Elegy

through the same message in all major Federated Planets languages. Passengers were requested to have travel documents ready for inspection by Port Authorities. Please to form a line in the appropriately marked alphabetic or numeric queues. Aliens requiring special life support systems or supplies would please contact a uniformed attendant. Visitors with health problems were to present themselves, immediately after Clearance, to the Port Authority Medical Officer. It was the hope of the Tourist Bureau of Optheria that all visitors would thoroughly enjoy their holiday on the planet. Killashandra was relieved to see that she would be able to present her I.D. in some privacy, for the Inspectors presided in security booths. Those waiting their turn in the queue could not observe the process. She kept glancing to the far right of the line where Corish should be waiting but he was not immediately visible. She caught sight of him just as it was her turn to approach the Inspector. Killashandra suppressed a malicious grin as she slid her arm and its I.D. bracelet under the visiplate. The blank expression of the Inspectors square face underwent a remarkable change at the sight of the Heptite Seal on his screen. With one hand he pressed a red button on the terminal in front of him and with the other urgently beckoned her to proceed. Quitting the booth, he insisted on relieving her of her carisak. Please, no fuss, Killashandra said. Gracious Guildmember, the Inspector began effusively, we have been so concerned. The cabin reserved for you on the Athena I traveled economy. But youre a Heptite Guildmember! There are times, Inspector, Killashandra said, bending close to him and touching his arm, when discretion requires that one travel incognito. The hair stood up on the back of his hand. She sighed. Oh, I see. And clearly he did not. He unconsciously smoothed the hair back down. They had walked the short distance to the next portal, which slid apart to reveal a welcoming committee of four, three men and a woman, slightly breathless. The Guildmember has arrived! The Inspectors triumphant announcement left the distinct impression that he himself had somehow conjured her appearance. Killashandra stared apprehensively at them. They had a disconcerting resemblance to each other, not only a sameness of how digital cameras were developed height and build but of coloring and feature. Even their voices were pitched in the same sonorous timber. She blinked, thinking it might be some trick of the soft yellow sunshine pouring in from the main reception area. Then she gave herself a little shake: all were government employees, but could any bureaucracy, Optherian or other, hire people on the basis of their uniform appearance? Welcome to Optheria, Guildmember Ree, the Inspector said, beaming as he ushered her past the portal, which whispered shut behind them. Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Thyrol, the first and oldest man said, taking one step toward her and bowing. Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Pirinio, said the second, following the example of the first. In unvarying ceremony, Polabod and Mirbethan made themselves known to her. Had they practiced long? I am truly welcomed, she said with a gracious semibow. The crystal? It was aboard the shuttle. All four looked to her right, left hands rising from their sides at the same instant, to indicate the float appearing through a second portal. Nullgravs suspended float and cartons above the gold-flecked marble floor but proper guidance apparently required six attendants, each wearing an anxious frown of concentration. A seventh man directed their efforts, dancing from one side to the other to be certain that nothing impeded their progress. These citizens of Optheria were reassuringly mismatched in size, form, and feature. We four, Thyrol began, indicating his companions with a twist of his hand, are to be your guides and mentors during your stay on Optheria. You have only to state your wishes and preferences and we Optheria will provide. The four bowed again, like a wave from right to left. The Inspector beside her also bowed. Thyrol lifted one eyebrow and the Inspector, bowing again as he surrendered Killashandras carisak to Pirinio, formally receded until the portal hissed apart and then closed. Killashandra wondered if the Inspectors euphoria would extend to lesser breeds, those without Guild affiliation, when he resumed his booth in Immigration. If you will step this way, Guildmember Ree. Thyrol made another of his graceful gestures. When she moved to walk beside him, he altered his stride to keep a deferential meter from her. The others fell in behind. Killashandra shrugged, accepting the protocol. Not having to chat with her escort gave her a chance to glance about the

Nere doubt me, for I 'll play my part."

astonishment and then Lars, wondering if his habit was contagious. But Trags 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 theyve bought! She grinned at Trag. So, what other knotty problems did you solve at dinner? Your incorruptible dedication to your Guild. What! Killashandras irritation rekindled. Of all the Trag held up his hand, a gleam in his eye that suggested to Killashandra that he was enjoying her discomfiture. Firmly she controlled herself. It didnt help to notice, out of the corner of her eye, that Lars was struggling to suppress his own amusement. Coming as I do from Guildmaster Lanzeckis office, I am, Trag paused unexpectedly, shooting a glance at Killashandra which she could only interpret as sly, above reproach. I am also male. Apparently the Elders trust few women in any but the most traditional or subordinate capacities. I assured them that not only were you Guildmaster Lanzeckis first choice for such a delicate and crucial installation, but you were mine as well. Killashandra sniffed but gave him a long hard look, to remind him exactly why Killashandra Ree had been Trags first choice. Your praise, Guildmember, is only surpassed by your concern for the welfare of the Guild, she said demurely. In a matter affecting the Guild reputation, I am, too? digital cameras display reflection problems incorruptible, Trag replied, neatly parrying her thrust. So tomorrow are Lars and I permitted to continue with the Festival organ? Trag nodded. And you will reorganize the second instrument? In the best interests of the guiding precepts of the Federated Sentient Planets Council, yes, I certainly shall. Otherwise I assure you that these Elders would not receive unreimbursed and gratuitous services from the Heptite Guild. Bravo! Lars called. Their greed blinds them, Trag said. So, following a recent example, we shall take the opportunity that is presented, he added, nodding toward Lars who returned the compliment. Basically they have trite minds. Security, pride, and sex! Imagine! Inflicting such prurience on tonights audience. Killashandra regarded Trag with mild astonishment. The man was positively garrulous, volunteering comments not to mention uncontracted services. Or was he simply responding to the backlash of that maladroit rendition of the Bolero? Shed have thought Trag made of sterner stuff, especially since hed been forewarned of the subliminals. Oh, thats a common diet for the Conservatory, Lars said. For the masses, they have other themes, sometimes so indigestible I wonder how they can be swallowed, even conditionally. Mainlanders are often subjected to a spectrum ranging from xenophobia, Lars began ticking the subjects off on his fingers, a fear of races in their own territories, to claustrophobia to nip any budding interest in space-faring, to fear of disobedience, fear and disgust of acts that are unnatural, fear of committing an illegal action, rational or not. Theyve even constructed a negative-feedback loop to inhibit thinking along lines the Elders have suddenly decided are subversive. A dislike of the color red was achieved a year or so ago. Then, and Lars was really warming to his subject, the tourists get a different menu: love of the simple life, very little eroticism which would follow, wouldnt it? All sorts of nebulous goodnesses to be obtained by staying on here. Immense credit balances are constantly flashed luringly at the most bizarre moments. Naturally the disadvantages arent mentioned at all. No lecture on Full Disclosure? Killashandra shot Trag a glance but he ignored her. Have you a reliable contact in the Conservatory, Lars? Trag asked him. I wouldnt dare

Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse:

guards" "No worry there," Mallory said grimly. "They never expected to see Dusty and myself again. . . . They kept a poor watch." He turned round to look at Brown, now hobbling across the floor. "How's the leg, Casey?" "Fine, sir." Brown brushed it aside as of no importance. "I got through to Cairo, to-night, sir. The report" "It'll have to wait, Casey. We must get out as fast as we can. You all right, Louki?" "I am heart-broken, Major Mallory. That a countryman of mine, a trusted friend" "That, too, will have to wait. Come on!" "You are in a great hurry," Andrea protested mildly. They were already out in the passage, stepping over the cell guard lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. "Surely if they're all like our friend here" "No danger from, this quarter," Mallory interrupted impatiently. "The soldiers in the townthey're bound to know by now that we've either missed Panayis or disposed of him. In either case they'll know that we're certain to come hot-footing out here. Work it out for yourself. They're probably half-way here already, and if they do come . . ." He broke off, stared at the smashed generator and the ruins of Casey Brown's transmitter set lying in one corner of the entrance hail. "Done a pretty good job on these, haven't they?" he said bitterly. "Thank the Lord," Miller said piously. "All the less to tote around, is what I say. If you could only see the state of my back with that damned generator" "Sir!" Brown had caught Mallory's arm, an action so foreign to the usually punctilious petty officer that Mallory halted in surprise. "Sir, it's terribly importantthe report, I mean. You must listen, sir!" The action, the deadly earnestness, caught and held Mallory's fully attention. He turned to face Brown with a smile. "O.K., Casey, let's have it," he said quietly. Things can't possibly be any worse than they are now." "They can, sir." There was something tired, defeated about Casey Brown, and the great, stone hail seemed strangely chill. "I'm afraid they can, sir. I got through to-night. First-class reception. Captain Jensen himself, and he was hopping mad. Been waiting all day fbr us to come on the air. Asked how things were, and I told him that you were outside the fortress just then, and hoped to be inside the magazine in an hour or so." "Go on." "He said that was the best news he'd ever had. He said his information had been wrong, he'd birmingham camera digital repair been fooled, that the invasion fleet didn't hold up overnight in the Cyclades, that they had come straight through under the heaviest air and E-boat escort ever seen in the Med., and are due to hit the beaches on Kheros some time before dawn to-morrow. He said our destroyers had been waiting to the south all day, moved up at dusk and were waiting word from him to see whether they would attempt the passage of the Maidos Straits. I told him maybe something could go wrong, but he said not with Captain Mallory and Miller inside and besides he wasn'the couldn't risk the lives of twelve hundred men on Kheros just on the off chance that he might be wrong." Brown broke off suddenly and looked down miserably at his feet. No one else in the hail moved or made any sound at all. "Go on." Mallory repeated in a whisper. His face was very pale. "That's all, sir. That's all there is.. The destroyers are coming through the Straits at midnight." Brown looked down at his luminous watch. "Midnight. Four hours to go." "Oh, God! Midnight!" Mallory was stricken, his eyes for the moment unseeing, ivory-knuckled hands clenched in futility and despair. "They're coming through at midnight! God help them! God help them all now!" CHAPTER 15 2000-2115 Eight-thirty, his watch said. Eight-thirty. Exactly half an hour to curfew. Mallory flattened himself on the roof, pressed himself as closely as possible against the low retaining wall that almost touched the great, sheering sides of the fortress, swore softly to himself. It only required one man with a torch in his hand to look over the top of the fortress walla catwalk ran the whole length of the inside of the wall, four feet from the topand it would be the end of them alL The wandering beam of a torch and they were bound to be seen, it was impossible not to be seen: he and Dusty Millerthe American was stretched out behind him and clutching the big truck battery in his armswere wide open to the view of anyone who happened to glance down that way. Perhaps they should have stayed with the others a couple of roofs away, with Casey and Louki, the one busy tying spaced knots in a rope, the other busy splicing a bent wire hook on to a long bamboo they had torn from a bamboo hedge just outside the town, where they had hurriedly taken shelter as a convoy of three trucks had roared past them heading for the castle Vygos. Eight thirty-two. What the devil was

And unto their caves they did go.

self-preservation. And that self-preservation entered very acutely into it I did not for a moment doubt. A person who had killed three times to achieve her ends -1 had no doubt at all as to the identity of the person in the control cabin, only the stewardess had seen me leave for the planeand protect her secret wouldn't hesitate to kill a fourth. And she knew her secret was no longer a secret, not while I lived, I had stupidly made my suspicions plain to her. And not only was she ready to kill, but she had the means to killof the fact that she carried a gun and was murderously ready to use it I'd had grisly evidence in the past few minutes. Nor need she hesitate to use it: apart from the fact that falling snow had a peculiarly blanketing effect on all sound, the south wind would carry the crack of a pistol-shot away from the cabin. Then something snapped inside my mind and I was all of a sudden fighting mad. Perhaps it was the thought of the four dead menfive, including the co-pilotperhaps it was the inevitable reaction from my panic-stricken fear of a moment ago, and perhaps, too, it had no little to do with the realisation that I, too, had a gun. I brought it out from my pocket, transferred the torch to my left hand, jumped up, pressed the torch button and started running down the aisle. It was proof enough of my utter inexperience in this murderous game of hide-and-seek that it was not until I was almost at the door at the forward end of the cabin that I remembered how easy it would have been for anyone to crouch down behind the backs of one of the rearward facing front seats and shoot me at point-blank range as I passed. But there was no one there and as I plunged through the door I caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark muffled figure, no more than a featureless silhouette in the none too powerful beam of my torch, wriggling out through the smashed windscreen of the control cabin. I brought up my automaticthe thought that I could be indicted on a murder charge for killing a fleeing person, no matter how criminal a person, never entered my mindand squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. I squeezed the trigger again, and before I remembered the existence of such a thing as a safety-catch the windscreen was no more than an empty frame for the thickening snow that swirled greyly in the darkness beyond, and I plainly heard the thud of feet hitting the ground.Cursing my stupidity, and again oblivious of the perfect target I was presenting, I leaned far out of the window. Again I was lucky, again I had another brief sight lens for olympus digital camera of the figure, this time scurrying round the tip of the left wing before vanishing into the snow and the dark. Three seconds later I was on the ground myself. I landed awkwardly but picked myself up at once and skirted round the wing, pounding after the fleeing figure with all the speed I could muster in the hampering bulkiness of my furs. She was running straight back to the cabin, following the line of bamboo sticks, and I could both hear the thudding of feet in the frozen snow and see the wildly erratic swinging of a torch, the beam one moment pooling whitely on the ground beside the flying feet, the next reaching ahead to light up the bamboo line. She was moving swiftly, much more so than I would have thought her capable of doing, but nevertheless I was steadily overhauling her when suddenly the torch beam ahead curved away in a new direction, as the runner angled off into the darkness, about forty-five degrees to the left. I turned after her, still following both my sight of the torch and sound of the feet. Thirty yards, forty, fiftythen I stopped and stood very still indeed. The torch ahead had gone out and I could hear nothing at all. For the second time that night I cursed my unthinking folly. What I should have done, of course, was to carry straight on back to the cabin and await the moment she turned up there, as she inevitably must: no person could hope to survive for any great length of time, without shelter of some kind, in the deadly cold of that arctic night. But it wasn't too late yet. The wind had been blowing almost directly in my face as I had been running: all I had to do was walk back, keeping it on my left cheek, and I would be bound to hit the line of bamboos at right angles, and the chances of my passing unwittingly between two of them, with the light of my torch to help me, did not exist. I turned, took one step, then two, then halted in my tracks. Why had I been lured out here away from the bamboo line? Not so that she could thereby escape meshe couldn't do it that way. As long as we both lived, we were both utterly dependent on the cabin and would have to meet there sooner or later. As long as we both lived! God, what a fool I was, what a veriest amateur at this game. The only way she could escape me, really and permanently escape me, was if I no longer lived. I could be shot down here and no one would ever know. And as she had stopped running before I had and been first to switch out her torch, she must

All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all.

transformation. Im more than a match for Ampris or Torkes. And they need my services far too much to annoy me again. Im obliged to mention that theyve sent for a replacement I know that. How could you? Killashandra grinned at him. Crystal singers have preternaturally acute hearing. You and your little band of conspirators were only across the room from me. I heard every word. Lars momentarily let the tiller slip but Killashandra grabbed it and steadied the helm. A second crystal singer might be all to the good, depending on who they send. But weve time to spare itll take nearly ten weeks to get another singer here. I happen to need the contract money so Ill repair their damned organ. Maybe this time, Ill get the kind of help I need. A thought suddenly struck Killashandra. By all thats holy, Ill get you! She prodded Larss chest with her forefinger. Lars snorted with derision. Im the last person welcome in the Conservatory! Ah, but you will be welcome as the man who rescued this poor abandoned crystal singer from durancevile! What? Well, that would answer why Ive been absent. But, of course, I never set eyes on my abductor so I cant say who it might be. Killashandra fluttered her eyelashes in mock horror. There I was, taking a stroll to compose myself after that horrible confrontation with an officious oaf and wham! bung! Im coshed on the head and wake up, all alone, on a desert island, heavens know where! Killashandra got into the part with a faked swoon. Im less of a ham with a properly respectful audience, I might add. But there I am. Lost! Who knows who the dastards are using a plural will suggest a whole group of conspirators, you see And then you Killashandra laid a delicate hand on Larss arm. His eyes were bright with mirth and he had his lips pressed together against distracting laughter. You loyal despite your terrible disappointment and Killashandra put her hand to her breast and breathed hard rescued me and insisted on returning me to the safety of the City, to install the crystal manual so that the priceless organ will be ready for the Summer Festival. Thus currying favor with the powers that be which, in view of your subversive activities, is a very good idea and saving them the cost of another expensive crystal singer. We are very expensive to hire, toshiba digital camera reviews you see. And I have the impression that the Elders are credit-crunchers. Lars began to chuckle, rubbing his chin as if he was visualizing those moments of triumph. If you can be trusted not to overact he ducked as she shook her fist at him you know, it might work. Of course it will work! I was able to gauge audience reactions to a pico. And more than just give you a well-deserved return for their meanness and chicanery to you, Ill pretend that Im so very nervous about a repetition of assault and battery that Ill need you by my side all the time. I think, Lars began, slowly, thoughtfully, Father and the others will like this plan. Lars gave a rueful snort. I got rather soundly told off for acting in a unilateral fashion when I abducted you, you know. My father is a mild mannered man most of the time Then let us by all means present this idea to him them. And by the way, speaking of mild-mannered men, what do you know about Corish von Mittelstern? The man looking for his uncle? Thats the one. Well, hes not an Optherian agent if thats what youre worried about. We checked him for residue. Checked him for what? Dyou recall the arc at the shuttleport? Thats to prevent Optherians from leaving the planet. The arc is set to detect a mineral residue that is present in our bone marrow. Theres absolutely no argument with the port guards if you try to enter the shuttleport. They just shoot. And thats activated by any Optherian passing the sensors? Even visitors whove stayed long enough to absorb sufficient trace to be detected. Larss expression was sour. Like my father. Killashandra half heard that comment, as she was thinking back to her exit from the port. Thyrol had been right beside her and the alarm hadnt gone off for them, though it had when the rest of the Optherian quartette had passed. Strange, that, she said half to herself. No. Corish isnt Optherian. He came out on the Athena with me. But Ive a very good notion that hes an FSP agent of some sort. I mean, what good is just one impartial observer if the object is to change the status quo of an entire planet? Even if I am a crystal singer. Did Corish know

"I was neer a hangman in all my life,

explosives will be hiddenand we will be gone!" "Gone where?" Mallory felt dazed. "Where but to Vygos castle, Major Mallory. Never while night follows day will they think to look for us there!" Mallory looked at him in silence for long seconds without speaking, then turned to Andrea. "Captain Jensen's only made one mistake so far," he murmured. "He picked the wrong man to lead this expedition. Not that it matters anyway. With Louki here on our side, how can we lose?" Mallory lowered his rucksack gently to the earthen roof, straightened and peered up into the darkness, both hands shielding his eyes from the first drizzle of rain. Even from where they stoodon the crumbling roof of the house nearest the fortress on the east side of the squarethe wall stretched fifteen, perhaps twenty feet above their heads; the wickedly out- and down-curving spikes that topped the wall were all but lost in the darkness. "There she is, Dusty," Mallory murmured. "Nothing to it." "Nothin' to it!" Miller was horrified. I'veI've gotta get over that?" "You'd have a ruddy hard time going through it," Mallory answered briefly. He grinned, clapped Miller on the back and prodded the rucksack at his feet. "We chuck this rope up, the hook catches, you shin smartly up" "And bleed to death on those six strands of barbed wire," Miller interrupted. "Lould says they're the biggest barbs he's ever seen." "We'll use the tent for padding," Mallory said soothingly. "I have a very delicate skin, boss," Miller complained. "Nothin' short of a spring mattress" "Well, you've only an hour to find one," Mallory said indifferently. Louki had estimated that it would be at least an hour before the search party would clear the northern part of the town, give himself and Andrea a chance to begin a diversion. "Come on, let's cache this stuff and get out of here. We'll shove the rucksacks in this corner and cover 'em with earth. Take the rope out first, though; we'll have no time to start undoing packs when we get back here." Miller dropped to his knees, hands fumbling with straps, then exclaimed in sudden annoyance. "This can't be the pack," he muttered in disgust. Abruptly his voice changed. "Here, wait a minute, though." "What's up, Dusty?" Miller didn't answer immediately. For a few motorola c975 digital camera phones seconds his hands explored the contents of the pack, then he straightened. "The slow-burnin' fuse, boss." His voice was blurred with anger, with a vicious anger that astonished Mallory. "It's gone!" "What!" Mallory stooped, began to search through the pack. "It can't be, Dusty, it just can't! Dammit to hell, man, you packed the stuff yourself!" "Sure I did, boss," Miller grated. "And then some crawlin' bastard comes along behind my back and unpacks it again." "Impossible!" Mallory protested. "It's just downright impossible, Dusty. You closed that rucksackI saw you do it in the grove this morningand Louki has had it all the time since then. And I'd trust Louki with my life." "So would I, boss." "Maybe we're both wrong," Mallory went on quietly. "Maybe you did miss it out. We're both helluva tired, Dusty." Miller looked at him queerly, said nothing for a moment, then began to swear again. "It's my own fault, boss, my own gawddamned fault." "What do you mean, your own fault? Heavens above man, I was there when . . ." Mallory broke off, rose quickly to his feet and stared through the darkness at the south side of the square. A single shot had rung out there, the whiplash crack of a carbine followed the thin, high whine of a ricochet, and then silence. Mallory stood quite still, hands clenched by his sides. Over ten minutes had passed since he and Miller had left Panayis to guide Andrea and Brown to the Castle Vygosthey should have been well away from the square by this time. And almost certainly Louki wouldn't be down there. Mallory's instructions to him had been explicitto hide the remainder of the T.N.T. blocks in the roof and then wait there to lead himself and Miller to the keep. But something could have gone wrong, something could always go wrong. Or a trap, maybe, a ruse. But what kind of trap? The sudden, off-beat stammering of a heavy machine-gun stilled his thoughts, and for a moment or two he was all eyes and straining ears. And then another, and lighter machine-gun cut in, just for a few seconds: as abruptly as they had started, both guns died away, together. Mallory waited no longer. "Get the stuff together again," he whispered urgently. "We're taking it with us. Something's gone wrong." Within thirty seconds they had ropes and explosives back in their knapsacks, had strapped them on their backs and were on their way. Bent

Derry derry down And fifteen winters old,

preferred to sample some of the exotic and sophisticated pleasures available to those with credit enough, she felt she could tolerate Optherias natural pastimes in return for the sizeable fee and a long vacation from Ballybran. She considered Lanzeckis diffidence about the assignment. Could he be charged with favoritism if he gave her another choice off-world assignment? Who would remember that she had been away during the horrendous Passover Storms, much less where? Shed been peremptorily snatched away by Trag, shoved onto the moon shuttle, and without a shred of background data about the vagaries of the Trundomoux, delivered willy-nilly to a naval autocracy to cope with the exigencies of installing millions of credits worth of black communication crystal for a bunch of skeptical spartan pioneers. The assignment had been no sinecure. As Trag was the only other person who had known of it, was he the objector? He very easily could be, as Administration Officer, yet Killashandra did not think that Trag could, or did, influence Guild Master Lanzecki. A second wild notion followed quickly on the heels of that one. Were there any Optherians on the roster of the Heptite Guild to whom such a job might be assigned? The Heptite Guild had no Optherian members. From her ten years in the Music Department of Fuertes Culture Center, Killashandra was familiar with the intricacies of Optherian sensory organ instruments. The encyclopedia enlarged the picture by stating that music was a planetwide mania on Optheria, with citizens competing on a planetary scale for opportunities to perform on the sensory organs. With that sort of environment, Killashandra thought it very odd indeed that Optheria produced no candidates with the perfect pitch that was the Heptite Guilds essential entry requirement. And, with competitions on a worldwide scale, there would be thousands disappointed. Killashandra smiled in sour sympathy. Surely some would look for off-world alternatives. Her curiosity titillated, Killashandra checked other Guilds. Optherians did not go into the Space Services or into galactic mercantile enterprises, nor were embassies, consulates or legates of Optheria listed in the Diplomatic Registers. There she lucked out by discovering a qualifier: As the planet was nearly self-sufficient and no Optherians left their home world, there was no need for such services. All normal inquiries about Optheria had to be directed to the Office of External Trade and Commerce on Optheria. Killashandra paused in perplexity. A planet so perfect, filters digital cameras opinion so beloved by its citizens that no one chose to leave its surface? She found that very hard to believe. She recalled the encyclopedias entry on the planet, searching for the code on Naturalization. Yes, well, citizenship was readily available for those interested but could not be rescinded. She checked the Penal Code and discovered that, unlike many worlds, Optheria did not deport its criminal element: any recidivists were accommodated at a rehabilitation center. Killashandra shivered. So even perfect Optheria had to resort to rehabilitation. Having delved sufficiently into Optherias history and background to satisfy her basic curiosity, she turned to research the procedure necessary to replace a fractured manual. The installation posed no overt problems as the bracketing was remarkably similar to that required by the black communications crystal. The tuning would be more complex because of the broad-frequency variable output of the Optherian organ. The instrument was similar to early Terran pipe organs, with four manuals and a terminal with hundreds of stops, but a performer on the Optherian organ read a score containing olfactory, neural, visual, and aural notes. The crystal manual was in permanent handshake with the multiplex demodulator, the synapse carrier encoder, and the transducer terminal networks. Or so the manual said; no schematic was included in the entry. Nor could she remember one from her days at the Fuerte Music Center. Dedicated Optherian players spent lifetimes arranging music embellished and ornamented for reception by many senses. A skilled Optherian organist could be mass-psychologist and politician as well as musician, and the effect of any composition played on the fully augmented instruments had such far-reaching consequences that performances and practitioners were subject to Federal as well as artistic discipline. Bearing that in mind, Killashandra wondered how the manual could have been fractured let alone have killed the performer at the same time, especially as that person had also been the only one on the planet capable of repairing it. Was there perhaps a spot of rot on the Optherian apple of Eden? This assignment could be interesting. Killashandra pulled her chair back to the console and asked for visual contact with the Travel Officer. Bajorn was a long, thin man, with a thin face and a thin nose with pinched nostrils. He had preternaturally long, thin

Edward, Edward,

Servia Pass. I was a very junior liaison lieutenant in the Anzac brigade at the time. Andrea"he paused deliberately for effect"Andrea was a lieutenant-colonel in the 19th Greek Motorised Division." "A what?" Miller demanded in astonishment. Stevens and Brown were equally incredulous. "You heard me. Lieutenant-colonel. Outranks me by a fairish bit, you might say." He smiled at them quizzically. 'Puts Andrea In rather a different light, doesn't it?" They nodded silently but said nothing. The genial, hail-fellow Andreaa good-natured, almost simpleminded buffoona senior army officer. The idea had come too suddenly, was too incongruous for easy assimilation and immediate comprehension. But, gradually, it began to make sense to them. It explained many things about Andrea to themhis repose, his confidence, the unerring sureness of his lightning reactions, and, above all, the implicit faith Mallory had in him, the respect he showed for Andrea's opinions whenever he consulted him, which was frequently. Without surprise now, Miller slowly recalled that he'd never yet heard Mallory give Andrea a direct order. And Mallory never hesitated to pull his rank when necessary. "After Servia," Mallory went on, "everything was pretty confused. Andrea had heard that Trikkalaa small country town where his wife and three daughters livedhad been flattened by the Stukas and Heinkels. He reached there all right, but there was nothing he could do. A land-mine had landed in the front garden and there wasn't even rubble left." Mallory paused, lit a cigarette. He stared through the drifting smoke at the fading outlines of the tower. "The only person he found there was his brother-in-law, George. George was with us in Cretehe's still there. From George he heard for the first time of the Bulgarian atrocities in Thrace and Macedoniaand his parents lived there. So they dressed in German uniformsyou can imagine how Andrea got thosecommandeered a German army truck and drove to Protosami." The cigarette in Mallory's hand snapped suddenly, was sent spinning over the side. Miller was vaguely surprised: emotion, or rather, emotional displays, were so completely foreign to that very tough New Zealander. But Mallory went on quietly enough. "They arrived in the evening of the infamous Protosami massacre. George has told me how Andrea stood there, clad in his German uniform and laughing as he watched a party of nine or ten Bulgarian soldiers lash couples together and throw them into the river. The first couple underwater cameras digital olympus styles 700wx in were his father and stepmother, both dead." "My Gawd above!" Even Miller was shocked out of his usual equanimity. "It's just not possible" "You know nothing," Mallory interrupted impatiently. "Hundreds of Greeks in Macedonia died the same waybut usually alive when they were thrown in. Until you know how the Greeks hate the Bulgarians, you don't even begin to know what hate is. . . . Andrea shared a couple of bottles of wine with the soldiers, found out that they had killed his parents earlier in the afternoonthey had been foolish enough to resist. After dusk he followed them up to an old corrugated-iron shed where they were billeted for the night. All he had was a knife. They left a guard outside. Andrea broke his neck, went inside, locked the door and smashed the oil lamp. George doesn't know what happened except that Andrea went berserk. He was back outside in two minutes, completely sodden, his uniform soaked in blood from head to foot. There wasn't a sound, not even a groan to be heard from the hut when they left, George says." He paused again, but this time there was no interruption, nothing said. Stevens shivered, drew his shabby jacket closer round his shoulders: the air seemed to have become suddenly chili. Mallory lit another cigarette, smiled faintly at Miller, nodded towards the watch-tower. "See what I mean by saying we'd only be a liability to Andrea up there?" "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do," Miller admitted. "I had no idea, I had no idea. . . . Not all of them, boss! He couldn't have killed" "He did," Mallory interrupted flatly. "After that he formed his own band, made life hell for the Bulgarian outposts in Thrace. At one time there was almost an entire division chasing him through the Rhodope mountains. Finally he was betrayed and captured, and he, George and four others were shipped to Stavrosthey were to go on to Salonika for trial. They overpowered their guardsAndrea got loose among them on deck at nightand sailed the boat to Turkey. The Turks tried to intern himthey might as weli have tried to intern an earthquake. Finally he arrived in Palestine, tried to join the Greek Commando Battalion that was being formed in the Middle East mainly veterans of the Albanian campaign, like himself." Mallory laughed mirthlessly. "He was arrested as a deserter. He was released eventually, but there was no place for him in the new Greek Army. But Jensen's bureau heard

No marcy he 'l show unto me, I know,

was crouched in the shelter of the wheelhouse, a waterproof bag with grenades and a revolver strapped to his back. "Right!" Mallory said crisply. "Now's your big chance for your Oscar. Let's make this as convincing as we can." He bent forward, jabbed his finger into Miller's chest and shouted angrily at him. Miller shouted back. For a few moments they sat there, gesticulating angrily and, to all appearances, quarrelling furiously with each other. Then Miller was on his feet, swaying in drunken imbalance as he leaned threateningly over Mallory, clenched fists ready to strike. He stood back as Mallory struggled to his feet, and in a moment they were fighting fiercely, raining apparently heavy blows on each other. Then a haymaker from the American sent Mallory reeling back to crash convincingly against the wheelhouse. "Right, Andrea." He spoke quietly, without looking round. "This is it. Five seconds. Good luck." He scrambled to his feet, picked up a bottle by the neck and rushed at Miller, upraised arm and bludgeon swinging fiercely down. Miller dodged, swung a vicious foot, and Mallory roared in pain as his shins caught on the edge of the bulwarks. Silhouetted against the pale gleam of the creek, he stood poised for a second, arms flailing wildly, then plunged heavily, with a loud splash, into the waters of the creek. For the next half-minuteit would take about that time for Andrea to swim under water round the next upstream corner of the creek everything was a confusion and a bedlam of noise. Mallory trod water as he tried to pull himself aboard: Miller had, seized a boathook and was trying to smash it down on his head: and the others, on their feet now, had flung their arms round Miller, trying to restrain him: finally they managed to knock him off his feet, pin him to the deck and help the dripping Mallory aboard. A minute later, after the immemorial fashion of drunken men, the two combatants had shaken hands with one another and were sitting on the engine-room hatch, arms round each other's shoulders and drinking in perfect amity from the same freshly-opened bottle of wine. "Very nicely done," Mallory said approvingly. "Very nicely indeed. An Oscar, definitely, for Corporal Miller." Dusty Miller said nothing. Taciturn and depressed, he looked moodily at the bottle in his hand. At last he stirred. "I don't like it, boss," he muttered unhappily. "I don't like the set-up one little bit. You shoulda let me go with Andrea., It's three to one up there, and they're waiting and ready." He looked accusingly at general electric a730 digital camera review Mallory. "Dammit to hell, boss, you're always telling us how desperately important this mission is!" "I know," Mallory said quietly. "That's why I didn't send you with him. That's why none of us has gone with him. We'd only be a liability to him, get in his way." Mallory shook his head. "You don't know Andrea, Dusty." It was the first time Mallory had called him that: Miller was warmed by the unexpected familiarity, secretly pleased. "None of yoU know him. But I know him." He gestured towards the watch-tower, its squarecut lines in sharp silhouette against the darkening sky. "Just a big, fat, good-natured chap, always laughing and joking." Mallory paused, shook his head again, went on slowly. "He's up there now, padding through that forest like a cat, the biggest and most dangerous cat you'll ever see. Unless they offer no resistanceAndrea never kills unnecessarilywhen I send him up there after these three poor bastards I'm executing them just as surely as if they were in the electric chair and I was pulling the switch." In spite of himself Miller was impressed, profoundly so. "Known him a long time, boss, huh?" It was half question, half statement. "A long time. Andrea was in the Albanian warhe was in the regular army. They tell me the Italians went in terror of himhis long-range patrols against the 'Iulia division, the Wolves of Tuscany, did more to wreck the Italian morale in Albania than any other single factor. Fve heard a good many stories about themnot from Andreaand they're all incredible. And they're all true. But it was afterwards I met him, when we were trying to hold the Servia Pass. I was a very junior liaison lieutenant in the Anzac brigade at the time. Andrea"he paused deliberately for effect"Andrea was a lieutenant-colonel in the 19th Greek Motorised Division." "A what?" Miller demanded in astonishment. Stevens and Brown were equally incredulous. "You heard me. Lieutenant-colonel. Outranks me by a fairish bit, you might say." He smiled at them quizzically. 'Puts Andrea In rather a different light, doesn't it?" They nodded silently but said nothing. The genial, hail-fellow Andreaa good-natured, almost simpleminded buffoona senior army officer. The idea had come too suddenly, was too incongruous for easy assimilation and immediate comprehension. But, gradually, it began to make sense to them. It

Was patchd from ballup to side;

monstrous deal of skin to cover a quivering jelly-bag your size and every inch of it precious to you." He looked at Mallory, and at Miller, still lying face down in the snow. "I cannot congratulate your friends on their choice of companion." "I can tell you everything, Lieutenant, I can tell you everything!" Andrea pressed forward excitedly, eager to consolidate his advantage, to reinforce the beginnings of doubt. "I am no friend of the AlliesI will prove it to youand then perhaps" "You damned Judas!" Mallory made to fling himself forward, but two burly soldiers caught him and pointed his arms from behind. He struggled briefly, then relaxed, looked balefully at Andrea. "If you dare to open your mouth, I promise you you'll never live to" "Be quiet!" Turzig's voice was very cold. "I have had enough of recriminations, of cheap melodrama. Another word and you join your friend in the snow there." He looked at him a moment in silence, then swung back to Andrea. "I promise nothing. I will hear what you have to say." He made no attempt to disguise the repugnance in his voice. "You must judge for yourself." A nice mixture of relief, earnestness and the dawn of hope, of returning confidence. Andrea paused a minute and gestured dramatically at Mallory, Miller and Brown. "These are no ordinary soldiersthey are Jellicoe's men, of the Special Boat Service!" "Tell me something I couldn't have guessed myself," Turzig growled. "The English Earl has been a thorn in our flesh these many months past. If that is all you have to tell me, fat one" "Wait!" Andrea held up his hand. "They are stili no ordinary men but a specially picked forcean assault unit, they call themselvesflown last Sunday night from Alexandria to Casteirosso. They left that same night from Castelrosso in a motor-boat." "A torpedo boat," Turzig nodded. "So much we know already. Go on." "You know already! But how?" "Never mind how. Hurry up!" "Of course, Lieutenant, of course." Not a twitch in his face betrayed Andrea's relief. This had been the only dangerous point in his story. Nicolai, of course, had warned the Germans, but never thought it worth while mentioning the presence of a giant Greek in the party. No reason, of course, why he should have selected him for special mentionbut if he had done so, it would have been the end. "The torpedo boat landed them somewhere in the islands, north of Rhodes. I svp dc 12dx digital camera do not know where. There they stole a caique, sailed it up through Turkish waters, met a big German patrol boatand sunk it." Andrea paused for effect. "I was less than hail a mile away at the time in my fishing boat." Turzig leaned forward. "How did they manage to sink so big a boat?" Strangely, he didn't doubt that it had been sunk. "They pretended to be harmless fishermen like myself. I had just been stopped, investigated and cleared," Andrea said virtuously. "Anyway, your patrol boat came alongside this old caique. Close alongside. Suddenly there were guns firing on both sides, two boxes went flying through the airinto the engine-room of your boat, I think. Pouf!" Andrea threw up his hands draniatically. "That was the end of that!" "We wondered.. ." Turzig said softly. "Well, go on." "You wondered what, Lieutenant?" Turzig's eyes narrowed and Andrea hurried on. "Their interpreter had been killed in the fight. They tricked me into speaking EnglishI spent many years in Cypruskidnapped me, let my sons sail the boat" "Why should they want an interpreter?" Turzig demanded suspiciously. "There are many British officers who speak Greek." "I am coming to that," Andrea said impatiently. "How in God's name do you expect me to finish my story if you keep interrupting all the time? Where was I? ah, yes. They forced me to come along, and their engine broke down. I don't know what happenedI was kept below. I think we were in a creek somewhere, repairing the engine, and then there was a wild bout of drinkingyou will not believe this, Lieutenant Turzig, that men on so desperate a mission should get drunk and then we sailed again." "On the contrary, I do believe you." Turzig was nodding his head slowly, as if in secret understanding. "I believe you indeed." "You do?" Andrea contrived to look disappointed. "Well, we ran into a fearful storm, wrecked the boat on the south cliff of this island and climbed" "Stop!" Turzig had drawn back sharply, suspicion flaring in his eyes. "Almost I believed you! I believed you because we know more than you think, and so far you have told the truth: But not now. You are clever, fat one, but not so clever as you think. One thing you have forgottenor maybe you do not know. We are of the Wurttembergische . Gebirgsbataillonwe know mountains, my friend, better than any troops in the world. I myself am a Prussian, but I have

ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN

words. "Fell from his pocket when Zagero knocked him down. He didn't see it go, but I didsat on top of it while Smallwood told us to squat in the snow." I stripped off my gloves, opened the wallet and examined its contents in the light of the torch Jackstraw had also passed acrossa torch with the beam carefully hooded and screened to prevent the slightest chink of light escaping from under the tarpaulin: at this time, Smallwood had not yet switched on the searchlight. The wallet provided us with that last proof of the thoroughness, the meticulous care with which these two men had provided themselves with false but utterly convincing identities: I knew that whatever Corazzini's name was it wasn't the one he had given himself, but, had I not known, the 'N.C." stamped on the hand-tooled morocco, the visiting cards with the inscribed 'Nicholas Corazzini' above the name and address of the Indiana head office of the Global Tractor Company, and the leather-backed fold of American Express cheques, each one already signed 'N. R. Corazzini' in its top left-hand corner, would have carried complete conviction. And, too late, the wallet also presented us, obliquely but beyond all doubt, with the reason for many things, ranging from the purpose of the crash-landing of the plane to the explanation of why I had been knocked on the head the night before last: inside the bill-fold compartment was the newspaper cutting which I had first found on the dead body of Colonel Harrison. I read it aloud, slowly, with infinite chagrin. The account was brief. That it concerned that dreadful disaster in Elizabeth, New Jersey, where a commuters' train had plunged through an opened span of the bridge into the waters of Newark Bay, drowning dozens of the passengers aboard, I already knew from the quick glance I had had at the cutting in the plane. But, as I had also gathered in the plane, this was a follow-up story and the reporter wasted little time on the appalling details: his interest lay in another direction entirely. It was 'reliably reported', he said, that the train had been carrying an army courier: that he was one of the forty who had died: and that he had been carrying a 'super-secret guided missile mechanism'. That was all the cutting said, but it was enough, and more than enough. It didn't say whether the mechanism had been lost or not, it most certainly never even suggested that there was any connection between the presence of the mechanism aboard the train and the reasons for the crash. It didn't have to, the cheek-by-jowl 35mm camera digital lens contiguity of the two items made the reader's own horrifying conclusions inevitable. From the silence that stretched out after I had read out the last words, I knew that the others were lost in the same staggering speculations as myself. It was Jackstraw who finally broke this silence, his voice abnormally matter-of-fact. "Well, we know now why you were knocked on the head." "Knocked on the head?" Zagero took him up. "What do you" "Night before last," I interrupted. "When I told you I'd walked into a lamp-post." I told them all about the finding of the cutting and its subsequent loss. "Would it have made all that difference even if you had read it?" Zagero asked. "I mean" "Of course it would!" My voice was harsh, savage almost, but the savagery was directed against myself, my own stupidity. "The fact of finding a cutting about a fatal crash which occurred in strange unexplained circumstances on the person of a man who had just died in a fatal crash in equally strange and unexplained circumstances would have made even me suspicious. When I heard from Hillcrest that something highly secret was being carried aboard the plane, the parallel would have been even more glaringly obvious, especially as the cutting was found on the manan army officerwho was almost certainly the courier, the carrier of this secret. Anything larger than a match-box in the luggage the passengers were carrying I'd have ripped open and examined, radio and tape-recorder included. Smallwood knew it. He didn't know what was in the cutting, but heor Corazziniknew it was a cutting and they were taking no chances at all." "You weren't to know this," Levin said soothingly. "It's not your fault" "Of course it's my fault," I said wearily. "All my fault. I don't even know how to start apologising. You first, Zagero, I suppose, you and Solly Levin, for tying you" "Forget it." Zagero was curt but friendly. "We're just as bad -all of us. All the facts that mattered were as available to us as they were to youand we made no better use of them: less, if anything." In the tiny glow from the torch I could see him shaking his head. "Lordy, lordy, but ain't it easy to understand everything when it's too late. Easy enough to understand now why we crashed in the middle of nowherethe plane captain must have been in on it, he must have known that

Nor have they robbed any virgin,

for children." The voice was level, curt, devoid of all inflection." I'm in a hurry, Dr Mason. Bring the map." I brought it and when I returned Corazzini was sitting on the front of the tractor sled with a case before him. But it wasn't the leather-covered portable radio: it was Smallwood's robe case. Corazzini snapped open the catches, pulled out Bible, robes and divinity hood, tossed them to one side then carefully brought out a metal box which looked exactly like a tape-recorder: indeed, when he shone his torch on it I could clearly see the word 'Grundig'. But it soon became apparent that it was like no tape-recorder that I had ever seen. The twin spools he ripped off the top of the machine and sent spinning away into the darkness and the snow, the tape unwinding in a long convoluted streamer. By this time I would have taken long odds that anyone suspicious enough to investigate would have found that tape perfectly genuine: probably, I thought bitterly, Bach's organ music, in keeping with Smallwood's late ecclesiastical nature. Still in silence, we watched Corazzini undo and fling away the false top of the recorder, but not before I had time to notice the padded spring clips on its undersidethe perfect hiding place for a couple of automatics: revealed now were controls and calibrated dials that bore no resemblance to those of a tape-recorder. Corazzini straightened and erected a hinged telescopic aerial, clamped a set of headphones to his ears, made two switches and started to turn a dial, at the same time watching a green magic eye similar to those found in tape-recorders and many modern radios. Faintly, but unmistakably, I could hear a steady whine coming from the earphones, a whine which altered in pitch and intensity as Corazzini turned the dial. When it reached its maximum strength, he turned his attention to a built-in alcohol compass about three inches in diameter. A few moments later he doffed the earphones and turned round, apparently satisfied. "Very strong, very clear," he announced to Small wood. "But there's too heavy a deviation factor from all the metal in the tractor and sledge. Back in two minutes. Your torch, Dr Mason." He walked away for about fifty yards, taking the machine with him: it was with intense chagrin that I realised that it was perfectly in keeping with all that had gone before that Corazzini had probably forgotten more about navigation than I was ever likely to know. He returned soon, consulted a small chartcorrecting for variation, no doubtthen grinned at Small hp 945xi digital camera wood. "It's them, all right. Perfect signal. Bearing 268." "Good." If Smallwood felt relieved or gratified at the news, no shadow of his feeling touched the thin immobile face. Their quiet certainty, their forethought, their foolproof organisation was dismaying, frightening. Now that I could see what manner of men they were it was unthinkable that they should have set themselves down in a vast featureless country such as this without some means of orientating themselves: what we had just seen in operation could only be a battery operated radio direction finder, and even to me, inexperienced though I was in such matters, it was obvious that Corazzini must have been taking a bearing on some continuous directional line-up signals transmitted by a vessel, or vessels, off-shore: trawlers, probably, or some other inconspicuous type of fishing vessel. ... I would have been less than human had I not wanted to shake this absolute confidence. "You've miscalculated the hornet's nest you've stirred up. The Davis Strait, the coast of Greenland is alive with ships and planes. The scout planes of the carrier Triton will pick up every boat that's larger than a skiff. The trawlers will never get away with it: they won't get five miles." "They don't have to." Implicit in Corazzini's words was confirmation of the accuracy of my guess about trawlers. "There are such things as submarines. In fact there is one, not far from here." "You still won't" "Be quiet," Smallwood said coldly. He turned to Corazzini. "Two hundred and sixty-eight, ehdue west more or less. Distance?" Corazzini shrugged, said nothing: Smallwood beckoned to me. "We'll soon find it. That map, Dr Masonindicate our position, accurately." "You can go to hell," I said briefly. "I expected nothing else. However, I'm not blind and your clumsy attempts at concealment have done little to hide the growing attachment between yourself and the young lady here." I glanced quickly at Margaret, saw the faint colour beginning to stain the pale cheek and looked as quickly away. "I am prepared to shoot Miss Ross." I never doubted him. I knew he'd do it in an instant. I gave him our position, he asked for another map, asked Jackstraw to mark our position on the second, and compared the two. "They

On Marston, with Rupert, 'gainst traitors contending,

gigantic Hangar, its baffles raised against the mach winds, ordered confusion reigned. Crystal singers lurched from their sleds, half deafened by windscream, exhausted by their turbulent flights. The Hangar crew, apparently possessed of eyes in the backs of their heads, miraculously avoided injury as they concentrated on the primary task of moving incoming sleds off the Hangar floor and into storage racks, clearing the way for the erratic landings of the stream of incoming vehicles. The crash claxon pierced even storm howl as two sleds collided, one to dip over the baffle and land nose down on the plascrete while the other veered out of control like a flat rock skipping across water, coming to a crumpling halt against the far wall. A tractor zipped in to fasten grapples on the upside-down sled, removing it only seconds before another sled skimmed over the baffle. That sled almost repeated the nose dive, pulling up at the last second and skidding across the Hangar floor to stop just inches away from the line of handlers carrying the precious cartons of crystal in to Sorting. Only a near miss, the incident was disregarded even by those who had barely escaped injury. Killashandra Ree emerged from the sled, taking as a good omen the fact that her sled had skidded to a halt so close to the Sorting Sheds. She caught the arm of the next handler to pass her and firmly diverted him to her cargo door, which she flung open. She didnt have much crystal, so every speck she had cut was precious to her. If she didnt earn enough credit to get off-planet this time Killashandra ground her teeth as she hurried her carton into the Sorting Shed. As the man she had pressed into her service quite properly put her carton down at the Hangar end of a line of ranked containers, Killashandras patience evaporated. No, over here! she shouted. Not there! Itll take all day to be sorted. Here. She waited until he had deposited her carton in the indicated row before adding her own. Then she strode back to her sled for a second load, commandeering two more unencumbered handlers on the way. Only after eight cartons were unloaded did she permit herself to pause briefly, coping with the multiple fatigues that assailed her. She had worked nonstop for two days, desperate to cut enough crystal to get off Ballybran. Crystal pulsed in her blood and bones, denying her rest in sleep, surcease by day, no matter how she tried to tire her body. Her only respite was immersion in the radiant fluid bath. But no one cut crystal from a bathcube! She had to low cost digital camera get off-planet to ease the disturbing thrum. For over a year and a half, ever since the Passover storms had shattered Keborgens old claim, she had searched unremittingly for a workable site Killashandra was realist enough to admit to herself that the probability of finding a new claim as important and valuable as Keborgens black crystal was very low. Still, she had every right to expect to find some useful, and reasonably lucrative, crystal in Ballybrans Ranges. And, with each fruitless trip into the Ranges, the credit balance she had amassed from her original cutting of Keborgens site and from the Trundomoux black crystal installation had eroded beneath the continuous charges the Heptite Guild exacted for even the most minor services rendered a crystal singer. By fall, when everyone else she knew Rimbol, Jezerey and Mistra had managed to get off-planet, she had labored on, unable to make a worthwhile claim in any color. During the mild winter, she had doggedly hunted in the Ranges, returning to the Complex only long enough to replenish food packs and steep her crystal-weary body in the radiant fluid. You really ought to take a week or two up at Shanganagh Base, Lanzecki had said, intercepting her on one of her brief visits. What good would that really do? she had replied, almost snarling at him in her frustration. Id still feel crystal and Id have to look at Ballybran. Lanzecki had given her a searching look. Youre in no mood to believe me, and he paused to be sure that he had her attention, but you will find black crystal again, Killashandra. Meanwhile, the Guild has pressing needs in any shade you can find. Even the rose you so despise. A gleam shone in his black eyes and his voice turned lugubrious as he said, I am certain that you will be distressed to learn that the Passover storms destroyed Moksoons site, too. Killashandra had stared at him a moment before her sense of the ridiculous got the better of her and she laughed. I am inconsolable! I thought you might be. His lips twitched with suppressed amusement. Then he reached down and pulled the plug on the radiant fluid. Youll find more crystal, Killa. It had been that calm and confident statement which had buoyed her flagging morale all during the next trip. Nor had it been entirely misplaced. The third week out, after disregarding two sites of rose and blue, she discovered white crystal but very nearly missed the vein entirely. If she had

"0 what shall I do?" said Robin Hood then,

knew how much she treasured and admired him. But he had not heard her impassioned plea to the Court, and she doubted if I love you had been included in the hard copy of the hearing transcript. And he had other plans for the rest of his life. She frequently entertained the notion of returning to Optheria to see how he was getting on, even if she never made actual contact with him. He might have found another woman with whom he could share his life on Optheria. Sometimes she returned from the Ranges, full of determination to end her wretched half-life, one way or another. She had more than enough credit for a fiercely expensive galactic call: ironically through some of the black crystal she had herself cut. But would she reach Lars on Optheria? Maybe, once he had completed that disciplinary action and his subordination to the Federal investigation of Optheria, he had found another channel for his abilities and energies. Once he discovered his freedom to travel the stars, they might have won him from his love of the sea. At her most rational, she recognized all the ifs ands and buts as procrastinations. Yet, it was not exactly an unwillingness to chance her luck that restrained her: it was a deep and instinctive knowing that she must remain in this period of suspension for a while yet. That she had to wait. When the time was right, action would follow logically. She settled down to wait, and perfected the art. Youre in early, too, you know, Enthor was saying to her. Storm warnings only just gone out. Arent those good enough? Killashandra asked. No need to risk life and limb, is there? No, no, Enthor hastily assured her. Killashandra had, in fact, answered the storm warning her symbiont had given her. She was used to listening to it because it so often proved the most accurate sense she had. Youve enough here to spend a year on Maxim, Enthor went on with a sly sideways glance. You havent gone off in a long time, Killashandra. You should, you know. Killashandra shrugged her shoulders, glancing impassively at a credit line that would once have made her chortle in triumph. I dont have enough resonance to have to leave, she said tonelessly. Ill wait. Thanks, Enthor. Killa, if talking would help She looked down at the light hand the old Sorter had put on her arm, mildly surprised at the contact. His unexpected solicitude, the concern on his lined face nudged the digital camera power consumption olympus aa thick shell which encased her mind and spirit. She smiled slightly as she shook her head. Talking wouldnt help. But you were kind to offer. And he had been. Sorters and singers were more often at loggerheads than empathetic. The northeaster which her symbiont had sensed swept a fair number of singers in from the Ranges to the safety of the Complex. The lift, the hall, the corridors were crowded but she wended her way through, and no one spoke to her. She didnt exist for herself so she didnt exist for them. The screen in her quarters directed her to contact Antona. There usually was a message from the medical chief waiting for her. Antona kept trying to make a deeper contact. Ah, Killa, please come down to the infirmary, will you? Im not due for another physical? No. But I need you down here. Killashandra frowned. Antona looked determined and waited for Killashandras acquiescence. Let me change. Killashandra brushed at the filthy blouse of her shipsuit. Ill even give you time to bathe. Killashandra nodded, broke the connection and, unfastening the suit as she made her way to the hygiene room, switched on the taps. Though once fresh in from the Ranges she might have done, she didnt luxuriate in the steaming water. She made a quick but thorough bath, and put on the first clean clothes she found. Her hair, close crapped for convenience, dried by the time she reached the Infirmary Level. Her nostrils flared against the smell of sickness and fever, and the muffled sounds reminded her of her initial visit to Antonas preserve. A new class must be passing through adjustment to the Ballybran symbiont. Antona came out of her office, her color high with suppressed excitement. Thank you, Killa. Ive a Milekey Transition here whom Id like you to talk to reassure him. Hes positive theres something wrong. Her words came out in a rush, as she dragged Killashandra down the hall, and thrust her through the door she opened. Impassively, Killashandra noted the number: it was the same room she had so briefly tenanted five years before. Then the occupant rose from the bed, smiling.Killa! She stared at Lars Dahl, unable to believe the

Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

refuse all other aid, Captain?" Vlachos asked anxiously. "Louki and Panayisonly these two," he pleaded. "You have my word, sir. Besides, the fewer the safer for us as well as your people." Mallory was surprised at the old man's intensity. "I hope so, I hope so." Viachos sighed heavily. Mallory stood up, stretched out his hand to take his leave. "You're worrying about nothing, sir. They'll never see us," he promised confidently. "Nobody will see usand we'll see nobody. We're after only one thingthe guns." "Ay, the gunsthose terrible guns." Vlachos shook his head. "But just suppose" "Please. It will be all right," Mallory insisted quietly. "We will bring harm to noneand least of all to your islanders." "God go with you to-night," the old man whispered. "God go with you to-night. I only wish that I could go too." CHAPTER 2 Sunday Night 19000200 "Coffee, sir?" Mallory stirred and groaned and fought his way up from the depths of exhausted sleep. Painfully he eased himself back on the metal-framed bucket-seat, wondering peevishly when the Air Force was going to get round to upholstering these fiendish contraptions. Then he was fully awake, tired, heavy eyes automatically focusing on the luminous dial of his wrist-watch. Seven o'clock. Just seven o'clockhe'd been asleep barely a couple of hours. Why hadn't they let him sleep on? "Coffee, sir?" The young air-gunner was still standing patiently by his side, the inverted lid of an ammunition box serving as a tray for the cups he was carrying. "Sorry, boy, sorry." Mallory struggled upright in his seat, reached up for a cup of the steaming liquid, sniffed it appreciatively. "Thank you. You know, this smells just like real coffee." "It is, sir." The young gunner smiled proudly. 'We have a percolator in the galley." "He has a percolator in the galley." Mallory shook his head in disbelief. "Ye gods, the rigours of war in the Royal Air Force!" He leaned back, sipped the coffee luxuriously and sighed in contentment. Next moment he was on his feet, the hot coffee splashing unheeded on his bare knees as he stared out the window beside him. He looked at the gunner, gestured in disbelief at the mountainous landscape unrolling darkly bug digital camera prints beneath them. "What the hell goes on here? We're not due till two hours after darkand it's barely gone sunset! Has the pilot?" "That's Cyprus, sir." The gunner grinned. "You can just see Mount Olympus on the horizon. Nearly always, going to Casteirosso, we fly a big dog-leg over Cyprus. It's to escape observation, sir; and it takes us well clear of Rhodes." "To escape observation, he says!" The heavy trans-atlantic drawl came from the bucket-seat diagonally across the passage: the speaker was lying collapsed there was no other word for itin his seat, the bony knees topping the level of the chin by several inches. "My Gawd! To escape observation!" he repeated in awed wonder. "Dog-legs over Cyprus. Twenty miles out from Alex by launch so that nobody ashore can see us taldn' off by plane. And then what?" He raised himself painfully in his seat, eased an eyebrow over the bottom of the window, then fell back again, visibly exhausted by the effort. "And then what? Then they pack us into an old crate that's painted the whitest white you ever saw, guaranteed visible to a blind man at a hundred miles'specially now that it's gettin' dark." "It keeps the heat out," the young gunner said defensively. "The heat doesn't worry me, son." The drawl was tireder, more lugubrious than ever. "I like the heat. What I don't like are them nasty cannon shells and bullets that can ventilate a man in all the wrong places." He slid his spine another impossible inch down the seat, closed his eyes wearily and seemed asleep in a moment. The young gunner shook his head admiringly and smiled at Mallory. "Worried to hell, isn't he, sir?" Mallory laughed and watched the boy disappear for'ard into the control cabin. He sipped his coffee slowly, looked again at the sleeping figure across the passage. The blissful unconcern was magnificent: Corporal Dusty Miller of the United States, and more recently of the Long Range Desert Force, would be a good man to have around. He looked round at the others and nodded to himself in satisfaction. They would all be good men to have around. Eighteen months in Crete had developed in him an unerring sense for assessing a man's capacity for survival in the peculiar kind of irregular warfare in which he himself bad been so long engaged. Offhand he'd have taken long odds on the

But it glanced in two or three.

cut for the tender heart or the soft pith, both nutritious. Was the locals interference with nature one of the reasons for their discipline by the mainland? And how far away was the mainland? She couldnt even hazard a guess as to how long she had been unconscious. More than a day, at the least. She wished shed studied the geography of Optheria more closely, for she couldnt even guess at the location of her island on the planets surface. In her first days, she had prowled the islands perimeter ceaselessly, for there were neighboring ones tantalizingly visible even though they were also small. Hers at least boasted a bubbling spring that flowed from its rocky source mid-island into the lagoon. And, if she could trust her judgment, hers was the largest in the cluster. Before she immersed herself in polly tree studies, she had swum to the nearest of the group. Plenty of polly trees but no water. And beyond that islet more were scattered in careless abundance across the clear aquamarine sea some large enough to support only a single tuft of polly trees so she had returned to her island, the best of a bad lot. Working with her hands and for a varied diet did not prevent Killashandra from endless speculations about her situation. She had been kidnapped for a purpose to force an investigation of Optherian restrictions. The FSP, much less her own Guild, would not tolerate such an outrage. If and here her brief knowledge of the Optherians let her down the Optherians admitted to FSP and the Heptite Guild that she had been abducted. Still, the Elders needed an operative organ by the time of the Summer Festival, and to do that they needed a crystal singer to make the installation. The crystal they had, but surely they wouldnt attempt such a delicate job. Well, it wasnt that delicate, Killashandra knew, but the crystal would prove difficult if not handled properly. So, grant that the Optherians would be searching for her, would they think to search on the islands? Would the islanders be in contact with the Ruling Elders about the terms of her ransom? If so, would the extortion be successful? Probably not, Killashandra thought, until the Ruling Elders had abandoned any hope of finding her within the next two months. Of course, that could throw their timetable off. It would take nearly three months for a replacement Guild Member to reach Optheria, even if the Optherians admitted the loss of the one already dispatched to them. On her own part, shed be stark raving lunatic if she was left on this island for several months. And if disney pix micro digital camera homepage the Optherians acquired another singer to install their wretched white crystal, that didnt mean that theyd continue their efforts to find her! After much deliberation, silent as well as vocal, Killashandra decided that the smart thing to do was rescue herself. Her kidnapper had overlooked a few small points, the most important of which was that she happened to be a very strong swimmer with lungs well developed from singing opera and crystal. Physically, too, she was immensely fit. She could swim from island to island until she found one that was inhabited, one from which she could be rescued. Unless all the islanders were in on this insidious kidnap scheme. The hazards that she must overcome were only two: lack of water was one, but she felt that she could refresh herself sufficiently from the polly fruit the tree flourished on all the islands she could see. Too, the larger denizens of the sea constituted a real problem. Some of them, cruising beyond her lagoons, looked deadly dangerous, with their pointed, toothy snouts, or their many wire-fine tentacles which seemed to have an affinity for the same yellowback fish she favored. She had spent enough time watching them to know that they generally fed at dawn and dusk. So, if she made her crossings at midday, when they were dormant, she thought she had a fairly good chance to avoid adding herself to their diet. Three weeks on the island was long enough! She had a few of the emergency food packets left and they would be unharmed by a long immersion. Following the directions in her useful little pamphlet, she had made several sturdy lengths of rope from the coarse fiber of the polly tree, with which she could secure the hatchet to her body. Her original clothing was down to shreds which she sewed with lengths of the tough stem into a halter and a loin cloth. By then she had become as tan as her abductor and was forced to use some of the oilier fishes to grease her hide for protection. She would coat herself thoroughly before each leg of her swim to freedom. Having made her decision, Killashandra implemented it the next day at noon, swimming to her first destination in less than an hours time. She rested while she made up her mind which island of the seven visible would be next. She found herself constantly returning to the one farthest north. Well, once there, none were far away if she decided shed overshot the right line to take. She made that island by mid-afternoon,

A bag for bread, and a bag for beef,

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 dont 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. 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. Im quite serious. Theres 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 tanned faced, his eyes sparkling. And you, my beloved Sunny, he kissed her lightly, would never settle for being second in anything! Are you first among crystal singers, then? I dont do badly. Ive sung black crystal, which is the hardest to find and cut properly. In any event, there arent degrees among singers. One cuts to earn enough credit for the things one needs and wants. Now why wasnt she being totally honest with Lars? Why didnt 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 wouldnt 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. Its polaroid photomax 320 digital camera 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. Crystals hazardous to your health. Now, wed 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. Dyou 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. Ah they will not interfere, Guildmember. Ill make sure of that, Thyrol. I will need the duragloves Everything you requested before your unfortunate disappearance is in the organ loft. Oh, very well then. Its gathered dust long enough. Lead on! Once again the instinctive reaction to tiptoe and maintain silence affected Killashandra as they emerged onto the stage of the Festival auditorium. She glanced at Lars to see if he was similarly affected. He grimaced slightly and she noticed that his active stride perceptibly altered. She did not miss the almost covetous way he frowned at the covered organ console. And wondered what she could do about that! She had been entranced with the music he played on the twelve-stringed instrument, and she was eager to hear it with organ amplification. Or would that be too cruel an imposition? As Thyrol used his keys on the panel to the loft, Killashandra wondered if among them were the keys that would allow access to subliminal mechanisms. All three on that ring were apparently needed to open the loft door. Or would