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!
"I was thinking she has killed my garden," Amariyah cried. "She is still rolling in it. You are surely seeing that much!" Too tightly held in Sister Kathleen's capable firm grip to pull more of Lila's luxuriant tresses from her head, the furious little girl now kicked dust at her victim with her bare feet.
From the comer of the main building, Sister Epiphania came rushing to discover the cause of Lila's continuous shrieks. Epiphania paused a moment, taking in the incredible scene of the prostrate Lila and her colleague holding the struggling Amariyah.
"Oh, dear Lord, oh dear Lord, save us," Sister Epiphania chanted as she rushed forward to succor Lila, who screamed in terror when 'Phania touched her. She had her eyes tightly closed, as much against the dust Amariyah was kicking at her, as because she knew she had been caught doing something wicked. "Lila, dear Lila, it is I."
The voice reassuring her, Lila opened her eyes enough to see that she was safe. She clung to Sister Epiphania, shrieking out that she would never be married now, with all the hair pulled from her head.
"Nonsense," Sister Kathleen said, coping with Amariyah's flailing. "Do take that…" Kathleen firmly closed her lips on the adjective she was going to apply to the malicious Lila, paused, and rephrased her sentence, "that child and bathe her scalp. She's by no means badly hurt. Certainly not enough to keep caterwauling." Although, she thought candidly to herself, who would marry such a mean-spirited creature was moot.
Soothingly, Sister Epiphania managed to get Lila to her feet and led her away through the circle of watching children.
"Now, Amariyah, let us deal with you," Sister Kathleen said in her firmest no-nonsense voice. "I cannot believe that you, of all the children here, would display a vicious streak!"
"She ruined my garden!" Amariyah suddenly collapsed, sinking into a pathetic bundle, tears streaming down her dusty face as she picked up first this clump of greenery and then that. She held them to her mouth, in the age-old gesture of grief, completely bereft. She did not scream, she did not sob, but the tears kept pouring out of her sorrowful blue eyes in a manner that totally unnerved Sister Kathleen.
"Oh, my dear child, do not take on so." The nun pulled the little girl up, broken plants and all, stroking the tangled hair, rocking the slender body in her arms. "You can replant the garden," she said encouragingly.
"It is the dry season," Amariyah wailed, though she surrendered to the motion of Sister Kathleen's body. "Nothing will bud or bloom in the dry season. Surely you are knowing this."
"Go about your tasks," Sister Kathleen said, realizing that the entire orphanage was avid witness to the scene. She raised one arm to scatter the audience. "Tula, Rabiah, take the washing down before the sun bleaches all the color away. Soma, Lota, take the little ones to the banyan tree and finish telling them their story. Sakti, Reva, you were supposed to be drawing water. Be sure to put the jars in the shade to cool for our supper. Habibah, Risha, Uma… all of you big girls, you have not finished hoeing the potatoes." She shooed them all about their sundry tasks, rocking Amariyah in time to her orders.
"Now, little one, what shall I do with you?" She held the child away from her and was unutterably affected by the tears still rolling down the woebegone little face. "Never in all the time you have been with us, have you misbehaved!"
"My flowers (sob), my vege(sob)tables (sob) are all dead," and the murmured words were bitter. "Nothing I can do will bring them back to life." She opened her hands and displayed the limp and wilted remains of her once thriving plants. "Why? Why did Lila kill them? They had done her no harm. She is an assassin!"
Sister Kathleen pressed her lips together, wondering why she wanted to cry, too. Crying was not an effective answer to any problem that she knew of. She was flummoxed by the fact that this was the first time Amariyah had wept. She was such a self-contained little body, diligent with her assigned tasks, willing to do anything required of her. She had been so good with the little ones when the fever struck, even deserting her garden during the emergency. Whatever had possessed Lila? Of course, the girl was older, starting her menses when, as every woman knew, females were more likely to be perverse. Especially the Bengali girls, who matured far too young, Sister Kathleen thought. Lila would soon be thirteen and all her thoughts were on marriage. The girl refused to even consider the alternatives now available to the young women of Bangladesh. Well, Kathleen thought philosophically, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink.
"Now, child, we will wash your face and hands and dry your tears." She rose, trying to lift Amariyah to her feet, but the girl writhed out of her grasp.
Amariyah hunkered down and began tenderly gathering up the dead stalks and stems. "You must be going into the compost. You will be going with my love because you were rewarding me with your beauty and your strength. After death there can be life in another form. It is written."
Sister Kathleen stared in surprise and watched as Amariyah finished collecting the remains and walked toward the efficient composting tank, the very welcome gift of some Ladies Group in England. Kathleen did not remember where, but the gift was much appreciated.
"When you are done, Amariyah, I will wash your face and hands."
She heard a murmured response and rather thought it had to do with being able to wash her own self without help.
Sister Kathleen shook her head, wondering if, perhaps, she should have reminded the child of her manners. A reprimand right now was inappropriate. And, besides, Amariyah was one of the few girls who could be counted on for scrupulous courtesy. Father Salih and the Bahadur had both commented on her deportment. She watched a moment longer as Amariyah returned for another load of damaged plants, her expression still woeful, but the amazing tears had stopped. Sister Kathleen turned toward the infirmary where little shrieks suggested that Sister Epiphania was anointing Lila's torn scalp. Sister Kathleen caught herself smiling. Lila deserved, at least in this small measure, physical and mental discomfort for such a random act of senseless destruction.
As the cool of evening settled in, Sister Kathleen had occasion to pass the spot where Amariyah's garden had flourished. She halted, staring at the place that had been raked clean of pebbles: not even so much as one of the twigs that had provided a little fence remained.
"Oh, dear," and Kathleen was truly and devastatingly appalled at the sight. "Oh, poor dear Amariyah!" She looked about the little clumps of girls playing games. She couldn't spot Amariyah. Of course, Amariyah was always gardening at this hour. She looked again toward the wide-spreading limbs of the banyan tree where the girls were gathered. That is when she saw the dust cloud rising in the distance. She thought little of it, since this was the hour when people did undertake journeys, when the fierce sun was setting.
She was astonished when twenty minutes later the sturdy ground vehicle came to a discreet halt at the orphanage gate. The driver descended and came to the gate, a Hindu to judge by her clothes and indubitably high-caste. She scolded herself briefly for adding that to her first impression. The visitor saw her and folded her hands politely, smiling such a warm greeting that Kathleen smiled back.
"Is this the Orphanage of the Holy Innocents?" the visitor asked.
"Yes, it is." Kathleen paused for the visitor to identify herself.