Killashandra Part 7

Someone tapped on her apartment door and, when Mirbethan entered on her permission, Killashandra caught the shade of uncertainty in the Optherian's manner.

"Since you're not accompanied by any priss-mouthed ancients, you are welcome. And if that excuse for a meal is a state dinner here, no wonder you're a lean bunch."

Mirbethan flushed. "Since Elder Pentrom graciously accepted our invitation, we are obliged to cater to his dietary preferences. Didn't Elder Ampris mention this to you?"

"He failed to put me in the know. However. all this," and Killashandra waved expansively at the beverage table's load, "makes up for that deficiency, though solid food would a.s.sist my investigations . . ."

"There was no time to show you the catering facility." Mirbethan glided to one of the discreet wall cabinets. Its doors opened on a catering unit. "Alcoholic beverages are not included. Students have a distressing apt.i.tude for breaking restricted codes." Killashandra decided that she merely thought she detected a note of tolerant humor in Mirbethan's voice.

"That is why we have supplied you with a sampling of the available intoxicants."

"In spite of Elder Pentrom."

Mirbethan cast her eyes downward.

"Tell me, Mirbethan, would you happen to know if Basc.u.m the brewmaster originated from the planet Yarra?"

"Basc.u.m?" Mirbethan looked up, startled, and confused. When Killashandra waved the long-emptied bottle at her, she blushed. "Oh, that Basc.u.m." Now she glided to a second ornate cabinet which opened into a full size terminal, and a panel in the wall slid aside to reveal a large screen.

She typed an entry as Killashandra made a private wager. "Why, how under the suns did you know?"

"The best brewmasters in the galaxy hail from that planet. I haven't sampled everything yet," Killashandra went on, "but I shall be very well suited indeed if you'll undertake to keep me supplied with Basc.u.m's brew."

"As you require, Guildmember. But for now, the concert is about to start in the Red Hall. Only the single manual organ, but the performer was last year's prize winner."

Killashandra was tempted, but she was a shade hungrier and drier than she liked to be. "The Elders are present?" When Mirbethan solemnly nodded, Killashandra sighed deeply. "Convey my apologies on the grounds of travel fatigue . . . and the stress of metabolic readjustment after the a.s.sault and the wound." Killashandra ran the silk up her arm, exposing her shoulder where only a thin red line gave evidence of an injury.

Mirbethan's eyes widened significantly and then, with a subtle s.h.i.+ft, she inclined a bow to Killashandra.

"Your apologies will be conveyed. Call code MBT 14 if you require any further a.s.sistance from myself, Thyrol. Pirinio, or Polabod."

Killashandra wished her a pleasant evening and Mirbethan withdrew.

As soon as the door had closed on the woman, Killashandra discarded her languor and made for the catering unit. Once again, Optherian peculiarities inhibited her, for when she called up a menu, there was no scrolling of delectable, mouthwatering selections but a set dinner, with only three choices for the main course. She opted for all three, and immediately the catering unit queried her. She repeated her request and, when the unit wanted to know how many were dining, she tapped in "three." At which point the unit informed her that the apartment was recorded as having a single occupant. She replied that she had guests. Their names and codes were required. She responded with the names of Elders Pentrom and Ampris, codes unknown.

The food was promptly dispensed, two of the meager servings that she had observed in the dining hall. Fortunately the third one was substantial enough to abort the kick that she had been about to bestow on the catering unit.

Once she had solid food in her stomach, she continued her liquor sampling. While not in the least inebriated, thanks to her Ballybran-altered digestion, Killashandra was very merry and sang l.u.s.tily as she ventured into the hygiene rooms and splashed in the scented water of the bath. She continued to sing, her fancy latching onto a riotous ballad generally rendered by a tenor, as she made her way to the bedroom. A lambent radiance augmented the soft lighting and, curious, she went to the window, observing three of Optheria's four small moons, one near enough for the craters and vast sterile plains to be clearly visible. Entranced, Killashandra broke off the ballad and began the haunting love duet from Baleef's exotic opera, Voyagers, which seemed particularly appropriate to the setting.

When a tenor voice joined her on cue, she faltered a moment. Then, despite her astonishment at spontaneity in such a rigidly controlled environment, she continued Voyagers had been her last opera as a student on Fuerte, so she knew it well enough to divert some of her attention from the words. And a fine, rich, well produced voice he had. Might need a bit more support for the G's and A s in the last three measures -- she'd be amazed if he could hit the high C along with her -- but he had a firm sense of the dynamic requirements and sang with great sensitivity. As the tenor took up the melody, she gathered herself for the taxing finale, delighted to find her singing voice still flexible enough for the dynamics, and the high C.

The tenor, with no loss of vibrance, opted for the A, but it was a grand ringing A and she applauded his judgment.

She sustained her note, perversely wis.h.i.+ng him to drop but, as it happened, they broke off at the same instant, as if they had had the innumerable rehearsals such inspired singing required.

" 'When shall our paths cross again?' " she asked in the recitative which followed that spectacular duet.

" 'When the moons of Radomah make glorious the sky with measured dance.' " The invisible tenor also had a vibrant speaking voice, and, better yet, an appreciation of the humor in their impromptu performance for she caught the ripple of laughter in his chanted phrases. Did he also find the words, and the opera, a trifle ludicrous in the austere setting of the Optherian Complex?

All of a sudden, the courtyard below was floodlighted. Figures erupted onto the paving, shouting commands for silence. Before she stepped back from the window, Killashandra caught a glimpse of a figure, in a window directly opposite hers but a story above, withdrawing into the s.h.i.+elding darkness. Soprano and tenor exited the stage while the extras made a diligent and vain search for the conspirators.

Killashandra poured herself a full gla.s.s of something which its label identified as a fortified wine. This was an odd music center if impromptu singing, particularly of so high a caliber, was answered by punitive force.

She downed the drink, doused all the lights in the suite and, in the milky light of the moons, sought the comfort of her bed. Despite a wish for sleep, her mind ranged through the scenes of the Baleef opera and the sorrows of the star-crossed lovers. She must remember to ask Mirbethan who that tenor was. Fine voice! Much better than the pimple-faced little oaf who had sung the role opposite her on Fuerte!

Morning chimes, soft but insidious, roused her. She lifted herself on one elbow, saw that dawn was just breaking, groaned and, flinging the light coverlet over her head, went back to sleep. A second sequence of chimes, louder, sounded. Cursing, Killashandra strode to the console, coded the number Mirbethan had given her. "Is there any way to stop the wretched chimes in this apartment? Imagine, having to wake up at dawn!"

"That is the way here, Guildmember, but I shall advise Control that your apartment is to be excluded from the Rising Chimes."

"And all others, please! I will not be ordered about by bells, drums, whistles, shrills, or inaudibles. And who possesses that remarkably fine tenor voice?"

Mirbethan shot Killashandra a startled look. "You were disturbed by it -- "

"Not in the least. But if that's the quality of natural musical talent on Optheria, I'm impressed."

"The Center does not encourage vocalizing." Mirbethan's cool denial roused Killashandra's instant hostility.

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

"You misunderstand the situation, Guildmember. All the teaching centers on Optheria emphasize keyboard music."

"You mean, only that organ?"

"Of course. The organ is the ultimate of instruments, combining the -- "

"Spare me the hype, Mirbethan." Killashandra took an obscure pleasure in the shock her statement gave the woman. Then she relented. "Oh, I concur that the Optherian organ is a premier instrument, but that tenor voice was rather spectacular on its own merit."

"You should not have been disturbed -- "

"Fardles! I enjoyed singing with him."

Mirbethan's eyes rounded in a secondary shock. "You . . . were the other singer?"

"I was." File that for future reference! "Tell me, Mirbethan, if only a few of the hundreds who must study at this Center ever attain the standard required to play the Optherian organ, what happens to those who don't?"

"Why, suitable situations are found for them."

"In music?" Mirbethan shook her head. "I'd think that crystal singing would provide a marvelous alternative."

"Optherians do not care to leave their planet. whatever their minor disappointments. You will excuse me, Guildmember -- " Mirbethan broke the connection.

Killashandra stared at the blank screen for a long moment. Of course, neither Mirbethan nor any of the quartette knew of her early background in music. Certainly none of them could possible know of her disappointment, nor how she would relate that to what Mirbethan had just admitted. If you failed to make the grade at the organ, there was nothing else for you on Optheria?

There was no way in which Killashandra would buy Mirbethan's statement that frustrated Optherian musicians would prefer to remain on the planet, even if they had been conditioned to the restriction from birth.

And that tenor had sung with absolute pitch. It'd be a b.l.o.o.d.y shame to muzzle that voice in preference to an organ, however "perfect" an instrument it might be. Hazardous crystal singing might be as a profession, but it sure beat languis.h.i.+ng on Optheria. A sudden thought struck her and, with a fluid stride, she went to the terminal, tapped for Library, and the entry on Ballybran. A much expurgated entry scrolled past, ending with the Code Four restriction. She queried the Files for political science texts and discovered fascinating gaps in that category. So, censors.h.i.+p was applied on Optheria. Not that that ever accomplished its purpose. However, an active censors.h.i.+p was not grounds for charter-smas.h.i.+ng, and the Guild had only been requested to discover if the planetary exit restriction was popularly accepted.

Well, she knew one person she could ask -- the tenor -- if he hadn't gone into hiding after last night's hunt. Killashandra grinned. If she knew tenors . . .

She had breakfasted -- the catering unit did offer a substantial breakfast -- and dressed by the time Thyrol arrived to inquire if she had rested, and more importantly, if she would like to start the repairs. He tactfully indicated her arm.

"You've apprehended the a.s.sailant?"

"Merely a matter of time."

"How many students in the Complex?" she asked amiably as Thyrol led her down the hall to the lift.

"At present, four hundred and thirty."

"That's a lot of suspects to examine."

"No student would dare attack an honored guest of the planet."

"On most planets, they'd be the prime suspects."

"My dear Guildmember, the selection process by which this student body is chosen considers all aspects of the applicant's background, training, and ability. They uphold all our traditions."

Killashandra mumbled something suitable. "How many positions are available to graduates?"

"That is not an issue, Guildmember," Thyrol said with mild condescension. "There is no limit to the number of fully trained performers who present compositions for the Optherian organ -- "

"But only one may play at a time -- "

"There are forty-five organs throughout Optheria -- "

"That many? Then why couldn't one of those be subst.i.tuted -- "

"The instrument here at the Complex is the largest, most advanced and absolutely essential for the performance level required by the Summer Festival. Composers from all over the planet compete for the honor and their work has been especially written for the potential of the main instrument. To ask them to perform on a lesser organ defeats the purpose of the Festival."

"I see," Killashandra said although she didn't. However, once she had been admitted through the series of barriers and security positions protecting the damaged organ, she began to appreciate the distinction Thyrol had made.

He had taken her to the rocky bas.e.m.e.nts of the Complex, and then to the impressive and unexpectedly grand Compet.i.tion Amphitheater which utilized the natural stony bowl on the nether side of the Complex promontory. Some ma.s.sive early earthfault and a lot of weathering had molded the mount's flank into a perfect semicircle. The Optherians had improved the amphitheater with tiered ranks of individual seating units, facing the shelf on which the organ console stood. This was accessible only from the one entrance through which Thyrol now guided Killashandra. With a sincere and suitable awe, Killashandra looked about her, annoyed that she was gratifying Thyrol's desire to impress a Guildmember even as she was unable to suppress that wonder. She cleared her throat, and the sound, small though it was, echoed faithfully back at her. "The acoustics are incredible," she murmured and, as Thyrol smiled tolerantly, heard her words whispered back. She rolled her eyes and looked about her for an exit from the phenomenal stage.

Thyrol gestured to a portal carved in the solid rock on the far side of the organ console. From his belt pouch he extracted three small rods. With these and his thumb print, he opened the door, the sound reverberating across the empty s.p.a.ce. Killashandra slipped in first. As familiar as she was with auditoria of all descriptions, something about this one unnerved her. Something about the seats reminded her of primitive diagnostic chairs which used physical restraints on their occupants, yet she knew that people would cross the Galaxy to attend the Festival.

Lights had come up at their entry and illuminated a large, low-ceilinged chamber. Taking up the floor s.p.a.ce in front of the innocuous interlinked cabinets that made up the electronic guts of the Optherian organ were the prominent sealed crates containing the white crystal.

Overhead harnesses of color-coded cables formed a ceiling design before they disappeared through conduits to unknown destinations.

Thyrol led the way to the large rectangle containing the shattered remains of the crystal manual.

"How, in the name of all that's holy, did he manage that?"

Killashandra demanded after surveying the damage. Some of the smaller crystals had been reduced to thin splinters. In idle wonder she picked up a handful of the shards, letting them trickle through her fingers, ignoring Thyrol's cry of alarm as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands back.

The tiny cuts inflicted by the scalpel-sharp crystal briefly oozed droplets of blood then closed over while Thyrol watched in fascinated horror.

"As you can see, the merest caress of crystal." She twisted her hands free of Thyrol's unexpectedly strong grasp. "Now," and she spoke more briskly, looking down at the mess in the bottom of the cabinet, "I'll need some tools, some stout fellows, and stouter baskets to remove the debris."

"An extractor?" Thyrol suggested.

"There isn't an extractor built on Ballybran or anywhere else that wouldn't be sliced to ribbons by crystal shards in suction. No, this has to be cleaned in a time honored fas.h.i.+on -- by hand."

"But you . . ."

Killashandra drew herself up. "As a Guildmember, I am not averse to performing necessary manual tasks." She paused to let Thyrol appreciate the difference. She had done more than enough shard-sc.r.a.pping on Ballybran to undertake it here on Optheria.

"It is only that security measures -- "

"I would, of course, accept your a.s.sistance in the interests of security."

Thyrol hastily adjourned to a communication console. "What exactly do you require, Guildmember?"

She gauged the volume of broken crystal in the cabinet. "Three strong men with impervometallic bins of approximately ten-kilo volume, triple-strength face masks, durogloves, fine-wire brushes, and the sort of small, disposable extractor used by archeologists. We have to be sure to glean every particle of crystal dust."

Thyrol's eyes bugged out a bit over the more bizarre items, but he repeated her requirements, and then turned up very stiff indeed when he was subjected to questions by the staff. "Of course, they have to be cleared by Security, but they are to be here immediately, properly geared to a.s.sist the Guildmember!" He broke off the connection and, his face blotched with displeasure, turned to Killashandra. "With so much at stake, Guildmember, you can appreciate our wish to protect you and the organ from further depredations. If something should happen to the replacement crystal . . ."

Killashandra shrugged. From what she had seen of Optherians, 'once bitten, twice shy" described their philosophy. She ran her hand across the instrument nearest her, glancing around at the rest of the anonymous equipment. "This is a more complex device than I'd been led to believe."

She turned and presented a politely inquiring expression to Thyrol.

"Well, ah, that is . . ."

"Come now, Thyrol, I am scarcely connected with the subversives."

"No, of course not."

Killashandra diverted Thyrol's attention from realizing that he had covertly admitted the existence of an underground organization by turning, once again, toward the front of the chamber and pointing at the access

panel to the keyboard. "Now the actual keyboard is beyond that panel, so the right-hand box houses the stops and voicing circuitry. And is that,"

she pointed to the largest unit, "the CPU? The induction modulator and mixer must be in that left-hand cabinet."

"You are knowledgeable about organ technology?" Thyrol's expression a.s.sumed a wary blankness. For the second time since her arrival, Killashandra perceived empathic emanations from an Optherian: this time a strong sense of indefinable apprehension and alarm.

"Not as much about organs as I do about interface techniques, sensory simulators, and synthesizer modulators. Crystal singing requires a considerably wide range of experience with sophisticated electronic equipment, you know."

He obviously didn't or he wouldn't have nodded so readily.

Killashandra blessed her foresight in utilizing the sleep-teaching tapes she had copied from the Athena's comprehensive data retrieval system. Her answer rea.s.sured Thyrol and the shadow of his fear slowly dissipated.

"Of course there is a double handshake between the program," and he tapped the black case by him, "and the composition memory banks.

Composition," and he walked from one to the other, his hand lightly brus.h.i.+ng the surfaces, "of course leads directly into the recall excitor stimulator, for that uses the memory symbology of the median individual member of any audience so that a composition is translated into terms which have meaning to the auditors. Naturally the subjective experience of a program for Optherians would differ greatly from the experience a nonhuman would have."

"Of course," Killashandra murmured encouragingly. "And the information from the crystal manual goes? . . ."