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The quick tropical night had settled upon the island, enclosing them more securely in their clearing as they finished their supper, licking the last of the juices from their fingers.

“Going to be nice to me?” Lars asked, leering dramatically at her.

“Maybe I’ll just stay in the islands.” Killashandra surprised herself with the longing in her voice. “There’s all I could possibly need just for the taking. . .”

“Even me?”

Killashandra looked up at him. Despite his light words, his voice held a curious entreaty.

“I would be a right foolish dolt to consider you part of the taking.” She meant it, for quixotic though the man might appear, she sensed that Lars had an unshakeable integrity which she, or any other woman, would have to recognize and accept.

“We could stay in the islands, Carrigana, and make a go of the charter service.” Lars, too, was caught in the same thrall which infected her resolve. “Sailing’s never dull. The weather sees to that. It could be a good life, and I promise you wouldn’t have to hack polly!” His fingers caressed her hands.

“Lars . . .” She had to set the record fair.

He covered her lips with his hand. “No, beloved, this is not the time for life-shaping decisions. This is the time for loving. Love me again!”

Chapter 12

The idyll lasted another full day and into the early morning of the third, during which time Killashandra would have been quite willing to forego all the prestige of being a crystal singer to remain Lars’s companion. A totally impossible, improbable, and impractical ambition. But she had every intention of enjoying his companionship as long as it was physically possible. She was haunted by memories of Carrik and, as such traumas can, they colored, and augmented, her responses to Lars.

It was the change in the weather which necessitated their return to society. The drop in barometric pressure woke Killashandra just before dawn. She lay, wide awake, Lars’s lax arms draped about her, his legs overlapping hers, wondering what had returned her so abruptly to full consciousness. Then she smelled a change in weather on the early morning breeze. It had not occurred to Killashandra that her Ballybran symbiont would he agitated by other weather systems. And she pushed her sensitivity as far as she could, testing what the change might herald.

Storm, she decided, letting symbiotic instinct make the identification. And a heavy one. In these islands a hurricane more likely than not. A worrisome phenomenon for a reasonably flat land mass. No, there were heights on what Lars had termed the Head. She smiled, for yesterday, in between other felicitous activities, he had given her quite a history and geography lesson pertinent to the island economy.

“This island gets its name from the shape of the land mass,” he explained and drew a shape on the wet sands with a shell. They had just emerged from a morning swim. “It was seen first from the exploratory probe and named long before any settlers landed here. There’s even a sort of a halo of islets off the Head. We’re at the Wingtip. The settlement lies in the wing curve . . . see . . . and the western heights are the wings, complete with the ridge principle. This side of the island is much lower than the body side. We’ve two separate viable harbors, north and south, the angel’s outstretched hands completing the smaller, deeper one. My father’s offices are there, as the backbone sometimes interferes with reception from the mainland. You can’t see it from here because of Backbone Ridge, but there’s rather an impressive old volcano topping the Head.” He grinned mischievously, giving Killashandra an impression of the devilish child he must have been. “Some of us less reverent souls say the Angel blew her head when she knew who got possession of the planet. Not so, of course. It happened eons before we got here.”

Angel was not the largest of the islands but Lars told her that she’d soon see that it was the best. The southern sea was littered Lars said, with all kinds of land masses: some completely sterile, others bearing active volcanoes, and anything large enough to support polly plantations and other useful tropical vegetation did so.

“We were a race apart from the mainlanders, and we’ve remained so, Carrigana. They listen to what the Elders dish up for them, dulling their minds with all the pap that’s performed. Islanders still have to have their wits about them. We may be easygoing and carefree, but we’re not lazy or stupid.”

She had discovered an unexpected pleasure in listening to Lars ramble on, recognizing that his motive was as much self-indoctrination as explanation for her benefit. His voice was so beautifully modulated, uninhibited in its expressiveness that she could have listened to him for years. He made events out of small incidents, no matter that all were aimed at extolling the islands, subtly deprecating mainland ways. He was not, however, an impractical dreamer. Nor was his rebellion against mainland authority the ill-considered antagonism of the disillusioned.

“You sound as if you don’t want to leave Optheria even if you are trying to pave the way off for these friends of yours,” Killashandra was prompted to remark late that second evening as they finished a meal of steamed mollusks.

“I’m as well off here as I would be anywhere else in the galaxy.”

“But your music – ”

“It was composed to be played on the Optherian organ and I doubt that any other government allows them to be used, even if the Elders and Masters would permit the design to be copied.” He shrugged off that consideration .

“If you could compose that, you have a great gift – ”

Lars had laughed outright, ruffling her hair – he seemed fascinated by the texture of her hair.

“Beloved Sungirl, that took no great gift, I assure you. Nor do I have the temperament to sit down and create music – ”

“Come on, Lars – ”

“No, seriously, I’m much happier at the tiller of a ship – ”

“And that voice of yours?”

He shrugged. “Fine for an island evening sing-song, my girl, but who bothers to sing on the Mainland?”

“But, if you get the others off the planet, why don’t you go, too? There are plenty of other planets that would make you a Stellar in a pico – ”

“How would you know?”

“Well, there have to be!” Killashandra almost screamed in her frustration with the restrictions imposed by her role. “Or why are you trying to crack the restriction?”

“The height of altruism motivates me. Besides, Sunny, Theach and Brassner have valid contributions to make within the context of the galaxy. And once a person has met Nahia, it’s obvious why she must be let free. Think of the good she could do.”

Killashandra murmured something reassuring since it was called for. She felt an uncharacteristic pulse of jealousy at the reverence and awe in Lars’s voice whenever he mentioned this Nahia. Lars had perfectly healthy contempt for Elder and Master alike, indeed all federal officials with the exception of his father. And while he spoke of the man with affection and respect, Nahia occupied a higher position. Quite a few times Killashandra noted a nearly imperceptible halt in the flow of Lars’s words as if he exercised a subtle discretion, so subtle that all she caught was its echo. Just as he had stopped short of admitting the abduction of the crystal singer. And, now that she understood his motivation, she marveled at his quick-witted opportunism. Did the others in his subversive group know what he had done? Had they approved of it? And what would the next step be? She could just imagine the furor caused in the Heptite Guild! Or maybe she was supposed to rescue herself? Which she had.