Killashandra Part 31

Perplexed by the legal formulas, Killashandra turned to Lars and his father.

"Are you free, or what?" she demanded.

"I'm not quite sure," Lars said with a nervous laugh. "It can't mean much. Everything else was dismissed, wasn't it?" He looked to Olav and was sobered by his father's solemn expression.

"He has been remanded," the Bailiff explained kindly, taking Lars by the arm. "I interpret the judgment to mean that the Court has dismissed all charges but Lars Dahl's physical a.s.sault on you in the matter of your abduction. Disciplinary action is always short term. On the second remand charge, the Court requires further discussion of the allegations about the use of subliminal conditioning by the Optherian government. If these are proved correct, then it is likely that the disciplinary action will be suspended. I can give you hard copy of the precedents involved, indeed of the entire trial, if you wish." When Lars nodded a perplexed affirmation, "Then I shall program them for your quarters. If you gentlemen will come with me?"

A panel at the back of the seating area opened and it was toward this that Funadormi gestured Lars and his father.

"Come with you?" Lars cried, trying to break from the Bailiff's grip.

Shock and surprise briefly immobilized Killashandra and before she could make a move to reach Lars, the Bailiff, securely holding her lover, had him nearly to the open door.

"Wait! Please wait!" she screamed, falling over the chairs in her haste.

"You two have been dismissed. Justice has been served! Arrangements for your transport have been made and the ground vehicle programmed to take you to the appropriate site."

"But -- Lars!" Killashandra's cry of protest was made to the immense back of the Bailiff which was disappearing through the aperture, totally eclipsing Lars. Olav hurried anxiously after, adding his protests.

"Lars Dahl!" she screamed, every fear alerted to his unexpected departure.

The panel closed with a final thuck just as Killashandra reached it.

"Justice has been served?" she shrieked, beating the wall with impotent fists. "What justice? What justice? LARS DAHL! Couldn't they let us say good-bye? Is that justice?" She wheeled on Trag who was trying to silence her tactless accusations. "You and your fool-proof verbiage.

They've charged him after all. I want to know why and what does disciplinary action mean for a man who's put himself on the line for a whole benighted fardling useless planet?"

"Killashandra Ree," and both crystal singers turned in astonishment as the voice issued unexpectedly from the wall. "During your evidence, your psychological reactions exhibited extreme agitation and apprehension -- unusual when compared to your official profile -- which have been interpreted as fear of the accused, despite your generous testimony to his actions against you. Disciplinary action will prevent the accused from any future acts of felonious a.s.sault."

"WHAT?" Killashandra could not believe what she had heard. "Of all the ridiculous interpretations! I love the man! I love him, do you hear, I was frantic with worry for him, not against him. Call him back. There's been a dreadful miscarriage of justice."

"Justice has been served, Killashandra Ree. You and Trag Morfane are scheduled to leave this Court and this building immediately. Transport awaits."

The silence after that impersonal order provoked a thunder of tinnitus in her skull.

"I don't believe this, Trag. This can't be right. How do we appeal?"

"I do not believe that we can, Killashandra. This is the Federal Court. We have no right of appeal. If there is one available to Lars, I am certain that Olav will invoke it. But we have no further right. Come. Lars will he taken care of."

"That's what I'm fardling afraid of," Killashandra cried. "I know what penalties and disciplines the Judicial Branch can use. I had Civics like any other schoolchild. I can't go, Trag. I can't leave him. Not like this. Not without any sort of a . . ." Tears so choked her that she could not continue and a sudden disastrous inability to stand made her wobble so that Trag only just kept her from falling.

She didn't realize at first that Trag was supporting her out of the room. When she found them in the hall, she tried to wrench herself out of Trag's grasp but there was someone else by then, a.s.sisting Trag and between the two of them, she was wrestled into the lift. She struggled, screaming imprecations and threats, and although she heard Trag protesting as sternly as he could, she was put in padded restraints. The ignominy of such a humiliating expedient combined with fear, disappointment, and her recent physical ordeal sent Killashandra into a trembling posture of aggrieved and contained fury.

By the time they reached the shuttle transport to the Regulus transfer moon, she had exhausted her scant store of energy and crouched in the seat, sullen and silent, too proud to ask for her release from the restraints. She let Trag and the medic lead her where they would, and didn't protest when they undressed her for immersion in a radiant fluid tank. Legitimate protest and recourse denied her, she submitted to everything then, despairing and listless. Over and over she reviewed her moments in the witness chair, when her body, the body which had loved and been loved so by Lars, had betrayed them both with false testimony. She was appalled at that treachery, and obsessed by the horrifying guilt that she, herself, her anxieties and idiotic presentiments, had condemned Lars on the one count which had not been dismissed by the Court. She could never forgive herself. Somehow, sometime, she would be able to face Lars, and beg his forgiveness. That she promised herself.

All the way back to Ballybran, she said not a single word to anyone, nodding or shaking her head in answer to the few questions that were put directly to her by officials. Trag supervised her meals, immersed her in radiant fluid whenever such facilities were available, and remained by her side during her wakeful hours. If he resented her silence or interpreted it as an accusation, he gave no indication of regret, remorse, or penitence. She was too immersed in her obsession with the Outrageous circ.u.mstance of Lars's betrayal to try to explain the complexities of her depression.

By the time she and Trag had completed the long journey to Ballybran's surface, Killashandra was completely restored to physical health. She paused only long enough in her quarters to check, as she had begun to do toward the end of the trip, with galactic updates. There was no further word on the Optherian situation beyond the original bulletin announcing the arrival of Revision troops on the planet to "correct legislative anomalies." She refused to consider what that statement might mean for Lars. Dumping her carisak, she changed into a shipsuit. Then she headed for the Fisherman's bailiwick and, with a voice grown gruff from disuse, demanded her sonic cutter. While waiting for him to retrieve it from storage, she checked with Meterology and, with a twinge of satisfaction, learned that the forecast predicted a settled period of weather for the next nine days.

She backed her sled out of its rack herself, though she could see the wild protesting signals of the duty officer trying to abort her precipitous departure. As soon as she was clear of the Hangar, she poured on the power and, in an undeviating line, fled for the Ranges.

It was all part of the miserable web of ironic coincidence that she found black crystal again in the deep, sunless ravine in which she had hoped to bury herself and her grief for the reason and manner of her parting with Lars Dahl.

EPILOGUE.

Stolidly Killashandra watched, arms folded across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as Enthor reverently unpacked the nine black crystal shafts.

"Interstellar, at the least, Killashandra," he said, blinking his eyes back to normal vision as he stepped back to sigh over the big crystals. "And this is all from that vein you struck last year?"

Killashandra nodded. Not much moved her to words these days.

Working the new claim, she had quickly recouped her losses on the Optherian contract; Hept.i.te rules and regs had required her to part with a percentage of that fee to Trag. She accepted that as pa.s.sively as she had accepted everything since that day in Court on Regulus. Not even Rimbol had been able to penetrate her apathy, though he and Antona continued their attempts. Lanzecki had spoken pleasantly to her after her first return from the Ranges, complimented her on the new black crystal vein but their early relationship could never have been revived even if Lanzecki had persisted She didn't see him. She saw no one but Lars, a laughing Lars, garland-wreathed, his blue eyes gleaming, teeth white in his tanned face, his bronzed body poised on the deck of the Pearl Fisher. She woke sometimes, sure she felt his hand on her hip, heard his voice in the whisper of the wind in the deep ravine, or in the tenor of warming crystal at noon, when the sun finally touched the cliff. She made two attempts to succ.u.mb to crystal thrall but each time the symbiont had somehow pulled her back. Not even that enchantment was powerful enough to break through her emotions, obsessed as she was by the guilty betrayal of her body in the witness chair on Regulus.

She had kept informed of the situation on Optheria and often, on the nights brilliant with crystal song, she composed letters to Lars, asking to be forgiven that betrayal. She wrote imaginary letters to Nahia and Hauness, knowing that they would be compa.s.sionate, and intercede for her with Lars. In her better moments, common sense dictated that Lars would not have held that bizarre psychoa.n.a.lysis against her for he, of them all, knew how much she treasured and admired him. But he had not heard her impa.s.sioned 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 procrastination's. 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.

"You're in early, too, you know," Enthor was saying to her. "Storm warnings only just gone out."

"Aren't those good enough?" Killashandra asked. "No need to risk life and limb, is there?"

"No, no," Enthor hastily a.s.sured 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.

"You've enough here to spend a year on Maxim," Enthor went on with a sly sideways glance. "You haven't gone off in a long time, Killashandra.

You should, you know."

Killashandra shrugged her shoulders, glancing impa.s.sively at a credit line that would once have made her chortle in triumph. "I don't have enough resonance to have to leave," she said tonelessly. "I'll 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 thick sh.e.l.l which encased her mind and spirit. She smiled slightly as she shook her head. "Talking wouldn't 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 didn't exist for herself so she didn't 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?"

"I'm not due for another physical?"

"No. But I need you down here."

Killashandra frowned. Antona looked determined and waited for Killashandra's acquiescence.

"Let me change." Killashandra brushed at the filthy blouse of her shipsuit.

"I'll 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 didn't luxuriate in the steaming water. She made a quick but thorough bath, and put on the first clean clothes she found. Her hair, close c.r.a.pped for convenience, dried by the time she reached the Infirmary Level. Her nostrils flared against the smell of sickness and fever, and the m.u.f.fled sounds reminded her of her initial visit to Antona's preserve. A new cla.s.s must be pa.s.sing through adjustment to the Ballybran symbiont.

Antona came out of her office, her color high with suppressed excitement.

"Thank you, Killa. I've a Milekey Transition here whom I'd like you to talk to, rea.s.sure him. He's positive there's something wrong." Her words came out in a rush, as she dragged Killashandra down the hall, and thrust her through the door she opened. Impa.s.sively, 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 evidence of her eyes for she had seen his phantom so often. But Antona had brought her here so this vision had to be real. Avidly she noted each of the tiny changes in him: the lack of tan, the gauntness of his shoulders under the light shirt, the new lines in his face, the loss of that twinkle of gaiety that had been a trademark of his open, handsome expression. He had subtly aged: no, matured. And the process had brought him distinction and an indefinable air of strength and the patience of strength and knowledge.

"Killa?" The smile had dropped from his face, his half-raised hand fell to his side as she failed to respond.

Imperceptibly she began to shake her head, and tentatively, certain that he would vanish if she admitted to herself that he was flesh, bone, and blood, her hands began to lift from her sides. Inside her body the cold knot into which all emotion and spirit had been reduced began to expand, like a warm draught through her veins. Her mind reverberated with one exultant conclusion: he was there, and he wouldn't be if he hadn't forgiven her.

"Lars?" Her voice was a whisper of disbelief but sufficient rea.s.surance to propel him across the intervening s.p.a.ce. Then, as if he found their reunion as incredible as she, he folded her carefully into his arms.

Momentarily she lacked the strength to return the embrace but burrowed her head into the curve of his shoulder and neck, inhaling the smell of him, and exhaling into the tears she had kept bottled for the eternity in which they had been parted.

Lars swept her up in his arms, and carried her to the chair, where he cradled her, appalled at the wildness of her sobbing and comforting her with kisses, caresses, and strong embracings.

"That fardling machine that served justice was never told we were emotionally attached, the one piece of information that no one but us would have thought relevant," he said, releasing in talk the tension he had endured all through the process of getting to this point when he would be ready, and able, to meet her again.

"Then Father found out what had happened and he moved the entire Department to revoke that judgment on the basis of misinterpretation of your psychological response. Poor sweet Sunny, so worried about me she messed us both up." To her surprise, he chuckled. "You didn't know that the only reason that disciplinary action was entered against me was the Court's attempt to satisfy what they took to be a suppressed desire for revenge in you. Justice was being served, blind as it was. Father finally reached a human in authority, swore blind to half a dozen psych-units that he himself had hand-fasted us on Angel Island and got the action revoked. D'you know, that Court Bailiff was a narding construct! No wonder I couldn't move when he grabbed me. Then, when we did understand our rights, Trag had already departed with you.

"I guess you were pretty upset."

At such a ma.s.sive understatement of fact, she managed to nod, trying not to laugh at the absurdity, but she couldn't stop weeping. It had built up quite a head and it ought to prove conclusively to Lars, if he needed any, just how much she had missed him. She had waited so long to be in his arms, to hear his rich and pleasant tenor voice, and the sort of nonsense he was likely to speak. He could have been speaking gibberish and she'd have been content to listen. But he was also telling her the things she would have asked about him, what she needed to know to put some color in the past dreadful year.

"Then Father, Corish, and I spent two months processing material for the Council. Theach, Bra.s.sner, and Erutown had come out with Corish and they got a.s.signed to the Revision Corps until someone in the Council took a closer look at the equations which Theach was idly calling up on his terminal." Lars smiled tenderly as he delicately blotted tears from her cheeks, then kissed her forehead for such an un-Killashandraish display of sentimentality. "So he landed on his feet, as usual. Five more people, including the brewmaster of Gartertown, whom you might remember," he added, tapping her nose as he teased, "got out on the next liner and are being resettled. What had worried Nahia and Hauness was what refugees would do once they got off Optheria, but there seems to be a resettlement policy.

Not that Optherians have all that many skills to offer the advanced societies.

"Father and I got drafted to brief the actual Revision Force. You see, right after that infamous hearing, several more agents were sent in to play tourist during the Summer Festival. Good job we left some two-manuals intact. They came back, reporting that they were subjected to blatant subliminal conditioning at public concerts in Ironwood, Bailey, Everton, and Palamo. One thing Father and I emphasized was that the Revision Forces had better wait until after The Festival or they'd have a bankrupt planet as well as a disorganized one. So Optheria got its annual chance to acquire revenue," and Lars grinned with great satisfaction, "and the Elders hadn't twigged to the fact that no subliminal messages were going out on either of the big Conservatory organs. Leaving the mainlanders quite willing to accept anything said about them.

"When we've spare time, I've got some tapes of the actual landing and the takeover. Four Elders had fatal seizures but Ampris, Torkes, and Pentrom will answer to the Supreme Judiciary for their infamous, felonious, malicious, premeditated, and illegal manipulation of Optherian loyalties.

"The Revision Forces are well installed now on Optheria . . ." He looked out with the unfocused gaze of someone imagining a scene and was briefly sad. He bent to kiss Killashandra again, noting that her tears had abated and her breath was no longer taken in ragged gasps.

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Oh, I was given many arguments why I should. Even a rather complimentary commission. Father returned, but I rather thought he wouldn't leave Teradia for long. To my surprise, Corish went, and of course Erutown and Bra.s.sner. I had other plans."

Killashandra shook her head in sad rebuke. "If I'd known what you planned to do . . ." Her gesture included all that his presence in the infirmary signified.

Lars hugged her tightly to him. "That's why I didn't mention them.

Besides," and he gave her a raffish look, "I hadn't really made up my mind."

"How did Trag recruit you then?"

Lars raised his eyebrows in surprise. "He didn't. It is illegal to recruit citizens for the highly dangerous Hept.i.te Guild. Didn't you know?

Candidly, my beloved Sunny, I was much impressed by Trag's integrity. It was refreshing to find an honorable and trustworthy man. It was yourself who did the recruiting, Killa. You were the embodiment of the undeniable advantages of being a crystal singer. Your vibrant youth, charm, invulnerability, indefatigable energy, and resourcefulness. Then all those diversified a.s.signments, s.p.a.ce travel, credit, not to mention the chance to see a Galaxy I had been denied all my reckless youth -- "

"You're mad." Vitality returned to Killashandra in the form of exasperation with his flamboyance, and such relief that she was once again in its presence. "Did you listen to one word I told you about the disadvantages? Didn't you pay attention to any of the details in the Full Disclosure and that isn't the half of what does happen? As you'll find out.

How could you be so blind?"

"None so blind as will not see, eh, Killa, my lovely Sunny? My pale Sunny, my beloved. Is there no sun on this planet that you are so wan?" He began to kiss her in a leisurely fashion. "I admit I did hesitate.

Briefly." His eyes sparkled with his teasing. "Then I ran the entry on Ballybran itself. That decided me.

"Ballybran? Ballybran decided you?" Killashandra wriggled about in his arms, astounded. Not that she understood why she had such ambivalent reactions to his decision in the first place. He was here! How had she, and that conniving symbiont of hers, known that he would come? Because she didn't think that he wouldn't'? Long absent, she felt the caress of crystal along her bones.

"Of course, Sunny. Now if you'd thought to mention earlier on that Ballybran has seas -- "

"Seas?" Killashandra put a hand on his forehead. He must be feverish. "Seas!"

"All I've ever needed for perfect contentment is a tall ship and a star to sail her by." He held her as her temper began to rise, though she didn't know if he was mauling that obscure quotation or not. And then, too, Ballybran has you, beloved Sunny!" His tenor voice dropped to an intense and pa.s.sionate whisper, his eyes were an incredible brilliant blue, dominating her immediate vision. His arms encompa.s.sed her in a grip that reminded her of sun-warmed beaches and fragrant breezes and -- "Show me, crystal singer, all that Ballybran has to offer me."

"Right now?"