Killashandra (35 page)

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, Guildmember.”

“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 the 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 singers’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.”

I
t 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?