She walked quickly to the nearest restaurant, noticing that it was not an economy establishment. The old, dutiful Killashandra would have backed out hastily. The new Killashandra entered imperiously.
At this hour the place was uncrowded so she took a booth on the upper level by the viewplate so she could watch the flow of shuttle and small space craft. She’d never realized how much traffic passed through the space port of her not very important planet. She had heard it was a change-over point. She ate, with relish and appetite, of some piscine casserole purportedly composed of off-world fish. Exotic but not too highly spiced for a student’s untutored palate. An off-world wine included in the selection pleased her so much that she ordered a second carafe just as dusk closed in on the planet.
She thought at first it was the unfamiliar wine that made her nerves jangle so. But the discomfort increased so rapidly that it couldn’t be the effect of the alcohol. She looked around for the source of irritation, rubbing her neck and frowning. She shook her head and then, with the appearance of a descending shuttle’s retro-blasts, realized that it must be a sonic disturbance - though how it could penetrate the shielded restaurant she didn’t know. She had to cover her ears, pressing as hard as she could against her skull, but there seemed to be no escape from that piercing ache. When she thought she couldn’t bear the agony a second longer, it ceased.
‘I tell you, that shuttle drive’s about to explode,’ a man’s baritone voice cried in the ensuing quiet.
Killashandra looked round, startled.
‘How do I know? I know!’ A tall man was arguing with the human attendant of the restaurant and trying to get to the comunit which the attendant was covering with his body. ‘Let me speak to the control tower. Is everyone deaf up there? Let me at the unit, man. Do you want a shuttle explosion? Are you deaf that you can’t hear it?’
‘I heard it,’ Killashandra said, rushing over to the pair. Any action might relieve the itch which had replaced the agony in her skull.
‘You heard it, miss?’ The attendant was genuinely surprised.
‘I certainly did. All but cracked my skull wide open. What was it?’ she asked the tall man. He had an air of command about him, frustrated at the moment by the officiousness of the stupid attendant. He carried his overlean body with a haughty arrogance that went with the fine fabric of his clothes, obviously of an off-world design and texture.
‘She heard it, too. Now get that control tower, man.’
‘Really, sir. We have the most explicit orders
‘Don’t be a complete sub,’ Killashandra said insultingly and gestured with operatic imperiousness at the console. ‘He obviously knows what he’s talking about!’
The fact that she was obviously a Fuertan like himself did more to persuade him than the insult but he was still reluctant until the man, ripping off an off-world oath as colorful as it was descriptive of bureaucratic stupidities, flipped open his card case. Whatever identification he showed made the attendant’s eyes bug out and his fingers dash out a call code on the comunit.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know, sir. Here you are, sir.’ There was awe and a certain amount of fear in his manner.
The off-worlder ignored his reaction. ‘Control? That shuttle which just landed? It can’t be permitted to take off. Crystal drive’s gone sour. Must be recut or you’ll have an - No, this is not a drunk and this is not a threat. It’s a fact. Why that shuttle pilot didn’t insist on a hold, I can’t guess, but he must be deaf! Of course I know what I’m talking about! For the sake of whatever gods this mudball worships, don’t send that shuttle off again! What do you want, a drive check or a blasted port facility? Is this shuttlestop of a world too poor to employ a crystal tuner?’
The console muttered something back to him but, like all public facilities, the audio was shielded from anyone not in its direct line.
‘Well, now that’s a more reasonable attitude,’ the man said. ‘As to my credentials, I’m Carrik of the Heptite Guild. Yes, that’s what I said. And I could hear the crystal whine right through the walls so I know farging well how bad the drive is.’ Another pause. ‘Thanks, but I’ve paid my bill already. No, that’s all right. Yes ...’ and Killashandra could see that the gratitude irritated Carrik. ‘Oh, as you will.’ He stepped back, jerking his head for the attendant to take his place at the unit.
‘And make that for two,’ Carrik said over his shoulder at the man, as he cupped his hands under Killashandra’s elbow and led her to a secluded booth.
‘I’ve a bottle of wine over there,’ she said, half-protesting, half-laughing at his peremptory escort.
‘You’ll have better shortly. I’m Carrik and you’re ...’
‘Killashandra Ree.’
He smiled, gray eyes lighting briefly with surprise. ‘That’s a lovely name.’
‘Oh, come now. Surely you can do better than that?’
He laughed, absently blotting the sweat on his forehead and upper lip as he slid into his place.
‘I could and I will but it still is a lovely name. A musical one. What did I say wrong?’
‘Nothing. Nothing.’
He gave her a skeptical look for that insincere disclaimer just as the attendant came bustling up with a chilled bottle, bowing as he offered it.
Carrik peered at the label. ‘I’d prefer the ‘72 and ... some Forellan biscuits, if you have them? Good, and Aldebaran paste? Hmmm. Well, I’ll revise my opinion of Fuerte.’
‘Really, I only just finished ...’ Killashandra began.
‘On the contrary, my dear Killashandra Ree, you’ve only just started.’
‘Oh?’ Any one of Killashandra’s former associates would have modified his attitude at that tone in her voice.
‘Yes,’ Carrik continued blithely, a sparkling challenge in his eyes, ‘for this is a night for feasting and frolicking - on the management, as it were. Having just saved the facility from being leveled, my wish - and yours - is their command. They’ll be more grateful,’ he continued in a droller tone, ‘when they take that drive down and see the cracks in the crystals. Off the true by a hundred vibes at least.’
Her half-formed intention of making a dignified exit died and she stared at Carrik. It took a highly trained ear to have caught that variation in pitch.
‘Off a hundred vibes ...? What do you mean? Are you a musician?’
Carrik stared at her as if she ought to know who, or what, he was. He looked to see where the attendant was and then, leaning indolently back in the seat, smiled at her in an enigmatic fashion.
‘Yes, I think you’d say I was a musician. Are you?’
‘Not anymore,’ Killashandra replied in a caustic tone. Her desire to leave returned with irresistible intensity. She’d been able for a very short time to forget why she was at a spaceport. He’d reminded her and she wanted no more such reminders.
His hand, fingers gripping hard into the flesh of her arm, held her in her seat. The attendant came bursting back with another chilled bottle which Carrik accepted and gestured him to pour. Carrik smiled at Killashandra, half daring her to contest his restraint in front of the attendant. Despite herself, Killashandra discovered she couldn’t start a scene and she’d no real grounds - yet - for a personal-liberty-infringements charge. He grinned at her, knowing her dilemma, and had the audacity to give her a semi-insolent toast as he took the traditional sample sip of the wine.
‘Yes, an excellent vintage. How long must we wait for the paste and biscuits?’
‘A few moments, sir. We’re warming the biscuits. They take the paste so much better then.’
‘At least they know how to serve it properly,’ Carrik told Killashandra in a patronizingly blasé tone.