Pegasus In Space

"Basically, how soon I can start using Pete."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Now that Padrugoi's looking ever outward, I'm useless."

"Oh, go on!" Rhyssa said derisively.

"I'm serious. There's First Base expanding habitable blocks on the Moon…"

"Lance is up there, handling construction tasks very well," she said, trying to compose herself for what was really on J. Greene's mind.

"On the Moon, yes, but not in space. Not when the Space Authority is looking to set up a permanent south polar base on Mars." He leaned sideways, his green-flecked amber eyes gleaming. "We need Pete in space, Rhyssa, not stuck downside." When she started to protest, he rapidly continued. "Yeah, I know. He's trying to find you another gestalter." Johnny's opinion of the prospect was low. "If you haven't up 'til now, you're not likely to. Furthermore, Pete will feel that he's failed you if he doesn't."

"Oh, come now, Johnny, that's a bit strong," she replied, irritated.

"You know it isn't. The boy adores you. He's determined to make you proud of him."

"I already am," Rhyssa protested.

"Then let him perform where he's best suited. In space."

"There are far too many things that can go wrong in space," she said firmly.

"Like kidnappers?"

"Low blow, John Greene," she snapped back. "He's unique!"

"And we can't lose him," he finished for her. "But you will!" Johnny cocked his finger at her, his expression solemn, "If you keep him down on Earth doing piddling little pushes when what he really wants is space. He has since the moment he pushed that supply rocket up from Florida. Where you were quite happy to take him so you could show off his unique abilities!" He bracketed the last two words and gave her a challenging stare. "Look, at least let him train on Padrugoi. Maybe you're right," and Johnny took to pacing, throwing his hands in the air. "Maybe he can't cut the mustard in space. Maybe he's agoraphobic and the sight of so much 'nothing' all around will freak him out."

Johnny paused and gave Rhyssa a big grin. "I sorta doubt it. He's been hanging in space, of a sort, since the first time he went out-of-body to find you. He needs to find out what his limitations are because we sure as hell don't know them."

"Did he put you up to this, Johnny?" Rhyssa managed to keep her voice level. Her thoughts were chaotic; she had sensed Peter's disappointment with his assignment to find more gestalting kinetics, though he had kept a tight shield on his thoughts, smiled, and told her he'd do his best.

"Me? No." He opened his mind so she'd know he was telling the truth. "That's why I'm here now, making sure you make the right decision before he wonders where on earth you're going to stash him to 'keep him safe.' For Pete's sake," and he gave her a droll grin for his use of the well-known exclamation, "give him the permission before he asks you. You'll strengthen your position with him."

She knew that was true.

"Contract him to Padrugoi," Johnny went on. "Dirk likes the boy. He needs him badly to finish off the Arrakis. They're behind schedule. He'll also make sure that he's thoroughly trained. If I'm wrong and Pete can't hack spacework, it'll be Dirk who tells him. Not you."

Rhyssa dropped her eyes, sighing as she recognized the merits of that argument. From the moment Peter Reidinger had touched her sleeping mind, they had had a bond that she had done everything she could to strengthen. She also recalled Dave's warning about Peter's yearning to be involved with the spaceships, and space itself.

"And another thing, he can't really teach anyone what he does," Johnny went on, pressing his advantage as he saw her waver. "I'm as much a fluke as he is. I had advantages, true, being an etop pilot with an understanding of mechanics and flight. The only reason I lived through my crash is because I think I did something along the lines of a gestalt to keep from smashing myself irrevocably on the ground." Johnny gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Would Padrugoi be enough for Peter?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Enough? I guarantee he'll be kept actively employed and well appreciated." The mischief never far from Johnny Greene erupted. "Think of the fee you can extract from the Space Authority for his services! The Centers will be rolling in credit."

"Credit has never been a consideration," Rhyssa said, pretending to be offended by monetary considerations.

"Ha! Who's kidding who? Sascha and Tirla could initiate that scanning program of theirs and you could fund that guy, Professor Gadriel, and his CERN project and the FermiLab physicists." He started to tick off on his fingers the various projects that the Centers had in mind when the cash flow improved. "The gene ID program has only been held up since your grandfather's time. So has the research into therapeutic touch that Sister Justa Smith, Clive Bakster, and Dolores Krieger pioneered in the nineteen sixties."

Rhyssa looked away from Johnny's uncharacteristically earnest expression, out the window, to the green lawns and flowering trees. And imagined the blackness of space from the gigantic spinning wheel of Padrugoi Station. She remembered Peter Reidinger's face when he had first looked out on the vastness and the far glow of stars. She should stop being afraid for him: that was repressive. She knew he wanted to get out into space, somehow, in some capacity. Dave had reminded her of that. She would be wise to submit gracefully to the inevitable and let Peter go. Her grandfather had often said that, when you let someone go, they were more likely to return. Admiral Dirk Coetzer was not a Barchenka, trying to suborn unwilling workers. In this case the worker was only too willing. And able.