“I have never heard that in all my years as Medical Supervisor of this planet.”
“Have you encountered many crystal singers in your career?” Piqued by yet another dogmatic encounter, Killashandra discarded any semblance of tact. These people needed a set-down and she was in the enviable position of being able to give it with impunity.
“In actual fact, no – ”
“Then how can you possibly dispute my statement? Or question my requirements? This,” and she waved a scornful hand at the goblet before her, “bilge – ”
“That beverage is a nutritious liquid, carefully combined to supply the adult daily requirements of vitamins and minerals to ensure – ”
“No wonder it tastes so revolting. And may I point out that any brewmaster worth his license provides the same vitamins and minerals in a form palatable enough to satisfy the inner man as well.”
The Medical Supervisor hitched his chair back, throwing his serviette on the table in preparation for harangue, and suddenly they were the center of attention. “Young woman – ”
“Spare me your condescension, Elder,” Killashandra replied as she rose gracefully to her feet and glared down at him. She swept the table with a reproving look. “I shall retire to my apartment until such time as my dietary requirements can be met with enough food” – she flipped over her empty plate – “to satisfy my appetite and sufficient alcoholic beverages to keep my metabolism functioning. Good evening!”
In the stunned silence, Killashandra left the room. Doors the size and density of the ones securing the dining chamber did not slam satisfactorily but she had enjoyed her exit so much that she did not miss that part of the finale. In the corridor, she startled minions, lounging against the walls.
“Does anybody know where my apartments are in this mausoleum?” she demanded. When all raised their hands, she pointed to the nearest. “Take me there.” When he hesitated and looked anxiously at the door, she repeated her order in a louder and more authoritative tone. He scurried forward, more desirous of avoiding her immediate wrath than courting disfavor of an absent authority.
“Tell me.” she asked in a pleasant tone when they had entered a small lift, “is food plentiful on Optheria?”
He cast her a very nervous glance and when she smiled winningly at him, relaxed a little, though he kept as far from her in the carriage as possible.
“There is plenty of food on Optheria. Too much. This year only half the fields may be planted, and I know that early fruit has been left to rot on the vine.”
“Then why did I get three mouthfuls at dinner?”
Something approaching levity touched the young man’s face. “All the Elders are old: they don’t eat much.”
“Hmm! That’s one explanation. But a good brew or a nice dry vintage would have helped!”
A smile tugged at the young man’s lips. “Well, Elder Pentrom was present and he is death on any sort of alcoholic beverage. Says it saps the energy of the young and disrupts thought in the mature.”
“And he was my dinner partner!” Killashandra’s crow of malice resounded in the enclosed space. “My timing is, as ever, superb! Well, I’m not under his jurisdiction and, if Optheria really needs that organ repaired, the Elders will have to placate me, not him.” The young man was obviously shocked. “Tell me,” she said in her kindest, most wheedling voice, “you seem to be a knowledgeable fellow, what sort in interesting beverages are produced on this planet?”
“Oh, there are brews and vintages,” he assured her promptly and with some pride, “and some rather potent spirituous drinks manufactured in the mountains and the islands – but that sort of stuff isn’t permitted in the Conservatory.” The lift’s doors slid open, and the Optherian bustled out.
“More’s the pity.” Killashandra strode on down the hallway after her guide. “What do you drink? No, abort the question,” and she grinned at his startled glance. “What is the most popular drink?”
“The most popular one on this continent is a brew called Bascum.”
“Is Bascum a plant or a person?”
“Person.” Her guide was warming to his subject. He indicated they take the left-hand corridor at the junction. “One of the Founding Fathers.”
“So his brewery is allowed to function in the face of the Medical Supervisor’s displeasure?” Killashandra grinned as he nodded. “I infer from your remarks that there are other popular drinks? Any wines?”
“Oh, yes, the western continent produces some very fine vintages, both white and red, and some doubly distilled liqueurs. I’m not familiar with the wines at all.”
“And those islands you mentioned, they go for the spirituous liquors?”
“The polly tree.”
“The polly tree?”
“Its fermented fruit makes a brandy which, I’m told, is more potent than anything else in the universe. The polly tree provides foliage for shelter, a fine-grained wood for building, its roots burn for a long time, its bark can be pounded into a fiber which the islanders use for weaving cloth, its pith is extremely nutritious, and its large fruit is delicious as well as nutritious – ”
“When it isn’t fermented – ”
“Exactly.”
“And the polly tree only grows on the islands?”
“That’s right, and here is your apartment. Guildmember.” He opened the door.
“There’s no privacy lock on this?” Killashandra had not noticed the lack in her first hurried inspection.
“There is no need for such in the Complex.” Her guide appeared surprised at her reaction . “ No one would presume to enter without your express permission.”
“There are no thieves on Optheria?”
“Not in the Conservatory!”
She thanked him for his escort and entered her sacrosanct apartment, closing the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Only then did her eye fall on the table. She exclaimed aloud at the display of bottles of all sizes and shapes. at the beakers, goblets, wine glasses that waited in pristine array on the white cloth. A separate tray offered an assortment of tidbits, nuts, and small wafers. A small chest opened to exhibit chilled bottles and two pottery amphoras.
There was no way the collection could have been assembled and spirited into her apartment in the time elapsed since she stormed out of the dining room. Then she remembered her remarks on the trip from the spaceport. Well, Elder Pentrom might be a prissy, dogmatic, abstemious man, but obviously her every whim was someone’s command.
Because her guide had mentioned Bascum, her choice among so many finally settled on the neat brown bottle in the cold chest. She flipped the top off and let the midbrown brew slowly descend into an appropriate beaker. The malty scent that rose to her nostrils suggested good things to come.
“And about time, too,” she said, scooping up a random selection of nibbles and sinking into the nearest comfortable seat. “To absent friends!” She lifted her beaker high then took her first sip.
She regarded the brew with respect and delight. “Could Bascum possibly have come from Yarra?” she asked herself. “This might not be so bad an assignment after all!”
Chapter 6
By the time the quick Optherian sunset had finished its evening display, Killashandra had sampled nine beverages, wishing she had someone with whom to share the largesse, especially since there was a prohibition against it. Which brought Corish to mind, and that mythical uncle of his. Unless she could discover how much surveillance she would be having from her discreet quartette – and how easy it would be to outwit it – she didn’t want to risk meeting him. Would they think it odd if she left a message in at the Piper Facility? Corish had considerably piqued her curiosity and she was somewhat motivated by a desire to show him that two could play the exploitation gambit.
Someone tapped on her apartment door and, when Mirbethan entered on her permission, Killashandra caught the shade of uncertainty in the Optherian’s manner.