"I'm here with it," and Ca.s.s tried to focus on the red-haired woman pressing a hypospray against her arm. The woman grinned up at Ca.s.s. "Let's get you out of here."

Ca.s.s felt the surge of sympathy and understanding from her as Shandin carried her out of that cubicle and into the adjacent one where she was lifted onto the narrow bed.

Ceara's an empath, Ca.s.s, Shandin said. He, too, was broadcasting rea.s.surance. Shandin said. He, too, was broadcasting rea.s.surance.

That's my job, Ca.s.s replied. Ca.s.s replied.

Not right now, it isn't, Shandin said as Ceara attached a monitor to Ca.s.s's finger. Shandin said as Ceara attached a monitor to Ca.s.s's finger.

Ca.s.s agreed.

Peter did not feel the least remorse when he and Johnny were informed that Flimflam had died of a poisoned knife thrust. He had more important matters on his mind. He was struggling with his a.n.a.lysis of the data he needed from the reams of use-energy printouts, both for himself and Johnny. He wasn't nearly as tired as he had made out after the second day of scheduled 'ports to First Base. But he used that excuse. He wasn't exactly sure what data he hoped to extract and gave up after two hours. There were two jobs he needed to do; the a.n.a.lysis was only one. Equally important in his mind was re-creating the "South America" discoloration with which he would fool Johnny into 'porting all the way to First Base.

Let's rid him of his self-imposed limitations, Peter muttered to himself as he accessed the draw program on his worktop. Gradually he worked up the sketch, with the corner of the part.i.tion window and the control worktop and the cabinets beneath. He got the color tones as well, including the opaque smokiness of the window. The general image resembled facilities that Johnny had probably 'ported to many times, save for that distinctive splotch and the angle of window and worktop. Making the visual wasn't anywhere near as easy as he thought it would be. He could hold a lightpen but he didn't have the fine muscle control needed for minute changes, although he seemed to have finally got the hang of using the device. Possibly he was inspired by this means to the end he desired. He grinned. He stared at the visual, adjusting proportions, adjusting colors, adjusting until his eyes watered. The image had to be perfect so Johnny would see it distinctly enough to 'port to it. After all, there was only one spot in this solar system that was identical: in the observatory office on First Base.

Yawning several times in succession made him check the time and he found that he'd spent nearly three hours on the project. But he was reasonably satisfied with it. He wished he had a visual but the notion of using "South America" had come after he'd been to the astronomy office. He'd check his imaging again in the morning. The muscle between his last two fingers on his right hand was twitching again. It didn't hurt. Of course, it couldn't. He had no feeling in his hands, even if the skin was jumping about from some sort of a tic. Maybe he'd better see a medic. Maybe he could see Ceara. He could call her to his room. No, he couldn't call a woman to his cabin even if she was a qualified doctor. Seeing her in a professional capacity was permissible, wasn't it? He yawned again. And put himself to bed.

He was up, had changed his appliance, showered, and dressed before he felt Johnny's mind touch his.

I'm up, I'm up, he said.

You sound revoltingly chipper.

Peter grinned. Johnny sounded as if he were hung over.

Had breakfast?

Shut up and eat yours now so I don't have to smell it. Barney's waiting for you in the conference room. Tell him I'll need plenty of fresh coffee. And stress the 'fresh.' A pause. A pause. Please. Please.

Sure thing!

Johnny arrived well after Peter had finished his meal. Peter had had time to transfer the image of "South America" to the conference room files, securing it with his personal code. The moment Johnny arrived, Barney appeared, ready with the coffee, which he placed before the general as well as hard copy of the day's teleportation list.

"You know," Peter said casually, "we could go into business for ourselves. T and T."

"Huh?"

Peter waited until Johnny had had a few sips of the hot, fresh coffee. It even smelled good to Peter.

"Telepaths and Teleporters, Incorporated, or Limited because there's really only three of us strong kinetics. I include Lance."

"Good of you," Johnny mumbled, both hands on the cup, elbows on the table. He wasn't really hearing anything yet.

Peter "reached" for the day's schedule and unfolded the sheet, laying the hardcopy flat. "Did we hear confirmation of receipt from First Base?"

Johnny nodded and then clutched at his head. "Yeah."

"And they've cleared the telepad?"

"Yeah."

"I wouldn't want to dump some of today's heavy stuff on yesterday's fragile shipments."

"You won't."

Peter checked the items a second time, looking at the ma.s.s and descriptions. "Not a bad day's work. I think I'll start with some heavy stuff."

"Be my guest."

"Who did this to you? The admiral?"

"Who else, considering we're not here to anyone else," Johnny said, and took another swallow. "Great coffee, Barney."

"Thank you, sir. If I am no longer required?"

"Bring Pete a high-calorie snack about ten, would you, Barney?"

"Of course, sir. And please secure the door behind me, General," he added apologetically.

"Yeah, s'okay, Barney."

As soon as the door closed behind the quiet steward, Peter threw on the lock.

"I'll just a.s.semble the first stuff," Peter said. "Oh, and there're a few things for us to shift downside, too. Shall I save them for you?" If he set a pattern today, it would be easier to slip in the one he wanted Johnny to do. But not when he had a hangover.

"I'll get to them later, Pete." Johnny cleared his throat and finished that cup of coffee.

"I'll fill, Johnny. You might burn yourself," Peter said kindly. Johnny shot him a caustic glance but held his cup out. Peter 'ported the carafe over and filled the cup.

"Thanks. Don't ever drink, kid. Not really worth it."

"I'll remember that."

Johnny slumped over his coffee while Peter organized the first send. He would have to be patient for his Great Experiment. He wanted Johnny in his full senses as much to do the 'port as to appreciate what was possible! First the Moon, then Mars, and then . . .? Peter's heart leapt within his chest with excitement.

"Don't forget the sensors, Pete," Johnny had enough presence of mind to say.

As well he hadn't already put them on, Peter thought, or maybe palpitations of antic.i.p.ation didn't register on monitors. He could attach the pads to himself but it took time. And once again he saw his hand muscles spasm and had an odd sensation in his fingertips. From residual electricity in the pads? He really must resume his Reeve Board exercises. With Flimflam dead, and undoubtedly some sort of confession from the a.s.sa.s.sin, surely their return could be officially announced! And he could arrange for some telescope time. He had to know if his notion was feasible.

"I'm wired," he announced to Johnny and, setting his mind to the gestalt, made the day's first transfer to the main depot at First Base. "That was almost easy," he added, though it hadn't been all that easy. He just wanted to imply that, preparing the ground for Johnny.

"Don't sound so cheerful."

"Why shouldn't I? Flimflam's dead and they'll find out more from his a.s.sa.s.sin."

"No, they won't," Johnny said. "Like all well-programmed a.s.sa.s.sins he suicided."

"Oh!" That was too bad. It also meant that this whole sorry mess of intrigue and revenge wasn't cleared up.

"However, the good admiral's security guys are picking the brains of the freighter crew; not literally. That isn't legal. But the good ship Elise Elise has been moored onstation for the past eight days." Johnny frowned. "Indeed, since our Limo left. So perhaps the late Idi ibn Sorkut-at least that's the name on his papers-might have let drop some tidbits in the Mall while awaiting the news that has been moored onstation for the past eight days." Johnny frowned. "Indeed, since our Limo left. So perhaps the late Idi ibn Sorkut-at least that's the name on his papers-might have let drop some tidbits in the Mall while awaiting the news that Limo-34 Limo-34 was MIS." was MIS."

"You sound better."

"I'm not really."

"Could all this really be a fatwa?"

"More than likely, though a fatwa was a religious punishment, for blasphemy. This is for plain revenge."

"Plain?" Peter exclaimed.

"No, I guess there's nothing plain about this at all." Johnny raised bloodshot eyes and managed a grim smile. He pulled the list over to him. "You've done the first?"

"I'll organize the second, too. You haven't had enough coffee yet." Peter laid his hand on the list to draw it back to him, aware that his fingers were twitching.

Johnny saw it and blinked to clear his eyes. "Is that new?"

"Seems to be. Doesn't hurt. I don't feel it."

"That's nerve action. You're not supposed to have working nerves."

"A fringe benefit of free fall?" Then Peter suggested slyly, "Maybe all the hard work I did landing us?"

Johnny reached for the comunit and gave an address. "Is Dr. Scott available? Good. Will she please report to Admiral Coetzer's conference room. This is not an emergency."

Suddenly Johnny thrust his coffee mug into Peter's left hand, curved where he had laid it to hold down the schedule list. Peter jerked his hand . . . away from heat?

"I felt that!" Peter stared down at his hand.

Johnny moved the mug to Peter's right hand, slowly pressing the thumb up against it.

"And that?" Johnny's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"Yes."

Slowly, as if he would almost rather not be disappointed, Peter kinetically fitted both hands around the hot coffee mug. He swallowed hard.

"I can feel heat in all my fingers and in the palms of my hands."

He raised his eyes to Johnny's. A slow and incredulous smile spread over the general's face, and his eyes were shining with extra moisture. He slid his hands lightly over Peter's.

"D'you feel that?"

"Just a slight pressure." Peter wanted to cry. For the first time since Dorotea had found him in the hospital, he wanted to cry. He blinked very hard. He couldn't cry in front of Johnny Greene.

"If you do, I will," Johnny murmured, and gently embraced him. Can you feel this? Can you feel this?

Peter gave his head a little shake, his head resting against Johnny's broad shoulder. Just a sort of pressure. But, even to have the use of my fingers again! I haven't been able to move them since that d.a.m.ned body brace shorted out, with me in it. Just a sort of pressure. But, even to have the use of my fingers again! I haven't been able to move them since that d.a.m.ned body brace shorted out, with me in it. He didn't shake with sobs, that was probably beyond his new capability, but he did feel his chest move and let the tears roll down his face. Until they heard the tentative rap on the door. He didn't shake with sobs, that was probably beyond his new capability, but he did feel his chest move and let the tears roll down his face. Until they heard the tentative rap on the door.

"Admiral?" The m.u.f.fled voice was female. Mentally Peter reached out and recognized Ceara Scott.

Johnny opened the lock and, as she pulled the door forward she was startled to see the occupants and hurried inside, her eyes focused on Peter. She closed the door quickly.

"What's wrong?" She hurried to his side and Johnny released his hold.

"I don't think nerves spontaneously regenerate," Johnny said, his lips twisted to one side.

"I feel heat." Peter demonstrated by clasping the coffee mug in both hands.

"But you can't," she exclaimed. Then, shaking her head in a double denial, she altered her remark. "You shouldn't be able to! I saw your medical files, the spinal trauma."

"I can feel heat," Peter repeated, holding the cup up in both hands toward her. Johnny instantly extended the flat of his hand to support the mug.

"That coffee's hot, you know." The general's tone was gruff but his eyes remained very shiny. "I don't want you splattered and burned because you're showing off."

"Let's just see what we've got here," Ceara said, deftly removing the hot cup from Peter's hands and noting its heat. "Undoubtedly hot."

She took Peter's left hand and turned it over, noting the redness. She pressed one fingertip.

"I felt that, too!" There was delighted amazement in Peter's voice. "I didn't quite feel that , " he said with less delight when she pressed the skin of the next knuckle of the finger. She dug her finger nail into his skin and he felt the sharper prod. "That I felt!" He looked at the mark her nail had left on the skin.

Ceara eased herself into the nearest chair. "You should see a proper neurologist as soon as possible. And there isn't one onstation. We've got to find out if you really could have had some regeneration . . . We do have an MRI in sick bay-" She broke off, eyes blinking in confusion. Peter could feel her mind blazing alternately with optimism and denial. Miracles didn't happen anymore. She gave her head a sharp shake. "I didn't realize you were back on Padrugoi." Her glance took in Johnny.

"I'll see if Dirk will admit we're here. Especially if we have to get Peter down to sick bay. First order of business." Johnny reached for the comunit as briskly as if he were no longer suffering from a hangover.

"Second order of business is this," Peter said, tapping a fingertip-and feeling it-on the day's list.

"Would he be endangering himself?" Johnny asked Ceara anxiously, pausing on the comm keypad.

"How?" Peter demanded. After all that's happened to me in the last two weeks? After all that's happened to me in the last two weeks?

14.

Upon hearing that Peter needed to go to sick bay, Dirk Coetzer was concerned.

"What has to be done?" Peter asked Ceara warily. He'd had more than enough physical examinations, even if he hadn't felt them.

"We've a good MRI, though an EMG . . ."

"What's that?" Johnny demanded, far more alarmed than either Coetzer or Peter.

"Electroneuromyograph, but it's done with sensor pads, much like that equipment," and she nodded to the unit to which Peter was already attached. "Used to be much more intrusive. Anyway, sick bay doesn't have one. You'd've had to go downside. I'd recommend Finn Markstein. He's a neurologist. I trained with him at Mountainside Hospital."