Killashandra

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.