Again the lights dimmed as the 'port was made.

On the level above, indignant guests were complaining about being detained by LEO officers. Conversations were muted in the main dining room and most of the curious diners had gone back to their tables.

"C'mon," Boris said, with a jerk of his head in the direction of the stairs. "I'll fly the rest of you there."

"I think, if you don't mind, I'd like to take Amariyah home," Dorotea said.

"We'll come with you," Tirla said, gesturing for Sascha to accompany them.

"I'll get transport," Boris said, giving a crisp order on his wristcom.

The maitre d' was hovering on the fringe. "Ah, there's the matter of the bill . . ." he began, and then backed off, scissoring his hands to indicate he hadn't meant that at all as Boris and Sascha both glared fiercely at him.

Boris motioned for the others to follow him to the helipad. They reached the accident ward just as Peter was being taken to surgery. He had not regained consciousness but Bob Gerace and the resident orthopedic man had conferred over the results of the MRI and decided how to proceed. Gerace was trying to argue the doctor out of anesthesia since Peter had no feeling in his body.

"What if he wakes up in the middle of the procedure?" the man demanded.

"I am Rhyssa Owen Lehardt," she said, marching up to him. "I will be present. Just in case he decides to 'port himself out of reach. Which is, I a.s.sure you, the more likely danger than that he would have any sensation. He also reacts badly to anesthesia."

"Oh." The doctor acquiesced without a single word about hospital protocol.

"We'll be right outside," Johnny said in his best military voice.

Peter did not regain consciousness until he was in the bed of a private suite of rooms in the Henry Hudson Hospital.

You're all right, Peter, Rhyssa said in the softest possible 'path when his eyes slowly opened. Rhyssa said in the softest possible 'path when his eyes slowly opened. I'm right here. I'm right here.

He blinked, swallowing. He didn't feel a thing but he could smell "hospital" around him. He turned his head toward her.

"What happened? One minute I'm cutting the cake . . ."

She explained tersely.

"I can't feel a thing, you know."

"Fortunately," she replied in a light tone. "They've glued you back together. You're in one piece again."

"That's good," he said, matching her levity. "Maybe I should have taken you all up to Padrugoi. The view there is terrific, too, you know."

"You'd've at least had your shield protecting you up there," she retorted, letting some of her anxiety show.

He made a face. "I should've kept a shield up. I'm sorry, Rhyssa, but I didn't think I'd need it at my birthday party. And in such a respectable restaurant." Scaring her, he shot upright in the bed. "Did anyone remember to pay the bill?"

Rhyssa was on her feet beside him, trying to get him to lie back as the monitor caught the rise in his vital signs and set off the alarm. Nurses and a doctor rushed in, gawked to see the multiple-fracture patient able to sit upright in the bed.

"He's all right. He's a kinetic. He can do this," Rhyssa explained.

"I don't care what he is, madam," the doctor said, attempting to push Peter down to the mattress. "He's on complete bed rest."

"Peter!" Rhyssa said, urging him with voice and gesture to a supine position.

"How'd he do that?" asked the nurse who was examining the monitor screen.

"Trade secret," Peter said, suddenly hoa.r.s.e. "I'm thirsty and hungry and I missed my birthday cake."

The intern was not amused but, after he had a.s.sured himself that the antics had not interfered with the newly set bones, he left.

Rhyssa didn't know whether to cry with relief or give Peter a piece of her mind.

No need to do either, Peter said. "But I am hungry and I am thirsty and I don't know where the kitchens are in this place." Peter said. "But I am hungry and I am thirsty and I don't know where the kitchens are in this place."

"We have one handy," Rhyssa said, and went to the serving facility of the suite to see what was on hand. "Just about anything you want. A piece of birthday cake will take a little longer."

I'll make one immediately, Dorotea said in her mind, immeasurably relieved. Dorotea said in her mind, immeasurably relieved.

How long have you been listening? Rhyssa wanted to know. Rhyssa wanted to know.

I didn't stop listening, Dorotea replied in a tart mental tone. Dorotea replied in a tart mental tone. What kind of cake do you want? What kind of cake do you want?

I'd like double chocolate with boiled icing, Peter promptly replied. Peter promptly replied.

I'll just turn the oven on and get Amariyah to help me. And, if she isn't allowed to see Peter at the first available moment, I won't be responsible for her mental state.

Could she hear me, Dorotea? Peter asked, his expression anxious. Peter asked, his expression anxious.

Try. She might just be receptive. She's been so worried about you! Good Lord. I think she did hear you. She's just stopped that silent weeping of hers. She's got the funniest expression on her face. Yes, Amariyah, Rhyssa's with him and we're to bake a chocolate cake with boiled icing to make up for the one he didn't get to eat. All right, now just get out the big bowls.

"Is Dorotea 'pathing to her?" Peter asked, astonished.

"No, she's vocalizing to Amariyah. Juice? There's anything you can name."

"Apple if there is some."

"Apple it is," and Rhyssa returned quickly with a large gla.s.s. "Don't you dare sit up again, Peter Reidinger. You're to use a straw or that monitor will have them all in here again."

While he dutifully sipped, she sent word to those waiting anxiously to hear from her. Dave, Lance, and Johnny were in the cafeteria, drinking coffee. They came up to rea.s.sure themselves with the vision of Peter, 'porting the gla.s.s and dutifully sipping from a straw. Then Dave insisted on taking Rhyssa home. Johnny said he'd take the first shift and Lance made himself comfortable in the small guest room of the suite.

"Can't I have pretty nurses?" Peter asked with mock petulance.

"I know it's breakfast time," Dorotea said when she and an anxious Amariyah arrived in Peter's room the next morning, bearing a covered cake dish and a bouquet of choice blooms from their gardens.

Amariyah instantly put the flowers down and laid her hands delicately on Peter's right arm.

"Do you hurt?" she asked, gently touching each of the break sites as if to rea.s.sure herself.

"I can't hurt, honey. My body has no feeling, you know."

"That doesn't mean you can't hurt," she replied, her fingers lingering. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a carefully folded square. "Where shall I put it?" she asked, unfolding the paper.

Peter identified the drawing as a copy of his talisman, the diagram of the Andre Norton. Andre Norton.

"Good thinking, Maree. Over there, right across from the bed. Stick it over that stupid print. Did you bring tape?"

She nodded, bringing the roll out of the other pocket. "I knew you'd need this to help you get well," she told Peter.

Alerted by their voices, Lance entered the patient's room and helped her stick it up.

"You're here early, Dorotea," he said, finishing that task.

"You didn't think I had much choice, did you?" Dorotea said dryly, indicating Amariyah.

The girl settled herself on the chair at the foot of Peter's bed and said not another word, except "thank you" when she was offered her slice of cake.

The staff of Henry Hudson Hospital began to notice the various notable people who came to visit the young multiple-fracture case on the thirty-sixth floor of the medical ziggurat. Rhyssa, who came daily, was identified by one of the empaths in the hospital as the head of the Eastern Parapsychic Center. The fact that there were LEO guards posted in the waiting room on Peter's hall was soon common gossip. The floor nurses mentioned that he was a nice young man, not at all demanding, unfailingly polite, cute in a "young" way, and very personable. One oddity, though, was that he had not been prescribed pain medication, despite having six fractures and severe contusions. Everyone loved a mystery, which spiced up dull and repet.i.tive duties no end. And he had such visitors! LEO Commissioner Boris Roznine was recognized. He arrived with his twin brother, Sascha, and Sascha's exotic-looking young wife, Tirla. She and her husband were in every day. Jerhattan Mayor Teresa Aiello paid several short visits. But when General John Greene, on whom one of the radiologists had had a crush since he had survived his crash as a famous etop pilot, arrived with his wife, the Senator, in the company of Admiral Dirk Coetzer, Peter Reidinger was established as a celebrity. Their colleagues tried to find out why a nineteen-year-old boy attracted such distinguished guests and quizzed the floor nurses. Naturally, every ambulatory patient who could, found some business on the thirty-sixth floor, welcoming the diversion.

A spry older silver-haired woman and a pretty black-haired girl visited every day with flowers and homemade cakes and cookies but they weren't relatives nor were they recognizable personages. His grandmother and perhaps his sister, though the patient bore no resemblance to either.

Of course the circ.u.mstances of the disgraceful accident were public knowledge. An entire chapter of a fraternal organization was charged with drunk and disorderly conduct as well as causing grievous bodily harm during a fracas in one of the uptown restaurants. The LEO guard made certain that no known member of the media dallied on the floor to pester the victim. Nevertheless, Peter's amiability was sorely stretched by casual visits from fellow patients and staff.

"I don't mind, really," Peter told Rhyssa on the morning of his sixth day in hospital, "but I can't even change my d.a.m.ned bag unless I lock the door. And then they pound on it, asking if I'm all right."

"At least I was able to get the vid-cam turned off so you can can be private. " She pointed to the wall brackets where a security camera had been located. be private. " She pointed to the wall brackets where a security camera had been located.

"Look, Rhys, can't you get it through their heads that I'm okay? That I can leave here?"

"Not until those breaks begin to mend, Peter," Rhyssa said firmly to end that argument.

"Do I have to stay in this d.a.m.ned bed all the time?"

"It really is wiser, Peter. You may not feel anything, but the least little jar might displace those bones. You've seen the scan report. You know how many fractures you have. Give them a chance. I'll spring you from here," and she smiled winningly, "as soon as possible. There's no reason you can't work from Dorotea's, you know."

"So this is my vacation for the year?" He 'ported his right arm up, cast and all, gesturing around the room.

"Don't do that to me, Peter," Rhyssa said, hand on her chest in alarm at his movement. "And no, this is sick leave. Which I don't think you've claimed ever since you came to the Center. Where would you like to go to convalesce? Down to Florida . . . lie in the sun, swim in the sea?"

"I just want to get out of here," he repeated, as near to sulky as Peter ever got, shaking his head from side to side on the pillows. "And I'd rather be on Padrugoi than Florida," he added.

Johnny! Johnny! Please wake up, Johnny. Peter's urgent voice roused the general. Peter's urgent voice roused the general.

"Huh? What?"

Johnny, it's Peter Wake up!

Johnny tried to focus his eyes on the digital clock on the bedside table. For G.o.d's sake, d'you know the time? For G.o.d's sake, d'you know the time?

She's giving me a bath!

Who's giving you a bath? Johnny gave the clock a second look. Yes, it was three-thirty in the morning. Johnny gave the clock a second look. Yes, it was three-thirty in the morning.

The nurse.

Which one? Johnny said, suddenly quite alert and grinning. Johnny said, suddenly quite alert and grinning.

Does it matter which one? Peter's voice sounded desperate. Peter's voice sounded desperate. I had a bath this morning! I had a bath this morning!

If you don't want a bath, or anything else, dump her in the corridor, with the bathwater, lock the door, and let me get back to sleep.

He settled the covers over his shoulders and snuggled up to his wife's warm body. He wondered if it was the redheaded nurse who had tried to seduce the kid.

As far as Johnny knew, Peter followed his advice; neither made mention of that three-thirty A.M. call. During his morning visit the next day, he avoided eye contact. He did notice that Peter's face was flushed when he entered. So Johnny became all business. He'd brought with him some of the elements that were waiting to be transported, one way or another, to the Moon Base.

"I know this accident has put us all off schedule, Pete," Johnny said, pulling a chair closer to the bed. "And it's going to affect their perception of you."

"Why? I didn't have have an accident, it happened an accident, it happened to to me." me."

"I know, I know, Pete. But you're going to have to convalesce and pa.s.s their physical before you'll be allowed back up to the Station."

At the flow of indignant curses Peter let out, Johnny realized that one facet of his education had been remarkably enhanced during his Station employment.

"Where'd you learn all that?" asked the general.

"Oh, the grunts are colorful."

"Just don't let Rhyssa or Dorotea hear that kind of language, or my name'll be mud."

"I'm not stupid," Peter said sharply.

"Never thought you were, Pete. Well, to the matter at hand. Dirk's on our side," Johnny said, pa.s.sing sheets over that Peter "held" in front of him. "Especially after I showed him the Bollard Thrust. I've been saving that one for a propitious moment. But we've now got to overcome the reaction to your broken bones."

"It's not my bones that teleport," Peter said in an angry sullen tone. He hated hated hospitals. He hospitals. He hated hated nurses-especially after last night's incident. He nurses-especially after last night's incident. He had had dumped the bathwater on her after he had kinetically ejected her from his room. Bet she hadn't known he could do dumped the bathwater on her after he had kinetically ejected her from his room. Bet she hadn't known he could do that! that! But the incident had upset him a great deal. She'd thought he was helpless. Everyone thought he was helpless: built like one of those beanpoles in Amariyah's vegetable garden. No one knew what he could But the incident had upset him a great deal. She'd thought he was helpless. Everyone thought he was helpless: built like one of those beanpoles in Amariyah's vegetable garden. No one knew what he could really really do if he set his mind to it. Even himself! Then he caught Johnny's blink of surprise and he tried to suppress his anger and deep frustration. do if he set his mind to it. Even himself! Then he caught Johnny's blink of surprise and he tried to suppress his anger and deep frustration.

Johnny had never heard that tone from him. Peter was invariably good-humored and willing. He wondered if he should have responded differently to that early morning conversation. He shot a sideways glance at his profile. Pete wasn't bad looking, in a young sort of way. He had the sort of features that would age well. And right now, he'd have an especial appeal that could easily rouse feminine l.u.s.t. Or was it the mothering instinct that Pete awakened?

"We always bill you as the mind-over-matter kid, skeleteam," Johnny said in a careless drawl. "So let's use that strength to our advantage. Now the design of these babies," and he indicated the glossies of the grossly clumsy freighters that Peter was examining. "Originally, we were shoving projectiles, especially devised to break free of gravity and penetrate an atmosphere. These," and he flicked one with his finger that was a collection of diversely shaped objects secured to a framework, "wouldn't last in gravity but should be easy to maneuver in s.p.a.ce."

Peter moved that one out of the hovering pack and examined it closely. He gave a little snort and glanced down at the manifest, noting its dimensions and ma.s.s.

"We shifted heavier stuff than this from Earth to Padrugoi," Peter responded, slightly indignant. "If nothing's fallen off it before now, it won't in a 'portation."

"I figured that out myself," Johnny said caustically. "I know, you know, Lance knows, Dirk knows. No one-except Rhyssa-thought you could land a shuttle in a monsoon at Dhaka. You did. Only a few folks thought you could shift heavy drones from surface to Station, too. We'll just have to shift something like these, the pickup sticks" and he added the picture of a ma.s.sive bundle of plasteel girders to those orbiting Peter's face, "to convince their plodding earthbound minds."

Peter made a face. "They're not that ma.s.sive."

"Neither were the chips you sent to Lance," Johnny said.

Peter shot him a glance. "These are not that light," and quickly he broke eye contact, flushing again.

"It's still a matter of mathematics, Pete," Johnny reminded him. "And you don't have to cope with gravity. Just a slow easy thrust . . . sending the load on its way."