Killashandra (32 page)

More extraordinary still, she remembered all too vividly, and with just a trace of chagrin, her rantings and ravings and desperations 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 peremptorally, 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 of 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 drily. “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?”