curving his perfect lips, well aware that he had only to nod to capture

whichever girl, or girls, he fancied. Lanzecki might not have been handsome

in the currently fashionable form but his face was carved by character and

he exuded a magnetism that was lacking in the glorious young man.

Nevertheless, Killashandra toyed with the idea of luring the perfect young

man to her side; rejection might improve his character no end. But to

achieve that end she would have had to discard her shy student role.

        She discovered an unforgivable lack in the Athena´s appointments

the first time she dialed for Yarran beer. It was not available, although

nine other brews were. In an attempt to find a palatable substitute, she

was trying the third, watching the energetic perform a square dance, when

she realized someone was standing at her table.

        »May I join you?« The man held up beakers of beer, each a different

shade. »I noticed that you were sampling the brews. Shall we combine our

efforts?«

        He had a pleasant voice, his ship-suit was well cut to a tall lean

frame, his features were regular but without a distinguished imperfection;

his medium length dark hair complimented a space tan. There was, however,

something about his eyes and a subtle strength to his chin that arrested

Killashandra´s attention.

        »I´m not a joiner myself,« he said, pointing one beaker at the

gyrating dancers, »and I noticed that you aren´t, so I thought we might

keep each other company.«

        Killashandra indicated the chair opposite her.

        »My name is Corish von Mittelstern.« He put his beers down nearer

hers as he repositioned the chair to permit him to watch the dancers.

Killashandra turned ever slightly away from him, not all that confident of

the remission of resonance in her body, though why she made the instinctive

adjustment she didn´t know. »I hail from Rheingarten in the Beta Jungische

system. I´m bound for Optheria.«

        »Why, so am I!« She raised her beer in token of a hand clasp.

»Killashandra Ree of Fuerte. I´m -- I´m a music student.«

        »The Summer Festival.« Then a puzzled expression crossed Corish´s

face. »But they have a Fuertan brew -- «

        »Oh, that old stuff. I might have to travel off-season and economy

to get to Optheria but I´m certainly not going to waste the opportunities

of trying everything new on the Athena.«

        Corish smiled urbanely. »Is this your first interstellar trip?«

        »Oh, yes. But I know a lot about traveling. My brother is a

supercargo. On the Blue Swan Delta. And when Mother told him that I was

making the voyage, he sent me all kinds of advice« -- and Killashandra

managed a tinkling giggle -- »and warnings.«

        Corish smiled perfunctorily. »Don´t ignore that sort of advice.

Fuerte, huh? That´s a long way to come.«

        »I think I´ve spent half my life traveling already,« Killashandra

said expansively while she tried to compute how long she ought to have been

traveling if her port of embarkation had been Fuerte. She hadn´t done

enough homework. Though she couldn´t imagine that Corish would know if she

erred. She took a long sip of her beer. »This is a Bellemere, but it´s too

sour for me.«

        »The best beer in the galaxy is a Yarran brew.«

        »Yarran?« She regarded Corish with keener interest. If Corish came

from Beta Jungische, he was a long way from a regular supply of Yarran

beer. Killashandra´s curiosity rustled awake.

        »The Yarran brewmasters have no peers. Surely your brother has

mentioned Yarran beer?«

        »Well, now. it´s possible that he has,« Killashandra said slowly,

as if searching her memory. »But then, he told me so much that I can´t

remember half.« She was about to giggle again and then decided that, not

only did her giggle nauseate herself but it might repel Corish and she

wanted to satisfy this flicker of curiosity about him. »Why are you

traveling to Optheria?«

        »Family business, sort of. An uncle of mine went for a visit and

decided to become a citizen. We need his signature on some family papers.

We´ve written several times and had no reply. Now. he could be dead but I

have to have the proper certification if he is, and his print and fist on

the documents if he isn´t.«

        »And you have to come all the way from Beta Jungische for that?«

        »Well, there´s a lot of credit involved and this isn´t a bad way to

go.« He enscribed a half circle with his beaker, including the ship as well

as the dancers, and smiled at Killashandra over the rim as he sipped. »This

Pilsner´s not all that bad, really. What have you there?«

        She went along with Corish´s adroit change of subject and with the

beer sampling. Although singing crystal brought with it an inexhaustible

ability to metabolize alcohol without noticeable affect, she feigned the

symptoms of intoxication as she confided her fake history to the Jungian,

whenever necessary embellishing her actual experiences at the Arts Complex.

Thus Corish learned that she was a keyboard specialist, in her final year

of training, with high hopes that the Optherian Festival would provide her

with sufficient data for an honors recommendation. She had credentials of

sufficiently high caliber to gain entrance into the Federal Music

Conservatory on Optheria where she hoped she´d be allowed to play on an

Optherian organ.

        »An hour is all I need,« she told Corish, blinking in her

simulation of advancing inebriation, »for the purposes of my dissertation.«

        »From what I hear about their precious organ, you´d be lucky to get

within spitting distance.«

        »Even half an hour.«

        »I hear that only Federal licensed musicians are allowed in the

organ loft.«

        »Well, they´ll have to make an exception in my case because I have

a special letter from Fuerte´s President -- he´s a friend of my family´s.

And a sealed note from Stellar Performer Dalkay Mogorog . . .« She paused

deferentially at the mention of that august personality, who was evidently

unknown to Corish, »and I´m sure they´ll concede. Even fifteen minutes?«

she asked as Corish continued to shake his head. »Well, they´ll just have

to! I haven´t come all this way to be refused. I´m a serious student of

keyboard instruments. I won a scholarship to the Federated Sentient Planets

Conservatory on Terra. I´ve been permitted to play on a Moartian clavier, a

Handelian spinet, Purcell´s harpsichord, a Bach organ, and a Beethoven

pianaforte and -- « She hiccuped to mask the fact that she was running out

of prestigious composers and instruments.

        »So? Which beer do you prefer now?«

        »Huh?«

 

        Corish solicitously conducted her to her cabin and arranged her on

her bunk. As he drew a light blanket over her, she felt the static leap

from her shoulder to his hands. He hesitated briefly, then quietly left.

        As Killashandra gave him time to leave her passage-way, she

reviewed her »performance« and decided that she hadn´t dropped from

character, even if he had. It was rather nice of him, too, not to have

»taken advantage« of her. When she felt secure, she slipped from her cabin

and down to the gymnasium level. At that hour, it was empty and she enjoyed

an hour´s luxuriating in the radiant fluid.

        They met the next morning at the breakfast hour, Corish

solicitously inquiring after her health.

        »Did I fall asleep on you?« she asked with wide-eyed dismay.

        »Not at all. I just saw to it that you were safely in your own

cabin before you did.«

        Critically, she held her hands out in front of her. »Wel1, at

least, they´re steady enough to practice.«

        »You´re going to practice?«

        »I practice every day.«

        »May I listen««

        »Well . . . it can be quite boring-I have to spend at least an hour

on the preliminary finger exercises and scales before I can do any

interesting music . . .«

        »If I´m bored, I´ll leave.«

        As she led the way to the practice rooms, she wondered if she had

slipped up in her characterization. Why else should he be curious enough to

want to listen to her practice?

        Killashandra was rather chuffed to discover that the old drills

came easily to her fingers as she addressed the keyboard with every

semblance of true authority. Corish departed after fifteen minutes but she

left nothing to chance and played on, making remarkably few errors for

someone who had not played in three years.

        As she had established her credentials with him, he continued to

project the image of an amiable young man on a journey to protect family

interests. He sought her out at mealtimes, helped her evade the organizers

of team sports, directed her investigations of the caterer´s potential with

the amused tolerance of the mature traveler, and accompanied her to

shipboard activities. On one or two occasions, she had the urge to shock

him with her true identity just to see how he might react, but she

repressed that whimsy.

        Then, after a particularly bibulous evening, when she had taken an

extra long radiant bath. she encountered him in the gymnasium. He was

sweating profusely, working out against a hefty weight on the apparatus

with apparent ease. Stripped as he was for the exercise, Killashandra could

appreciate that Corish´s lean frame was suspiciously well muscled and fine

tuned for his public image.

        »I didn´t know you were a gymnast!«

        »It´s only smart to keep fit, Killashandra Ree.« He whipped a towel

about his shoulders and mopped his face. »Where´ve you been?«

        Killashandra managed a blush of embarrassment, dropping her eyes

and affecting mortification

        » I tried that radiant stuff. In the tank, » and she pointed

vaguely in the right direction. »That blonde girl from Kachachurian was

saying that it was good for hang-overs!« She kicked at the apparatus base

with her toe, eyes still downcast.

        »Well, is it?«

        »I think it is.« She allowed some doubt in her tone. »At least that

awful spinning has stopped . . . and the nausea!« She put one hand to her

head and the other to her stomach. »I think I may have to go back to

Fuertan beer. I could always drink as much of that as I wanted. Or is it

something to do with traveling in space? My brother did say something about

that . . .« She looked up at Corish. »Isn´t this a funny time to be working

out?«

        »That´s how I work alcohol out of my system,« Corish said, pulling

on his shirt. »I´ll see you back to your cabin. You really shouldn´t be

wandering about the ship at this hour. Someone might get the wrong

impression about you.«

        As Killashandra permitted him to escort her back, she wondered why

he was rushing her out of the gym. She felt she had deftly accounted for

her presence. And naively accepted his explanation. Safely returned to her

cabin, she agreed to meet him as usual for breakfast the next morning, and

dutifully went to bed.

        Waiting for sleep, she reflected on his extraordinary fitness and

the stealth in which he kept it. Could Corish possibly be an FSP agent? It

struck her as unlikely that the Federation would choose to send only one

observer -- an inexperienced one at that -- into a planetary society that

was being investigated. She chuckled to think that, out of the eighteen

hundred passengers and crew on the Athena, Corish should attach himself to

her. Of course, in her eager-student guise, she might constitute an

integral part of his shipboard cover. Unless he had been advised of her

extra assignment by his superiors. If he was a Federal agent, he would also

know the capabilities of crystal singers, and the subtler ways to identify

them.

        No matter! In her concentrated efforts to recall her days as an

impecunious and ardent music student, she had been able to shelve the more

recent, painful episode. Seriously now, Killashandra considered Antona´s

advice to record incidents in detail. Who knew when she might find it

necessary to adopt the role of the student again?

 

Chapter 4

 

As the Athena plunged toward the Optherian primary for the deflected

hyperbolic pass that would bring it close to the one inhabited planet of

the system. the passengers who were disembarking went through the rituals

of leave-taking from their shipboard acquaintances. That strange magic of

voyaging which could make total strangers into confidantes and lovers had

lost none of its potency in the space age.

        As they waited in the airlock for the shuttle that would take them

to the surface, Killashandra found herself prattling on at Corish about how

they must meet and share their adventures: that they couldn´t part and

never meet again while they were on the same planet. She´d want to know how

he´d made out with his uncle and she hoped she´d be able to tell him of her

success, invading the Optherian musical hierarchy. Of course that sort of

chatter was in character with her role. What astonished Killashandra was

that she meant what she said.

        »That´s very sweet of you, Killa,« Corish replied, patting her

shoulder in a condescending fashion that returned her instantly to her own

personality.

        »If I don´t get a place at the Music Center hostel, I´ll go to the

Piper Facility,« she said, ducking away from his hand as she fumbled with

the fastening on the side pocket of her carisak. She tendered the small

plastic card distributed by the Facility with its communit codes. »The

Optherian Traveler´s Guide says they´ll take messages for visitors. You

could leave word for me there.« She smiled up at him with tremulous

wistfulness. »I know that once we leave Optheria, we´ll never meet again,

Corish, but at least while we´re still on the same planet, I was hoping we

could stay friends.« She broke off, ducking her head and dabbing at her

eyes which, on cue, had filled with moisture. She let him have just a

confirming glimpse of her teary face, although why she was prolonging their

association, she hadn´t a notion. One can get too wrapped up in

role-playing.

        »I promise you, Killa, that I´ll leave word at the Piper for you.«

And Corish put a finger under her chin and lifted her head to his gaze. He

had a rather engaging half-smile, she thought, though it wasn´t a patch on

Lanzecki´s. She managed to squeeze out a few more tears on the strength of

that comparison. »No need for tears, Killa.«

        Just then the shuttle clanged against the Athena´s side and

conversation became impossible with the noise of lock engagement and the

excited crescendo of farewells. Then crewmen were officiously directing

passengers to move to the port side of the lock. Killashandra was crammed

rather tightly between two large men and separated from Corish by another

sideways push.

        »What´s the delay?« one of her cushions demanded.

        »They´re loading some crates,« was the indignant reply. »Must be

something special. There´re seals and impregtape all over them.«

        »I shall complain to the Cruise Agent. I was under the impression

that people got preference over commodities on this Line!«

        As suddenly as it had begun, the press eased off and everyone was

shuffling toward the ramp into the shuttle. Killashandra didn´t see Corish

among the passengers already seated but she couldn´t fail to miss three

large foam boxes that contained the white crystal, for they occupied the

first three rows of seats on the shuttle´s starboard side.

        »They must be immensely valuable,« the first cushion-man said.

»Whatever could it be? Optherians don´t import much.«

        »Too right,« his companion said in an aggrieved tone. »Why those

are Heptite Guild seals.«

        The shuttle attendant had taken complete control of seating

arrangements, peremptorily filling the rows as he backed down the main

aisle. He gestured Killashandra to an inside seat and the two cushions

obediently settled in the next two. She caught a brief glimpse of Corish as

he passed, but he was assigned a seat on the other side of the aisle.

        »Not wasting any time, are they?« the first man said.

        »Have none to waste in a parabolic orbit,« his friend replied.

        »There mustn´t have been any outgoing passengers.«

        »Probably not. Optherians don´t leave their planet and the tourist

season hasn´t really started.«

        A rather ominous rumbling, issuing from the floor plates, startled

them. This was quickly followed by additional metallic complaints, causing

further vibrations under their feet.

        Two distinct thuds signaled the closing of the cargo bays. Then

Killashandra felt the air compress as the main passenger lock was shut and

secured. Through the skin of the hull beside her, she heard the snick of

the grapple release so she was prepared for the stomach-wrenching motion of

the shuttle´s falling away from the Athena. Her seatmates were not and

gasped in reaction, clutching the arm rests as the shuttle´s engines took

hold and pushed the passengers into the foam of their seats.

        The transfer from liner to planetary surface was a relatively short

run, though Killashandra´s seatmates complained bitterly about the

discomfort and duration all the way down. Killashandra accounted the

landing smooth but the two cushions found fault with that as well, so she

was immensely grateful when the port opened again, flooding the shuttle

with the crisp clean cool air of Optheria. She inhaled deeply, clearing her

lungs of the Athena´s recycled air. For all the craft´s modern amenities,

it had not quite solved the age-old problem of refreshing air without the

taint of deodorizers.

        No sooner had the first passengers filed into the arrival area than

the public address system began a recorded announcement, scrolling through

the same message in all major Federated Planets languages Passengers were

requested to have travel documents ready for inspection by Port

Authorities. Please to form a line in the appropriately marked alphabetic

or numeric queues. Aliens requiring special life support systems or

supplies would please contact a uniformed attendant. Visitors with health

problems were to present themselves, immediately after Clearance, to the

Port Authority Medical Officer. It was the hope of the Tourist Bureau of

Optheria that all visitors would thoroughly enjoy their holiday on the

planet.

        Killashandra was relieved to see that she would be able to present

her I.D. in some privacy, for the Inspectors presided in security booths.

Those waiting their turn in the queue could not observe the process. She

kept glancing to the far right of the line where Corish should be waiting

but he was not immediately visible. She caught sight of him just as it was

her turn to approach the Inspector.

        Killashandra suppressed a malicious grin as she slid her arm and

its I.D. bracelet under the visiplate. The blank expression of the

Inspector´s square face underwent a remarkable change at the sight of the

Heptite Seal on his screen. With one hand he pressed a red button on the

terminal in front of him and with the other urgently beckoned her to

proceed. Quitting the booth, he insisted on relieving her of her carisak.

        »Please, no fuss,« Killashandra said.

        »Gracious Guildmember,« the Inspector began effusively, »we have

been so concerned. The cabin reserved for you on the Athena -- «

        »I traveled economy.«

        »But you´re a Heptite Guildmember!«

        »There are times, Inspector,« Killashandra said, bending close to

him and touching his arm, »when discretion requires that one travel

incognito.« The hair stood up on the back of his hand. She sighed.

        »Oh, I see.« And clearly he did not. He unconsciously smoothed the

hair back down.

        They had walked the short distance to the next portal, which slid

apart to reveal a welcoming committee of four, three men and a woman,

slightly breathless. »The Guildmember has arrived!« The Inspector´s

triumphant announcement left the distinct impression that he himself had

somehow conjured her appearance.

        Killashandra stared apprehensively at them. They had a

disconcerting resemblance to each other, not only a sameness of height and

build but of coloring and feature. Even their voices were pitched in the

same sonorous timber. She blinked, thinking it might be some trick of the

soft yellow sunshine pouring in from the main reception area. Then she gave

herself a little shake: all were government employees, but could any

bureaucracy, Optherian or other, hire people on the basis of their uniform

appearance?

        »Welcome to Optheria, Guildmember Ree,« the Inspector said, beaming

as he ushered her past the portal, which whispered shut behind them.

        »Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Thyrol,« the first and oldest man

said, taking one step toward her and bowing.

        »Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Pirinio,« said the second,

following the example of the first.

        In unvarying ceremony, Polabod and Mirbethan made themselves known

to her. Had they practiced long?

        »I am truly welcomed,« she said with a gracious semibow. »The

crystal? It was aboard the shuttle.«

        All four looked to her right, left hands rising from their sides at

the same instant, to indicate the float appearing through a second portal.

Nullgravs suspended float and cartons above the gold-flecked marble floor

but proper guidance apparently required six attendants, each wearing an

anxious frown of concentration. A seventh man directed their efforts,

dancing from one side to the other to be certain that nothing impeded their

progress. These citizens of Optheria were reassuringly mismatched in size,

form, and feature.

        »We four,« Thyrol began, indicating his companions with a twist of

his hand, »are to be your guides and mentors during your stay on Optheria.

You have only to state your wishes and preferences and we -- Optheria --

will provide.«

        The four bowed again, like a wave from right to left. The Inspector

beside her also bowed. Thyrol lifted one eyebrow and the Inspector, bowing

again as he surrendered Killashandra´s carisak to Pirinio, formally receded

until the portal hissed apart and then closed. Killashandra wondered if the

Inspector´s euphoria would extend to lesser breeds, those without Guild

affiliation, when he resumed his booth in Immigration.

        »If you will step this way, Guildmember Ree.« Thyrol made another

of his graceful gestures.

        When she moved to walk beside him, he altered his stride to keep a

deferential meter from her. The others fell in behind. Killashandra

shrugged, accepting the protocol. Not having to chat with her escort gave

her a chance to glance about the shuttle port. The facility was functional

and decorated with murals of Life on Optheria: the main attraction of the

Summer Festival -- the organ -- was not depicted. Nor did the vaulted

arrivals hall appear to have any catering areas apart from one narrow bank

for beverage dispensing. Conspicuous by their absence were curio and

souvenir booths. Not even a ticket bank was to be seen. And only one lounge

area. At the wide exit, the doors sighed aside for Killashandra and Thyrol,

who quickly walked down the wide shallow steps to a broad, intricately

patterned apron of flat stones. Beyond was the roadway where the crew had

just finished stowing the three foam crates in a large ground effect

machine.

        Suddenly an arc of light flashed on behind Killashandra and a muted

alarm sounded. Guards materialized from inconspicuous booths on both sides

of the main entrance and approached the three Optherians of the reception

committee who were walking behind Killashandra and Thyrol.

        »Please do not be disconcerted, Guildmember Ree.« Thyrol waved to

the guards and they retreated back into their stations. The arc of light

disappeared.

        »What was that all about?«

        »Merely a security precaution.«

        »For my leaving the shuttle port?«

        Thyrol cleared his throat. »Actually, for Optherians leaving the

shuttle port.«

        »Leaving?«

        »This is our vehicle, Guildmember,« Thyrol said, smoothly urging

her across the flagstone plaza. She allowed herself to be diverted because

it was obvious that, whoever left the Shuttle Port was first obliged to

enter: the alarm would work in both directions. But how could the device

distinguish Optherians from other humans? No mutation had been mentioned in

her perusal of the Encyclopedia Galactica entry for the planet: most

ingenious for a warning device to differentiate between residents and

nonresidents. But surely it got a bit noisy and confusing when Optherians

were escorting tourists to the shuttle port. Or was that the reason for

this broad flagstone area? She would have to check on FSP regulations about

security measures restricting citizens of their planets.

        As her vehicle glided forward, the first of the shuttle passengers

began to emerge. On cue, fat accommodation buses filed out of the parking

area to the flagstone curb. Craning her neck slightly, Killashandra took

due note of the fact that the security system did not respond to the

foreigners´ exits.

        Already the vehicle was climbing out of the valley which contained

the shuttle port and the clutter of maintenance buildings. The place looked

bleakly ordered and preternaturally neat in comparison to what Killashandra

recalled of Fuerte´s busy space port. Perhaps when the tourist season

started . . . Even the clumps of trees and bushes which softened the harder

lines of the buildings had a regulated look. Killashandra wondered how

often the plantings had to be replaced. Shuttle emanations had a disastrous

effect on most vegetation.

        »Are you comfortable, Guildmember?« Mirbethan asked from her seat

behind Killashandra.

        »Of necessity the shuttle port was placed close to the City,«

Pirinio took up the conversation, »but is screened by these hills which

also absorb much of the noise and bustle.«

        Noise and bustle, his tone of voice told Killashandra, were the

unpleasant concomitants of space travel. »How wise of you,« Killashandra

replied.

        »Optherian´s founding fathers planned for every contingency,«

Thyrol said smugly. »No effort has been spared to conserve our planet´s

natural beauty.«

        The vehicle had reached the top of the gap and Killashandra had an

unimpeded view of the broader valley below them, in which nestled the

felicitous arrangement of pastel colored buildings, domes, and round towers

that comprised Optheria´s capital settlement, known as the City. From that

height, the impressive view drew a surprised exclamation from Killashandra.

        »It is breathtaking!« Thyrol chose to interpret her response his

way.

        Beautiful was a fair adjective, Killashandra thought, but

breathtaking, no! Even at that distance something was too prim and proper

about the City for her taste.

        »None of the indigenous trees and bushes were removed, you see,«

Thyrol explained, gesturing with his whole hand rather than a single

finger, »when the City was constructed, so that the natural, unspoiled

landscape could be retained.«

        »And the river and that lake? Are they natural features?«

        »But of course. Nature is not distorted on Optheria.«

        »Which is as it should be,« Polabod added. »The entire valley is as

it was when Man first landed on Optheria.«

        »The City Architect planned all the buildings and dwellings in the

unoccupied spaces,« Mirbethan said proudly .

        »How exceedingly clever!« Killashandra was wearing the contact

lenses recommended for Optheria´s sunlight and wondered if the planet would

be improved, viewed via augmented Ballybran vision. Just then it was very,

very, blah! Killashandra had to delve a long way for an adequate expression

which, tactfully, she did not voice. Would Borella have restrained herself?

Would she have noticed? Ah, well, Beauty is said to be in the eye of the

beholder! For Optheria´s sake, she was glad that someone loved it.

        While it might have been laudable of the Founding Fathers to wish

to preserve the entire valley as it was when Man first landed, it must have

given the architects and construction crews a helluva lot of trouble.

Buildings wrapped around copses of trees, straddled brooks, incorporated

boulders and ledges. Probably the floors on upper levels were even but it

must have been bumpy going at ground level. Fortunately the airfoils of her

vehicle were up to the uneven surface in the suburbs but the ride became

rather bouncy as they proceeded deeper into the City.

        Pausing at the intersection of a huge open square -- open except

for the many thorn bushes and scrawny trees -- Killashandra could not fail

to notice that the ground floor of one corner building made uneven arches

over repulsively greasy-looking bushes whose thorny branches were obviously

a hazard to pedestrians; something was to be said for the curtailment of

natural »beauty.« She could learn to hate the City quite easily. No wonder

some of the natives were restless. Just how did the Summer Festival

compensate for the rest of the Optherian year?

        Once past the open square, the road climbed gently to a cluster of

buildings evidently uninhibited by natural beauties, for they seemed to

have an architectural integrity so far lacking in the City.

        »It was necessary,« Thyrol said in a muted voice, »to add the

merest trace of a ramp to ascend to the Music Center.«

        »I wouldn´t have known it if you hadn´t told me,« Killashandra

said, unable to restrain her facetiousness.

        »One ought to approach on foot,« Pirinio went on in a repressive

tone, »but some latitude is permitted so that the audience may assemble

punctually.« His gesture called Killashandra´s attention to the many small

switchback paths to one side of the promontory.

        Killashandra repressed a second facetious remark which Pirinio´s

tone provoked. It wouldn´t be the installation on Optheria, not the organ,

nor the planet which were hazardous: once again it was the inhabitants. Was

she always to encounter such intolerant, inflexible, remorseless

personalities?

        »What sort of local brew do you have here on Optheria?« she asked,

keeping her tone casual. If the reply was »none,« she´d book out on the

next available craft.

        »Well, ah, that is, possibly not at all to your taste,

Guildmember.« Mirbethan´s startled reply was hesitant. »No beverages can be

imported. I´m sure you saw the notice in the Port Authority. Our

brewmasters produce four distinct fermented beverages: quite potable, I´m

told. Spirits are distilled from the Terran grains which we have managed to

adapt to Optherian soil, but I´ve been told that these are raw to educated

palates.«

        »Optheria produces excellent wines,« Pirinio said rather testily,

with a reproving glance at Mirbethan. »They cannot be exported and indeed,

some do not travel well even the relatively short distance to the City. If

wine is your preference, a selection will be put in your quarters.«

        »I´ll try some of the brews, too.«

        »Wine and beer?« Polabod exclaimed in surprise.

        »Crystal singers are required to keep a high blood-alcohol content

when absent from Ballybran. I´ll have to decide which is the best for my

particular requirement.« She sighed in patient forebearance.

        »I wasn´t informed that members of your Guild required special

diets.« Thyrol was clearly perturbed.

        »No special diet,« Killashandra agreed, »but we do require larger

intakes of certain natural substances from time to time. Such as alcohol.«

        »Oh, I see,« Thyrol replied, although clearly he did not.

        Does no one on this repulsive planet have a sense of humor?

Killashandra wondered.

        »Ah, here we are so soon,« Pirinio said, for the vehicle had swung

down the curving drive to the imposing main entrance of the largest

building on this musical height

        In orderly fashion but in decorous haste, a second welcoming

committee formed itself on the wide and shallow marble steps under the

colonnaded portico that shielded the massive central doors of the edifice.

Although large urns had been planted with some sort of weeping tree to

soften the harsh architecture, the effect was forbidding, rather than

welcoming.

        Killashandra emerged from the vehicle, ignoring Thyrol´s

outstretched hand. The Optherian´s obsequious behavior could quickly become

a major irritant.

        She had just straightened up and turned to step forward when

something slammed hard into her left shoulder and she was thrown off

balance against the vehicle. The fleshy point of her shoulder stung briefly

then began to throb. Thyrol began to bellow incoherently before he

attempted to embrace her in the misguided notion that she needed his

assistance.

        For the next few moments total chaos erupted: Thyrol, Pirinio, and

Polabod dashed about, issuing conflicting orders. The throng of dignitaries

turned into a terrified mob, splintering into groups which fled, stood

paralyzed, or added their shouts to the tumult. A flock of airborne sleds

reared up from the plateau to hover above the Music Complex, darting off on

diverse errands.

        Mirbethan was the only one able to keep her wits. She tore a strip

from the hem of her gown, and despite Killashandra´s protestations that she

required no aid, bound the wound. And it was she who discovered the weapon,

imbedded in the upholstery of the back seat.

        »That´s a businesslike piece of wickedness,« Killashandra remarked

as she studied the asterisk-bladed object, three of its lethal blades

buried in the seat back. The one which had wounded her pointed outward, a

strand of her sleeve material laid neatly along the cutting edge.

        »Don´t touch it« Mirbethan put out her hand to prevent such action.

        »No fear,« Killashandra said, straightening up. »Local

manufacture?«

        »No.« Mirbethan´s voice took on a note of indignant anger. »An

island implement. An outrage. We shall spare no effort to discover the

perpetrator of this deed.«

        There was a subtle, but discernible, alteration in Mirbethan´s tone

between her first two remarks and the last which Killashandra caught but

could not then analyze, for the rest of the committee suddenly recalled

that there had been a victim of this »outrage« and more attentions were

showered on Killashandra by the concerned. Despite her protestations, she

was carried into the vaulting entrance hall of the main building, and

whisked along a corridor, lined floor to ceiling with portraits of men and

women. Even in her swift passage she noticed that they all smiled in the

same tight, smug way. Then she was conducted to a lift while dignitaries

bickered about who should accompany her in the limited space.

        Once again, Mirbethan won Killashandra´s approval by closing the

door on the argument. They were met at their destination by a full medical

convention and Killashandra was made to lie on a gurney and was wheeled

into diagnostics.

        At the moment of truth. when the temporary bandaging was reverently

unwound from the injury, there was a stunned silence.

        »I could have spared everyone a great deal of unnecessary effort,«

Killashandra remarked dryly after she glanced at the clean, bloodless cut.

»As a crystal singer, I heal very quickly and am not the least bit

susceptible to infection. As you can see.«

        Consternation was rampant, with all the medics exclaiming over the

wound, and others cramming forward in an attempt to witness this miracle of

regeneration. Glancing up, Killashandra saw the very smug smile on

Mirbethan´s face, so very like the smiles on the portraits.

        »To what agency do you attribute such remarkable healing

properties?« asked the eldest of the medical people in attendance.

        »To living on Ballybran,« Killashandra replied. »As you must surely

be aware, the resonance of crystal slows down the degenerative process.

Tissue damage regenerates quickly. By this evening this minor cut will be

completely healed. It was a clean swipe and not all that deep.«

        She seized the opportunity to slip off the gurney.

        »If we may take a sample of your blood for analysis,« the elder

medic began, reaching for a sterilely packaged extractor.

        »You may not,« Killashandra said and again felt a wave of

incredulous dismay and surprise from her audience. Was contradiction

forbidden on Optheria? »The bleeding has stopped. Nor will analysis isolate

the blood factor which slows degeneration,« she went on with a kind smile.

»Why waste your valuable time?«

        She strode purposefully toward the door, determined to end this

interlude. Just then, Pirinio, Thyrol, and Polabod arrived, breathless in

their haste to rejoin her.

        »Ah, gentlemen, you are just in time to escort me to my quarters.«

And when there were stumbled explanations about receptions and Music Center

faculty waiting and the prospect of attendance by the Elders, she smiled

gently. »All the more reason for me to change . . .« and she gestured to

the torn sleeve.

        »But you´ve not been attended!« Thyrol cried, astonished to see an

unbandaged slash.

        »Very well, thank you,« she said and walked past him into the

corridor. »Well?« She swung round to face a throng of very confused people.

»Will no one escort me to my quarters?« This farce was beginning to pall

        The corridor, too, had its occupants, mostly in the universal green

garb of the medical profession. Therefore, the young man, clad in a dark

tunic, his bronzed legs bare to the soft leather ankle boots, stood out

among them.

        Lanzecki might swear that the Ballybran spore did not confer any

psychic enhancement but Killashandra was entertaining severe doubts on that

score. She had definitely caught conflicting emotional emanations from

Mirbethan, from the other worthies, and now, from this young man -- a

curious flash of green, annoyance, interest, and anticipation far too

strong to be the casual reaction to a visitor. And flash was all it could

be, for Thyrol and Pirinio bore down on her, all apologies for their

discourtesies real and imaginary. Mirbethan firmly took her place at

Killashandra´s right, edging the three men out of position and motioning

their guest down the hall. When Killashandra was able to glance back to the

young man, he was striding down a side corridor, head down, shoulders

sagging as if weighed down by some burden. Guilt?

        Then she was swept into the lift, down to the guest level, and into

the most sumptuous quarters which had ever been allotted to her. Having

agreed to descend to the reception as soon as she had changed gave her time

for only the most cursory examination of the apartment. She´d been guided

through a large, elegant reception room suitable for formal affairs. A

smaller room was evidently to be used as a studio or office. They hurried

past two bedchambers, one of them quite modern, before she was ushered into

a main room so vast that she had to stifle a chuckle. Mirbethan indicated

the toilet and the slightly open closet panel where her clothes had been

hung. Then the woman withdrew.

        Stripping off the torn garment, Killashandra flicked open one of

the Beluga spider-silk kaftans which ought to be suitable for any

reception: certainly a foil against the predominantly white or pale colors

which the Optherians seemed to prefer. Except for that brooding young man.

        Killashandra dwelt briefly on him as she washed hastily. Then she

couldn´t resist a peek into the other hygiene rooms. One contained a

variety of tubs, massage table, and exercise equipment while the third

boasted a radiant-fluid tub and several curious devices which Killashandra

had never before encountered but which left an impression of obscenity.

        Back in the bedchamber, she heard a soft rapping at the door.

        »I´m ready, I´m ready,« she cried, masking irritation with a lilt

in her voice.

 

Chapter 5

 

That protocol had become an art form on Optheria told Killashandra quite

clearly that if there were no rebellious spirits then the entire population

had stagnated. At the reception, every faculty member, their subordinates,

then every student, all in order of their rank and scholastic standing,

filed past her. Mercifully, handshaking was no longer a part of the ritual.

A nod, a smile, a mumbled repetition of the name sufficed. After fifty

nods, Killashandra felt her smile fixed in her cheeks and her face

stiffened into that mode. With her everfaithful quartette, she stood at the

top of a massive double staircase, whose white marble nights curved down

into a marbled hall below. The ceiling of the vast reception chamber was so

high that the murmuring of the assembled crowd was absorbed.

        Killashandra had had a glimpse of tables, laden with patterns of

plates whose contents were as precisely placed as the plates were, and with

beakers of colored liquids. The assembled scrupulously kept their eyes from

the direction of the refreshments. Killashandra guessed that they all knew

too well the taste and texture of the reception repast.

        There were curious patterns, too, in the reception. Five people

would take the right-hand staircase, the next five would descend on the

left. Killashandra wondered if a steward in some distant anteroom ticked

the people off for left and right. There were never more than ten people

waiting to be introduced, yet the flow down the hallway was steady despite

its apparent randomness.

        Abruptly no more people were making their way to the reception line

and Killashandra let her cheeks relax, rotating her head on her neck,

wriggling her lips and nose in a very undignified manner in order to ease

the muscles. One never knows when one´s early training as a singer is going

to prove useful, she thought, just as she heard a concerted intake of

breath from her quartette. Reorganizing her expression, she glanced up the

hall in time to observe the ceremonial approach of dignitaries.

        The seven figures who processed -- and that was the correct verb to

describe their advance -- were not differently garbed from the other highly

placed Optherians, but they wore their pale robes with an unmistakable air

of authority. Four men and three women, each wearing the same slight smile

upon their serene faces. Faces, Killashandra would shortly note, that had

been carefully adjusted by surgery and artifice to enhance that serenity,

for only one of the smiles reached the weary, bored, aged eyes.

        Elder Ampris, Killashandra was immensely relieved to discover, was

the only one of the Optherian rulers with whom she would have much contact.

He was currently responsible for the Music Complex. If there should ever be

a Stellarity Award given for Best Character Actor among Planetary Rulers,

surely Ampris would win it. But for the disparity of expression between eye

and face, Killashandra might have missed that gleam of humor and possibly

ignored that spontaneous lifting of the heart that occur when one

encounters a kindred spirit. The others, whose names Killashandra promptly

forgot, gave her hand one firm shake in welcome, a few words of gratitude

for making »so arduous a journey in this moment of planetary crisis,« and

passed on by, having acquitted their duty. They all waited, without

appearing to wait, at the top of the right-hand stair. Then Killashandra

felt the almost electric touch of Ampris´s hand, looked into his bright and

knowing eyes and returned the first genuine smile of the long afternoon.

        »We will have time to talk later on, Guildmember. In the meantime,

let us gild their afternoon with the gold and scarlet of our presence´s.«

His negligent wave took in the whole room, not just the high dignities

patiently awaiting the dissolution of the reception line.

        Thyrol glanced at Killashandra, her hand on Ampris´s arm, then he

turned to the nearest Elder woman and offered his arm. No fuss, no

confusion, no dithering about altered escorts or who would be left to

descend alone: everything was already worked out, planned down to the last

detail, including the unexpected. For, obviously, no one could have

expected Ampris to confer such an honor as his personal escort on

Killashandra.

 

        Killashandra wondered if the foodstuffs had been minutely measured,

for two bites disposed of each of the four small tidbits, five mouthfuls

emptied the wine glass. But she was among the lucky minority who had their

glasses refilled and were offered additional canapés.

        »This will be over soon,« Ampris murmured to her, his lips barely

moving. »A proper meal will be served us when the lesser orders have

dutifully taken their sip and sup and toddled back to the comfort of their

routines.«

        He spoke with neither scorn nor malice: Ampris was stating a fact

about the majority of the assembled.

        »Having had their rare treats of standing in the same room with a

real live breathing Crystal Singer?«

        »You are that!« Ampris´s gaze returned hers with no trace of guile

or evasion but he had a definite twinkle in his eye. »Three minutes after

you reached the infirmary, the news of your regenerative powers had seeped

to the basements.«

        »Surely you are not housed in a basement?«

        Ampris´s bright brown eyes twinkled again. »The seat of all

knowledge . . .«

        »So you can get to the bottom of things?«

        »Of course.«

        »And a position of maximum security?« Killashandra taunted him. Why

shouldn´t she start at the top with her covert inquiries?

        »Security is never a problem on such a well-ordered world as

Optheria.« He inclined his head to acknowledge the passing of three of the

dignitaries circulating the gathering. »Everyone is secure« -- he paused --

»on Optheria, each knowing his place and his duties. Security is the

foundation of the serenity of spirit which typifies this natural world.«

        Killashandra could find no mockery in his words nor any special

inflection in his voice. No sparkle of amusement lit his eye, no cynical

expression molded his face, yet Killashandra heard the denial as clearly as

if he had phrased it.

        »Someone must have had a momentarily troubled spirit to launch that

little star-knife at me.«

        »An island weapon,« Ampris said. »We allowed that settlement too

much leeway during the early years on Optheria. Its original colonists

were, naturally, of our mind, but before we could reestablish contact with

them, they had deviated from the original intent. Optheria was to be an

autonomous world: not to consist of autonomous groups.« Ampris´s humorless

voice and manner implied the treatment which had undoubtedly been meted out

to the dissenters. »The matter of that outrageous attack on your person

will be resolved, I can assure you, Guildmember Killashandra.«

        »I don´t doubt that for a moment.«

        Ampris searched her face. »On an ordered planet, the unusual is

always remarkable.«

        »Ampris, you may not monopolize our distinguished visitor,« said a

deep grating voice and Killashandra turned to find herself scrutinized by

one of the other male Elders. He had the eyes of a scavenger, bright, dark,

piercing. His thin, hooked nose did much to encourage the analogy. His skin

had a curious lacquered look, crinkling at the edges of his face from

whatever minor shift of expression he permitted. His glance dropped briefly

to her left shoulder, as if his gaze could penetrate the silk and examine

the healing wound beneath.

        »Monopoly has never been my passion, Torkes,« Ampris said. »My

associate, Torkes, holds the Communications Seat on Optheria. We work

closely together in our adjacent disciplines. He maintains that Music is

dependent on Communications, and I, of course, take the position that Music

is independent and without it, Communications would have nothing to

disseminate!«

        »But of course!« Killashandra mustered a broad and giddy smile with

which she favored both men impartially. Ampris accepted her evasion with a

slight smile while Torkes bowed as if her ambiguous reply awarded him the

decision. »What sort of crystal network does your facility use, Elder

Torkes?«

        »Crystal?« Torkes´s piercing stare was affronted. »We have no funds

to waste on that sort of technology. Crystal is reserved for musicians!«

        »Really?« And Killashandra caught the barest glimpse of the

satisfied reaction from Ampris. Torkes seemed totally oblivious to the

implication of his statement. »Even when crystal is a very natural -- «

        »Crystal is not natural to Optheria. Not a native product, you

understand. And we must maintain the integrity of our Charter.«

        »Indeed? Do you not violate that integrity by using alien

instrumentation?«

        Torkes dismissed her argument with a flick of his bony fingers.

»Music is an art form which we were able to bring with us, within the mind.

It is intangible -- «

        »And what is communication, then? Can it be touched? Smelt?

Tasted?«

        Torkes stared at her so fiercely that Killashandra was made aware

of the fact that not only had she dared to interrupt an Elder but she had

argued with him. She sensed rather than saw Ampris´s intense amusement

then, in the blink of his eyes, when Torkes was faced with the unpalatable

realization that a Heptite Guild-member, an invited specialist urgently

required by his planet, held equal status with himself.

        »Of course,« Ampris said, breaking the heavy silence that ensued,

»the organ was developed by an Optherian for Optherian purposes and is, in

fact, unique to our planet.«

        »Yes, yes, quite so,« Torkes mumbled just as a mellow chime

discreetly ended the reception.

        Torkes made an adroit escape.

        »So, one does not dispute with you Elders here?« Killashandra

asked, watching him move off through the throng.

        »It is good for us, I assure you, Ampris replied with a chuckle.

»Fortunately Torkes is more flexible than he sounds, for when he changes

Seats, he becomes totally committed to his immediate responsibility.« When

Killashandra looked quizzical, he added: »We Elders change our duties every

four years, so as not to become too narrow in our understanding of the

overview.«

        »I see.«

        »Then you are wiser than your years,« Ampris said, »for I cannot

believe that an administrator who is tone deaf can effectively guide Music:

or that an Elder who cannot integrate should have charge of the Treasury.

However, the governmental mechanism is so weighty that four years of

mismanagement generally produce no more than annoying miscalculations and

minor blunders easily corrected. The brilliance of the Founding Fathers of

Optheria is once more unquestionably elucidated.«

        Thyrol appeared, respectfully inclining his upper body at his

interruption.

        »Elder Ampris, Guildmaster Ree, if you will proceed to the dining

chamber?«

        The beauty of the hall, the elegantly set table and Elder Ampris´s

earlier comment deceived Killashandra into anticipating a far better meal.

Although presented in appealing style, the miniscule portions did not

appeased Killashandra´s heavy appetite. Nor was she offered enough of any

one food to make a positive identification of its constituents or savor its

taste. The courses were accompanied by beverages which were so bland that

the water had more zest to it -- and not a brew or a ferment among them.

Killashandra´s exasperated sigh caught the attention of Elder Pentrom, her

right-hand dinner partner.

        »Something is amiss?« he asked politely and then stared for a brief

moment at her clean plate. He was but halfway through the food on his.

        »Doesn´t Optheria produce brews. or vintages or something with more

taste than these, Elder Pentrom?«

        »You mean an alcoholic beverage?« he said, as if she had made a

particularly obscene suggestion.

        Killashandra favored him with a longer look and decided that with

his prim mouth, sharp chin, and tiny eyes, no other reaction could have

been expected.

        »Indeed I do mean alcoholic beverages.« He opened his mouth to

protest, but before he could utter a word she said, »Alcohol is essential

to the proper metabolic function of a crystal singer.«

        »I have never heard that in all my years as Medical Supervisor of

this planet.«

        »Have you encountered many crystal singers in your career?« Piqued

by yet another dogmatic encounter, Killashandra discarded any semblance of

tact. These people needed a set-down and she was in the enviable position

of being able to give it with impunity.

        »In actual fact, no -- «

        »Then how can you possibly dispute my statement? Or question my

requirements? This,« and she waved a scornful hand at the goblet before

her, »bilge -- «

        »That beverage is a nutritious liquid, carefully combined to supply

the adult daily requirements of vitamins and minerals to ensure -- «

        »No wonder it tastes so revolting. And may I point out that any

brewmaster worth his license provides the same vitamins and minerals in a

form palatable enough to satisfy the inner man as well.«

        The Medical Supervisor hitched his chair back, throwing his

serviette on the table in preparation for harangue, and suddenly they were

the center of attention. »Young woman -- «

        »Spare me your condescension, Elder,« Killashandra replied as she

rose gracefully to her feet and glared down at him. She swept the table

with a reproving look. »I shall retire to my apartment until such time as

my dietary requirements can be met with enough food« -- she flipped over

her empty plate -- »to satisfy my appetite and sufficient alcoholic

beverages to keep my metabolism functioning. Good evening!«

        In the stunned silence, Killashandra left the room. Doors the size

and density of the ones securing the dining chamber did not slam

satisfactorily but she had enjoyed her exit so much that she did not miss

that part of the finale. In the corridor, she startled minions, lounging

against the walls.

        »Does anybody know where my apartments are in this mausoleum?« she

demanded. When all raised their hands, she pointed to the nearest. »Take me

there.« When he hesitated and looked anxiously at the door, she repeated

her order in a louder and more authoritative tone. He scurried forward,

more desirous of avoiding her immediate wrath than courting disfavor of an

absent authority.

        »Tell me.« she asked in a pleasant tone when they had entered a

small lift, »is food plentiful on Optheria?«

        He cast her a very nervous glance and when she smiled winningly at

him, relaxed a little, though he kept as far from her in the carriage as

possible.

        »There is plenty of food on Optheria. Too much. This year only half

the fields may be planted, and I know that early fruit has been left to rot

on the vine.«

        »Then why did I get three mouthfuls at dinner?«

        Something approaching levity touched the young man´s face. »All the

Elders are old: they don´t eat much.«

        »Hmm! That´s one explanation. But a good brew or a nice dry vintage

would have helped!«

        A smile tugged at the young man´s lips. »Well, Elder Pentrom was

present and he is death on any sort of alcoholic beverage. Says it saps the

energy of the young and disrupts thought in the mature.«

        »And he was my dinner partner!« Killashandra´s crow of malice

resounded in the enclosed space. »My timing is, as ever, superb! Well, I´m

not under his jurisdiction and, if Optheria really needs that organ

repaired, the Elders will have to placate me, not him.« The young man was

obviously shocked. »Tell me,« she said in her kindest, most wheedling

voice, »you seem to be a knowledgeable fellow, what sort in interesting

beverages are produced on this planet?«

        »Oh, there are brews and vintages,« he assured her promptly and

with some pride, »and some rather potent spirituous drinks manufactured in

the mountains and the islands -- but that sort of stuff isn´t permitted in

the Conservatory.« The lift´s doors slid open, and the Optherian bustled

out.

        »More´s the pity.« Killashandra strode on down the hallway after

her guide. »What do you drink? No, abort the question,« and she grinned at

his startled glance. »What is the most popular drink?«

        »The most popular one on this continent is a brew called Bascum.«

        »Is Bascum a plant or a person?«

        »Person.« Her guide was warming to his subject. He indicated they

take the left-hand corridor at the junction. »One of the Founding Fathers.«

        »So his brewery is allowed to function in the face of the Medical

Supervisor´s displeasure?« Killashandra grinned as he nodded. »I infer from

your remarks that there are other popular drinks? Any wines?«

        »Oh, yes, the western continent produces some very fine vintages,

both white and red, and some doubly distilled liqueurs. I´m not familiar

with the wines at all.«

        »And those islands you mentioned, they go for the spirituous

liquors?«

        »The polly tree.«

        »The polly tree?«

        »Its fermented fruit makes a brandy which, I´m told, is more potent

than anything else in the universe. The polly tree provides foliage for

shelter, a fine-grained wood for building, its roots burn for a long time,

its bark can be pounded into a fiber which the islanders use for weaving

cloth, its pith is extremely nutritious, and its large fruit is delicious

as well as nutritious -- «

        »When it isn´t fermented -- «

        »Exactly.«

        »And the polly tree only grows on the islands?«

        »That´s right, and here is your apartment. Guildmember.« He opened

the door.

        »There´s no privacy lock on this?« Killashandra had not noticed the

lack in her first hurried inspection.

        »There is no need for such in the Complex.« Her guide appeared

surprised at her reaction . » No one would presume to enter without your

express permission.«

        »There are no thieves on Optheria?«

        »Not in the Conservatory!«

        She thanked him for his escort and entered her sacrosanct

apartment, closing the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Only then did

her eye fall on the table. She exclaimed aloud at the display of bottles of

all sizes and shapes. at the beakers, goblets, wine glasses that waited in

pristine array on the white cloth. A separate tray offered an assortment of

tidbits, nuts, and small wafers. A small chest opened to exhibit chilled

bottles and two pottery amphoras.

        There was no way the collection could have been assembled and

spirited into her apartment in the time elapsed since she stormed out of

the dining room. Then she remembered her remarks on the trip from the

spaceport. Well, Elder Pentrom might be a prissy, dogmatic, abstemious man,

but obviously her every whim was someone´s command.

        Because her guide had mentioned Bascum, her choice among so many

finally settled on the neat brown bottle in the cold chest. She flipped the

top off and let the midbrown brew slowly descend into an appropriate

beaker. The malty scent that rose to her nostrils suggested good things to

come.

        »And about time, too,« she said, scooping up a random selection of

nibbles and sinking into the nearest comfortable seat. »To absent friends!«

She lifted her beaker high then took her first sip.

        She regarded the brew with respect and delight. »Could Bascum

possibly have come from Yarra?« she asked herself. »This might not be so

bad an assignment after all!«

 

Chapter 6

 

By the time the quick Optherian sunset had finished its evening display,

Killashandra had sampled nine beverages, wishing she had someone with whom

to share the largesse, especially since there was a prohibition against it.

Which brought Corish to mind, and that mythical uncle of his. Unless she

could discover how much surveillance she would be having from her discreet

quartette -- and how easy it would be to outwit it -- she didn´t want to

risk meeting him. Would they think it odd if she left a message in at the

Piper Facility? Corish had considerably piqued her curiosity and she was

somewhat motivated by a desire to show him that two could play the

exploitation gambit.

        Someone tapped on her apartment door and, when Mirbethan entered on

her permission, Killashandra caught the shade of uncertainty in the

Optherian´s manner.

        »Since you´re not accompanied by any priss-mouthed ancients, you

are welcome. And if that excuse for a meal is a state dinner here, no

wonder you´re a lean bunch.«

        Mirbethan flushed. »Since Elder Pentrom graciously accepted our

invitation, we are obliged to cater to his dietary preferences. Didn´t

Elder Ampris mention this to you?«

        »He failed to put me in the know. However. all this,« and

Killashandra waved expansively at the beverage table´s load, »makes up for

that deficiency, though solid food would assist my investigations . . .«

        »There was no time to show you the catering facility.« Mirbethan

glided to one of the discreet wall cabinets. Its doors opened on a catering

unit. »Alcoholic beverages are not included. Students have a distressing

aptitude for breaking restricted codes.« Killashandra decided that she

merely thought she detected a note of tolerant humor in Mirbethan´s voice.

»That is why we have supplied you with a sampling of the available

intoxicants.«

        »In spite of Elder Pentrom.«

        Mirbethan cast her eyes downward.

        »Tell me, Mirbethan, would you happen to know if Bascum the

brewmaster originated from the planet Yarra?«

        »Bascum?« Mirbethan looked up, startled, and confused. When

Killashandra waved the long-emptied bottle at her, she blushed. »Oh, that

Bascum.« Now she glided to a second ornate cabinet which opened into a full

size terminal, and a panel in the wall slid aside to reveal a large screen.

She typed an entry as Killashandra made a private wager. »Why, how under

the suns did you know?«

        »The best brewmasters in the galaxy hail from that planet. I

haven´t sampled everything yet,« Killashandra went on, »but I shall be very

well suited indeed if you´ll undertake to keep me supplied with Bascum´s

brew.«

        »As you require, Guildmember. But for now, the concert is about to

start in the Red Hall. Only the single manual organ, but the performer was

last year´s prize winner.«

        Killashandra was tempted, but she was a shade hungrier and drier

than she liked to be. »The Elders are present?« When Mirbethan solemnly

nodded, Killashandra sighed deeply. »Convey my apologies on the grounds of

travel fatigue . . . and the stress of metabolic readjustment after the

assault and the wound.« Killashandra ran the silk up her arm, exposing her

shoulder where only a thin red line gave evidence of an injury.

        Mirbethan´s eyes widened significantly and then, with a subtle

shift, she inclined a bow to Killashandra.

        »Your apologies will be conveyed. Call code MBT 14 if you require

any further assistance from myself, Thyrol. Pirinio, or Polabod.«

        Killashandra wished her a pleasant evening and Mirbethan withdrew.

As soon as the door had closed on the woman, Killashandra discarded her

languor and made for the catering unit. Once again, Optherian peculiarities

inhibited her, for when she called up a menu, there was no scrolling of

delectable, mouthwatering selections but a set dinner, with only three

choices for the main course. She opted for all three, and immediately the

catering unit queried her. She repeated her request and, when the unit

wanted to know how many were dining, she tapped in »three.« At which point

the unit informed her that the apartment was recorded as having a single

occupant. She replied that she had guests. Their names and codes were

required. She responded with the names of Elders Pentrom and Ampris, codes

unknown.

        The food was promptly dispensed, two of the meager servings that

she had observed in the dining hall. Fortunately the third one was

substantial enough to abort the kick that she had been about to bestow on

the catering unit.

        Once she had solid food in her stomach, she continued her liquor

sampling. While not in the least inebriated, thanks to her

Ballybran-altered digestion, Killashandra was very merry and sang lustily

as she ventured into the hygiene rooms and splashed in the scented water of

the bath. She continued to sing, her fancy latching onto a riotous ballad

generally rendered by a tenor, as she made her way to the bedroom. A

lambent radiance augmented the soft lighting and, curious, she went to the

window, observing three of Optheria´s four small moons, one near enough for

the craters and vast sterile plains to be clearly visible. Entranced,

Killashandra broke off the ballad and began the haunting love duet from

Baleef´s exotic opera, Voyagers, which seemed particularly appropriate to

the setting.

        When a tenor voice joined her on cue, she faltered a moment. Then,

despite her astonishment at spontaneity in such a rigidly controlled

environment, she continued Voyagers had been her last opera as a student on

Fuerte, so she knew it well enough to divert some of her attention from the

words. And a fine, rich, well produced voice he had. Might need a bit more

support for the G´s and A s in the last three measures -- she´d be amazed

if he could hit the high C along with her -- but he had a firm sense of the

dynamic requirements and sang with great sensitivity. As the tenor took up

the melody, she gathered herself for the taxing finale, delighted to find

her singing voice still flexible enough for the dynamics, and the high C.

The tenor, with no loss of vibrance, opted for the A, but it was a grand

ringing A and she applauded his judgment.

        She sustained her note, perversely wishing him to drop but, as it

happened, they broke off at the same instant, as if they had had the

innumerable rehearsals such inspired singing required.

        » ‘When shall our paths cross again?´ « she asked in the recitative

which followed that spectacular duet.

        » ‘When the moons of Radomah make glorious the sky with measured

dance.´ « The invisible tenor also had a vibrant speaking voice, and,

better yet, an appreciation of the humor in their impromptu performance for

she caught the ripple of laughter in his chanted phrases. Did he also find

the words, and the opera, a trifle ludicrous in the austere setting of the

Optherian Complex?

        All of a sudden, the courtyard below was floodlighted. Figures

erupted onto the paving, shouting commands for silence. Before she stepped

back from the window, Killashandra caught a glimpse of a figure, in a

window directly opposite hers but a story above, withdrawing into the

shielding darkness. Soprano and tenor exited the stage while the extras

made a diligent and vain search for the conspirators.

        Killashandra poured herself a full glass of something which its

label identified as a fortified wine. This was an odd music center if

impromptu singing, particularly of so high a caliber, was answered by

punitive force.

        She downed the drink, doused all the lights in the suite and, in

the milky light of the moons, sought the comfort of her bed. Despite a wish

for sleep, her mind ranged through the scenes of the Baleef opera and the

sorrows of the star-crossed lovers. She must remember to ask Mirbethan who

that tenor was. Fine voice! Much better than the pimple-faced little oaf

who had sung the role opposite her on Fuerte!

        Morning chimes, soft but insidious, roused her. She lifted herself

on one elbow, saw that dawn was just breaking, groaned and, flinging the

light coverlet over her head, went back to sleep. A second sequence of

chimes, louder, sounded. Cursing, Killashandra strode to the console, coded

the number Mirbethan had given her. »Is there any way to stop the wretched

chimes in this apartment? Imagine, having to wake up at dawn!«

        »That is the way here, Guildmember, but I shall advise Control that

your apartment is to be excluded from the Rising Chimes.«

        »And all others, please! I will not be ordered about by bells,

drums, whistles, shrills, or inaudibles. And who possesses that remarkably

fine tenor voice?«

        Mirbethan shot Killashandra a startled look. »You were disturbed by

it -- «

        »Not in the least. But if that´s the quality of natural musical

talent on Optheria, I´m impressed.«

        »The Center does not encourage vocalizing.« Mirbethan´s cool denial

roused Killashandra´s instant hostility.

        »You mean, that tenor is a reject from your opera school?«

        »You misunderstand the situation, Guildmember. All the teaching

centers on Optheria emphasize keyboard music.«

        »You mean, only that organ?«

        »Of course. The organ is the ultimate of instruments,

combining the -- «

        »Spare me the hype, Mirbethan.« Killashandra took an obscure

pleasure in the shock her statement gave the woman. Then she relented. »Oh,

I concur that the Optherian organ is a premier instrument, but that tenor

voice was rather spectacular on its own merit.«

        »You should not have been disturbed -- «

        »Fardles! I enjoyed singing with him.«

        Mirbethan´s eyes rounded in a secondary shock. »You . . . were the

other singer?«

        »I was.« File that for future reference! »Tell me, Mirbethan, if

only a few of the hundreds who must study at this Center ever attain the

standard required to play the Optherian organ, what happens to those who

don´t?«

        »Why, suitable situations are found for them.«

        »In music?« Mirbethan shook her head. »I´d think that crystal

singing would provide a marvelous alternative.«

        »Optherians do not care to leave their planet. whatever their minor

disappointments. You will excuse me, Guildmember -- « Mirbethan broke the

connection.

        Killashandra stared at the blank screen for a long moment. Of

course, neither Mirbethan nor any of the quartette knew of her early

background in music. Certainly none of them could possible know of her

disappointment, nor how she would relate that to what Mirbethan had just

admitted. If you failed to make the grade at the organ, there was nothing

else for you on Optheria?

There was no way in which Killashandra would buy Mirbethan´s statement that

frustrated Optherian musicians would prefer to remain on the planet, even

if they had been conditioned to the restriction from birth.

        And that tenor had sung with absolute pitch. It´d be a bloody shame

to muzzle that voice in preference to an organ, however »perfect« an

instrument it might be. Hazardous crystal singing might be as a profession,

but it sure beat languishing on Optheria. A sudden thought struck her and,

with a fluid stride, she went to the terminal, tapped for Library, and the

entry on Ballybran. A much expurgated entry scrolled past, ending with the

Code Four restriction. She queried the Files for political science texts

and discovered fascinating gaps in that category. So, censorship was

applied on Optheria. Not that that ever accomplished its purpose. However,

an active censorship was not grounds for charter-smashing, and the Guild

had only been requested to discover if the planetary exit restriction was

popularly accepted.

        Well, she knew one person she could ask -- the tenor -- if he

hadn´t gone into hiding after last night´s hunt. Killashandra grinned. If

she knew tenors . . .

        She had breakfasted -- the catering unit did offer a substantial

breakfast -- and dressed by the time Thyrol arrived to inquire if she had

rested, and more importantly, if she would like to start the repairs. He

tactfully indicated her arm.

        »You´ve apprehended the assailant?«

        »Merely a matter of time.«

        »How many students in the Complex?« she asked amiably as Thyrol led

her down the hall to the lift.

        »At present, four hundred and thirty.«

        »That´s a lot of suspects to examine.«

        »No student would dare attack an honored guest of the planet.«

        »On most planets, they´d be the prime suspects.«

        »My dear Guildmember, the selection process by which this student

body is chosen considers all aspects of the applicant´s background,

training, and ability. They uphold all our traditions.«

        Killashandra mumbled something suitable. »How many positions are

available to graduates?«

        »That is not an issue, Guildmember,« Thyrol said with mild

condescension. »There is no limit to the number of fully trained performers

who present compositions for the Optherian organ -- «

        »But only one may play at a time -- «

        »There are forty-five organs throughout Optheria -- «

        »That many? Then why couldn´t one of those be substituted -- «

        »The instrument here at the Complex is the largest, most advanced

and absolutely essential for the performance level required by the Summer

Festival. Composers from all over the planet compete for the honor and

their work has been especially written for the potential of the main

instrument. To ask them to perform on a lesser organ defeats the purpose of

the Festival.«

        »I see,« Killashandra said although she didn´t. However, once she

had been admitted through the series of barriers and security positions

protecting the damaged organ, she began to appreciate the distinction

Thyrol had made.

        He had taken her to the rocky basements of the Complex, and then to

the impressive and unexpectedly grand Competition Amphitheater which

utilized the natural stony bowl on the nether side of the Complex

promontory. Some massive early earthfault and a lot of weathering had

molded the mount´s flank into a perfect semicircle. The Optherians had

improved the amphitheater with tiered ranks of individual seating units,

facing the shelf on which the organ console stood. This was accessible only

from the one entrance through which Thyrol now guided Killashandra. With a

sincere and suitable awe, Killashandra looked about her, annoyed that she

was gratifying Thyrol´s desire to impress a Guildmember even as she was

unable to suppress that wonder. She cleared her throat, and the sound,

small though it was, echoed faithfully back at her. »The acoustics are

incredible,« she murmured and, as Thyrol smiled tolerantly, heard her words

whispered back. She rolled her eyes and looked about her for an exit from

the phenomenal stage.

        Thyrol gestured to a portal carved in the solid rock on the far

side of the organ console. From his belt pouch he extracted three small

rods. With these and his thumb print, he opened the door, the sound

reverberating across the empty space. Killashandra slipped in first. As

familiar as she was with auditoria of all descriptions, something about

this one unnerved her. Something about the seats reminded her of primitive

diagnostic chairs which used physical restraints on their occupants, yet

she knew that people would cross the Galaxy to attend the Festival.

        Lights had come up at their entry and illuminated a large,

low-ceilinged chamber. Taking up the floor space in front of the innocuous

interlinked cabinets that made up the electronic guts of the Optherian

organ were the prominent sealed crates containing the white crystal.

Overhead harnesses of color-coded cables formed a ceiling design before

they disappeared through conduits to unknown destinations.

        Thyrol led the way to the large rectangle containing the shattered

remains of the crystal manual.

        »How, in the name of all that´s holy, did he manage that?«

Killashandra demanded after surveying the damage. Some of the smaller

crystals had been reduced to thin splinters. In idle wonder she picked up a

handful of the shards, letting them trickle through her fingers, ignoring

Thyrol´s cry of alarm as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands back.

The tiny cuts inflicted by the scalpel-sharp crystal briefly oozed droplets

of blood then closed over while Thyrol watched in fascinated horror.

        »As you can see, the merest caress of crystal.« She twisted her

hands free of Thyrol´s unexpectedly strong grasp. »Now,« and she spoke more

briskly, looking down at the mess in the bottom of the cabinet, »I´ll need

some tools, some stout fellows, and stouter baskets to remove the debris.«

        »An extractor?« Thyrol suggested.

        »There isn´t an extractor built on Ballybran or anywhere else that

wouldn´t be sliced to ribbons by crystal shards in suction. No, this has to

be cleaned in a time honored fashion -- by hand.«

        »But you . . .«

        Killashandra drew herself up. »As a Guildmember, I am not averse to

performing necessary manual tasks.« She paused to let Thyrol appreciate the

difference. She had done more than enough shard-scrapping on Ballybran to

undertake it here on Optheria.

        »It is only that security measures -- «

        »I would, of course, accept your assistance in the interests of

security.«

        Thyrol hastily adjourned to a communication console. »What exactly

do you require, Guildmember?«

        She gauged the volume of broken crystal in the cabinet. »Three

strong men with impervometallic bins of approximately ten-kilo volume,

triple-strength face masks, durogloves, fine-wire brushes, and the sort of

small, disposable extractor used by archeologists. We have to be sure to

glean every particle of crystal dust.«

        Thyrol´s eyes bugged out a bit over the more bizarre items, but he

repeated her requirements, and then turned up very stiff indeed when he was

subjected to questions by the staff. »Of course, they have to be cleared by

Security, but they are to be here immediately, properly geared to assist

the Guildmember!« He broke off the connection and, his face blotched with

displeasure, turned to Killashandra. »With so much at stake, Guildmember,

you can appreciate our wish to protect you and the organ from further

depredations. If something should happen to the replacement crystal . . .«

        Killashandra shrugged. From what she had seen of Optherians, ‘once

bitten, twice shy« described their philosophy. She ran her hand across the

instrument nearest her, glancing around at the rest of the anonymous

equipment. »This is a more complex device than I´d been led to believe.«

She turned and presented a politely inquiring expression to Thyrol.

        »Well, ah, that is . . .«

        »Come now, Thyrol, I am scarcely connected with the subversives.«

        »No, of course not.«

        Killashandra diverted Thyrol´s attention from realizing that he had

covertly admitted the existence of an underground organization by turning,

once again, toward the front of the chamber and pointing at the access