He had been emphasizing his disgust with blows of his fist to the tiller, until Killashandra covered his hand with hers.
“Which one of our messages got through? It’s been like tossing a bottle message into the Broad Sea with precious little hope of its ever floating to the Mainland.”
“The complaint originated with the Executive Council of the Federated Artists’ Association, who claim a freedom of choice restriction. A Stellar made the charge, though I wasn’t told which one. His principal concern was with the suppression of composers and performers.” She gave him a wry grin.
Lars raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It wasn’t me who sent that one.” Then he seemed to lake heart, his expression lightening with renewed hope. “If one appeal got through, maybe others have, and we’ll have a whole school of people helping us – And you’ll help us?”
“Lars, I’m required to be an impartial – ”
“I wouldn’t dream of prejudicing you . . .” His twinkling eyes challenged her as he threw his free arm about her shoulders, nibbling at her ear.
“Lars, you’re crushing me. You’re supposed to be sailing this ship . . . I’ve got to think how to go on from here. To be candid, I really don’t have much more than your word that there is a widespread dissatisfaction, and not just a few isolated instances or personal grudges.”
“Do you know how long we’ve been trying to reach the Federated Council?” Now Lars gestured wildly in his agitation. “Do you know what it will mean to the others when I tell them one message has got through, and someone is actually investigating?”
“There’s another matter that we have to discuss, Lars. Is it advisable to tell them, or would it be wiser for me to continue covertly?” His jubilation subsided as he considered her question. “I suppose the suicide file would be acceptable as valid evidence. Has the restriction matter ever been put to the vote here?”
“A vote on Optheria?” He laughed sourly. “You haven’t read that abominable Charter, have you?”
“I scanned it. A boring document. all those highflown phrases turned my pragmatic stomach.” Before Killashandra’s eyes rose the vision of tortured architecture coping with “natural formations” so as not to rape” the Natural World. “So there is no referendum mechanism in the Charter?”
“None. The Elders run this planet and, when one of them keels over and can no longer be resuscitated, a replacement is appointed – by the remaining undefunct Elders.”
“No rising from the ranks on merit here?”
“Only in the Conservatory, and for especially meritorious composition and exceptional performance ability. Then one might possibly, on rare occasions, aspire to reach the exalted rank of a Master. Once in a century, a Master might possibly gain an appointment to the Council of Elders.
“Is that what you were after?”
Lars gave her a wry grin. “I tried! I was even willing to assault you to gain favor and show them what a good, useful, boy I was.”
He snorted at his gullibility.
“Granted, I haven’t heard an approved composition, much less yours, played on the sensory organ,” Killashandra began in casual accents, “but I was tremendously impressed by your performance the other evening. The musical one.”
“The time, the place, the ambiance . . .”
“Not so fast, Lars Dahl. I was a trained musician before I became a crystal singer. I can be a critical auditor . . . and when I heard your music, I didn’t know you as well as I do now, so that is an unbiased assessment. If by any chance the Stellar who lodged the complaint with the Artists’ Association had had you in mind, I second his concern.”
Lars regarded her with a genuine surprise. “You would? What music training did you have?”
“I studied for ten years at the Fuerte Music Center. Voice.”
Lars nearly lost grip on the tiller and before he had altered the course, the Pearl yawed in the rough seas, throwing Killashandra against him “You were the soprano that night?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “I recognized your tenor at the barbecue. Where did you learn Baleef’s Voyagers? And the Pearl Fishers duet? Certainly not in the Conservatory.
“My father. He’d brought some of his microlibrary with him when he came to Optheria.”
“Your father is naturalized?”
“Oh, yes. Like yourself, he didn’t come to the islands by choice. If we mention your true identity to no one else – and what is your true name? Or don’t crystal singers give them?”
“You mean to say you don’t know the name of the woman you assaulted and then abducted?” Killashandra pretended outrage.
Lars shook his head, grinning at her with an almost boyish mischief.
“Killashandra Ree.”
He repeated the syllables slowly, then smiled. “I like that much better than Carrigana. That was a rather harsh name to say endearingly. The ells and the sh are sweeter.”
“Possibly the only sweet thing about me, I warn you, Lars.”
He pointedly ignored that remark. “My father must know who you are, Killashandra. It will give him new heart for I’ll tell you frankly, he was far more discouraged about those arrested in the Elders’ search than he let on to the others. Nor” – he paused, only then aware of the water sloshing in the cockpit about their toes – “nor do I like deceiving Nahia. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“No, she doesn’t. Though I have the feeling she already has a good idea that I’m not the island maid I’ve been portraying.”
“Oh? Was she at that reception in the Conservatory?”
“No, but she sensed the crystal resonance.” Killashandra stroked her arm explanatorily. Lars caressed her then.
“You mean, that’s what I’ve been feeling whenever we touch?”
Killashandra gave him a reassuring smile. “Not entirely, lover. Some of it is a perfectly spontaneous combustion.”
Lars guffawed at that, embracing her once again.
“Shouldn’t I bail or something?” she asked as the chill sea water splashed over her toes. His arm restrained her.
“Not just yet.” He frowned, glancing off to port, not really seeing the sprouts of islets as he corrected their course a few points easterly. “However, if we tell my father and Nahia who you are – ”
“Hauness, too?”
“What Nahia knows, Hauness does, and safe enough in both their hands. But then what? Hard copy on the suicide files is rapidly available. But I should insist that you meet with other groups to prove unquestionably that the arbitrary restriction to Optheria is not popularly acceptable.”
“I’m glad you agree to that.”
“In doing that, you will also need to avoid the Elders. It wouldn’t do for them to discover you blithely treading the cobbles at Ironwood or the terraces of Maitland.”
“You never told them you’d kidnapped me, so why couldn’t I visit other communities?”
“Because you’ve now been missing for five weeks. How would you explain such an absence, much less why you haven’t repaired their precious Festival organ?”
“I’d’ve done that if that wretched security officer hadn’t been in his flatulent dotage! My absence is easy to explain. I just don’t explain it.” She shrugged diffidently.
Lars sniggered. “You don’t know how much our Elders dislike mysteries – ”
“You have seen me playing a humble island maid, Lars. Try seeing me as a highly indignant and aristocratic member of the Heptite Guild.” As she spoke, her voice became strange, disdainful, and Killashandra pulled herself arrogantly erect. Lars started to remove his arm from her shoulders in reaction to the transformation. “I’m more than a match for Ampris or Torkes. And they need my services far too much to annoy me again.”
“I’m obliged to mention that they’ve sent for a replacement – ”
“I know that.”
“How could you?”