"Will the men be all right?" Peter wanted to know, his white face contorted with anguish. They were hurting had.

"More to the point, young man," Sascha said, frowning, "are you all right?" Don, get up here on the double!

"By God, ma'am, how'd you do that?" Bob Gaskin cried. The Port Authority manager was mopping his face with shaking hands.

"You haven't been completely abandoned by Talent, Mr. Gaskin. We have a skeleton crew"Sascha's image of Peter's frail form, bony structure emphasized, made it very hard for Rhyssa to keep her features composed"which we can throw into gear for emergencies o f this nature.

Do please now overhaul your equipment. We don't have the manpower for unnecessary accidents, you know." She ignored Sascha's exaggerated grimace as she saw medics rushing to assist the injured men as a Southside heliamb landed neaRby. "Good morning, Mr. Gaskin.

"We'll check in with Southside General Hospital later, Peter, Rhyssa assured the boy.

"After Don's checked you out, young man," Dorotea added, "though your concern for the men does you credit."

I know we had to, Rhyssa, Sascha said on a tight band to Rhyssa, but should we have?

Rhyssa made a face. Hobson's choice, Sascha. We maintain an official position of the skeleton crew. By the way, don't do that to me again real soon, huh?

Sascha rolled his eyes, expressing remorse but no reassurance. I 'm not sure how long we'll be able to hang that lie, so would you get all uptight if I tried to follow his mind 's thrust when he's lifting? I didn't realize bow quickly he's emerging to full use of his Talent.

No, after this exhibition of Peter's ability, I was about to ask you if you could spare some time to work with him. I need your insight, since you 're more expert at training. If we could duplicate the gestalt, even our featherweights could move containers.

"Okay, who's done what to whom now?" Don Usenik demanded as he entered the room. He looked around, then spotted the wan Peter on Rhyssa's chair. "What have you been doing? Moving mountains?"

"Which do you want first? The good news, or the bad news?" Dave Lehardt asked Rhyssa a week later.

She could tell nothing from his expressionthe look of his eyes was curiously intent on her face. He might not be a Talent, but he was unusually astute at picking up minute bodylanguage signs. She was so glad to see him that she really did not care what new s he brought, but she followed his cue.

"The bad!"

"Barchenka is certain you've been holding out on her. She's heard that you have a team of kinetic Talents that are not on your official register. She's about to create a stink. And I have to tell you that I've heard some mighty peculiar rumors circulating.

" Rhyssa laughed. "We're not holding out on herTalents can't.

Telempaths can always detect a lie. She has Russian telempaths on her payroll. Tell her to ask them. What's the good news?"

Dave Lehardt raised one eyebrow in a skeptical arch. "The polls are again favorable to the Talented. When businesses employing them had to cope with oldfashioned ways, Talent popularity hit a fiftyyear lowworse even than after the Hawaiian volcano disaster even though everyone was proPadrugoi and everyone, meaning the Talents, was doing their share.

Seems that this nonexistent team of yours has provided emergency services. Only no Talent has been observed on the scene."

"It's a remote technique that we've been developing for emergency situations," Rhyssa said, schooling her face to reveal nothing. It was not that she did not trust Dave Lehardt, but she wanted to protect Peter. "And it's the one reason we felt we could str ip all our Centers of kinetics to help Padrugoi."

"A remote technique?"

"That's what I said."

"No Talent I've spoken to knows anything about it."

"I said it was remote," Rhyssa repeated, struggling to keep amusement out of her voice. "Not something we want to go public on just yet.

I'm sure you can appreciate hat!"

"So Ludmilla can't get her hands on it?"

"She's coerced almost every kinetic we have onto Padrugoi. She's got sufficient numbers and skills right now to finish her work on schedule.

She shouldn't get greedier!"

"She wants to come in under schedule, and the way your Talents are working, she could."

"Is a bonus involved in early completion?" Rhyssa was annoyed. Damn the woman to a disintegrating orbit!

"Didn't you know?" Dave Lehardt seemed surprised.

"I heard a great deal about penalties and a completion bonus, but strangely enough, nothing was said, or even hinted, that early completion was her goal."

"I'll do what I can to squash the rumorsand, if I may be so bold, you should keep that new team out of operation if at all possible. No more cavalry charges to the rescue without warning me, huh? Please?"

That was very sound advice, which Rhyssa intended to follow. Since the emergency lift, she had been chary of using Peter's skill. It just took too much out of his notsosturdy body. He was strengthening himself dailyexercising was becoming almost an obsessi on with him.

But she was still rigorously restricting the use of his Talent to lifethreatening situations in the Jerhattan area, which, fortunately, were few. Meanwhile, in the ongoing training sessions, he was using fax placement photos to send items to o ther Centers.

"I can follow his thoughts all the way," Sascha told Rhyssa after a week of linking minds with Peter during those exercises. "I can even feel the vibrations of the generator in his cerebrum, but bow he effects the gestalt is still beyond me. And, as nearly as I can tell, he's relying less and less on the power. At least for light stuff."

"If he keeps on this way, maybe Lance is right," Rhyssa remarked.

"Plug him into a powerful enough source and he could probably obviate the need for Padrugoi."

Sascha blinked, then projected a series of images depicting Barchenka's expression, the consternation on the eggsplattered faces of the space station's major supporters, and one small boy sending out starships the way children his age launched paper planes. The last and largest image was of Sascha himself, elongated mouth wide open, chin to his chest.

"Could he?"

Rhyssa laughed, rolling her eyes. "I won't say he couldn't. But you know as well as I do that all Talent has limitations. Now is not the time to put any sort of pressure on Peter. He's such a happy boy now."

"We can thank God he is!" His mental picture was of himself, patiently controlling the lovelorn Madlyn Luvaro, huge wads of cotton wool in his ears.

Rhyssa retorted with an image of stray forkfuls of potato festooning his office. "A kinetic has far more options than a telepath!"

"He's easier to keep happy than Madlyn ever was, too," Sascha said, stretching his long legs. "The odd traffic snarl or two a day, and he feels he's worth his keep. Which reminds me, I've had some pretty pointed remarks from industrial VIPs lately about th is remote team of ours. My answer is that we've managed to combine the trainees with an experienced featherweight to achieve the necessary heft, but the application is limited due to the extreme youth of the participants."

Rhyssa sighed. "That old tangledweb routine, huh?"

Sascha quirked an eyebrow. "Favoring Shakespeare? Thought your family ran to Popery."

Rhyssa laughed, envisioning her illustrious grandsire, Daffyd op Owen, as she remembered him, tall, silverhaired, slender, with the face of a poet and the chin of an Italian prince. "Sometimes the Bard fits better. Which industrialists have asked?"

"Nail on the head, girl. Every one of them supplies something to Padrugoi! And, as you know, there've been delays in getting materiel up to the station, weather problems mainly, with all those freak storms messing up launch windows."

Rhyssa frowned and, in an uncharacteristic show of nervousness, flipped a stylus end over end. "Lifesaving, yes; and with the technique he's been showing over distances, I think he probably could launch a drone up to Padrugoi through any sort of weather. B ut there's no way Peter's going to help secure her bonus or prevent her fines."

Sascha grinned. "I won't mention the possibility of such fun and games to him, you spoilsport." He threw her an image of him hastily raising a solid barrier against the barbs emerging from her eyes. "She couldn't hire him anyway. He's only fourteen. Undera ge, even under existing Russian law!"

Rhyssa let out a low whistle, then grinned. "Yes, he is a minor, isn't he? And Dorotea reminded me that he's been working pretty hard with you. Tomorrow he has a day off. And I've got all these files" She gestured resignedly at the stacks on the edge of he r desk. "Testing reports to go through."

"Why don't you take a night off?" Sascha suggested, grinning drolly.

"With Dave."

Rhyssa sat bolt upright, closing her mind.

"Honey, I don't have to peek," he told her.

Rhyssa groaned. "He's not a Talent."

"There's no law in the Charter that says you have to marry Talent, you know."

"But that's the way to increase..."

"Yeah, and where did Peter Reidinger come from? I think sometimes, my dear friend," he said, leaning over the desk toward her, "we have to look with our eyes instead of our heads. Just thought I ought to mention it. Dave's the best friend Talent's got."

"It's not up to me, Sascha," Rhyssa added, feeling uncomfortable for the first time in her old friend's presence.

"Could be. Maybe not. Lehardt's clever enough to do his own promo work." With that Sascha left her.

As Tirla entered the Main Concourse of Linear G, she sensed an aura of excitement, telling her that something was about to happen to relieve the tedium of Linear living. As always, there were some general workers scurrying to the Plaza to see if the WorkBo ard was scrolling out any jobs for ablebodieds, concerned with getting enough day work to keep out of Conscriptive Work Services. No selfrespecting Linearite wanted to be sent on a hard labor tour or, worse, spaced out to the shipyards around the Big Wheel. Few CWS ever earned a return ticket.

And now even the Talents were not exempt. So most of the little knots of excited people were composed of women.

Tirla edged close enough to a group of Hispanics to pick up the drift.

"He lay hands on..."

"Church is always lo mismo... The singing is bad."

"My Juan now... when he is reminded of the purity of the Virgin, he doesn't beat me for a day or two..."

"The true man of God provides food for the soul..."

Tirla snorted to herself. Food for the soul was not high on her priorities when her belly was empty.

"I have heard," Consuela Laguna was saying earnestly, "that if he lays hands on the lame, he cures." Consuela's son was handicapped beyond remedy or repair, but she remained positive that somehow, sometime, her Manuelito would be restored to health by some new miracle treatment, and she was always asking Tirla to translate the medical bulletins for her.

So, Tirla thought, a Religious Event had been unexpectedly scheduled for Linear G. That was odd. The Public Health meeting had been only four weeks earlier. It was true that there had not been an RE in a long time, but still she was suspicious. Two special s within four weeks?

She moved on to the next group, all Neesters from the Levant and they were babbling about how they could get their men to attend that night instead of adjourning to Mahmoud's squat to see his new belly dancer.

Then she slipped around to an Asian gaggle who were chattering excitedly about cures and whether the RE would be bad for business.

Asians provided ancient remedies for the many minor ailments that beset those in the warreny Residentials.

"He has come as promised..." she heard as she slid up to Mama Bobchik. The old woman's black eyes were wide; her cheeks a mottled glowing red of excitement. "You come, too, dushka," she said, catching Tirla's arm. "You must tell us his words, exactly. The last time I could not hear what was said, and my soul is black with sin."

"Nakonetz, " Tirla agreed easily. Most Religious Interpreter Groups generally said nothing, in the most ornamented phraseology. She could amuse herself by anticipating the trite phrases and flowery words. "So the Assembly extension was granted after all?" she asked, eager to maintain her reputation of knowing all that went on in the Linear.

"Da, eto tak!" Mama Bobchik happily reassured her. "My man was sent word to prepare late last night." Argol Bobchik was one of the Linear's sanitary engineers. "The word is that this Religious is allseeing," Mama babbled on, "with an excellent backup group. They were well received at Linear P. Early as it is, already this morning many traders have booked space. It will be an occasion. We have not had religion here in G for some months. We are all in need of guidance. The souls of many are dark with sin and must be purged. " Tirla nodded solemnly. Mama Bobchik was certainly old enough to be facing a mystic accounting of the sins on her soul. Too bad no LEO man would be there to hear it.

But how had Tirla missed such a juicy rumor? Maybe it had been decided very late the previous night. At any rate, the presence of traders would make it easier for her to wash the tied credits for the Yassim man. She shuddered at the thought of him. She did not like to hold onto his money too long. Not that he had any reason to distrust hershe just wanted to make certain he never did. Especially if he suspected she was close to salable age. She was small and thin enough to pass for the nine years she admitte d to. Someday someone would count fingers on her. From time to time she thought about what she would do thenand tried to keep enough floaters stuck inside her blouse at all times so that she could flee to another Linear if she had to. She had even managed to get her hands on a highly illegal copy of the cargotrain schedules and had found her way to the nearest access points to the subterranean concourse to eyeball escape routes.

Deftly disengaging herself from Mama Bobchik's fat fingers, she moved on to the Pakis, who were chattering about bringing in some relatives from Linear E and arguing over the advisability of such a move. Some insisted that, since the extension was legal th ere would be no risk.

Then Mirda Khana person Tirla was always careful to pleasecame up and quickly dismissed such stupid generosity.

"The blessings of such a Lama would be few," Mirda muttered in an intense and angry tone just audible to those around her, "for he cannot waste his holy strength on the trivial. Such as he would be gracious enough to dispense must be for us, here, in Linea r G. For us," she said again, poking her thin breastbone with a broad flat thumb, "the true believers, his faithful in Linear G."

"The Very Revered Ponsit Prosit has been at Linear P," one of the other women murmured reverently. "Pandit heard of the miracles he performed."

Tirla was skeptical of miracles for, on close inspection, there were always alternate explanations for healings and savings and revelations.

But they were fun to delve.

"Then we save such for ourselves!" Mirda replied fiercely, defying contradiction. Suddenly she spun around, somehow aware of being the object of scrutinybut Tirla was quicker, moving to flatten herself against the Concourse pillar. She had heard enough any how and left.

So this Religious Interpreter, this RIG, had a reputation? As Tirla was quite aware, it took a real clever talker to keep from violating the variety of complex doctrines in a Linear. This Ponsit Prosit might well be worth listening toand watching closely.

In her precarious situation, Tirla was always open to pointers.

If the whole thing was legit. She mulled over the probables as she ducked into side aisles before coming out again onto the Main Concourse, far enough away from the Pakis to be screened by other groups. Then she glanced up at the nearest publitext screen.

She watched through the usual notices and announcements until it scrolled down to 2200 hours, where a legal extension for use of the Assembly was posted, with trading and drinking permitted.

The full details were being vividly proclaimed, complete with fanfares of brass instruments and snippets of the Respected Venerable Homilifier Ponsit Prosit smiling beatifically at vast audiences. A chorus was promised, and a short blast of fivepart harmon y and high soprano descant was presented as an enticement to attend the full show. This V R & Holy Religious Interpretation Group purportedly had only recently returned from the Eastern Cities of Faith, where Ponsit Prosit had endured "fasting meditations of great length and illumination." Linear G was fortunate in the extreme that he was able to fit that evening's assembly into his busy tour. So, he had not had a booking in a while, Tirla thought cynically. Well, Religious Interpretations were very popular in Linears, better than fights sometimes and often more showy.

Tirla liked showsand legal extensions.

There had been a Public Health roundup recently, so a second, covert one was unlikely in her experience. And while a Religious Event could be staged to mask more illicit operations than washing tieds in public, there still might not be any undercover LEOs.

Crowd Controllers would be around, of coursethat was standard procedurebut Tirla knew most of them despite the way they altered their appearances.

The important thing was that she had the Yassim tieds to change. She should never have agreed to do it, but Bulbar had been insistent and the "talker"a hit man whom she would not willingly offendhad told her that she was being given the opportunity in rewa rd for services already rendered. Having consented to a professional engagement with Mama Bobchik, who was not only another person it was unwise to offend but someone who, having presided over Tirla's birth, would always defend the girl, Tirla was committe d on two counts to attend.

Prepared with several contingency plans, Tirla began her usual morning routinebargaining for the day's meals and getting a bath and a clean issue of clothing. But as she proceeded, she was stopped by various female clients, each wanting her company during this Religious Event because the featured Lamashaman was reputed to speak in tongues and Tirla was absolutely the only person who would faithfully tell them everything he said. There was a limit, however, to how many people Tirla could adequately represent. Surrounded by very insistent, vocal, and physically active prospective clients, none of whom she cared to antagonize, she attempted to organize them.

"Bilala, you and Pilau must come together. Anna, you team up with Marika. Zaveta, Elpidia comes as well. Chishu, Lao Wang with you.

Cyoto, Arisan is your partner." And so she grouped them. Ten pairs was as unmanageable as it was unavoidable. Before she got into any further difficulties, Tirla discreetly removed herself from public view. She still had to get the tied credits out of their hidey holes and secreted about her for easy access.

"We have an Incident," Sirikit said, her light, crisp voice carrying easily to Budworth, who was duty officer in the Parapsych Control Room.

"Who?" Budworth sent his gimballed chair spinning across the tiled floor to her station. Seeing him maneuver so rapidly around the Control Room made people forget that his spine had been crushed in an accident and that he had only minimal movement of his h ead and two fingers.

"Auer." Sirikit's surprise was reflected in her voice.

"Really!"

"And hertha!"

"That's an unusual combination."

"Not if Ponsit Prosit the Great Flimflam is involved. I caught the p.a. for Linear G."

"It is very true she would have his guts for garters," Budworth said, grinning wryly.hertha Zoccola was generally a relaxed and tolerant individual, but mention of that particular RIG was enough to enrage her. Budworth set himself for her fury in reporting a precog involving the man.

Whenever precognitive Talents responded to an Incident, they would flash the Center, alerting Control to receive a verbal description of what they had previewed. Budworth positioned his chair at the fingeRboard next to Sirikit and scratched his chin on the rim of his head support, feeling the surge of excited anticipation that he always experienced at such moments.

"C'mon, you netheads, report!" he exclaimed.

Sirikit glanced away from her screen to grin at him. Then a bleep sounded, startling both of them even though they were expecting an entry."Auer here," the emotionless voice announced, and the precog's face appeared in one of the response screens. "A real messy one. High panic, screams, mob, kids trampled, the usual thing. Why don't you grab Ponsit and space him to the shipyards? I'm tired of protecting that scuzfart."

"You saw Flimflam himself, Auer?" Sirikit asked encouragingly. At Budworth's nod, she took over the routine questions. She was one of the most deft at postIncidental debriefing, and Auer always responded well to her. Budworth busied himself with tapping ou t a query for scheduled public events. More crowd control would have to be assigned to Linear G.

Auer shrugged with an indifference both observers knew was false.

"He's prominent. All colored lights and glittering hands. Then running away. As usual. Never stays to calm the audiences he excites to riot pitch."

"Where?" Sirikit encouraged him.

"Your typical Residential assembly hall. Usual Ponsit backdrops.

Nothing unusual... except" Auer paused, frowning down at something.

"Exceptthat's odd!"

"What's odd, Auer?"

"All over a scrawny girl?" When he looked up, his eyes were haunted.

"Yes?"

"I feel... and her danger is acute. It doesn't end tonight. She's Talented!" That was said in a surprised voice; then Auer passed a hand across his eyes, scrubbing downward. "It's gone now. It's gone." The screen blackened.

Another screen brightened.

"You shouldn't allow that man a permit at all!"hertha Zoccola was bristling with indignation. "You've caught him dealing time and again!

Those people don't have the credits to spend on mystical cures and miracle healings. He spouts the most appalling sort of pantheist tripe. And in the worst language!"

"What did you see,hertha?" Budworth asked the plump little woman, who still cherished a worn deck of Tarot cards that her greatgrandmother had once read with a high enough degree of accuracy to earn a significant credit balance.

"I keep telling you that man is nothing but trouble." Her double chin quivered, and her expression was concerned. "I don't care if the Domestic Satisfaction Index does rise after he's played a Residential.

Why should we Talents protect a quacksalver, a fak er, a pharisee, a hoaxer, a gyp! An arrant carnie!"

"We're not protecting him! Now, what did you see,hertha?"

"Halfway through thatthat gibberous effort of hisyou never can tell what he's saying in that mumbojumble of histhere's a movement, to the left of the platform..." She jingled her left hand, her many wrist bracelets clacking noisily. "Or do I mean his righ t?" She raised the other hand, splaying fingers crammed with rings. "There's a commotion.

It has to do with a large group of women." She waggled her hand again, frowning. "Then everything goes wild! A name! They're all calling a name! And I can't hear what it is! Oh, wouldn't that cause a saint to swear! The one vital detail! And I thought I heard it so clearly..." She pursed her lips in concentration and then slowly shook her head, sighing. "No, it's gone. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks,hertha dear. You've filled in some details."

"Who else?"hertha asked, as always.

"Auer."

"Him?"hertha was incredulous. "Well, what'd'ya know about that? Do keep me screened, Buddy."

"You bet." Budworth was punching Sascha's office as her picture dissolved. "Sascha, we got an Incident."

"There's only one crowd controller assigned to the RIG, Budworth," Sirikit murmured to him. "Residential Linear G is listed as blue, calm."

"Well, it's about to change color unless we can neutralize. Sascha, something's going to bust wide at Ponsit's meeting at G tonight."

"Linear G?" The large blue eyes in Sascha's Slaviccast face widened with surprise. "We'd nothing planned there, " he murmured. "Who saw it?"

"Bertha and Auer."

"What?" Sascha raised his eyebrows. "That's a first. I'll be back to you, Buddy. I'll organize our infiltration with the Bro." Rhyssa, we've got an incipient riot.

That sort of thing's more your bailiwick than mine, was Rhyssa's reply.

Give my regards to Boris.

As the contact with Sascha faded, Budworth grunted, absently scratching his jaw. He hoped there would be remote visuals set up so that he could watch what went on, and if Sascha's LEO brother, Boris, was involved, there would be. Whether his experience was vicarious or not, Budworth appreciated being involved in these unexpected spectaculars.

One never knew what would happen during an Incident. He was honest enough in the back of his mind the only safe place to think in the Centerto realize that he had not been a physically brave person even before his accident. Still and all, he found the breathless anticipation and stimulation to be very pleasant sensations for one husked by a mobility chair.

Sirikit was making rapid entries, documenting the Incident. Although the Talented had come to have immense credibility, and the meticulously kept daily files might generally be scanned only by Research, the procedures outlined by the Parapsychic Center's f irst administrator, Henry Darrow, were scrupulously followed. The full spectrum of Talent was far from being known and certain facets of Talent were not at all fully developed, as in the case of young Peter Reidinger's Talent for an electrical gestalt. And who knew what sort of unusual Talent might yet be discovered among emergents? Budworth sighed as he turned back to tasks which once would have seemed far from mundane.

Chapter 8

Tirla did not dare be late to the meeting, but she also did not want to arrive too soon and risk being hassled by even more people demanding her particular services. No matter what baksheesh was offered, she could translate for only so many at a time, espe cially with the other, more pressing, matter to complete. That had to be managed. She chose to arrive with enough time to do a quick survey and identify the best vendors, as well as any undercover LEOs or PHOs. The fortuitous scheduling of the Religious Ev ent still bothered her.

Unless... It occurred to Tirla that maybe there would be some Treasury persons in the crowd, checking up on vendors, that money laundering itself was the target of this occasion. But the Ts were easy to spot.

They were always so obvious about blending int o the crowd.

Having arranged to meet the women at the main southeast entrance, Tirla entered the Assembly atrium from one of the side northwest gates.

Someone else had already disabled the entrance eye that read Ids and counted attendance, saving her the trouble. The p etty vendors had their booths up and merchandise displayed: mainly trinkets and synth-clothes, goods that could be quickly shifted. But there were aircushion carts being angled through the wider doorways, proving that some serious trading would be done. Sh e felt somewhat easier in her mind. The big traders would not risk themselves or their merchandise at a riskydisky.

She took note of prices as she wended her way through the gathering crowd. She hoped there would be some fresh producewell, fresh in that it had been recently nicked from the underground warehouses that supplied Jerhattan's markets. She would treat herself to a nice crisp pepper, carrot, or apple from the day's earnings, something to sink her teeth into instead of the subsistence mush or compound protein loaf.

She wanted to get a stick of real chewing gum, too, to keep her mouth moist when she started trans lating. She spared only a glance for the activity on the platform, where hands were rushing about, draping curtains and swags and hauling lighting and sound equipment about. She was never impressed by packagingjust the quality of the contents. She found gu m at Felter's stall and made him launder one of the smaller tied notes.

She was just savoring the minty flavor of her gum when she caught sight of an all too familiar profile in totally unfamiliar synthissue clothing. Yassim was actually here? She ducked behind a large man in a stained robe that had once been the height of fas hion. He was holding up both arms, wigwagging at someone on the stage. The smell of him nearly made her swallow her gum, but his outline completely obscured her.

What was Yassim doing ere? Tirla wondered. Didn't he trust her? As her camouflage dropped one arm to cup his hand to his mouth to shout a direction, Tirla chanced a second look.

Yes, it was him. He was unmistakable. He had done something subtle to his face, altering its shapeprobably pads in his cheeks and lower lipbut he had not, could not, alter that long thin hooked nose and the sloping forehead. He walked, as always, as if he owned the place, strutting about in a loose overrobe that had not suffered much cleaning in its long life. His headgear was also appropriately worn, torn, and stained. It was a creditable attempt to blend in, but Tirla knew the man was Yassim. There he was , sauntering about, inspecting trinkets, pausing to ask questions of vendors, appearing to go from one group of friends to another, friends she quickly identified as some of his multitude of ladrones, hitters, and sassins. Well and discreetly guarded thoug h he was, why was he there?

Her odorous blocker moved and she moved with him, keeping him as cover.

When he stopped, roaring out instructions, she, too, didand saw Yassim talking to three Neester mothers who had young children with them.

Suddenly Tirla knew what he was doing there. W ith equal certainty, Tirla did not want to be anywhere in his vicinity while child buying was on his mind. She did, however, make a mental note of which ladrones and sassins she knew among his followers. There had to be one she could trust to give his boss the tieds she had exchanged into floaters. There was no way she could avoid that chore.

Subliminal music had started, and the lighting in the Assembly Hall began to alter subtly, heralding the beginning of the Religious Interpretation. Tirla ducked behind the nearest vendor's shillboard and slipped to the southeast entrance.

An agitated Mirda Khan seemed to have eyes in the back of her mirroradorned headdress, for she swung around, her face as sharp as a predatory bird's, as Tirla approached. She hooked her fingers painfully into Tirla's grasp and hauled the girl to her.

"Where were you? Where were you?" Mirda shook her angrily, showering her with spittle and sour breath so that Tirla pulled back as far as she could. The other women who had commissioned her to translate the RlG's words formed a close circle around her. But since their bodies also shielded her from Yassim's notice, she did not resist.

"I was pricing the merch," she said, unrepentantly.

Bilala and Pilau were trying to edge around Mirda and pull Tirla to their segment of the circle. Mirda jammed Tirla tight against her angular body while Mama Bobchik somehow got ahold of Tirla's free arm, effectively pinning her between the two formidably large women.

"He's here," Tirla said to Mirda, squirming to give herself a little space. She repeated the phrase until all her customers knew.

"He?" Mirda stretched to peer over the heads of their little knot.

She gave a snort. "Yassim'll roast in hell before I sell him another child." Her fingers tightened convulsively on Tirla's shoulder. "You stay away from him. You hear me good?"

Tirla nodded enthusiastically. If Mirda knew Yassim, was there a chance she could inveigle the woman to pass on the laundry? Not with any sure knowledge that all of it would reach him.

"He gives a good price," Elpidia whined. She had a girl child old enough to spin off. She also had a drug habit to keep, for which she exchanged the yearly fruits of her womb once they were of an age to be sold off profitably. She fretted whether or not to go back to her squat and bring down the child for him.

"I would not sell to such as him!" Mirda snapped in her own language, black eyes flashing scornfully. "Price or not. Even selling to the station is better."

"What did she say?" Elpidia demanded of Tirla.

Tirla shrugged. "I am hired to translate the speaker, not settle disputes between clients, and she is not one to annoy."

Elpidia scowled at Mirda Khan, who hauled Tirla around, nearly wrenching her left arm out of Mama Bobchik's hand.

"Come," Mirda said. Her outer robe billowing its musty folds across Tirla's face, she led the group forward, acting as a spearhead through the still thinly scattered gathering. She halted right under the stage, where no one could thrust in front of them to block their view.

She was about to push Tirla forward when the girl wriggled free.

"I must be able to see him. I will stand here, where I can see, and where all of you can hear." She repeated this until it was clearly understood by all her clients.

Within the circle she felt safe from Yassim. She began to relax and even to enjoy the music despite the patchy sound of the shrill replay as it ground through a multiethnic repertoire. Where were the famous live backup performers? This had been publicly bi lled as an occasion!

Tirla took note of activity on the stage, the draperies billowing suddenly here and there from movement behind them. She could just catch a glimpse of the righthand wings and people milling about, waiting to go on. So, there was a chor us. She much preferred live singing.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a big man to her right, wandering with all too apparent indifference. She sensed a penetrating assessment of her companions going on under the brim of a battered peak cap, and she leaned surreptitiously into Mama Bobchik.

She felt something else then, a soothing brush across her mind which caused the high, sharp chatter of the women to fall off into a less excited pitch. She was not sure what tat was all about.

The man was not Treasury. She followed his progress, aware that he was in contact somehow with two women who gave every evidence of being oblivious to him as they chattered and laughed together, jostling through the early comers to find a good position nea r the stage. She peered suspiciously at the two, their faces painted with careless hands, one of them obviously pregnant, though she wore the gear of a prostitute. Their faces were unfamiliar, and Tirla was beginning to wonder if the meeting really had bee n staged by an authority like Treasury or PH when a third woman, well known to Tirla, greeted them effusively and stayed to gossip. Reading from their lips the commonplace remarks they exchanged soothed the girl. It was seeing Yassim here that made her so nervous. She certainly did not owe him so much that he would come after her. She was not even overdue with the laundered credits. What had happened to his stock? He was not often caught short enough to brave a public affair. She touched the little pouches of tieds in the clever vest she wore for the purpose under her issue suit and reassured herself that all were in place.

A fanfare blasted for attention, and the excited babble died down to eager anticipation. Not a bad flourish, Tirla thought, quite willing to be carried along by a good show.

Then the choir stalked out selfconsciously and arranged themselves with some poking and pulling on one side of stage center. As close as she was, Tirla could see that their costumes were neither clean nor new.

Not all of them managed to find the right pitc h from the final note of the recorded blurt of brass. Tirla knew the song they were singing, a really old good one, so the fact that they were singing it badly was inexcusable. She only had to translate it for Cyoto and Arieveryone else mumbled along in th eir own languages.

Then the emcee came out, falsely bright, and started the pitch, waffling on about the training and merits of the Revered Venerable Ponsit Prosit. As he was merely repeating all the claptrap about mystical training in Far Asia from the public announcement, Tirla did not start to translate it until Bilala hissed at her to earn her fee.

There was another song, one which slipped from one musical ethic to another with no respect for tonality or rhythm. Perversely, the singers managed to perform the travesty competently. Tirla identified six who were spaced out on something. That they could sing at all might indeed be a minor miracle of this RIG.

There were flourishes of recorded instruments and rolls of drums, which stirred even Tirla's cynical pulses. Drums could be so exciting! A great crashing of cymbals, a painfully glaring display of assorted lights and narrow beams, an earblasting crescendo of bugle synths accompanied by fragrant smoke bombs, and the Revered Venerable Religious Interpreter arrived, his robes artfully gleaming.

Her clients were suitably impressed by his "magical" appearance, but Tirla had caught a glimpse of the square aperture in the floor before he shot up through the densest veil of smoke to hover on his column above the stage and the awed spectators. She pref erred something more dramatic; she had seen that sort of entrance so frequently that it had lost any impact. But clearly she was a minority. Even Mirda pretended to be afraid, covering her face with a fold of her head cloth.

The Religious Interpreter went into his act immediately, face upturned so Tirla's best view was of a waggling chin and dark holes of nostrils.

The light show dazzled as taped music supported his mouthingsfor that was what they were, syllables meaning absol utely nothing, with random words from every language she had ever heard tossed in to confuse.

"What does he say, the holy man?" Mirda demanded.

"Tell me what he say?" Mama Bobchik pulled Tirla to her. Bilala and Pilau were equally insistent: one kicked Tirla's shin, while the other transferred a substantial amount of her weight onto Tirla's undefended toes.

"Nothing," Tirla replied, disgusted. "He says nothing!"

She was poked, pushed, and pulled.

"He's saying something."

"He speaks mystically."

"Tell us what he says."

"Ah, I understand that word for myself! I will pay you nothing, bitch."

Tirla was furious at that threat. Furious at the RIG. She would translate when he said something translatable. She was pinched and tweaked and slapped. In selfdefense she caught the pattern of his babble and, involuntarily mimicking his stance and delivery , rattled off the nonsensical sounds in an undertone, translating the occasional real word into as many languages as she could before picking up the gibberish again.

Then the man stopped talking and spread his arms, his beatific smile radiant in the flood of light picking him out, seemingly afloat in the air above the stage. Then Tirla realized that he was staring in her direction.

In a gesture that startled her as well as her clients, he lunged forward, eyes flashing, face contorted, his accusing finger pointing straight at her.

"Unbelievers, profaning a sacred moment with chatter. Hear, learn, obey, repent your evil uncaring ways. Be taken into the light of the world. Be admitted into the holy sepulcher. Be one with humanity and all loving, caring creatures. Be purified. Be saved ! Be!" His accusing hand lifted and spread open as a beam of light caught his fingers and spilled down his raised arm.

Tirla, translating as rapidly as possible in the dramatic pause, was thankful for some coherent phrases. Her clients might be listening to her, but their eyes were on him. He had the crowd's rapt attention now. Tirla was fairly sure that no one outside the circle could see her, but dared not stop talking. She kept spewing out the gibberish, worrying that such nonsense would not be worth the money promised her.

They might not pay her at all. She was al ready regretting that she would miss the taste of the crisp greenpepper she had hoped to purchase with her fee. J The Lamashaman assumed another dramatic pose, arms out, 1 palms upturned in entreaty. ; "Bring me your sick, your weary, your wretched souls. Let me heal them. A touch will ease the tortured mind, the fevered body, the twisted limb, the blurred sight.

Approach! Be not afeared. All things come to those who deserve. All creatures deserve Love. For it is Love, Love, Love that heals!"

Tirla rattled it all off easily, trying to peer through the shielding bodies to see who would be working the scam. Barney with his lizard eyelidsone blink, and his eyes were milky white blind; another, and he could "see clear once again, hallelujah!" Maybe Mahmoud with his double joints all twisted out of shapeone touch of the Lamashaman's healing touch and they would straighten. Or would it be Maria with her weeping sores?

The Lamashaman threw back his head, his hands turned gold in the narrow spotbeams, glittering from some sort of paint he must have used. Her clients inhaled with awe at the sight, their faces rapt as he made mystic passes with his magical hands. Glistening strands and bits whirled from his fingertips, disappearing in brief sparks as they left the light beams. That was a new trick, Tirla thought. Not bad. Pilau tried to catch a strand, but it disintegrated, leaving no trace in her grubby fingers.

Just then another strand, stronger, shot from the stage and fell on the head of a bemused man. He was less bemused when, with another grand flourish, the Lamashaman began to reel him in.

"You have been chosen, brother. Come to me! Embrace me!" A ramp extruded from the stage, straight toward the chosen one, who glanced about with apprehension as he was pushed onto the ramp by those behind him and propelled forward by those on either side.

"Kneel, brother," the Lamashaman intoned, and appeared to glide down the air.

Tirla could feel the faint vibration of the stage mechanism that supplied the effect, but she did not pause in her translations. It was a pretty good gimmick. She wondered where the control was. The mark appeared genuinely stunned at being chosen. He knelt obediently, a dazed expression on his face.

"Rallamadamothuriasticalligomahnozimithioapodociamoturialis tashadioalisymquepodialOmathurtodispasionatusimperadomusi gena lliszweigenpolastonuchevaliskyrielisonandia. Moss pirialistusquandoruulabetodomoarigatoimustendiationallamegrachiatus..." the Revere d Venerable intoned, holding his hand above the mark's head.

More syllables and almostwords that Tirla could not anticipate enough to mimic. She could appreciate and admire the Venerable's truly respectable breath control. Why, he sounded as if he could go on forever!

"What does he say?" Mi,da pinched her sharply.

"How can I hear when you babble at me?" Tirla replied and made up suitable phrases, which she then translated. "Woops!"

Strange things were happening above the chosen one's head. How did the Lamashaman do that with sleeves so tight at his wrists? Tirla wondered. Hair, face, and throat of the mark were shimmering with gold; the man's expression was first ludicrous and then e cstatic.

Tirla wondered what the Venerable Prayman could be using. She was beginning to enjoy the spectacle.

The Revered slowly turned back to the audience, his face also goldenhued, the whites of his eyes visible. "The power is with me.

Whom else will it touch?"

Raising his arms again and extending his hands forward, he gave the audience sufficient time to see the effect the "power" had had on the first "chosen." With a twist of his wrists, his palms turned over and strands shot out in all directions. Before Tirla could duck, one of the filaments landed on her head. Whatever it was stuck tightly in her hair despite quick efforts on her part to get rid of it. Her hands were caught by the adhesive, bound to her head now. She began to panic. There was no way she wishe d to be hauled up in public. Not with Yassim in the hall. Not with tieds on her, credits she had no right to possess under any circumstances.

The choir began to chant for the chosen to come forward, to receive power. The audience caught up the refrain, and Tirla could hear the ominous overtone of envy from those who felt themselves more worthy of such an honor.

"She's been chosen!" Bilala and Pilau shrieked, bursting into an ululation that shot panic through Tirla's heart as they tried to push her forward toward the ramp nearest them.

"No, she's got to stay. She's got to tell us!" Mama Bobchik and Mirda Khan were not to be cheated. They pulled Tirla back.

"Break it, Cyoto. Help me, Lao Wang. Elpidia! Zaveta!" Tirla began struggling in earnest, terror starting to chill her guts.

All the other newly chosen were making their way up to the stage. The strand tightened, pulling at her hair. She twisted. Then suddenly she was snapped free. She caught the glint of a knife blade as she fell back against the solid Mama Bobchik. Zaveta and Mirda locked with the screaming Bilala and Pilau, who were attempting to regain control of Tirla.

As she had done before in such situations, Tirla dropped to the floor and plunged to one side, tripping someone, who fell heavily on her left foot. She ignored the stab of pain and crawled on, her breath coming in sobs. She rolled free of her encircling cl ients and scrambled to her feet, plowing through the chanters. Someone saw the dangling golden strand and grabbed it, nearly jerking her off her feet. To free herself she wrenched the tangled hair from her head, leaving the bit of scalp dangling in the man 's hand.

"Grab her!" The chant was interrupted to set up the cry. She squeezed past several grasping hands, frantic to get to the lobby and the nearest emergency exit.

"Here, I gotcha!" She was encircled by massive forearms. She lifted her arms and slithered down; a kick was aimed at her belly, but despite being winded, she rolled, too accustomed to such dirty tactics not to have selfpreserving instincts. She had a glimp se of one of Yassim's sassins, face wreathed in a witless grin of success, before she landed against the far wall, and suddenly two pairs of trousered legs shielded her.

She was helped to her feet by kind hands and made conscious of soothing thoughts of assistance, understanding, and sympathy. She recognized the aura just as her splayed fingers felt the doorframe. Managing to elude the hands, she whipped out the door and s ped across the foyer, paying no heed to pleas to stop. An incredible multitoned bellow rose behind her, an angry frustrated noise that gave impetus to her pumping legs. As she pounded down the access aisle, she heard a familiar thumping thud in the air abo ve.

LEOs! Had they been on hand? Or had they been called? But it took time for LEO ships to assemble. She found the small square duct she needed, whipped off the cover, crawled inside, and, with some difficulty in the restricted space, snapped it back into pla ce. She crouched in the dirt and grime, tilting her face away from the light as her lungs fought to repay her heart for the strain.

She heard people racing by, heard their exclamations as they reached the dead end, heard them turn and come back, and heard their steps continue on past her refuge. Despite the noise, Tirla fell asleep.

Rhyssa!" The alarmed voice of the duty officer was accompanied by an impulse through her headnet that roused her instantly.

"Yes?"

"Major disaster precog," Budworth said.

Great! Rhyssa thought sleepily. Two major trouble precogs in not quite two days and not a tremble about matters which urgently concerned all Talents.

"Recorded all across Asia," Budworth went on. "Looks like Kayankira's going to get another monsoon overload. They haven't repaired the restraining dams from the last one. How're we going to cope, with all the strong kinetics on the station?"

"Is there time to bring any down?"

"That's the panic! There's time enough, but weather conditions all across the world are freaky. Even if a Padrugoi shuttle launched, the nearest clear landing site is Woomera. The kinetics have to be on site to be effective." What Budworth did not say"if B archenka would allow 'em to leave the station"flashed like a neon sign in Rhyssa's mind.

"Get Sascha up for me, will you, Buddy?"

He did, Sascha assured her. Are you considering Peter? His mental tone mixed eagerness to try and awareness of the multiple risks involved.

I must consider Peter's unique capabilities in a situation as critical as this, she told him.

How? Without compromising Peter's security?

They both slapped up internal shields as they felt the arrival of other thoughts.

Kayankira: Rhyssa, I've got to have all the kinetics you have left. I understand there's no chance of getting any of them down from Padrugoi?

Rhyssa: That's my understanding.

Vsevolod Gebrowski: I shall insist! I shall take this to the World Council. They have deplored the situation in India. Let them put words into action. Reducing the density of population in that area of Bangladesh also diminished the available work force, a nd the necessary work has not been completed on time. Now we pay for that.

Miklos Horvath: Not if we draft the kinetics on Padrugoi down to help.

And the cleanup effort will be reduced by kinesis now!

Rhyssa: If we can force the weather to give us a break!

Bessie Dundall at Canberra: The precogs all indicate the worst flooding ever in Bangladesh. The new levees haven't been completely restored, so floodwaters will drown this year's harvest. The barriers won't work for some reasonI suspect their erection will prove that once again corruption and bribery have been widespread. We have to do something!

Alparacin: Rhyssa, what about that team of yours I hear about?

Rhyssa: They're not wellenough trained for a disaster of this magnitude, dear friend. They 'd be burned out.

Peter: No, I wouldn't.

Quiet! Sascha, Rhyssa, and Dorotea ordered as one.

Peter: I was, that was just to you.

Rhyssa held her breath. But no Talent queried the unknown voice.

Naturally Eastern will do whatever we can, she told the others. May we have copies of the precogs? But I assure you that highly skilled kinetics are going to have trouble coping with this sor t of thing, and all I have are a handful of fourteenyearold trainee kinetics.

Madlyn here...

Sascha: Honey, you're one voice that never has to identify. What have you heard? He imaged to Rhyssa a vision of Madlyn Luvaro, hands to her mouth to make a megaphone, leaning out of an airlock and shouting down to a wincing Earth.

Madlyn: Lance has been arguing with Barchenka since he got the precog.

She absolutely refuses to risk a shuttle or a pilot. You gotta admit the weather's pretty freaky all over right now. I can see it clear as day: lots of turbulence, and not just over the Indian continent. Lance says there has to be one safe place on Earth they can land, and they've got to help. He's citing her for contractual violation. She says it's too dangerous to risk so many Talentsnow she's doing the matriarchal, protecting you-agai nst your own altruism. Ha!

And there isn't a pilot we've talked to who'll risk a drop into the soup kettle down there, she went on. Wait! Lance saysMadlyn's mental tone altered to a roterecital levelnow 's the time to try. He says you'll know what he means. He accepts that it could be a risk, but if ever to put it to the test, now 's the time. Have you got all that?

She sounded mystified.

Sascha: You've come through loud and clear, Madlyn, and we copy.

Lance says that the precog indicates even more horrendous damage than the last monsoon flood caused, so Talent has got to give kinetic support. He 's dragooned a pilot into coming, but the guy's scared of attempting to land anywhere. Lance has assured him that all the kinetics on board will do the landing okay. Is Lance gone spacecrazy?

All right, I'm telling them. He says he, and a contingent of the heavyduty kineticsenough to effect flood controlwill be on the shuttle Erasmus in Hangar G at 0800. They're okay in space, but they'll need the help landing. That doesn't make sense to me, but that's what I'm supposed to tell you.

Sascha came storming into Rhyssa's room. He had pulled his pants on but was carrying his shirt in his hand. He really did have a supeRb body, Rhyssa thought privately. Why isn't there the necessary chemistry between us? We'd make beautiful children. He loo ked so magnificent angry.

"Lance is out of his wig if he thinks Peter's up to a controlled landing in Dacca weather," he announced. "Landing pallets in a warehouse is a considerably different can of worms to a shuttle full of live folk we can't afford to smear across a galestruck c oncrete runway."

Rhyssa fed a direct repeat of Lance's earlier conversation on Peter's potential and a similar situation into Sascha's mind. "He was only joking at the time," she said ruefully. "Quite a legitimate extrapolation."

"We just can't risk it," Sascha said, pacing up and down the room while Rhyssa untangled herself from her pastelcovered duvet and started dressing. "As neat a solution to the lack of kinetics as it is."

Rhyssa, with ineffable sadness: Saschabear, you're halfway to figuring out just how he can do it!

They were both startled by a timorous tap on her door.

"Yes?" She and Sascha exchanged glances.

"It's Peter. Can I come in?"

Sascha threw his arms up dramatically.

"Yes, yes," Rhyssa said, shooting a comprehensive warning at Sascha.

In his distress, Peter floated rather than walked into the room.

"No one bothered to channel their thoughts," he said, both apprehensive and defensive. "I couldn't help hearing."

"No, of course you couldn't, Peter," Rhyssa said.

Is Peter there? Dorotea's anxious tone startled them.

I'm here!

Young man, if you ever leave me again in that abrupt fashion, I'll tan your bottom!

Rhyssa and Sascha had never heard that particular note in the telepath's voice before.

I was trying to explain the problem to him when he zipped out of here so fast l thought he'd actually teleported himself: I know the problem, Dorotea, Peter said in a very patient tone. To land the shuttle safely at Dacca. And, with enough power, it'd be no more difficult than that container was, or the steel I sent to San Francisco.

"The turbulence of a monsoon is totally unpredictable," Sascha began.

Peter's expression was one of abused patience. "It'd be the same principle in spite of turbulence. And better, because the shuttle won't be powered, so that won't throw off the snatch and grab of my gestalt."

"Simple when explained in that fashion," Sascha said at his driest.

Then he flung up his hands in exasperation and turned to Rhyssa.

She took a reasonable stance. "The distance, the mass involved even the turbulence are not factors you've dealt with before. We can't, and won't, risk burning you out."

Peter grinned. "You wouldn't. Though I'd need much more than fourpointfive kpm. To be safe, I'd need some real powerlike the city's turbos. They might seize upbut I wouldn't."

"We don't know that, Peter," Rhyssa said gently, permitting him to sense her anxiety.

"But I know that about me," Peter said, and levitated to the bed, where he perched beside her, upright enough, but with his arms and legs draped in unnatural positions. He made adjustments when he caught Rhyssa's look. "Instinctively!"

Then she hugged him, feeling tears of pride for the shining self-confidence that had emerged in the past few weeks. She held his lax narrow body for a long moment; then, sensing his embarrassment, she ruffled his hair and released him.

"Peter," Sascha said, hunkering down by the boy, "this is different from the exercises we've had you do. And this gestalt ability of yours is unique! We just can't risk it."

"Dorotea said I should trust my instincts," Peter said so firmly that both Sascha and Rhyssa regarded him for a long moment. "I also read the precog report. If there aren't enough kinetics, many people will lose their lives, as well as everything they've b een struggling to build over the past two years. There'll be massive ecological damage, more plague, starvation. You keep feeding me all this stuff about the responsibility we Talents have to the rest of the world, how we're supposed to reduce death and da mage. If I'm willing to take a little risk, I'd be a real Talent.

"I also heard what Madlyn said to you." Peter grinned ingenuously, wincing as if avoiding a loud noise. "Mr. Baden means me, doesn't he?

That it's time to really try me."

Sascha sat down on the bed on Peter's other side and looked helplessly at Rhyssa.

"As I see it," Peter went on, clearly more in charge of the situation than his adult mentors, "we Talents don't have any option. We need the ones with Mr. Baden in the Erasmus Sascha, when I shifted that steel the other day, you said I had graduated into a really useful category of kinesis. With enough power in the gestalt, I know I can land the shuttle."

Sascha slowly shook his head. "There's another major consideration, son..."

"I've been studying schematics on power generation," Peter continued blithely. "TuRbos in particular, as they're more reliable."

"You have?" Rhyssa was constantly being surprised by the turns of Peter's avid studying.

"Well, I thought I ought to get some sort of basic concepts from which to work..." He saw their expressions and gave them a little smile.

"I used to watch a lot of collegelevel vid courses. They were a lot more interesting than most of the latenight recre ational garbage.

Having to think hard took my mind off myself for a while. Engineering was a good think."

Sascha and Rhyssa were reduced to nodding in belated comprehension.

"Especially," Peter added, his eyes twinkling, "as no one really seemed to know what to make of my gestalting. And that's the other consideration, isn't it, Sascha? Keeping gestalt kinesis under wraps?"

"He's got us there, Rhyssa," Sascha said with a chagrined expression.

"That's what you're really worried about, but look, if the pilot brings the shuttle down far enough, I know I can get it safely through the turbulence and land it. And even the pilot doesn't need to know it wasn't Mr. Baden and the other kinetics who stead ied the shuttle."

When he saw that they were seriously considering his suggestion, he added, "It isn't as if I'd be bringing the shuttle all the way down from Padrugoi by myself, you know."

"And you think the city's power system will supply the necessary gestalt for you?" Sascha asked in a wry tone.

"The East Side Jerhattan power station's turbos should be enough."

Peter's eyes glowed at the prospect of all that power at his disposal.

Rhyssa and Sascha began to laugh at the sheer impudence.

"You know, I really think that'll work," Dorotea said, entering the room. She was still in her nightclothes, a fetching pale lilac that set off her lovely white hair and porcelain complexion. "Since eavesdropping is in general order today, I've been follow ing the conversations with great interest. There won't be time to talk that idiot of a power resources commissioner into agreeing to anything of such an experimental, and highly confidential, nature. The fewer people who know what we're doing the better."

Her face took on an exceedingly sly look, totally uncharacteristic.

"Let's invoke a G and H!" She chortled, looking exceedingly pleased with herself. "All we have to do then is call Borisget him to clear the power station and use his official capacity to g et us in."

"Invoke a G and H?" Rhyssa stared at the elderly telepath as if she had never seen her before.

"What's a G and H?" Peter asked just as Sascha began to guffaw.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Rhyssa exclaimed in exasperation. To the mystified Peter, she explained, "That's our mayday code, for Georgethat's George Henner, who once owned this houseand Henrymeaning Henry Darrow, who established Talent as a verifiable p aranormal skill.

If a Talent invokes a G and H, he gets immediate and unquestioned cooperation from every other Talent."

Sascha rubbed his hands together. "You know, I've always wanted the excuse to invoke that mayday code." Brother, he called. It 's a G and H: we need escort to the East Side power station, and it's to be cleared! Shouldn't be difficult with only a minimal n ight crew on call.

Boris: A G and H? Fascinating. I'm cleaning up after a major riot and you elect this moment in time to call a George and Henry?

Sascha: All we need is you and a LEO heli.

Just me? Boris responded sarcastically.

Sascha agreeably: You to get us the cooperation we need.

And I can expect return cooperation from you? Boris, slyly.

Sascha: It's a George Henry mayday, Bro. You can't refuse.

Boris: Quid pro quo, Bro. I was about to request your presence!

Sascha: For a riot?

Boris: I could certainly use your help on this one, Bro. Some oddities have cropped up that require your particularly acute telepathic Talent.

Sascha raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Rhyssa, who reluctantly gave an assenting nod.

"Did you follow that, Peter?" Rhyssa asked, noticing that the boy's face was still registering surprise.

"Yes," he said tentatively.

"You don't really need me, Peter," Sascha said encouragingly. "You've got Rhyssa..."

"And Dorotea," the lady added stoutly.

"To buffer your mind," Sascha continued. Don, as well, I think, he added to Rhyssa. Why does Boris have to need me at this moment in time?

Dorotea: Boris always did have an awkward streak in him. Comes from being a LEO by temperament.

Rhyssa turned briskly to Peter. "Now, you'd better get dressed. Fetch your clothes here. And what should he get for you, Dorotea? You can change in my bathroom."

"I'll get down to Budworth for the vital statistics we need," Sascha said. "The weight of the shuttle, a radar link with the shuttle, repros of Daccain good weatherweather reports." If I really think about this in any detail, I'll go crackers! he added on a very fine thread to the two women.

Rhyssa and Dorotea replied with equal fervor: You'll have company!

y Peter thinks be can do it, I prefer to think he can, Rhyssa added.

After all, it's the thought that counts.

Dorotea: That's what does the trick.

The necessary equations, based on Peter's established use of the gestalt plus distance, weight, and optimum speed of the shuttle, atmospheric conditions, and turbulence at the landing site, were all completed by the time the LEO heli arrived to transport t hem.

"I thought you were having a riot of a time and we'd get a deputy," Sascha said, but he was exceedingly relieved to have his brother's support.

"I am, but I'm the best authority you have for whatever's going on."

Boris smiled with whitetoothed malice. "You'll want to be in on this one, Bro. We've got a lead on the kidnappings."

Sascha swore with great ingenuity.

That's as important as this, Sascha, Rhyssa conceded. With Dorotea and Don to help me buffer him, he'll be fine.

I wouldn't interfere with a mayday if I didn't have to, the LEO commissioner said, even as he reached down to assist Dorotea into the heli.

Sascha, the kidnappers must be stopped, Dorotea said so sternly that her tone startled all the telepaths. There! That's settled!

"And this is Peter Reidinger?" Boris asked, as Peter reached the steps in his treadingwater gait. "Hi!"

From the stunned look on Peter's face, Rhyssa suddenly realized that no one had thought to mention to the boy that the LEO commissioner was Sascha's twin brother.

"No, you're not seeing double. I'm older by five minutes," Boris went on amiably, deftly taking Peter under the arms and hoisting him aboard.

We'll both see them safely there before I abduct you, Bro, for my less nefarious purposes. The boy's the G and H?

Sascha waggled his finger at his brother. Naughty, naughty! He swung aboard and started stowing the medical equipment Don Usenik handed up, ignoring Boris's grumbling. When Don climbed in, Sascha slid the door shut, and the big helibus glided upward and so utheast.

Boris had strapped Peter into a window seat, and utterly entranced, the boy gazed down the black canyon of the Hudson to the mass of lights that glowed from every ziggurat and ribbonway of Jerhattan.

"Rather breathtaking no matter how often you see it," Rhyssa said to Peter, who nodded without taking his eyes from the view. By the time they landed on the roof of the facility, all the Talents were subtly aware of the emptiness of the massive structure.

"Well done, Boris," Dorotea said. "This way, Peter!"

"I hope you know what you're doing," Boris remarked wryly. 'My office is on the line in this!"

"Thanks, Boris," Rhyssa said. "Can you retrieve us when we shout?"

"If I can't spare Sascha, I'll send someone you can trust," the LEO commissioner said as he handed Don his monitors. Then the big heli lifted away from the helipad.

Rhyssa took one equipment case from Don as he hauled open the roof door. As soon as Peter glided inside, he began to emanate excitement, his eyes sparkling with anticipation while he maneuvered down the stairs. They entered above the huge turbines, which w ere humming slightly as they served the needs of the great metropolis. They turned into the control room that overlooked the turbine floor, a room lined with the equipment that registered the flow of electricity to the various substations. With an ineffabl e air, Peter assumed the conformable chair of the duty engineer, swinging it idly from side to side until the adults organized the monitors and started hooking him up.

Above the windows overlooking the turbines were sufficient vid screens to display what Peter needed to see. Rhyssa began entering the appropriate programs, bringing up on one screen a highresolution fax print of the Erasmus; on another, a display of its sp ecifications; then weather simulations; and finally linking the station's communications grid to the main NASA board to follow the shuttle's descent. The Erasmus was already in flight, having begun its descent promptly at 0800 station time, 0130 Earth time. The powerstation clock read 0550 as the deep radar net began to show the shuttle's spiraling descent. The final screen pictured the Dacca airport, lashed with rain and whipped by fierce gusts of winds that shifted tree trunks, parts of cars, crates, and all sorts of debris across the concrete runway where Peter was to bring the Erasmus safely down.

When Don Usenik had completed his check of the equipment monitoring Peter, Rhyssa and Dorotea took seats behind them, the mind of each lightly touching the boy's. He seemed not to notice, so intent was he on the Erasmus's course. Just as it hit the atmosphere, the generators began to whine.

Rhyssa shook her head, as unable as the others to reach that part of Peter's mind that had linked with the enormous power of the turbines below them. The whine built, the decibels increasing to an almost unbearable pitch. Dorotea scrunched her features up, unashamedly covering her ears with her hands. Rhyssa was staring in disbelief at the wildly altered readings on the control console. Don Usenik kept his eyes on his medical monitors. Peter remained outwardly composed.

Rhyssa noticed the slightly condescen ding smile on his face and just hoped he was not about to overreach himself.

Simultaneously both she and Don noticed the perspiration on the boy's forehead, but the smile remained in place. The generators reached a frenzied peak and maintained it. And the touch of Peter's mind altered! It became hard as stone. Peter had not locked mental contact out, but he had suddenly restricted the contact area, indicating intense concentration. Rhyssa caught Dorotea's eyes, but the older woman merely pointed to Don's patient and unalarmed watch of the monitors. The descent of the Erasmus visibly steadied and slowed.

He's done it! Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Don exclaimed in muted congratulatory tones.

Rhyssa hoped someone was recording for posterity what was unquestionably the most dramatic moment for Talent since a Goosegg registered Henry Darrow's deltawave pattern during that first recorded precognitive Incident. Her mind still in contact with that p art of Peter's which was accessible to herself and Dorotea, she watched the Erasmus landing, coming to a gentle stop at the passenger terminal, seemingly untouched by the battering wind. Peter gave a little chuckle, and suddenly the turbulence between shut tle and terminal abated, an eerie storm eye of absolute calm. Passengers hastily disembarked, pausing in astonishment as they became aware of the surrounding lull. One, his face indistinct on the small screen, lifted clasped hands above his head in a victo ry sign and then hurried into the dubious safety of the windbattered terminal.

"Where should I send the shuttle, Rhyssa? Once I let go, that turbulence will just flipflop it all over the place."

I hadn't thought that far ahead, Rhyssa admitted on the quiet to Dorotea.

"The weather charts suggest that Woomera would be the safest place, Peter, but..." Dorotea quickly scanned the worldwide meteorological report.

Only a slight increase in the generators indicated the effort involved as the Erasmus slowly turned and started back to the main runway.

"I think we'd better warn the pilot where he's going," Rhyssa said, and spoke urgently to Sirikit at the Control Center.

We've had the most unusual brown-out here, Sirikit told her.

Get Main Air Control to warn the Erasmus pilot ASAP that he's being diverted to Woomera.

Erasmus? Diverted ? For once the Thai woman's tranquillity slipped into astonishment. Of course! Immediately!

Preferably before be wets his britches, Don added as an aside, making both Rhyssa and Dorotea grin.

None of the three adults could feel any stress in the mind of the boy, who was totally wrapped in the curious process of gestalt. Physically he looked more frail than ever, and the bones of his skull seemed to expand under the thin skin of his head. They c ould all feel the tremendous power surging through him, but they could not deduce how he effected the control.

Slowly, against all the tenets of aerodynamics and in spite of the prevailing turbulence, the Erasmus sped down the runway and achieved a perfect takeoff.

"I don't believe this," Rhyssa muttered softly. "Who taught him to y planes?"

"Every boy in this generation understands shuttle craft," Don remarked, but his expression was no less bemused than theirs. He watched as the Erasmus climbed slowly up into the swirling rain and clouds and out of sight. They followed it up to the supersoni c level.

The generators wound down from their busy pitch.

"There!" Peter said suddenly with a note of complete satisfaction in his voice. "He's firing his engines, and he should know what to do now. I told him to land in Woomera. That was fun!" he added with less vigor. He was extremely pale and still perspiring heavily. "That was a lot of fun!" His eyes gleamed, and he grinned at Don Usenik, who shook his head with incredulity as he pointed to an almost normal pattern on the bioscan screen.

"Fun? You called that fun, Peter?" Rhyssa exclaimed almost angrily, realizing that she had been under a tremendous strain of worry even if Peter had not.

"With power like this, I could loft the shuttle much easier than the pilot could," Peter said in a voice that was suddenly hoarse with fatigue.

Dorotea, very privately to Rhyssa: "How're you going to keep 'em down on the farm, after they've seen Paree? " She rolled her eyes expressively.

"Marked fatigue, low energy level, but even that's within what I'd call the normal range for a Talent," Don announced in a baffled tone. "You did great, Peter," he added proudly.

Clearing her throat, Rhyssa said wearily, "I don't think Ludmilla's going to believe that onboard Talents also 'ported the shuttle out again."

"Well, I couldn't leave it on the runway, Rhyssa, now could I?" Peter asked with weary irritation. "Those shuttles cost billions."

Suddenly all the telepaths were aware of other touches, vying to reach their minds.

Kayankira: Ob, thank you, thank you. How did you manage?

Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Don exchanged glances.

No, Rhyssa, Dorotea said on a very thin thread to the other two, we didn't think this whole thing through very carefully.

Rhyssa gulped and replied with an evenness in her mental tone that Dorotea applauded, Lance is right there. It was all his idea. A real G and H. Wasn't it, Lance?

Lance: I'll tell her. I 'd rather shout "Eureka " but accept the caveat. He sent an image of a large crocodile, jaws wide in amazement, followed by a kangaroo bouncing from a pictorial map of Australia to the moon. You never know till you try, do you, cobb er?

"Enough!" Dorotea said suddenly. "Let's get Peter home to bed. Don't you try to move a muscle, young man."

For one brief moment, Peter looked as if he was going to disobey. Then his expressions turned woeful. "I don't think I could right now."

"Nothing a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast won't put right in next to no time," Dorotea said briskly, but the fierce glance she gave Rhyssa suggested that a lot more recuperation time might be required in spite of Don's optimistic interpretation of the monitors. "Now, how do we get him back to the Center? Boris and Sascha are apparently up to their eyeballs in their riot control."

The Center vehicle's coming, Sirikit said, a ripple of amusement in her voice. Just stay put!

Even through the heavy roof sheeting of the power station, they could hear the vibrations of the approaching heli. Then the roof door opened and a figure charged through.

"You all right down there? I was told to come pick up pieces!" Dave Lehardt cried, descending three steps at a time.

Rhyssa nearly wept with relief. What had Boris, the sly mutt, said?

"Someone you could trust!"

"Hi, Peter," Dave said. "What have you all been up to that your PR man gets called out of his bed in the wee small hours of the morning?"

Then he knelt down by the boy, his expression very gentle. "You look done in. Tell me later, huh?" With tender solicit ude, he gathered up the exhausted boy and, moving with exquisite care, started up the stairs with him. Rhyssa followed, immensely grateful for his unexpected presence.

Chapter 9

Within minutes of the Event, an Incident Room was in place on the wide mall in front of the Assembly _ _ atrium. Crowdcontrol Talents and LEO specialists had quickly defused the volatile temper of the incipient mob. Although a number of attendees had managed to evade the LEO backup, the rest were being systematically ID'd.

The focus of the Incident, some twenty women of various ethnic groups, had been immediately sequestered in one of the rehearsal rooms behind the atrium and, despite their loud lamentations and protestations of innocence, were being adroitly questioned by a special Talent team.

By then Boris and Sascha had arrived in the big heli. Already the tapes from the hieyes, discreetly set in the high ceiling of the hall by two industrious electricians who had come with the RIG setup team, were being viewed in the Incident Room by the orig inal precogs, Auer and Bertha Zoccola. Boris and Sascha took up observation positions.

The portable's walls were packed with analyzers keyed in to the LEO mainframe. Debriefing reports by crowd-control Talents were being made at the various stations, while LEO personnel avidly read rap sheets spewed out by churning printers as the wristID scans were processed.

Frequently the LEO commissioner was interrupted in his viewing to initial warrants but the main meat of the Incident eluded all. Revered Venerable Po nsit Prosit had once again flitted off in time.

"So my precog centered on the women,"hertha was saying, studiously avoiding eye contact with Auer. The dour man was pulling at his lower lip, oblivious to her as the replay continued. "While his was for Flimflam. When are you going to bust that guy? He's o bscene, a miserable maggot of a man, leeching off emotions you know that's all he is! An emotion leech, growing fat whenever he has a mob to suck! The bigger the bunch he manipulates, the bigger his hit." She waved her arms in exaggerated circles.

"As I've explained before,hertha, he inadvertently serves a purpose," Boris explained patiently. "He works them up, yes. He may get a vicarious pleasure holding a crowd in the palm of his hand, but his histrionics defuse a lot of pentup garbage in a cathar sis not generated by passive watching of the trid fare. Occasionally he runs pretty close to dogmatic insult, but usually he's innocuous and says nothing."

"'Says nothing' is right!"hertha muttered indignantly.

Boris went on. "He had registered sponsors for tonight, some East Indian Mystical Concept Group which is properly registered and screens as legit. We had no grounds to deny them, or him, the right of religious assembly."

"Religious assembly!"hertha was outraged. "Religion he ain't got. And religious assemblies are supposed to be uplifting, not downtrodding.

He's a rouser, a leech, a spewer of blasphemy. He's dangerous." She waggled a finger violently under Boris's nose. "T here're laws against inciting to riot, and he caused one tonight."

"Unfortunately,hertha, your precog absolves him of primary blame."

Boris tried to exude pacification. Her voice was getting louder with each denunciatory remark, and she had never been noted for tact.

"Who gave him strands, Commish?" she demanded. "You can't tell me he didn't use 'em with criminal intent!"

Boris's patience snapped, and he sent a crisp summons to Sascha, who was outside helping the telempaths keep control. "On that count, we've a searchandfind warrant out for him right now."

"It was me twigged Flimflam, hertha Zoccola," Auer said, glaring furiously at the little woman. "He's none of your business."

Sascha arrived and deftly rendered her helpless with a heavy lean on her speech centers just long enough to escort her to a debriefing position at the opposite end of the room.

"We got another wild one manufacturing that strand stuff for Flimflam?"

Auer asked Boris in a low voice.

"Could be, Auer," Boris replied unhappily. "That's the only way fringe fanatics like Ponsit Prosit could obtain strands." The tangling substance was a recent LEO invention, produced from an aberrant chemical compound to provide a fastdrying mid-range restr aint. Top secret, its formula and processing were of a complexity that ought not to be easily duplicatable. "There's a real smart head out there somewhere. Forensic says the stuff is pretty damned close to our formula. More toxic, which is bad, and less du rable, which is fortunate. You've a good feel for technical matters, Auer. Keep your mind open for us, will you? Report even the slightest twinge. We've got to find this bozo as soon as possible. I don't care what sort of Talent emerges from Residential ge nes but, whatever it is, it should be registered with us."

"I can't imagine Flimflam having enough credit to hire that sort of smarts. Ah, and I see Yassim's got himself a new ladrone?" Auer asked cynically, pointing at the replay.

Boris regarded him with approval. "You caught that one frame of Yassim?"

Auer shook his head but pointed to the tape being played over and over on the screen. "I keep uptodate on the LEO visitors' list. Every ladrone, hitter, and sassin known to be connected with Yassim was here tonight. He had to be, too. Didja get many?"

"A good crop but no one of particular importance," Boris said and then grimaced. "You know those new indestructible dooreyes we've been installing? It could have been Yassim's people, or maybe the new Talent who supplied Flimflam with strands, but every on e of them was disabled. Very cleverly, with a bit of wire, a hairpin, even a twisted length of foilnothing irreparable but enough to cloud the count. We're ID'ing everyone who didn't have a chance to leave after the Incident, but we're shy counts on exactl y who, and how many, came to the party."

Auer nodded again, sympathetic in his own sour way to the commissioner's frustration. "I'll keep it all in mind, Commissioner.

Leave you to it."

Boris turned his attention to the head of the team questioning the focus group. Norma, any luck?

No, sir, they're still on the boil. We're getting anger, frustration, envy, some anxiety and worry over being detained, mainly maternal, but really, sir, we can only get the dominant emotions. They're angry at being 'done." And not by old Ponsit Prosit Fli mflam. Trouble is, none of 'em speak much Basic. Could we have a linguist down here?

Someone who's got Neerest, Paki, and Asian languages? Ranjit, maybe?

I'll send him along presently. Anything else?

Yes, sir. Nine of them are involved in some kind of feud. We've had to separate them twice already to keep them from scratching each other or pulling hair. Something about being chosen and it wasn't right to intervene. Doesn't make any sense.

"Being chosen?" Boris spoke aloud as well as mentally.

Sir?

Thank you, Sergeant, you've just triggered a thought! Boris turned to the screen as yet another replay of the Incident began. He forwarded it quickly and then reduced the speed, his eyes on the screen.

You've got something? Sascha was at his shoulder.

my theory is correct that Flimflam was fingering people for someoneYassim probably, since his men were there in forceI want to know what the common denominator of choice was, Boris told his twin. Most of them were males except our focus group, which wereah , here we are!

The two brothers watched as the reduced speed clearly showed the strand falling in the center of the focus group.

It didn't bit a woman! Unless she was a midget, Sascha said, pointing to the thin hands clawing up out of the mass. Boris tapped out an enlarge, sharpening the definition in the center of activity. A child?

No child in the group being held. Twenty women. I can count that many beads.

Sascha: Are some tugging?

Yes, and some resisting. Norma said the women are contentious. In an overlay of thought, Boris repeated Norma's exact words.

Sascha: And feeling cheated Look! Knife severing the strand. Now all bell breaks loose.

"Okay, who were the nearest crowd controllers?" Boris asked.

Cass Cutler and Suzanne Nbembi were summoned, still wearing their undercover gear, although Cass had wiped off the heavy makeup and discarded the tangle of cheap jewelry. Boris spun the tape back to the relevant scene.

"Cass, Suzanne, good strong damper work today."

"It was very close, Commissioner," Cass said, rolling her eyes. "Could have been a bad one without that precog."

"Either of you two see a child with our focus group?"

"No," Cass replied quickly, and then frowned. "At least, I don't think she was with them. We first noticed her trying to get away from Bulbar."

"We would have intervenedno girl child should be caught by that scuzbut she freed herself," Suz added. "Knew well enough how."

"She dodged behind us for a moment, on her way to an exit. lust then the Incident erupted. Funny about that..." Cass faltered, frowning.

"I felt something, Commissioner, when I touched her. A shield solid as a wall, and that's odd enough for a Linear kid.

She might even have some latent Talent."

"We still haven't found the reason for the riot. Could she have something to do with it if she's a possible latent Talent?" Boris mused, tapping the monitor.

Cass gave a diffident shrug, but both she and Suz watched the replay closely. Boris speeded it up, stopping at the moment when the hands appeared, looking more balletic in slow motion than frantic as the slender fingers splayed in panic; then the sequence went on, showing fingers clutching at the strand, the flash of the knife, and the scrimmage of the women.

"Can you get the perimeter of the scene just before they started to boil?" Cass asked.

Boris tried every combination of review, but the hieye had been fixed on the precogged site of the Incident, and although the definition was sharp, the angle obscured what Cass wanted to see.

"Ranjit Youssef reporting as requested, sir." The young LEO officer presented himself a respectful distance from the absorbed cluster around the screen.

"And what did the search of the assigned quarters reveal, Lieutenant?"

Boris asked formally.

"Commissioner, the count of illegal children under the age of ten is eight hundred and three, including five newborns. In fact, all the children apprehended are under ten."

Although the LEO commissioner was not actually surprised, the total was considerably higher than estimated. He propped himself against the desk edge and folded his hands over his chest, rubbing his jaw pensively. Eight hundred? he repeated.

And three, Sascha added, his mental tone equally grim.

Boris: And all to be sacrificed to produce more underfed disposable kids to be abused one way or another. How can the traffic be stopped when people blindly follow an archaic ethnic imperative?

"Any with legal wrist Ids?" Boris asked Ranjit aloud.

"The nineyearolds, sir, but so far no ID's match the genetic print registered for the number. There are also far fewer preteens and teens than a Residential population should generate."

"As usual. How many of the illegals under ten were found in the quarters of the focus women?"

"Thirtytwo, some too young to run for it. The older ones had some warningthey always do. But a clamp is already initiated. No one without a wristband will move out of this Linear," Ranjit said, "even through disposal chutes."

"Ah, yes, disposal chutes," Boris added with a further sigh of resignation. "And, I trust, the cargo lines? Good." He tapped a sequence and the screen showed the architectural schematic of Linear G, slowly rotating to display every angle of the immense zig gurat.

"Norma Banfield needs your linguistic abilities, Lieutenant. She's in the rehearsal hall to the left of the stage. She's got a mess of ethnics with little Basic, and there are two factions at least willing to pull hair."

"Pull hair?" Cass sat upright, a wisp of a memory surfacing from the recent explosion.

"Got something, Cass?" Boris asked.

"I'll work on it." She sagged into as much of a relaxed state as the activity in the room permitted. Suz began a soothing massage of her neck muscles to encourage recall.

"I'll do what I can to help Lieutenant Banfield." Ranjit saluted and left.

Cass stood. "I wanna check something in the hall, sir, unless some officious moron has sent the cleaners in already."

"Go to it." Boris gestured broadly and turned back to the schematic to try and figure out where refugees might hide in the maze of corridors, closets, and conduits. Sascha, get your teams to start searching ducts. Scared kids can squeeze into the damnedest places. I don't want a single illegal to get caught by Yassim's slimy books.

Done. Sascha's eyes blanked briefly as he gave the orders.

"I got it," Cass cried, reentering the room. She gave an eerie yodel and held the trophy up. "Her scalp, by all that's holy!"

With two fastidious fingers, Boris took the hank of hair, the dull severed strand tangled right to the bloody patch of skull skin.

Loufan! Find out all you can about the person who grew this!

The technician hurried to the commissioner's side, received the tress without expression, and went back to his cubicle.

Commissioner, Ranjit said. After a polite pause to be sure he was not interrupting, he went on. They're hiding something.

Norma: Someone. I concur. Someone important to them.

Ranjit: I think that's the reason for the dissension, sir.

Norma: I would go along with that. May I nudge them, sir?

Boris: By any fair means, Lieutenant, Boris told them. He grinned to himself, knowing Ranjit's scrupulous sense of honor, and then felt the mental touch that meant Sascha had overheard the exchange.

Dealing with the untalented took heroic efforts, Boris thought. On the other hand, did he really want everyone to have paranormal abilities?

Or at least some minor paranormal quirk, so that there would be less hassle? But that gave rise to envyenvy of some one more Talented than oneself, which only increased dissension and prejudice. No, far better to have a small minority, dedicatedand disciplinedto perform functions that the mindnumb could not. And all of the peculiar and unusual quirks registered!

Sir? Loufan paused. I removed the strand from the scalp, as it interfered with the reading and is certainly irrelevant. The subject is a Eurasian ethnic mix, preadolescent female. Good strong genoprint, good immune factors, healthy, unusually so. The techn ician sounded surprised. Linear G subsistence fare was nutritionally adequate, of course, but if the child was illegal, as Boris suspected, how had she managed to be healthy? And there's no match of birth ID.

Boris: Did you really expect to f nd one?

Loufan: Yes, sir.

It was Boris's turn to be surprised.

Loufan: She could have been a runaway or a kidnap.

Boris: Okay. File the data, Loufan, and give the hair to Bertha. Ask her in your ineffably polite styleif this artifact sparks anything off in her mind?

Moments later Bertha came storming back to him. "Oh, the poor thing!

Hair torn right out of her scalp! Commish, who did it?"

"Possibly Bulbar. Sense anything?"

Bertha pressed the lock against her ample bosom, closed her eyes, and concentrated. "Not a thing, but it's there in my mind now." She grimaced in sudden revulsion and thrust it back to him. "Take it away!"

Sascha intercepted the lock. "Black, good length," he murmured "Some of those women never cut their hair. Healthy, and much cleaner than you'd expect. Shouldn't be too hard to find a juvenile with a hunk torn out of her scalp."

"I'd rather you give it to Carmen," Boris told him. Ranjit thinks quite a few of the older illegal kids eluded the search teams, he added. Could she be one of them? She might lead us to the rest.

Carmen Stein laid the lock across her thighs and stroked it flat, using her long fingernails to separate the tangled hairs. For several more minutes she fingered them, softly coaxing a sense of their grower's whereabouts. Carmen always looked so placid and imperturbable when she was evoking her Talent as finder. Better than most, Sascha knew just how much activity her brain was generating at such moments. She was one of the best searchers he had ever encountered and, because her Talent was intense and exhau st ing, he protected her as much as he could, limiting her assignments.

"The incident occurred how long ago?" she asked without taking her eyes from the hair.

"Approximately sixtytwo minutes."

"Ah, she is hiding. That accounts for the darkness. I cannot see where. There is no light. A constricted space."

"A conduit?"

"That's possible." Carmen sounded dubious. "I think she sleeps."

"That's a cool one."

"No," Carmen said, taking him literally. "Not cool. Tired." She offered him the hair.

"No, keep it, Carmen, for now. We'll need to know if she moves."

Calmly Carmen leaned forward, took a clip from the brightly enameled jar on the table, and fastened the tress, the scalp end now coated with a protective film, high on the right side of her head.

Sascha had relayed Carmen's comments to Boris.

A conduit, bub? There's so few of those in a Linear. The LEO Commissioner's mental tone was facetious. We're flushing kids out of every available space. I hate this, Sascha, I hate it. Sascha sent quick soothing thoughts to ease the turmoil in his brother' s mind, but Boris went on. The miracle of life should be a blessing, not a curse.

How can people be so irresponsible as to produce countless unwanted children and waste them?

Even illegal kids have rights, Sascha responded, gently quoting his brother his own words. See that even the least of them get that much.

Illegals go to the space station. Boris sounded defeated.

They don't go as grunts They're trained to do something a lot more constructive than their parents ever did. Leave it, brother.

I scratch your back, Bro, not your nose, Boris said wryly. Now, I'm putting in an appearance to scare some sense out of those flipping focus females!

No one better. By the way, when you have a spare moment, listen to a news update. Then you'll know why we twisted your arm with a G and H.

I congratulate the triumph I sense in your mind, but I'll have to wait on a replay of the event, Boris said as he entered the rehearsal hall, thinking what a scarce commodity time was right then.

He crossed the threshold, assuming his most aweinspiring official manner. Tall, handsome, the strength in his powerful frame shown off even by the bulky action uniform, he succeeded in scaring the gaggle of women silent, a silence that did not last too lon g, though the renewed bursts of argumentative crosstalk were considerably subdued.

I just got something, Commissioner, Ranjit told him. A flash from the woman fourth on the left, the plump young one with the caste mark.

"It's all Tirla's fault." Tirla is, I think, a feminine name.

"Translate for me, Lieutenant," Boris said, striding imperiously in front of the women, his tone haughty. "I am LEO Commissioner Boris Roznine. Where is the girl child you had with you this evening?"

Boris had no trouble picking up the reactions of resentment, envy, anger, dismay, and fear as he gave Ranjit time enough to repeat his words in the various languages. The women had had time to realize that they were in deep trouble with Authority. Several had vivid worries about their children, left too long alone in their squats. Others concentrated on nursing their sense of grievance. He caught occasional variations on the phrase Ranjit had twigged, but no one else volunteered a name. "It was all her faul t." They contented themselves with impersonal malice.

"Let me reassure you that the children in your homes are being cared for until you can return to them," he said, smiling kindly.

As the import of his sentence was understood by each group, the wailing, breastbeating, and pulling of hair began, and more recriminations were spewed. Boris was well aware of fury, loss, resignation, and relief in one case, but he could not understand any actual linguistics used in the varied emotional reactions.

Ranjit: This Bilala says that it is all her fault for resisting the Lama's choosing. Ranjit was restraining the plump castemarked virago from rushing at the haughty, hawknosed older woman on the other side of the room. She says Mirda Khan brought all this on herself Mirda Khan replies thatah, the name again, Tirlawould not have been able to translate for any of them up on the stage. She had done little enough to earn baksheesh, a tip.

Boris: Lieutenant, ask them who is Tirla's mother.

The question shut the women up and briefly closed down their mental perturbations. Then they all launched into personal lamentations again. The answer was also quick. None of them was Tirla's mother, and without exception, just as Boris had hoped, every on e of them flashed a quick mental image of the girl in question.

Got it, Ranjit and Norma told him in unison.

As I did. With a gesture to signify that the women could be processed or released as their condition warranted, the LEO commissioner hurried back to the Incident Room.

Loufan awaited him there in front of the graphics pad, stylus ready.

For this sort of transference, Boris grasped the technician's thin shoulder and concentrated on the vivid image of the Tirla child.

Loufan sketched quickly, capturing in a few clever line s the intense faceremembered by most in its panic at being strandedthe wideset, slightly tilted huge dark eyes above prominent cheekbones, the abundant waving dark hair framing it, the fine straight nose, the small cautious mouth, the long sweep of a deter mined jawline, the odd cleft in the chin. A charming face, if one discounted the fright, intelligent despite the fear. Tirla looked no more than eight or nine, but some wisp of thoughtfrom the fat old womansuggested that she was older. The woman's memory o f her went back quite a few years.

"Is that her?" Loufan asked, transferring the sketch to the screen.

The LEO commissioner allowed himself a good long look, matching the image on the screen to the consensus in the minds of twenty women.

"Yes, that's it. Print it, circulate it to all officers and Talents.

I think we should find that child. Cass might be right about latent Talent. And if Flimflam was after her, there may be more to her than we realize. I also need to file an intelligent reason why a RIG damned near turned into a fullscale riot, and she just might provide the answer," he concluded. Sascha, could someone be an instantaneous translator?

Sascha considered that. I'd say that she displayed more than a mere language facilityquite possibly Talent. Anyone who could translate ten different languages as she apparently could would be valuable to either or both of us. He grinned at his brother. Fir st we'll have to.find her. Then we can evaluate her abilities.

Tirla!

Tirla woke suddenly, jolted out of her exhausted sleep by someone calling her name softly and appealingly. Tirla did not move, or so much as open her eyes.

Clever little trinket, isn't she? Call her again.

Won't work, Boris. She's alert no It had to have been part of a dream.

She often dreamed that she heard her mother calling her name. It had to be a dream, because no one could know where she was, despite LEOs searching the main conduits and sending drone units down the smaller ones. On her way home from the debacle of the meeting, she had escaped all types of earnest hunters. She had seen the numbers of children being flushed from hideyholes.

Her hunch about the meeting had been correct. It had served as an excuse to sweep down on the pads, collect illegal children, and check all ID's. No one, absolutely no one, had ever known where she squatted. She did not even think to herself where she was.

And no one was likely to discover her even in this intensive search.

Somewhat reassured, Tirla nestled back into the warmth of her sleep sack. Suddenly she heard noises nearby and froze. She heard the doors into the closed section being opened. This search was unusually thorough. Not even she had been able to get into the e ngineering space, and yet it was being checked.

Not even Yassim's men could find her, and they knew all the ducks and dodges that any subbie had ever figured out. She had been so lucky not to be caught by Bulbar. He was wicked dangerous. Her head still throbbed where the hair had been torn away.

She had dabbed on some diswipe. Bulbar could have been carrying any kind of 'mune to infect her, scabby old scuz.

Her problem with Yassim remained. She had not washed the tieds. How would he expect her to when he, and every trader, had been lucky to escape the bust? Not that he took excuses. What awful luck to be singled out by the Lamashaman! Which of the women had h e really been after? And why? It made no sense to Tirla. None of them was pretty or young, or even on the laynot with their husbands!

The noise of search was diminishing, and carefully Tirla reached unerringly for the water jug and food that she kept for such emergencies. Chewing the dryeat made terrible noises in her head. She had heard about the widerange ultrasensitive gear that was s aid to pick up breathing in a radius of five klicks, but there should be enough minor noises from the generators and airconditioning units to mask her chewing, and she was terribly hungry. Finally, thirst and hunger assuaged, Tirla snuggled deeper into her sack and went to sleep again.

"Take a break, Carmen," Sascha told the finder. "She won't venture out until night. If then."

Carmen rubbed delicately at her temples and sighed. "You're right.

I'll rest. She's unusual, isn't she, Sascha?"

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

Carmen regarded him with some surprise. "It's a lovely clear mind.

Like a bellwhen she's asleep. She's wary and cautious awake, that one.

I can touch her but not read her. And with her in the darkness, I can't even help you home in on her."

"She'll come out in good time."

Carmen shot a look that suggested that Sascha Roznine mightthis oncebe wrong. He grinned and winked as he turned to leave her quarters.

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

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

"What?" Blood suffused Boris's face.

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

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

"I guess, and we're still in the dark about her," Sascha added aware of his brother's next query. "Carmen's latched, but the girl's cautious and hasn't moved since she went to ground."

"Scared?"

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

"That will sharpen the senses."

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

We figure he picked up at least nineteen children, maybe a few more."

Boris grimaced. We collected eight hundred and three illegal kids from Linear G. If what Harv believes is possiblethat every one of the related mothers has been having a kid a yearwe're minus a possible forty. We located eighteen of that forty in a storage basement, but they've got the entry jammed. We're working on it." Boris shook his head. "They really will be better off in hostels."

"And in space?" Sascha asked wryly.

"Even in space they have a better chance than stalemated in a Linear."

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

Boris raised his hands in resignation. "I don't make the laws Sascha.

I only enforce them." Then he leaned forward and tapped up a new program on his big screen. "All right. Now, we have to find Yassim In his warren and save nineteen kids or more from him.

" "She's moved, Sascha," Carmen said, her tone halftriumphant, halfanxious.

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

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

"Keep as close as you can to her."

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

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

Tirla was relieved that it had been Mirda Khan she first came across.

Mirda was full of the whole affair, her black eyes snapping with indignation and a certain sly malice that she had not suffered at the hands of the Public Healthit had been a long time s ince her womb had borne fruit. But she had the grace to mourn her friends' losses, of both their existing children and their hope of more.

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

"Was that why Yassim was there? To buy children?"

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

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

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

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

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

Aiyyee, and they have taken th at from her now, and his pride from him.

He will reproach her until the day of her death." Mirda began to beat herself across her breasts, and Tirla used the distraction to slip away.

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

It was wrong of Bilala to hate her. Tirla wished that she had asked Mirda if any more of her clients did. It was essential for Tirla to stay on good terms with everyone in Linear G. She was just as illegal.

Bilala or Pilau could be spiteful enough to turn her in, as a token revenge for the loss of their own children. Unless...

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

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

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

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

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

Sascha: Thanks. Keep track of our mole.

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

Sascha, startled: How can she?

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

Sascha: Omigod, which direction has she gone?

Sascha, Cass here. Mirda Khan was just seen talking with our quarry.

Khan insists that the girl escaped from her. I'll believe that when pigs fly.

Sascha: What were they talking about?

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

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

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

Chapter 10

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

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

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

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

Dorotea gave a snort. "Don't overreact, Sascha! He's got a right to crow. Perfectly natural in anyone, especially a fourteenyearold boy whose only available movement until recently was tonguing a switch or blinking his eyes at trid to change channels. Pret ty heady stuff to save a country. I scanned him pretty deeply at brunch while he was still sleepy, and there's nothing in his mind that smacks of corruption." She grinned. "A bigger generator, more derringdo, and plenty of selfsatisfaction."

"Lighten up, Saschabear," Rhyssa said, smiling encouragingly."Or don't you remember some of the tricks you and Boris pulled at that age?"

"A telepath can't get into quite the same sort of trouble a kinetic can," Sascha said, grimly thinking of a girl fumbling in redlit freightways. What was her Talent?

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

"A diversion usually helps," Dorotea remarked with a gleam in her eyes.

"I used that ploy often with my lads." She wrinkled her nose and sighed. "All too often."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhyssa, fiercely: Remind Vernon what kinetics are doing on the Indian continent. Sascha, tell Dave that his public pitch 15 that, despite all odds, Talent has kept its covenant of disaster assistance. And I want Johnny and Dave up here as fast as they can make it. Particularly you, Greene. To Dorotea, she said, "I think Peter's immediate illusions of grandeur are going to be heavily dampened."

Boris entered the telepathic conference. The Power Resources commissioner is also demanding an explanation for a G and H that caused last night's brownout and wiped out al his power reserves, he said plaintively. The city commish wants a lot of answers. Sa scha, you heard anything?

Sascha, savagely: No!

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

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

Vsevolod: She does. I warn you.

Dorotea, helpfully: Amalda Vaden sees nothing untoward Rhyssa: Why did you bring her in on this?

Dorotea: I think we need al the reassurance we can get.

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

Rhyssa remembered how satisfied Peter had looked after dealing so beautifully with the Erasmus crisis. She groaned. "He's only fourteen." Carmen: Sascha, I've got a fix on her.

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

Rhyssa: Right back at you!

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