Pegasus In Space
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Серия: Talents #3
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Pegasus In Space». Краткое содержание книги:
For an overpopulated Earth whose resources are strained to the breaking point, there is only one place to look for relief: straight up. With the successful completion of the Padrugoi Space Station, humanity has at last achieved its first large-scale permanent presence in space. But there are those who, for motives of their own, want Padrugoi to fail. Standing in their way are the Talented, men and women gifted with extraordinary mental powers that have made them as feared as they are respected--and utterly indispensable to the colonization effort. Now, as sabotage and attempted murder strike the Station, it's up to the Talented to save the day. Only who is going to save the Talented?
Pegasus in Space is the tale of Peter Reidinger, first Tower Prime!
Which they are, Peter said smugly. Tit for her tat!
The admiral stepped forward and removed the wristcom from Barchenka's limp arm and the weapon from her hand.
"Now hear this! Admiral Coetzer speaking. Ludmilla Barchenka has been taken prisoner. Surrender without further violence, and I guarantee safe return to the planetary surface. This mutiny is now over. Surrender to Station personnel immediately and in an orderly fashion. I repeat, Ludmilla Barchenka is under guard and her illegal force is disarmed. This is Admiral Coetzer speaking. This Station is now back under my command.
"Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, please be calm," and now he held his hands up, circling to be sure that he could be seen. "Are there any medical personnel who can attend our wounded?"
Johnny Greene suddenly levitated in front of the admiral, appearing to hesitate midair, reaching out with his right hand to deflect or catch something.
Got it! Johnny cried, dropping to his feet again as he showed the knife that had been thrown at the admiral. In the same second, one of Barchenka's thugs who was kneeling on the floor, doubled up, screaming in pain.
"I suggest that no one else attempt a similar breach of common sense," Johnny said, slowly rotating on his heel to survey Barchenka's mutineers. Pete, can you do a shield around the admiral? We're not home clear yet.
Sure! Peter Reidinger, looking frailer than ever against the tall, well-fleshed admiral, stepped to his side and projected an invisible barrier.
"Secure that man," the admiral said, gesturing for two of his aides to deal with the writhing would-be assassin. Then he noticed Peter. "Ah!"
"You need Pete fight now, Admiral," Johnny said quickly in an undertone. "He's that skeleteam I'm sure you've been briefed on."
The admiral raised his eyebrows in surprise, gave Peter an abrupt nod, and then continued to issue crisp orders.
"If some of my fellow guests would be so good as to collect the arms." Both male and female guests leaped forward immediately. Some of them cautiously nudged the weapons out of reach or gingerly touched the handles in case of residual heat. The arms were dumped in a pile that Johnny Greene then "lifted" out of the reception area.
Rhyssa crouched down by Ludmilla Barchenka's limp body and pushed her beret back, exposing the shiny skullcap that had prevented any telepath from reading her mind.
"Oh, my word!" Rhyssa. exclaimed. When she lifted the closefitting metal plate off, a round patch of bare skin, reminiscent of an ancient monk's tonsure, was revealed; bare skin further increased the protection offered by the cap.
"No wonder she felt dense," Gordon Havers remarked.
"It figures," Johnny Greene agreed after a quick glance. Then he grinned at Rhyssa. Not that I'd like to peek into her twisted mind but someone may have to, to make sure we've arrested everyone involved in this little, ah, mutiny.
Rhyssa gave a little shudder of revulsion and stood up, hands clasped together under her chin in distress. Dave put a comforting arm about her shoulders.
"General Greene?" Admiral Coetzer asked, beckoning for Johnny to come closer. He looked meaningfully at Peter, who was in earshot in his protective position.
"I'll vouch for Pete, Admiral," Johnny remarked in a low voice. Then he cocked his head, indicating he was all attention.
"How much of a force do you have, Greene? Enough to deal with this…" the admiral hesitated over a choice of words.
"Mutiny, Coetzer?" And Johnny's ineffable humor provoked a slight twitch of the admiral's lips. "I don't have a 'force,' just some volunteers in strategic places." He pointed up to the open grilles. "Another group reports that they tranked her Yellow Team in the hall so you don't need to worry about her being reinforced." Johnny ducked his head, scratching the nape of his neck and grimacing in embarrassment. "Your own personnel should be yours to command again… once we find your wristcom. Ah, thanks, Pete," he said as a wrist unit was teleported against his medals. He grabbed it.
"Thank you, Pete," Admiral Coetzer echoed, turning to the thin youth at his side before repossessing his communicator. His regard of his youthful guard was more interested than patronizing.
The military and naval guests had taken it upon themselves to secure Barchenka's whilom guards, conscious or tranquilized, assisted by Johnny's irregular troops. Leaving some on guard in the apertures, trank rifles trained below, others dropped from the hatches to secure the insurrectionists. Moments later, Admiral Coetzer's Station personnel arrived to take official charge of the captives.
Barchenka's limp body was soon draped over several chairs, strands of sweaty blond hair lying across the shaved pate. Though the drug in the dart would keep her unconscious for several hours, her hands and feet had been yoked as a precaution.
Meanwhile, recovering from the confrontation, other dignitaries had decided that now was the appropriate time to circulate refreshments. Since the waiters and waitresses were unavailable, guests performed such duties, pouring glasses of the inaugural champagne, wines, sodas, juices, and liquors set out on the tables. Some were passing trays of canapes and other finger foods, setting aside their official positions to help restore some semblance of "occasion" in the reception area. Those who had been unduly distressed by the shocks of the last hour were being comforted. Noise soon reached a normal level for such a gathering.
"Greene," the admiral said, after answering another bleep on his wristcom. "CIC reports shuttles leaving that were not cleared. Possibly some mutineers are trying to escape. I'd prefer not to christen the Station's defense system today, but the crews are not responding to orders to stop."
"An exodus like that can best be handled from Station control, don't you agree?" Johnny said, gently guiding the admiral toward the nearest exit. "We'll need the services of our Voice," he added, beckoning Madlyn to come forward. We might need everyone in CIC "I believe you've already met Ms. Luvaro, Coetzer," and when the admiral acknowledged that with a little bow to her, Johnny went on. "She's been our Station-to-Earth contact and she'll be very useful right now. I don't believe you've met Rhyssa and Dave Lehardt. Rhyssa's…"
"By reputation certainly I know Ms. Lehardt and her husband," the admiral said graciously, gesturing for the small knot of psychics to accompany him. "And Justice Havers. Though I haven't formally met Mr. Baden," he said, turning to Lance with an extended hand. "Your superb management of the Bangladesh Emergency was a fascinating advertisement for kinetics."
"Not as much as today was," Lance replied drolly.
On their way to the lift, they passed knots of white-coated men and women now guarded by personnel of Coetzer's command.
"Admiral, sir," Madlyn began tentatively, "you gotta reassure the grunts."
"I beg your pardon?" The admiral leaned slightly toward the Voice who was trotting to keep up with his long stride.
"The workers, down below, they're terrified of Barchenka and they think she's still in control. If you don't tell 'em you are, they might do just about anything."
"That will be our second task, Ms. Luvaro. You can't, by any chance, reassure them yourself?"
"Me? They wouldn't hear me, sir. None of 'em are receivers. It's your voice they need to hear on the audio. They liked you, you know. You didn't sniff or cover your nose when you visited their quarters.