‘It’s also one of the smallest Guilds in the world,’ she went on, freeing her hand to finish packing the last bits. ‘I prefer those odds.’
He raised his eyebrows, giving her a sardonic look more like the old Carrik. ‘A two-cell in a one-cell pond?’
‘If you please. I won’t be second-rate anything.’
‘A dead hero in preference to a live coward?’ He taunted her.
‘If you prefer. There! That’s all our clothes. We’d better skim back to the spaceport. I’ve got to check with planetary regulations if I’m going off-world. I might even have some credit left.’
She did the flying back as Carrik dozed in the passenger seat. The rest did him some good, or he was mindful of his public image. Either way, Killashandra’s doubts about him as a partner faded as he began ordering the port officials about imperiously, badgering the routing agent to be certain the man hadn’t overlooked a more direct flight, or a more advantageous connection.
Killashandra left him to it and began to clear her own records with Fuerte Central. The moment she placed her credit card in the plate, the console began to chatter wildly. She was startled. She’d programmed a credit check and the information that she was going off-world and wanted to know what immunization shots would comply with the worlds they’d touch. But the supervisor came leaping down the ramp from his desk, all boredom erased from his flushed face, and two port officials converged on her. The exits of the reception hall flashed warning red as holdlocks were applied to the consternation of people trying to enter and leave. Killashandra was too stunned to move and stared at the men who charged up to her.
‘Killashandra Ree?’ asked the supervisor, panting.
‘Yes?’
‘You are to be detained.’
‘Why?’ Now she was angry. She could conceive of no crime she’d committed, no infringement on anyone’s liberties. Nonregistration was no offense so long as she didn’t use planetary resources without credit.
‘Please come with us,’ the port officials said in chorus.
‘Why?’
‘Ah, hmm,’ muttered the supervisor as both officials turned to him. ‘There’s hold out for you.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Here, what’s going on?’ Carrik was indeed his old self as he pushed through to place a protesting arm around Killashandra. ‘This young lady is under my protection.’
At which the supervisor and the officials looked suddenly stern and determined.
‘The young lady is under the protection of her planet of origin,’ said the supervisor in a stuffy tone. ‘There is some doubt as to her mental health.’
‘What? Because she accepted an honest invitation from a visitor? Do you know who I am?’
The man flushed. ‘Indeed I do, sir,’ and he was considerably more respectful suddenly.
‘Well then, take my assurances that Miss Ree is in excellent mental health.’
The supervisor was adamant. ‘Please come this way.’
There was nothing for it but to comply, although Carrik reminded their escorts that they’d booked a shuttle flight due to lift off in one hour and he had every intention of keeping that schedule - and with Killashandra Ree. She got the distinct impression that this ambition might be thwarted and rather than give rise to any speculation about her mental health, she remained uncharacteristically quiet.
‘I know,’ she said sotto voce to Carrik as they waited in the small office. ‘The Music School may’ve thought me suicidal.’ She giggled and suppressed it behind her hand when the supervisor glanced up at her nervously. ‘I did just walk out of the Center and my digs, and I saw no one on my way here. So they did miss me! Well, that’s gratifying.’ She was inordinately pleased but Carrik wasn’t. She’d only to reassure the authorities and she was certain she could. ‘I think it’s rather complimentary, actually. I’m going to leave Fuerte dramatically after all.’
Carrik snorted but the wait plainly irritated him.
Killashandra half expected to see her father though she couldn’t have imagined him bestirring himself on her behalf. She didn’t expect Maestro Esmond Valdi to enter, acting the outraged parent. Nor was she prepared for the attack he immediately launched on Carrik.
‘You! You! I know what you are! A silicate spider paralyzing its prey, a crystal cuckoo taking the promising fledglings from their maternal nest.’
As stunned as everyone else was at the almost physical attack on the Heptite Guildman, Killashandra stared at the usually dignified and imperturbable Maestro and wondered what operatic role he was playing. He had to be. His dialogue was so ... so extravagant. ‘Silicate spider.’ ‘Crystal cuckoo.’ And he had the analogy wrong anyhow.
‘Play on the emotions of a young, innocent girl. Shower her with unaccustomed luxuries and pervert her until she’s spoiled as a decent contributing citizen. Until she’s so besotted she has to go to that den of addled brains and sonic-soured nerves!’
Carrik made no attempt to divert the flow of vituperation or counter the accusations. He stood, head up, smiling tolerantly down at the stalky figure of Valdi.
‘What lies has he been feeding you about crystal singing? What extravagant tales has he used to lure you there?’ Valdi whirled to Killashandra.
‘I asked to go.’
Valdi’s wild expression hardened into disbelief at her calm reply.
‘You asked to go?’
‘Yes. He didn’t ask me.’ Killashandra saw Carrik smile with relief.
‘You heard her, Valdi,’ Carrik said and glanced at the officials taking in that admission.
The Maestro’s shoulders sagged. ‘He’s done his recruiting work well,’ he said in a defeated tone, even managing an effective slight break in his voice.
‘I don’t think so,’ Killashandra said.
Maestro Valdi took a breath, obviously going to make one last final attempt to dissuade the poor misguided girl. ‘Did he tell you about the mach storms?’
She nodded.
‘That scramble your brains and reduce you to a vegetable?’
She nodded dutifully.
‘Did he fill your mind with a lot of garbage about mountains giving back symphonies of sound? Crystalline choruses? Valleys that echo arpeggios?’
‘No,’ she replied in an acid tone, bored with the scene. ‘And he also didn’t feed me pap that all I needed was hard work and time.’
Esmond Valdi drew himself up, more than ever an exaggeration of a classical operatic pose.
‘Did he tell you that once you start cutting crystal you can never stop? And too long away from Ballybran produces convulsions?’
‘I know that’
‘That something in the water, the soil, the crystals affects your mind? You don’t remember anything?’
‘That could be an advantage,’ Killashandra replied, staring at the little man until he had to drop his glance.
She felt it first of the three, an itch behind her ears in the mastoid bone, an itch that rapidly became a wrenching nauseating pain. She grabbed Carrik by the arm just as the subsonic noise touched him. As Esmond Valdi lifted protecting hands to his ears.
‘The fools!’ cried Carrik, panic in his face and voice. He threw aside the door panel, running as fast as he could toward the control tower, Killashandra behind him. Anything to shut off that agonizing pain in her skull.
Carrik vaulted the decorative barrier into the restricted area, to be stopped by the force curtain.
‘Stop it! Stop it!’ he screamed, rocking in anguish.
The pain was no less supportable for Killashandra but she’d presence enough of mind left to bang on the nearest comunit, to strike the fire buttons, press the emergency signals.
‘The shuttle coming in ... the crystals are defective ... it’s going to blow,’ she yelled at the top of operatically trained lungs. She was barely conscious of the panic in the vast reception hall resulting from her all too audible warning.