To Ride Pegasus

After a silence Pat mournfully admitted “seeing” nothing because the fire and smoke occluded.

“Get one of the pyros on it,” Henry told Ben. “Patsy, Henry here. That’s a good job, lass. Now take it easy.

We’ll buzz you back with confirmation. Grand work, Pat.” Henry disconnected her line, shaking his head, knowing how worried the girl would be until she heard they’d prevented the collision. If only there’d been markings to speed up identification, and then if the participants could be dissuaded from arriving on the previewed scene…He moved deliberately to the computer panel and began tapping out queries. “Undoubtedly a seaway. Could be Sheepshead Bay area, East

River…no, not there. Or one of the canals…”

“St. Lawrence, with tankers and freighters…” suggested Ben.

“Or the Great Lakes…” said Molly.

Before there’d been a print-out on possible locations or what traffic was already in the St. Lawrence Seaway, a second graph began to chatter.

“Right on time,” said Ben. “Here’s Terry, our local friendly reliable pyro.”

“How come you don’t know, Hank?” George Henner asked, settling himself on a stool in the corner.

“Not enough people involved, George, and too close a range for me. That’s Patsy’s specialty-cliff-hangers. Besides, don’t you agree that the good executive makes all the long-range decisions and leaves the picayune nitty-gritty details to keep his staff occupied?”

George grinned but he said nothing more, listening as intently as the others to Terry Cle’s verbalization of his “sight.” The broad outline correlated with

Patsy’s although he “saw” the event from a different perspective. He had sufficient detail on one tanker and the small craft to result in exact IDs for both from Ship Registration. And there was a tanker of the Iricoil Line proceeding down the Seaway en route for Toronto, ETA 7:48 PM at that port. The small craft, the Aitch Bee, was registered to an A. Frascati, and was at that moment moored in a small boat basin on the American side of the Seaway.

Probability figured the cost of the collision and fire at several millions and a thirty-six hour tie-up of Seaway traffic, plus delayed cargoes which would complicate schedules and routines for ninety-two companies, involving work-loss of some eighteen thousand people.

“Okay, Ben, get out the usual warning format. See if Iricoil will listen to us.”

“And if Iricoil doesn’t want to believe?”

“We get after this Frascati. In fact, he’d be easier to bully than Iricoil but we’ve got to warn them, too.”

Iricoil was suspicious and uncooperative and, in phrases just short of insult, refused to consider diverting the tanker. Its supplies were urgently required in Toronto by late evening. Frascati was not at his home nor in his business office. Urgent messages were left for the man to contact the Center before taking out his pleasure craft. Henry was dialing the Seaway Authority Control when George cut the connection.

“I’ve got an idea, Hank,” George said. “I’ve watched this routine so often and seen you insulted, ignored, and calumniated. No one trusts the altruist anymore, whether he’s Talented or not. You’ve warned Iricoil, tried to do them a favor.

They aren’t buying. Well, like the puppy who leaves too many messages, let’s rub their nose in it.”

“You mean, let the accident occur?”

“More or less. Considering what’s involved in terms of credit and work-loss, and considering that I have shares in four of the companies to be effected by the snarl-up, will you play it my way, this once?”

Henry began to relax. “What have you in mind, George?”

“You did leave timed messages at Iricoil and for Frascati, didn’t you?”

Ben Avedon tapped the computer panel. “All time-sealed, George.”

“Fine. Now, issue a telex warning to Seaway Authority. Then give me a few comlines to work from and Molly to help me. Irenee was telling me about their new oil-pollutant at Dupont. This would be good PR for him. Always like to oblige friends. Which reminds me, you get on to Jim Lawson…our revered Governor owes you a favor or two for that bullet Steve stopped. And ask him for a few more VTOLs and a couple of frogmen.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know?”

Henry grinned. “Would you believe an educated guess?”

Henner chuckled. “My, my, how the mighty have fallen…Guessing!”

“Run the show your way, George.”

“Yes, let a pro show you how, Henry Darrow. You’re too damned soft. You talk too much. Action speaks louder than a hundred of your Talented words.”

At exactly 16:32 hours of a bright spring afternoon, an Iricoil tanker proceeding down the St. Lawrence Seaway fouled its propeller on a tangle of steel cables, origin unknown. The tanker drifted athwart the current as a United

Line freighter entered the narrow channel from the opposite direction. A second tanker, also United Line, making speed enough to reach Toronto port by dark, cruised into the danger zone, although it was apparent that the Iricoil boat was in distress. Both United Line ships continued, evidently hoping to pass the injured vessel, one on the port, the other on the starboard. Likely they would have succeeded but the Aitch Bee, also impatient to reach port, came bucketing down the searoute. It swung rather close to the distressed vessel. As Frascati ever after maintained, he wanted to see if he could be of any assistance in getting a message ashore: a ridiculous alibi since the tanker was well equipped by radio and ship-shore telephone. Frascati’s propellor became fouled on the same villain cable. The freighter began to pass the disabled pair and her wash slammed the small craft into the Iricoil tanker. The United Line tanker was broadside of the Iricoil when her bow swung out. Tanker #2 swung to starboard to avoid a collision and her stern banged into