“Then,” and Trag got to his feet, carefully putting the glass down on the nearest surface, “patently I must oblige both you and the greedy Elders. Good night.”
Killashandra watched, wondering if the polly had got to the impervious Trag but his step was as firm and unswerving as ever. She saw that Lars was watching his progress, a very thoughtful expression on his face.
“If this idea works, Killa,” he said, taking her in his arms, his eyes on that distant prospect, “is there enough crystal to get six or seven people off Optheria?”
“Don’t hope too hard, Lars!” she cautioned him, her head against his shoulder, her arms about him. “Nor can we schedule a mass exodus on the next liner without giving the whole scheme away. But if crystal resonance fools the scanner, the most vulnerable people will get free. The Festival season hasn’t even started. When it does, a few one-way passengers could go out on each flight.” She looked up and caught the bleak look on his face. “Lars, dance with me?”
“To a distant drum?” he asked with a rueful grin, but he shortly sloughed off depression.
The next morning Killashandra woke to the second chimes and to an interesting idea.
“Lars, Lars, wake up.”
“Why?” and he attempted to pull her back down on the bed, murmuring suggestions.
“No, I’m serious. We responded to the subliminals last night, didn’t we? How long are they supposed to be effective?”
“Huh? I dunno. I’ve never . . . Oh, I see what you mean!” And he sat up, linking his arms about his raised knees and considering the implications. “We never took last night’s performance into our deliberations, did we?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then grinned at her. “I’d say we could work this to our advantage. Security, pride, and sex, huh!” Lars began to laugh, a mirth which developed into such a paroxysm that he fell back on the bed and hauled his knees up to his chin to relieve the muscular cramp of uncontrollable laughter.
Trag appeared in the doorway, pointed to the ceiling monitor and, when Killashandra pointed to the jammer on the table, he came in and shut the door, regarding Lars expressionlessly.
“We got conditioned last night, Trag,” Killashandra said by way of explanation as she hauled her coverall on. “I don’t think I should overdo it, but if Lars wants to act disaffected with me, it will lull Ampris and Torkes into thinking their programming’s effective. Even on a crystal singer. Trag, I could even stay on here . . . not want to leave Optheria. I’m a musician. If last night is the best they can do, just lead me to a keyboard! I’ll show ‘em some sensory music that’ll knock ‘em in the aisles.”
Trag shook his head slowly from side to side. “Risky for any number of reasons which I shouldn’t have to enumerate.”
Brushing laugh tears from his eyes, Lars was still grinning broadly as he reached for his clothes.
“So what was so funny?” Killashandra asked.
“Mirbethan as a sex image when I have you!”
“I’m not sure I needed to know that!” Killashandra stalked into the main room and up to the catering unit. She punched out her selection so hard that the tab stuck and a succession of beverage cups paraded out. Fortunately the mechanism was programmed against excessive use and the emergency panel flashed “quota” at her as the depressed button snapped out again.
“Put Ampris in my place and what do you have?” Lars wanted to know and his voice was just a shade repentant.
“Nausea.” she handed him a cup from the plentiful supply waiting on the catering facility.
Chapter 23
They had just finished eating when the comunit blipped. Killashandra flicked open the channel. Mirbethan appeared, looking both annoyed and hesitant. Killashandra schooled her face to courteous inquiry.
“My apologies for disturbing you so early, Guild-member . . .” she did not continue until Killashandra had murmured reassurance, “but a citizen has been most persistent in trying to contact you . . . We have assured him that you are not to be disturbed by trivia. He insists on speaking with you personally and his attitude borders on the insolent.” Mirbethan closed her mouth primly on the verdict.
“Well, well, what’s his name?”
“Corish von Mittelstern. He says that he met you on board the Athena.” Mirbethan obviously doubted this.
“Indeed he did. A pleasant young man who knows nothing of my Guild affiliation. Put him through.”
Corish’s image immediately replaced Mirbethans. He was frowning but his expression cleared into a broad smile once he saw Killashandra.
“Thank Krim I got you, Killashandra. I was beginning to doubt that you ever existed, with that Conservatory playing it so cozy. I never heard of a Conservatory monitoring the calls of a student.”
“They’re very careful and they prefer your complete dedication to your studies here.”
“You mean, you’ve been allowed to play on one of those special organs?”
Killashandra affected a girlish giggle. “Me? No. But I heard the most marvelous recital on the Conservatory’s two-manual sensory organ last night. You wouldn’t believe how versatile it is, how powerful, how stimulating. Corish, you’ve simply got to get to one of the concerts before you leave. The public ones will be starting soon, they tell me, but I could see if it’s possible to get you to one here at the Conservatory. You really have to hear the Optherian organ, Corish, before you can possibly understand what it’s like for me.” Someone pinched her arm. Well, maybe she was overdoing it a trifle but enthusiasm was not out of order. “Have you found your uncle yet?”
Corish’s expression altered from the skeptical to the dolorous. “Not yet.”
“Oh, dear, how very disappointing.”
“Yes, it is. And I’ve only two more weeks before I’m scheduled to leave. The family is going to be upset about my failure. Look, Killashandra, I know you’re studying hard, and this is a chance of a lifetime for you, but could you spare me an evening?” Killashandra gave Corish full marks for a fine performance.
“Oh, Corish, you sound so discouraged. Yes, I’m sure I can wangle an evening out. I don’t think there’s a concert tonight. I’ll find out. I’m not a prisoner here.”
“I should hope not,” Corish said Stiffly.
“Look, where can I reach you?”
“The Piper Facility,” Corish replied as if there were no other suitable place in the City, “where you said, and he emphasized the word, “that you’d leave a message for me. I was concerned when there’d been no word at all from you. Food’s not bad here but they won’t serve anything drinkable. Typical traveler hostel. I’ll see if they can recommend some place a little more Optherian. This isn’t a bad world, you know. I’ve met some sterling people, very helpful, very kind.” Then his expression brightened. “You check and leave word at the Facility only if you can’t make it. Otherwise, come here at seven thirty. You have enough funds for ground transport, don’t you?” Now he was the slightly condescending, well traveled adult, older sibling.
“Of course I do. You sound just like my brother,” she replied cheerfully. “See you!” And she broke the connection, turning to Trag and Lars. “That sort of solves one problem, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Trag asked darkly.
“I think so,” Lars replied. “Corish has an unlimited travel pass, issued by Elder Pentrom. His credentials must have come from very highly placed Federationists for that kind of assistance.”
“More likely, his uncle’ is due to inherit a sizable hunk of credit of which the Optherian government will get its own share.” Killashandra suggested. Lars nodded. “And if his cover has been that good, it’s unlikely the Elders have tumbled to his true identity so he could get in touch with anyone we need, including Olav Dahl! Or Nahia or Hauness.”