Till we spake to Your Majesty."

information to sink in, then continued. "Well, that's us. Miss LeGardeMarie LeGardeneeds no introduction from anyone." A slight murmur of surprise and turning of heads showed that I wasn't altogether right. "But that's all I know, I'm afraid." "Corazzini," the man with the cut brow offered. The white bandage, just staining with blood, was in striking contrast to the receding dark hair. "Nick Corazzini. Bound for Bonnie Scotland, as the travel posters put it." "Holiday?" "No luck." He grinned. "Taking over the new Global Tractor Company outside Glasgow. Know it?" "I've heard of it. Tractors, eh? Mr Corazzini, you may be worth your weight in gold to us yet. We have a broken-down elderly tractor outside that can usually only be started by repeated oaths and assaults by a four-pound hammer." "Well." He seemed taken aback. "Of course, I can try" "I don't suppose you've actually laid a finger on a tractor for many years," Marie LeGarde interrupted shrewdly. "Isn't that it, Mr Corazzini?" "Afraid it is," he admitted ruefully. "But in a situation like this I'd gladly lay my hands on another one." "You'll have your chance," I promised him. I looked at the man beside him. "Smallwood," the minister announced. He rubbed his thin white hands constantly to drive the cold away. "The Reverend Joseph Smallwood. I'm the Vermont delegate to the international General Assembly of the Unitarian and Free United Churches in London. You may have heard of itour biggest conference in many years?" "Sorry." I shook my head. "But don't let that disturb you. Our paper boy misses out occasionally. And you, sir?" "Solly Levin. Of New York City," the little man in the check jacket added unnecessarily. He reached up and laid a proprietary arm along the broad shoulders of the young man beside him. "And this is my boy, Johnny." "Your boy? Your son?" I fancied I could see a slight resemblance. "Perish the thought," the young man drawled. "My name is Johnny Zagero. Solly is my manager. Sorry to introduce a discordant note into company such as this"his eyes swept over us, dwelt significantly longer on the expensive young lady by his side "but I'm in the way of being a common or garden pugilist. That means 'boxer', Solly." "Would you listen to him?" Solly Levin implored. He stretched his clenched fists heavenwards. "Would you just listen to him? 'pologisin'. Johnny Zagero, future heavyweight champion, apologisin' for being a boxer. The olympus digital camera 1010 review white hope for the world, that's all. Rated number three challenger to the champ. A household name in all" "Ask Dr Mason if he's ever heard of me," Zagero suggested. "That means nothing," I smiled. "You don't look like a boxer to me, Mr Zagero. Or sound like one. I didn't know it was included in the curriculum at Yale. Or was it Harvard?" "Princeton," he grinned. "And what's so funny about that? Look at Tunney and his Shakespeare. Roland La Starza was a college boy when he fought for the world title. Why not me?" "Exactly." Solly Levin tried to thunder the word, but he hadn't the voice for it. "Why not? And when we've carved up this British champ of yoursa doddery old character rated number two challenger by one of the biggest injustices ever perpetrated in the long and glorious history of boxin"when we've massacred this ancient has-been, I say" "All right, Solly," Zagero interrupted. "Desist. There's not a press man within a thousand miles. Save the golden words for later." "Just keepin' in practice, boy. Words are ten a penny. I've got thousands to spare" Tousands, Solly, t'ousands. You're slippin*. Now shut up." Solly shut up, and I turned to the girl beside Zagero. "Well, miss?" "Mrs. Mrs Dansby-Gregg. You may have heard of me?" "No." I wrinkled my brow. "I'm afraid I haven't." I'd heard of her all right, and I knew now that I'd seen her name and picture a score of times among those of other wealthy unemployed and unemployable built up by the tongue-in-the-cheek gossip columnists of the great national dailies into an ersatz London society whose frenetic, frequently moronic and utterly unimportant activities were a source of endless interest to millions. Mrs Dansby-Gregg, I seemed to recall, had been particularly active in the field of charitable activities, although perhaps not so in die production of the balance sheets. She smiled sweetly at me. "Well, perhaps it's not so surprising after all. You are a bit distant from the centre of things, aren't you?" She looked across to where the youngster with the broken collar-bone was sitting. "And this is Fleming." "Fleming?" This time the wrinkling of my

And tumbld him into the brook.

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 veer nor a pause! Grab the wet weather gear from that cupboard. Temperatures falling and the rains going to be cold. Fortunately Lars gave clear instructions to his novice crew and Killashandra coped with her tasks well enough to gain his nods of approval. The Pearl Fisher was fitted to be sailed single-handed, with the sheet lines winched to the cockpit and other remotes to assist in the absence of a human crew. Lars beckoned Killashandra to join him in the stern as the anchor was lifted by remote. Another hauled the sloops mainsail up the mast, Larss pennon breaking out as the clew of the sail locked home. The wind took the sail, and the ship, forward, out of the wide mouth of the harbor, which was now clear of all craft. Nor did there seem to have been anyone to notice their delay. The beach was empty of people. The shuttered shops and houses had an abandoned look to them. The tide was already slopping into the barbecue pits and Killashandra wondered just how much would be left on the waterfront when they sailed back into Wing Harbor. Killashandra found the speed of the Pearl Fisher incredibly exhilarating. To judge by the rapt expression on his face, so did Lars. The fresh wind drove them across the harbor almost to its mouth, before Lars did a short tack to get beyond the land. Then the Pearl was gunwale deep on a fine slant as she sped on a port tack toward the bulk of the Wing. It was an endless time, divorced from reality, unlike cutting crystal where time, too, was sometimes suspended for Killashandra. This was a different sort of time, that spent with someone, someone whose proximity was a matter of keen physical delight for her. Their bodies touched, shoulder, hip, thigh, knee, and leg, as the canting of the ship in her forward plunge kept Killashandra tight against Lars. Not a voyage, she realized sadly, that could last forever but a long interval she hoped to remember. There are some moments, Killashandra informed herself, that one does wish to savor. The sun had been about at the zenith when they had finally tacked out of the Wing Harbor. It was westering as they sailed round the top of the Wing with its accessory binoculars camcorder camera digital film lowlands giving way to the great basalt cliffs, straight up from the crashing sea, a bastion against the rapidly approaching hurricane. And the southern skies were ominous with dark cloud and rain. In the shelter of those cliffs, their headlong speed abated to a more leisurely pace. Lars announced hunger and Killashandra went below to assuage it. Taking into account the rough water, she found some heat packs which she opened, and which they ate in the cockpit, companionably close. Killashandra found it necessary to curb a swell of incipient lust as Lars shifted his long body against hers to get a better grip on the tiller. Then they rounded the cliffs and into the crowded anchorage which sheltered Angels craft. Lars fired a flare to summon the jitney to them, then he ordered Killashandra forward with the boat hook to catch up the bright-orange eighty-two buoy to starboard. He furled the sail by remote and went on low-power assist to slow the Pearl and avoid oversailing the buoy. Buoy eighty-two was in the second rank, between two small ketch-rigged fisherboats, and Killashandra was rather pleased that she snagged the buoy first try. By the time Lars had secured the ship to ride out the blow, the little harbor taxi was alongside, its pilot looking none too pleased to be out in the rough waters. What took you so long, Lars? A bit of cross-tide and some rough tacks, Lars said with a cheerful mendacity that caused Killashandra to elbow his ribs hard. He threw his arm about to forestall further assaults. Indeed they both had to hang on to the railings as the little boat slapped and bounced. For a moment, Killashandra thought the pilot was driving them straight into the cliff. Then she saw the light framing the sea cave. As if the overhang marked the edge of the seas domination, the jitney was abruptly on calmer waters, making for the interior and the sandy shore. Killashandra was told to fling the line to the waiting shoremen. The little boat was sailed into a cradle and this was drawn up, safely beyond the depredations of storm and sea. Last one in again, eh Lars? he was teased as the entire party made its way out of the dock and started up the long flight of stairs cut in the basalt. It was a long upward haul for Killashandra, unused to stairs in any case and, though pride prevented her from asking for a brief halt, she was completely winded by the

"No matter," quoth he, "the lad which you see,

reminding her how perilous their position was at the moment. Bolero! The name returned to her as the lights came up. And fury at this arrant manipulation set a flush in her cheeks that matched those in Mirbethans as the delighted woman turned to inquire breathlessly how Killashandra had enjoyed the concert. The seats were all tilting forward, releasing their occupants once more into the cold cruel world of reality. I have never so totally experienced music before in my life, Mirbethan, Killashandra said in ringing, heartfelt tones. What she felt in her breast was not what the performance was expected to generate. A balanced and professional performance. The artists were magnificent. Excellent adaptations to the Optherian organs. Adaptations? Oh, no, Guildmember, this was the first performance of three brilliant new compositions. Mirbethan said and Killashandra could only goggle at her. That music was totally original? Composed by the performers? Killashandras surprised was misinterpreted by Mirbethan as the proper expression of awe. Lars squeezed her arm warningly and she managed to contain her outrage. A truly brilliant concert, Trag said, joining them as the audience was dispersing. An experience I would not willingly have foregone. Never having heard so much warmth in his voice, Killashandra looked sharply at Trag. Surely, if her symbiont had protected her Now she stared at Trags flushed face, his bright eyes, and noticed that a smile had reshaped his lips. Killashandra grabbed at Larss arm, before anyone else could see her dismay, she pulled them both into the crowd, away from Trag and the two Elders who escorted him Easy, Killa, Lars murmured in her ear. Dont give it away. Not now! But he His hand twisted her fingers cruelly, reminding her of the danger they were in. That last piece will send them all to their beds, alone if necessary, Lars continued, breaking up the sentence into quick short phrases as he hurried her away from the hall. No one is expected to linger. Not after that dose of eroticism. They turned a corner, Killashandra accepting Larss direction. Trags coming. Dont you understand? No one here composed that music. It was all stolen! I know, I know. Yours wasnt stolen. It was original. The only bloody original music Ive heard on this fardling mudball! Shush now, Killa. Only one more corridor and were home safe and then you can rant digital camera research on and rave. I get the cold shower first. What and waste the music? She tried to kick him but they were walking so fast she would have lost her balance if shed succeeded. I will not be manipulated and the last word she roared in the privacy of their suite. She was hauling the Beluga spidersilk kaftan over her head as she reached the bathroom door and, flipping on the cold water, stood in its frigid torrent until she could feel her flesh shriveling. Lars pulled her out, handing her a towel as he took her place. I think its a shame to waste all their hard work and effort Did you want to go to bed with an image of Ampris? she demanded at the top of her voice. Oh, I saw Mirbethan, Lars said ingenuously, toweling himself dry. Mirbethan? Yes, didnt you know that was why she was included in your welcoming committee? Shes bi What? Killashandra screeched that at the top of her lungs. Compose yourself, Killashandra Ree, said the cool voice of Trag from the doorway. You and Lars Dahl are in every bit as much danger as you thought. We must talk. Chapter 22 First, Trag said as Killashandra and Lars joined him in the main room, and he pointed to the monitors. Lars held up the jammer. Very good. Secondly, I need to hear an account of your adventures here, Killashandra. Then I can separate the fact from the fiction presented by Ampris and Torkes. Both are clever men. A drink, Killa? Lars asked and his voice was rough with either anger or anxiety. I would appreciate something stronger than that tasteless beer, please, Lars Dahl, Trag said My pleasure. Trag. Killashandra could feel the tension release in her belly and she let out a lungful of air as Trags courteous request gave her a reassuring measure of his attitude. She took a quick pull at the polly liqueur which Lars handed her before he sat on the couch, not touching her but with one arm protectively along the back. She began with her arrival on the Athena and her suspicions about Corish. Nor was she any less than candid about the fit of pique with Optherian bureaucracy which had

So soon as the office was ore;

recognized your tenor at the barbecue. Where did you learn Baleefs Voyagers? And the Pearl Fishers duet? Certainly not in the Conservatory. My father. Hed brought some of his microlibrary with him when he came to Optheria. Your father is naturalized? Oh, yes. Like yourself, he didnt come to the islands by choice. If we mention your true identity to no one else and what is your true name? Or dont crystal singers give them? You mean to say you dont know the name of the woman you assaulted and then abducted? Killashandra pretended outrage. Lars shook his head, grinning at her with an almost boyish mischief. Killashandra Ree. He repeated the syllables slowly, then smiled. I like that much better than Carrigana. That was a rather harsh name to say endearingly. The ells and the sh are sweeter. Possibly the only sweet thing about me, I warn you, Lars. He pointedly ignored that remark. My father must know who you are, Killashandra. It will give him new heart for Ill tell you frankly, he was far more discouraged about those arrested in the Elders search than he let on to the others. Nor he paused, only then aware of the water sloshing in the cockpit about their toes nor do I like deceiving Nahia. She doesnt deserve it. No, she doesnt. Though I have the feeling she already has a good idea that Im not the island maid Ive been portraying. Oh? Was she at that reception in the Conservatory? No, but she sensed the crystal resonance. Killashandra stroked her arm explanatorily. Lars caressed her then. You mean, thats what Ive been feeling whenever we touch? Killashandra gave him a reassuring smile. Not entirely, lover. Some of it is a perfectly spontaneous combustion. Lars guffawed at that, embracing her once again. Shouldnt I bail or something? she asked as the chill sea water splashed over her toes. His arm restrained her. Not just yet. He frowned, glancing off to port, not really seeing the sprouts of islets as he corrected their course a few points easterly. However, if we tell my father and Nahia who you are Hauness, too? What Nahia knows, Hauness does, and safe enough in both their hands. But then what? Hard copy on the fuji finepix 7.2mp digital camera suicide files is rapidly available. But I should insist that you meet with other groups to prove unquestionably that the arbitrary restriction to Optheria is not popularly acceptable. Im glad you agree to that. In doing that, you will also need to avoid the Elders. It wouldnt do for them to discover you blithely treading the cobbles at Ironwood or the terraces of Maitland. You never told them youd kidnapped me, so why couldnt I visit other communities? Because youve now been missing for five weeks. How would you explain such an absence, much less why you havent repaired their precious Festival organ? Idve done that if that wretched security officer hadnt been in his flatulent dotage! My absence is easy to explain. I just dont explain it. She shrugged diffidently. Lars sniggered. You dont know how much our Elders dislike mysteries You have seen me playing a humble island maid, Lars. Try seeing me as a highly indignant and aristocratic member of the Heptite Guild. As she spoke, her voice became strange, disdainful, and Killashandra pulled herself arrogantly erect. Lars started to remove his arm from her shoulders in reaction to the 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

In garments of green, most gay to be seen,

eyes. For almost ten seconds he stared into the New Zealander's averted, screwed-up face, then slowly lowered his arm, the harsh spotlight limning a dazzling white circle in the snow at his feet. Once, twice, half a dozen times Turzig nodded his head in slow understanding. "Of course!" he murmured. "MalloryKeith Mallory! Of course I know him. There's not a man in my Abteilung but has heard of Keith Mallory." He shook his head. "I should have known him, I should have known him at once." He stood for some time with his head bent, aimlessly screwing the toe of his right boot into the soft snow, then looked up abruptly. "Before the war, even during it, I would have been proud to have known you, glad to have met you. But not here, not now. Not any more. I wish to God they had sent someone else." He hesitated, made to carry on, then changed his mind, turned wearily to Andrea. "My apologies, fat one. Indeed you speak the truth. Go on." "Certainly!" Andrea's round moon face was one vast smirk of satisfaction. "We climbed the cliff, as I said although the boy in the cave there was badly hurtand silenced the guard. Mallory killed him," Andrea added unblushingly. "It was fair fight. We spent most of the night crossing the divide and found this cave before dawn. We were almost dead with hunger and cold. We have been here since." "And nothing has happened since?" "On the contrary." Andrea seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, revelling in being the focus of attention. "Two people came up to see us. Who they were I do not knowthey kept their faces hidden all the timenor do I know where they came from." "It is as well that you admitted that," Turzig said grimly. "I knew someone had been here. I recognised the stoveit belongs to Hauptmann Skoda!" "Indeed?" Andrea raised his eyebrows in polite surprise. "I did not know. Well, they talked for some time and" "Did you manage to overhear anything they were talking about?" Turzig interrupted. The question came so naturally, so spontaneously, that Mallory held his breath. It was beautifully done. Andrea would walk into ithe couldn't help it. But Andrea was a man inspired that night. "Overhear them!" Andrea clamped his lips shut in sorely-tried forbearance, gazed heavenwards in exasperated appeal. "Lieutenant Turzig, how often must I tell you that I am the interpreter? They could only talk through me. Of course I know what they were talking about. They are going to blow up the big guns in the harbour." "I didn't think they had pentax optio digital camera contest come here for their health!" Turzig said acidly. "Ah, but you don't know that they have the plans of the fortress. You don't know that Kheros is to be invaded on Saturday morning. You don't know that they are in radio contact with Cairo all the time. You don't know that destroyers of the British Navy are coming through the Maidos Straits on Friday night as soon as the big guns have been silenced. You don't know" "Enough!" Turzig clapped his hands together, his face alight with excitement. "The Royal Navy, eh? Wonderful, wonderful! That is what we want to hear. But enough! Keep it for Hauptmann Skoda and the Commandant in the fortress. We must be off. But firstone more thing. The explosiveswhere are they?" Andrea's shoulders slumped in dejection. He spread out his arms, palms upward. "Alas, Lieutenant Turzig, I do not know. They took them out and hid themsome talk about the cave being too hot." He waved a hand towards the western col, in the diametrically opposite direction to Leri's hut. "That way, I think. But I cannot be sure, for they would not tell me." He looked bitterly at Mallory. "These Britishens are all the same. They trust nobody." "Heaven only knows that I don't blame them for that!" Turzig said feelingly. He looked at Andrea in disgust. "More than ever I would like to see you dangling from the highest scaffold in Navarone. But Herr Kommandant in the town is a kindly man and rewards informers. You may yet live to betray some more comrades." "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I knew you were fair and just. I promise you, Lieutenant Turzig" "Shut up!" Turzig said contemptuously. He switched into German. "Sergeant, have these men bound. And don't forget the fat one! Later we can untie him, and he can carry the sick man to the post. Leave a man on guard. The rest of you come with mewe must find those explosives." "Could we not make one of them tell us, sir?" the sergeant ventured. "The only man who would tell us can't. He's already told us all he knows. As for the restwell, I was mistaken about them, Sergeant." He turned to Mallory, inclined his head briefly, spoke in English. "An error of judgment, Herr Mallory. We are all very tired. I am almost sorry I struck you." He wheeled abruptly, climbed swiftly up the bank. Two minutes later only a solitary soldier was left on guard. For the tenth time Mallory shifted his position uncomfortably,

O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man!"

relationship. Each time, they seemed to discover something new about themselves and their responses. She particularly liked Larss capacity for invention, stimulating as it did heretofore unsuspected originalities in herself. As usual hunger roused them from these variations. Breakfast here is the heartiest meal, Lars said cheerfully, striding quickly for the catering unit. Youll like it. Killashandra saw that he had left the jammer behind him, and she followed him at a quick trot, holding the device up to distort anything else he might say. He laughed. Wed best leave them something to hear. A discussion of breakfast must be sufficiently innocuous. Killashandra settled in one of the chairs near the catering unit, swiveling her hand as she looked at the little jammer. If only some way could be found to mask that mineral residue in Optherians! Blank out the detector. You know, Killashandra said as they ate, sitting companionably together on the elegant seating unit, I simply cannot understand this concentration on one instrument albeit a powerful one but theyre wiping out more than ninety-nine percent of the FSPs musical traditions and repertoire, as well as stultifying talents and potential. I mean, your tenor is formidable! Lars shrugged, giving her a tolerant side glance. Everyone sings at least in 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 casio ex-z75pk digital camera pink 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 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,

She buried him before the prime;

I should not like to put it to the test and fail. Killashandra turned to Lars. You said something about your father being able to detect Council agents. Does he have a unit? A small one. If we had it, we could test crystal resonance with it. Weve got all those crystal shards, Trag, and you know how interactive white is. First we have to contact my father, Lars said with an ironic laugh, then get him and the device here. Oh, its not large but certainly not something you carry bare-faced through City streets. But, even as Lars spoke in pessimistic terms, it was clear to Killashandra that she had revived his hopes. All the more reason, Trag, for, you to get to Ironwood and make contact with Nahia and Hauness. Theyve got the oceanjet. They could discreetly bring Father and the device as far as Ironwood. There are no other embarkation clearances at the shuttleport? Trag asked. Lars shook his head slowly. No other beside the security curtain has ever been needed. You forget, Trag, that loyal, happy, natural Optherians have no desire to leave their planet. Only tourists, who can buy tickets anywhere, so long as theyve enough credit. Then, and Trag got to his feet, carefully putting the glass down on the nearest surface, patently I must oblige both you and the greedy Elders. Good night. Killashandra watched, wondering if the polly had got to the impervious Trag but his step was as firm and unswerving as ever. She saw that Lars was watching his progress, a very thoughtful expression on his face. If this idea works, Killa, he said, taking her in his arms, his eyes on that distant prospect, is there enough crystal to get six or seven people off Optheria? Dont hope too hard, Lars! she cautioned him, her head against his shoulder, her arms about him. Nor can we schedule a mass exodus on the next liner without giving the whole scheme away. But if crystal resonance fools the scanner, the most vulnerable people will get free. The Festival season hasnt even started. When it does, a few one-way passengers could go out on each flight. She looked up and caught the bleak look on his face. Lars, dance with me? To a distant drum? he asked with a rueful grin, but he shortly sloughed off depression. The next morning Killashandra woke to the second chimes and to an interesting idea. Lars, Lars, wake up. Why? and he attempted to free sewing patter for digital camera pull her back down on the bed, murmuring suggestions. No, Im serious. We responded to the subliminals last night, didnt we? How long are they supposed to be effective? Huh? I dunno. Ive never Oh, I see what you mean! And he sat up, linking his arms about his raised knees and considering the implications. We never took last nights performance into our deliberations, did we? He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then grinned at her. Id say we could work this to our advantage. Security, pride, and sex, huh! Lars began to laugh, a mirth which developed into such a paroxysm that he fell back on the bed and hauled his knees up to his chin to relieve the muscular cramp of uncontrollable laughter. Trag appeared in the doorway, pointed to the ceiling monitor and, when Killashandra pointed to the jammer on the table, he came in and shut the door, regarding Lars expressionlessly. We got conditioned last night, Trag, Killashandra said by way of explanation as she hauled her coverall on. I dont think I should overdo it, but if Lars wants to act disaffected with me, it will lull Ampris and Torkes into thinking their programmings effective. Even on a crystal singer. Trag, I could even stay on here not want to leave Optheria. Im a musician. If last night is the best they can do, just lead me to a keyboard! Ill show em some sensory music thatll knock em in the aisles. Trag shook his head slowly from side to side. Risky for any number of reasons which I shouldnt have to enumerate. Brushing laugh tears from his eyes, Lars was still grinning broadly as he reached for his clothes. So what was so funny? Killashandra asked. Mirbethan as a sex image when I have you! Im not sure I needed to know that! Killashandra stalked into the main room and up to the catering unit. She punched out her selection so hard that the tab stuck and a succession of beverage cups paraded out. Fortunately the mechanism was programmed against excessive use and the emergency panel flashed quota at her as the depressed button snapped out again. Put Ampris in my place and what do you have? Lars wanted to know and his voice was just a shade repentant. Nausea. she handed him a cup from the plentiful supply waiting on the catering facility. Chapter

"Where shall we our breakefast take?"

"There's precedent in plenty in your Bible, Reverend. You know that better than I. It'll do you good, really." "Oh well, if you think so." He took the glass gingerly, as if Beelzebub himself were on the offering end, but I noticed that there was nothing so hesitant about his method and speed of disposal of the contents: his subsequent expression could properly be described as beatific. I caught Marie LeGarde's eye, and smiled at the twinkle I caught there. The reverend wasn't the only one who found the coffeeand brandywelcome. With the exception of the stewardess, who sipped at her drink in a distraught fashion, the others had also emptied their glasses, and I decided that the broaching of another MarteU's was justified. In the respite from the talk, I bent over the injured man on the floor. His pulse was slower, steadier and his breathing not quite so shallow: I slipped in a few more heat pads and zipped up the sleeping-bag. "Is heis he any better, do you think?" The stewardess was so close to me that I brushed against her as I straightened. "Hehe seems a bit better, doesn't he?" "He is a bit, I think. But nothing like over the shock from the wound and the exposure, though." I looked at her speculatively and suddenly felt almost sorry for her. Almost, but not quite: I didn't at all like the direction my thoughts were leading me. "You've flown together quite a bit, haven't you?" "Yes." She didn't offer anything more. "His headdo you think" "Later. Let me have a quick look at that back of yours." "Look at what?" "Your back," I said patiently. "Your shoulders. They seem to give you some pain. I'll rig a screen." "No, no, I'm all right." She moved away from me. "Don't be silly, my dear." I wondered what trick of voice production made Marie LeGarde's voice so clear and carrying. "He is a doctor, you know." "No!" I shrugged and reached for my brandy glass. Bearers of bad news were ever unpopular: I supposed her reaction was the modern equivalent of the classical despot's unsheathing his dagger. Probably only bruises, anyhow, I told myself, and turned to look at the company. An odd-looking bunch, to say the least, but then any group of people dressed in lounge suits and dresses, trilby hats and nylon stockings would have looked odd against the strange and uncompromising background of that cabin where every suggestion of anything that even u ca digital camera pricegrabber com remotely suggested gracious living had been crushed and ruthlessly made subservient to the all-exclusive purpose of survival. Here there were no armchairsno chairs, evenno carpets, wall-paper, book-shelves, beds, curtainsor even windows for the curtains. It was a bleak utilitarian box of a room, eighteen feet by fourteen. The floor was made of unvarnished yellow pine. The walls were made of spaced sheets of bonded ply, with kapok insulation between: the lower part of the walls was covered with green-painted asbestos, the upper part and entire roof sheeted with glittering aluminium to reflect the maximum possible heat and light. A thin, ever-present film of ice climbed at least half-way up all four walls, reaching almost to the ceiling in the four corners, the parts of the room most remote from the stove and therefore the coldest. On very cold nights, such as this, the ice reached $e ceiling and started to creep across it to the layers of opaque ice that permanently framed the undersides of our rimed and opaque skylights. The two exits from the cabin were let into the fourteen-foot sides: one led to the trap, the other to the snow and ice tunnel where we kept our food, petrol, oil, batteries, radio generators, explosives for seismological and glacial investigations and a hundred and one other items. Half-way along, a secondary tunnel led off at right anglesa tunnel which steadily increased in length as we cut out the blocks of snow which were melted to give us our water supply. At the far end of the main tunnel lay our primitive toilet system. One eighteen-foot wall and half of the wall that gave access to the trap-door were lined with twin rows of bunkseight in all. The other eighteen-foot wall was given over entirely to our stove, work-bench, radio table and housings for the meteorological instruments. The remaining wall by the tunnel was piled with tins and cases of food, now mostly empties, that had been brought in from the runnel to begin the lengthy process of defrosting. Slowly I surveyed all this, then as slowly surveyed the company. The incongruity of the contrast reached the point where one all but disbelieved the evidence of one's own eyes. But they were there all right, and I was stuck with them. Everyone had stopped talking now and was looking at me, waiting for me to speak: sitting in a tight semi-circle round the stove, they were huddled together and shivering in the freezing cold.

My deir son I tell thee O.

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 O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 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

"O thine apparel is good," he said,

nearest chair. What a delightful description of Reticulans! The barrel is mostly windbag but Ive never been close enough to discover which of their pseudopods are the pipes. Lars stopped pacing, for the noise in the companionway had ceased, and he came back to fondle her. A candidate for Guild membership has to pass Physical Fitness Test SG-I, Psychological Profile SG-I which youd never pass if you continue to do that, Lars and Education Level 3. Im not applying to the Guild, only applying a member This time the footsteps stopped and the door was slid back. Mr. Fernock entered, smiling broadly when he saw the occupants. Well be underway in ten minutes, Guildmember, thanks to your invaluable assistance. And well be able to make a reasonable enough speed on five shafts to reach our destination on time. How marvelous, Killashandra said in a languid drawl. Marvelous was not really the way she felt, considering the inner turmoil Larss caresses had stimulated. She couldnt get to the City and the Conservatory fast enough. Chapter 18 Fortunately Lars was equally frustrated by their lack of privacy and made no further overtures. Perversely, Killashandra missed them. The cruiser had broken out flags and a full honor guard for the ceremonial and triumphant return. Killashandra steeled herself for yet another protocologically correct reception. She reflected on what scene she could produce to shorten the tedium, and debated whether or not a scene would produce any advantage. She had made several points. Unless she had sufficient provocation, she decided to leave well enough alone. For now. She might need to produce an effect to gain privacy within her suite. For she was determined to enjoy Lars without any surveillance for whatever time remained to them. She could, of course, stretch out the organ repair as long as she wished. Or her instruction of technicians. She could include Lars in that program. He had the perfect and absolute pitch to tune crystal as well as the strength and manual dexterity required. She must do everything she could to make him indispensable to the Elders, for whatever protection that could provide him, since he didnt seem at all interested in leaving Optheria. Even if that were possible. Were near enough for you to have a spectacular view of the City Port, Lars said, interrupting her reflections. A natural port? She smiled. Completely, though not nearly as good a fujifilm finepix digital cameras natural harbor as North. Naturally. Captain Festinel awaits your arrival on the bridge. How courteous! Wheres Torkes? Burning up a few communications units with orders. He was incensed that you had to bloody your hands on the drive of a mere cruiser. Doesnt he value his skin as much as I do mine? Her entry rated salutes, rigid attention from the seamen and a smile and a warm handshake from Festinel. She politely accepted his effusive thanks and then pointedly turned to watch the rapidly approaching shoreline. The City Port bustled with activity: small water taxis skipping across the waves, larger barges wallowing across their swells, and coastal freighters awaiting their turn at the piers which, with their array of mechanical unloading devices, were anything but natural. The cruisers velocity had moderated considerably now that it was in congested waters. Ponderously it approached the Federal docking area, where sleek courier vessels bobbed alongside two more squat cruisers. Killashandra had no difficulty identifying their berth it was crowded with a welcoming committee, all massed white and insipid pale colors, blurred faces turned seaward, despite the glare of the westering sun which was full in their eyes. The cruiser swung its bow slightly to port and the drive was cut, momentum carrying the big vessel inexorably to the dock and the grapples clanked against the hull, bringing it to a halt with a barely perceptible jolt. My compliments on a smooth docking, Captain Festinel and my thanks for an excellent voyage. Killashandra made gracious noises to all the bridge staff and then swept out to get the rest of the tedious formalities over. Ampris! Lars grunted as they reached the portal. Beneath them the gangway was extruding the few meters to the dock. Of course, and my quartette lined up like the puppets they are. I think I am developing a splitting headache. All that crystal whine, you know. She raised her hand to her forehead. See what line Ampris takes first. Larss face was set, his nostrils flaring a little as he settled his respiratory rate. Killashandra suppressed a perfectly natural surge of repugnance for a man who had ordered an assault on her, then hypocritically assured her that the culprit would be punished How

Thy vows are all broken,

watchfulness that made him feel vaguely uncomfortable. His "hatchetmen," Jensen had called them: Captain Jensen picked his killers well. "Any of you gentlemen care to go below," he suggested. "Plenty of hot water, dry clothesand warm bunks. We won't be using them to-night." "Thank you very much, sir." Mallory hesitated. "But we'd like to see this through." "Right, then, the bridge it is," Ryan said cheerfully. The Sirdar was beginning to pick up speed again, the deck throbbing beneath their feet. "it is at your own risk, of course." "We lead charmed lives," Miller drawled. "Nothin' ever happens to us." The rain had stopped and they could see the cold twinkling of stars through broadening rifts in the clouds. Mallory looked around him, could see Maidos broad off the port bow and the great bulk of Navarone slipping by to starboard. Aft, about a cable length away, he could just distinguish two other ships, high-curving bow-waves piled whitely against tenebrious silhouettes. Mallory turned to the captain. "No transports, sir?" "No transports." Ryan felt a vague mixture of pleasure and embarrassment that this man should call him "sir." "Destroyers only. This is going to be a smashand-grab job. No time for dawdlers to-nightand we're behind schedule already." "How long to clear the beaches?" "Half an hour." "What! Twelve hundred men?" Mallory was incredulous. "More." Ryan sighed. "Half the ruddy inhabitants want to come with us, too. We could still do it in half an hour, but we'll probably take a bit longer. We'll embark all the mobile equipment we can." Mallory nodded, let his eye travel along the slender outlines of the Sirdar. "Where are you going to put 'em all, sir?" "A fair question," Ryan admitted. "5 p.m. on the London Underground will be nothing compared to this little lot But we'll pack them in somehow." Mallory nodded again and looked across the dark waters at Navarone. Two minutes, now, three at the most, and the fortress would open behind that headland. He felt a hand touch his arm, half-turned and smiled down at the sad-eyed little Greek by his side. "Not long now, Louki," he said quietly. "The people, Major," he murmured. "The people in the town. Will they be all right?" good digital camera maker "They'll be all right. Dusty says the roof of the cave will go straight up. Most of the stuff will fall into the harbour." "Yes, but the boats?" "Will you stop worrying! There's nobody aboard themyou know they have to leave at curfew time." He looked round as someone touched his arm. "Captain Mallory, this Is Lieutenant Beeston, my gunnery officer." There was a slight coolness in Ryan's voice that made Mallory think that he wasn't overfond of his gunnery officer. "Lieutenant Beeston is worried." "I am worried!" The tone was cold, aloof, with an indefinable hint of condescension. "I understand that you have advised the captain not to offer any resistance?" "You sound like a B.B.C. communiqu6," Mallory said shortly. "But you're right. I did say that. You couldn't locate the guns except by searchlight and that would be fatal. Similarly with gunfire." "I'm afraid I don't understand." One could almost see the lift of the eyebrows in the darkness. "You'd give away your position," Mallory said patiently. "They'd nail you first time. Give 'em two minutes and they'd nail you anyway. I have good reason to believe that the accuracy of their gunners is quite fantastic." "So has the Navy," Ryan interjected quietly. "Their third shell got the Sybaris's B magazine." "Have you got any idea why this should be, Captain Mallory?" Beeston was quite unconvinced. "Radar-controlled guns," Mallory said briefly. "They have two huge scanners atop the fortress." "The Sirdar had radar installed last month," Beeston said stiffly. "I imagine we could register some hits ourselves if" "You could hardly miss." Miller drawled out the words, the tone dry and provocative. "It's a helluva big island, Mac." "Whowho are you?" Beeston was rattled. "What the devil do you mean?" "Corporal Miller." The American was unperturbed. "Must be a very selective instrument, Lootenant, that can pick out a cave in a hundred square miles of rock." There was a moment's silence, then Beeston muttered something and turned away. "You've hurt the Guns's feelings, Corporal," Ryan murmured. "He's very keen to have a gobut we'll hold our fire. . . . How long till we clear that point, Captain?" "I'm not sure." He turned. "What do you say, Casey?" "A minute, sir.