Killashandra (38 page)

“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. Posthypnotic 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 Mainland?”

“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, uncorruptible citizens of Optheria. The only way into the shuttlepot 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 barefaced 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.