Killashandra

An audible sigh – of relief? – preceded the applause this selection engendered. So the audience was being soothed to trust, encouraged to resist subversive philosophies: now what, Killashandra wondered?

An alarmingly thin and earnest young man, swallowing his Adam’s apple convulsively as he crossed the stage, was the next performer. He looked more like a wading bird than a premier organist. And when he took his seat and lifted his hands, they splayed to incredible lengths, making the soft opening notes ludicrous to Killashandra’s mind, especially when she recognized the seductive phrases of a French pianist. The name escaped her momentarily but the erotic music was quite familiar. She held her breath against the first image and choked on the howl of laughter as the subliminal image of Ampris-the-seducer was superimposed, in reds and oranges, on the viewers’ abused senses. Fortunately, the notion of Ampris making love to her, or anyone, was so bizarre that the eroticism – even magnified by scent and sensory titillation – failed to achieve its full effect. Lars’s continual tapping – was he succumbing to the illusion, keeping the beat, or trying to distract her from the powerful sensuality – against her toe kept reminding her how perilous their position was at the moment.

Bolero! The name returned to her as the lights came up. And fury at this arrant manipulation set a flush in her cheeks that matched those in Mirbethan’s as the delighted woman turned to inquire breathlessly how Killashandra had enjoyed the concert.

The seats were all tilting forward, releasing their occupants once more into the cold cruel world of reality.

“I have never so totally experienced music before in my life, Mirbethan,” Killashandra said in ringing, heartfelt tones. What she felt in her breast was not what the performance was expected to generate. “A balanced and professional performance. The artists were magnificent. Excellent adaptations to the Optherian organs.”

“Adaptations? Oh, no, Guildmember, this was the first performance of three brilliant new compositions.” Mirbethan said and Killashandra could only goggle at her.

“That music was totally original? Composed by the performers?” Killashandra’s surprised was misinterpreted by Mirbethan as the proper expression of awe. Lars squeezed her arm warningly and she managed to contain her outrage.

“A truly brilliant concert,” Trag said, joining them as the audience was dispersing. “An experience I would not willingly have foregone.”

Never having heard so much warmth in his voice, Killashandra looked sharply at Trag. Surely, if her symbiont had protected her . . .” Now she stared at Trag’s flushed face, his bright eyes, and noticed that a smile had reshaped his lips. Killashandra grabbed at Lars’s arm, before anyone else could see her dismay, she pulled them both into the crowd, away from Trag and the two Elders who escorted him

“Easy, Killa,” Lars murmured in her ear. “Don’t give it away. Not now!”

“But he – ”

His hand twisted her fingers cruelly, reminding her of the danger they were in.

“That last piece will send them all to their beds, alone if necessary,” Lars continued, breaking up the sentence into quick short phrases as he hurried her away from the hall. “No one is expected to linger. Not after that dose of eroticism.” They turned a corner, Killashandra accepting Lars’s direction. “Trag’s coming.”

“Don’t you understand? No one here composed that music. It was all stolen!”

“I know, I know.”

Yours wasn’t stolen. It was original. The only bloody original music I’ve heard on this fardling mudball!”

“Shush now, Killa. Only one more corridor and we’re home safe and then you can rant and rave.”

“I get the cold shower first.”

“What and waste the music?”

She tried to kick him but they were walking so fast she would have lost her balance if she’d succeeded.

“I will not be manipulated . . .” and the last word she roared in the privacy of their suite. She was hauling the Beluga spidersilk kaftan over her head as she reached the bathroom door and, flipping on the cold water, stood in its frigid torrent until she could feel her flesh shriveling. Lars pulled her out, handing her a towel as he took her place.

“I think it’s a shame to waste all their hard work and effort – ”

“Did you want to go to bed with an image of Ampris?” she demanded at the top of her voice.

“Oh, I saw Mirbethan,” Lars said ingenuously, toweling himself dry.

“Mirbethan?”

“Yes, didn’t you know that was why she was included in your welcoming committee? She’s bi – ”

“What?” Killashandra screeched that at the top of her lungs.

“Compose yourself, Killashandra Ree,” said the cool voice of Trag from the doorway. “You and Lars Dahl are in every bit as much danger as you thought. We must talk.”

Chapter 22

“First,” Trag said as Killashandra and Lars joined him in the main room, and he pointed to the monitors. Lars held up the jammer. “Very good. Secondly, I need to hear an account of your adventures here, Killashandra. Then I can separate the fact from the fiction presented by Ampris and Torkes. Both are clever men.”

“A drink, Killa?” Lars asked and his voice was rough with either anger or anxiety.

“I would appreciate something stronger than that tasteless beer, please, Lars Dahl,” Trag said

“My pleasure. Trag.”

Killashandra could feel the tension release in her belly and she let out a lungful of air as Trag’s courteous request gave her a reassuring measure of his attitude. She took a quick pull at the polly liqueur which Lars handed her before he sat on the couch, not touching her but with one arm protectively along the back. She began with her arrival on the Athena and her suspicions about Corish. Nor was she any less than candid about the fit of pique with Optherian bureaucracy which had led her to leave the Conservatory grounds, her subsequent kidnapping, escape, and her second meeting with the young islander. She was as forthright about Lars’s effect on her sexuality as she was about the impact Nahia. Hauness, and Theach had had on her sympathies. Crystal singing tended to peel off u

During her recitation, Trag had sipped his drink, any reaction hidden by his hooded eyes. He finished the last of the polly liqueur which Lars had elected to serve him as she concluded the summary and he gestured politely to Lars for a refill.

“They are clever, those old men, but they have not dealt with crystal singers before,” Trag said. “They have outsmarted themselves this time. Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad.”

Killashandra regarded Trag in mild astonishment and then Lars, wondering if his habit was contagious. But Trag’s adage was eminently applicable.

Or think themselves impervious to the slings and arrows of outraged fortune,” Lars said with a mischievous grin. Killashandra groaned in protest.

“Tomorrow I shall offer to realign the Conservatory instrument.” Trag said. “I distinctly heard a burr – the first sign of a souring crystal.”

“Will they permit you?” Killashandra asked.

“They are greedy. And they have no qualified crystal tuner until we have trained some. I have already resolved the point that the Guild contracted to supply the crystals and technical assistance, without reference to the number of appropriate technicians supplied. Therefore no further sum is to be paid by them. Until they received that reassurance from me, they were trying to make out that you were in breach of contract – ”

“In breach? Me? When they placed me in jeopardy? First by hiring an assailant to prove my Heptite origination? Then they hinder me in the execution of my assignment? And they malign my competence?” Killashandra quickly switched to malicious amusement. “Not that they will really appreciate the level of competence we have exhibited! Nor the caliber of the technical assistance they’ve bought!” She gri