tension.
The admiral came to an abrupt halt, shaking his head in outrage at her ranting as Rhyssa, desperate to offer such help as her people had available, reached into his opened mind. She was startled to hear Peter’s voice already there.
Mention password, Admiral. Ask her about the password
.
The admiral gave his head one more shake, eyes sliding quickly to Johnny Greene, whom he knew to be a Talent. He took another step forward, just as a thin arm in blue reached out of those near Barchenka and touched her shoulder.
“You’ve changed the password, have you, Barchenka?” The admiral said and, with an effort the Talents caught, gave her an amused smile. “That’s why the systems won’t respond. You’ve overridden the codes you only just gave me.”
“I HAVE CHANGED ALL. SPECIAL PROGRAM ONLY I CAN OPERATE,” she cried dramatically, thumping her chest with her free hand.“NO ONE ELSE WILL EVER RUN PADRUGOI SPACE STATION BUT ME!”
Shelkoonchik?
What does that mean?
Peter asked.
Sounds Russian with that ‘chik’ at the end of it. Madlyn, are there any Russian speakers on the Station?
Hundreds down in the grunt and offie levels
.
No, no, someone in a command position
.
Johnny Greene’s amused voice answered.
Yes, the Maintenance Supervisor, Koryakin. He’s still trying to get the lift to work
.
Koryakin!
All three ’pathed the name at once. Their effort was met with silence.
He only receives, guys
, Madlyn added in a droll tone.
Koryakin, the password has been changed to
shelkoonchik, Peter said, his mental tone so intense that even Madlyn winced.
Did he hear that?
Rhyssa asked.
Every receiving telepath on the Station heard that
, Johnny Greene said, imaging himself tenderly touching his ear hole.
The admiral had come within inches of Barchenka now, almost a stroll of an approach. Certainly he did not act either cowed or subservient as he stopped just short of the semicircle of her white-coated guards.
“As the duly appointed Manager of Padrugoi, I must inform you that your deliberate attempt to undermine my authority can be considered an act of mutiny.”
“MUTINY?” She threw back her head and howled with laughter. “When you can control nothing of this Station and all these—” She swung her arm to indicate the prestigious and important government officials in the stunned assembly. “Are hostages. Guests,” she amended, “my guests until MY appointment is irrevocably confirmed.”
That provoked angry denials and restlessness from an audience that included every world leader who had wished to attend the Inauguration of the Space Station, which their own security guards had cleared as “absolutely safe.” From several directions, angry men and women charged her position. And aborted their charge when her white-coats produced illegal heat-guns and let off bursts of energy, searing the attackers. Their cries of dismay ended abruptly as Barchenka’s forces swung their weapons from one side of the crowd to the other. The wounded were eased back, out of sight.
Is anyone badly hurt?
Rhyssa asked on a broad band that would reach anyone in the crowd with minimal Talent.
No, ma’am. The ones I can see just got a warning crease. But that means those white-coats know how to shoot
. Rhyssa couldn’t recognize the speaker’s mental tone: whoever he was, he was “shouting” to be heard at all. Anger had probably given him more range than normal.
“You want to get back to Earth?” Barchenka was saying now, her smile malicious. “Obey me. Any further display of insurrection,” and her broad smile dared a response as her eyes swept the subdued crowd, “and my troops will see how fire-resistant your fancy outfits really are. I’ll space ANYone who defies me. I, Ludmilla Barchenka, who MADE this Station, I am in complete control.”
In the stunned silence that now held the assembled, the little bleep was all the more audible.
“Are you?” asked the admiral gently, his manner
The admiral came to an abrupt halt, shaking his head in outrage at her ranting as Rhyssa, desperate to offer such help as her people had available, reached into his opened mind. She was startled to hear Peter’s voice already there.
Mention password, Admiral. Ask her about the password
.
The admiral gave his head one more shake, eyes sliding quickly to Johnny Greene, whom he knew to be a Talent. He took another step forward, just as a thin arm in blue reached out of those near Barchenka and touched her shoulder.
“You’ve changed the password, have you, Barchenka?” The admiral said and, with an effort the Talents caught, gave her an amused smile. “That’s why the systems won’t respond. You’ve overridden the codes you only just gave me.”
“I HAVE CHANGED ALL. SPECIAL PROGRAM ONLY I CAN OPERATE,” she cried dramatically, thumping her chest with her free hand.“NO ONE ELSE WILL EVER RUN PADRUGOI SPACE STATION BUT ME!”
Shelkoonchik?
What does that mean?
Peter asked.
Sounds Russian with that ‘chik’ at the end of it. Madlyn, are there any Russian speakers on the Station?
Hundreds down in the grunt and offie levels
.
No, no, someone in a command position
.
Johnny Greene’s amused voice answered.
Yes, the Maintenance Supervisor, Koryakin. He’s still trying to get the lift to work
.
Koryakin!
All three ’pathed the name at once. Their effort was met with silence.
He only receives, guys
, Madlyn added in a droll tone.
Koryakin, the password has been changed to
shelkoonchik, Peter said, his mental tone so intense that even Madlyn winced.
Did he hear that?
Rhyssa asked.
Every receiving telepath on the Station heard that
, Johnny Greene said, imaging himself tenderly touching his ear hole.
The admiral had come within inches of Barchenka now, almost a stroll of an approach. Certainly he did not act either cowed or subservient as he stopped just short of the semicircle of her white-coated guards.
“As the duly appointed Manager of Padrugoi, I must inform you that your deliberate attempt to undermine my authority can be considered an act of mutiny.”
“MUTINY?” She threw back her head and howled with laughter. “When you can control nothing of this Station and all these—” She swung her arm to indicate the prestigious and important government officials in the stunned assembly. “Are hostages. Guests,” she amended, “my guests until MY appointment is irrevocably confirmed.”
That provoked angry denials and restlessness from an audience that included every world leader who had wished to attend the Inauguration of the Space Station, which their own security guards had cleared as “absolutely safe.” From several directions, angry men and women charged her position. And aborted their charge when her white-coats produced illegal heat-guns and let off bursts of energy, searing the attackers. Their cries of dismay ended abruptly as Barchenka’s forces swung their weapons from one side of the crowd to the other. The wounded were eased back, out of sight.
Is anyone badly hurt?
Rhyssa asked on a broad band that would reach anyone in the crowd with minimal Talent.
No, ma’am. The ones I can see just got a warning crease. But that means those white-coats know how to shoot
. Rhyssa couldn’t recognize the speaker’s mental tone: whoever he was, he was “shouting” to be heard at all. Anger had probably given him more range than normal.
“You want to get back to Earth?” Barchenka was saying now, her smile malicious. “Obey me. Any further display of insurrection,” and her broad smile dared a response as her eyes swept the subdued crowd, “and my troops will see how fire-resistant your fancy outfits really are. I’ll space ANYone who defies me. I, Ludmilla Barchenka, who MADE this Station, I am in complete control.”
In the stunned silence that now held the assembled, the little bleep was all the more audible.
“Are you?” asked the admiral gently, his manner
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