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!
"Mr. Reidinger, thanks, but Stu will put my packs in," she said, indicating the young man, also a redhead, but bearing no facial resemblance to her.
The dark-haired woman who had emerged first was now directing Stu, with a maternal air, to hurry and be sure to get them all in.
"My mother," Ceara said. "I was told this wasn't a secured base so they insisted on coming. My father, my sister Terry, my sister Fiona, and her husband, Dr. Richard Jude," she went on, introducing all the passengers.
"No, it's not exactly a secured base," Peter said. No other hands were offered him so Ceara must have warned them.
Her brother stowed the three bags, of which only one was very large. Ceara stood looking around.
"Isn't the pilot here?" she asked.
"I'm the pilot," Peter said, lifting one hand to his chest and smiling confidently.
"Oh, how silly of me," Ceara said, flushing. "Mr. Reidinger's the telekinetic I was telling you about, Dad."
The elder Scott nodded. "Then kiss me a hug, girl, and let's not delay him any longer."
Kissing and hugging included every one of her party but as soon as the farewells were done, she walked briskly to the carrier. Peter waved her over to a front seat and she settled herself.
"If you'll all stand back," and Peter pointed to the side of the telepad that was farthest from the generators. "Nice to meet you," he added as he watched them scatter hurriedly out of the way.
"I didn't delay you too much, did I, Mr. Reidinger?"
"It's just gone noon," Peter said, "and I'm Peter, not Mister anything, Ceara."
"Thank you," she said. "How long does it take to get to Padrugoi?"
Peter lightly leaned into the generators. "Not very long," he replied, unable to resist grinning. The field vanished and they were on the telepad in Padrugoi's transit bay, a cleaning gang just beyond the telepad circle, goggling at the suddenly materializing personnel shell.
"Ohhhhh," her gasp was a startled indrawn breath. For a long moment, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar, she stared out the forward window at the abruptly altered view. "Ohhhh," she said again. Closing her mouth, her very blue eyes still wide, she turned to him. " 'Not very long,' huh? More like instantaneous, wasn't it, Peter?"
"That's kinetics for you," he said, opening the hatch and lifting himself out. He hadn't quite got the hang of doing that as a normal person would. She didn't seem to notice as she emerged.
"Oh!" she said, immediately aware of the lower Station gravity.
"You'll get used to it quickly," Peter said.
Just then the Station alarm went off.
Pete? said Johnny, his tone urgent. Get up here! Fast! Some goddamn dink of a freighter captain just sliced through a very full cargo net and containers are popping out of it like pus out of a wound. Some are headed toward the Wheel. We need your ass up here.
The ensign who had been awaiting Peter and Dr. Scott didn't know what to do with the alarm wailing.
"Escort Dr. Scott to the sick bay, Mr. ahh-" Peter picked the man's name out of his head, "-Patterson and then proceed to your duty station. Nothing to be alarmed about, Ceara. Safety drill sort of thing," he added mendaciously. "Excuse me."
And he 'ported himself to the CIC where everyone was scrambling to their stations. The main screen had been divided into multiple windows: the freighter with its empty cargo rack tangled with the cargo net; the stream of containers let loose from the corral; the gigs and tugs speeding to head off those in a trajectory toward the Wheel of the Station; and the space-suited workers jetting to converge on the loose objects.
"Neatly timed, Pete," Admiral Coetzer said, arriving from his ready room. "Linke, have we identified the freighter? Who's the captain? And I want him in here as soon as he gets his damned vessel out of the net and moored property! Find out who his employer is and about getting his contract and his license revoked. Portmaster Honeybald is apoplectic. Who's EV watch officer? Who do we have out there that can assume command and bring order to that chaos? Pete," and Coetzer motioned to the upper left-hand screen, "can you stop that one from tumbling? It looks to be on a collision course."
"Yes, sir," Peter said. He immediately repositioned himself at the engineer's station manned by Lieutenant Junior Grade Spencer Ci. Peter hadn't worked with him before. Not that he needed gestalt to tip the upper facet of the cube the admiral had pointed to. He pressed against it, perceptibly slowing its end-over-end motion and bringing it to a halt in space, relative to the Wheel.
Good catch, Johnny Greene said, striding into the CIC. "Where do you want me, Admiral?"
"Screen three, Johnny. See what you can do with that mess." The Station generators picked up revolutions as the general tapped their power.
"Sir, Bergkamp here, I've got a full unit suited up and cycling through the lock."
"Good, proceed to the Wheel and deflect any incoming. Peter, do us a mean favor and detach that fragging freighter from the net and put it where it belongs. The dolt who's driving it doesn't know his ass from his elbow." While the admiral's suggestion was facetiously delivered, it was no less the appropriate measure to take. To judge by the erratic use of his maneuvering thrusters, the captain was only making matters worse by pushing the rest of the net's captives hard against the far side of the net that bulged ominously. Without conscious thought, Peter leaned into the Station's power and turned off the vessel's thruster rockets, picked it out of the net, and deposited it at the nearest empty gate in the commercial mooring section. Pieces of the cables it had severed or tangled with floated in reaction in space. The CPO in charge of the nearestcrew sent men to secure those before they constituted an additional hazard. Almost as an afterthought, Peter secured the freighter to the wharf and connected the accordion airlock to its main hatch.
Well done, Pete! Johnny exclaimed.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Reidinger," the admiral said with great aplomb, slapping his armrest in one-handed applause. Cheers from the other officers echoed Coetzer's sentiment. "Now, let's round up those strays, patch that net."
Lift that barge, tote that bale, the irrepressible General Greene sang inaccurately.
"And restore chaos to confusion." Oblivious to the 'path, the admiral finished his command. Peter choked on suppressed laughter.
Don't do that to me, Johnny, he said.
Relief, lad, sheer relief, Greene replied. Now help me get that inward bound quartet of dome arcs. Their shape makes their trajectory erratic.
Where shall we put them?
Just stop 'em. Here comes the cavalry, and Johnny pointed to the lower left-hand screen where EMU-clad figures were jetting into view.
"Bergkamp, get your men on those dome arcs. General, are you available?"
"On the mark, Admiral," Johnny replied.
"Mr. Sakai, I want a secure link to Mr. Honeybald at the Portmaster's office," the admiral went on, handling other aspects of the emergency.
Peter, and the unmistakable voice of Madlyn Luvaro nearly deafened him, I have three tumblers outward-bound from the net, sou'-sou'-east at five thousand kps relative to the Station.
I'll get 'em. Where do you want them?
The 822 looks to be the nearest gig. It's not all that far from where they spun off. They're panicking. Maybe Dash hasn't heard them with so much confusion on the bands.
Peter found the grunts easily enough by opening his mind, augmenting his telepathic range with gestalt from the generators, just as the communications officer reported their predicament.