Pegasus In Space

Yes! And he must spend 'scope time on Callisto, learning all he could about that satellite. Some stray thought pinged in his head and he tried to hang on to it. He relaxed, trying hard not to think about the fleeting thought he wanted to grasp. He wished he'd been on those dratted sensors when he'd used gestalt on the First Base generators.

They had had an entirely different feel. That was it! He froze. The generators! That's what had been nagging at him since Limo-34 had landed. Suddenly he realized that every single generator he had ever used in gestalt had its own special sort of "noise," or perhaps "feel" would be the better term. Over the past days, he'd gestalted with Padrugoi's solar-powered generators, the ship's fuel-powered one, the exceedingly easy-to-tap CERN generators, the Farside Telescope's solar array, and, most recently, had had just a nibble at the nuclear/solar-power-augmented generators on the Moon. All were different, some subtly so. The generators at Jerhattan Space Port differed from the battery-powered ones he'd had to use in emergencies. How did he do it? He swore silently. He'd always known he "felt" what he 'ported, but unconsciously, when he touched any new generator, he "felt" it, too. And tuned his mind to it. Maybe that's why other people couldn't gestalt; they weren't tuned-or couldn't tune into the generator. Or maybe just not the generator they were trying to use in gestalt!

How would he be able to express the subtlety he had only just realized existed? Ah! All those damned sensor readings, made to show generator use and burned calories! They were good for something after all. He exhaled and realized how tense he had become. Would such readings prove what he wanted them to prove over and above usage and physical effort? First he had to have them to examine with this new interpretation of the data. Data! Data was everything! And he'd need a lot to do what he wanted to do now!

Peter was so excited by these reflections. He could feel his fingers twitching for all those damned printouts. And chagrin that he had ever protested about the nuisance of being wired up to make them. Unable to sleep now, he examined the new premise, wondering exactly which sort of generators he should have on Callisto. What a prospect! His speculations wove between Callisto and the various types of generators as intricately as asteroids tumbled in their orbits.

If Peter was too excited to sleep, Johnny slept a good deal. Whenever Peter heard him snoring, he'd 'port him to his side so his thoughts were not interrupted by that noise.

"To make up for when he didn't sleep on First Base," Xiang commented to Peter when he noticed Johnny's continued absence. "Cameron's my official copilot." Xiang cast a sly sideways look at Peter. "The general said he'd done all the work on the way up." The copilot grinned. "I don't think so." He went back to squeezing his dinner from the food pouch in his hand without waiting for Peter's denial or agreement.

Their unanticipated arrival at Padrugoi was the only problem they had on the trip. Going "down" to Padrugoi struck Peter as an odd if accurate way of describing it: the Moon was sort of "up" from the Station, in an orbit above it. However, getting permission to land at Padrugoi made up for the quiet of the journey.

"Goddamn it, you're early here, too, Liu, and where am I going to put you all of a sudden?" demanded the portmaster, who immediately came on-line when Xiang made contact. Desmond Honeybald was a civilian, formerly the supervisor of Jerhattan International Airport. He'd been taken on to control Padrugoi's airspace when the project first got under way; a flamboyant but exceptionally capable personality.

"How come I wasn't warned? Least you could do. How come you're still supposed to be at First Base? No one bothers to keep me up to date, do they? And how come you're driving the 28 instead of the 34 you went out on? Oxbridge and Auers're supposed to be piloting. Not Liu and Cameron. How am I expected to keep track of this port's traffic when no one tells me anything? And the admiral has to give permission to any ship landing on the Wheel. Like I'd send a pirate in there or sompin. Ha! Now I'm supposed to secure this line." There was a brief pause in the portmaster's diatribe. "All right. Secured. Now you gotta tell me who's onboard. As if we were expecting some minor deity or sompin. At least you know how to dock, Liu. Yes, Liu, that's who's piloting. Now they don't want to know who's onboard. Make up your mind, Admiral. Yes, they're coming in smooth and easy. Like all of 'em should! Sure it can dock at Bay Three. It's a Limo, isn't it?" Another pause. "Yes, sir. Yes indeed, sir," the portmaster said in a far more respectful tone of voice. "I understand, sir. No, I do not need a vacation. I just got back from one. I will, sir. Thank you, sir." In yet another change of voice, gruff rather than aggravated, "Did you hear that, Pilot Liu? Bay Three. Two of your passengers are to find their way immediately to Admiral Coetzer's ready room. The others may disembark in the normal fashion. I'm repeating verbatim, Pilot Liu. Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Mr. Honeybald, " Xiang said, grinning fit to split his cheeks. "Bay Three. The two passengers have heard your message. Proceeding to Bay Three as ordered."