To Ride Pegasus
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Серия: Talents #1
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «To Ride Pegasus». Краткое содержание книги:
Two days later Welch came back in triumph, trailing two sheets of graphing tissue like victory streamers.
“You did it, Boss. Look, pass blocked, tune and again, with a minimum of effort on Ruth’s part. But damn it, she’s not a pure kinetic. What could she be moving with such an infinitesimal touch? How does she apply the block?”
“Unconsciously,” op Owen replied with a sly grin. “However, it may be because that touch is so delicate, she can’t do it consciously. I didn’t look very deeply. But so many kinds of Talent are fairly heavy-handed, violent. Like using awls in place of microneedles.” He winced a little, remembering how his mental touch had uncovered Ruth’s pitiful lack of self-confidence in her Talent. All her Incidents occurred without her awareness, deep in the subconscious levels of her mind into which Daffyd saw no need to trespass. She was a nice womanly person: her surface thoughts revolving around her husband, her daughter: all her anxieties were needless guilts over minor details. It was, therefore, relatively easy to block her notions that she would inadvertently harm Dorotea, or try to suppress Lajos. It was easy to erase conscious knowledge of her Talent, replacing it with a feeling of accomplishment and well-being: the post-hypnotic command to respond to Dorotea’s telepathic demands and channel them firmly into speech centers. He also displaced her reluctance to have other Talented children because she felt inadequate. Ruth must have great resources of self-assurance.
He planted them.
Now op Owen turned to Welch. “Ask Jerry Frames how soon Ruth Horvath can bear another child. I’d like her first two fairly close together before she gets cold feet.” “Cold feet he calls it!” was Welch’s parting crack.
“I’m sorry, Daffyd,” the Washington precog said, “I’ve stared at Joel Andres’s picture for hours. I’ve read his House speeches, I’ve read his memoirs. I’ve sat in his outer office until the Senate police asked to have a word with me. Then he came in, and recognized me, of course. And gave me a scarf to hold.” Mara
Helm paused. “As a memento, he said. But I don’t see it.”
“You’ve had no stimulation about him at all?”
“Nothing dire.”
“What do you mean, nothing dire?”
“That’s what I mean and all I mean, Dai. Nothing conclusive, in that his life concludes. And, as you know, my accuracy is unfortunately high.”
“I don’t understand this, Mara.”
“No more do I when I hear the gossip around town,”
“Which is?”
“That Senator Andres is spending his last moment helping a minority group that not only has predicted his imminent demise but destroyed his one chance of a cure.” Her voice held no inflection as she uttered these quick sentences, but her dislike of imparting the gossip was obvious to her listener. Mara cleared her throat suddenly. “I do have a precog though,” she added, mildly amused.
“A good one, if I recognize that tone of voice. I could stand some pleasant tidings.”
“I’ll be seeing you shortly,” and she laughed mischievously. “In the flesh, I mean. Here!”
“In Washington?” Daffyd op Owen was startled. He rarely left the Center and, at this moment, he had no desire under heaven to set foot in Washington.
Two weeks later, Daffyd op Owen, in a swivet of anxiety which no perception could dispel, disembarked from the heli-jet on the Senate landing pad. Mara Helm and Joel Andres were waiting for him. Daffyd had no eyes for anyone but the senator who strode forward, grinning broadly, eagerly grasping the telepath’s hand, forgetting in the excess of his welcome that Daffyd avoided casual physical contacts.
However, op Owen wanted more than anything to touch-sense his friend. And was reassured by the vigorous sensation he felt equally strong through mind and body. He might disbelieve the evidence of his eyes as he stared at Andres’s clear pupils, the healthy tanned skin with no trace of the yellow, indicative of liver disorder. Op Owen could not deny the feeling of health and energy that coursed to him in that hearty handclasp.
“What happened?” he asked hoarsely.
“Who knows?” Joel replied. “The medics called it a spontaneous remission. Said my body had started manufacturing the right enzymes again. Something to do with a shift in the RNA messenger proteins or some rot like that. Anyhow, no more amyloids in the perivascular spaces-if that makes any sense to you-the old liver and spleen are back to normal size and I can feel that. So, friend, I no longer need that neo-protein research that Zeusman scrapped.”
Mara Helm remained aside, smiling benevolently at the two men, until they finally remembered her presence.
“Dai, see?” and she laid a finger fleetingly on his sleeve. “You’re here as predicted!”
“Did you bring the graphs and records I asked for?” Joel inquired.
“Here they are,” and Daffyd handed the neat package over.
“Good,” and the senator’s expression was maliciously gleeful. “We’re going to hoist Senator Mansfield Zeusman today on his petard. However,” and black anger surged across Andres’s face, “I beg your indulgence, Daffyd. Certain-what would you call them, Mara-security measures?”
Mara’s lips twitched but there was an answering indignant sparkle in her eyes.
“A shielded cage?” Daffyd asked.
“Yeah,” and the sound was more of a growl than an affirmative. “Don’t think I didn’t protest that insulting…”
“In fact,” Mara said, “he ranted and screamed at the top of his voice. All
Washington heard. I elected to keep you company in the gilt-wired gold-fish bowl,” and she gave op Owen a flirtatious wink.
“You’ll have an advantage over me,” Andres said. “You can switch off the sound of Zeusman’s voice.”
“Who? Me?” Daffyd asked and the three entered the Senate Building laughing.
Op Owen was not surprised at Mansfield Zeusman’s insulting treatment. He expected little else. Although the senator had initiated the investigation of all the Centers, he had never personally entered one. Obviously Zeus-man was among those who believed that any telepath could read every mind: he would be unlikely to believe that telepaths performed their services much as a surgeon does an exploratory operation in the hope of uncovering a patient’s malignant disease. Zeusman also decried the psychiatric sciences, so his attitude was at least consistently narrow-minded.
“One more thing,” Andres said as he held open the door into the shielded room, “you’re here at the Committee’s request, not Zeusman’s, or mine. They may want to question you. Please, Dave, don’t tell all you know?”
“I’ll be a verbal miser, I promise.”
“That’ll be our saving,” Andres replied. He obviously distrusted op Owen’s sudden meek compliance.
“Doesn’t Joel look wonderful?” whispered Mara as they seated themselves.
“Yes,” Daffyd replied and then shut his lips. Even that interchange, broadcast into the chamber beyond, drew every eye to them. Op Owen crossed his legs, clasped his hands and composed himself outwardly.
Zeusman was not as large a man as op Owen thought he’d be. Nor was he a small man in stature which might have explained the aggressive, suspicious personality. He resembled a professor more than a senator, except for the elaborate gesticulations which were decidedly oratorical. And he was expatiating at length now with many gestures, pointedly ignoring Andres who took his place at the conference table.
The other five members of the Committee nodded towards Andres as if they welcomed his arrival. Their smiles faded as they turned back to the speaker. It was apparent to Daffyd that Zeusman’s audience was heartily bored with him and had heard the same arguments frequently.
“These Experts claim…” and Zeusman paused to permit his listeners to absorb the vitriol he injected into that label, “that even the advertisement of that precognitive word changes events. Now that’s a cowardly evasion of the consequences of their pernicious meddling.”