“Federal issue. I must be one of the few islanders who use the thing.” He grinned impiously. “And then not to watch their broadcasts! They can never appreciate that islanders don’t need vicarious experiences.” He gestured toward the sea. “Not with real live adventures!”
The pillows, hammocks, what kitchen utensils there were, the rugs, curtains, everything compacted into a manageable bundle to which Lars attached the antigrav s traps. the entire process hadn’t taken them fifteen minutes.
“We’ll just attach this to a train, grab something to eat and then get the Pearl to safety.” He gave his effects a gentle shove in the proper direction.
When they returned to the waterfront, Killashandra saw what he meant by train. Numerous personal-effects bundles, all wrapped and weightless, were being attached to a large floater on which families with small children perched. As soon as it had reached capacity, the driver guided it away, along a winding route toward the distant Ridge.
“Catch you next trip, Jorell?” Lars called to the man steering the harbor boat out toward the anchored ships.
“Gotcha, Lars!”
“There’s Keralaw,” Killashandra said, pointing to the woman who was ladling hot soup from an immense kettle into bowls.
“You can always count on her hospitality,” Lars said and they altered their path to meet her.
“Carrigana!” Keralaw paused in serving a family group and waved one arm energetically to catch their attention. “I’d no idea where you’d – ” She halted, eyes goggling a bit at the garland about Killashandra’s neck, staring at Lars’s matching one. Then she smiled. She patted Killashandra’s arm approvingly. “Anyway, I put your carisak with mine on the float to the Ridge. Will I see you two there?” Her manner bordered on the coy as she handed them cups from the bag at her side, and poured the hot soup.
“After we’ve sailed the Pearl to the Back,” Lars said, easily but Killashandra thought his expression a trifle smug, as if he liked surprising Keralaw. He blew on his soup, taking a cautious sip. “As good as ever, Keralaw. One day you must pass on your secret recipe. What’ll Angel do in a crisis without you around to sustain us!”
Keralaw made a pleased noise, giving him a dig in the ribs before she sidled up to Killashandra. “You did better on the shore than I did from the ship!” she murmured, winking and giving Killashandra an approving dig in the ribs. “And,” she added, her expression altering from bawdy to solemn, “you’re what he needs right now.”
Before Killashandra could respond to that cryptic comment, Keralaw had moved off to the next group.
“With Keralaw in the know,” Lars said between sips, “storm or not, the rest of the island will be informed.”
“That you and I have paired off?” Killashandra gave him a long stare, having now decided what the special blue garlands must signify in island custom. It was presumptuous of him, but then, he was also presuming her acquaintance with island ways. The account, when rendered from her side, was going to be heavy. “You’re remarkably well organized here . . .” She let her sentence dangle, implying that she’d been elsewhere to her sorrow.
“Angel’s not often in the direct path, and the storm may veer off before it hits, but one doesn’t wait until the last moment, not on Angel. Father doesn’t permit inefficiencies. They lose lives and cost credit. Ah, Jorell’s back. Hang on to your cup. We’ll need them later.”
The harbor skip waited for them and its other passengers in the choppy waters. Lars bent to rinse out his cup and Killashandra followed suit, before swinging over the gunwales of the water taxi. Willing hands pulled them aboard.
There was a lot of activity on those ships still left in the harbor, but many had already started for the safety of the protected bay. Lars chatted amiably with the other passengers, naming Killashandra once to everyone. The approaching storm worried them all, despite the well-drilled exodus. It was considered early in the season for such a big blow: odds were being given that it would veer west as so many early storms tended to do: relief was felt that neither of the nearer two moons was at the full, thus affecting the height of the tides. The pessimist on board was sure this was the beginning of a very stormy winter, a comment which caught Killashandra’s interest. Winter? As far as she knew, she’d arrived in Optheria in early spring. Had she missed half a year somehow?
Then the taxi pulled alongside a sleek-lined fifteen meter sloop-rigged ship, and Lars was telling her to grab the rope ladder that flopped against its side. She scrambled up, almost falling over the life-railing, which she hadn’t expected. Then Lars was beside her, cheerfully shouting their thanks to Jorell as he deftly hauled the ladder inboard and began to stow it away.
“We’ll rig the cabin before we sail,” Lars said, nodding astern toward the hatch.
Killashandra didn’t know much about ships of this class but the cabin looked very orderly to her, arranged as it was for daytime use. She went to the forward cabin, and decided that she had been in the top right-hand bunk. She turned back, to approximate the view she would have had, and decided that the Pearl Fisher had conveyed her to that wretched little island.
“Update!” Lars said as he came down the companionway, talking to the handset. He listened as he did a cursory inspection of the nearest cupboards, smiling as he turned toward her. “Alert me to any changes. Over.”
He put the handset down and, in one unexpected sweep, hauled her tightly into his arms. His very blue eyes gleamed inches above her face. His face assumed thc expression of a sex-mad fiend, his eyes wide in exaggerated ferocity, as he bent her backward in one arm his other hand stroking her body urgently. “Alone, at last, m’girl, and who knows when next we have the privacy I need to enjoy you to good advantage.”
“Oh, sir, unhand me!” Killashandra fluttered her eye lashes, panting in mock terror. “How can you ravish an innocent maid in this hour of our peril?”
“It seems the right thing to do, somehow,” Lars said in a totally different tone, releasing her so abruptly she had to catch herself on the table. “Curb your libido long enough for me to make the bed you’re about to be laid in.” He flipped the table onto its edge, gestured for her to take the other side of the seat unit which pulled out across the deck.
Simultaneously they fell onto the bed, and Lars began his assault on her willing person.
The summons of the handset brought them back to reality that had only peripherally impinged on their activities. Lars had to steady himself in the lurching ship to reach the handset. He frowned as he heard the update.
“Well, beloved, I hope you’re a good sailor, for it’s going to be a rough passage around the wing. That storm is hurrying to meet us. Neither a veer nor a pause! Grab the wet weather gear from that cupboard. Temperature’s falling and the rain’s going to be cold.”
Fortunately Lars gave clear instructions to his novice crew and Killashandra coped with her tasks well enough to gain his nods of approval. The Pearl Fisher was fitted to be sailed single-handed, with the sheet lines winched to the cockpit and other remotes to assist in the absence of a human crew. Lars beckoned Killashandra to join him in the stern as the anchor was lifted by remote. Another hauled the sloop’s mainsail up the mast, Lars’s pennon breaking out as the clew of the sail locked home.
The wind took the sail, and the ship, forward, out of the wide mouth of the harbor, which was now clear of all craft. Nor did there seem to have been anyone to notice their delay. The beach was empty of people. The shuttered shops and houses had an abandoned look to them. The tide was already slopping into the barbecue pits and Killashandra wondered just how much would be left on the waterfront when they sailed back into Wing Harbor.