Lars waved assent and guided Killashandra to an ascending ramp, past a huge common room packed with people. They passed an immense garage, where hundreds of packets resembling some strange form of alien avian life dangled weightless from their antigravs.
There was a storm chill in the air and Killashandra was aware of symbiont-generated inner tension as her body sensed the impending arrival of the hurricane.
“The command post is shielded, lover,” Lars said, catching her hand in his and stroking it reassuringly. “Storm won’t affect you so much there. I feel it myself,” he added when she looked up in surprise at his comment. “Real weather-sorts, the pair of us!” The affinity pleased him.
They reached the next level, predominantly storage to judge by the signs on the door on either side of the wide corridor. Lars walked straight for the secured portal at the far end, put his thumb on the door lock which then slid open. Instinctively Killashandra flinched, startled by the sight of the storm-lashed trees, and the unexpected panoramas, north and south, of the two harbors. Lars’s hand tightened with reassurance. On both sides of the door, the walls were covered by data screens and continuous printout as the satellites fed information to the island’s receivers. The other three sides of the command post were open, save for the circular stairs winding down to the floor below.
Olav was on his feet, walking from one display to the next, making his own estimate of the data. He looked up at Lars and Killashandra, noting with the upward lift of one eyebrow the bruised garlands they wore. He indicated the circular stairway and made a gesture which Killashandra read as a promise to join them later.
They crossed the room, Lars pausing to read the displays at the head of the staircase. He made a noncommittal grunt and then indicated that she should precede him. Therefore she was first in the room, grateful that only large windows north and south broke its protection from the elements without, while a fire burned in a wide hearth on the eastern wall. The western wall was broken by four doors, the open one showing a small catering area. But Killashandra’s attention was immediately on the occupants of the room, three men and the most beautiful woman Killashandra had ever seen.
“Nahia! How dare you risk yourself!” cried Lars, his face white under his tan as he brushed past Killashandra. To her complete amazement, he dropped on one knee before the woman, and kissed her hand.
Chapter 13
A startled expression crossed Nahia’s perfect features at Lars’s obeisance. She shot a quick look at Killashandra, managing to convey her embarrassment even as she tried to lift Lars from his knee.
“My friend, this will not do,” she said kindly, but firmly. “Only think what effect such a gesture could have on an Elder or a Master – and yes, I do most certainly know your opinion of those worthies. But Lars, such histrionics could damage our goal.”
Lars had by now risen to his feet. With a final few pats to his hand, an oblique apology for her public admonition, she withdrew from his grasp, moving past him toward Killashandra. “Whom have you brought with you, Lars?” she asked, smiling tentatively as she extended her slender hand to Killashandra. “Who wears your garland?”
“Carrigana, lately a polly planter,” Lars replied, stepping back to Killashandra’s side and taking her other hand firmly in his.
It was one way of apologizing for his effusive welcome of another woman but it was Nahia herself who effectively dissolved Killashandra’s incipient hostility. The touch of her hand had a soothing effect, not a shock or a jar, but a gentle insinuation of reassurance. Nahia’s eyes were troubled as she regarded Killashandra, her lips curving upward in a slight smile which blossomed as she felt Killashandra’s resistance to her dissipate. Then a little frown gathered at her brows as she became aware of the lingering crystal resonance within Killashandra. It was the crystal singer’s turn to smile reassurance and an acknowledgement of what Nahia was: an empath.
Killashandra had heard of such people but she had never encountered one. The encyclopedia had not hinted the psi talents were an Optherian quality. It could be a wild talent and often was. In Nahia it was combined with unexpected beauty, integrity, and an honesty which few citizens of the Federated Sentient Worlds could project without endangering their sanity. Lars had been correct in his statement that Nahia’s special talents would be a galactic asset. She was Goodness personified.
Nahia looked with gentle inquiry at Killashandra, struggling to identify the elusive contact with crystal. Killashandra smiled and, with a final light pressure on Nahia’s fine-boned hand, released her and leaned slightly against Lars.
At this point, the other men stepped forward to greet the newcomers.
“I’m Hauness, Nahia’s escort,” said the tallest of the three, an attractive man whom Killashandra judged to be in his mid-thirties. His handclasp was strong but not crushing and he, too, exuded a charm and personality that would have been instantly apparent in any group – at least any group that did not contain Nahia. Or Lars. “Believe me, Lars, we had no report of such rough weather when we embarked on this journey but – ”
“There are matters we must discuss with you, no matter what the risk.” Erutown was the oldest, and bluntest. His manner suggested that he tended to be a humorless pessimist. He gave Killashandra’s hand one brief shake and dropped it. “And there was no risk – in the weather – when we started.” He hovered, his upper body inclined away from Killashandra even as his feet shifted, as if he wanted to separate Lars from Killashandra and plunge into the “matters to be discussed” as quickly as possible.
“Theach,” said the third man, giving Killashandra a brief, self-effacing nod.
He was the sort of nondescript human being, mild mannered, with undistinguished features, who can be encountered almost anywhere in the human population, and promptly forgotten. Only because she had heard of his mathematical abilities from Lars did Killashandra give Theach any sort of an inspection and thus noticed that his eyes were brilliant with intelligence: that he had already assumed she would discount him, indeed, hoped that she would, and was quite willing to accept the sort of dismissal to which he was clearly accustomed.
So Killashandra gave him a saucy wink. She half expected Theach to retreat in confusion as many shy men would, but, smiling, he winked back at her.
Erutown cleared his throat, indicating that now introductions had been made, he wanted to initiate the discussions they had come for.
“I don’t know about you, Lars, but I’m starving,” Killashandra said, gesturing toward the catering area. “Is it all right to see what’s available?” She turned to the others. “May I fix something for you?”
Lars gave her hand a grateful squeeze before he released it. He told her to find what she fancied and he’d have the same but the others demurred, gesturing toward the low table where the remains of a meal could be seen.
The four conspirators didn’t know that Killashandra’s symbiont-adapted hearing was uncommonly acute. At that distance they could have whispered and she would have caught what was being said.
“They finally sent the message two days ago, Lars.” Erutown’s baritone was audible above the noises Killashandra was making in the catering unit.
“Took them long enough,” Lars said in a low growl.
“They had to search first. And search they did, uncovering a variety of minor crimes and infringements which, of course slowed them down.” Hauness was amused.
“Any one of us caught?”
“Not a one of us,” Hauness replied.
“Cleansed us of some very stupid people,” Erutown said.
“She is safe, isn’t she, Lars?” Nahia asked in gentle anxiety, a graceful gesture of her hand indicating the darkening southern horizon.