Killashandra (34 page)

Lars was every bit as quick to learn and adept in the use of his strong hands as Killashandra had thought he’d be. To set the white crystal in the brackets, she asked Thyrol the height of the stroke of the padded hammers. They already had six in place by the time Elder Ampris appeared in the loft, Thyrol hovering anxiously behind him in the open door. Killashandra noticed, first, the breath of sweet fresh air and she flicked a quick glance at the intruders as they stood there. Lars was holding the crystal dead still.

“You’ll feel just the slightest surface tension and a slippery, almost electric, tension when the clamps are tight enough. Tell me when you do.”

She tightened the brackets, keeping both little fingers
under the crystal so that she could sense that surface tension.

“Now!” Lars said.

“Right on!” She struck the crystal with the tone hammer, and the rich deep note spun through the air, drifting out and causing the two door guards to risk a quick peer into the loft. A muted and discordant response came from the covered tubs of crystal shard. Then she straightened up and turned to the observers. “And that’s how it’s done, Elder Ampris.”

Ampris’s bright brown eyes glittered as he arranged his mouth in a smile which she took to mean approbation.

“The lower octave is always easier, for some reason, to set and pitch,” Killashandra went on affably. “We’re making excellent progress.”

“And?”

Killashandra heard a curious vibration in that single word. Elder Ampris was overly eager to have this installation completed and it could not be simply to allow performers practice time. He also exhibited an uncharateristic nervousness; his fingers rubbed against his thumb.

“I think we’ll have the entire manual finished by tomorrow evening. Set the next pair of brackets, will you, Lars Dahl, while I watch.” Killashandra stepped away from the cabinet, stood next to Elder Ampris. “He’s quick and deft and once I’m sure he’s doing it right, we’ll work both ends against the middle.”

Ampris regarded her with a blink, his mind evidently jumping to another application of that phrase. His stiff and pleased smile forewarned her. “You will then perhaps be delighted to have trained assistance.”

“Trained?” Killashandra glanced at Lars who had also suspended motion, catching the smugness in Ampris’s dry tone.

“When we could not find you anywhere in the City, Guildmember, we apprised your Guild of your disappearance. And requested a …” Ampris’s smile took on a faintly apologetic twist, “replacement. Our need, as I’m sure you appreciate, is urgent.”

“It takes nearly ten weeks to get from the Scoria system to the Ophiuchian.”

“Not by FSP courier ship.” Ampris inclined his head briefly. “Your Guild values you highly, Killashandra Ree …”

“Surely you’ve communicated news of my rescue?”

Ampris spread his hands deferentially. “But of course. But we did not then know how promptly the Heptite Guild would respond. The courier ship has entered our atmosphere and at this very moment is landing at the shuttleport.”

“Trag!” And there was no doubt at all in Killashandra’s mind that that was who had been dispatched.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Lanzecki would have sent Trag here.”

“This man is capable?”

“Eminently. However, the more we can do now, the sooner Trag and I will finish. If you’ll excuse me, Elder Ampris?” And Killashandra signaled Lars to continue. “Our last request to you, Ampris,”—although Ampris had not yet stirred from his vantage point—“those tubs of crystal shard could now be removed to wherever I—or Trag—will be instructing the trainees. Some of the larger pieces can be useful but they are a considerable nuisance sounding off in here.”

“Yes, we should want to restore the monitors within this room, Guildmember, now that the organ is nearly repaired.” Ampris flicked his hand at Thyrol who then issued the appropriate order to the guards. Killashandra did not dare glance in Lars’s direction.

“Don’t bounce the tubs about,” Killashandra warned, as the guards shuffled out with the first one.

“There now,” Killashandra said when the door had slid shut leaving them alone, “the shards’ll be more accessible to us now. We can purloin the ones we want. Can you get your hands on a small plasfoam pouch?”

“Yes. Who’s this Trag?”

“The best person they could possibly have sent. Lanzecki’s Administration Officer.” Killashandra chuckled. “I’d rather him than an army, and certainly I’d rather him than any other singer they could have chosen. And a courier ship. I am flattered.”

“Somehow Ampris is too pleased with this development.”

“Yes, and fretting with impatience.” Killashandra mimicked his hand gesture and Lars nodded grimly. “Is it just that he wants the organ done? Or us out of the loft for good?” She swiveled slightly so that she was facing the wall they could not shift. “Why?” She bit one corner of her lip, trying to solve its mystery. Then, with an exclamation, she ran her hands around the casing of the manual, picked up the lid and examined it closely.

“What are you looking for, Killa?”

“Blood! Did you see any discoloration on the shards you handled?”

“No—If Camgail was killed by,” and he gestured at the newly placed crystal spires, “there would have been blood somewhere here!”

“Was there only the official version of Comgail’s end?”

“No. I had a chance to speak with one of the infirmary attendants and she said that he was covered in blood, crystal fragments had pierced eyes, face, and chest.”

“With a little help, perhaps? But do you know for certain that it was Comgail who shattered the manual?”

Lars nodded slowly, his eyes gray and bleak, his face expressionless.

“And he had mentioned earlier that he knew the access to the subliminal units was through the organ loft?”

Again Lars nodded and both stared at the wall.

“Comgail did all the maintenance on the Festival organ?” At Lars’s impassive nod, Killashandra scrubbed at her face with one hand. “Did Ampris ever compose or perform?” she asked in angry exasperation.

The look of total surprise on Lars’s face gave her the answer.

“No wonder he’s been bouncing about here,” Lars cried, seizing Killashandra and hugging her with the excess of his jubilation. “No wonder he’s been so eager to get the manual repaired. He can’t get to the subliminal units until it is. He can’t alter the subliminals for this year’s concerts. Oh, Killa! You’ve done it.”

“Not quite,” Killashandra said with a laugh. “I’m only hypothesizing that the manual provides the unlocking mechanism. We’ve no idea what sort of music key he’d use. It could be anything—”

“No, not anything,” Lars cried, shaking his head and grinning, his eyes vividly blue again. “I’d stake my life I know what he’d use—”

“I wish you wouldn’t use a phrase like that,” Killashandra murmured.

Lars gave her a reassuring grin and went on. “Remember what you said about bureaucracy finding one mechanism that suited them? Well, Ampris’s one and only Festival offering utilizes a recurrent theme.”

“But everyone on the planet would know it then.”

“What difference would that make? You’d still have to have access to this manual, wouldn’t you?”

“True. What’s the theme?”

“It’s a real thumpety-dump,” and he da-da-ed the notes to Killashandra’s utter amazement.

“Not only is it thumpty-dumpety-dump, it’s complete and utter plagiarism. Ampris lifted that theme from an 18th Century composer named Beethoven.”

“Who?”

Killashandra lifted her hands in exasperation. “Enough of this idle speculation, Lars, we’ve got to finish the organ as fast as possible.”

“What about Trag?”

Killashandra shook her head. “Trag is no threat to us. If we could just get the bass noted finished, we’d have something to show him. I hope.” She dropped a set of brackets into Lars’s hands and took another for herself. “You wouldn’t happen to know the signature of Ampris’s composition?” When Lars shook his head, she cursed briefly and then began to chuckle. “We’ll just try the original one!”

Because they were rushing, nervous with anticipation and hope, hands sweating from tension, it seemed to take three or four attempts to place each of the next three crystals. Lars was muttering imprecations by the time Killashandra could test the third one. No sooner had she struck the crystal than the door panel slid open and the aperture was filled by Trag’s bulky figure.

“Trag, I bless your timely arrival. We’re both fingers and thumbs trying to set this manual. A fresh hand and a sane mind will work wonders!”

Trag gave her a nod of his head and stepped inside, giving Lars a cursory glance before his attention was completely taken by a critical appraisal of their endeavors. Killashandra ignored the entrance of Ampris, Torkes, Thyrol, and Mirbethan, who filed slowly into the room in Trag’s wake. Trag picked up the tuning hammer and struck each of the crystals.

Trag merely nodded his head. Lars made a noise of protest but Killashandra shot him a warning glance. The fact that Trag had no comments to make was all the
approval she required, knowing better than to expect overt praise from him. For a
very
fleeting moment, however, she was seized with a totally irrational desire to throw her arms about Trag’s neck, a notion which she quickly suppressed without revealing it by so much as a grin.

Elder Torkes, resembling the scavenger bird more faithfully than ever, seemed about to step forward, then, apparently, changed his mind as if aware of how Trag’s bulk diminished his stature to insignificance.

“You have only just arrived, Guildmember, and as it is now midday, refreshment has been prepared for you,” Torkes began with scant courtesy.

Trag dismissed the offer. “You gave the Guild to understand the matter was of the most urgent.”

“We need to eat,” Killashandra said tartly. “Just send us in some food, please, someone,” and she picked up more brackets as Trag removed the next crystal from its bed of plasfoam. “We might even finish this today if given the chance to work without interruption.”

“Not quite,” Trag amended in his deliberate fashion as he held the crystal up for inspection in the ceiling light. Satisfied he lowered it, his gaze traveling beyond to the fascinated observers. “If you please?” And he extended his hand toward the door.

Killashandra, her eyes on Lars’s blank face, had to fight not to chortle at the aura of dismay, fury, and shock emanating from the four high ranking Optherians. But her hands were free of both sweat and tremble and, with Lars carefully tightening the matching bracket, they were ready to fasten it the moment Trag inserted the crystal in place. The door panel
whooshed
over the rectangle of sunlight. Killashandra tightened her bracket just as Lars finished his. Trag took up his hammer for the ceremonial tap and the
D
, mellow and clear, broke the silence of the room.

“Just two more, Trag and I believe we’ll have something to show you,” Killashandra said, reaching for more brackets. “This is Lars Dahl.”

“A lover posing as a bodyguard! A young man with highly suspicious credentials,” Trag said bluntly, his hooded stare fixed on Lars.

Killashandra held up a hand to restrain any understandable outburst from Lars but he only smiled, inclining his head in brief acknowledgment of the description.

“According to Elder Ampris or Torkes?” Killashandra asked, grinning at Trag as she faced him squarely.

Trag focused his attention on her. Had she not been so positive of her own righteousness, she would have been hard pressed to maintain her composure beneath that basilisk stare.

“I will hear your explanation, then, for I warn you, Killashandra Ree, the Guild looks with disfavor on a member who abrogates her contractual obligations for whatever personal reasons obtain …”

Killashandra stared at Trag incredulously.

“I was given two assignments here, Trag, by you—”

“The secondary assignment was considerably less important than the primary—” Trag’s big hand indicated the unfinished installation.

“The two are more closely linked than you or Lanzecki imagined when the Guild accepted that contract. But then abduction ought not to be a high-risk-factor on well-ordered, conservative secure Optheria. Right? Ever aware of my primary obligation,” Killashandra allowed some of her outrage to color her voice, “I swam dangerous channels from one island to another in order to escape the one I was dumped on. Confounding all parties and managing thus to return to my primary contractual obligation.”

Trag merely raised his eyebrows.

“Tell me, Trag, what is your opinion of subliminal conditioning?”

Trag’s bleak eyes widened fractionally. “The Council of the Federated Sentient Planets has declared any form of subliminal projection morally criminal and punishable by expulsion from the Federation.”

“Then if I were an Elder,” Lars said in a quiet, faintly amused tone, “I wouldn’t be so quick to accuse anyone else of having highly suspicious credentials.”

“If you will assist us to install the next two crystals, Trag, I believe we may be able to prove our allegation,” Killashandra said.

“If you cannot prove this allegation, Killashandra Ree, you are liable to severe discipline and censure.”

“Then isn’t it convenient that I’m right?”

“Guildmember, I have been subjected to subliminal conditioning,” Lars said, as if he sensed her minute uncertainty. Trag turned his penetrating stare on the islander.

“The insidiousness of subliminal conditioning, Lars Dahl, is that the victim is totally unaware of the bombardment.”

“Only if he is unprepared, Guildmember. My father, late an agent of the Federated Council, was able to safeguard me, and other friends, against electronically induced subliminals. Which, I might add, are particularly adaptable to the heavy emotional experience of the sensory organ.”

“Late an agent?” Killashandra fancied she saw some diminution of Trag’s intractability.

“Trapped here by the same restraint which keeps Optherians from competing in galactic enterprise,” Lars replied. “Contact with the Federated Council has only just been reestablished after nearly thirty years—”