Killashandra

“Clever!” was his comment as the wall sank slowly and, to their intense relief, noiselessly apart from the initial protest. “Clever and utterly despicable.” As soon as the descending wall reached knee height, Trag swung over it, Lars right behind him.

For a heavy man, Trag moved with considerable speed and economy of motion. He did a complete circuit of the room, his eyes sweeping from one side to the other, identifying each bank in the complicated and extensive rack system, and the terminal which activated the units. He completed his circuit at the three heavy cables that provided the interface between the two sets of computers.

“No one has been in here for some time,” he said finally, noting the light coating of dust on the cabinets

“No need, Guildmember.”

“You may address me as Trag.”

Lars gri

“Trag. The yearly dose for Optherians occurs shortly before the Festival season begins, and the tourists arrive. All Optherians are given the ‘opportunity and privilege,’ ” and Lars’s voice was mildly scornful, “of attending the preliminary concerts for the current year’s Festival selections. The Mainlanders get their dose then, to keep them contented while the tourists are here. Then, the tourists get theirs, which includes sufficient Optherianisms to prevent them from accepting messages from strangers for posting once they return to their homes. Some don’t, you know, having fallen for the vastly superior and secure Optherian natural way of life.”

Trag dropped his gaze from the fascinating cable. “How many escape these conditioning sessions?”

“Not many Mainlanders, though there are a few who independently discovered the subliminal images.” Lars turned to Killashandra. “Nahia, Hauness, Brassner, and Theach. Over the last ten years, they’ve been able to warn those they felt could be trusted.”

“Do the Elders know that some escape?” Killashandra asked.

“There is a head check at the concerts which simultaneously registers with the Central Computers.”

“But islanders don’t go to concerts, do they?” Killashandra said with a chuckle. It was a relief to know that she had occasion to be amused. It had looked very grim for a bit there, with Trag coming on strong as Guildmember.

“I think it is time to end such pernicious subjugation,” Trag said. He took from his biceps pocket a hand-unit of the sort used to check programming systems, and placed it on the nearest cabinet. “It should be a simple matter of reprogramming the master sensory mixer to bypass the subliminal generator. That would inhibit the subliminal processor, yet leave no physical trace of alteration.” Taking from the same pocket a heavy compound knife of the kind favored by crystal singers for field use, he opened the heaviest cutting blade. He sliced carefully at the plastic cable cover, peeling it back to expose the multicolor flex package.

Killashandra watched as Trag set the system checker against the flex, taking a preliminary reading. As he pondered the results, she could not restrain a glance at the subliminal room. The devices were so repugnant to her, abusing every precept of the individual privacy which had been her birthright on Fuerte, that she felt besmirched just looking at them.

“If there’s no power . . .” Lars began, his hand half-raised in caution.

“ I have had sufficient experience with this sort of equipment, Lars Dahl.” Trag entered instructions on the hand unit, noted the display on the rectangular vdr, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. “The subroutine of the subliminal will function on any dummy test, and indicate the programming modes selected under their program listing, but I am placing a security lock,” and with those words he put the device firmly against the thick red-coded cable and depressed the main key, “on it now. I don’t have the equipment necessary to generate a program for propaganda detoxification.”

“That’s too bad,” Killashandra said with heartfelt dismay

“There!” Trag said. “And unless they know exactly what I’ve done to inhibit the subliminal processor, the alterations can’t be reversed. Let the Optherians program that computer for whatever images they wish. None will reach the minds of the people they intend to pervert!” Trag pulled hard on the plastic coating and then pressed it firmly back around the cables. Killashandra could not see where the cable had been entered.

“And you’ll bear witness to the Federated Council?” Lars was taut as he eagerly awaited Trag’s reply.

“We shall all bear witness to the Council, young man,” Trag replied.

Lars nodded but his smile was wry. “It will be the crystal singer’s word that will be credited, Guildmember Trag, not that of an islander whose motivations are suspect.”

“Even if he could leave the planet, Trag,” Killashandra said. “Remember the arc at the shuttle port? Didn’t it glow blue and erupt guards with weapons?”

Trag nodded. “Except when I passed under it.”

“That arc deposits a mineral deposit in Optherian bones,” Lars said, “and in those of anyone here for more than six months. Which is what caught my father originally.”

Trag dismissed that difficulty with a flick of his hand. “I have a warrant in my possession to arrest the party or parties responsible for the Guildmember’s abduction, which would take you past their reprisals.”

“You came well prepared, Trag,” Killashandra said with a rueful smile. “But you’d have to bring the entire population of the Archipelago if you named Lars Dahl abductor.”

When Trag turned to Lars for affirmation. he nodded. “I hadn’t pla

Trag was silent for a long moment, regarding Lars steadily. Then he exhaled slowly. “I was given broad powers by the Federated Council but not that broad.” His lower jaw jutted out slightly. “Had there been any suspicion of this . . . .” He paused, his contempt for once visible in his expression. “Let us not reveal this knowledge prematurely.’

Carefully they removed every trace of their entry. Neither man had touched the cabinets or files, so covering their tracks took little time. Meanwhile, Killashandra repositioned herself at the door panel, listening for sounds of approach.

Trag reexamined the cables he had clipped, checking from all angles to be sure the incision would escape all but the most critical inspection. He gave the room a thorough survey and then, apparently satisfied, looked expectantly at Killashandra and Lars.

“Well, close it!’

Killashandra gave a burst of puzzled laughter, more shrill than amused.

“How?”

Lars chuckled as he took the hammer from her nerveless hand. “Find something he likes . . .” He tapped out the Beethoven sequence again. The wall immediately responded by closing, giving the barest thunk as the panel met the ceiling. Trag gave the cable housing a final glance and dismissed it with a shrug.

“I suggest you eat something, Killashandra. You’re too pale. Probably the effect of combining both assignments for your Guild. Lars Dahl, set the next bracket.”