In secret we met--

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 space. 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 space 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 thats 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 Thyrols 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 Thyrols unexpectedly strong grasp. Now, and she spoke more briskly, looking down at the mess in the bottom of the cabinet, Ill need some tools, some stout fellows, and stouter baskets to remove the debris. An extractor? Thyrol suggested. There isnt an extractor built on Ballybran or anywhere else that wouldnt be sliced to ribbons by crystal shards in suction. No, this has to be cleaned in a time honored fashion 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-scrapping on Ballybran to undertake it here on Optheria. It is largan chameleon digital camera drivers only that security measures I would, of course, accept your assistance 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. Thyrols 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 assist 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 Id 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 Thyrols 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? Thyrols expression assumed a wary blankness. For the second time since her arrival, Killashandra perceived empathic emanations from an Optherian: this time a strong sense of

I only feel - Farewell! - Farewell!

side, and poured the hot soup. After weve 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. Whatll 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, youre 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. Youre remarkably well organized here She let her sentence dangle, implying that shed been elsewhere to her sorrow. Angels not often in the direct path, and the storm may veer off before it hits, but one doesnt wait until the last moment, not on Angel. Father doesnt permit inefficiencies. They lose lives and cost credit. Ah, Jorells back. Hang on to your cup. Well 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 Killashandras interest. Winter? As far as she knew, shed arrived in Optheria in early spring. Had independent digital camera ratings 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 hadnt 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. Well rig the cabin before we sail, Lars said, nodding astern toward the hatch. Killashandra didnt 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 the 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, mgirl, 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 youre 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 youre a good sailor, for its going to be a rough passage around the wing. That storm is hurrying to meet us. Neither a

And still when I set it to my mouth,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they For thee it blows little good." imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at