Tirla did not like using the freight subways. The red light was offputting. However, a cargo train servicing the automatic industrial complexes all along the riverside was the only way to get to the secreted holding place Yassim used to stash his merchandi se a train going into the J industrial. Then she would have to walk to the correct shunt. There were emergency alcoves set at intervals all along the righthand side, so she could avoid being crushed by any passing cars. Dead unthinking things like tram tra ins did not frighten her.

Live unthinking things like some of Yassim's sassins and hitters did.

She waited a hundred meters from the yawning redandblack mouth of the G shunt for nearly an hour before a J train arrived. It would have to slow as it reached the junction, so it was no problem for an agile person to drop onto the first segment, catch a go od hold of the flange, and settle down for the trip. Flattened on the top, she was small enough to have several centimeters' clearance from the curved ceiling of the tunnel. She reset her grip as the train picked up speed again, vibrating under her. The fe tid wind, a noxious combination of overheating metal, grease, and the acrid stink of electricity, roared down across her body, and she angled her face down.

When the J train finally slowed with screeching brakes and made the lefthand turn into the cargo docks of its destination, she readied herself to jump off. She had to land clear of the coding machinery that opened and sorted out the goods to be delivered f rom the load.

But she had done it with no problem before and did it again, dropping lightly down and running up the narrow ledge by the various chutes and moving ramps that began the unloading.

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

Motivated by her keen sense of selfpreservation, Tirla had once taken the precaution of investigating his holding cell, a room hidden behind a false wall of barrels at the back of an automated factory, where the noise of the illtuned machinery would drown any screaming. But he did keep the children reasonably well cared for, since purchasers could view them on a closedcircuit system he provided. Disabling the archaic scanner would be no problem for Tirla, and she knew the precise location of the ventilator hatch in the room's ceiling.

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

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

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

While Yushi and his younger brother complied, she did a quick estimate.

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

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

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

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

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

"Whaddya mean?" Tombi, Bilala's eldest son, asked, his manner slightly aggressive. He was nibbling at a sweetbar; judging from the smears on his face, it was one of a series.

"We gotta git out of here," Tirla said, releasing Mirmalar with a reassuring pat. "This place has a baaaad stink."

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

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

Tombi stopped nibbling the sweet and looked apprehensively at the door.

"Sure they feed you up good. Sweet stuff coming out your ass, giving you a bellyache," she said, dismissing the remains of the recent meal.

"This place's good to keep you from crying much. You cry plenty soon and no one hear you ever. Stick it up you good, every which way, and that's the best of it. You know what your mothers tol' you. You know what to watch out for." She was succeeding in scaring themthe younger ones were beginning to weep. She did not want them so scared that they could not move." Yushi, Dik, Tombi, help me move the bunks. We make a stepstair. There's room up there to stand.""I ain't goin'," Tombi said, glaring defiance at her. He was heavier and taller than Tirla, but she kicked him so hard that he doubled up.

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

Just then the enormity of moving twentyfour scared and perhaps unwilling kids sank in. Tirla allowed herself only a moment to reflect on it. She had to do it, somehow, because otherwise she would have to leave G, and she did not want to. Linear G was home.

She had made herself a place there, she had a businessshe was safe there. Well, safe enough, if she laid low for a while.

She chivvied and bullied all the kids up into the ventilation shaft, kicked the telltale bunk over, and replaced the grille. Someone might think that the kids were small enough to escape through it, but where would twentyfour of them go?

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

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

Well, maybe they could all make it back one station to I and get lost in that industrial complex. It was safer than staying in J. Or was it?

Maybe she would just take the older ones, who would be in more danger?

No, they were all in danger, because whoever was left could be made to tell who had rescued the others. Maybe if she put the younger ones in a safe place and went back for help... Mirmalar's father adored his daughters and would do anything to save the remaining one. And Yushi's father was one of t he strongest men in G.

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

"Hide in the tunnels! Quickly! Stand on the ledges!" She took Mirmalar herself, for the little girl was puckering up to cry again.

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

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

T hat shut Tombi silent and lost him more face in the eyes of the other boys. Tirla shoved him toward a tunnel as she pulled Mirmalar after her.

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

But there was something odd here: Tirla realized with a sinking feeling that there was no cargo waiting on the platform to be loaded onto the arriving train. If a goods train was coming in here, what was it coming for? Could Yassim have someone in the main Dispatch office?

Could he know that she had emptied his cage?

There were five cars on the doubleended train. Two looked like empty dumpers. Without waiting to question such great good fortune, Tirla hauled Mirmalar out onto the platform.

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

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

"She's some kid," Sascha said as he and Carmen carefully placed the object of their intensive search on a blanket pad and covered her.

"Christ, but she's a bit of nothing."

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

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

"So do I." Carmen smiled at him with her most mysterious smile.

Boris: Did you catch her?

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

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

How about wend out where they were kept? Sascha asked.

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

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

Can you manage that? Boris's tone leaped to hopefulness.

I can try.

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

"Let's wake Tirla up," Sascha said to Carmen, reaching for the oxygen.

"If she can show us where, we can get some good out of this operation."

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

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

Revived, Tirla went immediately on the defensive, wary and contained, her dark eyes darting around, taking in the unconscious bodies and noticing the medic, who was daubing scrapes and bruises with nuskin.

Carmen offered a restorative drink, deliberately t aking a long swallow of it before handing the cup to Tirla.

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

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

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

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

"I wasn't lost."

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

"He hadn't paid for them."

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

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

Sascha was well aware that the girl's seeming callousness distressed Carmen, who had seen the child in a much different light. "Also puts you in well with your clients, who were rather upset with your abrupt departure from the meeting," he said amiably.

Eyes never leaving his, Tirla nodded once.

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

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

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

Tirla gave her a quick look before resuming her scrutiny of Sascha.

"Illegals don't have rights."

"Only their births are illegal, Tirla," Sascha said. "They're alive.

They have the right to shelter, food, clothing, training, and useful occupation. They do not have the right to reproduce themselves."

Sascha was about to explain the legal anomaly in simp le terms when he realied that she understood perfectly. She was mature far in excess of her chronological age, and well conditioned to the realities of Residential life. She was not a romantic like Carmen. "But they do not deserve the occupations Yassim ha d in mind for them." Sascha caught that instant spurt of fear, followed by the hardening of the young eyes and the flick of hatred. "You don't like Yassim either."

Again one of her indifferent shrugs.

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

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

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

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

"You wish that LEO could?"

She hesitated briefly, then gave him a candid look. "There will always be men like Yassim, but I could do without him very much, thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

Sascha did not often employ his kinetic ability, but this trick was always effective. "You help me nowand we must be quick about it before Yassim discovers his birds have flownand these are yours." She eyed the notes. Casually she scratched about her ribs. Sascha kept his grin to himself, knowing that she was checking on the tied notes hidden there. She considered his offer with all the solemnity of a computer analyst.

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

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

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

et on with it then.

Tirla gave him a wideeyed bright smile. "I am the only child of my mother."

"But not her legally registered issue."

"How would you know?"

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

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

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

"If we get a move onnow!" he said, drawing out his acceptance.

She spat in her right palm and held it out to him. Without a second thought, he accepted the deal in archaic ritual. Her grip was unusually strong for the delicacy of her bones. Physical contact with the conscious and vibrant personality startled Sascha wi th an odd jolta sense of precognition that was gone too fast for him to pin it down.

Boris caught the edge of it. What did she do to you, Sascha?

I'm not sure, Brother, but this one we handle very, very carefully. I want a special ID for Tirla when we get back. Hear me?

To hear is to obey! Boris might sound facetious, but Sascha was relieved by his compliance. Keep the bargain, but I want this wild one under control.

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

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

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

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

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

"Up this tunnel?"

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

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

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

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

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

Though the industrial space was lit only by occasional green lights of operational machinery, Tirla moved confidently forward. Sascha would have passed right by the false wall, but she went unerringly to the double drum and pinpointed the lock mechanism wi th her pencil light.

She glanced questioningly at him.

"Electronic, I hope?" he murmured, and she nodded.

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

"How did you get them out?" he asked.

She pointed to the darker square of the grille in the ceiling.

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

Tirla's upper lip curled in derision. "None of them would have!"

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

With her eyes halfveiled, Tirla considered the problem. Sascha waited patiently, wishing he could have been in her head, noting her thought processes.

"Okay," she said finally, leading across the room to the corner where pieces of clothing had been discarded. Deliberately she tore strips from several garments, her hands clever in finding the break in a hem or seam that would rip. "There'll be a fight...

" She hauled mattress pads off two of the lower bunks, and the soiled blankets off the upper ones. She went back to the corner and, using a shirt, gathered up some of the containers and the remaining food before she knocked over the makeshift table. "Now, we open the door just enough to let kids out, and start leaving trails. Come out, I'll just close the door over a bit. Now, you drop stuff halfway to that wall.

Then circle around. I'm going this way. I'll meet you at the maintenance door."

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

"Lock it?" Sascha held the door ajar.

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

We'll discuss it back in G."

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

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

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

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

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

"So will I. Back at G. Then we deal again."

She was silent for a long time, thinking that over.

Chapter 11

Peter tried to follow the trid meteorologist's report on the, latest freak weather conditions that seemed worldwide, Bangladesh being the worst example. It was difficult to concentrate when he felt "problem" hovering in the air. He knew he had done nothing wrong; in fact, he knew that he had done something most extraordinary, about which he felt very good in deed. But it was hard not to be worried. He could sense the nebulous anxiety emanating from Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Sascha. He should not have asked Dorot ea about a bigger generator. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong time. But he had proved what he could do with enough power to increase the gestalt, and that 4.5 felt like puny kid stuff now.

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

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

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

Rhyssa and Dorotea were always subtly mentioning how important it was not to rub Talent into people's noses. People resented differences.

Talent had always to be discreet. The way his mother looked at him had demonstrated that! Peter grimaced. His own moth er was scared of him now. When he had been totally helpless, she had been so good about coming to see him, hugging him, kissing him, always bringing him something: a fax clip about his favorite ball team, a couple of her special cookies, a few flowers. Now when she visited she would not hug him; she sat bolt upright in the chair and tried not to look at him when he wanted so much to show her what Talent allowed him to do.

When Mum was there he redoubled his efforts to appear to walk normally and carry things properly so it would not freak her out. How often had she said she prayed every night to see Petey on his feet and walking around? And she never looked at him now. She never once mentioned his ball team. Not that he would ever play sandlot baseball again... Then Peter grinned, thinking what homers he could whack and how fast he could run the bases. Maybe now he could be the pitcher he had always wanted to be... His fas tball would be something else! Even if he only used the 4.5!

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

He drank his orange juice.

Not all ordinary things, though. Some very ordinary and extremely homely actionslike getting himself an orange juice when he felt thirsty for itwere, in a special way, far more important than what he had done with the Erasmus.

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

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

The trid was showing floodwater flowing obediently away from a small town and its surrounding fields. The sandbags and barriers along its torrent seemed to be containing it, but Peter could recognize the subtle signs of kinetic force. He wondered which Tal ent was at work.

Rick Hobson? Mr. Baden? Now, if he'd had access to a generator, he would have been able to do that. He settled down to learn what he could about flood control from the program. Next time he would be ready to help. The 4.5kpm was portable, wasn't it?

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

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

Showoff Rhyssa was standing by her office door, but she was smiling.

"We don't have any mountains for you to move today, but there's trouble in the wind, dear boy, there's trouble in the wind."

Peter stumbled in his forward motion and corrected himself.

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

Her touch reassured him, as it always did. Dorotea was great: she treated him casually, as she would any of her grandchildren and that relaxed attitude made many things easier for him. But Rhyssa was different: her mind had so much depthnot that he had dis obeyed the prime rule of mental privacy, but he could not help but sense the depth and purity that was there. She was also the most beautiful woman Peter had ever seen, on or off the trid And she was so good! Everything about her was shining and brilliant.

She made him feel whole and strong.

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

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

"Sorry."

Rhyssa, more fiercely than Peter had ever heard her: Damn that Barchenka woman!

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

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

He halted, sensing the aura of crisis. Dorotea, who was rarely perturbed, was brushing imaginary threads from her slacks. Things must really be bad. He zigged sideways, aware that Rhyssa just missed bumping into him.

Dorotea: Well done, Peter!

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

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

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

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

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

Rhyssa: We don't do something right, Peter, without doing something wrong! Peter sensed a second qualification behind the thought and, remembering his manners, broke the contact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Candidly," Dorotea said, "you're fourteen, you're only just beginning to understand your Talent, and premature exposure could" "Burn me out," Peter finished for her, though privately he did not think he could burn outif he had the right power source for anything he wanted to shift.

"But I didn't burn out..."

"Without in the least diminishing your achievement, Peter, we were closely monitoring you the other night," Rhyssa went on. "What they have in mind for you is another can of worms altogether... Speaking as a Center director, I must tell you that it has nev er been the policy of the Centers to assign trainees even part-time work until they're at least eighteen."

"Even 1," Dorotea put in, her hand gracefully sweeping her chest, "wasn't permitted to do much until I was eighteen!" She made a face.

"As a child, I thought I was just playing a game, guessing which ones in the room could hear mepeople who thought they mi ght be Talented."

She shot Peter an image of herself as a fiveyearold, prettily dressedand her early beauty was still apparent in her face and mannerwalking through the Center's crowded reception area.

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

"The situation is not about right or wrong, Peter," Rhyssa said leaning toward him, a sad expression in her eyes and face, "or even a moral obligation to reduce suffering and mitigate disaster." Then she opened her mind to him so he could directly assess t he current problem.

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

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

"No, not fair, Peter," Rhyssa replied, "but Talent recognizes that completing the station is far more important than individual personal considerations. Completing it on time is obviously Ludmilla's personal goal. I can't deny her that, only her means of a chieving it, since by her achievement, mankind has made another giant step to the stars.

Don't be deflected too much by the skeletons in the space lockers.

There's been no major forward progress in all of human history that has not been accompanied by some problems."

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

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

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

Dorotea, prosaically: You're drifting, dear.

Peter settled down. Well, I just won't work for a person like her.

And you're not going to ask me to!

"Indeed and we're not," Rhyssa assured him. "But first," she said with a grin, her eyes twinkling, "we have to prove to them that you're you!

We've been trying very hard to keep you sheltered until you've more control..." ow much control do I need if I can move a shuttle about the world?

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

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

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

But he could not help but heed the fine but controlled aura of apprehension. They were worried. About him! For him. } Ragnar's voice came through on the intercom. He was duty officer, and twenty years in the Center had made him impervious to rank and prestige.

"Rhyssa, there's a bunch here to see you. Do I send 'em up?"

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

His "humph" came over the speaker, and Peter noticed Rhyssa's little smile. He also noticed that she was nervously running the stylus through her fingers. Dorotea sat even straighter in her chair and managed to look not only larger and more imposing but ve ry, very queenly.

There was a polite knock on the door, and Rhyssa pressed the release button. The first man in the room was a telepath, Peter realized, and he was directing tight private warnings at Rhyssa. The second man, very tall, thin, and wiselooking, gazed directly a t Peter and nodded.

He knew who Peter was even if Peter did not know him, and he was also a telepath. He courteously identified himself to Peter as Justice Gordon Havers.

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

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

As Rhyssa asked them all to be seated, Peter picked up names: Vernon Altenbach, who was secretary of space; the Russian officer was General Shevchenko, Padrugoi liaison official, and even with the shield he wore, he was bristling with aggression. The telem path was Andrei Grushkov, and Peter felt sorry for himhe had to be truthful to his employer, the general, but he felt obscurely that he was betraying Talent in doing so. There were two NASA officers, a general and a colonel, and that pervert was the worldf amous Josephsonjunction specialist, and a Malaysian prince besides, who did such fantastic programming of air and space traffic. Peter did not like the man any better once he knew he was a genius, not when the man kept sloppily ogling Rhyssa. The man who h ad come in first was Colonel John Greene, and Peter watched in some awe as the most successful etop pilot of the early days of the Padrugoi Project placed a chair next to him, Peter Reidinger, and smiled quite pleasantly at him. Colonel Greene seemed to be the only one who was smiling. Even Justice Havers looked solemn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stunned silence was worse than noisy disclaimers. Then Colonel Greene started to chuckle and Dave Lehardt began to laugh. He also winked approvingly at Peter. Not one of the other visitors appeared to be the least bit amused.

"And tell me just how, young man," Vernon Altenbach asked, skeptically, "you accomplished such a feat?"

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

"Well, the Erasmus needed help landing at Dacca because the kinetics bad to be there to reduce the disaster potential. So Rhyssa called a G and Hthat's a Talent maydayand I got to use the generators at the East Side power station," Peter replied. He kept h is face straight, but he was enjoying the incredulity of the nonTalented in his audience; even the Russian telempath was admiring, and Peter sat himself even straighter in the chair.

Dorotea: Well said, Peter!

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

Johnny Greene: You better believe it, because they're not!

Unobtrusively, he patted Peter's knee.

"You have, I must assume, a kinetic Talent?" Vernon continued.

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

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

"How much training have you had then?" the general asked.

"Well, Rhyssa and Dorotea do the best they can, but they're telepaths... " Rhyssa, dryly: Thank you!

Gordon: He's sticking to the truth.

"Initially Rick Hobson was helping me," Peter went on, "but we'd only just gotten past the necessary stuff when he got conscripted to the station."

"Talents were not conscripted," General Shevchenko objected forcefully.

"They volunteered to assist in the completion of the first Great World Project."

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

"And you expect us to believe that a frail boy manipulated the Erasmus?" Prince Phanibal Shimaz shot out of his chair and stood belligerently in front of Peter, shaking his finger at him. "I, Phanibal Shimaz, prince of Malaysia West, know that this would h ave been impossible from such a source! Tell us the truth, little boy!"

he demanded, making the adjective pejorative.

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

"As Andrei confirms to me," General Shevchenko said in a hard voice.

"You exceed your authority, Your Highness."

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

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

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

"I'm always careful, Colonel Greene," Peter replied, feeling the euphoria of potency. He was almost sorry that he could not think of an even more convincing demonstration of his kinetic Talent. Dorotea was glaring at him significantly in her enoughisenough look. He returned the vehicle gently to the ground.

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

"I was fourteen on the eighth of September."

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

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

"I was that much"his fingers measured a twocentimeter gap "away from paraplegia myself after Mission Number 21," Greene continued.

Peter realized that Colonel Greene was very much on their side and making it very clear to everyone else that Peter's Talent was off limits. "I've learned how to compensate just fine," he replied, and a glance at the colonel told him that that was the righ t answer to make.

"Rick Hobson really helped me. We were just beginning to go on to tougher things when he had to go to Padrugoi."

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

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

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

"Now wait just a moment here," Prince Phanibal said, recovering from his initial surprise. "That is not the answer I came to find. You have indeed concealed from the world a kinetic Talent of demonstrated ability. He can take the place of those at Banglade sh..." He leaned across Rhyssa's desk, and Peter saw her flinch back from such a menacing posture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Engineer Barchenka insisted on his inclusion,' Vernon Altenbach remarked, attempting some diplomaCY.

I insist that he be excluded from any future meetings Involving the Center or myself."

Peter: He's a slimeball!

Johnny Greene and Gordon Havers, simultaneously: Where did you stash him?

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

Johnny: Buckle down, Winsockie, buckle down!

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

Now, gentlemen, you have, I trust, Seen to your own satisfaction that we have only been protecting young Peter, not deliberately denying the platform his Talent. I'm sorry that you had a long trip for nothing."

Rhyssa said, coming around her desk to shake hands with Andrei Grushkov. "However, when Peter is fully trained and we have a better understanding of the parameters of his potential, we will, of course, be obliged to let prospective employers bid for his co ntractual services."

Vernon Altenbach eased the disgruntled Russian general toward the door, the NASA colonel and the telempath assisting But the others lingered until the first group had entered the elevator.

"Ms. Owen," the NASA general began. "Is it possible, given the boy s display of incredible ability that he couldfrom time to time, that is... Well, we do have a Serious crisis right now..

"What kind" Rhyssa asked in an unenCouraging tone.

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

Peter zoomed out of his chair, hovering between Rhyssa and the general.

Please consider it, Rhyssa. working for NASA wouldn't be the same as working for Barchenka, would it? But it would be almost as good as being in space. He exerted all his mind's pressu re against hers, begging her consideration. He felt her stern resolve not to exploit him.

Johnny: It's something to consider, Rhyssa, though we won't be pushy about it. If you say no, we'll go quietly. But it would gall me personally, and professionally, to have Barchenka saying that the Americans couldn't meet their contractual obligations. He cocked his head at Rhyssa, grinning wryly.

Peter could feel Rhyssa beginning to relent.

Dorotea: Consider it a training diversion, Rhyssa.

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

Johnny: Repetition hones skills, gal, and it sure reduces the glamour quotient.

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

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

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

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

Will you behave like a mature Talent?"

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

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

"I don't think we have any choice in this either," Rhyssa said and Peter leaned against her, wishing for her not to sound so defeated.

She looked down at him and cupped his head with one hand, smiling tenderly at him. "I'm not defeated, Peter dear, but I i ntensely dislike being left with no options."

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

"Put like that," Gordie said, grinning, "we're one up on Barchenka. " Rhyssa turned to Dave Lehardt, her expression severe. "And you keep Peter's name out of the 'casts and the fax."

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

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

Chapter 12

The blond man had an air about him that fascinated Tirla. She had never had much to do with Talents, and she surreptitiously crossed her wrists. She had heard such folk discussed in the Residential often enough, in fearful, awed whispers but she had not be lieved half of the powers alleged to them: finders of persons and things, seers of souls, readers of secrets, prophets of future things, and movers of mountains.

She stole a look at him where he sat with his head leaned back against the padded wall and his eyes closed; daring to observe him more closely, she noticed the quick flow of facial muscles, as if he were having an argument in his head. His jaw tightened in anger and his lips thinned. He should have been pleased with his day's work, Tirla thought. She was startled then, when his mouth relaxed into a half smile, a clever sort of smile, and his eyebrows twitched. Had he won his internal argument? He was a stra nge man, she thought, even though outwardly he appeared no different from others.

He was not LEO, and yet he was, and she could not figure out where he fit in, or how he and his teams had appeared so conveniently at the J shuntespecially when she had just realized the difficulty of cajoling scared whiney brats like Tombi into riding car go pods back to G.

Without that unexpected rescue, Yassim's ladrones would surely have recaptured them, herself included. She shuddered.

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

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

But still she was uneasy. She was trapped in the closed cargo pod and did not really know where they were going, though she had been keeping mental count of the rail junctions. The blond man could just as easily leave her off at the hostel with the others.

Who would believe that she had an arrangement with him? The train began to decelerate, and Tirla, with a spurt of dread anticipation, waited for the shunt connect. They were going to the G platform. She was both comforted and concerned.

"Where are we now?" she asked.

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

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

She refused to be drawn by what could just be a shrewd guess on his part. LEOs were not above putting surveillance on Meetings, even a silly RIG with that Lamashaman. Perhaps there had been eyes on her clients, although why such a gaggle of silly women wou ld be the object of LEO interest she did not knowunless it had to do with selling kids.

But none of them had been there to deal kidsmost of theirs were too young yet. They had all been looking for "messages" and "salvations."

Yet Sascha had identified her clients, and he had even known that Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik were especially important.

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

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

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

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

"I have no reason to."

"If I give you one?"

She snorted scornfully. Just then the train braked to an easy stop, and the lids of the pods opened to reveal a group of adults, waiting to lift out the unconscious children. A slim woman in a LEO uniform standing at the edge of the platform spotted Sascha and thrust a narrow plastic case at him.

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

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

"You are now legal, Tirla."

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

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

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

"That Tirla here," Sascha said, moving her to stand in front of him, his hands lightlyand, she felt, kindlyon her shoulders,'found where Yassim had hidden their children. She was leading them back home, to their mothers and fathers, when we also searching, came upon them."

In a voice that penetrated the tumult of wailing women, the young man rattled off the announcement in the required languages a task that made Tirla restless under Sascha's hands. As each of the linguistic groups understood, they fell to whispering among th emselves. When the translator had finished, Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik waded forward, their expressions grim. Under Sascha's hands, Tirla's narrow shoulders tensed, and surreptitiously she shielded her brandnew ID bracelet by moving her arm slightly behin d her.

"And the children?" Mirda Khan demanded in Basic, jutting her chin out. She stared pointedly at Tirla.

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

When Mirda Khan frowned, Sascha signaled for Ranjit to translate. The wave of hysterical weeping was punctuated as mothers of now officially illegal children threw themselves across the unconscious bodies, obviously determined to resist attempts to remove them. Sascha ordered the crowdcontrol partners to neutralize the incipient hysterics. He dampened his own reception, but he could not remain immune to the intense emotional agitation that battered his senses. He was perplexed. These same women would have s old their sons and daughters in a few years.

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

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

I would think so, Sascha replied, but I do not think they'll see it in the same light. I'll tap our slush fund if you won't ante up.

Anything, Sascha thought, to shut up the spinecrawling ululations. He was not used to having to deal on this level.

Getting soft, Brother?

You're not here and listening. And there's Tirla to think of You're taking charge of her, aren't you? Boris asked.

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

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

"How much, Tirla?" Sascha asked.

Startled, she twisted in his hands to see his expression.

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

"You'd pay?"

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

"For the youngest, you don't have to give much." She named a figure.

"Add ten percent for each year they have, and that should be enough."

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

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

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

Ranjit, monitor this for me! Sascha ordered.

She's speaking Arabic, Ranjit said. She's saying that she has been arguing hard for the grieving mothers ever since they were caught in the tunnel. Only because she has spoken out so forcefully has a way been made to ease the sorrow of the mothers. Illegal children have rights, the big man says, and she believes him. They will be much safer than with Yassim, for which every mother should be thankful, knowing perfectly well the fate which awaited the children, despite the grief it causes. For bow else can pe ople survive on mere subsistence alone? A price has been agreed, as they must have seen, and she has acted in good faith. Sascha, Ranjit added as Tirla turned to face another section of the women, this child is amazing. She's speaking Urdu now as glibly as she did Arabic. Oho!

There was a commotion, and a plump little woman, her face contorted with conflicting emotions until her beady eyes were hidden in the folds of her cheeks, pushed through. Sascha recognized her from her caste mark and the vindictiveness of her roiling thoug hts. She would have leaped upon Tirla if Mirda Khan and lama Bobchik had not intervened.

Sascha sprang forward to protect Tirla, berating himself for not anticipating an attack.

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

"Of course I am illegal, wasted barren woman whose husband will beat her morning, noon, and evening for refusing a fair price that will feed him for many days to come on lamb and papadums." Tirla leaned with fervor into the task of returning verbal abuse.

She had, Sascha noted, managed to run her bracelet up under her sleeve, out of sight.

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

Then, to shut up the renewal of Bilala's caterwauling, Sascha shot a strong silencing command compulsion on the hysterical woman. She fell back in the arms of the women who held her, her mouth working soundlessly. An awed hush fell over the platform.

The business was quickly concluded then, and Tirla watched solemnly as crisp floaters changed hands. She had never seen so much money in circulation at one time and in front of everyone. It was better so.

No one could claim afterward that one had received more than another.

Some of the women lingered, displaying real distress as their children were loaded back into the front four cars. Sascha propelled Tirla towards the last car, which the search group was boarding.

Tirla held up her braceleted arm. "You keep the bargain in fact but not in spirit?" she demanded as the drone cover slid shut. She tugged at the coveted wristband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're legal, remember?" he reassured her with a little smile.

"Technically, you're free to move anywhere you want to now. You've got a wad of floaters, but" He raised his hand in a cautionary gesture.

"you know as well as I do that an unattached kid in a Linear right now is in jeopardy. Yassim has got to find replacements, and Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik wouldn't be there to defend you."

"Defend me?" Tirla was both indignant and astonished.

"Oh, they did, in their own ways. And if a ladrone didn't snap you up, the Public Health would, as you're underage and should be in school."

Wow! he exclaimed to Dorotea as he sensed Tirla's sudden reaction.

That opened up an excited crack.

Dorotea: Keep working it then!

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

Tirla fingered her precious ID. "School? I could access Teacher?"

"You've the right to all the education you can stuff into your headthat is, once you overcome the little problem of being an unattached minor.

C'mon, get into the pod. It's ready to go, and I want you out of this hostile environment."

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

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

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

"I suspect you've got a lot more talent than you realize, Tirla."

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

Tirla hunkered down beside him, balancing her torso between spread knees, hands dangling limply between her legs, her butt against the padded end of the cargo pod. She cocked her head up at him, hauling the strands of dark hair off her face, her dark eyes sparkling with, it seemed to Sascha, a private amusement that, for all his telepathic skill, he could not penetrate.

"Talent?" she repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

Tirla shrugged again, dismissively.

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

"Working for LEO?" She was plainly unwilling.

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

"I got schooling." Her tone was both rebellious and indignant. At Sascha's prompting, she added, "I used my brother's IDas long as I had it. I got schooling."Dorotea, would you check that out? The brother's name and ID are on the Incident report.

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

Did you get any of the high-level interview?

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

When all the excitement dies down, Sascha, we are going through the testing procedures with the proverbial finetooth comb.

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

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

Nonsense. I may bate typecasting but I'm far more suitable. Though you're doing rather well, Dorotea allowed somewhat grudgingly.

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

"Where are you taking me?"

"To my grandmother."

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

"If she'll have you for a few days until I can find the right Residential school for you," he amended. "That would solve the problem of nosy Public Health officials and keep you out of Yassim's notice."

The mention of school briefly opened her shield and h e saw a fearful startlementa hunger and a withdrawalbefore it lowered. He went on casually. "But, as I said, you've a legal ID, floaters enough for months, and you can suit yourself."

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

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

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

Boris: or scams!

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

Since when am I disowned? Boris asked.

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

Sascha had a mental image of his brother withdrawing quietly offending hat in hand. No one took on Dorotea in a crusading mood. He glanced down at Tirla, who was deep in thought, staring down at the floor, though her body appeared relaxed. When the cargopo d door opened as they reached the vehicle park in the quiet grounds of the Eastern Center for Parapsychics, she reacted with amazement and disbelief. As the other members of Sascha's team piled out, laughing and chatting over the successful assignment, Tir la just stood, her large eyes wide and white as she stared around her. Sascha did not hurry her. The old Henner estate, with its big old beeches, maples, and oaks, the wide lawns and the attractive twostory residential units, was unusual enough in modern J erhattan and had to be a revelation to a Linear resident.

Tirla looked appalled.

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

Weeding?

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

What about your arthritis?

I always suffer for my art, m'dear. I've recruited Peter, too. He needs to climb down from rarefied atmospheres, and something homely will help. Also, be may be older than she is, but be looks young.

He's to appear with eats. Refreshments are always a good way to start off a conversation, particularly for someone with a Near East background. "Why, Sascha, what a pleasant surprise!" Dorotea hoisted herself to her feet and held out her arms to him. Kiss me, you lout.

Even grandmothers need a ration of passion now and again!

"Grandmother, this is Tirla... Tunnelle."

Inventive boy! Dorotea commented.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter: What's she like?

Sascha: Scared.

Peter, wryly: Know the feeling!

Dorotea: Might shield.

Peter, earnestly: I'll be careful.

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

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

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

"Here we are," Dorotea said, arriving with a large tray laden with all sorts of finger foods: savories, small openfaced sandwiches, wedges of fruit, and strips of fresh vegetables. "Peter, don't drop the glasses!" Fortunately, Tirla's back was to the boy w ho, with both hands on the huge pitcher of orange juice, was allowing four large tumblers to float along beside him.

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

Dorotea: Peter!

Peter: She didn't see it.

When all had been served with juice, Peter bounced into the chair beside Tirla and took a long drink of the juice, wiping his mouth and exclaiming with satisfaction at the taste.

"Don't inhale the juice, Peter," Dorotea said as she offered Tirla the tray of snacks. An uncommon fondness for green pepper, she noted when she saw Tirla's eyes brighten at the sight of the slices. Closely watching Dorotea, the girl had closed her fingers about three, then increased her haul to six when there was no reaction. "The cheese puffs are hot and fresh," Dorotea said, pushing them toward Tirla.

"You'd better get them now before Sascha or Peter hog them all."

Tirla let the pepper strips fall into her lap and obediently took a cheese puff.

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

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

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

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

Sascha! Boris's tone was authoritative. Your waif's in good bands.

Someone just snatched one of the Jerhattan schoolkids we stranded three weeks ago.

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

As he strode across the lawn to the main house, Dorotea told him, She paused in her eating when you left, but I fear the snack tray and the orange juice pitcher are of far greater moment than you, honey.

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

Chapter 13

You been here long?" Tirla asked Peter the next morning as they ate breakfast in the pleasant and, to Tirla, amazing kitchen room. Dorotea was preparing eggsfresh eggsin a pan at the stove, using, of all things, a naked flame. Tirla did not wish to distrac t her from the dangerous procedure, so she spoke in a low voice.

"Hmm," Peter said.amiably, taking neat spoonfuls of the ripe melon.

"Ever since I got out of the hospital."

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

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

"You must have been hurt bad." In Tirla's experience people did not survive walls coming down on them.

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

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

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

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

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

"Rhyssa taught me how to move again."

"You do move sort of oddly," she said, having noticed the peculiar gliding motion he used. He did not, in fact, seem to take real steps, though his legs moved.

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

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

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

Tirla slowly shook her head, dismissing her achievement. "Nothing like what you do. I don't have much Talent at all."

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

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

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

"Not Sascha?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With conflicting emotionsawe at realizing a longheld dream and fear that the miracle might be withdrawn for some capricious reasonTirla touched RETURN.

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

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

"Well, I think it's wrong for a child her age to try and absorb two years' education in four days," Dorotea maintained.

"Any improvement in receptivity?" Rhyssa asked.

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

Rhyssa laughed. "Peter thinks she could if she would. When she's involved in her studying, he can hear an ongoing mental commentary.

She has amazing retentive powers, visual as well as auditory. She's answered him telepathically once or twice when she didn 't realize it."

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

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

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

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

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

"The psychological scarring of their incarceration is going to be difficult to neutralize," Don remarked, frowning. "A new wrinkle in rendering the abducted dociletactile disorientation. Villainous trick." He shook his head. "You and Peter are off today, a ren't you?

So that leaves Dorotea and me to come up with some brilliant ideas on sharpening up the Tests, huh?"

"And me," Sascha said, coming out of his gloom. "I am after all, director of training for this Center. The trouble with a unique like Tirla is that she doesn't realize she's got Talent in the first place.

And in the second, how can you test children that a ren't supposed to exist?"

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

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

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

"Me?7' Sascha glanced first at Dorotea and then at Rhyssa and pretended not to see Don's amused expression.

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

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

"No need to panic," Dorotea replied unfeelingly. "I'm sure Tirla knows what she'd be comfortable wearing, and that's all you need to go by.

She's still a trifle young to want to bedeck herself alluringly."

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

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

"She might know of other kids with unusual aptitudes," Rhyssa added.

"She doesn't miss much."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Job? For you?"

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

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

"More of what I'm good at."

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

Peter made a clicking sound in his mouth, since he could no snap his fingers. "I just wish I could tell you, Tirla. But it's a professional secret."

"So don't tell me. I got better things to do than guess secrets!"

Tirla turned back to the monitor.

"But I'll be gone weeks."

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

He was the first boy she had ever met who had some sense. Sh knew he was supposed to be a very clever kinetiche had talked t her about thought transfer and telepathy, which made her a bi nervousbut he had also been good about helping her with some of the h arder problems Teacher set her. At least Sascha would b around. She would not like Sascha to be gone for weeks.

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

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

"No," she said, tapping out the answer to the problem on the screen.

"Tirla! Turn that damned thing off! We've got something better to do with the afternoon."

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

"Buy you some new shoes and clothes."

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

Sascha hunkered down and firmly punched the Off switch.

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

"You can pick up where you left off when we get back. On your feet!"

Sascha gave her hand a warning pull. "We don't have issue slots at the Center. Generally we get ordinary stuff from the Remote Mall, but as I haven't a notion of your shoe size or what co lors you like, I think this once, we'll go in the flesh. When we're done, we're going to have a treat."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's why we're shopping."

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

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

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

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

"It's supposed to be mutually instructive."

Tirla reappeared and latched onto Sascha's hand, regarding Cass very narrowly from her suddenly inscrutable eyes.

"I remember you," Cass said. "You ricocheted off me and my partner at Linear G. And you messed up Flimflam's scam to a fare-theewell. My congratulations!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tirla was modeling a onepiece outfit as different from subsistence issue as diamonds from rhinestones. The main color was a soft blue with purple accents in seamstitching, pocket trim, and fasteners. Once Tirla found that outfit to her taste and Sascha'sit was always Sascha to whom she turned for approvalit took the combined efforts of both Sascha and Cass to get her to buy additional clothing.

"Why do I need more? I've boots, and this material's hard wearing.

It'll do for weeks. Even if I had to catch freights again," Tirla added, peering mischievously up at Sascha.

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

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

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

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

"A few changes are in order," Cass said. "I've got quite a few myself," she added encouragingly while Tirla merely stared back, her hands plunged into the deep pockets and her shoulders hunched under the smooth fabric.

"This isn't coming out of your floaters, Tirla," Sascha began, suddenly realizing what might be causing her hesitation. "Dorotea and Rhyssa want you to be suitably dressed now that you're a Talent.

You're not a subbie anymore, you know." He pointed to her wrist ID.

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

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

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

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

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

Tirla took it readily enough, but her other hand immediately sought Sascha's, and then she was dragging them after her toward a rack of brilliantly colored trousers.

She was not as profligate as Sascha feared, but she ended up with "something different to wear every day of the week." Then Sascha made good his promise of a treat, inviting Cass to join them in the OldFashioned Parlor of Gastronomical Confections and Irre sistible Desserts.

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

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

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

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

Sascha, groaning: I'll be sick!

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

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

Sascha glanced surreptitiously at Cass, who rolled her eyes.

Sascha: Stream of consciousness and loud and clear. Does she realize she's broadcasting?

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

Sascha: Good point.

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

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

"Look, chip, anytime you want to have a gawk round some of the other malls" Cass started.

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

"Thousands," Cass told her with an unrepentant grin. "But you can't really do more than one at a time, or it all gets jumbled up in your head as to what you saw where and which price. Believe me, I know!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"After all you just finished eating?" Sascha demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If the official spectators at the launch even noticed the youngster seated to one side in the upper control room, they would have supposed him to be a child on a special tour, his youth according him a treat.

The men certainly noticed the woman who sat bes ide him, for she had an arresting beauty and an unusual silver streak in her dark hair.

However, her attention never strayed from the boy. Equally involved in him was the tall darkhaired man in fatigues with a colonel's eagle on one collar tab. So few spar ed the trio more than a passing glance.

The real action was taking place out by the massive towering gantry, where galeforce winds whipped the steam from the shuttle's rocket end.

All recent launches had been pretty tricky, the bad weather causing havoc wi th all air transport but none more so than the critical first minutes of a shuttle launch.

The countdown echoed through the shielded roomat the count of eight, the spectators were jockeying for position for an unimpeded view through the treated slit windows, eager for ignition and takeoff.

Fingers were surreptitiously crossed, for this was the t hirteenth successive shuttle flight.

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

As the shuttle engines began their fullthroated roar, none of the spectators would be able to hear another noise, that of power generators pulsing at everincreasing speed: a subtle whine that built and then leveled off just as the shuttle, one of the majes tic new Rigel class, began its first imperceptible upward thrust. The final link to the launch tower fell away. Everyone held his or her breath.

Then, despite the howling wind and the lashing rain, the shuttle crept upward from the reinforced concrete with out deviating a centimeter from the optimum takeoff trajectory. Lift became obvious with increasing acceleration, and suddenly the bird was up and running, disappearing, except for the radiance of its rockets, into the lowering ceiling of dark gray swirlin g clouds.

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

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

"You have the conn, Crosbie," the controller said, letting out a small sight of relief. "Good thrust, Pete. You're working like a charm.

Got the whole thing down to a science."

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

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

"He's teasing you," Peter said, turning his attention to the monitor.

He did not really need ithe could follow the ascent of the shuttle like a pulse in his vein, a tingle of power running up and down his bones.

He could feel that.

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

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

"I know you do, lad. Wide open. I'm just too clumsy to get through the door. I think it's going to have to be a trained kinetic."

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

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

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

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

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

The spectators below were beginning to file out of the gallery, hunching into wetweather gear, bracing themselves for the stiff winds.

With a wink, the controller turned on the intercom.

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

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

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

Peter grinned broadly, thoroughly enjoying the eavesdropping. He had been appalled at how much a big generator costthough Colonel Greene assured him that it was a pittance when compared to other items purchased for Canaveraland he could not believe the con tract figure for his shortterm services. Not to mention the bonuses for every successful launch. He had been even more delighted when Rhyssa suggested that the Center increase the pension that was being sent to his parents.

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

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

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

Two days later a proper shuttle launch was grudgingly permitted. There was no foreseeable change in the terrible weather patterns, and shipments had fallen weeks behind delivery. That first morning, Peter had been a trifle anxious, and the shuttle had asce nded at such an astonishing rate that the controllers had thought that a misfire had occurred, and they had been about to abort the mission. Peter, with Johnny telepathically assisting him, had reduced the thrust and the mission had continued. The pilot la ter was heard to mention that his instrumentation had registered a gforce of 11 for the first few momentshe had been scared shitless thinking he would not even be able to activate the escapepod control on his armrest.

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

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

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

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

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

Peter had discovered that he could kinetically keep rain from soaking him, but he tried to resist the temptation to show off unnecessarily.

Dutifully he flipped the slicker over him. Exiting the concrete bunker, they all made a dash for their waiting airca r.

Two weeks after Rhyssa and Peter went to Florida, Boris made one of his rare visits to the Center to apprise Sascha of the fact that undercover agents believed more children had been sold. The agents had noticed a lot of floaters being spent in Linears A, B, and C. So Cass and Suz were sent on assignment to Linear E. As the two women frequented all the Jersey Linears, they were known to the inhabitants. Cass's pregnancy made her even less suspicious, and she pretended ill health to account for Suz's company. So far they had nothing to report, not even a ripple of expectation. When ever contact permitted, they stuck a locating strand in the hair of each child they encountered.

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

Boris made one of his rare visits to the Center. "You know, Bro," he said, "we've got nothing but stopgap techniques. Planting a telempath won't stop kids being abducted." Sascha was in Rhyssa's office, attending to routine administration details as he too k a break from formulating new testing procedures. Boris was standing at the window, looking out on the peaceful scene below.

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

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

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

"Candidly, I don't think Tirla would be at risk," Boris went on, beginning to pace. "We could put her in with Cass and Suz, set her up with every telltale known to technology. She knows Linears, she can speak any lingo, she's clever as can stare, and" "She's twelve years old and you're not using her as bait," Sascha roared, not bothering to dampen his outrage and fury.

Boris regarded him with surprise. "That kid was never twelve! And what's the matter with using the one advantage we've found in dealing with Linear abductions? She's got a unique Talent, a natural camouflage, and an ability for this sort of thing. Look how she managed in Linear G."

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

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

"You step up your searchandseizes, Boris. Leave Tirla out of your calculations. There are other ways, ethical and technological ways, to solve LEO problems."

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

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

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

Chapter 14

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

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

Alan Eton quickly discovered that Peter had the usual boyish disregard for grammar, spelling, and syntax, though his vocabulary skills were, in technical areas, beyond his age group. His mathematics were well into firstyear university, and his understandin g of certain aspects of physics was curiously advanced. With the colonel as his role model, Peter was eager to progress in those sciences. Taking advantage of the boy's admiration, John Greene suggested that he had better improve his computer and English s kills, as well, even if he was kinetically superior. While Peter understood some chemical and biological conceptsparticularly those that had a bearing on his accidenthe had, naturally, had no laboratory experience. A course of study was initiated and regul ar school hours kept, with Alan guiding Peter deftly into independent study of whatever the boy wanted to learn while filling in the more obvious lacks. A university degree, bachelor or advanced, was not at issue for Peter Reidinger: his career was well un derway, but if he was to develop to his full potential, it was essential for him to have an overall understanding of many disciplines.

Occasionally, as he struggled through his lessons, he wondered how Tirla was doing and what sort of training Sascha was flush of pleasure at the news. "How do you know? You can't 'hear' him if I can't."

"I saw him get out of the car. He's coming around through the house."

The gleam in Johnny's eyes was intolerable to her.

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny: Dorotea thinks so, too.

Rhyssa: You guys let me do my own thinking.

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

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

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

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

Johnny sent her an image of wideeyed innocence. Me? Step out of lineespecially if you threaten to shortcircuit my cybernetic limbs in a lousy pool? D'you know what salt water does to my spare parts? He imaged a violent shudder that sent bits and pieces spi nning off his artificial arm and leg.

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

Dave Lehardt periscoped his lean length to seat himself on a lounger and grinned at Rhyssa. Was she imagining that his eyes were warmer when he looked at her? Damn him for not having a Talent! Damn him for having such a naturally dense mental shield! She h ad no real clueexcept in blue eyes she wanted to drown in to go on. No wonder the untalented regularly bungled relationships. And yet...

"NASA is delighted with the effectiveness of its new guidance-andtracking system," Dave was saying, looking well pleased, "and they're quite happy to leave it in the 'need to know' category.

More queries from Padrugoi, requesting details of this topsecret G and T as a possible adjunct to their systems."

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

"General Halloway hems and haws with the best of them about a trial model, with a formidable test schedule ahead of it, by no means a totally proven system..."

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

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

"Tell you one thing," Dave went on, still supporting Rhyssa's body.

"I'm going to have to change the nickname Skeleteam. You don't look so much like one anymore."

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

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

"Look, we just got one minor miracle up and running," Rhyssa replied.

"Give us at least three days!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, sort of like that."

"You don't sound sure."

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

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

"There are many operations," Rhyssa went on quickly, "that one accomplishes strictly on an involuntary basis. Like breathing. You don't consciously go through the steps of drawing breath in and exhaling itit's an involuntary procedure. Or take reaching for a glass. You don't consciously tell your hand to extend the required distance, tell your fingers to encircle it and your arm to lift the light weight. The task is accomplished without much conscious effort.

Peter is working on such a deeply involuntary ba sis that he cannotyetanalyze the requisite steps. Once Lance Baden is released from durance vile on the station, I think we'll see progress in understanding what Skeleteam does as easily as he breathes."

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

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

"Not with his contract, he won't," Rhyssa said feelingly.

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

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

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

"You were using kinesis?" Peter asked.

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

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

"Some damnedfool halftrained clowns, doing aerobatics through the flight path," Johnny told him, cursing fluently and inventively on both audible and telepathic levels. Peter's eyes rounded with awe at the flavorful language. "Fortunately they didn't survi ve to answer to me, or the law, for their antics."

"Oh!" was Peter's reaction to John's uncharacteristic bitterness.

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

"You're stuck with me for a few days at any rate," Dave replied.

"Without benefit of the Skeleteam, the airport's socked in solid." He rose and, whistling a jaunty tune, began to pick his way through the puddles in the direction of the changing room.

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

"Je sus Christ!"

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

"How the hell..."

"My God!" Johnny Greene exclaimed. "Did you do that, Pete?" he asked. The very slightest of snores answered him. "My God! I did it!

I did it! I did it!" His voice rose in a crescendo as he stared at Rhyssa in a state of shocked delight and surprise.

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

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

The moment Dave Lehardt entered the kitchen that evening as Rhyssa was clearing up the debris of their celebratory meal, she knew "a moment" had come. Over the last few months of their close association, she had learned to pick up the subtle hints of his b ody language and her own responses to him. She felt her heartbeat begin to speed up, and she tried not to crash dishes about or drop things. Worse, she could extract no helpful clues from this man's mind. Perhaps that was why Dave appeared to be so much mo re romantic than any of her Talented associations.

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

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

Johnny: Don't you dare be coy!

Rhyssa: Get out of my head, Johnny Greene.

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

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

Johnny: I think she means it!

Peter: I know she does!

Her mind was filled with a deafening silence.

"They're not " Rhyssa assured him.

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

Rhyssa felt a surge of anger flare deep inside. She wondered who had been inhibiting this wonderful, caring manespecially considering all he had done to aid Talents. Then she willed him not to stop talking such marvelously romantic stuff and tilted her hea d up encouragingly. She shivered with anticipation.

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

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

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

Chapter 15

Sascha!

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

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

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

"Look, Bud, run those ethnic groupings again," Sascha ordered. "We've at least got a statistical forecast of how many psionic Talents each generation has produced since Darrow and op Owen's time. Now let's break it down into individual Talent manifestation s: precogs, finders, affinities, kinetics, telepaths, telempaths."

Budworth shrugged equably and began to formulate the program.

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

"Where there's smoke, there's gotta be a fire or two," Sascha commented cryptically as he exited. But his mind was already on one particular Talent who had come so far from her early years in the Linears.

Since that fateful shopping trip three weeks before, Tirla had discovered a new pastime that almost rivaled her hunger for learning.

At first, Dorotea had been amused. "It's hunger of another sort: acquisition. It'll pass."

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

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

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

She was more amused by the detentions than alarmed, and determined to enjoy her new pastime. Certainly she was not deterred from her expeditions, and since Sascha backed Cass's opinion that Tirla was capable of handling herself, Dorotea's apprehension wane d. Invariably, Tirla ended her afternoons at the OldFashioned Parlor. When Tirla announced that she was going to work her way right through the five pages of confectionery selections, Dorotea had laughed.

"It might put a little weight on those bird bones of hers, and she always eats her dinner," she said. "I wish she would put on weight.

What must those shop attendants think when that child looks half-starved all the time?"

Dorotea was standing in the living room when Sascha arrived in answer to her summons, and she pointed sternly toward Tirla's room. Sascha tapped on the door, and Tirla's cheerful hum broke off.

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

"Sascha!"

"Just a minute."

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

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

Dorotea, in disgust: Hamhanded twit!

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

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

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

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

Dorotea: That's right. Blame me.

"While Talents may have what they need, and also what they want, within reason, " he went on, "that's the operative phrase. This " He gestured broadly, hooking a hanger and its layers of clothing off the door. The pile tumbled to enlarge a mass of colorful blouses lying beside the door. "This is no longer reasonable!"

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

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

It's a start! Dorotea put in.

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

Dorotea, acidly: Where?

"In the vaults." He began picking up other inappropriate garments.

"And we'll get the clutter down to manageable proportions." In doing so he exposed a small hill of shoes, of all colors and in a variety of styles that astonished himand all of them small e nough to fit Tirla's dainty feet.

Dorotea: Cinderella complex?

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

Dorotea: Then how can they be pairs?

"Five pairs of shoes, no more, Tirla." He saw her sulky expression.

"Five pairs at one time. And ten different outfits in the closet.

None of this..." He held up an emerald green ball gown with exquisitely detailed beadwork in silver and leaf green. It wa s exceedingly stylish, and the color was perfect for Tirlabut not until she reached twenty. Eighteen, at least. "I'll have some trunks sent over so you can put everything away. Then we're going to sit down and work out a budget."

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

"Yes. The Center has a budget, I have a budget, Peter has a budget..."

Dorotea: All God's chillun got budgets!

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

Sascha was not impervious to her broken voice and her sad expression.

"Shop all you want. Look in every damned mall on Manhattan, Long Island, and the Jersey Shore. Just don't buy anything. Window shop to your heart's content."

"Never buy anything again?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Cass is out on assignment."

Tirla cocked her head up at him, no longer a disappointed and confused twelveyearold. "More kids missing?"

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

"Is she in a Linear?" Excitement brightened her expression.

Sascha nodded.

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

"Why don't you let me work undercover with her? I could be her kid and" "No!"

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

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

Tirla noticeably paled.

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

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

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

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

Dorotea had no comment to make. To his surprise, Tirla obediently began to fold up her possessions, neatly and carefully. Sascha watched for a few more moments and then went to arrange for trunks.

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

Dorotea and Tirla both exclaimed over how well Peter looked, tanned and healthy and moving with more confidence, while Rhyssa listened, an oddly soft smile on her face. Dave Lehardt had remained behind in Florida to finalize his PR campaign, setting the st age for Colonel Johnny Greene to assume the role of Skeleteam.

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

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

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

Sascha: I heard that. Knock it off!

Rhyssa: Did she pick that out herself?

Dorotea: She picked out everything herself and a lot of things a twelve-yearold girl has no need ofyet.

Rhyssa: She's got good tastein what she's wearing now.

Dorotea: Good taste all round. Just a trifle sophisticated.

Aware that Sascha was seething, Dorotea changed the subject.

Peter and Tirla slipped out of the room.

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

Tirla shrugged. "Oh, they tried to tell me how dangerous it was." She giggled. "As if I didn't know how to take care of myself in any old Linear. Particularly one as straight as the ones here in Jerhattan."

"And you go whenever you want?"

"Nearly every day." She cocked her head at him. "You ever been to the OldFashioned Parlor of Gastronomical Delights?"

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

"Good?" Tirla's enthusiasm bubbled out of her. "It's spectacular.

You wouldn't believe the concoctions they serve."The most,' " she quoted from the menu, "'scrumptious, delectable monstrosities of confections you'll ever experience."" Sensing Peter's longi ng, Tirla deliberately encouraged it. "Any kind of flavor of ice cream, 3 all homemade, every topping known to man..."

"And you just go?".

"Sure. Why not? It's only four stops away on the subway." She jerked her thumb at the murmur of adult voices coming from the d. living room.

"Who'd miss us for half an hour, anyway?" When she saw the hesitation on his face, she added almost challengingly, "They're busy. We'd be back before they'd know we'd gone!"

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

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

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

Tirla was describing in great detail her favorite gastronomical delightthe one with four kinds of ice cream, four kinds of toppings, four kinds of nuts, and cherries, coconut, and multicolored sprinkles.

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

"Spots?"

"Pimples. Zits. Facial eruptions."

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

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

"What was Florida like?" Tirla asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

Peter was able to shout just once, his cry more indignant than alarmed.

Then an ominous silence descended despite Rhyssa's attempts to reestablish communications. She wasted no more time on the silence but broadcast on the widest band possible.

ALERT, ALL TALENTS, ALL LEO PERSONNEL! Peter Reidinger may have been abducted. Presumably in vicinity of OldFashioned Parlor. Tirla was with him.

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

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

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

Rhyssa?

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

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

The exchanges had taken bare seconds while Rhyssa, Sascha, and Dorotea sped toward the Control Room, where the monitoring equipment would, they hoped, be able to give them some indication of where the children were.

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

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

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

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

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

Sirikit, her own eyes bleak, discreetly complied.

"C'mon, Bro, c'mon! How long does it take your squads to get moving!"

Sascha demanded, pacing anxiously.

The Talents had to wait another five agonizing minutes before Boris contacted them.

The kids sat by themselves Tirla's well known here, and she introduced her friend, Peter, to her usual waitress. She saw them leave the place. She caught a glimpse of them entering a small hopper with the Talent Center emblem. There were four men, but she didn't see their faces. She didn't see anything odd, except that the boy walked funny and then seemed to be assisted by one of the men. And no, she didn't notice the registration. I've an APB on small hoppers with Talent emblems in Jerhattan, but it'd be h elpful if your scanners have picked up their bracelets.

Sascha: The ID's were cut off. Left in the sewer outside the mall.

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

Rhyssa, heavily: Neither Peter nor Tirla was stranded.

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

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

All right, then, Boris went on in a calmer tone. We have to assume the abductors are following their latest procedures. That's the only thing that would account for total telepathic silence. The kids were gassed They're going to be stashed someplace and in those neat little cocoons.

Sorry, Rhyssa, but I'm too angry to be diplomatic. Sascha, have you called Carmen in? My finders are all on the case. Somehow, we'll f nd 'em. Those kids are smart. Once they wake up, they'll be able to help us f nd them.

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

"My sympathies go out to Rhyssa and the other Talents. It's incredible that two valuable young people like that could also be vulnerable to this despicable group," the city manager told Boris, who passed her message on to Sascha and Rhyssa. "This has top p riority, and all the resources of the city are at your disposal. No effort will be spared.

Is there anything I, personally, can do? Offer a reward? Trade immunity for information?"

"Get your department heads thinking," Boris told City Manager Teresa Aiello, "where such a significant number of children could be detained.

I've got every available person on transport surveillance. They can't have been moved out of the Jerhattan area, no t in a group or singly.

I put a hold on all rail freight and every con tainer is being examined. Any cargo of a suspicious size is being opened. They've got to be somewhere nearbyfor a while."

"Everyone on this staff will start examining possibilitiesunused warehouses, old buildings, underground stores," Teresa assured Boris grimly.

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

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

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

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

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

"We've walltowall Talents," he said, gesturing almost scornfully at the various teams clustered about monitors or swiftly feeding programs into the mainframe. "Where could they have got to? That many bodies are too hard to hide. The kids h ave to be fed. They can't have been whisked off to their" Sascha could not find the appropriate noun and grimaced. "Wherever. Boris initiated transport surveillance within minutes. Dammit, the subways and cargo routes have been wired since the incident in G."

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

Sascha: And you think If eel none for not stranding Tirla, for encouraging her to go to the bloody mall? To that unmentionable bloody confectionery parlor? Sascha's response was loaded with derision.

She'd've been bloody safer if I had let Boris use her fo r bait!

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

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

Dorotea: He is just a boy, for all his power. Don't worry, we'll hear.

The least whisper, and we'll hear them. Dorotea's mind cast restlessly for a trace of Tirla's. After nearly five weeks of proximity with the girl, she should be able to spot her conscio usness.

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

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

It was loud enough!"

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

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

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

Tirla: Dorotea? Where are you?

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

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

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

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

Sometimes it's a case of needto, Tirla, Dorotea said, putting a smile of approval into her mental tone.

You needed me to? Tirla asked. Or I needed you to bear me? Peter?

Peter, answer me! Dorotea caught the conflicting emotions in Tirla's question, but such competitiveness was not a bad sign.

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

Peter's not answering me in here. Maybe be's just not awake yet. My stomach's sour. I shouldn't've bad that spectacular. Peter?

Peeeeter!

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

Tirla, mildly surprised: I do believe you. You can't lie in your mind, can you?

Not to me, you can't, Dorotea replied, gesturing imperiously for Rhyssa and Sascha to stop trying to insinuate questions into her head.

Tirla's voice was clear but, after the first burst of psychic outrage, neither as strong nor as loud. She could not risk losing the link.

Now, tell me what you can about your surroundings.

They stink!

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

Tirla, disgusted: A lot of crying.

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

Dorotea could sense Tirla's concentration and did not interrupt.

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

Dorotea: Yassim lost all the G children, didn't be? I think that, unfortunately, that caused him to change his tactics. He's now employing a disorientation technique, sensory deprivation, to reduce the children to compliance when they are released. You're not afraid, are you?

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

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

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

Including Peter and me?

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

Rely on me? How? I'm blind and strapped in like cargo! Hey, you lot!

Shut up! Quit your grizzling, stupid Neesters. Tirla then dropped into languages that Dorotea could not understand. They prefer crying for their mommies! Mommies who sold 'em! Tirla said, suddenly dropping into Basic again. Some half dozen are from E, seven are from W, and two from C. How they bleat! None of 'em's Peter.

Dorotea: Ask them their names.

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

"Where can Peter be?" Rhyssa murmured softly. At some point while she had been concentrating on Dorotea's conversations, Dave Lehardt had joined the anxious group in the Control Room. He linked his fingers in hers, and the physical contact was almost more reassuring than the aura of encouragement that emanated from all the telepaths about her.

"Ask her again about the various smells," Sascha prompted Dorotea.

"There may be something that'll give us a clue to where."

Well, there's a sort of metal stink, Tirla replied when Dorotea relayed the question. And there's a moldy mildewing rotten stink that's stronger. There's another smell I can't identify. Oily. I'm stuffed into somethingfeels like plastic foam. Even my finge rs are separated into slots. I'm bound at the wrists, ankles, waist, and across my chest. If it was shorter, I'd be choking. Oh, cut the caterwauling!

No one's hurting you! She roared out repetitions in other dialects, continuing to broadcast mentally as s he shouted at the other children.

"Her predicament is beginning to get to her," Dorotea said grimly.

Tirla, I'm with you. Even if you can't hear them, Rhyssa, Sascha, Boris, Sirikit, Budworth, Davewe're all here. We'll get you out of there, I promise.

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

Carmen is right here and reminds you that she needs light to f nd you!

Remember? That 's why she couldn't locate you in the Linearyou were in the dark.

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

Dorotea: It may be no consolation to you right now, Tirla, but they '11 want you to be in good condition. They'll also have to feed you and keep you clean.

Tirla: Yeah? When? Next week sometime?

You were taken at approximately three. It 's tenthirty now. You can 't be left without food and water much longer.

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

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

Tirla, surprised: In my bead?

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

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

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

Rhyssa? Rhyssa?

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

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

Rhyssa kept her mental tone calm and firm as she clung to Dave's hands.

Easy, Peter. Remember our drills. Reduce the nausea.

It's never been this hard before, Rhyssa. There was an edge of despair in his voice. Rhyssa knew so well how he hated anesthetics. He had reactions to most of the common ones. It was going to take timewhich she did not think they hadfor him to shake off th e residual disorientation and nausea in order to bring his kinesis into use.

Rhyssa: Focus your mind, Peter, just as you used to do in the hospital.

Focus your thoughts; ignore the extraneous.

Peter: There're other kids in here with me. Some of 'em are pretty scared. Rhyssa: Call out for Tirla. She's somewheremaybe very nearby.

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

Neither heard the other.

"Christ! Fine team of Talents we are when our kids are vulnerable!"

Sascha remarked caustically.

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

Dorotea: Tirla, what are you planning to do?

Tirla: Get out of this coffin.

Dorotea: How?

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

Dorotea felt the effort in Tirla's mind, effort and fringes of pain.

"Could she do that?" she asked Sascha.

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

You have made contact with Tirla and Peter? Boris's voice was excited.

Contact, Bro, but not release. Both kids are cocooned. And Peter's having a bad reaction to whatever gas they used. Sascha made another face, mimicking the aggravation his brother was mentally expressing.

He'll need a little time before he recovers complet ely.

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

Rhyssa was concentrating on strengthening her link with Peter, helping him to dissipate the residue of the anesthetic. Her face mirrored his desperation and sense of failure, and she leaned heavily against Dave.

There! The triumph in Tirla's voice was evident to Dorotea, and she held up her hand, repeating the girl's words for the others.

Camelgutted tripe! Miserable dungeaters! Descendants of snake offal.

Scuzfarts! Maggots!

Good heavens! How pungent. Tirla, how have you hurt yourself ?

Dorotea demanded, sensing pain.

Tirla: Never you mind. I 'm out of this cocoon. There are nineteen other kids stuck in 'em here, some of 'em still knocked out. Peter's not one of 'em. Tell Carmen not to fracture her skull finding me.

This place is black as the bottom of an elevator pit.

Ugh. I slipped in junk. Ugh! I've reached one wall. Faugh! It's slimy and gritty. Too smooth and cold for metal. Ah, an opening. A window. Plasticcoated. I can't even scratch a sliver off Look, I'm going to try something, Tirla went on. They always forget about ceilings. There's air coming in here from someplace. She was silent for a long while, though Dorotea was aware of strenuous physical activity. I am not hurting you. Just using you as a stepladder. And I won 't let you go, crybaby. You 're no use to m e. Quit your grizzling. Another period of silence followed, and Dorotea reported more physical effort, punctuated by inadvertent grunts of pain.

Tirla: Well, I was right. There is a ceiling hatch. And I can see, a little. Well, whaddya know? I 'm in a shunting yard There are rows and rows of train cars, old ones. Can 't have been moved in years.

And someplace down to my right there's light. Sort of around an edge, like of a window or a door. Any idea where I could be?

From the moment Tirla mentioned a shunting yard, the description was forwarded to everyone concerned.

Tirla: I'm going along the tops of cars toward the light, the girl reported. I can't hear anyone, and no one would be stupid enough to walk around this place without a light.

Tell us how many cars have children, Tirla, Dorotea urged.

Tirla: Peter! Peter! Answer me! Peter! It's Tirla! Answer me!

Wow! I nearly fell off the edge of the car. Slippery surface, moist.

Whole place is damp!

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

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

Tirla: So here's where they stashed you, huh? Now, I'll just drop in beside you. There! The tape'll sting coming offoh, I forgot.

Sorry.

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

Tirla: I guess not. Thereyou're free. Only the tan came off Here!

Don't go faint. Lie back. Stay easy. Get your breath Now look, you'd better rest some more. Dorotea could hear the nervous concern in Tirla's voice, a matter she did not impart to Rhyssa. I' m going to look around this place, Peter, Tirla went on. You get your kinetics working again, 'cause there's no way I can haul you up by myself Peter: I'll be okay, Tirla. I'll be okay. Justjust come back.

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

"Ask her if she saw a number, a description, anything!" Sascha prompted Dorotea.

Tirla: I 'd say that it 's a metallic blue jetter, twelveseater, no lights. But I got a glimpsea three, a dash, and RlGI think. Could have been a B, but the I and the G were clear enough.

When Dorotea repeated what Tirla had said, Sascha exploded to his feet.

"RIG! We couldn't be so lucky!" He slapped his right palm against his forehead. "Budworth, get through to Auer and Bertha and see if they have any tickles about Flimflam."

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

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

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

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

Tirla, blithely: Peter's okay. Working on it. I'm going to f nd out who the other darkflier is!

Tirla! Dorotea was momentarily stunned by the independence. Tirla!

She turned to Rhyssa, hands outstretched in appeal. "The little witch has cut me off! Oh, just wait till I get my hands on that child! The impudence of her."

Rhyssa was also irritated. Peter, stop her!

Peter on his dignity: I don 't need a minder, Rhyssa. I really don 't.

Just enough time to catch my breath. 'Sides, no one could stop Tirla.

"Rather admirable of the child, I think," Sascha replied. For a palpable moment he and Rhyssa locked wills. Then he continued in a gentler tone. "I do realize, Rhyssa, that Peter's inhibited by the gassing he took. If Tirla can manage an ID on the second c ar, too, we'll maybe catch more than just the welldeserving Revered Ponsit Prosit."

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

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

"Neither Auer or Bertha have anything for us," Sirikit told them.

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

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

Dorotea shook her head, her lips pursed in an aggrieved moue.

"Wretched little snip of a thing!" she said with a certain amount of reluctant admiration in her tone.

"Got it!" Carmen cried suddenly, jumping out of her chair, rushing to the map terminal, and punching coordinates that brought up the South Shore area. "Tirla's come through again. There simply can't be two such similar situations. She's heading toward an o ld railway switchhouse. I can just make it out. There's a crack of light coming through a window that opens onto a platform. There seem to be hundreds of cars of old rolling stock rusting there. Here we are!" She pointed to the marked area on the map. "Her e're tracks. Acres of them. And obsolete railcars waiting to be recycled." The others all converged to look at the area magnified on the screen.

"It couldn't be better, could it," Dorotea said slowly, "as a place to hide terrified kids!" Tirla! Answer me! We know where you are now.

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

Chapter 16

Tirla's night vision had adjusted to the gloompart mist and part lightlessness despite the angry redorange glow of Jerhattan that lit the rim of the horizon on all sides. The upper levels of distant Linears, majestic in the night, punctuated the halo of th e city with their long silhouettes. From top stories, with aerials and stacks, aircraftwarning signals blinked their light patterns. She moved forward carefully along the curved tops of the railcars. If she slipped, there would be nothing for her to catch on to. The surface was gritty with dirt and slippery in the moist air. She headed toward that thin band of light and the dark bulk of the building that framed it.

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

Go 'way. I've got to concentrate.

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

But conversations were useless tender; the registration number of an aircar was undeniable proof. She crawled forward on her belly, conscious of every noise she made, the dryness of her mouth, and the increasingly painful stiffness of her fingers.

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

Tirla: Peter, I got the second one. The number is CD08MAL, clear as day. And the other car is right beyond it. Peter?

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

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

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

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

The door closed a second time, but not before Tirla recognized the angry voice. Her guts froze. She heard the ladrone moving, his shoes crunching the grit on the platform. She heard him haul back one of the warped carriage doors, the plastic creaking as he looked in the carriage. He moved on down the platform, cursing softly under his breath as he dropped down to flash his light beneath the car. Tirla could take no chances. Quickly she moved at a crouch and jumped to the next car. She was just in timethe re d pinpoint of a filtered handlight shone briefly where she had just been. She held her breath, hoping against hope that the searcher would not notice her outline on the dusty top.

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

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

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

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

Peter! Help Peter now! Dorotea did not sound apologetic, but she did sound anxious.

Tirla knew very well that Peternot to mention all the other kidsneeded help. As quickly as she could, she moved back along the line of cars.

If the payoff had been made, some of the kids might be shifted soon.

She had to get Peter out and free as many of t he others as she could.

If they all scattered and hid, it would take all night to recapture themif she could stop them from crying long enough to help themselves.

Tirla slipped and this time could not recover her balance, sliding down the dirtencrusted side of the car and landing painfully on stones and cinders that bruised and cut her feet. Cursing her clumsiness and hoping that she had gotten far enough away so th at the noise of her fall had not been heard, she made her way along the ground, cursing the bastards who had removed the beautiful purple boots that she had bought on her first trip to the mall.

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

Yes, I can, Peter said, appearing out of the darkness between two cars.

He touched her hand. And I know exactly how. C'mon. He led her along the track until she nearly stumbled over a big handle attached to one side of the track. We're going to do a switch eroo. He laughed softly out loud. Much faster than letting all those kids loose.

There's a hundred of them.

They heard a muffled thrumming and saw the whiteness of the aircar lifting slowly from behind the building.

C'mon, Peter urged. I've got to get to that transformer box or my idea won't work! I need the gestalt for this. You know how to uncouple cars?

Suddenly the process was driven into Tirla's mind and she staggered a bit, stunned by the vivid intrusion. Then go back and uncouple the last car with kids in it. Stay there and warn me if anyone's coming.

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

No, them! Peter pointed at the building.

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

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

"Try walking my way!"

She couldn't but wished she could. Her feet hurt and her hands ached.

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

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

Nervously she glanced up to see the aircar's slow upward progress.

Running dark like that, the pilot had to be careful not to get tangled in the wires that festooned the area around the building. If Peter could just get moving... He was! She heard the squ eal, rattle, and clanking as wheels long locked on rails reluctantly began to turn. She swung up to sit on the tongue of the coupling, watching the building for any sign that someone within had heard the metallic protest. But the building was two hundred m eters or so away, and the aircar was whooshing and thrumming.

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

She saw the white blur of Peter's face as the car inched past the transformer box; there was no disguise in the dark night for the audible hum emanating from it. What was Peter doing?

She jumped down from the coupling, wincing as her cut feet hit | the stony, cindery ground. The cars continued to move obliquely away from danger, down an empty track. _ "You can't leave just empty track.

They'll know..." Tirla put an urgent hand on his arm and then could not release it. She could feel him shaking from the effort he had already made, shaking and moreand she was affected by his shaking and whatever else it was that raced through him.

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

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

But it was... what was it?

The metallic protest was startlingly loud on the still air. The white jet had moved beyond visibility into the swirling mist. Tirla felt both stronger and weaker, clutching at Peter with both hands, wanting to help him make the gestalt and needing his supp ort. Suddenly she was aware of movement behind her as car after car began to slide past them onto the trackclickety click, clickety clickfar too loudly.

Suddenly, with a resounding clank, the new cars bounced against those near the platform, and Tirla's he art clenched when she heard the shouts of alarm as men piled out to investigate.

"Tell me! Did you let all those other kids loose?" Flimflam asked, his nose inches from Tirla's face. She wished he would bend just a little closer so she could bite him. But he would probably poison her, the greasy, coarse, evil scuz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A ladrone poured water over Peter, who did not even moan. Tirla watched him anxiously. He looked terribly pale, crumpled up like that.

He had been fine until they had been recaptured. Perhaps the effort of moving those heavy railcars... She gasped as the whip sliced her again right over the previous welt. Tirla tried to back away but hands clamped on her shoulders, holding her fast. She kicked backward with her heels, jarring feet already sore, but her captor had heavy boots on and she only achieved more b ruises.

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

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

Chapter 17

"Commissioner," Ranjit said, "that's a diplomatic registration."

"I wouldn't care if it was God himself, Lieutenant," the LEO commissioner answered. "Law Enforcement and Order means just that from bottom to top, and right on down the line again. Or it's privilege, not law enforcement and order!" He measured the distance on the huge display map, from the South Shore train yard to the Riverside address.

"Assign the best driver we've got to shadow that CD. And I want that beehivenot just the penthouse lift or the domestic floors but that entire complexsecured. Whoever is in that car could go to ground anywhere. Pack all entries with sensitives. Tell them to home in on any strong emotionwe may get a lot of wash on this. You know how hivers hate to have their privacy broached." He turned to another aide. "Barry, get me the cit y manager and tell her this is a sensitive affair. I want her forewarned so she can back us with the Corps. Feed the situation through Judicial and get me fourno, make it fiveJohn Does and a search warrant. And let's hope that Sascha's efficient."

He shrugged on his tunic top, resplendent with the "bravery bars" and braid, then strapped on sidearms and gestured for Ranjit and his other aides to follow him to the rooftop garage. Jet and aircars were spinning off along usual routes, having been instru cted to move circumspectly.

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

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

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

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

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

Boris: What happened?

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

Boris: Flimflam didn't get a message off; did be? If the man had, they might lose the most important criminal.

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

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

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

Boris: That should be enough to convict Flimflam. But is there enough to catch this--what did you call him?

Sascha: Shimaz, Prince Phanibal Shimaz, who seems to be a whiz at more than Josephson junctions. Flimflam 's spilling his guts: His Highness has rather an extensive operationchild labor in his rice paddies and mines, child prostitution, and a child farm wh ere the healthiest are kept that way until someone can pay for the organ they need.

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

They were well on the way when the comlink heralded a connection from Commissioner Aiello. She appeared on the cabin screen dressed in formal attire. Hovering beside her was her protocol officer, Jak, who, for all his empathy, could at times be quite tires ome about details.

"Do you have incontrovertible proof, Roznine?" she asked.

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

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

"We are not after his Excellency, so Jak can relax. Members of his Corps, certainly, and an embassy vehicle has been identified and traced from the abduction site. There's no problem of proving involvement.

Is the DA there, too? Well, give the old dog a co mforting word in his shelllike ear. The Talents have cracked this abduction ring." The last he admitted ruefully, for despite protests to the contrary, he and his brother were in constant competition.

The massive beehive was aptly nicknamed. Its bottom levels along the blocksquare bulk, where other buildings obscured views, housed maintenance, storage, and worker accommodations. Where the hive rose above its neighbors, there were great curved plasglas p anels that were part solarheating, part prestigious display of wealth. Each pieshaped apartment boasted luxuriant gardens and views from the outer wall, and where the hive had an atrium core, rare plants and trees festooned the inner walls. Naturally the t op apartments were the most exclusive and expensive, with one whole floor given over to private garden and garage facilities, swimming pools, game courts, and whatever other amenities the residents expected, to secure the ultimate of comfort.

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

Just nowcompletely ringed, sir. No one can get in or out without being observed.

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

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

"Three men!"

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

The LEO pilot put them down on the hive roof, and Boris Roznine and his squad made for the ramp down to the entrance level of the penthouse.

Seeing the formal and formidable attire of the LEO commissioner and his aide, the door attendant hurried to open it. His bow was respectful and nervous.

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

"I think not, Prince Phanibal," Boris said, stepping forward while sending Ranjit a quick thought about reinforcements.

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

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

"How dare youwhoever you areenter a diplomatic residence without invitation?" Prince Phanibal demanded, his expression haughty and totally confident. His gaze ignored the lieutenant by Boris's side and the detachment standing just outside the door.

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

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

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

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

"Do you not understand the repercussions this unwarranted intrusion" Prince Phanibal began imperiously. "I am not only a royal prince of my house but a manager of the Padrugoi. I am due back on the platform on the next shuttle."

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

There was a brief pause as the brothers tried to breach the prince's mind. Then Boris pulled back. He's got a dense mind shield. He's had careful conditioning, and I'd love to know where. No, we can't break it, not without breaking the law.

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

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

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

Prince Phanibal stiffened in surprise. "Iwhat?"

"The little switch that you are fond of carrying as an affectation, for you don't own anyanimalsI believe," the Boris/Sascha link continued.

"The one with the ivory handle and the rather unusual filigree design."

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

At that point the ambassador, clad in a deep purple velvet robe with exquisite gold designs, entered from the central door. He cast one startled look at the prince and his pose, another at the group by the door, then signaled for the guards to withdraw. Bo ris Roznine rose and walked forward to meet the Malaysian.

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

"With what could the Prince Phanibal be charged?" the ambassador asked with great dignity.

"The charge is indeed grave, Your Excellency, for there has been traffic in abducting minors and subjecting them to illicit bondage for the purpose of slave labor, unlawful intercourse, and organ removal. " "You have proof of such a heinous crime?" The ambassador drew himself more erect, but he did not appear to be all that surprised.

"Yes, Your Excellency." Boris inclined his head with a nod of regret.

The ambassador was too fine an old man to be saddled with such a scandal. "There are witnesses!" the Boris/Sascha link continued, supporting Boris's reply. "Talented witnesses."

The prince snorted his disbelief, his poise undisturbed. "Such a claim tries all patience. You will dismiss these deceivers, Uncle."

Sascha: This bugger's clever.

Boris: He hasn't turned a hair or admitted a thing.

Sascha: Does he think all Talents are adults?

Boris: Tirla is on the official Register, is she not?

Sascha: Didn't you read the ID bracelet you got her six weeks ago? And there are four of the ladrones, spilling their guts to avoid being spaced, confirming what we've got out of Flimflam for turning State's evidencehis mind took very little pressure when he regained consciousness. That was some scam they had going. Furthermore, it was the dear prince who infiltrated LEO programs and filched the strand formula. He had all the special clearance passwords because he was working on Padrugoi and doing all that ne work with the Josephson junctions. He browsed and took what he needed. Got his island laboratory to perfect a variation for Flimflam to use as a special effect in those Res he put on. We have all the details needed to implicate the prince and that secre tary of his. Returned from the religious institutions and a period of meditation in the Far East? He was planning the whole thing with Prince Phanibal's backing. Sascha's snort of contempt was so strong that Boris grunted.

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

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

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

"You cannot permit such insult to our name," the prince said, slapping his fists to his legs in his barely contained frustration and anger.

"My father will hear of this. You will hear of this. You will be disgraced! You will never return to your home. Your children and your children's children are dog meat..."

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

Commissioner? Ranjit said politely. The pilot has been arrested, and we have the jetter's logs and the garage log. Also, Prince Shimaz's companion was apprehended, attempting to escape."If you will come with us..." Boris began formally, gesturing toward the roof landing steps.

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

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

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

"And Flimflam?" Tirla's eyes flashed with an anger and hatred that startled Sascha, even though he understood it.

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

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

"Eightyseven children," Sascha replied brusquely.

"In the hostels, huh?" Tirla gave a long sigh.

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

"And there haven't been any more deals or abductions?"

Sascha shook his head.

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

She was assiduous in following her education program, opting for a very wide variety of courses, some of which Dorotea was certain she could not yet comprehend. Her reports proved that she was more precocious than anticipated. She took no joy in the freedo m of the Center's grounds and played with no other children despite their repeated attempts to interest her. She had even refused to go on shopping trips with either Sascha or Cass. She tended to become more animated in Peter's company, but she saw him onl y rarely, as he and Rhyssa were deeply involved in his highly specialized training. She was virtually recovered from the abduction, but her morale was extremely low, so Dorotea had insisted that Sascha come for a visit.

"What does it take to strand a kid?" Tirla asked him.

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

"But not the appetites," Tirla said, brooding. "Like that scuzzy prince." In the privacy of her room, her face took on a malicious expression. "Is it difficult to strand a kid? Cass and Suz said they were stranding kids in Linear E. Have they improved the strand for a longterm use?"

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

She tilted her head up at him, regarding him through slightly narrowed eyes, a little smile playing at her lips. "In the Linears I am. You surely don't want another scam like that RIG, do you? And like you said, even illegal kids have rights! I know Cass h as had her baby and wouldn't want to go undercover so soon. But I'd bet my last credit" "All of them are the Center's now, remember?" Sascha teased, and caught a sly gleam in her eyes. So Dorotea was right about her squirreling some floaters away. Old habits died hard.

"And the Center also has to give me anything I want" "Within reason."

"Well, I'll be reasonable. I'm good at languagesanyone'sbut I can't keep sharp if I'm here," she said, gesturing out the window at the lawn. "And Teacher says I don't know all the languages of the worldyet. I'll do you a deal, Sascha Roznine." She cocked h er head at him in what he had come to call her "haggling manner."

"I'll strand illegals in every Jerhattan Linear. I'll strand 'em, but I won't report 'em." She gave a mirthless grin. "If there're sweeps, and I was blamed for 'em, I'd lose mywhat do you call itcredibility? I got ethics, too, you know. But I'd know when t rouble was brewing, and that I would report. That'd help, wouldn't it? I'd be a better troublespotter than any of those LEO plants of your brother's!" The notion seemed to amuse her, and certainly she had become more animated.

"I always knew who was LEOeve n who was Talent."

While there was no question of her affection for Sascha, she was never easy in Boris's presence, though he had tried to be ingratiating. An ingrained distrust of all LEOs was Sascha's diagnosis, not wishing Tirla to be at odds with his twin.

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

Tirla wagged her head, grimacing. "It's not that I don't like Dorotea.

She's the best ever. It's justI don't feel comfortable in all of this." Her glance swept around the wellappointed room. "I'm a Linear brat. My Talent, as you call it," she said, wrinkli ng her nose in selfdeprecation, "works best in a Linear environment." Her eyes twinkled.

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

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

"Indeed, why not?" Sascha echoed.

"Cass and Suz live on the high side of Linears when they're undercover.

I'd really like my own squat on, say, Level 19, so I'd have a view and not so much smog." Her grin was sheer impudence. "In case he hasn't been listening in, ask your brother if I woul dn't be more use to him living in a Linear."

Sascha laughed. Bro? Did you hear that?

Little bint! You '11 never know where you are with that one, will you?

It 's demonstrable that she 's superb as a pulsekeeper. There are far more squabbles and arguments in Linear G than while she was there. I could use a Tirla in all the big Linears. If R hyssa doesn't mind...

Dorotea: I mind!

Boris: Sorry, Dorotea, but Tirla 's a Registered Talent and too damned vital to lay about until she's of age. But there's nothing that says she has to live at the Center while she's waiting for her eighteenth birthday to come around. If she'd be much happi er in a Linear, she could live in one. With Lessud and his family in Island K? Go to school properly and still keep her ears and eyes open for the general wellbeing of the community. With the scam dried up in Jerhattan, Long Island is the next logical pool to f sh in for illegal kids. We could use a reliable pulsekeeper like Tirla.

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

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

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

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

EPILOGUE

Three months later.

Rhyssa?

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

Rhyssa! The tone was more urgent, and then recognition came.

Yes, Madlyn? What's the matter?

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

I overslept. What's the matter?

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

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

The smell of it turned her stomach.

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

Won't ship it? That blew the last of sleepfog from Rhyssa's mind.

What was Colonel Greene up to now? And naturally it's essential for her to complete the installation?

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

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

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

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

"You wished parlance with me, Madame Lehardt?"

"I do indeed, Colonel Greene. What hankypanky are you pulling on poor dear Ludmilla?"

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

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

"Lance and I worked out the time it would take to install those controls, and we've scheduled the kinetics needed. We know exactly how long it will take. Lance must have forgotten to clue Madlyn. I'm sorry she's getting hassled, but she's well able for it.

Soothe her down, will you, Rhys? We're doing it our way!"

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

As she hung up, Dave came in the room, a towel draped about his lean hips. "I did try to wake you, Rhys," he said with a rueful expression.

"You just don't want to get up in the morning."

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

The smell makes me nauseous."

Dave grinned as he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at her.

His blue eyes crinkled. "Figured it out yet?" he asked, glancing down at her abdomen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, there's some things it's more fun to find out by yourself," he said, grinning as he stooped down to kiss her lovingly. "There's a sort of glow about you, too. Everyone's noticed. They've been politely waiting for an official announcement." He stroke d her tangled hair, running fingers down her silver streak.

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

Dave stopped in the act of pulling on his tunic and ducked his head out of the folds to regard her with some alarm. "Sascha? I know you're close but" "Well..." Rhyssa paused. There was one of the few drawbacks to Dave's lack of Talent. Sometimes she had to explain with far more detail than a Talent would require. "Well, Sascha's got to wait, that's all, and he doesn't take waiting kindly."

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

"For Tirla to grow up, of course," she said, gathering herself to rise from the bed. She felt oddly protective of the new life inside her, which was silly, since it was obviously well settled in.

"Tirla?" Dave's eyes nearly popped in astonishment. "He's gone on her? Dirty old man!"

"Not so old and certainly not dirty where Tirla is concerned. Bolt out of the blue on him, all right enough. He's never felt that way about any other female." Rhyssa permitted herself a little knowing smile.

"But she's the one for him, and he knows it. He just has to wait a few years."

"That wight's not even" "Tirla is twelve now, going on two hundred," Rhyssa replied with some asperity. Tirla was a very interesting personality, and she and Sascha would deal very well together. It was incredible, really, to have found two such diverse Talents during her directo rship: one macro who would shift worlds and one whose skill was a microTalent, eroding language barriers. "Neesters ripen a lot faster than we Northern and Occidental types. She'll be more than ready in four years to marry Sascha."

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

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

"And they'll have Talented kids?"

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

Dave paused. In her presence he always allowed his emotions to show.

He cleared his throat and asked briskly, "What about us? When will we know?"

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

"You sound so sure."

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Between her frequent appearances in the United States and England as a lecturer and guestofhonor at sciencefiction conventions, Anne McCaffrey lives at Dragonhold, in the hills of County Wicklow, Ireland, with assorted horses, cats, and a dog. Of herself, Ms. McCaffrey says: "I have green eyes, silver hair, and frecklesthe rest changes without notice."

The End