“Lars?” A young man turned from the scanner in front of him and, screwing his face in an anxious expression almost pounced on the new arrival “What are you going to do – ”
Lars held up his hand, cutting off the rest of that sentence, and the young man noticed the garland. He threw an almost panic stricken look at Killashandra.
“Tanny, this is Carrigana. And there’s nothing I can do with this storm blowing up.” Lars was scrutinizing the duplicate vdr satellite picture as he spoke. “The worst of it will pass due east. Don’t worry about the things you can’t change!” He gave Tanny a clout on the shoulder but the worried expression did not entirely alter
Killashandra kept the silly social smile on her face as Tanny accorded her the briefest of nods. She had a very good idea what, or rather whom, they were discussing so obliquely. Her. Still trapped, they thought, on that chip of an island.
“Tanny’s my partner, Carrigana, and one of the best sailors on Angel,” Lars added, though his attention was still claimed by the swirling cloud mass.
“What if the direction changes, Lars?” Tanny refused to be reassured. “You know what the southern blows are like . . .” He made an exaggerated gesture with both arms, nearly socking a passing islander, who ducked in time.
“Tanny, there is nothing we can do. There’s a great big polly on the island that’s survived hurricanes and high tides since man took the archipelago. We’ll go have a look as soon as the blow’s gone. All right?”
Lars didn’t wait for Tanny’s agreement, guiding Killashandra back into the main room. He paused at the counter, waiting his turn, and receiving a small handset. ‘A light one will do me fine, Bart,” he added and Bart set a small antigrav unit on the counter. “Most of what I own is either on the Pearl or on its way back to me from the City. Grab a couple of those ration packs, will you, Carrigana,” he added as they walked out on the broad verandah where additional emergency supplies were being passed out. “Might not need them but it’s less for them to pack to the Ridge.”
As Lars turned her west, away from the settlement, she caught sight of Tanny, watching them. his expression still troubled. The wind was picking up and the water in the harbor agitated. Lars looked to his right, assessing the situation.
“Been in a bad one yet?” he asked her, an amused and tolerant grin on his face.
“Oh, yes,” Killashandra answered fervently. “Not an experience I wish to repeat.” How could Lars know how puny an Optherian hurricane would be in comparison to Passover Storms on Ballybran. Once again she wanted to discard her borrowed identity. There was so much she would like to share with Lars.
“It’s waiting out the blow that’s hard,” Lars said, then grinned down at her. “We won’t be bored this time, though. My father said that Theach came with Hauness and Erutown. I wonder how they managed the travel permits?” That caused him to chuckle. “We’ll know how the revised master plan is working.”
Killashandra was very hard put to refrain from making any remarks but, of a certainty, waiting out this blow would be extremely interesting. She might not be getting on with the primary task of her visit to Optheria, but she was certainly gaining a lot of experience with dissidents.
His place was on a knoll, above the harbor, in a grove of mature polly trees. It reflected an orderly person who preferred plain and restful colors. He produced several carisaks which had been neatly stored in a cupboard, and together they emptied the chest of his clothes, including several beautifully finished formal garments. He cleared his terminal of any stored information and when Killashandra asked if they shouldn’t dismantle the screen, he shrugged.
“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?