Killashandra

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.”