Pegasus in Flight

by Anne McCaffrey

  Barchenka made a monosyllabic noise of disbelief and resumed her perusal of the menu. After only seconds, she tossed it negligently to the table. “I would prefer nutritious food to this . . .”

  Johnny Greene beckoned to the maitre d’, who was famous for his poise under the most trying situations that Washington could produce. “D’Amato, Manager Barchenka requires the other menu.”

  At a snap of D’Amato’s fingers, an underling appeared and handed him a slim folder, which he presented to Barchenka with a flourish. She gave him, then Johnny, a sardonic look that turned to agreeable surprise as she scanned a menu composed of the foodstuffs available on the platform.

  “Five, twelve, and twenty, taken with tea,” she said in a voice that still vibrated with controlled anger.

  Watch it, Rhyssa! Johnny cautioned. Did you catch that flash? She’s poison-sure she’s got us where she wants us.

  Simultaneously three other minders, dining with their charges in the same room, sent Rhyssa similar warnings. She was particularly glad to feel the mental touch of Gordon Havers, the youngest Supreme Court justice ever appointed, whose expertise might be extremely useful.

  Fine! Now discover what? Rhyssa said mentally as vocally she chose her luncheon of cold fruit, soup, and salad. Gordie, are you available for some quick scans of obsolete statutes that could cover such a contingency?

  Been driving myself and my clerks all hours trying to find one, Rhyssa, replied Gordon Havers. There’s nothing in our constitution, but since the Russians won the contract for Padrugoi, there may be something in the Russian section that does! Their legal system is as convoluted as their grammar!

  “You can, of course, invoke some forgotten but still active statute,” Rhyssa remarked all too blandly, waiting for reactions, “to conscript Talents . . .” Both Barchenka and Duoml looked startled.

  Bingo! Gordie cried. I’ll concentrate on the Russian end of space law.

  “But,” Rhyssa continued soothingly, “it has always proved unwise to force Talent to perform in an area that is either personally or professionally distasteful to them, and under punitive conditions.”

  “We have been too lenient with your temperamental tricks and traits,” Barchenka said, leaning across the table in anger. “You will do this, you won’t do that!” She affected a child’s petulant tone. “Many concessions were made to cater to the whims and fads of your Talents, and still no significant numbers will volunteer for the most important world project of all history. Your attitude is unacceptable.”

  “I am protecting my colleagues, not being obstructive. I must repeat,” Rhyssa continued smoothly, “it has always proved unwise to force Talent to perform duties unacceptable to them and under punitive living conditions.”

  “That will change! Will be changed! The platform will be finished on schedule!” Barchenka’s voice had risen with each sentence until it stopped conversation throughout the opulent dining room. She pushed herself from her chair, wobbling slightly as her movements, more suited to half gray, brought her stocky body ponderously to an upright position. She kicked the chair away from her. “I do not tolerate insubordination!” And she clumped away from the table.

  “I was doing my best for you,” Vernon Altenbach said to Rhyssa, his face and manner resigned as he rose, his chair pulled back by a hovering waiter.

  “You do not understand our position, Director Owen,” Per Duoml added, but he made no move to leave the table. “We are forced to use unpleasant alternatives to avert far more serious disasters overtaking the world!”

  “I’ll see if I can calm her down, make her see reason,” Vernon said with a gesture for Johnny to remain. “D’Amato, send my meal and hers to the private room. I’ll be there.”

  “Do you believe, in your own heart, Per Duoml,” Rhyssa asked, leaning across the table to the man, “that we are evading our duty to the world?”

  He shrugged, his mind, with its metal shield, as impervious, Rhyssa thought, as his unwillingness to understand the nature of Talent. “It is the opinion that this—reluctance—puts the whole platform project in jeopardy.”

  “It is Ludmilla Barchenka who puts it in jeopardy,” Rhyssa said with more heat than she had intended. She smiled quickly, hoping to repair the damage of her candor. Per Douml might not be Talented, but he was scarcely stupid.

  “Ah! My esteemed colleague was correct,” he said.

  “I am not standing in her way. I am protecting my professionals even as she is protecting her project.”

  Well, she is why Talents won’t work for her, Johnny said in swift reassurance. And we all know it!

  Gordie: Yeah, but she stays! This will be an interesting power struggle, speaking from a purely legalistic viewpoint.

  “I admire Barchenka’s unquestionable abilities as a spatial engineer. I would prefer that she return the professional compliment,” Rhyssa said amiably. “This soup is excellent, Per Duoml. Let us enjoy it.”

  Bingo! Gordie Havers told Rhyssa the next day. There was absolutely no joy to his tone.

  You mean Barchenka can conscript Talents? Rhyssa felt a cold paralysis grip her.

  You’ve got it! I’ve been over the statute—and it is Russian, from the pre-glasnost days, and should have been repealed long ago it’s so archaic. In the good old Bolshevik days, it was illegal—get that, illegal—to be unemployed. The State was the only employer—not the employer of last resort—but the only employer. Ergo, everyone worked. Consequently, the only employer in a system that makes it illegal to be unemployed can certainly do whatever is deemed necessary with its work force. Legally, it gives Barchenka the right, under Padrugoi’s International Charter, to draft any technicians, professionals, or workers required by the space effort—the space effort in terms of the original law being the Russian one. But the statute is still in effect, and, by legal crook, she can apply it to Talents. We can fight it, of course!

  And? she prompted.

  With a glib-tongued attorney like Lester Favelly, we might just win. But the trial would take years, and could be construed by Barchenka to prove her contention—that the Talents are obstructing the Good Work. He paused significantly. We could just give her enough rope to hang herself?

  The Talents will be miserable, and they won’t perform well. That was what rankled Rhyssa’s fine sense of integrity. Talents did the best they could no matter what the circumstances. To give the slightest suggestion that they skimped was against the most stringent of tenets for the parapsychic. But, in space, worn down by punishing hours and psychic static they could not avoid, inevitably their performances would suffer.

  Exactly, Gordie said. Ask the other directors. You must appear to be accepting the inevitable.

  The sort of press this could give Talents would undo the work of the last century, Rhyssa said despairingly.

  I know. Although to sweeten this very bitter pill, Rhyssa, Mallie Vaden sees nothing going wrong.

  Whose side is she on? Rhyssa could not keep the bitterness out of her tone.

  Ours, as you well know, was Gordon Havers’s crisp reply. Ergo, it has to work out by our compliance. But I’ve initiated some investigations that might just give us a lever against Barchenka. Meanwhile, consult, Rhyssa. Quick action might shift public support to us.

  CHAPTER 5

  Some of the fourteen other Center directors were not best pleased to be roused by her urgent request for conference in the middle of their nighttimes, and there was some grumbling. Though all Centers were theoretically equal, no director decided issues that would affect all Talents without consulting the others first, and Rhyssa—in charge of negotiations for the Talents because Padrugoi’s administrative headquarters was in Jerhattan—deemed a meeting necessary. As soon as all were attending, she explained the situation.

  And from what equally critical positions does this Russian think we can draft these essential kinetics? Lance Baden, the Australian director, demanded. Rhyssa always found it odd that his mental voice was devoid of the Aussie accent. W
e sent everyone we could bribe or blackmail up there. Sheer bloody-mindedness keeps some of ’em in place, but my staff’s down to nubbins or feather-movers.

  I have told Ludmilla Ivanova, said Vsevolod Gebrowski of the Leningrad bureau at his most apologetic, time and again, that there are few kinetics not already doing double, triple work in order to supply essential services in Russia. Believe me, I have tried to educate her to the practicalities . . .

  We do believe you, Geb, we do, was the mass thought that reassured him.

  What’s the levy, Rhyssa? Miklos Horvath, the West Coast director, asked.

  She’s demanding one hundred forty-four kinetics! Rhyssa said grimly, and threw up a buffer against the cries of outrage. The number of registered Talents in every Center was open knowledge to every director, as transfers constantly shifted key Talents at need from one Center to another.

  We don’t happen to have a handy gross of kinetics, the Brazil director said angrily. And I spent six months up there, in the most godforsaken barrio I’ve ever seen. Constant noise! Dreadful food—nutritious food could at least have a distinctive flavor. How she can expect us to function . . .

  If we use the discretionary clause, we can remove the required number from commerce and industry, Max Perigeaux of the large European bureau began in his slow, thoughtful way.

  Ignoring the howls . . .

  Under the circumstances, at least we’re not liable to penalties . . .

  That’s a real comfort to those forced up to Padrugoi . . .

  Well, Commerce and Industry want this station—they’ll have to suck lemons along with the rest of us . . .

  Max went on, his message weaving inexorably among the asides: . . . put the trainees where at least they can be overseen, we could just about manage it. But how can we expect our people to endure the conditions up at the platform and still perform creditably? To do less than our best reduces our reputations, but how can anyone operate at his best in that milieu! And the noise! The tall aesthetic man imaged a shudder of revulsion.

  But something must be done to give those who are conscripted some relief.

  Barchenka believes we set up the conditions of shielded quarters and short hours to be obstructive! Rhyssa said. I was informed that there is no noise in the vacuum of space, and, because there is also no gravity, there is less physical stress and longer hours can be worked, not fewer.

  The woman is utterly without a shred of understanding or empathy, the director of Africa North said.

  Has anyone tried to adjust her thinking? Hongkong Jimmy asked.

  You’ve never met Barchenka, have you? Shields tighter’n a chastity belt! Baden said in an acid tone.

  What’s a chastity belt? Hongkong Jimmy flicked back in genuine innocence.

  Images from nine helpful telepaths enlighted his ignorance. Rhyssa was grateful to him for easing the growing tension in the linkage with that byplay.

  We are compelled to comply, are we not! Perigeaux said, at his most mournful. And without delay, so that we can bargain on the best possible conditions for those who must sacrifice themselves. A rotation scheme, perhaps . . .

  If she’s after the gross, that makes rotation impossible!

  I can try to insist on some sort of short-term stretches, Rhyssa said.

  Let us also issue some publicity, Miklos Horvath suggested, about conditions up there.

  Of dubious value when she needs to recruit so many grunts. You know she has to go to the shelters for anyone below Civil Service-8.

  But the public must see that Talent’s objections to working in space are valid!

  The most valid being Barchenka herself . . .

  Can no one lean on her?

  It’s been tried . . .

  Who’s the best we’ve got?

  What about her associate, Per Duoml? Any chinks in him?

  It isn’t that we don’t want to help with the project, but she is her own worst enemy.

  Did she specify kinetics only?

  No one’s told her that some kinetics are also telepaths!

  Don’t anyone mention that! Lance Baden said with unusual vehemence.

  Wouldn’t dream of it!

  You mean, she doesn’t know?

  Ludmilla Ivanova knows what she wants to know, Vsevolod said wearily. She only hears the explanations she wishes to hear.

  In twelve minutes of rapid-fire exchanges, the Talents arrived at a grim but workable course of action. Max, Baden, and Jimmy would do the actual selection of suitable kinetics. Some Talents could be excused on grounds of infirmity, pregnancy, or unsuitable skills—though two of Baden’s “feather-dusters” were well able to handle the fine tunings. Rhyssa, Miklos, and Dolores of the Brazilian Center would attempt to achieve shielded quarters and work shifts of six hours maximum, four for the less experienced kinetics. Barchenka might be running her operation twenty-four hours a day, but eight hours of telekinesis were impossibly draining, even in space and in 0.5-grav conditions.

  What we must also organize, for ourselves, Kayankira of the Delhi Center said as the main issues had been resolved, is an emergency system in a disaster situation. In her mind churned images of the previous year’s catastrophic floods in the northeastern sections of the Indian subcontinent, mitigated only by the rapid mobilization of hundreds of kinetics when the precog had come in.

  Kayan, you’ve had far more experience with that sort of thing than anyone needs, Baden said with unexpected humility. Advise us and we will comply.

  You always do! We’ll have to strip all nonessential industrial firms and reduce Port Authority staff to a dangerous minimum. But we shall be very short of those we most need.

  Weather permitting! was Hongkong Jimmy’s droll remark. When are we going to find a weatherman?

  If we weather this one, Miklos said, we can all apply!

  The mindlink was dissolved, and despite the massive task ahead, the Center directors were much heartened by the contact. When Rhyssa informed Gordie Havers of the results, he gave a loud mental cheer for solidarity.

  There’re going to be some mighty unhappy kinetics! she told him. Every Center is going to be stripped, and I’m steeling myself to endure the slings and arrows of outraged businesses.

  Machinery predated kinetics, and men used their muscles before that. Let ’em go back to traditional ways. It’ll make ’em appreciate us more than ever. Gordie imaged an archaic block and tackle to move matériel usually hoisted by a kinetic. Who’s handling the publicity?

  We’re going to have to be careful about that—don’t want Barchenka to say we’re interfering with her ongoing employment drive.

  The man I have in mind is not a valid Talent, but he’s a brilliant publicist, Rhyssa. Let me get Dave Lehardt to wave the flag for us.

  Dave Lehardt?

  He put our honored president in the White House.

  And he’s not Talented? That’s unfair! That campaign was sheer genius!

  We have to allow the Mutes a few prerogatives, you know. Shall I approach him on this delicate matter?

  Please do. I’ll give him all the help I can.

  By the by, did you realize that most of what you do is totally illegal in Scotland, which still has antiwitchcraft laws on the books?

  Spare me!

  I had, and look what it got us. I’d been working up to the Russkis by way of the British Isles and Scandinavia. Sorry about that! You never know where to start in nullifying age-old bigotry, do you!

  When Gordie had broken their mental link, Rhyssa spoke to Sascha.

  You got touched again? he demanded.

  In the head, but not by my peeper. She put in his mind all that had happened in the past half hour.

  He whistled in a descending scale. We’re going to get a lot of flak from Commerce and Industry!

  They can’t have it both ways. They’re the group that gave Barchenka such punitive fines if she doesn’t deliver on time. That clause is just coming home to roost where they didn’t expect it. They’ll have to dust
off their machinery and toughen up their muscles. We’ve made it far too easy for them.

  What if they like the old-fashioned ways and don’t want to rehire our people?

  Rhyssa snorted derisively. Just consider how much money kinetics save industry every year in equipment and maintenance costs—the arguments we used to get them to take kinetics in the first place!

  Yeah, but how do we explain it to our kinetics?

  Rhyssa projected an image of her on her knees, tearing her hair out, pleading to amorphous faces, offering jewels and ingots of gold. Enlistment has always been preferable to conscription. And then we can insist on shielding and short shifts. We can’t if she implements that blue law. We’re over a barrel, and every Talent will realize that!

  Vsevolod can’t help us there? Sascha asked.

  He was appalled, apologetic, and all, but apopleptic that one of his nationals was doing this to us.

  Nothing mentioned about getting the law wiped off the books?

  Gordie’s working on it! Rhyssa did not bother to lighten the grimness she felt.

  Dave Lehardt swung into Rhyssa’s tower office at the Henner estate within an hour of the Talents’ reluctant acceptance of the inevitable.

  “My God, do you have wings?” Rhyssa commented as the energetic Lehardt shook her hand. He was a full two meters tall, athletic in build, and he emanated a competence and geniality that could only come from a secure, well-adjusted personality. He was handsome enough, with mid-brown hair, blue eyes, and regular but not remarkable features, and he dressed with conservative elegance.

  “Not wings! Vanes! More reliable,” he said with a charming grin. He began sorting through the papers in his attaché case. “Gordie said it was urgent, and I watch the news.” He stopped when he noticed her baffled expression. “What’s the matter? Did I break out in spots?”

  “No, but you haven’t an ounce of Talent, and you ought to.”

  “Why?” Dave Lehardt shrugged. “I’ve never needed it. Astute student of human psychology and keen observer of body language.”