Sascha disguised a choke of dismay with a cough just as Cass caught him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Let's find out, shall we, chip?" Cass asked cheer- fully and held out her hand.

Tiria took it readily enough, but her other hand im- mediately sought Sascha's, and then she was dragging them after her toward a rack of brilliantly colored trou- sers.

. Shekwas not as profligate as Sascha feared, but she ended up with "something different to wear every day of the week." Then Sascha made good his promise of a treat, inviting Cass to join them in the Old-Fashioned Parlor of Gastronomical Confections and Irresistible Desserts.

Tiria managed to get through three immense, rich concoctions that Sascha privately thought revolting.

Cass: Let her enjoy, Sascha. Ice cream is something she's only heard about.

Sascha: What if she comes home sick? Dorotea will skin me alive.

224 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 225

Cass: This child has an iron constitution if she's sur- vived subbie slop until now. And look at how much pleasure she's having.

Sascha, groaning: I'll be sick!

It was then that Tiria realized there were other girls and boys enjoying the parlor. Her spoon on automatic, she took full note of the other youngsters.

That blonde ought never to wear bright colors. She 'd look better in pastel shades. Boy, what's he wearing such tight pants for? He'll squeeze 'em dry. Now that \ red outfit might look good on me. Maybe I can get \ something like that next time Sascha wants to spend | money. |

Sascha glanced surreptitiously at Cass, who rolled her eyes. . i

Sascha: Stream of consciousness and loud and clear, j Does she realize she's broadcasting ? ^

Cass, busily spooning up the last of her treat: Highly ' unlikely. That child's had to be on the qui vive all her life. Frankly, Sascha, I take it as a high compliment that she's relaxed enough in our presence to do some unguarded thinking.

Sascha: Good point.

As nonchalantly as he could, Sascha observed Tiria, listening to her pithy and acute remarks about physical appearances, style, clothing, manners, and a range of other subjects that flowed across her alert and fascinat- ^ ing mind. \

Then Cass, with apparent reluctance, rose and said that she had to get back to the Center, as she had an evening assignment. Tiria even looked disappointed that their threesome had to break up.

' 'Look, chip, anytime you want to have a gawk round ;

some of the other malls--" Cass started.

"There are other ones?" Tiria exclaimed, shooting an accusing glare at Sascha.

"Thousands," Cass told her with an unrepentant grin. "But you can't really do more than one at a time, or it

all gets jumbled up in your head as to what you saw where and which price. Believe me, I know!"

Tiria saw the merit of that and, tucking her hand in Sascha's, was content to return to their transport and the Center.

By the time they reached Dorotea's, their purchases had arrived by express package tube and were piled neatly about the room.

"What a charming combination!" Dorotea exclaimed on seeing Tiria's clothes. Did you buy the mall out, Sascha?

Give her a little while and she probably will. Cass made the mistake of informing her there are a thousand more just like Grafton 's, and we may never be able to pay her bills.

Dorotea laughed. "I'll expect a fashion show after supper, Tiria."

"Show? Why? I can put on something new every day this week. That'll show you," Tiria replied. "What's for supper? It smells good!"

"After all you just finished eating?" Sascha de- manded.

"That was the treat. Don't I get supper after a treat?"

"Of course you do," Dorotea assured her, glaring at Sascha.

If you 'd seen the three huge, gooey, sickeningly sweet things\she consumed only a half hour ago, you might not be so quick to stuff her with supper, Sascha cau- tioned.

"Wash your hands, Tiria, and I'll serve immediately. Are you staying, Sascha?"

"No, thanks," he said, managing to sound polite. Peter was right about her being telepathic. But she doesn 't know she is.

Hmmm. You see, you did team something from her today. What did she learn from you ?

How to spend money, Sascha replied sourly, and left.

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If the official spectators at the launch even noticed the youngster seated to one side in the upper control room, they would have supposed him to be a child on a special tour, his youth according him a treat. The men certainly noticed the woman who sat beside him, for she had an arresting beauty and an unusual silver streak in her dark hair. However, her attention never strayed from the boy. Equally involved in him was the tall dark- haired man in fatigues with a colonel's eagle on one collar tab. So few spared the trio more than a passing glance. The real action was taking place out by the mas- sive towering gantry, where gale-force winds whipped the steam from the shuttle's rocket end. All recent launches had been pretty tricky, the bad weather caus- ing havoc with all air transport but none more so than the critical first minutes of a shuttle launch.

The countdown echoed through the shielded room-- at the count of eight, the spectators were jockeying for position for an unimpeded view through the treated slit windows, eager for ignition and takeoff. Fingers were surreptitiously crossed, for this was the thirteenth suc- cessive shuttle flight.

"We have ignition!" As often as that phrase was uttered, it was always said with a ring of quiet triumph.

As the shuttle engines began their full-throated roar, none of the spectators would be able to hear another noise, that of power generators pulsing at ever-increasing speed:

a subtle whine that built and then leveled on" just as the shuttle, one of the majestic new Rigel class, began its first imperceptible upward thrust. The final link to the launch tower fell away. Everyone held his or her breath. Then, despite the howling wind and the lashing rain, the shuttle crept upward from the reinforced concrete without deviating a centimeter from the optimum take- off trajectory. Lift became obvious with increasing ac- celeration, and suddenly the bird was up and running, disappearing, except for the radiance of its rockets, into the lowering ceiling of dark gray swirling clouds.

Immediately all eyes turned to the newly installed infrared monitors that continued to track the shuttle on its unswerving path through the atmosphere and safely above the turbulence, well on its way to Padrugoi Sta- tion, where its payload was urgently needed.

"The pilot has the conn," Peter Reidinger said, opening his eyes. He glanced first at Rhyssa and she nodded, smiling reassurance as she removed her hand from his. He liked her to be touching him in these mo- ments, even if he could not feel it.

"You have the conn, Crosbie," the controller said, letting out a small sigh of relief. "Good thrust, Pete. You're working like a charm. Got the whole thing down to a science."

"It is," Johnny Greene reminded him, grinning.

"You know what I mean, Colonel," the controller said, flapping his hand.

"He's teasing you," Peter said, turning his attention to the monitor. He did not really need it--he could fol- low the ascent of the shuttle like a pulse in his vein, a tingle of power running up and down his bones. He could feel that.

"Very economical thrust, Peter," Johnny said, pe- rusing the printout on the generator control panel. "That's the third one in a row at that level gestalt. I think we can now establish certain parameters to power usage in bad-weather launches--even if I still can't tell how you do it." He made a disgruntled noise in his throat. The ex-etop pilot had been hoping that he could learn Peter's gestalt link by following his mind during a launch. He and Rhyssa had decided that the fact that he had only latent kinetic Talent might be all to the good--for a pure kinetic might be unable to adapt to Peter's ways. But he had had no more luck than Sascha at discerning the boy's method.

"Maybe you're trying too hard, JG," Peter sug- gested. "I keep as open as I can ..."

"I know you do, lad. Wide open. I'm just too clumsy

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to get through the door. I think it's going to have to be a trained kinetic."

"Second-stage ignition," the controller said, alerted by his board. "On its way! You do good work, Pete. Good work."

"C'mon, time for your swimming lesson, Pete," Johnny said. "Gotta keep you fit enough to launch these

birds."

"Can't I stay? To be sure it docks okay?" Peter would not admit, even deep in his skull where Rhyssa might see, that he did not have enough energy left im- mediately after a launch to move from the couch. He grasped at any excuse to gain the few necessary mo- ments to reenergize himself.

"The bird's okay," the controller assured him.

"Look all you want," Johnny said, reseating him- self. If he had guessed Peter's secret, he never let on.

The spectators below were beginning to file out of the gallery, hunching into wet-weather gear, bracing themselves for the stiff winds. With a wink, the con- troller turned on the intercom.

"I tell you. Senator, it is a measure of the state of the art in space technology that we're now able to launch despite the weather."

"If I had a nickel for every hold I've had to wait through, m'boy, I'd be able to buy drinks for the entire base. Just how much did you say this new technology cost us?"

The figure mentioned by the congressman was three times as much as Peter's contract had actually cost. And nearly one hundred percent more than the generator.

Peter grinned broadly, thoroughly enjoying the eavesdropping. He had been appalled at how much a big generator cost--though Colonel Greene assured him that it was a pittance when compared to other items purchased for Canaveral--and he could not believe the contract figure, for his short-term services. Not to men- tion the bonuses for every successful launch. He had

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been even more delighted when Rhyssa suggested that the Center increase the pension that was being sent to his parents.

Talents were generally not contracted until they were at least eighteen years old, but the circumstances and his unusual ability had been construed as sufficient to make an exception--a brief exception.

Vemon's advice to the Center had been that if the technology cost, it was bound to be considered more efficient than something in the medium range. The dif- ference between fact and fiction went into the Center's research fund.

At that, it had taken some finagling on Altenbach's part to get the Canaveral staff to consider the "new technology," even with the enthusiastic assistance of General Halloway and Colonel Straub. Peter had not been mentioned; the generators had, plus some very odd "instrumentation." Peter, in fact, had been hidden behind a screen with Rhyssa when the "new technol- ogy" had had its first test. He had kinetically flown a drone from Canaveral to Eglin Field despite gale-force winds and a ceiling of 100 meters. He had landed it right on the target painted on the runway--to show the precision of the "new technology." He was then al- lowed to launch a loaded drone into orbit, where it could be retrieved by a Padrugoi-based craft. His pre- cision again was the deciding factor: so many drones had wandered off course that the drone program had been drastically curtailed.

Two days later a proper shuttle launch was grudg- ingly permitted. There was no foreseeable change in the terrible weather patterns, and shipments had fallen weeks behind delivery. That first morning, Peter had been a trifle anxious, and the shuttle had ascended at such an astonishing rate that the controllers had thought that a misfire had occurred, and they had been about to abort the mission. Peter, with Johnny telepathically as- sisting him, had reduced the thrust and the mission had

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continued. The pilot later was heard to mention that his instrumentation had registered a g-force of 11 for the first few moments--he had been scared shitless thinking he would not even be able to activate the escape-pod

control on his armrest.

The "new technology" improved in finesse over the ensuing launches, and NASA breathed a corporate sigh of relief that it could complete all the programmed sup- ply runs to Padrugoi.

Rhyssa and Johnny watched the expression on the boy's rapt face as he followed the current shuttle's progress. The controller handed them coffee as they waited through Peter's absorption.

"Okay," the boy said finally, as the screen showed the shuttle nearing its docking rendezvous and he had recovered sufficiently. "The new technology is ready for its swim.'' Though still a bit weak, he managed a proper descent from his chair, raising his right hand in a creditable wave to the controller as he maneuvered the steps to the ground exit of the room.

It had taken four launches before the mission launch controller was comfortable with "new technology" and Peter's peculiar part in its schematics, but he had come to like the youngster and had given up trying to figure out how he did what he did--whatever it was.

"Get your slicker on, Pete," Johnny said.

Peter had discovered that he could kinetically keep rain from soaking him, but he tried to resist the temp- tation to show off unnecessarily. Dutifully he flipped the slicker over him. Exiting the concrete bunker, they all made a dash for their waiting aircar.

Two weeks after Rhyssa and Peter went to Florida, Boris made one of his rare visits to the Center to apprise Sascha of the fact that undercover agents believed more children had been sold. The agents had noticed a lot of floaters being,spent in Linears A, B, and C. So Cass and Suz were sent on assignment to Linear E. As the

Anne McCaffrey 231

two women frequented all the Jersey Linears, they were known to the inhabitants. Cass's pregnancy made her even less suspicious, and she pretended ill health to account for Suz's company. So far they had nothing to report, not even a ripple of expectation. Whenever con- tact permitted, they stuck a locating strand in the hair of each child they encountered.

Similar teams were stranding Linear children throughout the Jerhattan area. Scan teams worked around the clock, waiting for a strand to show up in an unlikely area.

"You know, Bro," Boris said, "we've got nothing but stopgap techniques. Planting a telempath won't stop kids being abducted." Sascha was in Rhyssa's office, attending to routine administration details as he took a break from formulating new testing procedures. Boris was standing at the window, looking out on the peace- ful scene below.

"No, no, no, and no, Bro," Sascha said without looking up from the monitor. He made a rapid motion across the keyboard, then swiveled about to give his brother a hard stare. "There is no way in which I'll permit Tiria to be used as bait!"

"But she's a natural," Boris said. "She knows how to decipher Linear rumors the way no other operative available to us can."

"You^think I,"--Sascha jabbed his chest with his fingers--"would risk her?"

"Candidly, I don't think Tiria would be at risk," Boris went on, beginning to pace. "We could put her in with Cass and Suz, set her up with every telltale known to technology. She knows Linears, she can speak any lingo, she's clever as can stare, and--"

"She's twelve years old and you're not using her as bait," Sascha roared, not bothering to dampen his out- rage and fury.

Boris regarded him with surprise. "That kid was never twelve! And what's the matter with using the one

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advantage we've found in dealing with Linear abduc- tions? She's got a unique Talent, a natural camouflage, and an ability for this sort of thing. Look how she man- aged in Linear G."

"Linear G was a once-off. I'm not putting her at risk like that again."

"She was never at risk. Except maybe from you!'\ Boris glared right back at his brother. "And this was Cass's idea. I think it has potential. One thing sure, Bro--unless we can get at the mastermind behind this despicable traffic, we're going to be losing kids. Kids who might well be Talented, too."

"You step up your search-and-seizes, Boris. Leave Tiria out of your calculations. There are other ways, ethical and technological ways, to solve LEO prob- lems."

"Sascha, if I had the personnel to do it the hard way, I would," Boris replied, his face reddening in an effort to keep his temper in the face of his twin's intransi- gence.

"Use some of the Linear G kids as bait then. They'd love a chance to get out of the hostel!"

Boris gave his brother one long look. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I'll check 'em out." With that he strode out of the room.

Chapter 14

#? #$# Despite the work, those last three weeks in Flor- ida had been almost vacation time for Rhyssa, John Greene, and Peter. Launching thirteen of the eighteen supply shuttles occupied two or three hours of a day at the most for Peter.

When Johnny Greene started to explain the mechan- ics of lift, trajectory, orbiting, and other such matters pertaining to the job at hand, he and Rhyssa discovered that there were woeful gaps in Peter's education. He had not even had bedside schooling during his months in the hospital. So a telempathic tutor was immediately hired.

Alan Eton quickly discovered that Peter had the usual boyish disregard for grammar, spelling, and syntax, though his vocabulary skills were, in technical areas, beyond his age group. His mathematics were well into first,-yea^ university, and his understanding of certain aspects of physics was curiously advanced. With the colonel as his role model, Peter was eager to progress in those sciences. Taking advantage of the boy's ad- miration, John Greene suggested that he had better im- prove his computer and English skills, as well, even if he was kinetically superior. While Peter understood some chemical and biological concepts--particularly those that had a bearing on his accident--he had, nat- urally, had no laboratory experience. A course of study was initiated and regular school hours kept, with Alan guiding Peter deftly into independent study of whatever 233

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the boy wanted to learn while filling in the more obvi- ous lacks. A university degree, bachelor or advanced, was not at issue for Peter Reidinger: his career was well underway, but if he was to develop to his full potential, it was essential for him to have an overall understanding of many disciplines. Occasionally, as he struggled through his lessons, he wondered how Tiria was doing and what sort of training Sascha was giving her.

Physiotherapy was still a necessity, and without the inhibiting body brace Peter had no trouble exercising his limbs, which he did religiously, hoping to acquire some muscle.

"There have been instances," the physiotherapist had told Rhyssa and Johnny, "where even badly damaged neural tissue has been stimulated. That's what we can wish for Peter. To feel and to move normally."

"What's the probability?" Rhyssa asked.

The physiotherapist had shrugged ruefully. "Who knows? It certainly does no harm for him to exercise kinetically. Improves muscle tone and fluidity of move- ment. I'll be honest, I wouldn't have guessed he was walking kinetically when he entered the gym the first time."

Swimming was Peter's favorite sport. Water sup- ported his body, and with minimal effort he could give the illusion of swimming. He could even do incredible dives oif the board, hovering in the air as he made his body twist and then entering the water cleanly. There had not been enough sun in those weeks to produce a tan, but surrogate facilities had given him an excellent color. Rhyssa had benefited, as well.

"You needed this rest," Johnny told her as they lounged on the sunbeds while keeping an eye on Peter, who was splashing happily about in the pool, pretend- ing he was a dolphin.

"You know," she said with a deep sigh, "I think I did. It's been pretty hectic the last few months." She sighed agahL "But that's the rigors of being Center

director--and I wouldn't be anything else in spite of the negatives."

"You ever going to marry, or have kids?" Johnny asked at his most casual.

"Johnny Greene, what are you leading up to?" She cocked an eyebrow, which warned him that, if he was not straight with her, she would probably winkle the information out of his mind.

Johnny gave her a rakish grin. "Nothing--except that Dave Lehardt just arrived." His grin broadened as he saw her reaction. "Ah! So! You're not entirely immune to his charm, after all."

Rhyssa managed a laugh, though she could not hide the sudden flush of pleasure at the news. "How do you know? You can't 'hear' him if I can't."

"I saw him get out of the car. He's coming around through the house." The gleam in Johnny's eyes was intolerable to her.

"We're just working friends," she said, and heard a mental ha-ha from Johnny as Dave Lehardt strode into the pool room. Johnny chuckled again as Dave's glance rested on her just that moment longer before he greeted the others.

"Hi there, Skeleteam," Dave called to Peter, who had an arm looped around the pool stair rail. "Need a hand out?"

"I think you'd better, Pete," Rhyssa said. "Your lips are blue, and your skin's wrinkled. Hi, Dave."

Johnny, on a tight band: You'd make a good team, you know. His beauty and your intelligence!

Rhyssa projected an image of herself chasing Johnny with an outsized hunk of wood with the words "blunt instrument" carved on it.

Johnny: Dorotea thinks so, too.

Rhyssa: You guys let me do my own thinking.

Johnny: Dave will, because he can't hear you. And that's about the only drawback. He lusts after you, you know.'

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"Really impressive launch today, Pete," Dave went on, hauling the boy out of the pool by one arm and deftly covering him with a huge towel.

"He gets better every time," Johnny said, latching onto a spare lounger with his artificial foot and hauling it closer to where he and Rhyssa were sitting.

Rhyssa: You watch yourself, John Greene. I've my own minder, she recalled with amusement Peter's handy treatment of the annoying Prince Phanibal, and I'll tell him to dunk you if you misbehave.

Johnny sent her an image of wide-eyed innocence. Me? Step out of line--especially if you threaten to short- circuit my cybernetic limbs in a lousy pool? D 'you know what salt water does to my spare parts? He imaged a violent shudder that sent bits and pieces spinning off his artificial arm and leg.

"Actually, the last three shoots have been within a jog of the same power settings," Rhyssa said to the new arrival.

Dave Lehardt periscoped his lean length to seat him- self on a lounger and grinned at Rhyssa. Was she imag- ining that his eyes were wanner when he looked at her? Damn him for not having a Talent! Damn him for hav- ing such a naturally dense mental shield! She had no real clue--except in blue eyes she wanted to drown in- to go on. No wonder the unTalented regularly bungled relationships. And yet...

"NASA is delighted with the effectiveness of its new guidance-and-tracking system," Dave was saying, looking well pleased, "and they're quite happy to leave it in the 'need to know' category. More queries from Padrugoi, requesting details of this top-secret G and T as a possible adjunct to their systems."

"And?" Johnny queried, flipping over on the sunbed, eyes narrowed to slits and his body relaxing in the warmth.

"General Halloway hems and haws with the best of them about a' trial model, with a formidable test

schedule ahead of it, by no means a totally proven system ..."

"I am too a proven system," Peter said, looking dis- gruntled as he floated over, an eerie-looking maneuver since his feet were invisible under the swathing of towel that he was trying to keep out of the puddles around the pool. His teeth chattered.

"Oh here," Rhyssa said, making room for him on the sunbed. She would have fallen off if Dave had not quickly prevented it with hands and knees. She felt warm where he touched her, a warmth that was nothing generated by a sunbed. Then she settled Peter beside her, adjusting his limbs. "You're up to fifteen minutes' sunning today, aren't you?"

"Tell you one thing," Dave went on, still supporting Rhyssa's body. "I'm going to have to change the nick- name Skeleteam. You don't look so much like one any- more."

"All this good wholesome Florida sunshine," Peter said, grinning at Dave. He had finally gotten over his jealousy of the PR man: it was difficult to be jealous of a guy he liked so much, who could think up neat treats and found the best places to eat. Johnny often argued to Rhyssa--when Dave was not around--that the man had to have Talent but that it simply wasn't measurable. Then he discussed things like traumatic breakthroughs and psychological reluctances, and Rhyssa replied that sometimes it was nice to know someone who could al- ways surprise you.

"If you see any of that wholesome sunshine, let me know, huh?" Dave remarked, referring to the fact that the rain had lifted only briefly in the past three weeks. "When are you guys going to develop a reliable Weather Talent?"

"Look, we just got one minor miracle up and run- ning," Rhyssa replied. "Give us at least three days!"

"God,only rested one day," Dave said, deepening his voice to a bass register and looking pious.

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239

"Three weeks, three months, three years, three de- cades," Johnny replied in a sepulchral tone. "Can't even figure ol' Petey boy out, and I've been busting my buns for weeks now."

"Pete," Dave began, "how do you see what you do? Might as well ask the source right out straight," he added in a broad aside to Rhyssa.

Peter laughed and pretended to consider the question, knotting his brows and rubbing his chin the way Johnny sometimes did. "It's like I think that's what I want to do--move the shuttle up--and I sort of lean into the generators, revving them up, and then I sort of--he shrugged his thin shoulders--"let go."

"Like a stone from a slingshot?" Dave asked.

"Yeah, sort of like that."

"You don't sound sure."

"I'm not. It needs doing. I do it."

Rhyssa, sensing Peter's distress about being unable to explain adequately, put a warning hand on Dave's knee. His hand immediately covered hers, keeping her arm in a slightly awkward position. Over Peter's prone body, Johnny grinned at her.

"There are many operations," Rhyssa went on quickly, "that one accomplishes strictly on an invol- untary basis. Like breathing. You don't consciously go through the steps of drawing breath in and exhaling it-- it's an involuntary procedure. Or take reaching for a glass. You don't consciously tell your hand to extend the required distance, tell your fingers to encircle it and your arm to lift the light weight. The task is accom- plished without much conscious effort. Peter is working on such a deeply involuntary basis that he cannot--yet-- analyze the requisite steps. Once Lance Baden is re- leased from durance vile on the station, I think we'll see progress in understanding what Skeleteam does as easily as he breathes."

"It's not quite that easy," Peter said.

"Don't hurt Skeleteam's feelings," Johnny said in mock affront. "He'll strike!"

"Not with his contract, he won't," Rhyssa said feel- ingly.

"You know, Pete," Johnny began in a thoughtful tone, "what you said about something needing to be done and doing it. You really don't stop to think how? You just do it?"

"As you yourself, if I may remind you, landed a badly damaged shuttle on your twenty-first mission," Dave put in. "Experts still haven't figured out how you did that!"

John Greene grinned at him. "Neither have I. Sorry, Pete."

"You were using kinesis?" Peter asked.

"Nothing else would have gotten us down that day with one wing crumpled and the tail assembly blown off. Technically I had what they call a traumatic explo- sion of Talent necessitated by an intense urge to sur- vive."

"What hit you?" Peter asked then. He had always wanted to ask, but it had never been quite the right moment and he was not sure if the colonel liked to be reminded of how he had lost an arm and a leg.

"Some damned-fool half-trained clowns, doing aer- obatics through the flight path," Johnny told him, curs- ing fluently and inventively on both audible and telepathic levels. Peter's eyes rounded with awe at the flavorful language. "Fortunately they didn't survive to answer to me, or the law, for their antics."

"Oh!" was Peter's reaction to John's uncharacteris- tic bitterness.

"You're not going to waste the pool, are you, Dave?" Rhyssa asked, to change the subject, and in the hope of regaining control of her hand before her aim fell asleep.

"You're stuck with me for a few days at any rate," Dave replied. "Without benefit of the Skeleteam, the

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airport's socked in solid." He rose and, whistling a jaunty tune, began to pick his way through the puddles in the direction of the changing room.

Johnny heaved a sigh and resettled himself on the sunbed, hands cushioning his head. The nu-skin sheath- ing his artificial arm looked real enough except, Rhyssa noticed, that it did not take a tan. Peter, however, was becoming a rich brown that made him appear like any other healthy, if scrawny, boy his age. He was also falling asleep, considerably more tired by the morning's activities than he would ever admit. Smiling tenderly down at the boy, Rhyssa eased herself off the sunbed and onto the lounger that Dave had just vacated. She checked the timer: Peter had ten minutes to go. She relaxed on the soft mattress.

'7e-sus Christ!"

Dave's sudden expletive roused her, and she watched helplessly as, in midair, he flailed with arms and legs from a slip in a puddle, his long body poised to come down right across the comer of the tiled pool in what would be a serious fall. The sunbed lights went off, and the next instant his abrupt descent was halted and he came to rest gently on the poolside, unharmed, un- bruised, but considerably shaken.

"How the hell . . ."

"My God!" Johnny Greene exclaimed. "Did you do that, Pete?" he asked. The very slightest of snores an- swered him. "My God\ I did it! I did it! / did it!" His voice rose in a crescendo as he stared at Rhyssa in a state of shocked delight and surprise.

Rhyssa began to shake her head, grinning so hard at the breakthrough that she thought her face would split.

"That was all you," she assured him. "Once again Johnny on the spot!"

The moment Dave Lehardt entered the kitchen that evening as Rhyssa was clearing up the debris of their celebratory meal, she knew "a moment" had come.

Over the last few months of their close association, she had learned to pick up the subtle hints of his body lan- guage and her own responses to him. She felt her heart- beat begin to speed up, and she tried not to crash dishes about or drop things. Worse, she could extract no help- ful clues from this man's mind. Perhaps that was why Dave appeared to be so much more romantic than any of her Talented associations.

He came right up to her so that she had to look about, to acknowledge his proximity.

"The hardest thing in dealing with you Talents is to catch you when no one else is listening," he began. His blue eyes held a very intense look. He took the saucepan away from her and returned it to the soapy water, then put both hands on her arms and turned her slightly but decisively toward him. "Pete and Johnny are so involved in a rehash of my pratfall, they couldn't be paying attention to anything else." With a little pres- sure of his hands, he pulled her against him.

Johnny: Don't you dare be coy!

Rhyssa: Get out of my head, Johnny Greene.

Peter: Ah, just when it's getting interesting. How'II I ever learn how it's done!

Rhyssa: Break off! Both of you! If I feel so much as a tendril of thought. . .

Johnny: / think she means it!

Peter: / know she does!

Her mind was filled with a deafening silence.

"They're not," Rhyssa assured him.

"I've been told and warned, obliquely and right to my face, that I've no right to ask a woman of your obvious Talent, and talents, to many a man without an ounce of the right stuff in him.''

Rhyssa felt a surge of anger flare deep inside. She wondered who had been inhibiting this wonderful, car- ing man--especially considering all he had done to aid Talents. Then she willed him not to stop talking such

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marvelously romantic stuff and tilted her head up en- couragingly. She shivered with anticipation.

"But I think such a decision is up to you and me," he went on. "And I'm so totally besotted with you that I can't think straight when you're in the same room with me, and I don't think of much else but you when we're apart. Rbyssa Owen, would you even consider many- ing me?"

"What took you so many eons to ask?" she replied, folding her arms about his neck and grinning up at him.

With a gladness that seemed to emanate from every pore of him, he clasped her firmly in his arms and kissed her with a great deal of entirely satisfactory expertise, just as if he had read her mind.

Chapter 15

^^ Sascha!

He could not ignore Dorotea's call, but it was coming at an awkward moment. He lifted his hand to signal to Budworth and Sirikit for a slight break in their discus- sion.

Dorotea's mental tone was colored by vexation. As you showed her how to use her wristband to purchase damned near anything anywhere, you may now teach her thrift and budgeting. And some sense of order in her own room! There's not an inch of space that isn 't stacked ceiling-high with "bargains. "

Sascha: Where is she?

Dorotea, at the end of her patience: Trying on clothes while viewing today's lessons!

"Look, Bud, run those ethnic groupings again," Sascha ordered. "We've at least got a statistical fore- cast of how many psionic Talents each generation has produced since Darrow and op Owen's time. Now let's break it down into individual Talent manifestations:

precogs, finders, affinities, kinetics, telepaths, telem- paths."

Budworth shrugged equably and began to formulate the program.

"I still don't know how," Sirikit said in her soft, lilting tones, "that's going to help us discover Talent in the Linears."

"Where there's smoke, there's gotta be a fire or tw6," Sascha commented cryptically as he exited. But 243

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his mind was already on one particular Talent who had come so far from her early years in the Linears.

Since that fateful shopping trip three weeks before, Tiria had discovered a new pastime that almost rivaled her hunger for learning. At first, Dorotea had been amused. "It's hunger of another sort: acquisition. It'll pass."

Cass had accompanied her on two more expeditions, showing her how to use the subway transport, and thought it was fun to watch Tiria slip into the most exclusive shops and boutiques. Then she had started shopping on her own, and scoffed when Dorotea wor- ried that child-stealers would snatch her.

"Snatch me? Not likely," Tiria replied scathingly. "I can smell their sort coming on the streets. I'm safe in the malls."

But the malls were not free from all peril, for she was detained twice by overzealous officials and, to her credit, had waited patiently until someone--usually Sascha--arrived from the Center to verify her right to wear the ID bracelet and make charges against the Cen- ter's account.

She was more amused by the detentions than alarmed, and determined to enjoy her new pastime. Certainly she was not deterred from her expeditions, and since Sascha backed Cass's opinion that Tiria was capable of han- dling herself, Dorotea's apprehension waned. Invari- ably, Tiria ended her afternoons at the Old-Fashioned Parlor. When Tiria announced that she was going to work her way right through the five pages of confec- tionery selections, Dorotea had laughed.

"It might put a little weight on those bird bones of hers, and she always eats her dinner," she said. "I wish she would put on weight. What must those shop atten- dants think when that child looks half-starved all the time?"

Dorotea was standing in the living room when Sascha arrived in answer to her summons, and she pointed

sternly toward Tiria's room. Sascha tapped on the door, and Tiria's cheerful hum broke off.

"Who is it?" There was always that note of appre- hension when the girl was caught unawares. Once she could break into the telepathic mode that Sascha was certain she possessed, she would rarely be caught off- guard again.

"Sascha!"

"Just a minute."

For just a moment, Sascha thought he caught a stray coy thought, and then the door opened, in stages, be- cause Tiria had to rearrange things to get it wide enough for him to enter. Sascha looked in and groaned.

"Tiria, what happened to the kid who had to be coaxed into buying more than one outfit?" It was the first thing that came into his head, and it was probably not at all the way to handle the situation.

Dorotea, in disgust: Ham-handed twit!

Tiria blinked at Sascha. "But you told me I could shop whenever I wanted to. Just look what I found to- day!" And she held up a pair of stiletto-heeled sandals with jeweled straps. "And they fit. They didn't cost much, because the shopkeeper had had them around for decades and practically gave them to me. Aren't they lovely? D'you want to see them on? They make me much taller."

. "I'm sure they do, Tiria, but to be candid, they're not the sort of thing a girl your age should wear."

"They fit!" she repeated as if that were the most important aspect.

"Tiria! Is there no place I can sit down in here? And that's what has Dorotea so upset. You know how neat she keeps everything in the house."

Dorotea: That's right. Blame me.

"While Talents may have what they need, and also what they want, within reason,'" he went on, "that's th^ operative phrase. This--" He gestured broadly, hooking a hanger and its layers of clothing off the door.

246 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 247

The pile tumbled to enlarge a mass of colorful blouses lying beside the door. "This is no longer reasonable!"

Tiria merely looked up at him, her face expression- less, but he sensed so deep a hurt and disappointment that he relented instantly. "I don't think I can send it all back," she said. "I've tried everything on."

"Look, chip," he said, using Cass's affectionate nickname for her, "sending it all back is not the an- swer."

It's a start! Dorotea put in.

"Learning to buy wisely is. Some of this stuff--" Sascha pointed to items of intimate apparel in lace and gauze that were far too sophisticated for even a twenty- year-old. "--can be packed up and stored ..."

Dorotea, acidly: Where?

"In the vaults." He began picking up other inappro- priate garments. "And we'll get the clutter down to manageable proportions." In doing so he exposed a small hill of shoes, of all colors and in a variety of styles that astonished him--and all of them small enough to fit Tirla's dainty feet.

Dorotea: Cinderella complex?

Sascha: Pairs, every single one of them, he said wryly.

Dorotea: Then how can they be pairs?

"Five pairs of shoes, no more, Tirla." He saw her sulky expression. "Five pairs at one time. And ten dif- ferent outfits in the closet. None of this . . ."He held up an emerald green ball gown with exquisitely detailed beadwork in silver and leaf green. It was exceedingly stylish, and the color was perfect for Tirla--but not un- til she reached twenty. Eighteen, at least. "I'll have some trunks sent over so you can put everything away. Then we're going to sit down and work out a budget."

"Budget? Like they do for cities and projects?" Sur- prised, Tirla came out of her sulk.

"Yes. Th& Center has a budget, I have a budget, Peter has a budget ..."

Dorotea: All God's chillun got budgets!

"Then I won't be able to go shopping again?"

Sascha was not impervious to her broken voice and her sad expression. "Shop all you want. Look in every damned mall on Manhattan, Long Island, and the Jer- sey Shore. Just don't buy anything. Window shop to your heart's content."

"Never buy anything again?"

La da da, da da da dah! Dorotea sang, mimicking a nostalgic violin air.

All right, Sascha retorted. And how would you curb a kid who's never had much in her life and suddenly can have anything she wants?

More or less as you 're doing, Dorotea admitted. Just don't waver at the sight of tears in her big black eyes!

Sascha caught an undertone in Dorotea's voice that puzzled him. But he ignored it and returned his full attention to Tirla. "No, chip, not never. Just not so much so constantly, things you don't really need right now, because you've got enough--of practically every- thing, as far as I can see."

She sank to the edge of her barely visible bed. "But it's not fun to window shop unless you've got someone with you. Where's Cass? She loves to shop."

"Cass is out on assignment."

Tirla cocked her head up at him, no longer a disap- pointed and confused twelve-year-old. "More kids missing?"

"Not yet," he said mendaciously. "We want to keep it that way."

"Is she in a Linear?" Excitement brightened her ex- pression.

Sascha nodded.

Dorotea: For the love of little apples, don't tell her where, or she'll track Cass down.

"Why don't you let me work undercover with her? I could be her kid and--"

"No!"

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Tula rocked back on the bed at the vehemence of his response. She looked hurt and confused again and even younger than her chronological age.

"Sorry, chip." Sascha ruffled her sleek and shining hair in an effort to compensate for his tactlessness. "Give yourself a little break. We didn't catch Yassim, and if he spots you, he'd have you wasted so fast, none of us could help you."

Tiria noticeably paled.

Dorotea: Well, she's still afraid of Yassim!

Tiria seemed so afraid that Sascha gathered her up in his arms and rocked her. "Yassim can't get you here in the Center, Tiria. You're safe here. I want to keep you safe so you can grow up and use that rare Tal- ent you have ... to earn enough money to pay for all you've been buying." He tried to make a joke of it. He felt her stiffen in his arms. "No, not your float- ers!" And he had to laugh. The little witch. Her hoard was precious to her, never to be broached. "Just think how little you'd have left if you had spent your stash. Think of that the next time you want to buy some- thing. Pretend you're spending your money."

"I wouldn 't spend my money," she mumbled against his chest.

With the slender little body curled trustfully in his lap, Sascha permitted himself just a few moments to caress her hair and savor the feel of her in his arms. Why Tiria? Of all the women in the world, how could this little waif, streetwise and precocious, have become so entangled in his emotions and heart? She could not possibly understand how much she meant to him. She was far too young for that aspect of maturing to have touched her. And yet... she responded to him as she did to no one else. With a final little hug, he put her from him as gently as he could. One day, eight or nine years in the future . . .

Dorotea had no comment to make. To his surprise, Tiria obediently began to fold up her possessions, neatly

Anne McCaffrey 249

and carefully. Sascha watched for a few more moments and then went to arrange for trunks.

Peter and Rhyssa returned in quiet triumph the day that Cass Cutler reported to Boris that three Neesters and two Hispanics in Linear E were suspiciously more affluent than they had any right to be. Boris decided that he would not darken the happy return with such news and did not even inform Sascha of the event.

Dorotea and Tiria both exclaimed over how well Pe- ter looked, tanned and healthy and moving with more confidence, while Rhyssa listened, an oddly soft smile on her face. Dave Lehardt had remained behind in Flor- ida to finalize his PR campaign, setting the stage for Colonel Johnny Greene to assume the role of Skele- team.

In his turn, Peter took full notice of Tirla's new ele- gance and was amazed that she had shopped the malls herself.

"Well, Sascha took me the first time," she admitted.

Dorotea, privately to Rhyssa: And said "Open Ses- ame," and in a week Tirla's room was as full as a bazaar.

Sascha: / heard that. Knock it off!

Rhyssa: Did she pick that outfit herself?

Dorotea: She picked out everything herself and a lot of things a twelve-year-old girl has no need of--yet.

Rhyssa: She's got good taste--in what she's wearing now.

Dorotea: Good taste all round. Just a trifle sophisti- cated.

Aware that Sascha was seething, Dorotea changed the subject.

Peter and Tiria slipped out of the room.

"How come you're allowed to go to the mall all the time?" Peter asked Tiria, envious of her freedom. He was never allowed to go anywhere on his own.

Tiria shrugged. "Oh, they tried to tell me how dan-

250 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 251

gerous it was." She giggled. "As if I didn't know how to take care of myself in any old Linear. Particularly one as straight as the ones here in Jerhattan."

"And you go whenever you want?"

"Nearly every day." She cocked her head at him. "You ever been to the Old-Fashioned Parlor of Gastro- nomical Delights?"

"Me?" Peter thumped his hand against his chest, then grimaced. He still didn't have the small-muscle control needed to use just a thumb or a finger. He was feeling aggrieved on several counts. "Oh, I heard about me Parlor." He pretended indifference, but then his pose faltered. "Is it really that good?"

"Good?" Tirla's enthusiasm bubbled out of her. "It's spectacular. You wouldn't believe the concoc- tions they serve. 'The most,' " she quoted from the menu, " 'scrumptious, delectable monstrosities of confections you'll ever experience.' " Sensing Peter's longing, Tiria deliberately encouraged it. "Any kind of flavor of ice cream, all homemade, every topping known to man . . ."

"And you just go?"

"Sure. Why not? It's only four stops away on the subway." She jerked her thumb at the murmur of adult voices coming from the living room. "Who'd miss us for half an hour, anyway?" When she saw the hesita- tion on his face, she added almost challengingly, "They're busy. We'd be back before they'd know we'd gone!"

That decided Peter, though he knew perfectly well that his physical circumstances were far different from Tirla's. Nevertheless, she was younger than he was, and if she was allowed, he was, too.

They left the house by the side door, Tiria skipping beside Peter in delight at his company. It was going to be such fan showing him just how well she knew her way around.

Peter could sense how pleased Tiria was to be able to take him someplace familiar to her but new to him. So he just smiled as they took their seats on the subway from the Center platform. Other Talents on the same car grinned at the two, sending telepathic greetings and congratulations to Peter, who had learned to assume a modest demeanor in public, even among other Talents.

Tiria was describing in great detail her favorite gas- tronomical delight--the one with four kinds of ice cream, four kinds of toppings, four kinds of nuts, and cherries, coconut, and multicolored sprinkles.

"My mother took me to a place like that," Peter said, "oh, a long time ago now. For my tenth birthday. My sister goes a lot; Mother says that's why she has spots so often."

"Spots?"

"Pimples. Zits. Facial eruptions."

"Oh," Tiria replied in a tone that expressed unen- lightenment. Peter imaged a pimpled face at her. "Oh! That sort." Surreptitiously she ran her hand over her face.

Peter laughed. "You may never get spots, Tiria," Peter said encouragingly. "They keep us on a healthy diet anyhow. Not subbie food."

"What was Florida like?" Tiria asked.

Peter had learned a lot from watching Dave Lehardt answer difficult questions tactfully. So he told her about the flat land and the palm trees, the sand, the good food, the pool, and the sunbeds, and she seemed quite content at his implication that he and Rhyssa had been taking a holiday.

She assumed leadership as soon as they reached the right station and eagerly started running up the steps ahead of him before she remembered his disability. When she stopped, he was right beside her.

"Your vacation did you a lot of good, didn't it?" she said, and plowed on upward. "See--there's the Parlor, just inside the mall entrance," she added, pointing.

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Neither youngster noticed that their progress was be- ing closely observed by two men, just descending from an elegant private hopper parked on the mall's helipad. The shorter man took a small black instrument from his pocket and pointed it at them.

"How exceedingly careless. Neither of them has been stranded! I want them taken! Especially that odious lit- tle boy! I want no slipup, no excuses. You won't have too much trouble with the boy, but his companion mustn't be allowed to spread an alarm. Do it as fast as you can assemble a crew. Have I made myself plain?"

"Yes, sir."

Peter was able to shout just once, his cry more indig- nant than alarmed. Then an ominous silence descended despite Rhyssa's attempts to reestablish communica- tions. She wasted no more time on the silence but broadcast on the widest band possible.

ALERT, ALL TALENTS, ALL LEO PERSONNEL! Peter Reidinger may have been abducted. Presumably in vicinity of Old-Fashioned Parlor. Tiria was with him.

TIRLA! Sascha's blast was nearly as loud as hers.

Complying! came Boris's calming bass tone. All units in the area are to commence search procedures. Fax photos of the children are being dispatched to all ve- hicles. I'm proceeding immediately to question any pos- sible witnesses. This is a Top Priority.

This is a G and H Priority! Sascha added with bitter vehemence. Sirikit, what does Budworth have on the strand scanner? There was a long and stunned pause. Oh, my God. I never stranded Tirla. Rhyssa?

Peter neither, was Rhyssa's horrified reply. How could we have been so stupid?

You weren't, Dorotea said in a bracing tone. Their ID bracelets can be traced far more accurately than a stranded kid.

The exchanges had taken bare seconds while Rhyssa, Sascha, and Dorotea sped toward the Control Room,

Anne McCaffrey 253

where the monitoring equipment would, they hoped, be able to give them some indication of where the children were.

Budworth was in front of the appropriate screen, his face twisted by anger and distress. "Bracelets were cut off. Scanner has 'em in a sewer drain in the mall hell- lot."

"Oh, my God!" Sascha's exclamation came out in a sob, then he shook himself. Carmen, get in here. Ber- tha, Auer, you come, too. Dorotea, any chance that you can reach Tirla?

If you can't, I'm not likely to. There was a quality of ineffable sorrow in her response. She's keyed to you like no one else.

"There's nothing, nothing there at all," Rhyssa mur- mured, her voice breaking. "I've always been able to hear Peter's mind."

"Not if he's been anesthetized, my dear," Dorotea said. "That's the only time he couldn't hear or an- swer." Then she spoke to Sirikit on a very tight band. Phone Dave Lehardt and tell him to get here as fast as he can.

Sirikit, her own eyes bleak, discreetly complied.

"C'mon, Bro, c'mon! How long does it take your squads to get moving!" Sascha demanded, pacing anx- iously.^

The Talents had' to wait another five agonizing min- utes before Boris contacted them.

The kids sat by themselves. Tirla's well known here, and she introduced her friend, Peter, to her usual wait- ress. She saw them leave the place. She caught a glimpse of them entering a small hopper with the Talent Center emblem. There were four men, but she didn 't see their faces. She didn't see anything odd, except that the boy walked funny and then seemed to be assisted by .one of the men. And no, she didn't notice the registra- tion, I've an APB on small hoppers with Talent em-

254 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 255

blems in Jerkattan, but it'd be helpful if your scanners have picked up their bracelets.

Sascha: The IDs were cut off. Left in the sewer out- side the mall.

Boris: That would be the first thing. So, can you pick something up yet on the strand scanners?

Rhyssa, heavily: Neither Peter nor Tiria was stranded.

Boris, exploding: In the name of all that's holy, why not? The two most important young Talents? You have everyone running about like lunatics, stranding dumb subbie kids and pampered hive children, and you don't strand Peter and Tiria? The silence following his out- burst was more eloquent than anything he could have added.

Rhyssa began to weep, and Dorotea tried to comfort her, tactilely and telepathically.

All right, then, Boris went on in a calmer tone. We have to assume the abductors are following their latest procedures. That's the only thing that would account for total telepathic silence. The kids were gassed. They're going to be stashed someplace and in those neat little cocoons. Sorry, Rhyssa, but I'm too angry to be diplomatic. Sascha, have you called Carmen in? My finders are all on the case. Somehow, we 'II find 'en. Those kids are smart. Once they wake up, they'll be able to help us find them.

Suz and Cass further dampened the spirits of the Tal- ents by reporting that in excess of thirty children in each Residential had been sold, or just taken. Ranjit, work- ing covertly in Residential W, also confirmed evidence of more activity in the mall markets than could be dis- creetly ignored. Such scope and audacity was more than LEO or the Center had anticipated. All had happened so smoothly and simultaneously that both the Center and LEO had been caught unawares.

"My sympathies go out to Rhyssa and the other Tal- ents. It's incredible that two valuable young people like

that could also be vulnerable to this despicable group," the city manager told Boris, who passed her message on to Sascha and Rhyssa. "This has top priority, and all the resources of the city are at your disposal. No effort will be spared. Is there anything I, personally, can do? Offer a reward? Trade immunity for informa- tion?"

'' Get your department heads thinking,'' Boris told City Commissioner Teresa Aiello, "where such a significant number of children could be detained. I've got every available person on transport surveillance. They can't have been moved out of the Jerhattan area, not in a group or singly. I put a hold on all rail freight and every container is being examined. Any cargo of a suspicious size is being opened. They've got to be somewhere nearby--for a while."

"Everyone on this staff will start examining possi- bilities--unused warehouses, old buildings, under- ground stores," Teresa assured Boris grimly.

Boris Roznine did not have quite all his people on transport duty--he' had a good third picking up as many ladrones and sassins as his teams found in mall or fac- tory areas. LEO might just luck out and dislodge a clue from an apprehensive subbie.

"Peter is alive, isn't he?" Budworth asked, too con- cerned to be tactful.

"He's^alive. It's not a dead silence," Rhyssa said, wincing at her choice of adjective, her voice low with tension. "But he's not conscious."

"Nothing yet. Carmen?" Sascha asked the finder, whose hands were stroking the lock ofTirla's hair. She could not meet his eyes as she shook her head slowly.

"Christ on a crutch! How/could we be so arrogant as to believe we could protect them with an ID bracelet!" Sascha demanded explosively, stalking around what free floor space there was. "Why on Earth didn't we think to strand them?" He pounded one fist into the other hand. "We've wall-to-wall Talents," he said, gesturing

256 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

almost scornfully at the various teams clustered about monitors or swiftly feeding programs into the main- frame. "Where could they have got to? That many bod- ies arc too hard to hide. The kids have to be fed. They can't have been whisked off to their--" Sascha could not find the appropriate noun and grimaced. "Wher- ever. Boris initiated transport surveillance within min- utes. Dammit, the subways and cargo routes have been wired since the incident in G."

Sascha, ease up, Dorotea told him, her warning a very narrow quiet thought. Rhyssa's feeling guilty enough as it is , . .

Sascha: And you think I feel none for not stranding Tiria, for encouraging her to go to the bloody mail? To that unmentionable bloody confectionery parlor? Sascha's response was loaded with derision. She'd've been bloody safer if I had let Boris use her for bait!

Dorotea: Stop castigating yourself, Sascha. Tirla's been safely in and out of the mall and the parlor for weeks now.

Rhyssa, brokenly: Peter's worked so hard. . . What could have possessed him to take such a risk?

Dorotea: He is just a boy, for all his power. Don't worry, we'll hear. The least whisper, and we'll hear them. Dorotea's mind cast restlessly for a trace of Tir- la's. After nearly five weeks of proximity with the girl, she should be able to spot her consciousness.

MAY ALL YOUR ORIFICES BE CLOGGED WITH CAMEL DUNG, YOUR BELLY ETERNALLY FULL OF VOMIT! MAY YOUR TONGUE ROT AND YOUR TEETH FALL OUT AND YOUR GUMS SWELL WITH BOILS! MAY YOUR LIVER ROT AND YOUR BLAD- DER DRY UP AND YOUR GLANDS SHRIVEL AND PUTREFY!

"Good God!" Dorotea was jolted to her feet. "Did you all hear that? It was loud enough!"

"Peter doesn't know that kind of language!" Rhyssa said, with a slight grin.

Anne McCaffrey 257

"Tiria would," Sascha replied, beaming from ear to ear. "Pungent, isn't she? Damn, where's she got to? I can't hear her anymore."

"Well, I can, and she's still in fine form," Dorotea said. "Neither of you hear her now? She can certainly broadcast when she's of a mind to." She held up her hand, listening, every muscle taut. Dorotea here, Tiria. Can you hear me? Dorotea's mental tone was tranquil and reassuring.

Tiria: Dorotea? Where are you?

Dorotea: More to the point, where are you? "Can you hear her now, Sascha, Rhyssa?" she asked. Two brief headshakes confirmed Dorotea as the primary con- tact. She felt the light, firm mental touches of Rhyssa and Sascha, listening in.

Tiria, savagely: You tell me. I can't see a thing. I can't feel a thing. I can smell, and the stench is worse than the bottom level of a factory bilge. Couldn 't you guys track me?

No, we couldn 't, Tiria. Your bracelets were discarded right at the mall when you and Peter were taken. Is Peter nearby? Sascha had motioned Carmen over, but Carmen kept shaking her head at her continued inability to find Tiria. Can you remember what happened? Dorotea went on.

Tiria's^isgust was obvious. / can't remember any- thing. Peter and I finished the new spectacular they just added to the menu. He paid for it himself. Said it was his treat this time 'cause he'd just had a vacation. We left the Parlor and were walking toward the subway when something covered my face, and I don't remember a thing more. Awful stuff. Sweet icky smell. How come I can talk to you all of a sudden?

Sometimes it's a case of need-to, Tiria, Dorotea said, putting a smile of approval into her mental tone.

You needed me to? Tiria asked. Or I needed you to hear me? Peter? Peter, answer me! Dorotea caught the

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conflicting emotions in Tirla's question, but such com- petitiveness was not a bad sign.

You and Peter were not the only two taken today. Cass and Suz reported that a number must have been taken from E, as well. A very well-organized affair. That's why anything you can tell us will help, Tirla. Anything, no matter how trivial.

Peter's not answering me in here. Maybe he's just not awake yet. My stomach's sour. I shouldn't've had that spectacular. Peter? 'Peeeeter!

Dorotea spoke gently. Don't panic, Tirla. Peter will wake up soon enough if he was gassed the same time as you were. We 're very relieved to hear from you,

believe me. Tirla, mildly surprised: I do believe you. You can't

lie in your mind, can you?

Not to me, you can't, Dorotea replied, gesturing im- periously for Rhyssa and Sascha to stop trying to insin- uate questions into her head. Tirla's voice was clear but, after the first burst of psychic outrage, neither as strong nor as loud. She could not risk losing the link. Now, tell me what you can about your surroundings.

They stink!

We 've already established that. What of? Besides, I assume, the unpleasant bodily discharges of frightened children. What can you hear?

Tirla, disgusted: A lot of crying.

Even that tells me something, Tirla. Can you isolate the individual crying enough to estimate how many chil- dren are around you?

Dorotea could sense Tirla's concentration and did not

interrupt.

Tirla: / think there's a lot of kids. There's sure a lot of crying and moaning, and someone's hiccuping. All around me, all sides, above, but none below. Why'd they blindfold us and tie us down like this? Most of these kids wouldn 't even try to escape.

Dorotea:' Yassim lost all the G children, didn't he? I

think that, unfortunately, that caused him to change his tactics. He's now employing a disorientation technique, sensory deprivation, to reduce the children to compli- ance when they are released. You're not afraid, are you?

Tirla, candidly: / don't like it, but I'm not scared. I'm mad. Her tone strengthened. / missed my math class.

Dorotea broke into relieved laughter. An angry Tirla would be far more useful than a frightened one. Sascha managed a relieved chuckle, and the tention in Rhys- sa's stance eased.

Dorotea: Stay mad, Tirla. Anger can be a valuable asset. Now what I want you to do is try and calm the children. Get them to tell you their names and, if pos- sible, where they came from. E and R were not the only Linears hit. We estimate that upward of a hundred chil- dren were taken.

Including Peter and me?

A hundred and two. Look, Tirla, we're going to have to rely heavily on you to help us find you, Peter, and the others. Dorotea gave Rhyssa a raised eyebrow at her smothered protest. "Candidly, that child is lot bet- ter able to take care of herself."

Rely on me? How? I'm blind and strapped in like cargo! Hey, you lot! Shut up! Quit your grizzling, stu- , pid^Neesters. Tirla then dropped into languages that Dorotea could not understand. They prefer crying for their mommies! Mommies who sold 'em! Tirla said, suddenly dropping into Basic again. Some half dozen are from E, seven are from W, and two from C. How they bleat! None of 'em's Peter.

Dorotea: Ask them their names.

Tirla could give ten names of the estimated fifteen children in with her. These were instantly forwarded to Boris.

"Where can Peter be?" Rhyssa murmured softly. At some point while she had been concentrating on Doro-

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tea's conversations, Dave Lehardt had joined the anx- ious group in the Control Room. He linked his fingers in hers, and the physical contact was almost more re- assuring than the aura of encouragement that emanated from all the telepafhs about her.

"Ask her again about the various smells," Saseha prompted Dorotea. "There may be something that'll give us a clue to where.''

Well, there's a sort of metal stink, Tiria replied when Dorotea relayed the question. And there's a moldy mil- dewing rotten stink that's stronger. There's another smell I can't identify. Oily. I'm stuffed into something-- feels like plastic foam. Even my fingers are separated into slots. I'm bound at the wrists, ankles, waist, and across my chest. If I was shorter, I'd be choking. Oh, cut the caterwauling! No one's hurting you! She roared out repetitions in other dialects, continuing to broadcast mentally as she shouted at the other children.

"Her predicament is beginning to get to her," Dor- otea said grimly. Tiria, I'm with you. Even if you can't hear them, Rhyssa, Saseha, Boris, Sirikit, Budworth, Dave--we 're all here. We 'II get you out of there, I

promise.

Tiria: Soon, please. If I have to listen to all this cry- ing and moaning much longer, I'll space out. What about that woman who wore my hair? Why don't you ask her where I am?

Carmen is right here and reminds you that she needs light to find you! Remember? That's why she couldn't locate you in the Linear--you were in the dark.

Tiria, wryly: I'm a lot more in the dark now than I was then. What if they don't turn any lights on? For the first time, her voice was tinged more with fear than with

outrage.

Dorotea: It may be no consolation to you right now, Tiria, but they 'II want you to be in good condition. They 'II also have to feed you and keep you clean.

Tiria: Yeah? When? Next week sometime?

You were taken at approximately three. It's ten-thirty now. You can't be left without food and water much lon- ger.

Tiria: You're right. That's not much consolation. Dor- otea, don't stop talking to me, will you ? I don't care what you say. Just don't stop talking.

I'm totally at your command, Tiria. Dorotea projected an image of a flourish and a curtsy. She was rewarded by a little chuckle. Shall we start with the math lesson you missed?

Tiria, surprised: In my head?

Dorotea: Write it on the board in my mind. I'll remem- ber for you.

' 'And also increase her telepathic facility,'' Rhyssa said with a genuine smile. "You are incorrigible, Dorotea."

' 'Also very good at what I do," the old woman replied smugly.

Rhyssa? Rhyssa?

Rhyssa gasped with incredulity, stricken by the faint- ness of Peter's call. Dave wrapped an arm about her shoulders, supporting her as she held up her hand to stop all noise in the room as the weak voice reached her mind. Yes, Peter. I've been listening for you.

Peter: / can't see anything. They gassed me. I'm going to be sick.

Rhyssa kept her mental tone calm and firm as she clung to Dave's hands. Easy, Peter. Remember our drills. Re- duce the nausea.

It's never been this hard before, Rhyssa. There was an edge of despair in his voice. Rhyssa knew so well how he hated anesthetics. He had reactions to most of the com- mon ones. It was going to take time--which she did not think they had--for him to shake off the residual disori- entation and nausea in order to bring his kinesis into use.

Rhyssa: Focus your mind, Peter, just as you used to do in the hospital. Focus your thoughts; ignore the extrane- ous.

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262

Peter: There 're other kids in here with me. Some of 'em

are pretty scared. Rhyssa: Call out for Tirla. She's somewhere--maybe

very nearby. Dorotea, urgently: Tirla, Peter's awake. Call his name.

Neither heard the other.

"Christ! Pine team of Talents we are when our kids are vulnerable!" Sascha remarked caustically.

Tirla, echoing Sascha's frustration: Why doesn't Peter just glide out of this contraption, Dorotea? Tirla asked, unconsciously echoing Sascha's frustration. He's the ki- netic! When Dorotea explained Peter's problem with the anesthesia, Tirla gave a bark of laughter. So it's up to me again, I guess. Don't forget the answers to my equations,

will you, Dorotea?

Dorotea: Tirla, what are you planning to do?

Tirla: Get out of this coffin.

Dorotea: How?

Tirla: They made one mistake when they strapped me in here. They strapped my fingers down, not up where I couldn 't reach anything. I should be able to dig out enough

plastic to free my hands.

Dorotea felt the effort in Tirla's mind, effort and fringes of pain. "Could she do that?" she asked Sascha.

' 'According to the Bro, the kids retrieved in Manhattan had been wrapped in foamed plastic cocoons. She might be able to scratch at it with her fingers.''

You have made contact with Tirla and Peter? Boris's

voice was excited.

Contact, Bro, but not release. Both kids are cocooned. And Peter's having a bad reaction to whatever gas they used. Sascha made another face, mimicking the aggrava- tion his brother was mentally expressing. He'll need a little time before he recovers completely.

Boris: Is there time? I've got the city manager, and all her deputies on my back for action. Some of the other kids

were legal, too.' Rhyssa was concentrating on strengthening her link with

Anne McCaffrey 263

Peter, helping him to dissipate the residue of the anes- thetic. Her face mirrored his desperation and sense of fail- ure, and she leaned heavily against Dave.

There! The triumph in Tiria's voice was evident to Dorotea, and she held up her band, repeating the girl's words for the others. Camel-gutted tripe! Miserable dung-eaters! Descendants of snake offal. Scu^farts! Maggots!

Good heavens! How pungent. Tirla, how have you hurt yourself? Dorotea demanded, sensing pain.

Tirla: Never you mind. I'm out of this cocoon. There are nineteen other kids stuck in 'em here, some of 'em still knocked out. Peter's not one of 'em. Tell Carmen not to fracture her skull finding me. This place is black as the bottom of an elevator pit. Ugh. I slipped in junk. Ugh! I've reached one wall. Faugh. It's slimy and gritty. Too smooth and cold for metal. Ah, an opening. A window. Plastic-coated. I can't even scratch a sliver off. Look, I'm going to try something, Tirla went on. They always forget about ceilings. There's air coming in here from someplace. She was silent for a long while, though Dorotea was aware of strenuous physical activ- ity. / am not hurting you. Just using you as a steplad- der. And I won't let you go, crybaby. You 're no use to me. Quit your grizzling. Another period of silence fol- lowed, jind Dorotea reported more physical effort, punctuated by inadvertent grunts of pain.

Tirla: Well, I was right. There is a ceiling hatch. And I can see, a Uttle. Well, whaddya know? I'm in a shunt- ing yard. There are rows and rows of train cars, old ones. Can't have been moved in years. And someplace down to my right there's light. Sort of around an edge, like of a window or a door. Any idea where I could be?

From the moment Tirla mentioned a shunting yard, the description was forwarded to everyone concerned. . Tirla: I'm going along the tops of cars toward the light, the girl reported. I can't hear anyone, and no one

264 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 265

would be stupid enough to walk around this place with- out a light. Tell us how many cars have children, Tiria, Dorotea

urged.

Tiria: Peter! Peter! Answer me! Peter! It's Tiria! An- swer me! Wow! I nearly fell off the edge of the car. Slippery surface, moist. Whole place is damp!

"Try for yards by the river, by the sea. Along the Sound," Sascha said, prowling up and down the bank of monitors, checking patterns.

Tiria! Peter cried exultantly. His voice echoed from Tiria's mind to Dorotea and lifted the anxieties of every Talent in the room. Rhyssa sank into a chair that Dave pulled over for her. Then he handed her a stimulant drink, gesturing her to toss it down quickly.

Tiria: So here's where they stashed you, huh? Now, I'll just drop in beside you. There! The tape 'II sting coming off--oh, I forgot. Sorry.

Peter: / won't feel it anyway--do your worst. Just don't take all the skin off my wrists! Isn 't there any light in this place?

Tiria: I guess not. There--you 're free. Only the tan came off. Here! Don't go faint. Lie back. Stay easy. Get your breath. Now look, you'd better rest some more. Dorotea could hear the nervous concern in Tirla's voice, a matter she did not impart to Rhyssa. I'm going to look around this place, Peter, Tiria went on. You get your kinetics working again, 'cause there's no way I can haul you up by myself.

Peter: I'll be okay, Tiria. I'll be okay. Just--just come back.

Tiria: Oho! Aircar! Big bugger. Expensive! No lights! There was a long moment of silence. That was too close.

"Ask her if she saw a number, a description, any- thing!" Sascha prompted Dorotea.

Tiria: I'd say that it's a metallic blue jetter, twelve- seater, no lights. But I got a glimpse--a three, a dash,

and R-I-G--I think. Could have been a B, but the I and the G were clear enough.

When Dorotea repeated what Tiria had said, Sascha exploded to his feet. "R-I-G! We couldn't be so lucky!" He slapped his right palm against his forehead. "Bud- worth, get through to Auer and Bertha and see if they have any tickles about Pilmflam."

"Flimflam?" Rhyssa and Dorotea said together, both reaching into Sascha's mind for confirmation, but he was involved in a tight conversation with Boris and would not let them in.

"Boris is doing a search on the registration," Sascha said aloud, holding up one hand, his expression intent and eager. "Dorotea, tell Tiria she's a star!"

Tiria, surprised: Was that enough for you? Oops. There's another one coming in, from another direc- tion. Also running dark. I'll see if I can get a better reading.

Tiria, Dorotea replied hastily, don't risk discovery. And Rhyssa says she 'd rather have you stay with Peter.

Tiria, blithely: Peter's okay. Working on it. I'm go- ing to find out who the other dark-flier is!

Tiria! Dorotea was momentarily stunned by the in- dependence. Tiria! She turned to Rhyssa, hands out- stretched in appeal. "The little witch has cut me off! Oh, just wait till I get my hands on that child! The impudence of her.''

Rhyssa was also irritated. Peter, stop her!

Peter on his dignity: / don't need a minder, Rhyssa. I really don't. Just enough time to catch my breath. 'Sides, no one could stop Tiria.

"Rather admirable of the child, I think," Sascha re- plied. For a palpable moment he and Rhyssa locked wills. Then he continued in a gentler tone. "I do real- ize, Rhyssa, that Peter's inhibited by the gassing he took. If Tiria can manage an ID on the second car, too, we'll maybe catch more than just the well-deserving Revered Ponsit Prosit."

266 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

"Has Boris confirmed the owner of that jetcar?" Rhyssa asked, only marginally appeased.

"Registered to Ponsit Prosit, a.k.a. Flimflam," Sascha said with a grin. "Complete with vanity plate-- VRPP/2403/RIG--at a Riverside address that is more palatial than reverential. Boris is sending out surveil- lance and standby teams. I'd like the Center to muster Talent as of right now!'' Sascha waited long enough for Rhyssa's assent and then pointed a finger at Budworth to punch the Alert button. "We can move once we've got a definite fix."

"Neither Auer or Bertha have anything for us," Sir- ikit told them.

"That's odd," Rhyssa said with a frown. "There should be something!"

"I find a precog silence reassuring," Sascha re- marked, buckling on his utility belt and checking his trank gun. "Flimflam is at least not going to trigger panic in the immediate future, so we have a very good chance of catching him inflagrante delicto. Dorotea, is Tiria available again?"

Dorotea shook her head, her lips pursed in an ag- grieved moue. "Wretched little snip of a thing!" she said with a certain amount of reluctant admiration in her tone.

' 'Got it!'' Carmen cried suddenly, jumping out of her chair, rushing to the map terminal, and punching co- ordinates that brought up the South Shore area. "Tula's come through again. There simply can't be two such similar situations. She's heading toward an old railway switchhouse. I can just make it out. There's a crack of light coming through a window that opens onto a plat- form. There seem to be hundreds of cars of old rolling stock rusting there. Here we are!" She pointed to the marked area on the map. "Here're tracks. Acres of them. And obsolete railcars waiting to be recycled."

The others all converged to look at the area magnified on the screen.

Anne McCaffrey 267

^ ' 'It couldn't be better, could it,'' Dorotea said slowly

as a place to hide terrified kids!" Tiria! Answer me' We know where you are now.

When Tiria did not reply, Sascha gave Rhyssa a long look and then. Dave Lehardt at their heels, the telepaths left the Control Room, jogging to the stairs that would take them to the aircars and teams waiting on the land- ing roof.

Anne McCaffrey 269

Chapter 16

^ ^ Tirla's night vision had adjusted to the gloom-- part mist and part lightlessness despite the angry red- orange glow of Jerhattan that lit the rim of the horizon on all sides. The upper levels of distant Linears, ma- jestic in the night, punctuated the halo of the city with their long silhouettes. From top stories, with aerials and stacks, aircraft-warning signals blinked their light pat- terns. She moved forward carefully along the curved tops of the railcars. If she slipped, there would be noth- ing for her to catch on to. The surface was gritty with dirt and slippery in the moist air. She headed toward that thin band of light and the dark bulk of the building

that framed it.

She had safely traversed five cars, two more with children moaning and weeping inside them, when she felt a pressure in her mind that she recognized as Dor- otea trying to contact her.

Go 'way. I've got to concentrate.

She cursed softly as she slithered for a panicky mo- ment between cars, then waited until her heart had stopped thudding, and she was fairly sure that her scrambling had not been heard. Her sharp ears had caught the sound of muted voices from the building. The line of cars continued past a long platform, and she debated slipping down and getting close enough to the building to overhear the conversations.

But conversations were useless tender; the registra- tion number of an aircar was undeniable proof. She 268

crawled forward on her belly, conscious of every noise she made, the diyness of her mouth, and the increas- ingly painful stiffness of her fingers.

There was a sudden break in the murk and there, parked beside the less distinct blue jetter, was an ex- pensive sports jetcar, its hull a crisp white, its tail ID equally visible. The two cars were balanced on the one junction of rail that was free of rolling stock.

Tiria: Peter, I got the second one. The number is CD- 08-MAL, clear as day. And the other car is right be- yond it. Peter?

Peter: / heard you, Tirla. I told them. You come back here. They're mad at you for closing Dorotea out. You 're going to have to apologize to her. Peter sounded fierce.

Apologize? Why? Tirla was so surprised that she slipped, banging down on the railcar. Now you 've done it! She flattened herself on the far side of the car as light flooded out of the building, illuminating the plat- form and the slightly bulging side of the car on which she lay.

"I tell you I heard something!" said the man silhou- etted in the doorway. He peered around the doorframe, and Tirla had a good view of the scene behind him: two men" one of whom idly swung a short stick, clipping it against his boot with an air of indolent diffidence.

'<Shut the door, you cretin!" The door abruptly closed and then opened in a much thinner crack. "... a good look around. Up, over, under, in. Mess up once more, maggot--you can be eagle-spread, too."

The door closed a second time, but not before Tirla recognized the angry voice. Her guts froze. She heard the ladrone moving, his shoes crunching the grit on the platform. She heard him haul back one of the warped carriage doors, the plastic creaking as he looked in the carriage. He moved on down the platform, cursing softly under his breath as he dropped down to flash his light beneath the car. Tirla could take no chances.

270 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

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271

Quickly she moved at a crouch and jumped to the next car. She was just in time--the red pinpoint of a filtered handlight shone briefly where she had just been. She held her breath, hoping against hope that the searcher would not notice her outline on the dusty top.

As he cautiously opened the door of the building, -she watched. The stick swinger was nearest the door--she got another good look at his haughty face, with its beaked nose and thin-plucked brows. And she saw a table piled with credits which two other men were counting--floaters, by the size of them. One of the counters looked vaguely familiar, but her attention was caught by the face of the other man as he turned his head; he had a cruel face, and a hungry one. He was idly tapping his black boot with the stick; she caught the gleam of gold around the handle. Only then did the significance of the pile of floaters dawn on her.

Tiria: Dorotea! The payoff's being made! Floaters. More than I've ever seen in my life!

Dorotea, her voice hard-edged: Tiria, don't you ever dare cut me out again. Tiria was momentarily dis- mayed. Wasn't she doing what they needed done? How could such a sweet old lady come on so tough and hard?

Tiria: Well, if you crazy Talents don't move your asses, you're going to mess everything up and I'll have nothing more to do with you. s

Peter! Help Peter now! Dorotea did not sound apol- ogetic, but she did sound anxious.

Tiria knew very well that Peter--not to mention all the other kids--needed help. As quickly as she could, she moved back along the line of cars. If the payoff had been made, some of the kids might be shifted soon. She had to get Peter out and free as many of the others as she could. If they all scattered and hid, it would take all night to recapture them--if she could stop them from crying long enough to help themselves.

Tiria slipped, and this time could not recover her bal- ance, sliding down the dirt-encrusted side of the car and

landing painfully on stones and cinders that bruised and cut her feet. Cursing her clumsiness and hoping that she had gotten far enough away so that the noise of her fall had not been heard, she made her way along the ground, cursing the bastards who had removed the beautiful purple boots that she had bought on her first trip to the mall.

Crying had been reduced to whimpering in the first two cars. Tiria winced. How much time did she have to get Peter out if the payoff had been made? Could he make use of that special Talent of his now?

Yes, I can, Peter said, appearing out of the darkness between two cars. He touched her hand. And I know exactly how. C'mon. He led her along the track until she nearly stumbled over a big handle attached to one side of the track. We're going to do a switcheroo. He laughed softly out loud. Much faster than letting all those kids loose. There's a hundred of them.

They heard a muffled thrumming and saw the white- ness of the aircar lifting slowly from behind the build- ing.

C'mon, Peter urged. I've got to get to that transformer box or my idea won't work! I need the gestaltfor this. You know how to uncouple cars? Suddenly the process was driven into Tula's mind and she staggered a bit, stunned by the vivid intrusion. Then go back and uncouple the last car with kids in it. Stay there and warn me if anyone's coming.

"You mean like, upstairs?" Tiria asked in a hoarse whisper, pointing to the sky.

No, them! Peter pointed at the building.

"When are we getting some help?" Tiria demanded in an acid-whisper, refusing to talk in her mind when she was nose-to-nose with Peter. "My feet hurt!"

"Soon," Peter hissed and then gave her a shove to help her on her way. "Try walking my way!"

She couldn't but wished she could. Her feet hurt and her hands ached. She did not quite understand how he

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could possibly do what she thought he was going to do. Railcars that had not moved in years were going to make the most awful racket. Peter was stupid! She hurried, hoping that the sound of the aircar might cover some of the noise the railcars were sure to make.

She identified the last car from the moaning inside it and struggled with couplings encrusted with caked oil and dirt. Peter, it's-- Suddenly the stiff coupling re- leased itself and she was knocked off balance, stagger- ing back into the end of the car. Well, thanks! A wail arose from within. Shut your faces, you stupid gits, she ordered, forgetting that the other children could not hear her. I'm doing my best to save your innards and your virtue. She banged her fist once against the side of the car and felt the pain worth it when the warning achieved an instant drop in the mewling. That did much to soothe

her aggravations.

Nervously she glanced up to see the aircar's slow upward progress. Running dark like that, the pilot had to be careful not to get tangled in the wires that fes- tooned the area around the building. If Peter could just get moving ... He was! She heard the squeal, rattle, and clanking as wheels long locked on rails reluctantly began to turn. She swung up to sit on the tongue of the coupling, watching the building for any sign that some- one within had heard the metallic protest. But the build- ing was two hundred meters or so away, and the aircar was whooshing and thrumming.

She peered at the skyline, yearning to see some subtle movement that hinted of the approach of help. Those Talents were so slow. How soon was "soon"? Her car moved all too jerkily with rattlings and clankings, but it was making progress along the track. The dark build- ing with the telltale band of light was slowly receding. She felt the car clack across the junction, veering right, and experienced partial relief. If that ladrone looked outside and saw half the train missing . . .

She saw'the white blur of Peter's face as the car

Anne McCaffrey 273

inched past the transformer box; there was no disguise in the dark night for the audible hum emanating from it. What was Peter doing?

She jumped down from the coupling, wincing as her cut feet hit the stony, cindery ground. The cars contin- ued to move obliquely away from danger, down an empty track.

"You can't leave just empty track. They'll know . . ." Tiria put an urgent hand on his arm and then could not release it. She could feel him shaking from the effort he had already made, shaking and more--and she was af- fected by his shaking and whatever else it was that raced through him.

"I'm trying," he said tensely. "A gestalt's hard with all that anesthesia still slowing me down. Help me!"

"Gestalt?" Tiria stuttered over the unfamiliar word, and then Peter put the explanation in her mind. Before she could ask how she could possibly help with that, she was. Her body seemed alive with the current racing through her, like the time she had caught a jolt from an exposed wire. Only this was not as painful as that shock had been. But it was . . . what was it?

The metallic protest was startlingly loud on the still air. The white jet had moved beyond visibility into the swirling mist. Tiria felt both stronger and weaker, plutctung at Peter with both hands, wanting to help him make the gestalt and needing his support. Suddenly she was aware of movement behind her as car after car be- gan to slide past them onto the track-- clickety click, clickety click--far too loudly. Suddenly, with a re- sounding clank, the new cars bounced against those near the platform, and Tiria's heart clenched when she heard the shouts of alarm as men piled out to investigate.

"Tell me! Did you let all those other kids loose?" Flimflam asked, his nose inches from Tiria's face. She wished he would bend just a little closer so she could

274 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 275

bite him. But he would probably poison her, the greasy, coarse, evil scuz.

Unfortunately, before Tiria could help Peter to hide, two of the faster ladrones had caught them. They had been roughly hauled back to the building and into the presence of a seething Flimflam, so enraged that flecks of foam had gathered at the comers of his mouth. Screaming with exasperation, Tiria had been shoved in front of the raging man as Peter collapsed on the floor,

groaning.

"We didn't see no others," one of the ladrones said anxiously. "There wasn't a sign of them, nor those cocoons in the cars neither."

"Tell me where the children are!" Flimflam repeated in one of the more common Neester dialects, squeezing hard on her swollen fingers. "Did you let them loose?"

Despite herself, Tiria let out a howl of pain, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp. It hurt so much that she could not even think of a suitable malediction to fling at him. He let her go but scooped a stick off the table and began to slash it across her back.

"Hey, boss, the merch! Don't mark the merch!"

"Tell me where the children went!" he demanded in the most common Asian language.

Tiria let tears run down her cheeks as she glanced quickly around the room, as if seeking help. Then in one of the most obscure languages she knew, she an- swered him in a piteously appealing tone. "Don't beat me. I don't understand you! Don't beat me again!"

"Of all the--" Flimflam roared, swiveling about to the ladrones and hitters in the room. "What did she say? One of you must understand her! Just what I need. A dumb kid! Well?"

There were murmurs and shrugs as no one admitted to understanding.

Dorotea, reassuringly: We're nearly there, Tiria. We have the yard on the nightscope.

"Where--" Flimflam was making ludicrously broad,

pantomine gestures, so unlike his polished performance as a RIG that Tiria nearly laughed even though he kept poking her painfully with his stick to emphasize his words. "Where--are--the others? Can no one talk to her? Rouse the other one. We can't waste time. That bloody His Highness will be sending the transports. We must have the merchandise ready. Months of planning, everything goes without a hitch, we've got the money-- where are the others?"

A ladrone poured water over Peter, who did not even moan. Tiria watched him anxiously. He looked terribly pale, crumpled up like that. He had been fine until they had been recaptured. Perhaps the effort of moving those heavy railcars . . . She gasped as the whip sliced her again right over the previous welt. Tiria tried to back away but hands clamped on her shoulders, holding her fast. She kicked backward with her heels, jarring feet already sore, but her captor had heavy boots on and she only achieved more bruises.

"Let's really put some fear into her," Flimflam said, gesturing, and she was flung facedown to the hard sur- face of the table where she had recently seen piles of floaters. Cruel hard hands grasped her by wrists and ankles. Suddenly pain exploded across her already lac- erated feet. She screamed and screamed again at the second horrific stab of pain, then fainted for the first time in her life.

So she missed seeing Flimflam violently propelled backward to crash against the wall. She missed the ex- plosive entrance of Sascha, Rhyssa, Dave Lehardt, and the Talent teams. And she missed the other excitements that would have given her immense satisfaction.

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Chapter 17

^##^ Commissioner," Ranjit said, "that's a diplo- matic registration."

"I wouldn't care if it was God himself. Lieutenant," the LEO commissioner answered. "Law Enforcement and Order means just that from bottom to top, and right on down the line again. Or it's privilege, not law en- forcement and order!" He measured the distance on the huge display map, from the South Shore train yard to the Riverside address. "Assign the best driver we've got to shadow that CD. And I want that beehive--not just the penthouse lift or the domestic floors but that entire complex--secured. Whoever is in that car could go to ground anywhere. Pack all entries with sensitives. Tell them to home in on any strong emotion--we may get a lot of wash on this. You know how hivers hate to have their privacy broached." He turned to another aide. "Barry, get me the city manager and tell her this is a sensitive affair. I want her forewarned so she can back us with the Corps. Feed the situation through Ju- dicial and get me four--no, make it five--John Does and a search warrant. And let's hope that Sascha's ef- ficient."

He shrugged on his tunic top, resplendent with the

"bravery bars" and braid, then strapped on sidearms and gestured for Ranjit and his other aides to follow him to the rooftop garage. Jet- and aircars were spin- ning off along usual routes, having been instructed to move circumspecdy.

276

Sascha? Boris linked with his brother as his aircar took off.

Nearly there, Bro. It still takes time to drive a car from there to here. The other bird has not flown--holy hell, what's happening? Back to you later.

Boris felt the abruptness of the mental break and cursed under his breath as his aircar plowed on to his destination. The pause lengthened, causing him some anxiety. Surely Sascha was competent enough . . . Should he have sent men with the Center teams? If the child-dealers at the railyard should get a warning through to his own quarry, the whole operation might be jeopardized.

My God, Boris-- Sascha's voice burst in on him like a bellow--if you let that Shimaz slime ooze out of this, Highness, Prince, manager, or whatever, I promise you that the Talents will handle him ex officio!

The LEO commissioner had never before heard such vindictiveness in his brother's voice.

Boris: What happened?

Sascha: The. Venerable Revered Ponsit Prosit used a bastinado on Tirla's feet. And Peter's collapsed!

Boris: Flimflam didn't get a message off, did he? If the man had, they might lose the most important crim- inal.

Sascha, livid with rage: No, not when he had a little ,girl^o interrogate! Make it stick on that other bastard, will you? Or, by all that's holy, I will. Myself with no help from any other agency, dear LEO Bro.

Boris: LEO is on the move, Sascha. You hang onto your temper. Have you got the other children? Have we any proof of complicity ?

Sascha, sarcastically: I don't suppose Tirla's bloody feet count for more than assault and GBH. But we also took possession of a case full of many too many floaters, ready for a night deposit, complete with an account number I'll bet can be traced to the Venerable Revered.

Boris: That should be enough to convict Flimflam.

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PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 279

But is there enough to catch this--what did you call

him?

Sascha: Shimaz, Prince Phanibal Shimaz, who seems to be a whiz at more than Josephson junctions. Flim- flam's spilling his guts: His Highness has rather an ex- tensive operation--child labor in his rice paddies and mines, child prostitution, and a child farm where the healthiest are kept that way until someone can pay for

the organ they need.

Boris, growling: Get me something to link him to that yard. Something that will stick!

They were well on the way when the comlink her- alded a connection from Commissioner Aiello. She ap- peared on the cabin screen dressed in formal attire. Hovering beside her was her protocol officer, Jak, who, for all his empathy, could at times be quite tiresome

about details. "Do you have incontrovertible proof, Roznine?" she

asked.

"We have proof of a connection which is incompat- ible with any diplomatic occupation," Boris replied, setting his jaw.

"Who? Surely not the ambassador!" At that mo- ment, Teresa Aiello was depressed with pessimism.

"We are not after his Excellency, so Jak can relax. Members of his Corps, certainly, and an embassy ve- hicle has been identified and traced from the abduction site. There's no problem of proving involvement. Is the DA there, too? Well, give the old dog a comforting word in his shell-like ear. The Talents have cracked this abduction ring." The last he admitted ruefully, for de- spite protests to the contrary, he and his brother were in constant competition.

The massive beehive was aptly nicknamed. Its bot- tom levels along the block-square bulk, where other buildings obscured views, housed maintenance, stor- age, and worker accommodations. Where the hive rose above its neighbors, there were great curved plasglas

panels that were part solar-heating, part prestigious dis- play of wealth. Each pie-shaped apartment boasted lux- uriant gardens and views from the outer wall, and where the hive had an atrium core, rare plants and trees fes- tooned the inner walls. Naturally the top apartments were the most exclusive and expensive, with one whole floor given over to private garden and garage facilities, swimming pools, game courts, and whatever other ame- nities the residents expected, to secure the ultimate of comfort.

Is the surround complete yet, Ranjit? Boris asked on his helmet corn unit.

Just now--completely ringed, sir. No one can get in or out without being observed.

"Commissioner," Boris's pilot said, "here comes the suspect vehicle now."

The sleek white jetcar swooped to settle and deposit its passengers on the roof of the hive.

"Three men!"

"I can see that myself," Boris said. "Secure that jetter the moment it's garaged. See what you can get the pilot to say. Grab the log, and any garage records. And now--" He could not keep the satisfaction out of his voice. "Let's get the bastards."

The LEO pilot put them down on the hive roof, and Boris Roznine and his squad made for the ramp down to the entrance level of the penthouse. Seeing the for- mal and formidable attire of the LEO commissioner and his aide, the door attendant hurried to open it. His bow was respectful and nervous.

"What are you doing, you naga? I'm not expecting guests!'' exclaimed the man at the other end of the mag- nificent white marbled reception hall. A servant was just assisting the removal of his elegant blue suede long coat while a second man was also shrugging, unas- sisted, out of his own outerwear. "Exclude them im- mediately."

"I think not, Prince Phanibal," Boris said, stepping

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forward while sending Ranjit a quick thought about re- inforcements.

The prince's companion moved with astonishing speed out the nearest of the many doors leading from the entry hall while the paralyzed doorman gaped.

"Is His Excellency at home?" Boris asked, some glimmer of Jak's protocol lessons seeping through his anger. The doorman fearfully nodded before the prince ordered him not to respond.

"How dare you--whoever you are--enter a diplo- matic residence without invitation?" Prince Phanibal demanded, his expression haughty and totally confi- dent. His gaze ignored the lieutenant by Boris's side and the detachment standing just outside the door.

"Boris Roznine, commissioner for Law Enforcement and Order in Jerhattan!" Boris turned to the awed and shaking doorman. "Please beg His Excellency's indul- gence and request an immediate interview on a matter of grave urgency."

The attendant, ignoring the prince's countermands and threats, opened a hidden door and disappeared. He had no sooner gone than all the other doors of the en- trance hall swung open and a number of large men filed in with military precision. Three, black-robed and tur- baned, with silver-mounted belts and daggers which were exactly the legal length permitted display guards, immediately flanked the prince.

Boris did not need to look over his shoulder to know that the LEO officers just outside the doorway, carrying the weaponry legal for them, outnumbered the embassy guards and were quite ready to force an entry. He waited a moment for the prince to absorb that fact.

"I believe that we now await His Excellency's ap- pearance," he said with a grim and ungenial smile and, in studied insult to a royal person, seated himself on the nearest decorative bench.

"Do you not understand the repercussions this un- warranted intrusion--" Prince Phanibal began imperi- ously. "I am not only a royal prince of my house but a manager of the Padrugoi. I am due back on the plat- form on the next shuttle.''

"That is why I, as LEO commissioner, am here to explain personally to the ambassador," Boris replied. Is this the guy who's been giving Rhyssa so much grief? Perhaps if we both try, we can probe his mind, he sent to Sascha. It's not admissible evidence in court since it's under duress, but it'll give us some clues.

There was a brief pause as the brothers tried to breach the prince's mind. Then Boris pulled back. He's got a dense mind shield. He's had careful conditioning, and I'd love to know where. No, we can't break it, not with- out breaking the law.

The slightest of smiles tugged at the comer of the prince's mouth and his eyes narrowed, hiding smug pleasure at deflecting the mental intrusion. He raised his left hand briefly, his fingers closing as if on some accustomed possession. Then he threw his fingers open in vexation and raised the arm indolently across his chest, the smile broadening.

"Perhaps you have mislaid your little stick," Boris heard himself saying. Sascha was there! Saving time and effort, brother? Boris asked.

The little stick which made raw meat of Tiria 's feet, Sascha said savagely.

Prince Phanibal stiffened in surprise. "I--what?"

"The little switch that you are fond of carrying as an affectation, for you don't own any--animals--I be- lieve," the Boris/Sascha link continued. "The one with the ivory handle and the rather unusual filigree design.''

"I do not have to account for my possessions to such as you," Prince Phanibal replied as he angled himself obliquely from Boris, tilting his chin arrogantly to dis- play what many probably considered a handsome pro- file.

At that point the ambassador, clad in a deep purple velvet robe with exquisite gold designs, entered from

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the central door. He cast one startled look at the prince and his pose, another at the group by the door, then signaled for the guards to withdraw. Boris Roznine rose and walked forward to meet the Malaysian.

"Due to the gravity of this situation, Your Excel- lency," he said, speaking on his own although he knew that Sascha was listening avidly, "you will permit me to dispense with formalities. This man"--he gestured to the aloof prince--"and another have been involved in activities incompatible with any function in your em- bassy. I must ask you to instruct His Highness and his companion to accompany me to the LEO headquar- ters."

"With what could the Prince Phanibal be charged?"

the ambassador asked with great dignity.

"The charge is indeed grave. Your Excellency, for there has been traffic in abducting minors and subjecting them to illicit bondage for me purpose of slave labor, unlawful intercourse, and organ removal."

"You have proof of such a heinous crime?" The am- bassador drew himself more erect, but he did not appear

to be all that surprised.

"Yes, Your Excellency." Boris inclined his head with a nod of regret. The ambassador was too fine an old man to be saddled with such a scandal.' 'There are witnesses!" the Boris/Sascha link continued, supporting Boris's reply. "Talented witnesses."

The prince snorted his disbelief, his poise undis- turbed. "Such a claim tries all patience. You will dis- miss these deceivers. Uncle." Sascha: This bugger's clever. Boris: He hasn't turned a hair or admitted a thing. Sascha: Does he think all Talents are adults? Boris: Tiria is on the official Register, is she not? Sascha: Didn 't you read the ID bracelet you got her six weeks ago? And there are four of the ladrones, spill- ing their guts to avoid being spaced, confirming what we've got out of Flimflam for turning State's evidence--

his mind took very little pressure when he regained con- sciousness. That was some scam they had going. Fur- thermore, it was the dear prince who infiltrated LEO programs and filched the strand formula. He had all the special clearance passwords because he was work- ing on Padrugoi and doing all that fine work with the Josephson junctions. He browsed and took what he needed. Got his island laboratory to perfect a variation for Flimflam to use as a special effect in those REs he put on. We have all the details needed to implicate the prince and that secretary of his. Returned from the re- ligious institutions and a period of meditation in the Far East? He was planning the whole thing with Prince Phanibal's backing. Sascha's snort of contempt was so strong that Boris grunted.

The ambassador turned his head slightly over one shoulder in Prince Phanibal's direction. "I will not dis- miss them. Nephew. Talent cannot be forsworn." Then he regarded Boris steadily for a moment and beckoned for the prince to step forward. "You will go with them."

"But I cannot be arrested like a common criminal!"

"Oh, indeed. Nephew, you are an uncommon crim- inal, for diplomatic immunity does not shield peder- asts," the old man said in a voice that was leached of all emotion.

^,'You cannot permit such insult to our name," the prince said, slapping his fists to his legs in his barely contained frustration and anger. "My father will hear of this. You will hear of this. You will be disgraced! You will never return to your home. Your children and your children's children are dog meat..."

Ignoring him, the Malaysian ambassador strode to the nearest door and closed it firmly behind him. The guards moved to cover each of the doorways, subtly removing official protection from the prince.

Commissioner? Ranjit said politely. The pilot has been arrested, and we have the jetter's logs and the

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garage log. Also, Prince Shimca's companion was ap- prehended, attempting to escape.

"If you will come with us . . ." Boris began for- mally, gesturing toward the roof landing steps.

The prince suddenly erupted into action, his face contorted in rage, flinging himself toward the opening Boris had made. Ranjit, with great presence of mind, neatly tripped the man as he passed.

At that, it took three officers to subdue the raving man.

"So, despite appeals from his grieving father, and protests from Ludmilla Barchenka that His Highness Manager Phanibal Shimaz must be released until the station is completed," Sascha told Tiria, sitting on the edge of her bed in Dorotea's house, "that scuzball will spend the rest of his life at hard labor on the moon."

"And Flimflam?" Tula's eyes flashed with an anger and hatred that startled Sascha, even though he under- stood it.

"Oh, turning State's evidence gave him a choice of occupations," he said with a grin. "He elected to take a job as a sanitation engineer on the Big Station. Not exactly spaced out, but near enough."

"How many of the kids were illegals?" she asked after relishing Flimflam's future for a long and satisfac- tory moment. She and Peter had both been in court to give their evidence but had not heard the sentencing. She still was not comfortable walking very far on her tender feet, and despite Peter's patient instruction in kinetics, she had been unable to levitate as he did. Peter was baffled, sure that she had some latent kinetic abil- ity; he maintained that he had been unconscious when Flimflam had been thrown kinetically across the room just as the rescuers arrived.

"Eighty-seven children," Sascha replied brusquely.

"In the hos'tels, huh?" Tiria gave a long sigh.

"Just think what you and Peter saved them from, Tiria. You had a taste of it."

"And there haven't been any more deals or abduc- tions?"

Sascha shook his head.

The apathy that had settled over Tiria after the trial worried everyone in the Center. Obediently she had worked with the physiotherapist to regain movement in her damaged feet--she had been more severely injured than had first been apparent. She had dutifully tried to improve her telepathic range, but Dorotea and Peter were the only ones she could hear at any distance; even Sascha she could hear only if he was within a hundred meters. She did test to an astounding degree of empa- thy, the source of her unusual linguistic feats.

She was assiduous in following her education pro- gram, opting for a very wide variety of courses, some of which Dorotea was certain she could not yet com- prehend. Her reports proved that she was more preco- cious than anticipated. She took no joy in the freedom of the Center's -grounds and played with no other chil- dren despite their repeated attempts to interest her. She had even refused to go on shopping trips with either Sascha or Cass. She tended to become more animated in Peter's company, but she saw him only rarely, as he and Rhyssa were deeply involved in his highly special- ized training. She was virtually recovered from the ab- duction, but her morale was extremely low, so Dorotea had insisted that Sascha come for a visit.

' 'What does it take to strand a kid?'' Tiria asked him.

"Look, chip," he said, laying a gentle hand on her knee and noting that she felt no less fragile to him, though she had put on weight since she had first come to the Center. "You can't save all the illegals. And for the moment the danger is over."

"But not the appetites," Tiria said, brooding. "Like that scuzzy prince." In the privacy of her room, her face took on a malicious expression. "Is it difficult to

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strand a kid? Cass and Suz said they were stranding kids in Linear E. Have they improved the strand for a long-term use?"

"I know you're biologically twelve years old, Tiria, but you sound fifty." Sascha was exasperated.

She tilted her head up at him, regarding him through slightly narrowed eyes, a little smile playing at her lips. "In the Linears I am. You surely don't want another scam like that RIG, do you? And like you said, even illegal kids have rights! I know Cass has had her baby and wouldn't want to go undercover so soon. But I'd bet my last credit--"

"All of them are the Center's now, remember?" Sa- scha teased, and caught a sly gleam in her eyes. So Dorotea was right about her squirreling some floaters away. Old habits died hard.

"And the Center also has to give me anything I want--"

"Within reason."

"Well, I'll be reasonable. I'm good at languages- anyone's-- but I can't keep sharp if I'm here," she said, gesturing out the window at the lawn. "And Teacher says I don't know all the languages of the world--yet. I'll do you a deal, Sascha Roznine." She cocked her head at him in what he had come to call her "haggling manner." "I'll strand illegals in every Jer- hattan Linear. I'll strand 'em, but I won't report 'em." She gave a mirthless grin. "If there're sweeps, and I was blamed for 'em, I'd lose my--what do you call it- credibility? I got ethics, too, you know. But I'd know when trouble was brewing, and that I would report. That'd help, wouldn't it? I'd be a better trouble-spotter than any of those LEO plants of your brother's!" The notion seemed to amuse her, and certainly she had become more animated. "I always knew who was LEO--even who was Talent."

While there was no question of her affection for Sa- scha, she was never easy in Boris's presence, though

he had tried to be ingratiating. An ingrained distrust of all LEOs was Sascha's diagnosis, not wishing Tiria to be at odds with his twin.

"You really wouldn't consider staying here with Dorotea and extending your Talents?"

Tiria wagged her head, grimacing. "It's not that I don't like Dorotea. She's the best ever. It's just--I don't feel comfortable in all of this." Her glance swept around the well-appointed room. "I'm a Linear brat. My Talent, as you call it," she said, wrinkling her nose in self-deprecation, "works best in a Linear environ- ment." Her eyes twinkled.

"You can't live all your life in a Linear," Dorotea said, entering the room, her expression worried. She radiated affection, reassurance, and support.

"Why not?" Tiria demanded, lifting her hands in a quick gesture of exasperation.

"Indeed, why not?" Sascha echoed.

"Cass and Suz live on the high side of Linears when they're undercover. I'd really like my own squat on, say, Level 19,' so I'd have a view and not so much smog." Her grin was sheer impudence. "In case he hasn't been listening in, ask your brother if I wouldn't be more use to him living in a Linear."

Sascha laughed. Bro? Did you hear that?

Little bint! You 'II never know where you are with that one,'#will you? It's demonstrable that she's superb as a pulse-keeper. There are far more squabbles and argu- ments in Linear G than while she was there. I could use a Tiria in all the big Linears. If Rhyssa doesn 't mind ...

Dorotea: I mind!

Boris: Sorry, Dorotea, but Tiria's a Registered Tal- ent and too damned vital to lay about until she's of age. But there's nothing that says she has to live at the Cen- ter while she's waiting for her eighteenth birthday to come around. If she 'd be much happier in a Linear, she could live in one. With Lessud and his family in Island

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K? Go to school properly and still keep her ears and eyes open for the general well-being of the community. With the scam dried up in Jerhattan, Long Island is the next logical pool to fish in for illegal kids. We could we a reliable pulse-keeper like Tirla.

"Did you get any of that, Tiria?" Sascha asked her, grinning. Sitting beside her, he could feel her concen- trating on "listening," but her mind echoed nothing but the desire to hear.

She shook her head and gave a sad little sigh, with a look of apology to Dorotea, who had been trying so hard to train her.

"The Bro wants to know if you'd prefer to live in a Long Island Residential while you're waiting to grow up," Sascha explained.

"A Residential in Long Island?" Tirla became ani- mated at once, sitting up in her bed, her big dark eyes glittering, a delicate tinge of color suffusing her cheeks, and a hopeful smile on her lips. "That'd be living in high style!"

EPILOGUE

#$# ^ Three months later.

Rhyssa?

The tone, apologetic but firm, roused Rhyssa from one of those intense sleeps where it is difficult to move the body even when the brain has become alert. She lay heavy in the bed and managed to open one eye to see the clock; then she heard the familiar sound of Dave singing softly to himself in the bathroom. Once again she had overslept. She really did not know what was the matter with her these past few weeks--she simply could not seem to get enough sleep.

Rhyssa! The tone was more urgent, and then recog- nition came.

Yes, Madlyn? What's the matter?

I didn 't wake you, did I? I thought I had Earth times down pat.

I overslept. What's the matter?

It's her! Disgust, frustration, anger, and exasperation packed into that one pronoun forewarned Rhyssa. She's at it again. Saying we Talents are not doing our job! We have only pulled her out o/her midden and yet she has the gall to blame us for anything that goes wrong up here.

What is it this time? Rhyssa hauled herself up against her pillows and reached for the coffee thermos--another elegant notion of Mr. Lehardt's, and so civilized. She started to pour herself a cup and then stopped. The smell of it turned her stomach.

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There's one last very critical shipment due to come up, Madlyn went on, only it hasn 't because Johnny says he won't ship it yet.

Won't ship ifl That blew the last of sleep-fog from Rhyssa's mind. What was Colonel Greene up to now? And naturally it's essential/or her to complete the in- stallation?

Vital! It's got the last of the internal mechanisms and remotes. Very delicate stuff, I know, and not something you want bounced about. And there's only a week more before the completion date. Then we can all come down to earth! There was heartfelt relief in Madlyn's tone. So we want to know why it's being held up. Because we are, too, you know.

I know. I'll sort it out, Madlyn. Indeed, I will.

Dave was whistling louder now that he knew she was awake. He might not have been telepathic, but he dis- played a keen sensitivity where she was concerned that more than made up for it in ways she could never have anticipated. She grinned to herself and then recalled the task at hand. Eight-thirty was not too early to rouse Colonel John Greene out of his Floridian sack.

Johnny boy, phone me! He was too far away to link telepathically with her, but her call would reach him easily enough. She looked at the phone, counting down. It rang in exactly ten seconds.

"You wished parlance with me, Madame Lehardt?"

"I do indeed. Colonel Greene. What hanky-panky are you pulling on poor dear Ludmilla?"

Johnny's chuckle was drenched in malice. "Only what she deserves, petal. She conscripted us Talents to be sure she finished on time, and finished on time she will be. Not one moment earlier, not one moment later. Why?"

"Oh, I see." Rhyssa chuckled. "And you have it timed to the final hour?"

"Lance and I worked out the time it would take to install those'controls, and we've scheduled the kinetics

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needed. We know exactly how long it will take. Lance must have forgotten to clue Madlyn. I'm sony she's getting hassled, but she's well able for it. Soothe her down, will you, Rhys? We're doing it our way!"

"Oh, I quite agree. Not an hour early and not an hour late."

As she hung up, Dave came in the room, a towel draped about his lean hips. "I did try to wake you, Rhys," he said with a rueful expression. "You just don't want to get up in the morning."

"I'm wanton enough to admit that I love being in bed with you, Dave, but preferably awake, not sleeping like the dead.'' She lifted her arms and began to stretch, then stopped. "And what's wrong with the coffee? The smell makes me nauseous."

Dave grinned as he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at her: His blue eyes crinkled. "Figured it out yet?" he asked, glancing down at her abdomen.

"I thought--1 mean, I haven't been ill," Rhyssa said, with dawning awareness, "just sleepy! Oh, Dave, could I really be pregnant?"

"Think about it a moment, 0 wise woman!" He got up, shedding his towel as he began to dress. She loved looking at him, no matter what he was doing, and the intimacy of this daily act was something special for her. "After all, I've been doing my best for several months now!"

Awed by the possibility, Rhyssa did start thinking about her body, placing her hands gently on her belly, intuiting the biofeedback.

"Oh, Dave, I am pregnant. I am!"

"I think you're the last one to have copped on, then," he replied, grinning broadly. "Dorotea knows."

"And she said nothing?" Rhyssa sat bolt upright again, startled and somewhat miffed that she had been left in the dark--and by Dorotea!

"Well, there's some things it's more fun to find out by yourself," he said, grinning as he stooped down to

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kiss her lovingly. "There's a sort of glow about you, too. Everyone's noticed. They've been politely waiting for an official announcement." He stroked her tangled hair, running fingers down her silver streak.

She sighed, then blurted out, "Does Sascha know?"

Dave stopped in the act of pulling on his tunic and ducked his head out of the folds to regard her with some alarm. "Sascha? I know you're close but--"

"Well ..." Rhyssa paused. There was one of the few drawbacks to Dave's lack of Talent. Sometimes she had to explain with far more detail than a Talent would require. "Well, Sascha's got to wait, that's all, and he doesn't take waiting kindly."

"Wait?" Dave pulled the tunic down. "Wait for what?"

"For Tiria to grow up, of course," she said, gath- ering herself to rise from the bed. She felt oddly pro- tective of the new life inside her, which was silly, since it was obviously well settled in.

"Tiria?" Dave's eyes nearly popped in astonish- ment. "He's gone on her? Dirty old man!"

"Not so old and certainly not dirty where Tiria is concerned. Bolt out of the blue on him, all right enough. He's never felt that way about any other female." Rhyssa permitted herself a little knowing smile. ' 'But she's the one for him, and he knows it. He just has to wait a few years."

"That wight's not even--"

"Tiria is twelve now, going on two hundred," Rhyssa replied with some asperity. Tiria was a very interesting personality, and she and Sascha would deal very well together. It was incredible, really, to have found two such diverse Talents during her directorship:

one macro who would shift worlds and one whose skill was a micro-Talent, eroding language barriers. "Nee- sters ripen a lot faster than we Northern and Occidental types. She'll be more than ready in four years to marry Sascha."

"And that's decided?" Dave was skeptical.

Rhyssa smiled. "Sascha precogged it--to his intense astonishment. Next time you see them together, notice how she looks at him. Quite proprietary that young lady is where Sascha is concerned. And she's better for him than Madlyn would ever be."

"And they'll have Talented kids?"

"That's a very high probability." Rhyssa smiled smugly.

Dave paused. In her presence he always allowed his emotions to show. He cleared his throat and asked briskly, "What about us? When will we know?"

To reassure the man she loved, Rhyssa smiled as she nodded. "No problem there."

"You sound so sure."

She put her arms around his neck, letting her gravid belly rest against him as she pulled his head down to kiss him. "I am. He just told me so."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Between her frequent appearances in the United States and En- gland as a lecturer and guest-of-honor at science-fiction conven- tions, Anne McCaffrey lives at Dragpnhold, in the hills of County Wicldow, Ireland, with assorted horses, cats, and a dog. Of her- self, Ms. McCaffrey says: "I have green eyes, silver hair, and freckles--the rest changes without notice."