“Surely, just perfect pitch – ” Lars began as they returned to the wardroom.
“ – Perfect and absolute – ”
“ – As you say, isn’t the only requirement for your profession?”
“The major one. Ballybran is a Code Four planet – ”
“What does that mean? I’m an island lad from a iggerant planet,” and Lars’ voice was rich with contempt.
“Dangerous. Singing crystal is rated a ‘highly dangerous’ profession, limited to Type IV through VIII bipedal humanoids . . .”
“Are there any other kinds?”
“Don’t alien life forms come for the Festival? The Reticulans are avid musicologists though I could never come to terms with their croons as music.”
“Are they the ones that look like an assembly of twigs on a barrel?” The wardroom was empty and Lars swung her into his arms, kissing her passionately, stroking her body, murmuring endearments. But knowing that they could be interrupted at any time inhibited Killashandra’s response, even as she yearned for more. At a scraping sound, they broke apart, Killashandra sliding breathlessly into the nearest chair.
“What a delightful description of Reticulans! The barrel is mostly windbag but I’ve never been close enough to discover which of their pseudopods are the pipes.”
Lars stopped pacing, for the noise in the companionway had ceased, and he came back to fondle her.
“A candidate for Guild membership has to pass Physical Fitness Test SG-I, Psychological Profile SG-I – which you’d never pass if you continue to do that, Lars – and Education Level 3.”
“I’m not applying to the Guild, only applying a member . . . “
This time the footsteps stopped and the door was slid back. Mr. Fernock entered, smiling broadly when he saw the occupants.
“We’ll be underway in ten minutes, Guildmember, thanks to your invaluable assistance. And we’ll be able to make a reasonable enough speed on five shafts to reach our destination on time.”
“How marvelous,” Killashandra said in a languid drawl. Marvelous was not really the way she felt, considering the inner turmoil Lars’s caresses had Stimulated. She couldn’t get to the City and the Conservatory fast enough.
Chapter 18
Fortunately Lars was equally frustrated by their lack of privacy and made no further overtures. Perversely, Killashandra missed them. The cruiser had broken out flags and a full honor guard for the ceremonial and triumphant return. Killashandra steeled herself for yet another protocologically correct reception. She reflected on what scene she could produce to shorten the tedium, and debated whether or not a scene would produce any advantage. She had made several points. Unless she had sufficient provocation, she decided to leave well enough alone. For now. She might need to produce an effect to gain privacy within her suite.
For she was determined to enjoy Lars without any surveillance for whatever time remained to them. She could, of course, stretch out the organ repair as long as she wished. Or her instruction of technicians. She could include Lars in that program. He had the perfect – and absolute – pitch to tune crystal as well as the strength and manual dexterity required. She must do everything she could to make him indispensable to the Elders, for whatever protection that could provide him, since he didn’t seem at all interested in leaving Optheria. Even if that were possible.
“We’re near enough for you to have a spectacular view of the City Port,” Lars said, interrupting her reflections.
“A ‘natural’ port?” She smiled.
“Completely, though not nearly as good a natural harbor as North.”
“Naturally.”
“Captain Festinel awaits your arrival on the bridge.”
“How courteous! Where’s Torkes?”
“Burning up a few communications units with orders. He was incensed that you had to bloody your hands on the drive of a mere cruiser.”
“Doesn’t he value his skin as much as I do mine?”
Her entry rated salutes, rigid attention from the seamen and a smile and a warm handshake from Festinel. She politely accepted his effusive thanks and then pointedly turned to watch the rapidly approaching shoreline.
The City Port bustled with activity: small water taxis skipping across the waves, larger barges wallowing across their swells, and coastal freighters awaiting their turn at the piers which, with their array of mechanical unloading devices, were anything but “natural.” The cruiser’s velocity had moderated considerably now that it was in congested waters. Ponderously it approached the Federal docking area, where sleek courier vessels bobbed alongside two more squat cruisers.
Killashandra had no difficulty identifying their berth – it was crowded with a welcoming committee, all massed white and insipid pale colors, blurred faces turned seaward, despite the glare of the westering sun which was full in their eyes. The cruiser swung its bow slightly to port and the drive was cut, momentum carrying the big vessel inexorably to the dock and the grapples clanked against the hull, bringing it to a halt with a barely perceptible jolt.
“My compliments on a smooth docking, Captain Festinel – and my thanks for an excellent voyage.” Killashandra made gracious noises to all the bridge staff and then swept out to get the rest of the tedious formalities over.
“Ampris!” Lars grunted as they reached the portal. Beneath them the gangway was extruding the few meters to the dock.
“Of course, and my quartette lined up like the puppets they are. I think I am developing a splitting headache. All that crystal whine, you know.” She raised her hand to her forehead.
“See what line Ampris takes first.” Lars’s face was set, his nostrils flaring a little as he settled his respiratory rate.
Killashandra suppressed a perfectly natural surge of repugnance for a man who had ordered an assault on her, then hypocritically assured her that the culprit would be punished . . . How could she punish Ampris? The method she had employed with Torkes would not work; Ampris was too wily.
The gangplank had locked in place, the honor guard was arranged, Elder Torkes appeared, the welcoming committee began to applaud and, every inch the gracious celebrity, Killashandra descended. Mirbethan took a step forward, anxiously scanning Killashandra’s face for any sign of the “ordeal.” Thyrol, Pirinio, and Polabod all bowed low but permitted Elder Ampris to do the honors.
“Guildmember Ree, you cannot imagine our elation when we learned of your safe deliverance – ” Then Ampris caught sight of Lars, whom he was patently not expecting.
“This is Captain Lars Dahl who rescued me so boldly, and at no small risk to himself and his vessel. Captain Dahl, this is Elder Ampris.” Killashandra took the plunge, pretending ignorance of any previous contact between the two men. “I am forever indebted to Captain Dahl, as I’m sure the Council of Elders must be, for delivering me from that wretched patch of nowhere.”
Lars saluted crisply and impassively as Elder Ampris executed the shallowest of acknowledgments.
“The Harbor Master at Angel Island has detached him from duty there to be my personal bodyguard.” Killashandra gave an elegantly delicate shudder. “I won’t feel safe without his sure protection.”
“Quite understandable, Guildmember; however, I think that you’ll find our security measures – ”
“I felt quite secure within the Conservatory, Elder Ampris,” Killashandra said demurely. “I seem to be only at risk when I leave its sanctuary. I assure you I have no desire to do that again.”
“Security Leader Blaz – ”
“I’ll not have that officious oaf near me, Elder Ampris. He’s the reason I was put in jeopardy. The man has no intelligence or tact. I don’t trust him to spit in the right direction. Captain Lars Dahl is in charge of my personal security at my personal insistence. Have I not made myself clear?”
For a second Elder Ampris looked about to argue the point, but the moment passed. He inclined his head again, forced his face into a grim smile, and then gestured toward the waiting vehicle.