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!
"Now, we do have some tasks," Dorotea said briskly. "Off," she added and the screen went dark. "If you will put this on, Amariyah," holding out a warm fleece-lined jacket, "we will go outside. Tirla will come, too."
"I will?" Tirla was taken aback. "But I thought I would access Teacher from here."
"The fresh air will do you good, too. Dida commands, Tirla," Dorotea said at her sweetest. She shrugged on an old jacket, shoved worn gloves in one pocket, a measuring tape in another. "I believe you like gardens, Amariyah." She was amazed by the vivacity flooding the child's solemn little face.
"Oh, I do, dida."
Dorotea took her hand. "Right now, of course, only the spring flowers are coming up but there's a lot of maintenance to be done. This house faces southeast so we have good sun on most of the beds all day. Things do not grow with quite the profusion that they do in Bangladesh, but I have reason to be proud of my green thumb."
That unfamiliar idiom made Amariyah regard Dorotea's slender hands with surprise.
"It's an expression, my dear, meaning that one is good at gardening."
"I have a black thumb," Tirla muttered, closing the front door behind them. "Oh! Look at the tools, Amariyah! Just your size."
Dorotea beamed with satisfaction as Amariyah gazed with rapture at the child-sized wheelbarrow, equipped with rake, fork, spade, trowel, and watering can. She had to be encouraged to examine the tools and reassured that, yes, these were for her to use. Surely there'd been some toys in that orphanage. Or had her garden been her only toy?
"Try them, Amariyah," Tirla said, pushing the child toward the barrow. "See, just the right size for your hands!" She had to close Amariyah's fingers about the rake handle. "See? They were made for you!"
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" exclaimed Amariyah, hands clasping the rake in a grip that made her knuckles turn white, tears flowing down her cheeks.
"Now, now, it's no big thing, dear. I do need help, you see, and Tirla's best at shopping." Dorotea reached into her coat pocket to find a tissue. "Tirla, go get my trug and my stool from the shed. We'll need to rake some of last year's leaves away, Amariyah. Let's make a start, shall we? Just wheel your barrow over here, will you?" Dorotea gently ushered the dazed little girl toward the garden where the green spires of daffodils poked through the mulch.
Tirla, returning with Dorotea's equipment, regarded Amariyah with consternation. She's still crying.
"Don't cry, Amariyah," she said aloud, folding a sympathetic arm about the girl's slender shoulders. She's not sobbing. She's just letting tears run down her face. How does she do that? "Itold you you'd have a garden."
"It's the dida's garden," Amariyah murmured. Rake in hand, she took the final steps. "But I will make it neater."
"That's the girl. This dida needs help with her garden," and Dorotea artistically groaned as she bent down. Amariyah was quick to help her to her knees. "I can trust Tirla to find shopping bargains but I wouldn't trust her to weed." Dorotea could not resist flashing a sour look at Tirla.
"Why are you trusting me?" Amariyah asked.
"Because," Dorotea said slowly for emphasis, "I know that I can. Here, let's just clear the leaves from this patch. Do you have daffodils in Bangladesh?"
Setting the little rake carefully to the ground, Amariyah dropped to her knees beside Dorotea, oh so patiently coaxing the dead stuff away from the green shoots.
"I have never seen these before."
For a moment, Tirla thought that Amariyah was sniffing the leaves, she had her face so close to them.
"Tirla, why don't you go get my gardening book?"
"Why don't we access the screen?"
"That would mean we'd have to go inside," Dorotea said, well aware of the ploys Tirla could come up with in order to get back to a screen. "I think one of those printed books you find so obsolete will do nicely."
"Which one?" Tirla asked in a put-upon tone.
"Get the Encyclopedia of North American Flora first," Dorotea said firmly. "The title is printed on the spine, you know." She turned back to her eager student. "Now, there are five varieties of daffodils around the house, and eight of narcissi. They'll be coming up next."
Tirla brought the book and, while Dorotea was turning the pages to the section on bulbs, she sneaked back to the house, to turn on Teacher. The avid gardeners stayed out for the entire morning. Tirla had a peek from the front window from time to time, seeing two rear ends waggling above the flower beds. Amariyah was evidently oblivious to everything but her hands in dirt and muck and making certain that she'd cleared the last little bit of debris from the emerging plants.
When that bed had been cleared, Dorotea ushered her back into the house. "Now wash your hands well, and be sure to brush your fingernails clean," she said, nodding significantly to Tirla to oversee the process.
Dida Dorotea served warming soup because the child was quite pale from cold under the tan the sun in Bangladesh had given her. By then the new clothing had arrived and Tirla insisted on a fashion show, making certain that everything fitted correctly, giving a long lecture on how Amariyah could mix and match the various items, and helping her put them away in the drawers.
Dorotea had had the notion of logging Amariyah on to Teacher in the afternoon so that they could see just where the child stood academically. That could wait until tomorrow. Today she would consolidate her position with the child by taking her on an afternoon stroll of the grounds so she could orient herself. Dorotea also hauled a protesting Tirla away from the monitor for more fresh air. The lawns were just beginning to green up but the trees and shrubs were bare.
"There is a great deal of gardening to be done here, dida," Amariyah said solemnly.
"This time of year is not the busiest for gardening here in North America, " Dorotea remarked. Because it was so obvious from Amariyah's manner that she looked forward to the challenge, she did not say that there were men who did nothing but take care of the gardens here on the old Henner estate.
"Where is the kitchen garden?" Amariyah asked.
Tirla managed to turn a laugh into a gurgle.
"I will show you where the vegetables are grown another day. You're cold. We shall go home and have a nice cup of tea." Dorotea tightened her grip on the small hand.
"We forgot to buy gloves," Tirla said. "I'll get gardening gloves, too, if they make them in Maree's size."
"I'm sure we'll find some," Dorotea said.
How is our waif? Rhyssa asked as they made their way back to the house.
If Teacher was the key to our Tirla, a garden is Amariyah's. What worries me is that she hasn't smiled once and I wonder if she knows how to laugh.
That's your department, dida.
Dorotea imagined herself as a giant cat, tracking down a mouse of a Rhyssa with malice intended.
I couldn't resist, dear Then Rhyssa's mental tone altered. We have got hold of Amariyah's birth certificate. She was born five years ago in Djakarta, August 17. Tony and Nadezhda were working on some ruins upcountry. Just made it to the hospital, or so Kayankira discovered in her research. There are, as Kayankira said, no living relatives. Both parents were single children. Each had put the other down as 'next of kin.' We also accessed Tony's employment application and security search lists no living relatives of any degree of kinship.
So she's ours?