For a moment, Killashandra stared at the departing trio, the two metallic voucher slips clinging with static attraction to her fingers. "Guild Master? Lanzecki? Sir? Wait . . ." The stately progress continued without pause. "Of all the ungrateful – "
“I'd not call them ungrateful.” said Captain Andurs, who had approached from the other end of the corridor. He craned his head to glance at the Vouchers. “Not at all.”
“I didn't expect praise,” Killashandra exclaimed, though that indeed was what she had expected. “Just a word or two.”
"You've got the important ones," Andurs reminded her with a wry smile. "One thousand. They're an odd lot at best," he went on as the Guildsmen turned toward the accordioned portal maw. "Like I said, there's all kinds of spaceflot about that Guild. I see strange things banging this old can from system to system, and I pretend not to see half of them." Suddenly, he slid his arm about her shoulders. "Now that the dead meat's gone, how about you and me – "
“Not now,” Killashandra irritably pushed his arm away. “I want a word with that Guild Master first.” She strode rapidly down the corridor toward the portal.
She never saw Carrik again, though he was listed among the inactive membership for a good many years. Not that she glanced at the lists, active or inactive, very often once the thrill of seeing her own name inscribed had passed.
She came to a halt at the opaque force screen of the debarkation arch, which blinked readiness to receive her credentials and reason for business on Shankill. She ignored it, watching in frustration at the Guild Master's figure disappeared through one of the five irised exits from the small lobby beyond the arch. She raced back to her cabin to jam her belongings into the carisak. By the time she had returned to debarkation, much to her disgust, she had to join the queue of passengers. As she waited, fighting her impatience, Captain Andurs emerged from the ship's forward section and made for the secondary gate by the debarkation arch. He caught a glimpse of her and turned back, a quizzical smile on his face.
“Going through with it, Killa?” he asked. He slid a hand up her arm to grip her elbow. Andurs' eyes had the sort of intensity she had begun to associate with desire, a pleasing response considering her abrupt manner with him earlier.
“Why not? I've been given no reason to stop and a very good one to try?”
Andurs grinned. “Well, you'll find the process takes time. I'll be in the transients' hostel for at least five days.” He made a grimace of resigned distaste and shrugged. “I'll be seeing you,” he added with a half note of questioning, though his smile was inviting.
It irked Killashandra to see him jauntily present his wrist to the plate on the smaller arc and watch the entrance dilate immediately. When she finally submitted her wrist to the identity plate at debarkation control, she had become somewhat resigned to delay.
She was asked for her reason to land on Shankill.
“I wish to apply for membership in the Heptite Guild. I have perfect pitch,” she added.
The display requested her credit rating, and Killashandra disdainfully slipped in the Guild voucher. It was instantly accepted, and the substantial credit balance displayed. The unit purred, clicked, and then, as a fax sheet rolled from the print slot, the arch dilated to permit access to the Shankill moon base. She was advised to read and conform to all rules and regulations of the Shankill Authority, which were included in the printout as were directions to Transient accommodations, catering facilities, and the public areas of the installation.
She passed through the arch and into the lobby with the five exits. The third iris swirled open, and Killashandra, taking the hint, proceeded down that corridor to the hostel. She was surprised to emerge into a large open area, high-ceilinged and lined with holograms of trees lightly stirring in an absent breeze. A glow radiating from the plasglassed skylight simulated sunlight. She wondered, as she crossed the floor to the reception area if the mock light also followed Ballybran's rotational period.
Her second surprise was to find a human attendant behind the reception counter. “Killashandra Ree?” he asked politely, unsmiling. She suppressed a desire to ask “Who else?” and nodded,
“You will not have had time to read the rules and regulations pertaining to Shankill Moon Base, therefore, it is my duty to request that you do so immediately upon settling in your accommodation. Failure to comply will result in restriction of personal liberty to prevent endangering the lives of others through ignorance. Please synch your digital to Ballybran's rotation with which all base times are synchronized. If you do not understand anything in the instructions, I am at your service to explain. Place your wrist unit on the plate. Thank you.”
More accustomed to the monotone of machine-issued instructions, Killashandra could only stare at the man, wondering if he was some sort of android, though she'd never heard of such life like replicas of humans. Then he smiled slightly and tapped the plate.
“Been on a moon base before?” the man asked in a tone remarkably informal after his mechanical speech.
“No,” she said as she placed her wrist to the plate and her thumb in the depression.
«This is my tenth. I'm an apprentice in satellite security. We get to do the routine work, you see. Not that anything's ever gone wrong here» – he pointed his forefinger firmly toward the floor to indicate the entire base – «though there's always a first time. Like our training programmer says, there's always a first time, and we're supposed to make sure that first times don't occur. That's why you'll find human specialists like me on moon bases. People get so used to machines and displays and automatic cautionary signs that they don't sink in» – he tapped his forehead – «and that's how accidents can happen.»
“Seems like good psychology,” Killashandra agreed absently, for she was noting with pleasure the winking green credit balance. A key poked above the flush counter. The man handed it to her,
«My name's Ford. You'll read that your room has its own life-support system that comes on-line automatically in case of failure of the base system. Only, by Brennan's left ear, don't get caught in a hostel room during a leak-out or a break – that's a sure way to go berk.»
Killashandra wanted to tell him that his psychology had a flaw if this was how he was supposed to reassure her. But she refrained, smiled, and promised she'd read the instructions. Then she glanced about her.
“Your key's tuned to your room. It'll find you your way back from any point in the base,” Ford said jovially. “Just go through that door,” he added, leaning across his counter and pointing to the left.
Killashandra felt the tug of the key in that direction, and giving Ford another smile, she set off.
The key plate of the door frame was glowing in welcome as she approached her assigned room. She inserted the key, and the door panel retracted with a whoosh. As she walked in, she could see why Ford didn't recommend a protracted stay on the premises; the compact room would give anyone claustrophobia. All the bodily comforts compacted into a space 3 1/2 meters long, 2 meters wide, and 3 high. A three-drawer captain's bed occupied most of the space. Above it was shelving, from the base of which projected the angled audiovisual unit, obviously usable only to the occupant of the bed. Any esthetics of space or decor had been waived in considerations of safety and survival. To be sure, one wasn't compelled to remain in this room. In fact, from the authority's viewpoint, it was probably advisable that the room be occupied only for sleep.
Killashandra flipped the carisak to the foot of the bed and plopped down on it, noticing for the first time the row of labeled switches and buttons along the wall and the wall slots from which, according to the labels, table, reading lamp, and an individual catering unit would emerge. She grimaced. Everything at finger-tip control. She wondered if Ford's presence was to reassure the transients that they were indeed human rather than extensions of some computer. Ford certainly exhibited humanity.