Killashandra (25 page)

Lars pulled her as close to him as the tiller allowed. “Your only mistake, now that I think back on it, were your comments about singing. Everyone in the islands sings. But voice is not an instrument for real music … according to the Masters.”

Killashandra began to sputter indignantly. “That in itself proves how stupid they all are!”

Lars laughed in delight at her reaction and then drew his feet up as the water began slopping up their calves.

“Tanny!” he shouted. “On the deck, on the double.”

The hatch was opened so quickly in response to his call that Killashandra wondered how long the young man had had his ear to the wooden panels.

“Haven’t you found us something to eat yet? About time.” For Tanny held up two heavy soup mugs. “Give it over and start bailing.”

I
t took quite a bit of persuading on Killashandra’s part to reassure Tanny that she intended no reprisals against him for his very minor part in her abduction. Lars explained that he had managed to sneak her on board the ocean jet with the help of another friend who merely thought Lars’s latest girl friend had had a shade too much new brew.

“One for the girls, are you, m’bucko?” Killashandra had asked in an arch tone.

Lars nodded at her garland. “Not any more, Sunny! I’ve made an honest woman of you!”

That exchange did more to reassure Tanny than any other argument Killashandra had presented. That and the fact that she was perfectly willing to help bail out the cockpit.

Bar Island was reached just before sunset, with enough time to unload the emergency supplies. The Bar Islanders had been directly in the hurricane’s path and
suffered more damage than any of the other islands on their sweep. Two men, a woman and a young child had internal injuries which the medical facilities of the smaller settlement could not treat adequately. Lars immediately offered them passage on the
Pearl Fisher
, giving Killashandra a guarded and rueful grin of regret. Nor did they have a chance to be private that night. Everyone pitched in to finish constructing temporary communal shelters, and Killashandra found herself once again plaiting polly fronds, pleased that her deftness caused no questions. When a halt was called at midnight, Killashandra was far too tired to do more than curl up gratefully against Lars on the sand, her head pillowed on his arm, and fall asleep.

At first light of a sullen day, the injured were floated on bladder rafts to the
Pearl
, carefully hoisted aboard, then secured in the cabin bunks. Killashandra was given instructions by the medic for the administration of necessary drugs and care. The patients had been sedated for the voyage, so he expected no problems.

As soon as she could, Killashandra went up on deck. She found care of the sick and injured a distasteful necessity and the faint odor of antiseptics and medicine made her slighlty nauseous. She said nothing about her disinclination, uncharacteristically wanting to sustain Lars’s good opinion of her. He was bent over the chart display on the small navigational terminal, plotting the most direct course for Angel Island’s North Harbor where the main medical facility was situated.

“Tide and wind are in our favor this morning, Killa,” he said, reaching his arm about her waist and drawing her in to him without taking his eyes from the display. He tapped for an overlay of the route he had chosen and she could see how it made use of the swift channels between the islands and the fuller morning tide. “We’ll be in North before we know it.” He made a final correction
and laid in the course. Now the display cleared to show him the compass headings and the minimum required tacking to slip into the swift current just beyond Bar Island’s western reef. “Is the spinnaker set, Tanny?”

“Aye, aye skipper,” the young man called from the bow as Killashandra watched the vivid red and orange sail belling out briefly over the bowsprit before the wind caught it.

There’s an exhilaration to sailing a fast, trim ship, with a following wind and a current to assist smooth passage. The
Pearl
slipped into the flow as effortlessly as a slide down a greased pole. The sea was almost calm, and gunmetal green-gray, not quite the same color as the gray sky.

“Lucky it’s today instead of yesterday,” Killashandra said, settling herself in the cockpit beside Lars. He had the tiller on its upper setting so that he could see forward without the cabin blocking him.

“They’re all secure below?”

“Secure and asleep! I’ll check on the half hour.”

They sat together enjoying wind, sea, and sail while Tanny coiled lines and set all fair. Then he joined them in the cockpit, maintaining the companionable silence.

Just before noon, sailing smartly on the same westerly current that had nearly defeated Killashandra, they rounded the Toe and tacked eastward to sail right up to the large North Harbor pier at the elbow of the Angel. When Lars had been able to estimate his time of arrival, he had called it in, so medics and grav units were waiting for the injured. Killashandra, dutifully checking every half hour, had had no problems with her patients but it was an immense relief to turn them over to trained medical technicians.

“Father wants a word with us,” Lars said quietly in
Killashandra’s ear as they watched their passengers being trundled away. “Tanny, anchor the
Pearl
at buoy twenty-seven, will you? And keep her ready. Don’t know where we’ll have to go next. Stay on the page, okay?”

Tanny nodded, his expression rather strained, as if he was relieved to stay on the
Pearl
, whose eccentricities he could cope with and understand.

If the Wing Harbor on the south side of Angel Island had appeared rustic and homely to Killashandra’s eyes, North Harbor was the antithesis: that is, within the framework of the Charter’s prohibition against raping “a natural world.” The colorful buildings set up above the harbor behind sturdy sea walls utilized manmade materials and modernistic surfaces in some sort of tough, textured plastic and a good deal of plasglas so no vista would be hidden from the occupiers. If the architecture lacked warmth or grace, it was also practical in a zone where wind speeds could make a dangerous missile out of a polly branch.

Lars guided Killashandra up a ramp that climbed to the top of the Elbow, where a dormered structure commanded views of the main harbor as well as the smaller curved bay that featured the old stratovolcano that was the Angel’s Head. A small sailing craft was tacking cautiously through the Fingerbone reefs at the end of the Hand. From the different colors in the sea, Killashandra could distinguish the safer, deeper channel, but she didn’t think she’d like to sail that in a ship as large as the
Pearl
.

To her surprise, the first person they saw as they entered the Harbor Master’s office was Nahia. She had been using the terminal and upon their entry she half rose, her expression eager for Lars’s news of the stranded crystal singer.

“We needn’t have worried ourselves for a moment about out captive, Nahia.” Lars strode up to the empath and, before she could protest, kissed her hand.

“Lars, you simply must stop that,” Nahia protested, giving Killashandra a worried glance.

“Why? I only do you a courtesy you fully deserve!”

Would Nahia comfort Lars, Killashandra wondered, after she had departed Optheria?

“The woman is all right, isn’t she, Carrigana?” Nahia was by no means reassured by Lars’s droll comment.

“Never better,” Killashandra replied affably. She wondered why Lars was drawing the game out when he had specifically said he didn’t wish to deceive Nahia. She gave him a sharp glance.

“Where’s Father?”

“I’m here, Lars, and there’s trouble on its way,” the Harbor Master said, appearing from the front office. “I’m only grateful we had the hurricane, for it slowed down the official transport. There’s to be a full search of the Islands. Torkes leads it so it’d be the height of folly to protest or interfere.”

“Then isn’t it fortunate that the crystal singer has been rescued,” Killashandra said.

“She has?” Olav Dahl looked about, even to peering outside, seeking the woman.

Unerringly now, Nahia turned her worried face toward Killashandra, her eyes widening.

“And, Olav Dahl, by your courageous son, who found her abandoned on an island while he was on a hurricane rescue mission in the vicinity.”

“Young woman, I—” Olav Dahl began, frowning at her light tone.

“You are Killashandra Ree?” Nahia asked, her beautiful eyes intent on Killashandra’s face.

“Indeed. And so grateful to the loyal upright Optherian citizen Lars Dahl that this much-abused crystal
singer feels secure only in his presence.” Killashandra beamed fatuously at Lars.

Nahia’s slender hands went to her mouth to suppress her laughter.

“I presume that in your official capacity you can inform the official vehicle of the felicitous news?” Killashandra asked Olav Dahl, smiling encouragingly at him to coax a less reproving response.

Olav Dahl regarded Killashandra with an expression that became more and more severe, as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing, didn’t condone her levity, and quite possibly would not accept her assistance. Slowly he sank onto the nearest desk for support, staring at her with amazement. Killashandra wondered that this man could be Lars’s father until suddenly a smile of great charm and pure mischief lightened his countenance. He got to his feet, one hand outstretched to her, radiating relief.

“My dear Guildmember, may I say how pleased I am that you have been delivered from your ordeal? Have you any idea at all who perpetrated this outrage on a member of the most respected guild in the galaxy?”

“None under the sun,” Killashandra relied, the epitome of innocent bewilderment. “I left the organ loft, rather precipitously, I hasten to add, because of a distressing incident with an officious security captain. I hoped that a stroll in the fresh air might compose my agitated spirits. When all of a sudden—” She brought her hands together. “I think I must have been drugged for a long time. When I finally regained consciousness, I was on this island, from which your son fortuitously rescued me only this morning!” Killashandra turned, fluttering her eyelashes at Lars in a parody of gratitude.

“I find that absolutely fascinating, Killashandra Ree,” said a totally unexpected newcomer. Lars half crouched as he whirled toward the doorway framing
Corish von Mittelstern. “Evidently your credentials were far more impressive than you led me to expect. So you’re the crystal singer who was dispatched?”

“Oh, and have you found your dear uncle?”

“Actually, I have.” Corish, his lips twitching with the first real amusement she had seen him exhibit, gestured toward Olav Dahl.

Lars was not the only one who stared at his father. Nahia gave a silvery laugh.

“It was too amusing, the confrontation, Lars,” Nahia said, chuckling. “They were circling the truth like two hemlin cocks. It was all I could do to retain my composure, for, of course, Hauness and I have known Olav’s history. It didn’t take me very long to perceive that Corish was not looking for the man in the hologram.”

“I could hardly brandish Dahl’s real likeness in case I jeopardized him. I’d memorized his facial characteristics so I thought I’d recognize him once I did see him.” Then Corish turned to Killashandra. “He hadn’t altered as much as you had. I didn’t recognize you at all, with your hair and eyebrows bleached and a good few kilos lighter. If it matters,” and Corish gestured at the matched garlands, “this is an improvement over the mawkish music student.”

“So are you Council or Evaluation?” Killashandra shot a triumphant glance at Lars. “Olav’s no more your uncle than I am. That inheritance business was very thin.”

“For you, perhaps,” and Corish inclined his body toward her, and his manner turned starchy at her criticism, “but you’d be surprised at how effective it was. Especially with Optherian officials who might get their percentage out of it.” Corish made an age-old gesture with his thumb and forefinger. “Since all off-planet mail
is censored, and not always delivered to the addressee, such a problem is peculiarly applicable to Optheria.”

“I withdraw my comment.” Killashandra nodded graciously and then seated herself in the nearest chair. “Do I also assume that Olav has been a—misplaced—agent?”

“Inadvertently detained,” Olav replied on his own behalf, with a nod to Corish. “My briefing was at fault, on a point no one had considered at headquarters. To whit, the mineral residue, which is what trapped me here. And which provides the Optherians with such simple means of preventing unauthorized departure from this planet. The exile has not been without profit to me,” and he smiled warmly at his son, “though my time was not spent in activities of which the Council whole-heartedly approve. ‘If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em’ is useful advice.” He winked at Killashandra, who gave a crow of laughter. “However, you appear to be remarkably tolerant of the abuse you have suffered at my son’s hands.”

Killashandra laughed. “Oh, yes, since it has afforded me the chance to investigate a complaint.”

“Oh?” Olav exchanged glances with Corish.