Pegasus In Space

Dave chuckled softly, sitting down to watch his wife feed Eoin. "He would have liked to hover outside the Andre Norton. Seems to me that a kinetic would make a very good space traveler. He, or she, would function well in no gravity."

"For goodness' sake, don't mention that to Peter. Or he'll be after permission to do spacewalking next."

"Why not? Johnny does. And Coetzer dropped a hint that they would like to contract Pete for assembly jobs."

"I know that," she said in a glum voice.

"You're going to have to let him, you know. You'd be wrong to fight it."

Rhyssa gave him a long, hard stare that he returned, a little smile tugging at his lips.

"It's good public relations to plan ahead for every likely contingency, m'love. And look at it from Pete's perspective. Do you know anyone else who's so totally accustomed to no-gravity?"

She gave a little laugh. "I hadn't thought of his kinesis as no-gravity."

"It might be a little different, learning to cope wearing a space suit. He does, after all, still have to breathe air. Or does he?" He gave Rhyssa a quirky glance.

"Of course he does," she said. "Only why was it so important for him to get the plans?"

"Souvenir, of course. We were the first two civilians to see the finished product."

"Yes, that makes sense." Rhyssa paused, stroking her son's thin but waving hair. "Does he know Coetzer wants to employ him when he's of age?"

"Nothing was specifically said in Peter's hearing. But the boy's not dumb. He'll figure it out. He'd have Johnny on his side."

"That is, of course, a great consolation to me." Rhyssa lifted her son to her shoulder to burp him.

"It is to me," Dave said, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out.

"Maree?" Peter called from his room. "Can you give me a hand here?"

Amariyah appeared at the doorway, very much aware that her friend meant that literally. She knew that he did not use his body the way she could. She had even mentioned once, very tactfully, that he should remember to touch his heel to the floor first, then his toe. That's how people naturally walked. But she was quick to respond to any need he voiced.

"How?" she asked.

"I want to put this," his index finger limply pointed to the unfolded sheet on his worktop. It depicted the Andre Norton, the sections color-coded for the different functions: red for engineering, green for living, blue for life support, orange for command, yellow for cryogenic, and brown for storage. "On the wall." He swiveled his body, his finger now pointing to the display space. "There."

"You have the tacks?" she asked, coming forward. She was, as usual, dressed in gardening clothes, well washed and well used. Dorotea had put extra pads on the knees.

Amariyah pushed a chair against the wall while the top drawer of his desk opened far enough to allow the box of pins to exit and float toward her. She got up on the chair.

"Here?" She tapped thewall, looking over her shoulder at him.

"That's right." The thumbtack box hovered by her right hand. Then the sheet made a stately way across the room and flattened against the wall.

Amariyah straightened it slightly, took out the necessary tacks and neatly secured the corners, while Peter inhaled anxiously, wincing as each tack pierced the paper. She took the box out of the air, shut it, and, descending from the chair, replaced it and closed the drawer. Then she regarded the neatly hung drawing.

"That's what you saw today?"

"Yesss," and the awed tone Peter used made her regard him with polite surprise.

"You had a good look at it then?" she asked, knowing how excited Peter had been to be invited for a tour of the spaceship.

"But you should have seen outside!"

She blinked. "I thought it was inside that you wanted to see. What was outside that was worth seeing? You are telling me that space is all black."

"Yes," and Peter slowly shook his head from side to side, his eyes glowing, "it is. But then there're stars and space." The last word was reverently spoken.

"You and your space," she murmured affectionately. She was well aware of Peter's intense interests. He had got in the habit of confiding in her. She listened intently and unlike Tirla, his other confidante, she never interrupted or argued with him. Usually, of course, she was busy weeding. That gave them added privacy. Often he did what he could to help her because sometimes she tried to move things too heavy for her strength, like peat moss and fertilizer sacks or heavy pots and tubs. He'd even thrust his insensitive fingers into the mud because it was her notion that somehow messing in mud and dirt would be good for him. He knew Dorotea found gardening therapeutic, but not quite the same way that Amariyah did. She had an almost religious fervor for her garden. He understood it better now, with the diagram of the Andre Norton on his wall.