vehicle gently to the ground.

"How old are you, Peter?" Colonel Greene asked, just as if he and Peter were the only ones in the room.

"I was fourteen on the eighth of September."

"And you get about now yourself under your own power?" the colonel inquired.

Peter could see in his eyes that the man knew the true extent of his handicap.

"I was that much"--his fingers measured a two- centimeter gap--"away from paraplegia myself after Mission Number 20," Greene continued.

Peter realized that Colonel Greene was very much on their side and making it very clear to everyone else that Peter's Talent was off limits. "I've learned how to compensate just fine," he replied, and a glance at the colonel told him that that was the right answer to make. "Rick Hobson really helped me. We were just begin- ning to go on to tougher things when he had to go to Padrugoi."

"So you've been Rhyssa's skeleton crew? All by yourself?" Colonel Greene chuckled and looked across at the secretary of space.

"I'm not nearly as much of a skeleton as I used to be." Peter extended his arms and legs and regarded them dispassionately. "I'll get some muscle on them yet. I've got to build slowly, you see, and it takes time."

Colonel Greene rose. "I think that's the answer, gen- tlemen. It takes time to build muscle, any kind of mus- cle, and you build slowly to last longer."

"Now wait just a moment here," Prince Phanibal said, recovering from his initial surprise. "That is not the answer I came to find. You have indeed concealed from4he world a kinetic Talent of demonstrated ability. He can take the place of those at Bangladesh . . ."He

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leaned across Rhyssa's desk, and Peter saw her flinch back from such a menacing posture.

Peter could not stand it. Kinetically he dragged Prince Phanibal backward from Rhyssa, the prince's face set in a paralyzed rictus of amazement. The door that opened to allow his exit closed firmly behind him.

"Peter!" Rhyssa could not quite disguise her relief or her consternation at his breach of courtesy.

"He's got no right to threaten you, Rhyssa! No right at all!"

Dorotea: Bravo, Peter, though I shouldn 't encourage

you!

"Now see here, young man--" Shevchenko took one step toward Peter and stopped, blinking in astonishment when some invisible force prevented him from moving farther forward.

"That's enough, Peter," Rhyssa said with appropri- ate severity. That was rather clever of you, dear, even if you wouldn 't realize it. The mental image in her mind showed suppressed laughter. "The general will not in- timidate you any further. General, I think Peter has in- advertently displayed another cogent reason why the Center is unwilling to utilize his unique abilities except in a crisis. At fourteen, he does not always abide by the courtesies that a more mature personality has learned."

"I demand that the boy apologize to His Highness Prince Phanibal immediately."

"You may demand all you wish, General," Rhyssa said sharply, "but I don't even know why a traffic man- ager, royal or not, was included in this gathering."

"Engineer Barchenka insisted on his inclusion," Vemon Altenbach remarked, attempting some diplo- macy.

"I insist that he be excluded from any future meet- ings involving the Center or myself."

Peter: He's a slimeball!

Johnny Green and Gordon Havers, simultaneously:

Where did you stash him ?

Peter: He's in the helicopter, and he can't seem to get the seat buckle undone. He could not help grinning. / won't let him.

Johnny: Buckle down, Winsockie, buckle down!

Dorotea: I didn't think anyone in your generation knew that old song.

"Now, gentlemen, you have, I trust, seen to your own satisfaction that we have only been protecting young Peter, not deliberately denying the platform his Talent. I'm sorry that you had a long trip for nothing," Rhyssa said, coming around her desk to shake hands with Andrei Grushkov. "However, when Peter is fully trained and we have a better understanding of the pa- rameters of his potential, we will, of course, be obliged to let prospective employers bid for his contractual ser- vices."

Vemon Altenbach eased the disgruntled Russian gen- eral out the door, the NASA colonel and the telempath assisting. But the others lingered until the first group had entered the elevator.

"Ms. Owen," the NASA general began. "Is it pos- sible, given the boy's display of incredible ability, that he could--from time to time, that is ... Well, we do have a serious crisis right now ..."

"What kind?" Rhyssa asked in an unencouraging tone.

' "NASA's supply schedule is at a standstill with the current worldwide weather conditions ..."

Peter zoomed out of his chair, hovering between Rhyssa and the general. Please consider it, Rhyssa. Working for NASA wouldn't be the same as working for Barchenka, would it? But it would be almost as good as being in space. He exerted all his mind's pressure against hers, begging her consideration. He felt her stem resolve not to exploit him.

\ Johnny: It's something to consider, Rhyssa, though we'won't be pushy about it. If you say no, we'll go quietly. But it would gall me personally, and profes-

194 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 195

sionally, to have Barchenka saying that the Americans couldn 't meet their contractual obligations. He cocked his head at Rhyssa, grinning wryly.

Peter could feel Rhyssa beginning to relent.

Dorotea: Consider it a training diversion, Rhyssa.

Rhyssa: But that's it! He's had hardly any training!

Johnny: Repetition hones skills, gal, and it sure re- duces the glamour quotient.

Peter did not understand that but felt Dorotea's ap- proval become more urgent. He sensed that at last Rhyssa was seriously considering the suggestion.

"Look," Johnny said aloud, "this is so important that Vemon would actually get himself another minder for a few weeks. I know all the technical data that Peter needs to understand if he's flinging shuttles about the stratosphere. Hell, I'd get a vicarious thrill out of it myself, getting back into space by proxy. And if Peter's working for NASA, Barchenka can't say Talent has been obstructing Padrugoi's timely completion."

"I know it appears that it's always we who compro- mise," Gordon Havers said, entering the discussion, "but we put a wedge in her works if suddenly we insure delivery of the materiel she needs."

"You'd have to go with Peter, Rhyssa. I'm no longer up to that sort of sustained effort," Dorotea said. "Sa- scha's too involved in the present crisis at Linear G to leave that. And frankly, my dear, you are the stronger telepath and, I think, more tuned in to Peter's mind than Sascha is. Someone has to monitor him during the ge- stalts. I can see you squirming to go, Peter Reidinger. Is it what you really want? Will you behave like a ma- ture Talent?"

Peter managed to curl his fingers around Rhyssa's. "I'll behave. I'll do just as I'm told. I promise! And I'dleamalot."

"You'd call the moves, Rhyssa," Johnny Greene said.

"I don't think we have any choice in this either,"

Rhyssa said, and Peter leaned against her, wishing for her not to sound so defeated. She looked down at him and cupped his head with one hand, smiling tenderly at him. "I'm not defeated, Peter dear, but I intensely dis- like being left with no options."

"Think of the options that you've canceled," Johnny Greene said with a malicious note in his voice as he lifted his middle finger skyward.

"Put like that," Gordie said, grinning, "we're one up on Barchenka."

Rhyssa turned to Dave Lehardt, her expression se- vere. "And you keep Peter's name out of the 'casts and the fax."

"Your skeleton crew at work again?" Dave asked, pretending to ward off an attack.

" 'Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones, and hear the word of the Lord!' " Johnny Greene sang, doing an intricate breakdance step.

Anne McCaffrey 197

Chapter 12

#^ <$# 'phe blond man had an air about him that fasci- nated Tirla. She had never had much to do with Talents, and she surreptitiously crossed her wrists. She had heard such folk discussed in the Residential often enough, in fearful, awed whispers, but she had not believed half of the powers alleged to them: finders of persons and things, seers of souls, readers of secrets, prophets of future things, and movers of mountains.

She stole a look at him where he sat with his head leaned back against the padded wall and his eyes closed;

daring to observe him more closely, she noticed the quick flow of facial muscles, as if he were having an argument in his head. His jaw tightened in anger, and his lips thinned. He should have been pleased with his day's work, Tirla thought. She was startled then, when his mouth relaxed into a half smile, a clever sort of smile, and his eyebrows twitched. Had he won his in- ternal argument? He was a strange man, she thought, even though outwardly he appeared no different from others.

He was not LEO, and yet he was, and she could not figure out where he fit in, or how he and his teams had appeared so conveniently at the J shunt--especially when she had just realized the difficulty of cajoling scared whiney brats like Tombi into riding cargo pods back to G. Without that unexpected rescue, Yassim's ladrones would surely have recaptured them, herself in- cluded. She shuddered.

196

So they had been rescued from Yassim. But not from Authority. She wanted no part of Authority: too many conflicting rules and regulations and silly restrictions that only begged to be ignored or evaded. The prospect of a new ID briefly dazzled her, to the point where she could feel the narrow plastic strip knocking against her wrist bone. But she did not--quite--believe that the man would be able to produce any such ID, no matter how well he seemed in with the LEOs.

No matter! She had clean floaters--more than she needed for the tieds she had been supposed to launder for Yassim--so she was well ahead in the game. The matter of the hot tieds bothered her, but she was loath to face Yassim as long as he was in the market for kids. And it was very likely that the LEOs could not collar Yassim, and that he would go into deep hiding some- where to wait out the furor. So, morally, she could hide the tieds for a while and discreetly exchange them, es- pecially if Yassim was out of circulation, over the next several months. This was the biggest hit she had ever made.

But still she was uneasy. She was trapped in the closed cargo pod and did not really know where they were going, though she had been keeping mental count of the rail junctions. The blond man could just as easily leave, her off at the hostel with the others. Who would believe that she had an arrangement with him? The train began to decelerate, and Tirla, with a spurt of dread anticipation, waited for the shunt connect. They were going to the G platform. She was both comforted and concerned.

"Where are we now?" she asked.

Sascha opened his eyes, and she saw that they were an unusual shade of light blue. He looked amused. "You know we're at G. So now we return the lost chil- dren'to,their grieving parents. That is important to you, isn't it, Tirla? That Bilala, Zaveta, Pilau, and especially

198 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 199

Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik know that you helped retrieve their lost ones?"

Now how could he know that? How much did he know about her? Why was he playing her along this way? He was a sharp one indeed. What sort of a scam was he running? Not all of this action had to do with that perv Yassim.

She refused to be drawn by what could just be a shrewd guess on his part. LEOs were not above putting surveillance on Meetings, even a silly RIG with that Lama-shaman. Perhaps there had been eyes on her cli- ents, although why such a gaggle of silly women would be the object of LEO interest she did not know--unless it had to do with selling kids. But none of them had been there to deal kids--most of theirs were too young yet. They had all been looking for "messages" and "salvations." Yet Sascha had identified her clients, and he had even known that Mirda Khan and Mama Bob- chik were especially important.

"It just pays to be a good neighbor," she answered diffidently.

"Oh, you have definitely been a good neighbor to- day, Tirla. And a very good citizen!" He laughed softly, throwing his head back and showing large white even teeth. It would be a very nice laugh, Tirla thought, if it had not worried her that he was laughing at all. Perversely she liked him, for his strong grip and his droll words, but she did not trust him any further than she could have thrown Bulbar.

She gave him a quick stare for calling her ' 'citizen.'' Citizens lived across the river in the beautiful hives, luxury cones, platforms, and complexes, not in Linears.

"Trust me, Tirla?" His eyes were not laughing, nor was his mouth, and his voice was gentle and entreating.

"I have no reason to."

"If I give you one?"

She snorted scornfully. Just then the train braked to an easy stop, an'd the lids of the pods opened to reveal

a group of adults, waiting to lift out the unconscious children. A slim woman in a LEO uniform standing at the edge of the platform spotted Sascha and thrust a narrow plastic case at him.

"Here's a reason, Tirla." Sascha showed her the ID bracelet in the case. He took advantage of her surprise to clasp it around her wrist.

She stared at it, holding her arms away from her, trying to absorb the significance of having a legal iden- tity and then the slowly dawning knowledge that the bracelet was not banded in the usual Residential col- ors. Green banding meant that one could travel be- tween Linears, but what did the gold and black stripes mean?

"You are now legal, Tirla."

Just then the four freight elevators reached the cargo level. A mass of women flowed out onto the platform, raising loud lamentations when they saw limp bodies on medipads. Sascha drew Tirla to one side as Public Health personnel circulated, establishing the parentage of those Tirla had rescued.

"What happens to them?" Tirla asked. This was not what she had had in mind when she set out on her mad venture. Parents would not be pleased that their chil- dren were in the hands of Authority. Nor would they profit as she had intended. She had an ID bracelet and more credit than she had ever possessed in her life- but what good would it do her if the tenuous position she had carved for herself, her clients, her means of supporting herself, were gone? Suddenly her future seemed as bleak as that of the children she had saved from Yassim.

A tall, slender, very handsome young man in a LEO uniform planted himself squarely in front of the Sascha person and saluted. "What do you wish me to tell the women, sir?" he asked.

"That Tirla here," Sascha said, moving her to stand in front of him, his hands lightly--and, she felt,

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kindly--on her shoulders, "found where Yassim had hidden their children. She was leading them back home, to their mothers and fathers, when we, also searching, came upon them."

In a voice that penetrated the tumult of wailing women, the young man rattled off the announcement in the required languages--a task that made Tiria rest- less under Sascha's hands. As each of the linguistic groups understood, they fell to whispering among themselves. When the translator had finished, Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik waded forward, their ex- pressions grim. Under Sascha's hands, Tirla's narrow shoulders tensed, and surreptitiously she shielded her brand-new ID bracelet by moving her arm slightly be- hind her.

"And the children?" Mirda Khan demanded in Ba- sic, jutting her chin out. She stared pointedly at Tiria.

"The records have been checked," Sascha said, his voice diplomatically apologetic. "Their births were il- legal."

When Mirda Khan frowned, Sascha signaled for Ran- jit to translate. The wave of hysterical weeping was punctuated as mothers of now officially illegal children threw themselves across the unconscious bodies, obvi- ously determined to resist attempts to remove them. Sascha ordered the crowd-control partners to neutralize the incipient hysterics. He dampened his own reception, but he could not remain immune to the intense emo- tional agitation that battered his senses. He was per- plexed. These same women would have sold their sons and daughters in a few years.

Boris, he said, it's going to be a lot easier to buy these women off with something.

How about the truth? Isn't a hostel a better fate than the future Yassim planned/or them?

I would think so, Sascha replied, but I do not think they'll see it in the same light. I'll tap our slush/and if you won't ante lip. Anything, Sascha thought, to shut

up the spine-crawling ululations. He was not used to having to deal on this level.

Getting soft. Brother?

You're not here and listening. And there's Tiria to think of.

You 're taking charge of her, aren 't you ? Boris asked.

I'd rather she wasn't jeopardized. Her Talent could be very useful in multilanguage groups.

The noise was fearful, the aura exceedingly unpleas- ant for any Talents with the least modicum of empathy. Tears were streaming down Carmen's face.

"How much, Tiria?" Sascha asked.

Startled, she twisted in his hands to see his expres- sion.

"How much will stop their tears and relieve their loss?" he went on.

"You'd pay?"

He saw the leap of astonishment in her velvety brown eyes before a canny veil settled over her expression. Brother, this one's going to deal for the hairs on our chests.

"For the youngest, you don't have to give much." She named a figure. "Add ten percent for each year they have, and that should be enough."

"I'd say five percent for each year."

' 'Seven!'' she retorted. ' 'The bigger they are the more it takes to fill their bellies."

He spit in his hand and held it out. She closed the deal and then stepped four paces nearer to Mirda Khan.

Ranjit, monitor this for me! Sascha ordered.

She's speaking Arabic, Ranjit said. She's saying that she has been arguing hard for the grieving mothers ever since they were caught in the tunnel. Only because she has spoken out so forcefully has a way been made to ease the sorrow of the mothers. Illegal children have rights, the big man says, and she believes him. They will be much safer than with Yassim, for which every mother should be thankful, knowing perfectly well the

202 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 203

fate which awaited the children, despite the grief it causes. For how else can people survive on mere sub- sistence alone? A price has been agreed, as they must have seen, and she has acted in good faith. Sascha, Ranjit added as Tiria turned to face another section of the women, this child is amazing. She's speaking Urdu now as glibly as she did Arabic. Oho!

There was a commotion, and a plump little woman, her face contorted with conflicting emotions until her beady eyes were hidden in the folds of her cheeks, pushed through. Sascha recognized her from her caste mark and the vindictiveness of her roiling thoughts. She would have leaped upon Tiria if Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik had not intervened. Sascha sprang forward to protect Tiria, berating himself for not anticipating an attack.

"Unwanted bitch," me woman shrieked in Basic. "Illegal, you! The bint is illegal! She is illegal!" She struggled against the restraining hands. "Take her. You take her if you take my Tombi. You take her!"

"Of course I am illegal, wasted barren woman whose husband will beat her morning, noon, and evening for refusing a fair price that will feed him for many days to come on lamb and papadums." Tiria leaned with fervor into the task of returning verbal abuse. She had, Sascha noted, managed to run her bracelet up under her sleeve, out of sight.

Sascha restrained Tiria by her shoulders. "She is il- legal, woman. She comes with us. Tell them, Ranjit!" When the message had been translated, he added, "The deal she spoke of will be good for only three more minutes." He looked pointedly at his digital watch. "Then there is no more to talk about. Let each mother who accepts the offer stand by her child."

Then, to shut up the renewal ofBilala's caterwauling, Sascha shot a strong silencing command compulsion on the hysterical woman. She fell back in the arms of the

women who held her, her mouth working soundlessly. An awed hush fell over the platform.

The business was quickly concluded then, and Tiria watched solemnly as crisp floaters changed hands. She had never seen so much money in circulation at one time and in front of everyone. It was better so. No one could claim afterward that one had received more than another. Some of the women lingered, displaying real distress as their children were loaded back into the front four cars. Sascha propelled Tiria towards the last car, which the search group was boarding.

Tiria held up her braceleted arm. "You keep the bar- gain in fact but not in spirit?" she demanded as the drone cover slid shut. She tugged at the coveted wrist- band.

"The bargain is kept in fact and in spirit, Tiria, but you can't go back to G, not with Bilala your enemy."

"Huh! That one!" Tiria snorted derisively. "She wouldn't find me if I didn't want her to. I'm not afraid of that stupid woman."

"Frankly, I would be, were I you," Sascha said. "She'll certainly make sure Yassim knows what part you had in clearing out his hide."

That caused her to reflect, although Sascha still could not nudge his way past her shields.

"Then what was the point of making it seem as if they'd escaped?" she demanded with some exaspera- tion.

"That seemed a sensible safeguard at the time. Up until you'd wanted to be such a good neighbor. C'mon ..." Sascha held out his hand. "I think I can find you a safe squat for a few days with a friend of mine." Dorotea? he called. Can you spare a moment for this waif?

Tiria looked at his hand as if it were covered in acid. "At the hostel? With theml"

"You're legal, remember?" he reassured her with a little smile. "Technically, you're free to move any-

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where you want to now. You've got a wad of floaters, but--" He raised his hand in a cautionary gesture. "--you know as well as I do that an unattached kid in a Linear right now is in jeopardy. Yassim has got to find replacements, and Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik wouldn't be there to defend you."

"Defend me?" Tiria was both indignant and aston- ished.

"Oh, they did, in their own ways. And if a ladrone didn't snap you up, the Public Health would, as you're underage and should be in school." Wow! he exclaimed to Dorotea as he sensed Tirla's sudden reaction. That opened up an excited crack. # Dorotea: Keep working it then!

"Frankly, I would be wary, were I you," Sascha said.

Tiria fingered her precious ID. "School? I could ac- cess Teacher?"

"You've the right to all the education you can stuff into your head--that is, once you overcome the little problem of being an unattached minor. C'mon, get into the pod. It's ready to go, and I want you out of this hostile environment."

Tiria cast a look over her shoulder at the knot of women around Bilala and said "Stupid cunt" under her breath, but she did not resist Sascha's guiding hand.

"Once you've caught up with the grade level, you could even go to a regular school."

"Me? In a school?" Tiria was skeptical as well as contemptuous.

"I suspect you've got a lot more talent than you re- alize, Tiria."

Dorotea, acidly: You were never one to understate a cause.

Tiria hunkered down beside him, balancing her torso between spread knees, hands dangling limply between her legs, her butt against the padded end of the cargo pod. She cocked her head up at him, hauling the strands

of dark hair off her face, her dark eyes sparkling with, it seemed to Sascha, a private amusement that, for all his telepathic skill, he could not penetrate.

"Talent?" she repeated.

"Yes," he said. "Talent." He settled down beside her just as the train began to ease forward.

"I'm nothing like you," Tiria said warily, swaying a little.

"No, you're not. I cannot talk to everyone in their own language as glibly as you do."

Tiria thought for a moment and then shrugged. "That's not hard to do."

"Not for you. Ranjit, who's quite a linguist, was making heavy weather of the translations just now."

Tiria shrugged again, dismissively.

"In a few years, you could earn a big wage just trans- lating." He could feel her attention. "Enough to live at the top of any Linear and never have to worry about the Yassims of this world."

"Working for LEO?" She was plainly unwilling.

"For someone with your gift of languages, there are far better opportunities than LEO. You do need some schooling."

"I got schooling." Her tone was both rebellious and indignant. At Sascha's prompting, she added, "I used my brother's ID--as long as I had it. I got schooling."

Dorotea, would you check that out? The brother's name and ID are on the Incident report.

I caught a glimpse again, Sascha, Dorotea said. I'm going to need personal contact with her to get past that shield. I gather you plan to bring her to my place and I'm to play sweet frail harmless grandmama? Boy, this has been a day! In for a penny, in for a pound. Did you get any of the high-level interview?

Caught most of it! Sascha sent an image of him cheer- ing like a mad soccer supporter.

When all the excitement dies down, Sascha, we are

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going through the testing procedures with the prover- bial fine-tooth comb.

Just then Sascha felt the jar as the four forward cars were detached to go on to the western hostel that would accommodate the illegal children. He caught the look of apprehension on Tirla's face and her quick glance at him.

I'll take her to my spare room if you 'd rather, he told Dorotea.

Nonsense. I may hate typecasting but I'm far more suitable. Though you 're doing rather well, Dorotea al- lowed somewhat grudgingly.

Sascha smiled and resettled himself. "It'll be smoother from now on," he said to Tiria. "We're be- ing shunted to the commuter track.''

"Where are you taking me?"

"To my grandmother."

I'm not sure I care to be related to a glib philanderer like you, Sascha Roznine. No morals.

"If she'll have you for a few days until I can find the right Residential school for you," he amended. "That would solve the problem of nosy Public Health officials and keep you out of Yassim's notice." The mention of school briefly opened her shield and he saw a fearful startlement--a hunger and a withdrawal--before it low- ered. He went on casually. "But, as I said, you've a legal ID, floaters enough for months, and you can suit yourself."

Their car had been shunted several times, and the progress became smoother and faster. Tiria noticed it, and she also noticed how the other people in the car were relaxing, smiling and chatting comfortably with one another.

Residential school, my ass! Boris's disgusted tone echoed in Sascha's mind. / can just see Fairmont or Holyoke taking in that subbie.

Tolerance, Bro, tolerance. She's clean and healthy, and that tight mind might conceal a genius.

Boris: For scams!

Dorotea, steel in her tone: You just let us handle one of our own.

Since when am I disowned? Boris asked.

Dorotea: When you 're wearing nothing but your LEO hat!

Sascha had a mental image of his brother withdraw- ing quietly, offending hat in hand. No one took on Dor- otea in a crusading mood. He glanced down at Tiria, who was deep in thought, staring down at the floor, though her body appeared relaxed. When the cargo-pod door opened as they reached the vehicle park in the quiet grounds of the Eastern Center for Parapsy chics, she reacted with amazement and disbelief. As the other members of Sascha's team piled out, laughing and chatting over the successful assignment, Tiria just stood, her large eyes wide and white as she stared around her. Sascha did not hurry her. The old Henner estate, with its big old beeches, maples, and oaks, the wide lawns and the attractive two-story residential units, was unusual enough in modem Jerhattan and had to be a revelation to a Linear resident. Tiria looked appalled.

"My grandmother lives over there," Sascha said, pointing to the dwelling that had once been the garde- ner's lodge. "There she is, weeding the border." You are'the most complete ham, Dorotea. Weeding?

True enough, but I wasn 't going to swathe myself in black subsistence and bedeck myself with bracelets and nose rings to make her feel at ease. And the border does need weeding.

What about your arthritis?

I always suffer for my art, m'dear. I've recruited Peter, too. He needs to climb down from rarefied at- mospheres, and something homely will help. Also, he may be older than she is, but he looks young. He's to appear with eats. Refreshments are always a good way to start off a conversation, particularly for some-

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one with a Near East background. "Why, Sascha, what a pleasant surprise!" Dorotea hoisted herself to her feet and held out her arms to him. Kiss me, you lout. Even grandmothers need a ration of passion now and again!

"Grandmother, this is Tiria . . . Tunnelle."

Inventive boy! Dorotea commented.

"She needs a place to stay for a few days. Would it be too much of an imposition?"

Dorotea extracted herself from Sascha's enthusiastic embrace and extended a mud-daubed hand to Tiria. Since Dorotea had been accepted and acceptable from the moment of her birth, she had about her an aura that made rejection from anyone impossible; Tiria delayed only a moment before grasping the extended hand. She's got bones like a bird's, Sascha. How could she possibly do all she's just done ?

"Tiria, this is Dorotea Horvath." There's nothing frail about Tiria's mind, Dorotea.

"Actually, I was just about to quit and have some- thing to eat and drink. The sun's warm today. Peter, is the juice ready?" she called, and gestured for her guests to precede her into the little house.

Sascha was glad that he had thought of Dorotea, in- stead of taking Tiria to the far more daunting manor house and its formality. Judging by the girl's stunned expression, even this homey room was far outside her experience.

"I expect you'll want to wash up, and I need to," Dorotea said gently, touching Tiria's arm and pointing to the little hall. "Lavatory's second door on the left, dear, plenty of towels. Peter," she said as she made for the small kitchen, "we have two more guests."

Peter: What's she like?

Sascha: Scared.

Peter, wryly: Know the feeling!

Dorotea: Tight shield.

Peter, earnestly: I'll be careful.

Dorotea: And don't show off. You'll terrify her.

Peter: / did all the showing off I'm going to do this morning.

An apprehensive Tiria reentered the room, surrepti- tiously trailing fingers along wooden surfaces and across me sofa backs. Sascha noticed that she had washed hands, arms, neck, face, and that portion of her chest that was visible above the round neck of her rather worn clothing. She had brushed her long hair neatly back over her shoulders. Sascha thought of the cheerless functionality of subsistence living quarters and gave Tiria another full mark for nonchalance.

"Here we are," Dorotea said, arriving with a large tray laden with all sorts of fingerfoods: savories, small open-faced sandwiches, wedges of fruit, and strips of fresh vegetables. "Peter, don't drop the glasses!" For- tunately, Tiria's back was to the boy who, with both hands on the huge pitcher of orange juice, was allowing four large tumblers to float along beside him.

"Hold it while I pour," Peter said, handing Tiria a glass, a diversion that kept her from noticing the other glasses sliding to positions on the low table near Dor- otea and Sascha.

Dorotea: Peter!

Peter: She didn 't see it.

When all had been served with juice, Peter bounced into theichair beside Tiria and took a long drink of the juice, wiping his mouth and exclaiming with satisfac- tion at the taste.

"Don't inhale the juice, Peter," Dorotea said as she offered Tiria the tray of snacks. An uncommon fondness for green pepper, she noted when she saw Tiria's eyes brighten at the sight of the slices. Closely watching Dorotea, me girl had closed her fingers about three, then increased her haul to six when there was no reac- tion. "The cheese puffs are hot and fresh," Dorotea said, pushing them toward Tiria. "You'd better get them now before Sascha or Peter hog them all."

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Tida let the pepper strips fall into her lap and obe- diently took a cheese puff.

/ couldn't make myself some coffee, could I, Doro? Sascha asked plaintively.

Drink! Anything. She won't until we all do. "Peter, this is just what I needed. I must have dehydrated in the sun. Sascha, there're asparagus in the breadrolls. I know you like them! And Peter, you are not to eat all the chicken sandwiches. He would, you know," Dorotea rattled on, nibbling at a cheese puff which she then put to one side to take a bite of a pated cracker. Well, we 've all sampled everything to prove there's no poison or drugs: Ah, good! Oh, my word! She's starved!

Tiria had started to drink and eat with quick sharp bites and snatched swallows, as if she was torn between eating and drinking and afraid that the food would sud- denly disappear. All three telepaths were aware of a sudden lightening of her carefully guarded thoughts as she made inroads on the snacks. The pastry melted in her mouth, releasing tastes that satisfied unknown crav- ings with textures that titillated her tongue, from the reassuring crisp watery tang of the green peppers to the bite of sharp cheese and savory meat fillings.

Food would be a trigger, Dorotea went on wryly, when you consider she's probably been hungry all her life. She took a long drink of the orange juice. ' 'I hope you've more in the kitchen, Peter, because it tastes mar- velous. But then, fresh-squeezed orange juice always does, don't you think so, Tiria?"

Sascha! Boris's tone was authoritative. Your waif's in good hands. Someone just snatched one of the Jer- hattan schoolkids we stranded three weeks ago.

"Well," Sascha said, rising and dusting crumbs off his fingers. "I'll leave you to it, Tiria. You're safe enough here for a few days, and Peter can show you how to log on to Teacher. Right?"

As he strode across the lawn to the main house, Dor-

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otea told him, She paused in her eating when you left, but I fear the snack tray and the orange juice pitcher are of far greater moment than you, honey.

Sascha was not certain, in his private mind, if he liked taking second place to a batch of canapes, even with a preadolescent.

Chapter 13

#$" #$" you been here long?" Tiria asked Peter the next morning as they ate breakfast in the pleasant and, to Tiria, amazing kitchen room. Dorotea was preparing eggs--fresh eggs--in a pan at the stove, using, of all things, a naked flame. Tiria did not wish to distract her from the dangerous procedure, so she spoke in a low voice.

"Hmm," Peter said amiably, taking neat spoonfuls of the ripe melon. "Ever since I got out of the hospi- tal."

Tiria watched to see how he dealt with the food--she would have sliced it thin and eaten down to the rind. "Why were you in the hospital?" she asked. Hospitals were fearsome places to Tiria, who had always made a practice of avoiding medics, as well as quacks. She also had a wary distrust of sick people, never having been ill or injured herself.

Peter gave a diffident shrug of one shoulder. "A wall collapsed all over me."

"You must have been hurt bad." In Tiria's experi- ence people did not survive walls coming down on them.

"Couldn't walk for months. Couldn't even feed my- self." His eyes took on an unfocused cast.

"And they let you live?" Tiria was stunned at such good fortune.

Peter regarded her with some surprise. "Of course, though for a while there, I really didn't want to live." 212

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Tiria absorbed that remarkable statement as she bent to the task of eating melon. It was really good--not gone off like most of those she scrounged. She nicked careful glances at Dorotea to make sure the fire was under control. Why didn't the woman use the hotter she had right there in the wall? One of the first things one learned in the Linears was not to mess with naked flames. Fire was a sure way to bring down the wrath of the LEOs.

"Why did you?" Tiria asked, realizing that Peter was waiting for her to comment. "Live, I mean."

"Rhyssa taught me how to move again."

"You do move sort of oddly," she said, having no- ticed the peculiar gliding motion he used. He did not, in fact, seem to take real steps, though his legs moved.

Peter snickered, his mouth full of melon. He swal- lowed and grinned broadly. "That's because I'm not really walking. I impel myself kinetically." His eyes glinted with mischief at her mystification. "I make my body move. It can't."

Tiria stopped eating, staring at him until she recalled that even in Linears a lengthy stare was impolite. "Your body doesn't move? But you're eating. You're using your arm and your hand--just like me." She held her own hand up.

"I'm pretty good at it, aren't I?" Peter was delighted with his effect on Tiria. "I've done some other stuff, too, moving--" He broke off, with a slightly rueful grin. "I hear you're pretty good at your Talent, too. That was larky--getting the kids away from the per- vert."

Tiria slowly shook her head, dismissing her achieve- ment. "Nothing like what you do. I don't have much Talent at all."

Peter snorted with good-natured contempt. "That's what you think. It's not what Rhyssa said. I'm good at what I do. But you're very very good at what you do. Don't knock it."

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Slightly embarrassed by the sincerity of Peter's tone, Tiria changed the subject, eager to pump him on puz- zling topics. "You said Rhyssa helped you? Is she the dark-haired one who was here last night after Sascha left?"

Peter nodded his head. "She's the director here."

"Not Sascha?"

Peter shook his head, grinning. " Sascha's the deputy chief. He takes over when Rhyssa's involved with someone. Like me! I'm her special project--" He broke off, blinking his eyes rapidly, and flashed a quick, al- most apologetic glance at Dorotea before he grinned. "Rhyssa has lots of special duties, being the director. I'm not the only one."

Tiria noticed that his cheeks flamed briefly. What could embarrass a boy like Peter? Then Dorotea was passing plates with freshly cooked eggs and bacon and urging Tiria to sample the hot toast. Tiria ate until she was stuffed. She thanked Dorotea profusely for the ef- fort of handcooking.

"I enjoy it," Dorotea replied, smiling gently. "Es- pecially for appreciative appetites. Peter, why don't you take Tiria to the study and log her in? You've got to go through some assessments first, honey, but once your standard's been decided, you'll be expected to be pre- sent for all the classes you're assigned."

Tiria nodded briefly, far more interested in the way Peter got down from his chair--indeed he did glide as he conducted her to the study, and the curious fluidity of his movements fascinated her.

"And you aren't really walking?" she asked.

"Nope, it's all kinetic. My spinal cord got severed when the wall fell on me. Medical science can't splice that--yet--but kinetic science gives me movement. Bet- ter'n being stuck in a support chair," he assured her blithely. "Here's your terminal, and here're your ear- plugs. I've got to do my hours with Teacher, too. Can't slip out of that with kinesis!" He made a face as she

slid into the chair he indicated. When she had slipped the plugs into her ears, he typed a sequence with an odd finger movement, and suddenly the blank screen cleared.

"Tiria Tunnelle, may I, as your personal Teacher, welcome you to this Educational Program." The screen showed the School Room and a pleasant-faced woman seated at the desk. Tiria knew that the Teacher was a construct, devised to reproduce the old teacher-pupil confrontation, but she had always liked the look of Teacher; someone a person could trust, who would not laugh at questions or honest mistakes, who was there to help one leam. "Sascha Roznine told us that you have had some credits under the name of Kail, Linear G resident. Flat 8732a. Today, if you will bear with me, Tiria, we will just see how much of those early lessons you remember. Now, shall we begin? If you need to be refreshed about the function keys, please type H for help. Or, if you're ready to begin, strike RETURN, and we'll begin the assessment."

With conflicting emotions--awe at realizing a long-held dream and fear that the miracle might be withdrawn for some capricious reason--Tiria touched RETURN.

"I think," Dorotea began, drumming her fingers rap- idly on the kitchen table, "Tiria is going into an education-overkill phase. She won't leave the terminal, though Peter has been as slyly devious as you, Sascha, in getting her outside. I also think she finds the grounds daunting instead of pleasant. She sticks to the paths and won't use the playground facilities. But all this study and no play is not an improvement."

Don Usenik, who had joined the informal meeting as medical advisor, shook his head, mildly amused by Dorotea's fervor. "According to the medical reports, she's in excellent shape. Amazingly so when you con- sider the conditions under which she's lived."

"Well, I think it's wrong for a child her age to try

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216 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

and absorb two years' education in four days," Dorotea maintained.

"Any improvement in receptivity?" Rhyssa asked.

"What does Peter say?" Dorotea countered with some heat.

Rhyssa laughed. ' 'Peter thinks she could if she would. When she's involved in her studying, he can hear an ongoing mental commentary. She has amazing retentive powers, visual as well as auditory. She's answered him telepathically once or twice when she didn't realize it."

"We have got to make her aware of her potential," Sascha said, frustrated.

Rhyssa leaned across the table. "It will take time, Sascha. There's no need to force scope to her Talent."

"Boris would like a hundred more like her," Sascha said, frowning.

"But I thought you and Boris had found the Jerfiattan child," Rhyssa said, having followed his thought. She did not like what she read: that Boris wanted Tiria to work undercover with Cass.

"Oh, we found and rescued her all right enough," Sascha replied with no sense of achievement, "and two others, but there were no leads whatever of any use. Only a minor ladrone who reports by phone--another of those conveniently illegal connects. So a dead end. The girls could tell us nothing; they had been gassed, blindfolded, stuck in some sort of smooth plastic co- coon. Their trauma went pretty deep."

"The psychological scarring of their incarceration is going to be difficult to neutralize," Don remarked, frowning. "A new wrinkle in rendering the abducted docile--tactile disorientation. Villainous trick." He shook his head. "You and Peter are off today, aren't you? So that leaves Dorotea and me to come up with some brilliant ideas on sharpening up the Tests, huh?"

"And me," Sascha said, coming out of his gloom. "I am after all, director of training for this Center. The trouble with a unique like Tiria is that she doesn't re- alize she's got Talent in the first place. And in the sec- ond, how can you test children that aren't supposed to exist?"

"What training have you planned for Tiria then?" Rhyssa said.

Sascha shrugged. "Training? She's a natural at what she does--getting into the communication center of any- one's brain and adapting to whatever language they're using." He spread his hands wide. "How can we im- prove on that? And she can't explain any more than Peter can explain how he does what he does."

"I'd do it myself, but I hate crowds and I can't walk far," Dorotea said suddenly, "but Sascha, why don't you start by hauling her away from Teacher for an af- ternoon? Those issue shoes are useless, and while she might feel happy in subsistence issue, I would like to see her dressed in something nicer. Several something nicers."

"Me?" Sascha glanced first at Dorotea and then at Rhyssa and pretended not to see Don's amused expres- sion.

"You!" Dorotea pointed a stem finger at him. "She trusts you."

"But I've never bought clothes for a kid."

"No need to panic," Dorotea replied unfeelingly. "I'm sure Tiria knows what she'd be comfortable wear- ing; and^that's all you need to go by. She's still a trifle young to want to bedeck herself alluringly."

Wanna bet? Rhyssa said in a tight aside to Dorotea, who gave her an unfathomable glance without betraying a mental explanation.

"Take her to one of the good malls. Let her see how the other half lives--the one she's inhabiting now," Dorotea went on. "And then treat her to something tooth-rottening and utterly satiating. Spoil her a bit. Show her there's more to life on this level than a square box and a wrist ID."

218 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 219

"She might know of other kids with unusual apti- tudes," Rhyssa added. "She doesn't miss much."

"That's for sure," Sascha replied heartily. "Your heli just landed, Rhyssa. I'll just see you all off."

"Peter!" Rhyssa called. "Dave and Johnny are on their way. Are you all packed?"

Dorotea snorted. "He's been ready since before you thought of the--" She paused and grinned wickedly. "--distraction."

"I'm coming," Peter called. He glided to Tiria's room. "I'll see you," he told her. "Keep clocking in the study time."

She hit the HOLD and regarded him in surprise. "You going somewhere?"

Peter grinned mischievously. "Rhyssa's got a job for me." He winked.

"Job? For you?"

"Sure. I'm very useful, I'll have you know."

Tiria gave him a long disbelieving look. "Doing what?"

"More of what I'm good at."

Tiria gave him a look of profound disbelief. "What could you be good at?"

Peter made a clicking sound in his mouth, since he could not snap his fingers. "I just wish I could tell you, Tiria. But it's a professional secret."

"So don't tell me. I got better things to do than guess secrets!" Tiria turned back to the monitor.

"But I'll be gone weeks."

Tiria wriggled her fingers at him over her shoulder. "Have a good time," she said, keeping her eyes on the screen. The Teacher on hold had her mouth open and hand half-raised as she was making a particular point in the lesson. Tiria tried to resume her studying, but the truth of the matter, though she could not let on to Peter, was that she would miss him. Weeks?

He was the first boy she had ever met who had some sense. She knew' he was supposed to be a very clever

kinetic--he had talked to her about thought transfer and telepathy, which made her a bit nervous--but he had also been good about helping her with some of the harder problems Teacher set her. At least Sascha would be around. She would not like Sascha to be gone for weeks.

She was surprised to have her lesson interrupted a second time--and by Sascha.

"Tiria! Have you stirred out of this room today?"

"No," she said, tapping out the answer to the prob- lem on the screen.

"Tiria! Turn that damned thing off! We've got some- thing better to do with the afternoon."

She rolled over on her side to look up at him. "What?"

"Buy you some new shoes and clothes."

Tiria looked down at the toes that were visible through the latest cracks in her footwear. "I did try to find the issue slot, but Dorotea doesn't have one."

Sascha hunkered down and firmly punched the Off switch.

"Hey!" Tiria regarded him with astonishment that quickly turned to antagonism. She reached for the switch, and he caught her hand.

"You can pick up where you left off when we get back. On your feet!" Sascha gave her hand a warning pull, "We don't have issue slots at the Center. Gener- ally we get ordinary stuff from the Remote Mail, but as I haven't a notion of your shoe size or what colors you like, I think this once, we'll go in the flesh. When we're done, we're going to have a treat."

That got Tiria's interest. She bounced to her feet, her black eyes sparkling. "What kind of treat?"

"That'll be entirely up to you, my dear," he said, leading the way to the transport lot. "m our malls there's a lot to choose from," he added in a provocative tone.

Whatever misgivings Sascha might have entertained

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about shopping for a child were swiftly compounded. First Tiria had to recover from her initial shock at the size of the mall that Sascha had chosen. Then she led him a dance through every department of the twelve- story complex, eyes and head constantly on the move as she did an initial reconnaissance.

Back on the first floor, she mused at length over the various items that had caught her attention the first time and then began a second tar. On the fourth level, for- tunately the one dealing with shoes and apparel for young people, the sole of one shoe disintegrated-- "From the heat of the speed at which she was travel- ing," Sascha told Dorotea later.

When an officious floor walker moved in on Tiria with the obvious intent of removing the waif from the elegant premises, Sascha intercepted him.

"I wouldn't," Sascha said in a low voice, pushing out his sleeve so the special design of his wrist ID was visible. "I'm escorting her. Is she acceptable as a pa- tron now?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, but you must admit . . ."

"That's why we're shopping."

The man walked quickly out of Sascha's vicinity with several anxious backward glances.

"You weren't going to hex him, were you, Sascha?" an amused voice beside him asked.

He turned to see Cass Cutler grinning up at him. "If I could, I'd put a hurry one on Tiria," he said. "We went through all twelve levels of this place like a dose of salts, and now she's settling down for a second tour."

Cass laughed at his discomfort. "And they sent you out on your own with your protegee?" She laughed again. "That's unkind."

"It's supposed to be mutually instructive."

Tiria reappeared and latched onto Sascha's hand, re- garding Cass very narrowly from her suddenly inscru- table eyes.

"I remember you," Cass said. "You ricocheted off

me and my partner at Linear G. And you messed up Flimflam's scam to a fare-thee-well. My congratula- tions!"

"You're one of him," Tiria accused, jerking her head toward Sascha.

Cass laughed again, a throaty, genuine laugh. Sascha could feel Tirla's fingers relaxing. "Not quite, chip. We're on the same side, but right now I'm assigned to LEO, crowd control."

Tiria looked about her, slightly contemptuous. "Not much of a crowd here today."

"I'm not on duty today," Cass replied, grinning down at Tiria. "I see you're on a day off, too. What've you found that appeals to you?"

Will you help me, Cciss? Please say yes! Sascha pleaded. I've a hideous presentiment that that child in- tends to case the entire mall again before she'll even try something on.

"If you don't mind me saying it, Tiria, you'll be able to walk further with a decent pair of shoes on your feet. There're some good bargains to be had right now. What strikes your fancy?"

With a sense of reprieve, Sascha followed Cass and Tiria to the shoe department. An hour later, after two harried human clerks had replaced the mechanical fitter, Tiria's small, narrow, and very dainty feet ended up in soft purple leather boots, in the only pair that would fit her feet.

Totally unsuitable for a child, of course, Cass said, but they do fit,

And she adores them! Sascha saw how Tiria's face glowed as she strutted from mirror to mirror, regarding her feet.

"Mr. Roznine," the head clerk said wearily as me docket spun out of me teller machine, "your young companion has a most delicate and unusual foot to fit. May I recommend this concern? They do very fine cus- tom work."

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223

Sascha read the man easily and caught the unspoken message: "So we won't have to go through this again." But he was just as grateful to take the card, which could be inserted in Dorotea's mall machine for home shop- ping.

He blessed Cass with every new purchase, for the woman actually seemed to enjoy the looking, the try- ing, and the endless discussions of fit, style, and color.

"The concept of having unlimited funds to spend is foreign to the child, Sascha," Cass said at one point, "but you must admit that she knows what suits her."

Tiria was modeling a one-piece outfit as different from subsistence issue as diamonds from rhinestones. The main color was a soft blue with purple accents in seam- stitching, pocket trim, and fasteners. Once Tiria found that outfit to her taste and Sascha's--it was always Sascha to whom she turned for approval--it took the combined efforts of both Sascha and Cass to get her to buy additional clothing.

"Why do I need more? I've boots, and this material's hard wearing. It'll do for weeks. Even if I had to catch freights again," Tiria added, peering mischieviously up at Sascha.

He had to chuckle at her impudence. "It's a fetching outfit, Tiria, there's no question of it. But even Teacher will get tired of seeing you in it."

Tiria gave him a long hard look. "Teacher doesn't see me."

"No, but Dorotea and I do, so do Sirikit, Budworth, Don, and Peter, and Rhyssa. You never see them wear- ing the same clothes two days in a row."

"Oh, they have lots of clothes. Dorotea has closets full." Tiria did not sound envious--if anything her tone was slightly censorious, as if she felt it was improper for people to have so many things to wear.

"A few changes are in order," Cass said. "I've got quite a few myself," she added encouragingly while Tiria merely stared back, her hands plunged into the

deep pockets and her shoulders hunched under the smooth fabric.

"This isn't coming out of your floaters, Tiria," Sascha began, suddenly realizing what might be caus- ing her hesitation. "Dorotea and Rhyssa want you to be suitably dressed now that you're a Talent. You're not a subbie anymore, you know." He pointed to her wrist ID.

"Oh." There was look of surprised wonderment on the girl's face as she regarded her bracelet with dawning comprehension. "Is that why those salespersons were so nice to me?"

"Quite likely," Cass said in a dry tone of voice. "Everyone in malls like these recognizes the distinctive pattern."

Tiria twirled hers on her fragile wrist. "They do?" She settled the band outside the cuff of her new clothes. "How much can I buy with just this?"