Anne McCaffrey - Pegasus 1 - Get Off The Unicorn

VIP免费

2024-12-18 0 0 543.81KB 275 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

"Lady in the Tower" and "A Meeting of Minds"

are really logical extensions of the concept found in

"To Ride Pegasus," in which parapsychic powers are

combined with machines in a gestalt that gives the

mind enough power to reach the stars. They both

predate Dai op Owen and the Eastern Parapsychic

Center.

"Lady" is the story I prefer to acknowledge as my

first; it appeared in the Magazine of Fantasy and Sci-

ence Fiction in April 1959, in the distinguished com-

pany of Daniel Keyes' "Flowers for Algernon." Algis

Budrys was a reader for Bob Mills at the time and he

brought the story to Bob's notice. They both felt

that it needed some reworking and asked my per-

mission, which, needless to say, I immediately and

ecstatically gave. (Someone wanted to publish a story

of mine? Leap, grab, say YES!) I don't remember all

the changes Algis made, and I've made a few myself

with the wisdom and expertise of twenty years of

writing and publishing. But basically, it's the same

story.

Ten years later, "A Meeting of Minds" was pub-

lished by Ed Perman, the new editor of Fantasy and

Science Fiction. I have also done a good deal of rewrit-

ing on it, since that story had appeared so long after its

parent story.

Both are unashamed love stories. That's what I do

best: combining either science fact or fantasy with

heterogenous inter'reaction.

These two stories were supposed to be part of a

novel I'd tentatively entitled The Bitter Tower. But,

when I got started on the story "A Womanly Talent,"

I got involved with Dai op Owen and wrote the

four stories which comprise To Ride Pegasus. So these

two stories never became part of a novel. But the

Raven women are good strong characters, and who

knows when I'll write about that third generation of

Ravens.

Lady in the Tower

WHEN THE ROWAN CAME STORMING TOWARD

the station, its personnel mentally and literally ducked.

Mentally, because she was apt to forget to shield. Lit-

erally, because the Rowan was prone to slamming

around desks and filing cabinets when she got upset.

Today, however, she was in fair command of herself

and merely stamped up the stairs into the tower. A

vague rumble of noisy thoughts tossed around the

first floor of the station for a few minutes, but the

computer and analogue men ignored the depressing

effects with the gratitude of those saved from greater

disaster.

From the residue of her passage, Brian Ackerman,

the stationmaster, caught the impression of intense

purple frustration. He was basically only a T-9, but

constant association with the Rowan had widened his

area of perception. Ackerman appreciated this side

effect of his position--when he was anywhere else but

at the station.

He had been trying to quit Callisto for more than

five years, with no success. Federal Telepathers and

Teleporters, Inc., had established a routine regarding

his continuous applications for transfer. The first one

handed in each quarter was ignored; the second

brought an adroitly worded reply on how sensitive

and crucial a position he held at Callisto Prime Sta-

tion; his third--often a violently worded demand--

always got him a special shipment of scotch and to-

bacco; his fourth--a piteous wail--brought the Sec-

tion Supervisor out for a face-to-face chat and, only

then, a few discreet words to the Rowan.

Ackerman was positive she always knew the full

story before the Supervisor finally approached her.

It pleased her to be difficult, but the one time Acker-

maQ discarded protocol and snarled back at her, she

had mended her ways for a whole quarter. It had

reluctantly dawned on Ackerman that she must like

him and he had since used this knowledge to advan-

tage. He had lasted eight years, as against five station-

masters in three months before his appointment.

Each of the twenty-three station staff members

had gone through a similar shuffling until the Rowan

had accepted them. It took a very delicate balance of

mental talent, personality, and intelligence to achieve

the proper gestalt needed to move giant liners and tons

of freight. Federal Tel and Tel had only five com-

plete Primes--five T-l's--each strategically placed in

a station near the five major and most central stars

to effect the best possible transmission of commerce

and communications throughout the sprawling Nine-

Star League. The lesser staff positions at each Prime

Station were filled by personnel who could only tele-

port, or telepath. It was FT & T's dream someday to

provide instantaneous transmission of anything, any-

where, anytime. Until that day, FT & T exercised

patient diplomacy with its five T-l's, putting up with

their vagaries like the doting owners of so many

golden geese. If keeping the Rowan happy had meant

changing the entire lesser personnel twice daily, it

would probably have been done. As it happened, the

present staff had been intact for over two years and

only minor soothing had been necessary.

Ackerman hoped that only minor soothing would

be needed today. The Rowan had been peevish for a

week, and he was beginning to smart under the back-

lash. So far no one knew why the Rowan was upset.

Ready for the liner! Her thought lashed out so

piercingly that Ackerman was sure everyone in the

ship waiting outside had heard her. But he switched

the intercom in to the ship's captain.

"I heard," the captain said wryly. "Give me a five-

count and then set us off."

Ackerman didn"t bother to relay the message to

the Rowan. In her mood, she'd be hearing straight

to Capella and back. The generator men were hopping

between switches, bringing the booster field up to

peak, while she impatiently revved up the launching

units to push-off strength. She was well ahead of the

standard timing, and the pent-up power seemed to

keen through the station. The countdown came fast

as the singing power note increased past endurable

limits.

ROWAN, NO TRICKS, Ackerman said.

He caught her mental laugh, and barked a warning

to the captain. He hoped the man had heard it, be-

cause the Rowan was on zero before he could finish

and the ship was gone beyond radio transmission dis-

tance in seconds.

The keening dynamos lost only a minute edge of

sharpness before they sang at peak again. The lots on

the launchers snapped out into space as fast as they

could be set up. Then the loads rocketed into receiv-

ing area from other Prime Stations, and the ground

crews hustled rerouting and hold orders. The power

note settled to a bearable hum as the Rowan worked

out her mood without losing the efficient and accurate

thrust that made her FT & T's best Prime.

One of the ground crew signaled a frantic yellow

across the board, then red as ten tons of cargo from

Earth settled on the Priority Receiving cradle. The

waybill said Deneb VIII, which was at the Rowan's

limit. But the shipment was marked "Rush/Emer-

gency, priority medicine for a virulent plague on the

colony planet." And the waybill specified direct trans-

mission.

Well, where're my coordinates and my placement

photo? snapped the Rowan. / can't thrust blind, you

know, and we've always rerouted for Deneb VIII.

Bill Powers was flipping through the indexed cata-

logue, but the Rowan reached out and grabbed the

photo.

Zowie! Do I have to land all that mass there my-

self?

No, Lazybones, I'll pick it up at 24.578.82--that

nice little convenient black dwarf midway. You won't

have to strain a single convolution. The lazy mascu-

line voice drawled in every mind.

The silence was deafening.

Well, I'll be . . . came from the Rowan.

Of course, you are, sweetheart--just push that nice

little package out my way. Or is it too much for you?

The lazy voice was solicitous rather than insulting.

You'll get your package! replied the Rowan, and

the dynamos keened piercingly just once as the ten

tons disappeared out of the cradle.

Why, you little minx . . . slow it down or I'll bum

your ears back!

Come out and catch it! The Rowan's laugh broke

off in a gasp of surprise and Ackerman could feel her

slamming up her mental shields.

/ want that stuff in one piece, not smeared a mil-

limeter thin on the surface, my dear, the voice said

sternly. Okay, I've got it. Thanks! We need this.

Hey, who the blazes are you? What's your place-

ment?

Deneb Sender, my dear, and a busy little boy right

now. Ta ta.

The silence was broken only by the whine of the

dynamos dying to an idle burr.

Not a hint of what the Rowan was thinking came

through now, but Ackerman could pick up the aura

of incredulity, shock, speculation, and satisfaction that

pervaded the thoughts of everyone else in the station.

The Rowan had met her match. No one except a T-l

could have projected that far. There'd been no men-

tion of another T-l at FT & T, and, as far as Acker-

man knew, FT & T had all of the five known T-ls.

However, Deneb was now in its third generation and

colonial peculiarities had produced the Rowan in two.

"Hey, people," Ackerman said, "sock up your

shields. She's not going to like your drift."

Dutifully the aura was dampened, but the grins did

not fade and Powers started to whistle cheerfully.

Another yellow flag came up from a ground man

on the Altair hurdle and the waybill designated Live

shipment to Betelgeuse. The dynamos whined noisily

and then the launcher was empty. Whatever might be

going through her mind at the moment, the Rowan

was doing her work.

All told, it was an odd day, and Ackerman didn't

know whether to be thankful or not. He had no prece-

dents to go on and the Rowan wasn't leaking any

clues. She spun the day's lot in and out with careless

ease. By the time Jupiter's bulk had moved around to

blanket out-system traffic, Callisto's day was over,

and the Rowan wasn't off-power as much as decibel

one. Once the in-Sun traffic was finished with, Acker-

man signed off for the day. The computer banks and

dynamos were slapped off ... but the Rowan did

not come down.

Ray Loftus and Afra, the Capellan T-4, came over

to sit on the edge of Ackerman's desk. They took out

cigarettes. As usual, Afra's yellow eyes began to wa-

ter from the smoke.

"I was going to ask her Highness to give me a lift

home," Loftus said, "but I dunno now. Got a date

with--"

He disappeared. A moment later, Ackerman could

see him near a personnel carrier. Not only had he

been set gently down, but various small necessities,

among them a shaving kit, floated out of nowhere

onto a neat pile in the carrier. Ray was given time

to settle himself before the hatch sealed and he was

whisked off.

Powers joined Afra and Ackerman.

"She's sure in a funny mood," he said.

When the Rowan got peevish, few of the men at

the station asked her to transport them to Earth.

She was psychologically held planetbound, and re-

sented the fact that lesser talents could be moved

about through space without suffering traumatic

shock.

Anyone else?

Adier and Toglia spoke up and promptly disap-

peared together. Ackerman and Powers exchanged

looks which they hastily suppressed as the Rowan ap-

peared before them, smiling. It was the first time that

welcome and totally unexpected expression had

crossed her face for two weeks.

She smiled but said nothing. She took a drag of

Ackerman's cigarette and handed it back with a

thank-you. For all her temperament, the Rowan acted

with propriety face to face. She had grown up with

her skill, carefully taught by the old and original T-l,

Siglen, the Altairian. She'd had certain courtesies

drilled into her: the less gifted could be alienated by

inappropriate use of talent. She was perfectly justified

in "reaching" things during business hours, but she em-

ployed the usual methods at other times.

"The big boys mention our Denebian friend be-

fore?" she asked, all too casually.

Ackerman shook his head. "Those planets are three

generations colonized, and you came out of Altair in

two."

"That could explain it, but there isn't even an FT &

T station. And you know they advertise continuously

for anyone with Talent."

"He's a wild talent?" Powers helpfully suggested.

"Too far off the beaten track." She shook her head.

"I checked it. All I can get from Center is that they

received an urgent call about a virus, were given a run-

down on the syndrome and symptoms. Lab came up

with a serum, batched and packed it. They were as-

sured that there was someone capable of picking it up

and taking it the rest of the way past 24.578.82 if a

Prime would get it that far. And that's all anybody

knows." Then she added thoughtfully, "Deneb VIII

isn't a very big colony."

Oh, we're big enough, sweetheart, interrupted the

drawling voice. Sorry to get you after hours, my

dear, but 1 can't seem to get in to Terra and I heard

you coloring the atmosphere.

What's wrong? the Rowan asked. Did you smear

your serum after all that proud talk?

Smear it hell! I've been drinking it. We've got some

ET visitors. They think they're exterminators. Thirty

UFO's are perched four thousand miles above us.

That batch of serum you wafted out to me this morn-

ing was for the sixth virus we've been socked with

in the last two weeks. Soon as our boys whip up

something to knock out one, another takes its place.

Ifs always worse than the one before. We've lost 25

percent of our population already and this last virus

is a beaut. I want two top germdogs out here on the

double and about three patrol squadrons. We're fiat

on our backs now. I doubt our friends will hover

around, dousing us with nasty bugs much longer.

They're going to start blowing holes in us any minute

now. So sort of push the word along to Earth, will

you, sweetheart? And get us some heavy support!

I'll relay, naturally. But why don't you send direct?

To whom? You're the only one I can hear.

Your isolation won't last much longer if I know my

bosses.

You may know your bosses, but you don't know

me.

That can always be arranged.

This is no time for flirting. Get that message

through for me like a good girl.

Which message?

The one I just gave you.

That old one? They say you can have two germ-

dogs in the morning as soon as we clear Jupiter. But

Earth says no squadrons. No armed attack.

You can double-talk too, huh? You're talented. But

the morning does us no good. Now is when we need

them. Can't you sling them . . . no, they might leave

a few important atoms or something in Jupiter's mass.

But I've got to have some pretty potent help, and if

six viruses don't constitute armed attack, what does?

Missiles constitute armed attack, the Rowan said

primly.

I'll notify my friends up there. Missiles would be

preferable. Them 1 can see, I need those germdogs

now. Can't you turn your sweet little mind to a solu-

tion?

As you mentioned, it's after hours.

By the Horsehead, woman! the drawl was replaced

by a cutting mental roar. My friends are dying!

Look, after hours here means we're behind Jupiter

... But. .. Wait! How deep is your range?

I don't honestly know. And doubt crept into the

bodiless voice in their minds.

"Ackerman." The Rowan turned to her station-

master.

"I've been listening."

Hang on, Deneb, I've got an idea. I'll deliver your

germdogs. Open to me in half an hour.

The Rowan whirled on Ackerman. "I want my

shell." Her brilliant eyes were flashing and her face

was alight. "Afra!"

The station's T-4, a handsome yellow-eyed Capellan,

raised himself from the chair in which he'd been qui-

etly watching her. Afra was second in command of the

station.

"Yes, Rowan?"

Abruptly she realized that her mental conversation

with the Denebian had been heard by all the others.

Her fleeting frown was replaced by the miraculous

smile that always disconcerted Ackerman with its hint

of suppressed passion. She looked at each of the men,

bathing them in that smile.

"I want to be launched, slowly, over Jupiter's

curve," she said to Afra. Ackerman switched up the

dynamos, Bill Powers punched for her special shell to

be deposited on the launching rack. "Real slow, Afra.

Then I'll want to draw heavy." She took a deep breath.

Like all Primes, she was unable to launch herself

through space. Her initial trip from Altair to Callisto

had almost driven her mad with agoraphobia. Only

by the exercise of severe self-discipline was she able

to take her specially opaque shell a short way off

Callisto.

She took another deep breath and disappeared

from the station. Then she was beside the launcher.

She settled daintily into the shock couch of the shell.

The moment the lock whistle shut off, she could feel

the shell moving gently, gently away from Callisto.

She could sense Afra's reassuring mental touch. Only

when the shell had swung into position over Jupiter's

great curve did she reply to the priority call coming

from Earth Central.

Now what the Billy blue blazes are you doing,

Rowan? The voice of Reidinger, the FT & T Central

Prime, cracked across the void. Have you lost what's

left of your precious mind?

She's doing me a favor, Deneb said, unexpectedly

joining them.

Who'n hell're you? demanded Reidinger. Then, in

shocked surprise, Deneb! How'd you get out there?

Wishful thinking. Hey, push those germdogs to my

pretty friend here, huh?

Now, wait a minute! You're going a little too

far, Deneb. You can't burn out my best prime with

an unbased send like this.

Oh, I'll pick up midway. Like those antibiotics this

morning.

Deneb, what's this business with antibiotics and

germdogs? What're you cooking up out there in that

heathenish hole?

Oh, we're merely fighting a few plagues with one

hand and keeping thirty bogey ET's upstairs. Deneb

gave them a look with his vision at an enormous

hospital, a continuous stream of airborne ambulances

coming in: at crowded wards, grim-faced nurses and

doctors, and uncomfortable high piles of sheeted still

figures.

Well, I didn't realize. All right, you can have any-

thing you want--within reason. But I want a full re-

port, said Reidinger.

And patrol squadrons?

Reidinger's tone changed to impatience. You've ob-

viously got an exaggerated idea of our capabilities.

I can't mobilize patrol squadrons like that! There was

a mental snap of fingers.

Would you perhaps drop a little word in the C.O.C's

ear? Those ET's may gobble Deneb tonight and go

after Terra tomorrow.

I'll do what I can, of course, but you colonists

agreed to the risks when you signed up. The ET's

were probably hoping for a soft touch. You're show-

ing them different. They'll give up and get--

You're all heart, said Deneb.

Reidinger was silent for a moment. Then he said,

Germdogs sealed, Rowan; Pick 'em up and throw 'em

out, and signed off.

Rowan--that's a pretty name, said Deneb.

Thanks, she said absently. She had followed along

Reidinger's initial push, and picked up the two per-

sonnel carriers as they materialized beside her shell.

She pressed into the station dynamos and gathered

strength. The generators whined and she pushed out.

The carriers disappeared.

They're coming in. Rowan. Thanks a lot.

A passionate and tender kiss was blown to her

across eighteen light-years of space. She tried to fol-

low after the carriers and pick up his touch again, but

he was no longer receiving.

She sank back in her couch. Deneb's sudden ap-

pearance had disconcerted her completely. All of the

Primes were isolated in their high talents, but the

Rowan was more alone than any of the others.

Siglen, the Altairian Prime who had discovered the

Rowan as a child and carefully nursed her talent into

its tremendous potential, was the oldest Prime of all.

The Rowan, a scant twenty-three now, had never got-

ten anything from Siglen to comfort her except old-

fashioned platitudes. Betelgeuse Prime David was

madly in love with his T-2 wife and occupied with

raising a brood of high-potential brats. Although

Reidinger was always open to the Rowan, he also had

to keep open every single minute to all the vast prob-

lems of the FT & T system. Capella was available

but so mixed up herself that her touch aggravated the

Rowan to the point of fury.

Reidinger had tried to ease her devastating loneli-

ness by sending up T-3's and T-4's like Afra, but she

had never taken to any of them. The only male T-2

ever discovered in the Nine-Star League had been a

confirmed homosexual. Ackerman was a nice, barely

talented guy, devoted to his wife. And now, on Deneb,

a T-l had emerged, out of nowhere--and so very,

very far away.

Afra, take me home now, she said, very tired.

Afra brought the shell down with infinite care.

After the others had left the station, the Rowan lay

for a long while on her couch in the personnel carrier.

In her unsleeping consciousness, she was aware that

the station was closing down, that Ackerman and the

others had left for their homes until Callisto once more

came out from behind Jupiter's titan bulk. Everyone

had some place to go, except the Rowan who made it

all possible. The bitter, screaming loneliness that over-

came her during her off hours welled up--the frustra-

tion of being unable to go off-planet past Afra's sharply

limited range--alone, alone with her two-edged talent.

Murky green and black swamped her mind until she

remembered the blown kiss. Suddenly, completely, she

fell into her first restful sleep in two weeks.

Rowan. It was Deneb's touch that roused her. Ro-

wan, please wake up.

Hmmmm? Her sleepy response was reluctant.

Our guests are getting rougher . . . since the germ-

dogs . . . whipped up a broad spectrum antibiotic . . .

that phase . . . of their attack failed ... so now they're

. . . pounding us . . . with missiles . . . give my re-

gards to your space-lawyer friend . .. Reidinger.

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

"LadyintheTower"and"AMeetingofMinds"arereallylogicalextensionsoftheconceptfoundin"ToRidePegasus,"inwhichparapsychicpowersarecombinedwithmachinesinagestaltthatgivesthemindenoughpowertoreachthestars.TheybothpredateDaiopOwenandtheEasternParapsychicCenter."Lady"isthestoryIprefertoacknowledgeasmyfirst;it...

展开>> 收起<<

Anne McCaffrey - Pegasus 1 - Get Off The Unicorn.pdf

共275页,预览55页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Anne McCaffrey - Pegasus 1 - Get Off The Unicorn

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: