"It is not the permission of the Center directors that is required, but the consent of the employed," Rhyssa reminded the engineer. "Center directors negotiate the individual contracts with the necessary safeguards."

"I can buy the contracts." Barchenka's challenge was also a threat.

"Such contracts cannot be sold, Engineer Barchenka, and if you would accept the necessary safeguards, you might be more successful in attracting Talent!" Rhyssa replied sternly, beginning to lose patience with the woman's dogmatic pursuit. She could ignore Per Duoml's mournful expression and even keep her gaze averted from Prince Phanibal's hot eyes, slightly wet lips, and nostrils that flared slightly from his rapid breathing; but all three glaring at her were an unnerving combination. She kept a smile on her lips, deliberately increasing the flow of her limbic system.

"You can insist," Ludmilla repeated. "It is in all your contracts that 'it can be voided at the discretion of the Center in emergencies."

" Rhyssa suppressed a rush of anger that Barchenka had been given access to a Parapsychic Contract and had to remind herself that such contracts were public knowledge. "My fellow directors do not consider that you have a true emergency, Engineer Barchenka. " For the first time Barchenka flared angrily. "I say this is an emergency! I say I must have a larger work force to complete this world priority project."

"You have unlimited access to the conscriptable pool of workers."

"Bah! They are uselesssterile, uneducated, untrainable grunts! I cannot build a space platform only with grunts. I will have the kinetics I need. I promise that, Director!" With that she wheeled and, in a dangerous imbalance, made a lurching exit, Prince P hanibal following her.

Per Duoml took one step forward, bowing slightly at the waist. "Even half a dozen kinetics would improve the situation tremendously."

"As I have explained repeatedly, Per Duoml, insure the Talents shielded quarters and a sixhour maximum shift and they will be amenable. Surely if there's credit enough in your budget to support the number of trips back to Earth that have been made for the purpose of recruiting Talents, the funds can be found to supply their basic needs on Padrugoi!"

"Engineer Barchenka must adhere to the budget. No alterations can be made to existing staff accommodations."

"Then Engineer Barchenka is stuck with the result." Rhyssa fervently wished that Per Duoml would relax his mental shield long enough for her to place directly in his mind the information her words patently did not convey. "You require kinetics to shift obj ects of mass proportions in the assembly of Padrugoi. You also need kinetics who can assemble chips of the most complex delicacy in the total vacuum of space. The kinetic energy required by both tasks is the same and exhausting. They need quiet to restore their strengththey are sensitive to the metallic vibrations of Padrugoi itself, the inhumanly close quartering, the lack of privacy, and the appallingly bad rations which are insufficient to replenish their bodies and minds."

Per Duoml nodded impassively and then shrugged, unwilling to comment before he, too, turned to leave.

His departure left Rhyssa with an uneasy sense of foreboding. She directed a query to Sirikit on duty in the Control Room of the Center.

Any precogs in just now?

Sirikit: None. You're expecting one?"

Rhyssa projected an image of Ludmilla Barchenka's grim visage: Possibly!

Chapter 4

The boy blinked three times, and the channel on the ceiling screen changed again. He sighed. Yet another oldie he had already seen often enough to have memorized the good parts. He blinked the switch signal again, and realized that he had been through enough of the channels to be sure that there was nothing on to catch his attentionnot even an educational program unfamiliar to him. The firs t few weeks he had been in the ward it had been lots of fun, watching the trids all through the long nights. Kept his mind offthingsafter his headaches had eased. Sometimes he almost missed those headaches, because at least then he had been feeling somethi ng in his body.

He sighed. He could do that, too, he reminded himself thinking positively as Sue, the therapist, said he must. He didn't understand a lot of what she told him, like imagining himself walking and running, thinking hard of how he used to do itbefore he had r un alongside the ruins and that brick wall had collapsed on him.

Why? The agonizing question made him gasp. He had thought he had stopped thinking about that. Asking "why " was definitely negative and always depressed him terribly. Why had that wall come down just as he, Peter Reidinger, had been running past it? Had he kicked a stone that had been enough to trigger the collapse? Had one of the boys chasing him lobbed a stone at the wall? Why, since it had been standing for fifty or a hundred years all by itself why had it picked that moment to come down? Three seconds l ater, he would have been safesafe from both the wall and the boys chasing him. Why had he turned into the forbidden area, anyhow? He'd had a choice at the end of the alley: over the wall, only it seemed very high to him and he had nothing to give him a leg up; to the right, only that took him back into the Alley Cats' territory and possible ambush; or to the left, weaving his way through the ruins, making it more difficult for them to know which way he would go. Why?

Negative! Negative! Peter screwed up all his face muscles and then made them relax, group by group. Then he smiled, slowly and consciously spreading his lips and bringing the corners of his mouth up, stretching them until his cheeks lifted, his chin droppe d, and his lips parted over his teeth; willing the nerve impulses in his face to change the limbic system. As Sue had taught him, he pulled his most happy moment out of his mind: his eleventh birthday, when his father had come home on leave from the space station in time for the party.

Planting that memory firmly in front of "why, " Peter rehearsed the details of that happy experience until he could relive the entire scene from the moment the door chime had announced that his father had made it home until Dad had tucked him into his bunk. He had gotten so he could even feel the touch of his father's hand on his forehead.

Good thing Dad had touched him thereone of the only places he still had feeling. Peter sighed again and refelt the touch. Then he closed his eyes and "heard " his father leave the room, "heard " the muted sounds of his parents talking and laughing. He expe lled another deep sigh.

He was lucky. He could breathe on his own now. Sue had been so proud of him when that autonomic reflex had returned. He filled his lungs, knowing that his chest was rising, his diaphragm tightening. He could feel the air in his windpipe. He held his breath until spots came in front of his eyes; then he expelled it.

Immediately he heard the steps of the duty nurse. Miz Allen did not like to be disturbed, especially when he knew that they had a critical case on Pie 12. He counted ten steps and then she was peering down at him, making eye contact. She then peered at the wall panel that displayed the readings from his monitors.

"Why was there a respiratory fluctuation, Peter?"

"Aw, I was just doing my breathing exercises."

"You were not." Miz Allen glared at him a moment, and then her long thin face relaxed. She laid a light hand on his forehead and then drew one finger down his cheek to press it against his lips. "You were fooling. Don't fool with your breathing, Peter. Yo ur brain needs oxygen. And it needs sleep, too. It's quarter of four. You should sleep. You know how to achieve relaxation, Peter. Do your progressives, there's a good boy.

" They both heard the sudden whimpering of the burn girl on the other side of the circular ward.

Miz Allen, reproving smile and all, disappeared, and Peter counted her steps, twentyone, to get to the critical case. Then he counted to thirty, and the whimpering ceased He knew burns hurt. He wished he felt something, even burns!

He immediately put his mind to the few progressives available to him: the relaxation of every muscle in his face, bead, and neck. He could not move his head, but he had sensation in his neck. He reached total slack and thought carefully of his place, feeli ng the spring of grass under his feet, hearing the shimmer of leaves as a wind soughed through them, smelling the fragrances of the garden, gazing up at the sky above, the sun warm on his back. He began to float again. He bad the sensation of drifting up, out of the supine body resting on its cushion of air, amazed and annoyed at the various tubings and wires shunted into him that he never felt.

The garden of his dreams was miles away from Jerhattan. It had been part of the vacation farm to which his parents bad taken him when he was eight. For someone raised in Linear Jerhattan, surrounded constantly by the noise and smell of people and maintenan ce machineries, he had been totally entranced by the farm. Peter knew that there were small green belts throughout the Jerhattan complex; he had even been to several, trying to relive that vacation, but none bad evoked the same response in him, being too s mall and cramped to close out the eternal noise of the city.

He had found a place, though, where he could float when he got to the proper state of relaxation. It had grass and trees, barely visible in the eerie predawn light. And he was strangely attracted by other inexplicable strands, comforting wisps of thought, enticing him to linger. One in particular intrigued him, and he hovered as close to it as he could, tantalized by a sense of tranquil familiarity.

All of a sudden he was nearly blinded by powerful lights that flooded the scene. He felt a moment of terror. He could not suppress his scream, steadying only when he heard Miz Allen's steps. He did not open his eyes until he felt her band on his forehead a nd knew he was safe back in Bed 7 of Pie Ward 12.

"What's the matter, Peter?" Miz Allen always knew if a patient was shamming and she did not tolerate false alarms. Her eyes flicked to the wall panel. "Bad dream?"

"Yes, bad dream." Despite himself his voice quavered, and her expression softened.

"Yes, your endorphin level shot up. I think you'll have to have some sleep." Peter nodded, relieved at her decision. "I've got MR tomorrow... " He began, but then darkness overwhelmed him.

You scared him off! Rhyssa accused Ragnar, fuming that someone had triggered her net to alert the Center's security forces if her pattern spiked during the night. The field lights had blazed up. Moments later she had heard the thrumble of the skycars, shoo ting off in all directions. Sascha! she roared. He was the only one em powered to set surveillance on her!

Sascha: We'll catch the bugger!

Not that way! Rhyssa forced controls on herself to disperse the whitehot fury. Sascha had exceeded his authorityeven the boundaries of friendship.

Sascha: I have not!

She inhaled deeply, aware that she was still trembling with anger. She expelled the breath right down to her toes, continuing to press downward until her belly muscles were taut. There was NO threat!

There was intrusion! His mental pattern broke briefly as he responded to some exterior stimulus. That's bloody strange, he said a moment later. There was no intrusion. Not a physical one. Not a blip on any screen that can't be accounted for. And nothingrea d thatnothing in our airspace.

An emergent! Rhyssa colored the thought with satisfaction. That is, if you haven't scared him out of his Talent! She sent an image of herself turning back onto her stomach, hauling the duvet in its pastel print tightly around herself, and dragging a matchi ng pillow firmly over her headwhich was what she did.

"An emergent from where?" was the question that circulated the Control Room.

"Who's awake at four o'clock in the morning?" Sascha asked.

"I can do a probability curve," Madlyn suggested, "eliminating all the obvious shift workers."

"Why eliminate them?" Budworth asked.

"If they're working, they're not doing o.o.b.," she replied.

"And who says this is an outofbody job?" Sascha asked, turning on Madlyn with surprise.

"What else could it be?"

Sascha grinned. "You may very well be right, Madlyn, and it's so obvious I wonder none of us thought of it before. Okay, who would go o.o.b.?" It was a leading question to which he already had an answer.

"Someone who doesn't like the bod they're stuck with," she replied.

"But o.o.b."ing is Talent," Budworth said, "and all of 'em are registered, so they have better things to do than o.o.b."

"If they're registered," Sascha pointed out.

"I see, so we run a check on new ones."

"That's right. With the hospitals."

Madlyn groaned. "D'you know how many hospitals there are in Jerhattan?"

"Not intimately," Sascha said with a grin, and pointed an index finger at her. "Think of it as a survey question in your training. Ask for paralytic cases, teen, preteen, insomniacs..."

"Why blame the teens?" Madlyn asked, bridling.

"They won't have been scanned for Talent yet. Okay," Sascha added graciously, "try anyone faced with a sudden lack of mobility. I'll add the prison systems, too." He grinned at Madlyn's groan. "One of the most famous was a guy escaping a sadistic jailor."

Madlyn's eyes widened. "Can the Center get prisoners released?"

Budworth chortled. "Don't you remember your Center history? This place was started by rejects from prisons and mental institutions" He shot a sly look at Sascha. "and all kinds of otherwise asocial and/or eccentric personalities."

"If my brother were here..." Sascha waggled an admonitory finger at Budworth.

"Huh!" Budworth snorted. "I'm not afraid of your brother even if he is the highandmighty Law Enforcement and Order commissioner."

"I would be," Sascha replied. "Which reminds me, I'm late for that appointment. Get the program started on checking hospitals and prisons. And buddy boy, you can do the mental institutions. I appreciate the reminder."

"Ha!" Madlyn said to Budworth as Sascha left the Control Room.

"How can there be that many illegal children in the Residentials?"

Jerhattan City Manager Teresa Aiello demanded of Medical Chief Harv Dunster. "Your people are supposed to tie off after a second pregnancy."

Harv's angular face was grim. "Only if we get to deliver 'em. You know that some ethnic groups still refuse to practice contraception.

Until we have the right to use infertility drugs in subsistencelevel food, there'll be unreported birthsand continued tra ffic in pre-adolescents for sexual perversions, or cheap labor in illegal factories. And the ones with the right blood factors and healthy organs will still be stashed away by the very rich for transplants as needed." He gestured at the fax sheets on Teres a Aiello's desk.

"And ruthless people will still dispose of the used ones," added Boris Roznine, commissioner of Law Enforcement and Order. "Even illegal kids have rights." He glanced obliquely at the faxes scattered on the worktop.

Teresa inadvertently glanced down. She was a toughminded woman, but she had a tenyearold daughter, and the fax of the bloated bodies discovered as flotsam off the North Shore of Long Island spared no one's sensibilities. She averted her eyes. The coroner r eported that the oldest had been twelve, the youngest five.

Boris Roznine had contacted her the moment the appalling discovery had been made. The temper of Jerhattan was always uncertain when faced with such news, and Teresa had called an emergency meeting of her commissioners to prepare for a possible eruption if the news was leaked to the media. Boris's twin brother Sascha, was due to arrive with the Parapsychic Center's suggestions. To insure the tight security around the tragedy, the four were meeting in the shielded privacy of the city manager's tower office.

"Ah," Boris interrupted what Teresa had been about to say, his right hand lightly touching his temple in indication that he was receiving a telepathic message. "Positive ID of one, the Waddell girl who was kidnapped six weeks ago..."

Teresa winced and let out a groan. The Waddells were acquaintances of hers, hightech executives; the child, bright and extremely pretty, had been a school friend of her daughter. Teresa had put a top priority on the abduction, and had officially requested that Rhyssa Owen assign her best finder to the case.

"Two others are listed as runaways, reported missing two months ago.

Of the others..." Roznine shrugged, glancing at the medical officer.

"The best the lab can do is genotypes, and it's all sorts."

Every citizen of the United World was permittedprovided they did not carry the proscribed genetic recessivesto produce a replacement. One parent, one child. Two parents, two children. ZPG was stringently enforced until the pressure of Earth's population co uld be released on the new habitable worlds, identified but not yet attainable. The Propagation Laws were easier to enforce in rural communities than in the huge residential warrens of cities like Jerhattan, with its population of over thirty million.

Teresa turned to the LEO commissioner. "You haven't stopped the spot checks, have you, Boris?"

"Hell, no, but we're still not locating the early pregnancies no matter how we try. If I had the personnel to mount simultaneous level searches, we'd catch more." Boris brought his clasped hands together as if closing a net. He gave a ghost of a grin. "We did pretty well at the Residentials, six weeks after the last big power outage, but that was a onceoff." Then he spread his hands wide, matching Dunster's resignation. "You know our situation. We manage to keep a lid on most of the troubleif we're all sitt ing down as hard as we can. It isn't as if we need more bodies."

"The ones that ignore the legal control," Harv said dejectedly, "are exactly the ones educational and hygiene programs don't reachin any language."

Teresa grimaced. "So there's no indication where the rest of those poor kids were snatched?"

Roznine shook his head. "Could have come from any subsistence level."

"In the last gruesome chucking, three months back or so, only four were recognizable ethnic types," Harv Dunster said grimly. "Near EasternersLebanese and Arabic. Two were TaySachs, ten were darkskinned, and one was an HIV carrierwhich may well be why they were all... disposed of." The medic sighed heavily. "I suspect Lab may also find antibody positives among this latest" "Spare me, Harv," Teresa said firmly, and called up the main Jerhattan map on her screen.

"We've just had a goround of the Residentials with Public Health. We haven't got the funds available for another. Exactly where were the bodies found, Boris?" Her fin gers hovered over the terminal as she waited for an answer.

"Washed up out by Glen Cove, not far from some of the more exclusive residential hives bordering the Sound."

"Great!" Teresa's frustration came out as sarcasm. "No Incident logged?" she asked Boris, though that would have been included in the initial report.

"The storm, yes. The flotsam, no."

"Shouldn't your brother be here by now?" Teresa frowned, glancing at the clock ticking off the seconds in the corner of the main screen.

"We need all the help we can get on this."

The focus of Boris Roznine's blue eyes locked briefly as he linked minds with his younger brother. "Traffic snarl's breaking up. But he says"his voice suddenly deepened as the Talent peculiar to the twin brothers allowed one to speak through the other"Look , I want to save timeyours and mine. These murders go deeper than the loss of thirty juveniles. Forget the HIV factorit's irrelevant here. They were disposed of because we'd got too close to them, but not close enough, soon enough. Teresa, Carmen's been on searchandfind duty ever since you handed us the Waddell kidnap file. She got a whiff or two of terror, but never enough light to pinpoint. Except that she got a hint of water." Boris's wide mouth quirked briefly, reflecting his brother's chagrin. "Most of those children had to be illegals. We all know that that group of pederasts is activeand supplieddespite international efforts to eradicate that sort of traffic. We know that kids are bought as cheap labor and shipped who knows where. And that some are al so secreted as possible transplant donors.

'We haven't been idle," Sascha's voice continued. "This could, in fact, be the break we've been waiting for. We got too close. It'd be nice to know" and at that word the door to Teresa Aiello's office swung open and Sascha Roznine strode in, smiling at eve ryone. As he gave his brother's shoulder a grateful squeeze, he continued, "where exactly we got so close. We're working on it, and with your assistance, Harv and Teresa, I think we have a line to throw out to those sharks." His smile took in each of his l isteners, but he cocked his head at his brother and winked.

Slowly a smile began to lighten Boris's face as he read the detailed thoughts in Sascha's mind. "Tag kids with strands through the school system? That might just work! We might even catch the bastard childstealers this time." Boris leaned forward across th e table.

"You are all familiar with the restraint filaments that were recently developed? Sometimes those we tangle with the strands escape before they can be secured. A second application has been made with a slightly altered formula, and now the altered strand can be traced for up to six months. There're certain anomalies to be resolved, but it's worth the effort to tag every child in the vulnerable group."

"You mean, this side of the river?" Teresa waved at the panorama visible from her tower office, the uptown cluster of beehive, cone, and singletower Residential buildings clearly visible on this bright morning. "But statistically, it's the illegals in the Linear Residentials who are more at risk."

"If we could catch Linear kids to strand 'em," Boris said, raising his hands palmsup in resignation, "we'd be way ahead. Meanwhile we'll strand as many kids as we can on both sides of the river and hope."

"Hope?" Sascha asked softly.

Rhyssa! She recognized the mental touch of John Greene, the Talented bodyguard of Secretary of Space Vernon Altenbach.

We got problems? she asked.

Girl, you really deserve all the headaches of administration if you can guess that much from just hearing me speak your name.

No precog needed, JG, because you never bother me unless there's political pussyfooting. What is it this time?

A bill to draft the Talented into whatever position the government needs them!

Not again? Rhyssa's response was halfamused, halfirritated.

Concerted attempts had been made in the past by government agencies to circumscribe the freedom of choice originally granted to the Talented.

That was prior to the point at which the government began to appreciate the applications of Talentafter the days w hen Daffyd op Owen, her illustrious grandfather, abetted by Senator Joel Andres, had fought to gain legal immunity for Talents exercising their abilities.

Immunity had been particularly vital for precogs because, when they warned of disasters which were, by those warnings, averted, they had been subjected to expensive and timeconsuming lawsuits. There had been attempts since then, from the ridiculous to the deadly serious, to regulate or restrict, all manner of Talents to military, civil service, or mercantile uses.

But the Talented had always managed, quite legally and with no untoward exercise of their particular abilities, to circumvent such attempts.

Many Talents had willingly sacrificed personal freedoms to serve in the public sectors, some on a lifelong basis, t o preserve the right for their peers to choose. Rhyssa's parents had done that, to give her the opportunity to achieve the position she now held.

Again, and this isn't funny, Rhyssa, Johnny Greene went on, space is in a bind. The platform has to be finished on schedule before the sheer weight of numbers on Earth becomes more unmanageable than it already is.

So Ludmilla's been lobbying?

She's got some hefty help, and Vernon's got tremendous pressure on him.

I'm the loudest of the Washington/Luxembourg voices, so I'm making the contact with you for the rest of the minders. We've been excluded from far more sessions than we ought to besessi ons that have been attended by some of the most antagonistic Right Mutes that have ever been lined up against Talents. And when you think that I helped him develop his shields against unauthorized peeking, I could spit! The nerve of him closing me out!

One of the more sensitive professions open to empathic Talents was that of "minding" vulnerable topranking officials. Terrorism was still a fact of political life, and although the problem of the displaced and the minorities had been somewhat eased by the mass resettlements and the institution of the Linear developments near every major urban area, and the incidence of assassinations had been drastically reduced, empaths were still employed to "mind" those officials who might be targets for the fanatics who still occasionally emerged.Rhyssa could hear the hurt in Johnny's voice that Vernon Altenbach had been shielding his thoughts from his minder, especially since Johnny was also Vernon's best friend, as well as his brother-inlaw. In his official capacity, Johnny served as under secretary in the Space Secretariat. Prior to that he had been a trained etop-earthtoplatformpilot with twenty successful launches... until the twentyfirst had grounded him forever. His Talent had saved his crew from death but not hi mself from losing both left leg and arm. Despite stateoftheart prostheses, a new career had seemed advisable. So far Johnny had already prevented four attempts to kill or kidnap Secretary of Space Altenbach.

Johnny: I shoulda been included in these latest talks, but I wasn't.

Rhyssa: Which means that Talent was being discussed. Barchenka and Duoml want more kinetics on the platform in the worst way. I'm doing my best to help...

Johnny, in an uncompromising tone: Anyone thought of telling Barchenka that she's the reason why Talents won't work up there?

Rhyssa: Lance Baden did. He thinks she has selective amnesia. Can't even get her replaced, not with the performance record she's got!

Vernon's tried! She's so bloody good at what she doesit's only how she does it. I'll keep in touch, but we felt you ought to he forewarned.

There was a hint of criticism in his voice.

Nothing has come up with any precog, Johnny.

I know, I know. That worries me as much. This thing could be very very big, and not even Mallie's got a whiff!

Rhyssa: Then obviously the matter is solved before it reaches critical.

She tried to sound firmly optimistic even as a little shudder rippled down her backbone. Someone should have been sensing something! Mallie Vaden was one of the most sensitive precogs the Center had ever produced, and her lack of foresightif Johnny's reading of the situation was correctwas surprising.

I'll be in touch, Johnny assured her. I'll even see what the ghosts think. You know how they'd like to see our Talented noses out of joint.

I think I'll try a frontal attack, Rhyssa said. Might jog a few brain cells loose.

When'll I see you then? Johnny asked, his tone brightening.

If possible, today. Run me through Vernon's schedule. When Johnny did, Rhyssa stopped him at the lunchtime engagement. I like the food there. I'll just drop in!

Rhyssa always experienced a mild shock when she encountered Johnny in the flesh, for the light tenor of his mental voice was at variance with his strong physical appearance. Medium tall, he kept himself physically trim, and one would never guess his seriou s injuries from seeing him walk or manage eating utensils. Some latent kinetic ability had proved to be an asset with his prosthetic limbs. He rose as he spotted Rhyssa approaching the table where he, Secretary of Space Vernon Altenbach, Exalted Engineer L udmilla Barchenka, and Padrugoi Personnel Manager Per Duoml were seated. Johnny's broad smile welcomed her, and they exchanged touch and a kiss.

Would you have dared look so stunning if the amorous Phanibal had come, too? Johnny's greenflecked amber eyes twinkled with devilment.

Rhyssa: Why doesn't that odious man go back to the Pacific island that spawned him and attend to the family's plantations?

Johnny: All you need is a strong handsome man who'll scare him off.

Right now you've got this lot embarrassed by your appearance, and yet they haven't said a thing out of line, he added, all in the split seconds of the greeting.

Rhyssa gave Altenbach a genuinely glad smile, then nodded politely to the fiercely scowling Barchenka and the blandfaced Per Duoml. "Just the people I hoped to see. When I saw you were to be in Washington, Madame Barchenka, I realized that I should put in an appearance before matters get out of hand."

"Now, Rhyssa," Altenbach said, signaling a waiter to bring a chair and set up another place for his unexpected guest, "you can't disrupt the established procedure of lobbying. That's not the way to play the game."

"Nor is going behind my back," Rhyssa said, smiling to take the sting out of her criticism. She turned to Barchenka. "You have a schedule to keep. What you will not appreciate is that one cannot schedule Talent or lobby it. The kinetics you so desperately need cannot materialize to help you meet your schedule. That many kinetics don't exist. Talent is a random and highly individual trait, not an imposed one. No one can dictate to a Talent and expect the person to perform to the best of her or his ability. T hat dictation inhibits the Talent as surely as seasickness inhibits appetite. There is no legislation in the world that may chain the mind."

"There is legislation that will recruit those needed to do the job that the entire world has decided must be done." Barchenka's stolid words complimented her uncompromising expression. "The platform will be finished as scheduled. The kinetics will particip ate."

Rhyssa caught another strong emanation, this time from Per Duoml, who nodded solemnly to support Barchenka's statement.

"There are ways," Barchenka added, her cold eyes scanning Rhyssa's whole appearance from the elegantly coiffed hair and subtle makeup to the couture outfit.

"Legal?" Rhyssa asked with a slight smile.

The secretary cleared his throat and handed Rhyssa a menu. "I'm still of the opinion that thisimpassecan be negotiated to the satisfaction of all concerned."

Barchenka made a monosyllabic noise of disbelief and resumed her perusal of the menu. After only seconds, she tossed it negligently to the table. "I would prefer nutritious food to this..."

Johnny Greene beckoned to the maitre d', who was famous for his poise under the most trying situations that Washington could produce.

"D'Amato, Manager Barchenka requires the other menu."

At a snap of D'Amato's fingers, an underling appeared and handed him a slim folder, which he presented to Barchenka with a flourish. She gave him, then Johnny, a sardonic look that turned to agreeable surprise as she scanned a menu composed of the foodstuf fs available on the platform.

"Five, twelve, and twenty, taken with tea," she said in a voice that still vibrated with controlled anger.

Watch it, Rhyssa! Johnny cautioned. Did you catch that fash? She's poisonsure she's got us where she wants us.

Simultaneously three other minders, dining with their charges in the same room, sent Rhyssa similar warnings. She was particularly glad to feel the mental touch of Gordon Havers, the youngest Supreme Court justice ever appointed, whose expertise might be e xtremely useful.

Fine! Now discover what? Rhyssa said mentally as vocally she chose her luncheon of cold fruit, soup, and salad. Gordie, are you available for some quick scans of obsolete statutes that could cover such a contingency?

Been driving myself and my clerks all hours trying to f nd one, Rhyssa, replied Gordon Havers. There's nothing in our constitution, but since the Russians won the contract for Padrugoi, there may be something in the Russian section that does! Their legal s ystem is as convoluted as their grammar!

"You can, of course, invoke some forgotten but still active statute," Rhyssa remarked all too blandly, waiting for reactions, "to conscript Talents..." Both Barchenka and Duoml looked startled.

Bingo! Gordie cried. I'll concentrate on the Russian end of space law.

"But," Rhyssa continued soothingly, "it has always proved unwise to force Talent to perform in an area that is either personally or professionally distasteful to them, and under punitive conditions."

' We have been too lenient with your temperamental tricks and traits," Barchenka said, leaning across the table in anger. "You will do this, you won't do that!" She affected a child's petulant tone. "Many concessions were made to cater to the whims and fad s of your Talents, and still no significant numbers will volunteer for the most important world project of all history. Your attitude is unacceptable."

"I am protecting my colleagues, not being obstructive. I must repeat," Rhyssa continued smoothly, "it has always proved unwise to force Talent to perform duties unacceptable to them and under punitive living conditions."

"That will change! Will be changed! The platform will be finished on schedule!" Barchenka's voice had risen with each sentence until it stopped conversation throughout the opulent dining room. She pushed herself from her chair, wobbling slightly as her mov ements, more suited to half grav, brought her stocky body ponderously to an upright position. She kicked the chair away from her. "I do not tolerate insubordination!" And she clumped away from the table.

"I was doing my best for you," Vernon Altenbach said to Rhyssa, his face and manner resigned as he rose, his chair pulled back by a hovering waiter.

"You do not understand our position, Director Owen," Per Duoml added, but he made no move to leave the table. "We are forced to use unpleasant alternatives to avert far more serious disasters overtaking the world!"

"I'll see if I can calm her down, make her see reason," Vernon said with a gesture for Johnny to remain. "D'Amato, send my meal and hers to the private room. I'll be there."

"Do you believe, in your own heart, Per Duoml," Rhyssa asked, leaning across the table to the man, "that we are evading our duty to the world?"

He shrugged, his mind, with its metal shield, as impervious, Rhyssa thought, as his unwillingness to understand the nature of Talent. "It is the opinion that thisreluctanceputs the whole platform project in jeopardy."

"It is Ludmilla Barchenka who puts it in jeopardy," Rhyssa said with more heat than she had intended. She smiled quickly, hoping to repair the damage of her candor. Per Duoml might not be Talented, but he was scarcely stupid.

"Ah! My esteemed colleague was correct," he said.

"I am not standing in her way. I am protecting my professionals even as she is protecting her project."

Well, she is why Talents won't work for her, Johnny said in swift reassurance. And we all know it!

Gordie: Yeah, but she stays! This will be an interesting power struggle, speaking from a purely legalistic viewpoint.

"I admire Barchenka's unquestionable abilities as a spatial engineer.

I would prefer that she return the professional compliment," Rhyssa said amiably. "This soup is excellent, Per Duoml. Let us enjoy it."

Bingo! Gordie Havers told Rhyssa the next day. There was absolutely no joy to his tone.

You mean Barchenka can conscript Talents? Rhyssa felt a cold paralysis grip her.

You've got it! I've been over the statuteand it is Russian, from the preglasnost days, and should have been repealed long ago it's so archaic. In the good old Bolshevik days, it was illegalget that, illegalto be unemployed. The State was the only employern ot the employer of last resortbut the only employer. Ergo, everyone worked.

Consequently, the only employer in a system that makes it illegal to be unemployed can certainly do whatever is deemed necessary with its work force. Legally, it gives Barchenka th e right, under Padrugoi's International Charter, to draft any technicians, professionals, or workers required by the space effortthe space effort in terms of the original law being the Russian one. But the statute is still in effect, and, by legal crook, s he can apply it to Talents. We can fight it, of course!

And? she prompted.

With a glibtongued attorney like Lester Favelly, we might just win.

But the trial would take years, and could be construed by Barchenka to prove her contentionthat the Talents are obstructing the Good Work. He paused significantly. We could just give her e nough rope to hang herself ?

The Talents will be miserable, and they won't perform well. That was what rankled Rhyssa's fine sense of integrity. Talents did the best they could no matter what the circumstances. To give the slightest suggestion that they skimped was against the most st ringent of tenets for the parapsychic. But, in space, worn down by punishing hours and psychic static they could not avoid, inevitably their performances would suffer.

Exactly, Gordie said. Ask the other directors. You must appear to be accepting the inevitable.

The sort of press this could give Talents would undo the work of the last century, Rhyssa said despairingly.

I know. Although to sweeten this very bitter pill, Rhyssa, Mallie Vaden sees nothing going wrong.

Whose side is she on? Rhyssa could not keep the bitterness out of her tone.

Ours, as you well know, was Gordon Havers's crisp reply. Ergo, it has to work out by our compliance. But I've initiated some investigations that might just give us a lever against Barchenka. Meanwhile, consult, Rhyssa. Quick action might shift public suppo rt to us.

Chapter 5

Some of the fourteen other Center directors were not best pleased to be roused by her urgent request for conference in the middle of their nighttimes, and there was some grumbling. Though all Centers were theoretically equal, no director decided issues tha t would affect all Talents without consulting the others first, and Rhyssain charge of negotiations for the Talents because Padrugoi's administrative headquarters was in Jerhattan deemed a meeting necessary. As soon as all were attending, she explained the situation.

And from what equally critical positions does this Russian think we can draft these essential kinetics? Lance Baden, the Australian director, demanded. Rhyssa always found it odd that his mental voice was devoid of the Aussie accent. We sent everyone we co uld bribe or blackmail up there. Sheer bloodymindedness keeps some of 'em in place, but my staff's down to nubbins or feathermovers.

I have told Ludmilla Ivanova, said Vsevolod Gebrowski of the Leningrad bureau at his most apologetic, time and again, that there are few kinetics not already doing double, triple work in order to supply essential services in Russia. Believe me, I have trie d to educate her to the practicalities.

We do believe you, Geb, we do, was the mass thought that reassured him.

What's the levy, Rhyssa? Miklos Horvath, the West Coast director, asked.

She's demanding one hundred fortyfour kinetics! Rhyssa said grimly, and threw up a buffer against the cries of outrage. The number of registered Talents in every Center was open knowledge to every director, as transfers constantly shifted key Talents at need from one Center to another.

We don't happen to have a bandy gross of kinetics, the Brazil director said angrily. And I spent six months up there, in the most godforsaken barrio I've ever seen. Constant noise! Dreadful foodnutritious food could at least have a distinctive flavor. How she can expect us to function...

If we use the discretionary clause, we can remove the required number from commerce and industry, Max Perigeaux of the large European bureau began in his slow, thoughtful way.

Ignoring the howls...

Under the circumstances, at least we're not liable to penalties..

That's a real comfort to those forced up to Padrugoi...

Well, Commerce and Industry want this stationthey'll have to suck lemons along with the rest of us...

Max went on, his message weaving inexorably among the asides:... put the trainees where at least they can be overseen, we could just about manage it. But bow can we expect our people to endure the conditions up at the platform and still perform creditably ? To do less than our best reduces our reputations, but how can anyone operate at his best in that milieu! And the noise! The tall aesthetic man imaged a shudder of revulsion.

But something must be done to give those who are conscripted some relief!

Barchenka believes we set up the conditions of shielded quarters and short hours to be obstructive! Rhyssa said. I was informed that there is no noise in the vacuum of space, and, because there is also no gravity, there is less physical stress and longer h ours can be worked, not fewer.

The woman is utterly without a shred of understanding or empathy, the director of Africa North said.

Has anyone tried to adjust her thinking? Hongkong Jimmy asked.

You've never met Barchenka, have you? Shields tighter'n a chastity belt! Baden said in an acid tone.

What's a chastity belt? Hongkong Jimmy flicked back in genuine innocence.

Images from nine helpful telepaths enlightened his ignorance. Rhyssa was grateful to him for easing the growing tension in the linkage with that byplay.

We are compelled to comply, are we not! Perigeaux said, at his most mournful. And without delay, so that we can bargain on the best possible conditions for those who must sacrifice themselves. A rotation scheme, perhaps..

If she's after the gross, that makes rotation impossible!

I can try to insist on some sort of shortterm stretches, Rhyssa said.

Let us also issue some publicity, Miklos Horvath suggested, about conditions up there.

Of dubious value when she needs to recruit so many grunts. You know she has to go to the shelters for anyone below Civil Service8.

But the public must see that Talent's objections to working in space are valid!

The most valid being Barchenka herself...

Can no one lean on her?

It's been tried...

Who's the best we've got?

What about her associate, Per Duoml? Any chinks in him?

It isn't that we don't want to help with the project, but she is her own worst enemy.

Did she specify kinetics only?

No one's told her that some kinetics are also telepaths!

Don't anyone mention that! Lance Baden said with unusual vehemence.

Wouldn't dream of it!

You mean, she doesn't know?

Ludmilla Ivanova knows what she wants to know, Vsevolod said wearily.

She only hears the explanations she wishes to hear.

In twelve minutes of rapidfire exchanges, the Talents arrived at a grim but workable course of action. Max, Baden, and Jimmy would do the actual selection of suitable kinetics. Some Talents could be excused on grounds of infirmity, pregnancy, or unsuitable skillsthough two of Baden's "featherdusters" were well able to handle the fine tunings.

Rhyssa, Miklos, and Dolores of the Brazilian Center would attempt to achieve shielded quarters and work shifts of six hours maximum, four for the less experienced kine tics. Barchenka might be running her operation twentyfour hours a day, but eight hours of telekinesis were impossibly draining, even in space and in 0.5grav conditions.

What we must also organize, for ourselves, Kayankira of the Delhi Center said as the main issues had been resolved, is an emergency system in a disaster situation. In her mind churned images of the previous year's catastrophic floods in the northeastern se ctions of the Indian subcontinent, mitigated only by the rapid mobilization of hundreds of kinetics when the precog had come in.

Kayan, you've bad far more experience with that sort of thing than anyone needs, Baden said with unexpected humility. Advise us and we will comply.

You always do! We'll have to strip all nonessential industrial farms and reduce Port Authority staff to a dangerous minimum. But we shall be very short of those we most need Weather permitting! was Hongkong Jimmy's droll remark. When are we going to f nd a weatherman?

If we weather this one, Miklos said, we can all apply!

The mindlink was dissolved, and despite the massive task ahead, the Center directors were much heartened by the contact. When Rhyssa informed Gordie Havers of the results, he gave a loud mental cheer for solidarity.

There're going to be some mighty unhappy kinetics! she told him.

Every Center is going to be stripped, and I'm steeling myself to endure the slings and arrows of outraged businesses.

MacHinery predated kinetics, and men used their muscles before that.

Let 'em go back to traditional ways. It'll make 'em appreciate us more than ever. Gordie imaged an archaic block and tackle to move materiel usually hoisted by a kinetic. Who's handling t he publicity?

We're going to have to be careful about thatdon't want Barchenka to say we're interfering with her ongoing employment drive.

The man I have in mind is not a valid Talent, b#t be's a brilliant publicist, Rhyssa. Let me get Dave Lehardt to wave the flag for us.

Dave Lehardt?

He put our honored president in the White House.

And he's not Talented? That's unfair! That campaign was sheer genius!

We have to allow the Mutes a few prerogatives, you know. Shall I approach him on this delicate matter?

Please do. I'll give him all the help I can.

By the by, did you realize that most of what you do is totally illegal in Scotland, which still has anti-witchcraft laws on the books?

Spare me!

I had, and look what it got us. I'd been working up to the Russkis by way of the British Isles and Scandinavia. Sorry about that! You never know where to start in nullifying ageold bigotry, do you!

When Gordie had broken their mental link, Rhyssa spoke to Sascha.

You got touched again? he demanded.

In the head, but not by my peeper. She put in his mind all that had happened in the past half hour.

He whistled in a descending scale. We're going to get a lot of flak from Commerce and Industry!

They can't have it both ways. They're the group that gave Barchenka such punitive.fines if she doesn't deliver on time. That clause is just coming home to roost where they didn't expect it. They'll have to dust off their machinery and toughen up their musc les. We've made it far too easy for them.

What if they like the oldfashioned ways and don't want to rehire our people?

Rhyssa snorted derisively. Just consider how much money kinetics save industry every year in equipment and maintenance coststhe arguments we used to get them to take kinetics in the.first place!

Yeah, but how do we explain it to our kinetics?

Rhyssa projected an image of her on her knees, tearing her hair out, pleading to amorphous faces, offering jewels and ingots of gold.

Enlistment has always been preferable to conscription. And then we can insist on shielding and short shifts. We can't if s he implements that blue law. We're over a barrel, and every Talent will realize that!

Vsevolod can t help us there? Sascha asked.

He was appalled, apologetic, and all, but apoplectic that one of his nationals was doing this to us.

Nothing mentioned about getting the law wiped off the hooks?

Gordie's working on it! Rhyssa did not bother to lighten the grimness she felt.

Dave Lehardt swung into Rhyssa's tower office at the Henner estate within an hour of the Talents' reluctant acceptance of the inevitable.

"My God, do you have wings?" Rhyssa commented as the energetic Lehardt shook her hand. He was a full two meters tall, athletic in build, and he emanated a competence and geniality that could only come from a secure, welladjusted personality. He was handsom e enough, with midbrown hair, blue eyes, and regular but not remarkable features, and he dressed with conservative elegance.

"Not wings! Vanes! More reliable," he said with a charming grin.

He began sorting through the papers in his attache case. "Gordie said it was urgent, and I watch the news." He stopped when he noticed her baffled expression. "What's the matter? Did I break out in spots?"

"No, but you haven't an ounce of Talent, and you ought to."

"Why?" Dave Lehardt shrugged. "I've never needed it. Astute student of human psychology and keen observer of body language."

He also had an impenetrable natural shield. With all her skill, she could not read his mind.

"Now," he said, hauling a spare chair up beside hers and spreading out hard copy of advertisements and graphics, "we get in there before Barchenka even thinks of crowing in triumph, so the public will see that Talents are graciously mobilizing all availabl e personnel to be sure Padrugoi Platform is finished on schedulewith phrases that imply she can't make it on her own without Talented help."

"That's true enough," Rhyssa said grimly.

"Ah, but there are ways and ways of saying the same thing," Dave Lehardt said with a truly malicious smile. "I tangled briefly with the Barchenka Stonewall for another client, and believe me, I'm on your side!"

Rhyssa smiled to herself. Dave Lehardt did have something like a Talenta selfconfidence that radiated from him like an aura. She had never met someone like him before: someone whose mentality she could not delve into, however discreetly. It was a new exper ience, and she found herself watching his expressive face, noting the way his hands emphasized points and how he occasionally added a shoulder movement that reinforced what he said. He also kept glancing at her, meeting her eyes as few nonTalents would. Cl early he was not the least bit in awe of being in the presence of one of the top telepathic Talents.

Oblivious to her reactions, he went on. "I've been yearning to score on our gracious 'Milla." A flicker of some quickly suppressed emotion shot across his face, but Rhyssa could not decipher it. "Allout Talent assistance, even at the expense of longestabli shed links with the public sector, at considerable personal sacrifice'Milla doesn't pay the going rates, since hers is a priority contract and has worldwide backing."

"She will not believe that money is not a consideration..."

"Are you aware of the size of her bonus if she gets the station fully operational on time?"

Rhyssa grinned. "One of the bestkept secrets of the Talents. We also know the percentage she has to cough up if she doesn't."

"You are well informed!" He paused with a hopeful expression and then sighed as she merely smiled. "No, I didn't think you'd tell me." He snagged the corner of a graphic sheet from the pile and spread it out.

"To address your two points: sixhour shifts and shieldingvery alliterative. I'm going to be able to use that as a slogan, you know... Have you demonstrated the problem?"

"How do you mean 'demonstrated'?"

"Time and motion studies, energy expendituresthat sort of recordable data. Remember, I've seen your kinetics in action, but I doubt that Ludmilla or even Per Duoml have taken the trouble to watch them work.

They've been too busy bitching about weightlessne ss and the silence of space to appreciate the effort kinesis actually takes. I thought you might not have thought of that gimmick. So I had a chat with a Talent I know who was up on the platform, and he gave me some remarkable insights into the actual shif t mechanics. The day's materiel was properly organized, the kinetic could put everything in place for the grunts to lock on and weld.

"Then, the noise element. Samjan ran some of the 'noises' past me" He grimaced and crossed his eyes in sympathy. "and I think if we did a tape simulation of what a sensitive hears in unshielded quarters and played it back..."

"Not to Ludmilla. She insists there is no noise in space."

"She's more of a Mute than I am."

"But I take your point. I hadn't thought of a trick like that."

"No trick, my dear, just presentationand that's where I'm the expert."

His grin was a mixture of impudence and malice.

For the first time in her Talented life, Rhyssa found herself fascinated by a Mute, and half of that fascination was due to the fact that she could not predict what he would do or say next. It was fun matching wits with him during subsequent interviews, gi ving the onerous task an unexpected exhilaration.

Dave Lehardt was at her side for the initial meeting with a Barchenka who oozed smug satisfaction that she made no attempt to disguise.

Rhyssa was hard put to remain civil. Dave Lehardt talked so fast that the engineer had to listen attentively to catch hi s points. Per Duoml was, as usual, with her, but Rhyssa had been spared another confrontation with Prince Phanibal.

"All we have had is talk, empty talk," Ludmilla Barchenka said when Dave had explained the dual problems of short shifts and shielding.

"Even the physically impaired are able to work proper shifts in space: no gravity, no sound!" She shot an accusatory loo k at Rhyssa.

"Ah, but it is not gravity which is a problem, nor the vacuum.

Ludmilla Ivanova, I have arranged a demonstration..."

"I have no time for demonstrations," the Exalted Engineer stated dismissively. "I must return to the platform. Already there are delays which must be rectified."

"Understood, Engineer Barchenka," Dave said soothingly, with just the right amount of respect and understanding. "Perhaps Per Duoml will attend. This demonstration is likely to put the basic problems into proper perspective, and thus help us all resolve th e main problems with the maximum benefit to your project."

Duoml would be much easier to deal withhis mind was not totally closed, although he was as dedicated to the project as Barchenka. If they could prove their points to him, they would be halfway to victory.

"I think she's disappointed she didn't have to invoke that wretched statute," Rhyssa told Sascha later.

"D'you think we gave in too easily?" he asked. "The news quotes Barchenka calling it the 'cowardly capitulation of the effete."" "Let her. If we can just swing Duoml to our side." Rhyssa frowned. "I don't see what else we could have done. Dave Lehardt is running publicopinion polls. One point is clear: Everyone wants Padrugoi to be finished, everyone wants someone else to work up th ere, and everyone thinks people who volunteer for anything are crazy."

The next day, Dave Lehardt and Rhyssa Owen took Personnel Manager Per Duoml to the most prestigious exercise complex in Jerhattan, a facility that occupied the first nine floors of a Residential ziggurat near Central Park. The largest gymnasium was set up with three sets of stressmonitoring paraphernalia and technicians, three pyramids of standardsize packages, a forklift, a bevy of impartial observers, and the Complex director, Menasherat ibn Malik, who had been a multiple Olympic gold medalist for four ti mes running.

Per Duoml was suitably impressed by ibn Malik. So was Rhyssa, for the man exuded physical vitality and competence. He also had no more Talent than Dave Lehardt, who appeared well acquainted with him. Dave stood by, a slight smile on his face, while ibn Mal ik accepted Per Duoml's homage and conversed amiably with him.

"Now, Manager Duoml," the Complex director said, gesturing to the three men who entered from the side. Stripped down to their shorts, they were all festooned with wires, which were in turn hooked up to the machines. "Let me introduce you to Pavel Korl, bro nze medalist in heavyweight boxing; Chas Huntley, a forklift operator with International Canning; and Rick Hobson, the kinetic."

Rhyssa was almost as bemused as Per Duoml as ibn Malik made the introductions. Korl and Huntley were big men, towering over Duoml and certainly making Rick Hobson, who was average in height and build, look insignificant.

"Now, if you would care to check the movables in each pile, Manager Duoml, to assure yourself that they are equal in weight..."

Duoml complied, and it was clear that he had to struggle to lift any of them.

"Then once our guinea pigs' wires are doublechecked, we can start the testwhich is rather simple. By muscle, by machine, and by mind, our subjects will transfer their piles across the floor. The energy levels required, the stress factors, and calories cons umed will be displayed on the monitors. Now," ibn Malik said, moving to the big screen set in the wall for use at sporting events, "on Padrugoi, three men will be doing exactly the same in Qhangar." He spoke into his collar mike.

"If you're ready up at Pad rugoi?" The big screen lit up with a scene not dissimilar to the one around them, except that all the men wore space suits. "In space, our hand shifter is Jesus Manrique, the lifter is operated by Ginny Stanley, and the kinetic is Kevin Clark. Are you all ready? On your marks" The gold medalist raised his arm. "Get setgo!" His arm came down, and the activity on the gym floor and in (_hangar commenced. "This test will last an hour," he informed Per Duoml, gesturing for the observers to take seats to one side.

After the first few minutes, Per Duoml stopped watching the burly figure of Korl manhandling the packages down the floor, or Huntley zipping back and forth on the loader. He kept his eyes either on Rick, who had seated himself at a table and, with no visib le effort, kept a steady stream of packages flowing, or on the platform kinetic, who was doing his work while leaning against a stanchion. Occasionally Duoml flicked a look at the monitors chattering out their hard copy.

Both Talents worked their way through their piles in half the time it took the others. The instrumentation proved that they had expended half again as much energy and used up twice as many calories.

When the test had been completed, Dave Lehardt stripped the hardcopy sheets from all six printers. Neatly folding them, he handed the sheaf to Per Duoml, who took it without a word. The test subjects were all thanked and left the gym, Rick Hobson throwing Rhyssa an impudent wink as he walked by.

"You will, of course, wish to analyze the results of this test with your own motion experts, Manager Duoml," Dave Lehardt said, "but I'm sure you recognized the fact that weightlessness grants no bonuses to the kinetic. As to the noise factor..." The publ icist took a compact recorder from his hip pocket and thumbed it on.

At the babel and squeaks and metallic groans, Per Duoml covered his ears in defense and stared in shock at Rhyssa.

"That is what a sensitive 'hears' on the station," Dave said, raising his voice and inserting his words in between the worst of the noise.

It was a fair selection, representing the streams of consciousness of eighty mentalities: resentments, complaints, sh outs, pains, angers, and myriad metallic noises that some of the kinetics endured. "With ten thousand people living up there already, the mental noise is neverending. So all that garbage is a constant secondary drain on their nerves, reducing their efficie ncy if they have no respite from it in shielded quarters."

Having set the decibel rate herself, Rhyssa knew that covering his ears gave Duoml frail protection, but she did not reduce the volume until Dave had finished his little speech.

"I see that you hadn't realized just what we meant by noise," she said finally. "But the cost of shielding personnel quarters for the kinetics is going to be less than the cost of materiel lost or damaged due to tired minds."

"You have made your points," Per Duoml said with a grim expression. "I shall present them to Ludmilla Barchenka."

"Present them and insure their implementation, Per Duoml, and you will have the kinetic assistance you require. Oh, and one other minor point," she added, smiling to take the sting out. "Barchenka is to relay all orders to the kinetics through the regular channels. We will have no more of her rousting Talents out of their quarters at inappropriate hours and insisting on 'extra duty' because her schedule is two minutes out of line! Have I made myself clear on that point?"

He nodded, his expression solemn.

Rhyssa hoped he could convince Barchenka.

Chapter 6

"No, please!" Peter Reidinger cried as the electrician was about to disconnect the trid in the ward. His cry was echoed by the other children.

"Look, kids, there's some kind of freaky drain on the hospital's power supply, and we've finally traced it to this ward. I gotta fix it, or some of your support systems will go down when they shouldn't," the electrician said with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

"No, wait, please," Peter said. "The program's all about the space platform and the Talents."

"Huh?" The electrician took a better look at the monitor.

"It'll only be a few minutes! Just the newscast!" Peter pleaded.

"Wal, I guess" "Shhhh," Peter interrupted, straining to hear the commentator. Not that he really needed the voiceover to identify the scene as the estate of the late George Henner, one of the earliest supporters of the parapsychics. As the camera panned across the trees and lawns, the boy was startled by the place's eerie familiarity. This was the place he had soughta place of tranquil greenery and huge old trees and vinecovered buildings. The place that had scared him away.

And now he knew why. They would not want to hav e their precinct invaded. They needed their privacy to do all the wonderful things they did. Like help to finish the last three spokes of the Padrugoi Platform so that mankind could, at last, reach for the stars.

"It's not only the Talented who are making a sacrifice," the commentator went on, still standing in that marvelous oasis, "for Industry and Commerce have granted leave of absence to their Talented employees to assist with this final push out to space. Plat form Manager Ludmilla Barchenka announces that the most ambitious world project yet undertaken will be completed on schedule. And now to other news in the Jerhattan district..."

"Okay, mister," Peter said, relaxing against his frame. "That's what we wanted to see."

"You're not looking for a career in space, are you?" the electrician asked, halfteasing. He was always a little nervous around kids who were so badly injured.

Peter cocked his head at him. "Why not? With no gravity, I wouldn't be stuck in this frame, and a push of my toe or my little finger" He waggled the two extremities, which were, after months of therapy, all he could move. "I could float about."

"Yeah, I guess you could. Now, nurse, can I start with this frame?"

the electrician asked, gesturing to the multipletasking device that gave Peter what independence he had in his condition.

"Yes, it's time for Peter's bodybrace session anyway," Sue Romero said.

"C'mon, Peter."

"Aw, do I have to? Couldn't I watch what he does?"

"No, the moment for positive thinking has come. Let me see that limbicsystem smile on your face."

Peter hated the body brace and the morning's "torture session," as he mentally categorized the therapy. He felt heavy in the frame, his body more lifeless than ever. "But see, I can move my big toe and my little finger. Please..."

"Hey, what the?" the electrician exclaimed. The diagnostic reader he had just hooked up had unexpectedly registered a blip.

While Peter gamely concentrated on his bodybrace drills, the electrician checked out the bed's wiring, but except for that one brief blip, he could find no short, no dysfunction in any of the circuitry.

By the time an exhausted Peter was back in his bed, t he electrician had done a thorough test of all the specialized treatment electronics in the ward. Baffled by the continual surges on the ward's circuits, the man left a small monitor attached to the one piece of equipment that had registered an abnormality , slight though it had been, and left.

Peter knew by her face that Sue Romero was disappointed in him. He did try to make his body remember how to move. The frame sent electrical impulses into his atrophied muscles, the theory being that the little jolts would restimulate neural and muscu lar activity. He hated that intrusion into his body even more than he hated being paralyzed.

"Peter, if you would only stop resisting the mechanism," Sue said reproachfully. "If you would only go with it, instead of denying the help it could give you. You could, you know, even get to the platform.

Your schoolwork was excellentthere'd be no problem with the educational end..." She trailed off, fighting her own dispiritedness.

Sometimes with the very badly damaged children, she felt she was pounding at the wellknown immovable objectgenerally, as in Peter's case, the child itself.

The boy was exhausted, eyes closed, arms and legs sprawled just as he had been rolled out of the body brace. Sue Romero could not afford to pity himit was unprofessional and helped neither of them in his rehabilitationbut she did. As she turned away, she t hought he was sleeping. She would have been amazed to learn that he was reviewing that vision of the Center, with its trees and lawns and... Rhyssa Owen.

That night, Rhyssa was wakeful, going over and over that telecast. She had felt good about it during filming. Dave Lehardt had done his job well. They would, of course, have to wait until opinions had been sampled, but Rhyssa felt that Barchenka was coming out a poor second at the moment, despite her apparent triumph at the cowardly capitulation of the effete Talents. Rhyssa fretted that she had somehow weakened the consolidated strength of Talents and wondered how she could rectify what was still, in the m inds of most Talented, an untenable position with Barchenka getting her way.

She felt then the gossamer touchenvious, yearning, wistful and so terribly sad that a sob clogged her throat.

Wait, little friend, she murmured in the softest of tones.

Say what? With the voice came mixed impressions of startlement, sense of apologydenialrejection, and an astringent smell. And then the touchtimorous and reluctantwas gone.

Rhyssa tried to follow, her touch feather soft, but the retreat had been too swift, like a flicker of shadow across the moonlight outside her window. She made a quick note of the time: 3:43. Then she lay there savoring that touch, examining it, letting her perception analyze it.

Such swiftness suggested a young mindno old thoughts or experiences to slow the instantaneity of action. A boy on a prank... A boy? Doing an outofbody maneuver? A boy in a hospitalyes, a hospital would account for the astringent odorhis movement constrain ed so that only his mind could travel?

That fit the pieces together so perfectly that Rhyssa got out of bed and paced over to the console.

"Bud, I want a call out to all hospital Talents," she said, unable to keep the elation out of her voice.

"The peeper caught you again?"

"That's right. An adolescent boy, quite likely crippled or paralyzed.

I want to see who was awake on the wards at threeforty-three this morning."

"The last thing you need tonight is some pimplefaced nerd rousing you."

"On the contrary, Bud, I think that's exactly what I did need. A youngster able to go out of body? He's got to have fantastic potential."

"For what?" Budworth wanted to know.

"That, " Rhyssa said with a surge of hope, "is what we'll have to find out."

As she climbed back into bed, she had a lot to think about before she could compose herself for sleep. How long had it been since a new Talent that strong had been identified? And what sort of a Talent was it? Even strong telepathy did not leave an image, however transparent.

A new type of kinesis? Very few kinetics could move themselves!

Inanimate objects, yes, but animate ones, no. Most outofbody experiences were the results of traumas and useless in a commercial senseand theorists still argued over wheth er the outofbody phenomenon was a kinetic manifestation or a strong telepathic projection.

Just remember, she told herself that it was the commercial applications of Talents that provided us with legal immunities, good jobs, and special status for the past four score years... and let us get marvelously complacent. Maybe it wasn't really "noise" that even kinetics heard in space but some other form of interstellar communication, a multilingual garble that they were picking up. Open your mind up, gal. Look around you. Look at Dave Lehardt. He has to be Talented, even if it won't register on a Goos egg graph.

Why, Rhyssa Owen, she asked herself, does Dave Lehardt have to be Talented?

And that was the quandary she fussed over as she finally slipped into an uneasy sleep.

"I discovered some interesting new facets of employment on the platform," Dave Lehardt told Rhyssa in her office two days later.

"Came out in further talks with my platform contact, Samjan, and a few judicious inquiries." He gave her a humorless grin. "The casualties.

" "Yes, the total is horrific." Rhyssa shuddered. "But working in space there were bound to be some."

"Some?" Dave raised his eyebrows. "Some, yes, but when I checked with Johnny Greene in Altenbach's office, we found several different sets of figures on the casualty rate."

Rhyssa straightened. When Dave had arrived unexpectedly, she had been busy reshuffling the rotas of the Center's kinetics, steeling herself to endure their understandable reproaches and arguments. Any interruption was welcome.

"Then I got JG and Samjan together, and they both did a bit of research," he went on, "and, using their security clearances, they came up with what we think are the real statistics." His expression was bleak, and there was a stillness about his body that f orewarned her.

"You know how the unemployed are terrified to be conscripted to Padrugoi? They may not be Talented, but they've got an instinct about baaaaaad situations. They have good reason not to want to get conscripted. She loses grunts at a frightenin g rate far beyond the allowable. The major reason is because Barchenka's so bloodyminded about keeping her Sacred Schedules, she won't interrupt a shift to retrieve drifters!"

To be sure she understood his meaning, Rhyssa unconsciously tried to read his mind. It was like stubbing her toe on a stair riser and she blinked. "Run that past me again, please, Dave," she asked, struggling with confusion at her inability to read him the way she was used to reading most of her friends.

"Surely you've seen the promotional footage," he said, "with the grunts suited up and pushing ginormous sections of a spoke with the tips of their fingers or a spare foot?"

"Yes..."

"In the real working situation, not that mockup they did for recruitment, a worker'll push too hard, and with every action causing a reaction in space, the poor sod goes spinning off into the dark deeps."

"Yes..."

"Well, Barchenka doesn't stop work to rescue them. Oh, no, anyone that stupid has to wait until the shift is over before his buddies are allowed to go after him. That is, if a skiff is available, and if the bod's been tracked."

Appalled at the vivid scene his words evoked, Rhyssa stared at him.

"Is this public knowledge?"

He gave her a cynical look. "Why do you think the grunts never take surface leave? It's not the fact that they're paid so little that they can't afford surface leave, or that there's no available space on shuttles for mere grunts, or that they're unlikely to have any family to visit on Earth. It's that they're plain not allowed back down to tell anyone what's happening. The grunts are also segregated so that even the observant among the more elite employees don't know exactly what's going on. It took both J G and Samjan and some long program analyses to piece fact out of the publicly available fictions."

"But all the recruitment films show safety lines and..." Part of Rhyssa crowed with delight at discovering Barchenka resorting to very questionable tactics, while another part balked at the enormity of the crime.

"That's promo footage, my dear director. The theory is great. In practice, Barchenka dispensed with safety linesthey kept getting tangled in equipment, slowing down her precious work schedule. So safety lines are a space myth.

"And Barchenka has such saving ways." Dave Lehardt perched his lean frame on the edge of her desk. "For instance, we discovered by an analysis of records that a suited grunt is given only enough air in his tanks for that shift and maybe a sniff or two left over. Oh, there's plenty of safety regs for the engineers and supervisors and skilled techniciansbut not the grunts. She doesn't care what happens to them.

There're plenty more where they came from."

Rhyssa was outraged. "You just validated my instincts about that woman. Law be damned, I won't ask my kinetics to face such risks!"

Dave gave a snort. "They're far too valuable to be risked. There'd be too much of a stink kicked up if a drifting Talent wasn't retrieved right then. Overworked, yes. Samjan confirmed the notion that eighthour shifts are another platform fallacy.

"On top of that conspicuous savings of consumables, I uncovered several other little anomalies: grunt suits have limitedrange com units. They can't be heard shrieking for help! Might disturb their fellow workers."

Rhyssa stared at him aghast.

"There's also a high incidence of agoraphobia among the grunts and genuine space cafard. But ailing grunts are never transferred down.

They just disappear! Accidental death! Never suicide! Always accidental. After all," he said, taking on a mock Russian ac cent, "everyone knows how dangerous it is to ignore safety warnings and procedures. And then there appears to be a neat little system which causes unexpected casualties during the routine drills they so conspicuously hold from time to time on Padrugoi." Da ve paused again.

"Checking through medical records, it becomes apparent that the unfortunate victims of those drill 'accidents' are always either the injured or the headcases."

"Oh, my God, Dave!" Rhyssa propelled herself from her chair to pace agitatedly up and down the tower room. "Why haven't any of the precogs caught this?"

"According to your brief summary on Talents' capabilities, precogs usually latch onto large numbers, Rhyssa. There are never enough" "Numerics is no excuse!" Rhyssa was surprised by a vehemence that answered the despair in his voice. She wondered if his mind, too, was filled with faceless forms, twisting and turning in space, drifting farther and farther from the network of lights that was the oasis of air and warmth in the blackness, and a violent shudder seized her.

A warm hand cupped her shoulder. "Easy! Talent spreads itself thin enough as it is. You're not God, or gods, to mark each sparrow's fall."

She blinked and looked up at him. Though his mind was as closed to her as ever, the sympathy and understanding in his warm blue eyes was obvious. She would not tell him that Talents generally disliked tactile contactsurprisingly enough, she had discovered that she liked him touching her.

"Armed with this information, however, you can spread Barchenka over a barrel." His voice was soft and teasing. "If you see what I mean.

Or, maybe you Talents are too simonpure to lower yourselves to outright blackmail."

"Not when the lives and safety of my Talents are at risk, I'm not," Rhyssa declared stoutly. "Not to mention those poor sods who've not even been given half a chance to survive. I'll insist on short shifts and shields, and we'll increase that ante to safet y lines for everyone working on the platform and the deployment of rescue skiffs. Or do skiffs have limited power and air on them, too, so as to save costs?"

He crossed his arms on his chest, grinning at her. "Your Talents wouldn't be at risk anyway, unless I've misunderstood their capabilities. There's no way Barchenka can pull the same tricks on hem that she does with the poor grunts. And unless your response is unique among your ilk, I can't see your folk standing by for some of her tricks, once they know what to look for. Some of the kinetics are telepaths, aren't they?"

"Quite a few." Rhyssa gave a sardonic chuckle. "A fact we haven't actually mentioned to Barchenka, whose understanding of Talent is severely limited."

Dave let out a bark of laugh. "Not the whole truth nor even half the truth, huh? Good girl, Rhyssa!" He playfully knuckled her chin. "Is distance a problem? Or the vacuum of space?" When Rhyssa shook her head, he went on. "Well, you guys could sure be popu lar with the grunts because you " he waggled his finger at her "could be their insurance. A Talent could haul back a drifter, couldn't he? Without asking for permission during his shift, or waiting for a skiff?" He gave her a broad smile. "That'll help a l ot of ways. Damned good PR, too. The best, because it proves that the Talents will help the ordinary grunt where Barchenka just simply hasn't!"

Rhyssa suddenly turned away, not wanting Dave to see her expression.

Sascha? she called. I've just found the perfect job for Madlyn! Tell you later!

I can read your evil mind, Sascha said, and she's not even on the list for the platform.

She is, as of right now, Rhyssa replied. How often have you said that Madlyn could be heard at the space platform? We'll just put it to the test!

She smoothed her expression and looked up at Dave Lehardt, who was eyeing her keenly.

"Who were you talking to just then? And don't hold out on me. I'm getting used to your ways, woman!" His voice rippled with an odd emotion, and The gleam in his eyes intensified.

Rhyssa's grin was half embarrassment at his scrutiny and half delight with her inspiration. "We've got a telepath with an extraordinarily loud voice. We'll send her up in an administrative capacity. Put her on a radar scope, and she'll locate and reassure any drifters for the nearest kinetic to haul back to safety."

"Lady, you don't realize what a difference that could make to morale up at the platform." Dave's grin was so infectious that Rhyssa had to grin back. "Not only is Barchenka unaware that she's her own worst enemy, but her ignorance about Talent in general w ill prevent her from realizing that she's just hired a battalion of undercover agents."

"That's the beauty part!" Rhyssa said, grinning more broadly. "Does Duoml? Or Prince Phanibal?"

Dave Lehardt considered briefly. "Prince Phanibal might, but he's not on the platform as much latelysome crisis in Malaysia that occupies a lot of his time. Besides, I read him as being just ornery enough not to tell her something as crucial at this time f or the sheer pleasure of watching her squirm. Now what's this emergency clause Lance Baden wants added to the contracts?"

"In case of a major emergency, we must be able to bring Talents back down. You remember the floods last monsoon on the Indian continent and that major shake in Azerbaijan? We knew about each of them ten days before, so we were able to muster help and reduc e the effect of the catastrophe. Sending her a hundred and fortyfour kinetics has wiped out our disastersquad organization. We want a twentyfourhour clauseto bring key personnel back to Earth in time to cope here."

"Can't you teleport 'em down?"

Rhyssa laughed. "No, more's the pity. Our Talents are finite, definite, and nowhere near such a fantasy application as instantaneous transmissions. That takes more power than a human brain can generate."

"I thought the Moral Code on legitimate bioengineering permitted" "Hold it right there, Dave." Rhyssa held up a warding hand.

"Read the Code: congenital defects, yesmanipulations, no. And I doubt any genetic engineer would monkey with the brain yet-even a monkey's brain."

"If you can find one. Though don't you think it's likely that someone has been doing illicit experimentation, the world being what it is these days?"

"That's cynical of you, Dave."

"Sometimes saying no is registering a challenge," he replied with a shrug. "I wouldn't rule out the possibility."

"Meanwhile," Rhyssa said, bringing the discussion firmly back to relevant matters, "I'd very much like to see a full report on what JG and Samjan have been discovering about platform personnel problems."

Dave grinned, taking three diskettes from a breast pocket. "I thought you might. Gives you a stronger bargaining position for shields, short shift" "Safety lines and skiffs," Rhyssa finished, taking the diskettes but letting her fingers linger on his a little longer than the transactions required. "I thank you, sir." What on earth was happening to her in Dave Lehardt's presence? She felt as giddy asas Madlyn could be in Sascha's company.

When Per Duoml, Prince Phanibal Shimaz, and two other minor officials, one of them the accommodations officer, arrived to settle the minor details, Dave Lehardt had another presentation that altered the proceedings. Rhyssa, sitting with Max Perigeaux, Gord ie Havers, and Lance Baden, found the meeting eminently satisfying.

Showing the accurate fatality statisticsfigures that bleached all color from the faces of Duoml and the princeDave Lehardt talked knowledgeably of some of the "minor" problems that the Talents would be willing to undertake, such as the retrieval of any sui ted workers experiencing "malfunction of suit jets," and telepathic contact "with those using shortrange com units," plus monitoring systems; they would also include among the Talents two with broad diagnostic capabilities. Dave pointed out that the saving s on skiff fuel and manhours required for retrieval would more than compensate for the cost of shielding required in Talent accommodations.

Nor was there any discussion about the emergency clause. Lance Baden announced that he was to be Talent liaison with the engineering staff and that was that.

And what were they saying about cowardly capitulations? Lance commented.

Rhyssa was so weary from accumulated stresses that she experienced no elation at having forced every single concession out of the Padrugoi officials. She wanted nothing more than a quiet supper and some mental peace. Per Duoml had a natural shield but the other project representatives at the meeting had not, and when their initial euphoria at coercing Talents onto the work force was burst by hard facts and figures and compromises, their emotional responses of anger, horror, and embarrassment had been hard t o deflect.

Sascha: I've cleared everyone out of the first floor. Relax!

Rhyssa: Oh, you are a pet!

Sascha: Lot of good it does me! But she knew he was only teasing Rhyssa entered the Henner house, appreciative of the deep silence in the elegantly appointed rooms. Very little had been altered from the days of George Henner, the parapsychics' first benefactor: all had been lovingly preserved in his memory. The subterra nean offices, the annexes, and her tower were modern, with stateoftheart technology, but the main reception rooms were reminders of more leisurely times. The kitchen, where modern appointments were hidden behind oldfashioned cupboards, exuded an aura of co mfortit was spacious, with an archaic but working fireplace, a huge table, and comfortable chairs. The dining portion faced onto the gardens at the rear of the main house, bright with blooms and bushes.

Some thoughtful kinetic had activated the kettle. She made herself a cup of tea, found sandwiches in the crisper, and kicking off her shoes, curled up in one of the wing chairs.

There was something amazingly restorative about looking out onto the garden, watching the flowers move in the light breeze. She set her mind adrift, savoring the quiet, despite the deepseated nagging presentiment.

"I'm not a precog," she told herself and sipped her tea. "What I am feeling is just reaction to the last few hectic days. A quite natural depression."

Then she felt the touch, once again colored with wistfulness and a deep sadness that pierced her to the heart, making her own malaise seem insignificant.

She dared not reach out for fear of startling the boy. Boy he was, and despairing. Had her transitory unease triggered a response from him midday? Or was it his need seeking consolation? What could so desolate a young person? One could endure detached mise rytragedy happening at a distance to people one had never met but to feel the palpitating misery of another person was an intense experience.

Delicately she impinged on the boy's mind, hoping to gain some clue to his whereabouts. He was dreading something, and the yearning for trees and lawn and flowers and someplace that was not hospital had precipitated the nebulous contact. And her mind, less controlled than usual in its weariness, had attracted his. Dreading what? She inserted the question.

The body brace!

Rhyssa had not expected an answer. She tried to keep the lightest of contacts, though, oddly enough, he felt very close at that moment.

Isn't it meant to help? she asked cautiously.

It doesn't. It hurts. It's artificial, it's awful. It's a cage. The bed is bad enough. I don't want to. Idon't--wantto!

A wail from the depth of a forlorn and comfortless mind reached herthen it was abruptly cut off.

We got another one of those surges this afternoonusually we get 'em at night," the hospital's maintenance man said as he held up the printout to the consultant engineer whom the concerned hospital administration had finally called in.

The engineer peered at the peak, a sudden sharp deviation lasting seventytwo seconds. He asked for the other anomalies and was presented with further examples. "Shouldn't be any drain on the systems at threefortythree, threeohthree, threefiftytwo, or three thirteen.

You've checked all the equipment?"

"I put meters on several floors. Got a blip on PedOrth Ward Twelve when I was installing it. So I took everything apart on that ward and there wasn't nothing malfunctioning. Craziest thing I've ever seen.

And you know how Admin is when you got outages and anomalies with all them lifesupport systems hooked up. Funny though, nothing in the ICUs."

"Okay, screen me your schematics for all the equipment on PedOrth and see what's being used there." The engineer sighed heavilyhe could see it was going to be one of those days.

A stir around the beds in the circular ward alerted Peter Reidinger, and he blinked away the screen that blocked his view. A very old lady stood in the doorway, Miz Allen hovering with her "you'dbetterbehave" look on her face as she glanced around the ward to be sure everything was in order for the visitor.

Instantly Peter's attention was riveted on the lady. She was different. That became more apparent to him as Miz Allen began to introduce her to the kids in the ward. Cecily even smiled and answered the lady. Cecily was a spina bifida case who "ought" to ha ve been corrected in utero but had not been. Osteomyelitis had caused her to have one leg amputated, and her recovery from that operation was very slow. She rarely opened up to other peopleand particularly not to strangersso her response to the old lady wa s a minor miracle. Peter was in a sweat of anticipation by the time the lady reached him.

"This is Peter Reidinger, Ms. Horvath." The way Miz Allen cocked her right eyebrow told Peter that he had better behave himself.

Ms. Horvath just smiled down at him, her eyes twinkling, and they were not at all old, or rheumy, or hard. He wondered she let herself look so old.

I promised my husband that I would grow old gracefully, she startled him by saying. That way I wouldn't surprise people so much when I don't act my age.

Peter goggled at her. She had not moved her lipsand yet he had heard her voice clearly in his mind.

"Peter..." Miz Allen prompted him.

"Pleased ta meetcha!" Peter managed to get out. Miz Allen cleared her throat warningly.

"Thank you, Mrs. Allen, I'll just chat a bit with Peter," Dorotea Horvath said, pulling a chair to Peter's bedside and dismissing Miz Allen in a manner that astounded the boy. "Miz Allen doesn't really believe in telepathy and Talents. And we just haven't had the chance to go around the pediatric wards lately. So we missed you."

"Missed me?"

Dorotea smiled again, a smile that was magical because it seemed to envelop Peter with warmth and caring. The hard knot of self-pity and resentment that had been building up at the thought of another bodybrace session dispersed.

"That is, until you started visiting Rhyssa."

"Rhyssa?"

Into his mind came a new touch. I'm Rhyssa. I sent Dorotea to you because you run away from me. Dorotea says you can't run away from her right now, Peter Reidinger. Please come live with us where I know you long to be.

"Now that you've had an official invitation, will you accept?" Dorotea asked, brimming over with amusement at his stunned reaction.

"But I can't. I'm crippled. I can't go anywhere..."

Ahahahaha! Dorotea chided him, still smiling. A boy who can go out of body on tours of Jerhattan at three in the morning is no cripple!

"But I can't use the body brace!" Peter was horrified to hear himself blubbering and to feel tears streaming down his face. He had not cried in months.

Crying's a natural release for emotional pressures, Dorotea said as she blotted his cheeks matteroffactly. All that manly repression has also been blocking Talent. I do believe that the brace also posed an inhibition. I think it shortcircuited natural abil ity. We'll sort it out. Of that I'm positive.

And suddenly Peter had no doubt at all.

"First, of course, we have to get your parents' permission." Dorotea was always practical. "Do you think they'll mind?"

"Mind?" Peter nearly shouted. He knew that the hospital fees, even with the huge compensation the city was forced to pay since he had been injured on cityowned property, had been a terrible financial drain on his parents. His mother came to see him regular ly, but his father's visits grew fewer and shorter. His mother always had some plausible explanation for Dad's absence, but Peter had not been fooled.

Suddenly Dorotea's eyes widened in pleased surprise. "I don't think you'll need much training after all," she said, pointing at him.

"What?" And at that moment Peter realized that he was hovering above his bedand that an alarm just beneath it had gone off.

Rhyssa! Dorotea's mental shout was a very welcome diversion for Rhyssa.

The Eastern director had not been able to make that first contact for several reasons, the foremost one being the Padrugoi priority. The other reason was that Dorotea was still the most accurate Talent diviner in the entire world, with the deftest touch to allay fear and suspicion.

Rhyssa, Peter Reidinger reeks of Talent. I can't imagine why the resident didn't tumble to it a long time ago, despite the fact that Peter's been suppressing his natural feelings to be considered a brave boy. Being in a hospital situation, he'd have to bla nk out all peripheral static or get wound up in everyone else's pain. Though he's not your gardenvariety kinetic or telepath. In fact, I've never touched anyone quite like him. One thing's sure, he no more needed a body brace than you need a videophone.

Can you expedite his release to us? Rhyssa asked.

In my best granny mode! I don't anticipate any trouble with the family they've been struggling under the medical costs. I gather the father has trouble visiting his "crippled " son. They should regain some perspective now that Peter'll be able to pay his o wn way.

How medical is he?

Dorotea gave a mental snort. With a little help from his friends, he won't be medical past the gate of the Center. Whoops! We've just been charged by an irate electrician and a stupefied consultant, andmy God!

Dorotea broke off contact, startling RhyssaDorotea usually had no trouble doubletalking. Rhyssa waited for the old woman to come back and explain her abrupt disappearance. After three minutes with no further word from her, Rhyssa reluctantly resumed her im mediate task.

Worried about Dorotea and the boy, it was difficult for her to keep her mind on the reassignment of kinetic Talents, but the matter had to be cleared up as soon as possible. The Eastern Center would be left with just ten to do the work of thirty, along wit h five trainees who could be slotted into some of the less exacting hoist work. Airshuttle clients, passengers or commercial, were just going to have to wait longer to collect their luggage; all construction firms would lose kinetics, save those on two nea rly completed projects where kinesis was the only way to safely install heavy equipment on the uppermost stories.

She and Miklos Horvath, Dorotea's grandson on the West Coast, also had to arrange "fetch and carry" teams, telepaths and kinetics who could work in tandem and at long distance. But such skills were exhausting and would have to be reserved for emergencies.

Dave Lehardt had come up with yet another valid suggestion that might not improve relations with Barchenka and Duoml but would certainly make more effective use of the fourhour shift of each kinetic.

"I looked at some of the motion studies," he had told her, "and some videos of an actual working day. Samjan mentioned that he spent a good portion of every shift on Padrugoi doing nothingwaiting until materiel was organized from the storage yard or bins, or while the engineers sorted out minor discrepancies. So I got Samjan and Bela Rondomanski, who was Space Lab designer, together with Lance Baden, who's a trained engineer. Bela said a lot of the delays on Space Lab were caused by a chronic disorganizatio n in Supply. Lance said that the problems hadn't been completely solved when he did two tours at Padrugoi, but one of Barchenka's strengths is her organizational skills. Take them one more step forward, and, in a fourhour shift, a kinetic can get everythin g in a spoke section lined up so that all the grunts need to do during the next twenty hours of shift time is give a tiny shove and the elements will fall into place.

"Of course, it'll mean a good deal of reorganization in the stores and materiel already up at Padrugoi, and maybe some shipment rearranging, lighting a fire under the tardy suppliers, but the time spent doing that will cut down on the manhours upstairs."

"Duoml's returned to the station," Rhyssa said.

"We'll just borrow Hangar Q again for another handy little demonstration. I'll work out the details. Hey, you're looking mighty good today. New hairstyle? Sure shows off your skunk streak." Her screen diffused on another of his famous confidenceinspiring g rins.

Skunk streak indeed, she thought, her fingers smoothing it back. At least he had noticed. With a sigh, she went back to her analyses, until she realized that she had not heard another squeak from Dorotea.

Then, as abruptly as the contact had been broken, Dorotea returned.

Well, I said I'd come back as soon as I could. It's too soon to be sure what he does do, Rhyssa, but he apparently taps into electrical sources. He's been glitching the hospital circuits fit to drive the electrician and a highpriced consultant barmy. And i t also explains why he couldn't cope with the body brace: the impulses which were fed directly into his synapses were short-circuiting inherent abilities, so the poor lad was trying to cope with an overload. Sue Romero is in bits thinking of all she's been doing to Peter, and he's in a state because he had no way of explaining why the body brace was all wrong for him... and the head nurse, Miz Allen, is one of those by-thebookers and compounded the problem. Oh, his family are delighted, especially to know that Peter will not be "handicapped "but their heads read "crippled, useless, financial drain." It'll be standard contract until he's eighteen and fully trained. Here's one kinetic Barchenka won't get her space gloves on!

When can you bring him home?

We're on our way! Dorotea replied triumphantly. Get Roddy's room in my house ready. She shot Rhyssa a mental glimpse of SpaceForce posters on every wall, models of space shuttles, mass passenger hotols, stealths, space labs, and generation ships depending from the ceiling, and a bunk bed with desk space below. Nothing could be more distant from the antiseptic environment he's been living in for months.

The physical meeting between Rhyssa Owen and Peter Reidinger was not quite an anticlimax. Dorotea had warned her that Peter's mother and older sister were accompanying him in the heliamb, excited but slightly apprehensive at his new circumstances.

Ilsa Reidinger was a pleasant enough woman, terribly concerned for and certainly extremely proud of her Petey. She struggled with a less than congenial job in order to help meet the medical bills. The sixteenyearold sister, Katya, was what Dorotea called " pushy," trying to figure out how her brother's good fortune might spill over on her and disgruntled that Peter had Talent and she had none. Dorotea said that Katya resented Peter because the cost of his hospitalization had kept her from having many of the things that she, the elder child, ought to have been able to enjoy.

Perfectly understandable reaction, Dorotea told Rhyssa as the women deftly maneuvered Peter's gurney into Dorotea's house and on through into Roddy's room.

Both telepaths could feel Peter's spirit lifting as he saw the unmedical furnishings and artifacts.

"But how'll you do all that has to be done for him all the time?" Ilsa Reidinger began in surprise.

"Oh, Peter'll only need a little help in the beginning, Mrs. Reidinger," Dorotea said. Her mental Alley oop was the signal for Rick Hobson to "lift" Peter up into the bunk bed. "Now, let's all clear out and let him settle himself in. And," Dorotea added as she shooed everyone before her, "the heliamb is waiting to take you and your daughter home. Here's the vid number. As you saw, Peter has a set in the room. Call him any time. Unlike the hospital, here you can see what mischief he's getting into. All right ?"

Dorotea's positive manner made refusal impossible, and soon the heliamb was thunking its way up out of the Center's grounds.

Rick, hook me up a line from the 4.5kpm generator in the garden shed and bring it right into the room with Peter, Dorotea requested.

What is this all about? Rhyssa demanded.

I told you, Dorotea said, then added aloud since they were now alone, "he seems to tap into the electrical system and use that for power.

Some sort of a gestalt. I want some of our engineer Talents to link with me when he's rested enough for us to do some testing. But it'll have to be you and me for a while, Rhyssa. He's had such a terrible time."

Dorotea's eyes welled with tears, and automatically Rhyssa gathered the older woman into her arms, smothering her with love, affection, and admiration.

"I'm sorry, dear," Dorotea said with a little sniff, pulling herself away. "You've had a lot to cope with now, and you don't need me turning into a watering pot, but" She poured into Rhyssa's mind the jumble of pain/despondency/anguish/guilt, the selfaccus ation, and the souldestroying terror that Peter had been enduring.

Easing Dorotea to the couch, Rhyssa sat beside her, shaken by that accounting despite years of dealing with the bizarre mental states of emergent Talents.

"I think a spot of tea would go down well right now," Dorotea said, and Rhyssa gave a weak little laugh at Dorotea's ever practical mind.

Peter? A cup of tea? Lemon, milk, sugar?

Yes, please, was Peter's answer, surprising Rhyssa.

You see? He needed only a little help to project his thoughts instead of squashing them down. Dorotea's face wore an exaggeratedly smug smile.

They were all enjoying a cup of tea when Rick Hobson bounced in, festooned with an electrician's belt and heavyduty cable.

"I don't know what kind of an outlet or receptacle you need Dorotea," he said, winking at her, nodding to Rhyssa, and then waving a hand at Peter, who was watching it all from his bunk "Well, Peter, what do you think you need?" Dorotea asked. "He'd just been sort of hooking in to the electronic gadgets of the bed," she told Rick.

Both women caught Peter's hesitation and concern.

"Oh, well, it's as easy to sort the specifics out later," Rick said easily, catching Rhyssa's warning look. "At any rate, the generator's right outside and powered up. Any time you need it, it's there." With a cheery wave to all, he left.

"It's all a bit much, isn't it, Peter?" Rhyssa said gently.

"I don't know what I did that makes you think I'm any good at all," Peter said in a voice as pale as his complexion just then.

"Dorotea thinks you used available electrical power to assist those dawn visits you made to me," Rhyssa told him. She gave him a mischievous smile to reassure him. "I'm honored that it was my mind you linked with to bring you where you wanted to be."

"You are?" Peter turned his head away from the drinking straw in his teacup so that he could look down at Rhyssa.

"I don't get many men invading my bedroom, I assure you."

Subtly Dorotea was supporting her, increasing for Peter the sense that his intrusion had been clever and original. Both women generated subliminal thoughts to bolster his perception of himself reversing the low selfesteem that was currently inhibiting any forward progress.

"I didn't mean to intrude."

"You will soon understand that among telepaths a midnight knock on the door isn't considered an intrusion."

"But all those lights..."

Rhyssa let her thoughts echo the annoyance she had felt at that proprietary supervision. "You didn't hear me chewing them out for scaring you off, either."

"Ooooh, Rhyssa was angry," Dorotea added.

"You were doing what many have tried and failed at miserably," Rhyssa went on.

"I was?"

"It's what we call an outofbody experience," Rhyssa went on. "Very few people ever achieve that degree of mental control."

"They don't?" Peter was wideeyed in awe. "But it's not hard."

Dorotea and Rhyssa exchanged amused glances.

"Nothing's hard when you know exactly how to do it, Peter," Rhyssa said, "and you've apparently mastered the art. Dorotea and I are both hoping you can teach us. I don't have much kinetic ability..."

Sascha: And aren't you glad of that right now? He sent an image of a spacesuited Rhyssa whirling about Padrugoi chased by a whip-wielding Barchenka.

Rhyssa: Don't you dare interfere, Bearman! This is tricky enough as it is without you in my mind! Ob, my God! And suddenly Rhyssa began to fathom the potential of the boy. Give young Peter Reidinger access to sufficiently powerful electronic sources, and h is kinetic Talent might boggle the mind of the most optimistic theorist. Why, his Talent was as far from spoon bending as modern precognition was from priestly auguries divined from ox intestines!

There was an instant response from Sascha, Dorotea, Sirikit, Rick, and Madlyn. Damp it down, Rhyssa. Have a heart!

Dorotea: Well, you've all got the picture now, so leave us alone with the boy. We can't mess this one up.

Rhyssa had to take a deep breath, hoping that the sudden revelation she had been unable to keep from other strong telepaths in the Center had not also been picked up by Peter Reidinger's still-emerging skill. He was certainly not reacting.

Dorotea: I blocked him, Rhyssa. Get ahold of yourself "So, Peter," Rhyssa managed to go on, "if I could get the hang of what you're doing with the generators, it could be an extremely valuable added whammy."

Dorotea: I couldn't have put it more discreetly myself Rhyssa: Thanks.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Peter said sadly.

"It's the sort of thing you don't think about doing, Peter. You just do itbecause you want to, because you need to. And Dorotea and I will help." Rhyssa grinned at him. "Communication is where telepathy excels. The spoken word sometimes isn't as clear as i t should be: words can be misused, inappropriately assigned muddy meanings. You're accustomed to a word meaning one thing; someone else will think it means something else entirely and misunderstand what you just said.

Speaking mindtomind clears up a lot of such confusions. Or have I just confused you more?"

Peter began to smile suddenly. "Like how I couldn't explain to Miz Romero just why I hated the body brace."

"That's a very apt example, Peter. You just didn't have the words for the concept of that sort of interference."

"But how'll I move without a brace?"

"By the power of your mind alone, which is exactly what you did when you were going out of body. Only we'll teach you how to take your body along with you! Ana' manage most of your daily care. You won't be dependent on nurses or orderlies or anyone. In one sense it was what Sue was trying to get you to domake your mind motivate your body to remember what it once could do. Only you took it one step beyond that, and neither of you knew you had latent kinetic ability. So, of course you couldn't do what she wan ted. You were a good jump ahead of her."

He was still skeptical. "I'm kinetic?"

"Do you know what the word means?"

"Sure. But I didn't think I was."

Rhyssa rose. "Well, you are. So think about it."

Dorotea retrieved his cup. "You take a rest now, dear. Then I'll show you about the house so you'll know where everything is when you want it."

Chapter 7

Although Sascha usually handled training, the affinity established between Peter and Rhyssa made it sensible for her to guide his initiation.

"I'll help as much as I can," Dorotea told Rhyssa, a look of resigned disappointment on her face, "but I am eightyfour, and I've slowed down a lot." Then she smiled with bright mischief. "Of course, I've always liked cooking for a male appetite. And he'll be able to do most things for himself in short order. I'm sure of it. I know a strong Talent when I bump minds with it."

So Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Sascha made a little ceremony of adding Peter Reidinger's name to the Registry of Talents at the Eastern Center.

Peter was still not quite certain of his great good fortune. Rick Hobson, who was empathic as well as kinetic, monitore d the kinetic aspects; Don Usenik, the Center's versatile medic, kept a close check on the boy's physical condition; and the boy resided in Dorotea's house.

"I can still handle the mothering bits," the old woman said staunchly, "especially since Rhyssa has enough to administer."

By the end of the first week, Peter was able to handle all his intimate problems, a success of immeasurable proportion for a sensitive boy.

The morning he managed to take a shower all by himself was celebrated by his mentors as the achievement it was. The first time he had attempted a shower, he had nearly scalded himself and then over-controlled and had to be rescued from icy water by Dorotea.

It also took time, and finesse, to descend from his bed without hitting the floor in a heap. Or to keep from colliding with furniture as he reeled around the house. Gradually he achieved delicate control of the gestalt and managed to imitate walking; only the really observant would notice that his feet never quite touched the ground and that the bend of his knees only approximated a normal walk. He could not grasp things, but he arranged his hands in appropriate positions so that he appeared to be carrying objects. With such accomplishments, he was a different boy altogether, and the change astonished his mother on her next visit.

"There's never been any Talent in our family, on either side," she confided in Dorotea at one point. "I just can't imagine where he got it from."

"Necessity, Mrs. Reidinger," Dorotea said at her most grandmotherly.

"The accident has forced him to transfer motor functions to another part of his brain. Even the best of us only utilize about twofifths of our brain potential."

Ilsa Reidinger did not really understand Dorotea's explanation, but she accepted it because Dorotea spoke with such authority.

"The human body learns to compensate, Mrs. Reidinger," Dorotea went on soothingly. "All Peter needed was a chance to train in new ways.

Which, I must say, he has done extraordinarily well. We're very pleased with his progress." She beamed placidly at her g uest.

"Yes, but what will he do?" Ilsa Reidinger asked plaintively.

"Why, Peter will do very well here at the Center, helping other youngstersand adults, toowho have to learn to compensate for drastic handicaps." Sensing the woman's reservations on that score, Dorotea added, "Oh, the work pays very well. He's on a training scholarship right now, of course, but his profession pays very well indeed. He's all set for a fine career at the Center. You're going to be very proud of him."

Dorotea chose to ignore Ilsa Reidinger's other dominant thought: that if Peter was Talented, Katya must be, too. The girl was being ever so difficult, wanting to know why Peter got all the luck and she was stuck in a boring school, doing boring studies whi le Peter was getting everything his way just because he had gotten lucky.

"Can he read minds?" is what Ilsa Reidinger asked out loud. The idea made her uncomfortable.

"Peter has a very limited range," Dorotea replied mendaciously, intimating regret. "He can hear very strong thoughts, but his projections are shortrange. His Talent lies in kinetics. Do you understand that word?"

"Yes, it means people can push things about without having to touch them. Like the ones going up to Padrugoi Station to help get it assembled so we can colonize the stars." The glib phrasing came from Dave Lehardt's clever publicity campaign on the trid.T hen Ilsa asked more timorously, "Would Petey go into space?" In her very audible public mind, Ilsa decided that whatever the answer, she would not mention that to Katya.

"Quite unlikely. The platform will be finished before Peter's received all his necessary training." The very thought of Barchenka conscripting Peter Reidinger made Dorotea queasy. Ilsa Reidinger was disappointed, however, suffering from the usual maternal syndrome of wanting her son to be unique, which he was; famous, which the Center would not wish on him; and perhaps rich, which Peter would also be, in that, as a Talent, he could purchase through the Center anything he really desired. "He shows a truly un ique Talent." Let that be a sop to her pride.

"Yes, but what exactly does Petey do?"

"Well, you saw him walk and serve us tea quite by himself. That is all accomplished by his kinetic Talent. So you see, he is no longer dependent on mechanical or prosthetic devices to conduct normal activities. When he's surer of his abilities, we'll add m ore complicated tasks."

"He'll be able to hold down a job?"

Ilsa Reidinger really had not even grasped the basics, Dorotea thought, or comprehended the obvious achievements. She had barely grasped the fact that Peter would no longer be a financial or an emotional burden to his family. She was just a nice woman who had certainly been devoted to Peter during his convalescence, but the strain had taken a toll on her, too. Dorotea ventured to wa more enthusiastic about Peter's potential.

It suddenly occurred to Dorotea to wonder if the testing routines, established by Daffyd op Owen, needed to be updated or made more sensitive. Hospitals were usually well staffed with Talents of all descriptions. Why hadn't someone spotted Peter? She reall y ought to discuss that notion with Rhyssawhen the mess with Barchenka was smoothed out.

"I shouldn't think there'd be much young Peter can't do if he sets his mind to it."

"Being a kinetic, you mean?"

"A rather special one, at that, since he's had to overcome severe physical limitations."

Still slightly puzzled by the fuss being made over her Peter but immensely relieved by his future prospects, ilsa Reidinger departed.

It never occurred to Dorotea that her remarks, meant to allay a mother's natural concern, would have unexpected repercussions.

Certainly she and Rhyssa were beginning to realize the boy's immense potential, but even to colleagues they had been discreet.

"It's a case of make speed slowly, Lance," Rhyssa told the Australian director, who seemed to spend more time on a spacehotol and in the Jerhattan area than arranging matters in Canberra for his leave of absence on Padrugoi. He had dropped in to see her on his way from yet another long scheming session with Dave Lehardt and Samjan.

"I've seen some fair dinkums, dealing with the Aborigines and the Maoris, Rhyssa," Lance replied in his distinctive drawl as he slouched on a chair in her tower office, "but this lad takes the peach. If he's come on this fast with only a li'l fourpointfive kpm generator for him to play with, think what he could do with real power."

"All the more reason to make speed slowly. Control is the most vital part of his training." She projected an image of Peter, head first, zipping around Jerhattan on a whirlwind tour, with a tail of detritus, people, small vehicles, and oddments caught up i n the wake of his passage.

Lance grinned, his teeth very white against his perpetual tan, his sea green eyes glittering. "Too right, mate. I get the drift. But with a Talent like his and a proper generator, we could bleeding near shift drones all the way to the nearest planet."

Think that in your most private mind, Lance, she told him sharply.

Don't let a whisper of it escape your shield.

Lance propped his angular body upright, his expression completely serious. I was funning!

Rhyssa nodded slowly, and he let out a long whistle.

Yeah, but just imagine the look on Barchenka's face if we could tell her that precious Padrugoi project had just turned obsolete.

"Not quite," Rhyssa said with a vindictive grin. She had entertained a few very satisfying fantasies on that very theme herself! "A facility like Padrugoi is required for any number of valid reasons apart from a jumpingoff point to the stars."

How many know about Petey boy?

About his potential? Main staff know he's unusual. I was too excited when I realized the possibilities inherent in his gestalt, but they only know I was excited about the boy. There are just three of usmyself Dorotea, and Saschawho realize that the boy mig ht be unusual.

I don't think Sascha's had the chance to appreciate the potential that Dorotea and I are just beginning to grasp. Rick Hobson thinks the boy is inordinately quick, but we had to have a kinetic in on his initial training. Like you, Rick 's go t to go to Padrugoi, so we're cramming as much technique in as possible. He and Peter mesh well. You are my choice for his more advanced training, so don't do anything stupid up on Padrugoi, will you?

No way! That's a mean carrot to dangle in front of me for six long months! Lance rose. "Pure shame that Dave Lehardt's not a real Talent. He's wizard at handling the Finn and that slimy little Neester bloke."

Rhyssa gave a little convulsive shudder at the mere mention of Prince Phanibal.

"You don't like him either, do you?" Lance asked.

"No!"

Lance chuckled. "Always knew you were a woman of good sense, ducks."

Rhyssa did worry about Peterhe looked so frail after so long in a hospital bed. So did Dorotea, both keeping their concerns from Peter, whose telempathy was steadily improving along with his kinesis. He was not limited merely to receiving or sending emotio ns, but was developing a true telepathy, the ability to send and receive both abstract and lingual messages. Nor did Rhyssa or Dorotea call attention to those moments when, in sheer ebullience, Peer did not draw on the generator in kinetic exercises.

Dorotea enjoyed cooking for his eager appetite, and once Peter was able to perform routine tasks, she finetuned his kinesis with foodpreparation exercises. He could pare apples and potatoes, scrape carrots, and cut up vegetables, all kinetically. He ate an ything and everything, and his body began to fill out with good firm flesh; Rick showed him exercises for muscle tone, and hours spent in Dorotea's garden tanned his skin to a healthy glow. Peter no longer looked the wasted paralytic with atrophied muscles. Still, extreme care was needed in all his activities, since he continued to have no feeling in his extremities or lower torso and would be unaware of cutting or burning or bruising himself in some of his perambulations.

When Rick finally had to leave for his tour at Padrugoi, Peter took it hard, moping about the next day.

"Rick will be back, Peter," Rhyssa said when she joined them that evening at dinner. "He's taught you about all he knows. Now, you have to teach yourself, which'll be hard."

"Teach myself?" Peter was so shocked that his good manners briefly deserted him. His fork hovered above his plate. He and Dorotea had an agreementhe could get the food to his mouth however he chose if he was alone, but he was to observe proper etiquette wi th anyone else.

"Yes, teach yourself," Dorotea replied blandly.

"Rick has given you the basics," Rhyssa added with a warm smile.

"Certainly you're now able to do everything for yourself and help out in the house and the garden. Now you begin the next steptesting yourself. Don't worry. Rick left a long list for you to c omplete by the time his tour of duty is over."

"But he didn't tell me how..." Peter was clearly floundering.

"You know how," Rhyssa said, acting surprised at his reaction. "All paranormal Talents come from an instinctive level. Sharpen your instinct." She smiled at him, patting his arm soothingly. "That instinct led you right to the Center, didn't it? Don't worry about the 'how'! Rely on your instinct. Use it by sending different types of inert objects to destinations farther and farther away. First to places you are familiar with. Then by memorizing trid visuals and maybe even using mathematical coordinates. For example, that forkful of mashed potato. Where would you like to put it?"

The fork's burden of mashed potato disappeared.

Sascha: What is going on down there?

Rhyssa: Does it concern a portion of mashed potato?

Sascha, somewhat disgusted: It does! He sent her an image of a white glob in the middle of his desk.

"And where did you send it, Peter?" Dorotea asked noncommittally.

"Sascha's desk. But on the wood, not on anything important," Peter assured her.

"I won't require you to eat it, but do bring it back!"

The welltraveled forkful reappeared on the edge of Peter's plate.

Sascha, sarcastically: Thank you!

You're welcome! Peter giggled like any youngster succeeding with a practical joke.

Sascha to Rhyssa and Dorotea: We just get Madlyn housetrained and now we have Peter! Sometimes... I suppose, if he's up to tricks, he's adjusting to Rick 's departure.

Peter was also up to work the next day, using the gestalt with the generator to shift various items about the Center. Dorotea started him off moving small objects from one room to another, emphasizing accuracy of placement and picking locations with which Peter was familiar. By the end of the morning he was shifting heavy bales of computer paper from storage to the Control Room, getting his placements from squares crayoned onto the floor until Budworth finally signaled that his aim was perfect.

"Weight seems to be no object," Sascha said, reviewing the achievements at lunch with Rhyssa. "How much did he have to rely on the gestalt?"

"Not much. We've got a graph on its usage," Rhyssa replied. "His need is verging on the psychological."

"Ah, but that doesn't alter the fact that he does use it," Sascha said thoughtfully. "Can and does. By damn, Rhyssa, he's extraordinary!

Once he can really lean on generator power, there isn't anything he can't shift, is there?" His eyes were shining with excitement. "If only we could figure out just how he achieves the gestalt."

Rhyssa shook her head, with a rueful smile.

"Could Rick?" he asked.

Rhyssa sighed. "Rick did just the basic kinetic training exercises with him. He didn't have more time. Damn Barchenka. Wouldn't you just know that we'd have a promising emergent who'd benefit from training with the very kinetics that she's yanked out of ou r reach.

Why didn't we have an earlier precog of this?"

Sascha leaned back in his chair, regarding his good friend and director with an uncharacteristically solemn expression. "Rhyssa, hon, could you follow his mind?"

She gave a short laugh. "I'm an adept at telepathy, but Peter's going where no man has gone before. Maybe another strong kinetic could follow. I'm going to dragoon Lance Baden as his advanced trainer as soon as that wretched Padrugoi is finished." She blue d the mental air with assorted images of her frustration.

Sascha nodded sympathetically. "Then we'll just have to continue doing kindergarten stuff with him until Lance is free. And build him up physically. Does Don Usenik see any chance of exercise restimulating those damaged nerves? Now that" "Trouble!" Budworth's voice rang through the special alarm speaker in Rhyssa's office.

What kind? she asked immediately.

"Goddammit, I want to speak to Director Owen now!" said a voice on the room address system as Budworth patched the call through.

"You are," Rhyssa replied coolly. "Please identify yourself."

"Dammit, didn't they tell you? Bob Gaskin, Jerhattan Port Authority.

You took our kinetic away from us, and now we've a container pinning three men down and no bloody way to lift it quick enough to save their lives. Right now only the safety bar on the for klift is" "Do you have the area on video?"

"I dothe whole yard."

"Relay it to this screen immediately," she ordered. Dorotea, bring Peter to my of ice. We've got to try to help. They're patching through the image.

Dorotea: Dare we?

Rhyssa: We'll never know unless we do. Lives are at stake. He's got the potential, and he's done well enough already with bulky, heavy things.

Dorotea: That's halfway across the city. But... all right. I'll have Peter there in a dash.

Sascha and Rhyssa kept their eyes on the screen, which was showing the container, the hoist cables at one end of it still whipping in backlash. It had come down askew across a small forklift the sturdy frame of which was keeping it from crushing the driver and two men who had been working near him. The Talents could see the dangling arm of one man pinned at one side, the feet of a second protruding under one cornerand nothing at all of the driver.

"Why did that hoist cable part, Mr. Gaskin?" Rhyssa asked calmly.

"Surely you checked all your equipment before you put it in use again."

She deliberately made herself sound censorious.

The office door opened and Dorotea and Peter entered; Peter's eyes went immediately to the screen.

"If your goddamned Center hadn't pulled our kinetic," Gaskin exploded, "this wouldn't haveHoly hell! How'd you get someone here this quick?"

Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Sascha held their breath as they watched the long unwieldy mass of the container slowly rise off the crumbled forklift, revealing the driver slumped across his controls and another man sprawled flat on the ground while the third stagge red to his feet, holding his injured arm. They were also aware of a humming that they could feel through the flooRboards of Rhyssa's office. The hum peaked off as the container was lowered carefully to the waiting truck loadbed.

"Bravo, Peter, beautifully done! Magnificent!" Rhyssa saidand then she saw him crumpled on the floor. "Oh, Lord! Did you strain yourself, love?"

Sascha reached the boy before she did, lifting him gently and depositing him on Rhyssa's conformable chair, which instantly altered to fit the boy's limp body.