long and he was partly to blame: the consequences were for both to enjoy.

»Whatever are you waiting for, Lars?«

 

Chapter 11

 

A light, almost tender, finger touch on her shoulder, just where the

star-knife had sliced her flesh, roused Killashandra from the velvet

darkness of the deepest sleep she had ever enjoyed. She felt weightless,

relaxed. Despite her having led an uninhibited private life, Killashandra

was inexplicably possessed by shyness, a curious reluctance to face Lars.

She didn´t want to face him, or the world, quite yet.

        Then she heard the barest ripple of laughter in the tenor voice of

her lover.

        »I didn´t want to wake up either, Carrigana . . .«

        Loath to perpetuate any lies between them, she almost corrected the

misnomer but she found it too difficult to overcome the physical languor

that gripped her body. And an explanation of her name would lead to so many

more, any of which might fracture the stunning memory of the previous

night.

        »I´ve . . . never . . .« He broke off, his finger tracing other

scar lines on her forearms -- crystal scar (and how could she explain those

at this point in a magical interlude) -- down to her hands where his strong

tapered fingers fit in between hers. »I don´t know what you did to me,

Carrigana. I´ve . . . never . . . had a love experience like that before.«

A rueful laugh that cracked because he couldn´t keep it soft enough to

match his whisper. »I know that when a man´s been troubled, a normal

reaction is to seek sexual relief from a woman -- any woman. But you

weren´t just ‘any woman´ last night, Carrigana. You were . . . incredible.

Please open your eyes so that I can see you believe what I´m saying --

because it is true!«

        Killashandra could not have ignored the plea, the sincerity, the

soul sound in his voice. She opened her eyes. His were inches away and she

was gripped by an overpowering surge of love, affection, sensuality,

empathy, and compassion for this incredib1e and talented young man. Relief

was mirrored in the very clear blue of his eyes: a

morning-lagoon-in-sunlight clear blue, as vivid as the sea could sometimes

be. Relief and the sudden welling up of tears. With the shuddering sigh

that rippled down his body, so close to hers, he dropped his head to the

point of her shoulder, just above the knife-scar. When, at length, he

confessed that he had caused it, she would willingly forgive him. Just as

she was willing to forgive him her abduction, for whatever marvelous reason

he might submit. After last night, how could she deny him anything? Perhaps

last night had been such a unique combination of emotional upheavals that a

repetition was unlikely. The prospect made her smile.

        As if he sensed her responses -- he had certainly sensed them last

night -- he lifted his head again, anxious eyes searching her face. She saw

that he was not unscathed, for his lower lip was red and puffy as he tried

to echo her smile.

        Then she chuckled, tracing the line of his mouth with an apologetic

finger.

        »I don´t think I can ever forget last night happened, Lars Dahl.«

Would she ever find adequate words to record this on her personal file at

Ballybran? She let her finger drop to his jaw. His grin became more

self-confident, and his fingers squeezed hers lightly. »There´s one problem

. . .« His face tightened with concern. »How long will it take us to

recover to try it again?«

        Lars Dahl burst out laughing, rolling away from her.

        »You may be the death of me, Carrigana.«

        Once again Killashandra ardently refretted using that particular

pseudonym. She desperately wanted to confess everything and hear her own

name on his lips, in his rich and sensual voice.

        »Like last night?«

        »Oh my precious Sunny,« he replied, his voice altering from

spontaneous laughter to urgent loverliness as he rolled back to her, his

hand gently cupping her head, fingers stroking her hair, »it was almost a

death to leave you.«

        That he might be quoting some planetary poet, she discarded as

unworthy. Her body and mind echoed the sentiment. Their exhausted sleep had

been like a little death, it had overtaken them so completely.

        With total unconcern for aesthetics, her stomach rumbled

alarmingly. They suppressed a laugh and then let their laughter blend, as

they enveloped each other in loving arms.

        »C´mon, I´ll race you to the sea,« Lars said, his eyes sparkling

with amusement. »A swim to cool us off.« He rose lithely to his feet,

offering her a hand.

        It was only when the light blanket fell from her body that she

realized its presence. And noticed the small basket to one side of the

clearing, the unmistakable neck of a wine jug protruding from the lazy

stream.

        I woke at dawn,« Lars said, hands on her shoulders as he gently

inclined forward to kiss her cheek. »The wind was a touch chilly. So I got

a few things for us. Could we spend today together and alone?«

        Killashandra leaned lovingly against him for a moment. » I feel

remarkably unsocial. »She wanted nothing more.

        »You´ll barely look at me!« Lar´s voice rippled with amused

complaint.

        Her hands began to caress him as his were gentle on her arms.

Almost guiltily they broke apart. Laughing, they joined hands and pressed

through the bushes toward the seashore.

        The sea was calm, the waves mere ripples flopping over at the last

moment onto the smooth, wet sand. The water was soothing, soft against her

body. Finally hunger could no longer be denied and they sprinted back to

the secret clearing, patting each other dry, carefully avoiding the sorest

spots. That morning Lars had acquired fresh fruits, bread, and a soft

savory cheese as well as some of the flavorful dried fish that was an

island specialty. There was wine to wash it all down. Lars had also had the

wit to ‘borrow´ from Mama Tulla´s wash line a voluminous and comfortable

kaftan for her and a thigh length shirt for himself.

        They were both hungry enough to concentrate on eating, but they

smiled whenever their eyes met, which was often. When their hands touched

as they hunted in the basket for food, the touch also became a caress. When

all the food had been eaten, Lars excused himself with grave courtesy and

pushed through the bushes. Trying to suppress giggles. Killashandra did the

same. But when she returned to the clearing, Lars was making a couch of

polly fronds and sweetly scented ferns. In silent accord, they lay down,

spread the light blanket over their weary bodies and, hands lightly

clasped, surrendered to fatigue.

 

        Once again the sensation of light fingers stroking the crystal

scars roused Killashandra.

        »You were a long time learning to handle polly, weren´t you?« he

said, his teasing tender.

        She sighed, hoping she could somehow, and, with reasonable truth,

evade his natural curiosity about her. She daren´t risk a full disclosure

even in the euphoria which still enveloped them.

        »I came from the City. I´d no choice about an island life or an

education in polly planting.«

        »Must you go back to the City?« Apprehension roughened his voice,

his fingers tightened on hers in an almost painful grip.

        »Inevitably.« She turned her face against his arm, wishing it were

bare and she could taste the skin covering the strong arms that had held

her with such love: which must hold her once again in love, preferably for

a long, long time. »I don´t belong here, you know.«

        »I didn´t think you did,« and his reply was amused acceptance,

»once you dropped the Keralawian accent.« She warned herself to watch what

she said. »Where do you belong, Carrigana?«

        »Besides in your arms?« Then the honesty of the moment began to

close in on her. »I don´t really know, Lars.« These moments were out of

context with any previous part of her life on Fuerte or Ballybran: totally

divorced from Killashandra, Crystal Singer. Pragmatically she knew the

euphoria would end all too soon but the desire to prolong it consumed her.

»How about you, Lars? Where do you belong?«

        »The Islands don´t actually hold me any more. I´ve come to realize

that over the past few months. And think that my father recognizes it, too.

Oh, I´m partner in an interisland carrier service that´s reasonably

profitable -- useful to the islanders certainly.« He grinned. »But three

years in the City at the Complex taught me discipline, order, and

efficiency and the easy way of islanders irritates me. I can´t see me

settling in to City life, either . . .«

        Killashandra raised herself on her elbow, looking down at his face.

The muscles were relaxed but the strength and character in his features

were not the least bit diminished.

        »Aren´t you going to appeal the Master´s decision?« Her fingers

traced his clearly defined left brow.

        »No one appeals their decision, Carrigana,« he said with a

contemptuous snort. Then he drew both eyebrows together: her finger

followed to caress away his scowl. »They did, damn their souls to

everlasting acid, have the incredible gall to suggest that, if I performed

a slight service for them, they might consider. And like a childish fool I

believed them.« Incensed by his memories, he swung to a sitting position,

arms clasping his knees tightly to his chest, his mouth in a bitter line.

»A real fool but so desperate to have my composition accepted -- not so

much for my own prestige as to prove that an islander could succeed at the

Complex and to vindicate the support the islanders had given me during

those years.« He twisted his torso around to face her. »You´d never guess

what this slight service was.«

        »I wouldn´t?« Killashandra was quite certain what he would say.

        »They wanted me to make an assault on a visiting dignitary.

Possibly the most important person to set foot on this forsaken mudball.«

        »Assault? On Optheria? On whom? What visiting dignitary?«

Killashandra was astonished at the surprise and concern in her voice, a

genuine enough response to Lars´s shocking statement

        »You heard that Comgail had died, shattering a manual of the

Festival Organ?« When she nodded silently, he continued. »You may not know

that the damage was deliberate.« It was easy for her to react suitably, for

a death involving crystal would not have been painless. »There are a lot of

people who believe that they -- we,« and he grinned humorlessly, admitting

to his complicity, »have an inalienable right to leave this planet in order

to achieve professional fulfillment. And that right should be enjoyed by

more than disappointed composers, Carrigana. This restriction is stagnating

intelligent people all over this world. People who have tremendous gifts

which have no channel whatever on this backward natural mudball.

        So, it was decided to manufacture a situation that would require

the presence of an extraplanetary official. An impartial but prestigious

person who could be approached to register our protest with the FSP. Oh,

letters have been smuggled out but letters are ineffective. We´re not even

sure that they reached their destinations. What we needed was someone who

could be shown examples of this stagnation, talk to people like Theach,

Nahia, and Brassner, see what they have been developing in spite of

strictures of federal bureaucracy.«

        Lars gave a rueful laugh. »It´s rather depressing to realize how

little Optheria requires. The founding fathers wrought too well. We´re a

population expert in making do with the meanest possible natural resources.

Good old polly!

        »It was Comgail who proposed what had to be done to force the

government to bring in a foreign technician. A manual on the Festival Organ

would have to be shattered. The Government would be forced to have that

replaced in time for the Summer Festival tourists.

        »Did you ever realize how dependent the Government is on tourism?«

His eyes glinted with malicious amusement. »Theach researched the

economics. He can do the most phenomenal computations in his head -- that

way, there´s no written proof of his alienation from the Optheria way of

life! That tourist income is absolutely essential to purchase the high tech

items which cannot be manufactured here. And without which all the federal

machinery would grind to a halt. Even the barrier arc at the shuttleport is

fashioned from imported components.

        »Mind you, Comgail did not intend to be a martyr. But he didn´t

draw back when the moment was on him. So the Government was forced to apply

to the Heptite Guild for a complete and very expensive new crystal manual.

And this is where Comgail´s sacrifice becomes relevant; he was also the

only technician on Optheria capable of installing the replacement. They´d

have to have the services of -- at the very least -- a highly skilled

technician or ideally a crystal singer to make the repair. Once the crystal

singer was on Optheria, we´d make sure there´d be an opportunity to present

our desparate situation and ask that it be submitted to the FSP Council. A

singer has access to the Council, you know.«

        »Go on, Lars . . .« A nasty suspicion began to form in

Killashandra´s mind, recalling Ampris´s snide remarks about islanders.

        He inhaled, closing his eyes briefly against unpleasant memories.

»The crystal singer arrived on the Athena the day after my audition. Only

the Elders weren´t sure of her identity.«

        »That sort of I.D. cannot be forged, Lars.«

        He gave a contemptuous snort. »I know it, you know it, but you must

also know how paranoid our Elders are. And Torkes is now in

Communications.« Again his words elicited a nodded reaction from her. »Oh,

the urgency behind this slight favor was subtly presented to me. A crystal

singer is known to have great recuperative powers. A minor scratch would be

no inconvenience to a crystal singer but would unconditionally reveal an

imposter. Since islanders are known,« his voice dripped with sarcasm, »to

live primitive and violent lives, accustomed to handling dangerous weapons,

it was thought that I was admirably suited to perform this small favor for

the Masters, in return for their reevaluation of my composition.«

        »And did they promise you immunity from reprisal as well?«

        »I´m not quite that naive, Carrigana. They did not require a

frontal assault. So, I picked a window on the upper storey where I´d have a

good view of the arrival. I´ve been winning competitions with the

star-blades since my father first allowed me one. A simple flick and the

blade angles at the right trajectory. It caught her on the arm. I think a

little higher than I´d planned for she moved just as I had completed the

throw.« His was expression was chagrined and he gave Killashandra a quick

defensive glance. »Oh, she was all right, Carrigana. I scooted round to the

infirmary the back way and she was walking out of the surgery without so

much as a bandage showing.« He smoothed her arm reassuringly. »Crystal

singers really do heal with unbelievable speed. She seemed more annoyed

with her escort than the incident.

        »The next morning, of course, I was told that on due

reconsideration, the Masters had to abide by their original decision. The

omnipotent, omniscient Masters, speaking from their immense and

encyclopedic knowledge of all forms of music and their total understanding

of the universe and Man´s subliminal relationship with the Natural World,

do not believe that this facet of Optherian life needs to be celebrated at

any point in the year, certainly not during the Summer Festival when

off-worlders might possibly hear something evoking a valid Optherian

subculture and more original than variations on the usual pre-predigested

pap that ‘accredited´ composers churn out.«

        »Stupid, insensitive, unimaginative, flatulent fardlings!«

Killashandra´s derision was slightly colored by hearing the details of the

‘outrageous´ attack, and by the realization that her instinct about

Ampris´s specious assurance was quite valid. »They´re so old they´ve lost

the energy enthusiasm requires; they couldn´t possibly recognize

imagination.«

        Lars smiled at her vehemence. »So, despite all their promises and

assurances, I was given a ticket back to Angel as a reward for my

unmentionable service, and told to be out of the City on the evening

oceanjet. Guardians were there to be sure I boarded, which I did. After a

stroke of incredibly good luck.«

        He turned his face fully to her then, his lips lightly compressed

as if controlling amusement, and the sparkling of his eyes indicated that

he had considered confiding in her. As much as she hoped that he might, she

wished fervently that he would not. For his honesty would require the

similar courtesy from her.

        »Lars, I don´t mean to be a spoil-sport, but something occurred to

me. A star-knife is an island blade, isn´t it?«

        »Yes . . .« He regarded her, suddenly alert.

        »And if an island blade was responsible for wounding the crystal

singer -- even if it healed rapidly -- would that not prejudice her against

listening to your problem?«

        »A good point. The Elders don´t miss many tricks, but that ploy

would not have worked. Nahia and Brassner were going to speak for us.«

        »Were going?«

        »Yes, I did say that I had a stroke of good luck,« and he clasped

her hand with a firm grip, his clear blue gaze fixed on the thick bushes.

»Nahia and Brassner will now have an even better chance to present our

situation.« He sounded so confident that Killashandra would have given much

to be privy to his plans. »You´ll see.«

        »Since I´m being candid, let me tell you that you´ve been rather

indiscreet confiding in me, Lars. You don´t know me -- «

        »Don´t know you?« Lars threw back his head and guffawed. He clasped

her to him, rocking her in his arms, roaring with laughter. »If I don´t,

young woman, no one ever will.«

        »You know what I mean. Who were you talking to last night on the

beach? He´s not an islander.«

        »Oh, him? Corish von Mittell -- something. No, he´s not an

islander. In fact, he could be very useful . . .« Lars paused a moment in

thought, and then shrugged it off. »He´s looking for an uncle. Father asked

me to help him, take him on my next swing through the islands. Frankly I

don´t think the uncle came this far out: doesn´t sound like a man who´d

want this sort of life style.«

        »Are you sure this Corish is who he says he is?«

        Lars eyed her with some interest. »Father´s sent for an I.D.

verification. We´re not so haphazard as all that in these islands, you

know. There´ve been snoopers before. Father´s got a sixth sense about the

breed and that Corish tilted it. Oh, he says he came in on the Athena, and

he sounded as if he´d made the trip on her.« Then he added in another tone

altogether, »I´m glad you worry about my safety.«

        He smoothed back her sun-bleached hair, fingering the strands

before he patted them in place, his whole face softening as once more he

fell in her thrall. Then he relaxed, lying back again, hands under his

head, his eyes intent on her face, a very tender smile playing at the

corner of his lips. »Anyway, everyone on Angel dislikes federal

interference as much as we do. I studied under a master of heresy. My

father. The duly appointed harbor master of the Angel Island archipelago

and federal representative. If you can´t lick ‘em, join ‘em.«

        »Your father´s the harbor master?«

        Surprise registered blankly on Lar´s face. »Of course. Don´t tell

me you didn´t know that?«

        »I do. I didn´t.«

        »So, if you really insist on going back to the City, you´ll have to

be very nice to me.« He was smiling as he gently reached for her arms to

bring her down to him.

        »Oh?«

        »Very nice to me.«

        »Are you able for it?«

        He settled her into the curve of his arm, her head pillowed on his

shoulder, his cheek against her hair.

        »When you are, beloved.« Then he yawned and, apparently, between

one breath and the next, fell asleep. For another long moment, Killashandra

heard the singing in her blood and for once did not regret its murmur. She

repositioned her arm on his chest, placidly noting that the fine hairs

across Lars´s pectoral muscles stirred upright. Well, they had more energy

than he or she did. She closed her eyes and was also claimed by sleep.

 

        Shouts startled them awake: the cheerful calls and laughter of

people fishing on the beach. Killashandra couldn´t hear what was so

exciting, but Lars smiled.

        »A yellowback school has been forced into the cove.« He embraced

her enthusiastically. »Once they´ve caught what´s needed, we´ll get our« --

he looked about for the angle of sunlight -- »our dinner. Hungry yet?«

        »Hungry enough to go right out there bold-faced . . .« She made as

if to rise, for her belly was almost painfully empty.

        He pulled her back flat beside him, kissing her half-formed protest

into silence. His eyes were unsmiling as he then gently stroked her cheek.

        »My dear girl, with those bruises on you, I´d be hauled up in front

of the Island Court and charged with rape.«

        »What about the marks on you?«

        »You resisted my improper advances -- «

        »And you made enough of those -- «

        »Precisely what the bruises say. So, since I have a reputation to

maintain in this community, we will remain secluded.« He emphasized this

decision with a gentle kiss. Then he stroked her hair back from her

forehead his fingers lingering in the soft gold-streaked mass. »I don´t

wish to share you yet, share even the sight of you with anyone. If I

believed the ancient tales of witchcraft, sorcery, and enchantment, I´d

name you ‘witch,´ so I would. But you´re not . . . though I am completely

spell-bound ..« His fingers became insistent, and his expression was an

urgent appeal. »D´you think you could possibly bear me . . . if I´m very

careful . . .«

        She chuckled and linked hands behind his head to bring his lips to

hers.

        The fishers were long gone before they finally got around to

fishing. Together they waded out through the gentle tide.

        »Stay here, Carrigana,« Lars directed, »and make a basin of your

skirt.«

        She did, first wringing water from the voluminous folds. Lars was

thigh deep in the water when he suddenly bent down and scooping with both

hands sent water, and fish, flying at her. She missed the first lot,

laughing at her ineptitude, but neatly caught two fish in the second. After

three more catches, she had to hold up her skirt lest the active

yellowbacks flip out. Lars splashed back to inspect her catch, grinning at

his success and her bemusement.

        »This one´s too small.« He released it. »Two, four, six, seven. How

many can you eat? Shall I get more?«

        Before she could answer, he dove back toward his vantage point, and

peered down into the clear water. With one last mighty heave, three big

yellowbacks were sent flying in her direction. She cheered when she caught

them in her skirt, closing the makeshift net and running awkwardly through

the wavelets to the shore before any of the squirming fish could escape.

        Helping her secure the bundle, Lars laughingly escorted her back to

the bushes surrounding their secluded clearing.

        »You clean ‘em and I´ll get firing, and see what else I can

scrounge,« he said as he held the bushes back for her to enter.

        Gutting fish was not one of Killashandra´s favorite chores, but she

had finished half the catch before she realized it, washing them clean in

the little brook. Lars was back as she slit the last one. In one crooked

arm, he held twisted polly fronds that provided a quick hot fire, and

another basket swung from his right hand. He found rocks by the stream to

enclose their fire, hauled a frying sheet from the basket, and set out oil,

seasonings bread, fruit, and another pot of the soft island cheese.

        The quick tropical night had settled upon the island, enclosing

them more securely in their clearing as they finished their supper, licking

the last of the juices from their fingers.

        »Going to be nice to me?« Lars asked, leering dramatically at her.

        »Maybe I´ll just stay in the islands.« Killashandra surprised

herself with the longing in her voice. »There´s all I could possibly need

just for the taking. . .«

        »Even me?«

        Killashandra looked up at him. Despite his light words, his voice

held a curious entreaty.

        »I would be a right foolish dolt to consider you part of the

taking.« She meant it, for quixotic though the man might appear, she sensed

that Lars had an unshakeable integrity which she, or any other woman, would

have to recognize and accept.

        »We could stay in the islands, Carrigana, and make a go of the

charter service.« Lars, too, was caught in the same thrall which infected

her resolve. »Sailing´s never dull. The weather sees to that. It could be a

good life, and I promise you wouldn´t have to hack polly!« His fingers

caressed her hands.

        »Lars . . .« She had to set the record fair.

        He covered her lips with his hand. »No, beloved, this is not the

time for life-shaping decisions. This is the time for loving. Love me

again!«

 

Chapter 12

 

The idyll lasted another full day and into the early morning of the third,

during which time Killashandra would have been quite willing to forego all

the prestige of being a crystal singer to remain Lars´s companion. A

totally impossible, improbable, and impractical ambition. But she had every

intention of enjoying his companionship as long as it was physically

possible. She was haunted by memories of Carrik and, as such traumas can,

they colored, and augmented, her responses to Lars.

        It was the change in the weather which necessitated their return to

society. The drop in barometric pressure woke Killashandra just before

dawn. She lay, wide awake, Lars´s lax arms draped about her, his legs

overlapping hers, wondering what had returned her so abruptly to full

consciousness. Then she smelled a change in weather on the early morning

breeze. It had not occurred to Killashandra that her Ballybran symbiont

would he agitated by other weather systems. And she pushed her sensitivity

as far as she could, testing what the change might herald.

        Storm, she decided, letting symbiotic instinct make the

identification. And a heavy one. In these islands a hurricane more likely

than not. A worrisome phenomenon for a reasonably flat land mass. No, there

were heights on what Lars had termed the Head. She smiled, for yesterday,

in between other felicitous activities, he had given her quite a history

and geography lesson pertinent to the island economy.

        »This island gets its name from the shape of the land mass,« he

explained and drew a shape on the wet sands with a shell. They had just

emerged from a morning swim. »It was seen first from the exploratory probe

and named long before any settlers landed here. There´s even a sort of a

halo of islets off the Head. We´re at the Wingtip. The settlement lies in

the wing curve . . . see . . . and the western heights are the wings,

complete with the ridge principle. This side of the island is much lower

than the body side. We´ve two separate viable harbors, north and south, the

angel´s outstretched hands completing the smaller, deeper one. My father´s

offices are there, as the backbone sometimes interferes with reception from

the mainland. You can´t see it from here because of Backbone Ridge, but

there´s rather an impressive old volcano topping the Head.« He grinned

mischievously, giving Killashandra an impression of the devilish child he

must have been. »Some of us less reverent souls say the Angel blew her head

when she knew who got possession of the planet. Not so, of course. It

happened eons before we got here.«

        Angel was not the largest of the islands but Lars told her that

she´d soon see that it was the best. The southern sea was littered Lars

said, with all kinds of land masses: some completely sterile, others

bearing active volcanoes, and anything large enough to support polly

plantations and other useful tropical vegetation did so.

        »We were a race apart from the mainlanders, and we´ve remained so,

Carrigana. They listen to what the Elders dish up for them, dulling their

minds with all the pap that´s performed. Islanders still have to have their

wits about them. We may be easygoing and carefree, but we´re not lazy or

stupid.«

        She had discovered an unexpected pleasure in listening to Lars

ramble on, recognizing that his motive was as much self-indoctrination as

explanation for her benefit. His voice was so beautifully modulated,

uninhibited in its expressiveness that she could have listened to him for

years. He made events out of small incidents, no matter that all were aimed

at extolling the islands, subtly deprecating mainland ways. He was not,

however, an impractical dreamer. Nor was his rebellion against mainland

authority the ill-considered antagonism of the disillusioned.

        »You sound as if you don´t want to leave Optheria even if you are

trying to pave the way off for these friends of yours,« Killashandra was

prompted to remark late that second evening as they finished a meal of

steamed mollusks.

        »I´m as well off here as I would be anywhere else in the galaxy.«

        »But your music -- «

        »It was composed to be played on the Optherian organ and I doubt

that any other government allows them to be used, even if the Elders and

Masters would permit the design to be copied.« He shrugged off that

consideration .

        »If you could compose that, you have a great gift -- «

        Lars had laughed outright, ruffling her hair -- he seemed

fascinated by the texture of her hair.

        »Beloved Sungirl, that took no great gift, I assure you. Nor do I

have the temperament to sit down and create music -- «

        »Come on, Lars -- «

        »No, seriously, I´m much happier at the tiller of a ship -- «

        »And that voice of yours?«

        He shrugged. »Fine for an island evening sing-song, my girl, but

who bothers to sing on the Mainland?«

        »But, if you get the others off the planet, why don´t you go, too?

There are plenty of other planets that would make you a Stellar in a pico

-- «

        »How would you know?«

        »Well, there have to be!« Killashandra almost screamed in her

frustration with the restrictions imposed by her role. »Or why are you

trying to crack the restriction?«

        »The height of altruism motivates me. Besides, Sunny, Theach and

Brassner have valid contributions to make within the context of the galaxy.

And once a person has met Nahia, it´s obvious why she must be let free.

Think of the good she could do.«

        Killashandra murmured something reassuring since it was called for.

She felt an uncharacteristic pulse of jealousy at the reverence and awe in

Lars´s voice whenever he mentioned this Nahia. Lars had perfectly healthy

contempt for Elder and Master alike, indeed all federal officials with the

exception of his father. And while he spoke of the man with affection and

respect, Nahia occupied a higher position. Quite a few times Killashandra

noted a nearly imperceptible halt in the flow of Lars´s words as if he

exercised a subtle discretion, so subtle that all she caught was its echo.

Just as he had stopped short of admitting the abduction of the crystal

singer. And, now that she understood his motivation, she marveled at his

quick-witted opportunism. Did the others in his subversive group know what

he had done? Had they approved of it? And what would the next step be? She

could just imagine the furor caused in the Heptite Guild! Or maybe she was

supposed to rescue herself? Which she had.

        Lars was weather-sensitive, too, for she had only just completed

her analysis when he woke, equally alert. With a loving tug at her hair and

a smile, he stood up, sniffing at the breeze now strong enough to ruffle

his hair, turning slowly. He stopped when he faced in the direction she

had.

        »Hurricane making, Carrigana. Come, we´ll have a lot to do.«

        Not so much that they didn´t start the morning with a quick passage

at arms, not the least bit perfunctory despite the brevity. Then they had a

quick swim, with Lars keeping a close watch on the dawn changes in the sky.

        »Making up in the south so it´ll be a bad blow.« He stood for a

moment as the active waves of the incoming tide flounced against his

thighs. He looked southwest, frowning and, dissatisfied by his thoughts,

started inshore, taking her hand as if seeking comfort.

        She thought nothing of his brief disappearance as she cleared up

the camp site. Lars pushed his way past the bush screen, an odd smile on

his face as he came up to her, two garlands of an exceptionally lovely blue

and white flower in his hands. »This will serve,« he said cryptically,

gently draping one around her neck. The perfume was subtly erotic and she

stood on tiptoe to kiss him for his thoughtfulness. »Now you must put mine

on.«

        Smiling at his sweetness, she complied and he kissed her, exhaling

a gust as if he had acquitted himself nobly.

        »C´mon now,« and he gave her the basket, slung the blanket with

their clothing over his shoulder, and grabbing her hand, led her back

through the underbrush.

        Though the sun was not yet up over the horizon, there was

considerable activity on the beach when they arrived. Torches were lit

outside all the waterfront buildings, and torchlit groups of scurrying

people pushed handcarts Bobbing lights on the harbor, too, indicated crews

on their way to anchored ships. The schooner was gone but Killashandra had

not really expected to find the big ship still at Angel Island.

        »Where can they take the boats?«

        »Around to the Back. We´ll just check to see how much time there is

before the wind rises. There´ll be a lot to do before we can take the Pearl

Fisher to the safe mooring.«

        Killashandra glanced up and down the picturesque waterfront, for

the first time seeing just how vulnerable it was. The first line of

buildings was only four hundred meters from the high-tide mark. Wouldn´t

they be just swept away in hurricane driven tides?

        »They often are,« Lars startled her by saying as they strode

purposefully toward the settlement. »But mostly polly floats. After the

last big blow, Morchal salvaged the complete roof. It was floating in the

bay, he just dried it out and reset it.«

        »I should help Keralaw,« Killashandra suggested tentatively, not

really wanting to leave his side but ignorant of what island protocol

expected of her in the emergency. Lars´s hand tightened on her elbow.

        »If I know Keralaw she has matters well in hand. I´m not risking

you from my side for an instant, Carrigana. I thought I´d made that plain.«

        Killashandra almost bridled at the possessive tone of his voice but

part of her rather liked the chauvinism. She had too hearty a respect for

storm not to wish to be in the safest place during one. Common sense told

her that was likely to be in Lars Dahl´s company.

        Men and women were filing in and out of the tavern. Lars and

Killashandra entered and found a veritable command post. The bar was now

dispensing equipment and gear which Killashandra could not readily

identify. Along the back wall, the huge vdr screen was active, showing a

satellite picture of the growing storm swirling in from the south.

Estimated times of arrival of the first heavy winds, high tide, the eye,

and the counter winds were all listed in the upper left hand corner. Other

cryptic information, displayed in a band across the top of the screen, did

not mean much to her but evidently conveyed intelligence to the people in

the bar. Including Lars.

        »Lars, Olav´s on line for you,« called the tallest of the men

behind the bar, and he jerked his head toward a side door. The fellow

paused in his dispensations, and Killashandra was aware of his scrutiny as

she followed Lars to the room indicated.

        However rustic the tavern looked from the outside, this room was

crammed with sophisticated equipment, a good deal of it meteorological,

though not as complex as instrumentation in the Weather Room of the Heptite

Guild. And all of it printing out or displaying rapidly changing

information.

        »Lars?« A young man turned from the scanner in front of him and,

screwing his face in an anxious expression almost pounced on the new

arrival »What are you going to do -- «

        Lars held up his hand, cutting off the rest of that sentence, and

the young man noticed the garland. He threw an almost panic stricken look

at Killashandra.

        »Tanny, this is Carrigana. And there´s nothing I can do with this

storm blowing up.« Lars was scrutinizing the duplicate vdr satellite

picture as he spoke. »The worst of it will pass due east. Don´t worry about

the things you can´t change!« He gave Tanny a clout on the shoulder but the

worried expression did not entirely alter

        Killashandra kept the silly social smile on her face as Tanny

accorded her the briefest of nods. She had a very good idea what, or rather

whom, they were discussing so obliquely. Her. Still trapped, they thought,

on that chip of an island.

        »Tanny´s my partner, Carrigana, and one of the best sailors on

Angel,« Lars added, though his attention was still claimed by the swirling

cloud mass.

        »What if the direction changes, Lars?« Tanny refused to be

reassured. »You know what the southern blows are like . . .« He made an

exaggerated gesture with both arms, nearly socking a passing islander, who

ducked in time.

        »Tanny, there is nothing we can do. There´s a great big polly on

the island that´s survived hurricanes and high tides since man took the

archipelago. We´ll go have a look as soon as the blow´s gone. All right?«

        Lars didn´t wait for Tanny´s agreement, guiding Killashandra back

into the main room. He paused at the counter, waiting his turn, and

receiving a small handset. ‘A light one will do me fine, Bart,« he added

and Bart set a small antigrav unit on the counter. »Most of what I own is

either on the Pearl or on its way back to me from the City. Grab a couple

of those ration packs, will you, Carrigana,« he added as they walked out on

the broad verandah where additional emergency supplies were being passed

out. »Might not need them but it´s less for them to pack to the Ridge.«

        As Lars turned her west, away from the settlement, she caught sight

of Tanny, watching them. his expression still troubled. The wind was

picking up and the water in the harbor agitated. Lars looked to his right,

assessing the situation.

        »Been in a bad one yet?« he asked her, an amused and tolerant grin

on his face.

        »Oh, yes,« Killashandra answered fervently. »Not an experience I

wish to repeat.« How could Lars know how puny an Optherian hurricane would

be in comparison to Passover Storms on Ballybran. Once again she wanted to

discard her borrowed identity. There was so much she would like to share

with Lars.

        »It´s waiting out the blow that´s hard,« Lars said, then grinned

down at her. »We won´t be bored this time, though. My father said that

Theach came with Hauness and Erutown. I wonder how they managed the travel

permits?« That caused him to chuckle. »We´ll know how the revised master

plan is working.«

        Killashandra was very hard put to refrain from making any remarks

but, of a certainty, waiting out this blow would be extremely interesting.

She might not be getting on with the primary task of her visit to Optheria,

but she was certainly gaining a lot of experience with dissidents.

        His place was on a knoll, above the harbor, in a grove of mature

polly trees. It reflected an orderly person who preferred plain and restful

colors. He produced several carisaks which had been neatly stored in a

cupboard, and together they emptied the chest of his clothes, including

several beautifully finished formal garments. He cleared his terminal of

any stored information and when Killashandra asked if they shouldn´t

dismantle the screen, he shrugged.

        »Federal issue. I must be one of the few islanders who use the

thing.« He grinned impiously. »And then not to watch their broadcasts! They

can never appreciate that islanders don´t need vicarious experiences.« He

gestured toward the sea. »Not with real live adventures!«

        The pillows, hammocks, what kitchen utensils there were, the rugs,

curtains, everything compacted into a manageable bundle to which Lars

attached the antigrav s traps. the entire process hadn´t taken them fifteen

minutes.

        »We´ll just attach this to a train, grab something to eat and then

get the Pearl to safety.« He gave his effects a gentle shove in the proper

direction.

        When they returned to the waterfront, Killashandra saw what he

meant by train. Numerous personal-effects bundles, all wrapped and

weightless, were being attached to a large floater on which families with

small children perched. As soon as it had reached capacity, the driver

guided it away, along a winding route toward the distant Ridge.

        »Catch you next trip, Jorell?« Lars called to the man steering the

harbor boat out toward the anchored ships.

        »Gotcha, Lars!«

        »There´s Keralaw,« Killashandra said, pointing to the woman who was

ladling hot soup from an immense kettle into bowls.

        »You can always count on her hospitality,« Lars said and they

altered their path to meet her.

        »Carrigana!« Keralaw paused in serving a family group and waved one

arm energetically to catch their attention. »I´d no idea where you´d -- «

She halted, eyes goggling a bit at the garland about Killashandra´s neck,

staring at Lars´s matching one. Then she smiled. She patted Killashandra´s

arm approvingly. »Anyway, I put your carisak with mine on the float to the

Ridge. Will I see you two there?« Her manner bordered on the coy as she

handed them cups from the bag at her side, and poured the hot soup.

        »After we´ve sailed the Pearl to the Back,« Lars said, easily but

Killashandra thought his expression a trifle smug, as if he liked

surprising Keralaw. He blew on his soup, taking a cautious sip. »As good as

ever, Keralaw. One day you must pass on your secret recipe. What´ll Angel

do in a crisis without you around to sustain us!«

        Keralaw made a pleased noise, giving him a dig in the ribs before

she sidled up to Killashandra. »You did better on the shore than I did from

the ship!« she murmured, winking and giving Killashandra an approving dig

in the ribs. »And,« she added, her expression altering from bawdy to

solemn, »you´re what he needs right now.«

        Before Killashandra could respond to that cryptic comment, Keralaw

had moved off to the next group.

        »With Keralaw in the know,« Lars said between sips, »storm or not,

the rest of the island will be informed.«

        »That you and I have paired off?« Killashandra gave him a long

stare, having now decided what the special blue garlands must signify in

island custom. It was presumptuous of him, but then, he was also presuming

her acquaintance with island ways. The account, when rendered from her

side, was going to be heavy. »You´re remarkably well organized here . . .«

She let her sentence dangle, implying that she´d been elsewhere to her

sorrow.

        »Angel´s not often in the direct path, and the storm may veer off

before it hits, but one doesn´t wait until the last moment, not on Angel.

Father doesn´t permit inefficiencies. They lose lives and cost credit. Ah,

Jorell´s back. Hang on to your cup. We´ll need them later.«

        The harbor skip waited for them and its other passengers in the

choppy waters. Lars bent to rinse out his cup and Killashandra followed

suit, before swinging over the gunwales of the water taxi. Willing hands

pulled them aboard.

        There was a lot of activity on those ships still left in the

harbor, but many had already started for the safety of the protected bay.

Lars chatted amiably with the other passengers, naming Killashandra once to

everyone. The approaching storm worried them all, despite the well-drilled

exodus. It was considered early in the season for such a big blow: odds

were being given that it would veer west as so many early storms tended to

do: relief was felt that neither of the nearer two moons was at the full,

thus affecting the height of the tides. The pessimist on board was sure

this was the beginning of a very stormy winter, a comment which caught

Killashandra´s interest. Winter? As far as she knew, she´d arrived in

Optheria in early spring. Had she missed half a year somehow?

        Then the taxi pulled alongside a sleek-lined fifteen meter

sloop-rigged ship, and Lars was telling her to grab the rope ladder that

flopped against its side. She scrambled up, almost falling over the

life-railing, which she hadn´t expected. Then Lars was beside her,

cheerfully shouting their thanks to Jorell as he deftly hauled the ladder

inboard and began to stow it away.

        »We´ll rig the cabin before we sail,« Lars said, nodding astern

toward the hatch.

        Killashandra didn´t know much about ships of this class but the

cabin looked very orderly to her, arranged as it was for daytime use. She

went to the forward cabin, and decided that she had been in the top

right-hand bunk. She turned back, to approximate the view she would have

had, and decided that the Pearl Fisher had conveyed her to that wretched

little island.

        »Update!« Lars said as he came down the companionway, talking to

the handset. He listened as he did a cursory inspection of the nearest

cupboards, smiling as he turned toward her. »Alert me to any changes.

Over.«

        He put the handset down and, in one unexpected sweep, hauled her

tightly into his arms. His very blue eyes gleamed inches above her face.

His face assumed thc expression of a sex-mad fiend, his eyes wide in

exaggerated ferocity, as he bent her backward in one arm his other hand

stroking her body urgently. »Alone, at last, m´girl, and who knows when

next we have the privacy I need to enjoy you to good advantage.«

        »Oh, sir, unhand me!« Killashandra fluttered her eye lashes,

panting in mock terror. »How can you ravish an innocent maid in this hour

of our peril?«

        »It seems the right thing to do, somehow,« Lars said in a totally

different tone, releasing her so abruptly she had to catch herself on the

table. »Curb your libido long enough for me to make the bed you´re about to

be laid in.« He flipped the table onto its edge, gestured for her to take

the other side of the seat unit which pulled out across the deck.

        Simultaneously they fell onto the bed, and Lars began his assault

on her willing person.

 

        The summons of the handset brought them back to reality that had

only peripherally impinged on their activities. Lars had to steady himself

in the lurching ship to reach the handset. He frowned as he heard the

update.

        »Well, beloved, I hope you´re a good sailor, for it´s going to be a

rough passage around the wing. That storm is hurrying to meet us. Neither a

veer nor a pause! Grab the wet weather gear from that cupboard.

Temperature´s falling and the rain´s going to be cold.«

        Fortunately Lars gave clear instructions to his novice crew and

Killashandra coped with her tasks well enough to gain his nods of approval.

The Pearl Fisher was fitted to be sailed single-handed, with the sheet

lines winched to the cockpit and other remotes to assist in the absence of

a human crew. Lars beckoned Killashandra to join him in the stern as the

anchor was lifted by remote. Another hauled the sloop´s mainsail up the

mast, Lars´s pennon breaking out as the clew of the sail locked home.

        The wind took the sail, and the ship, forward, out of the wide

mouth of the harbor, which was now clear of all craft. Nor did there seem

to have been anyone to notice their delay. The beach was empty of people.

The shuttered shops and houses had an abandoned look to them. The tide was

already slopping into the barbecue pits and Killashandra wondered just how

much would be left on the waterfront when they sailed back into Wing

Harbor.

        Killashandra found the speed of the Pearl Fisher incredibly

exhilarating. To judge by the rapt expression on his face, so did Lars. The

fresh wind drove them across the harbor almost to its mouth, before Lars

did a short tack to get beyond the land. Then the Pearl was gunwale deep on

a fine slant as she sped on a port tack toward the bulk of the Wing.

        It was an endless time, divorced from reality, unlike cutting

crystal where time, too, was sometimes suspended for Killashandra. This was

a different sort of time, that spent with someone, someone whose proximity

was a matter of keen physical delight for her. Their bodies touched,

shoulder, hip, thigh, knee, and leg, as the canting of the ship in her

forward plunge kept Killashandra tight against Lars. Not a voyage, she

realized sadly, that could last forever but a long interval she hoped to

remember. There are some moments, Killashandra informed herself, that one

does wish to savor.

        The sun had been about at the zenith when they had finally tacked

out of the Wing Harbor. It was westering as they sailed round the top of

the Wing with its lowlands giving way to the great basalt cliffs, straight

up from the crashing sea, a bastion against the rapidly approaching

hurricane. And the southern skies were ominous with dark cloud and rain. In

the shelter of those cliffs, their headlong speed abated to a more

leisurely pace. Lars announced hunger and Killashandra went below to

assuage it. Taking into account the rough water, she found some heat packs

which she opened, and which they ate in the cockpit, companionably close.

Killashandra found it necessary to curb a swell of incipient lust as Lars

shifted his long body against hers to get a better grip on the tiller.

        Then they rounded the cliffs and into the crowded anchorage which

sheltered Angel´s craft. Lars fired a flare to summon the jitney to them,

then he ordered Killashandra forward with the boat hook to catch up the

bright-orange eighty-two buoy to starboard. He furled the sail by remote

and went on low-power assist to slow the Pearl and avoid oversailing the

buoy.

        Buoy eighty-two was in the second rank, between two small

ketch-rigged fisherboats, and Killashandra was rather pleased that she

snagged the buoy first try. By the time Lars had secured the ship to ride

out the blow, the little harbor taxi was alongside, its pilot looking none

too pleased to be out in the rough waters.

        »What took you so long, Lars?«

        »A bit of cross-tide and some rough tacks,« Lars said with a

cheerful mendacity that caused Killashandra to elbow his ribs hard. He

threw his arm about to forestall further assaults. Indeed they both had to

hang on to the railings as the little boat slapped and bounced.

        For a moment, Killashandra thought the pilot was driving them

straight into the cliff. Then she saw the light framing the sea cave. As if

the overhang marked the edge of the sea´s domination, the jitney was

abruptly on calmer waters, making for the interior and the sandy shore.

Killashandra was told to fling the line to the waiting shoremen. The little

boat was sailed into a cradle and this was drawn up, safely beyond the

depredations of storm and sea.

        »Last one in again, eh Lars?« he was teased as the entire party

made its way out of the dock and started up the long flight of stairs cut

in the basalt. It was a long upward haul for Killashandra, unused to stairs

in any case and, though pride prevented her from asking for a brief halt,

she was completely winded by the time they reached the top and exited onto

a windswept terrace. She was relieved to find a floater waiting, for the

Backbone towered meters above them and she doubted her ability to climb

another step.

        Polly and other trees lined the ridge, making a windbreak for the

floater as it was buffeted along, ending its journey at a proper

stationhouse Killashandra had profited by the brief rest and followed

Lars´s energetic stride into the main hall of the Backbone shelter.

        »Lars,« called the man at the entrance, »Olav´s in the command

post. Can you join him?«

        Lars waved assent and guided Killashandra to an ascending ramp,

past a huge common room packed with people. They passed an immense garage,

where hundreds of packets resembling some strange form of alien avian life

dangled weightless from their antigravs.

        There was a storm chill in the air and Killashandra was aware of

symbiont-generated inner tension as her body sensed the impending arrival

of the hurricane.

        »The command post is shielded, lover,« Lars said, catching her hand

in his and stroking it reassuringly. »Storm won´t affect you so much there.

I feel it myself,« he added when she looked up in surprise at his comment.

»Real weather-sorts, the pair of us!« The affinity pleased him.

        They reached the next level, predominantly storage to judge by the

signs on the door on either side of the wide corridor. Lars walked straight

for the secured portal at the far end, put his thumb on the door lock which

then slid open. Instinctively Killashandra flinched, startled by the sight

of the storm-lashed trees, and the unexpected panoramas, north and south,

of the two harbors. Lars´s hand tightened with reassurance. On both sides

of the door, the walls were covered by data screens and continuous printout

as the satellites fed information to the island´s receivers. The other

three sides of the command post were open, save for the circular stairs

winding down to the floor below.

        Olav was on his feet, walking from one display to the next, making

his own estimate of the data. He looked up at Lars and Killashandra, noting

with the upward lift of one eyebrow the bruised garlands they wore. He

indicated the circular stairway and made a gesture which Killashandra read

as a promise to join them later.

        They crossed the room, Lars pausing to read the displays at the

head of the staircase. He made a noncommittal grunt and then indicated that

she should precede him. Therefore she was first in the room, grateful that

only large windows north and south broke its protection from the elements

without, while a fire burned in a wide hearth on the eastern wall. The

western wall was broken by four doors, the open one showing a small

catering area. But Killashandra´s attention was immediately on the

occupants of the room, three men and the most beautiful woman Killashandra

had ever seen.

        »Nahia! How dare you risk yourself!« cried Lars, his face white

under his tan as he brushed past Killashandra. To her complete amazement,

he dropped on one knee before the woman, and kissed her hand.

 

Chapter 13

 

A startled expression crossed Nahia´s perfect features at Lars´s obeisance.

She shot a quick look at Killashandra, managing to convey her embarrassment

even as she tried to lift Lars from his knee.

        »My friend, this will not do,« she said kindly, but firmly. »Only

think what effect such a gesture could have on an Elder or a Master -- and

yes, I do most certainly know your opinion of those worthies. But Lars,

such histrionics could damage our goal.«

        Lars had by now risen to his feet. With a final few pats to his

hand, an oblique apology for her public admonition, she withdrew from his

grasp, moving past him toward Killashandra. »Whom have you brought with

you, Lars?« she asked, smiling tentatively as she extended her slender hand

to Killashandra. »Who wears your garland?«

        »Carrigana, lately a polly planter,« Lars replied, stepping back to

Killashandra´s side and taking her other hand firmly in his.

        It was one way of apologizing for his effusive welcome of another

woman but it was Nahia herself who effectively dissolved Killashandra´s

incipient hostility. The touch of her hand had a soothing effect, not a

shock or a jar, but a gentle insinuation of reassurance. Nahia´s eyes were

troubled as she regarded Killashandra, her lips curving upward in a slight

smile which blossomed as she felt Killashandra´s resistance to her

dissipate. Then a little frown gathered at her brows as she became aware of

the lingering crystal resonance within Killashandra. It was the crystal

singer´s turn to smile reassurance and an acknowledgement of what Nahia

was: an empath.

        Killashandra had heard of such people but she had never encountered

one. The encyclopedia had not hinted the psi talents were an Optherian

quality. It could be a wild talent and often was. In Nahia it was combined

with unexpected beauty, integrity, and an honesty which few citizens of the

Federated Sentient Worlds could project without endangering their sanity.

Lars had been correct in his statement that Nahia´s special talents would

be a galactic asset. She was Goodness personified.

        Nahia looked with gentle inquiry at Killashandra, struggling to

identify the elusive contact with crystal. Killashandra smiled and, with a

final light pressure on Nahia´s fine-boned hand, released her and leaned

slightly against Lars.

        At this point, the other men stepped forward to greet the

newcomers.

        »I´m Hauness, Nahia´s escort,« said the tallest of the three, an

attractive man whom Killashandra judged to be in his mid-thirties. His

handclasp was strong but not crushing and he, too, exuded a charm and

personality that would have been instantly apparent in any group -- at

least any group that did not contain Nahia. Or Lars. »Believe me, Lars, we

had no report of such rough weather when we embarked on this journey but --

«

        »There are matters we must discuss with you, no matter what the

risk.« Erutown was the oldest, and bluntest. His manner suggested that he

tended to be a humorless pessimist. He gave Killashandra´s hand one brief

shake and dropped it. »And there was no risk -- in the weather -- when we

started.« He hovered, his upper body inclined away from Killashandra even

as his feet shifted, as if he wanted to separate Lars from Killashandra and

plunge into the »matters to be discussed« as quickly as possible.

        »Theach,« said the third man, giving Killashandra a brief,

self-effacing nod.

        He was the sort of nondescript human being, mild mannered, with

undistinguished features, who can be encountered almost anywhere in the

human population, and promptly forgotten. Only because she had heard of his

mathematical abilities from Lars did Killashandra give Theach any sort of

an inspection and thus noticed that his eyes were brilliant with

intelligence: that he had already assumed she would discount him, indeed,

hoped that she would, and was quite willing to accept the sort of dismissal

to which he was clearly accustomed.

        So Killashandra gave him a saucy wink. She half expected Theach to

retreat in confusion as many shy men would, but, smiling, he winked back at

her.

        Erutown cleared his throat, indicating that now introductions had

been made, he wanted to initiate the discussions they had come for.

        »I don´t know about you, Lars, but I´m starving,« Killashandra

said, gesturing toward the catering area. »Is it all right to see what´s

available?« She turned to the others. »May I fix something for you?«

        Lars gave her hand a grateful squeeze before he released it. He

told her to find what she fancied and he´d have the same but the others

demurred, gesturing toward the low table where the remains of a meal could

be seen.

        The four conspirators didn´t know that Killashandra´s

symbiont-adapted hearing was uncommonly acute. At that distance they could

have whispered and she would have caught what was being said.

        »They finally sent the message two days ago, Lars.« Erutown´s

baritone was audible above the noises Killashandra was making in the

catering unit.

        »Took them long enough,« Lars said in a low growl.

        »They had to search first. And search they did, uncovering a

variety of minor crimes and infringements which, of course slowed them

down.« Hauness was amused.

        »Any one of us caught?«

        »Not a one of us,« Hauness replied.

        »Cleansed us of some very stupid people,« Erutown said.

        »She is safe, isn´t she, Lars?« Nahia asked in gentle anxiety, a

graceful gesture of her hand indicating the darkening southern horizon.

        »She should be. All she needs is enough sense to climb the polly

tree.«

        You ought to have contacted us before you acted so impulsively,

Lars.«

        »How could he, Erutown?« Nahia was conciliatory. Then she gave a

little chuckle. »Impulsive but it has proved such an extremely effective

gambit. The Elders have been forced to reapply to the Heptite Guild.«

        »They haven´t admitted that the crystal singer has been abducted?«

        »As no one has confessed to committing such a heinous crime, how

could they?« Hauness asked reasonably, his voice rippling with amusement.

»Elder Torkes has been hinting dark words about that islander assault -- «

        Lars let out a burst of sour laughter for which Erutown growled a

warning, looking over his shoulder at Killashandra who was well out of

sight in the catering area.

        »What you don´t know, Lars,« Hauness went on, »is that the crystal

singer had had an altercation with Security Leader Blaz and stalked out of

the installation before any repair had been accomplished.

        Lars emitted a low whistle of delighted surprise. »Is that why she

was wandering about Gartertown? I had wondered!«

        »Erutown may not approve, and some of the others were appalled at

your action, Lars, but there is no doubt,« and Hauness overrode Erutown´s

disapproving murmurs, »that the action will require embarrassing inquiries

when the second crystal singer arrives.«

        »As long as it also requires an appeal to the Council,« Lars said.

»Now what else brought you here so unexpectedly?«

        »As I said, the search for the crystal singer exposed some

unsuspected flaws in our organization. Theach and Erutown must ruralize.

Have you another suitable island?«

        Lars paused, staring at Hauness, and then the others. Erutown

scowled and looked away but Theach regarded him with a smile.

        »Some of my scribblings were discovered, and as I am already under

threat of rehabilitation . . .« Theach shrugged eloquently.

        When Lars looked to Erutown for an explanation, the man did not

meet his gaze.

        »Erutown was denounced as a recruiter,« Hauness said. »Not his

fault.«

        »It was, if I was daft enough to recruit such soft-bellied

cowards!«

        Lars grinned. »Well, I could put you ashore with the crystal

singer.« Something increased his mirth out of proportion to the joke,

though Hauness grinned and Nahia tried to control unseemly mirth at

Erutown´s expense. »The island´s big enough and she might even be grateful

for company.«

        »I would be easier in mind about her safety if Erutown and Theach

were there,« Nahia said. »The hurricane will have frightened her badly.«

        »I don´t like the idea,« Erutown said.

        »Actually, if she thinks you´ve also been kidnapped . . .« Hauness

suggested, then gestured to dismiss his notion at Erutown´s negative

response.

        »I wouldn´t object,« Theach said. »One doesn´t know much about

crystal singers, except that they heal quickly and indulge in an unusual

profession.«

        »You?« Erutown snorted contemptuously. »You´d probably drown

yourself thinking up more theories.«

        »When I initiate a session of theoretical thinking, I take the

precaution of seating myself in some secure and secluded spot,« Theach said

in amiable reprimand. »An island would suit me very well indeed.«

        »You´d starve!«

        »No one can starve on a polly island.« Theach turned for

confirmation to Lars, who nodded.

        »You have to work at it, though,« Lars amended. »For at least a few

hours every day.«

        »Despite a misapprehension current about my absent-mindedness, I

have found that intense thought stimulates an incredible appetite. Since

eating replenishes both body and the mechanics of thought, I do pause now

and again in my meditations to eat! If I have to gather the food myself, I

shall also have had that beneficial exercise. Yes, Lars,« and Theach smiled

at the islander, »I begin to think that an island residence would provide

me with all I require: seclusion, sustenance, and sanctuary!« He sat back

in the chair, beaming at his circle of friends.

        »How many know you and Erutown are in the islands?« Lars asked

seriously.

        »Nahia has been working very hard lately, Lars,« Hauness said. »She

was granted a leave of absence: I took my annual holiday and announced our

intention of cruising the coast. There are friends who will vouch for our

presence in mainland waters. Besides, who would expect us to brave a

hurricane?«

        »We boarded the jet from the seaside without being seen the night

before she sailed,« Erutown added. »What Elder would suspect Nahia´s

involvement with renegades?«

        »If they had any sense whatever,« Nahia said in a crisp tone that

surprised Killashandra with its suppressed anger, »how could they fail to

realize that I sympathize deeply with repressions, frustrations, and

despairs which I cannot avoid feeling! With injustices not all the empathy

in the world will ease.«

        A moment of silence followed.

        »Is your woman to be trusted with any of this, Lars?« Hauness asked

quietly.

        Suppressing a flare of guilt at her duplicity, Killashandra decided

that it was time to join the group before Lars perjured himself.

        »Here, this should satisfy, Lars,« she said, approaching the others

with a purposeful stride. She set before him a generous plate of sandwiches

and hot tidbits which she had found in the food storage. »You´re sure I

can´t get anything for you?« she asked the others as she began to gather up

the used plates and cups.

        Erutown gave her a sour glance, then turned to watch the rolling

cloud formations of the approaching storm. Theach smiled absently, Hauness

shook his head and settled back next to Nahia who had leaned back in the

couch, eyes closed, her beautiful face relaxed.

        When Killashandra returned with her own serving, Lars and Hauness

were absorbed by the satellite picture of the approaching hurricane,

displayed on the vdr. It would be a substantial blow, Killashandra had to

admit, but not a patch on what Ballybran could brew.

        Storm watching could be mesmerizing, certainly engrossing. Theach

was the first to break from the fascination. He reseated himself at a small

terminal and began to call up equations on the tiny screen. There was a

tension to the line of his back, the occasional rattle of the keys that

proved he was still conscious, but there were long intervals of total

silence from his corner during the next few hours.

        »It´s not going to be a long one at its current rate,« Lars

remarked when he had finished eating. »The eye´ll be on us by night.«

        »Is it likely to make the mainland?«

        »No. That is, after all, eight thousand kilos off. It´ll blow

itself out over the ocean as usual. You only get our storms when they make

up in the Broad, not from this far south.«

        So, Killashandra thought, she was in the southern hemisphere of

Optheria, which explained the switch in seasons. And it explained why this

group felt themselves secure from Mainland intervention and searches. Even

with the primitive jet vehicles, an enormous distance could be traversed in

a relatively short time.

        It struck Killashandra that if Nahia, Hauness, and the others could

travel so far, so could the Elders, especially if they wanted to implicate

islanders. Or was that just talk? If, as Lars had admitted, Torkes had set

him up to assault her in order to verify her identity and was using that

assault now to implicate the islanders, would it not be logical to assume

that some foray into the islands would be made by officialdom? If only to

preserve their fiction?

        Killashandra closed her mouth on this theory for she had gleaned it

from information she had overhead surreptitiously. Well, she´d find a way

to warn Lars, for she had a sudden premonition that a warning was in order.

From what she had seen of the Elders, reapplying to the Guild would be a

humiliating embarrassment to their sort of bureaucracy. Unless -- and

Killashandra smiled to herself -- they took the line that Killashandra Ree

had not arrived as scheduled. How tidy it could be made, the Elders able to

suppress any reference to the reception in her honor. However, Lanzecki

would know that she had gone, and know, too, that she would not have evaded

the responsibility she had accepted. And there would be computer evidence

of her arrival -- even the Elders would have a hard time suppressing that

sort of trail mark. Not to mention her use of the credit outlet on Angel.

This could be very interesting!

        She must have dozed off, for the couch had been comfortable, the

day´s unusual exercise exhausting, and watching the weather screen

soporific. It was the lack of storm noise that woke her. And a curious

singing in her body which was her symbiont´s reaction to drastic weather

changes. A quick glance at the screen showed her that the eye of the storm

was presently over Angel Island. She rubbed at her arms and legs, sure that

the vibration she felt might be discernible. However, Nahia had curled up

on the end of the long couch, Hauness, one arm across her shoulders, was

also asleep, head back against the cushions. Theach was still diddling, but

Erutown and Lars were absent.

        She heard voices and steps on the circular stair and made a dash

for the toilet. She distinguished Lars´s distinctive laugh, a bass rumble

from his father, and a grunt that could be Erutown, and some other voices.

Until the eye had passed and the symbiont had quieted, Killashandra wanted

to avoid everyone, especially Lars.

        »Carrigana?« Lars called. Then she heard him approach the toilet

and rap on the door. »Carrigana? Would you mind fixing some hungry storm

watchers more of those excellent sandwiches?«

        Under ordinary circumstances, Killashandra would have had a tart

rejoinder but catering would solve the more immediate problem.

        »Just a moment.« She splashed water on her face, smoothed back her

hair, and regarded the blossoms about her neck. Strangely enough they were

not dead, their petals were still fresh despite the creasing. Their

fragrance scented her fingers as she opened the crushed flowers and spread

them back into their original shapes.

        When she opened the door, Nahia and Hauness were making their way

toward the catering area.

        »They only want to talk weather,« Nahia said with a smile. »We´ll

help you.«

        The others did talk weather, but on the comunits to other islands,

checking on storm damages and injuries, finding out what supplies would be

required, and which island could best supply the needs. The three caterers

served soup, a basic stew, and high-protein biscuits. In the company of

Nahia and Hauness, the work was more pleasant than Killashandra would have

believed. She had never met their likes before and realized that she

probably never would again.

        The respite at the storm´s eye was all too brief, and soon the

hurricane was more frightening in its renewed violence. Though it was a

zephyr in comparison to Ballybran turbulence, Killashandra rated it a

respectable storm, and slept through the rest of it.

        A touch on her shoulder woke her, a light touch that was then

repeated and her shoulder held in a brief clasp. That was enough to bring

Killashandra to full awareness and she looked up at Nahia´s perplexed

expression. Killashandra smiled reassuringly, attempting to pass off the

storm resonance still coursing through her body. As Lars was draped against

her, she moved cautiously to a sitting position and took the steaming cup

from Nahia with quiet thanks. Killashandra wondered how the man had been

able to sleep with her body buzzing.

        Other storm watchers had disposed themselves for sleep about the

room. Outside a hard rain was falling and a stout wind agitated the rain

forest but the blow had become a shadow of its hurricane strength.

        »We had orders to wake people as soon as the wind died to force

five,« Nahia said and extended a second hot cup to Killashandra for Lars.

        »Has there been much damage? Many injuries?«

        »Sufficient. The hurricane was unseasonably early and caught some

communities unprepared. Olav is preparing emergency schedules for us.«

        »Us?« Killashandra stared at Nahia in surprise. »Surely you´re not

going to risk being seen and identified here?«

        »These are my own people, Carrigana. I am safest in the islands.«

Serenely confident, the beauty returned to the catering area.

        Lars had awakened during that brief interchange although he hadn´t

changed his position. His very blue eyes were watching her closely, no

expression gave her a hint of his mood. Lazily he caressed her leg.

Gradually his lips began to curve in a smile. What he might have said, what

thoughts he held behind those keen eyes he did not share with her. Then he

touched the garland she still wore, carefully unfolding a crushed petal.

»Will you be crew for me? We won´t have much time together southbound.

Tanny, Theach, and Erutown sail with us, and we´ll be dropping off supplies

here and there . . .«

        »Of course I´ll come,« Killashandra said eagerly. She wouldn´t miss

the trip for the world. Only . . . how would Lars take her deception? Would

she lose him? Well, she didn´t have to admit that she was the crystal

singer they had incarcerated on the island!

        The winds out of the Back Harbor were brisk enough to be dangerous,

but the well laden Pearl settled down to her task like the splendid craft

she was. Erutown was the nonsailor among them and took to a bunk in the

forward cabin until the motion sickness medication had taken effect. Theach

had appropriated the small terminal, smiling with absentminded good humor

at his shipmates, before he resumed his programming.

        Now that Tanny was on his way, he was as cheerful a companion as

one could wish. Nor was he impatient with Killashandra as a crewmember.

They had set sail once the winds had dropped to force three, one of the

first of the larger sailing vessels to leave haven. Others were being

loaded and crewed for their relief voyages. After the enforced idleness of

the storm, it was good to be physically active. Killashandra didn´t mind

the wet weather nor the tussle with wind as she and Tanny made periodic

checks of the deck cargo.

        Fresh water and food were unloaded at the first stop, and some

emergency medical supplies. The Pearl had carefully motored past the debris

floating in the small harbor: roofs, the sides of dwellings, innumerable

polly trees, fruit bobbing about like so many bald heads. That sight had

startled Killashandra and she had nearly exposed her ignorance of island

phenomena to Tanny. The inhabitants had taken refuge on the one highland of

the island, but they were already hauling salvageables from the high tide

mark and the water. They cheered the arrival of the Pearl, some wading out

to float the water-tight supplies in to shore. The exchange was completed

in the time it took the Pearl to turn about and head back to the open sea.

        And that was the routine at a half-dozen smaller islands.

Killashandra had had a long look at the charts and the compass; they were

taking a long arcing route, »her« island being the farthest point of their

journey to the southwest.

        The waters were studded with islands, large, small, and medium. All

showed the devastation of the storm, and on most the polly trees were still

bent over from their struggle with the hurricane: on some of the smaller

islands, the trees had been uprooted. As no one made a comment on this

waste, Killashandra could not ask how soon polly would reestablish itself.

        In answer to a faint emergency call, they eventually sailed into

the harbor of a medium-size island that had lost its communications masts

and had been unable to make contact with Angel. Lars and Tanny went ashore

there, leaving Killashandra in conspicuous sight while Erutown and Theach

remained below. Some of the urgently needed items could be supplied from

the extras on board and Lars contacted Angel for the rest.

        As they finally lifted anchor and sailed onward, Tanny´s rising

excitement was communicated to Killashandra. She could recognize nothing,

but if they were indeed near the island of her incarceration, she had swum

away from nearby help. As they approached the next landfall, she didn´t

need Tanny´s shout of relief to know they had reached »her« island; the

huge polly tree in the center was a distinctive landmark. Not only had the

tree survived but also its siblings or offspring, and the little hut she

had made in their shelter. Lars has to restrain Tanny from diving into the

breakers and swimming ashore in his eagerness to reassure himself.

        »I don´t see anyone!« Tanny cried as the Pearl motored toward the

beach. »Surely she could hear the engine!«

        »Is this where you want to dump us?« Erutown growled, surveying the

uprooted polly, the wind-depressed trunks of more, and the storm debris on

the once white sands.

        »Oh, you´ll be luxuriously situated, I assure you.« Lars said.

Killashandra had decided that Lars and Erutown were in basic disagreement

on too many counts. Lars was delighted to deposit the man out of the way

for a while. »We´ve solar-power units for Theach´s equipment, all sorts of

emergency camp gear, and plenty of food should you tire of the stuff the

island and the sea provide.«

        »And a hatchet, a knife, and a book of instructions?« Killashandra

asked she was not above priming her surprise.

        »There speaks the polly planter.« Grinning, Lars flipped the toggle

to release the anchor, cut off the engine, and gestured Tanny overboard. He

was halfway up the heights to the shelter before the others had made the

beach.

        »There´s no one here, Lars. Ye gods, what shall we do? There´s no

one here!« Tanny screamed.

        Consternation smoothed Lars´s features and he set off up the slope

at speed. Killashandra followed at a more leisurely pace, wondering whether

she would ease their fears. One look at the terror and hopelessness of

Tanny´s face, and a second one at the shock on Lars´s eroded her need for

revenge. Erutown and Theach were on the beach, out of hearing.

        »You don´t know very much about crystal singers, do you, Lars . .

.«

        He swung around, stared at her, trying to assimilate her words.

Tanny reached his conclusion first and sat heavily down among the

storm-strewn polly fronds, his expression incredulous.

        » . . . If you thought I´d just sit here until it suited you to

retrieve me.«

 

Chapter 14

 

Any discussion of that would have to be postponed. Theach and Erutown

reached the height, looking about them for their fellow exile. Unable to