Pegasus In Space

"I didn't burn that many calories today, Lance," Peter said in mild objection.

Lance gave him a wide-eyed look. "You weren't saving any either the way you were bounding about the hydroponics unit, the back acres of Clemens, and the main storage depot. That's the best place for one telepad."

"Yes, it would be," Peter agreed absently. It had been great to know that Maree had had a tour of Padrugoi's CELSS. If they were anything like the ones here at First Base, no wonder she had been all keyed up. Poor kid. She'd want to have a good yak with him when he got home. "Do I get to the observatory this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir, you do," the corporal replied as they boarded the elevator.

"I'm looking forward to that one," Peter said. He would have liked to have seen that facility earlier but had acquiesced to the tour that Watari had planned of the important sites: the (correct) landing site; the main supply reception area; the parking fields; the sector where the containers of the REE, rare earth elements, that paid some of the costs of First Base were assembled; the emergency airlocks; and the secured holding area for sensitive deliveries. The table in Watari's office was also available for small parcels.

The elevator doors parted and Nina gave a quick look back and forth before she stepped out and led Peter left, toward the officers' mess. She also looked inside the mess, her eyes darting about the room, before she allowed Peter past her.

It'll be a bloody relief to get out of all this hypersurveillance, Peter remarked though he let nothing of his disgruntlement mar the smile he gave Nina as he passed her.

As it was well past noon, there were only four in the facility, three female supply officers at one table and a male communications lieutenant at another. The mess sergeant himself took their orders, recommending the beef stew. By now Peter was aware, having seen those facilities, that First Base produced all its foodstuffs, fresh from hydroponic tanks or the protein vats. So far the sergeant's recommendations had been spot-on so both he and Lance ordered it, plus green salads that would have been picked that morning from the tanks.

"Just what did Dorotea mean by 'punishment fit the crime,' Pete?" Lance asked. "She had a gleam in her eye that boded no good. Oops, sorry, lad. Caught that flicker."

"It's all right, Lance. It isn't generally known that Shimaz abducted Tirla and me."

Lance's expression echoed the shock in his mind. The capture and conviction of a royal Malaysian Prince for child abuse and organ farming had been well publicized. But not how the criminals had been apprehended.

"We were nabbed just as we came out of the Old-Fashioned Palace of Gastronomical Delights," and Peter grinned wryly. "Gassed and then incarcerated in foam cocoons so we'd have no tactile contact. Not even with our own bodies. A lack of sensation didn't affect me but it sure terrified the little kids. Tirla got angry enough to 'path-first time she'd done that-to Dorotea and she broke herself free."

"The cocoon wouldn't have stopped you long," Lance said loyally.

"The anesthetic did," Peter said with a grimace. "I have bad reactions to drugs. It was Tirla who got moving, got me out, and found out where we were so we could tell the Center. Tirla managed to read enough of their aircraft IDs so that Boris could check who they belonged to." Peter paused. "One was Flimflam's, the other registered to the Malaysian ambassador." Peter let out a long breath before adding, "It was Tirla they beat up. I passed out."

"All the kids were released?" Lance asked.

Peter nodded. "And that whole ring was busted wide open."

"With Flimflam on Padrugoi and Shimaz here." Lance shook his head at the irony. "Crazy universe, isn't it?"

The mess sergeant arrived with the individual stew pots and the salads.

Suddenly, remembering what Boris had said about Flimflam cooperating with Shimaz's relatives, Peter sniffed cautiously at the savory steam rising from his meal. Was it just his imagination or were his guts aching?

Shall I be taster as well, Pete? Lance asked.

God! I'm getting paranoid.

A little of that is usually called 'caution,' Lance replied. Mine tastes fine, full of capsicums, but that's the way I like it.

Some stew juice spilled on the table as Lance 'ported it out of Peter's dish.

Clumsy, Peter chided though he was quite happy to allow Lance the honor.

Hmmm. I've saved myself from some weird dysenterious episodes with my taste buds. Same as mine and absolutely no aftertaste. Eat! "However," Lance went on aloud, "it's another area to consider." Poisoning is always possible, but it's the contract cooks on duty right now and I don't think they're likely suspects.

Peter ate hungrily and had two big bowls of the fruit that was on the dessert menu. That seemed to quiet the unusual inner restlessness.