Pegasus In Space

"We have one handy," Rhyssa said, and went to the serving facility of the suite to see what was on hand. "Just about anything you want. A piece of birthday cake will take a little longer."

I'll make one immediately, Dorotea said in her mind, immeasurably relieved.

How long have you been listening? Rhyssa wanted to know.

I didn't stop listening, Dorotea replied in a tart mental tone. What kind of cake do you want?

I'd like double chocolate with boiled icing, Peter promptly replied.

I'll just turn the oven on and get Amariyah to help me. And, if she isn't allowed to see Peter at the first available moment, I won't be responsible for her mental state.

Could she hear me, Dorotea? Peter asked, his expression anxious.

Try. She might just be receptive. She's been so worried about you! Good Lord. I think she did hear you. She's just stopped that silent weeping of hers. She's got the funniest expression on her face. Yes, Amariyah, Rhyssa's with him and we're to bake a chocolate cake with boiled icing to make up for the one he didn't get to eat. All right, now just get out the big bowls.

"Is Dorotea 'pathing to her?" Peter asked, astonished.

"No, she's vocalizing to Amariyah. Juice? There's anything you can name."

"Apple if there is some."

"Apple it is," and Rhyssa returned quickly with a large glass. "Don't you dare sit up again, Peter Reidinger. You're to use a straw or that monitor will have them all in here again."

While he dutifully sipped, she sent word to those waiting anxiously to hear from her. Dave, Lance, and Johnny were in the cafeteria, drinking coffee. They came up to reassure themselves with the vision of Peter, 'porting the glass and dutifully sipping from a straw. Then Dave insisted on taking Rhyssa home. Johnny said he'd take the first shift and Lance made himself comfortable in the small guest room of the suite.

"Can't I have pretty nurses?" Peter asked with mock petulance.

"I know it's breakfast time," Dorotea said when she and an anxious Amariyah arrived in Peter's room the next morning, bearing a covered cake dish and a bouquet of choice blooms from their gardens.

Amariyah instantly put the flowers down and laid her hands delicately on Peter's right arm.

"Do you hurt?" she asked, gently touching each of the break sites as if to reassure herself.

"I can't hurt, honey. My body has no feeling, you know."

"That doesn't mean you can't hurt," she replied, her fingers lingering. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a carefully folded square. "Where shall I put it?" she asked, unfolding the paper.

Peter identified the drawing as a copy of his talisman, the diagram of the Andre Norton.

"Good thinking, Maree. Over there, right across from the bed. Stick it over that stupid print. Did you bring tape?"

She nodded, bringing the roll out of the other pocket. "I knew you'd need this to help you get well," she told Peter.

Alerted by their voices, Lance entered the patient's room and helped her stick it up.

"You're here early, Dorotea," he said, finishing that task.

"You didn't think I had much choice, did you?" Dorotea said dryly, indicating Amariyah.

The girl settled herself on the chair at the foot of Peter's bed and said not another word, except "thank you" when she was offered her slice of cake.

The staff of Henry Hudson Hospital began to notice the various notable people who came to visit the young multiple-fracture case on the thirty-sixth floor of the medical ziggurat. Rhyssa, who came daily, was identified by one of the empaths in the hospital as the head of the Eastern Parapsychic Center. The fact that there were LEO guards posted in the waiting room on Peter's hall was soon common gossip. The floor nurses mentioned that he was a nice young man, not at all demanding, unfailingly polite, cute in a "young" way, and very personable. One oddity, though, was that he had not been prescribed pain medication, despite having six fractures and severe contusions. Everyone loved a mystery, which spiced up dull and repetitive duties no end. And he had such visitors! LEO Commissioner Boris Roznine was recognized. He arrived with his twin brother, Sascha, and Sascha's exotic-looking young wife, Tirla. She and her husband were in every day. Jerhattan Mayor Teresa Aiello paid several short visits. But when General John Greene, on whom one of the radiologists had had a crush since he had survived his crash as a famous etop pilot, arrived with his wife, the Senator, in the company of Admiral Dirk Coetzer, Peter Reidinger was established as a celebrity. Their colleagues tried to find out why a nineteen-year-old boy attracted such distinguished guests and quizzed the floor nurses. Naturally, every ambulatory patient who could, found some business on the thirty-sixth floor, welcoming the diversion.

A spry older silver-haired woman and a pretty black-haired girl visited every day with flowers and homemade cakes and cookies but they weren't relatives nor were they recognizable personages. His grandmother and perhaps his sister, though the patient bore no resemblance to either.