KILLASHANDRA

by: Anne McCaffrey

copyright 1985

VERSION 1.1 (Feb 16 00). If you find and correct errors in

the text, please update the version number by 0.1 and

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Chapter 1

Winters on Ballybran were generally mild, so the fury of the first spring

storms as they howled across the land was ever unexpected. This first one

of the new season swept ferociously across the Milekey Ranges, bearing

before its westward course the fleeing sleds of crystal singers like so

much jetsam. Those laggard singers who had tarried too long at their claims

were barely able to hold their bucking sleds on course as they bolted for

the safety of the Heptite Guild Complex.

Inside the gigantic Hangar, its baffles raised against the mach

winds, ordered confusion reigned. Crystal singers lurched from their sleds.

half deafened by windscream, exhausted by their turbulent flights. The

Hangar crew, apparently possessed of eyes in the backs of their heads,

miraculously avoided injury as they concentrated on the primary task of

moving incoming sleds off the Hangar floor and into storage racks, clearing

the way for the erratic landings of the stream of incoming vehicles. The

crash claxon pierced even storm howl as two sleds collided, one to dip over

the baffle and land nose down on the plascrete while the other veered out

of control like a flat rock skipping across water, coming to a crumpling

halt against the far wall. A tractor zipped in to fasten grapples on the

upside-down sled, removing it only seconds before another sled skimmed over

the baffle.

That sled almost repeated the nose dive, pulling up at the last

second and skidding across the Hangar floor to stop just inches away from

the line of handlers carrying the precious cartons of crystal in to

Sorting. Only a near miss, the incident was disregarded even by those who

had barely escaped injury.

Killashandra Ree emerged from the sled, taking as a good omen the

fact that her sled had skidded to a halt so close to the Sorting Sheds. She

caught the arm of the next handler to pass her and firmly diverted him to

her cargo door, which she flung open. She didn´t have much crystal, so

every speck she had cut was precious to her. If she didn´t earn enough

credit to get off-planet this time . . . Killashandra ground her teeth as

she hurried her carton into the Sorting Shed.

As the man she had pressed into her service quite properly put her

carton down at the Hangar end of a line of ranked containers,

Killashandra´s patience evaporated. »No, over here!« she shouted. »Not

there! It´ll take all day to be sorted. Here.«

She waited until he had deposited her carton in the indicated row

before adding her own. Then she strode back to her sled for a second load,

commandeering two more unencumbered handlers on the way. Only after eight

cartons were unloaded did she permit herself to pause briefly, coping with

the multiple fatigues that assailed her. She had worked nonstop for two

days, desperate to cut enough crystal to get off Ballybran. Crystal pulsed

in her blood and bones, denying her rest in sleep, surcease by day, no

matter how she tried to tire her body. Her only respite was immersion in

the radiant fluid bath. But no one cut crystal from a bathcube! She had to

get off-planet to ease the disturbing thrum.

For over a year and a half, ever since the Passover storms had

shattered Keborgen´s old claim, she had searched unremittingly for a

workable site Killashandra was realist enough to admit to herself that the

probability of finding a new claim as important and valuable as Keborgen´s

black crystal was very low. Still, she had every right to expect to find

some useful, and reasonably lucrative, crystal in Ballybran´s Ranges. And,

with each fruitless trip into the Ranges, the credit balance she had

amassed from her original cutting of Keborgen´s site and from the

Trundomoux black crystal installation had eroded beneath the continuous

charges the Heptite Guild exacted for even the most minor services rendered

a crystal singer.

By fall, when everyone else she knew -- Rimbol, Jezerey and Mistra

-- had managed to get off-planet, she had labored on, unable to make a

worthwhile claim in any color. During the mild winter, she had doggedly

hunted in the Ranges, returning to the Complex only long enough to

replenish food packs and steep her crystal-weary body in the radiant fluid.

»You really ought to take a week or two up at Shanganagh Base,«

Lanzecki had said, intercepting her on one of her brief visits.

»What good would that really do?« she had replied, almost snarling

at him in her frustration. »I´d still feel crystal and I´d have to look at

Ballybran.«

Lanzecki had given her a searching look. »You´re in no mood to

believe me,« and he paused to be sure that he had her attention, »but you

will find black crystal again, Killashandra. Meanwhile, the Guild has

pressing needs in any shade you can find. Even the rose you so despise.« A

gleam shone in his black eyes and his voice turned lugubrious as he said,

»I am certain that you will be distressed to learn that the Passover storms

destroyed Moksoon´s site, too.«

Killashandra had stared at him a moment before her sense of the

ridiculous got the better of her and she laughed. »I am inconsolable!«

»I thought you might be.« His lips twitched with suppressed

amusement. Then he reached down and pulled the plug on the radiant fluid.

»You´ll find more crystal, Killa.«

It had been that calm and confident statement which had buoyed her

flagging morale all during the next trip. Nor had it been entirely

misplaced. The third week out, after disregarding two sites of rose and

blue, she discovered white crystal but very nearly missed the vein

entirely. If she had not been bolstering her spirits with arousing aria,

causing the pinnacle under her hand to resonate, she might have missed the

shy white crystal. Consistent with her long run of bad luck, the while

proved elusive, the vein first deteriorating in quality and then

disappearing entirely from the face at one point, resurfacing half a mile

away in fractured shards. It had taken her weeks to clear the fault,

digging away half the ridge before she got to usable crystal. Only the fact

that white crystal had such a variety of potentially lucrative uses kept

her going.

Forewarned of the spring storm by her symbiotic adaptation to

Ballybran´s spore, Killashandra had cut at a frenzied pace until she was

too hoarse to key the sonic cutter to the crystal. Only then had she

stopped to rest. She had continued to cut until the first of the winds

began to stroke the dangerous crystal sound from the Ranges. Recklessly,

she had taken the most direct route back to the Complex, counting on the

fact that she´d be the last singer in from the Ranges to protect her claim.

She had almost cut her retreat too fine: the hangar doors slammed

shut against the shrieking storm as soon as her sled had cleared the

baffles. She could expect a reprimand from the Flight Officer for her

recklessness. And probably one from the Guild Master for ignoring the storm

warnings.

She forced several deep breaths in and out of her lungs, dredging

sufficient energy to complete the final step necessary to leave Ballybran.

On the last breath, she grabbed the top carton and walked it into the

Sorting Room, depositing it on Enthor´s table just as the old Sorter turned

toward the shed.

»Killashandra! You startled me.« Enthor´s eyes flicked from normal

to the augmented vision that was his adaptation to Ballybran. He reached

eagerly for the carton. »Did you find the black vein again?« His face fell

into lines of disappointment as his fingers found no trace of the

sensations typical of the priceless, elusive black crystal.

»No such luck.« Killashandra´s voice broke on weary disgust. »But I

devoutly hope it´s a respectable cut.« She half sat on the the table,

needing its support to keep on her feet, as she watched Enthor unpack the

crystal blocks from their plastic cocoons.

»Indeed!« Enthor´s voice lilted with approval as he removed the

first white crystal shaft and set it with appropriate reverence on his work

table. »Indeed!« He subjected the crystal to the scrutiny of his augmented

eyes. »Flawless. White can so often be muddy. If I am not mistaken -- «

»That´ll he the day,« Killashandra muttered under her breath, her

voice cracking.

»Never about crystal.« Enthor shot her a glance from under his

brows, blinking to adjust his eyes to normal vision. Killashandra idly

wondered what Enthor´s eyes saw of human flesh and bone in the augmented

mode. »I do believe, my dear Killa, that you´ve anticipated the market.«

»I have?« Killashandra pulled herself erect. »With white crystal?«

Enthor lifted out more of the slender sparkling crystal shafts.

»Yes, especially if you have matched groupings. These are a good start.

What else did you cut?« As one, they retraced their steps to the storage,

each collecting another carton.

»Forty-four -- «

»Ranked in size?«

»Yes.« Enthor´s excitement triggered hope in Killashandra.

»Forty-four, from the half centimeter -- «

»By the centimeter?«

»Half centimeter.«

Enthor beamed on her with almost as much enthusiasm as if she had

brought him more black crystal.

»Your instinct is remarkable, Killa, for you could not have known

about the order from the Optherians.«

»An organ group?«

Enthor gestured for Killashandra to help him display the white

shafts on the workbench.

»Yes, indeed. An entire manual was fractured.« Enthor awarded her

another of his beams. »Where are the rest? Quickly. Get them. »If there´s

so much as one with a cloud --

Killashandra obeyed, stumbling against the swinging door. By the

time the crystal was sparkling on the table, she was shuddering and had to

cling to the bench to keep upright. It took a century for Enthor to

evaluate her cut.

»Not a single cloudy crystal, Killashandra.« Enthor patted her arm

and, taking up his little hammer, cocked his ear to the pure sweet notes

each delicate rap coaxed from the crystal.

»How much, Enthor? How much?« Killashandra was hanging onto the

table, and consciousness, with difficulty.

»Not as much, I fear, as black.« Enthor tapped figures into his

terminal. He pulled at his lower lip as he waited for the altered display.

»Still, 10,054 credits is not to be sneezed at.« He raised his eyebrows,

anticipating a pleased response.

»Only ten thousand . . .« Her knees were collapsing, the muscles in

her calves spasming painfully. She tightened her grip on the table´s edge.

»Surely that´s enough to take you off-planet.«

»But not far enough or long enough away.« Blackness was creeping

across her sight. Killashandra released one hand from the table to rub her

eyes.

»Would Optheria be far enough?« a dry, amused voice asked from

behind her.

»Lanzecki . . .« she began, turning toward the Guild Master, but

her turn became a spin, down into the darkness which would no longer be

evaded.

»She´s coming round, Lanzecki.«

Killashandra heard the words. She could not understand their sense.

The sentence, and the voice, echoed in her mind as if spoken in a tunnel.

At the softest repetition, comprehension returned.

The voice was Antona´s, the Chief Medical Officer of the Heptite

Guild.

Sensation returned then, but sensation was limited to feeling

something under her chin and a restraint about her shoulders. The rest of

her body was deprived of feeling. Killashandra twitched convulsively and

felt the viscous resistance of radiant fluid. She was immersed -- that

explained the need for chin support and the shoulder restraint.

Opening her eyes, she was not surprised to find herself in the tank

room of the Infirmary. Beyond her were several more such tanks, two

occupied. judging by the heads visible above the rims.

»So. you´ve rejoined us, Killashandra!«

»How long have you been soaking me, Antona?«

Antona glanced at a display on the tank. »Thirty-two hours and

nineteen rinses.« Antona shook a warning finger at Killashandra. »Don´t

push yourself like this, Killa. You´re stretching your symbiont´s

resources. Abuses like this now can cause degeneration problems later on.

And it´s later on you really need protection. Remember that!« A mirthless

smile crossed Antona´s classic features. »If you can. Well, at least put it

in your memory banks when you get back to your room,« she added, with a

sigh for the vagaries of singer recall.

»When can I get up?« Killashandra began to writhe in the tank,

testing her limbs and the general response of her body.

Antona shrugged, tapping out a code on the terminal of the tank.

»Oh, anytime now. Pulse and pressure readout´s strong. Head clear?«

»Yes.«

Antona pressed a stud and the chin support and shoulder harness

released Killashandra. She caught the side of the tank, and Antona handed

her a long robe.

»Do I need to tell you to eat?«

Killashandra grinned wryly. »No. My stomach knows I´m awake and

it´s rumbling.«

»You´ve lost nearly two kilos, you know. Can you remember when you

last ate?« Antona´s voice and eyes were sharp with annoyance. »No use

asking, is it?«

»Not the least bit.« Killashandra replied blithely as she climbed

out of the tank, the radiant fluid sheeting off her body, leaving her skin

smooth and soft. She pulled the robe on. Antona held up a hand to balance

her down the five steps.

»How much crystal resonance do you experience now?« Antona poised

her fingers above the tank´s small terminal.

Killashandra listened attentively to the noise between her ears.

»only a faint trace!« Her breath escaped her lips in a sigh of relief.

»Lanzecki said that you cut enough to go off-world.«

Killashandra frowned. »He said something else, too. But I forget

what.« Something important, though, Killashandra knew.

»He´ll probably tell you again in good time. Get up to your

quarters and get some food into you.« Antona gave Killashandra´s shoulder

an admonitory squeeze before she turned away to check on the other

patients.

As Killashandra made her way up from the Infirmary level, deep in

the bowels of the Guild Complex, she puzzled over the memory lapse. She had

been reassured that most singers had several decades of unimpaired recall

before memory deteriorated, but no fast rule determined the onset. She had

been lucky enough to have a Milekey Transition ending in full adaptation to

Ballybran´s spore, an adaptation that was necessary for those inhabiting

thc planet Ballybran. That kind of Transition held many benefits. not the

least of which was avoiding the rigors of Transition Fever, and was

purported to include a longer span of unimpaired memory. In this one

instance, she could, perhaps, legitimately blame fatigue.

As the lift door opened on the deserted lobby of the main singer

level, not a singer was in sight. The storm had blown itself out. She

paused to glance through to the dining area and saw only one lone diner.

Pulling the robe more tightly about her, she hurried down the corridor to

the blue quadrant and her apartment.

The first thing she did was call up her credit balance, and felt

the knot that had been tightening in her belly dissolve as the figures

12,790 rippled onto the screen. She regarded the total for a long moment,

then tapped out the all-important query: how far away from Ballybran would

that sum take her?

The names of four systems were displayed. Her stomach rumbled. She

shifted irritably in her chair and asked for details of the amenities in

each system. The replies were not exciting. In each system the Terran-type

planets were purely industrial or agricultural, having, at best, only

conservative leisure facilities. From comments she had overheard,

Killashandra gathered that because of their proximity the locals had seen

quite enough of their neighbors from Ballybran and tended to be either

credit crunchers or rude to the point of dueling offense.

»The only thing that´s good about any of them.« Killashandra said

with disgust, »is that I haven´t been there yet.«

Killashandra had thought to take her long-overdue holiday on Maxim,

the pleasure planet in the Barderi system. From all she´d heard, it would

be very easy to forget crystal resonance in the sophisticated amusement

parks and houses of hedonistic Maxim. But she hadn´t yet the credit to

indulge that whimsy.

Exasperated, she rubbed her palms together, noticing that the thick

calluses from cutter vibrations had been softened by her long immersion.

The numerous small nicks and cuts that were a singer´s occupational hazard

had healed to thin white scars. Well, that function of her symbiont worked

efficiently. And the white crystal would assure her some sort of an

off-planet holiday.

White crystal! Enthor has said something about a fractured manual!

Optherian sense organs used white Ballybran crystals and she had cut

forty-four from the half centimeter on up in half-centimeter gradients.

Lanzecki had asked her a question.

»Would Optheria be far enough?« The words, remembered in his deep

voice, sprang to mind.

She grinned with tremendous relief at retrieving that question and

turned to the viewscreen to punch up his code.

» -- Killa?« Lanzecki´s hands were poised over his own terminal,

surprise manifested by his raised eyebrows. »You haven´t used the catering

unit.« He frowned.

»Oh, programmed to monitor that, did you?« she replied with a

genuine smile at that reminder of their amorous alliance before her first

trip into the Ranges. On her return from the Trundomoux System, they had

had only a few days together before Lanzecki was swamped with work and she

had to venture back into the Ranges. Since then, she had returned to the

Complex only to replenish supplies or wait out a storm. Their reunions had

consequently been brief. It was reassuring to realize that he wished to

know when she was back.

»It seemed the ideal way to make contact. After thirty-two hours in

a tank, you should be ravenous. I´ll just join you. if I may . . .« When

she nodded assent, he typed a quick message on his console and pushed his

chair back, smiling up at her. »I´m hungry, too.«

As further reassurance of her unimpaired memory. Killashandra had

no trouble remembering Lanzecki´s tastes. She grinned as she ordered Yarran

beer. Though her stomach gurgled impatiently, she´d had no desire for food

in so long that she was as glad to be guided by Lanzecki´s preferences.

She was just slipping a brilliantly striped robe over her head when

her door chimed an entry request. »Enter!« she called. On the same voice

cue, the catering slot disgorged her order. The aroma of the dishes aroused

her already voracious appetite.

She wasted no time in taking the steaming platters from the

dispenser, grinning a welcome at Lanzecki as he joined her.

»The Commissary has asked me to relay a few well-chosen words of

complaint about the sudden fad for Yarran beer,« he said, taking the

pitcher and the beakers to the table. He seated himself before filling the

two glasses. »To your restoration!« Lanzecki lifted his glass in toast, his

expression obliquely chiding her for that necessity.

»Antona´s already scolded me. but I had to cut enough marketable

crystal to get off-planet this time.«

»You´ve certainly succeeded with that white.«

»Don´t I remember you saying something about Optheria just as I

passed out?«

Lanzecki took a swallow of the Yarran beer before he replied.

»Quite likely.« He served himself a generous helping of fried Malva beans.

»Don´t the Optherians utilize white crystal in that multi-sense

organ of theirs?«

»They do.«

So Lanzecki chose to be uncommunicative. Well, she could be

persistent. »Enthor said that an entire manual was fractured.« Lanzecki

nodded. She continued. »And you did ask me would Optheria be far enough?«

»I did?«

»You know you did.« Killashandra hung on to her patience. »You

never forget anything. And the impression I got from your cryptic comment

was that someone, and the inference was me« -- she pressed her thumb into

her chest -- »would have to go there. Am I correct?«

He regarded her steadily, his expression unreadable. »Not long ago

you gave me to understand that you would not undertake another off-world

assignment -- «

»That was before I´d been stuck on this fardling planet -- « She

noticed the wicked gleam in his eyes. »So, I´m right. A crystal singer does

have to make the installation!«

It was a shocking incident,« Lanzecki said diffidently as he served

himself more Malva beans. »The performer who damaged the organ was killed

by the flying shards. He was also the only person on the planet who could

handle such a major repair. As is so often the case with such sensitive and

expensive equipment, it is a matter of planetary urgency to repair the

instrument. It´s the largest on the planet and is essential to the

observances of Optheria´s prestigious Summer Festival. We are contracted to

supply technicians as well as crystal.« He paused for a mouthful of the

crisp white beans. He was definitely baiting her, Killashandra knew. She

held her tongue. »While the list of those qualified does include your name

. . .«

»The catch can´t be the crystal this time,« she said as he

purposefully let his sentence dangle unfinished. She watched his face for

any reaction. »White crystal´s active, reflecting sound . . .«

» -- Among other things,« Lanzecki added when she paused.

»If it isn´t the crystal, what´s the matter with the Optherians,

then?«

»My dear Killashandra, the assignment has not yet been awarded.«

»Awarded? I like the sound of that. Or do I? I wouldn´t put it past

you, Lanzecki, to sucker me into another job like that Trundomoux

installation.«

He caught the finger she was indignantly shaking at him, pulling

her hand across the laden table to his lips. The familiar caress evoked

familiar responses deep in her groin and she tried to use her irritation

with his methods to neutralize its effect on her.

Just then a communit bleep startled her. With a fleeting expression

of annoyance, Lanzecki lifted his wrist unit to acknowledge the summons.

A tinny version of Trag´s bass voice issued from the device. »I was

to inform you when the preliminary testing stations reported,« the

Administration Officer said.

»Any interesting applicants?«

Although Lanzecki sounded diffident, even slightly bored, the

curious tension about his lips and eyes alerted Killashandra. She pretended

to continue eating in a courteous disregard of the exchange, but she didn´t

lose a syllable of Trag´s reply.

»Four agronomists, an endocrinologist from Theta, two

xenobiologists, an atmospheric physicist, three former spacers« --

Killashandra noted the slight widening of Lanzecki´s eyes which she

interpreted as satisfaction -- »and the usual flotsam who have no

recommendations from Testing.«

»Thank you, Trag.«

Lanzecki nodded his head at Killashandra to indicate the

interruption was concluded and finished off the dish of fried Malva beans.

»So what is the glitch in the Optherian assignment? A lousy fee?«

»On the contrary, such an installation is set at twenty thousand

credits.«

»And I´d be off-world as well.« Killashandra was quite impressed

with the latitude such a credit balance would give her to forget crystal.

»You have not been awarded the contract, Killa. I appreciate your

willingness to entertain the assignment but there are certain aspects which

must be considered by the Guild as well as the individual. Don´t commit

yourself rashly.« Lanzecki was being sincere. His eyes held hers steadily

and a worried crease to his brows emphasized his warning. »It´s a long haul

to the Optherian system. You´d be gone from Ballybran nearly a full year .

. .«

»All the better . . .«

»You say that now when you´re full of crystal resonance. You can´t

have forgotten Carrik yet.«

His reminder conjured flashing scenes of the first crystal singer

she had met: Carrik laughing as they swam in Fuerte´s seas, then Carrik

wracked by withdrawal fever and finally the passive hulk of the man,

shattered by sonic resonance.

»You will in time, I´ve no doubt, experience that phenomenon,«

Lanzecki said. »I´ve never known a singer who didn´t try to push himself

and his symbiont to their limits. A major disadvantage to the Optherian

contract is that you would lose any resonance to your existing claims.«

»As if I had a decent claim among the lot.« Killashandra snorted in

disgust. »Rose is no good to anyone and the blue petered out after two

days´ cutting. Even the white vein skips and jumps. I cut the best of the

accessible vein. With the kind of luck I´ve been enjoying, the storm has

probably made a total bollix of the site. I am not -- not, I repeat --

spending another three weeks in a spade and basket operation. Not for

white. Why can´t Research develop an efficient portable excavator?«

Lanzecki cocked his head slightly. »It is the firm opinion of

Research that any one of the nine efficient, portable and durable,« a

significant pause, »excavators already field-tested ought to perform the

task for which it was engineered . . . except in the hands of a crystal

singer. It is the opinion of Research that the only two pieces of equipment

that do not tax the mechanical aptitude of a singer are his cutter --

though Fisherman does not concur -- and his sled, and you have already

heard section and paragraph from the Flight Engineer on that score. Haven´t

you?«

Killashandra regarded him stolidly for a few moments, then

remembered to chew what was in her mouth.

»Overheard him,« she said, with a malicious grin. »Don´t try to

distract me from this Optherian business.«

»I´m not. I am bringing to your notice the several overt

disadvantages to an assignment that involves a long absence from Ballybran

for what might, in the long run, be inadequate compensation.« His

expression changed subtly. »I´d rather not be professionally at odds with

you. It interferes with my private life.«

His dark eyes caught hers. He reached for her hands, lips curved in

the one-sided smile that she found so affecting. She no longer shared a

table with her Guild Master hut with Lanzecki the man. The alteration

pleased her. On numerous occasions, during sleepless nights in the Milekey

Ranges, she had fondly remembered their love-making. Now, seated opposite

the charismatic Lanzecki, she found that her appetite for more than food

had been completely restored.

Her smile answered his and together they rose from the little table

and headed for the sleepingroom.

Chapter 2

Killashandra pushed herself back from thc terminal and, balancing on the

base of her spine, stretched arms and legs as far from her body as bone and

tendon permitted. She had spent the morning immersed in the Optherian entry

of the Encyclopedia Galactica.

Once she had got past the initial exploration and evaluation report

to the release of the Ophiuchine planet for colonization, and the

high-flown language of its charter -- »to establish a colony of Mankind in

complete harmony with the ecological balance of his adopted planet: to

ensure the propagation thereon of the Species in its pure, unadulterated

Form.« She kept waiting for the fly to appear in the syrupy ointment of

Optheria´s honey pot.

Optheria was an old planet in geological terms. A near-circular

orbit about an aging sun produced a temperate clime. There was little

seasonal change since the axial »wobble« was negligible, and modest

glaciers capped both poles. Optheria was inordinately proud of its

self-sufficiency in a civilization where many planets were so deeply in

debt to mercantile satellites that they were almost charged for the

atmosphere that encapsulated them. Optherian imports were minimal . . .

with the exception of tourists seeking to »enjoy the gentler pleasures of

old Terra in a Totally Natural World.«

Killashandra, reading with an eye to hidden significance´s, paused

to consider the implications. Although her experience with planets had been

limited to two -- Fuerte, her planet of origin, and Ballybran, she knew

enough of how worlds wagged to sense the iron idealism that probably

supported the Optherian propaganda. She tapped a question and frowned at

the negative answer: Optheria´s Charter Signers were not proselytizers of a

religious sect nor did Optheria recognize a federal church. As many worlds

had been colonized for idealist forms of government, religiously or

secularly oriented, as for purely commercial considerations. The guiding

principle of foundation could not yet be considered the necessary criterion

for a successful subculture. The variables involved were too numerous.

But the entry made it clear that Optheria was considered

efficiently organized and, with its substantial positive galactic balance

of payments, a creditably administered world. The entry concluded with a

statement that Optheria was well worth a visit during its annual Summer

Festival. She detected a certain hint of irony in that bland comment. While

she would have preferred to sample some of the exotic and sophisticated

pleasures available to those with credit enough, she felt she could

tolerate Optheria´s »natural« pastimes in return for the sizeable fee and a

long vacation from Ballybran.

She considered Lanzecki´s diffidence about the assignment. Could he

be charged with favoritism if he gave her another choice off-world

assignment? Who would remember that she had been away during the horrendous

Passover Storms, much less where? She´d been peremptorily snatched away by

Trag, shoved onto the moon shuttle, and without a shred of background data

about the vagaries of the Trundomoux, delivered willy-nilly to a naval

autocracy to cope with the exigencies of installing millions of credits´

worth of black communication crystal for a bunch of skeptical spartan

pioneers. The assignment had been no sinecure. As Trag was the only other

person who had known of it, was he the objector? He very easily could be,

as Administration Officer, yet Killashandra did not think that Trag could,

or did, influence Guild Master Lanzecki.

A second wild notion followed quickly on the heels of that one.

Were there any Optherians on the roster of the Heptite Guild to whom such a

job might be assigned? . . . The Heptite Guild had no Optherian members.

From her ten years in the Music Department of Fuerte´s Culture

Center, Killashandra was familiar with the intricacies of Optherian sensory

organ instruments. The encyclopedia enlarged the picture by stating that

music was a planetwide mania on Optheria, with citizens competing on a

planetary scale for opportunities to perform on the sensory organs. With

that sort of environment, Killashandra thought it very odd indeed that

Optheria produced no candidates with the perfect pitch that was the Heptite

Guild´s essential entry requirement. And, with competitions on a worldwide

scale, there would be thousands disappointed. Killashandra smiled in sour

sympathy. Surely some would look for off-world alternatives.

Her curiosity titillated, Killashandra checked other Guilds.

Optherians did not go into the Space Services or into galactic mercantile

enterprises, nor were embassies, consulates or legates of Optheria listed

in the Diplomatic Registers. There she lucked out by discovering a

qualifier: As the planet was nearly self-sufficient and no Optherians left

their home world, there was no need for such services. All normal inquiries

about Optheria had to be directed to the Office of External Trade and

Commerce on Optheria.

Killashandra paused in perplexity. A planet so perfect, so beloved

by its citizens that no one chose to leave its surface? She found that very

hard to believe. She recalled the encyclopedia´s entry on the planet,

searching for the code on Naturalization. Yes, well, citizenship was

readily available for those interested but could not be rescinded. She

checked the Penal Code and discovered that, unlike many worlds, Optheria

did not deport its criminal element: any recidivists were accommodated at a

rehabilitation center.

Killashandra shivered. So even perfect Optheria had to resort to

rehabilitation.

Having delved sufficiently into Optheria´s history and background

to satisfy her basic curiosity, she turned to research the procedure

necessary to replace a fractured manual. The installation posed no overt

problems as the bracketing was remarkably similar to that required by the

black communications crystal. The tuning would be more complex because of

the broad-frequency variable output of the Optherian organ. The instrument

was similar to early Terran pipe organs, with four manuals and a terminal

with hundreds of stops, but a performer on the Optherian organ read a score

containing olfactory, neural, visual, and aural notes. The crystal manual

was in permanent handshake with the multiplex demodulator, the synapse

carrier encoder, and the transducer terminal networks. Or so the manual

said; no schematic was included in the entry. Nor could she remember one

from her days at the Fuerte Music Center.

Dedicated Optherian players spent lifetimes arranging music

embellished and ornamented for reception by many senses. A skilled

Optherian organist could be mass-psychologist and politician as well as

musician, and the effect of any composition played on the fully augmented

instruments had such far-reaching consequences that performances and

practitioners were subject to Federal as well as artistic discipline.

Bearing that in mind, Killashandra wondered how the manual could

have been fractured -- let alone have killed the performer at the same

time, especially as that person had also been the only one on the planet

capable of repairing it. Was there perhaps a spot of rot on the Optherian

apple of Eden? This assignment could be interesting.

Killashandra pulled her chair back to the console and asked for

visual contact with the Travel Officer. Bajorn was a long, thin man, with a

thin face and a thin nose with pinched nostrils. He had preternaturally

long, thin fingers, too, but much was redeemed by the cheerful smile that

broke across his narrow face, and his complete willingness to sort out the

most difficult itinerary. He seemed to be on the most congenial terms with

every transport or freight captain who had ever touched down at or veered

close to the Shanganagh Moon base.

»Is it difficult to get to the Optherian System, Bajorn?«

»Long old journey right now -- out of season for the cruise ships

on that route. Summer Festival won´t be for another six months galactic.

So, traveling now, you´d have to make four exchanges -- Rappahoe, Kunjab,

Melorica, and Bernard´s World -- all on freighters before getting passage

on a proper liner.«

»You´re sure up to date.«

Bajorn grinned, his thin lips almost touching his droopy ears.

»Should be. You´re the fifth inquiry I´ve had about that system. What´s up?

Didn´t know the Optherians went in for the sort of kicks singers like.«

»Who´re the other four?«

»Well, there´s no regulation against telling. »Bajorn paused

discreetly, »and as they´ve all asked, no reason why you shouldn´t be told.

You,« and he ticked names off on his fingers, »Borella Seal, Concera,

Gobbain Tekla, and Rimbol.«

»Indeed. Thank you, Bajorn, that´s real considerate of you.«

»That´s what Rimbol said, too.« Bajorn´s face sagged mournfully. »I

do try to satisfy the Guild´s travel requirements, but it is so depressing

when my efforts are criticized or belittled. I can´t help it if singers

lose their memories . . . and every shred of common courtesy.«

»I´ll program eternal courtesy to you on my personal tape, Bajorn.«

»I´d appreciate it. Only do it now, would you, Killashandra, before

you forget?«

Promising faithfully, Killashandra rang off. Lanzecki had said

there was a list. Were there only five names! Borella Seal and Concera she

knew and she wouldn´t have minded doing them out of the assignment; Gobbain

Tekla was a total stranger. Rimbol had been cutting successfully, and in

the darker shades just as Lanzecki had predicted. Why would he want such an

assignment? So, four people had been interested enough to check Travel.

Were there more?

She asked for a list of unassigned singers in residence and it was

depressingly long. After some names, including her own, the capital I --

for Inactive -- flashed. Perhaps unwisely, she deleted those and still had

thirty-seven possible rivals. She twirled idly about in the gimbaled chair,

wondering exactly what criterion was vital for the Optherian assignment.

Lanzecki hadn´t mentioned such minor details in the little he had

disclosed. From what she had already learned of the planet and the

mechanics of installation, any competent singer could do the job. So what

would weigh the balance in favor of one singer?

Killashandra reexamined the list of her known rivals: Borella and

Concera had both been cutting a long time. Gobbain Tekla, when she found

his position on the Main Roster, was a relative newcomer; Rimbol, like

Killashandra, was a rank tyro. When she inquired, she discovered that each

of the others had been a redundant or a failed musician. Perhaps that was

the necessary requirement. It certainly made sense for the installer to

have an instrumental background. She rephrased her question to apply to all

thirty-seven available singers. Nineteen fit that category.

Lanzecki appeared reluctant to offer her the assignment but she

oughtn´t to fault him. She was acutely aware of past concessions from her

Guildmaster. She had no right to expect an interrupted flow of benefits

simply because he chose to share his bed with her. Nor, she decided, would

she jeopardize their relationship by referring to the assignment again.

Lanzecki might well be doing her a favor by not recommending her. She must

keep that aspect of the situation firmly in mind. She might not be thrilled

to vacation on the four systems to which her available credit would take

her, but that was another string in her deplorable luck. She would get a

rest from crystal and that was the essential requirement.

Her reawakened appetite reminded her that it had been some hours

since breakfast. During lunch, she´d decide where to take herself. When,

refreshed and revitalized, she returned to her labors for the Heptite

Guild, she´d find a fresh vein of black crystal and then she´d get to the

planet Maxim.

Before she could plan her vacation in any detail, Antona rang her

from the Infirmary. »Have you eaten, Killa?«

»Is that an invitation or a professional query? Because I just

finished a very hearty lunch.«

Antona sighed. »I should have liked your company for lunch. There´s

not much doing right now down here. Fortunately.«

»If it´s just the company you want while you eat . . . .«

Antona smiled with genuine pleasure. »I do. I don´t enjoy eating by

myself all the time. Could you drop down here first? You´re still listed as

inactive and you´ll want that status amended.«

On her way down to the Infirmary level, Killashandra first worried

then chided herself for fearing there was more to Antona´s request than a

simple record up-date. It might have nothing to do with her fitness to take

on the Optherian job. Nor would it be discreet to imply that she knew such

an assignment was available. On the other hand, Antona would know more

about the amenities of the nearby worlds.

The medical formality took little time and then the two women

proceeded to the catering section of the main singer´s floor of the Guild

Complex.

»It´s so depressingly empty,« Antona said in a subdued voice as she

glanced about the dimly lit portions of the facility.

»I found it a lot more depressing when everyone else was

celebrating a good haul,« Killashandra said in a glum tone.

»Yes, yes, it would be, I suppose. Oh, fardles!« Antona quickly

diverted Killashandra toward the shadowy side. »Borella, Concera, and that

simp, Gobbain,« she murmured as she made a hasty detour.

»You don´t like them?« Killashandra was amused.

Antona shrugged. »One establishes a friendship by sharing events

and opinions. They remember nothing and consequently have nothing to share.

And less to talk about.«

Without warning, Antona caught Killashandra by the arm, turning to

face her. »Do yourself a sterling favor, Killa. Put everything you´ve

experienced so far in your life, every detail you can recall from cutting

expeditions, every conversation you´ve had, every joke you´ve heard, put

everything« -- when Killashandra affected surprise, Antona gave her arm a

painful squeeze -- »and yes, I do mean ‘everything,´ into your personal

retrieval file. What you did. what you said, what you felt« -- and Antona´s

fierce gaze challenged Privacy -- »how you´ve loved. Then, when your mind

is as blank as theirs, you can refresh your memory and have something with

which to reestablish you!« Her expression became intensely sad. »Oh, Killa.

Be different! Do as I ask! Now! Before it´s too late!«

Then, her customary composure restored, she released the arm and

seemed to draw the intensity back into her straight, slim body. »Because I

assure you,« she said as she took the last few steps into the catering

area, »that once your brilliant wit and repartee become as banal and

malicious as theirs,« she jerked her thumb at the silent trio, »I´ll seek

other company at lunch. Now,« she said, her fingers poised over the

catering terminal, »what are you having?«

»Yarran beer.« Killashandra said the first thing that came to mind,

being slightly dazed by Antona´s unexpected outburst.

Antona raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, then rapidly dialed

their orders.

They were served quickly and took their trays to the nearest

banquette. As Antona tackled her meal with good appetite, Killashandra

sipped her beer, digesting Antona´s remarkable advice. Till then,

Killashandra had had no opportunity to appreciate the viewpoint of a

colleague who would not lose her memory as an occupational hazard.

Stubbornly, Killashandra preferred to forget certain scenes in her life.

Like failure.

»Well, you don´t have long to wait for a fresh supply of cluttered

minds,« Killashandra said at last, blotting the beer foam from her upper

lip and deferring conversation on Antona´s unsettling advice.

»A new class? How did that privileged information seep out? You are

only just out of an Infirmary tank. Well, you won´t be allowed to brief

them if that´s what you had in mind, Killa.«

»Why not?«

Antona shrugged and daintily sampled her nicely browned casserole

before replying. »You´ve no injury to display. That´s an important part of

the briefing, you see -- the visible, undeniable proof of the rapid tissue

regeneration enjoyed by residents of Ballybran.«

»Irresistible!« Antona gave Killashandra a sharp glance. »Oh, no

complaints from me, Antona. The Guild can be proud of its adroit recruiting

program.«

Antona fastened a searching glance on her face and put down her

fork. »Killashandra Ree, the Heptite Guild is not permitted by the

Federated Sentient Planets to ‘recruit´ free citizens for such a hazardous

profession. Only volunteers -- «

»Only volunteers insist on presenting themselves, and so many of

these have exceedingly useful skills . . . .« She broke off, momentarily

disconcerted by Antona´s almost fierce glance.

»What concern is that of yours, Killashandra Ree? You have

benefited immensely from the . . . selection process.«

»Despite my unexpected inclusion.«

»A few odd ones slip through no matter how careful we are,« Antona

said all too sweetly, her eyes sparkling.

»Don´t fret, Antona. It´s not a subject that I would discuss with

anyone else.«

»Particularly Lanzecki.«

»I´m not likely to get that sort of an opportunity,« she said,

wondering if Antona knew or suspected their relationship. Or if her advice

to remember loves and emotions had merely been a general warning to include

all experience. Would Killashandra want to remember, decades from now, that

she and Lanzecki had briefly been lovers? »Advise me, Antona, on which of

our nearer spatial neighbors I should plan a brief vacation?«

Antona grimaced. »You might just as well pick the name at random

for all the difference there is among them. Their only advantage is that

they are far enough away from Ballybran to give your nerves the rest they

need.«

Just then a cheerful voice hailed them.

»Killa! Antona! Am I glad to see someone else alive!« Rimbol

exclaimed, hobbling out of the shadows. He grinned as he saw the pitcher of

beer. »May I join you?«

»By all means,« Antona said graciously.

»What happened to you?« Killashandra asked. Rimbol´s cheek and

forehead were liberally decorated by newly healed scars.

»Mine was the sled that did a nose dive over the baffle.«

»It did?«

»You didn´t know it was me?« Rimbol´s mouth twisted in mock

chagrin. »The way Malaine carried on you´d´ve thought I´d placed half the

incoming singers in jeopardy by that flip.«

»Did you rearrange the sled as creatively as your face?«

Rimbol shook his head ruefully. »It broke its nose, mine was only

bloody. At that it´ll take longer to fix the sled than for my leg to heal.

Say, Killa, have you heard about the Optherian contract?«

»For the fractured manual? That could pay for a lot of repairs.«

»Oh, I don´t want it,« and he flicked his hand in dismissal.

»Why ever not?«

Rimbol took a long pull of his beer. »Well, I´ve got a claim that

was cutting real well right now. Optheria´s a long way away from here and

I´ve been warned that I could lose the guiding resonance being gone so

long.«

»And because you remembered that I haven´t cut anything worth

packing -- «

»No.« Rimbol held up a hand, protesting Killashandra´s accusation.

»I mean, yes, I knew you´ve been unlucky lately -- «

»Who do you think cut the white crystal to replace the fractured

Optherian manual?«

»You did!« Rimbol´s face brightened with relief. »Then you don´t

need to go either.« He raised his beaker in a cheerful toast. »Where d´you

plan to go off-world?«

»I hadn´t exactly made up my mind . . . .« Killashandra saw that

Antona was busy serving up the last of her casserole.

»Why don´t you try Maxim in the Barderi system.« Rimbol leaned

eagerly across the table to her. »I´ve heard it´s something sensational.

I´ll get there sometime but I´d sure like to hear your opinion of it. I

don´t half believe the reports. I´d trust you.«

»That´s something to remember,« Killashandra murmured, glancing

sideways at Antona. Then, taking note of Rimbol´s querying look, she asked

smoothly, »What´ve you been cutting lately?«

»Greens,« Rimbol replied with considerable satisfaction. He held up

crossed fingers. »Now, if only the storm damage is minimal, and it could be

because the vein´s in a protected spot, I might even catch up with you on

Maxim. You see . . .« and he proceeded to elaborate on his prospects.

As Rimbol rattled on in his amusing fashion, Killashandra wondered

if crystal would dull the Scartine´s infectious good-nature along with his

memory. Would Antona give him the same urgent advice? Surely each of the

newest crystal singers had some unique quality to be cherished and

sustained throughout a lifetime. Antona´s outburst had been sparked by a

long frustration. To how many singers over her decades in the Guild had she

tendered the same advice and found it ignored?

». . . So I came in with forty greens,« Rimbol was saying with an

air of achievement.

»That´s damned good cutting!« Killashandra replied with suitable

fervor.

»You have no trouble releasing crystal?« Antona asked.

»Well, I did the first time out,« Rimbol admitted candidly, »but I

remembered what you´d said, Killa, about packing as soon as you cut. I´ll

never forget the sight of you locked in crystal thrall, right here in a

noisy crowded hall. A kindly and timely word of wisdom!«

»Oh, you´d have caught on soon enough,« Killashandra said, feeling

a trifle embarrassed by his gratitude.

»Some never do, you know,« Antona remarked.

»What happens? Do they stand in statuesque paralysis until night

comes? Or a loud storm?«

»The inability to release crystal is no joke, Rimbol.«

Rimbol stared at Antona, his mobile face losing its amused

expression. »You mean, they can be so enthralled, nothing breaks the

spell?« Antona nodded slowly. »That could be fatal. Has it been?«

»There have been instances.«

»Then I´m doubly indebted to you, Killa,« Rimbol said, rising, »so

this round´s on me.«

They finished that round, refreshed by food, drink, and

conversation.

»Of the four, I think you´d prefer Rani in the Punjabi system,«

Antona told Killashandra in parting. »The food´s better and the climate

less severe. They have marvelous mineral hot springs, too. Not as

efficacious as our radiant fluid but it´ll help reduce crystal resonance.

You need that. After just an hour in your company, the sound off you makes

the hairs on my arm stand up. See?«

Killashandra exchanged glances with Rimbol, before they examined

the proof on Antona´s extended arm.

Antona laughed reassuringly, laying gentle fingers on

Killashandra´s forearm.

»A perfectly normal phenomenon for a singer who´s been out in the

Rangers steadily for over a year. Neither of you would be affected but, as

I don´t sing crystal, I am. Get used to it. That´s what identifies a singer

anywhere in the Galaxy But the Rani hot springs will diminish the effect

considerably. So does time away from here. See you.«

As Killashandra watched Antona enter the lift, she felt Rimbol´s

hand sliding up her arm affectionately.

»You feel all right to me,« he said, his blue eyes twinkling with

amusement. Then he felt her stiffen and suppress a movement of withdrawal.

He dropped his hand. »Privacy -- sorry, Killa.« He stepped back.

»Not half as sorry as I am, Rimbol. You didn´t deserve that. Chalk

it up to another side effect of singing crystal that they don´t include in

that full disclosure.« She managed an apologetic smile. »I´m so wired I

could broadcast.«

»Not to worry, Killa. I understand. See you when you get back.«

Then he made his wobbly way into the yellow quadrant to his quarters.

Killashandra stared after him, irritated with herself for her

reaction to a casual caress. She´d had no such reaction to Lanzecki. Or was

that the problem? She was very thoughtful as she walked slowly to her

quarters. Fidelity was an unlikely disease for her to catch. She certainly

enjoyed making love with Lanzecki, and definitely he exerted an intense

fascination on her. Lanzecki had unequivocally separated his professional

life from his private one.

»Rani, huh,« she murmured to herself as she put her thumb to the

door lock. She entered the room, closing the door behind her, and then

leaned against it.

Now, in the absence of background sounds, she could hear the

resonance in her body, feel it cascading up and down her bones, throbbing

in her arteries. The noise between her ears was like a gushing river in

full flood. She held out her arms but the static apparently did not affect

her, the carrier, or she had exhausted that phenomenon in herself. »Mineral

baths! Probably stink of sulfur or something worse.«

Immediately she heard the initial phluggg as radiant fluid began to

flow into the tank in the hygiene room. Wondering why the room computer was

on, she opened her mouth to abort the process, when her name issued from

the speakers.

»Killashandra Ree?« The bass voice was unmistakably Trag´s.

»Yes, Trag?« She switched on vision.

»You have been restored to the active list.«

»I´m going off-world as soon as I can arrange transport, Trag.«

Expressionless as ever, Trag regarded her. »A lucrative assignment

is available to a singer of your status.«

»The Optherian manual?« As Trag inclined his head once,

Killashandra controlled her surprise. Why was Trag approaching her when

Lanzecki had definitely not wanted her to take it?

»You‘re aware of the details?« For the first time Trag evinced a

flicker of surprise.

»Rimbol told me. He also said he wasn´t taking it. Was he your

first choice?«

Trag regarded her steadily for a moment. »You were the logical

first choice, Killashandra Ree, but until an hour ago you were an

Inactive.«

»I was the first choice?«

»Firstly, you are going off-world in any event and do not have

sufficient credit to take you past the nearer inhabited systems. Secondly,

an extended leave of absence is recommended by Medical. Thirdly, you have

already acquired the necessary skills to place white crystal brackets. In

the fourth place, your curriculum vitae indicates latent teaching abilities

so that training replacement technicians on Optheria is well within your

scope.«

»Nothing was said about training technicians. Borella and Concera

both have considerably more instructional experience than I.«

»Borella, Concera, and Gobbain Tekla have not exhibited either the

tact or diplomacy requisite to this assignment.«

Killashandra was amused that Trag added Gobbain to the list. Had

Bajorn told Trag who had inquired about transport to Optheria?

»There are thirty-seven other active Guild members who qualify!«

Trag shook his head slowly twice. »No, Killashandra Ree, it must be

you who goes. The Guild needs some information about Optheria -- «

»Tactfully and diplomatically extracted? On what subject?«

Why the Optherian government prohibits interstellar travel to its

citizens.«

Killashandra let out a whoop of delight. »You mean, why, with their

obsession for music, there isn´t a single Optherian in the Heptite Guild?«

»That is not the relevant issue, Killashandra. The Federated

Sentient Council would be obliged if the Guild´s representative would act

as an impartial observer, to determine if this restriction is popularly

accepted -- «

»A Freedom of Choice infringement? But wouldn´t that be a matter

for -- «

Trag held up his hand. »The request asks for an impartial opinion

on the popular acceptance of the restriction. The FSC acknowledges that

isolated individuals might express dissatisfaction, but a complaint has

been issued by the Executive Council of the Federated Artists Association.«

Killashandra let out a low whistle. The Stellars themselves

protested? Well, if Optherian composers and performers were involved, of

course the Executive Council would protest. Even if it had taken them

decades to do so.

»And since the Guild´s representative would certainly come in

contact with composers and performers during the course of the assignment,

yes, I´d be more than willing to volunteer for that facet.« Was that why

Lanzecki had been against her going? To protect her from the iron idealism

of a parochial Optherian Council? But, as a member of the Heptite Guild,

which guaranteed her immunity to local law and restrictions, she could not

be detained on any charges. She could be disciplined only by her Guild.

That any form of artistry might be limited by law was anathema. »There´ve

been Optherian organs a long time . . .«

»Popular acceptance is the matter under investigation.«

Trag was not going to be deflected from the official wording of the

request.

»All right, I copy!«

»You´ll accept this assignment?«

Killashandra blinked. Did she imagine the eagerness in Trag´s

voice, the sudden release of tension from his face.

»Trag, there´s something you´ve not told me about this assignment.

I warn you, if this turns out to be like the Trundie -- «

»Your familiarity with elements of this assignment suggests that

you have already done considerable background investigation. I have

informed you of the FSC request -- «

»Why don´t you leave it with me for a little while, Trag,« she

said, studying his face, »and I´ll consider it. Lanzecki gave me the

distinct impression that I shouldn´t apply for it.«

There. She hadn´t imagined that reaction. Trag was perturbed. He´d

been deliberately tempting her, with as subtle a brand of flattery as she´d

ever been subjected to. Her respect for the Administration Officer reached

a new level for she would never have thought him so devious. He was so

completely devoted to Guild and Lanzecki.

»You´re asking me without Lanzecki´s knowledge?« She did not miss

the sudden flare of Trag´s nostrils nor the tightening of his jaw muscles.

»Why, Trag?«

»Your name was first on the list of qualified available singers.«

»Stuff it, Trag. Why me?«

»The interests of the Heptite Guild are best served by your

acceptance.« A hint of desperation edged Trag´s voice.

»You object to the relationship between Lanzecki and me?« She had

no way of knowing in what way Trag had adapted to Ballybran´s symbiont or

in what way he expressed thought that such respect required additional

outlets. If jealously prompted Trag to remove a rival . . .

»No.« Trag´s denial was accompanied by a ripple of his facial

muscles. »Up till now, he has not allowed personal consideration to

interfere with his judgment.«

»How has he done that?« Killashandra was genuinely perplexed. Trag

was not complaining that Lanzecki had awarded her another valuable

assignment. He was perturbed because he hadn´t. »I don´t follow you.«

Trag stared at her for such a long moment she wondered if the

screen had malfunctioned.

»Even if you just go to Rani, it will not be far enough away or

long enough. Lanzecki is long overdue for a field trip, Killashandra Ree.

Because of you. Your body is so full of resonance he´s been able to delay.

But your resonance is not enough. If you´re not available, he will be

forced to cut crystal again and rejuvenate his body and his symbiont. If

you have a real regard for the man, go. Now. Before it´s too late for him.«

Killashandra stared back at Trag, trying to absorb the various

implications-foremost was the realization that Lanzecki was genuinely

attached to her. She felt a wave of exultation and tenderness that quite

overwhelmed her for a moment. She´d never considered that possibility. Nor

its corollary: that Lanzecki would be reluctant to cut crystal because he

might forget his attachment. A man who´d been in the Guild as long as he

had would be subject to considerable memory loss in the Ranges. Had he

learned his duties as Guild Master so thoroughly that the knowledge was as

ingrained in him as the rules and regulations in a crystal-mad brain like

Moksoon´s? It was not Lanzecki´s face that suddenly dominated her thoughts,

but the crisscross tracings of old crystal scars on his body, the

inexplicable pain that occasionally darkened his eyes. Antona´s cryptic

admission about singers who could not break crystal thrall echoed in her

head. She puzzled at the assortment of impressions and suddenly understood.

She sagged against the back and arms of her chair for support. Dully she

wondered if Trag and Antona had been in collusion. Would the subject of

crystal thrall have come up at that lunch hour even if Kimbol had not

arrived?

There was little doubt in Killashandra´s mind that Antona knew of

Lanzecki´s circumstances. And she did doubt that the woman knew about their

relationship. She also doubted that Trag would mention so personal an

aspect of the Guild Master´s business. Why couldn´t Lanzecki have been just

another singer, like herself? Why did he have to be Guild Master and far

too valuable, too essential to be placed in jeopardy by unruly affection?

Why, the situation has all the trappings of an operatic tragedy! A

genuine one-solution tragedy, where hero and heroine both lose out. For she

could now admit to herself that she was as deeply attached to Lanzecki as

he was to her. She covered her face with both hands, clasping them to

cheeks gone chill.

She thought of Antona´s advice, to put down everything -- including

love -- Killashandra writhed in her chair. Antona couldn´t have known that

Killashandra would so shortly be faced with such an emotional decision.

Which, Killashandra realized with a flicker of ironic amusement, was one to

be as deeply and quickly interred and forgotten as possible.

One thing was sure -- no matter how long the journey to Optheria,

it wouldn´t be long enough to forget all the wonderful moments she had

enjoyed with Lanzecki the man. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain

of encountering him when she returned, and, perhaps, finding no

recollection of her in his dark eyes. Nor feel his lips again on her hand .

. .

»Killashandra?« Trag´s voice recalled her to his watching presence

on the viewscreen.

»Now that I know the ramifications of the assignment, Trag, I can

hardly refuse it.« Her flippant tone was belied by the tears rolling down

her cheeks. »Do you go with him to break the thrall?« she asked when her

throat opened enough to speak again.

At any other time, she would have counted Tag´s startled look as a

signal of victory. Maybe if she found someone to sing with. she would also

find such a passionate and unswerving loyalty. She must remember that.

»When´s the next shuttle to Shanganagh, Trag?« She rubbed her

cheeks dry with an urgent impatience. »Tell Lanzecki -- tell him . . .

crystal resonance drove me to it.« As she spun off her chair, she heard

herself give a laugh that verged on the hysterical. »That´s no more than

the truth, isn´t it?« Driven by the need just to do something, she began to

cram clothes into her carisak.

»The shuttle leaves in ten minutes, Killashandra Ree.«

»That s great.« She struggled to secure the fastenings on the

bulging sak. »Will you see me aboard again, Trag? That seems to be your

especial duty, rushing me onto shuttles to Shanganagh for unusual

assignments all over the galaxy.« She was unable to resist taunting Trag.

He was the author of her misery and she was being strong and purposeful in

a moment of deep personal sacrifice and loss. She glanced up at the screen

and saw that it was dark. »Coward!«

She hauled open her door. She decided that slamming it was a waste

of a grand gesture. She had just enough time to get to the shuttle.

»Exit Killashandra. Quietly. Up stage!«

Chapter 3

Trag had timed Killashandra´s departure well for she and the three crates

of white crystal were on board a freighter bound for the Rappahoe Transfer

Satellite within four hours of their confrontation. She didn´t think about

it at the time for she was totally immersed in the strong emotions of

self-sacrifice, remorse for her effect on Lanzecki, and a perverse need to

redeem herself in Trag´s eyes. Even though she had permitted herself to be

borne on the tide of circumstance, she kept hoping that Lanzecki might

somehow get wind of her defection and abort the mission.

To insure that her whereabouts were known, she rummaged through the

shopping area of Shanganagh Base like a mach storm. She bought necessities,

fripperies, and foodstuffs, accompanying each purchase with a running

dialogue at the top of her voice and spelling out her name for every credit

entry. No one could fail to know the whereabouts of Killashandra Ree. After

adding a few items of essential clothing to the garments she had stuffed

into her carisak, her keen instinct for survival asserted itself in the

base´s victualers. She had vivid memories of the monotonously nutritious

diet on the Selkite freighter and the stodge supplied by the Trundomoux

cruiser. She did have to consider her palate and digestive system.

Sadly, no deferential shopkeeper tapped her on the arm to tell her

of an urgent call from the Guild Master. In fact, people seemed to keep

their distance from her. A chance glimpse of her gaunt, harrowed face in a

mirror provided one explanation -- she´d have needed no cosmetic aids to

play the part of any one of a number of harried, despairing, insane

heroines. At that point her humor briefly reasserted itself. She had often

thought that the make-up recommended for, say, Lucia, or Lady Macbeth, or

Testuka and Isolde was totally exaggerated. Now, at last having had

personal experiences with the phenomenon of losing one´s great love through

selfless sacrifice, she could appreciate the effect which grief could have

on one´s outward appearance. She looked awful! So she purchased two

brilliant multihued floating kaftans of Beluga spider-silk, and hastily

added their fingerlength cases to her bulging carisak, then a travel-case

of fashionable cosmetics. She´d nine days to travel on the first freighter

and it would only be civil to remedy her appearance.

Then the boarding call for the Pink Tulip Sparrow was broadcast and

she had no option but to proceed to the loading bay. In an effort to delay

the inevitable, she walked at a funereal pace down the access ramp.

»Singer, we´ve got to get moving! Now, please, hurry along.«

She made an appearance of haste but when the Mate tried to take her

arm and hurry her into the lock, her body arched in resistance. Abruptly he

let go, staring at her with an expression of puzzled shock -- his arms were

bare, and the hairs on them stood erect.

»I´m awaiting purchases from Stores.« Killashandra was so desperate

for a last-minute reprieve that any delay seemed reasonable.

»There!« The Mate conveyed frustrated disgust and impatience as he

pointed to a stack of odd-size parcels littering the passageway.

»The crystals?«

»Cartons all racked and tacked in the special cargo hold.« He made

a move as if to grab her arm and yank her aboard, but jingled his hands

with frustration instead. »We´ve got to make way. Shanganagh Authority

imposes heavy fines for missed departure windows. And don´t tell me,

Crystal Singer, that you´ve got enough credit to pay ‘em.« Abruptly she

abandoned all hope that Lanzecki, like the legendary heroes of yore, would

rescue her at the last moment from her act of boundless self-sacrifice. She

stepped aboard the freighter. The airlock closed with such speed that the

heavy external hatch brushed against her heels. The ship was moving from

the docking bay before the Mate could lead her out of the lock and close

the secondary iris behind them.

Killashandra experienced an almost overpowering urge to wrench open

the airlock and leap into the blessed oblivion of space. But as she had

deplored such extravagant and melodramatic actions in performances of

historical tragedy, integrity prevented suicide despite the extreme anguish

which tormented her. Besides, she had no excuse for causing the death of

the Mate who seemed not to be suffering at all.

»Take me to my cabin, please.« She turned too quickly, stumbled

over the many packages in the passageway and had to grab the Mate´s

shoulder, to regain her balance. Ordinarily she would have cursed her

clumsiness, and apologized but cursing was undignified and inappropriate to

her mood. From the pile, she chose two packages with the victualer´s logo,

and waved negligently at the remainder. »The rest may be brought to my

cabin whenever convenient.«

The Mate wended a careful passage through the tumbled parcels as he

passed her to lead the way. She noticed that the hair on his neck, indeed

the dark body hairs that escaped the sleeveless top he wore, were piercing

the thin stuff, all at right angles to his body.

This was no longer an amusing manifestation. Just another

fascinating aspect of crystal singing that you don´t hear about in that

allegedly Complete Disclosure! It should be renamed »A Short Introduction

to what´s really in store for you!« One day, no doubt, she would be in the

appropriately damaged state to give All the Facts.

The Mate had stopped, flattening himself against the bulkhead, and

gestured toward an open door.

»Your quarters, Crystal Singer. Your thumbprint will secure the

door.« He touched his fingers to a spot above his right eye and disappeared

around the corner as if chased by Galormis.

Killashandra pressed her thumb hard into the door lock. She was

pleasantly surprised by the size of the cabin. Not as big as any

accommodation she had enjoyed on Ballybran but larger than her student room

at Fuerte and much more spacious than that closet on the Trundomoux

cruiser. She slid the door shut, locked it, and put the packages down on

the narrow writing ledge. She looked at the bunk, strapped up to the wall

in its daytime position. Suddenly she was light-headed with fatigue. Strong

emotion is as exhausting as cutting crystal, she thought. She released the

bunk and stretched herself out. She exhaled on a long shuddering sob and

tried to relax her taut muscles.

The hum of the ship´s crystal drive was a counterpoint to the

resonance between her ears, and both sounds traveled in waves up and down

her bones. At first her mind did a descant, weaving an independent melody

through the bass and alto, but the rhythm suggested a three-syllable word

-- Lan-zec-ki -- so she changed to an idiot two-note dissonance and

eventually fell asleep.

Once she got over the initial buoyancy of self-sacrifice aboard the

Pink Tulip Sparrow, Killashandra vacillated between fury at Trag and

wallowing in despair at her »Loss.« Until she concluded that her misery was

caused by Lanzecki -- after all, if he hadn´t made such a determined play

for her affections, he wouldn´t have become so attached to her, nor she to

him, and she wouldn´t be on a stinking tub of a freighter. Well, yes, she

probably would. If all Trag had told her about the Optherian assignment was

true. In no mood to be civil to either the crew or the other passengers,

she stayed in her cabin the entire trip.

At Rappahoe Transfer Point, she boarded a second freighter, newer

and less unpleasant than the Pink Tulip Sparrow, with a lounge for the ten

passengers it carried. Eight were male and each of them, including the only

attached man, stood quickly at her entrance. Plainly they were aware that

she was a crystal singer. Equally apparent was the fact that they were

willing to put scruples aside to discover the truth of the space flot about

singers. Three of them desisted after their first hour of propinquity. Two

more during the first evening´s meal. To have one´s hair constantly

standing on end seems like a little thing but so is a drop of water

patiently wearing away a stone. The bald Argulian was the most persistent.

He actually grabbed her in the narrow companionway, pressing her close to

his body in an ardent embrace. She didn´t have to struggle for release.

He dropped his arms and slid away, flushing and trembling. »You´re

shocking.« He scrubbed his arms and brushed urgently at those portions of

his body which had been in contact with her. »That´s not a nice thing to do

to a friendly fellow like me.« He looked aggrieved.

»It was all your idea.« Killashandra continued on to her quarters.

And another singer legend is spawned!

The female captain of the third freighter, which she boarded at

Melorica, bluntly informed her that, under no circumstances, would she

tolerate any short term disruption of the pairing in her all-female crew.

»That´s quite all right, captain. I´ve taken a vow of celibacy.«

»What for?« the captain demanded, raking Killashandra with an

appraising scrutiny. »Religious or professional?«

»Neither. I shall be true to one man till I die.« Killashandra was

pleased with the infinitesimal tremor of pathos in her voice.

»No man´s worth that, honey!« The captain´s disgust was genuine.

With a sad sigh, Killashandra asked if the ship´s library had much

in the way of programs for single players and retired to her quarters,

which had been getting smaller with each ship. Fortunately this was the

shortest leg of her space hike to Bernard´s World.

By the time Killashandra reached the Bernard´s World Transfer

Satellite, she entertained doubts about Trag´s candor. The journey seemed

incredibly long for a modern space voyage, even allowing for the fact that

freighters are generally slower than cruisers or liners. She´d logged five

weeks of interstellar travel and must somehow endure another five before

she reached the Optherian system. Could Trag have done a subtle job

recruiting her because no other singer would consider the assignment? No,

the fee was too good -- besides. Borella, Concera, and Gobbain had been

trying for it.

In the orbital position of a small moon, the Transfer Satellite

inscribed a graceful forty-eight-hour path about the brilliant

blue-and-green jewel of a planet. The satellite was a marvel of modern

engineering, with docking and repair facilities capable of handling FSC

cruisers and the compound ships of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps,

felicitously sited at the intersection of nine major space routes. Fresh

fruit and vegetables were grown in its extensive gardens, and high quality

protein was manufactured in its catering division: sufficient in quantity

and diversity to please the most exacting clients. Stores of the basic

nutrients were available for five other star-roving species. Additional

nodules accommodated small industries and a thriving medical research

laboratory and hospital. In the transient quadrant, there were playing

fields, free-ball and free-fall courts, spacious gardens, and a zoo housing

a selection of the smaller life forms from nine nearby star systems. As

Killashandra perused the directory in her room, she noted with considerable

delight that a radiant fluid tank was one of the amenities in the gymnasium

arc.

Although she was certain that there had been some decrease of the

resonance in her body, she ached for the total relief provided by an hour

or so in the radiant fluid. She booked the room and, fed up with the

reaction of »ordinary« people to her proximity, took the service route to

it. She had also decided that she was not going to spend the five weeks on

the cruise ship enhancing crystal singer myths. Just then her bruised and

aching heart had no room for affection, much less passion. And crystal

neutralized passing fancy or pure lust

If she could reduce the hair-standing phenomenon to a minimum, she

intended to adopt a new personality: that of an aspiring young musician

traveling to Optheria´s Summer Festival, and required by economics to

travel off-season and on the cheaper freight lines. She had spent long

hours preparing the right make-up for the part, affecting the demeanor of

the very young, inexperienced adult and recalling the vocabulary and idiom

of her student days. So much had transpired since that carefree time that

it was like studying for an historic role. In such rehearsals, Killashandra

found that time passed quickly. Now if her wretched body would co-operate .

.

After nine hours of immersions over the course of three days,

Killashandra achieved her goal. She acquired a suitable modest wardrobe. On

the fifth day on the Bernard´s World Transfer Station, in wide-eyed and

breathless obedience to the boarding call, she presented her ticket to the

purser of the FSPS Liner Athena, and was assigned a seat on the second of

the two shuttles leaving the station to catch the liner on its parabolic

route through the star system. The shuttle trip was short and its single

forward viewscreen was dominated by the massive orange hulk of the Athena.

Most of the passengers were awed by the spectacle, babbling about their

expectations of the voyage, the hardships they had endured to save for the

experience, their hopes for their destinations, anxieties about home-bound

relatives. Their chatter irritated Killashandra and she began to wish she

had not posed as a student. As the respected member of a prestigious Guild,

she would have been assigned to the star-class shuttle.

However, she´d made the choice and was stuck with it, so she grimly

disembarked onto the economy level of the Athena and located her single

cabin in the warren. This room was the same size as her Fuertan student

apartment but, she told herself philosophically, she wouldn´t be so likely

to step out of character. Anyway, only the catering and lounge facilities

differed with the price of the ticket: the leisure decks were unrestricted.

The Athena, a new addition to the far-flung cruise line Galactica,

Federated, was on the final leg of its first sweep round this portion of

the Galaxy. Some of the oh´s and ah´s that Killashandra breathed were quite

genuine as she and other economy class passengers were escorted on the

grand tour of the liner. A self-study complex included not only the

schoolroom for transient minors but small rehearsal rooms where a broad

range of musical instruments could be rented -- with the notable exceptions

of a portable Optherian organ -- a miniature theater, and several large

workshops for handicrafters. To her astonishment, the gymnasium complex

boasted three small radiant fluid tanks. Their guide explained that this

amenity eased aching muscles, overcame space nausea, and was an economical

substitute for a water bath since the fluid could be purified after every

use. He reminded people that water was still a rationed commodity and that

two liters was the daily allowance. Each cabin had a console and vdr,

linked to the ship´s main computer bank which. their escort proudly told

them, was the very latest FBM 9000 series with a more comprehensive library

of entertainment recordings than many planets possessed. The FSPS Athena

was a true goddess of the spaceways.

During the first forty-eight hours of the voyage, while the Athena

was clearing the Bernard´s World system and accelerating to transfer speed,

Killashandra deliberately remained aloof, in her pose of shy student, from

the general mingling of the other passengers. She was amused and educated

by the pairings, the shiftings and realignments that occurred during this

period. She made private wagers with herself as to which of the young women

would pair off with which of the young men. Subtler associations developed

among the older unattached element.

To Killashandra´s jaundiced eye, none of the male economy

passengers, young or old, looked interesting enough to cultivate. There was

one absolutely stunning man, with the superb carriage of a dancer or

professional athlete, but his classic features were too perfect to project

a hint of his character or temperament. He made his rounds, a slight smile

curving his perfect lips, well aware that he had only to nod to capture

whichever girl, or girls, he fancied. Lanzecki might not have been handsome

in the currently fashionable form but his face was carved by character and

he exuded a magnetism that was lacking in the glorious young man.

Nevertheless, Killashandra toyed with the idea of luring the perfect young

man to her side; rejection might improve his character no end. But to

achieve that end she would have had to discard her shy student role.

She discovered an unforgivable lack in the Athena´s appointments

the first time she dialed for Yarran beer. It was not available, although

nine other brews were. In an attempt to find a palatable substitute, she

was trying the third, watching the energetic perform a square dance, when

she realized someone was standing at her table.

»May I join you?« The man held up beakers of beer, each a different

shade. »I noticed that you were sampling the brews. Shall we combine our

efforts?«

He had a pleasant voice, his ship-suit was well cut to a tall lean

frame, his features were regular but without a distinguished imperfection;

his medium length dark hair complimented a space tan. There was, however,

something about his eyes and a subtle strength to his chin that arrested

Killashandra´s attention.

»I´m not a joiner myself,« he said, pointing one beaker at the

gyrating dancers, »and I noticed that you aren´t, so I thought we might

keep each other company.«

Killashandra indicated the chair opposite her.

»My name is Corish von Mittelstern.« He put his beers down nearer

hers as he repositioned the chair to permit him to watch the dancers.

Killashandra turned ever slightly away from him, not all that confident of

the remission of resonance in her body, though why she made the instinctive

adjustment she didn´t know. »I hail from Rheingarten in the Beta Jungische

system. I´m bound for Optheria.«

»Why, so am I!« She raised her beer in token of a hand clasp.

»Killashandra Ree of Fuerte. I´m -- I´m a music student.«

»The Summer Festival.« Then a puzzled expression crossed Corish´s

face. »But they have a Fuertan brew -- «

»Oh, that old stuff. I might have to travel off-season and economy

to get to Optheria but I´m certainly not going to waste the opportunities

of trying everything new on the Athena.«

Corish smiled urbanely. »Is this your first interstellar trip?«

»Oh, yes. But I know a lot about traveling. My brother is a

supercargo. On the Blue Swan Delta. And when Mother told him that I was

making the voyage, he sent me all kinds of advice« -- and Killashandra

managed a tinkling giggle -- »and warnings.«

Corish smiled perfunctorily. »Don´t ignore that sort of advice.

Fuerte, huh? That´s a long way to come.«

»I think I´ve spent half my life traveling already,« Killashandra

said expansively while she tried to compute how long she ought to have been

traveling if her port of embarkation had been Fuerte. She hadn´t done

enough homework. Though she couldn´t imagine that Corish would know if she

erred. She took a long sip of her beer. »This is a Bellemere, but it´s too

sour for me.«

»The best beer in the galaxy is a Yarran brew.«

»Yarran?« She regarded Corish with keener interest. If Corish came

from Beta Jungische, he was a long way from a regular supply of Yarran

beer. Killashandra´s curiosity rustled awake.

»The Yarran brewmasters have no peers. Surely your brother has

mentioned Yarran beer?«

»Well, now. it´s possible that he has,« Killashandra said slowly,

as if searching her memory. »But then, he told me so much that I can´t

remember half.« She was about to giggle again and then decided that, not

only did her giggle nauseate herself but it might repel Corish and she

wanted to satisfy this flicker of curiosity about him. »Why are you

traveling to Optheria?«

»Family business, sort of. An uncle of mine went for a visit and

decided to become a citizen. We need his signature on some family papers.

We´ve written several times and had no reply. Now. he could be dead but I

have to have the proper certification if he is, and his print and fist on

the documents if he isn´t.«

»And you have to come all the way from Beta Jungische for that?«

»Well, there´s a lot of credit involved and this isn´t a bad way to

go.« He enscribed a half circle with his beaker, including the ship as well

as the dancers, and smiled at Killashandra over the rim as he sipped. »This

Pilsner´s not all that bad, really. What have you there?«

She went along with Corish´s adroit change of subject and with the

beer sampling. Although singing crystal brought with it an inexhaustible

ability to metabolize alcohol without noticeable affect, she feigned the

symptoms of intoxication as she confided her fake history to the Jungian,

whenever necessary embellishing her actual experiences at the Arts Complex.

Thus Corish learned that she was a keyboard specialist, in her final year

of training, with high hopes that the Optherian Festival would provide her

with sufficient data for an honors recommendation. She had credentials of

sufficiently high caliber to gain entrance into the Federal Music

Conservatory on Optheria where she hoped she´d be allowed to play on an

Optherian organ.

»An hour is all I need,« she told Corish, blinking in her

simulation of advancing inebriation, »for the purposes of my dissertation.«

»From what I hear about their precious organ, you´d be lucky to get

within spitting distance.«

»Even half an hour.«

»I hear that only Federal licensed musicians are allowed in the

organ loft.«

»Well, they´ll have to make an exception in my case because I have

a special letter from Fuerte´s President -- he´s a friend of my family´s.

And a sealed note from Stellar Performer Dalkay Mogorog . . .« She paused

deferentially at the mention of that august personality, who was evidently

unknown to Corish, »and I´m sure they´ll concede. Even fifteen minutes?«

she asked as Corish continued to shake his head. »Well, they´ll just have

to! I haven´t come all this way to be refused. I´m a serious student of

keyboard instruments. I won a scholarship to the Federated Sentient Planets

Conservatory on Terra. I´ve been permitted to play on a Moartian clavier, a

Handelian spinet, Purcell´s harpsichord, a Bach organ, and a Beethoven

pianaforte and -- « She hiccuped to mask the fact that she was running out

of prestigious composers and instruments.

»So? Which beer do you prefer now?«

»Huh?«

Corish solicitously conducted her to her cabin and arranged her on

her bunk. As he drew a light blanket over her, she felt the static leap

from her shoulder to his hands. He hesitated briefly, then quietly left.

As Killashandra gave him time to leave her passage-way, she

reviewed her »performance« and decided that she hadn´t dropped from

character, even if he had. It was rather nice of him, too, not to have

»taken advantage« of her. When she felt secure, she slipped from her cabin

and down to the gymnasium level. At that hour, it was empty and she enjoyed

an hour´s luxuriating in the radiant fluid.

They met the next morning at the breakfast hour, Corish

solicitously inquiring after her health.

»Did I fall asleep on you?« she asked with wide-eyed dismay.

»Not at all. I just saw to it that you were safely in your own

cabin before you did.«

Critically, she held her hands out in front of her. »Wel1, at

least, they´re steady enough to practice.«

»You´re going to practice?«

»I practice every day.«

»May I listen««

»Well . . . it can be quite boring-I have to spend at least an hour

on the preliminary finger exercises and scales before I can do any

interesting music . . .«

»If I´m bored, I´ll leave.«

As she led the way to the practice rooms, she wondered if she had

slipped up in her characterization. Why else should he be curious enough to

want to listen to her practice?

Killashandra was rather chuffed to discover that the old drills

came easily to her fingers as she addressed the keyboard with every

semblance of true authority. Corish departed after fifteen minutes but she

left nothing to chance and played on, making remarkably few errors for

someone who had not played in three years.

As she had established her credentials with him, he continued to

project the image of an amiable young man on a journey to protect family

interests. He sought her out at mealtimes, helped her evade the organizers

of team sports, directed her investigations of the caterer´s potential with

the amused tolerance of the mature traveler, and accompanied her to

shipboard activities. On one or two occasions, she had the urge to shock

him with her true identity just to see how he might react, but she

repressed that whimsy.

Then, after a particularly bibulous evening, when she had taken an

extra long radiant bath. she encountered him in the gymnasium. He was

sweating profusely, working out against a hefty weight on the apparatus

with apparent ease. Stripped as he was for the exercise, Killashandra could

appreciate that Corish´s lean frame was suspiciously well muscled and fine

tuned for his public image.

»I didn´t know you were a gymnast!«

»It´s only smart to keep fit, Killashandra Ree.« He whipped a towel

about his shoulders and mopped his face. »Where´ve you been?«

Killashandra managed a blush of embarrassment, dropping her eyes

and affecting mortification

» I tried that radiant stuff. In the tank, » and she pointed

vaguely in the right direction. »That blonde girl from Kachachurian was

saying that it was good for hang-overs!« She kicked at the apparatus base

with her toe, eyes still downcast.

»Well, is it?«

»I think it is.« She allowed some doubt in her tone. »At least that

awful spinning has stopped . . . and the nausea!« She put one hand to her

head and the other to her stomach. »I think I may have to go back to

Fuertan beer. I could always drink as much of that as I wanted. Or is it

something to do with traveling in space? My brother did say something about

that . . .« She looked up at Corish. »Isn´t this a funny time to be working

out?«

»That´s how I work alcohol out of my system,« Corish said, pulling

on his shirt. »I´ll see you back to your cabin. You really shouldn´t be

wandering about the ship at this hour. Someone might get the wrong

impression about you.«

As Killashandra permitted him to escort her back, she wondered why

he was rushing her out of the gym. She felt she had deftly accounted for

her presence. And naively accepted his explanation. Safely returned to her

cabin, she agreed to meet him as usual for breakfast the next morning, and

dutifully went to bed.

Waiting for sleep, she reflected on his extraordinary fitness and

the stealth in which he kept it. Could Corish possibly be an FSP agent? It

struck her as unlikely that the Federation would choose to send only one

observer -- an inexperienced one at that -- into a planetary society that

was being investigated. She chuckled to think that, out of the eighteen

hundred passengers and crew on the Athena, Corish should attach himself to

her. Of course, in her eager-student guise, she might constitute an

integral part of his shipboard cover. Unless he had been advised of her

extra assignment by his superiors. If he was a Federal agent, he would also

know the capabilities of crystal singers, and the subtler ways to identify

them.

No matter! In her concentrated efforts to recall her days as an

impecunious and ardent music student, she had been able to shelve the more

recent, painful episode. Seriously now, Killashandra considered Antona´s

advice to record incidents in detail. Who knew when she might find it

necessary to adopt the role of the student again?

Chapter 4

As the Athena plunged toward the Optherian primary for the deflected

hyperbolic pass that would bring it close to the one inhabited planet of

the system. the passengers who were disembarking went through the rituals

of leave-taking from their shipboard acquaintances. That strange magic of

voyaging which could make total strangers into confidantes and lovers had

lost none of its potency in the space age.

As they waited in the airlock for the shuttle that would take them

to the surface, Killashandra found herself prattling on at Corish about how

they must meet and share their adventures: that they couldn´t part and

never meet again while they were on the same planet. She´d want to know how

he´d made out with his uncle and she hoped she´d be able to tell him of her

success, invading the Optherian musical hierarchy. Of course that sort of

chatter was in character with her role. What astonished Killashandra was

that she meant what she said.

»That´s very sweet of you, Killa,« Corish replied, patting her

shoulder in a condescending fashion that returned her instantly to her own

personality.

»If I don´t get a place at the Music Center hostel, I´ll go to the

Piper Facility,« she said, ducking away from his hand as she fumbled with

the fastening on the side pocket of her carisak. She tendered the small

plastic card distributed by the Facility with its communit codes. »The

Optherian Traveler´s Guide says they´ll take messages for visitors. You

could leave word for me there.« She smiled up at him with tremulous

wistfulness. »I know that once we leave Optheria, we´ll never meet again,

Corish, but at least while we´re still on the same planet, I was hoping we

could stay friends.« She broke off, ducking her head and dabbing at her

eyes which, on cue, had filled with moisture. She let him have just a

confirming glimpse of her teary face, although why she was prolonging their

association, she hadn´t a notion. One can get too wrapped up in

role-playing.

»I promise you, Killa, that I´ll leave word at the Piper for you.«

And Corish put a finger under her chin and lifted her head to his gaze. He

had a rather engaging half-smile, she thought, though it wasn´t a patch on

Lanzecki´s. She managed to squeeze out a few more tears on the strength of

that comparison. »No need for tears, Killa.«

Just then the shuttle clanged against the Athena´s side and

conversation became impossible with the noise of lock engagement and the

excited crescendo of farewells. Then crewmen were officiously directing

passengers to move to the port side of the lock. Killashandra was crammed

rather tightly between two large men and separated from Corish by another

sideways push.

»What´s the delay?« one of her cushions demanded.

»They´re loading some crates,« was the indignant reply. »Must be

something special. There´re seals and impregtape all over them.«

»I shall complain to the Cruise Agent. I was under the impression

that people got preference over commodities on this Line!«

As suddenly as it had begun, the press eased off and everyone was

shuffling toward the ramp into the shuttle. Killashandra didn´t see Corish

among the passengers already seated but she couldn´t fail to miss three

large foam boxes that contained the white crystal, for they occupied the

first three rows of seats on the shuttle´s starboard side.

»They must be immensely valuable,« the first cushion-man said.

»Whatever could it be? Optherians don´t import much.«

»Too right,« his companion said in an aggrieved tone. »Why those

are Heptite Guild seals.«

The shuttle attendant had taken complete control of seating

arrangements, peremptorily filling the rows as he backed down the main

aisle. He gestured Killashandra to an inside seat and the two cushions

obediently settled in the next two. She caught a brief glimpse of Corish as

he passed, but he was assigned a seat on the other side of the aisle.

»Not wasting any time, are they?« the first man said.

»Have none to waste in a parabolic orbit,« his friend replied.

»There mustn´t have been any outgoing passengers.«

»Probably not. Optherians don´t leave their planet and the tourist

season hasn´t really started.«

A rather ominous rumbling, issuing from the floor plates, startled

them. This was quickly followed by additional metallic complaints, causing

further vibrations under their feet.

Two distinct thuds signaled the closing of the cargo bays. Then

Killashandra felt the air compress as the main passenger lock was shut and

secured. Through the skin of the hull beside her, she heard the snick of

the grapple release so she was prepared for the stomach-wrenching motion of

the shuttle´s falling away from the Athena. Her seatmates were not and

gasped in reaction, clutching the arm rests as the shuttle´s engines took

hold and pushed the passengers into the foam of their seats.

The transfer from liner to planetary surface was a relatively short

run, though Killashandra´s seatmates complained bitterly about the

discomfort and duration all the way down. Killashandra accounted the

landing smooth but the two cushions found fault with that as well, so she

was immensely grateful when the port opened again, flooding the shuttle

with the crisp clean cool air of Optheria. She inhaled deeply, clearing her

lungs of the Athena´s recycled air. For all the craft´s modern amenities,

it had not quite solved the age-old problem of refreshing air without the

taint of deodorizers.

No sooner had the first passengers filed into the arrival area than

the public address system began a recorded announcement, scrolling through

the same message in all major Federated Planets languages Passengers were

requested to have travel documents ready for inspection by Port

Authorities. Please to form a line in the appropriately marked alphabetic

or numeric queues. Aliens requiring special life support systems or

supplies would please contact a uniformed attendant. Visitors with health

problems were to present themselves, immediately after Clearance, to the

Port Authority Medical Officer. It was the hope of the Tourist Bureau of

Optheria that all visitors would thoroughly enjoy their holiday on the

planet.

Killashandra was relieved to see that she would be able to present

her I.D. in some privacy, for the Inspectors presided in security booths.

Those waiting their turn in the queue could not observe the process. She

kept glancing to the far right of the line where Corish should be waiting

but he was not immediately visible. She caught sight of him just as it was

her turn to approach the Inspector.

Killashandra suppressed a malicious grin as she slid her arm and

its I.D. bracelet under the visiplate. The blank expression of the

Inspector´s square face underwent a remarkable change at the sight of the

Heptite Seal on his screen. With one hand he pressed a red button on the

terminal in front of him and with the other urgently beckoned her to

proceed. Quitting the booth, he insisted on relieving her of her carisak.

»Please, no fuss,« Killashandra said.

»Gracious Guildmember,« the Inspector began effusively, »we have

been so concerned. The cabin reserved for you on the Athena -- «

»I traveled economy.«

»But you´re a Heptite Guildmember!«

»There are times, Inspector,« Killashandra said, bending close to

him and touching his arm, »when discretion requires that one travel

incognito.« The hair stood up on the back of his hand. She sighed.

»Oh, I see.« And clearly he did not. He unconsciously smoothed the

hair back down.

They had walked the short distance to the next portal, which slid

apart to reveal a welcoming committee of four, three men and a woman,

slightly breathless. »The Guildmember has arrived!« The Inspector´s

triumphant announcement left the distinct impression that he himself had

somehow conjured her appearance.

Killashandra stared apprehensively at them. They had a

disconcerting resemblance to each other, not only a sameness of height and

build but of coloring and feature. Even their voices were pitched in the

same sonorous timber. She blinked, thinking it might be some trick of the

soft yellow sunshine pouring in from the main reception area. Then she gave

herself a little shake: all were government employees, but could any

bureaucracy, Optherian or other, hire people on the basis of their uniform

appearance?

»Welcome to Optheria, Guildmember Ree,« the Inspector said, beaming

as he ushered her past the portal, which whispered shut behind them.

»Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Thyrol,« the first and oldest man

said, taking one step toward her and bowing.

»Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Pirinio,« said the second,

following the example of the first.

In unvarying ceremony, Polabod and Mirbethan made themselves known

to her. Had they practiced long?

»I am truly welcomed,« she said with a gracious semibow. »The

crystal? It was aboard the shuttle.«

All four looked to her right, left hands rising from their sides at

the same instant, to indicate the float appearing through a second portal.

Nullgravs suspended float and cartons above the gold-flecked marble floor

but proper guidance apparently required six attendants, each wearing an

anxious frown of concentration. A seventh man directed their efforts,

dancing from one side to the other to be certain that nothing impeded their

progress. These citizens of Optheria were reassuringly mismatched in size,

form, and feature.

»We four,« Thyrol began, indicating his companions with a twist of

his hand, »are to be your guides and mentors during your stay on Optheria.

You have only to state your wishes and preferences and we -- Optheria --

will provide.«

The four bowed again, like a wave from right to left. The Inspector

beside her also bowed. Thyrol lifted one eyebrow and the Inspector, bowing

again as he surrendered Killashandra´s carisak to Pirinio, formally receded

until the portal hissed apart and then closed. Killashandra wondered if the

Inspector´s euphoria would extend to lesser breeds, those without Guild

affiliation, when he resumed his booth in Immigration.

»If you will step this way, Guildmember Ree.« Thyrol made another

of his graceful gestures.

When she moved to walk beside him, he altered his stride to keep a

deferential meter from her. The others fell in behind. Killashandra

shrugged, accepting the protocol. Not having to chat with her escort gave

her a chance to glance about the shuttle port. The facility was functional

and decorated with murals of Life on Optheria: the main attraction of the

Summer Festival -- the organ -- was not depicted. Nor did the vaulted

arrivals hall appear to have any catering areas apart from one narrow bank

for beverage dispensing. Conspicuous by their absence were curio and

souvenir booths. Not even a ticket bank was to be seen. And only one lounge

area. At the wide exit, the doors sighed aside for Killashandra and Thyrol,

who quickly walked down the wide shallow steps to a broad, intricately

patterned apron of flat stones. Beyond was the roadway where the crew had

just finished stowing the three foam crates in a large ground effect

machine.

Suddenly an arc of light flashed on behind Killashandra and a muted

alarm sounded. Guards materialized from inconspicuous booths on both sides

of the main entrance and approached the three Optherians of the reception

committee who were walking behind Killashandra and Thyrol.

»Please do not be disconcerted, Guildmember Ree.« Thyrol waved to

the guards and they retreated back into their stations. The arc of light

disappeared.

»What was that all about?«

»Merely a security precaution.«

»For my leaving the shuttle port?«

Thyrol cleared his throat. »Actually, for Optherians leaving the

shuttle port.«

»Leaving?«

»This is our vehicle, Guildmember,« Thyrol said, smoothly urging

her across the flagstone plaza. She allowed herself to be diverted because

it was obvious that, whoever left the Shuttle Port was first obliged to

enter: the alarm would work in both directions. But how could the device

distinguish Optherians from other humans? No mutation had been mentioned in

her perusal of the Encyclopedia Galactica entry for the planet: most

ingenious for a warning device to differentiate between residents and

nonresidents. But surely it got a bit noisy and confusing when Optherians

were escorting tourists to the shuttle port. Or was that the reason for

this broad flagstone area? She would have to check on FSP regulations about

security measures restricting citizens of their planets.

As her vehicle glided forward, the first of the shuttle passengers

began to emerge. On cue, fat accommodation buses filed out of the parking

area to the flagstone curb. Craning her neck slightly, Killashandra took

due note of the fact that the security system did not respond to the

foreigners´ exits.

Already the vehicle was climbing out of the valley which contained

the shuttle port and the clutter of maintenance buildings. The place looked

bleakly ordered and preternaturally neat in comparison to what Killashandra

recalled of Fuerte´s busy space port. Perhaps when the tourist season

started . . . Even the clumps of trees and bushes which softened the harder

lines of the buildings had a regulated look. Killashandra wondered how

often the plantings had to be replaced. Shuttle emanations had a disastrous

effect on most vegetation.

»Are you comfortable, Guildmember?« Mirbethan asked from her seat

behind Killashandra.

»Of necessity the shuttle port was placed close to the City,«

Pirinio took up the conversation, »but is screened by these hills which

also absorb much of the noise and bustle.«

Noise and bustle, his tone of voice told Killashandra, were the

unpleasant concomitants of space travel. »How wise of you,« Killashandra

replied.

»Optherian´s founding fathers planned for every contingency,«

Thyrol said smugly. »No effort has been spared to conserve our planet´s

natural beauty.«

The vehicle had reached the top of the gap and Killashandra had an

unimpeded view of the broader valley below them, in which nestled the

felicitous arrangement of pastel colored buildings, domes, and round towers

that comprised Optheria´s capital settlement, known as the City. From that

height, the impressive view drew a surprised exclamation from Killashandra.

»It is breathtaking!« Thyrol chose to interpret her response his

way.

Beautiful was a fair adjective, Killashandra thought, but

breathtaking, no! Even at that distance something was too prim and proper

about the City for her taste.

»None of the indigenous trees and bushes were removed, you see,«

Thyrol explained, gesturing with his whole hand rather than a single

finger, »when the City was constructed, so that the natural, unspoiled

landscape could be retained.«

»And the river and that lake? Are they natural features?«

»But of course. Nature is not distorted on Optheria.«

»Which is as it should be,« Polabod added. »The entire valley is as

it was when Man first landed on Optheria.«

»The City Architect planned all the buildings and dwellings in the

unoccupied spaces,« Mirbethan said proudly .

»How exceedingly clever!« Killashandra was wearing the contact

lenses recommended for Optheria´s sunlight and wondered if the planet would

be improved, viewed via augmented Ballybran vision. Just then it was very,

very, blah! Killashandra had to delve a long way for an adequate expression

which, tactfully, she did not voice. Would Borella have restrained herself?

Would she have noticed? Ah, well, Beauty is said to be in the eye of the

beholder! For Optheria´s sake, she was glad that someone loved it.

While it might have been laudable of the Founding Fathers to wish

to preserve the entire valley as it was when Man first landed, it must have

given the architects and construction crews a helluva lot of trouble.

Buildings wrapped around copses of trees, straddled brooks, incorporated

boulders and ledges. Probably the floors on upper levels were even but it

must have been bumpy going at ground level. Fortunately the airfoils of her

vehicle were up to the uneven surface in the suburbs but the ride became

rather bouncy as they proceeded deeper into the City.

Pausing at the intersection of a huge open square -- open except

for the many thorn bushes and scrawny trees -- Killashandra could not fail

to notice that the ground floor of one corner building made uneven arches

over repulsively greasy-looking bushes whose thorny branches were obviously

a hazard to pedestrians; something was to be said for the curtailment of

natural »beauty.« She could learn to hate the City quite easily. No wonder

some of the natives were restless. Just how did the Summer Festival

compensate for the rest of the Optherian year?

Once past the open square, the road climbed gently to a cluster of

buildings evidently uninhibited by natural beauties, for they seemed to

have an architectural integrity so far lacking in the City.

»It was necessary,« Thyrol said in a muted voice, »to add the

merest trace of a ramp to ascend to the Music Center.«

»I wouldn´t have known it if you hadn´t told me,« Killashandra

said, unable to restrain her facetiousness.

»One ought to approach on foot,« Pirinio went on in a repressive

tone, »but some latitude is permitted so that the audience may assemble

punctually.« His gesture called Killashandra´s attention to the many small

switchback paths to one side of the promontory.

Killashandra repressed a second facetious remark which Pirinio´s

tone provoked. It wouldn´t be the installation on Optheria, not the organ,

nor the planet which were hazardous: once again it was the inhabitants. Was

she always to encounter such intolerant, inflexible, remorseless

personalities?

»What sort of local brew do you have here on Optheria?« she asked,

keeping her tone casual. If the reply was »none,« she´d book out on the

next available craft.

»Well, ah, that is, possibly not at all to your taste,

Guildmember.« Mirbethan´s startled reply was hesitant. »No beverages can be

imported. I´m sure you saw the notice in the Port Authority. Our

brewmasters produce four distinct fermented beverages: quite potable, I´m

told. Spirits are distilled from the Terran grains which we have managed to

adapt to Optherian soil, but I´ve been told that these are raw to educated

palates.«

»Optheria produces excellent wines,« Pirinio said rather testily,

with a reproving glance at Mirbethan. »They cannot be exported and indeed,

some do not travel well even the relatively short distance to the City. If

wine is your preference, a selection will be put in your quarters.«

»I´ll try some of the brews, too.«

»Wine and beer?« Polabod exclaimed in surprise.

»Crystal singers are required to keep a high blood-alcohol content

when absent from Ballybran. I´ll have to decide which is the best for my

particular requirement.« She sighed in patient forebearance.

»I wasn´t informed that members of your Guild required special

diets.« Thyrol was clearly perturbed.

»No special diet,« Killashandra agreed, »but we do require larger

intakes of certain natural substances from time to time. Such as alcohol.«

»Oh, I see,« Thyrol replied, although clearly he did not.

Does no one on this repulsive planet have a sense of humor?

Killashandra wondered.

»Ah, here we are so soon,« Pirinio said, for the vehicle had swung

down the curving drive to the imposing main entrance of the largest

building on this musical height

In orderly fashion but in decorous haste, a second welcoming

committee formed itself on the wide and shallow marble steps under the

colonnaded portico that shielded the massive central doors of the edifice.

Although large urns had been planted with some sort of weeping tree to

soften the harsh architecture, the effect was forbidding, rather than

welcoming.

Killashandra emerged from the vehicle, ignoring Thyrol´s

outstretched hand. The Optherian´s obsequious behavior could quickly become

a major irritant.

She had just straightened up and turned to step forward when

something slammed hard into her left shoulder and she was thrown off

balance against the vehicle. The fleshy point of her shoulder stung briefly

then began to throb. Thyrol began to bellow incoherently before he

attempted to embrace her in the misguided notion that she needed his

assistance.

For the next few moments total chaos erupted: Thyrol, Pirinio, and

Polabod dashed about, issuing conflicting orders. The throng of dignitaries

turned into a terrified mob, splintering into groups which fled, stood

paralyzed, or added their shouts to the tumult. A flock of airborne sleds

reared up from the plateau to hover above the Music Complex, darting off on

diverse errands.

Mirbethan was the only one able to keep her wits. She tore a strip

from the hem of her gown, and despite Killashandra´s protestations that she

required no aid, bound the wound. And it was she who discovered the weapon,

imbedded in the upholstery of the back seat.

»That´s a businesslike piece of wickedness,« Killashandra remarked

as she studied the asterisk-bladed object, three of its lethal blades

buried in the seat back. The one which had wounded her pointed outward, a

strand of her sleeve material laid neatly along the cutting edge.

»Don´t touch it« Mirbethan put out her hand to prevent such action.

»No fear,« Killashandra said, straightening up. »Local

manufacture?«

»No.« Mirbethan´s voice took on a note of indignant anger. »An

island implement. An outrage. We shall spare no effort to discover the

perpetrator of this deed.«

There was a subtle, but discernible, alteration in Mirbethan´s tone

between her first two remarks and the last which Killashandra caught but

could not then analyze, for the rest of the committee suddenly recalled

that there had been a victim of this »outrage« and more attentions were

showered on Killashandra by the concerned. Despite her protestations, she

was carried into the vaulting entrance hall of the main building, and

whisked along a corridor, lined floor to ceiling with portraits of men and

women. Even in her swift passage she noticed that they all smiled in the

same tight, smug way. Then she was conducted to a lift while dignitaries

bickered about who should accompany her in the limited space.

Once again, Mirbethan won Killashandra´s approval by closing the

door on the argument. They were met at their destination by a full medical

convention and Killashandra was made to lie on a gurney and was wheeled

into diagnostics.

At the moment of truth. when the temporary bandaging was reverently

unwound from the injury, there was a stunned silence.

»I could have spared everyone a great deal of unnecessary effort,«

Killashandra remarked dryly after she glanced at the clean, bloodless cut.

»As a crystal singer, I heal very quickly and am not the least bit

susceptible to infection. As you can see.«

Consternation was rampant, with all the medics exclaiming over the

wound, and others cramming forward in an attempt to witness this miracle of

regeneration. Glancing up, Killashandra saw the very smug smile on

Mirbethan´s face, so very like the smiles on the portraits.

»To what agency do you attribute such remarkable healing

properties?« asked the eldest of the medical people in attendance.

»To living on Ballybran,« Killashandra replied. »As you must surely

be aware, the resonance of crystal slows down the degenerative process.

Tissue damage regenerates quickly. By this evening this minor cut will be

completely healed. It was a clean swipe and not all that deep.«

She seized the opportunity to slip off the gurney.

»If we may take a sample of your blood for analysis,« the elder

medic began, reaching for a sterilely packaged extractor.

»You may not,« Killashandra said and again felt a wave of

incredulous dismay and surprise from her audience. Was contradiction

forbidden on Optheria? »The bleeding has stopped. Nor will analysis isolate

the blood factor which slows degeneration,« she went on with a kind smile.

»Why waste your valuable time?«

She strode purposefully toward the door, determined to end this

interlude. Just then, Pirinio, Thyrol, and Polabod arrived, breathless in

their haste to rejoin her.

»Ah, gentlemen, you are just in time to escort me to my quarters.«

And when there were stumbled explanations about receptions and Music Center

faculty waiting and the prospect of attendance by the Elders, she smiled

gently. »All the more reason for me to change . . .« and she gestured to

the torn sleeve.

»But you´ve not been attended!« Thyrol cried, astonished to see an

unbandaged slash.

»Very well, thank you,« she said and walked past him into the

corridor. »Well?« She swung round to face a throng of very confused people.

»Will no one escort me to my quarters?« This farce was beginning to pall

The corridor, too, had its occupants, mostly in the universal green

garb of the medical profession. Therefore, the young man, clad in a dark

tunic, his bronzed legs bare to the soft leather ankle boots, stood out

among them.

Lanzecki might swear that the Ballybran spore did not confer any

psychic enhancement but Killashandra was entertaining severe doubts on that

score. She had definitely caught conflicting emotional emanations from

Mirbethan, from the other worthies, and now, from this young man -- a

curious flash of green, annoyance, interest, and anticipation far too

strong to be the casual reaction to a visitor. And flash was all it could

be, for Thyrol and Pirinio bore down on her, all apologies for their

discourtesies real and imaginary. Mirbethan firmly took her place at

Killashandra´s right, edging the three men out of position and motioning

their guest down the hall. When Killashandra was able to glance back to the

young man, he was striding down a side corridor, head down, shoulders

sagging as if weighed down by some burden. Guilt?

Then she was swept into the lift, down to the guest level, and into

the most sumptuous quarters which had ever been allotted to her. Having

agreed to descend to the reception as soon as she had changed gave her time

for only the most cursory examination of the apartment. She´d been guided

through a large, elegant reception room suitable for formal affairs. A

smaller room was evidently to be used as a studio or office. They hurried

past two bedchambers, one of them quite modern, before she was ushered into

a main room so vast that she had to stifle a chuckle. Mirbethan indicated

the toilet and the slightly open closet panel where her clothes had been

hung. Then the woman withdrew.

Stripping off the torn garment, Killashandra flicked open one of

the Beluga spider-silk kaftans which ought to be suitable for any

reception: certainly a foil against the predominantly white or pale colors

which the Optherians seemed to prefer. Except for that brooding young man.

Killashandra dwelt briefly on him as she washed hastily. Then she

couldn´t resist a peek into the other hygiene rooms. One contained a

variety of tubs, massage table, and exercise equipment while the third

boasted a radiant-fluid tub and several curious devices which Killashandra

had never before encountered but which left an impression of obscenity.

Back in the bedchamber, she heard a soft rapping at the door.

»I´m ready, I´m ready,« she cried, masking irritation with a lilt

in her voice.

Chapter 5

That protocol had become an art form on Optheria told Killashandra quite

clearly that if there were no rebellious spirits then the entire population

had stagnated. At the reception, every faculty member, their subordinates,

then every student, all in order of their rank and scholastic standing,

filed past her. Mercifully, handshaking was no longer a part of the ritual.

A nod, a smile, a mumbled repetition of the name sufficed. After fifty

nods, Killashandra felt her smile fixed in her cheeks and her face

stiffened into that mode. With her everfaithful quartette, she stood at the

top of a massive double staircase, whose white marble nights curved down

into a marbled hall below. The ceiling of the vast reception chamber was so

high that the murmuring of the assembled crowd was absorbed.

Killashandra had had a glimpse of tables, laden with patterns of

plates whose contents were as precisely placed as the plates were, and with

beakers of colored liquids. The assembled scrupulously kept their eyes from

the direction of the refreshments. Killashandra guessed that they all knew

too well the taste and texture of the reception repast.

There were curious patterns, too, in the reception. Five people

would take the right-hand staircase, the next five would descend on the

left. Killashandra wondered if a steward in some distant anteroom ticked

the people off for left and right. There were never more than ten people

waiting to be introduced, yet the flow down the hallway was steady despite

its apparent randomness.

Abruptly no more people were making their way to the reception line

and Killashandra let her cheeks relax, rotating her head on her neck,

wriggling her lips and nose in a very undignified manner in order to ease

the muscles. One never knows when one´s early training as a singer is going

to prove useful, she thought, just as she heard a concerted intake of

breath from her quartette. Reorganizing her expression, she glanced up the

hall in time to observe the ceremonial approach of dignitaries.

The seven figures who processed -- and that was the correct verb to

describe their advance -- were not differently garbed from the other highly

placed Optherians, but they wore their pale robes with an unmistakable air

of authority. Four men and three women, each wearing the same slight smile

upon their serene faces. Faces, Killashandra would shortly note, that had

been carefully adjusted by surgery and artifice to enhance that serenity,

for only one of the smiles reached the weary, bored, aged eyes.

Elder Ampris, Killashandra was immensely relieved to discover, was

the only one of the Optherian rulers with whom she would have much contact.

He was currently responsible for the Music Complex. If there should ever be

a Stellarity Award given for Best Character Actor among Planetary Rulers,

surely Ampris would win it. But for the disparity of expression between eye

and face, Killashandra might have missed that gleam of humor and possibly

ignored that spontaneous lifting of the heart that occur when one

encounters a kindred spirit. The others, whose names Killashandra promptly

forgot, gave her hand one firm shake in welcome, a few words of gratitude

for making »so arduous a journey in this moment of planetary crisis,« and

passed on by, having acquitted their duty. They all waited, without

appearing to wait, at the top of the right-hand stair. Then Killashandra

felt the almost electric touch of Ampris´s hand, looked into his bright and

knowing eyes and returned the first genuine smile of the long afternoon.

»We will have time to talk later on, Guildmember. In the meantime,

let us gild their afternoon with the gold and scarlet of our presence´s.«

His negligent wave took in the whole room, not just the high dignities

patiently awaiting the dissolution of the reception line.

Thyrol glanced at Killashandra, her hand on Ampris´s arm, then he

turned to the nearest Elder woman and offered his arm. No fuss, no

confusion, no dithering about altered escorts or who would be left to

descend alone: everything was already worked out, planned down to the last

detail, including the unexpected. For, obviously, no one could have

expected Ampris to confer such an honor as his personal escort on

Killashandra.

Killashandra wondered if the foodstuffs had been minutely measured,

for two bites disposed of each of the four small tidbits, five mouthfuls

emptied the wine glass. But she was among the lucky minority who had their

glasses refilled and were offered additional canapés.

»This will be over soon,« Ampris murmured to her, his lips barely

moving. »A proper meal will be served us when the lesser orders have

dutifully taken their sip and sup and toddled back to the comfort of their

routines.«

He spoke with neither scorn nor malice: Ampris was stating a fact

about the majority of the assembled.

»Having had their rare treats of standing in the same room with a

real live breathing Crystal Singer?«

»You are that!« Ampris´s gaze returned hers with no trace of guile

or evasion but he had a definite twinkle in his eye. »Three minutes after

you reached the infirmary, the news of your regenerative powers had seeped

to the basements.«

»Surely you are not housed in a basement?«

Ampris´s bright brown eyes twinkled again. »The seat of all

knowledge . . .«

»So you can get to the bottom of things?«

»Of course.«

»And a position of maximum security?« Killashandra taunted him. Why

shouldn´t she start at the top with her covert inquiries?

»Security is never a problem on such a well-ordered world as

Optheria.« He inclined his head to acknowledge the passing of three of the

dignitaries circulating the gathering. »Everyone is secure« -- he paused --

»on Optheria, each knowing his place and his duties. Security is the

foundation of the serenity of spirit which typifies this natural world.«

Killashandra could find no mockery in his words nor any special

inflection in his voice. No sparkle of amusement lit his eye, no cynical

expression molded his face, yet Killashandra heard the denial as clearly as

if he had phrased it.

»Someone must have had a momentarily troubled spirit to launch that

little star-knife at me.«

»An island weapon,« Ampris said. »We allowed that settlement too

much leeway during the early years on Optheria. Its original colonists

were, naturally, of our mind, but before we could reestablish contact with

them, they had deviated from the original intent. Optheria was to be an

autonomous world: not to consist of autonomous groups.« Ampris´s humorless

voice and manner implied the treatment which had undoubtedly been meted out

to the dissenters. »The matter of that outrageous attack on your person

will be resolved, I can assure you, Guildmember Killashandra.«

»I don´t doubt that for a moment.«

Ampris searched her face. »On an ordered planet, the unusual is

always remarkable.«

»Ampris, you may not monopolize our distinguished visitor,« said a

deep grating voice and Killashandra turned to find herself scrutinized by

one of the other male Elders. He had the eyes of a scavenger, bright, dark,

piercing. His thin, hooked nose did much to encourage the analogy. His skin

had a curious lacquered look, crinkling at the edges of his face from

whatever minor shift of expression he permitted. His glance dropped briefly

to her left shoulder, as if his gaze could penetrate the silk and examine

the healing wound beneath.

»Monopoly has never been my passion, Torkes,« Ampris said. »My

associate, Torkes, holds the Communications Seat on Optheria. We work

closely together in our adjacent disciplines. He maintains that Music is

dependent on Communications, and I, of course, take the position that Music

is independent and without it, Communications would have nothing to

disseminate!«

»But of course!« Killashandra mustered a broad and giddy smile with

which she favored both men impartially. Ampris accepted her evasion with a

slight smile while Torkes bowed as if her ambiguous reply awarded him the

decision. »What sort of crystal network does your facility use, Elder

Torkes?«

»Crystal?« Torkes´s piercing stare was affronted. »We have no funds

to waste on that sort of technology. Crystal is reserved for musicians!«

»Really?« And Killashandra caught the barest glimpse of the

satisfied reaction from Ampris. Torkes seemed totally oblivious to the

implication of his statement. »Even when crystal is a very natural -- «

»Crystal is not natural to Optheria. Not a native product, you

understand. And we must maintain the integrity of our Charter.«

»Indeed? Do you not violate that integrity by using alien

instrumentation?«

Torkes dismissed her argument with a flick of his bony fingers.

»Music is an art form which we were able to bring with us, within the mind.

It is intangible -- «

»And what is communication, then? Can it be touched? Smelt?

Tasted?«

Torkes stared at her so fiercely that Killashandra was made aware

of the fact that not only had she dared to interrupt an Elder but she had

argued with him. She sensed rather than saw Ampris´s intense amusement

then, in the blink of his eyes, when Torkes was faced with the unpalatable

realization that a Heptite Guild-member, an invited specialist urgently

required by his planet, held equal status with himself.

»Of course,« Ampris said, breaking the heavy silence that ensued,

»the organ was developed by an Optherian for Optherian purposes and is, in

fact, unique to our planet.«

»Yes, yes, quite so,« Torkes mumbled just as a mellow chime

discreetly ended the reception.

Torkes made an adroit escape.

»So, one does not dispute with you Elders here?« Killashandra

asked, watching him move off through the throng.

»It is good for us, I assure you, Ampris replied with a chuckle.

»Fortunately Torkes is more flexible than he sounds, for when he changes

Seats, he becomes totally committed to his immediate responsibility.« When

Killashandra looked quizzical, he added: »We Elders change our duties every

four years, so as not to become too narrow in our understanding of the

overview.«

»I see.«

»Then you are wiser than your years,« Ampris said, »for I cannot

believe that an administrator who is tone deaf can effectively guide Music:

or that an Elder who cannot integrate should have charge of the Treasury.

However, the governmental mechanism is so weighty that four years of

mismanagement generally produce no more than annoying miscalculations and

minor blunders easily corrected. The brilliance of the Founding Fathers of

Optheria is once more unquestionably elucidated.«

Thyrol appeared, respectfully inclining his upper body at his

interruption.

»Elder Ampris, Guildmaster Ree, if you will proceed to the dining

chamber?«

The beauty of the hall, the elegantly set table and Elder Ampris´s

earlier comment deceived Killashandra into anticipating a far better meal.

Although presented in appealing style, the miniscule portions did not

appeased Killashandra´s heavy appetite. Nor was she offered enough of any

one food to make a positive identification of its constituents or savor its

taste. The courses were accompanied by beverages which were so bland that

the water had more zest to it -- and not a brew or a ferment among them.

Killashandra´s exasperated sigh caught the attention of Elder Pentrom, her

right-hand dinner partner.

»Something is amiss?« he asked politely and then stared for a brief

moment at her clean plate. He was but halfway through the food on his.

»Doesn´t Optheria produce brews. or vintages or something with more

taste than these, Elder Pentrom?«

»You mean an alcoholic beverage?« he said, as if she had made a

particularly obscene suggestion.

Killashandra favored him with a longer look and decided that with

his prim mouth, sharp chin, and tiny eyes, no other reaction could have

been expected.

»Indeed I do mean alcoholic beverages.« He opened his mouth to

protest, but before he could utter a word she said, »Alcohol is essential

to the proper metabolic function of a crystal singer.«

»I have never heard that in all my years as Medical Supervisor of

this planet.«

»Have you encountered many crystal singers in your career?« Piqued

by yet another dogmatic encounter, Killashandra discarded any semblance of

tact. These people needed a set-down and she was in the enviable position

of being able to give it with impunity.

»In actual fact, no -- «

»Then how can you possibly dispute my statement? Or question my

requirements? This,« and she waved a scornful hand at the goblet before

her, »bilge -- «

»That beverage is a nutritious liquid, carefully combined to supply

the adult daily requirements of vitamins and minerals to ensure -- «

»No wonder it tastes so revolting. And may I point out that any

brewmaster worth his license provides the same vitamins and minerals in a

form palatable enough to satisfy the inner man as well.«

The Medical Supervisor hitched his chair back, throwing his

serviette on the table in preparation for harangue, and suddenly they were

the center of attention. »Young woman -- «

»Spare me your condescension, Elder,« Killashandra replied as she

rose gracefully to her feet and glared down at him. She swept the table

with a reproving look. »I shall retire to my apartment until such time as

my dietary requirements can be met with enough food« -- she flipped over

her empty plate -- »to satisfy my appetite and sufficient alcoholic

beverages to keep my metabolism functioning. Good evening!«

In the stunned silence, Killashandra left the room. Doors the size

and density of the ones securing the dining chamber did not slam

satisfactorily but she had enjoyed her exit so much that she did not miss

that part of the finale. In the corridor, she startled minions, lounging

against the walls.

»Does anybody know where my apartments are in this mausoleum?« she

demanded. When all raised their hands, she pointed to the nearest. »Take me

there.« When he hesitated and looked anxiously at the door, she repeated

her order in a louder and more authoritative tone. He scurried forward,

more desirous of avoiding her immediate wrath than courting disfavor of an

absent authority.

»Tell me.« she asked in a pleasant tone when they had entered a

small lift, »is food plentiful on Optheria?«

He cast her a very nervous glance and when she smiled winningly at

him, relaxed a little, though he kept as far from her in the carriage as

possible.

»There is plenty of food on Optheria. Too much. This year only half

the fields may be planted, and I know that early fruit has been left to rot

on the vine.«

»Then why did I get three mouthfuls at dinner?«

Something approaching levity touched the young man´s face. »All the

Elders are old: they don´t eat much.«

»Hmm! That´s one explanation. But a good brew or a nice dry vintage

would have helped!«

A smile tugged at the young man´s lips. »Well, Elder Pentrom was

present and he is death on any sort of alcoholic beverage. Says it saps the

energy of the young and disrupts thought in the mature.«

»And he was my dinner partner!« Killashandra´s crow of malice

resounded in the enclosed space. »My timing is, as ever, superb! Well, I´m

not under his jurisdiction and, if Optheria really needs that organ

repaired, the Elders will have to placate me, not him.« The young man was

obviously shocked. »Tell me,« she said in her kindest, most wheedling

voice, »you seem to be a knowledgeable fellow, what sort in interesting

beverages are produced on this planet?«

»Oh, there are brews and vintages,« he assured her promptly and

with some pride, »and some rather potent spirituous drinks manufactured in

the mountains and the islands -- but that sort of stuff isn´t permitted in

the Conservatory.« The lift´s doors slid open, and the Optherian bustled

out.

»More´s the pity.« Killashandra strode on down the hallway after

her guide. »What do you drink? No, abort the question,« and she grinned at

his startled glance. »What is the most popular drink?«

»The most popular one on this continent is a brew called Bascum.«

»Is Bascum a plant or a person?«

»Person.« Her guide was warming to his subject. He indicated they

take the left-hand corridor at the junction. »One of the Founding Fathers.«

»So his brewery is allowed to function in the face of the Medical

Supervisor´s displeasure?« Killashandra grinned as he nodded. »I infer from

your remarks that there are other popular drinks? Any wines?«

»Oh, yes, the western continent produces some very fine vintages,

both white and red, and some doubly distilled liqueurs. I´m not familiar

with the wines at all.«

»And those islands you mentioned, they go for the spirituous

liquors?«

»The polly tree.«

»The polly tree?«

»Its fermented fruit makes a brandy which, I´m told, is more potent

than anything else in the universe. The polly tree provides foliage for

shelter, a fine-grained wood for building, its roots burn for a long time,

its bark can be pounded into a fiber which the islanders use for weaving

cloth, its pith is extremely nutritious, and its large fruit is delicious

as well as nutritious -- «

»When it isn´t fermented -- «

»Exactly.«

»And the polly tree only grows on the islands?«

»That´s right, and here is your apartment. Guildmember.« He opened

the door.

»There´s no privacy lock on this?« Killashandra had not noticed the

lack in her first hurried inspection.

»There is no need for such in the Complex.« Her guide appeared

surprised at her reaction . » No one would presume to enter without your

express permission.«

»There are no thieves on Optheria?«

»Not in the Conservatory!«

She thanked him for his escort and entered her sacrosanct

apartment, closing the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Only then did

her eye fall on the table. She exclaimed aloud at the display of bottles of

all sizes and shapes. at the beakers, goblets, wine glasses that waited in

pristine array on the white cloth. A separate tray offered an assortment of

tidbits, nuts, and small wafers. A small chest opened to exhibit chilled

bottles and two pottery amphoras.

There was no way the collection could have been assembled and

spirited into her apartment in the time elapsed since she stormed out of

the dining room. Then she remembered her remarks on the trip from the

spaceport. Well, Elder Pentrom might be a prissy, dogmatic, abstemious man,

but obviously her every whim was someone´s command.

Because her guide had mentioned Bascum, her choice among so many

finally settled on the neat brown bottle in the cold chest. She flipped the

top off and let the midbrown brew slowly descend into an appropriate

beaker. The malty scent that rose to her nostrils suggested good things to

come.

»And about time, too,« she said, scooping up a random selection of

nibbles and sinking into the nearest comfortable seat. »To absent friends!«

She lifted her beaker high then took her first sip.

She regarded the brew with respect and delight. »Could Bascum

possibly have come from Yarra?« she asked herself. »This might not be so

bad an assignment after all!«

Chapter 6

By the time the quick Optherian sunset had finished its evening display,

Killashandra had sampled nine beverages, wishing she had someone with whom

to share the largesse, especially since there was a prohibition against it.

Which brought Corish to mind, and that mythical uncle of his. Unless she

could discover how much surveillance she would be having from her discreet

quartette -- and how easy it would be to outwit it -- she didn´t want to

risk meeting him. Would they think it odd if she left a message in at the

Piper Facility? Corish had considerably piqued her curiosity and she was

somewhat motivated by a desire to show him that two could play the

exploitation gambit.

Someone tapped on her apartment door and, when Mirbethan entered on

her permission, Killashandra caught the shade of uncertainty in the

Optherian´s manner.

»Since you´re not accompanied by any priss-mouthed ancients, you

are welcome. And if that excuse for a meal is a state dinner here, no

wonder you´re a lean bunch.«

Mirbethan flushed. »Since Elder Pentrom graciously accepted our

invitation, we are obliged to cater to his dietary preferences. Didn´t

Elder Ampris mention this to you?«

»He failed to put me in the know. However. all this,« and

Killashandra waved expansively at the beverage table´s load, »makes up for

that deficiency, though solid food would assist my investigations . . .«

»There was no time to show you the catering facility.« Mirbethan

glided to one of the discreet wall cabinets. Its doors opened on a catering

unit. »Alcoholic beverages are not included. Students have a distressing

aptitude for breaking restricted codes.« Killashandra decided that she

merely thought she detected a note of tolerant humor in Mirbethan´s voice.

»That is why we have supplied you with a sampling of the available

intoxicants.«

»In spite of Elder Pentrom.«

Mirbethan cast her eyes downward.

»Tell me, Mirbethan, would you happen to know if Bascum the

brewmaster originated from the planet Yarra?«

»Bascum?« Mirbethan looked up, startled, and confused. When

Killashandra waved the long-emptied bottle at her, she blushed. »Oh, that

Bascum.« Now she glided to a second ornate cabinet which opened into a full

size terminal, and a panel in the wall slid aside to reveal a large screen.

She typed an entry as Killashandra made a private wager. »Why, how under

the suns did you know?«

»The best brewmasters in the galaxy hail from that planet. I

haven´t sampled everything yet,« Killashandra went on, »but I shall be very

well suited indeed if you´ll undertake to keep me supplied with Bascum´s

brew.«

»As you require, Guildmember. But for now, the concert is about to

start in the Red Hall. Only the single manual organ, but the performer was

last year´s prize winner.«

Killashandra was tempted, but she was a shade hungrier and drier

than she liked to be. »The Elders are present?« When Mirbethan solemnly

nodded, Killashandra sighed deeply. »Convey my apologies on the grounds of

travel fatigue . . . and the stress of metabolic readjustment after the

assault and the wound.« Killashandra ran the silk up her arm, exposing her

shoulder where only a thin red line gave evidence of an injury.

Mirbethan´s eyes widened significantly and then, with a subtle

shift, she inclined a bow to Killashandra.

»Your apologies will be conveyed. Call code MBT 14 if you require

any further assistance from myself, Thyrol. Pirinio, or Polabod.«

Killashandra wished her a pleasant evening and Mirbethan withdrew.

As soon as the door had closed on the woman, Killashandra discarded her

languor and made for the catering unit. Once again, Optherian peculiarities

inhibited her, for when she called up a menu, there was no scrolling of

delectable, mouthwatering selections but a set dinner, with only three

choices for the main course. She opted for all three, and immediately the

catering unit queried her. She repeated her request and, when the unit

wanted to know how many were dining, she tapped in »three.« At which point

the unit informed her that the apartment was recorded as having a single

occupant. She replied that she had guests. Their names and codes were

required. She responded with the names of Elders Pentrom and Ampris, codes

unknown.

The food was promptly dispensed, two of the meager servings that

she had observed in the dining hall. Fortunately the third one was

substantial enough to abort the kick that she had been about to bestow on

the catering unit.

Once she had solid food in her stomach, she continued her liquor

sampling. While not in the least inebriated, thanks to her

Ballybran-altered digestion, Killashandra was very merry and sang lustily

as she ventured into the hygiene rooms and splashed in the scented water of

the bath. She continued to sing, her fancy latching onto a riotous ballad

generally rendered by a tenor, as she made her way to the bedroom. A

lambent radiance augmented the soft lighting and, curious, she went to the

window, observing three of Optheria´s four small moons, one near enough for

the craters and vast sterile plains to be clearly visible. Entranced,

Killashandra broke off the ballad and began the haunting love duet from

Baleef´s exotic opera, Voyagers, which seemed particularly appropriate to

the setting.

When a tenor voice joined her on cue, she faltered a moment. Then,

despite her astonishment at spontaneity in such a rigidly controlled

environment, she continued Voyagers had been her last opera as a student on

Fuerte, so she knew it well enough to divert some of her attention from the

words. And a fine, rich, well produced voice he had. Might need a bit more

support for the G´s and A s in the last three measures -- she´d be amazed

if he could hit the high C along with her -- but he had a firm sense of the

dynamic requirements and sang with great sensitivity. As the tenor took up

the melody, she gathered herself for the taxing finale, delighted to find

her singing voice still flexible enough for the dynamics, and the high C.

The tenor, with no loss of vibrance, opted for the A, but it was a grand

ringing A and she applauded his judgment.

She sustained her note, perversely wishing him to drop but, as it

happened, they broke off at the same instant, as if they had had the

innumerable rehearsals such inspired singing required.

» ‘When shall our paths cross again?´ « she asked in the recitative

which followed that spectacular duet.

» ‘When the moons of Radomah make glorious the sky with measured

dance.´ « The invisible tenor also had a vibrant speaking voice, and,

better yet, an appreciation of the humor in their impromptu performance for

she caught the ripple of laughter in his chanted phrases. Did he also find

the words, and the opera, a trifle ludicrous in the austere setting of the

Optherian Complex?

All of a sudden, the courtyard below was floodlighted. Figures

erupted onto the paving, shouting commands for silence. Before she stepped

back from the window, Killashandra caught a glimpse of a figure, in a

window directly opposite hers but a story above, withdrawing into the

shielding darkness. Soprano and tenor exited the stage while the extras

made a diligent and vain search for the conspirators.

Killashandra poured herself a full glass of something which its

label identified as a fortified wine. This was an odd music center if

impromptu singing, particularly of so high a caliber, was answered by

punitive force.

She downed the drink, doused all the lights in the suite and, in

the milky light of the moons, sought the comfort of her bed. Despite a wish

for sleep, her mind ranged through the scenes of the Baleef opera and the

sorrows of the star-crossed lovers. She must remember to ask Mirbethan who

that tenor was. Fine voice! Much better than the pimple-faced little oaf

who had sung the role opposite her on Fuerte!

Morning chimes, soft but insidious, roused her. She lifted herself

on one elbow, saw that dawn was just breaking, groaned and, flinging the

light coverlet over her head, went back to sleep. A second sequence of

chimes, louder, sounded. Cursing, Killashandra strode to the console, coded

the number Mirbethan had given her. »Is there any way to stop the wretched

chimes in this apartment? Imagine, having to wake up at dawn!«

»That is the way here, Guildmember, but I shall advise Control that

your apartment is to be excluded from the Rising Chimes.«

»And all others, please! I will not be ordered about by bells,

drums, whistles, shrills, or inaudibles. And who possesses that remarkably

fine tenor voice?«

Mirbethan shot Killashandra a startled look. »You were disturbed by

it -- «

»Not in the least. But if that´s the quality of natural musical

talent on Optheria, I´m impressed.«

»The Center does not encourage vocalizing.« Mirbethan´s cool denial

roused Killashandra´s instant hostility.

»You mean, that tenor is a reject from your opera school?«

»You misunderstand the situation, Guildmember. All the teaching

centers on Optheria emphasize keyboard music.«

»You mean, only that organ?«

»Of course. The organ is the ultimate of instruments,

combining the -- «

»Spare me the hype, Mirbethan.« Killashandra took an obscure

pleasure in the shock her statement gave the woman. Then she relented. »Oh,

I concur that the Optherian organ is a premier instrument, but that tenor

voice was rather spectacular on its own merit.«

»You should not have been disturbed -- «

»Fardles! I enjoyed singing with him.«

Mirbethan´s eyes rounded in a secondary shock. »You . . . were the

other singer?«

»I was.« File that for future reference! »Tell me, Mirbethan, if

only a few of the hundreds who must study at this Center ever attain the

standard required to play the Optherian organ, what happens to those who

don´t?«

»Why, suitable situations are found for them.«

»In music?« Mirbethan shook her head. »I´d think that crystal

singing would provide a marvelous alternative.«

»Optherians do not care to leave their planet. whatever their minor

disappointments. You will excuse me, Guildmember -- « Mirbethan broke the

connection.

Killashandra stared at the blank screen for a long moment. Of

course, neither Mirbethan nor any of the quartette knew of her early

background in music. Certainly none of them could possible know of her

disappointment, nor how she would relate that to what Mirbethan had just

admitted. If you failed to make the grade at the organ, there was nothing

else for you on Optheria?

There was no way in which Killashandra would buy Mirbethan´s statement that

frustrated Optherian musicians would prefer to remain on the planet, even

if they had been conditioned to the restriction from birth.

And that tenor had sung with absolute pitch. It´d be a bloody shame

to muzzle that voice in preference to an organ, however »perfect« an

instrument it might be. Hazardous crystal singing might be as a profession,

but it sure beat languishing on Optheria. A sudden thought struck her and,

with a fluid stride, she went to the terminal, tapped for Library, and the

entry on Ballybran. A much expurgated entry scrolled past, ending with the

Code Four restriction. She queried the Files for political science texts

and discovered fascinating gaps in that category. So, censorship was

applied on Optheria. Not that that ever accomplished its purpose. However,

an active censorship was not grounds for charter-smashing, and the Guild

had only been requested to discover if the planetary exit restriction was

popularly accepted.

Well, she knew one person she could ask -- the tenor -- if he

hadn´t gone into hiding after last night´s hunt. Killashandra grinned. If

she knew tenors . . .

She had breakfasted -- the catering unit did offer a substantial

breakfast -- and dressed by the time Thyrol arrived to inquire if she had

rested, and more importantly, if she would like to start the repairs. He

tactfully indicated her arm.

»You´ve apprehended the assailant?«

»Merely a matter of time.«

»How many students in the Complex?« she asked amiably as Thyrol led

her down the hall to the lift.

»At present, four hundred and thirty.«

»That´s a lot of suspects to examine.«

»No student would dare attack an honored guest of the planet.«

»On most planets, they´d be the prime suspects.«

»My dear Guildmember, the selection process by which this student

body is chosen considers all aspects of the applicant´s background,

training, and ability. They uphold all our traditions.«

Killashandra mumbled something suitable. »How many positions are

available to graduates?«

»That is not an issue, Guildmember,« Thyrol said with mild

condescension. »There is no limit to the number of fully trained performers

who present compositions for the Optherian organ -- «

»But only one may play at a time -- «

»There are forty-five organs throughout Optheria -- «

»That many? Then why couldn´t one of those be substituted -- «

»The instrument here at the Complex is the largest, most advanced

and absolutely essential for the performance level required by the Summer

Festival. Composers from all over the planet compete for the honor and

their work has been especially written for the potential of the main

instrument. To ask them to perform on a lesser organ defeats the purpose of

the Festival.«

»I see,« Killashandra said although she didn´t. However, once she

had been admitted through the series of barriers and security positions

protecting the damaged organ, she began to appreciate the distinction

Thyrol had made.

He had taken her to the rocky basements of the Complex, and then to

the impressive and unexpectedly grand Competition Amphitheater which

utilized the natural stony bowl on the nether side of the Complex

promontory. Some massive early earthfault and a lot of weathering had

molded the mount´s flank into a perfect semicircle. The Optherians had

improved the amphitheater with tiered ranks of individual seating units,

facing the shelf on which the organ console stood. This was accessible only

from the one entrance through which Thyrol now guided Killashandra. With a

sincere and suitable awe, Killashandra looked about her, annoyed that she

was gratifying Thyrol´s desire to impress a Guildmember even as she was

unable to suppress that wonder. She cleared her throat, and the sound,

small though it was, echoed faithfully back at her. »The acoustics are

incredible,« she murmured and, as Thyrol smiled tolerantly, heard her words

whispered back. She rolled her eyes and looked about her for an exit from

the phenomenal stage.

Thyrol gestured to a portal carved in the solid rock on the far

side of the organ console. From his belt pouch he extracted three small

rods. With these and his thumb print, he opened the door, the sound

reverberating across the empty space. Killashandra slipped in first. As

familiar as she was with auditoria of all descriptions, something about

this one unnerved her. Something about the seats reminded her of primitive

diagnostic chairs which used physical restraints on their occupants, yet

she knew that people would cross the Galaxy to attend the Festival.

Lights had come up at their entry and illuminated a large,

low-ceilinged chamber. Taking up the floor space in front of the innocuous

interlinked cabinets that made up the electronic guts of the Optherian

organ were the prominent sealed crates containing the white crystal.

Overhead harnesses of color-coded cables formed a ceiling design before

they disappeared through conduits to unknown destinations.

Thyrol led the way to the large rectangle containing the shattered

remains of the crystal manual.

»How, in the name of all that´s holy, did he manage that?«

Killashandra demanded after surveying the damage. Some of the smaller

crystals had been reduced to thin splinters. In idle wonder she picked up a

handful of the shards, letting them trickle through her fingers, ignoring

Thyrol´s cry of alarm as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands back.

The tiny cuts inflicted by the scalpel-sharp crystal briefly oozed droplets

of blood then closed over while Thyrol watched in fascinated horror.

»As you can see, the merest caress of crystal.« She twisted her

hands free of Thyrol´s unexpectedly strong grasp. »Now,« and she spoke more

briskly, looking down at the mess in the bottom of the cabinet, »I´ll need

some tools, some stout fellows, and stouter baskets to remove the debris.«

»An extractor?« Thyrol suggested.

»There isn´t an extractor built on Ballybran or anywhere else that

wouldn´t be sliced to ribbons by crystal shards in suction. No, this has to

be cleaned in a time honored fashion -- by hand.«

»But you . . .«

Killashandra drew herself up. »As a Guildmember, I am not averse to

performing necessary manual tasks.« She paused to let Thyrol appreciate the

difference. She had done more than enough shard-scrapping on Ballybran to

undertake it here on Optheria.

»It is only that security measures -- «

»I would, of course, accept your assistance in the interests of

security.«

Thyrol hastily adjourned to a communication console. »What exactly

do you require, Guildmember?«

She gauged the volume of broken crystal in the cabinet. »Three

strong men with impervometallic bins of approximately ten-kilo volume,

triple-strength face masks, durogloves, fine-wire brushes, and the sort of

small, disposable extractor used by archeologists. We have to be sure to

glean every particle of crystal dust.«

Thyrol´s eyes bugged out a bit over the more bizarre items, but he

repeated her requirements, and then turned up very stiff indeed when he was

subjected to questions by the staff. »Of course, they have to be cleared by

Security, but they are to be here immediately, properly geared to assist

the Guildmember!« He broke off the connection and, his face blotched with

displeasure, turned to Killashandra. »With so much at stake, Guildmember,

you can appreciate our wish to protect you and the organ from further

depredations. If something should happen to the replacement crystal . . .«

Killashandra shrugged. From what she had seen of Optherians, ‘once

bitten, twice shy« described their philosophy. She ran her hand across the

instrument nearest her, glancing around at the rest of the anonymous

equipment. »This is a more complex device than I´d been led to believe.«

She turned and presented a politely inquiring expression to Thyrol.

»Well, ah, that is . . .«

»Come now, Thyrol, I am scarcely connected with the subversives.«

»No, of course not.«

Killashandra diverted Thyrol´s attention from realizing that he had

covertly admitted the existence of an underground organization by turning,

once again, toward the front of the chamber and pointing at the access

panel to the keyboard. »Now the actual keyboard is beyond that panel, so

the right-hand box houses the stops and voicing circuitry. And is that,«

she pointed to the largest unit, »the CPU? The induction modulator and

mixer must be in that left-hand cabinet.«

»You are knowledgeable about organ technology?« Thyrol´s expression

assumed a wary blankness. For the second time since her arrival,

Killashandra perceived empathic emanations from an Optherian: this time a

strong sense of indefinable apprehension and alarm.

»Not as much about organs as I do about interface techniques,

sensory simulators, and synthesizer modulators. Crystal singing requires a

considerably wide range of experience with sophisticated electronic

equipment, you know.«

He obviously didn´t or he wouldn´t have nodded so readily.

Killashandra blessed her foresight in utilizing the sleep-teaching tapes

she had copied from the Athena´s comprehensive data retrieval system. Her

answer reassured Thyrol and the shadow of his fear slowly dissipated.

»Of course there is a double handshake between the program,« and he

tapped the black case by him, »and the composition memory banks.

Composition,« and he walked from one to the other, his hand lightly

brushing the surfaces, »of course leads directly into the recall excitor

stimulator, for that uses the memory symbology of the median individual

member of any audience so that a composition is translated into terms which

have meaning to the auditors. Naturally the subjective experience of a

program for Optherians would differ greatly from the experience a nonhuman

would have.«

»Of course,« Killashandra murmured encouragingly. »And the

information from the crystal manual goes? . . .«

Assuming the pose of a pompous lecturer, Thyrol pointed to the

various units in flow sequence. »Into the synapse carrier encoder and

demodulator multiplexer, both of which feed into the mixer for the sensory

transducer terminal network.« Beaming with pride, he continued, »While the

composition memory bank primarily programs the sensory synthesizer, the

feedback loop controls the sensory attenuator for maximum effectiveness.«

»I see. Keyboard to CPU, direct interface with manual and synapse

carrier encoder, plus the double handshakes.« Killashandra hid her shock --

this emotion manipulator made the equipment at Fuerte look like preschool

toys Talk about a captive audience! Optherian concertgoers hadn´t a chance.

The Optherian organ could produce a total emotional override with a

conditional response unequaled anywhere. And a sufficient gauge of the

audiences´ basic profile could be ascertained by matching ID plates and

census data. Killashandra wondered that FSP permitted any of its citizens

to visit the planet, much less to expose themselves to full-scale emotional

overload at Festival time. »I can see why you´d need many soloists. They´d

be emotionally drained after each performance.«

»We recognized that problem early on-the performer is shielded from

the full effect of the organ in order to retain a degree of objectivity.

And, of course, in rehearsal the transducer system is completely bypassed

and the signals inserted into a systems analyzer. Only the best

compositions are played on the full organ system.«

»Naturally. Tell me, are the smaller organs amplified in this

fashion?«

»The two-manual organs are. We have five of them, the rest are all

single manual with relatively primitive synthesizer attentuator and excitor

capability.«

»Remarkable. Truly remarkable.«

Thyrol was not blind to the implied compliment and looked about to

smile as the outside door opened to admit the work party. Behind them came

three more men, their stance and costume identifying them as security. The

work party stopped along the wall while the security trio tramped stolidly

down to where Thyrol and Killashandra stood by the sensory feedback

transponder.

»Elder Thyrol, Security Leader Blaz needs to know what disposition

is to be made of the debris.« He saluted, ignoring Killashandra´s presence.

»Bury it deep. Preferably encapsulated in some permaform. Sea

trench would be ideal,« Killashandra answered and was ignored by the

security leader, who continued to look for an answer from Thyrol. Abruptly

Killashandra´s captious temper erupted. She slammed her right hand into the

leader´s shoulder, forcefully turning toward her. »Alternatively, insert it

in your anal orifice,« she said, her voice reasonable and pleasant.

With a wave of astounded gasps sounding in her ear, she made her

exit.

Chapter 7

As Killashandra started across the stage to retrace her steps to the

Complex, she decided that that was the last place she wanted to go in her

state of mind After all, Trag had chosen her because she could be more

diplomatic than Borella. Not that Borella mightn´t have handled that

security fardle-face with more tact, or effectiveness. However, the

Optherians were stuck with her and she with them, and just then she didn´t

wish to see one more sanctimonious, self-righteous, smug Optherian face.

She strode to the edge of the stage, peered over at the ten-foot

drop to the ground, saw the heavy doors at each end of that level and made

her decision. She lay at the edge, swung her legs down, gripping the

overhang, and let go.

Her knees took the jar and she leaned against the wall for a moment

just as she heard the men emerge from the organ room.

»She´ll have gone back to the Complex, ‘ Thyrol said, breathless

with anger. He hurried across the stage, followed by the others. »Simcon,

if you have offended the Guildmember, you may have jeopardized far more

than you have protected . . .« The heavy door closed off the rest of his

reprimand.

Somewhat mollified by Thyrol´s attitude and pleased with her timely

evasion, Killashandra dusted off her hands and moved toward the clearly

marked exit door at the outer edge of the amphitheater. Even the soft sound

of the brushing was echoed by the fine acoustics. Grimacing. Killashandra

stepped as cautiously and as silently as she could toward the exit. The

heavy door had the usual push-bar on the inside, which she depressed,

holding her breath lest it be locked from a control point. The bar swung

easily out. She opened it only wide enough to permit her egress and it

closed with a thunk behind her. Its exterior was without handle or knob for

reentry and a flange protected it from being forced open -- if such a

circumstance ever arose on perfect Optheria.

Killashandra now found herself on a long ledge which led to one of

the switchback paths she had seen yesterday, though this one was at the

rear of the Complex. From that height she had a view of an unpretentious

area of the City, to judge by the narrow streets and the small single-story

buildings crowded together. Between it and the Complex heights lay a

stretch of cultivated plots, each planted with bushy climbing plants and

fenced off from its neighbors, and most of them neat. In several, people

were busily watering and hoeing in the early morning sunlight. A rural

scene served as a restorative to Killashandra´s exacerbated nerves.

She began her descent.

As she reached the valley floor, her nose was assailed by the

unmistakable aroma of fermenting brew. Delighted, Killashandra followed the

odor, squeezing past an old shed, traversing the narrow path between

allotments, nodding polite greetings to the gardeners who paused in their

labors to regard her with astonishment. Well, she was wearing a costume

which marked her as alien to Optheria, but surely these people had

encountered aliens before. The aroma lured her on. If it tasted half as

good as it smelled, it would be an improvement on the Bascum brew. Of

course it could be Bascum, for breweries were often situated in suburbs

where the fumes would not irritate the fastidious.

She reached the dirt road that served as main artery for the

settlement, deserted at that morning hour except for some small,

peculiar-looking animals basking in the sun. She was aware of being

watched, but as that was only to be expected, she continued her inspection

of the unprepossessing buildings facing the road. The brew-smell continued

to permeate the air but intensified to her right. Common sense indicated

that the wide gray structure on the far side of the road some thousand

meters away was probably the source. She headed there.

As she walked she heard doors and windows open behind her, marking

her passage to her objective. She permitted herself a small smile of

amusement. Human nature did not change and anything new and unusual would

be marked in a society as dull and repressed as she suspected Optheria´s

was.

The brew-smell was almost overpowering by the time she reached the

gray building. An exhaust fan was extracting the air from the roof, its

motor laboring. Although there was no sign or legend on the building to

indicate its purpose, Killashandra was not deterred. A locked front door,

however, did pose an obstacle. She rapped politely and repeated her knock

when it brought no immediate response. Thumping on the door also produced

no results, and Killashandra felt determination replace courtesy.

Was brewing illegal in Optheria´s largest city? Or could it be

brewing without due license? After all, Bascum originated on Optheria and

might have a monopoly. To be sure, she hadn´t paid much attention to what

plants were being so carefully tended in the gardens. Home industry?

Thwarting the ever vigilant and repressive Elders?

Quickly she stepped around the building and toward its rear, hoping

to find a window. She caught a glimpse of a running juvenile body and heard

it raise its voice in warning. So she raced around the corner to find the

rear doors folded back on a scene of much industry as men and women

supervised the bottling of a brew from an obviously improvised vat. The

young messenger took one look at her and fled, ducking down the nearest

alley.

»May a thirsty stranger to this planet have a sample of your brew?

I´m perishing for lack of a decent glass.«

Killashandra could, when she exerted herself, be smoothly charming

and ingratiating. She´d played the part often enough. She glanced from one

stony expression to the next, holding her smile.

»I´ll tell you it was some shock to discover this planet doesn´t

import anything spirituous or fermented.«

»Shuttle got in yesterday,« someone in the group said.

»Too early for tourists.«

»Those clothes aren´t local.«

»Nor island.«

»I´m not a tourist,« Killashandra inserted in the terse comments.

»I´m a musician.«

»Come to see the organ, have you?« The man´s voice was so rich in

contempt, disapproval, cynical skepticism, and malicious amusement that

Killashandra tried hard to spot him in the hostile group.

»If I can judge by my reception above, that sour lot permits few

favors. A body really needs a brew here.« Again she fortified her smile

with winning charm. And licked dry lips.

Later, in reviewing the scene at her leisure, Killashandra decided

that it might have been that unconscious reflex that won her case. The next

thing she knew an uncapped bottle was thrust at her. She reached to her

belt pouch for the Optherian coins she had acquired on the Athena but was

curtly told to leave off. Money didn´t buy their brew.

Although some had turned back to their job, most watched while she

took her first sip. It was rich despite its clandestine manufacture,

slightly cool, undoubtedly improved by a proper chilling but superior to

the Bascum and almost on a par with Yarran.

»Your brewmaster wouldn´t happen to be of Yarra origin?« she asked.

»What do you know of Yarra?« Once again the question was posed

anonymously though Killashandra thought the speaker was on her left, near

the vat.

»They make the best beer in the Federated Sentient Planets. Yarran

brewmasters have the best reputation in the Galaxy.«

A rumble of approval greeted this. She could feel the tension ease

though the work continued at the same swift pace. Above the rattle of

bottles, and the noise of crating the full containers, Killashandra heard a

gasping wheeze to her right, on the roadway, and then a dilapidated

vehicle, its sides scarred and rusting, pulled up to the open door.

Immediately crates were loaded into it, Killashandra helping, for

she´d finished her bottle and wondered how she could wheedle another,

others, from them. Thirst properly quenched, she´d find it easier to deal

with the reproaches of Thyrol and the others. No sooner had the load bed

been filled than the vehicle moved off and another, equally disreputable,

slid into its place. Of course this patently unauthorized operation proved

conclusively to Killashandra that the population of Optheria had not all

stagnated. But how much of a minority did they constitute? And did any of

them actually wish to leave Optheria! Some people enjoy thwarting their

elected/established/appointed governments out of perversity rather than

disloyalty or dislike.

When the third transport had been loaded, only a few crates

remained. And the vat and its attendant paraphernalia had been dismantled

and reassembled in different form entirely. Killashandra gave the brewers

full marks for ingenuity.

»You expect a search?«

»Oh yes. Can´t mask brewing completely, you know,« said a

sun-wrinkled little man with a twinkle in his eye. He offered Killashandra

a second bottle, gesturing to the loaded vehicle in explanation of his

generosity.

As she inadvertently glanced in the same direction, Killashandra

noticed that his workers, each laden with a crate, were disappearing up and

down the street and into the alleys. Just audible was an odd siren. He

cocked his head at the sound and grinned.

»I´d take that with me, were I you. Won´t help you to be found in

my disreputable company.«

»You´ll be making another batch soon?« Killashandra asked

wistfully.

»Now that I couldn´t say.« He winked. The siren became more

insistent and louder. He began to fold over the doors.

»What´s the quickest way back to the City?«

»Over two ranks and then to your left.« He closed the last lap of

the door behind him and she heard the firm click of the lock.

The vehicle with the siren was moving at a good clip so

Killashandra made rapid progress in the direction the brewer had indicated.

She had just reached the next parallel road when she heard the sound of air

brakes engaging and considerable shouting. She ducked around the corner and

was on another deserted block. When she heard the pounding of booted feet,

she realized that she might not have time to explain her possession of the

illegally brewed beer if she was caught out on the streets.

The first door she approached was locked and her quick rap met with

no response. The second door was jerked open just as she got to it. She

needed no urging to step into the sanctuary. Indeed, not a moment too soon

for the searchers came pounding around the corner and stormed past the

door.

»That was a bit foolish, if you ask me,« said the woman beside her

in a hoarse accusation. »You may be an alien but that wouldn´t matter to

them did they apprehend you down here.« She gestured for Killashandra to

follow her to the rear of the little house. »You must have some thirst to

go roaming about Gartertown in search of quenching. There are places which

legally serve drink, you know.«

»I didn´t, but if you could tell me -- «

»Not that the hours you can drink are that convenient, and our

brew´s superior to anything out of the Bascum. The water, you know! This

way.«

Killashandra paused because a crate of the illegal bottling was

sitting in the middle of the floor of the rear room, right by a section of

flooring which had been removed.

»Give me a hand, would you? They might do a house-to-house if

they´re feeling particularly officious.«

Killashandra willingly complied and, when the crate was stored, the

section replaced, the hiding place was indistinguishable.

»Don´t like to rush a body´s enjoyment of a brew, but . . . .«

Killashandra would have preferred to savor the second bottle, but

she downed it in three long swallows. The woman took the empty and chucked

it toward the disposal. With a loud crunch the evidence was disposed of.

Killashandra drew her fingers down the corners of her mouth, and then

belched yeastily.

The woman took a position by her door, ear to the panel, listening

intently. she jumped back just as the door swung in wide enough to admit a

fall figure.

»They were recalled,« the man said. »And there´s some sort of

search going on in the City -- « He broke off then because he had turned

and caught sight of Killashandra standing in the doorway.

She was as motionless with surprise as he for she recognized him,

by garb and stance, as the young man from the infirmary corridor. He

recovered first while Killashandra was considering the advisability of

dissembling.

»You´re making this far too easy,« he said cryptically, striding up

to her. Surprised, she saw only his fist before a stunning blackness

overcame her.

She roused the first time, aware of a stuffy atmosphere, the

soreness of her jaw, and that her hands and feet were tied. She groaned,

and before she could open her eyes, she felt a sudden pressure on her arm

and her senses reeled once more back into unconsciousness.

She was still tied when she woke the second time, with an awful

taste in her mouth and the tang of salt in her nostrils. She could hear the

hiss of wind and the slap of water not far from her ears. Cautiously she

opened her eyes a slit. She was on a boat, all right, in an upper berth in

a small cabin. She was aware of another presence in the room but dared not

signal her consciousness by sound or movement. Her jaw still ached though

not, she thought, as much as on her previous awakening. Whatever drug they

had given her was compounded with a muscle relaxant, for she felt

exceedingly limp. So why did they bother to keep her bound?

She heard footsteps approaching the cabin and controlled her

breathing to the slow regularity of the sleeper just as an outer hatch was

flung open. Spray beaded her face. A warm spray so that her muscles did not

betray her.

»No sign?«

»No. See for yourself. Hasn´t moved a muscle. You didn´t give her

too much, did you? Those singers have different metabolisms.«

The inquisitor snorted. »Not that different, no matter what she

said about alcoholic intake.« Amusement rippled in his voice as he

approached the bed. Killashandra forced herself to remain limp though anger

began to boil away the medically induced tranquillity as she reacted to the

fact that she, a member of the Heptite Guild, a crystal singer, had been

kidnapped. On the other hand, her kidnapping seemed to indicate that not

everyone was content to remain on Optheria. Or did it?

Strong fingers gripped her chin, the thumb pressing painfully on

the bruise for a moment, before the fingers slid to the pulse-beat in her

throat. She kept her neck muscles lax to permit this handling. Feigning

unconsciousness might result in unguarded explanations being exchanged over

her inert body. And she needed some before she made her move.

»That was some crack you fetched her, Lars Dahl. She won´t

appreciate the bruise.«

»She´ll have too much on her mind to worry about something so

minor.«

»Are you sure this scheme is going to work, Lars?«

»It´s the first break we´ve had, Prale. The Elders won´t be able to

fix the organ without a crystal singer. And they´ve got to. So they must

apply again to the Heptite Guild to replace this one, and that will require

explanations, and that will bring FSP investigators to this planet. And

there´s our chance to make the injustice known.«

What about the injustice you did me? Killashandra wanted to shout.

Instead she twitched with anger. And gave herself away.

»She´s coming round. Hand me the syringe.«

Killashandra opened her eyes, about to argue for her freedom when

she felt the pressure that brooked no argument.

Her final awakening was not at all what she had been expecting. A

balmy breeze rippled across her body. Her hands were untied and she was no

longer on a comfortable surface. Her mouth tasted more vile than ever, and

her head ached. She controlled herself once more, trying to sort out the

sounds that reached her ears. Wind soughing. Okay. A rolling noise? Ocean

waves breaking on shore line not far away. The smells that accosted her

nostrils were as varied as the wind and wave, subtle musty floral

fragrances, rotten vegetation, dry sand, fish, and other smells which she´d

identify later. Of human noises or presences she had no input.

She opened her eyes a fraction and it was dark. Encouraged, she

widened her vision. She was lying on her back on a woven mat. Sand had

blown onto it, gritty against her bare skin, under her head. Overhead,

trees bent their fronds, one sweeping against her shoulder in a gentle

caress. Cautiously she lifted her torso, propping herself up on one elbow.

She was no more than ten meters from the ocean, but the high-tide mark was

safely between her and the sea, to judge by the debris pushed into an

uneven line along the sand.

Islanders? What had Ampris said about the islanders. That they´d

had to be disciplined out of autonomous notions? And the young man of the

corridor who had assailed her. He had been suntanned. That was why his skin

was so dark in comparison to the other onlookers.

Killashandra looked around her for any sign of human habitation,

knowing that there wouldn´t be any. She had been abandoned on the island.

Kidnapped and abandoned. She got up, absently brushing the sand off her as

she swung about, fighting her conflicting emotions. Kidnapped and

abandoned! So much for the prestige of the Heptite Guild on these backward

planets. So much for another of Lanzecki´s off-world assignments!

Why hadn´t she left a message for Corish?

Chapter 8

Killashandra grimaced as she crossed off yet another week on the immense

tree under which she had erected her shelter.

She sheathed the knife again and involuntarily scanned the horizon

in all directions, for her polly tree dominated the one elevation on the

island. Once again she saw distant sails to the northeast, the orange of

the triangles brilliant against the sky.

»May their masts snap in a squall and their bodies rot in the briny

deep!« she muttered and then kicked at the thick trunk of the tree. »Why

don´t you ever fish in my lagoon?«

Morning and night she threw in her hook and line and was rewarded

by wriggling fish. Some she had learned to throw back, for their flesh was

either inedibly tough or tasteless. The small yellowbacks were the sweetest

and seemed to throw themselves with selfless sacrifice on her hook.

The bronzed young man had not stranded her without equipment. When

dawn had come on that bleak first day, she had discovered hatchet, knife,

hooks, line, net, emergency rations in vacuum pack, and an illustrated

pamphlet on the resources of the ubiquitous polly tree. She had cast that

contemptuously to one side until boredom set in three days later.

For someone who had been as active as Killashandra, enforced

idleness was almost a crippling punishment. To pass the time she had

retrieved the pamphlet and read it through, then decided to see if she

could make something out of this so-universal plant. She had already

noticed that many of the tree´s multiple trunks had had satellite trunks

removed at an early age. Her manual said that these were cut for the tender

heart or the soft pith. both nutritious. Was the locals´ interference with

»nature« one of the reasons for their discipline by the mainland?

And how far away was the mainland? She couldn´t even hazard a guess

as to how long she had been unconscious. More than a day, at the least. She

wished she´d studied the geography of Optheria more closely, for she

couldn´t even guess at the location of her island on the planet´s surface.

In her first days, she had prowled the island´s perimeter ceaselessly, for

there were neighboring ones tantalizingly visible even though they were

also small. Hers at least boasted a bubbling spring that flowed from its

rocky source mid-island into the lagoon. And, if she could trust her

judgment, hers was the largest in the cluster.

Before she immersed herself in polly tree studies, she had swum to

the nearest of the group. Plenty of polly trees but no water. And beyond

that islet more were scattered in careless abundance across the clear

aquamarine sea -- some large enough to support only a single tuft of polly

trees so she had returned to her island, the best of a bad lot.

Working with her hands and for a varied diet did not prevent

Killashandra from endless speculations about her situation. She had been

kidnapped for a purpose -- to force an investigation of Optherian

restrictions. The FSP, much less her own Guild, would not tolerate such an

outrage. If -- and here her brief knowledge of the Optherians let her down

-- the Optherians admitted to FSP and the Heptite Guild that she had been

abducted.

Still, the Elders needed an operative organ by the time of the

Summer Festival, and to do that they needed a crystal singer to make the

installation. The crystal they had, but surely they wouldn´t attempt such a

delicate job. Well, it wasn´t that delicate, Killashandra knew, but the

crystal would prove difficult if not handled properly. So, grant that the

Optherians would be searching for her, would they think to search on the

islands? Would the islanders be in contact with the Ruling Elders about the

terms of her ransom? If so, would the extortion be successful?

Probably not, Killashandra thought, until the Ruling Elders had

abandoned any hope of finding her within the next two months. Of course,

that could throw their timetable off. It would take nearly three months for

a replacement Guild Member to reach Optheria, even if the Optherians

admitted the loss of the one already dispatched to them. On her own part,

she´d be stark raving lunatic if she was left on this island for several

months. And if the Optherians acquired another singer to install their

wretched white crystal, that didn´t mean that they´d continue their efforts

to find her!

After much deliberation, silent as well as vocal, Killashandra

decided that the smart thing to do was rescue herself. Her kidnapper had

overlooked a few small points, the most important of which was that she

happened to be a very strong swimmer with lungs well developed from singing

opera and crystal. Physically, too, she was immensely fit. She could swim

from island to island until she found one that was inhabited, one from

which she could be rescued. Unless all the islanders were in on this

insidious kidnap scheme.

The hazards that she must overcome were only two: lack of water was

one, but she felt that she could refresh herself sufficiently from the

polly fruit -- the tree flourished on all the islands she could see. Too,

the larger denizens of the sea constituted a real problem. Some of them,

cruising beyond her lagoons, looked deadly dangerous, with their pointed,

toothy snouts, or their many wire-fine tentacles which seemed to have an

affinity for the same yellowback fish she favored. She had spent enough

time watching them to know that they generally fed at dawn and dusk. So, if

she made her crossings at midday, when they were dormant, she thought she

had a fairly good chance to avoid adding herself to their diet.

Three weeks on the island was long enough! She had a few of the

emergency food packets left and they would be unharmed by a long immersion.

Following the directions in her useful little pamphlet, she had

made several sturdy lengths of rope from the coarse fiber of the polly

tree, with which she could secure the hatchet to her body. Her original

clothing was down to shreds which she sewed with lengths of the tough stem

into a halter and a loin cloth. By then she had become as tan as her

abductor and was forced to use some of the oilier fishes to grease her hide

for protection. She would coat herself thoroughly before each leg of her

swim to freedom.

Having made her decision, Killashandra implemented it the next day

at noon, swimming to her first destination in less than an hour´s time. She

rested while she made up her mind which island of the seven visible would

be next. She found herself constantly returning to the one farthest north.

Well, once there, none were far away if she decided she´d overshot the

right line to take.

She made that island by mid-afternoon, dragging herself up onto the

narrow shore, exhausted. Then she discovered some of the weak points in her

plans: there weren´t many ripe polly fruits on the island; and fish

wouldn´t bite on her hook that evening.

Because she found too few fruits, she was exceedingly thirsty by

morning and chose her next point of call by the polly population. The

channel between was dark blue, deep water, and twice she was startled by

dimly seen large shapes moving beneath her. Both times she floated face

down, arms and legs motionless, until the danger summoned by her flailing

limbs had passed.

She rested on this fourth island all the rest of that day and the

next one, replenishing her dehydrated tissues and trying to catch an oily

fish. To her dismay, she could only attract the yellowbacks. Eventually she

had enough of them to provide some oil for her raddled skin.

On her voyage to the fifth island, a fair sized one, she had her

worst fright. Despite the sun´s being at high noon, she found herself in

the midst of a school of tiny fish that was being harvested by several

mammoth denizens. At one point she was briefly stranded on a creature´s

flank when it unexpectedly surfaced under her. She didn´t know whether to

swim furiously for the distant shore or lie motionless, but before she

could make a decision the immense body swirled its torpedo tail in the air

and sounded. Killashandra was pulled under by the fierce turbulence of its

passage, and she swallowed a good deal more water than she liked before she

returned to the surface.

As soon as she clambered up on the fifth island, she headed for the

nearest ripe polly fruit only to discover that she had lost her hatchet,

the last packets of emergency rations, and the fish hooks. She slaked her

thirst on overripe polly fruit, ignoring the rank taste for the sake of the

moisture. That need attended to, she gathered up enough dry fronds to

cushion her body, and went to sleep.

She woke sometime in the night, thirsting for more of the overripe

fruit which she hunted in the dark, cursing as she tripped over debris and

fell into bushes, staggering about in her search until she had to admit to

herself that her behavior was somewhat bizarre. About the same time she

realized that she was drunk! The innocent polly fruit had been fermenting!

Given her Ballybran adaptation, the state could only have been allowed by

her weakened constitution. Giggling, she lay down on the ground, impervious

to sand or discomfort and fell into a second drunken sleep.

Much the worse for her various excesses, Killashandra awoke with a

ghastly headache and a terrible need for water. Number five was a much

larger island than her other way stops and she was searching so diligently

to relieve her thirst that she almost passed the little canoe without its

registering on her consciousness.

It was only a small canoe, pulled up beyond the high tide mark, a

paddle angling from the narrow prow. At another time and without her urgent

need, Killashandra would not have ventured out on the open sea in such a

flimsy craft. But someone had already brought it from wherever they came so

it could as easily convey her elsewhere, too. Her need for water diminished

by this happy discovery, Killashandra climbed the nearest polly tree and,

hanging precariously to the ridged trunk, managed to saw through several

stems with her short knife blade.

She didn´t waste time then, but threw the fruit into the small

craft, slid it into the gentle waves, and paddled down thc coast as fast as

she could, just in case the owner should return and demand the return of

his canoe.

While she no longer needed to wait until noon to cross to the next

island in her northern course, Killashandra´s previous day´s fright made

her cautious. She keenly felt the loss of her hatchet. But good fortune

continued to surprise her for, as she paddled around a narrow headland, she

spotted the unmistakable sign of a small stream draining into the sea. She

could even paddle a short way up its mouth and did so, pausing to scoop up

a handful of sweet water before she jumped out of the canoe and pulled it

out of sight under the bushes. Then she lay down by the water and drank

until she was completely sated.

By evening, just before the sun suddenly settled below the horizon

in the manner characteristic of tropical latitudes, she stood out on the

headland, deciding which of the island masses she would attempt to reach

the next day. The nearest ones were large, by comparison, but the distant

smudge lay long against the horizon. The water lapped seductively over her

toes and she decided that she had fooled around with the minor stuff long

enough. With the canoe, a fair start in the morning, and plenty of fruit in

her little craft, she could certainly make the big island, however distant.

She had the foresight to weave herself a sun hat, with a fishtail

down her back to prevent sunstroke, for she wouldn´t have the cooling water

about her as she had while swimming. She had no experience with currents or

riptides, nor had she considered the possibility of sudden squalls

interrupting her journey. Those she encountered halfway across the deep

blue stretch of sea to the large island.

She was so busy trying to correct her course while the current

pulled her steadily south that she was unaware of the squall until it

pelted against her sunburned back. The next thing she knew she was waist

deep in water. How the canoe stayed afloat at all, she didn´t know. Bailing

was a futile exercise but it was the only remedy she had. Then suddenly she

felt the canoe sinking with her and, in a panic lest she be pulled down,

she swam clear, and had no way to resist the insidious pull of the current.

Once again the stubborn survival instinct came to Killashandra´s

aid, and wisely she ceased struggling against the current and the run of

the waves, and concentrated on keeping her head above water. She was still

thrashing her arms when her legs grated against a hard surface. She crawled

out of the water and a few more meters from the pounding surf before

oblivion overcame her.

Familiar sounds and familiar smells penetrated her fatigue and

allowed her to enjoy the pangs of thirst and hunger once again. Awareness

of her surroundings gradually increased and she roused to the sound of

human voices raised in a happy clamor somewhere nearby. She sat up and

found herself on one end of a wide curving beach of incredible beauty, on a

harbor sheltering a variety of shipping. A large settlement dominated the

center of the harbor, with commercial buildings at the center gradually

giving way to residences and a broad promenade that paralleled the beach

before retreating into the polly plantations.

For a long time Killashandra could only sit and stare at the scene,

rendered witless by her great good fortune. And then not at all sure what

her next step should be. To arrive, announcing her rank and title,

demanding transport back to the City? How many people had been privy to her

abduction? An island weapon had made the first assault against her. She had

better go cautiously. She had better act circumspectly.

Yes, indeed she should, she realized as she stood up and found

herself without a shred of clothing on her body. Nudity might not be

appreciated here. She was too far away to notice how much or how little

clothing the happy group on her side of the bay was wearing. So she would

get close enough to discover.

She did that with little trouble, and also discovered abandoned

clothing, shirts and long, full skirts of decoratively painted polly fiber

as well as undecorated underskirts. So she took several of those, picking

from different piles, and a conservatively marked shirt and dressed

herself. She also filched several packets of food, spoiling someone´s

picnic lunch but filling the void in her belly. No footwear had been left

on the beach, so she concluded that bare feet would not be distinctive and

her soles were sufficiently callused now not to trouble her. The off-white

of her underskirts set off the fine brown of her tanned skin.

She tucked her knife under the waistband, then set off on the

well-marked path toward the main settlement.

Chapter 9

What Killashandra required most was a credit outlet. She would need more

clothing -- a proper, decorated overdress -- if she was to blend in with

the islanders. As well, she needed some sort of accommodation and enough

credit to get her back to the mainland or wherever the City was located.

None of the commercial buildings facing thc harbor appeared to have

credit outlets, though all had intake units. One of them had to, or this

planet was more backward than she´d previously thought. Every inhabited

planet utilized the standard credit facilities.

She had a bit of a fright, too, while she was making her initial

reconnaissance -- the sight of herself in a reflective surface. Sun had

streaked the top layer of her dark hair almost blonde, had bleached her

eyebrows to nonexistence. This, plus the deep brown of her tan, altered her

appearance so that she had almost not recognized herself. The whites and

the intense green of her eyes with the filtering lenses were emphasized by

the tan and dominated her face. The exertions of the last few days had

thinned all the flesh which she had acquired with easy living on the

voyage. She was as gaunt as if she´d been in the Crystal Ranges for weeks.

Furthermore she felt like she had. Why was it, when she was tired, she

still felt the crystal surging through her bones?

There was only one other building on the waterfront, set off a

little from the others, looking rather more prosperous. A factor´s

residence? She made for it, having little choice, ignoring the covert

glances of the few pedestrians. Was the community so small that any

stranger was remarkable? Or was it indeed her lack of the proper attire

that occasioned their scrutiny?

She recognized the building´s function as soon as she climbed the

short flight of stairs to the wide verandah which surrounded all four

sides. The smell of stale beer and spirits was manifest, as well as a

burned-vegetable odor, pungent and not altogether unpleasant. It was always

good to know where the brew was served.

The main room of the tavern was empty and dark and, despite the sea

breezes wafting through, stank of a long night´s drinking. Chairs were

neatly piled on the tables, the floor had been swept and glistened wetly to

one side, where mop and pail propped open a door. She gave the room a

sweeping glance, which stopped at the reassuring shape of a credit outlet.

Hoping she could make her transaction in private, she glided across

the floor on her bare feet. Slipping her I.D. under the visiplate, she

tapped out a modest credit demand. The sound of the outlet´s whirring and

burping was unnaturally loud in the deserted room. She grabbed the credit

notes, compressing them quickly into a wad in one hand while she tapped out

the security code that would erase the transaction from all but the central

credit facility on the planet.

»Ya wanted something?« An unshaven face peered around the half-open

door.

»I got it,« Killashandra said, ducking her head and making a speedy

exit before she could be detained.

While this island town had more in the way of merchandise

establishments that catered to fishermen and planters, she had marked the

soft goods store in her search for the credit outlet. It was unoccupied and

automated so that she didn´t need to manufacture explanations to a

salesperson. It only struck her then that in none of the shops on the

waterfront had she seen human attendants. She shrugged it off as another

island oddity. She bought two changes of the brightly decorated, and rather

charmingly patterned, outer garments, additional underskirts -- for custom

apparently demanded a plethora of female skirts -- sandals of plaited polly

tree fiber, a matching belt and pouch, and a carisak of a similar

manufacture. She also got some toilet articles and a tube of moisturizing

cream for her dry skin.

The little shop boasted a rather archaic information unit, a

service Killashandra needed almost as badly as credit. She dialed first for

hostel information and was somewhat daunted by the fact that all the listed

facilities were closed until the Season. Well, she´d slept on island

beaches for nearly four weeks and come to no harm. She queried about eating

places and found that these also were closed until the Season. Irritated

because she didn´t wish to spend time gathering food in a large settlement,

she tapped out a request for transport facilities.

Quite an astonishing variety of ships were available for charter:

for fishing, pleasure cruising, and underwater assisted exploration »with

requisite official permits. Travel documents are required for passengers or

cargo. Apply Harbor Master.«

»Which I can´t do until I know more about this place,« Killashandra

muttered as a stately woman entered the premises. »And how many in sympathy

with my kidnappers.«

»Did you find all you needed?« the woman said in a liquidly melodic

voice, her large and expressive brown eyes showing concern.

»Yes, yes, I did,« Killashandra said, surprised into a nervous

response.

»I´m so glad. We don´t have much here yet. No call, with everyone

making their own, and the Season not started.« She tilted her head, her

long thick braid falling over her shoulder. Her fingers moved to check the

position of the blossom twisted into the end of the plait. Her smile was

luminous. »You´ve not been here before?« The question was asked in such a

gentle voice that it was almost a statement of fact and not an intrusion on

Privacy.

»I just came in from one of the outer islands.«

»That´s lonely.« The woman nodded gently.

»Lost my canoe in that squall, » Killashandra said and began to

embroider slightly. »Came ashore with nothing to my name but my I.D.« She

flashed her left wrist at the woman who nodded once again.

»If you´re hungry, I´ve fresh fish and greens, and there´s

whiteroot to make a good fry.«

»No, I couldn´t,« Killashandra began, even as her mouth was

watering. When the woman tilted her head again, a broad smile spreading

across her serene features, Killashandra added, »But I certainly would

appreciate it.«

»My name is Keralaw. My man is mate on the Crescent Moon, been gone

four weeks and I do miss company.« She rolled her eyes slightly, her grin

twisting upward another fraction of an inch so that Killashandra knew very

well what Keralaw missed.

»My name is Carrigana.« Killashandra suppressed her amusement; the

former owner of that name would be livid at her presumption.

Keralaw led her to the back of the shop, through the storage

section to the living quarters in the rear: a small catering area, a small

toilet room, and a large living room that was open on three sides, screened

against the depredations of insects. The furnishings consisted of low

tables, many pillows. and hammocks secured to bolts in the ceiling. Of the

modern accoutrements there was only a small screen, blank, with a fine

coating of dust and a very primitive terminal. On the one solid wall hung a

variety of spears, their barbed heads differing in design and weight, a

small stringed instrument, a hand drum that looked well used, four wooden

pipes of different lengths and circumferences, and an ancient tambourine,

its trailing ribbons sun-faded to shades of gray and beige.

Keralaw led her through this room, out the screened door to the

rear and to a stone hearth. Checking the position of the sun over her

shoulder, Keralaw altered the arrangement of a mirror and a bright metal

sheet to her satisfaction and began to arrange the fish and white root on

the sheet.

»Won´t be long with the sun right in position. Beer or juice?«

»Island brewed?«

»Best there is.« Keralaw´s smile was proud. She went to the heavy

bushes growing beyond the solar hearth and, pushing them aside, disclosed a

dull gray container a meter high and half that wide. Lifting its heavy

insulated lid, she extracted two beaded bottles.

»Been a long time dry,« Killashandra said, receiving her chilled

bottle with considerable anticipation. She flipped back the stopper and

took a swallow.

»Whhhhoooee but it´s good.« And it was-the equal of a Yarran! But

Killashandra stopped herself from making that comparison aloud just in

time, smiling instead at Keralaw.

Already the sun was broiling their lunch and the smell was a

suitable accompaniment to the taste of the cool beer. Killashandra began to

relax. Keralaw tossed the greens into a wooden bowl, slipped two wooden

platters to the hearth side, along with two-tined forks and knives with

intricately carved handles accentuating the natural dark grain of the wood,

and divided the now completed meal.

»That was what I needed most,« Killashandra said, closing her eyes

in a sincere appreciation for the simple but satisfying meal. »I´ve been

living too long off the polly tree!«

Keralaw chuckled fruitily. »You and your man farming? Or are you

fishing for the gray?«

Killashandra hesitated, wondering what cover story wouldn´t become

an embarrassment later. She felt a curious reluctance to mislead Keralaw.

Keralaw reached over and touched Killashandra´s forearm, just the

barest touch, her mobile face suddenly expressionless.

»Don´t need to tell me, woman. I been out in the islands and I know

what can happen to humans out there. Sometimes the credit ain´t worth the

agony getting it. I won´t pry.« Her smile returned. »Not my place to,

anyhow. You picked a good day to land on Angel Island. Schooner´s making

port this evening!«

»It is!« Killashandra picked up the cue to wax enthusiastic.

Keralaw nodded, pleased to surprise. »Beach barbecue and a keg of

beer for sure! That´s why the harbor´s so deserted.« She chuckled again, an

earthy rich laugh. »Even the little ones are out foraging.«

»Everyone contributes to the barbecue?«

Keralaw nodded, her smile wide with anticipation. »How well do you

weave polly?« she asked, tilting her head sideways. When Killashandra

groaned, Keralaw looked sympathetic. »Well, perhaps you cut and strip while

I weave. Chore goes fast in company.«

With fluid gestures, she collected a hatchet hanging from a nail

under the eaves and a large cariall, which she handed to Killashandra. With

a grin and a jerk of her head, she indicated the way.

The expedition suited Killashandra in may ways: Keralaw could

supply her far more information than any terminal, however well programmed,

and the little one in Keralaw´s shop was intended for tourists and had

limited memory. Killashandra could doubtless discover just how closely the

Harbor Master stuck to the letter of the law in granting travel permits.

Just like the Optherians to need to know who went where and when. Though

why they bothered, since their citizens weren´t allowed off the planet,

Killashandra couldn´t see. She also needed more general information about

the islanders and their customs if she was going to pass as one that

evening.

For her purposes, the barbecue couldn´t have come at a better time;

with everyone relaxed by a full belly and plenty of beer, she could

discover more about the islanders´ politics and, just possibly, something

about her abduction.

By the time they had returned from the polly plantation that

evening, both laden with platters and baskets woven at speed by Keralaw´s

deft hands, Killashandra knew a great deal more about island life, and had

tremendous respect for it.

The easygoing gentleness of the style would be abhorrent to the

persnickety mainlanders. In the early days of their subjugation of the

islanders, the mainlanders had even tried to prohibit the use of the polly

tree in their strict adherence to the letter of their Charter. The polly

tree itself worked against the restriction, for it grew with such rapidity

and profusion that pruning back the plantations was absolutely essential.

The casual islander habit of cutting as needed to provide the essentials

for daily life prevented overgrowth. The vigorous polly tree would take

root on even a square meter of soil, which accounted for its proliferation

in the islands.

Killashandra had been hard pressed to cut and strip enough polly

fronds to keep up with Keralaw´s agile weaving but the crystal singer

learned as she watched and, to support her adopted identity, wove a few

baskets herself. The manufacture, which seemed to be easy when one watched

an adept, took considerable manual strength and dexterity, which,

fortunately, Killashandra possessed. Seeing the clever way in which Keralaw

finished off her mats and baskets taught Killashandra the necessary final

touches that spoke of long practice.

As they passed a small freshwater lake on their way back, Keralaw

suddenly dropped her burden, shucked her clothing, and dashed into the

water. Killashandra was quick to follow. Nudity was not, then, a problem.

And the soft water was refreshing after the concentrated work of the day.

The tantalizing aroma of roasting meat reached them as they neared

Keralaw´s dwelling. The rolled her eyes and smacked her lips

appreciatively.

»Mandoll´s the cook!« Keralaw said with satisfaction. »I can smell

his seasoning anywhere in the islands. Porson sure had better catch him a

smacker to go with it. Nothing better than long beef and smacker. Oho, but

we eat good tonight!« She rolled her eyes again in anticipation. »We´ll

drop these off,« and she swung the tangle of baskets on their string, »and

then we get us pretty. A barbecue night´s a good night for Angel Island!«

And she winked broadly at Killashandra, who laughed.

Two barbecue pits had been dug on the beach front. In one a very

long animal carcass was slowly turning over the sizzling coals. Four men

were good-naturedly attempting to raise a massive fish onto the spit

braces, urging each other to greater effort while the onlooking women

taunted them for weakness.

Prominently centered on the beach was a long low table, already

being laid with garlands of flowers, baskets of fruit and other delicacies

which Killashandra couldn´t identify. An immensely plump woman, with a most

luxurious growth of hair spilling down to her knees, greeted Keralaw with

delight, chattering about the quantity and quality of the baskets and

plates, and then fell silent, cocking her head inquiringly at Killashandra.

»Here is Carrigana, Ballala,« Keralaw said, taking Killashandra´s

arm. »In from the outer islands. She wove with me.«

»You picked the right time to come,« Ballala said approvingly. »We

have some good barbecue tonight. Long beef and a smacker!«

Suddenly a siren split the air with a hoot that occasioned loud

cheers from everyone on the beach.

»Schooner´s on the last tack: Be here right quick,« Keralaw said

and then began smoothing her arm in an absent minded way.

Killashandra cast it a quick look -- all the fine hair was standing

up. Killashandra rubbed her own brown arms to deflect comment. But Keralaw

apparently did not notice the phenomenon.

»Come, Carrigana, we must get pretty now.«

Getting pretty meant decorating their hair with the scented flowers

that grew on the low bushes under ancient polly trees. There seemed to be a

community of possessions on Angel Island, for Keralaw visited several back

gardens to find the colors she wanted for her own long tresses. And she had

decided that only the tiny cream flowers would do as a garland for

Killashandra´s head, since Killa´s hair was not long enough to braid.

Keralaw offered to trim the dried ends, tutting over the exigencies that

had deprived Killashandra of so many amenities on her distant island.

Then Keralaw decided that they´d have time to make some wreaths of

the fragrant blossoms. Fortunately Killashandra was able to delay starting

a wreath until she saw how Keralaw began hers and then the two twisted and

tucked the stems in comfortable silence. Eventually, festive sounds drifted

back to their ears from the beach and then cheering broke out.

»Schooner´s in.« Keralaw cried, jumping to her feet, her braids

bouncing their floral tips against her waist. She grabbed Killashandra´s

hand, jerking her up. »Pick yourself a handsome one, Carrigana. Of course,

they´re all handsome on the schooner,« she said with an earthy giggle. »And

away in the morning with no harm done, coming or going.«

Killashandra followed willingly, clutching her wreaths in her hand,

hoping her crude manufacture would not break apart from the jostling.

There could be few sights more impressive than a schooner sailing

effortlessly into the beautiful azure waters of a harbor under an evening

sky rich with sun-tinged clouds, while colorfully dressed and beflowered

people lined the pier and the beach. The odors of a delicious meal

permeated the air and all present were happily anticipating an evening

spent in joyful pursuits -- of all kinds. Killashandra had no wish to

resist the enticements so lavishly available and she cheered as hard as the

rest of the inhabitants of Angel Island as sailors on the yard arms reefed

the sails while the schooner glided toward the pier, and the shoremen

waited to secure the lines tossed to them. She jumped about, yelling at the

top of her lungs, as everyone else was doing, waggling at arm´s length her

wreaths, as seemed to be the custom.

Then, suddenly, out of the crowd two men stood apart, grinning at

the enthusiastic display but not joining in. Killashandra gasped, clutched

the wreaths close to her face and stared, incredulous.

Corish von Mittelstern of the Beta Jungische system, purportedly in

search of his uncle, was standing next to the bronzed young man of the

corridor who had abducted and abandoned her on a miniscule island in the

middle of nowhere!

Even as she reacted to their presence, she saw Corish was glancing

about the crowd. Before she could duck, his gaze touched her face . . . and

passed on without a blink of recognition.

Chapter 10

Shock rooted Killashandra in the sand. She ignored the surge of the

islanders toward the pier, the vanguard already throwing their wreaths

about the disembarking sailors. Fury that Corish didn´t recognize her --

and relief that he didn´t -- warred in her. To judge by his deep tan,

Corish had been in the islands as long as she had. He looked comfortable in

the shorts and sleeveless half-vest that the island men preferred, though

his was modestly decorated. Not so the one Lars Dahl wore, which was thick

with many-hued embroidery.

Common sense quickly tempered her initial strong reactions. She

hadn´t recognized herself in the mirror, why would Corish or Lars Dahl?

Further, neither man could logically have expected to see Killashandra Ree

on the beachfront at Angel Island. She relaxed from the tense half-poised

stance she had assumed.

»Come on, you´ll want to catch a good one,« Keralaw said, tugging

Killashandra by the sleeve. She paused, seeing the objects of

Killashandra´s riveted attention. »Lars Dahl is very attractive, isn´t he?

But he´s committed to the Music Conservatory -- the first Angel Islander to

be admitted!«

»The other one?« Killashandra stood fast, though Keralaw plucked

urgently at her to move.

»Him? He´s been around the last few weeks. A pleasant enough man

but . . .« Keralaw shrugged diffidently. »Come on, now, Carrigana, I want a

live one!«

Now Killashandra permitted herself to be drawn, holding her breath

as first Corish then Lars Dahl looked toward them. When there was still no

sign of recognition from either man, Killashandra grinned, then waggled her

fingers at them and brandished the wreaths invitingly. Lars Dahl smiled

back, gesturing a good-humored rejection of her offer before he renewed his

conversation with Corish.

As Clorish did not turn away, she swung her hips in her best

imitation of a seductress, and cast one last longing look over her shoulder

before Keralaw was hauling her through the crowd toward the approaching

sailors.

Joyfully Keralaw deposited her garlands on a lean, brown-black man

and, with a half-reproachful, half-apologetic glance at Carrigana,

accompanied him toward a distant section of the beach in the gathering

dusk. Other couples had the same idea while many more made for the barbecue

area and the kegs of beer, and jugs of fermented polly fruit in jackets of

woven polly fronds which were now being circulated. Many of the islanders

had paired off, and the disappointed drifted back to the imminent feast,

all still in the best of good spirits.

»What about garlanding me?« a male voice grated in her ear.

Killashandra turned her head toward the speaker, only far enough to

catch the stench of his breath, before she deftly avoided his importunities

with a giggle, slipping past a group of women. He paused there and someone

less fastidious crowned him. Killashandra continued to glide forward and

toward the shadows cast by the polly trees growing above the high tide

line. The joyous sensuality of the islanders amused and frustrated her.

Crystal resonance was slowly abating, and consequently her body´s normal

appetites were returning.

Corish and Lars Dahl were still deep in conversation at the water s

edge. She was level with them now, though shadowed from their notice and

she could observe unobtrusively. She sank to the warm sand, the unused

garlands fragrant in her loose grip. Ignoring the happy roistering at the

barbecue pits, she concentrated on the two men.

What could be of such fascination to them in the midst of all this

jollity? Her original instinct about Corish had been correct: he was an FSP

operative. Unless she was fooling herself and his association with the

impertinent Lars Dahl was a coincidence. She doubted that vigorously. Did

Corish know that Lars Dahl had abducted her? And why? Had Corish taken some

covert part in that kidnapping? Had Corish known who she was? Killashandra

chuckled to herself, amused by the possibility although everything pointed

to Corish having accepted her in the role she had played for him. Then she

thought of how her earlier shipmates had reacted to the knowledge that she

was a crystal singer. She doubted that Corish was less a man, particularly

in his ease on the Athena. who would not make the most of his chances.

Keralaw had said that Lars Dahl was the first Angel Islander to

reach the Music Conservatory. That explained his presence in the infirmary

corridor, and his unconventional clothes, for the islanders appeared to

prefer the browns and tans that emphasized their sunned skins. Why had he

appeared so unexpectedly in Gartertown? Though he certainly maximized his

opportunities. Had the original note of dissatisfaction with Optheria

originated in these islands? That appeared logical, now that she had seen

the different styles and standards, and had heard Elder Ampris´s

disparaging remarks about the islanders´ early rebellion against the

Optherian authoritarianism.

A shout went up by the long beef pit, and people surged toward it,

platters in hand. The aroma was tantalizing and slowly Killashandra rose to

her feet. A full stomach was unlikely to improve her understanding of the

puzzle, but it wouldn´t hinder thought. Corish and Lars Dahl seemed to have

succumbed to the enticement as well.

In that instant, Killashandra decided to approach her problem in a

direct fashion. Altering her direction, she intercepted the two men.

»You´ve had your natter,« she began, mimicking Keralaw´s throaty

drawl and speech pattern, »now enjoy. Angel´s a good island for feasting.«

She flung one garland on Corish, the other about Lars Dahl´s neck, making

her smile as seductive as possible. Before they could respond, though

neither removed her flowers, she linked her arms in theirs and propelled

them toward the pit, grinning from one to the other, daring them to break

away.

Corish shrugged, smiled tolerantly down at her, accepting her

impudence. Lars Dahl, however, covered her hand on his arm and, just then,

their thighs brushed and she lurched against him, abruptly aware of

receiving an intense shock. Startled, she glanced up at Lars Dahl, his face

illuminated by the pit fires, his lazy smile appreciating the contact shock

they had both felt. His long fingers curled tightly around hers with a hint

of possessiveness. His blue eyes sparkled as his gaze challenged her. His

arm fastened hers to his smooth warm waist as Killashandra candidly

returned his glance. He sidestepped suddenly, pulling Killashandra with him

so that she had to drop Corish´s arm.

»I´ve certainly done enough talking,« he said, grinning more

broadly at the success of his maneuver and maneuvering. »Corish find

yourself another one. You´re mine, aren´t you, Sunny?«

Corish gave a slightly contemptuous snort but continued on while

Lars Dahl stopped, swinging Killashandra into a strong embrace, his hands

caressing her back, settling into her waist to hold her firmly against him

as he bent his head. The flowers were crushed between them, their fragrance

spilling into her senses. With an inadvertent gesture of acceptance.

Killashandra´s hands slid up his bare warm chest, her fingers caressing the

velvet skin, taking note of the strong pectoral muscles, the column of his

throat. His lips tasted salty, but firm, parting hers as he settled his

mouth against her, and once again the shock of their contact was almost

like . . . crystal. Hungrily Killashandra surrendered to his deft kiss,

trying to meld her body against the strong, lean length of him. She altered

her arms, stroking the silky skin of his hard-muscled back, all her senses

involved in this simple act.

They parted slightly, his hands still caressing her, one hand on

the bare skin beneath her shirt as she gently stroked his shoulders,

breathless and unable to leave his supporting arms. If his embrace had

begun as perfunctory, it wasn´t now. There was about his grasp a sense of

astonishment, wonder, and discovery.

»I must know your name,« he said softly, tipping her chin up to

look into her eyes.

»Carrigana,« she managed to remember to say.

»Why have I never seen you before?«

»You have,« she said with a rich, suggestive chuckle, amused by her

own presumption, »but you are always too busy with deep thoughts to see

what you look at.«

»I am all eyes now . . . Carrigana.« A slight tremor in his soft

tone sent one through her body, as his hands renewed their grip,

encouraging her body to conform to his.

Part of her mind recognized the sincerity in his voice while

another section wondered how she could make the most of this encounter. All

of her didn´t care what else happened to either of them if they could just

enjoy this one evening. She was so hungry . . . it had been months since

she´d made love.

»Not yet, sweet Sunny, not yet,« he said determinedly but gently

disengaging himself. »We´ve the whole night before us,« and his low voice

lilted with promise. »You´ll know I cannot absent myself so soon. And we´ll

both be the stronger after a good meal« -- his laughter rippled with

sensuality -- »for our dalliance.«

She let herself be swung again to his side, his arm tucking hers

against his ribs, his warm hand stroking hers as he guided her to the

barbecue pits. She had no argument against his so firm decision. Although

she murmured understanding, she seethed with abruptly interrupted

sensations, forcing herself to an outward amity. Perhaps it was as well,

she told herself, as they collected platters from one of the long tables

and joined those awaiting slices of roasted meat. She´d need time to

recover and buffer herself against the charisma of the man. He was as

potent as Lanzecki. And that was the first time she´d thought of the

Guildmaster in a while!

What did Lars mean in saying she´d know why he couldn´t absent

himself so soon? How important was he within the island society, aside from

being its first citizen to get into the Conservatory?

Then they were in the midst of the eager diners, with Lars

exchanging laughing comments, teasing acquaintances, his rich lilting

laughter rising above theirs. Yet he kept a firm grip on Killashandra and

she tried to compose her expression against the surprise in the women´s

faces and the curiosity of the men. Who was this Lars Dahl when he wasn´t

kidnapping crystal singers?

Once thin slices of the juicy meat had been served them, Lars Dahl

escorted her back to the table and they sank to the sand. Lars kept his

left hand lightly on her thigh as he filled their plates from the foods

displayed in the center of the table: breaded fried fish bits, steaming

whiteroots, chopped raw vegetable, large yellow tubers which had been baked

in polly leaves and exuded a pungent spiciness. He snagged a jug as it was

being passed and filled their cups, deftly pouring without losing so much

as a drop. Killashandra was aware of furtive glances the length of the

table for Lars Dahl´s partner. She looked for Keralaw for her support but

there was no sign of her friend. Nor could she discern any animosity in the

scrutinies. Curiosity, yes, and envy.

»Eat. I guarantee you´ll need your strength . . . Carrigana.«

Though she gave him a gleaming smile, she wondered why he had

hesitated with the name, as if he was savoring the sound of it, the way he

had rolled the rs and lengthened the final two as. Was he dissembling? Had

he recognized her? He knew she´d been injured by that island star-knife . .

.

She almost pulled away from him, startled by a sudden knowledge

that he had thrown that vicious starblade at her. She shook her head,

smiling to answer his sudden quizzical look, and applied herself to the

heaped food. His hand soothed her thigh, the fingers light and caressing.

You sure can pick ‘em, Killashandra, she thought, pulled by intense

and conflicting emotions. She couldn´t wait to roll with him, somewhere in

the warm and fragrant plantation, with the surf pounding in rhythm with her

blood. She wanted to solve the conundrums he represented, and she was

determined to resolve each one to her advantage -- and furious that he

didn´t even recognize the woman he had first injured and then abducted.

Yet, with all apparent complaisance, she sat, smiled, and laughed

at his rather clever comments. Lars Dahl seemed to miss nothing that went

on about him, and ate hugely. A beaming plump man wearing half a dozen

garlands passed about a platter of the black flesh of the smacker fish,

nudging Lars Dahl with a lewd whisper for his ear only, while Lars was

lightly kneading her thigh, and then the plump man winked broadly at her,

dumping a second slice of the fish onto her plate.

She was indeed grateful for the second slice of the smacker for it

was succulent and highly unusual in taste, having nothing oily or fishy

about it. The fermented polly juice was more subtle than the overripe fruit

she had eaten on the island. Lars kept her cup filled, though she noticed

that he only sipped at his while appearing to imbibe more freely than the

level in his cup suggested.

When she admitted that she could eat no more of the cooked foods,

he carefully picked one of the large, dark red melons, and, with one hand

-- someone called aloud with a quick guess as to where his other hand was

-- he split it with his knife, glancing expectantly at her. Out of the

corner of her eye she had seen another woman so served scoop the seeds from

her halved melon. Laughingly she did the same service, settling Lar´s half

in his plate before taking her own. Then, before she could lift her spoon,

he had made a thin slice which he lifted to her lips. The flesh of the

melon was the sweetest she had ever tasted, velvety, dripping with juice

once the flesh was pierced. He took his first bite on top of hers, his

even, strong teeth leaving a neat semi-circle all the way to the rind.

It was not the first time eating had been part of her love-making,

but never before so many, even if all the pairings were performing much the

same ritual. Or was that why the air was electric with sensuality?

»A song, Lars. A song while you can still stand on your feet.«

Suddenly there was the loud roll of drums and tambourine, and

applause, while half a dozen stringed instruments strummed vigorously to

presage the advent of evening entertainment. Then the applause settled into

a rhythmic beat and the feasters began to chant.

»Lars Dahl, Lars Dahl, Lars Dahl!«

Giving her thigh a final squeeze, Lars Dahl rose to his feet,

spreading his arms for silence, smiling compliance at the chanters and

abruptly the clamor ended, a respectful silence awaited his pleasure.

Lars Dahl lifted his head, a proud smile curving his lips, as he

surveyed his audience. Then, taking one backward step, he raised his arms

and hit an A, clear, vibrant, beautifully supported. Utterly astounded,

Killashandra stared up at him, the half-formed suspicion solidifying into

confirmation just as his voice glided down the scale. There couldn´t be two

tenor voices of similar caliber on one planet. This was her unknown tenor

of that spontaneous duet. Fortunately Lars Dahl took the expression on her

face as pleasure in his performance. He swung into a rollicking sea ballad,

a song as gay, as nonchalant as himself, a song that was instantly

recognized and appreciated by his audience.

At the verse, voices joined his in harmony, people swaying to the

tempo of the song. Hastily Killashandra joined in, mouthing words until she

learned the simple chorus. She took good care to sing in her alto register.

If she could recognize his tenor, he´d know her soprano. And she didn´t

want him to be tipped to her true identity -- at least not until morning.

Now she relaxed into the music, letting her alto swell in a part singing

she hadn´t enjoyed since her early adolescence on Fuerte. Suddenly she

remembered family outings in the summer in the mountain lakes, or at the

ocean shore, when she had led the singing. Was that what Antona had had in

mind for Killashandra to keep as enriching memories? Well, there were

aspects of even those mellow evenings which Killashandra would have as soon

forgot. For her older brothers had always teased her about screeching at

the top of her lungs, and showing off and preening herself in public.

Even before this evening, Killashandra had been aware that some

melodies seem to be universal, either recreated within a planet´s musical

tradition or brought with the original settlers and altered to fit the new

world. Words might be changed, tempo, harmony, but the joy in listening, in

joining the group singing was not: it struck deep nostalgic chords. Despite

her musical sophistication, despite her foreswearing that same background,

there was no way Killashandra could have remained silent. Indeed, not to

participate in the evening would have marked her as antisocial. For the

Angel Islanders, singing was a social grace.

Nor was the singing simple, for the islanders added embellishments

to choruses and songs, six-part harmonies and intricate descants. Lars Dahl

functioned as both stage manager and conductor, pointing to the people

expected to rise and sing or perform on their instruments: performing to a

high degree of musical competence on such unexpected instruments as

trumpet, a woodwind that looked like a cross between an oboe and an ancient

French horn, and on a viola with a mellow, warm tone that must have arrived

with the early settlers. The hand drums were played with great skill and

showmanship, the three drummers executing a whirling dance in time to their

intricate rhythms.

Even when the rest of the audience was not actively participating,

their attention was rapt, and their reaction to the occasional mistake

immediate and understanding. There were songs about polly planters: one

sung by two women, humorously itemizing the necessary steps to make one

polly plant produce everything needed by their family. Another tune, sung

by a tall thin man with a deep bass voice, told of the trials of a man bent

on catching an ancient granddaddy smacker fish which had once demolished

his small fishing boat with a negligent flick of its massive tail. A

contralto and a baritone sang a sad haunting ballad on the vicissitudes of

gray fishing and the vagaries of that enormous and elusive quarry.

»You´ve dallied long enough, Lars, you and Olav sing it now,« a man

demanded from the shadows at one point. A wave of cheering and handclapping

seconded that order.

Grinning amiably, Lars nodded, beckoning to someone seated to

Killashandra´s left. The man who came to stand beside Lars had to be

related to him for their features were similar, if differently arranged.

Though the older man had a thin, long face, the nose was the same, and the

set of the eyes, the shape of the lips, and the firm chin. Neither man

could really be called handsome, but both exuded the same unusual quality

of strength, determination, and confidence that made them stand out as

individuals.

A respectful silence fell and the instruments began the overture.

Killashandra had a good musical memory: she could hear a composition once

and remember not only the theme, if there was one, but the structure. If

she had studied the score in any detail, she would know the composer and

performances, what different settings or arrangements the music had had

over the years, and possibly which Stellars had performed it and where.

Before the men began to sing, she recognized the music. The words

had been altered but they suited the locality: the search for the lost and

perfect island in the mists of morning, and the beautiful lady stranded

there for whose affections the men vied. Lar´s beautiful tenor paired well

with the older man´s well produced baritone, their voices in perfect

balance with each other and the dynamics of the music.

Nevertheless, at song´s end Killashandra stared at Lars in

amazement. He had the most outrageous gall . . . until she also remembered

that he had been required to sing it, however appropriate it might also be

to her circumstances. And Lars Dahl had not had the grace to look abashed.

Why should he? The performer in her argued with her sense of

personal outrage. The music was beautiful, and so obviously a favorite of

the islanders that the last chorus trailed off into reverent silence.

Then the baritone held out his hand, into which was placed a twelve

stringed instrument that he presented to Lars Dahl.

»The Music Masters may not have approved your composition for the

Summer Festival, Lars, but may we at least hear it?«

Plainly the request distressed Lars Dahl, for his mouth twitched

and he had ducked his head against the compelling level gaze. Nevertheless,

he took a deep breath, reluctantly accepting the instrument. His lips were

pressed into a thin line as he strummed a chord to test the strings. Lars

did not look at Olav, though he could not refuse the older man´ s request,

nor did he look out at the audience. His expression was bleak as he inhaled

deeply, concentrating onward to the performance. The rankling

disappointment, the pain of that rejection, and the sense of failure which

Lars had experienced were as clear to Killashandra as if broadcast. Her

cynical evaluation of him altered radically. She was possibly the only one

in the entire assembly who could empathize, could understand and appreciate

the deep and intense conflict he had to overcome at that moment. She also

could approve heartily of the professionalism in him that unprotestingly

accepted the challenge of an excruciating demand. Lars Dahl possessed a

potentially Stellar temperament.

Despite her proximity to him, she almost missed the first

whispering chords which his strong fingers stroked from the strings. A

haunting chord, expanded and then altered into a dominant, just like the

dawn breeze through the old polly tree on her island of exile. Soft gray

and pink as the sky lightened, and then the sun would warm the night-closed

blossoms, their fragrance drifting to beguile senses: and the rising lilts

of bird, the gentle susurrus of waves on the shore, and the lift in the

spirit for the pleasure of a new day, for the duties of the day: climbing

the polly for the ripe fruit, fishing off the end of a headland, the bright

sun on the water, the rising breeze, the colors of day, the aroma of frying

fish, the somnolence of midday when the sun´s heat sent people to hammock

or mat . . . an entire day in the life of an islander was in his music,

colored and scented, and how he managed that feat of musical conjuring on a

limited instrument like a twelve-string, Killashandra did not know. How

that music would sound on the Optherian organ was something she would give

her next cutting of black crystal to hear!

And the Music Masters had rejected his composition? She was

beginning to understand why he might wish to assassinate her, and why he

had kidnapped her: to prevent the repair of the great organ and, perhaps

other less worthy compositions, from being played by anyone. And yet there

was nothing in her brief association with Lars Dahl, in this evening´s

showmanship, even in his reluctant acquiescence to the demands of his

island, to suggest such a dark vengeful streak in the man.

When the last chord, heralding moon-set, had faded into silence,

Lars Dahl set the instrument down carefully and, turning on his heel,

stalked away. There were murmurs of approval and regret, even anger in some

faces, a more complimentary reaction to the beauty of what they had been

privileged to hear than any wild applause. Then, people began to talk

quietly in little groups, and one of the guitars tried to repeat one of the

deceptively simple threnodies of Lars´s composition.

With a glance to be sure no one was observing her, Killashandra

rose to her feet and slipped out of the flickering torch light. Adjusting

her eyes to the night, she saw movement off to the right and moved toward

it, almost turning her ankle in one of the footprints that Lars´s angry

passage had gouged in the soft sand.

She saw his figure outlined against the sky, a dark tense shadow.

»Lars . .« She wasn´t sure what she could say to ease his distress

but he shouldn´t be alone. he shouldn´t feel his music had not been

appreciated, that the totality of the picture that he had so richly

portrayed had not come across to his listeners.

»Leave me -- « his bitter voice began, and then his arm snaked out,

and catching her outstretched hand, pulled her roughly to him. »I need a

woman.«

»I´m here.«

Holding tight to her hand, he pulled her into a lope. Then, pushing

at her shoulder with his, he guided her at right angles to the beach, up

toward the thick shadow of the polly grove on the headland, near where she

had beached that morning. When she tried to slow his headlong pace, his

hand shifted to her elbow. His grip was electric, his fingers seemed to

transfer that urgency to her and anticipation began to course through her

breast and belly. How they avoided running into a polly tree trunk, or

stumbling over the thick gnarled roots, she never knew. Then suddenly he

slowed, murmured a warning to be careful. She could see him lift his arms

to push through stiff underbrush. She heard the ripple of a stream, smelt

the moisture in the air, and the almost overpowering perfume emanating from

the creamy blossoms before she followed him, pushing through the bushes.

Then her feet were on the coarse velvet of some kind of moss, carpeting the

banks of the stream.

His hands were urgent on her and the initial physical attraction

she had felt for him was suddenly a mutual sensation. He put her at arm´s

length, staring down at her, seeing her not as a vessel from which he

expected the physical relief, but as a woman whose femininity had aroused

an instinctive and overpowering response.

»Who are you, Carrigana?« His eyes were wide with his amazement.

»What have you done to me?«

»I´ve done nothing yet,« she replied with a ripple of delighted

laughter. No one else had awakened such a response in her, not even

Lanzecki. And if Lars had somehow sensed the crystal shock in her, so much

the better: it would enhance their union. She had been celibate far too

long and he was partly to blame: the consequences were for both to enjoy.

»Whatever are you waiting for, Lars?«

Chapter 11

A light, almost tender, finger touch on her shoulder, just where the

star-knife had sliced her flesh, roused Killashandra from the velvet

darkness of the deepest sleep she had ever enjoyed. She felt weightless,

relaxed. Despite her having led an uninhibited private life, Killashandra

was inexplicably possessed by shyness, a curious reluctance to face Lars.

She didn´t want to face him, or the world, quite yet.

Then she heard the barest ripple of laughter in the tenor voice of

her lover.

»I didn´t want to wake up either, Carrigana . . .«

Loath to perpetuate any lies between them, she almost corrected the

misnomer but she found it too difficult to overcome the physical languor

that gripped her body. And an explanation of her name would lead to so many

more, any of which might fracture the stunning memory of the previous

night.

»I´ve . . . never . . .« He broke off, his finger tracing other

scar lines on her forearms -- crystal scar (and how could she explain those

at this point in a magical interlude) -- down to her hands where his strong

tapered fingers fit in between hers. »I don´t know what you did to me,

Carrigana. I´ve . . . never . . . had a love experience like that before.«

A rueful laugh that cracked because he couldn´t keep it soft enough to

match his whisper. »I know that when a man´s been troubled, a normal

reaction is to seek sexual relief from a woman -- any woman. But you

weren´t just ‘any woman´ last night, Carrigana. You were . . . incredible.

Please open your eyes so that I can see you believe what I´m saying --

because it is true!«

Killashandra could not have ignored the plea, the sincerity, the

soul sound in his voice. She opened her eyes. His were inches away and she

was gripped by an overpowering surge of love, affection, sensuality,

empathy, and compassion for this incredib1e and talented young man. Relief

was mirrored in the very clear blue of his eyes: a

morning-lagoon-in-sunlight clear blue, as vivid as the sea could sometimes

be. Relief and the sudden welling up of tears. With the shuddering sigh

that rippled down his body, so close to hers, he dropped his head to the

point of her shoulder, just above the knife-scar. When, at length, he

confessed that he had caused it, she would willingly forgive him. Just as

she was willing to forgive him her abduction, for whatever marvelous reason

he might submit. After last night, how could she deny him anything? Perhaps

last night had been such a unique combination of emotional upheavals that a

repetition was unlikely. The prospect made her smile.

As if he sensed her responses -- he had certainly sensed them last

night -- he lifted his head again, anxious eyes searching her face. She saw

that he was not unscathed, for his lower lip was red and puffy as he tried

to echo her smile.

Then she chuckled, tracing the line of his mouth with an apologetic

finger.

»I don´t think I can ever forget last night happened, Lars Dahl.«

Would she ever find adequate words to record this on her personal file at

Ballybran? She let her finger drop to his jaw. His grin became more

self-confident, and his fingers squeezed hers lightly. »There´s one problem

. . .« His face tightened with concern. »How long will it take us to

recover to try it again?«

Lars Dahl burst out laughing, rolling away from her.

»You may be the death of me, Carrigana.«

Once again Killashandra ardently refretted using that particular

pseudonym. She desperately wanted to confess everything and hear her own

name on his lips, in his rich and sensual voice.

»Like last night?«

»Oh my precious Sunny,« he replied, his voice altering from

spontaneous laughter to urgent loverliness as he rolled back to her, his

hand gently cupping her head, fingers stroking her hair, »it was almost a

death to leave you.«

That he might be quoting some planetary poet, she discarded as

unworthy. Her body and mind echoed the sentiment. Their exhausted sleep had

been like a little death, it had overtaken them so completely.

With total unconcern for aesthetics, her stomach rumbled

alarmingly. They suppressed a laugh and then let their laughter blend, as

they enveloped each other in loving arms.

»C´mon, I´ll race you to the sea,« Lars said, his eyes sparkling

with amusement. »A swim to cool us off.« He rose lithely to his feet,

offering her a hand.

It was only when the light blanket fell from her body that she

realized its presence. And noticed the small basket to one side of the

clearing, the unmistakable neck of a wine jug protruding from the lazy

stream.

I woke at dawn,« Lars said, hands on her shoulders as he gently

inclined forward to kiss her cheek. »The wind was a touch chilly. So I got

a few things for us. Could we spend today together and alone?«

Killashandra leaned lovingly against him for a moment. » I feel

remarkably unsocial. »She wanted nothing more.

»You´ll barely look at me!« Lar´s voice rippled with amused

complaint.

Her hands began to caress him as his were gentle on her arms.

Almost guiltily they broke apart. Laughing, they joined hands and pressed

through the bushes toward the seashore.

The sea was calm, the waves mere ripples flopping over at the last

moment onto the smooth, wet sand. The water was soothing, soft against her

body. Finally hunger could no longer be denied and they sprinted back to

the secret clearing, patting each other dry, carefully avoiding the sorest

spots. That morning Lars had acquired fresh fruits, bread, and a soft

savory cheese as well as some of the flavorful dried fish that was an

island specialty. There was wine to wash it all down. Lars had also had the

wit to ‘borrow´ from Mama Tulla´s wash line a voluminous and comfortable

kaftan for her and a thigh length shirt for himself.

They were both hungry enough to concentrate on eating, but they

smiled whenever their eyes met, which was often. When their hands touched

as they hunted in the basket for food, the touch also became a caress. When

all the food had been eaten, Lars excused himself with grave courtesy and

pushed through the bushes. Trying to suppress giggles. Killashandra did the

same. But when she returned to the clearing, Lars was making a couch of

polly fronds and sweetly scented ferns. In silent accord, they lay down,

spread the light blanket over their weary bodies and, hands lightly

clasped, surrendered to fatigue.

Once again the sensation of light fingers stroking the crystal

scars roused Killashandra.

»You were a long time learning to handle polly, weren´t you?« he

said, his teasing tender.

She sighed, hoping she could somehow, and, with reasonable truth,

evade his natural curiosity about her. She daren´t risk a full disclosure

even in the euphoria which still enveloped them.

»I came from the City. I´d no choice about an island life or an

education in polly planting.«

»Must you go back to the City?« Apprehension roughened his voice,

his fingers tightened on hers in an almost painful grip.

»Inevitably.« She turned her face against his arm, wishing it were

bare and she could taste the skin covering the strong arms that had held

her with such love: which must hold her once again in love, preferably for

a long, long time. »I don´t belong here, you know.«

»I didn´t think you did,« and his reply was amused acceptance,

»once you dropped the Keralawian accent.« She warned herself to watch what

she said. »Where do you belong, Carrigana?«

»Besides in your arms?« Then the honesty of the moment began to

close in on her. »I don´t really know, Lars.« These moments were out of

context with any previous part of her life on Fuerte or Ballybran: totally

divorced from Killashandra, Crystal Singer. Pragmatically she knew the

euphoria would end all too soon but the desire to prolong it consumed her.

»How about you, Lars? Where do you belong?«

»The Islands don´t actually hold me any more. I´ve come to realize

that over the past few months. And think that my father recognizes it, too.

Oh, I´m partner in an interisland carrier service that´s reasonably

profitable -- useful to the islanders certainly.« He grinned. »But three

years in the City at the Complex taught me discipline, order, and

efficiency and the easy way of islanders irritates me. I can´t see me

settling in to City life, either . . .«

Killashandra raised herself on her elbow, looking down at his face.

The muscles were relaxed but the strength and character in his features

were not the least bit diminished.

»Aren´t you going to appeal the Master´s decision?« Her fingers

traced his clearly defined left brow.

»No one appeals their decision, Carrigana,« he said with a

contemptuous snort. Then he drew both eyebrows together: her finger

followed to caress away his scowl. »They did, damn their souls to

everlasting acid, have the incredible gall to suggest that, if I performed

a slight service for them, they might consider. And like a childish fool I

believed them.« Incensed by his memories, he swung to a sitting position,

arms clasping his knees tightly to his chest, his mouth in a bitter line.

»A real fool but so desperate to have my composition accepted -- not so

much for my own prestige as to prove that an islander could succeed at the

Complex and to vindicate the support the islanders had given me during

those years.« He twisted his torso around to face her. »You´d never guess

what this slight service was.«

»I wouldn´t?« Killashandra was quite certain what he would say.

»They wanted me to make an assault on a visiting dignitary.

Possibly the most important person to set foot on this forsaken mudball.«

»Assault? On Optheria? On whom? What visiting dignitary?«

Killashandra was astonished at the surprise and concern in her voice, a

genuine enough response to Lars´s shocking statement

»You heard that Comgail had died, shattering a manual of the

Festival Organ?« When she nodded silently, he continued. »You may not know

that the damage was deliberate.« It was easy for her to react suitably, for

a death involving crystal would not have been painless. »There are a lot of

people who believe that they -- we,« and he grinned humorlessly, admitting

to his complicity, »have an inalienable right to leave this planet in order

to achieve professional fulfillment. And that right should be enjoyed by

more than disappointed composers, Carrigana. This restriction is stagnating

intelligent people all over this world. People who have tremendous gifts

which have no channel whatever on this backward natural mudball.

So, it was decided to manufacture a situation that would require

the presence of an extraplanetary official. An impartial but prestigious

person who could be approached to register our protest with the FSP. Oh,

letters have been smuggled out but letters are ineffective. We´re not even

sure that they reached their destinations. What we needed was someone who

could be shown examples of this stagnation, talk to people like Theach,

Nahia, and Brassner, see what they have been developing in spite of

strictures of federal bureaucracy.«

Lars gave a rueful laugh. »It´s rather depressing to realize how

little Optheria requires. The founding fathers wrought too well. We´re a

population expert in making do with the meanest possible natural resources.

Good old polly!

»It was Comgail who proposed what had to be done to force the

government to bring in a foreign technician. A manual on the Festival Organ

would have to be shattered. The Government would be forced to have that

replaced in time for the Summer Festival tourists.

»Did you ever realize how dependent the Government is on tourism?«

His eyes glinted with malicious amusement. »Theach researched the

economics. He can do the most phenomenal computations in his head -- that

way, there´s no written proof of his alienation from the Optheria way of

life! That tourist income is absolutely essential to purchase the high tech

items which cannot be manufactured here. And without which all the federal

machinery would grind to a halt. Even the barrier arc at the shuttleport is

fashioned from imported components.

»Mind you, Comgail did not intend to be a martyr. But he didn´t

draw back when the moment was on him. So the Government was forced to apply

to the Heptite Guild for a complete and very expensive new crystal manual.

And this is where Comgail´s sacrifice becomes relevant; he was also the

only technician on Optheria capable of installing the replacement. They´d

have to have the services of -- at the very least -- a highly skilled

technician or ideally a crystal singer to make the repair. Once the crystal

singer was on Optheria, we´d make sure there´d be an opportunity to present

our desparate situation and ask that it be submitted to the FSP Council. A

singer has access to the Council, you know.«

»Go on, Lars . . .« A nasty suspicion began to form in

Killashandra´s mind, recalling Ampris´s snide remarks about islanders.

He inhaled, closing his eyes briefly against unpleasant memories.

»The crystal singer arrived on the Athena the day after my audition. Only

the Elders weren´t sure of her identity.«

»That sort of I.D. cannot be forged, Lars.«

He gave a contemptuous snort. »I know it, you know it, but you must

also know how paranoid our Elders are. And Torkes is now in

Communications.« Again his words elicited a nodded reaction from her. »Oh,

the urgency behind this slight favor was subtly presented to me. A crystal

singer is known to have great recuperative powers. A minor scratch would be

no inconvenience to a crystal singer but would unconditionally reveal an

imposter. Since islanders are known,« his voice dripped with sarcasm, »to

live primitive and violent lives, accustomed to handling dangerous weapons,

it was thought that I was admirably suited to perform this small favor for

the Masters, in return for their reevaluation of my composition.«

»And did they promise you immunity from reprisal as well?«

»I´m not quite that naive, Carrigana. They did not require a

frontal assault. So, I picked a window on the upper storey where I´d have a

good view of the arrival. I´ve been winning competitions with the

star-blades since my father first allowed me one. A simple flick and the

blade angles at the right trajectory. It caught her on the arm. I think a

little higher than I´d planned for she moved just as I had completed the

throw.« His was expression was chagrined and he gave Killashandra a quick

defensive glance. »Oh, she was all right, Carrigana. I scooted round to the

infirmary the back way and she was walking out of the surgery without so

much as a bandage showing.« He smoothed her arm reassuringly. »Crystal

singers really do heal with unbelievable speed. She seemed more annoyed

with her escort than the incident.

»The next morning, of course, I was told that on due

reconsideration, the Masters had to abide by their original decision. The

omnipotent, omniscient Masters, speaking from their immense and

encyclopedic knowledge of all forms of music and their total understanding

of the universe and Man´s subliminal relationship with the Natural World,

do not believe that this facet of Optherian life needs to be celebrated at

any point in the year, certainly not during the Summer Festival when

off-worlders might possibly hear something evoking a valid Optherian

subculture and more original than variations on the usual pre-predigested

pap that ‘accredited´ composers churn out.«

»Stupid, insensitive, unimaginative, flatulent fardlings!«

Killashandra´s derision was slightly colored by hearing the details of the

‘outrageous´ attack, and by the realization that her instinct about

Ampris´s specious assurance was quite valid. »They´re so old they´ve lost

the energy enthusiasm requires; they couldn´t possibly recognize

imagination.«

Lars smiled at her vehemence. »So, despite all their promises and

assurances, I was given a ticket back to Angel as a reward for my

unmentionable service, and told to be out of the City on the evening

oceanjet. Guardians were there to be sure I boarded, which I did. After a

stroke of incredibly good luck.«

He turned his face fully to her then, his lips lightly compressed

as if controlling amusement, and the sparkling of his eyes indicated that

he had considered confiding in her. As much as she hoped that he might, she

wished fervently that he would not. For his honesty would require the

similar courtesy from her.

»Lars, I don´t mean to be a spoil-sport, but something occurred to

me. A star-knife is an island blade, isn´t it?«

»Yes . . .« He regarded her, suddenly alert.

»And if an island blade was responsible for wounding the crystal

singer -- even if it healed rapidly -- would that not prejudice her against

listening to your problem?«

»A good point. The Elders don´t miss many tricks, but that ploy

would not have worked. Nahia and Brassner were going to speak for us.«

»Were going?«

»Yes, I did say that I had a stroke of good luck,« and he clasped

her hand with a firm grip, his clear blue gaze fixed on the thick bushes.

»Nahia and Brassner will now have an even better chance to present our

situation.« He sounded so confident that Killashandra would have given much

to be privy to his plans. »You´ll see.«

»Since I´m being candid, let me tell you that you´ve been rather

indiscreet confiding in me, Lars. You don´t know me -- «

»Don´t know you?« Lars threw back his head and guffawed. He clasped

her to him, rocking her in his arms, roaring with laughter. »If I don´t,

young woman, no one ever will.«

»You know what I mean. Who were you talking to last night on the

beach? He´s not an islander.«

»Oh, him? Corish von Mittell -- something. No, he´s not an

islander. In fact, he could be very useful . . .« Lars paused a moment in

thought, and then shrugged it off. »He´s looking for an uncle. Father asked

me to help him, take him on my next swing through the islands. Frankly I

don´t think the uncle came this far out: doesn´t sound like a man who´d

want this sort of life style.«

»Are you sure this Corish is who he says he is?«

Lars eyed her with some interest. »Father´s sent for an I.D.

verification. We´re not so haphazard as all that in these islands, you

know. There´ve been snoopers before. Father´s got a sixth sense about the

breed and that Corish tilted it. Oh, he says he came in on the Athena, and

he sounded as if he´d made the trip on her.« Then he added in another tone

altogether, »I´m glad you worry about my safety.«

He smoothed back her sun-bleached hair, fingering the strands

before he patted them in place, his whole face softening as once more he

fell in her thrall. Then he relaxed, lying back again, hands under his

head, his eyes intent on her face, a very tender smile playing at the

corner of his lips. »Anyway, everyone on Angel dislikes federal

interference as much as we do. I studied under a master of heresy. My

father. The duly appointed harbor master of the Angel Island archipelago

and federal representative. If you can´t lick ‘em, join ‘em.«

»Your father´s the harbor master?«

Surprise registered blankly on Lar´s face. »Of course. Don´t tell

me you didn´t know that?«

»I do. I didn´t.«

»So, if you really insist on going back to the City, you´ll have to

be very nice to me.« He was smiling as he gently reached for her arms to

bring her down to him.

»Oh?«

»Very nice to me.«

»Are you able for it?«

He settled her into the curve of his arm, her head pillowed on his

shoulder, his cheek against her hair.

»When you are, beloved.« Then he yawned and, apparently, between

one breath and the next, fell asleep. For another long moment, Killashandra

heard the singing in her blood and for once did not regret its murmur. She

repositioned her arm on his chest, placidly noting that the fine hairs

across Lars´s pectoral muscles stirred upright. Well, they had more energy

than he or she did. She closed her eyes and was also claimed by sleep.

Shouts startled them awake: the cheerful calls and laughter of

people fishing on the beach. Killashandra couldn´t hear what was so

exciting, but Lars smiled.

»A yellowback school has been forced into the cove.« He embraced

her enthusiastically. »Once they´ve caught what´s needed, we´ll get our« --

he looked about for the angle of sunlight -- »our dinner. Hungry yet?«

»Hungry enough to go right out there bold-faced . . .« She made as

if to rise, for her belly was almost painfully empty.

He pulled her back flat beside him, kissing her half-formed protest

into silence. His eyes were unsmiling as he then gently stroked her cheek.

»My dear girl, with those bruises on you, I´d be hauled up in front

of the Island Court and charged with rape.«

»What about the marks on you?«

»You resisted my improper advances -- «

»And you made enough of those -- «

»Precisely what the bruises say. So, since I have a reputation to

maintain in this community, we will remain secluded.« He emphasized this

decision with a gentle kiss. Then he stroked her hair back from her

forehead his fingers lingering in the soft gold-streaked mass. »I don´t

wish to share you yet, share even the sight of you with anyone. If I

believed the ancient tales of witchcraft, sorcery, and enchantment, I´d

name you ‘witch,´ so I would. But you´re not . . . though I am completely

spell-bound ..« His fingers became insistent, and his expression was an

urgent appeal. »D´you think you could possibly bear me . . . if I´m very

careful . . .«

She chuckled and linked hands behind his head to bring his lips to

hers.

The fishers were long gone before they finally got around to

fishing. Together they waded out through the gentle tide.

»Stay here, Carrigana,« Lars directed, »and make a basin of your

skirt.«

She did, first wringing water from the voluminous folds. Lars was

thigh deep in the water when he suddenly bent down and scooping with both

hands sent water, and fish, flying at her. She missed the first lot,

laughing at her ineptitude, but neatly caught two fish in the second. After

three more catches, she had to hold up her skirt lest the active

yellowbacks flip out. Lars splashed back to inspect her catch, grinning at

his success and her bemusement.

»This one´s too small.« He released it. »Two, four, six, seven. How

many can you eat? Shall I get more?«

Before she could answer, he dove back toward his vantage point, and

peered down into the clear water. With one last mighty heave, three big

yellowbacks were sent flying in her direction. She cheered when she caught

them in her skirt, closing the makeshift net and running awkwardly through

the wavelets to the shore before any of the squirming fish could escape.

Helping her secure the bundle, Lars laughingly escorted her back to

the bushes surrounding their secluded clearing.

»You clean ‘em and I´ll get firing, and see what else I can

scrounge,« he said as he held the bushes back for her to enter.

Gutting fish was not one of Killashandra´s favorite chores, but she

had finished half the catch before she realized it, washing them clean in

the little brook. Lars was back as she slit the last one. In one crooked

arm, he held twisted polly fronds that provided a quick hot fire, and

another basket swung from his right hand. He found rocks by the stream to

enclose their fire, hauled a frying sheet from the basket, and set out oil,

seasonings bread, fruit, and another pot of the soft island cheese.

The quick tropical night had settled upon the island, enclosing

them more securely in their clearing as they finished their supper, licking

the last of the juices from their fingers.

»Going to be nice to me?« Lars asked, leering dramatically at her.

»Maybe I´ll just stay in the islands.« Killashandra surprised

herself with the longing in her voice. »There´s all I could possibly need

just for the taking. . .«

»Even me?«

Killashandra looked up at him. Despite his light words, his voice

held a curious entreaty.

»I would be a right foolish dolt to consider you part of the

taking.« She meant it, for quixotic though the man might appear, she sensed

that Lars had an unshakeable integrity which she, or any other woman, would

have to recognize and accept.

»We could stay in the islands, Carrigana, and make a go of the

charter service.« Lars, too, was caught in the same thrall which infected

her resolve. »Sailing´s never dull. The weather sees to that. It could be a

good life, and I promise you wouldn´t have to hack polly!« His fingers

caressed her hands.

»Lars . . .« She had to set the record fair.

He covered her lips with his hand. »No, beloved, this is not the

time for life-shaping decisions. This is the time for loving. Love me

again!«

Chapter 12

The idyll lasted another full day and into the early morning of the third,

during which time Killashandra would have been quite willing to forego all

the prestige of being a crystal singer to remain Lars´s companion. A

totally impossible, improbable, and impractical ambition. But she had every

intention of enjoying his companionship as long as it was physically

possible. She was haunted by memories of Carrik and, as such traumas can,

they colored, and augmented, her responses to Lars.

It was the change in the weather which necessitated their return to

society. The drop in barometric pressure woke Killashandra just before

dawn. She lay, wide awake, Lars´s lax arms draped about her, his legs

overlapping hers, wondering what had returned her so abruptly to full

consciousness. Then she smelled a change in weather on the early morning

breeze. It had not occurred to Killashandra that her Ballybran symbiont

would he agitated by other weather systems. And she pushed her sensitivity

as far as she could, testing what the change might herald.

Storm, she decided, letting symbiotic instinct make the

identification. And a heavy one. In these islands a hurricane more likely

than not. A worrisome phenomenon for a reasonably flat land mass. No, there

were heights on what Lars had termed the Head. She smiled, for yesterday,

in between other felicitous activities, he had given her quite a history

and geography lesson pertinent to the island economy.

»This island gets its name from the shape of the land mass,« he

explained and drew a shape on the wet sands with a shell. They had just

emerged from a morning swim. »It was seen first from the exploratory probe

and named long before any settlers landed here. There´s even a sort of a

halo of islets off the Head. We´re at the Wingtip. The settlement lies in

the wing curve . . . see . . . and the western heights are the wings,

complete with the ridge principle. This side of the island is much lower

than the body side. We´ve two separate viable harbors, north and south, the

angel´s outstretched hands completing the smaller, deeper one. My father´s

offices are there, as the backbone sometimes interferes with reception from

the mainland. You can´t see it from here because of Backbone Ridge, but

there´s rather an impressive old volcano topping the Head.« He grinned

mischievously, giving Killashandra an impression of the devilish child he

must have been. »Some of us less reverent souls say the Angel blew her head

when she knew who got possession of the planet. Not so, of course. It

happened eons before we got here.«

Angel was not the largest of the islands but Lars told her that

she´d soon see that it was the best. The southern sea was littered Lars

said, with all kinds of land masses: some completely sterile, others

bearing active volcanoes, and anything large enough to support polly

plantations and other useful tropical vegetation did so.

»We were a race apart from the mainlanders, and we´ve remained so,

Carrigana. They listen to what the Elders dish up for them, dulling their

minds with all the pap that´s performed. Islanders still have to have their

wits about them. We may be easygoing and carefree, but we´re not lazy or

stupid.«

She had discovered an unexpected pleasure in listening to Lars

ramble on, recognizing that his motive was as much self-indoctrination as

explanation for her benefit. His voice was so beautifully modulated,

uninhibited in its expressiveness that she could have listened to him for

years. He made events out of small incidents, no matter that all were aimed

at extolling the islands, subtly deprecating mainland ways. He was not,

however, an impractical dreamer. Nor was his rebellion against mainland

authority the ill-considered antagonism of the disillusioned.

»You sound as if you don´t want to leave Optheria even if you are

trying to pave the way off for these friends of yours,« Killashandra was

prompted to remark late that second evening as they finished a meal of

steamed mollusks.

»I´m as well off here as I would be anywhere else in the galaxy.«

»But your music -- «

»It was composed to be played on the Optherian organ and I doubt

that any other government allows them to be used, even if the Elders and

Masters would permit the design to be copied.« He shrugged off that

consideration .

»If you could compose that, you have a great gift -- «

Lars had laughed outright, ruffling her hair -- he seemed

fascinated by the texture of her hair.

»Beloved Sungirl, that took no great gift, I assure you. Nor do I

have the temperament to sit down and create music -- «

»Come on, Lars -- «

»No, seriously, I´m much happier at the tiller of a ship -- «

»And that voice of yours?«

He shrugged. »Fine for an island evening sing-song, my girl, but

who bothers to sing on the Mainland?«

»But, if you get the others off the planet, why don´t you go, too?

There are plenty of other planets that would make you a Stellar in a pico

-- «

»How would you know?«

»Well, there have to be!« Killashandra almost screamed in her

frustration with the restrictions imposed by her role. »Or why are you

trying to crack the restriction?«

»The height of altruism motivates me. Besides, Sunny, Theach and

Brassner have valid contributions to make within the context of the galaxy.

And once a person has met Nahia, it´s obvious why she must be let free.

Think of the good she could do.«

Killashandra murmured something reassuring since it was called for.

She felt an uncharacteristic pulse of jealousy at the reverence and awe in

Lars´s voice whenever he mentioned this Nahia. Lars had perfectly healthy

contempt for Elder and Master alike, indeed all federal officials with the

exception of his father. And while he spoke of the man with affection and

respect, Nahia occupied a higher position. Quite a few times Killashandra

noted a nearly imperceptible halt in the flow of Lars´s words as if he

exercised a subtle discretion, so subtle that all she caught was its echo.

Just as he had stopped short of admitting the abduction of the crystal

singer. And, now that she understood his motivation, she marveled at his

quick-witted opportunism. Did the others in his subversive group know what

he had done? Had they approved of it? And what would the next step be? She

could just imagine the furor caused in the Heptite Guild! Or maybe she was

supposed to rescue herself? Which she had.

Lars was weather-sensitive, too, for she had only just completed

her analysis when he woke, equally alert. With a loving tug at her hair and

a smile, he stood up, sniffing at the breeze now strong enough to ruffle

his hair, turning slowly. He stopped when he faced in the direction she

had.

»Hurricane making, Carrigana. Come, we´ll have a lot to do.«

Not so much that they didn´t start the morning with a quick passage

at arms, not the least bit perfunctory despite the brevity. Then they had a

quick swim, with Lars keeping a close watch on the dawn changes in the sky.

»Making up in the south so it´ll be a bad blow.« He stood for a

moment as the active waves of the incoming tide flounced against his

thighs. He looked southwest, frowning and, dissatisfied by his thoughts,

started inshore, taking her hand as if seeking comfort.

She thought nothing of his brief disappearance as she cleared up

the camp site. Lars pushed his way past the bush screen, an odd smile on

his face as he came up to her, two garlands of an exceptionally lovely blue

and white flower in his hands. »This will serve,« he said cryptically,

gently draping one around her neck. The perfume was subtly erotic and she

stood on tiptoe to kiss him for his thoughtfulness. »Now you must put mine

on.«

Smiling at his sweetness, she complied and he kissed her, exhaling

a gust as if he had acquitted himself nobly.

»C´mon now,« and he gave her the basket, slung the blanket with

their clothing over his shoulder, and grabbing her hand, led her back

through the underbrush.

Though the sun was not yet up over the horizon, there was

considerable activity on the beach when they arrived. Torches were lit

outside all the waterfront buildings, and torchlit groups of scurrying

people pushed handcarts Bobbing lights on the harbor, too, indicated crews

on their way to anchored ships. The schooner was gone but Killashandra had

not really expected to find the big ship still at Angel Island.

»Where can they take the boats?«

»Around to the Back. We´ll just check to see how much time there is

before the wind rises. There´ll be a lot to do before we can take the Pearl

Fisher to the safe mooring.«

Killashandra glanced up and down the picturesque waterfront, for

the first time seeing just how vulnerable it was. The first line of

buildings was only four hundred meters from the high-tide mark. Wouldn´t

they be just swept away in hurricane driven tides?

»They often are,« Lars startled her by saying as they strode

purposefully toward the settlement. »But mostly polly floats. After the

last big blow, Morchal salvaged the complete roof. It was floating in the

bay, he just dried it out and reset it.«

»I should help Keralaw,« Killashandra suggested tentatively, not

really wanting to leave his side but ignorant of what island protocol

expected of her in the emergency. Lars´s hand tightened on her elbow.

»If I know Keralaw she has matters well in hand. I´m not risking

you from my side for an instant, Carrigana. I thought I´d made that plain.«

Killashandra almost bridled at the possessive tone of his voice but

part of her rather liked the chauvinism. She had too hearty a respect for

storm not to wish to be in the safest place during one. Common sense told

her that was likely to be in Lars Dahl´s company.

Men and women were filing in and out of the tavern. Lars and

Killashandra entered and found a veritable command post. The bar was now

dispensing equipment and gear which Killashandra could not readily

identify. Along the back wall, the huge vdr screen was active, showing a

satellite picture of the growing storm swirling in from the south.

Estimated times of arrival of the first heavy winds, high tide, the eye,

and the counter winds were all listed in the upper left hand corner. Other

cryptic information, displayed in a band across the top of the screen, did

not mean much to her but evidently conveyed intelligence to the people in

the bar. Including Lars.

»Lars, Olav´s on line for you,« called the tallest of the men

behind the bar, and he jerked his head toward a side door. The fellow

paused in his dispensations, and Killashandra was aware of his scrutiny as

she followed Lars to the room indicated.

However rustic the tavern looked from the outside, this room was

crammed with sophisticated equipment, a good deal of it meteorological,

though not as complex as instrumentation in the Weather Room of the Heptite

Guild. And all of it printing out or displaying rapidly changing

information.

»Lars?« A young man turned from the scanner in front of him and,

screwing his face in an anxious expression almost pounced on the new

arrival »What are you going to do -- «

Lars held up his hand, cutting off the rest of that sentence, and

the young man noticed the garland. He threw an almost panic stricken look

at Killashandra.

»Tanny, this is Carrigana. And there´s nothing I can do with this

storm blowing up.« Lars was scrutinizing the duplicate vdr satellite

picture as he spoke. »The worst of it will pass due east. Don´t worry about

the things you can´t change!« He gave Tanny a clout on the shoulder but the

worried expression did not entirely alter

Killashandra kept the silly social smile on her face as Tanny

accorded her the briefest of nods. She had a very good idea what, or rather

whom, they were discussing so obliquely. Her. Still trapped, they thought,

on that chip of an island.

»Tanny´s my partner, Carrigana, and one of the best sailors on

Angel,« Lars added, though his attention was still claimed by the swirling

cloud mass.

»What if the direction changes, Lars?« Tanny refused to be

reassured. »You know what the southern blows are like . . .« He made an

exaggerated gesture with both arms, nearly socking a passing islander, who

ducked in time.

»Tanny, there is nothing we can do. There´s a great big polly on

the island that´s survived hurricanes and high tides since man took the

archipelago. We´ll go have a look as soon as the blow´s gone. All right?«

Lars didn´t wait for Tanny´s agreement, guiding Killashandra back

into the main room. He paused at the counter, waiting his turn, and

receiving a small handset. ‘A light one will do me fine, Bart,« he added

and Bart set a small antigrav unit on the counter. »Most of what I own is

either on the Pearl or on its way back to me from the City. Grab a couple

of those ration packs, will you, Carrigana,« he added as they walked out on

the broad verandah where additional emergency supplies were being passed

out. »Might not need them but it´s less for them to pack to the Ridge.«

As Lars turned her west, away from the settlement, she caught sight

of Tanny, watching them. his expression still troubled. The wind was

picking up and the water in the harbor agitated. Lars looked to his right,

assessing the situation.

»Been in a bad one yet?« he asked her, an amused and tolerant grin

on his face.

»Oh, yes,« Killashandra answered fervently. »Not an experience I

wish to repeat.« How could Lars know how puny an Optherian hurricane would

be in comparison to Passover Storms on Ballybran. Once again she wanted to

discard her borrowed identity. There was so much she would like to share

with Lars.

»It´s waiting out the blow that´s hard,« Lars said, then grinned

down at her. »We won´t be bored this time, though. My father said that

Theach came with Hauness and Erutown. I wonder how they managed the travel

permits?« That caused him to chuckle. »We´ll know how the revised master

plan is working.«

Killashandra was very hard put to refrain from making any remarks

but, of a certainty, waiting out this blow would be extremely interesting.

She might not be getting on with the primary task of her visit to Optheria,

but she was certainly gaining a lot of experience with dissidents.

His place was on a knoll, above the harbor, in a grove of mature

polly trees. It reflected an orderly person who preferred plain and restful

colors. He produced several carisaks which had been neatly stored in a

cupboard, and together they emptied the chest of his clothes, including

several beautifully finished formal garments. He cleared his terminal of

any stored information and when Killashandra asked if they shouldn´t

dismantle the screen, he shrugged.

»Federal issue. I must be one of the few islanders who use the

thing.« He grinned impiously. »And then not to watch their broadcasts! They

can never appreciate that islanders don´t need vicarious experiences.« He

gestured toward the sea. »Not with real live adventures!«

The pillows, hammocks, what kitchen utensils there were, the rugs,

curtains, everything compacted into a manageable bundle to which Lars

attached the antigrav s traps. the entire process hadn´t taken them fifteen

minutes.

»We´ll just attach this to a train, grab something to eat and then

get the Pearl to safety.« He gave his effects a gentle shove in the proper

direction.

When they returned to the waterfront, Killashandra saw what he

meant by train. Numerous personal-effects bundles, all wrapped and

weightless, were being attached to a large floater on which families with

small children perched. As soon as it had reached capacity, the driver

guided it away, along a winding route toward the distant Ridge.

»Catch you next trip, Jorell?« Lars called to the man steering the

harbor boat out toward the anchored ships.

»Gotcha, Lars!«

»There´s Keralaw,« Killashandra said, pointing to the woman who was

ladling hot soup from an immense kettle into bowls.

»You can always count on her hospitality,« Lars said and they

altered their path to meet her.

»Carrigana!« Keralaw paused in serving a family group and waved one

arm energetically to catch their attention. »I´d no idea where you´d -- «

She halted, eyes goggling a bit at the garland about Killashandra´s neck,

staring at Lars´s matching one. Then she smiled. She patted Killashandra´s

arm approvingly. »Anyway, I put your carisak with mine on the float to the

Ridge. Will I see you two there?« Her manner bordered on the coy as she

handed them cups from the bag at her side, and poured the hot soup.

»After we´ve sailed the Pearl to the Back,« Lars said, easily but

Killashandra thought his expression a trifle smug, as if he liked

surprising Keralaw. He blew on his soup, taking a cautious sip. »As good as

ever, Keralaw. One day you must pass on your secret recipe. What´ll Angel

do in a crisis without you around to sustain us!«

Keralaw made a pleased noise, giving him a dig in the ribs before

she sidled up to Killashandra. »You did better on the shore than I did from

the ship!« she murmured, winking and giving Killashandra an approving dig

in the ribs. »And,« she added, her expression altering from bawdy to

solemn, »you´re what he needs right now.«

Before Killashandra could respond to that cryptic comment, Keralaw

had moved off to the next group.

»With Keralaw in the know,« Lars said between sips, »storm or not,

the rest of the island will be informed.«

»That you and I have paired off?« Killashandra gave him a long

stare, having now decided what the special blue garlands must signify in

island custom. It was presumptuous of him, but then, he was also presuming

her acquaintance with island ways. The account, when rendered from her

side, was going to be heavy. »You´re remarkably well organized here . . .«

She let her sentence dangle, implying that she´d been elsewhere to her

sorrow.

»Angel´s not often in the direct path, and the storm may veer off

before it hits, but one doesn´t wait until the last moment, not on Angel.

Father doesn´t permit inefficiencies. They lose lives and cost credit. Ah,

Jorell´s back. Hang on to your cup. We´ll need them later.«

The harbor skip waited for them and its other passengers in the

choppy waters. Lars bent to rinse out his cup and Killashandra followed

suit, before swinging over the gunwales of the water taxi. Willing hands

pulled them aboard.

There was a lot of activity on those ships still left in the

harbor, but many had already started for the safety of the protected bay.

Lars chatted amiably with the other passengers, naming Killashandra once to

everyone. The approaching storm worried them all, despite the well-drilled

exodus. It was considered early in the season for such a big blow: odds

were being given that it would veer west as so many early storms tended to

do: relief was felt that neither of the nearer two moons was at the full,

thus affecting the height of the tides. The pessimist on board was sure

this was the beginning of a very stormy winter, a comment which caught

Killashandra´s interest. Winter? As far as she knew, she´d arrived in

Optheria in early spring. Had she missed half a year somehow?

Then the taxi pulled alongside a sleek-lined fifteen meter

sloop-rigged ship, and Lars was telling her to grab the rope ladder that

flopped against its side. She scrambled up, almost falling over the

life-railing, which she hadn´t expected. Then Lars was beside her,

cheerfully shouting their thanks to Jorell as he deftly hauled the ladder

inboard and began to stow it away.

»We´ll rig the cabin before we sail,« Lars said, nodding astern

toward the hatch.

Killashandra didn´t know much about ships of this class but the

cabin looked very orderly to her, arranged as it was for daytime use. She

went to the forward cabin, and decided that she had been in the top

right-hand bunk. She turned back, to approximate the view she would have

had, and decided that the Pearl Fisher had conveyed her to that wretched

little island.

»Update!« Lars said as he came down the companionway, talking to

the handset. He listened as he did a cursory inspection of the nearest

cupboards, smiling as he turned toward her. »Alert me to any changes.

Over.«

He put the handset down and, in one unexpected sweep, hauled her

tightly into his arms. His very blue eyes gleamed inches above her face.

His face assumed thc expression of a sex-mad fiend, his eyes wide in

exaggerated ferocity, as he bent her backward in one arm his other hand

stroking her body urgently. »Alone, at last, m´girl, and who knows when

next we have the privacy I need to enjoy you to good advantage.«

»Oh, sir, unhand me!« Killashandra fluttered her eye lashes,

panting in mock terror. »How can you ravish an innocent maid in this hour

of our peril?«

»It seems the right thing to do, somehow,« Lars said in a totally

different tone, releasing her so abruptly she had to catch herself on the

table. »Curb your libido long enough for me to make the bed you´re about to

be laid in.« He flipped the table onto its edge, gestured for her to take

the other side of the seat unit which pulled out across the deck.

Simultaneously they fell onto the bed, and Lars began his assault

on her willing person.

The summons of the handset brought them back to reality that had

only peripherally impinged on their activities. Lars had to steady himself

in the lurching ship to reach the handset. He frowned as he heard the

update.

»Well, beloved, I hope you´re a good sailor, for it´s going to be a

rough passage around the wing. That storm is hurrying to meet us. Neither a

veer nor a pause! Grab the wet weather gear from that cupboard.

Temperature´s falling and the rain´s going to be cold.«

Fortunately Lars gave clear instructions to his novice crew and

Killashandra coped with her tasks well enough to gain his nods of approval.

The Pearl Fisher was fitted to be sailed single-handed, with the sheet

lines winched to the cockpit and other remotes to assist in the absence of

a human crew. Lars beckoned Killashandra to join him in the stern as the

anchor was lifted by remote. Another hauled the sloop´s mainsail up the

mast, Lars´s pennon breaking out as the clew of the sail locked home.

The wind took the sail, and the ship, forward, out of the wide

mouth of the harbor, which was now clear of all craft. Nor did there seem

to have been anyone to notice their delay. The beach was empty of people.

The shuttered shops and houses had an abandoned look to them. The tide was

already slopping into the barbecue pits and Killashandra wondered just how

much would be left on the waterfront when they sailed back into Wing

Harbor.

Killashandra found the speed of the Pearl Fisher incredibly

exhilarating. To judge by the rapt expression on his face, so did Lars. The

fresh wind drove them across the harbor almost to its mouth, before Lars

did a short tack to get beyond the land. Then the Pearl was gunwale deep on

a fine slant as she sped on a port tack toward the bulk of the Wing.

It was an endless time, divorced from reality, unlike cutting

crystal where time, too, was sometimes suspended for Killashandra. This was

a different sort of time, that spent with someone, someone whose proximity

was a matter of keen physical delight for her. Their bodies touched,

shoulder, hip, thigh, knee, and leg, as the canting of the ship in her

forward plunge kept Killashandra tight against Lars. Not a voyage, she

realized sadly, that could last forever but a long interval she hoped to

remember. There are some moments, Killashandra informed herself, that one

does wish to savor.

The sun had been about at the zenith when they had finally tacked

out of the Wing Harbor. It was westering as they sailed round the top of

the Wing with its lowlands giving way to the great basalt cliffs, straight

up from the crashing sea, a bastion against the rapidly approaching

hurricane. And the southern skies were ominous with dark cloud and rain. In

the shelter of those cliffs, their headlong speed abated to a more

leisurely pace. Lars announced hunger and Killashandra went below to

assuage it. Taking into account the rough water, she found some heat packs

which she opened, and which they ate in the cockpit, companionably close.

Killashandra found it necessary to curb a swell of incipient lust as Lars

shifted his long body against hers to get a better grip on the tiller.

Then they rounded the cliffs and into the crowded anchorage which

sheltered Angel´s craft. Lars fired a flare to summon the jitney to them,

then he ordered Killashandra forward with the boat hook to catch up the

bright-orange eighty-two buoy to starboard. He furled the sail by remote

and went on low-power assist to slow the Pearl and avoid oversailing the

buoy.

Buoy eighty-two was in the second rank, between two small

ketch-rigged fisherboats, and Killashandra was rather pleased that she

snagged the buoy first try. By the time Lars had secured the ship to ride

out the blow, the little harbor taxi was alongside, its pilot looking none

too pleased to be out in the rough waters.

»What took you so long, Lars?«

»A bit of cross-tide and some rough tacks,« Lars said with a

cheerful mendacity that caused Killashandra to elbow his ribs hard. He

threw his arm about to forestall further assaults. Indeed they both had to

hang on to the railings as the little boat slapped and bounced.

For a moment, Killashandra thought the pilot was driving them

straight into the cliff. Then she saw the light framing the sea cave. As if

the overhang marked the edge of the sea´s domination, the jitney was

abruptly on calmer waters, making for the interior and the sandy shore.

Killashandra was told to fling the line to the waiting shoremen. The little

boat was sailed into a cradle and this was drawn up, safely beyond the

depredations of storm and sea.

»Last one in again, eh Lars?« he was teased as the entire party

made its way out of the dock and started up the long flight of stairs cut

in the basalt. It was a long upward haul for Killashandra, unused to stairs

in any case and, though pride prevented her from asking for a brief halt,

she was completely winded by the time they reached the top and exited onto

a windswept terrace. She was relieved to find a floater waiting, for the

Backbone towered meters above them and she doubted her ability to climb

another step.

Polly and other trees lined the ridge, making a windbreak for the

floater as it was buffeted along, ending its journey at a proper

stationhouse Killashandra had profited by the brief rest and followed

Lars´s energetic stride into the main hall of the Backbone shelter.

»Lars,« called the man at the entrance, »Olav´s in the command

post. Can you join him?«

Lars waved assent and guided Killashandra to an ascending ramp,

past a huge common room packed with people. They passed an immense garage,

where hundreds of packets resembling some strange form of alien avian life

dangled weightless from their antigravs.

There was a storm chill in the air and Killashandra was aware of

symbiont-generated inner tension as her body sensed the impending arrival

of the hurricane.

»The command post is shielded, lover,« Lars said, catching her hand

in his and stroking it reassuringly. »Storm won´t affect you so much there.

I feel it myself,« he added when she looked up in surprise at his comment.

»Real weather-sorts, the pair of us!« The affinity pleased him.

They reached the next level, predominantly storage to judge by the

signs on the door on either side of the wide corridor. Lars walked straight

for the secured portal at the far end, put his thumb on the door lock which

then slid open. Instinctively Killashandra flinched, startled by the sight

of the storm-lashed trees, and the unexpected panoramas, north and south,

of the two harbors. Lars´s hand tightened with reassurance. On both sides

of the door, the walls were covered by data screens and continuous printout

as the satellites fed information to the island´s receivers. The other

three sides of the command post were open, save for the circular stairs

winding down to the floor below.

Olav was on his feet, walking from one display to the next, making

his own estimate of the data. He looked up at Lars and Killashandra, noting

with the upward lift of one eyebrow the bruised garlands they wore. He

indicated the circular stairway and made a gesture which Killashandra read

as a promise to join them later.

They crossed the room, Lars pausing to read the displays at the

head of the staircase. He made a noncommittal grunt and then indicated that

she should precede him. Therefore she was first in the room, grateful that

only large windows north and south broke its protection from the elements

without, while a fire burned in a wide hearth on the eastern wall. The

western wall was broken by four doors, the open one showing a small

catering area. But Killashandra´s attention was immediately on the

occupants of the room, three men and the most beautiful woman Killashandra

had ever seen.

»Nahia! How dare you risk yourself!« cried Lars, his face white

under his tan as he brushed past Killashandra. To her complete amazement,

he dropped on one knee before the woman, and kissed her hand.

Chapter 13

A startled expression crossed Nahia´s perfect features at Lars´s obeisance.

She shot a quick look at Killashandra, managing to convey her embarrassment

even as she tried to lift Lars from his knee.

»My friend, this will not do,« she said kindly, but firmly. »Only

think what effect such a gesture could have on an Elder or a Master -- and

yes, I do most certainly know your opinion of those worthies. But Lars,

such histrionics could damage our goal.«

Lars had by now risen to his feet. With a final few pats to his

hand, an oblique apology for her public admonition, she withdrew from his

grasp, moving past him toward Killashandra. »Whom have you brought with

you, Lars?« she asked, smiling tentatively as she extended her slender hand

to Killashandra. »Who wears your garland?«

»Carrigana, lately a polly planter,« Lars replied, stepping back to

Killashandra´s side and taking her other hand firmly in his.

It was one way of apologizing for his effusive welcome of another

woman but it was Nahia herself who effectively dissolved Killashandra´s

incipient hostility. The touch of her hand had a soothing effect, not a

shock or a jar, but a gentle insinuation of reassurance. Nahia´s eyes were

troubled as she regarded Killashandra, her lips curving upward in a slight

smile which blossomed as she felt Killashandra´s resistance to her

dissipate. Then a little frown gathered at her brows as she became aware of

the lingering crystal resonance within Killashandra. It was the crystal

singer´s turn to smile reassurance and an acknowledgement of what Nahia

was: an empath.

Killashandra had heard of such people but she had never encountered

one. The encyclopedia had not hinted the psi talents were an Optherian

quality. It could be a wild talent and often was. In Nahia it was combined

with unexpected beauty, integrity, and an honesty which few citizens of the

Federated Sentient Worlds could project without endangering their sanity.

Lars had been correct in his statement that Nahia´s special talents would

be a galactic asset. She was Goodness personified.

Nahia looked with gentle inquiry at Killashandra, struggling to

identify the elusive contact with crystal. Killashandra smiled and, with a

final light pressure on Nahia´s fine-boned hand, released her and leaned

slightly against Lars.

At this point, the other men stepped forward to greet the

newcomers.

»I´m Hauness, Nahia´s escort,« said the tallest of the three, an

attractive man whom Killashandra judged to be in his mid-thirties. His

handclasp was strong but not crushing and he, too, exuded a charm and

personality that would have been instantly apparent in any group -- at

least any group that did not contain Nahia. Or Lars. »Believe me, Lars, we

had no report of such rough weather when we embarked on this journey but --

«

»There are matters we must discuss with you, no matter what the

risk.« Erutown was the oldest, and bluntest. His manner suggested that he

tended to be a humorless pessimist. He gave Killashandra´s hand one brief

shake and dropped it. »And there was no risk -- in the weather -- when we

started.« He hovered, his upper body inclined away from Killashandra even

as his feet shifted, as if he wanted to separate Lars from Killashandra and

plunge into the »matters to be discussed« as quickly as possible.

»Theach,« said the third man, giving Killashandra a brief,

self-effacing nod.

He was the sort of nondescript human being, mild mannered, with

undistinguished features, who can be encountered almost anywhere in the

human population, and promptly forgotten. Only because she had heard of his

mathematical abilities from Lars did Killashandra give Theach any sort of

an inspection and thus noticed that his eyes were brilliant with

intelligence: that he had already assumed she would discount him, indeed,

hoped that she would, and was quite willing to accept the sort of dismissal

to which he was clearly accustomed.

So Killashandra gave him a saucy wink. She half expected Theach to

retreat in confusion as many shy men would, but, smiling, he winked back at

her.

Erutown cleared his throat, indicating that now introductions had

been made, he wanted to initiate the discussions they had come for.

»I don´t know about you, Lars, but I´m starving,« Killashandra

said, gesturing toward the catering area. »Is it all right to see what´s

available?« She turned to the others. »May I fix something for you?«

Lars gave her hand a grateful squeeze before he released it. He

told her to find what she fancied and he´d have the same but the others

demurred, gesturing toward the low table where the remains of a meal could

be seen.

The four conspirators didn´t know that Killashandra´s

symbiont-adapted hearing was uncommonly acute. At that distance they could

have whispered and she would have caught what was being said.

»They finally sent the message two days ago, Lars.« Erutown´s

baritone was audible above the noises Killashandra was making in the

catering unit.

»Took them long enough,« Lars said in a low growl.

»They had to search first. And search they did, uncovering a

variety of minor crimes and infringements which, of course slowed them

down.« Hauness was amused.

»Any one of us caught?«

»Not a one of us,« Hauness replied.

»Cleansed us of some very stupid people,« Erutown said.

»She is safe, isn´t she, Lars?« Nahia asked in gentle anxiety, a

graceful gesture of her hand indicating the darkening southern horizon.

»She should be. All she needs is enough sense to climb the polly

tree.«

You ought to have contacted us before you acted so impulsively,

Lars.«

»How could he, Erutown?« Nahia was conciliatory. Then she gave a

little chuckle. »Impulsive but it has proved such an extremely effective

gambit. The Elders have been forced to reapply to the Heptite Guild.«

»They haven´t admitted that the crystal singer has been abducted?«

»As no one has confessed to committing such a heinous crime, how

could they?« Hauness asked reasonably, his voice rippling with amusement.

»Elder Torkes has been hinting dark words about that islander assault -- «

Lars let out a burst of sour laughter for which Erutown growled a

warning, looking over his shoulder at Killashandra who was well out of

sight in the catering area.

»What you don´t know, Lars,« Hauness went on, »is that the crystal

singer had had an altercation with Security Leader Blaz and stalked out of

the installation before any repair had been accomplished.

Lars emitted a low whistle of delighted surprise. »Is that why she

was wandering about Gartertown? I had wondered!«

»Erutown may not approve, and some of the others were appalled at

your action, Lars, but there is no doubt,« and Hauness overrode Erutown´s

disapproving murmurs, »that the action will require embarrassing inquiries

when the second crystal singer arrives.«

»As long as it also requires an appeal to the Council,« Lars said.

»Now what else brought you here so unexpectedly?«

»As I said, the search for the crystal singer exposed some

unsuspected flaws in our organization. Theach and Erutown must ruralize.

Have you another suitable island?«

Lars paused, staring at Hauness, and then the others. Erutown

scowled and looked away but Theach regarded him with a smile.

»Some of my scribblings were discovered, and as I am already under

threat of rehabilitation . . .« Theach shrugged eloquently.

When Lars looked to Erutown for an explanation, the man did not

meet his gaze.

»Erutown was denounced as a recruiter,« Hauness said. »Not his

fault.«

»It was, if I was daft enough to recruit such soft-bellied

cowards!«

Lars grinned. »Well, I could put you ashore with the crystal

singer.« Something increased his mirth out of proportion to the joke,

though Hauness grinned and Nahia tried to control unseemly mirth at

Erutown´s expense. »The island´s big enough and she might even be grateful

for company.«

»I would be easier in mind about her safety if Erutown and Theach

were there,« Nahia said. »The hurricane will have frightened her badly.«

»I don´t like the idea,« Erutown said.

»Actually, if she thinks you´ve also been kidnapped . . .« Hauness

suggested, then gestured to dismiss his notion at Erutown´s negative

response.

»I wouldn´t object,« Theach said. »One doesn´t know much about

crystal singers, except that they heal quickly and indulge in an unusual

profession.«

»You?« Erutown snorted contemptuously. »You´d probably drown

yourself thinking up more theories.«

»When I initiate a session of theoretical thinking, I take the

precaution of seating myself in some secure and secluded spot,« Theach said

in amiable reprimand. »An island would suit me very well indeed.«

»You´d starve!«

»No one can starve on a polly island.« Theach turned for

confirmation to Lars, who nodded.

»You have to work at it, though,« Lars amended. »For at least a few

hours every day.«

»Despite a misapprehension current about my absent-mindedness, I

have found that intense thought stimulates an incredible appetite. Since

eating replenishes both body and the mechanics of thought, I do pause now

and again in my meditations to eat! If I have to gather the food myself, I

shall also have had that beneficial exercise. Yes, Lars,« and Theach smiled

at the islander, »I begin to think that an island residence would provide

me with all I require: seclusion, sustenance, and sanctuary!« He sat back

in the chair, beaming at his circle of friends.

»How many know you and Erutown are in the islands?« Lars asked

seriously.

»Nahia has been working very hard lately, Lars,« Hauness said. »She

was granted a leave of absence: I took my annual holiday and announced our

intention of cruising the coast. There are friends who will vouch for our

presence in mainland waters. Besides, who would expect us to brave a

hurricane?«

»We boarded the jet from the seaside without being seen the night

before she sailed,« Erutown added. »What Elder would suspect Nahia´s

involvement with renegades?«

»If they had any sense whatever,« Nahia said in a crisp tone that

surprised Killashandra with its suppressed anger, »how could they fail to

realize that I sympathize deeply with repressions, frustrations, and

despairs which I cannot avoid feeling! With injustices not all the empathy

in the world will ease.«

A moment of silence followed.

»Is your woman to be trusted with any of this, Lars?« Hauness asked

quietly.

Suppressing a flare of guilt at her duplicity, Killashandra decided

that it was time to join the group before Lars perjured himself.

»Here, this should satisfy, Lars,« she said, approaching the others

with a purposeful stride. She set before him a generous plate of sandwiches

and hot tidbits which she had found in the food storage. »You´re sure I

can´t get anything for you?« she asked the others as she began to gather up

the used plates and cups.

Erutown gave her a sour glance, then turned to watch the rolling

cloud formations of the approaching storm. Theach smiled absently, Hauness

shook his head and settled back next to Nahia who had leaned back in the

couch, eyes closed, her beautiful face relaxed.

When Killashandra returned with her own serving, Lars and Hauness

were absorbed by the satellite picture of the approaching hurricane,

displayed on the vdr. It would be a substantial blow, Killashandra had to

admit, but not a patch on what Ballybran could brew.

Storm watching could be mesmerizing, certainly engrossing. Theach

was the first to break from the fascination. He reseated himself at a small

terminal and began to call up equations on the tiny screen. There was a

tension to the line of his back, the occasional rattle of the keys that

proved he was still conscious, but there were long intervals of total

silence from his corner during the next few hours.

»It´s not going to be a long one at its current rate,« Lars

remarked when he had finished eating. »The eye´ll be on us by night.«

»Is it likely to make the mainland?«

»No. That is, after all, eight thousand kilos off. It´ll blow

itself out over the ocean as usual. You only get our storms when they make

up in the Broad, not from this far south.«

So, Killashandra thought, she was in the southern hemisphere of

Optheria, which explained the switch in seasons. And it explained why this

group felt themselves secure from Mainland intervention and searches. Even

with the primitive jet vehicles, an enormous distance could be traversed in

a relatively short time.

It struck Killashandra that if Nahia, Hauness, and the others could

travel so far, so could the Elders, especially if they wanted to implicate

islanders. Or was that just talk? If, as Lars had admitted, Torkes had set

him up to assault her in order to verify her identity and was using that

assault now to implicate the islanders, would it not be logical to assume

that some foray into the islands would be made by officialdom? If only to

preserve their fiction?

Killashandra closed her mouth on this theory for she had gleaned it

from information she had overhead surreptitiously. Well, she´d find a way

to warn Lars, for she had a sudden premonition that a warning was in order.

From what she had seen of the Elders, reapplying to the Guild would be a

humiliating embarrassment to their sort of bureaucracy. Unless -- and

Killashandra smiled to herself -- they took the line that Killashandra Ree

had not arrived as scheduled. How tidy it could be made, the Elders able to

suppress any reference to the reception in her honor. However, Lanzecki

would know that she had gone, and know, too, that she would not have evaded

the responsibility she had accepted. And there would be computer evidence

of her arrival -- even the Elders would have a hard time suppressing that

sort of trail mark. Not to mention her use of the credit outlet on Angel.

This could be very interesting!

She must have dozed off, for the couch had been comfortable, the

day´s unusual exercise exhausting, and watching the weather screen

soporific. It was the lack of storm noise that woke her. And a curious

singing in her body which was her symbiont´s reaction to drastic weather

changes. A quick glance at the screen showed her that the eye of the storm

was presently over Angel Island. She rubbed at her arms and legs, sure that

the vibration she felt might be discernible. However, Nahia had curled up

on the end of the long couch, Hauness, one arm across her shoulders, was

also asleep, head back against the cushions. Theach was still diddling, but

Erutown and Lars were absent.

She heard voices and steps on the circular stair and made a dash

for the toilet. She distinguished Lars´s distinctive laugh, a bass rumble

from his father, and a grunt that could be Erutown, and some other voices.

Until the eye had passed and the symbiont had quieted, Killashandra wanted

to avoid everyone, especially Lars.

»Carrigana?« Lars called. Then she heard him approach the toilet

and rap on the door. »Carrigana? Would you mind fixing some hungry storm

watchers more of those excellent sandwiches?«

Under ordinary circumstances, Killashandra would have had a tart

rejoinder but catering would solve the more immediate problem.

»Just a moment.« She splashed water on her face, smoothed back her

hair, and regarded the blossoms about her neck. Strangely enough they were

not dead, their petals were still fresh despite the creasing. Their

fragrance scented her fingers as she opened the crushed flowers and spread

them back into their original shapes.

When she opened the door, Nahia and Hauness were making their way

toward the catering area.

»They only want to talk weather,« Nahia said with a smile. »We´ll

help you.«

The others did talk weather, but on the comunits to other islands,

checking on storm damages and injuries, finding out what supplies would be

required, and which island could best supply the needs. The three caterers

served soup, a basic stew, and high-protein biscuits. In the company of

Nahia and Hauness, the work was more pleasant than Killashandra would have

believed. She had never met their likes before and realized that she

probably never would again.

The respite at the storm´s eye was all too brief, and soon the

hurricane was more frightening in its renewed violence. Though it was a

zephyr in comparison to Ballybran turbulence, Killashandra rated it a

respectable storm, and slept through the rest of it.

A touch on her shoulder woke her, a light touch that was then

repeated and her shoulder held in a brief clasp. That was enough to bring

Killashandra to full awareness and she looked up at Nahia´s perplexed

expression. Killashandra smiled reassuringly, attempting to pass off the

storm resonance still coursing through her body. As Lars was draped against

her, she moved cautiously to a sitting position and took the steaming cup

from Nahia with quiet thanks. Killashandra wondered how the man had been

able to sleep with her body buzzing.

Other storm watchers had disposed themselves for sleep about the

room. Outside a hard rain was falling and a stout wind agitated the rain

forest but the blow had become a shadow of its hurricane strength.

»We had orders to wake people as soon as the wind died to force

five,« Nahia said and extended a second hot cup to Killashandra for Lars.

»Has there been much damage? Many injuries?«

»Sufficient. The hurricane was unseasonably early and caught some

communities unprepared. Olav is preparing emergency schedules for us.«

»Us?« Killashandra stared at Nahia in surprise. »Surely you´re not

going to risk being seen and identified here?«

»These are my own people, Carrigana. I am safest in the islands.«

Serenely confident, the beauty returned to the catering area.

Lars had awakened during that brief interchange although he hadn´t

changed his position. His very blue eyes were watching her closely, no

expression gave her a hint of his mood. Lazily he caressed her leg.

Gradually his lips began to curve in a smile. What he might have said, what

thoughts he held behind those keen eyes he did not share with her. Then he

touched the garland she still wore, carefully unfolding a crushed petal.

»Will you be crew for me? We won´t have much time together southbound.

Tanny, Theach, and Erutown sail with us, and we´ll be dropping off supplies

here and there . . .«

»Of course I´ll come,« Killashandra said eagerly. She wouldn´t miss

the trip for the world. Only . . . how would Lars take her deception? Would

she lose him? Well, she didn´t have to admit that she was the crystal

singer they had incarcerated on the island!

The winds out of the Back Harbor were brisk enough to be dangerous,

but the well laden Pearl settled down to her task like the splendid craft

she was. Erutown was the nonsailor among them and took to a bunk in the

forward cabin until the motion sickness medication had taken effect. Theach

had appropriated the small terminal, smiling with absentminded good humor

at his shipmates, before he resumed his programming.

Now that Tanny was on his way, he was as cheerful a companion as

one could wish. Nor was he impatient with Killashandra as a crewmember.

They had set sail once the winds had dropped to force three, one of the

first of the larger sailing vessels to leave haven. Others were being

loaded and crewed for their relief voyages. After the enforced idleness of

the storm, it was good to be physically active. Killashandra didn´t mind

the wet weather nor the tussle with wind as she and Tanny made periodic

checks of the deck cargo.

Fresh water and food were unloaded at the first stop, and some

emergency medical supplies. The Pearl had carefully motored past the debris

floating in the small harbor: roofs, the sides of dwellings, innumerable

polly trees, fruit bobbing about like so many bald heads. That sight had

startled Killashandra and she had nearly exposed her ignorance of island

phenomena to Tanny. The inhabitants had taken refuge on the one highland of

the island, but they were already hauling salvageables from the high tide

mark and the water. They cheered the arrival of the Pearl, some wading out

to float the water-tight supplies in to shore. The exchange was completed

in the time it took the Pearl to turn about and head back to the open sea.

And that was the routine at a half-dozen smaller islands.

Killashandra had had a long look at the charts and the compass; they were

taking a long arcing route, »her« island being the farthest point of their

journey to the southwest.

The waters were studded with islands, large, small, and medium. All

showed the devastation of the storm, and on most the polly trees were still

bent over from their struggle with the hurricane: on some of the smaller

islands, the trees had been uprooted. As no one made a comment on this

waste, Killashandra could not ask how soon polly would reestablish itself.

In answer to a faint emergency call, they eventually sailed into

the harbor of a medium-size island that had lost its communications masts

and had been unable to make contact with Angel. Lars and Tanny went ashore

there, leaving Killashandra in conspicuous sight while Erutown and Theach

remained below. Some of the urgently needed items could be supplied from

the extras on board and Lars contacted Angel for the rest.

As they finally lifted anchor and sailed onward, Tanny´s rising

excitement was communicated to Killashandra. She could recognize nothing,

but if they were indeed near the island of her incarceration, she had swum

away from nearby help. As they approached the next landfall, she didn´t

need Tanny´s shout of relief to know they had reached »her« island; the

huge polly tree in the center was a distinctive landmark. Not only had the

tree survived but also its siblings or offspring, and the little hut she

had made in their shelter. Lars has to restrain Tanny from diving into the

breakers and swimming ashore in his eagerness to reassure himself.

»I don´t see anyone!« Tanny cried as the Pearl motored toward the

beach. »Surely she could hear the engine!«

»Is this where you want to dump us?« Erutown growled, surveying the

uprooted polly, the wind-depressed trunks of more, and the storm debris on

the once white sands.

»Oh, you´ll be luxuriously situated, I assure you.« Lars said.

Killashandra had decided that Lars and Erutown were in basic disagreement

on too many counts. Lars was delighted to deposit the man out of the way

for a while. »We´ve solar-power units for Theach´s equipment, all sorts of

emergency camp gear, and plenty of food should you tire of the stuff the

island and the sea provide.«

»And a hatchet, a knife, and a book of instructions?« Killashandra

asked she was not above priming her surprise.

»There speaks the polly planter.« Grinning, Lars flipped the toggle

to release the anchor, cut off the engine, and gestured Tanny overboard. He

was halfway up the heights to the shelter before the others had made the

beach.

»There´s no one here, Lars. Ye gods, what shall we do? There´s no

one here!« Tanny screamed.

Consternation smoothed Lars´s features and he set off up the slope

at speed. Killashandra followed at a more leisurely pace, wondering whether

she would ease their fears. One look at the terror and hopelessness of

Tanny´s face, and a second one at the shock on Lars´s eroded her need for

revenge. Erutown and Theach were on the beach, out of hearing.

»You don´t know very much about crystal singers, do you, Lars . .

.«

He swung around, stared at her, trying to assimilate her words.

Tanny reached his conclusion first and sat heavily down among the

storm-strewn polly fronds, his expression incredulous.

» . . . If you thought I´d just sit here until it suited you to

retrieve me.«

Chapter 14

Any discussion of that would have to be postponed. Theach and Erutown

reached the height, looking about them for their fellow exile. Unable to

look in Killashandra´s direction, Tanny shot one horrified glance at Lars

as the latter smoothly invented a note that she had been removed from the

island by a passing vessel. He even flourished a piece of paper from his

pocket as he commented that he was glad she was safe.

»That tears it,« Erutown said gloomily. »We´ll all be in trouble.«

»I doubt it. A very good friend of ours skippered that ship,« Lars

replied without a blink »She can´t go anywhere without my knowledge.« Tanny

made a strangled sound and Killashandra grinned, choking on her laughter.

»There´s nothing you could safely do without jeopardizing yourself at this

point, Erutown. It isn´t as if you´ll be out of touch,« and Lars handed the

man a small

but powerful handset. »The frequency to use for any contact is 103.4

megahertz. All right? You can listen in on any of the other channels but

communicate only on the 103.4.«

Erutown agreed with ill grace, hefting the set doubtfully. With a

sideways grin at Killashandra, Lars handed over hatchet, knife, and polly

book.

»There now, you´re completely equipped,« Killashandra said

cheerfully. »You´ll find that a polly island is quite restful.« She glanced

maliciously at Tanny and Lars. »Everything you require -- polly for food,

fish in the lagoon for sport and a change of diet, and a fine reef to

prevent the omnivorous from dining on you. You´re far better off than I was

on my polly island, I assure you.« Tanny squirmed, noticeably discomfited.

»Oh, we´ll do fine, Carrigana.« Theach grinned as he began to

unpack the solar reflectors.

Lars chuckled, linking his arm in hers, and swinging her down the

slope to the beach.

»C´mon, Tanny, I want to be at the Bar Island before sundown.«

What with the routine necessary to up anchor and maneuver the Pearl

through the one gap in the reef, there wasn´t time for discussions until

they were once again under full sail and beating due north for the Bar

Island.

»Tanny, I think you´d better go below,« Lars began, signaling

Killashandra to join him in the cockpit. »What you don´t know won´t hurt

you -- «

»Who says?« Tanny growled.

»Fix us some grub, will you? All this excitement gave me an

appetite. So,« and once Tanny had slammed the hatch closed, Lars turned

expectantly to Killashandra, »could I have some explanations?«

»I rather think a few are due me!«

Lars cocked an eyebrow, grinning sardonically at her. »Not when you

must have figured out many of the answers already if you´re half as smart

as I think you are.« Lars slid a finger across the scar on her arm, then he

reached for her hand and held it up before her face, his thumb rubbing

against the crystal scars. » ‘I came from the City.´ Indeed!«

»Well, I did . . .« she said, deceptively meekly.

»Your best line, you witch, was the one about your having had no

choice about coming to the islands!« Lars could not contain his mirth then

and tilting his head back, roared with laughter.

»I wouldn´t laugh if I were you, Lars Dahl. You´re in an unenviable

position in my files. » She tried to sound severe but couldn´t.

His eyes were still brimming with humor when he abruptly switched

mood. He touched the garland. »Yes, I am rather. And on Angel Island. For

one thing, according to island tradition, this announces us handfasted for

a year and a day.«

»I had guessed that the garlands signified more than your loving

wish to adorn my person.« The words came out more facetiously than she

meant for she ached with a genuine regret. Lars´s steady blue eyes caught

her gaze and held it. He waited for her explanation.

»With all the will in the world to continue what we started, I

don´t have a year and a day here, Lars Dahl.« The words left her mouth

slowly, unwillingly. »As a crystal singer, I am compelled to return to

Ballybran. Had I understood yesterday morning precisely what these blooms

meant, I would not have accepted them. Thus does ignorance wound the giver.

I am . . . tremendously attracted to you as a man, Lars Dahl. And in the

light of what I have been told, heard, and overheard,« she gave him a faint

smile, »I can even forgive you that idiotic abduction. In fact, it would

have been far more humiliating for me to have been caught in a raid on a

bootleg brewery. What you cannot know is that I wasn´t sent to Optheria

merely to repair that organ -- I am here as an impartial witness, to learn

if restriction to this planet is popularly accepted.«

»Popularly accepted?« Lars lifted half out of the cockpit seat in

reaction. »What a way to phrase it! It is the most singularly unpopular,

repressive, frustrating, discouraging facet of the Optherian Charter. Do

you know what our suicide rate is? Well, I can give you hard statistics on

that. We made a study of the incidents and have copies of what notes have

been left by the deceased. Nine out of ten cite the hopelessness and

despair at having no place to go, nothing to do. If you´re lucky enough to

be unemployed on Optheria, oh, you´re given food, shelter, clothing, and

assigned stimulating community service to occupy you. Community service! --

Trimming thorn hedges, tidying up hillsides, dusting boulders in the

roadways, painting and repainting federal buildings, stuffing the faces and

wiping the bottoms of the incontinent at both ends of life. Truly rewarding

and fulfilling occupations for the intelligent and well educated failures

that this planet throws upon the altar of the organ!«

He had been emphasizing his disgust with blows of his fist to the

tiller, until Killashandra covered his hand with hers.

»Which one of our messages got through? It´s been like tossing a

bottle message into the Broad Sea with precious little hope of its ever

floating to the Mainland.«

»The complaint originated with the Executive Council of the

Federated Artists´ Association, who claim a freedom of choice restriction.

A Stellar made the charge, though I wasn´t told which one. His principal

concern was with the suppression of composers and performers.« She gave him

a wry grin.

Lars raised his eyebrows in surprise. »It wasn´t me who sent that

one.« Then he seemed to lake heart, his expression lightening with renewed

hope. »If one appeal got through, maybe others have, and we´ll have a whole

school of people helping us -- And you´ll help us?«

»Lars, I´m required to be an impartial -- «

»I wouldn´t dream of prejudicing you . . .« His twinkling eyes

challenged her as he threw his free arm about her shoulders, nibbling at

her ear.

»Lars, you´re crushing me. You´re supposed to be sailing this ship

. . . I´ve got to think how to go on from here. To be candid, I really

don´t have much more than your word that there is a widespread

dissatisfaction, and not just a few isolated instances or personal

grudges.«

»Do you know how long we´ve been trying to reach the Federated

Council?« Now Lars gestured wildly in his agitation. »Do you know what it

will mean to the others when I tell them one message has got through, and

someone is actually investigating?«

»There´s another matter that we have to discuss, Lars. Is it

advisable to tell them, or would it be wiser for me to continue covertly?«

His jubilation subsided as he considered her question. »I suppose the

suicide file would be acceptable as valid evidence. Has the restriction

matter ever been put to the vote here?«

»A vote on Optheria?« He laughed sourly. »You haven´t read that

abominable Charter, have you?«

»I scanned it. A boring document. all those highflown phrases

turned my pragmatic stomach.« Before Killashandra´s eyes rose the vision of

tortured architecture coping with »natural formations« so as not to rape«

the Natural World. »So there is no referendum mechanism in the Charter?«

»None. The Elders run this planet and, when one of them keels over

and can no longer be resuscitated, a replacement is appointed -- by the

remaining undefunct Elders.«

»No rising from the ranks on merit here?«

»Only in the Conservatory, and for especially meritorious

composition and exceptional performance ability. Then one might possibly,

on rare occasions, aspire to reach the exalted rank of a Master. Once in a

century, a Master might possibly gain an appointment to the Council of

Elders.

»Is that what you were after?«

Lars gave her a wry grin. »I tried! I was even willing to assault

you to gain favor and show them what a good, useful, boy I was.«

He snorted at his gullibility.

»Granted, I haven´t heard an approved composition, much less yours,

played on the sensory organ,« Killashandra began in casual accents, »but I

was tremendously impressed by your performance the other evening. The

musical one.«

»The time, the place, the ambiance . . .«

»Not so fast, Lars Dahl. I was a trained musician before I became a

crystal singer. I can be a critical auditor . . . and when I heard your

music, I didn´t know you as well as I do now, so that is an unbiased

assessment. If by any chance the Stellar who lodged the complaint with the

Artists´ Association had had you in mind, I second his concern.«

Lars regarded her with a genuine surprise. »You would? What music

training did you have?«

»I studied for ten years at the Fuerte Music Center. Voice.«

Lars nearly lost grip on the tiller and before he had altered the

course, the Pearl yawed in the rough seas, throwing Killashandra against

him »You were the soprano that night?«

»Yes.« She grinned. »I recognized your tenor at the barbecue. Where

did you learn Baleef´s Voyagers? And the Pearl Fishers duet? Certainly not

in the Conservatory.

»My father. He´d brought some of his microlibrary with him when he

came to Optheria.«

»Your father is naturalized?«

»Oh, yes. Like yourself, he didn´t come to the islands by choice.

If we mention your true identity to no one else -- and what is your true

name? Or don´t crystal singers give them?«

»You mean to say you don´t know the name of the woman you assaulted

and then abducted?« Killashandra pretended outrage.

Lars shook his head, grinning at her with an almost boyish

mischief.

»Killashandra Ree.«

He repeated the syllables slowly, then smiled. »I like that much

better than Carrigana. That was a rather harsh name to say endearingly. The

ells and the sh are sweeter.«

»Possibly the only sweet thing about me, I warn you, Lars.«

He pointedly ignored that remark. »My father must know who you are,

Killashandra. It will give him new heart for I´ll tell you frankly, he was

far more discouraged about those arrested in the Elders´ search than he let

on to the others. Nor« -- he paused, only then aware of the water sloshing

in the cockpit about their toes -- »nor do I like deceiving Nahia. She

doesn´t deserve it.«

»No, she doesn´t. Though I have the feeling she already has a good

idea that I´m not the island maid I´ve been portraying.«

»Oh? Was she at that reception in the Conservatory?«

»No, but she sensed the crystal resonance.« Killashandra stroked

her arm explanatorily. Lars caressed her then.

»You mean, that´s what I´ve been feeling whenever we touch?«

Killashandra gave him a reassuring smile. »Not entirely, lover.

Some of it is a perfectly spontaneous combustion.«

Lars guffawed at that, embracing her once again.

»Shouldn´t I bail or something?« she asked as the chill sea water

splashed over her toes. His arm restrained her.

»Not just yet.« He frowned, glancing off to port, not really seeing

the sprouts of islets as he corrected their course a few points easterly.

»However, if we tell my father and Nahia who you are -- «

»Hauness, too?«

»What Nahia knows, Hauness does, and safe enough in both their

hands. But then what? Hard copy on the suicide files is rapidly available.

But I should insist that you meet with other groups to prove unquestionably

that the arbitrary restriction to Optheria is not popularly acceptable.«

»I´m glad you agree to that.«

»In doing that, you will also need to avoid the Elders. It wouldn´t

do for them to discover you blithely treading the cobbles at Ironwood or

the terraces of Maitland.«

»You never told them you´d kidnapped me, so why couldn´t I visit

other communities?«

»Because you´ve now been missing for five weeks. How would you

explain such an absence, much less why you haven´t repaired their precious

Festival organ?«

»I´d´ve done that if that wretched security officer hadn´t been in

his flatulent dotage! My absence is easy to explain. I just don´t explain

it.« She shrugged diffidently.

Lars sniggered. »You don´t know how much our Elders dislike

mysteries -- «

»You have seen me playing a humble island maid, Lars. Try seeing me

as a highly indignant and aristocratic member of the Heptite Guild.« As she

spoke, her voice became strange, disdainful, and Killashandra pulled

herself arrogantly erect. Lars started to remove his arm from her shoulders

in reaction to the transformation. »I´m more than a match for Ampris or

Torkes. And they need my services far too much to annoy me again.«

»I´m obliged to mention that they´ve sent for a replacement -- «

»I know that.«

»How could you?«

Killashandra grinned at him. »Crystal singers have preternaturally

acute hearing. You and your little band of conspirators were only across

the room from me. I heard every word.«

Lars momentarily let the tiller slip but Killashandra grabbed it

and steadied the helm.

»A second crystal singer might be all to the good, depending on who

they send. But we´ve time to spare -- it´ll take nearly ten weeks to get

another singer here. I happen to need the contract money so I´ll repair

their damned organ. Maybe this time, I´ll get the kind of help I need.« A

thought suddenly struck Killashandra. »By all that´s holy, I´ll get you!«

She prodded Lars´s chest with her forefinger.

Lars snorted with derision. »I´m the last person welcome in the

Conservatory!«

»Ah, but you will be welcome -- as the man who rescued this poor

abandoned crystal singer from durancevile!«

»What?«

»Well, that would answer why I´ve been absent. But, of course, I

never set eyes on my abductor so I can´t say who it might be.« Killashandra

fluttered her eyelashes in mock horror. »There I was, taking a stroll to

compose myself after that horrible confrontation with an officious oaf and

wham! bung! I´m coshed on the head and wake up, all alone, on a desert

island, heavens know where!« Killashandra got into the part with a faked

swoon. »I´m less of a ham with a properly respectful audience, I might add.

But there I am. Lost! Who knows who the dastards are -- using a plural will

suggest a whole group of conspirators, you see -- And then you . . .«

Killashandra laid a delicate hand on Lars´s arm. His eyes were bright with

mirth and he had his lips pressed together against distracting laughter.

»You -- loyal despite your terrible disappointment« -- and Killashandra put

her hand to her breast and breathed hard » -- rescued me and insisted on

returning me to the safety of the City, to install the crystal manual so

that the priceless organ will be ready for the Summer Festival. Thus

currying favor with the powers that be -- which, in view of your subversive

activities, is a very good idea -- and saving them the cost of another

expensive crystal singer. We are very expensive to hire, you see. And I

have the impression that the Elders are credit-crunchers.«

Lars began to chuckle, rubbing his chin as if he was visualizing

those moments of triumph.

»If you can be trusted not to overact« -- he ducked as she shook

her fist at him -- »you know, it might work.«

»Of course it will work! I was able to gauge audience reactions to

a pico. And more than just give you a well-deserved return for their

meanness and chicanery to you, I´ll pretend that I´m so very nervous about

a repetition of assault and battery that I´ll need you by my side all the

time.«

»I think,« Lars began, slowly, thoughtfully, »Father and the others

will like this plan.«

»Oh?«

Lars gave a rueful snort. »I got rather soundly told off for acting

in a unilateral fashion when I abducted you, you know. My father is a mild

mannered man most of the time -- «

»Then let us by all means present this idea to him -- them. And by

the way, speaking of mild-mannered men, what do you know about Corish von

Mittelstern?«

»The man looking for his uncle?«

»That´s the one.«

»Well, he´s not an Optherian agent if that´s what you´re worried

about. We checked him for residue.«

»Checked him for what?«

»D´you recall the arc at the shuttleport? That´s to prevent

Optherians from leaving the planet. The arc is set to detect a mineral

residue that is present in our bone marrow. There´s absolutely no argument

with the port guards if you try to enter the shuttleport. They just shoot.«

»And that´s activated by any Optherian passing the sensors?«

»Even visitors who´ve stayed long enough to absorb sufficient trace

to be detected.« Lars´s expression was sour. »Like my father.«

Killashandra half heard that comment, as she was thinking back to

her exit from the port. Thyrol had been right beside her and the alarm

hadn´t gone off for them, though it had when the rest of the Optherian

quartette had passed.

»Strange, that,« she said half to herself. »No. Corish isn´t

Optherian. He came out on the Athena with me. But I´ve a very good notion

that he´s an FSP agent of some sort. I mean, what good is just one

impartial observer if the object is to change the status quo of an entire

planet? Even if I am a crystal singer.«

»Did Corish know that?«

»No.« Killashandra chuckled. »To Citizen von Mittelstern I was a

brash and impulsive music student traveling cheap to the Summer Festival!«

When Lars gave her a puzzled look, she laughed. »Being a crystal singer

entails some rather curious disadvantages which are not relevant to the

more important discussion at hand.«

»I don´t know much about crystal singers -- «

»What you don´t know won´t hurt you,« she said, waggling a finger

under his nose. »But I´d very much like to know more about Corish, and if

there is a missing uncle.«

»Why didn´t Corish recognize you on the beach?«

»The same reason you didn´t. And he didn´t know me all that well,«

she added, a bit amused by Lars´s reaction. »He rather obviously, at least

to me, cultivated the company of an innocuous and silly young music

student. And one or two other anomalies alerted me.«

»I´d encountered a few of those creatures recently myself,« Lars

remarked in a reproving drawl.

»I did the best I could with the background material I had.«

Lars pulled her as close to him as the tiller allowed. »Your only

mistake, now that I think back on it, were your comments about singing.

Everyone in the islands sings. But voice is not an instrument for real

music . . . according to the Masters.«

Killashandra began to sputter indignantly. »That in itself proves

how stupid they all are!«

Lars laughed in delight at her reaction and then drew his feet up

as the water began slopping up their calves.

»Tanny!« he shouted. »On the deck, on the double.«

The hatch was opened so quickly in response to his call that

Killashandra wondered how long the young man had had his ear to the wooden

panels.

»Haven´t you found us something to eat yet? About time.« For Tanny

held up two heavy soup mugs. »Give it over and start bailing.«

Chapter 15

It took quite a bit of persuading on Killashandra´s part to reassure Tanny

that she intended no reprisals against him for his very minor part in her

abduction. Lars explained that he had managed to sneak her on board the

ocean jet with the help of another friend who merely thought Lars´s latest

girl friend had had a shade too much new brew.

»One for the girls, are you, m´bucko?« Killashandra had asked in an

arch tone.

Lars nodded at her garland. »Not any more, Sunny! I´ve made an

honest woman of you!«

That exchange did more to reassure Tanny than any other argument

Killashandra had presented. That and the fact that she was perfectly

willing to help bail out the cockpit.

Bar Island was reached just before sunset, with enough time to

unload the emergency supplies. The Bar Islanders had been directly in the

hurricane´s path and suffered more damage than any of the other islands on

their sweep. Two men, a woman and a young child had internal injuries which

the medical facilities of the smaller settlement could not treat

adequately. Lars immediately offered them passage on the Pearl Fisher,

giving Killashandra a guarded and rueful grin of regret. Nor did they have

a chance to be private that night. Everyone pitched in to finish

constructing temporary communal shelters, and Killashandra found herself

once again plaiting polly fronds, pleased that her deftness caused no

questions. When a halt was called at midnight, Killashandra was far too

tired to do more than curl up gratefully against Lars on the sand, her head

pillowed on his arm, and fall asleep.

At first light of a sullen day, the injured were floated on bladder

rafts to the Pearl, carefully hoisted aboard, then secured in the cabin

bunks. Killashandra was given instructions by the medic for the

administration of necessary drugs and care. The patients had been sedated

for the voyage, so he expected no problems.

As soon as she could, Killashandra went up on deck. She found care

of the sick and injured a distasteful necessity and the faint odor of

antiseptics and medicine made her slightly nauseous. She said nothing about

her disinclination, uncharacteristically wanting to sustain Lars´s good

opinion of her. He was bent over the chart display on the small

navigational terminal, plotting the most direct course for Angel Island´s

North Harbor where the main medical facility was situated.

»Tide and wind are in our favor this morning, Killa,« he said,

reaching his arm about her waist and drawing her in to him without taking

his eyes from the display. He tapped for an overlay of the route he had

chosen and she could see how it made use of the swift channels between the

islands and the fuller morning tide. »We´ll be in North before we know it.«

He made a Final correction and laid in the course. Now the display cleared

to show him the compass headings and the minimum required tacking to slip

into the swift current just beyond Bar Island´s western reef. »Is the

spinnaker set, Tanny?«

»Aye, aye skipper,« the young man called from the bow as

Killashandra watched the vivid red and orange sail bellying out briefly

over the bowsprit before the wind caught it.

There´s an exhilaration to sailing a fast, trim ship, with a

following wind and a current to assist smooth passage. The Pearl slipped

into the flow as effortlessly as a slide down a greased pole. The sea was

almost calm, and gunmetal green-gray, not quite the same color as the gray

sky.

»Lucky it´s today instead of yesterday,« Killashandra said,

settling herself in the cockpit beside Lars. He had the tiller on its upper

setting so that he could see forward without the cabin blocking him.

»They´re all secure below?«

»Secure and asleep! I´ll check on the half hour.«

They sat together enjoying wind, sea, and sail while Tanny coiled

lines and set all fair. Then he joined them in the cockpit, maintaining the

companionable silence.

Just before noon, sailing smartly on the same westerly current that

had nearly defeated Killashandra, they rounded the Toe and tacked eastward

to sail right up to the large North Harbor pier at the elbow of the Angel.

When Lars had been able to estimate his time of arrival, he had called it

in, so medics and grav units were waiting for the injured. Killashandra,

dutifully checking every half hour, had had no problems with her patients

but it was an immense relief to turn them over to trained medical

technicians.

»Father wants a word with us,« Lars said quietly in Killashandra´s

ear as they watched their passengers being trundled away. »Tanny, anchor

the Pearl at buoy twenty-seven, will you? And keep her ready. Don´t know

where we´ll have to go next. Stay on the page, okay?«

Tanny nodded, his expression rather strained, as if he was relieved

to stay on the Pearl, whose eccentricities he could cope with and

understand.

If the Wing Harbor on the south side of Angel Island had appeared

rustic and homely to Killashandra´s eyes, North Harbor was the antithesis:

that is, within the framework of the Charter´s prohibition against raping

»a natural world.« The colorful buildings set up above the harbor behind

sturdy sea walls utilized manmade materials and modernistic surfaces in

some sort of tough, textured plastic and a good deal of plasglas so no

vista would be hidden from the occupiers. If the architecture lacked warmth

or grace, it was also practical in a zone where wind speeds could make a

dangerous missile out of a polly branch.

Lars guided Killashandra up a ramp that climbed to the top of the

Elbow, where a dormered structure commanded views of the main harbor as

well as the smaller curved bay that featured the old stratovolcano that was

the Angel´s Head. A small sailing craft was tacking cautiously through the

Fingerbone reefs at the end of the Hand. From the different colors in the

sea, Killashandra could distinguish the safer, deeper channel, but she

didn´t think she´d like to sail that in a ship as large as the Pearl.

To her surprise, the first person they saw as they entered the

Harbor Master´s office was Nahia. She had been using the terminal and upon

their entry she half rose, her expression eager for Lars´s news of the

stranded crystal singer.

We needn´t have worried ourselves for a moment about out captive,

Nahia.« Lars strode up to the empath and, before she could protest, kissed

her hand.

»Lars, you simply must stop that,« Nahia protested, giving

Killashandra a worried glance.

»Why? I only do you a courtesy you fully deserve!«

Would Nahia comfort Lars, Killashandra wondered, after she had

departed Optheria?

»The woman is all right, isn´t she, Carrigana?« Nahia was by no

means reassured by Lars´s droll comment

»Never better,« Killashandra replied affably. She wondered why Lars

was drawing the game out when he had specifically said he didn´t wish to

deceive Nahia. She gave him a sharp glance.

»Where´s father!«

»I´m here, Lars, and there´s trouble on its way,« the Harbor Master

said, appearing from the front office. »I´m only grateful we had the

hurricane, for it slowed down the official transport. There´s to be a full

search of the Islands. Torkes leads it so it´d be the height of folly to

protest or interfere.«

»Then isn´t it fortunate that the crystal singer has been rescued,«

Killashandra said.

»She has?« Olav Dahl looked about, even to peering outside, seeking

the woman.

Unerringly now, Nahia turned her worried face toward Killashandra,

her eyes widening.

»And, Olav Dahl, by your courageous son, who found her abandoned on

an island while he was on a hurricane rescue mission in the vicinity.«

»Young woman, I -- « Olav Dahl began, frowning at her light tone.

»You are Killashandra Ree?« Nahia asked, her beautiful eyes intent

on Killashandra´s face.

»Indeed. And so grateful to the loyal upright Optherian citizen

Lars Dahl that this much-abused crystal singer feels secure only in his

presence.« Killashandra beamed fatuously at Lars.

Nahia´s slender hands went to her mouth to suppress her laughter.

»I presume that in your official capacity you can inform the

official vehicle of the felicitous news?« Killashandra asked Olav Dahl,

smiling encouragingly at him to coax a less reproving response.

Olav Dahl regarded Killashandra with an expression that became more

and more severe, as if he didn´t believe what he was hearing, didn´t

condone her levity, and quite possibly would not accept her assistance.

Slowly he sank onto the nearest desk for support, staring at her with

amazement. Killashandra wondered that this man could be Lars´s father until

suddenly a smile of great charm and pure mischief lightened his

countenance. He got to his feet, one hand outstretched to her, radiating

relief.

»My dear Guildmember, may I say how pleased I am that you have been

delivered from your ordeal? Have you any idea at all who perpetrated this

outrage on a member of the most respected guild in the galaxy?«

»None under the sun,« Killashandra relied, the epitome of innocent

bewilderment. »I left the organ loft, rather precipitously, I hasten to

add, because of a distressing incident with an officious security captain.

I hoped that a stroll in the fresh air might compose my agitated spirits.

When all of a sudden -- « She brought her hands together. »I think I must

have been drugged for a long time. When I finally regained consciousness. I

was on this island, from which your son fortuitously rescued me only this

morning!« Killashandra turned, fluttering her eyelashes at Lars in a parody

of gratitude.

»I find that absolutely fascinating, Killashandra Ree,« said a

totally unexpected newcomer. Lars half crouched as he whirled toward the

doorway framing Corish von Mittelstern. »Evidently your credentials were

far more impressive than you led me to expect. So you´re the crystal singer

who was dispatched?«

»Oh, and have you found your dear uncle?«

»Actually, I have.« Corish, his lips twitching with the first real

amusement she had seen him exhibit, gestured toward Olav Dahl.

Lars was not the only one who stared at his father. Nahia gave a

silvery laugh.

»It was too amusing, the confrontation, Lars,« Nahia said,

chuckling. »They were circling the truth like two hemlin cocks. It was all

I could do to retain my composure, for, of course, Hauness and I have known

Olav´s history. It didn´t take me very long to perceive that Corish was not

looking for the man in the hologram.«

»I could hardly brandish Dahl´s real likeness in case I jeopardized

him. I´d memorized his facial characteristics so I thought I´d recognize

him once I did see him.« Then Corish turned to Killashandra. »He hadn´t

altered as much as you had. I didn´t recognize you at all, with your hair

and eyebrows bleached and a good few kilos lighter. If it matters,« and

Corish gestured at the matched garlands, »this is an improvement over the

mawkish music student.«

»So are you Council or Evaluation?« Killashandra shot a triumphant

glance at Lars. »Olav´s no more your uncle than I am. That inheritance

business was very thin.«

»For you, perhaps,« and Corish inclined his body toward her, and

his manner turned starchy at her criticism, »but you´d be surprised at how

effective it was. Especially with Optherian officials who might get their

percentage out of it.« Corish made an age-old gesture with his thumb and

forefinger. »Since all off-planet mail is censored, and not always

delivered to the addressee, such a problem is peculiarly applicable to

Optheria.«

»I withdraw my comment.« Killashandra nodded graciously and then

seated herself in the nearest chair. »Do I also assume that Olav has been a

-- misplaced -- agent?«

»Inadvertently detained,« Olav replied on his own behalf, with a

nod to Corish. »My briefing was at fault, on a point no one had considered

at headquarters. To whit, the mineral residue, which is what trapped me

here. And which provides the Optherians with such simple means of

preventing unauthorized departure from this planet. The exile has not been

without profit to me,« and he smiled warmly at his son, »though my time was

not spent in activities of which the Council wholeheartedly approve. ‘If

you can´t lick ‘em, join ‘em´ is useful advice.« He winked at Killashandra,

who gave a crow of laughter. »However, you appear to be remarkably tolerant

of the abuse you have suffered at my son´s hands.«

Killashandra laughed. »Oh. yes, since it has afforded me the chance

to investigate a complaint.«

»Oh?« Olav exchanged glances with Corish.

»Lodged by a Stellar of the Federated Artists´ Association.«

»Really?« Nahia clapped her hands together in delight, grinning at

Lars with triumph. »I told you they were a good choice.«

Corish had straightened up in his chair. »You . . . were also told

to investigate?«

»Oh, yes, but the organ repair should have been the priority!« And

she gave Lars a stern glance.

»We can discuss this at a later time,« Olav said, raising his hand

for silence. »We have a much more immediate problem in the imminent arrival

of an official search party.«

»I´ve outlined the way to deal with that, haven´t I?« said

Killashandra.

»To what purpose?« Olav asked. »Not that I am grateful for you

forgiving my rascally son . . .«

»I think that would be my preeminent task, Olav Dahl,« Killashandra

replied with a grim smile. »I don´t know which Elder supervises Security on

this planet, but from what I have seen, your son is probably first on their

list of suspects whether or not they´ve any evidence at all.«

»Oh, I agree, Olav,« Nahia said.

»Will Security believe your explanation?« Corish asked skeptically.

»What?« Killashandra rose in a flowing movement, drawing herself up

to her full height, in a pose of haughty self-confidence. »Refute the

statement of a crystal singer, a member of the Heptite Guild, a craftsman

whose services are vital to the all-important tourist season? You must be

joking! How, under which ever name you hold sacred, can they challenge what

I say? Besides,« she said, relaxing and flashing a friendly smile, »I have

every confidence in Lars´s ability to lend credence to the account. Don´t

you?«

»I must say, when you assume that pose, Killashandra, I´d hesitate

to contradict you.« Corish rose to his feet. »But now, I think that Nahia

and I had better join Hauness and prepare to disappear. If they credit

Killashandra´s explanation, they´ll not be likely to mount a twenty-five

hour radar watch, will they? So we won´t have that problem to contend

with.«

Nahia had returned to the console, and was taking some hard copy

from the retrieval slot. »I´ve all the charts we need, Olav, and my thanks

for your suggestions. Just in case, I think we will take the devious course

through the islands and then double back north. Lars, Olver survived the

purge and you can contact us through him when you need to.« Corish had her

by the arm and was drawing her toward a rear exit. »May I hope to see you

again, Killashandra?«

»If that is at all possible, officially, yes, of course, and I look

forward to the occasion.« Abruptly, annoyed at her stilted phrases,

Killashandra stepped forward and swiftly embraced Nahia, kissing her on

both cheeks. She stepped back, rather surprised at her uncharacteristic

effusiveness until she saw the pleasure in Nahia´s brilliant eyes and

smiling face.

»Oh, you are kind!«

»Don´t he ridiculous!« Killashandra replied fiercely, and then

smiled with embarrassment. She felt Lars take her elbow and squeeze it

gently.

»Should I need to contact you, Killashandra,« Corish added, opening

the door and all but pushing Nahia out, »I´ll leave a message at the Piper

Facility. As I already have.« The door closed behind them with an emphatic

slam.

»Come,« Olav said, striding toward his front office. »We´ll signal

the jet. Fortunately, the return of the Pearl has been entered in the

Harbor log and not too much time will have elapsed before we inform them of

this good news.« Olav paused in front of the huge console, frowning

slightly at Killashandra. »You are certain you wish to go through with

this? It could be dangerous!«

»Far more dangerous for them,« Killashandra said with a snort. »To

have put me in such a situation in the first place.« Then she laughed.

»Just think, Olav, with Lars´s confession that Torkes and Ampris hired him

to ‘assault me,´ to prove my identity, how they have compromised

themselves.«

»I actually had not considered that aspect. »He turned to the

console and began to send out the message.

The jet cruiser responded instantly with a request for visual with

which Olav instantly complied.

»Look pleased but humble, Lars ,« Killashandra muttered before she

turned to the screen, once more the haughty and arrogant crystal singer.

»Elder Torkes, I must protest! It is over five weeks since I was

abducted from the City -- a City, I might add, in which I had already been

assaulted though I had been told in unequivocal terms that Optheria was a

‘secure´ planet, where everyone knew his place, and no unusual activities

were condoned or permitted.« Killashandra stressed the words as

sarcastically as possible, enjoying the shock on the Elder´s face. »Yet I

could also be insulted by a minor and officious idiot, and kidnapped! I

could be abandoned on this dreadful world. And it has taken you all this

time to come to the islands which you yourself told me were populated by a

dissident group. Dissident they might be, but courteous they are, and I

have been made to feel far more welcome in these islands than I was during

your pompous, ill-provisioned reception. I will also inform you, if you

haven´t already heard from them, that my Guild will take a very dim view of

this whole incident. In fact, reparations may well be required. Now, what

have you to say to me?«

»Honored Guildmember, I cannot adequately express our horror, our

concern for you during your terrible ordeal.« Those in the Harbor Master´s

office saw the effort which Elder Torkes was forced to make to moderate his

own manner. »I don´t know how the Council can ever redeem itself in your

eyes. Anything we can do -- «

»I suggest that you begin by expressing gratitude to the young man

who rescued me after that frightening hurricane -- Why, I thought I´d be

swept to sea and drowned during the night. This is the young man,« and

ruthlessly Killashandra pulled Lars beside her. Torkes´s face was

unreadable as he inclined his head in the curtest possible recognition.

»He´s the skipper of the -- what did you say your boat´s called, Captain

Dahl?«

»The Pearl Fisher, Guildmember.«

»I might add that he took considerable risk to himself and his

vessel to put in to that island. The monsters in the lagoon and all about

it were in some sort of frenzy. The storm does that, he told me. But I was

so relieved to see another human after all that time . . . Look at me! I´m

a sight! My hair, my skin! I´m nothing but skin and bones!«

»Our estimated time of arrival is 18:30, Guildmember. Until that

time, the Harbor Master will be able to attend to your comfort to the

limits of his facilities.« Torkes regained some of his usual repressive

manner as he eyed Olav Dahl significantly.

»Begging your indulgence, Elder Torkes, but the Guildmember

insisted that you be contacted before any personal comfort was seen to. We

are hers to command until your arrival.«

The picture was cut off at the cruiser screen. No sooner was it

blank than Lars seized Killashandra in his arms, whirling her about the

communications room, roaring his approval.

»His face! Did you see how he had to struggle to control himself,

Killa?«

»You´ll break my ribs, Lars -- Leave off! But you can see how easy

it is -- «

»When you have one of the most prestigious Guilds in the FSP to

back you,« Olav said, but he was grinning as broadly with satisfaction at

the confrontation as Lars was.

»Well, you have the FSP Council -- «

»Only if they are in the position to acknowledge me,« Olav reminded

her, raising a hand in contradiction. »Which they are not, as my mission

here was covert. The Council does not interfere with planetary politics

when no other planet or system is affected. Optheria could not be

approached on an official basis, you know. The FSP had ratified their

Charter.«

»With you to explain all about the lack of popular acceptance of

the restriction, surely -- «

»My dear Killashandra Ree, the situation on Optheria cannot be

altered by one man´s testimony, especially a man who could by planetary

laws to which he is now subject under intergalactic regulations, be tried

and convicted of treasonous acts.«

»Oh!« Killashandra´s elation drained away quickly.

»Don´t concern yourself with this problem now, my friend -- for I

count you one,« Olav said, gripping her on the shoulder. »I am grateful for

what you have already achieved.« He took Lars´s shoulder in his other hand,

smiling with great affection at his son. »Ever since we saw the cruiser jet

on the screen, I´d been wracking my brains on how to protect Lars from

interrogation by Torkes. You have scuttled that plan, but do not deceive

yourself that all will be fair sailing.«

»It was a superb performance, Killa! When I tell the others -- «

»Softly, Lars, softly.« Olav said, »Torkes has had enough to

swallow. Give him no more on your peril. Now, Killashandra, we must do the

courteous for you, and lavish you with suitable gifts and personal services

-- «

»Teradia, of course, Father. And I´ll advise her about our visitors

-- and their preferences.« Lars grimaced with distaste.

»Yes, I´ll warn her you´re coming up and then I´ll organize

appropriate festivities.«

»Why waste a barbecue on Torkes? He doesn´t eat!« Killashandra said

in disgust.

»But you do, Killashandra, and it´s your return to civilization

that we´re celebrating!« Lars squeezed her about the waist.

»One point, Lars,« and Olav laid a restraining, hand on his son´s

arm as he reached and removed the garland from his neck. »I am sorry, but

these would bring unwelcome questions.« He reached for Killashandra´s and

she hesitated before giving it to him.

»Not half as sorry as I am.« She walked out of the building, Lars

following quietly behind her.

Chapter 16

Teradia´s house was situated on one of the upper levels facing North

Harbor, and as they hurried up the steep, zigzag stairs that linked the

terraces, Killashandra saw that much of the debris occasioned by the

hurricane had already been removed. Groups of young people were unhurriedly

staking polly trees upright and replanting those young pollys which had

been entirely uprooted. Others were pruning bushes or restoring bedding

plants.

»Are there any snakes in this paradise?« Killashandra asked when

they paused at the first level to let her catch her breath.

»Snakes? What are those?« Lars asked, humoring her.

»Normally, a long, slender, legless reptile -- only I meant humans

with unpleasant characteristics.« She made a weaving, sinuous gesture with

her hand, and grimaced with distaste. »Surely the Elders make use of

informers and spies.«

»Oh, they do. Most of whom report themselves to us and pass back

such information as we want the Elders to have.« Lars grinned as his

fingers caressed her arm. »It´s not naive of us; islanders stick together.

The Elders can give us little that we lack -- except the freedom to leave

the planet. To be sure, not many of us would leave: it´s having the option

to do so. And my father has a small detector so that people posing as

tourists can be quickly identified. Father has a theory that only a certain

type of personality is attracted to such an infamous occupation, and they

often give themselves

away. Strangely enough, by not singing!« He gave her a mischievous grin. »I

was relieved to hear you singing lustily at the barbecue.«

»I nearly didn´t because, if I could recognize your tenor, you

might have spotted me as that midnight soprano. So I sang alto. But, Lars,

isn´t Nahia in jeopardy for being here? Someone might just slip up and

mention her presence?«

Lars took her by the elbows and pulled her against him,

unconcernedly stroking her hair. »Beloved Sunny, Nahia would be protected

under any circumstances but, as it happens, only my father, you, and the

people she came with, know she was on this island during the hurricane. Her

party´s ocean jet has been secreted in another of the Back caves, unseen by

anyone. It´s still there and won´t emerge until we´ve had a chance to jam

the cruiser´s surveillance systems. Nahia and Hauness will use the islands

to screen them from any possibility of detection when the cruiser takes you

-- all right, and me -- back to the Mainland. Satisfied? I told you my

father is efficient. He is.

»There will also be no one here tonight from Wing Harbor who might

inadvertently remember the girl Lars Dahl had as his partner.«

»But -- «

»No one in Wing will feel slighted: they´re all too busy with storm

damage. Every building on the waterfront collapsed. And Wingers avoid Elder

inspection as they would a smacker school.«

Killashandra did feel relieved by his explanations. She was rather

pleased, too, as she reviewed her confrontation with Torkes. Nor would she

fail to be exceedingly cautious in the presence of any of the elders.

Torkes would never forgive her for that tongue-lashing, and she knew that

he would do everything he could to rank the others against her if a second

confrontation was to occur. Still, she was glad she had launched her

frontal assault on the fardling tyrant.

»We shan´t leave anything to chance, however, Sunny, Lars went on

as they climbed to the last terrace level. »If sun-bleached hair and

eyebrows alter your appearance enough to deceive an FSP agent -- «

»Corish was not expecting me to be on that beach, any more than you

-- «

»Then Teradia can restore your beauty. With more sophisticated

clothes, and that hauteur of yours, you´ll he every inch the crystal

singer.« Lars halted, swinging her into his arms again. No one was in

sight. »Will the impressively beautiful crystal singer still favor her

island lover?« He smiled down at her, but tension caught at the corners of

his grey-tinged eyes.

»Don´t tell me you -- who braves hurricanes, Elders, and Masters --

feared my ranting?« She soothed the creases from his eyes. »I assume a

role, Lars Dahl, from some opera or other. I play no role with you, no

matter under what circumstances. Believe me. Let´s not lose a moment of

what we have together!«

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him and the hunger they both felt made

them tremble.

»How are we going to make out, Killa, on board that cruiser? And

back on the Mainland?«

»Oh, citizen!« Killashandra laid her hand gracefully against her

bosom. fluttering her eyes, as much to keep back the tears as to embellish

her assumed character. »When I trust to you my safety, where else shall you

be but with me, wherever I go, even in my bedchamber? And have you seen

where they quartered me in the Conservatory? You´ll see, Lars. It will all

be arranged my way!«

By then they had reached an establishment with a modest sign

spelling out »Teradia« in graceful lettering. Teradia herself greeted them,

a woman as tall as Lars, with a supple, willowy figure, and densely black

hair very intricately braided. Her skin was olive and flawless, the pale

green pupils of her eyes appeared luminous: she was a superb testimonial to

her establishment.

»Olav Dahl wants the very best for you, Killashandra Ree, and I

myself will see to your care.«

»I´ll supervise,« Lars interrupted. »The bleaching must be . . .«

With a quick movement, Teradia placed one hand across Lars´s chest

and eased him away from Killashandra, a look of mild disdain on her elegant

features. »My dear boy, clever you may be in some of the ways of pleasing a

woman, but this is my art . . .« she began to draw Killashandra away with

her, »and you will allow me to practice it. Come, Guildmember, this way.«

»Teradia, that´s not fair.« Lars pushed through the door in

pursuit. »I´m Killashandra´s bodyguard -- «

»Here I guard her body, though from the look of her skin and hair,

you´ve done a poor job -- Sun-bleached, dry-skinned, waterlogged child.«

»Teradia!«

For the first time Killashandra had seen her lover rattled; she

looked more keenly at Teradia. There was a twinkle in the woman´s eyes,

though her expression did not soften at his exasperation.

»It is, of course, as the Guildmember wishes . . .«

»How do you do it, Teradia?«

»Do what?«

»Quell him.«

Teradia shrugged delicately. »It is easy. He has been reared to

respect his elders.«

»What?« Killashandra peered more closely at Teradia´s face.

»She´s my grandmother,« Lars said with a disgusted growl

»My compliments, citizen,« Killashandra replied, trying not to

laugh at Lars´s discomposure. »I shall have your artistry to support me

this evening -- «

»And me!« Lars was emphatic.

So, under Lars´s eyes and occasionally with his help and company,

Killashandra was soaped and bathed and massaged and oiled, and repairs to

hair and nail accomplished, Killashandra fell asleep during the massage and

later Lars fell asleep while Teradia tinted Killashandra´s hair and dyed

her eyebrows dark again.

»It does make a considerable difference in your appearance,«

Teradia said, surveying her handiwork. »I´m not certain which becomes you

more,« she added thoughtfully. »You are a striking woman in either guise.

Now,« she went on so briskly that Killashandra did not have to make any

reply to this assessment, »we don´t have everything back from hurricane

storage, but I know exactly where I put several unusual gowns that would

suit your style and rank. Come this way, into the dressing room.«

Killashandra looked over her shoulder at the slumbering Lars.

»If he fell asleep in your presence, he is far more tired than he

would ever admit, Killashandra Ree. We will leave him so until he is needed

to escort you back to Olav Dahl.«

By the time Teradia had garbed Killashandra to her satisfaction,

which had nothing, Killashandra realized, to do with her own, Lars had

awakened. He executed a double take at the vision before him, presented a

properly stunned expression before he began to smile then nod with

approval.

»In there, » Teradia said, flicking her fingers to direct him to

another dressing room in the shop portion of her establishment. »We can´t

have a shabby escort. Not that any will notice you.«

Killashandra began to frown, then the woman winked slowly and

grinned. »That one is too sure of himself by half.«

»He´ll need it,« Killashandra said sadly.

»Oh?«

But before Killashandra could say anything more, an unclad Lars had

stormed into the room, waving a heavily embroidered, tissue thin, blue

shirt and equally thin blue trousers.

»If you think I´m parading about like a stud on sale! When did I

ever have the need to display -- «

In one long stride Teradia reached the room, and scooped up a pair

of blue briefs that had evidently fallen to the floor. She flourished them

under his nose and then pushed him back into the room.

»Well, if that´s the case . . .«

Killashandra stifled her giggles.

»You only wanted to take the limelight . . .«

He poked his head around the door. »Not when I know Torkes´s

proclivities. Then again,« he paused in the act of withdrawing his head,

»he probably has the cruiser packed with his boys so I´m safer here than in

City.«

»Who needs the bodyguard then?«

»Shall we have a mutual assistance pact? I read those were once

very popular.«

»Done!«

Lars slammed open the door, strode across the room, and gathered

her into her arms, beaming down at her. »If you spoil her dress or make-up

. . .« Teradia´s mock anger subsided as she became aware of the atmosphere

between them.

Lars ached to kiss Killashandra as badly as she wanted to have his

lips on hers. He sighed deeply and let her go. »You look regal,

Killashandra! But I think I liked you even better on the beach at Wing!

Then you were mine alone to enjoy!« His voice was low, his words meant for

her, his sentiment unhindered by his grandmother´s presence. »You have

outdone yourself, Teradia.« He pulled the woman close, and kissed her

cheek.

Killashandra felt relief that there would be another sane and

well-adjusted person to help Lars when she had returned to Ballybran.

»Now we had better go, Killashandra. The cruiser will have docked!«

Killashandra thanked Teradia as warmly as she could, wishing that

the woman did not dismiss so casually her genuine gratitude.

As they started to retrace their steps to the Harbor Master´s

residence, Killashandra was instantly aware of an alteration in the

ambiance. Far below the squat bulk of the cruiser jet did much to explain

the change, looming as it did, gross and menacing, its white ovoid hull

diminishing the graceful fishing vessels. The slanted superstructure, the

little nodules of its armaments, and the sprouting whiskers of its

communications and surveillance equipment added to its menacing presence.

Killashandra unconsciously hugged Lars´s arm. »That is a very

deadly looking machine. Do they have many of those?«

»Enough!«

»Can Nahia and Hauness escape it?«

Lars chuckled, relieving his own tension and reducing hers. »The

Yellowback is smaller and faster, highly maneuverable and could slip

through reefs that would ram the cruiser. Once they´re away, they´re well

away.«

Killashandra could see the coming and going on the ramp leading to

Olav´s -- people bearing tables, chairs, seating cushions, baskets of

fruit, bowls of fruit, jars, several men staggering under loads of

provender. Killashandra had been expecting another beach barbecue, with its

pleasant informality. It had not occurred to her that there might be no

beach at North Harbor, nor would the Elder have been entertained in the

casual setting she had so much enjoyed at Wing. She groaned.

Lars squeezed her hand. »What´s wrong?«

She gave a gusty sigh. »State occasions! Formality! Scrapes and

smiles and total boredom.«

Lars laughed. »You´ll be surprised. Pleasantly.«

»How will your father get away with it?«

Lars grinned at her. »You´ll see.«

What she first saw was the disposition of guards, lining the route

up from the harbor, spaced neatly and stiffly about the Residence, and

armed. She had seen very few stun rifles in her life but she could

recognize them.

»What was he expecting? Civil war?«

»Elders usually travel with a considerable entourage. Especially in

the islands. We are so aggressive, you see.« Lars spoke with deep sarcasm

and she took in an anxious breath. »Oh, don´t worry, Killa. I´ll be

circumspect. You´ll not even recognize me as your impetuous lover.«

She cocked an eyebrow at him. »I´ll expect a return of that lover

as a reward for my evening with Torkes. And why is it Torkes? I thought he

was in charge of Communications.«

Lars choked back a loud laugh, for they had neared the first

sentry. »Elder Pedder is afflicted with motion sickness.«

The sentry who had been watching them approach from the corner of

his eye suddenly pivoted, ported his weapon, and stared with impartial

malevolence at them. »Who goes there?«

»The crystal singer, you fool,« Killashandra replied in a loud and

disgusted tone. »With her bodyguard, Lars Dahl.« When Killashandra would

have proceeded she was stopped by the weapon. »How dare you?« She darted

forward, grasped the weapon by its muzzle, and levered it forcefully to the

ground. The surprised young sailor panicked and relinquished his weapon.

»How dare you threaten a crystal singer? How dare you threaten me?«

Killashandra was seized by a violent surge of real anger at the

archaic and inane formality. She didn´t hear Lars trying to soothe her; she

barged past two more sentries who came to assist their mate; she would have

gone through the officer who came hurrying up the ramp, flanked by three

additional guards on either side. She paused momentarily, seething at this

additional obstacle. The officer had either encountered Elders in a tearing

fit or he instantly recognized an elemental force. He barked an order, and

the barricade suddenly became an escort which fell in behind the officer

and Lars, who had managed to keep at Killashandra´s heels as the enraged

crystal singer stormed forward to the Residence seeking the initiator of

this additional affront.

Here Lars took the lead, adroitly indicating the way. She heard an

exchange of urgent shouts. She had a confused vision of more guards

snapping to attention, and another pair hastily opening the elaborately

carved wooden doors -- which despite her involvement in anger, she

recognized as magnificent panels of polly wood. Then she was in the formal

reception antechamber of the Residence, and she remembered thinking that

the tip of this iceberg was the business end. She continued her angry

progress right to the shallow tier of steps that led down to the main

level. With an alert and wary expression, Olav was half way across the

floor to greet her. Behind him Elder Torkes was seated on a high wooden

chair, members of his staff standing about the room, conversing with

several islanders.

Automatically, Killashandra gave the assembled one quick glance

before she proceeded toward Torkes. »Did I spend weeks on a deserted island

to be stopped and questioned by an armed minion? To have a weapon thrust in

my face as if I were an enemy? I« -- and Killashandra nearly bruised her

breast bone as she thumped herself with rigid fingers -- »I am the one who

has been assaulted and abducted. I am the one who has been at jeopardy and

you -- « Now she pointed an accusing finger at Torkes, who was regarding

her in a state of shock. »You have been safe! Safe!«

Afterwards Lars told her that she had been magnificent, her eyes

visibly emitting sparks, her manner so imposing that he had been breathless

with astonishment. What operatic role had she been using?

»I wasn´t,« she´d replied with a rueful smile, for the effect of

her dramatic entrance had more than satisfied her rage. »I´ve never been so

angry in my life. A weapon? Pointed at me?«

Torkes heaved himself out of his chair, his expression that of a

man confronting an unknown and dangerous entity and uncertain which course

to take. »My dear Crystal Singer -- «

»I am not your dear anything.«

»Your experiences have unnerved you, Guildmember Ree. No aggression

was intended against you, merely -- «

» -- Your wretched, suffocating need for protocol and an irrelevant

show of aggression. I warn you« -- and she waggled her finger at him again

-- »I warn you, you may expect the most severe retribution« -- she caught

herself; in her rage, she had been on the point of revealing too much to

Elder Torkes -- «from my Guild, reparation for the callous and undignified

way in which I have been treated.«

Torkes regarded her finger as if it were some sort of deadly weapon

in itself. Before he could assemble a suitable reply Olav was at

Killashandra´s elbow, offering a glass of amber liquid. »Guildmember, drink

this . . .« His baritone voice, so soothing and conciliatory, penetrated

her ranting. She knocked back the drink, and was rendered momentarily

speechless. The shock of the potent beverage effectively restored her to

discretion. »You are understandably overwrought, and have been needlessly

upset, but you are safe here, now, I do assure you. Elder Torkes has

already initiated the most thorough investigation of this terrible outrage

and personally supervised your security here on Angel Island.«

Olav´s tactful reassurances gave her the time to regain use of her

throat and vocal cords. Her throat was on fire, her stomach throbbing, and

her eyes watered. Which seemed a good cue to develop. She allowed her tears

to flow and reached weakly for Olav´s hand to support her. Instantly she

felt Lars take her right arm, and the two men led her to the other

elaborate chair in the chamber, seating her as if she were suddenly

fragile.

»I am overset. Anyone would be, enduring what I have,« Killashandra

said, using her sobbing to purge the last dregs of anger, for she estimated

that she´d worked that pitch long enough. »All alone, on that wretched

island, not knowing where I was, if I´d ever be rescued. And then the

hurricane . . .«

A second glass was proffered. When she glared at Olav, he winked.

Nevertheless, she sipped cautiously. Polly wine.

»Please accept my apologies, Elder Torkes, but that ridiculous

weapon was the last straw.« Her voice died away but she managed to sound

reasonably sincere. Then she smiled weakly at the nonplussed Elder, and

fluttered her eyelashes at his attendants. They seemed afflicted by some

sort of paralysis. It afforded Killashandra considerable satisfaction that

she had managed to confound an entire Optherian crew. They had stood in

great need of such a lesson. She relaxed into the cushioned back of the

chair.

»There isn´t an islander in this Archipelago who would do you any

injury, Guildmember,« Olav continued, now offering her a finely stitched

handkerchief. »Especially after the news of your devoted nursing of the Bar

Island injured. When I consider how unselfishly you volunteered to assist,

and you only an hour away from being rescued, why, we are all in your

debt.«

Shielding her face from Torkes with the handkerchief, Killashandra

looked up at Olav. She blotted the last of the tears she could manage to

squeeze out. She had received his message. She gave a sniff, then exhaled

in a huge sigh.

»What else could I do? Their need was far greater than mine for I

had suffered no real physical injury. It was excellent therapy,« and she

managed that on a rush of breath, »for me to tend those less fortunate than

I. And I do feel safe with you, Harbor Master, and with Captain Dahl!« She

touched each man on the arm, favoring them with a tremulous smile. Lars

managed to give her shoulder an admonitory pinch which, she felt, indicated

that she had milked this scene for all it was worth. »I hope you didn´t

encounter that ferocious storm on your way here, Elder Torkes?«

»Not at all, Guildmember. In fact,« Torkes cleared his throat

nervously, »we didn´t set out until sure that the hurricane had dwindled. I

ought to have listened to Mirbethan´s representations, Captain« -- he

turned to the senior officer behind him -- »for she offered to accompany

us, Guildmember, on the slim chance that we would discover you here.«

»How very kind of her.«

»She would have been an ideal companion to settle your nerves,

Guildmember.«

»Yes, she was most considerate but, though I appreciate her

willingness, I now insist on someone . . .« she waved a negligent hand in

Lars´s direction, »who is capable of managing himself in difficulties. I

have seen Captain Dahl in action, fighting to bring his ship close enough

to take me off that island, and in dealing with high seas, and injured

people.« And that should be the end of that notion. Had it been

Mirbethan´s? Or Ampris´s? From whichever source, she´d not spend credit on

it.

»If I may suggest it, Guildmember, would you be feeling recovered

enough to dine now?« Olav asked, deftly changing the subject. »Or should

Captain Dahl escort you to the quarters prepared for you here in the

residence?«

»Why, yes,« Killashandra said, extending her hand to Lars and

smiling graciously at Olav, »I think that perhaps hunger is at the root of

my deplorable temper. I´m not usually so easily upset, citizens.« Now that

the scene had been played, she was ravenous and hoped that Olav´s

hospitality would be to the standard she expected. It was, and she was

seated on Olav´s right at the beautifully appointed banquet table. Torkes

was opposite her, Teradia appearing at his right hand. Evidently she had

merely had to change her gown. Killashandra did wonder how she had arrived

so promptly. Other charmingly dressed ladies partnered the officers of

Torkes´s retinue and from some discreet corner delicate music wafted to the

diners´ ears.

The food was sumptuous, a feat, considering the island had so

recently been in the throes of a hurricane. As Killashandra sampled the

many dishes presented, she realized that the components were not as varied

as the manner in which they had been prepared. Polly -- fruit, pulp, and

heart -- was the basis of nine dishes. Smacker was served as a chowder,

boiled, broiled, fried in a delicious light batter and in a rich piquant

sauce. The largest yellowbacks she had yet seen had been lightly broiled

with slivered nuts. A succulent mollusk was offered, grilled with a dollop

of some flavor enhancer. There were salads of greens, molded salads of some

jellied vegetable, fruit, and fish.

From the way in which Torkes´s officers filled their plates, and

refilled them when the dishes were presented a second time, they weren´t

used to eating. Torkes was abstemious by comparison although a fair

trencherman away from Elder Pentrom´s dietary regimen. He did not refuse

the wine, either, though his two senior captains did.

When the first hunger was appeased, Torkes addressed Lars, his

expression far too bland to be as affable as he sounded.

»Just where did you discover the Guildmember, Captain Dahl?«

»On a polly islet slightly east of Bar Island. I don´t normally

pass by for it´s a bit off the regular trade route, but with the higher

tides to give me clearance over the reef in that area, I could take a bit

of a short cut to Bar, which I aimed to beach before sunset.«

»Do you have this islet marked on your charts?«

»Of course, Elder Torkes. I will show you its location immediately

after dinner.« Lars had one hand on her thigh under the table and gave her

a reassuring squeeze. Had his father tipped him off as he had her? »As well

as the entry in my log which verifies the position.«

»You keep a log?«

»Of a certainty, Elder Torkes. The Harbor Master is most insistent

on such details which are, in my view, an integral part of responsible

seamanship.«

Farther down the table, an officer nodded his head in agreement.

Torkes returned to his meal.

»What is this delicious fish, Harbor Master?« Killashandra asked,

indicating the smacker.

»Ah, that is one of the island delicacies, Guildmember,« and Olav

launched into an amusing description of the habits of the tropical behemoth

and the dangers of capturing it. In his tale he managed to touch on the

strength and bravery of smacker fishermen and their dedication to an

unenviable task. Much of the smacker catch went to feed the Mainland.

With such innocuous tidbits and discourse, the meal finished.

Immediately upon rising from the table, Elder Torkes told Lars Dahl that

now was the time to show him the islet.

»We can call up the information right here,« Olav said, going to

the elaborate sideboard of the dining room. One section of its flat surface

immediately transformed to display a terminal while the island seascape

above slid to one side exposing a large screen.

Killashandra, watching Torkes obliquely, saw him stiffen until Olav

merely gestured for Lars Dahl to retrieve what documents he needed. Within

a moment, a small-scale chart of the entire Archipelago dominated the

screen. Lars tapped keys and the chart dissolved to a larger-scale one of

Angel Island, then flowed left toward Bar Island, slightly upward, and in

another adjustment, magnified the chosen islet, complete with its

protecting reefs, quite isolated from other blobs of polly-treed islands.

»Here, Elder Torkes, is where I discovered the Guild-member.

Fortunately, whoever abandoned her left her where there is a good fresh

spring.« He now magnified the islet so that its topographical features were

apparent.

»I´d a bit of a shelter on the height,« Killashandra said.

»Here,« Lars agreed and pointed.

»And mercifully I was high enough there to be out of reach of the

hurricane tides -- just barely -- I fished in this lagoon, and swam, there,

too, because the larger things couldn´t pass over the reef. But, as you can

see, gentlemen, I could not even have swum to an occupied island for help!«

One of Torkes´s officers noted the longitude and latitude of the

islet.

»Just thinking about it again distresses me.« Killashandra turned

to Olav. »That was a magnificent dinner to he served so soon after a

hurricane, Harbor Master. And it was such a pleasure, for me especially,«

and she graciously gestured, »to have so much variety to choose from and

enjoy. Now, I would like to retire.«

»Guildmember, there is much to discuss -- «

»We can discuss it just as easily in the morning, Elder Torkes. It

has been a long and exhausting day for me, remember. We left Bar Island

with the injured at dawn and it´s now midnight.« She turned from the Elder

now to Olav. »I am quartered tonight in the Residence?«

»This way.« Olav and Lars immediately escorted her to the inner

wall where a lift door slid aside. »Let me assure you that this is the only

way into the living section of the Residence. This will be guarded well

tonight.« He peremptorily gestured for thc guard to be posted.

»Elder Torkes, this is the first time that we have been privileged

to entertain members of the Council,« Teradia said, her deep voice tinged

with awe as she took Torkes´s arm and began to lead him back to the

reception room.

Olav bowed over Killashandra´s hand, smiling as he came erect and

gestured her into the lift. The door slid shut on Killashandra and Lars

and, with an exaggerated sigh of relief, Killashandra leaned against him.

He made a quick sign with his hand, his eyes busy on the ceiling

pane.

»I am totally exhausted, Captain Dahl.« So, Torkes had had the area

monitored. That would make it exceedingly awkward for her and Lars.

The lift made a brief, noiseless descent and then the door slid

open to a scene that caught her breath. The wide window gave onto moonlit

harbor. An aureole of bright light illuminating the ancient stratovolcano

as a second moon rose behind it. Of one accord, they stood for a long

moment in appreciation of the beauty.

As Lars led her down to the short corridor toward two doors at its

end, he glanced at the chrono on his wrist. Killashandra had time to notice

the grin on his face before all the lights went off. Simultaneously she saw

three short blue flashes, two along the corridor and a third one at the

first door.

»What -- « she began in alarm, but then the lights came on and Lars

took her in his arms.

»Now we´re safe!«

»You blew the monitors?«

»And his ship´s systems. Father´s got a way with electronics and .

. .« he swung her into his arms and impatiently strode toward the first

door, which slid open to their approach. »I´m about to have my way with

you.«

Which, of course, was exactly what Killashandra had been hoping

for.

Chapter 17

A breakfast tray in hand, Teradia appeared early next morning. Killashandra

found she was in a large room brightly lit by sunlight reflected from the

surface of the harbor. How the woman maintained her perfect grooming and

serene composure Killashandra would have given much to know. Perhaps it had

something to do with the experiential tranquillity of advanced years,

although »old« in the physiological sense did not seem to apply to Teradia.

»And what of the day, oh bringer of delights?« Lars asked, settling

pillows behind Killashandra. »Olav didn´t miss a trick last night, did he?«

»He´s still playing them this morning.« Teradia smiled faintly.

»May I compliment you on last night´s performance, Killashandra? You were

spectacular. I don´t think anyone on Torkes´s staff had ever witnessed its

like.«

»I was consumed with righteous wrath,« Killashandra replied.

»Imagine, someone pointing a weapon at me! A crystal singer!«

Lars soothingly stroked her arm and poured out the steaming morning

beverage. »What´s Olav up to today then?«

Teradia seated herself on the edge of the wide bed, folding her

hands together in her lap, the faint smile still tilting the corners of her

full lips. »As you surmised, the power failure effectively crippled the

cruiser, since Olav had so courteously suggested that they hook up to the

land facilities and spare the cruiser´s batteries. Then it went, Torkes was

quite upset, worrying about you, Guildmember, and thinking this was another

attempt on your safety. Of course. the lift wouldn´t operate, and an

inspection party quickly discovered that this apartment cannot easily be

scaled from the ground, so they posted guards on the waterfront. That´s why

your sleep was undisturbed.« She lowered her eyes briefly. »Olav worked

with the cruiser´s engineers all night, to discover the trouble in our

generators which, as you might suspect, had suffered previously undetected

damage from the hurricane. All is now restored, except, of course, the

units which were overloaded!« She pointed out the several char marks where

walls met the ceiling. »And, of course, the blown chip was discovered to be

water damaged. Your father has a genius in that area. But I think you had

both better put in appearances shortly. There are suitable garments for you

both in the dressingroom and I have been requested to deliver necessities

for you to the cruiser, Killashandra.«

Teradia rose in one lithe movement, hesitated, and then moved to

Killashandra´s side. »You can have no idea how I enjoyed seeing an Elder

rendered speechless. An excellent strategy on your part. Keep them off

balance and guessing. They don´t have any experience with that!« Then

Teradia laid her soft, fragrant cheek against Killashandra´s and before the

crystal singer could react, had glided out of the room and closed the door.

»You have made an impression,« Lars said. »I´ll tell you about

Teradia´s experience with the Council and you´ll understand what she meant.

I never would have thought of complaining about that sentry nonsense,« and

Lars gave an exasperated sigh, »but then, I´m used to it. It must be . . .«

He searched for the appropriate word, shrugged when he couldn´t find it.

»How remarkable not to need weapons or guards, Is it the case in Ballybran,

or did that felicitous state exist on your Fuerte, too?«

»Both. On Fuerte for lack of aggression, and on Ballybran because

everyone´s too busy in the Ranges cutting crystal. We know our place and

are secure in it,« she paraphrased, mimicking Ampris´s voice. »Lars, how

are we going to fuse the monitors at the Conservatory? They´ll have

installed them, I know.«

»You could always throw another tantrum.«

»No thank you. Fits of temper are exhausting.«

»Oh, is that truly why you´re tired today?«

»Pleasure never tires me. Now let´s eat and dress. I´ve just been

attacked by a case of circumspection.«

A few minutes later they emerged onto the reception floor with no

further delays. An officer immediately leaped to his feet at their arrival,

stammering queries about Killashandra´s rest, apologies for any

inconvenience caused by the power failure, and obsequiously requesting

Killashandra and Captain Dahl to join the Harbor Master and Elder Torkes in

the communications room.

Olav Dahl looked tired but there was a merriment in his eyes as he

asked if all her needs had been satisfied. She reassured him, then turned

to Torkes and affected surprise at his evident fatigue, fussing at him

graciously.

»If the Guildmember is agreeable, I should like to depart

immediately,« Torkes replied, when the amenities were completed. He eyed

her as if he expected her to demur.

»I left unfinished -- even unstarted, to be totally candid -- « she

said, »the task which brought me to Optheria. I am more eager than you can

imagine to complete the organ´s repair and depart. I´m sure we will all

feel relieved when I´m safely homebound.«

Patently Elder Torkes could not be more in agreement, although he

kept throwing skeptical glances at Killashandra as he made his farewells to

Olav Dahl. Lars kept in the background. Meanwhile sailors in Council

uniform had formed up into a guard of honor all the way from the Residence

down to the pier where the cruiser´s boat awaited its distinguished

passengers.

Just as she reached the top of the steps, Killashandra looked up at

the terraces, at the polly trees, the dwellings, at the old volcano on the

Head, at the fishing skiffs serenely clearing the harbor, and she didn´t

want to leave Angel Island. Someone touched her arm and there was Olav with

two garlands in his hand.

»Indulge me in an island custom, Guildmember.« He draped the

fragrant blossoms about her neck. Killashandra had just recognized the

blooms as those with which Lars had handfasted her, when she saw Olav

bestow one on his son. »Discharge your duties assiduously to the protection

of the Guildmember´s person, my son, and return to us only when you have

seen her safely to the shuttle port!«

Before Killashandra could say anything in acknowledgment, Olav had

stepped back. So, she could only smile her gratitude for his vote of

confidence and proceed to the waiting boat. Impatiently she brushed aside

the tears in her eyes before anyone could notice, and took a seat under the

awning amidships. She was not surprised when Lars did not elect to join her

for she could well imagine that he had been equally astonished by Olav´s

farewell.

She sat staring at the squat bulk of the cruiser, and liked it less

the nearer she got to it. Nor did her opinion change during the three-day

voyage back to the City. The Captain, a dour man named Festinel, was

waiting at the top of the gangplank and escorted her himself to her cabin,

explaining that her bodyguard would be quartered in the next cubicle,

within hearing distance. She did not groan but saw this trip would be a

repetition of the Trundomoux voyage. Well. she had survived that, too. Lars

came along the companionway at that point and was greeted almost effusively

by Captain Festinel.

During the evening meal, it was apparent from Festinel´s deference

to Lars that the man had been impressed by the islander´s seamanship, or

rather, the false account of his rescue of Killashandra from the

dangerously positioned islet of exile. Killashandra added only her physical

presence to the officers´ mess. She was tired. She could feel muted crystal

resonance in her body, though it was insufficient to raise the hair on

those nearby. She was pleasant when addressed but limited her answers,

contenting herself with enigmatic smiles. Elder Torkes kept shooting her

wary, surreptitious glances but did not engage her in conversation. Which

satisfied her. Keep him guessing about her, and off balance. Only how were

she and Lars to have any sort of normal relationship if her quarters in the

Conservatory were monitored?

On the crowded cruiser there was no way for them to have a private

word or even the chance of a caress. Abstinence after the feast did nothing

for her temper. So, preoccupied, she didn´t notice the subliminal whine

until the second evening, when she twitched all through dinner, rubbing at

her neck and ear. Something was wrong.

»You´re very unsettled tonight, Guildmember,« Lars said finally,

having endured her contortions throughout dinner. He spoke quietly, for her

ears only, but his voice carried.

»Nerves -- No, it´s not nerves. Does this cruiser use a crystal

drive?« She spoke in a loud, accusing tone, looking to Captain Festinel for

her answer.

»It does, Guildmember, and I regret to inform you that we are

experiencing some difficulty with it.«

»It urgently needs to be retuned. As soon as you´re in port. The

way it sounds right now, it´ll be broad-casting secondary sonics by

morning.«

»The engineer has been monitoring an uneven drive thrust but it

should see us safely to the Mainland.«

»You have reduced speed?«

»Of course, Crystal Singer, the moment the instrumentation recorded

resonance.«

»What is the matter with the cruiser?« Elder Torkes asked, only

then aware of the nature of the discussion.

»Nothing for you to worry about,« Killashandra said curtly, without

glancing in his direction, for she was rubbing that side of her neck. She

felt Lars stiffen beside her, and heard the tiny intake of her left-hand

partner´s breath. »I hope.« She rose. »The whine is subsonic but highly

irritating. Good evening, gentlemen.«

Lars followed her and for a miracle they were alone in the

companionway as he escorted her to her cramped quarters.

»Is it monitored?« she asked him in a low voice. He nodded.

»Do you require any medication to sleep, Guildmember?«

»Yes, if you can find some polly wine, Captain.«

»The steward will bring a decanter to your quarters.«

With a bottle of that inside her, Killashandra slept in spite of

the increasingly audible distortion. The next morning, the noise was almost

audible. Even Lars was affected. She was relieved when Captain Festinel

requested her presence on the bridge. And concerned when she was shown the

drive print-out. Festinel and his engineering officer were justifiably

concerned.

»We were due for an overhaul when this emergency came up,

Guildmember. The Broad Sea had more turbulence than we had anticipated

putting a strain on the compensators as well as the stabilizers, especially

at speed.« The Captain was flatteringly deferential so Killashandra nodded

as he made his points, and frowned wisely at the print-out as if she knew

what she was seeing Fortunately the bridge was buffered against crystal

noise as the rest of the ship was not, giving her a respite from the sound.

Until she put her hand on the bulkhead and felt it coursing through the

metal.

»The drive is losing efficiency,« Killashandra said, recalling the

phrases which Carrik had used at the shuttle port on Fuerte, and obscurely

pleased with herself that her memory remained lucid for that period, now so

completely divorced from her present life.

»Frankly, I´d prefer heaving to and having a good look at the

crystal drive, but our orders are to proceed with all possible speed to the

Mainland.« The Captain shrugged and sighed.

Killashandra decided against reassuring him. The drive was souring:

she didn´t need the printouts to tell her that. But she had only the one

experience on which to base an opinion and had no intention of ruining the

image she had projected by a bad guess.

Then Captain Festinel asked hesitantly, »Do you really hear crystal

resonance?«

Killashandra was aware of the expectant hush in the bridge as

junior and senior officers, not to mention Lars at her side, waited for her

reply.

»Yes, indeed. Like a dull ache from my earbones to my heels. If it

were any louder, you´d find me asking for a life raft!«

»We know so little about your profession . . .«

»It is one like any other, Captain, with its dangers, its rewards,

an apprenticeship to pass, and then years of refining one´s skills.«

Killashandra was conscious, as she spoke, of one set of ears listening more

keenly than others. She dared not look at Lars. »One facet of my training

was retuning soured crystals.« She made a rueful grimace. »Not my favorite

occupation.«

»Are there any prerequisites for the profession?« the older

engineer asked, as he looked up from the print-out.

»Perfect and absolute pitch is the one essential.«

»Why?« Lars asked, surprised by that unexpected condition.

»We´re called crystal singers because we must tune our subsonic

cutters to the dominant pitch of the crystal we cut from the ranges. A

dangerous and exhausting task.« She held out her hands so that all could

see the fine white scars that crisscrossed the skin.

»I was told,« Lars said in an amused drawl, »that crystal singers

have amazing recuperative powers.«

»That is quite true. Crystal resonance apparently slows the

degenerative processes and accelerates the regenerative. Crystal singers

retain their youthful appearance well into the third century.«

»How old are you, Guildmember?« a brash young voice asked.

Frowning, the Captain turned about to seek the source of such

insolence but Killashandra laughed. »I am a relatively new member of the

Heptite Guild, and in my third decade.«

»Are you able to travel anywhere you wish?« Did she detect a note

of yearning?

»All crystal singers travel,« she said with commendable restraint

and then realized that her statement was hardly politic on Optheria. She

had shown few examples of the tact for which Trag had chosen her. »But we

always return to Ballybran,« and she tried to make it sound as if going

home was more desirable than traveling far away. No sense in arousing hopes

on Optheria, especially in the presence of the cruiser´s senior officers.

»Once a crystal singer, always a crystal singer!«

In the same instant the printer extruded an impatient sheet,

Killashandra felt a stab of crystal shock travel painfully from her

heelbone to her ears.

»Kill the drive,« she shouted as the Captain was issuing the

command.

Breathless from the unexpected peaking, Killashandra sagged against

Lars. »Congratulations,« she said, hoping the sarcasm would hide the pain

in her bones, »you have just lost one of your crystals. What are they?

Blues?«

»Greens,« the Captain replied with some pride, »but the same

crystals since the cruiser was commissioned.«

»And Optheria will spring credit for organ crystals with

considerably more alacrity than for plebian greens, huh?« Festinel nodded

solemn affirmation. »Engineer, I request permission to inspect the crystal

drive with you. My apprenticeship in tuning crystals may be of some use

here.«

»Honored, Guildmember.« He strode to the comunit. »Damage report!«

»Sir,« came the disembodied voice from the bowels of the cruiser,

»casing blown, foam applied, no injuries.«

»As you were!«

An acrid stench. a combination of odors arising from the intense

heat on the crystal casing and on the foam, was still being exhausted by

fans when Killashandra, Engineering Officer Fernock, and Lars reached the

drive deck. The captain had hurried to inform Elder Torkes of the delay.

Killashandra winced as she caught residual echoes from the other crystals

of the drive. Or perhaps more than one element had blown. That could

happen.

Fernock quickly directed his men to sweep up the now hardened foam

and remove the cover. The durametal had been fractured by the explosion and

came off in piece .

See if stores have a replacement.« Fernock´s expression suggested

this was unlikely. »I´d not want to drive unshielded crystal.«

»There´d be no problem so long as the remaining brackets are

secure,« Killashandra said, reasonably sure that she was correct. After

all, there was no shield at all around black crystal. And they generated

far more power than greens.

Suction was used to clean foam from the intact blocks but both

Killashandra and Fernock warned the seaman to stay away from the fragmented

shaft.

»Bracketing came adrift,« Killashandra announced, remembering her

manners enough to look to Fernock for confirmation.

»You´re right. See, here?« Fernock pointed to the lopsided bracket

at the green´s base. »Now how could that happen?«

»You said the seas were turbulent. And that you were overdue an

overhaul. Doubtless the discrepancy would have been seen and corrected. No

fault of yours, Officer Fernock.«

»I appreciate that.«

»All right, then . . .« Killashandra squatted by the drive, reached

for the shattered green crystal.

»What are you about, Guildmember?« Fernock grabbed her wrist and

Lars moved forward.

»Well, until this crystal is moved, we won´t.« And she again

reached for the crystal.

»But you´ve no gloves and crystal -- «

»Cuts clean and heals quickly. For me. Allow me Fernock.«

The man continued to protest, but he made no further attempt to

stop her. The first splinter did not cut her. Fortunately the broken

bracket also made it easier for her to lift out the pieces. She pointed to

a metal oil-slop pail and when it was fetched, she laid the crystal in it.

She removed the remaining portions with only one slice, when the final

fragment resisted her initial pull. She held up her bleeding hand.

»Behold, before your marveling eyes, the incredible recuperative

powers of the crystal singer. One of my professions´ few advantages.«

»What is another?« Lars asked.

»The credit!« She reached for the suction device. »This won´t be

good for anything, and no one is to touch it on its way to the disposal

unit.« She depressed the toggle and made sure that the few loose slivers

were cleared. »I´ll check all the brackets to be sure none are loose. More

problems are caused by faulty bracketing than anything else.«

That was a tedious enough process but it was her own safety she was

ensuring, hers and Lars´s. With Fernock and Lars handing her the

appropriate tools, she released each bracket in turn and reseated the five

squat crystal shafts remaining. Then she struck each in turn for tone. They

were all Gs, of course, in a crystal drive, and to her intense relief, each

emitted a pure unblemished tone. She glanced up at Lars, to see him nod at

the true G she had just sung. He had not been the only one fascinated by

the process. There had been a constantly changing if discreet audience on

the catwalk above the drive floor. As well. This would only enhance the

image of the crystal singer. And it might just safeguard her against any

more nonsense from the Elders.

»There now. Mr. Fernock,« she said at last, arching her back

against the crick caused by awkward positions. »I think you can safely

proceed with reconnections. I don´t think there´s any danger if the load is

properly apportioned. A five-shaft drive should generate enough power to

get us to the Mainland.« She held up the hand that had been profusely

bleeding an hour before. »See? All better.«

»Guildmember, do you know how long it would have taken me and my

men to make such repairs?«

»I couldn´t begin to guess, Mr. Fernock, but do get on with the

job.« She smiled at the disconcerted officer and then, with Lars a step

behind her, retraced her steps to the upper deck.

»Citizen, you´re too much for this island boy.«

»Huh! I was showing off . . . again,« and, leaning backward on one

hand, kissed him lustily. Just in time to avoid the exchange´s being

witnessed by Captain Festinel, who was hurrying to check on repairs. »You

were a very deft assistant, Captain Dahl. I must ask for your help with the

organ repair.« She sedately continued her ascent.

»Surely, just perfect pitch -- « Lars began as they returned to the

wardroom.

» -- Perfect and absolute -- «

» -- As you say, isn´t the only requirement for your profession?«

»The major one. Ballybran is a Code Four planet -- «

»What does that mean? I´m an island lad from a iggerant planet,«

and Lars´ voice was rich with contempt.

»Dangerous. Singing crystal is rated a ‘highly dangerous´

profession, limited to Type IV through VIII bipedal humanoids . . .«

»Are there any other kinds?«

»Don´t alien life forms come for the Festival? The Reticulans are

avid musicologists though I could never come to terms with their croons as

music.«

»Are they the ones that look like an assembly of twigs on a

barrel?« The wardroom was empty and Lars swung her into his arms, kissing

her passionately, stroking her body, murmuring endearments. But knowing

that they could be interrupted at any time inhibited Killashandra´s

response, even as she yearned for more. At a scraping sound, they broke

apart, Killashandra sliding breathlessly into the nearest chair.

»What a delightful description of Reticulans! The barrel is mostly

windbag but I´ve never been close enough to discover which of their

pseudopods are the pipes.«

Lars stopped pacing, for the noise in the companionway had ceased,

and he came back to fondle her.

»A candidate for Guild membership has to pass Physical Fitness Test

SG-I, Psychological Profile SG-I -- which you´d never pass if you continue

to do that, Lars -- and Education Level 3.«

»I´m not applying to the Guild, only applying a member . . . »

This time the footsteps stopped and the door was slid back. Mr.

Fernock entered, smiling broadly when he saw the occupants.

»We´ll be underway in ten minutes, Guildmember, thanks to your

invaluable assistance. And we´ll be able to make a reasonable enough speed

on five shafts to reach our destination on time.«

»How marvelous,« Killashandra said in a languid drawl. Marvelous

was not really the way she felt, considering the inner turmoil Lars´s

caresses had Stimulated. She couldn´t get to the City and the Conservatory

fast enough.

Chapter 18

Fortunately Lars was equally frustrated by their lack of privacy and made

no further overtures. Perversely, Killashandra missed them. The cruiser had

broken out flags and a full honor guard for the ceremonial and triumphant

return. Killashandra steeled herself for yet another protocologically

correct reception. She reflected on what scene she could produce to shorten

the tedium, and debated whether or not a scene would produce any advantage.

She had made several points. Unless she had sufficient provocation, she

decided to leave well enough alone. For now. She might need to produce an

effect to gain privacy within her suite.

For she was determined to enjoy Lars without any surveillance for

whatever time remained to them. She could, of course, stretch out the organ

repair as long as she wished. Or her instruction of technicians. She could

include Lars in that program. He had the perfect -- and absolute -- pitch

to tune crystal as well as the strength and manual dexterity required. She

must do everything she could to make him indispensable to the Elders, for

whatever protection that could provide him, since he didn´t seem at all

interested in leaving Optheria. Even if that were possible.

»We´re near enough for you to have a spectacular view of the City

Port,« Lars said, interrupting her reflections.

»A ‘natural´ port?« She smiled.

»Completely, though not nearly as good a natural harbor as North.«

»Naturally.«

»Captain Festinel awaits your arrival on the bridge.«

»How courteous! Where´s Torkes?«

»Burning up a few communications units with orders. He was incensed

that you had to bloody your hands on the drive of a mere cruiser.«

»Doesn´t he value his skin as much as I do mine?«

Her entry rated salutes, rigid attention from the seamen and a

smile and a warm handshake from Festinel. She politely accepted his

effusive thanks and then pointedly turned to watch the rapidly approaching

shoreline.

The City Port bustled with activity: small water taxis skipping

across the waves, larger barges wallowing across their swells, and coastal

freighters awaiting their turn at the piers which, with their array of

mechanical unloading devices, were anything but »natural.« The cruiser´s

velocity had moderated considerably now that it was in congested waters.

Ponderously it approached the Federal docking area, where sleek courier

vessels bobbed alongside two more squat cruisers.

Killashandra had no difficulty identifying their berth -- it was

crowded with a welcoming committee, all massed white and insipid pale

colors, blurred faces turned seaward, despite the glare of the westering

sun which was full in their eyes. The cruiser swung its bow slightly to

port and the drive was cut, momentum carrying the big vessel inexorably to

the dock and the grapples clanked against the hull, bringing it to a halt

with a barely perceptible jolt.

»My compliments on a smooth docking, Captain Festinel -- and my

thanks for an excellent voyage.« Killashandra made gracious noises to all

the bridge staff and then swept out to get the rest of the tedious

formalities over.

»Ampris!« Lars grunted as they reached the portal. Beneath them the

gangway was extruding the few meters to the dock.

»Of course, and my quartette lined up like the puppets they are. I

think I am developing a splitting headache. All that crystal whine, you

know.« She raised her hand to her forehead.

»See what line Ampris takes first.« Lars´s face was set, his

nostrils flaring a little as he settled his respiratory rate.

Killashandra suppressed a perfectly natural surge of repugnance for

a man who had ordered an assault on her, then hypocritically assured her

that the culprit would be punished . . . How could she punish Ampris? The

method she had employed with Torkes would not work; Ampris was too wily.

The gangplank had locked in place, the honor guard was arranged,

Elder Torkes appeared, the welcoming committee began to applaud and, every

inch the gracious celebrity, Killashandra descended. Mirbethan took a step

forward, anxiously scanning Killashandra´s face for any sign of the

»ordeal.« Thyrol, Pirinio, and Polabod all bowed low but permitted Elder

Ampris to do the honors.

»Guildmember Ree, you cannot imagine our elation when we learned of

your safe deliverance -- « Then Ampris caught sight of Lars, whom he was

patently not expecting.

»This is Captain Lars Dahl who rescued me so boldly, and at no

small risk to himself and his vessel. Captain Dahl, this is Elder Ampris.«

Killashandra took the plunge, pretending ignorance of any previous contact

between the two men. »I am forever indebted to Captain Dahl, as I´m sure

the Council of Elders must be, for delivering me from that wretched patch

of nowhere.«

Lars saluted crisply and impassively as Elder Ampris executed the

shallowest of acknowledgments.

»The Harbor Master at Angel Island has detached him from duty there

to be my personal bodyguard.« Killashandra gave an elegantly delicate

shudder. »I won´t feel safe without his sure protection.«

»Quite understandable, Guildmember; however, I think that you´ll

find our security measures -- «

»I felt quite secure within the Conservatory, Elder Ampris,«

Killashandra said demurely. »I seem to be only at risk when I leave its

sanctuary. I assure you I have no desire to do that again.«

»Security Leader Blaz -- «

»I´ll not have that officious oaf near me, Elder Ampris. He´s the

reason I was put in jeopardy. The man has no intelligence or tact. I don´t

trust him to spit in the right direction. Captain Lars Dahl is in charge of

my personal security at my personal insistence. Have I not made myself

clear?«

For a second Elder Ampris looked about to argue the point, but the

moment passed. He inclined his head again, forced his face into a grim

smile, and then gestured toward the waiting vehicle.

»Why this vast throng?« Killashandra asked, smiling graciously

about her.

»Some of the winning composers and prospective performers for this

year´s Festival and final-year students.«

»All waiting for the organ to be repaired?«

Elder Ampris cleared his throat. »Yes, that is true.«

»Well, I shan´t delay them any longer than necessary. Especially

since Captain Dahl proved so capable in assisting me with the cruiser

drive.«

Ampris stopped midstride and stared first at her, then

incredulously at Lars.

»Yes, weren´t you informed that the cruiser had drive difficulties

this morning? One of the crystals shattered. I still have a slight headache

from the distortion. Naturally the ship could not proceed without emergency

repairs. And while that was merely a matter of removing the shards and

resetting the brackets on the undamaged crystals, it does require steady

hands, a keen eye and ear. Captain Dahl was far more adept than the

cruiser´s engineer. And he has the perfect and absolute pitch required. I

think he will prove an admirable assistant, one in whom I certainly repose

complete trust. You do agree, I´m sure.« They had reached the vehicle now.

»You first, Captain Dahl, I shall want Elder Ampris on my right.«

Lars complied before the Elder could blurt out a protest and

Killashandra settled herself, smiling as warmly as possible at Ampris, just

as if she hadn´t delivered a most unpalatable request.

The quartette settled itself in the seats behind them and the

vehicle left the dock area. Ports required much the same facilities

throughout the galaxy. Fortunately nature had conspired in favor of human

endeavors, so warehouses, seamen´s hostels, and mercantile establishments

were not quite so tortuously situated in City Port as in the City proper.

The Music Conservatory on its prominence was visible as soon as the Port

gave way to an agricultural belt. From this approach, Killashandra could

see the lateral elevation of the Festival auditorium and the narrow path

that led to the suburb Lars had called Gartertown. She wondered if there´d

be a new brew soon. Maybe Lars could collect a few bottles for her?

The drive was in the main a silent one, with Ampris stewing beside

her and Lars stiffly silent. The strained atmosphere began to affect her,

causing her to wonder if she really were doing the right thing for Lars.

Yet if she hadn´t taken pains to divert suspicion from him, he´d be running

with a threat of rehabilitation hanging over him. Had she erroneously

assumed that he was as eager to continue their relationship as she was?

Olav had wreathed them both with the handfast garlands. Surely that act

held significance. She´d best have it out with Lars as soon as possible.

After what seemed a long time, they drew up at the imposing

entrance to the Conservatory.

»I dispensed with the formality of a welcoming throng, Guildmember,

in the interests of security.« Elder Ampris got out of the car and turned

to give her a steadying hand.

»I have no fear of a second assault, Elder Ampris,« she said taking

his dry clasp and smiling ingenuously at him, »with Captain Dahl beside me.

And, you know, after the courtesies I received at the hands of the

islanders, I´m beginning to think that that attack, as well as my

abduction, were made to seem island-instigated. I can´t imagine an islander

being jealous of anything on the Mainland.«

Lars had emerged from the car, but his expression was devoid of

reaction. The skin on Ampris´s face was taut with the effort of controlling

his. »With your comfort in mind, Guildmember, perhaps you might prefer to

eat in your suite this evening.«

»That is so thoughtful, Elder Ampris. Resetting a crystal drive is

an exhausting process. So many fiddling things requiring fine muscle

coordination and complete concentration.« She sighed wearily, turning

slightly to smile apologetically at Mirbethan and the others. »I want to be

well rested to attack that repair tomorrow. Oh, Thyrol? With Captain Dahl

to assist me, I won´t need any other helpers.«

She took Lars´s arm and ascended the shallow steps to the main

entrance. She felt him quivering but for which of several reasons she

couldn´t have told without glancing at his face. And she didn´t dare do

that. »Do you know the way to my quarters, Captain Dahl?«

»If I may just escort you,« Mirbethan answered, hastening to lead

the way.

»I was never in this part of the Conservatory, Crystal Singer,«

Lars said as they entered the imposing main lobby.

»You´ve been to the conservatory, Captain Dahl?« Killashandra

asked.

»Yes, Guildmember, I studied here for three years.«

»Why, Captain, you have unexplored capabilities. Are you then a

singer?«

»Vocal music is not taught at the Conservatory: only the organ.«

»Really, I would have thought the planet´s main Conservatory would

exploit every musical potential. How odd!«

»Do you find it so, Guildmember?«

»In other parts of the FSP, vocal arts are much admired, and a

Stellar soloist highly respected.«

»Optheria places more value on the most complex of instruments.«

Lars´s tone was of mild reproof. »The sensory organ combines sound,

olfactory and tactile sensations to produce a total orchestration of

alternate reality for the participant.«

»Is the organ limited to Optheria? I´ve never encountered one

before in all my voyaging.«

»It is unique to Optheria.«

»Which certainly has many unique experiences for the visitor.«

Mirbethan´s pace, and her erect back, seemed to reflect at once her

approval, and shock, at their conversation.

»Why, then, Captain Dahl, if you have studied to use the organ, are

you sailing about in the islands?«

»Because, Guildmember, my composition was ah . . . not approved by

the Masters who pass judgment on such aspirations, so I returned to my

previous occupation.«

»To be sure, I am selfishly glad, Captain -- for who would have

rescued me had you not been in those waters?« Killashandra sighed deeply

just as they turned the corridor into the hall she did recognize .

»Mirbethan?«

The woman whirled, her expression composed though she was breathing

rather rapidly.

»By any chance, I mean, I know I´ve been gone a good while, but I

do hope that those beverages . . .«

»Your catering facility has been completely stocked with the

beverages of your choice.«

»And the chimes have been turned off?«

Mirbethan nodded.

»And the catering unit instructed to supply proper-size portions of

food without requiring additional authorization?«

»Of course.«

»Thank you. I, for one, am starving. Sea air, you know.« With a

final smile, Killashandra swept through the door Lars held open.

By the time he had shut it, she had discovered four ceiling

surveillance units in the main salon. »I am quite weary, Captain.«

»With due respect, Guildmember, you did not eat much of the evening

meal, perhaps a light supper -- «

»The variety on the catering unit seems geared to student

requirements . . . unless you, having spent time here, can make a

suggestion.«

»Indeed I would be delighted to, Guildmember.« Lars located several

more as they moved through the suite to the two bedrooms. He peered into

the first bathing room and grinned broadly at her. »May I draw you a bath?«

»An excellent idea.« She strode to what was evidently the one room

that had been left unmonitored.

Lars began filling the tub, having turned the taps on full.

He reached into his tunic and extracted an innocuous metal ball. »A

deceiver, Father calls it. It distorts picture and sound -- we can be quite

free once it´s operating. And when we leave the suite,« -- he grinned,

miming the device returned to his pocket -- »it´ll drive their technicians

wild.«

»Won´t they realize that the distortion only works when we´re

here?«

»I suggest that tomorrow you complain about being monitored in the

bedroom. Can we cope with just one free room?« He began to undress her, his

expression intense with anticipation.

»Two,« Killashandra corrected him with a coy moue as the bright and

elegant overall Teradia had chosen for her fell in a rainbow puddle at her

feet.

It was, of course, thoroughly soaked with the water displaced when

Lars overbalanced her into the tub.

When they had sated their appetites sufficiently, Killashandra idly

described wet circles on the broad expanse of Lars´s chest. »I think that

with the best motives in the world, I have placed you in an awkward

situation.«

»Beloved Killashandra, when you sprang that,« and he aptly mimicked

her voice, » ‘I have no fear of being assaulted with Captain Dahl beside

me,´ I nearly choked.«

»I felt you quaking, but I didn´ t know if it was laughter or

outrage.«

»And then suggesting that someone else had instigated the attack to

implicate islanders -- Killashandra, I wouldn´d have missed that for

anything. You really got mine back on the flatulent fardling. But watch

him, Killa. He´s dangerous. Once he and Torkes start comparing notes . . .«

»They still have to get that organ fixed in time for all those

lucky little composers to practice their pieces. I´m here and even if a

replacement is coming, it´s the old bird-in-the-hand.«

»Yes, and they´ve got to have done all the Mainland concerts to

ensure a proper Optherian attitude toward visitors.«

»Proper attitude? Mainland concerts? What do you mean?«

Lars held her slightly away from him in the capacious bath, reading

her face and eyes.

»You don´t know? You don´t really know why that organ is so

important to the Elders?«

»Well, I do know that the set-up will produce an intense emotional

experience for the listener. It verges on illegal manipulation.«

Lars gave a sour laugh. »Verges? It is. But then you would only

have seen the sensory elements. The subliminal units are kept out of sight,

underneath the organ loft.«

»Subliminals?« Killashandra stared at Lars.

»Of course, ninny. How do you think the Elders keep the people of

Optheria from wanting any of the marvels that the visitors tell them about?

Because they´ve just had a full dose of subliminal conditioning! Why do you

think people who prefer to exercise their own wits live in the islands? The

Elders can´t broadcast the subliminals and sensories.«

»Subliminals are illegal! Even the sensory feedbacks border on

illegality! Lars, when I tell the FSP this -- «

»Why do you think my father was sent to Optheria? The FSP wants

proof! And that means an eyeball on the illegal equipment. It´s taken

Father´s group nearly thirty years to get close enough.«

»Then you weren´t here just to learn to play that blasted thing?«

»Playing the blasted thing is the only way to get close enough to

it to find out where the subliminal units are kept. Comgail did. And died!«

»You´re suggesting he didn´t suicide?«

Lars shook his head slowly. »Something Nahia said during the

hurricane confirmed my suspicion that he hadn´t. You see, I knew Comgail.

He was my composition tutor. He wasn´t a martyr type. He certainly wanted

to live. He was willing to risk a lot but not his life. Nahia mentioned

that he´d asked Hauness to provide him with rehab blocks. A good block --

and Hauness is the best there is -- prevents the victim from confessional

diarrhea and a total loss of personality. Comgail had been so above

reproach all the time he´d been at the Conservatory that not even a

paranoid like Pedder would have suspected him of collusion with dissidents.

But, for shattering the manual, Comgail´d automatically be sent to rehab.

He had prepared himself for that. He wasn´t killed by a crystal fragment,

Killa, he was murdered by it. I think it was because he had found the

access to the subliminal units.«

»Subliminals!« Killashandra seethed with horror at the potentially

total control. »And he found the access? Where? All I need is one look at

them -- «

Lars regarded her solemnly. »That´s all we need -- once we find

them. They´ve got to be somewhere in the organ loft.«

»Well, then« -- Killashandra embraced him exuberantly -- »wasn´t I

clever to insist that you and I handle the repairs all by ourselves.«

»If we´re allowed!«

»You´ve the jammer.« She rose from the deep bath, Lars following

her. »Say, if your father´s so clever with electronics, why hasn´t he

figured a Way to jam the shuttleport detection arch?«

Lars chuckled as she dried him, for once more interested in

something other than his physical effect on her.

»He´s spent close to thirty years trying. We even have a replica of

the detector on Angel. But we cannot figure a way to mask that residue.

Watch out for my ears!« She had been briskly toweling his hair.

»Does the detector always catch the native?«

»Infallible.«

»And yet . . .« She wrapped her hair in a towel. She pointed to the

jammer and then proceeded to the salon. Lars followed, the jammer held

above his head like a torch, a diabolical gleam in his eye as he waved it

at each of the monitors he passed. »Yet when Thyrol came out right with me,

the detector didn´t catch him. And passed me.«

- »What? No matter how many people pass under it, it will always detect the

native!«

»It didn´t then! I wonder if it had anything to do with crystal

resonance.

»You mean in you?«

»Hmmm. It´s not exactly something we can experiment with, is it?

Prancing in and out of the shuttleport.«

»Hardly -- and we´re half a world away from the only other one.«

»Well, we can worry about that later. After we´ve found the access

and after we´ve repaired that wretched organ! Now,« and she opened the

doors of the beverage store with a flourish, »what shall we drink with our

supper?«

Chapter 19

Killashandra woke before the chimes, which did not sound in her suite but

were nevertheless audible from the adjacent sections of the Conservatory.

She woke refreshed and totally relaxed, and cautiously eased herself away

from Lars´s supine body so that she might have a better view of his

sleeping form. She fell oddly protective of him as she propped her head on

one hand and minutely inspected his profile. Thus she noticed that the tips

of his long eyelashes were bleached and the lid itself was not as dark as

the surrounding skin. Fine laugh, or sun lines, fanned out from the corners

to the temple. The arch of his nose just missed being too high, too thin,

being balanced by fine modeling and length. His cheeks wore a dusting of

freckles which she hadn´t noticed before. And several dark brow hairs were

out of line as the brow curved around the eye socket. Several hairs

bristled straight up at the inner edges of brows that would almost meet

when he frowned.

She liked best his wide lips, more patrician than sensual. She knew

the havoc they could raise with her body and felt they were perhaps his

best feature. Even in sleep, the corners raised slightly. His chin was

rather broader than one was aware when his face was mobile, but the strong

jawline swept back to well-shaped ears, also tan, with a spot of new

sunburn about to peel on the top skin.

The column of his neck was strong and the pulse beat in his throat.

She wanted to put her finger tip on it and almost did before retracting her

hand. He was more truly hers when asleep, untouched by stress, relaxed, his

rib cage barely moving.

She loved the line of his chest, the smooth skin clothing smooth

pectoral muscle, and once again she had to repress the wish to run her hand

down the shape of him, to feel the fine crisp hair on his chest. He was not

hirsute and she found that much to her preference as well, his legs and

arms having only a fine dusting of blond hairs.

She had seen handsomer men but the composition of his face pleased

her better. Lanzecki -- now that was the first time she´d thought of him in

days -- actually was the more distinguished in looks, heavier in build. She

decided she preferred the way Lars Dahl was put together.

She sighed. It was easier to be philosophical about Lanzecki. Would

she have been as easily resigned to that loss if she hadn´t met Lars Dahl?

She had broken off with Lanzecki for his own good, but she hadn´t »lost«

him, for she would return to Ballybran. Once she´d left Optheria . . .

For a moment her emotions hovered above a new abyss of despair and

regret. And for the first time in her life, the thought of bearing a man´s

child crossed her mind. That was as much an impossibility as remaining with

Lars, but it emphasized the depth of her emotional involvement with the

man. Perhaps it was just as well that no child was possible, that their

liaison would end when this assignment was over. She surprised herself!

Children were something other people had. To feel that desire was

remarkable.

Optheria, for all its conservatism and alleged security, had

unexpected facets of danger. Not the least of which were her adventures so

far. She could hardly fault Trag, or rail at the Encyclopedia Galactica.

Facts she had had. What couldn´t have been foreseen were the astonishing

predicaments which had entangled her. And the fascinating personalities.

More extraordinary still, she remembered all too vividly, and with

just a trace of chagrin, her rantings and ravings and desperation´s when

she´d left Ballybran, a sacrifice to the Guild for Lanzecki´s good. Now,

when contemplating a much deeper and irreversible loss, why was she so

calm, fatalistically resigned, even philosophical. How very strange! Had

her loss of Lanzecki inured her to others? Or was she mistaking her

feelings for Lars Dahl? No! She´d remember Lars Dahl for the rest of her

life without benefit of data retrieval.

The second chimes rang faintly across the open court outside the

windows. Faint but sufficient to waken Lars. He was as neat on wakening as

he was in sleep. His eyes opened, his right hand searched for her body, his

head turned and his smile began as he located her. Then he stretched, arms

above his head, back arching toward her as he extended his legs and then on

the top of his extension, suddenly retracted himself, drawing her against

him, to complete a morning ritual which included the exercise of their

intimate relationship. Each time, they seemed to discover something new

about themselves and their responses. She particularly liked Lars´s

capacity for invention, stimulating as it did heretofore unsuspected

originalities in herself.

As usual hunger roused them from these variations.

»Breakfast here is the heartiest meal,« Lars said cheerfully,

striding quickly for the catering unit. »You´ll like it.«

Killashandra saw that he had left the jammer behind him, and she

followed him at a quick trot, holding the device up to distort anything

else he might say.

He laughed. »We´d best leave them something to hear. A discussion

of breakfast must be sufficiently innocuous.«

Killashandra settled in one of the chairs near the catering unit,

swiveling her hand as she looked at the little jammer. If only some way

could be found to mask that mineral residue in Optherians! Blank out the

detector.

»You know,« Killashandra said as they ate, sitting companionably

together on the elegant seating unit, »I simply cannot understand this

concentration on one instrument -- albeit a powerful one -- but they´re

wiping out more than ninety-nine percent of the FSP´s musical traditions

and repertoire, as well as stultifying talents and potential. I mean, your

tenor is formidable!«

Lars shrugged, giving her a tolerant side glance. »Everyone sings

-- at least in the islands, they do.«

»But you know how to sing.«

Lars cocked an eyebrow at her, still humoring what he felt was her

excessive fascination with a minor ability.

»Everyone knows how to sing -- «

»I don´t mean just opening the mouth and shouting, Lars Dahl. I

mean, projecting a voice, supporting it properly on the breath, phrasing

the music, carrying the dynamic line forward.

»When did I do all that?«

»When we did that impromptu duet. When you sang on the beach, when

you did that magnificent duet from The Pearl Fishers.«

»I did?«

»Of course. I studied voice for ten years. I -- « She shut her

mouth.

»Then why are you a crystal singer instead of one of these famous

vocal artists?«

A surge of impotent fury, followed by a wave of regret, and then a

totally incomprehensible loathing of Lars for reminding her so acutely of

the interview with Maestro Valdi -- the moment that had changed her life --

rendered Killashandra speechless.

Lars watched her, his mild curiosity turning to concern as he saw

the emotions in her stormy eyes and face. He put a hand on her bare thigh.

»What did I say to distress you so?«

»Nothing you said, Lars.« She dismissed all that from

consideration. It was over and done with. »I had all the requirements to be

a Stellar, except one. A voice.«

»Ah, now.« Lars pulled back in indignation.

»I´m quite serious. There´s a flaw, a noticeable and unpleasant

burr in the voice that would have limited me to secondary roles.«

Lars laughed now, his white teeth gleaming in his tanned faced, his

eyes sparkling. »And you, my beloved Sunny,« he kissed her lightly, »would

never settle for being second in anything! Are you first among crystal

singers, then?«

»I don´t do badly. I´ve sung black crystal, which is the hardest to

find and cut properly. In any event, there aren´t degrees among singers.

One cuts to earn enough credit for the things one needs and wants.« Now why

wasn´t she being totally honest with Lars? Why didn´t she confess that the

sole aim of most crystal singers was sufficient credit not to have to sing

crystal -- to leave Ballybran for as long as possible?

»I wouldn´t have thought crystal singers are so much like

islanders,« Lars surprised her by saying. »Well, you cut for what you need

and want, much as we fish or plant polly, but all we really need is

available.«

»It´s not quite the same thing with crystal,« Killashandra said

slowly, glad she had been less than honest. Why disillusion Lars

needlessly? On so many worlds, in so many minds, there were so many

misconceptions about crystal singers, she had not realized how much a

relief it was to find an unbiased world -- at least one unbiased with

respect to her Guild.

»Cutting crystal seems more dangerous than fishing.« He stroked her

scarred hand. »Or learning polly.«

»Stick to fishing, Lars. Crystal´s hazardous to your health. Now,

we´d best apply ourselves to fulfill my Guild contract with these fardling

fools. And maybe shake them out of their organic rut!«

They dressed and then Killashandra entered the number Mirbethan had

given her. The woman seemed immensely relieved to accept the call and said

that Thyrol would be with them directly.

»D´you suppose he slept in the hall?« Killashandra murmured to Lars

as she answered the polite scratching on the hall door. Lars shook his head

violently, then held up his hand while he deactivated the jammer and

pocketed it. »Good morning, Thyrol. Lead on.« She gestured peremptorily,

smiling at Thyrol before she noticed two burly men in security uniforms. »I

have no need of them!« she said coldly.

»Ah . . . they will not interfere, Guildmember.«

»I´ll make sure of that, Thyrol. I will need the duragloves -- «

»Everything you requested before your unfortunate disappearance is

in the organ loft.«

»Oh, very well then. It´s gathered dust long enough. Lead on!«

Once again the instinctive reaction to tiptoe and maintain silence

affected Killashandra as they emerged onto the stage of the Festival

auditorium. She glanced at Lars to see if he was similarly affected. He

grimaced slightly and she noticed that his active stride perceptibly

altered. She did not miss the almost covetous way he frowned at the covered

organ console. And wondered what she could do about that! She had been

entranced with the music he played on the twelve-stringed instrument, and

she was eager to hear it with organ amplification. Or would that be too

cruel an imposition?

As Thyrol used his keys on the panel to the loft, Killashandra

wondered if among them were the keys that would allow access to subliminal

mechanisms. All three on that ring were apparently needed to open the loft

door. Or would someone of Thyrol´s rank even know about such a refinement?

She presumed it was limited to Elder rank only, or maybe a Master or two.

They´d need someone with a hefty dab of imagination and energy to create

subliminal images. Unless the subliminals reflected the inflexibility of

the Elders´ attitudes toward everything, which was also logical -- Why

search for a template when one was oneself the ultimate role model?

The necessary equipment was indeed in the loft, neatly stacked

against one side of the long wall. Lars maintained an attitude of casual

indifference after giving the room a sweeping glance. Killashandra noted

the monitor buds, caught Lars´s glance and gave him a nod. She waited until

his hand disappeared into his pocket and then bent over the open console

and the glittering shards of crystal.

»Lars Dahl, grab a mask and some gloves, and bring that bin over

here. And a mask and gloves for me. I don´t fancy inhaling crystal dust in

those close quarters.« Then she looked up at the burly men taking up so

much space in the loft. »Out!« She flicked her fingers at them. »Out, out,

out, out! You´re taking up space and air.«

»This room is well ventilated, Guildmember,« Thyrol began.

»That is not the point. I dislike observers peering at my every

move. There´s no need for them. Certainly no one can get in or out of here.

They can stand on the other side of the door and repel boarders! In fact,

Thyrol, without meaning offense, your absence would oblige.«

»But -- «

»You´ll only be hovering. I´m sure you have more important duties

than hovering! And you´re a distraction -- Or, are you one of those I´m to

teach crystal installation?«

Thyrol drew back, affronted by the suggestion and without further

protest retired from the loft.

»Now,« Killashandra began, not even watching the man leave, »the

first thing we must do is clear the shards. Stick to the larger pieces,

Lars Dahl. My body deals with cuts more easily than yours. Hang up that

lid. We´ll put the pieces on that before transferring them to the bin.

Crystal has a disastrous habit of spraying shards when it bounces . . .

Shouldn´t want unnecessary accidents to mar this procedure.«

»Why´d you want the jammer on in here? Guild secrets?« Lars´s voice

was muffled by the mask.

»I just want them to understand that monitors won´t work around me.

I was brought up on a planet that respects privacy and I´m not allowing

Optherians to violate that right. Not for all the sensory organs on this

narking world. Besides, how else can we search for the access? It would

look far odder if suddenly their scanners don´t work, than if they haven´t

worked from the start. Now, let´s do what we came for.«

It was slow work, especially once Lars had cleared the larger

pieces. The extractor could be used only in short bursts; continued suction

expelled tiny splinters right through the bag. For that reason, the bag had

to be emptied and brushed out after each burst.

»It´d be easier with two of these, wouldn´t it?« When Killashandra

nodded, Lars strode to the door panel, slid it open, and issued the

request. Killashandra heard a murmured reply. »Now, I said! We don´t have

time to wait for the request to go through Security. By the First Fathers!

Does everything have to be authorized by Ampris. Move it! Now!«

Killashandra grinned at him. Lars´s return grin was pure

satisfaction.

»If you knew how often I´ve wanted to bark at a Security man -- «

»I can´t honestly imagine you making meek -- «

»You´d be surprised at what I´m willing to do for a good reason.«

He gave her a singularly wicked look.

A case of the extractors was delivered in half an hour by an

officer whom Lars later told Killashandra was Blaz´s second in command, but

not a bad fellow for all of that. Castair had been known to look the other

way during student romps which Blaz never would have permitted.

»Guildmember,« Castair began, as Lars took the case from him,

»there´s some problem with the monitoring system in here.«

»There is?« Killashandra straightened up from the console, glancing

about her.

Castair indicated the corner nodules.

»Well, I don´t want someone distracting me while I´m doing this.

Your repairs can wait. We certainly are not damaging anything!«

»No, of course not, Guildmember.«

»Then leave it for now.« She waved him off, bending back to the

tedious cleaning before he had left.

»Perfect pitch is not the only talent required to sing crystal.«

Lars´s comment startled Killashandra as she finally stood erect, arching

her back against tight muscles.

»Oh?«

His expression was a mixture of respect and something else. »A

crystal singer has total concentration and an absence of normal human

requirements -- such as hunger!«

Killashandra twisted her wrist to look at the chrono and chuckled,

leaning against the unit behind her. It was mid-afternoon and they had been

working steadily since nine that morning.

»You should have given me a nudge.«

»Several,« Lars said dryly. »I only mention it now because you´re

looking a bit white under your tan. Here.« He thrust a heatpak at her. »I

do not have your dedication so I sent for food.«

»Without authorization?« Killashandra broke the seal on the soup,

aware that she was very hungry indeed.

I took a hint from your manner and pretended they had no option but

obedience.« He shook his head. »Are all crystal singers like you?«

»I´m pretty mild,« she said, sipping carefully at the now heated

soup. Lars passed her a plate of small sandwiches and crackers. »I only act

the maggot when circumstances require. Especially with this lot of idiots.«

She lifted and rotated one shoulder to ease back muscles Lars came to her

side, pushing her away from her perch, and began to massage her back. His

fingers unerringly found the tension knot, and she murmured her gratitude.

»I hate this part of working in crystal so I´d rather get it over and done

with as fast as possible.«

»How crucial is the clean sweep?«

Killashandra sang a soft note and the crystal shards answered in a

nerve-twitching dissonance.

Lars shook convulsively at the sound which, in spite of being soft,

took time to die away. »Wow!«

»White crystal is active, picks up any sound. Leave so much as the

minutest particle of crystal dust and it´ll jam the manual and produce all

kinds of subharmonics in the logic translator. It´d really be easier to

start with a brand new manual case but I doubt they´d have spare parts.

Which reminds me -- the ten brackets that I´ve cleared are all spoiled.«

She picked one up, turning the clamping surface so that the scratches

picked up the light. »Tighten one of these on a new crystal and you´d

create uneven stresses through the long axis of the crystal, introducing

spurious piezoelectric effects and probably a flaw in next to no time.«

Lars took the bracket from her, hefting it in his hand. »They´re no

problem. Olver can do them.«

Instinctively Killashandra looked up at the monitors as Lars

mentioned his contact. She dragged at the fabric of Lars´s sleeve and

pointed to the surveillance buds, where traces of black had mysteriously

appeared to make an aureole about each unit. »Now what did that?«

Killashandra chuckled and pointed to the white crystal. »A secret

weapon for you when I leave. Sing white crystal to whatever room you´re in

and blast the monitors.« She reached for one of the larger pieces Lars had

cleared away and hefted it. »We´ll just save some of this for you. I wonder

if Research and Development know about this application of white.«

Suddenly Lars had his arms about her, his face buried in her hair,

his lips against her neck. She could feel the tension in him and caressed

him with gentle hands.

»Oh, Sunny, must you leave?«

She gave him a twisted, rueful smile, gentling the frown from his

face with tender fingers »Crystal calls me back, Lars Dahl. It´s not a

summons I can ignore, and live!«

He kissed her hungrily and as she responded they both caught the

slight sound, swiveling away from each other, as the door slid open.

»Ah, Elder Ampris,« Killashandra said, »your arrival is most

opportune. Show him the bracket, Lars Dahl,« and when Ampris regarded this

unusual offering with amazement, »run your fingers over the clamping edge .

. . carefully . . . and feel how rough it is. We´re going to need some two

hundred of these, for I´m not about to trust new crystal in old brackets.

All I´ve removed so far have been scratched just like that one. Will you

authorize the order -- and designate it is urgent?«

Killashandra snapped her mask back over her face and picked up the

brush. Then she swore.

»I could also use a handlight of some sort. Some of this wretched

stuff is like powder.«

Elder Ampris peered in and she heard his intake of breath. She

straightened, regarding him passively, seeing the stern accusation in his

eyes.

»Let me demonstrate, Elder Ampris, the need for meticulous care.«

She hummed, more loudly then before, and took great delight in its effect

on the man. »Sorry about that.« She resumed work.

»I came to inquire, Guildmember, how soon the repairs would be

completed.«

»Since the idiot who smashed the manual put his heart in the

destruction, it´s going to take a lot more time than it did for me to

remove one shattered crystal from the cruiser drive -- if that´s the

comparison you were using.« Killashandra sighed, and looked disconsolately

at the crystal ruin. »It´s slow going because of the nature of crystal and

because, as you perceived, every smidgeon has to be cleaned out. That´s all

we´ve achieved today . . .«

Elder Ampris shot a sour glance at Lars. »More helpers?«

Killashandra gave a bark of laughter. »Just find me a vacuum

capable of sucking up crystal dust and we´d clear this in an hour. Or,

supply me with a brand new case!« And she gave the one before her a

dismissive slap with her hand. Crystal pinged, Lars and Ampris winced.

»Gets to you, doesn´t it? Well, Elder Ampris, that´s where we stand. Now,

if you´ll excuse me, the nitty gritty doesn´t get done by talking about

it.« She picked up her brush but Ampris cleared his throat.

»A dinner and concert have been arranged for your enjoyment this

evening,« he said.

»I appreciate the courtesy, Elder Ampris, but until I have finished

this, I wouldn´t feel right about taking any time off for mere

entertainment. If you´ll send us in some more food -- «

»Guildmember,« Lars interrupted, »with all due respect, Elder

Ampris is not . . . I mean, it is hardly his responsibility . . . »

»What are you trying to say, Captain?«

Ampris, his eyes glinting with the first glimpse of the humor she

had seen from him since that long-ago reception, held up his hand,

relieving Lars of the necessity of explanation.

»If the Guildmember is willing to forego pleasure to complete her

task, I feel I may serve as messenger for her requirements.«

»Apparently everything I require has to be authorized by you

anyway. Seems silly to waste time with all those intermediate stages.«

Killashandra grinned at Ampris without a sign of remorse. »Would you not

have a word with them out there, or Thyrol? Speed things up tremendously.

Oh, and don´t forget, I need two hundred of those brackets. And the

handlight. Lars, you go with him and get it, will you? It has to be small

enough not to hamper sight, and I´d prefer a tight beam.«

They left and she returned to work. When Lars came back with

several handbeams, his eyes were bubbling with humor.

»Your wishes are his commands, Oh mighty Guild-member, Oh sweeper

of the white crystal specks! Orders were issued to all the boys out there,«

and he jerked his thumb at the closed door panel, »that anything you

request is to be secured as fast as possible.«

»Hmmm. Bring one of those lights to bear on this corner, will you,

Lars?« She flicked the brush and disclosed tiny granules that glittered in

the light. »See? The fardling things are pernicious! I´ll get ‘em, every

last speck!«

When the sumptuous dinner was wheeled in to them some time later,

she grumbled but stopped working.

»Is crystal singing some kind of disease!« Lars asked

conversationally.

»You sail. Do you call a halt in the middle of a storm? Do you

leave off fishing in the midst of a school to nap?«

»It´s not quite the same thing -- «

»It is to me, Lars. Be of good cheer. The bracketing will be

relatively easy and you can help me do that.«

Despite her protests, Lars carried her out of the organ loft just

before midnight. When they reached her suite, she insisted that they had

better have a good soak, to be sure none of the crystal dust had penetrated

their clothing. In the bath, he had to hold her head above water, for she

kept falling asleep.

It took nearly four days to ensure that no speck of crystal dust

remained in the case. By the time they arrived each morning, new monitor

buds had been installed. So the first thing that Killashandra did on

entering the organ loft was to hum a happy tune, charging the white crystal

shards to do their duty and blast the fragile sensors.

On the third day, the new brackets were delivered and Killashandra

set Lars Dahl to checking each one under a microscope. Fourteen were

rejected for minor flaws. After the visit of Elder Ampris, they had no

visitors. Thyrol would conduct them every morning to the loft, unlocking it

and inquiring after their needs. Excellent meals were delivered at the

appropriate hours. Assured of uninterrupted privacy, with easily disabled

monitors, Lars had the freedom to undertake a very patient examination of

the room, searching for the location of the subliminal equipment.

On the fourth morning, as Thyrol led them across the stage,

Killashandra noted a curious discrepancy. The loft room did not extend the

entire length of the stage behind the organ console. She silently counted

her paces to the door. When Thyrol had closed the panel and Lars had

activated the jammer, she paced out the width of the room.

»In-ter-est-ing,« she said, her nose against the far wall. »This

room is only half the length of the stage, Lars. Does that suggest anything

to you?«

»It does, but there is no corresponding door on the other side of

the console!« He joined her in her scrutiny of the blameless wall. »The

subliminals have to be linked to the main frame data bases. I wonder . . .«

She followed his inspection of the cables that festooned the

ceiling, pausing where they ran alongside the wall.

»Just a little minute,« he said, his eyes wide with discovery, and

he spun one of the impervo tubs to position just under the cables.

He had to crane his neck, half stooped against the ceiling, but he

gave a low and triumphant whistle. When he jumped down, he gathered

Killashandra in his arms and whirled her about, crowing with exultation.

»The wall drops -- how I don´t know, but there is just the

slightest gap at the top, where no one would think to look for it. And

three very heavy cables go through the wall.«

Lars replaced the tub before he began to inspect the corner joint.

Once again he gave an exultant yip.

»The whole wall must move, Killa -- but how?«

That large a mass sinking into the floor might be a touch noisy.«

»If we knew the mechanism . . .« He felt along the corner, then the

floor, pressing and tapping.

»That´s far too obvious, Lars. Stupid they are but never obvious.

Try for an extrusion on one of the units, underneath ‘em, inside . . .« She

ran searching fingers under the one nearest her, finding nothing but a

rough edge on one corner which produced a gouged finger. »Ach, I haven´t

the patience for this sort of nonsense right now. You go ahead. I´ll finish

this last bit of cleaning.«

By the time their lunch was brought in, Lars had found nothing

more. The units that could be opened had been opened with no result. Lars

stewed and fussed all through the meal at his inability to resolve the

problem.

»What sort of form do the security measures generally take on

Optheria? Bureaucracies tend to find a reliable mechanism and stick with

it,« Killashandra suggested, with only half her attention on that part of

the problem since she was so close to clearing the manual case for the next

task.

»I can find out. Would you mind being left alone this evening?« He

grinned at her, stroking her arm gently. »You´d be a mite conspicuous where

I want to go.«

»And where would that be?« she asked with an arch glance of mock

disgust.

»I´ve got to acquire a few more clothes,« and he twitched the

fabric of his shirt, not as gaudy as that of most island designs but

certainly noticeable amid the drab garb of the city dwellers. »Talk to a

few people. Lucky for us, it´s nearing the time of year when the

subliminals wear off and normal student appetites revive. I might he late,

Killa,« -- he made a grimace of regret -- »We don´t have as much time

together . . .«

She kissed the pulse in his throat. »Whenever you return then. That

is, of course,« and she had to add a light touch to relieve the tension in

her throat, »if the guards pass you in.«

Chapter 20

And?« Killashandra prompted Lars the next morning as they breakfasted.

Despite a valiant effort to stay awake, she had been asleep when he

returned and he was showering when she was awakened by the distant chimes.

»I got clothing, all right enough,« Lars admitted with a frustrated

sigh. »The Elders´ search and seizure for you was far more comprehensive

than our visitors,« and despite the jammer he was taking no chances, »had

led us to believe. Or perhaps knew. Anyone -- anyone who has been booked

even for a pedestrian offense -- was drawn. Half a dozen students were sent

on to rehab without benefit of Inquiry.«

»Olver?«

Lars ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his head

vigorously as if to erase his despondency. »How he escaped I don´t know and

neither, I gather, does he. We didn´t exchange more than a few signs.« Lars

propelled himself from his chair, pacing, head down. »It could very well be

that the Elders have marked him and are playing a waiting game.«

»Are Nahia and Hauness safe?«

Lars gave her a quick and grateful smile for that concern. »They

were holding clinics in Ironwood,« he waved his hand to the north, »at the

time of your disappearance. The City, Gartertown, and the Port took the

brunt of search and seizure. And Security then used your disappearance as

an excuse to take known dissidents in protective custody.

»How many are?«

»In protective custody? My dear Guildmember, such figures are never

made public.«

»An informed guess? Suicide is one form of social protest, the size

of the p.c. population another one.«

Lars shook his head. »Hauness might be able to find out,« and Lars

resumed his head shaking, »but I wouldn´t risk getting in touch with him

right now.«

Killashandra stared at Lars Dahl for a lone moment, a sinking

sensation that had nothing to do with hunger cramping her guts.

»And I have made you as vulnerable as any of those already in p.c.,

haven´t I?«

Lars shrugged and grinned. »If you hadn´t named me your rescuer,

I´d be tucked away in a rehab cubicle right now spinning out my brains.«

»After I´ve gone?«

Lars shrugged again, then gave her an impudent wink. »All I need is

a half-day´s start on ‘em. And once I´ve made the islands, there isn´t an S

& S team that can find me if I don´t wish to be found.«

He sounded so confident that, for a moment, Killashandra almost

believed him. As if he sensed her doubt, he leaned over her in the chair,

his eyes more brilliantly blue than ever, his lips upturned in a

provocative half smile.

»Beloved Sunny, if it wouldn´t sound mawkish, I´d say that meeting

you has been the high point of my life so far. And confounding Elders

Torkes and Ampris are adventures to lighten my darkest hour -- «

»Which might yet be in a rehab booth!«

»I know the risk, and it´s been worth it, Killa!« He kissed her

then, a light brief touch of his lips to hers but it set her blood ringing

as quickly as crystal.

»Speaking of Elders,« she began in an attempt to shake off her

anxiety, »we begin to bracket crystal today.« She rose from the chair with

a determined effort, then saw his expression. »All right -- I grant you,

learning to bracket and tune crystal won´t advance you in the Elders´

files, but those are useful skills anywhere else in the FSP.«

Lars laughed. »Had we but worlds enough and time -- «

Killashandra let out a great guffaw. »Malaprop!« But outrageous

humor made a better start to a tricky day than gloom.

Lars was every bit as quick to learn and adept in the use of his

strong hands as Killashandra had thought he´d be. To set the white crystal

in the brackets, she asked Thyrol the height of the stroke of the padded

hammers. They already had six in place by the time Elder Ampris appeared in

the loft, Thyrol hovering anxiously behind him in the open door.

Killashandra noticed, first, the breath of sweet fresh air and she flicked

a quick glance at the intruders as they stood there. Lars was holding the

crystal dead still.

»You´ll feel just the slightest surface tension and a slippery,

almost electric, tension when the clamps are tight enough. Tell me when you

do.«

She tightened the brackets, keeping both little fingers under the

crystal so that she could sense that surface tension.

»Now!« Lars said.

»Right on!« She struck the crystal with the tone hammer, and the

rich deep note spun through the air, drifting out and causing the two door

guards to risk a quick peer into the loft. A muted and discordant response

came from the covered tubs of crystal shard. Then she straightened up and

turned to the observers. »And that´s how it´s done, Elder Ampris.«

Ampris´s bright brown eyes glittered as he arranged his mouth in a

smile which she took to mean approbation.

»The lower octave is always easier, for some reason, to set and

pitch,« Killashandra went on affably. »We´re making excellent progress.«

»And?«

Killashandra heard a curious vibration in that single word. Elder

Ampris was overly eager to have this installation completed and it could

not be simply to allow performers practice time. He also exhibited an

uncharacteristic nervousness; his fingers rubbed against his thumb.

»I think we´ll have the entire manual finished by tomorrow evening.

Set the next pair of brackets, will you, Lars Dahl, while I watch.«

Killashandra stepped away from the cabinet, stood next to Elder Ampris.

»He´s quick and deft and once I´m sure he´s doing it right, we´ll work both

ends against the middle.«

Ampris regarded her with a blink, his mind evidently jumping to

another application of that phrase. His stiff and pleased smile forewarned

her. »You will then perhaps be delighted to have trained assistance.«

»Trained?« Killashandra glanced at Lars who had also suspended

motion, catching the smugness in Ampris´s dry tone.

»When we could not find you anywhere in the City, Guildmember, we

apprised your Guild of your disappearance. And requested a . . .« Ampris´s

smile took on a faintly apologetic twist, »replacement. Our need, as I´m

sure you appreciate, is urgent.«

»It takes nearly ten weeks to get from the Scoria system to the

Ophiuchian.«

»Not by FSP courier ship.« Ampris inclined his head briefly. »Your

Guild values you highly, Killashandra Ree . . . .«

»Surely you´ve communicated news of my rescue?«

Ampris spread his hands deferentially. »But of course. But we did

not then know how promptly the Heptite Guild would respond. The courier

ship has entered our atmosphere and at this very moment is landing at the

shuttleport.«

»Trag!« And there was no doubt at all in Killashandra´s mind that

that was who had been dispatched.

»I beg your pardon.«

»Lanzecki would have sent Trag here.«

»This man is capable?«

»Eminently. However, the more we can do now, the sooner Trag and I

will finish. If you´ll excuse me, Elder Ampris?« And Killashandra signaled

Lars to continue. »Our last request to you, Ampris,« -- although Ampris had

not yet stirred from his vantage point -- »those tubs of crystal shard

could now be removed to wherever I -- or Trag -- will be instructing the

trainees. Some of the larger pieces can be useful but they are a

considerable nuisance sounding off in here.«

»Yes, we should want to restore the monitors within this room,

Guildmember, now that the organ is nearly repaired.« Ampris flicked his

hand at Thyrol who then issued the appropriate order to the guards.

Killashandra did not dare glance in Lars´s direction.

»Don´t bounce the tubs about,« Killashandra warned, as the guards

shuffled out with the first one.

»There now,« Killashandra said when the door had slid shut leaving

them alone, »the shards´ll be more accessible to us now. We can purloin the

ones we want. Can you get your hands on a small plasfoam pouch?«

»Yes. Who´s this Trag?«

»The best person they could possibly have sent. Lanzecki´s

Administration Officer.« Killashandra chuckled. »I´d rather him than an

army, and certainly I´d rather him than any other singer they could have

chosen. And a courier ship. I am flattered.«

»Somehow Ampris is too pleased with this development.«

»Yes, and fretting with impatience. Killashandra mimicked his hand

gesture and Lars nodded grimly. »Is it just that he wants the organ done?

Or us out of the loft for good?« She swiveled slightly so that she was

facing the wall they could not shift. »Why?« She bit one corner of her lip,

trying to solve its mystery. Then, with an exclamation, she ran her hands

around the casing of the manual, picked up the lid and examined it closely.

»What are you looking for, Killa?«

»Blood! Did you see any discoloration on the shards you handled?«

»No -- If Camgail was killed by,« and he gestured at the newly

placed crystal spires, »there would have been blood somewhere here!«

»Was there only the official version of Comgail´s end?«

»No. I had a chance to speak with one of the infirmary attendants

and she said that he was covered in blood, crystal fragments had pierced

eyes, face, and chest.«

»With a little help, perhaps? But do you know for certain that it

was Comgail who shattered the manual?«

Lars nodded slowly, his eyes gray and bleak, his face

expressionless.

»And he had mentioned earlier that he knew the access to the

subliminal units was through the organ loft?«

Again Lars nodded and both stared at the wall.

»Comgail did all the maintenance on the Festival organ?« At Lars´s

impassive nod, Killashandra scrubbed at her face with one hand. »Did Ampris

ever compose or perform?« she asked in angry exasperation.

The look of total surprise on Lars´s face gave her the answer.

»No wonder he´s been bouncing about here,« Lars cried, seizing

Killashandra and hugging her with the excess of his jubilation. »No wonder

he´s been so eager to get the manual repaired. He can´t get to the

subliminal units until it is. He can´t alter the subliminals for this

year´s concerts. Oh, Killa! You´ve done it.«

»Not quite,« Killashandra said with a laugh. »I´m only

hypothesizing that the manual provides the unlocking mechanism. We´ve no

idea what sort of music key he´d use. It could be anything -- «

»No, not anything,« Lars cried, shaking his head and grinning, his

eyes vividly blue again. »I´d stake my life I know what he´d use -- «

»I wish you wouldn´t use a phrase like that,« Killashandra

murmured.

Lars gave her a reassuring grin and went on. »Remember what you

said about bureaucracy finding one mechanism that suited them? Well,

Ampris´s one and only Festival offering utilizes a recurrent theme.«

»But everyone on the planet would know it then.«

»What difference would that make? You´d still have to have access

to this manual, wouldn´t you?«

»True. What´s the theme?«

»It´s a real thumpety-dump,« and he da-da-ed the notes to

Killashandra´s utter amazement.

»Not only is it thumpty-dumpety-dump, it´s complete and utter

plagiarism. Ampris lifted that theme from an 18th Century composer named

Beethoven.«

»Who?«

Killashandra lifted her hands in exasperation. »Enough of this idle

speculation, Lars, we´ve got to finish the organ as fast as possible.«

»What about Trag?«

Killashandra shook her head. »Trag is no threat to us. If we could

just get the bass noted finished, we´d have something to show him. I hope.«

She dropped a set of brackets into Lars´s hands and took another for

herself. »You wouldn´t happen to know the signature of Ampris´s

composition?« When Lars shook his head, she cursed briefly and then began

to chuckle. »We´ll just try the original one!«

Because they were rushing, nervous with anticipation and hope,

hands sweating from tension, it seemed to take three or four attempts to

place each of the next three crystals. Lars was muttering imprecations by

the time Killashandra could test the third one. No sooner had she struck

the crystal than the door panel slid open and the aperture was filled by

Trag´s bulky figure.

»Trag, I bless your timely arrival. We´re both fingers and thumbs

trying to set this manual. A fresh hand and a sane mind will work wonders!«

Trag gave her a nod of his head and stepped inside, giving Lars a

cursory glance before his attention was completely taken by a critical

appraisal of their endeavors. Killashandra ignored the entrance of Ampris,

Torkes, Thyrol, and Mirbethan, who filed slowly into the room in Trag´s

wake. Trag picked up the tuning hammer and struck each of the crystals.

Trag merely nodded his head. Lars made a noise of protest but

Killashandra shot him a warning glance. The fact that Trag had no comments

to make was all the approval she required, knowing better than to expect

overt praise from him. For a very fleeting moment, however, she was seized

with a totally irrational desire to throw her arms about Trag´s neck, a

notion which she quickly suppressed without revealing it by so much as a

grin.

Elder Torkes, resembling the scavenger bird more faithfully than

ever, seemed about to step forward, then, apparently, changed his mind as

if aware of how Trag´s bulk diminished his stature to insignificance.

»You have only just arrived, Guildmember, and as it is now midday,

refreshment has been prepared for you.« Torkes began with scant courtesy.

Trag dismissed the offer. »You gave the Guild to understand the

matter was of the most urgent.«

»We need to eat,« Killashandra said tartly. »Just send us in some

food, please, someone,« and she picked up more brackets as Trag removed the

next crystal from its bed of plasfoam. »We might even finish this today if

given the chance to work without interruption.«

»Not quite.« Trag amended in his deliberate fashion as he held the

crystal up for inspection in the ceiling light. Satisfied he lowered it,

his gaze traveling beyond to the fascinated observers. »If you please?« And

he extended his hand toward the door.

Killashandra, her eyes on Lars´s blank face, had to fight not to

chortle at the aura of dismay, fury, and shock emanating from the four high

ranking Optherians. But her hands were free of both sweat and tremble and,

with Lars carefully tightening the matching bracket, they were ready to

fasten it the moment Trag inserted the crystal in place. The door panel

whooshed over the rectangle of sunlight. Killashandra tightened her bracket

just as Lars finished his. Trag took up his hammer for the ceremonial tap

and the D, mellow and clear, broke the silence of the room.

»Just two more, Trag and I believe we´ll have something to show

you,« Killashandra said, reaching for more brackets. »This is Lars Dahl.«

»A lover posing as a bodyguard! A young man with highly suspicious

credentials,« Trag said bluntly, his hooded stare fixed on Lars.

Killashandra held up a hand to restrain any understandable outburst

from Lars but he only smiled, inclining his head in brief acknowledgment of

the description.

»According to Elder Ampris or Torkes?« Killashandra asked, grinning

at Trag as she faced him squarely.

Trag focused his attention on her. Had she not been so positive of

her own righteousness, she would have been hard pressed to maintain her

composure beneath that basilisk stare.

»I will hear your explanation, then, for I warn you, Killashandra

Ree, the Guild looks with disfavor on a member who abrogates her

contractual obligations for whatever personal reasons obtain . . .«

Killashandra stared at Trag incredulously.

»I was given two assignments here, Trag, by you -- «

»The secondary assignment was considerably less important than the

primary -- « Trag´s big hand indicated the unfinished installation.

»The two are more closely linked than you or Lanzecki imagined when

the Guild accepted that contract. But then abduction ought not to be a

high-risk-factor on well-ordered, conservative secure Optheria. Right? Ever

aware of my primary obligation,« Killashandra allowed some of her outrage

to color her voice, »I swam dangerous channels from one island to another

in order to escape the one I was dumped on. Confounding all parties and

managing thus to return to my primary contractual obligation.«

Trag merely raised his eyebrows.

»Tell me, Trag, what is your opinion of subliminal conditioning?«

Trag´s bleak eyes widened fractionally. »The Council of the

Federated Sentient Planets has declared any form of subliminal projection

morally criminal and punishable by expulsion from the Federation.«

»Then if I were an Elder,« Lars said in a quiet, faintly amused

tone, »I wouldn´t be so quick to accuse anyone else of having highly

suspicious credentials.«

»If you will assist us to install the next two crystals, Trag, I

believe we may be able to prove our allegation,« Killashandra said.

»If you cannot prove this allegation, Killashandra Ree, you are

liable to severe discipline and censure.«

»Then isn´t it convenient that I´m right?«

»Guildmember, I have been subjected to subliminal conditioning,«

Lars said, as if he sensed her minute uncertainty. Trag turned his

penetrating stare on the islander.

»The insidiousness of subliminal conditioning, Lars Dahl, is that

the victim is totally unaware of the bombardment.«

»Only if he is unprepared, Guildmember. My father, late an agent of

the Federated Council, was able to safeguard me, and other friends, against

electronically induced subliminals. Which, I might add, are particularly

adaptable to the heavy emotional experience of the sensory organ.«

»Late an agent?« Killashandra fancied she saw some diminution of

Trag´s intractability.

»Trapped here by the same restraint which keeps Optherians from

competing in galactic enterprise,« Lars replied. »Contact with the

Federated Council has only just been reestablished after nearly thirty

years -- «

She and Trag heard the minute sound at the same instant and assumed

suitable poses of interrupted labor when the door panel slid open.

Mirbethan escorted the lunch table which the security guard wheeled in.

»If you´ll just leave it there, Mirbethan,« Killashandra gestured

with a hand full of brackets while Trag and Lars bent over an already sited

crystal, »we´ll take a break shortly.«

»Not the one they expect, either,« Lars murmured when the door

panel had closed. Trag favored him with another unnerving stare. Lars

returned it equably, with a slight bow toward the manual case. »After you,

Guild-member.«

»Why three more crystals?« Trag asked.

»This loft is half the size of the available space behind the organ

console on stage,« Lars said. »We think the subliminal programming

equipment is hidden behind that wall, and accessed by a musical key

activated from this manual. We have reason to believe that Comgail, who is

alleged to have smashed the crystal,« Trag´s eyebrows raised, »was killed

because he had discovered that musical key, not because he was injured by

the shards or because he had destroyed the manual. That would have only got

him sent to rehab.«

»Who is responsible for the subliminal programming?«

Lars grinned maliciously, »My own personal candidate is Ampris; he

is musically trained.«

»It wouldn´t take musicality to strike notes in the right

sequence,« Trag said.

»True, but he knows as much about the organ as every performer must

and he became head of the Conservatory about the time the subliminal

conditioning started. It began shortly after my father arrived, and he was

here to investigate thc first request for the revocation of the

planet-bound restriction. Then, too, Torkes has always favored the

propaganda control of population. But what one Elder does, the others

invariably condone. And subliminal conditioning sustains them in their

power.«

»Arrange for me to meet your father, Lars Dahl.«

Lars grinned. »His credentials are as suspicious as mine,

Guildmember. I doubt we could reach him. In any event, we are here, close

to the damning proof of what we suspect. Surely a bird in hand -- «

»Bird?« The word exploded from Killashandra, a result of the

tension she felt and a combination of surprise and respect for Lars´s

sterling performance under Trag´s unnerving scrutiny.

»Perhaps the analogy is wrong,« and Lars shrugged diffidently.

»Well, Guildmember? Have I my day in court, too?«

»Three more crystals?« Trag´s manner gave no indication of his

thoughts.

»Two more,« Killashandra said, »if we are using the original key.«

Trag made a barely audible grunt at that comment before he reached

for the next crystal and motioned Lars to place his bracket.

Killashandra could not keep her mind entirely on the task at hand

for she suddenly realized just how much rested on the truth of the

dissidents´ contentions. Had she indeed allowed a sexual relationship to

cloud her judgment? Or favorable first impressions from Nahia, Hauness, and

the others to color her thinking? And yet, there was Corish von

Mittelstern, and Olav Dahl. Or was that convoluted situation carefully

contrived? She might be out on a limb, the saw in her own hand, she thought

as she delicately tightened the bracket on the second crystal. She didn´t

dare look at Lars across the open case as they straightened up.

Expressionless as ever, Trag handed Lars the tuning hammer. Lars

gave Killashandra a rakish and reassuring grin and then tapped out the

sequence: da da da-dum, da da da-dum. For one hideous moment nothing

happened and Killashandra felt the last vestige of energy drain from her

body with the groan she could not stifle. A groan that was echoed by a

muted noise and a slight vibration in the floor. Startled, she and Lars

looked down but Trag remained with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

»Clever!« was his comment as the wall sank slowly and, to their

intense relief, noiselessly apart from the initial protest. »Clever and

utterly despicable.« As soon as the descending wall reached knee height,

Trag swung over it, Lars right behind him.

For a heavy man, Trag moved with considerable speed and economy of

motion. He did a complete circuit of the room, his eyes sweeping from one

side to the other, identifying each bank in the complicated and extensive

rack system, and the terminal which activated the units. He completed his

circuit at the three heavy cables that provided the interface between the

two sets of computers.

»No one has been in here for some time,« he said finally, noting

the light coating of dust on the cabinets

»No need, Guildmember.«

»You may address me as Trag.«

Lars grinned triumphantly at Killashandra, where she stood, resting

her ear against the door panel. Nothing must interfere at this critical

moment.

»Trag. The yearly dose for Optherians occurs shortly before the

Festival season begins, and the tourists arrive. All Optherians are given

the ‘opportunity and privilege,´ « and Lars´s voice was mildly scornful,

»of attending the preliminary concerts for the current year´s Festival

selections. The Mainlanders get their dose then, to keep them contented

while the tourists are here. Then, the tourists get theirs, which includes

sufficient Optherianisms to prevent them from accepting messages from

strangers for posting once they return to their homes. Some don´t, you

know, having fallen for the vastly superior and secure Optherian natural

way of life.«

Trag dropped his gaze from the fascinating cable. »How many escape

these conditioning sessions?«

»Not many Mainlanders, though there are a few who independently

discovered the subliminal images.« Lars turned to Killashandra. »Nahia,

Hauness, Brassner, and Theach. Over the last ten years, they´ve been able

to warn those they felt could be trusted.«

»Do the Elders know that some escape?« Killashandra asked.

»There is a head check at the concerts which simultaneously registers with

the Central Computers.«

»But islanders don´t go to concerts, do they?« Killashandra said

with a chuckle. It was a relief to know that she had occasion to be amused.

It had looked very grim for a bit there, with Trag coming on strong as

Guildmember.

»I think it is time to end such pernicious subjugation,« Trag said.

He took from his biceps pocket a hand-unit of the sort used to check

programming systems, and placed it on the nearest cabinet. »It should be a

simple matter of reprogramming the master sensory mixer to bypass the

subliminal generator. That would inhibit the subliminal processor, yet

leave no physical trace of alteration.« Taking from the same pocket a heavy

compound knife of the kind favored by crystal singers for field use, he

opened the heaviest cutting blade. He sliced carefully at the plastic cable

cover, peeling it back to expose the multicolor flex package.

Killashandra watched as Trag set the system checker against the

flex, taking a preliminary reading. As he pondered the results, she could

not restrain a glance at the subliminal room. The devices were so repugnant

to her, abusing every precept of the individual privacy which had been her

birthright on Fuerte, that she felt besmirched just looking at them.

»If there´s no power . . .« Lars began, his hand half-raised in

caution.

» I have had sufficient experience with this sort of equipment,

Lars Dahl.« Trag entered instructions on the hand unit, noted the display

on the rectangular vdr, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. »The subroutine

of the subliminal will function on any dummy test, and indicate the

programming modes selected under their program listing, but I am placing a

security lock,« and with those words he put the device firmly against the

thick red-coded cable and depressed the main key, »on it now. I don´t have

the equipment necessary to generate a program for propaganda

detoxification.«

»That´s too bad,« Killashandra said with heartfelt dismay

»There!« Trag said. »And unless they know exactly what I´ve done to

inhibit the subliminal processor, the alterations can´t be reversed. Let

the Optherians program that computer for whatever images they wish. None

will reach the minds of the people they intend to pervert!« Trag pulled

hard on the plastic coating and then pressed it firmly back around the

cables. Killashandra could not see where the cable had been entered.

»And you´ll bear witness to the Federated Council?« Lars was taut

as he eagerly awaited Trag´s reply.

»We shall all bear witness to the Council, young man,« Trag

replied.

Lars nodded but his smile was wry. »It will be the crystal singer´s

word that will be credited, Guildmember Trag, not that of an islander whose

motivations are suspect.«

»Even if he could leave the planet, Trag,« Killashandra said.

»Remember the arc at the shuttle port? Didn´t it glow blue and erupt guards

with weapons?«

Trag nodded. »Except when I passed under it.«

»That arc deposits a mineral deposit in Optherian bones,« Lars

said, »and in those of anyone here for more than six months. Which is what

caught my father originally.«

Trag dismissed that difficulty with a flick of his hand. »I have a

warrant in my possession to arrest the party or parties responsible for the

Guildmember´s abduction, which would take you past their reprisals.«

»You came well prepared, Trag,« Killashandra said with a rueful

smile. »But you´d have to bring the entire population of the Archipelago if

you named Lars Dahl abductor.«

When Trag turned to Lars for affirmation. he nodded. »I hadn´t

planned on leaving Optheria,« Lars said, with a slightly embarrassed grin,

»and I´m sure my father is more than willing to, but you´d need an entire

liner to remove those who´d be vulnerable. The Optherian Elders have been

waiting for years for an excuse to search and seize the adult population of

the islands. They´d all end up in rehab. Unless, of course, you also have

the authority to suspend every government official on this charge.«

Trag was silent for a long moment, regarding Lars steadily. Then he

exhaled slowly. »I was given broad powers by the Federated Council but not

that broad.« His lower jaw jutted out slightly. »Had there been any

suspicion of this . . . .« He paused, his contempt for once visible in his

expression. »Let us not reveal this knowledge prematurely.´

Carefully they removed every trace of their entry. Neither man had

touched the cabinets or files, so covering their tracks took little time.

Meanwhile, Killashandra repositioned herself at the door panel, listening

for sounds of approach.

Trag reexamined the cables he had clipped, checking from all angles

to be sure the incision would escape all but the most critical inspection.

He gave the room a thorough survey and then, apparently satisfied, looked

expectantly at Killashandra and Lars.

»Well, close it!´

Killashandra gave a burst of puzzled laughter, more shrill than

amused.

»How?«

Lars chuckled as he took the hammer from her nerveless hand. »Find

something he likes . . .« He tapped out the Beethoven sequence again. The

wall immediately responded by closing, giving the barest thunk as the panel

met the ceiling. Trag gave the cable housing a final glance and dismissed

it with a shrug.

»I suggest you eat something, Killashandra. You´re too pale.

Probably the effect of combining both assignments for your Guild. Lars

Dahl, set the next bracket.«

Chapter 21

It was well that they had completed their investigations, for Elder Ampris

returned twice, the first time issuing an unrefusable invitation to a quiet

dinner with several of the Elders who were most anxious to meet the

Guildmember.

»Which means you´d better eat before you go,« Killashandra told

Trag when Ampris had left them. »Especially if Elder Pentrom, a medical man

with interesting views on nutrition, is attending.« She made a very small

circle -- thumb and forefinger overlapping -- to indicate the size of the

portion. »Trag, do you drink?«

Trag peered up at her. »Why?«

»The worthy Elders, Pentrom in particular. are currently under the

impression that members of our profession must daily consume alcohol in

substantial quantities to assist their unusual metabolism.«

Trag slowly straightened from the manual. His expression bordered

on the incredulous. »Oh?«

»They are so frail, these Elders of Optheria« -- Lars made a

derogatory comment -- »that I should dislike causing any of them distress.

Prematurely, that is.«

»Or exposing yourself as a calculating fraud!« Lars suggested.

»Occasionally it is useful to spawn a helpful myth about our

profession. Otherwise we´ll be stuck with water which, despite its high

mineral content, is not purified because of the Optherian lust for nature

untampered. It tastes as if it was decanted from the tank of the first

long-range starship. The beer here is not bad.«

A flicker crossed Trag´s usually inscrutable face.

»Yarran beer?«

»Unfortunately no.« Trag´s preference raised him further in her

estimation. »The Bascum brew is potable while the better beer is illegal.«

She shot a knowing glance at Lars who grinned back at her.

»They generally are. Your advice is timely, Killashandra,« Trag

said, then appropriately sounded the B-flat.

Thirty-four crystals were in place when Elder Ampris appeared for

the second time late that afternoon. There was no disguising the elation in

his eyes at their progress. He was seething with the most excitement she

had yet seen an Elder exhibit. Had he despaired of running up this year´s

dose of indoctrinal conditioning on his subliminal program?

»We will finish this tomorrow,« Trag told Elder Ampris, »with a

further day to tune the new manual into the system, and to check the other

three manuals for positive feedback. One minor detail on which Killashandra

was unable to reassure me: Was the organ in use when the manual was

destroyed?«

»I believe it was,« Ampris replied, his lids dipping to conceal his

brown eyes. »I will of course confirm this. After the deplorable

desecration, I myself conducted an inspection of the other manuals to be

sure they were undamaged.«

»Elder Ampris, Killashandra Ree and I would consider ourselves

derelict in our Guild obligation to Optheria if we failed to assure

ourselves, and you, that your Festival organ is in full and complete

working order.«

»Of course,« Ampris managed through clenched teeth. Then, in an

abrupt alteration, he smiled tightly. »Most thorough of you.

»Can we turn on the main organ console from here?« Killashandra

asked, wondering what had caused Ampris´s sudden change. »I admit that I am

quite eager to hear it in all its glory.«

Ampris regarded her for a long moment before his thin lips widened

in the original smile.

»For you to appreciate fully the versatility of the Festival Organ,

you need some measure of comparison. Therefore I am delighted that you are

able to attend this evening´s concert which will be performed on the

two-manual Conservatory instrument.«

»Yes, of course.« Killashandra let pleased affability ooze through

her voice. »Now that this installation is nearly completed, and with Trag

here, I realize how much tension I´ve been under. It is always so much

easier to share responsibilities, isn´t it, Elder Ampris?« she added gaily.

He murmured something and withdrew. Trag looked at her expectantly.

»When the inevitable can no longer be avoided, it is always wise to

accept it gracefully.« She grimaced. »Though I have to admit I despise

student concerts.«

Lars grinned. »Oh, you won´t be getting the students tonight,

Killa. And in view of what you told me of the origin of Ampris´s party

piece, I eagerly await your critical appraisal. Are you at all musical,

Guildmember?« he asked Trag.

»Frequently.« Trag carefully replaced the tools in their case,

gestured for Lars to close the crystal container. Killashandra covered the

manual, and taking a hair from her head, wet it and laid it carefully

across one corner of the lid Trag gave a snort that she translated as

approval.

»Hair of the dog that bit?« Lars asked.

»Where do you get these sayings?« Killashandra demanded, rolling

her eyes in exaggerated dismay. Then she pointed to his pocket.

»I´d like to have a close look at that device,« Trag said. Lars

withdrew the little jammer.

»Trag, I´m trying to get them to believe that it´s me distorting

their monitors.«

Trag surprised Killashandra by placing his hand flat against her

shoulder blade. »Not any more. But I would qualify. Sensible of you.«

»How many of the myths about crystal singers are derived from

sensible precautions?« she asked Trag. »Or survival techniques?« Trag

shrugged indifferently.

Lars deactivated the device as Killashandra opened the door panel

and the three left the loft. Killashandra watched Trag to see if the

acoustics of the Festival auditorium affected him. Trag did not so much as

alter his firm stride or respond to the echoes his vigorous pace produced.

The guards had to scurry to keep up with them.

Once inside the guest suite which Trag was to share with them, Lars

switched on the Jammer before he passed it over to Trag.

»They´ve been replacing the monitors in the organ loft every day

but a trill of crystal and they shatter.« Killashandra told Trag as she

made her way to the beverage counter. »A cold glass of the Bascum, Trag?«

»Please.« Trag returned the jammer to Lars. »What sort of detector

do they have at the shuttleport?«

»Isotope scanner.« Lars said with a grimace. »The popular theory is

that the detector is set off by a rare isotope of iron peculiar to

Optherian soil. Once the residue of the isotope builds up in the bone

marrow, it tends to be self-perpetuating. There´ve been unsuccessful

attempts to neutralize the isotope and jam the scanners but nothing works.«

Then he scowled. »All the guards are rehabs and never miss. Trying to get

past them is an effective form of suicide. There is also a stun field that

operates in the event that another concerted attempt is ever made to gain

entry to the port.«

»I was met by four Optherians . . .« Trag began.

»Who had been passed in. Oh, authorized personnel come and go but

they are very careful to display their authorization to the guards.«

Killashandra had punched up sandwiches which she now passed to the

men.

»We don´t have much time before dinner and the concert, and I need

a bath,« she announced, her mouth half full of sandwich.

»So do I.« Lars followed Killashandra, taking the jammer with him

after an apologetic nod to Trag. »Trag is no threat to us, huh?« Lars

murmured sarcastically, once they were in the unmonitored bathroom.

Killashandra shrugged and grimaced. »I didn´t think he´d cut up

that stiff, but then, neither of us knew what lies the elders were

spinning. And the Guild does have a reputation to maintain, especially if

they had to call in the FSP to get a cruiser for a fast trip here. But,«

she added, rather pleased, »it means they cared.«

»I felt I was talking to a brick wall, Killa, until it came down.«

Lars ran his fingers through his thick hair. »What would you have done if

it hadn´t, Killa?«

»Well, it did and Trag has been converted. Now all we have to do is

get word to your father. Just how many people would we have to get to

safety? I mean, if Trag has that warrant for party or parties . . .«

Lars framed her face with his hands, grinning down at her. »No

matter how broad that warrant, Killa, it wouldn´t extend to all those who

really need our protection. Nahia, Hauness, Theach, Brassner, and Olver are

just the most important. Why -- «

»Couldn´t some just disappear into the islands?«

Lars shook his head.

»Then we´ll have to hold tight somehow until Trag reports the

subliminal conditioning to the Federated Council. The Fleet Marines would

land, in force, and the Elders would be sampling rehab. You´re safe as long

as I´m here -- and stop shaking your head. Look, Trag can return, now that

the organ is repaired and I´m unabducted -- «

»Is the cruiser still here?«

»Oh, I rather doubt it.«

»Then unless he can recall it, he´s surfaced on Optheria until the

next liner and that´s not due for at least two weeks.«

»Two more weeks!« Killashandra realized that she had taken for

granted the same constant space traffic that frequented Shanganaugh Moon

Base.

»What? Have my charming presence and inspired coupling worn thin

now that you have a fellow crystal singer to pair you?«

»Trag? You think -- Trag and I? Don´t be funny! Listen to me, young

man, there´s a lot you don´t know about crystal singers!«

»I´d like the time to find out.« His reply was wistful even if the

kiss he gave her was not. And her response to his embrace temporarily

suspended less urgent matters, even the bath.

Fortunately, by the time Trag knocked peremptorily on the bathroom

door, they were both dressed.

»Coming,« Killashandra responded in a trill, bestowing one last

kiss on Lars before she hauled open the door. Sweeping dramatically into

the main room with Lars a step behind her, she was delighted to see Trag, a

half empty glass of beer in his hand, in the company of Thyrol, Mirbethan,

and Pirinio. Facetiously wondering if Polabod had been loaned to another

Quartette, she greeted them graciously, exclaiming her eagerness to attend

the evening´s concert and, at long last, hear an Optherian organ.

Dinner was served in the same chamber that had charmed

Killashandra. The charm was enhanced this time by the fact that Elder

Pentrom was missing from the guest roster. Trag was monopolized at one end

of the table by Elders Ampris and Torkes, who engaged him in very serious

discussions, while Mirbethan did her best to introduce unexceptional topics

into conversation at the other. Thyrol, Pirinio, and two very meek older

women instructors completed the buffer between the Elders and the

distinguished and newly arrived Guild-member Trag.

»Elder Torkes,« Trag said in a well-pitched voice that carried to

every part of the dining room after he had sipped the beverage in his

glass, »my metabolism requires the ingestion of a certain quantity of

alcohol daily. What have you to offer?«

After that, Killashandra didn´t bother straining her ears to hear

what information, or misinformation, might be exchanged. Fortunately the

portions served them were considerably more generous, if unexciting to the

palate, than her first dinner there, so that hunger was assuaged.

There was no reason to dally at the festive board so, immediately

after the sweet course was finished, Mirbethan led the way to the

Conservatory Concert Hall. Those already assembled rose to their feet at

the entrance of the distinguished visitors.

»Like lambs to the slaughter,« Lars whispered in her ear.

»Wrong again!« she whispered back, then composed her features in a

gracious expression. Until she had a good look at the seating.

The organ console, of course, dominated the blue and white stage.

Golden curtains were richly draped to complete the frame which was bathed

in a gentle glow of diffused light. They walked up a slight ramp to the

orchestra floor where Mirbethan smilingly turned and gestured toward their

chairs.

Bloody inquisition, Killashandra thought to herself. Upholstered in

a mid-blue velvety fabric, the chairs were bucket shaped, semirecumbents

equipped with broad arm rests, sculptured to fit wrist and hand for proper

sensory input. Killashandra did not expect to find an easy repose for over

each seat was a half hood, no doubt containing additional sensory outlets.

As Lars might remark, the occupants of the seats were sitting ducks.

Nevertheless, and because it was consonant with the role she had

adopted, Killashandra expressed delight over the »ambiance of the hall,«

the charming decor, and the unusual seating. She counted fifteen rows

extending up and into the shadows behind her, all of them filled. She

counted the front-row seats on her side of the entrance as fifteen so that

some four hundred and fifty people, the complement of the Conservatory,

were about to be entertained.

She took her seat but because of the tilt and the arm rest, the

only part of her that could touch Lars was her foot. She angled so that she

could touch his. She felt a return pressure which gave her far more

reassurance than she should need or had expected to gain from such a

minimal contact.

The house lights dimmed and Killashandra was filled with a

perturbation she had never experienced before at what was usually the most

enjoyable, anticipatory moment of a performance.

A woman swirled out onto the stage, her robes flowing out behind

her. She bowed quickly to the assembly and took her place at the organ

console, her back, with its pleated draperies, illuminated by the

spotlight. Killashandra saw her lift her hands to the first manual and then

all the lights went out as the first chord was played.

Killashandra all but kicked Lars as she recognized the music. In

most Conservatories, a man named Bach would have been credited with its

composition. On Optheria it was unlikely that any sheep safely grazed. Then

the sensory elements began their insidious plucking. It was well done, the

scent of new grass, spring winds, tender green, soothing color, bucolic

fragrances and then -- Lars´s foot tapped hers urgently but she had already

caught the image of the »shepherd,« a glamorized Ampris, a kindly, loving,

affectionate, infinitely tender shepherd, gazing for that one moment upon

members of his »flock.«

Had Trag failed? Disappointment and a keen flare of apprehension

suffused Killashandra. She forced herself to recall that first glimpse of

this smaller theater. There had to be a second subliminal generator behind

this organ console. Indeed, there was probably one attached to every one of

these insidious instruments. How would they disconnect them all? A second

image, of a grieving Ampris, saddened by a misdemeanor of his flock --

saddened but infinitely tolerant and forgiving -- capped her disgust with

the entire exercise.

Killashandra caught all of the images that were broadcast, as sharp

and as clear as if a hologram had been suspended for inspection of a tri-d

screen. The subliminals seemed etched on her retina. Something to do with

her symbiont´s rejection of this superimposition?

When the lights came up, Killashandra elected to seem to be

affected by the performance as she should have been.

»Guildmember?« Mirbethan asked in a soft eager voice.

»Why, it was charming. So soothing, such a lovely scene. I declare

that I could smell new grass and spring blossoms.« Lars tried to step on

her toe. She struggled up out of the clutch of her seat and peered around

him. »Why. Lars Dahl, it is everything you told me it would be!« He tapped

twice, getting her message.

A second performer strode out on the stage, his manner so militant

that Killashandra laid a private bet with herself: one of the Germans or an

Altairian, if Prosno-Sevic´s bombastic compositions had been composed

before the Optherians had settled this planet.

The music was an uninspired melange of many of the martial themes,

each new one buffeting the captive audience so that she found herself

twitching away from the onslaught of the music, and wondering if she would

survive the subliminals. She did, but her eyeballs ached with visions of

Torkes and an improbably robust Pentrom urging the faithful onto the path

to victory and planetarianism, defending the credo of Optheria to the

death.

An audible sigh -- of relief? -- preceded the applause this

selection engendered. So the audience was being soothed to trust,

encouraged to resist subversive philosophies: now what, Killashandra

wondered?

An alarmingly thin and earnest young man, swallowing his Adam´s

apple convulsively as he crossed the stage, was the next performer. He

looked more like a wading bird than a premier organist. And when he took

his seat and lifted his hands, they splayed to incredible lengths, making

the soft opening notes ludicrous to Killashandra´s mind, especially when

she recognized the seductive phrases of a French pianist. The name escaped

her momentarily but the erotic music was quite familiar. She held her

breath against the first image and choked on the howl of laughter as the

subliminal image of Ampris-the-seducer was superimposed, in reds and

oranges, on the viewers´ abused senses. Fortunately, the notion of Ampris

making love to her, or anyone, was so bizarre that the eroticism -- even

magnified by scent and sensory titillation -- failed to achieve its full

effect. Lars´s continual tapping -- was he succumbing to the illusion,

keeping the beat, or trying to distract her from the powerful sensuality --

against her toe kept reminding her how perilous their position was at the

moment.

Bolero! The name returned to her as the lights came up. And fury at

this arrant manipulation set a flush in her cheeks that matched those in

Mirbethan´s as the delighted woman turned to inquire breathlessly how

Killashandra had enjoyed the concert.

The seats were all tilting forward, releasing their occupants once

more into the cold cruel world of reality.

»I have never so totally experienced music before in my life,

Mirbethan,« Killashandra said in ringing, heartfelt tones. What she felt in

her breast was not what the performance was expected to generate. »A

balanced and professional performance. The artists were magnificent.

Excellent adaptations to the Optherian organs.«

»Adaptations? Oh, no, Guildmember, this was the first performance

of three brilliant new compositions.« Mirbethan said and Killashandra could

only goggle at her.

»That music was totally original? Composed by the performers?«

Killashandra´s surprised was misinterpreted by Mirbethan as the proper

expression of awe. Lars squeezed her arm warningly and she managed to

contain her outrage.

»A truly brilliant concert,« Trag said, joining them as the

audience was dispersing. »An experience I would not willingly have

foregone.«

Never having heard so much warmth in his voice, Killashandra looked

sharply at Trag. Surely, if her symbiont had protected her . . .« Now she

stared at Trag´s flushed face, his bright eyes, and noticed that a smile

had reshaped his lips. Killashandra grabbed at Lars´s arm, before anyone

else could see her dismay, she pulled them both into the crowd, away from

Trag and the two Elders who escorted him

»Easy, Killa,« Lars murmured in her ear. »Don´t give it away. Not

now!«

»But he -- «

His hand twisted her fingers cruelly, reminding her of the danger

they were in.

»That last piece will send them all to their beds, alone if

necessary,« Lars continued, breaking up the sentence into quick short

phrases as he hurried her away from the hall. »No one is expected to

linger. Not after that dose of eroticism.« They turned a corner,

Killashandra accepting Lars´s direction. »Trag´s coming.«

»Don´t you understand? No one here composed that music. It was all

stolen!«

»I know, I know.«

Yours wasn´t stolen. It was original. The only bloody original

music I´ve heard on this fardling mudball!«

»Shush now, Killa. Only one more corridor and we´re home safe and

then you can rant and rave.«

»I get the cold shower first.«

»What and waste the music?«

She tried to kick him but they were walking so fast she would have

lost her balance if she´d succeeded.

»I will not be manipulated . . .« and the last word she roared in

the privacy of their suite. She was hauling the Beluga spidersilk kaftan

over her head as she reached the bathroom door and, flipping on the cold

water, stood in its frigid torrent until she could feel her flesh

shriveling. Lars pulled her out, handing her a towel as he took her place.

»I think it´s a shame to waste all their hard work and effort -- «

»Did you want to go to bed with an image of Ampris?« she demanded

at the top of her voice.

»Oh, I saw Mirbethan,« Lars said ingenuously, toweling himself dry.

»Mirbethan?«

»Yes, didn´t you know that was why she was included in your

welcoming committee? She´s bi -- «

»What?« Killashandra screeched that at the top of her lungs.

»Compose yourself, Killashandra Ree,« said the cool voice of Trag

from the doorway. »You and Lars Dahl are in every bit as much danger as you

thought. We must talk.«

Chapter 22

»First,« Trag said as Killashandra and Lars joined him in the main room,

and he pointed to the monitors. Lars held up the jammer. »Very good.

Secondly, I need to hear an account of your adventures here, Killashandra.

Then I can separate the fact from the fiction presented by Ampris and

Torkes. Both are clever men.«

»A drink, Killa?« Lars asked and his voice was rough with either

anger or anxiety.

»I would appreciate something stronger than that tasteless beer,

please, Lars Dahl,« Trag said

»My pleasure. Trag.«

Killashandra could feel the tension release in her belly and she

let out a lungful of air as Trag´s courteous request gave her a reassuring

measure of his attitude. She took a quick pull at the polly liqueur which

Lars handed her before he sat on the couch, not touching her but with one

arm protectively along the back. She began with her arrival on the Athena

and her suspicions about Corish. Nor was she any less than candid about the

fit of pique with Optherian bureaucracy which had led her to leave the

Conservatory grounds, her subsequent kidnapping, escape, and her second

meeting with the young islander. She was as forthright about Lars´s effect

on her sexuality as she was about the impact Nahia. Hauness, and Theach had

had on her sympathies. Crystal singing tended to peel off unnecessary

veneers and conditioned attitudes, not that she had been afflicted by many,

having been raised on Fuerte.

During her recitation, Trag had sipped his drink, any reaction

hidden by his hooded eyes. He finished the last of the polly liqueur which

Lars had elected to serve him as she concluded the summary and he gestured

politely to Lars for a refill.

»They are clever, those old men, but they have not dealt with

crystal singers before,« Trag said. »They have outsmarted themselves this

time. Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad.«

Killashandra regarded Trag in mild astonishment and then Lars,

wondering if his habit was contagious. But Trag´s adage was eminently

applicable.

Or think themselves impervious to the slings and arrows of outraged

fortune,« Lars said with a mischievous grin. Killashandra groaned in

protest.

»Tomorrow I shall offer to realign the Conservatory instrument.«

Trag said. »I distinctly heard a burr -- the first sign of a souring

crystal.«

»Will they permit you?« Killashandra asked.

»They are greedy. And they have no qualified crystal tuner until we

have trained some. I have already resolved the point that the Guild

contracted to supply the crystals and technical assistance, without

reference to the number of appropriate technicians supplied. Therefore no

further sum is to be paid by them. Until they received that reassurance

from me, they were trying to make out that you were in breach of contract

-- «

»In breach? Me? When they placed me in jeopardy? First by hiring an

assailant to prove my Heptite origination? Then they hinder me in the

execution of my assignment? And they malign my competence?« Killashandra

quickly switched to malicious amusement. »Not that they will really

appreciate the level of competence we have exhibited! Nor the caliber of

the technical assistance they´ve bought!« She grinned at Trag. »So, what

other knotty problems did you solve at dinner?«

»Your incorruptible dedication to your Guild.«

»What!« Killashandra´s irritation rekindled. »Of all the -- «

Trag held up his hand, a gleam in his eye that suggested to

Killashandra that he was enjoying her discomfiture. Firmly she controlled

herself. It didn´t help to notice, out of the corner of her eye, that Lars

was struggling to suppress his own amusement.

»Coming as I do from Guildmaster Lanzecki´s office, I am,« Trag

paused unexpectedly, shooting a glance at Killashandra which she could only

interpret as sly, »above reproach. I am also male. Apparently the Elders

trust few women in any but the most traditional or subordinate capacities.

I assured them that not only were you Guildmaster Lanzecki´s first choice

for such a delicate and crucial installation, but you were mine as well.«

Killashandra sniffed but gave him a long hard look, to remind him

exactly why Killashandra Ree had been Trag´s first choice.

»Your praise, Guildmember, is only surpassed by your concern for

the welfare of the Guild,« she said demurely.

»In a matter affecting the Guild reputation, I am, too?

incorruptible,« Trag replied, neatly parrying her thrust.

»So tomorrow are Lars and I permitted to continue with the Festival

organ?« Trag nodded. »And you will reorganize the second instrument?«

»In the best interests of the guiding precepts of the Federated

Sentient Planets Council, yes, I certainly shall. Otherwise I assure you

that these Elders would not receive unreimbursed and gratuitous services

from the Heptite Guild.«

»Bravo!« Lars called.

»Their greed blinds them,« Trag said. »So, following a recent

example, we shall take the opportunity that is presented,« he added,

nodding toward Lars who returned the compliment. »Basically they have trite

minds. Security, pride, and sex! Imagine! Inflicting such prurience on

tonight´s audience.«

Killashandra regarded Trag with mild astonishment. The man was

positively garrulous, volunteering comments not to mention uncontracted

services. Or was he simply responding to the backlash of that maladroit

rendition of the Bolero? She´d have thought Trag made of sterner stuff,

especially since he´d been forewarned of the subliminals.

»Oh, that´s a common diet for the Conservatory,« Lars said. »For

the masses, they have other themes, sometimes so indigestible I wonder how

they can be swallowed, even conditionally. Mainlanders are often subjected

to a spectrum ranging from xenophobia,« Lars began ticking the subjects off

on his fingers, »a fear of races in their own territories, to

claustrophobia to nip any budding interest in space-faring, to fear of

disobedience, fear and disgust of acts that are ‘unnatural,´ fear of

committing an illegal action, rational or not. They´ve even constructed a

negative-feedback loop to inhibit thinking along lines the Elders have

suddenly decided are subversive. A dislike of the color red was achieved a

year or so ago.

»Then,« and Lars was really warming to his subject, »the tourists

get a different menu: love of the simple life, very little eroticism --

which would follow, wouldn´t it? All sorts of nebulous goodnesses to be

obtained by staying on here. Immense credit balances are constantly flashed

luringly at the most bizarre moments. Naturally the disadvantages aren´t

mentioned at all.«

»No lecture on Full Disclosure?« Killashandra shot Trag a glance

but he ignored her.

»Have you a reliable contact in the Conservatory, Lars?« Trag asked

him.

»I wouldn´t dare contact any of them after tonight´s subliminal

messages. I could try the marketplace -- «

Trag shook his head. »It was politic to agree with Ampris and

Torkes that you, Killashandra, have undoubtedly fallen under this young

man´s insidious spell.« He raised his hand at Killashandra´s guffaw.

»Neither of you are to be allowed to leave the Conservatory without escort.

For your safety, of course, Killashandra.«

»Of course!«

»What works in your favor, though, in this infatuation -- «

»Trag!«

»I´m not Ballyblind, Killashandra,« Trag said in a stern voice,

»and, if the Elders consider you two self-absorbed to the exclusion of

other, more treacherous activities, it is a safeguard, however tenuous. At

least while we are still on Optheria.« Trag turned to Lars. »Once we leave,

Lars Dahl, you are in grave jeopardy.«

Lars nodded and, when Killashandra closed her fingers about his, he

smiled down at her. »All I need is a half-day´s start on any pursuit; no

one will ever find me in the islands.«

Trag managed to look skeptical without changing a muscle in his

face. »Not this time, I think. This time the islanders are to be

disciplined to a final and total obedience to the Optherian Council.«

»They have to catch us first,« Lars said calmly, although anger

flared in his eyes and his fingers tightened on Killashandra´s. In an

abrupt change he shrugged. »The threat of wholesale reprisal is scarcely

new.«

»Trag has that warrant . . .« Killashandra suggested but caught the

obstinate set of Lars´s face.

»May I remind you, Killashandra,« Trag said, »that a Federated

Council warrant is not a writ one exercises with impunity. If I am forced

to use it, Lars, and whoever else it includes, would be charged with your

abduction and subject to the authority of the FSP Council.«

»If I don´t press charges, once they´re off Optheria -- «

»If you perjure yourself in a Council Court, Killashandra Ree, not

even the Heptite Guild can rescue you from the consequences.«

»I repeat, and listen to me this time.« Lars interrupted firmly,

jiggling Killashandra´s arm for her attention, »I only need a head start

and there isn´t a captain on this planet who could catch me. Look, Trag,

it´s not your affair, but if you´re willing to disorganize the Conservatory

projector, would you consider doing others? There are quite a few

two-manual organs on the Mainland. To have two sabotaged will already be a

considerable boon, but the more Mainlanders who are freed from subliminal

manipulation, the more chance we´d all have of surviving until the

Federated Council moves.

»The Elders can blandly puff on about disciplining islanders, but

first they have to jizz enough Mainlanders up to the point of a punitive

action. Mainlanders are a passive bunch, after so many years of the pap

they´ve been subjected to.« He grinned maliciously. »You saw last night

which of the three pressures the audience responded to the most -- Not the

martial pride! So, psyching a punitive force up would take time, a clever

program, and sufficient audience saturation. The smaller the net the

subliminals cast, the longer it will take the Elders to mount any sort of

expedition to the islands.

»Now,« and Lars leaned forward urgently, »you and Killa have to

make a report to the Federated Council? Well, I would find it hard to

believe that any Council acts fast. Right?«

Trag nodded. »Speed is determined by the physical threat to the

planet involved.«

»Not to the population?« Killashandra asked, surprised at Trag´s

emphasis.

Trag shook his heavy head. »Populations are easy to produce, but

habitable planets are relatively scarce.« He indicated that Lars should

continue.

»So, your report will be considered, deliberated upon, and then?«

»It may indeed take time, Lars Dahl, but the Federated Council has

outlawed the use of subliminal conditioning. There is absolutely no

question in my mind that action will be taken against the Optherian Elders.

A government which must resort to such means to maintain domestic

satisfaction has lost the right to govern. Its Charter will be revoked.«

»There´s no danger that you and Killashandra will be restrained

from leaving?« Lars asked abruptly.

»Why should we be? Can they have any suspicion that someone knows

that they maintain control by illicit means?«

»Comgail did,« Killashandra said, »even if he was killed before he

could pass on the information. Whoever killed the man must wonder if

Comgail had accomplices.«

Lars shook his head positively. »Comgail´s only contact was Hauness

and Hauness didn´t reveal that until after Comgail´s death. I knew that

some drastic measure was planned. Not what it was.«

»Tell me, Lars,« Trag asked, »does any one suspect that you are

aware of the subliminals?«

Lars shook his head vigorously. »How? I always pretended the

correct responses after concerts. Father didn´t warn me until I was sent to

the Mainland for my education. His warning was accompanied by a description

of the retribution I would suffer, from him as well as the Council, if I

ever revealed my knowledge unnecessarily.« Lars grinned. »You may be sure I

told no one«

»Besides your father, who knows?« Trag asked. »Or don´t you know

that?«

Lars nodded. »Hauness and his intimates. As a trained

hypnotherapist, he caught on to the subliminals but had the sense to keep

silent. It is quite possible that others in his profession know it, but if

they do, they don´t broadcast it either. What could they do? Especially

when I doubt that many Optherians know that subliminals are against

Federated Law!« The last was spoken in a bitter tone. »Who would suspect

that music, the Ultimate Career on Optheria, can be perverted to ensure the

perpetuation of a stagnant government? Then there was the almost insoluble

problem of trying to get word off Optheria, to someone with sufficient

status to get Council attention. Complaint from people who could be

considered a few maladjusted citizens -- and every society has some --

carries little weight.

»It was Hauness who devised a way to get messages off Optheria for

us. Post hypnotic requests -- yes, yes, I know, and don´t think it was an

easy matter for him to violate his ethics as a physician-healer, but we

were getting desperate. A suggestion to receive and later mail a letter

from the nearest transfer point seemed a minor infraction. I am certain

that Hauness only capitulated because Nahia was suffering so much distress.

She had to cope with such a devastating increase of suicide potentials.

She´s an empath, Trag -- «

»You must encounter Nahia, Trag, before you leave Optheria,«

Killashandra said, twining her fingers reassuringly about Lars´s. He gave

her a quick and grateful glance.

»That´s why, if you would go to Ironwood to check out the organ

there, you would surely encounter Nahia and Hauness,« Lars said eagerly.

»I would?« Trag asked.

»Quite likely, if you were suddenly taken ill.«

Trag regarded him steadily. »Crystal singers do not succumb to

planet-based diseases.«

»Not even food poisoning?« Lars was not to be deterred.

»And that´s a likelihood if you eat often with the Elders. Or do I

mean starvation?« Killashandra remarked.

»That way, you can warn Nahia and Hauness, and they can alert

others.« Lars leaned forward, eagerly waiting for Trag´s decision. »I

couldn´t save myself at the expense of my friends.«

»How large a group do you have, Lars Dahl?« Trag asked.

»I don´t know at the moment. We had about two thousand, and more

were being investigated. The Elder´s search and seize to find Killashandra

reduced our ranks considerably.« Regret for having provoked the Elders to

such action colored Lars´s expression. He squared his shoulders, accepting

that responsibility. »I fervently hope more sacrifices will not be

required.«

»Do your islanders perpetrate many outrages on the Main land?«

»Outrages on the Mainland?« Lars burst out laughing. »We leave the

Mainland to stew in its own juice! If you wish to punish an island child,

you threaten to send him to a Mainland school. What crimes were being laid

on our beaches?«

»Crimes hinted at darkly but never specified, apart from the attack

on Killashandra -- «

»Ampris instigated that -- « Killashandra said angrily.

»And her abduction.«

»And I have laid that firmly on the shoulders of unknown

malfeasants. I thought they´d bought that.«

»They might have if the attachment between you and Lars Dahl was

not so apparent, almost as if you were in resonance with each other.

However,« and Trag went on quickly, »Torkes contended that young Lars Dahl

could scarcely have found you so conveniently if he had not known where you

were. The islands being so numerous and widespread he does not accept

coincidence.«

»I think Torkes is in for a large surprise on the mechanics of

coincidence,« Killashandra said in her most caustic tone. She had poured

another stiff drink for herself, trying to dull anger and indignation.

»Trag, I don´t see why the Federated Council cannot act expeditiously -- «

»This planet is not threatened by destruction.«

»Our much vaunted Federated Council is not much better than the

Elders Council, is it?«

»I will do everything in my power, Lars Dahl, to ensure the

physical and psychological integrity of your adherents,« Trag said. »And if

that includes servicing every instrument on this planet, I will do that,

too.« A slight shift of the alignment of his lips gave him an appearance of

smiling. »Greed provokes me. And all this talk has made me thirsty. What is

this?« he asked, obliquely requesting a refill.

»The fermented juice of the ubiquitous polly fruit.« Lars said,

serving him. »The Elders may complain about the islands but they are its

best customers.«

»Tell me again about the security arrangements at the shuttle

port,« Trag went on. »A liner is due in two weeks´ time. I should like to

have you both on it.«

»There´s more chance of sailing a straight course in the islands,

Trag,« Lars said, shaking his head discouragingly. »If anyone had been able

to discover a flaw in the security curtain at the shuttle port, it would

have been done. My father had the unique honor of adjusting the screens to

prevent a mass attack. Father came here on a short-term contract to provide

security micro-units for the Optherian Council. Father was co-opted by the

Federated Council because of his expertise with microchip installations.

The Federation wanted him to find out why another agent had never reported

back to them. But, while he was installing the chips, he didn´t have much

luck with the covert assignment. So when the Optherians offered him the

shuttleport contract, he took it. No one mentioned the fact that three to

four months was the longest it was safe to stay on Optheria without getting

trapped. When he realized that he was, and even he couldn´t get past the

shuttleport curtain, he talked himself into his position as Angel Island

Harbor Master. Far enough away from the shuttleport to satisfy the Elders,

and far enough away for him to feel safe from them.«

»How is cargo transferred?« Trag asked.

»What little there is, is unloaded through the main passenger lock,

which is operated by the shuttle pilots, true and loyal, incorruptible

citizens of Optheria. The only way into the shuttleport is past the

detector´s arc. And if the detector is set off without first presenting the

right pass to those rehabbed guards,« he made a popping sound, »you´re

dead.«

»Ah, but Thyrol was right beside me as we left the port, Lars,«

Killashandra said, » And the arc did not go off. Yet you say that it goes

off whenever the mineral residue is detected.«

»Crystal resonance might mask or confuse the detector,« Trag

remarked, choosing his words slowly. »For the same thing occurred, and with

Thyrol beside me, when I exited the port.«

»Why don´t we just boldly go under the fardling arc then? Both of

us with Lars between.«

»You no longer resonate, Killashandra,« Trag said.

»Besides, that only helps me, Killa. I won´t leave the others

vulnerable to the Elder´s reprisals.«

»Impasse!« Killashandra threw her hands out in disgust but she had

to admire Lars´s stand. »Wait a minute. I may not resonate, but white

crystal does. Trag, they blow out the monitors at the sound of an A. Won´t

crystal resonance affect other piezoelectrical equipment? I know it´d be

folly to try to blow out the shuttleport detector . . . .«

»That´s been tried, too, Killa.« Lars interrupted her with a rueful

grin.

»Trag? -- If crystal resonance provides a mask . . .«

»I should not like to put it to the test and fail.«

Killashandra turned to Lars. »You said something about your father

being able to detect Council agents. Does he have a unit?«

»A small one.«

»If we had it, we could test crystal resonance with it. We´ve got

all those crystal shards, Trag, and you know how interactive white is.«

»First we have to contact my father,« Lars said with an ironic

laugh, »then get him and the device here. Oh, it´s not large but certainly

not something you carry bare-faced through City streets.« But, even as Lars

spoke in pessimistic terms, it was clear to Killashandra that she had

revived his hopes. »All the more reason, Trag, for, you to get to Ironwood

and make contact with Nahia and Hauness. They´ve got the oceanjet. They

could discreetly bring Father and the device as far as Ironwood.«

»There are no other embarkation clearances at the shuttleport?«

Trag asked.

Lars shook his head slowly. »No other beside the security curtain

has ever been needed. You forget, Trag, that loyal, happy, natural

Optherians have no desire to leave their planet. Only tourists, who can buy

tickets anywhere, so long as they´ve enough credit.«

»Then,« and Trag got to his feet, carefully putting the glass down

on the nearest surface, »patently I must oblige both you and the greedy

Elders. Good night.«

Killashandra watched, wondering if the polly had got to the

impervious Trag but his step was as firm and unswerving as ever. She saw

that Lars was watching his progress, a very thoughtful expression on his

face.

»If this idea works, Killa,« he said, taking her in his arms, his

eyes on that distant prospect, »is there enough crystal to get six or seven

people off Optheria?«

»Don´t hope too hard, Lars!« she cautioned him, her head against

his shoulder, her arms about him. »Nor can we schedule a mass exodus on the

next liner without giving the whole scheme away. But if crystal resonance

fools the scanner, the most vulnerable people will get free. The Festival

season hasn´t even started. When it does, a few one-way passengers could go

out on each flight.« She looked up and caught the bleak look on his face.

»Lars, dance with me?«

»To a distant drum?« he asked with a rueful grin, but he shortly

sloughed off depression.

The next morning Killashandra woke to the second chimes and to an

interesting idea.

»Lars, Lars, wake up.«

»Why?« and he attempted to pull her back down on the bed, murmuring

suggestions.

»No, I´m serious. We responded to the subliminals last night,

didn´t we? How long are they supposed to be effective?«

»Huh? I dunno. I´ve never . . . Oh, I see what you mean!« And he

sat up, linking his arms about his raised knees and considering the

implications. »We never took last night´s performance into our

deliberations, did we?« He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then grinned at

her. »I´d say we could work this to our advantage. Security, pride, and

sex, huh!« Lars began to laugh, a mirth which developed into such a

paroxysm that he fell back on the bed and hauled his knees up to his chin

to relieve the muscular cramp of uncontrollable laughter.

Trag appeared in the doorway, pointed to the ceiling monitor and,

when Killashandra pointed to the jammer on the table, he came in and shut

the door, regarding Lars expressionlessly.

»We got conditioned last night, Trag,« Killashandra said by way of

explanation as she hauled her coverall on. »I don´t think I should overdo

it, but if Lars wants to act disaffected with me, it will lull Ampris and

Torkes into thinking their programming´s effective. Even on a crystal

singer. Trag, I could even stay on here . . . not want to leave Optheria.

I´m a musician. If last night is the best they can do, just lead me to a

keyboard! I´ll show ‘em some sensory music that´ll knock ‘em in the

aisles.«

Trag shook his head slowly from side to side. »Risky for any number

of reasons which I shouldn´t have to enumerate.«

Brushing laugh tears from his eyes, Lars was still grinning broadly

as he reached for his clothes.

»So what was so funny?« Killashandra asked.

»Mirbethan as a sex image when I have you!«

»I´m not sure I needed to know that!« Killashandra stalked into the

main room and up to the catering unit. She punched out her selection so

hard that the tab stuck and a succession of beverage cups paraded out.

Fortunately the mechanism was programmed against excessive use and the

emergency panel flashed »quota« at her as the depressed button snapped out

again.

»Put Ampris in my place and what do you have?« Lars wanted to know

and his voice was just a shade repentant.

»Nausea.« she handed him a cup from the plentiful supply waiting on

the catering facility.

Chapter 23

They had just finished eating when the comunit blipped. Killashandra

flicked open the channel. Mirbethan appeared, looking both annoyed and

hesitant. Killashandra schooled her face to courteous inquiry.

»My apologies for disturbing you so early, Guild-member . . .« she

did not continue until Killashandra had murmured reassurance, »but a

citizen has been most persistent in trying to contact you . . . We have

assured him that you are not to be disturbed by trivia. He insists on

speaking with you personally and his attitude borders on the insolent.«

Mirbethan closed her mouth primly on the verdict.

»Well, well, what´s his name?«

»Corish von Mittelstern. He says that he met you on board the

Athena.« Mirbethan obviously doubted this.

»Indeed he did. A pleasant young man who knows nothing of my Guild

affiliation. Put him through.«

Corish´s image immediately replaced Mirbethans. He was frowning but

his expression cleared into a broad smile once he saw Killashandra.

»Thank Krim I got you, Killashandra. I was beginning to doubt that

you ever existed, with that Conservatory playing it so cozy. I never heard

of a Conservatory monitoring the calls of a student.«

»They´re very careful and they prefer your complete dedication to

your studies here.«

»You mean, you´ve been allowed to play on one of those special

organs?«

Killashandra affected a girlish giggle. »Me? No. But I heard the

most marvelous recital on the Conservatory´s two-manual sensory organ last

night. You wouldn´t believe how versatile it is, how powerful, how

stimulating. Corish, you´ve simply got to get to one of the concerts before

you leave. The public ones will be starting soon, they tell me, but I could

see if it´s possible to get you to one here at the Conservatory. You really

have to hear the Optherian organ, Corish, before you can possibly

understand what it´s like for me.« Someone pinched her arm. Well, maybe she

was overdoing it a trifle but enthusiasm was not out of order. »Have you

found your uncle yet?«

Corish´s expression altered from the skeptical to the dolorous.

»Not yet.«

»Oh, dear, how very disappointing.«

»Yes, it is. And I´ve only two more weeks before I´m scheduled to

leave. The family is going to be upset about my failure. Look,

Killashandra, I know you´re studying hard, and this is a chance of a

lifetime for you, but could you spare me an evening?« Killashandra gave

Corish full marks for a fine performance.

»Oh, Corish, you sound so discouraged. Yes, I´m sure I can wangle

an evening out. I don´t think there´s a concert tonight. I´ll find out. I´m

not a prisoner here.«

»I should hope not,« Corish said Stiffly.

»Look, where can I reach you?«

»The Piper Facility,« Corish replied as if there were no other

suitable place in the City, »where you said, and he emphasized the word,

»that you´d leave a message for me. I was concerned when there´d been no

word at all from you. Food´s not bad here but they won´t serve anything

drinkable. Typical traveler hostel. I´ll see if they can recommend some

place a little more Optherian. This isn´t a bad world, you know. I´ve met

some sterling people, very helpful, very kind.« Then his expression

brightened. »You check and leave word at the Facility only if you can´t

make it. Otherwise, come here at seven thirty. You have enough funds for

ground transport, don´t you?« Now he was the slightly condescending, well

traveled adult, older sibling.

»Of course I do. You sound just like my brother,« she replied

cheerfully. »See you!« And she broke the connection, turning to Trag and

Lars. »That sort of solves one problem, doesn´t it?«

»Does it?« Trag asked darkly.

»I think so,« Lars replied. »Corish has an unlimited travel pass,

issued by Elder Pentrom. His credentials must have come from very highly

placed Federationists for that kind of assistance.«

»More likely, his uncle´ is due to inherit a sizable hunk of credit

of which the Optherian government will get its own share.« Killashandra

suggested. Lars nodded. »And if his cover has been that good, it´s unlikely

the Elders have tumbled to his true identity so he could get in touch with

anyone we need, including Olav Dahl! Or Nahia or Hauness.«

»What concerns me,« Lars said, his eyes clouded with anxiety, »is

why he´s getting in touch with you right now. He must have come back to the

City from Ironwood -- and Nahia and Hauness. Maybe they´re in Jeopardy. So

many people were picked up on the search and seize . . .«

Killashandra put a reassuring hand on Lars´s arm. »I think somehow

Corish would have managed to intimate that.«

»I think he did by not admitting to finding his uncle.«

»If he admitted to having found his uncle,« Trag said, unexpectedly

joining forces with Killashandra to reassure Lars, »he would no longer have

any need to use that travel pass, and if he´s as good a Council agent as he

seems to be, he wouldn´t surrender that option.«

Lars accepted that interpretation with a nod of his head and

pretended to be reassured.

»We´ll know soon enough,« Killashandra said kindly.

»Well, when you meet Corish this evening,« Lars said, »walk to

whichever restaurant he´s been recommended. That way you have some chance

of open talk. The Piper is certain to recommend The Berry Bush or

Frenshaw´s. Neither are far from the Piper, but both restaurants are run by

Optherians, loyal and true to the Elders, so you´ll be under observation.

The food´s pretty good.« Lars gave her an encouraging grin.

»Then I´m taking the jammer, too. Got to keep them thinking it´s me

that causes the static. Well, they should have had enough time to digest

Corish´s innocuous conversation.« So Killashandra tapped out a sequence on

the comunit. »Mirbethan, is there a concert tonight? I shouldn´t want to

miss any but von Mittelstern has invited me to dinner tonight, and I´ve

accepted. I don´t want him to come charging up here and discover I´m more

than the simple music student he thinks me, so I´ll settle his doubts.«

Whatever Mirbethan thought was disguised by her reassurances that

no concert was scheduled.

»Then please arrange transport for me this evening. By the way,

when is the next concert? I´m fascinated by the organ effects. Fabulous

concert last night. The most unusual one I´ve ever attended.«

»Tomorrow evening, Guildmember.« Mirbethan´s reply was gracious,

but Killashandra noticed the slightly smug turn to the woman´s faint smile.

»Good.« Killashandra broke the connection. »Offense is the best

defense, Guildmember,« she added, turning to Trag. »You didn´t have to

promise the Elders that you´d discipline me for my emotional aberration,

did you? Well, then, it´s business as usual for me in a normal fashion

which means I come and go, whether they trail me or not. Right? And since

I´m disaffected with you,« and Killashandra kissed Lars´s cheek, »I´ll go

alone. Unless, Trag, you want to come and meet Corish.«

»I might, at that,« Trag said, half-closing his eyes a moment.

»That gives me the chance to moon after Mirbethan,« Lars said

slyly.

Killashandra guffawed and wished him luck.

»Now let us attend our duties,« Trag said, gesturing for

Killashandra to precede them to the door.

When they reached the Festival Auditorium, a large contingent of

security men was loosely scattered about the stage, concentrated near the

organ console, which was open. Two men were fussing about the keyboard but

Killashandra couldn´t tell whether they were dusting or adjusting the keys.

Suddenly Elder Ampris detached himself from the gaggle and took a few steps

forward to meet them.

»Don´t overdo it, Killa,« Lars murmured at her, aiming a slightly

fatuous grin at the Elder.

»After last night, Elder Ampris, I wonder at my audacity in

suggesting that I play on any Optherian organ,« she said, and felt Lars´s

admonitory pinch on the tender inside flesh of her arm. Unnecessary, she

felt, since she had forced herself to employ a meek and sincere tone of

voice.

»You enjoyed the concert?«

»I have never heard anything like it,« she said, which was no more

than the truth. »Truly an experience. Mirbethan tells me there´ll be

another one tomorrow evening. I do hope that we´ll be invited?«

»Of course you are, my dear Killashandra,« Elder Ampris replied,

his eyes glittering almost benignly at her.

She limited herself to a happy smile and continued on to the organ

loft door.

»A word with you, Elder Ampris,« Trag began, his anxious frown

attracting the Elder´s instant attention.

Killashandra and Lars continued into the organ loft.

»You pinched far too hard!«

»You wouldn´t fool me, Killa!«

»Well, I did fool him,« and hiding her gesture from observation,

she pointed to the hairless corner of the manual cabinet.

»Jammer on?« she asked.

»The moment I finished pinching.«

»Brackets, please!«

They had already positioned the first of the final slender crystals

when Trag and Elder Ampris entered.

»Only five more crystals and this installation is complete.« Trag

was saying to Ampris. »I know that Killashandra is well aware that these

upper register notes require the finest tuning.« Killashandra nodded,

receiving his tacit message. »I will check the brackets on that sour

crystal in the Conservatory organ and be back here in time for the

tune-up.«

Killashandra was hoping that Elder Ampris would leave them to the

task but he elected to remain, observing every movement. Killashandra hated

to be overseen under any circumstances, and to have Ampris´s gimlet eyes on

her made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She was annoyed, too,

because Ampris´s presence put the damper on any conversation between

herself and Lars. She had enjoyed the bantering exchanges which relieved

the tedium and tension of this highly precise work. So she felt doubly

aggrieved to be denied a morning of matching wits with Lars Dahl. They

would have so little time left to enjoy each other´s company.

Therefore, it gave her a great deal of vicarious pleasure to spin

out the last final bracketings, giving Trag ample time to make his

alterations on the Conservatory program. And deliberately irritating Elder

Ampris with her persnickety manipulations. He was in a state of nervous

twitch when she and Lars tightened the last bracket.

»There!« she said on a note of intense satisfaction. »All right and

tight!« She picked up the hammer and, seized by a malicious whimsy, struck

the first note of the Beethoven motif. Out of the corner of her eye, she

saw Ampris start forward, one hand raised in protest, his face drained of

all color. She went up the scale, and then, positioning the hammer on the

side of the crystal shafts, descended the 44 notes in a glissando. »Clear

as the proverbial bell and not a vibration off the tune. A good

installation, if I say so myself.«

Killashandra slid the hammer into its space in the tool-box and

brushed her fingertips lightly together. She released the damper on the

striking base of the crystals and replaced the top. »I don´t think we´ll

fasten it just yet. Now, Elder Ampris, the moment of truth!«

»I would prefer that Guildmember Trag -- «

»He can´t play! Doesn´t even read music,« Killashandra said,

deliberately misinterpreting Elder Ampris. Lars pinched her left flank, his

strong fingers nipping into the soft flesh of her waistline. She would have

kicked back at him if she could have done so unobserved. »But I suppose you

would feel more secure if he was to vet the completed installation,« she

added, giving Ampris a timorous smile more consonant to someone in the

thrall of subliminal conditioning than her previous declaration.

Trag´s reappearance was fortuitous.

»Just as I suspected, Elder Ampris, a loose bracket on the middle

G. I checked both manuals thoroughly.«

Ampris regarded Trag with a moment´s keen suspicion. »You don´t

play,« he said.

»No.«

»Then how can you tune crystal?«

Killashandra laughed aloud. »Elder Ampris, every would-be crystal

singer has perfect and absolute pitch or they can´t get into the Heptite

Guild. Guildmember Trag doesn´t need to be a trained musician. Guildmaster

Lanzecki isn´t either. One of the reasons I was chosen for this assignment

is because I am -- and trained in keyboard music. Now, Trag, if you will

inspect the installation?« She and Lars lifted off the cover.

Trag was not above giving Ampris a second fright for he tapped out

three of the Beethoven notes in the soprano register before altering the

sequence to random notes. Then he did each note in turn, listening until

the exquisite sound completely died before hitting the next crystal.

»Absolutely perfect,« he said, handing her the hammer.

»Now, with your permission, Elder Ampris,« Killashandra began, »I

would like to use the organ keyboard.« When she saw his brief hesitancy,

she added. »It would be such an honor for me and it would only be the

sonics. After last night´s performance, I would be brash indeed to attempt

any embellishments.«

Bowing stiffly to the inevitable, Elder Ampris gestured for her to

proceed from the loft. Not that she could have done anything to damage the

actual organ keyboard, and live, with so many security guards millimeters

from her. As she took her seat, pretending to ignore the battery of eyes

and sour expressions, she decided against any of the Beethoven pieces she

remembered from her Fuertan days. That would be risking more than her

personal satisfaction was worth. She began to power up the various systems

of the organ, allowing the electronic circuits to warm up and stabilize.

She also discarded a whimsical notion to use one of Lars´s themes. She

flexed her fingers, pulled out the appropriate stops, and did a rapid dance

on the foot pedals to test their reactions.

Diplomatically she began with the opening chords of a Fuertan love

song, reminiscent of one of the folk tunes that she´d heard that first

magical night on the beach with Lars. The keyboard had an exquisitely light

touch and, knowing herself to be rather heavy handed, she tried to find the

right balance, before she began the lilting melody. Even playing softly and

delicately, she felt, rather than heard, the sound returning from the

perfect acoustics of the auditorium. The phase shield around the organ

protected her from the full response.

Playing this Festival organ was an incredible, purely musical

experience as she switched to lowest manual for the bass line. For her as a

singer, keyboards had been essential only as accompaniment, tolerated in

place of orchestra and choral augmentation. She might have been

supercilious about the Optherian contention that an organ was the ultimate

instrument, but she was willing to revise her opinion of it upward. Even

the simple folk song, embellished with color, scent and »the joy of

spring,« she thought sardonically, was doubly effective as a mood setter

when played on the Optherian organ. She was sorely tempted to reach up and

pull Out a few of the stops that ringed the console.

Abruptly she changed to a dominant key and a martial air, lots of

the bass notes in a sturdy thumpy-thump, but half-way through she tired of

that mood, and found herself involved in the accompaniment to a favorite

aria. Not wishing to spoil the rich music by singing, she transferred the

melodic line to the manual she had just repaired, taking the orchestra part

in the second manual and the pedal bass. The tenor´s reprise naturally

followed, on the third manual, mellower than the soprano range. From that

final chord, she found herself playing a tune, filling in with a chorded

bass, and not quite certain what tune it was when she felt someone pinch

her hip. Her fingers jerked down the keys just as she realized that it was

Lars´s melody she was rehearsing. She made the slip of her fingers into the

first music that came to mind, an ancient anthem with distinct religious

overtones. She ended that in a flourish of keyboard embellishments and,

with considerable reluctance, lifted her hands and feet from the organ,

swiveling around on the seat.

Lars, being nearest, took her hand to ease her to the ground from

the high organ perch. The pressure of his fingers was complimentary, if the

arch of his eyebrows chided her for that slip. It was the surprise on Elder

Ampris´s face that pleased her the most.

»My dear Killashandra, I had no idea you were so accomplished,« he

said with renewed affability.

»Woefully out of practice,« she said demurely, though she knew that

she had struck few wrong notes and her sense of tempo had always been

excellent. »Almost a travesty for someone like me to play on that superb

organ, but I shall remember the honor for the rest of my life.« She meant

it.

There was a general sort of highly audible reshuffling as the

security men permitted a handful of hesitant new arrivals closer to the

console. Some nervous clearings of throats and foot scufflings also echoed

faithfully about the auditorium.

»Balderol´s students,« Elder Ampris murmured by way of explanation.

»To practice for the concerts now the organ is repaired.«

At a glance, Killashandra decided there must be nine security men

for each student. She smiled kindly, then noticed out of the corner of her

eye that a solid line of the biggest security men stood shoulder to

shoulder in front of the door to the organ loft. Were they glued to their

posts?

»Well, let´s leave them to it,« she said brightly. »Don´t you have

some students for Trag and myself? To learn crystal tuning? They must have

perfect and absolute pitch, you know,« she reminded Elder Ampris as they

left the stage. Her voice sounded dead as her final words were spoken in

less resonant surroundings.

»That is not scheduled until tomorrow, Killashandra,« Ampris said,

mildly surprised. »I had thought that you and Guildmember Trag should take

this opportunity to see the rest of the Conservatory.«

That was not high on Killashandra´s list of priorities but since

she was momentarily in Ampris´s good graces, she should make an effort to

stay there. She was not best pleased when Ampris turned the projected tour

over to Mirbelhan, excusing himself on the grounds of urgent administrative

duties. Instead of proving to Ampris that sublimation worked on crystal

singers, she had to watch Lars proving it to Mirbethan while she tried to

attach herself to Trag. At first Trag remained his inscrutable self but

suddenly altered. attentive to her explanations of this classroom, that

theory processor, when the small theater had been added, and which

distinguished composer had initiated what ramification on the Festival

Organ. Had Lars brazenly pinched the impervious Trag? As she trailed behind

the trio, now inspecting the cheerless and sterilely neat dormitories, she

would have been glad enough to receive Lars´s pinch.

If she had herself been more receptive, she would have been

impressed by the physical advantages of the Conservatory for it was

exceedingly well organized and equipped in terms of practice and

classrooms, library facilities, processing terminals. There was even a

library of books, donated by the original settlers and subsequent visitors.

The actual Conservatory had been designed as a complete unit and built at

one time, only the Festival Auditorium added on at a later date although

included in the original plans. In design it was a complex far superior to

Fuerte´s Music Center, which had sprawled in extensions and annexes with no

basic concept. There was, however, more charm in a corner of Fuerte´s Music

Center than in any of the more elaborate and pretentious chambers of

Optheria´s Conservatory.

»The Infirmary is this way.« Mirbethan´s unctuous voice broke

through Killashandra´s sour reflections.

»I´ve been there,« she said in a dry and caustic tone and Mirbethan

had the grace to look embarrassed. Then she gave Lars a penetrating look

which he returned with an impudent wink. »And I´m hungry. We didn´t eat any

lunch in order to get the installation completed.«

Mirbethan was full of apologies and, when both Trag and Lars said

they were sure the Infirmary was of the same high standard as the rest of

the premises, she led them back to their quarters.

Once inside, Lars ostentatiously activated the jammer and

Killashandra heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn´t realized how tense she´d

become.

»I´m hungry, that´s all, I´m hungry,« she told herself as she made

her way to the caterer.

»Where did you find the subliminal unit, Trag?« Lars asked, pausing

at the drinks cabinet.

»Under the stage, but keyed by the same motif. For clever men, the

Elders can be repetitive.«

Killashandra gave a contemptuous snort. »Probably can´t remember

anything more complicated at their advanced ages.«

»Don´t make the mistake of underestimating them, Killashandra,«

Trag said solemnly as he poured himself a blew.

»Let them have that privilege,« Lars added. »Sententious bastards.

We´re down to Bascum, Killa.«

»Well, that goes well with the fish, which seems the only thing

left on today´s menu.«

Lars guffawed. »It always is. Take the soup instead,« he said in a

tone that suggested dire experience. »And don´t, Killa, play my music again

in the Conservatory,« he added, waggling a finger at her. »Balderol heard

me practice often enough.«

»I won t say I´m sorry,´ Killashandra replied. »It just happened to

develop from the previous chord. It´s probably the most original music ever

played on that organ if what we heard last night is standard.«

»They don´t want originality, Killa,« Lars said with a twist to his

smile. »They want more of the same that they can orchestrate to

mind-penetration. Trag, what did Ampris say about your doing the provincial

organs?«

»I haven´t suggested it. Yet. There has been no opportunity.«

Lars looked anxious. »I´m the one who´s greedy now. Disabling their

program in the City is a big step forward because so many provincials make

the trek here in order to say they´ve heard the Festival Organ, But they´re

not the ones who´d be recruited to Ampris´s punitive force. So they´re the

ones we want to keep unaffected this year.«

»Who else has access to the organ lofts?« Trag asked.

»Only . . . Ah!« Lars´s expressive face altered to triumph.

»Comgail never got the chance to make his annual inspection of the other

facilities. And maintenance is Ampris´s responsibility, not Torkes. He´ll

have to use you and Killa, Trag. He hasn´t anyone else. And he certainly

wouldn´t entrust maintenance to the puff heads you´re supposed to initiate

into the art of crystal tuning.«

»Especially not you, Lars,« said Killashandra with a laugh.

»Let´s not continue that part of the farce. Killa,« Lars said.

»Why not?« asked Trag. »I think you must realize that we will not

leave you on this planet, no matter how cleverly you could hide yourself

amid your islands, Lars Dahl. Crystal tuning is a universal skill.«

»So is sailing, Trag.«

»But let us continue as we have started. Farce or not, it keeps you

in our company and safe.«

»Trag, are you recruiting?« Even to herself, Killashandra sounded

unnecessarily sharp.

Trag turned his head slowly to look at her, his heavy features

expressionless. »Recruiting is not permitted by the FSP, Killashandra Ree.«

She snorted, »Neither is subliminal conditioning, Trag Morfane!«

Lars looked from one to the other, grinning at this evidence of

unexpected discord. »Here, here, what´s this?«

»An old controversy,« Killashandra replied quickly. »If all the

provincial organs need at least basic maintenance, then you and I, Trag,

are the only qualified technicians on Optheria. Ampris will have to ask

you, for I can´t see him asking me, and that solves that problem, doesn´t

it?«

»It should,« Lars replied, grinning at her for her change of

subject and the facile solution.

»We shall see.« Trag added, rising to refill his glass.

»I need a bath,« Killashandra said, rising. »After a morning spent

with Ampris, I feel unclean!«

»Now that you mention it,« Lars murmured and followed her.

A stolid security man drove the small ground vehicle that evening.

Its plasglas canopy gave her an unobstructed view of the City in its

tortured sprawl as she was driven sedately down from the Conservatory

prominence. The spring evening was mild and the sky cloudless. Quite

likely, Killashandra thought, she was seeing the City at its best, for

spring growth hazed most of the vegetation with a delicate green, gold, or

fawn brown, providing some charm to the otherwise sterile buildings. The

residential dwellings often sported vines, now sprouting a bright orange

leaf or blossom.

Most of the traffic was pedestrian, though a few larger

goods-carrying vehicles intersected their route through the winding streets

of the City. There seemed to be no visible roadway controls but her driver

slowed to a complete halt at several cross streets. At one, she received

incurious glances from the several pedestrians halted on the footpaths.

Doubtless all good Optherians were at home with their families at that

hour, and the few people that Killashandra did pass looked glum, anxious,

or determined. It occurred to Killashandra that she missed the

light-hearted islanders with their ready smiles and generally pleasant

behavior. She´d seen very few genuine or lasting smiles in the

Conservatory: a perfunctory movement of the lips, a show of teeth but no

genuine delight, pleasure, or enthusiasm. Well, what else could she expect

in such a climate?

She spotted the Piper Facility before the driver turned up the

broader thoroughfare to it. It hung, block-square and utilitarian, like

hostels anywhere, even Fuerte. She had once thought the native orangy-red

sandstone of Fuerte garish and common but she could feel almost nostalgic

for its hominess. Certainly the relaxed and random designs of Fuertan

architecture were a patch above Optheria´s contorted constructions.

The timepiece above the entrance of the Piper Facility flashed a

big 1930 as the driver reduced the forward speed of the vehicle. Precisely

then, the main door slid aside and Corish, looking tanned and expectant,

emerged. Immediately he saw Killashandra, he smiled a warm and enthusiastic

welcome.

»Right on the dot, Killashandra, you´ve improved!« he said, giving

her an unnecessary assist out of the vehicle.

»Thank you, driver,« Killashandra said. »I really need to stretch

my legs, Corish. Let´s walk to the restaurant if it isn´t far. I felt

awfully conspicuous where so few people use ground transport.«

»Have you paid him?« Corish asked, reaching into his belt pouch.

»I told you I could,« she began in a sulky voice and made shooing

gestures at the driver. The man reengaged the drive and the vehicle slid

slowly away. »I´m being monitored, Corish, and we need to talk,« she said,

cocking her head up at him with an apologetic expression on her face.

»I thought so. I´m told to try the Berry Bush so I expect it´s got

monitors in the utensils. This way.« Corish cupped his hand under her

elbow, guiding her in the right direction. »It´s not far. I´m only just

back from Ironwood.«

»Lars is in a swivet about Nahia and Hauness.«

»They´re all right . . .« and Corish´s tone of voice added so far,

»but the search and seize continues! Hauness is convinced that the Elders

mean to rouse a punitive expedition against the islands. In spite of your

safe return.«

»Torkes doesn´t believe in coincidence. More important . . .« and

Killashandra broke off, stunned by the look of pure hatred on the face of a

woman passing by. Killashandra glanced around but the woman had not paused

or accelerated her pace.

»More important?« Corish prompted, his hand impelling her to keep

pace with him.

With an effort, Killashandra redirected her attention, but an

afterimage of the intensity of that expression burned in her mind.

»The Elders use subliminal conditioning.«

»My dear Killashandra Ree, that is a dangerous allegation.« Corish

tightened his fingers on her arm, shocked by her statement. He looked

about, to see if any of the few passers-by could have overheard.

»Allegation, fardles! Corish. They blasted last night´s audience

with it,« she said, only barely able to keep her intense indignation at the

conversation level. »Security, pride, and sex was the dose. Didn´t Olav

mention subliminals to you? He knows about them.«

Corish wet his mouth in a grim line. »He mentioned them but he

could provide me with no proof.«

»Well, I can swear to it, and so can Trag. He disconnected the

processor on the Festival Organ yesterday -- while we had the chance -- and

the Conservatory instrument today.« She cast him a snide sideways glance.

»Or should we have waited until tomorrow night so you´d have firsthand

experience?«

»Of course I trust Trag´s evidence . . . and yours.« He added the

last in an afterthought. »How were you able to find the equipment? Wasn´t

it well hidden?«

»It was. Shall we say a joint effort -- the murdered Comgail, Lars,

and Trag. It wasn´t crystal that killed Comgail, and I never could see how

it had, but a desparate man. Probably Ampris. There´ll be enough witnesses

to testify before the Federation Council. Nahia and Hauness too, if we can

get them out.«

»You´ll never get Nahia to leave Optheria,« Corish said, shaking

his head sadly. He gestured for them to make a right turn at the next

junction. The smell of roasting meats and frying foods greeted their

nostrils, not all of it appetizing. But this was clearly a catering area.

Open-front stalls served beverages and a pastry-covered roll -- with a hot

filling to judge by the expression of a man cautiously munching one.

»If we could get anyone out,« Corish said gloomily. »They´re all in

jeopardy now.«

»Which is why we want you to contact Olav and get him and . . .«

A change in air pressure against her back gave Killashandra only a

second´s warning but she had turned just enough to deflect the long knife

descending to her back. Then a second knife caught her shoulder and she

tried to roll away from her assailants, hearing Corish´s hoarse cry.

»Lars!« she shouted as she fell, trying to roll away from her

attackers. »Lars!« She had become too used to his presence. And where was

he when she really needed him? The thought flitted even as she tried to

protect herself from the boots kicking her. She tried to curl up, but hard

rough hands grabbed at arms and legs. Someone was really attempting to

kidnap her, even with Corish beside her. He was no bloody use! She heard

him yelling above the unintelligible and malevolent growls of the people

beating her. There were so many, men and women, and she knew none of them,

their faces disguised by their hatred and the insanity of violence. She saw

someone haul back a man with a knife raised to plunge into her, saw a face

she knew -- that woman from the street. She heard Corish howling with fury

and then a boot connected with her temple and she heard nothing else.

Chapter 24

Of the next few days, Killashandra had only disconnected memories. She

heard Corish arguing fiercely, then Lars, and under both voices, the rumble

of Trag who was, she thought even in her confusion and welter of physical

pain, laying down laws. She was aware of someone´s holding her hand so

tight it hurt, as if she didn´t have enough wounds, but the grasp was

obscurely comforting and she resisted its attempt to release hers. Pain

came in waves, her chest hurt viciously with every shallow breath. Her back

echoed the discomfort, her head seemed to be vibrating like a drum, having

swollen under the skull.

Pain was something not even her symbiont could immediately suppress

but she kept urging it to help her. She chanted at it, calling it up from

the recesses of her body to restore the cells with its healing miracle,

especially the pain. Why didn´t they think about thc pain? There wasn´t a

spot on her body that didn´t ache, pound, throb, profest the abuse that she

had suffered. Who had attacked her and why?

She cried out in her extremity, called out for Lars, for Trag who

would know what to do, wouldn´t he? He´d helped Lanzecki with crystal

thrall. Surely he knew what to do now? And where had Lars been when she

really needed him? Fine bodyguard he was! Who had it been? Who was the

woman who hated her enough to recruit an army to kill her? Why? What had

she done to any Optherians?

Someone touched her temples and she cried out -- the right one was

immeasurably sore. The pain flowed away, like water from a broken vessel,

flowed out and down and away, and Killashandra sank into the gorgeous

oblivion which swiftly followed painlessness.

»If she had been anyone else, Trag, I wouldn´t permit her to be

moved for several weeks, and then only in a protective cocoon,« said a

vaguely familiar voice. »In all my years as a physician, I have never seen

such healing.«

»Where am I going? I´d prefer the islands,« Killashandra said,

rousing enough to have a say in her disposition. She opened her eyes,

half-expecting to be in the wretched Conservatory Infirmary and very well

satisfied to find that she was in the spacious bed of her quarters.

»Lars!« Hauness called jubilantly. His had been the familiar voice.

The door burst inward as an anxious Lars Dahl rushed to her

bedside, followed by his father.

»Killa, if . . . you knew . . .« Tears welling from his eyes, Lars

could find no more words and buried his face against the hand she raised to

greet him. She stroked his crisp hair with her other hand, soothing, his

release from uncertainty.

»Lousy bodyguard, you are . . .« She was unable to say what crowded

her throat, hoping that her loving hand conveyed something of her deep

feeling for him. »Corish was no use, after all.« Then she frowned. »Was he

hurt?«

»Security says,« Hauness replied with a chuckle, »he lifted half a

dozen of your assailants and broke three arms, a leg, and two skulls.«

»Who was it? A woman . . .«

Trag moved into her vision, registering with a stolid blink that

her hands were busy comforting Lars Dahl. »The search and seize stirred up

a great deal of hatred and resentment, Killashandra Ree, and as you were

the object of that search, your likeness was well circulated. »Your

appearance on the streets made you an obvious target for revenge.«

»We never thought of that, did we?« she said ruefully.

The movement to her right caused her to flinch away and then offer

profuse apologies, for Nahia was moving to comfort the distraught Lars.

»So you took the pain away, Nahia? My profound thanks,«

Killashandra said. »Even crystal singer´s nerve ends don´t heal as quickly

as flesh.«

»So Trag told us. And that crystal singers cannot assimilate many

of the pain-relieving drugs. Are you in any pain now?« Nahia´s hands gently

rested on Lar´s head in a brief benison, but her beautiful eyes searched

Killashandra´s face.

»Not in the flesh,« Killashandra said, dropping her gaze to Lars´s

shuddering body.

»It is relief,« Nahia said, »and best expressed.«

Then Killashandra began to chuckle, »Well, we achieved what I set

out to do in meeting Corish. Got you all here!«

»Far more than that,« Trag said as the others smiled. »A third

attack on you gave me the excuse to call a scout ship to get us off this

planet. The Guild contract has been fulfilled and, as I informed the

Elder´s Council, we have no wish to cause domestic unrest if the public

objects so strongly to the presence of crystal singers.«

»How very tactful of you.« Belatedly remembering caution,

Killashandra looked up at the nearest monitor, relieved to find it was a

black hole. »Did the jammer survive?«

»No,« Trag said, »but white crystal, in dissonance, distorts

sufficiently. They´ve stopped wasting expensive units.«

»And . . .« Killashandra prompted, encouraging Trag since he was

being uncharacteristically informative.

He nodded, Olav´s grin broadened, and even Hauness looked pleased.

»Those shards provide enough white crystal to get the most vulnerable

people past the security curtain. Nahia and Hauness will organize a

controlled exodus until the Federated Council can move. Lars and Olav come

with us on the scout ship. Brassner, Theach, and Erutown are to be picked

up by Tanny in the Pearl Fisher and leave with Corish on the liner -- «

»Corish?« Killashandra looked about expectantly.

»He´s searching most thoroughly for his uncle,« Hauness said, »and

attending the public concerts which have been hastily inaugurated, to

soothe a disturbed public.«

»What´s the diet?«

»Security, pride, reassurance, no sex,« Hauness replied.

»Then you didn´t get to the other organs, Trag?«

»Corish suggested that some should be left in, shall we say, normal

operating condition as evidence, to be seen by the Federal Investigators.«

»What Trag doesn´t say, Killashandra,« replied Nahia, a luminous

smile gently rebuking the other crystal singer, »is that he refused to

leave you.«

»As the only way to prevent the Infirmary from interfering with the

symbiont,« Trag said, bluntly, disclaiming any hint of sentiment. »Lars

thought to send for Nahia to relieve pain.«

»For which I am truly grateful. I´ve only a tolerable ache left.

How long have I been out?«

»Five days,« Hauness replied, scrutinizing her professionally. He

placed the end of a hand-diagnostic unit lightly against her neck, nodding

in a brief approval of its readings. »Much better. Incredible in fact.

Anyone else would have died of any one of several of the wounds you

received. Or that cracked skull.«

»Am I dead or alive?«

»To Optheria?« Trag asked. »No official acknowledgment of the

attack has been broadcast. The whole episode has been extremely

embarrassing for the government.«

»I should bloody hope so! Wait till I see Ampris!«

»Not in that frame of mind, you won´t,« Trag assured her,

repressively stern.

»No more of us for the time being,« Hauness said, nodding

significantly to the others. »Unless Nahia . . . .«

Killashandra closed her eyes for a moment, since moving her head

seemed inadvisable. But she opened them to warn Hauness from disturbing

Lars, who was still kneeling by the bed. He no longer wept but pressed her

hand against his cheek as if he would never release it. The door closed

quietly behind the others.

»So you and Olav can just walk into the scout ship?« she asked

softly, trying to lighten his penitence.

»Not quite,« he said with a weak chuckle, but, still holding her

hand, he straightened up, leaning forward, toward her, on his elbows. His

face looked bleached of tan, lines of anxiety and fear aging him. »Trag and

my father have combined their wits -- and I´m to he arrested by the warrant

Trag has. Don´t worry,« and he patted her hands as she reacted

apprehensively, remembering Trag´s remarks about using the warrant.

»Carefully worded, the warrant will charge me with a lot of heinous crimes

that weren´t actually committed by me, but which will keep Ampris and

Torkes happy in anticipation of the dire punishment which the Federated

Courts dispense for crimes of such magnitude.«

Killashandra grabbed tightly at his hands, ignoring the spasm of

pain across her chest in her fear for him. »I don´t like the idea, Lars,

not one little bit.«

»Neither my father nor Trag are likely to put me in jeopardy,

Killa. We´ve managed a lot while you were sleeping it off. When we´re sure

that the scout ship is about to arrive, Trag will confer with Ampris and

Torkes, confronting them with his suspicions about me -- in your delirium

you inadvertently blew the gaff. Trag is not about to let such a desperate

person as me escape unpunished. He has held his counsel to prevent my

escaping justice.«

»There´s something about this plan that alarms me.«

»I´d be more alarmed if I had to stay behind,« Lars said with a

droll grin. »Trag won´t give the Elders time to interfere, and they´ll be

unable to protest a Federal Warrant when a Federation scout ship is

collecting me and you and Trag. The beauty part is that thc scout´s the

wrong shape to use the shuttle port facility. Its security arrangements

require open-space landing anyhow. That way my father has a chance of

boarding her.«

»I see.« The scheme did sound well-planned, and yet some maggot of

doubt niggled at Killashandra -- but her unease could well arise from her

poor state of health. »How did Olav get invited here?«

»He´d been called in by the Elders on an administrative detail. Why

so few islanders attend concerts« Lars had regained considerable

equilibrium and he rose from his knees, still holding her hand, to sit

beside her on the bed.

»Who did attack me, Lars?«

»Some desperate people whose families and friends had been scooped

up by that search and seize. If only I´d been free to get into the

marketplace, Olver would have warned me of the climate of the City. We´d

have known not to let you walk about.«

»As Corish and I left the Facility, a woman who gave me such a look

of hatred -- «

»You were spotted long before she saw you, Sunny, driving down from

the Conservatory. If only I´d been with you . . .«

»Don´t fret about ifs, Lars Dahl! A few aches and pains achieved

what the best laid plans might have failed to do.«

Lars´s face was a study in shocked indignation.

»Do you know how badly you were hurt? Hauness wasn´t kidding when

he said you could have died from any one of those wounds, let alone all of

them together. »He held her hand in a crushing grip. »I thought you were

dead when Corish brought you back. I . . .« A sudden look of embarrassment

rippled across his stern face. »The one time you really needed a bodyguard,

I wasn´t there!«

As you can see, it takes a lot to kill a crystal singer.«

»I noticed, and don´t wish to ever again.«

Unwittingly he had reminded them both of the inescapable fact that

their idyll was nearly over. Killashandra couldn´t bear to think of it and

quickly evaded further discussion of that.

»Lars,« she said plaintively, »at the risk of appearing

depressingly basic, I´m hungry!«

Lars stared at her in consternation for a moment but he accepted

her evasion and his understanding smile began to replace the sadness in his

eyes.

»So am I.« Lars leaned forward to kiss her, gently at first and

then with an urgency that showed Killashandra the depths of his

apprehension for her. Then, with a spring in his step and a jaunty set to

his shoulders, he went in search of food.

Killashandra did have to endure the official apologies and

insincere protestations of the Elders, all nine of them. She made the

obligatory responses, consoling herself with the thought that their days

were numbered, and she would shorten that number as much as possible. She

pretended to be far weaker than she actually was, for once the symbiont

began its work, her recovery was markedly swift. But, for official visits,

she managed to assume the appearance of debility so that her convalescence

had to be supervised by Nahia and Hauness, skilled medical practitioners

that they were. This gave the conspirators ample time to plan an orderly

and discreet exodus of people in jeopardy from Elderly tyrannies.

Olav had smuggled his miniature detector unremarked into the

Conservatory as a piece of Hauness´s diagnostic equipment. At first they

had been bitterly disappointed when it responded to Lar´s proximity,

despite his pockets being full of white crystal shards. If Trag approached

with Lars, the device remained silent, so Killashandra´s theory that

crystal resonance confused the detector was correct. But her resonance was

gone and, with the imminent arrival of the scout ship, there would be no

chance for Trag to usher a few refugees past the security curtain at the

shuttleport arch.

Fortunately Lars also remembered that Killashandra had disrupted

the monitors by singing the crystal fragments. These, resonating

discordantly as the wearer hummed, fooled the detector. It was then only a

matter of experimentation to discover just what quantity of crystal

provided adequate shielding. Perfect pitch was actually a handicap, the

more out-of-tune the note, the more the white crystal reacted, and deluded

the detector.

A week after the attack, Olav had no further excuse to stay at the

Conservatory, and left, it was said, for the islands. He had been able to

convince the Elders of his determination to send more islanders to the

public concerts. Actually, he stayed in the City and made a few minor but

important alterations to his appearance. The next day, he reported to

Hauness and Nahia in Killashandra´s suite, bearing documents that proved

him to be the qualified empath whom Hauness and Nahia had drafted from

their clinic to attend Killashandra. Now that Killashandra was recovering,

they wished to return to their other patients in Ironwood.

»Nahia´s the one who ought to be leaving,« Lars had bitterly

objected. »She´s the most vulnerable of us all.« »No, Lars,« Trag had said.

»She is needed here, and she needs to be here for reasons which you might

not understand but for which I esteem her.«

Trag´s unstinted approval of the woman did much to placate Lars but

he told Killashandra that, in leaving, he keenly felt himself the traitor.

»Then come back with the Revision Force,« she said, more than a

little irritated by Lars´s self-reproach on this and other issues. She

immediately regretted the suggestion at the look of relief in Lars´s face.

But it was a solution which could resolve many of Lars´s doubts, especially

when she knew he loved his home world and would be happy enough sailing the

Pearl Fisher around the islands. She was somewhat relieved that Lars would

be happy on Optheria once the government had been changed. »The Federation

will need people with leadership potential. Trag says it usually takes a

full decade before a new provisional government is appointed, much less

ratified by the Federation. You might even end up a bureaucrat.«

Lars snorted derisively. »That´s the most unlikely notion you´ve

had. Not that I wouldn´t like to get back here unprejudiced. I´d like to

make sure the change is going to be beneficial.«

»And ensure that you had official permission to sail about in your

beloved islands.« She managed to keep the bitterness out of her voice for

she could think of many things that a man with Lars´s abilities and talents

could do, once free to move about the galaxy. It rankled that her body was

not sufficiently mended to add that argument to verbal ones. Lars was

treating her as if she were fragile. He was gentle and affectionate. His

caresses, though frequent, were undemanding, leaving her frustrated. He was

so solicitous of her comfort that she was frequently tempted to wreak a bit

of violence on him. Although her jagged, red scars looked more painful than

they were, a lover as considerate as Lars had always been would be

reluctant to approach her. The symbiont couldn´t work fast enough for her.

But would it have repaired her before the scout ship brought them to the

Regulus Federation Base? She tried to overcome her desire for Lars and to

ignore the fact that time was running out for them both.

It was too soon and not soon enough when Mirbethan communicated the

imminent arrival of the scout ship, the CS 914. Then she was called upon to

witness Trag´s confrontation of Lars, in the presence of the astonished,

and delighted, Elders Ampris and Torkes as the Guildmember, imposing in his

righteous indignation and wrath, accused Lars Dahl of infamous acts against

the person of Killashandra Ree, and displayed the Federal Warrant. Against

Killashandra´s loud cries of distress and disillusionment over her

erstwhile lover´s felonies, Ampris and Torkes struggled to contain their

exultation over the arrest.

Trag´s timing was superb and his manner so daunting that, with the

Federal Scout ship landed in the shuttleport valley, the Elders were left

with no option but to permit the arrest and the deportation of their erring

citizen. There was no doubt they were delighted, though deprived of the joy

of punishing him, that the Federal justice due to be meted out to Lars Dahl

would be far more severe than their Charter allowed them. Among the others

vindicated by this unexpected climax was Security Officer Blaz, who clamped

restraints on Lars´s wrists with undisguised satisfaction.

What was supposed to have been a dignified farewell to their

auspicious guests was hastily cancelled by Ampris, waving off the various

instructors and senior students gathered on the steps of the Conservatory.

Presently only Torkes, Mirbethan, Pirinio, and Thyrol were left.

Lars was strong-armed by Blaz into the waiting transport and it was

difficult for Killashandra not to react to that treatment. Or deliver an

appropriate parting shaft at the officious Blaz. But she was supine on the

grav-stretcher guided by the disguised Olav and she had to concentrate on

looking ill to require the services of an empath.

When Torkes stepped forward, obviously about to say something which

would nauseate her, she forestalled him. »Don´t jostle me when you load

this floating mattress,« she irritably warned Olav.

»Yes, let us not unnecessarily prolong our leave-taking,« Trag

said, giving the float a little push into the ground transport. »Scout

pilots are notoriously short-tempered. Is the prisoner secure?« Trag´s

voice was the cold of glaciers as he glanced back at his prisoner, and

Security Captain Blaz growled a reassurance. He had insisted on personally

turning over this felon to the scout captain.

It was a silent journey, only Blaz enjoying his circumstances. Lars

affected an appropriate dejected, fearful pose, not looking up from his

hand restraints. From her position, Killashandra could see nothing but the

upper stories of buildings and then sky, and they passed so fluidly she

experienced motion sickness; she spoke severely to her symbiont until the

reaction disappeared. Trag was staring stolidly out the window on the seat

in front of her, and Olav was beyond her view. Rather an ignominious

departure to all appearances. And yet, a triumphant one, considering what

she and Trag and Lars had accomplished.

She contented herself with that reflection but it was with

considerable relief that she saw the spires of the shuttle port appear,

approach, and pass by as the transport was driven to the landing site of

the scout ship. It was on its tail fins, ready for take-off; the mobile

scout pilot waited for her passengers by the lift on the ground.

»There is no way I am going up that,« and Killashandra pointed to

the lift, »in this,« and she slapped the grav-stretcher

»Guildmember, you have been -- « Olav began firmly.

»Don´t ‘Guildmember´ me, medic,« she said, raising up on her elbow.

»Just get me off this thing. I´ll leave this planet as I got on it, on my

own two feet.«

The transport stopped and Trag and Olav were quick to get her float

out

»Chadria, Scout Pilot of the CS 914,« said the trim woman in the

Scout Service blue, walking forward to lend an unobtrusive hand. »My ship´s

name is Samel!« A smile lurked in her eyes but fled as Security Officer

Blaz hauled Lars unceremoniously out of the transport and roughly propelled

him to the lift

»Where do I stow the prisoner, Scout Pilot Chadria?« he said in an

ill-tempered growl.

»Nowhere until the Guildmembers are settled,« Chadria replied. She

turned to Killashandra. »If you´re more comfortable on the float -- «

»I am not! »Killashandra swung her legs over the side of the float,

and Olav hastily adjusted its height so that she only had to step off it to

be erect. Lars moved forward but was hauled back to Blaz´s side and she

could see him tensing in rebellion. »Trag!« The man supported her around

the waist. »Permission to come aboard, Chadria, Samel!«

»Permission granted,« scout and ship replied simultaneously.

»The unexpected male voice, apparently issuing about his feet,

startled an exclamation out of Blaz. A small, superior smile twitched at

Lars´s lips, hastily erased but reassuring to Killashandra.

She let herself be conducted to the lift by Trag and the medic,

wondering how Olav would be able to stay if Blaz continued in his officious

manner. There was no hint of uncertainty in either man´s face so she

decided to let them worry about such a minor detail. She remembered to

salute the ship as she stepped aboard.

»Welcome, Killashandra, Trag. And you, gentle medic.« The ship

spoke in a baritone voice which rippled with good humor. »If you will be

seated, Chadria will be up in just a moment.«

»How are we going to get rid of Blaz? And keep Olav?« Killashandra

whispered urgently to Trag.

»Watch,« Samel said and one of the screens above the pilot´s

console lit up, displaying a view of the lift.

»I´ll take control of this fellow, now,« Chadria was saying as she

pulled a wicked little hand-weapon from her belt. »I was told to secure

quarters aboard. And there´s nothing he can do to escape a scout ship,

Officer. Get on there now, you.«

The observers could see the conflict in Blaz´s face but Chadria had

pushed Lars onto the lift and stepped on the platform with her back to Blaz

so that there was no room for him to accompany them, and no way to dispute

the arbitrary decision with someone´s back. That maneuver confused Blaz

just long enough. The lift ascended quickly, Blaz watching uncertainly.

»Permission to board?« Lars said, grinning in at Killashandra.

»Granted, Lars Dahl!« Samel replied, and Chadria stepped beside

Lars in the airlock, punching out control sequences. The lift collapsed and

secured itself, the airlock door closed, Lars and Chadria stepped into the

cabin while the inner door slid shut with a final metallic thunk. An alarm

sounded.

On the ground, Blaz reacted to the claxon, suddenly aware that the

medic was still on board and not quite sure if that was in order. The

transport driver shouted at him as the ship´s drive began to rumble above

the noise of the take-off alarm, and Blaz had no recourse but to retreat to

safety.

»Oh, that was well-done!« Killashandra cried and, finding her legs

a bit unstable in reaction to the final moments of escape, she sank onto

the nearby couch.

Trag thumbed the bar that released the restraints on Lars´s wrists

and Lars stumbled to enfold Killashandra in his arms.

»Everyone, take a seat,« Chadria warned, sliding into the pilot´s

gimballed chair. »We were told to make it a fast exit, she added with a

grin. »Okay. Sam, they´re secure. Let´s shake the dust!«

Chapter 25

Killashandra´s complacency about their confrontation with the Federated

Council on Regulus Base altered drastically as the CS 914 began its final

approach to the landing strip. The building which housed the administrative

offices for that sector of the Federated Sentient Planets covered an area

slightly more than twenty klicks square.

Chadria cheerfully informed her passengers that there was as much

again in subterranean levels as above ground, and some storage areas delved

as much as a half a klick below Regulus´s surface. Monorail lines connected

the sprawling offices with the residential centers thirty and forty klicks

away, for most of the workers preferred the nearby valleys and the many

amenities available there. Regulus was a good post for everyone.

From a distance, the profile was awe inspiring. The random pattern

of rectangular extrusions above the mass of the complex was silhouetted

against the light green early-morning sky. Even Trag was impressed, a

reaction which did nothing to assuage Killashandra´s growing sense of

doubt. She inched as close to Lars as possible and felt him return the

pressure in an answering need for tactile reassurance. But he was nowhere

near as tense as she was. Perhaps she was just hypersensitive due to her

recent ordeal. As they approached, the building dominated the landscape to

the exclusion of any other features on Chinneidigh Plain. Skimmers could

then be seen landing and taking off at the myriad entrances, each

embellished with official symbols depicting the department housed within.

We re cleared to land at the Judicial Sector,« Chadria said,

swinging about in her gimballed chair. »Don´t look so worried.« She grinned

up at the three. »They don´t leave you hanging about here for weeks on end.

You´ll know by midday. It´s anticipation that gets to you, and waiting!«

Killashandra knew that Chadria meant to reassure them, for both

brain and brawn partners had been excellent hosts, with stories scurrilous

and amusing, and stocks of exotic foods and beverages in the scout ship´s

well-stocked larder to tempt every taste. With exquisite tact, the others

had left Killashandra and Lars to enjoy their own company for the week in

which the CS 914 hurtled from one corner of the sector to the Regulan

planet at its center. Courtesy, however, had dictated to both Lars and

Killashandra that they join the others at mealtimes and for evening

conversations, and the occasional rehearsals of Lars´s defense against the

warrant´s charges. Trag and Olav had begun a friendly competition over a

tri-dimensional maze game which could last up to a day between well-matched

players. Chadria and Samel had teamed up against the two men in another

contest, one of multiple-choice, which could be expanded to include Lars

and Killashandra whenever they chose to play.

There was a strange dichotomy about that journey: the tug between

learning more of each other´s minds and sating their bodies and senses

sufficiently to cushion the imminent parting. On the final day, it was more

than Killashandra or Lars could endure to make love: instead they sat close

together, one pair of hands linked, playing the maze game with an intensity

that bordered the irrational.

Now Chadria swung back to the screens as their progress to the

landing site closed with the linear diagram Samel displayed on the

situation screen. Killashandra could not restrain the small gasp nor her

instinct to clutch at Lars´s hands as the two positions matched and the

scout ship settled to the ground.

»Here we are,« Samel said in a tactfully expressionless tone.

»Ground transport is approaching. Glad to have had you all aboard and I

hope that Chadria and I will meet you again.«

Chadria lifted her long frame from the chair, shaking hands with

each one in turn, clasping Killashandra´s with an encouraging smile and

giving Lars an impish grin before she kissed his cheek in farewell. »Good

luck, Lars Dahl! You´ll come out on top! Feel it in my bones.«

»Me. too,« Samel added, and opened the two lock doors.

Killashandra wished that she felt as positive. Then, suddenly,

there was no way to evade the inevitable. They picked up their carisaks and

filed out. Trag and Olav took the lift down first, permitting Lars and

Killashandra a few moments privacy.

Killashandra didn´t know what she had expected but the ground

transport was a four-seat skimmer, remote controlled, the

purple-gold-and-blue emblem of the FSP Judiciary Branch unobtrusively

marking the door panel. She took in a deep breath. Looking off to the

massive tower of the entrance. As she had done for several days, she

repeated to herself that »justice would prevail,« that the much edited

wording of the warrant would support their hopes. And that the disclosure

of subliminal conditioning would result in the swift dispatch of a

revisionary force to overthrow the Elders´ tyranny on Optheria.

But one Killashandra Ree, one-time resident of the planet Fuerte,

barely four years a member of the Heptite Guild, had had no encounters at

all with Galactic Justice, and feared it. She had never heard or known

anyone who had been either defendant or plaintiff at an FSP court. Her

ignorance rankled and her apprehension increased.

Silently the four settled into the skimmer and it puffed along on

its short return journey. It did not, as Killashandra half expected, stop

at the imposing entrance. It ducked into an aperture to one side, down a

brightly lit subterranean tunnel, and came to a gentle stop at an unmarked

platform.

There a man built on the most generous of scales, uniformed in the

Judicial Livery, awaited them. In a state of numbness, Killashandra

emerged.

»Killashandra Ree,« the man said, identifying her with a nod, not

friendly but certainly not hostile. »Lars Dahl, Trag Morfane, and Olav

Dahl.« He nodded politely as he identified each person. »My name is

Funadormi, Bailiff for Court 256 to which this case is assigned. Follow

me.«

»I am Agent Dahl, number -- «

1 know,« the man said pleasantly enough. »Welcome back from exile.

This way.« He stepped aside to allow them to enter the lift which had

opened in the wall of the platform. »It won´t take long.«

Killashandra tried to convince herself that his manner was

reassuring if his appearance was daunting. He towered above them and both

Lars and Trag were tall men. Killashandra and Olav were not many

millimeters shorter but she had never felt so diminished by sheer physical

proportions. The lift moved, stopped, and its door panel slid open to a

corridor, stretching out in either direction, pierced by atriums with trees

and other vegetation. Gardens seemed an odd decorative feature of a

Judicial building but did nothing to buoy Killashandra´s spirits. She

rearranged her fierce grasp on Lars´s fingers, hoping that Funadormi did

not see it and that he did, to show this human representative of the Courts

that Lars Dahl had her total support.

Funadormi gestured to the left and then halted their progress at

the second door on the left, which bore the legend »Grand Felony Court

256.«

Killashandra reeled against Lars Dahl, Trag behind him placed a

reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Olav straightened his lean frame

against the imminent testing of a scheme that had been entered rather

lightheartedly.

Funadormi thumbed open the panel and entered. It was not the sort

of chamber Killashandra would have recognized as judicial. She did

recognize the psychological testing equipment for what it was, and the

armbands on the chair beside it. Fourteen comfortable seats faced that

chair and the wall screens and a terminal which bore the Judicial Seal. A

starred flag of the Federated Sentient Planets bearing the symbols

indicating the nonhuman sentient species was displayed in the corner.

The door panel wkooshed shut behind them and Funadormi indicated

that they were to be seated. He faced the screen, squared his shoulders,

and began the proceedings.

»Bailiff Funadormi in Grand Felony Court 256, in the presence of

the accused, Lars Dahl, remanded citizen of the planet Optheria; the

arresting citizen, Trag Morfane of the Heptite Guild; the alleged victim,

Killashandra Ree, also of the Heptite Guild; and witness for the accused,

Olav Dahl, Agent Number AS-4897/KTE, present at this sitting. Accused is

restrained under Federal Sentient Planet Warrant A-1090088-O-FSP55558976.

Permission to proceed.«

»Permission is granted,« replied a contralto voice, deep and oddly

maternal, definitely reassuring. Killashandra could feel her muscles unlock

from the tenseness in which she had been holding herself. »Will the accused

Lars Dahl be seated in the witness chair?«

Lars gave her hand a final squeeze, smiled with a cocky wink at

her, rose, and look the seat. The Bailiff attached the arm cuffs and

stepped back.

»You are charged with the willful abduction of Heptite Guild member

Killashandra Ree, malicious invasion of the individual´s right to Privacy,

felonious assault, premeditated interference with her contractual

obligation to her Guild, placing her in physical jeopardy as to shelter and

sustenance, deprivation of independent decision and freedom of movement,

and fraudulent representation for purposes of extortion. How do you plead,

Lars Dahl?« The voice managed to convey an undertone of regretful

compassion, and an invitation to confide and confess. Highly sensitized to

every nuance. Killashandra wondered if, by some bizarre freak, the Judicial

Branch might actually be guilty of a subtle use of subliminal manipulation

in that persuasive voice.

»Not guilty on all counts,« Lars answered quietly, and firmly, as

he had rehearsed.

And. Killashandra reassured herself, he was not, by the very

wordage that Trag and Olav had cleverly employed.

»You may testify on your own behalf.« The request was issued in a

stern. uncompromising tone.

Although Killashandra listened avidly to every word Lars said in

rebuttal and in explanation, tried to analyze the terse questions put to

him by the Judicial Monitor, she was never able to recall the next few

hours in much detail.

He was completely candid, as he had to be, to discharge the

accusations. He explained how Elder Ampris, superior to Lars Dahl, student

in the Conservatory and as a ruling Elder of the Optherian Council, had

approached him, citing the dilemma about Killashandra´s true identity and

the request to wound her, resolving the quandary. His reward was the

promise of reconsidering Lars´s composition. The point that Lars had been

coerced to perform a personally distasteful act by an established superior

was accepted by the Court. To the charge that the abduction was

premeditated, Lars explained that he had come upon the victim unexpectedly

in an unprotected environment and acted spontaneously. He had, it was true,

rendered her unconscious but without malice. She had not even suffered a

bruise. She had been carefully conveyed to a place of security, with tools

and instructions to provide daily food and shelter, so that she had been in

no physical jeopardy. As she had left the premises of her own volition, she

obviously had not been denied independence of decision and movement. He had

not fraudulently represented himself as her rescuer for she had not

required rescue, and she had requested his continued presence as a

safeguard against further physical violence from any source on Optheria. He

had not premeditated any interference on her contractual obligation to her

Guild for he had not only assisted her in repairing the damaged manual, her

preemptive assignment, but he had also provided her with conclusive

evidence to resolve the secondary assignment. He therefore restated his

innocence.

After Lars gave his testimony, Killashandra was called to the chair

and had to exercise the greatest degree of control to suppress signs of the

stress she felt. It didn´t help to know that the sensitive psych equipment

would record even the most minute tremors and uncertainties of its subject.

That was its function and the results which the Monitor then analyzed

against the psychological profile of each witness. Objectively she was

pleased that her voice didn´t quaver as she supported Lars´s testimony on

each count, managing to publicly absolve him from felonious assault as he

was, in fact, acting even when he abducted her in her best interests,

contractually and personally. She kept her answers concise and unemotional.

Subjectively she had never been so terrified of any experience. And the

equipment would record that as well.

Trag and Olav had their turns in the witness chair. Each time the

subliminal manipulation was mentioned, there was a significant pause in the

flow of questions, though there was no hint of how this information was

being received and analyzed by the Judicial Monitor, since, in point of

law, this part of everyone´s testimony was irrelevant to the case at hand.

When Olav resumed his seat between Trag and Lars, the Bailiff

approached the screen. They could all see the activity of the terminal but

the pattern of its flashing lights disclosed nothing. Killashandra, holding

Lars´s hand, jumped an inch above her chair when the contralto voice began

its summation.

»With the exception of felonious assault, the charges against the

accused, Lars Dahl, are dismissed.« Killashandra swallowed. »Criminal

intent is not apparent but disciplinary action is required by law. Lars

Dahl, you are remanded into the custody of the Judicial Branch, pending

disposition of the disciplinary action. You are further remanded for

examination of the charge of subliminal manipulation against the Elders of

Optheria. Olav Dahl, you are seconded to assist these investigations, which

have now been initiated. Trag Morfane, Killashandra Ree, have you anything

to add to your recorded testimonies on the charge of subliminal

manipulation by the Elders of Optheria?«

Having already been as candid as possible, neither crystal singer

could expand on the information already on record. And Killashandra did not

quite understand the matter of disciplinary action for Lars and the remand

orders.

»Then this session of the Grand Felony Court of Regulus Sector

Federation is closed.« The traditional crack of wood against wood ended the

hearing.

Perplexed by the legal formulas, Killashandra turned to Lars and

his father.

»Are you free, or what?« she demanded.

»I´m not quite sure,« Lars said with a nervous laugh. »It can´t

mean much. Everything else was dismissed, wasn´t it?« He looked to Olav and

was sobered by his father´s solemn expression.

»He has been remanded,« the Bailiff explained kindly, taking Lars

by the arm. »I interpret the judgment to mean that the Court has dismissed

all charges but Lars Dahl´s physical assault on you in the matter of your

abduction. Disciplinary action is always short term. On the second remand

charge, the Court requires further discussion of the allegations about the

use of subliminal conditioning by the Optherian government. If these are

proved correct, then it is likely that the disciplinary action will be

suspended. I can give you hard copy of the precedents involved, indeed of

the entire trial, if you wish.« When Lars nodded a perplexed affirmation,

»Then I shall program them for your quarters. If you gentlemen will come

with me?«

A panel at the back of the seating area opened and it was toward

this that Funadormi gestured Lars and his father.

»Come with you?« Lars cried, trying to break from the Bailiff´s

grip.

Shock and surprise briefly immobilized Killashandra and before she

could make a move to reach Lars, the Bailiff, securely holding her lover,

had him nearly to the open door.

»Wait! Please wait!« she screamed, falling over the chairs in her

haste.

»You two have been dismissed. Justice has been served! Arrangements

for your transport have been made and the ground vehicle programmed to take

you to the appropriate site.«

»But -- Lars!« Killashandra´s cry of protest was made to the

immense back of the Bailiff which was disappearing through the aperture,

totally eclipsing Lars. Olav hurried anxiously after, adding his protests.

»Lars Dahl!« she screamed, every fear alerted to his unexpected departure.

The panel closed with a final thuck just as Killashandra reached it.

»Justice has been served?« she shrieked, beating the wall with

impotent fists. »What justice? What justice? LARS DAHL! Couldn´t they let

us say good-bye? Is that justice?« She wheeled on Trag who was trying to

silence her tactless accusations. »You and your fool-proof verbiage.

They´ve charged him after all. I want to know why and what does

disciplinary action mean for a man who´s put himself on the line for a

whole benighted fardling useless planet?«

»Killashandra Ree,« and both crystal singers turned in astonishment

as the voice issued unexpectedly from the wall. »During your evidence, your

psychological reactions exhibited extreme agitation and apprehension --

unusual when compared to your official profile -- which have been

interpreted as fear of the accused, despite your generous testimony to his

actions against you. Disciplinary action will prevent the accused from any

future acts of felonious assault.«

»WHAT?« Killashandra could not believe what she had heard. »Of all

the ridiculous interpretations! I love the man! I love him, do you hear, I

was frantic with worry for him, not against him. Call him back. There´s

been a dreadful miscarriage of justice.«

»Justice has been served, Killashandra Ree. You and Trag Morfane

are scheduled to leave this Court and this building immediately. Transport

awaits.«

The silence after that impersonal order provoked a thunder of

tinnitus in her skull.

»I don´t believe this, Trag. This can´t be right. How do we

appeal?«

»I do not believe that we can, Killashandra. This is the Federal

Court. We have no right of appeal. If there is one available to Lars, I am

certain that Olav will invoke it. But we have no further right. Come. Lars

will he taken care of.«

»That´s what I´m fardling afraid of,« Killashandra cried. »I know

what penalties and disciplines the Judicial Branch can use. I had Civics

like any other schoolchild. I can´t go, Trag. I can´t leave him. Not like

this. Not without any sort of a . . .« Tears so choked her that she could

not continue and a sudden disastrous inability to stand made her wobble so

that Trag only just kept her from falling.

She didn´t realize at first that Trag was supporting her out of the

room. When she found them in the hall, she tried to wrench herself out of

Trag´s grasp but there was someone else by then, assisting Trag and between

the two of them, she was wrestled into the lift. She struggled, screaming

imprecations and threats, and although she heard Trag protesting as sternly

as he could, she was put in padded restraints. The ignominy of such a

humiliating expedient combined with fear, disappointment, and her recent

physical ordeal sent Killashandra into a trembling posture of aggrieved and

contained fury.

By the time they reached the shuttle transport to the Regulus

transfer moon, she had exhausted her scant store of energy and crouched in

the seat, sullen and silent, too proud to ask for her release from the

restraints. She let Trag and the medic lead her where they would, and

didn´t protest when they undressed her for immersion in a radiant fluid

tank. Legitimate protest and recourse denied her, she submitted to

everything then, despairing and listless. Over and over she reviewed her

moments in the witness chair, when her body, the body which had loved and

been loved so by Lars, had betrayed them both with false testimony. She was

appalled at that treachery, and obsessed by the horrifying guilt that she,

herself, her anxieties and idiotic presentiments, had condemned Lars on the

one count which had not been dismissed by the Court. She could never

forgive herself. Somehow, sometime, she would be able to face Lars, and beg

his forgiveness. That she promised herself.

All the way back to Ballybran, she said not a single word to

anyone, nodding or shaking her head in answer to the few questions that

were put directly to her by officials. Trag supervised her meals, immersed

her in radiant fluid whenever such facilities were available, and remained

by her side during her wakeful hours. If he resented her silence or

interpreted it as an accusation, he gave no indication of regret, remorse,

or penitence. She was too immersed in her obsession with the Outrageous

circumstance of Lars´s betrayal to try to explain the complexities of her

depression.

By the time she and Trag had completed the long journey to

Ballybran´s surface, Killashandra was completely restored to physical

health. She paused only long enough in her quarters to check, as she had

begun to do toward the end of the trip, with galactic updates. There was no

further word on the Optherian situation beyond the original bulletin

announcing the arrival of Revision troops on the planet to »correct

legislative anomalies.« She refused to consider what that statement might

mean for Lars. Dumping her carisak, she changed into a shipsuit. Then she

headed for the Fisherman´s bailiwick and, with a voice grown gruff from

disuse, demanded her sonic cutter. While waiting for him to retrieve it

from storage, she checked with Meterology and, with a twinge of

satisfaction, learned that the forecast predicted a settled period of

weather for the next nine days.

She backed her sled out of its rack herself, though she could see

the wild protesting signals of the duty officer trying to abort her

precipitous departure. As soon as she was clear of the Hangar, she poured

on the power and, in an undeviating line, fled for the Ranges.

It was all part of the miserable web of ironic coincidence that she

found black crystal again in the deep, sunless ravine in which she had

hoped to bury herself and her grief for the reason and manner of her

parting with Lars Dahl.

EPILOGUE

Stolidly Killashandra watched, arms folded across her breasts, as Enthor

reverently unpacked the nine black crystal shafts.

»Interstellar, at the least, Killashandra,« he said, blinking his

eyes back to normal vision as he stepped back to sigh over the big

crystals. »And this is all from that vein you struck last year?«

Killashandra nodded. Not much moved her to words these days.

Working the new claim, she had quickly recouped her losses on the Optherian

contract; Heptite rules and regs had required her to part with a percentage

of that fee to Trag. She accepted that as passively as she had accepted

everything since that day in Court on Regulus. Not even Rimbol had been

able to penetrate her apathy, though he and Antona continued their

attempts. Lanzecki had spoken pleasantly to her after her first return from

the Ranges, complimented her on the new black crystal vein but their early

relationship could never have been revived even if Lanzecki had persisted

She didn´t see him. She saw no one but Lars, a laughing Lars,

garland-wreathed, his blue eyes gleaming, teeth white in his tanned face,

his bronzed body poised on the deck of the Pearl Fisher. She woke

sometimes, sure she felt his hand on her hip, heard his voice in the

whisper of the wind in the deep ravine, or in the tenor of warming crystal

at noon, when the sun finally touched the cliff. She made two attempts to

succumb to crystal thrall but each time the symbiont had somehow pulled her

back. Not even that enchantment was powerful enough to break through her

emotions, obsessed as she was by the guilty betrayal of her body in the

witness chair on Regulus.

She had kept informed of the situation on Optheria and often, on

the nights brilliant with crystal song, she composed letters to Lars,

asking to be forgiven that betrayal. She wrote imaginary letters to Nahia

and Hauness, knowing that they would be compassionate, and intercede for

her with Lars. In her better moments, common sense dictated that Lars would

not have held that bizarre psychoanalysis against her for he, of them all,

knew how much she treasured and admired him. But he had not heard her

impassioned plea to the Court, and she doubted if »I love you« had been

included in the hard copy of the hearing transcript. And he had other plans

for the rest of his life.

She frequently entertained the notion of returning to Optheria to

see how he was getting on, even if she never made actual contact with him.

He might have found another woman with whom he could share his life on

Optheria. Sometimes she returned from the Ranges, full of determination to

end her wretched half-life, one way or another. She had more than enough

credit for a fiercely expensive galactic call: ironically through some of

the black crystal she had herself cut. But would she reach Lars on

Optheria? Maybe, once he had completed that disciplinary action and his

subordination to the Federal investigation of Optheria, he had found

another channel for his abilities and energies. Once he discovered his

freedom to travel the stars, they might have won him from his love of the

sea.

At her most rational, she recognized all the ifs ands and buts as

procrastination´s. Yet, it was not exactly an unwillingness to chance her

luck that restrained her: it was a deep and instinctive »knowing« that she

must remain in this period of suspension for a while yet. That she had to

wait. When the time was right, action would follow logically. She settled

down to wait, and perfected the art.

»You´re in early, too, you know,« Enthor was saying to her. »Storm

warnings only just gone out.«

»Aren´t those good enough?« Killashandra asked. »No need to risk

life and limb, is there?«

»No, no,« Enthor hastily assured her.

Killashandra had, in fact, answered the storm warning her symbiont

had given her. She was used to listening to it because it so often proved

the most accurate sense she had.

»You´ve enough here to spend a year on Maxim,« Enthor went on with

a sly sideways glance. »You haven´t gone off in a long time, Killashandra.

You should, you know.«

Killashandra shrugged her shoulders, glancing impassively at a

credit line that would once have made her chortle in triumph. »I don´t have

enough resonance to have to leave,« she said tonelessly. »I´ll wait.

Thanks, Enthor.«

»Killa, if talking would help . . .«

She looked down at the light hand the old Sorter had put on her

arm, mildly surprised at the contact. His unexpected solicitude, the

concern on his lined face nudged the thick shell which encased her mind and

spirit. She smiled slightly as she shook her head. »Talking wouldn´t help.

But you were kind to offer.«

And he had been. Sorters and singers were more often at loggerheads

than empathetic. The northeaster which her symbiont had sensed swept a fair

number of singers in from the Ranges to the safety of the Complex. The

lift, the hall, the corridors were crowded but she wended her way through,

and no one spoke to her. She didn´t exist for herself so she didn´t exist

for them.

The screen in her quarters directed her to contact Antona. There

usually was a message from the medical chief waiting for her. Antona kept

trying to make a deeper contact.

»Ah, Killa, please come down to the infirmary, will you?«

»I´m not due for another physical?«

»No. But I need you down here.«

Killashandra frowned. Antona looked determined and waited for

Killashandra´s acquiescence.

»Let me change.« Killashandra brushed at the filthy blouse of her

shipsuit.

»I´ll even give you time to bathe.«

Killashandra nodded, broke the connection and, unfastening the suit

as she made her way to the hygiene room, switched on the taps. Though once

-- fresh in from the Ranges -- she might have done, she didn´t luxuriate in

the steaming water. She made a quick but thorough bath, and put on the

first clean clothes she found. Her hair, close crapped for convenience,

dried by the time she reached the Infirmary Level. Her nostrils flared

against the smell of sickness and fever, and the muffled sounds reminded

her of her initial visit to Antona´s preserve. A new class must be passing

through adjustment to the Ballybran symbiont.

Antona came out of her office, her color high with suppressed

excitement.

»Thank you, Killa. I´ve a Milekey Transition here whom I´d like you

to talk to, reassure him. He´s positive there´s something wrong.« Her words

came out in a rush, as she dragged Killashandra down the hall, and thrust

her through the door she opened. Impassively, Killashandra noted the

number: it was the same room she had so briefly tenanted five years before.

Then the occupant rose from the bed, smiling.

»Killa!«

She stared at Lars Dahl, unable to believe the evidence of her eyes

for she had seen his phantom so often. But Antona had brought her here so

this vision had to be real. Avidly she noted each of the tiny changes in

him: the lack of tan, the gauntness of his shoulders under the light shirt,

the new lines in his face, the loss of that twinkle of gaiety that had been

a trademark of his open, handsome expression. He had subtly aged: no,

matured. And the process had brought him distinction and an indefinable air

of strength and the patience of strength and knowledge.

»Killa?« The smile had dropped from his face, his half-raised hand

fell to his side as she failed to respond.

Imperceptibly she began to shake her head, and tentatively, certain

that he would vanish if she admitted to herself that he was flesh, bone,

and blood, her hands began to lift from her sides. Inside her body the cold

knot into which all emotion and spirit had been reduced began to expand,

like a warm draught through her veins. Her mind reverberated with one

exultant conclusion: he was there, and he wouldn´t be if he hadn´t forgiven

her.

»Lars?« Her voice was a whisper of disbelief but sufficient

reassurance to propel him across the intervening space. Then, as if he

found their reunion as incredible as she, he folded her carefully into his

arms.

Momentarily she lacked the strength to return the embrace but

burrowed her head into the curve of his shoulder and neck, inhaling the

smell of him, and exhaling into the tears she had kept bottled for the

eternity in which they had been parted.

Lars swept her up in his arms, and carried her to the chair, where

he cradled her, appalled at the wildness of her sobbing and comforting her

with kisses, caresses, and strong embracings.

»That fardling machine that served justice was never told we were

emotionally attached, the one piece of information that no one but us would

have thought relevant,« he said, releasing in talk the tension he had

endured all through the process of getting to this point when he would be

ready, and able, to meet her again.

»Then Father found out what had happened and he moved the entire

Department to revoke that judgment on the basis of misinterpretation of

your psychological response. Poor sweet Sunny, so worried about me she

messed us both up.« To her surprise, he chuckled. »You didn´t know that the

only reason that disciplinary action was entered against me was the Court´s

attempt to satisfy what they took to be a suppressed desire for revenge in

you. Justice was being served, blind as it was. Father finally reached a

human in authority, swore blind to half a dozen psych-units that he himself

had hand-fasted us on Angel Island and got the action revoked. D´you know,

that Court Bailiff was a narding construct! No wonder I couldn´t move when

he grabbed me. Then, when we did understand our rights, Trag had already

departed with you.

»I guess you were pretty upset.«

At such a massive understatement of fact, she managed to nod,

trying not to laugh at the absurdity, but she couldn´t stop weeping. It had

built up quite a head and it ought to prove conclusively to Lars, if he

needed any, just how much she had missed him. She had waited so long to be

in his arms, to hear his rich and pleasant tenor voice, and the sort of

nonsense he was likely to speak. He could have been speaking gibberish and

she´d have been content to listen. But he was also telling her the things

she would have asked about him, what she needed to know to put some color

in the past dreadful year.

»Then Father, Corish, and I spent two months processing material

for the Council. Theach, Brassner, and Erutown had come out with Corish and

they got assigned to the Revision Corps until someone in the Council took a

closer look at the equations which Theach was idly calling up on his

terminal.« Lars smiled tenderly as he delicately blotted tears from her

cheeks, then kissed her forehead for such an un-Killashandraish display of

sentimentality. »So he landed on his feet, as usual. Five more people,

including the brewmaster of Gartertown, whom you might remember,« he added,

tapping her nose as he teased, »got out on the next liner and are being

resettled. What had worried Nahia and Hauness was what refugees would do

once they got off Optheria, but there seems to be a resettlement policy.

Not that Optherians have all that many skills to offer the advanced

societies.

»Father and I got drafted to brief the actual Revision Force. You

see, right after that infamous hearing, several more agents were sent in to

play tourist during the Summer Festival. Good job we left some two-manuals

intact. They came back, reporting that they were subjected to blatant

subliminal conditioning at public concerts in Ironwood, Bailey, Everton,

and Palamo. One thing Father and I emphasized was that the Revision Forces

had better wait until after The Festival or they´d have a bankrupt planet

as well as a disorganized one. So Optheria got its annual chance to acquire

revenue,« and Lars grinned with great satisfaction, »and the Elders hadn´t

twigged to the fact that no subliminal messages were going out on either of

the big Conservatory organs. Leaving the mainlanders quite willing to

accept anything said about them.

»When we´ve spare time, I´ve got some tapes of the actual landing

and the takeover. Four Elders had fatal seizures but Ampris, Torkes, and

Pentrom will answer to the Supreme Judiciary for their infamous, felonious,

malicious, premeditated, and illegal manipulation of Optherian loyalties.

»The Revision Forces are well installed now on Optheria . . .« He

looked out with the unfocused gaze of someone imagining a scene and was

briefly sad. He bent to kiss Killashandra again, noting that her tears had

abated and her breath was no longer taken in ragged gasps.

»Why didn´t you go with them?«

»Oh, I was given many arguments why I should. Even a rather

complimentary commission. Father returned, but I rather thought he wouldn´t

leave Teradia for long. To my surprise, Corish went, and of course Erutown

and Brassner. I had other plans.«

Killashandra shook her head in sad rebuke. »If I´d known what you

planned to do . . .« Her gesture included all that his presence in the

infirmary signified.

Lars hugged her tightly to him. »That´s why I didn´t mention them.

Besides,« and he gave her a raffish look, »I hadn´t really made up my

mind.«

»How did Trag recruit you then?«

Lars raised his eyebrows in surprise. »He didn´t. It is illegal to

recruit citizens for the highly dangerous Heptite Guild. Didn´t you know?

Candidly, my beloved Sunny, I was much impressed by Trag´s integrity. It

was refreshing to find an honorable and trustworthy man. It was yourself

who did the recruiting, Killa. You were the embodiment of the undeniable

advantages of being a crystal singer. Your vibrant youth, charm,

invulnerability, indefatigable energy, and resourcefulness. Then all those

diversified assignments, space travel, credit, not to mention the chance to

see a Galaxy I had been denied all my reckless youth -- «

»You´re mad.« Vitality returned to Killashandra in the form of

exasperation with his flamboyance, and such relief that she was once again

in its presence. »Did you listen to one word I told you about the

disadvantages? Didn´t you pay attention to any of the details in the Full

Disclosure and that isn´t the half of what does happen? As you´ll find out.

How could you be so blind?«

»None so blind as will not see, eh, Killa, my lovely Sunny? My pale

Sunny, my beloved. Is there no sun on this planet that you are so wan?« He

began to kiss her in a leisurely fashion. »I admit I did hesitate.

Briefly.« His eyes sparkled with his teasing. »Then I ran the entry on

Ballybran itself. That decided me.

»Ballybran? Ballybran decided you?« Killashandra wriggled about in

his arms, astounded. Not that she understood why she had such ambivalent

reactions to his decision in the first place. He was here! How had she, and

that conniving symbiont of hers, known that he would come? Because she

didn´t think that he wouldn´t´? Long absent, she felt the caress of crystal

along her bones.

»Of course, Sunny. Now if you´d thought to mention earlier on that

Ballybran has seas -- «

»Seas?« Killashandra put a hand on his forehead. He must be

feverish. »Seas!«

»All I´ve ever needed for perfect contentment is a tall ship and a

star to sail her by.« He held her as her temper began to rise, though she

didn´t know if he was mauling that obscure quotation or not. And then, too,

Ballybran has you, beloved Sunny!« His tenor voice dropped to an intense

and passionate whisper, his eyes were an incredible brilliant blue,

dominating her immediate vision. His arms encompassed her in a grip that

reminded her of sun-warmed beaches and fragrant breezes and -- »Show me,

crystal singer, all that Ballybran has to offer me.«

»Right now?«