"All right, I'll make a formal application to the Eastern Parapsychic Center for the services of the kinetic, Peter Reidinger. How much is she going to soak us for him?"

Johnny shrugged. "That's between accountants. I just recruit."

"Why doesn't Peter?" Coetzer asked sharply. "Train more kinetics, I mean. G.o.d knows we can use every one the Centers find."

"There just ain't anyone else with his little knack. That's why. Not that Rhyssa and Baden haven't been looking under every psychic rock to find a likely student for him. I can do gestalt, but I don'tknow how I do it. Neither, in the final a.n.a.lysis, does Pete." He rose stiffly. "I'm for some sack time, Dirk. Catchya later." With a casual salute, he left the office.

Dirk Coetzer immediately put in a call to his Contracts Manager. He most certainly would grab the opportunity to employ Reidinger. He only hoped that Rhyssa Lehardt would not renege, beset by second thoughts. Greene had made Coetzer patently aware of how unusual and valuable Reidinger was considered by the Parapsychics: a Talent that they would not risk. How had Johnny Greene talked her into it against her better judgment? Coetzer dismissed the notion that he'd have trouble now that Johnny had told him the lad was available. Rhyssa was known for her integrity and would honor her word to the general. Nor would he have misled Coetzer. The man was clever, an opportunist, devious, but he wouldn't misrepresent a matter as important as this. Of course, Greene knew how very much Coetzer wanted Reidinger's abilities up here on the Station. And, if the boy-young man-couldn't hack s.p.a.ce after all, his kinetic talents used from the safety of the Station would still const.i.tute an a.s.set. Coetzer liked Peter Reidinger, admired a lad who had overcome such a ma.s.sive physical disadvantage. The prospect that Peter might mature into an even greater range and depth was even more tantalizing. What would the mature scope be? He gave a soft whistle.

Peter's juvenile uses of kinesis had been spectacular. Johnny had seen to it that Coetzer received a file of Baden's training reports on Reidinger. Whether or not he was able to advance beyond his initial performances was moot. The prospect of teleporting freighters to First Base or-Coetzer inhaled sharply at the mere thought-or Mars filled the admiral with a sudden glorious ambition. Padrugoi had been humanity's first step on the path out of its star system. The installation at First Base was another. A permanent Mars colony replacing the present temporary exploration habitat would prove that humanity could adapt to an alien ecology. Earthlike worlds-M-5s-had been identified around many primaries in this galaxy. That new hush-hush telescope was able to find free oxygen in the ozone layers of several planets, meaning they could probably be inhabited without protective coverings or breathing apparatus. To make the most of such opportunities, humanity had better learn the lessons Earth's other satellites had to offer. First Base had already taught valuable techniques, a good preparation for the challenge of inhabiting Mars. In Coetzer's lifetime, Padrugoi had been conceived and constructed. The Moon was inhabited. That he might live to see the day Mars would be, too; that he might also be part of that triumph. What a prospect!

" 'Or what's a heaven for?' " Coetzer quoted to himself. He allowed himself a long moment to savor his new aspiration. His intercom buzzed and he dealt with the practical problems of contracting the means to the new goal he contemplated.

a.s.similating Peter Reidinger into the transport command of General Johnny Greene was the first step in his Padrugoi contract. He was hired as a "civilian consultant" in Supply and Transport, nominally working under Greene. At the general's insistence, he was given the highest security clearance.

"He's going to handle sensitive stuff from the gitgo, " Johnny said when the s.p.a.ce Authority resisted. "He wasn't a security risk when he started lobbing shuttles into s.p.a.ce for you and he hasn't developed any questionable habits since then. He also doesn't need some near-sighted spook snooping around him."

In the first week of Peter's employment at Jerhattan s.p.a.ce Port, he lifted more tonnage than Johnny did in a month, a fact the general made sure that everyone in the s.p.a.ce Authority knew. The only aspect of the job that Peter had objections to was the requirement to wear recording pads during gestalt.

"Look, Pete, it's necessary," Johnny said, cutting through his demurral. "You don't feel 'em anyhow so what's your beef."

"I have more than enough appliances glued to me," Peter replied sourly.

Johnny gave him a quick look but did not give in. "They're a record, just like Incident reporting in the Center, that we we need. I wear 'em, too. Okay? Now let's just shift this last monster and call it a day." need. I wear 'em, too. Okay? Now let's just shift this last monster and call it a day."

"I'm not tired, Johnny."

"You aren't, but I am. I'm thirty years your senior, m'boy, and when I say it's quitting time, it's quitting time. Dorotea's got dinner waiting."

After they had sent the freighter to Padrugoi on the first leg of its long journey to Ocea.n.u.s Procellarum and First Base, Johnny gratefully shucked off his pads.

"C'mon, Pete. I've seen enough of these four walls today."

When all parties involved signed the contract with Padrugoi, Rhyssa suggested to Peter that perhaps he would prefer to have his own apartment in the Center for those intervals when he was downside. The s.p.a.ce Authority had not queried the clause that required Peter to have one week in every four back on Earth. Despite his euphoria when Rhyssa explained the conditions of his contract, Peter "knew" that she didn't want him living on his own. Nor did he. He liked Dorotea, and Amariyah made a much nicer sister than Katya ever had.

"I'd rather stay at Dorotea's," Peter said quickly, and knew by the way Rhyssa relaxed that she'd hoped for this response. "Dorotea says she doesn't mind me staying on. She's still trying to fatten me up, you know, even if I don't like to eat too often." That was one of the few times Rhyssa heard him refer, even obliquely, to the appliance that collected his body wastes. "It isn't as if the food isn't great on Padrugoi." He lifted his shoulders in a good imitation of Johnny Greene's characteristic gesture. He saw her lips twitch in recognition.

"It's your choice, Peter," Rhyssa said, and tried not to broadcast her relief.

"Besides, Amariyah would miss me," Peter added with an affectionate smile.

"That's true," Rhyssa agreed. "So would Eoin and Chester, young as he is."

Peter grinned back. "And impressionable. I don't want your kids to forget me."

"I doubt they would," she replied sincerely. Her son, Eoin, now just three and a quarter years old, already, showed an unusual empathy for a child, and she hoped it would mature into a useful ability. Chester, at fifteen months, responded to her telepathic cues, turning from tears into smiles when she soothed him. Right now, they could be keenly aware of "atmosphere" and respond to it, naughtily enough, at times, to severely try her patience. They seemed to sense that Peter was different and curbed their horseplay. They never hung on to his hands the way they would their father's or Johnny Greene's. It was as if they knew they should respect his personal s.p.a.ce.

Since Peter had been under the Center's aegis, he had had less and less contact with his natural family. Until her death, his mother had religiously visited her son every month but she had never been comfortable in his presence once he was mobile. He supported his father and his sharp-tongued jealous sister, Katya. They would have extorted more financial a.s.sistance from a guiltily generous Peter if their sporadic attempts to see him had got past Rhyssa's staff. After Peter was installed at the Center, Katya appeared periodically at Beechwoods, demanding that she be allowed to see her brother. Sirikit or Budworth would dutifully show her a duty roster and point out where in the world he was currently training with Lance Baden. Then she'd be escorted back to the transport tube. Shortly before his eighteenth birthday, she gave up. Half the time he had been at Dorotea's, a short walk from the Henner mansion.

So Dorotea, Amariyah, and Rhyssa's children became "family" for him.

Peter was a.s.signed quarters in officer territory on the Station and ate in the officers' mess. As pleasant as everyone was to him, he couldn't join in many of the off-duty activities and he felt subtly out of place in the mixed service-civilian environment. Even the ensigns were several years older than he was and, while he was too well mannered to read minds without express permission to do so, he was often aware of the strong emanations of uncertainty about him in the mess. Occasionally one of the older officers was patronizing but he could ignore that. The only one of the Station's permanent staff he felt comfortable with was Madlyn Luvaro. She had such a crush on a certain Lieutenant Senior Grade Dash Sakai that generally her conversation orbited around the subject of the communications officer. The guy wasn't the least bit psychic so he was blithely unaware of Madlyn's crush. Everyone else on the CIC recognized it. It wasn't as if Madlyn wasn't pretty, feminine, and good company; it was just that Dash Sakai was career-motivated. Peter wondered if there was any way he could un.o.btrusively inform the comm officer that having a psychic as a wife would enhance any officer's career.

In any case, he was glad to step back into the comfortable ambience of Dorotea's home every month. Amariyah got a trifle bored and short-tempered, like any younger sibling dominating a conversation, when he rattled on about s.p.a.ce and the Station. Until the day that he just happened to mention the Station's extensive hydroponics system that supplied both food and oxygen purification. Instantly her att.i.tude altered and she had to know all about the gardens.

"Then I shall be a s.p.a.ce gardener," she said in her resolute manner.

"First you have to learn hydroponics engineering," Peter said repressively. That would be all he needed-a kid sister on Padrugoi.

"I shall learn all I need to know from Teacher. You just see if I don't," she added in such a quarrelsome mood that both Peter and Dorotea regarded her in surprise. "Dida Tea, you will tell me what courses you took."

Dorotea regarded her mildly. "If you ask politely."

Instantly, Amariyah looked penitent, her blue eyes filling with tears of shame for her outburst. "Please, Dida Tea, will you help me?"

"It'll be hard work," Peter warned.

"I already know a great deal about flowers and vegetables," Amariyah reminded him, once again the argumentative sibling.

"You'll need to know a lot more," Peter began.

"And so she shall," Dorotea said, casting a warning look at Peter to subside. "Come, Maree," she said, holding out her hand to the girl, "we'll just see what courses Teacher has on-line."

"Yes, Dida Tea," Amariyah said meekly. Just at the doorway, she flashed a glance back at Peter and stuck her tongue out.

While Peter's main task was 'porting supplies and personnel to the Station, he was also required to help 'port materials into the second colony ship, the Arrakis, Arrakis, being constructed at Padrugoi. He wanted very much to visit the hull and watch the various stages of its construction. But that would require a s.p.a.ce suit. Peter wondered how he could broach the subject of getting trained. If Linear grunts could be taught to manage construction suits, he was sure he could. being constructed at Padrugoi. He wanted very much to visit the hull and watch the various stages of its construction. But that would require a s.p.a.ce suit. Peter wondered how he could broach the subject of getting trained. If Linear grunts could be taught to manage construction suits, he was sure he could.

He sensed tentative att.i.tudes toward him from Madlyn's adored comm officer, Dash Sakai, and Lieutenant Commander Pota Chatham, the chief engineering officer on whose watches he generally worked. He'd hinted as often as he could that he didn't need to be in the Station CIC to use the marvelously powerful generators. He could gestalt with them from anywhere within several miles and certainly from the Arrakis, Arrakis, which was moored in the main construction and repair yard. When his allusions were ignored, he thought maybe he'd been premature. First the CIC officers would need to learn to trust him as much as Johnny Greene and, he was sure, Admiral Coetzer, did. They'd have to get accustomed to his work habits. He was always on time for his scheduled 'ports, he never took a break until Johnny called one, he maintained a strictly professional att.i.tude at all times, and he never left his post until the watch officer officially told him to "stand down." Not that he would have presumed in any respect. He was not fragile. In fact, he was probably the safest, strongest person on the Station, especially since the first thing he'd been drilled in was emergency procedures in the event of a Station alert. He knew where all the escape pods were and had amused himself in between 'ports by figuring out who he should rescue in order of importance. Admiral Coetzer was first, of course; Johnny Greene if he was onstation at the time, then the executive officer, Linke Bevan. After them, his priorities altered but he rather thought Madlyn, because she was the strongest 'path in all the Centers, and then Dash Sakai-because Madlyn would be inconsolable if Dash got wasted. He spent other idle moments figuring out how many he could 'port to safety in the first sixty seconds. He even tried putting air envelopes around groups, to give them oxygen and protection against bursting in vacuum. which was moored in the main construction and repair yard. When his allusions were ignored, he thought maybe he'd been premature. First the CIC officers would need to learn to trust him as much as Johnny Greene and, he was sure, Admiral Coetzer, did. They'd have to get accustomed to his work habits. He was always on time for his scheduled 'ports, he never took a break until Johnny called one, he maintained a strictly professional att.i.tude at all times, and he never left his post until the watch officer officially told him to "stand down." Not that he would have presumed in any respect. He was not fragile. In fact, he was probably the safest, strongest person on the Station, especially since the first thing he'd been drilled in was emergency procedures in the event of a Station alert. He knew where all the escape pods were and had amused himself in between 'ports by figuring out who he should rescue in order of importance. Admiral Coetzer was first, of course; Johnny Greene if he was onstation at the time, then the executive officer, Linke Bevan. After them, his priorities altered but he rather thought Madlyn, because she was the strongest 'path in all the Centers, and then Dash Sakai-because Madlyn would be inconsolable if Dash got wasted. He spent other idle moments figuring out how many he could 'port to safety in the first sixty seconds. He even tried putting air envelopes around groups, to give them oxygen and protection against bursting in vacuum.

Another favorite topic for speculation was how Rhyssa had been persuaded to let him take the Padrugoi contract in the first place. He knew how badly she wanted him to find and train kinetics in the gestalt. Considering how much he owed her, and the Parapsychic Centers, he was willing to spend his whole life trying. But so far there'd been no kinetic for him to train . . . if he could. He suspected Johnny had had more of a hand in getting him on Padrugoi than the general was about to admit. Certainly Admiral Coetzer had given him a wholehearted welcome aboard the Station. He was a frequent guest at the admiral's table when he was on board. (Maybe that's why some people avoided him.) Coetzer kept a paternal eye on him-at least that's what Peter heard Commander Temuri Bergkamp say when the engineering officer didn't realize Peter was in earshot. Peter did not "listen" or "peek" but sometimes people had loud minds and he couldn't help but overhear, despite keeping up a light shield most of the time.

That was how he happened to learn that he could be a lot more use to the admiral if he could "hack the black," as the grunts phrased it.

"I got book on him," one of them said as he and his mate swung into a service corridor ahead of Peter. As he didn't make any noise walking, they were unaware of his presence.

"For or agin?"

"Agin, a'course. Kid that young'll panic first time he has to hack the black. Ya know whaddi mean. s.h.i.t himself all over!" The first one gave a malicious chuckle of antic.i.p.ation.

"I doan think he will," the other said defensively. "General thinks he'd make it."

"Then why'nt he being trained? Been here how many weeks now?"

"I dunno. Hear tell they doan wanna rush him, 'cos he's sorta fragile'n stuff. Sure is skinny."

"Ha! We wasn't given no time. We hadda go out an'that was that!"

"That's what we wuz hired for, d.i.n.k. He's not just a grunt, ya know. Notice how he walks? Just like he was in in a suit. Sort of smooth like." The man made a gliding gesture. a suit. Sort of smooth like." The man made a gliding gesture.

"Putcher money where yer mouth is."

"Sure! An' we book book the bet with Kibon. You ain't goin' slip me on this." the bet with Kibon. You ain't goin' slip me on this."

"You're on. Slip me into a good downside binge, you will." And the first man held out a hand to his buddy. Peter inserted himself in a doorway in case they caught a glimpse of him. They turned a corner at the next junction.

Peter digested that conversation and perked up considerably. Bets on him, were there? That he'd s.h.i.t himself? Peter chuckled bitterly. They didn't know much about him, did they? He almost wished he could could pee. Even if he couldn't hack the black, there wouldn't be that sort of evidence for anyone to see. But he knew he would hack it. He wanted to be out in s.p.a.ce so badly. He wanted to prove to Johnny and the admiral that he was more than just a transport mechanic. He could match construction units so smoothly no one would ever have to worry about them tumbling out of control from reaction. He knew his physics: any action in no-gravity conditions caused a reaction. He had more control than any other kinetic, even Lance Baden. Why, he could speed up the construction of the pee. Even if he couldn't hack the black, there wouldn't be that sort of evidence for anyone to see. But he knew he would hack it. He wanted to be out in s.p.a.ce so badly. He wanted to prove to Johnny and the admiral that he was more than just a transport mechanic. He could match construction units so smoothly no one would ever have to worry about them tumbling out of control from reaction. He knew his physics: any action in no-gravity conditions caused a reaction. He had more control than any other kinetic, even Lance Baden. Why, he could speed up the construction of the Arrakis Arrakis by months if they'd only let him help. He'd already 'ported many of its components into s.p.a.ce. Placing them inside the hull would be child's play. He'd studied the by months if they'd only let him help. He'd already 'ported many of its components into s.p.a.ce. Placing them inside the hull would be child's play. He'd studied the Andre Notion's Andre Notion's designs-it was the sister ship of the designs-it was the sister ship of the Arrakis Arrakis-so throughly he could close his eyes and still put anything in place. He'd wanted to be personally involved ever since his first glimpse of the Andre Notion Andre Notion at the Inauguration ceremony. When the admiral had invited him up to view the completed colony ship, he hoped he'd have a chance of working on the next one. All right, he couldn't at the Inauguration ceremony. When the admiral had invited him up to view the completed colony ship, he hoped he'd have a chance of working on the next one. All right, he couldn't be be a colonist. He'd accepted that. But that didn't mean he couldn't have an integral part in the construction of the other two "A-type" colony ships. He'd take a vital step toward that dream if he could just talk them into letting him in s.p.a.ce . . . a colonist. He'd accepted that. But that didn't mean he couldn't have an integral part in the construction of the other two "A-type" colony ships. He'd take a vital step toward that dream if he could just talk them into letting him in s.p.a.ce . . .

He'd do it now. He'd ask now. After all, the worst that could happen was to be told "no."

When Peter Reidinger suddenly appeared in the admiral's outer office, Yeoman Nicola Nizukami was surprised. He'd never before just appeared out of thin air, though she knew he could do such things. She didn't need to be psychic to see that the kinetic was nervous. He was very pale and his Adam's apple kept jumping up and down in his throat. She wondered if he could sweat like other males.

"Are you all right, Mr. Reidinger?" she asked, wondering what to do if he fainted or something. She knew some of his history as did everyone on the Station but, in this encounter, she seemed not to have all the information she should. She knew the admiral didn't expect him.

"If the admiral's available. I mean, I don't want to interrupt or anything," he managed to say.

She gave him an encouraging smile. He was much too skinny, she thought. Why doesn't someone put some weight on his bones!

He blinked and she caught her breath, hoping he hadn't read what she'd been thinking. She'd been briefed as everyone had on the Station, that he would be too well mannered to do that. The psychics considered uninvited mental intrusion against professional scruples.

"I'll just see if he's free," she said hastily, lifting her wristcom to her lips. "Admiral Coetzer, Mr. Reidinger would like a moment of your time."

"Send him in," was the immediate response.

She turned to operate the door control and she thought again that the kid would faint he had turned so white.

"He won't bite you, Mr. Reidinger," she whispered, and stood aside, giving him an encouraging wave.

Slowly he glided forward, like an ensign knowing he was in for a tongue-lashing, she thought. Not that Admiral Coetzer was a martinet. And Mr. Reidinger was definitely in the admiral's good book. The door slid shut. Yeoman Nizukami resumed processing the many end-of-month reports to the s.p.a.ce Authority Headquarters downside.

She was interrupted by an incredible wave of exultation and looked around her, trying to figure out the source and reason. She was alone. The door to the admiral's office slid open and Peter Reidinger soared out. She blinked because he was a good foot off the floor.

"Ahem, Pete," said the admiral, who had followed him to the threshold. "You're levitating. Nicola won't mind but you might turn a few heads in the corridor." There was a big smile on Coetzer's broad pleasant face and an expression of paternal affection for his visitor.

"Oh! Thanks, sir," and Mr. Reidinger descended. He beamed at Nicola, shaking his head ever so slightly as the outer door opened and he glided out into the corridor, feet on the ground and knees lifting in his usual approximation of an ordinary gait.

Nicola was used to all kinds of people coming and going from the admiral's office and just about every sort of response to interviews but to see someone sailing past her was most unusual.

"Sir?" she said, in the hopes of an explanation.

Dirk Coetzer laughed, rubbing his hands together with immense satisfaction. "Just made that young man very happy by giving him permission to do exactly what I want him to do."

"Sir?" Nicola was no wiser.

"Get me CPO Ryk Silversmith on the comm," and the admiral turned back into his office, chuckling and continuing to scrub his hands.

Whose exultation, then, had she thought she felt? She had a useful amount of empathy that made her a good secretary. As she obediently got Chief Petty Officer Silversmith on the comm, she realized that he was in charge of training personnel in EVA.

So Pete couldn't wait any longer, huh?" Johnny said when Coetzer contacted him about the interview.

"He was the shade of a sheet," Dirk said, delighted to be able to discuss this remarkable development with the man who'd most appreciate it. He chuckled. "He'd've been shaking like a leaf, if he could. Took all my self-control not to whoop out loud."

"So he got up the gumption to ask." Johnny grinned smugly. "I wonder what prompted him. Not that I'm not delighted. I've seen him staring at every team of grunts, broadcasting envy. But I like him making his own move. Oh, well, EVAs not my favorite pastime but I'll get my suit checked out."

"You're not involved," Dirk Coetzer said.

"I'm not?" The general sounded indignant. "I promised Rhyssa I wouldn't-"

"Silversmith'll train him. Same way he trained you, I understand."

"Silversmith?" There was a brief pause on the other end of the comlink. That was the second time in a day the admiral had trouble suppressing laughter. "None better."

"Thought you'd see it like that. You and I, however, can discreetly follow his progress. You can accompany him on his first official EVA, I'll grant you that much."

"You mean you won't go along, too, Dirk?" Johnny's tone was sly.

"I get a few perks, you know." He allowed himself to chuckle then. "That is, of course, if he can hack the black."

"Care to make a bet?"

"No, I don't think I do," the admiral said in a slow drawl. "But you'll get pretty good odds if you check with Kibon, the Station bookie."

"They're making book on it?"

Dirk Coetzer gave a deprecating snort. "Scuttleb.u.t.t about Reidinger has been . . . quite informative."

"I'll check out the odds first."

"Don't tell me you're skeptical?"

"Dirk, I want to be sure whose money I'd be taking on a sure thing. I don't want one of those offies you have up there looking to waste me."

CPO Ryk Silversmith was a compact man, one of the few who took advantage of the naval tradition of wearing a beard, grizzled and neatly trimmed against his jawline. Scuttleb.u.t.t suggested he waxed it at night. He had not previously encountered his latest student but he was well aware of the bets laid for and against Reidinger's ability to hack the black. He'd heard that one of the offies, a janitor, had placed an enormous sum against the lad. His reputation as a trainer did not permit him to bet on a student. So far there'd been no casualties among his graduates. He did wonder when he saw the skinny kid sitting as bolt upright as a cadet, if maybe this one would ruin his record. He'd also been adroitly informed that this Reidinger was special so he'd better pa.s.s.

A half hour into the first session of cla.s.sroom basics, and Silversmith was of two minds whether or not to like the kid. Reidinger knew his physics better than any newly commissioned ensign. The naval manual on EMU maintenance and repair was up on his notepad. Though he listened intently to Silversmith's spiel on s.p.a.ce suits, it was as if the kid was checking a mental list to be sure the chief didn't miss a point. Kid didn't act know-it-all either; wasn't the least bit smart-a.s.s, respectful but not an a.s.s-licker. Whatever. Silversmith proceeded inexorably with the standard introductory session. When, as was his habit, he required Reidinger to repeat from time to time what he had just said, the answer was spot-on. At the end of the hour, he hauled out the demonstration model.

"This," he said, flipping the sleeves, tapping the helmet and the belt, "is an extravehicular mobility suit. Also known as a s.p.a.ce suit, Mr. Reidinger. You will refer to it from now on as an EMU. Do you read me?"

His student was staring at the EMU with such shining eyes and eagerness that Silversmith had to clamp down hard on the usual sarcastic retorts he had coined over the years, to depress the stupid ideas some d.i.n.ks-and he included Reidinger in that number-had about extravehicular activities and/or s.p.a.ce suits.

"You will need one. You will never exit this Station without the one that has been a.s.signed you and without checking your EMU before and after every use. Do you read me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Reidinger?" the chief barked.

"Sir?"

"I'm not a 'sir.' I'm Chief. Chief Silversmith to be explicit. Get me?"