Killashandra

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!”