Pegasus in Space (20 page)

He sensed tentative attitudes toward him from Madlyn’s adored comm officer, Dash Sakai, and Lieutenant Commander Pota Chatham, the chief engineering officer on whose watches he generally worked. He’d hinted as often as he could that he didn’t need to be in the Station CIC to use the marvelously powerful generators. He could gestalt with them from anywhere within several miles and certainly from the
Arrakis
, which was moored in the main construction and repair yard. When his allusions were ignored, he thought maybe he’d been premature. First the CIC officers would need to learn to trust him as much as Johnny Greene and, he was sure, Admiral Coetzer, did. They’d have to get accustomed to his work habits. He was always on time for his scheduled ’ports, he never took a break until Johnny called one, he maintained a strictly professional
attitude at all times, and he never left his post until the watch officer officially told him to “stand down.” Not that he would have presumed in any respect. He was not fragile. In fact, he was probably the safest, strongest person on the Station, especially since the first thing he’d been drilled in was emergency procedures in the event of a Station alert. He knew where all the escape pods were and had amused himself in between ’ports by figuring out who he should rescue in order of importance. Admiral Coetzer was first, of course; Johnny Greene if he was onstation at the time, then the executive officer, Linke Bevan. After them, his priorities altered but he rather thought Madlyn, because she was the strongest ’path in all the Centers, and then Dash Sakai—because Madlyn would be inconsolable if Dash got wasted. He spent other idle moments figuring out how many he could ’port to safety in the first sixty seconds. He even tried putting air envelopes around groups, to give them oxygen and protection against bursting in vacuum.

Another favorite topic for speculation was how Rhyssa had been persuaded to let him take the Padrugoi contract in the first place. He knew how badly she wanted him to find and train kinetics in the gestalt. Considering how much he owed her, and the Parapsychic Centers, he was willing to spend his whole life trying. But so far there’d been no kinetic for him to train … if he could. He suspected Johnny had had more of a hand in getting him on Padrugoi than the general was about to admit. Certainly Admiral Coetzer had given him a wholehearted welcome aboard the Station. He was a frequent guest at the admiral’s table when he was on board. (Maybe that’s why some people avoided him.) Coetzer kept a paternal eye on him—at least that’s what Peter heard Commander Temuri Bergkamp say when the engineering officer didn’t realize Peter was in earshot. Peter did not “listen” or “peek” but sometimes people had loud minds and he couldn’t help but overhear, despite keeping up a light shield most of the time.

That was how he happened to learn that he could be a lot more use to the admiral if he could “hack the black,” as the grunts phrased it.

“I got book on him,” one of them said as he and his mate swung into a service corridor ahead of Peter. As he didn’t make any noise walking, they were unaware of his presence.

“For or agin?”

“Agin, a’course. Kid that young’ll panic first time he has to hack the
black. Ya know whaddi mean. Shit himself all over!” The first one gave a malicious chuckle of anticipation.

“I doan think he will,” the other said defensively. “General thinks he’d make it.”

“Then why’nt he being trained? Been here how many weeks now?”

“I dunno. Hear tell they doan wanna rush him, ‘cos he’s sorta fragile’n stuff. Sure is skinny.”

“Ha! We wasn’t given no time. We hadda go out an’ that was that!”

“That’s what we wuz hired for, dink. He’s not just a grunt, ya know. Notice how he walks? Just like he was
in
a suit. Sort of smooth like.” The man made a gliding gesture.

“Putcher money where yer mouth is.”

“Sure! An’ we
book
the bet with Kibon. You ain’t goin’ slip me on this.”

“You’re on. Slip me into a good downside binge, you will.” And the first man held out a hand to his buddy. Peter inserted himself in a doorway in case they caught a glimpse of him. They turned a corner at the next junction.

Peter digested that conversation and perked up considerably. Bets on him, were there? That he’d shit himself? Peter chuckled bitterly. They didn’t know much about him, did they? He almost wished he
could
pee. Even if he couldn’t hack the black, there wouldn’t be that sort of evidence for anyone to see. But he knew he would hack it. He wanted to be out in space so badly. He wanted to prove to Johnny and the admiral that he was more than just a transport mechanic. He could match construction units so smoothly no one would ever have to worry about them tumbling out of control from reaction. He knew his physics: any action in no-gravity conditions caused a reaction. He had more control than any other kinetic, even Lance Baden. Why, he could speed up the construction of the
Arrakis
by months if they’d only let him help. He’d already ’ported many of its components into space. Placing them inside the hull would be child’s play. He’d studied the
Andre Norton’s
designs—it was the sister ship of the
Arrakis
—so thoroughly he could close his eyes and still put anything in place. He’d wanted to be personally involved ever since his first glimpse of the
Andre Norton
at the Inauguration ceremony. When the admiral had invited him up to view the completed colony ship, he hoped he’d have a chance of working on the next one. All right, he couldn’t
be
a colonist. He’d accepted that. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have an integral part in the
construction of the other two “A-type” colony ships. He’d take a vital step toward that dream if he could just talk them into letting him in space …

He’d do it now. He’d ask now. After all, the worst that could happen was to be told “no.”

W
hen Peter Reidinger suddenly appeared in the admiral’s outer office, Yeoman Nicola Nizukami was surprised. He’d never before just appeared out of thin air, though she knew he could do such things. She didn’t need to be psychic to see that the kinetic was nervous. He was very pale and his Adam’s apple kept jumping up and down in his throat. She wondered if he could sweat like other males.

“Are you all right, Mr. Reidinger?” she asked, wondering what to do if he fainted or something. She knew some of his history as did everyone on the Station but, in this encounter, she seemed not to have all the information she should. She knew the admiral didn’t expect him.

“If the admiral’s available. I mean, I don’t want to interrupt or anything,” he managed to say.

She gave him an encouraging smile. He was much too skinny, she thought. Why doesn’t someone put some weight on his bones!

He blinked and she caught her breath, hoping he hadn’t read what she’d been thinking. She’d been briefed as everyone had on the Station, that he would be too well mannered to do that. The psychics considered uninvited mental intrusion against professional scruples.

“I’ll just see if he’s free,” she said hastily, lifting her wristcom to her lips. “Admiral Coetzer, Mr. Reidinger would like a moment of your time.”

“Send him in,” was the immediate response.

She turned to operate the door control and she thought again that the kid would faint he had turned so white.

“He won’t bite you, Mr. Reidinger,” she whispered, and stood aside, giving him an encouraging wave.

Slowly he glided forward, like an ensign knowing he was in for a tongue-lashing, she thought. Not that Admiral Coetzer was a martinet. And Mr. Reidinger was definitely in the admiral’s good book. The door slid shut. Yeoman Nizukami resumed processing the many end-of-month reports to the Space Authority Headquarters downside.

She was interrupted by an incredible wave of exultation and looked around her, trying to figure out the source and reason. She was alone. The door to the admiral’s office slid open and Peter Reidinger soared out. She blinked because he was a good foot off the floor.

“Ahem, Pete,” said the admiral, who had followed him to the threshold. “You’re levitating. Nicola won’t mind but you might turn a few heads in the corridor.” There was a big smile on Coetzer’s broad pleasant face and an expression of paternal affection for his visitor.

“Oh! Thanks, sir,” and Mr. Reidinger descended. He beamed at Nicola, shaking his head ever so slightly as the outer door opened and he glided out into the corridor, feet on the ground and knees lifting in his usual approximation of an ordinary gait.

Nicola was used to all kinds of people coming and going from the admiral’s office and just about every sort of response to interviews but to see someone
sailing
past her was most unusual.

“Sir?” she said, in the hopes of an explanation.

Dirk Coetzer laughed, rubbing his hands together with immense satisfaction. “Just made that young man very happy by giving him permission to do exactly what I want him to do.”

“Sir?” Nicola was no wiser.

“Get me CPO Ryk Silversmith on the comm,” and the admiral turned back into his office, chuckling and continuing to scrub his hands.

Whose exultation, then, had she thought she felt? She had a useful amount of empathy that made her a good secretary. As she obediently got Chief Petty Officer Silversmith on the comm, she realized that he was in charge of training personnel in EVA.

“S
o Pete couldn’t wait any longer, huh?” Johnny said when Coetzer contacted him about the interview.

“He was the shade of a sheet,” Dirk said, delighted to be able to discuss this remarkable development with the man who’d most appreciate it. He chuckled. “He’d’ve been shaking like a leaf, if he could. Took all my self-control not to whoop out loud.”

“So he got up the gumption to ask.” Johnny grinned smugly. “I wonder what prompted him. Not that I’m not delighted. I’ve seen him
staring at every team of grunts, broadcasting envy. But I like him making his own move. Oh, well, EVA’s not my favorite pastime but I’ll get my suit checked out.”

“You’re not involved,” Dirk Coetzer said.

“I’m not?” The general sounded indignant. “I promised Rhyssa I wouldn’t—”

“Silversmith’ll train him. Same way he trained you, I understand.”

“Silversmith?” There was a brief pause on the other end of the comlink. That was the second time in a day the admiral had trouble suppressing laughter. “None better.”

“Thought you’d see it like that. You and I, however, can discreetly follow his progress. You can accompany him on his first official EVA, I’ll grant you that much.”

“You mean you won’t go along, too, Dirk?” Johnny’s tone was sly.

“I get a few perks, you know.” He allowed himself to chuckle then. “That is, of course, if he can hack the black.”

“Care to make a bet?”

“No, I don’t think I do,” the admiral said in a slow drawl. “But you’ll get pretty good odds if you check with Kibon, the Station bookie.”

“They’re making book on it?”

Dirk Coetzer gave a deprecating snort. “Scuttlebutt about Reidinger has been … quite informative.”

“I’ll check out the odds first.”

“Don’t tell me you’re skeptical?”

“Dirk, I want to be sure whose money I’d be taking on a sure thing. I don’t want one of those offies you have up there looking to waste me.”

C
PO Ryk Silversmith was a compact man, one of the few who took advantage of the naval tradition of wearing a beard, grizzled and neatly trimmed against his jawline. Scuttlebutt suggested he waxed it at night. He had not previously encountered his latest student but he was well aware of the bets laid for and against Reidinger’s ability to hack the black. He’d heard that one of the offies, a janitor, had placed an enormous sum against the lad. His reputation as a trainer did not permit him to bet on a student. So far there’d been no casualties among
his
graduates. He did wonder when he saw the skinny kid sitting as bolt upright as a cadet, if maybe this
one would ruin his record. He’d also been adroitly informed that this Reidinger was special so he’d better pass.

A half hour into the first session of classroom basics, and Silversmith was of two minds whether or not to like the kid. Reidinger knew his physics better than any newly commissioned ensign. The naval manual on EMU maintenance and repair was up on his notepad. Though he listened intently to Silversmith’s spiel on space suits, it was as if the kid was checking a mental list to be sure the chief didn’t miss a point. Kid didn’t act know-it-all either; wasn’t the least bit smart-ass, respectful but not an ass-licker. Whatever. Silversmith proceeded inexorably with the standard introductory session. When, as was his habit, he required Reidinger to repeat from time to time what he had just said, the answer was spot-on. At the end of the hour, he hauled out the demonstration model.

“This,” he said, flipping the sleeves, tapping the helmet and the belt, “is an extravehicular mobility suit. Also known as a space suit, Mr. Reidinger. You will refer to it from now on as an EMU. Do you read me?”

His student was staring at the EMU with such shining eyes and eagerness that Silversmith had to clamp down hard on the usual sarcastic retorts he had coined over the years, to depress the stupid ideas some dinks—and he included Reidinger in that number—had about extravehicular activities and/or space suits.

“You will need one. You will never exit this Station without the one that has been assigned you and without checking your EMU before and after every use. Do you read me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Reidinger?” the chief barked.

“Sir?”

“I’m not a ‘sir.’ I’m Chief. Chief Silversmith to be explicit. Get me?”

“Yes! Chief Silversmith.”

“Strip off that coverall,” and the chief, not to spare Reidinger’s feelings but because he didn’t care to waste any unnecessary time on modesty, turned slightly to one side, looking at his clipboard.

To his surprise, the kid immediately peeled off his one-piece coverall and stood in his briefs. Looking at the long, skinny frame, with very little muscle on it, Silversmith knew there wouldn’t have been anything on board the Padrugoi that could be made to fit. Seemed a shame to waste money on a custom job when who knew if the kid could cut the mustard.
Bets were heavy against him. The Chief had seen worse physical specimens make out but he had his doubts about Reidinger. Orders were orders and Silversmith deftly took the necessary measurements, slightly puzzled by the odd bulge down the kid’s left side. Funny place to wear a security pouch. He gestured for Reidinger to dress.