Free Pegasus in Flight by Anne McCaffrey

shorts, they were all festooned with wires, which were in turn hooked up to the machines. “Let me introduce you to Pavel Korl, bronze medalist in heavyweight boxing; Chas Huntley, a forklift operator with International Canning; and Rick Hobson, the kinetic.”
    Rhyssa was almost as bemused as Per Duoml as ibn Malik made the introductions. Korl and Huntley were big men, towering over Duoml and certainly making Rick Hobson, who was average in height and build, look insignificant.
    “Now, if you would care to check the movables in each pile, Manager Duoml, to assure yourself that they are equal in weight . . .”
    Duoml complied, and it was clear that he had to struggle to lift any of them.
    “Then once our guinea pigs’ wires are double-checked, we can start the test—which is rather simple. By muscle, by machine, and by mind, our subjects will transfer their piles across the floor. The energy levels required, the stress factors, and calories consumed will be displayed on the monitors. Now,” ibn Malik said, moving to the big screen set in the wall for use at sporting events, “on Padrugoi, three men will be doing exactly the same in Q hangar.” He spoke into his collar mike. “If you’re ready up at Padrugoi?” The big screen lit up with a scene not dissimilar to the one around them, except that all the men wore space suits. “In space, our hand shifter is Jesus Manrique, the lifter is operated by Ginny Stanley, and the kinetic is Kevin Clark. Are you all ready? On your marks—” The gold medalist raised his arm. “Get set—go!” His arm came down, and the activity on the gym floor and in Q hangar commenced. “This test
will last an hour,” he informed Per Duoml, gesturing for the observers to take seats to one side.
    After the first few minutes, Per Duoml stopped watching the burly figure of Korl manhandling the packages down the floor, or Huntley zipping back and forth on the loader. He kept his eyes either on Rick, who had seated himself at a table and, with no visible effort, kept a steady stream of packages flowing, or on the platform kinetic, who was doing his work while leaning against a stanchion. Occasionally Duoml flicked a look at the monitors chattering out their hard copy.
    Both Talents worked their way through their piles in half the time it took the others. The instrumentation proved that they had expended half again as much energy and used up twice as many calories.
    When the test had been completed, Dave Lehardt stripped the hard-copy sheets from all six printers. Neatly folding them, he handed the sheaf to Per Duoml, who took it without a word. The test subjects were all thanked and left the gym, Rick Hobson throwing Rhyssa an impudent wink as he walked by.
    “You will, of course, wish to analyze the results of this test with your own motion experts, Manager Duoml,” Dave Lehardt said, “but I’m sure you recognized the fact that weightlessness grants no bonuses to the kinetic. As to the noise factor . . .” The publicist took a compact recorder from his hip pocket and thumbed it on.
    At the babel and squeaks and metallic groans, Per Duoml covered his ears in defense and stared in shock at Rhyssa.
    “That
is what a sensitive ‘hears’ on the station,” Dave said, raising his voice and inserting his words in between the worst of the noise. It was a fair selection, representing the streams of consciousness of eighty mentalities: resentments, complaints, shouts, pains, angers, and myriad metallic noises that some of the kinetics endured. “With ten thousand people living up there already, the mental noise is never-ending. So all that garbage is a constant secondary drain on their nerves, reducing their efficiency if they have no respite from it in shielded quarters.”
    Having set the decibel rate herself, Rhyssa knew that covering his ears gave Duoml frail protection, but she did not reduce the volume until Dave had finished his little speech.
    “I see that you hadn’t