Killashandra

The column of his neck was strong and the pulse beat in his throat. She wanted to put her finger tip on it and almost did before retracting her hand. He was more truly hers when asleep, untouched by stress, relaxed, his rib cage barely moving.

She loved the line of his chest, the smooth skin clothing smooth pectoral muscle, and once again she had to repress the wish to run her hand down the shape of him, to feel the fine crisp hair on his chest. He was not hirsute and she found that much to her preference as well, his legs and arms having only a fine dusting of blond hairs.

She had seen handsomer men but the composition of his face pleased her better. Lanzecki – now that was the first time she’d thought of him in days – actually was the more distinguished in looks, heavier in build. She decided she preferred the way Lars Dahl was put together.

She sighed. It was easier to be philosophical about Lanzecki. Would she have been as easily resigned to that loss if she hadn’t met Lars Dahl? She had broken off with Lanzecki for his own good, but she hadn’t “lost” him, for she would return to Ballybran. Once she’d left Optheria . . .

For a moment her emotions hovered above a new abyss of despair and regret. And for the first time in her life, the thought of bearing a man’s child crossed her mind. That was as much an impossibility as remaining with Lars, but it emphasized the depth of her emotional involvement with the man. Perhaps it was just as well that no child was possible, that their liaison would end when this assignment was over. She surprised herself! Children were something other people had. To feel that desire was remarkable.

Optheria, for all its conservatism and alleged security, had unexpected facets of danger. Not the least of which were her adventures so far. She could hardly fault Trag, or rail at the Encyclopedia Galactica. Facts she had had. What couldn’t have been foreseen were the astonishing predicaments which had entangled her. And the fascinating personalities.

More extraordinary still, she remembered all too vividly, and with just a trace of chagrin, her rantings and ravings and desperation’s when she’d left Ballybran, a sacrifice to the Guild for Lanzecki’s good. Now, when contemplating a much deeper and irreversible loss, why was she so calm, fatalistically resigned, even philosophical. How very strange! Had her loss of Lanzecki inured her to others? Or was she mistaking her feelings for Lars Dahl? No! She’d remember Lars Dahl for the rest of her life without benefit of data retrieval.

The second chimes rang faintly across the open court outside the windows. Faint but sufficient to waken Lars. He was as neat on wakening as he was in sleep. His eyes opened, his right hand searched for her body, his head turned and his smile began as he located her. Then he stretched, arms above his head, back arching toward her as he extended his legs and then on the top of his extension, suddenly retracted himself, drawing her against him, to complete a morning ritual which included the exercise of their intimate relationship. Each time, they seemed to discover something new about themselves and their responses. She particularly liked Lars’s capacity for invention, stimulating as it did heretofore unsuspected originalities in herself.

As usual hunger roused them from these variations.

“Breakfast here is the heartiest meal,” Lars said cheerfully, striding quickly for the catering unit. “You’ll like it.”

Killashandra saw that he had left the jammer behind him, and she followed him at a quick trot, holding the device up to distort anything else he might say.

He laughed. “We’d best leave them something to hear. A discussion of breakfast must be sufficiently i

Killashandra settled in one of the chairs near the catering unit, swiveling her hand as she looked at the little jammer. If only some way could be found to mask that mineral residue in Optherians! Blank out the detector.

“You know,” Killashandra said as they ate, sitting companionably together on the elegant seating unit, “I simply ca

Lars shrugged, giving her a tolerant side glance. “Everyone sings – at least in the islands, they do.”

“But you know how to sing.”

Lars cocked an eyebrow at her, still humoring what he felt was her excessive fascination with a minor ability.

“Everyone knows how to sing – ”

“I don’t mean just opening the mouth and shouting, Lars Dahl. I mean, projecting a voice, supporting it properly on the breath, phrasing the music, carrying the dynamic line forward.

“When did I do all that?”

“When we did that impromptu duet. When you sang on the beach, when you did that magnificent duet from The Pearl Fishers.”

“I did?”

“Of course. I studied voice for ten years. I – ” She shut her mouth.

“Then why are you a crystal singer instead of one of these famous vocal artists?”

A surge of impotent fury, followed by a wave of regret, and then a totally incomprehensible loathing of Lars for reminding her so acutely of the interview with Maestro Valdi – the moment that had changed her life – rendered Killashandra speechless.

Lars watched her, his mild curiosity turning to concern as he saw the emotions in her stormy eyes and face. He put a hand on her bare thigh. “What did I say to distress you so?”

“Nothing you said, Lars.” She dismissed all that from consideration. It was over and done with. “I had all the requirements to be a Stellar, except one. A voice.”

“Ah, now.” Lars pulled back in indignation.

“I’m quite serious. There’s a flaw, a noticeable and unpleasant burr in the voice that would have limited me to secondary roles.”

Lars laughed now, his white teeth gleaming in his ta

“I don’t do badly. I’ve sung black crystal, which is the hardest to find and cut properly. In any event, there aren’t degrees among singers. One cuts to earn enough credit for the things one needs and wants.” Now why wasn’t she being totally honest with Lars? Why didn’t she confess that the sole aim of most crystal singers was sufficient credit not to have to sing crystal – to leave Ballybran for as long as possible?

“I wouldn’t have thought crystal singers are so much like islanders,” Lars surprised her by saying. “Well, you cut for what you need and want, much as we fish or plant polly, but all we really need is available.”

“It’s not quite the same thing with crystal,” Killashandra said slowly, glad she had been less than honest. Why disillusion Lars needlessly? On so many worlds, in so many minds, there were so many misconceptions about crystal singers, she had not realized how much a relief it was to find an unbiased world – at least one unbiased with respect to her Guild.

“Cutting crystal seems more dangerous than fishing.” He stroked her scarred hand. “Or learning polly.”

“Stick to fishing, Lars. Crystal’s hazardous to your health. Now, we’d best apply ourselves to fulfill my Guild contract with these fardling fools. And maybe shake them out of their organic rut!”

They dressed and then Killashandra entered the number Mirbethan had given her. The woman seemed immensely relieved to accept the call and said that Thyrol would be with them directly.

“D’you suppose he slept in the hall?” Killashandra murmured to Lars as she answered the polite scratching on the hall door. Lars shook his head violently, then held up his hand while he deactivated the jammer and pocketed it. “Good morning, Thyrol. Lead on.” She gestured peremptorily, smiling at Thyrol before she noticed two burly men in security uniforms. “I have no need of them!” she said coldly.