Pegasus in Space (48 page)

He was up, had changed his appliance, showered, and dressed before he felt Johnny’s mind touch his.

I’m up, I’m up
, he said.

You sound revoltingly chipper
.

Peter grinned. Johnny sounded as if he were hung over.

Had breakfast?

Shut up and eat yours now so I don’t have to smell it. Barney’s waiting for you in the conference room. Tell him I’ll need plenty of fresh coffee. And stress the ‘fresh.’
A pause.
Please
.

Sure thing!

Johnny arrived well after Peter had finished his meal. Peter had had time to transfer the image of “South Americ.” to the conference room files, securing it with his personal code. The moment Johnny arrived, Barney appeared, ready with the coffee, which he placed before the general as well as hard copy of the day’s teleportation list.

“You know,” Peter said casually, “we could go into business for ourselves. T and T.”

“Huh?”

Peter waited until Johnny had had a few sips of the hot, fresh coffee. It even smelled good to Peter.

“Telepaths and Teleporters, Incorporated, or Limited because there’s really only three of us strong kinetics. I include Lance.”

“Good of you,” Johnny mumbled, both hands on the cup, elbows on the table. He wasn’t really hearing anything yet.

Peter “reached” for the day’s schedule and unfolded the sheet, laying the hardcopy flat. “Did we hear confirmation of receipt from First Base?”

Johnny nodded and then clutched at his head. “Yeah.”

“And they’ve cleared the telepad?”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t want to dump some of today’s heavy stuff on yesterday’s fragile shipments.”

“You won’t.”

Peter checked the items a second time, looking at the mass and descriptions. “Not a bad day’s work. I think I’ll start with some heavy stuff.”

“Be my guest.”

“Who did this to you? The admiral?”

“Who else, considering we’re not here to anyone else,” Johnny said, and took another swallow. “Great coffee, Barney.”

“Thank you, sir. If I am no longer required?”

“Bring Pete a high-calorie snack about ten, would you, Barney?”

“Of course, sir. And please secure the door behind me, General,” he added apologetically.

“Yeah, s’okay, Barney.”

As soon as the door closed behind the quiet steward, Peter threw on the lock.

“I’ll just assemble the first stuff,” Peter said. “Oh, and there’re a few things for us to shift downside, too. Shall I save them for you?” If he set a pattern today, it would be easier to slip in the one he wanted Johnny to do. But not when he had a hangover.

“I’ll get to them later, Pete.” Johnny cleared his throat and finished that cup of coffee.

“I’ll fill, Johnny. You might burn yourself,” Peter said kindly. Johnny
shot him a caustic glance but held his cup out. Peter ’ported the carafe over and filled the cup.

“Thanks. Don’t ever drink, kid. Not really worth it.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Johnny slumped over his coffee while Peter organized the first send. He would have to be patient for his Great Experiment. He wanted Johnny in his full senses as much to do the ’port as to appreciate what
was
possible! First the Moon, then Mars, and then …? Peter’s heart leapt within his chest with excitement.

“Don’t forget the sensors, Pete,” Johnny had enough presence of mind to say.

As well he hadn’t already put them on, Peter thought, or maybe palpitations of anticipation didn’t register on monitors. He could attach the pads to himself but it took time. And once again he saw his hand muscles spasm and had an odd sensation in his fingertips. From residual electricity in the pads? He really must resume his Reeve Board exercises. With Flimflam dead, and undoubtedly some sort of confession from the assassin, surely their return could be officially announced! And he could arrange for some telescope time. He had to know if his notion was feasible.

“I’m wired,” he announced to Johnny and, setting his mind to the gestalt, made the day’s first transfer to the main depot at First Base. “That was almost easy,” he added, though it hadn’t been all that easy. He just wanted to imply that, preparing the ground for Johnny.

“Don’t sound so cheerful.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Flimflam’s dead and they’ll find out more from his assassin.”

“No, they won’t,” Johnny said. “Like all well-programmed assassins he suicided.”

“Oh!” That was too bad. It also meant that this whole sorry mess of intrigue and revenge wasn’t cleared up

“However, the good admiral’s security guys are picking the brains of the freighter crew; not literally. That isn’t legal. But the good ship
Elise
has been moored onstation for the past eight days.” Johnny frowned. “Indeed, since our Limo left. So perhaps the late Idi ibn Sorkut—at least that’s the name on his papers—might have let drop some tidbits in the Mall while awaiting the news that
Limo-34
was MIS.”

“You sound better.”

“I’m not really.”

“Could all this really be a fatwa?”

“More than likely, though a fatwa was a religious punishment, for blasphemy. This is for plain revenge.”

“Plain?” Peter exclaimed.

“No, I guess there’s nothing plain about this at all.” Johnny raised bloodshot eyes and managed a grim smile. He pulled the list over to him. “You’ve done the first?”

“I’ll organize the second, too. You haven’t had enough coffee yet.” Peter laid his hand on the list to draw it back to him, aware that his fingers were twitching.

Johnny saw it and blinked to clear his eyes. “Is that new?”

“Seems to be. Doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel it.”

“That’s nerve action. You’re not supposed to have working nerves.”

“A fringe benefit of free fall?” Then Peter suggested slyly, “Maybe all the hard work I did landing us?”

Johnny reached for the comunit and gave an address. “Is Dr. Scott available? Good. Will she please report to Admiral Coetzer’s conference room. This is not an emergency.”

Suddenly Johnny thrust his coffee mug into Peter’s left hand, curved where he had laid it to hold down the schedule list. Peter jerked his hand … away from heat?

“I felt that!” Peter stared down at his hand.

Johnny moved the mug to Peter’s right hand, slowly pressing the thumb up against it.

“And that?” Johnny’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Yes.”

Slowly, as if he would almost rather not be disappointed, Peter kinetically fitted both hands around the hot coffee mug. He swallowed hard.

“I can feel heat in all my fingers and in the palms of my hands.”

He raised his eyes to Johnny’s. A slow and incredulous smile spread over the general’s face, and his eyes were shining with extra moisture. He slid his hands lightly over Peter’s.

“D’you feel that?”

“Just a slight pressure.” Peter wanted to cry. For the first time since Dorotea had found him in the hospital, he wanted to cry. He blinked very hard. He couldn’t cry in front of Johnny Greene.

“If you do, I will,” Johnny murmured, and gently embraced him.
Can you feel this?

Peter gave his head a little shake, his head resting against Johnny’s broad shoulder.
Just a sort of pressure. But, even to have the use of my fingers again! I haven’t been able to move them since that damned body brace shorted out, with me in it
. He didn’t shake with sobs, that was probably beyond his new capability, but he did feel his chest move and let the tears roll down his face. Until they heard the tentative rap on the door.

“Admiral?” The muffled voice was female. Mentally Peter reached out and recognized Ceara Scott.

Johnny opened the lock and, as she pulled the door forward she was startled to see the occupants and hurried inside, her eyes focused on Peter. She closed the door quickly.

“What’s wrong?” She hurried to his side and Johnny released his hold.

“I don’t think nerves spontaneously regenerate,” Johnny said, his lips twisted to one side.

“I feel heat.” Peter demonstrated by clasping the coffee mug in both hands.

“But you can’t,” she exclaimed. Then, shaking her head in a double denial, she altered her remark. “You shouldn’t be able to! I saw your medical files, the spinal trauma.”

“I can feel heat,” Peter repeated, holding the cup up in both hands toward her. Johnny instantly extended the flat of his hand to support the mug.

“That coffee’s hot, you know.” The general’s tone was gruff but his eyes remained very shiny. “I don’t want you splattered and burned because you’re showing off.”

“Let’s just see what we’ve got here,” Ceara said, deftly removing the hot cup from Peter’s hands and noting its heat. “Undoubtedly hot.”

She took Peter’s left hand and turned it over, noting the redness. She pressed one fingertip.

“I felt that, too!” There was delighted amazement in Peter’s voice. “I didn’t quite feel that,” he said with less delight when she pressed the skin of the next knuckle of the finger. She dug her fingernail into his skin and he felt the sharper prod. “That I felt!” He looked at the mark her nail had left on the skin.

Ceara eased herself into the nearest chair. “You should see a proper
neurologist as soon as possible. And there isn’t one onstation. We’ve got to find out if you really could have had some regeneration … We do have an MRI in sick bay—” She broke off, eyes blinking in confusion. Peter could feel her mind blazing alternately with optimism and denial. Miracles didn’t happen anymore. She gave her head a sharp shake. “I didn’t realize you were back on Padrugoi.” Her glance took in Johnny.

“I’ll see if Dirk will admit we’re here. Especially if we have to get Peter down to sick bay. First order of business.” Johnny reached for the comunit as briskly as if he were no longer suffering from a hangover.

“Second order of business is this,” Peter said, tapping a fingertip—and feeling it—on the day’s list.

“Would he be endangering himself?” Johnny asked Ceara anxiously, pausing on the comm keypad.

“How?” Peter demanded.
After all that’s happened to me in the last two weeks?

U
pon hearing that Peter needed to go to sick bay, Dirk Coetzer was concerned.

“What has to be done?” Peter asked Ceara warily. He’d had more than enough physical examinations, even if he hadn’t felt them.

“We’ve a good MRI, though an EMG …”

“What’s that?” Johnny demanded, far more alarmed than either Coetzer or Peter.

“Electroneuromyograph, but it’s done with sensor pads, much like that equipment,” and she nodded to the unit to which Peter was already attached. “Used to be much more intrusive. Anyway, sick bay doesn’t have one. You’d’ve had to go downside. I’d recommend Finn Markstein. He’s a neurologist. I trained with him at Mountainside Hospital.”

“Will the MRI be conclusive?’ Johnny asked. “Will we see what’s going on?”

Peter turned to regard Johnny with some amusement. Johnny sounded so anxious while Peter was being far more objective. Catching the look, Johnny flushed and gripped Peter’s shoulder, then remembered Peter might feel it and threw both hands up in the air in bewilderment.

“General Greene, if I haven’t collapsed by now, I won’t. But let’s just get the second shipment off.” He looked at Ceara. “Then I’m all yours.” It was his turn to blush.

She covered her mouth with her hand to hide a grin before giving him a more professional look.

“An MRI doesn’t take that long but it will reassure everyone about your present condition.”

“He’s worried about a shipment?” Johnny ignored her reassurance and waved his hands over his head, rolling his eyes. “He’s not worried about ‘feeling’ for the first time in what is it, six years?”

Peter grinned at Johnny’s histrionics.

“Look, Peter, don’t concern yourself over ’porting,” Dirk Coetzer began placatingly on the comlink.

“Admiral,
that
is my job here. I made it to First Base so I could ’port more efficiently. I’m not about to malinger when General Greene cannot undertake such assignments on his own.” Peter swallowed hard, hoping that his agitated response would not put Johnny on guard. Hurriedly he said, “I’ll send the second shipment, go down to sick bay, get this MRI, and be back in time to send number three.”

Ceara gave him a long look that said clearly “only if the MRI is good.”

Johnny had to be persuaded to Peter’s return to work after the MRI, but Dirk was clearly pleased at Peter’s diligence. Johnny even added his mental push to Peter’s on the second shipment. Peter kept his pleasure over that to himself. It would be so easy for him to just duck out at the last moment and leave all the ’port to Johnny.
Then
he’d tell him the destination and prove to doubting Johnny Greene that his gift did not have limits.

Johnny did suggest that they ’port themselves and Ceara down to sick bay, preferably right into the room with the MRI equipment.

“I also don’t want anyone thinking you’ve got a medical problem,” Johnny said to justify that maneuver.

“Assassins just don’t fall out of convenient lockers, Johnny,” Peter replied but he didn’t object.