Killashandra, page 26
“Yes, we should want to restore the monitors within this room, Guildmember, now that the organ is nearly repaired.” Ampris flicked his hand at Thyrol who then issued the appropriate order to the guards. Killashandra did not dare glance in Lars’s direction.
“Don’t bounce the tubs about,” Killashandra warned, as the guards shuffled out with the first one.
“There now,” Killashandra said when the door had slid shut leaving them alone, “the shards’ll be more accessible to us now. We can purloin the ones we want. Can you get your hands on a small plasfoam pouch?”
“Yes. Who’s this Trag?”
“The best person they could possibly have sent. Lanzecki’s Administration Officer.” Killashandra chuckled. “I’d rather him than an army, and certainly I’d rather him than any other singer they could have chosen. And a courier ship. I am flattered.”
“Somehow Ampris is too pleased with this development.”
“Yes, and fretting with impatience.” Killashandra mimicked his hand gesture and Lars nodded grimly. “Is it just that he wants the organ done? Or us out of the loft for good?” She swiveled slightly so that she was facing the wall they could not shift. “Why?” She bit one corner of her lip, trying to solve its mystery. Then, with an exclamation, she ran her hands around the casing of the manual, picked up the lid and examined it closely.
“What are you looking for, Killa?”
“Blood! Did you see any discoloration on the shards you handled?”
“No—If Camgail was killed by,” and he gestured at the newly placed crystal spires, “there would have been blood somewhere here!”
“Was there only the official version of Comgail’s end?”
“No. I had a chance to speak with one of the infirmary attendants and she said that he was covered in blood, crystal fragments had pierced eyes, face, and chest.”
“With a little help, perhaps? But do you know for certain that it was Comgail who shattered the manual?”
Lars nodded slowly, his eyes gray and bleak, his face expressionless.
“And he had mentioned earlier that he knew the access to the subliminal units was through the organ loft?”
Again Lars nodded and both stared at the wall.
“Comgail did all the maintenance on the Festival organ?” At Lars’s impassive nod, Killashandra scrubbed at her face with one hand. “Did Ampris ever compose or perform?” she asked in angry exasperation.
The look of total surprise on Lars’s face gave her the answer.
“No wonder he’s been bouncing about here,” Lars cried, seizing Killashandra and hugging her with the excess of his jubilation. “No wonder he’s been so eager to get the manual repaired. He can’t get to the subliminal units until it is. He can’t alter the subliminals for this year’s concerts. Oh, Killa! You’ve done it.”
“Not quite,” Killashandra said with a laugh. “I’m only hypothesizing that the manual provides the unlocking mechanism. We’ve no idea what sort of music key he’d use. It could be anything—”
“No, not anything,” Lars cried, shaking his head and grinning, his eyes vividly blue again. “I’d stake my life I know what he’d use—”
“I wish you wouldn’t use a phrase like that,” Killashandra murmured.
Lars gave her a reassuring grin and went on. “Remember what you said about bureaucracy finding one mechanism that suited them? Well, Ampris’s one and only Festival offering utilizes a recurrent theme.”
“But everyone on the planet would know it then.”
“What difference would that make? You’d still have to have access to this manual, wouldn’t you?”
“True. What’s the theme?”
“It’s a real thumpety-dump,” and he da-da-ed the notes to Killashandra’s utter amazement.
“Not only is it thumpty-dumpety-dump, it’s complete and utter plagiarism. Ampris lifted that theme from an 18th Century composer named Beethoven.”
“Who?”
Killashandra lifted her hands in exasperation. “Enough of this idle speculation, Lars, we’ve got to finish the organ as fast as possible.”
“What about Trag?”
Killashandra shook her head. “Trag is no threat to us. If we could just get the bass noted finished, we’d have something to show him. I hope.” She dropped a set of brackets into Lars’s hands and took another for herself. “You wouldn’t happen to know the signature of Ampris’s composition?” When Lars shook his head, she cursed briefly and then began to chuckle. “We’ll just try the original one!”
Because they were rushing, nervous with anticipation and hope, hands sweating from tension, it seemed to take three or four attempts to place each of the next three crystals. Lars was muttering imprecations by the time Killashandra could test the third one. No sooner had she struck the crystal than the door panel slid open and the aperture was filled by Trag’s bulky figure.
“Trag, I bless your timely arrival. We’re both fingers and thumbs trying to set this manual. A fresh hand and a sane mind will work wonders!”
Trag gave her a nod of his head and stepped inside, giving Lars a cursory glance before his attention was completely taken by a critical appraisal of their endeavors. Killashandra ignored the entrance of Ampris, Torkes, Thyrol, and Mirbethan, who filed slowly into the room in Trag’s wake. Trag picked up the tuning hammer and struck each of the crystals.
Trag merely nodded his head. Lars made a noise of protest but Killashandra shot him a warning glance. The fact that Trag had no comments to make was all the approval she required, knowing better than to expect overt praise from him. For a very fleeting moment, however, she was seized with a totally irrational desire to throw her arms about Trag’s neck, a notion which she quickly suppressed without revealing it by so much as a grin.
Elder Torkes, resembling the scavenger bird more faithfully than ever, seemed about to step forward, then, apparently, changed his mind as if aware of how Trag’s bulk diminished his stature to insignificance.
“You have only just arrived, Guildmember, and as it is now midday, refreshment has been prepared for you,” Torkes began with scant courtesy.
Trag dismissed the offer. “You gave the Guild to understand the matter was of the most urgent.”
“We need to eat,” Killashandra said tartly. “Just send us in some food, please, someone,” and she picked up more brackets as Trag removed the next crystal from its bed of plasfoam. “We might even finish this today if given the chance to work without interruption.”
“Not quite,” Trag amended in his deliberate fashion as he held the crystal up for inspection in the ceiling light. Satisfied he lowered it, his gaze traveling beyond to the fascinated observers. “If you please?” And he extended his hand toward the door.
Killashandra, her eyes on Lars’s blank face, had to fight not to chortle at the aura of dismay, fury, and shock emanating from the four high ranking Optherians. But her hands were free of both sweat and tremble and, with Lars carefully tightening the matching bracket, they were ready to fasten it the moment Trag inserted the crystal in place. The door panel whooshed over the rectangle of sunlight. Killashandra tightened her bracket just as Lars finished his. Trag took up his hammer for the ceremonial tap and the D, mellow and clear, broke the silence of the room.
“Just two more, Trag and I believe we’ll have something to show you,” Killashandra said, reaching for more brackets. “This is Lars Dahl.”
“A lover posing as a bodyguard! A young man with highly suspicious credentials,” Trag said bluntly, his hooded stare fixed on Lars.
Killashandra held up a hand to restrain any understandable outburst from Lars but he only smiled, inclining his head in brief acknowledgment of the description.
“According to Elder Ampris or Torkes?” Killashandra asked, grinning at Trag as she faced him squarely.
Trag focused his attention on her. Had she not been so positive of her own righteousness, she would have been hard pressed to maintain her composure beneath that basilisk stare.
“I will hear your explanation, then, for I warn you, Killashandra Ree, the Guild looks with disfavor on a member who abrogates her contractual obligations for whatever personal reasons obtain …”
Killashandra stared at Trag incredulously.
“I was given two assignments here, Trag, by you—”
“The secondary assignment was considerably less important than the primary—” Trag’s big hand indicated the unfinished installation.
“The two are more closely linked than you or Lanzecki imagined when the Guild accepted that contract. But then abduction ought not to be a high-risk-factor on well-ordered, conservative secure Optheria. Right? Ever aware of my primary obligation,” Killashandra allowed some of her outrage to color her voice, “I swam dangerous channels from one island to another in order to escape the one I was dumped on. Confounding all parties and managing thus to return to my primary contractual obligation.”
Trag merely raised his eyebrows.
“Tell me, Trag, what is your opinion of subliminal conditioning?”
Trag’s bleak eyes widened fractionally. “The Council of the Federated Sentient Planets has declared any form of subliminal projection morally criminal and punishable by expulsion from the Federation.”
“Then if I were an Elder,” Lars said in a quiet, faintly amused tone, “I wouldn’t be so quick to accuse anyone else of having highly suspicious credentials.”
“If you will assist us to install the next two crystals, Trag, I believe we may be able to prove our allegation,” Killashandra said.
“If you cannot prove this allegation, Killashandra Ree, you are liable to severe discipline and censure.”
“Then isn’t it convenient that I’m right?”
“Guildmember, I have been subjected to subliminal conditioning,” Lars said, as if he sensed her minute uncertainty. Trag turned his penetrating stare on the islander.
“The insidiousness of subliminal conditioning, Lars Dahl, is that the victim is totally unaware of the bombardment.”
“Only if he is unprepared, Guildmember. My father, late an agent of the Federated Council, was able to safeguard me, and other friends, against electronically induced subliminals. Which, I might add, are particularly adaptable to the heavy emotional experience of the sensory organ.”
“Late an agent?” Killashandra fancied she saw some diminution of Trag’s intractability.
“Trapped here by the same restraint which keeps Optherians from competing in galactic enterprise,” Lars replied. “Contact with the Federated Council has only just been reestablished after nearly thirty years—”
She and Trag heard the minute sound at the same instant and assumed suitable poses of interrupted labor when the door panel slid open. Mirbethan escorted the lunch table which the security guard wheeled in.
“If you’ll just leave it there, Mirbethan,” Killashandra gestured with a hand full of brackets while Trag and Lars bent over an already sited crystal, “we’ll take a break shortly.”
“Not the one they expect, either,” Lars murmured when the door panel had closed. Trag favored him with another unnerving stare. Lars returned it equably, with a slight bow toward the manual case. “After you, Guildmember.”
“Why three more crystals?” Trag asked.
“This loft is half the size of the available space behind the organ console on stage,” Lars said. “We think the subliminal programming equipment is hidden behind that wall, and accessed by a musical key activated from this manual. We have reason to believe that Comgail, who is alleged to have smashed the crystal,” Trag’s eyebrows raised, “was killed because he had discovered that musical key, not because he was injured by the shards or because he had destroyed the manual. That would have only got him sent to rehab.”
“Who is responsible for the subliminal programming?”
Lars grinned maliciously “My own personal candidate is Ampris; he is musically trained.”
“It wouldn’t take musicality to strike notes in the right sequence,” Trag said.
“True, but he knows as much about the organ as every performer must and he became head of the Conservatory about the time the subliminal conditioning started. It began shortly after my father arrived, and he was here to investigate the first request for the revocation of the planet-bound restriction. Then, too, Torkes has always favored the propaganda control of population. But what one Elder does, the others invariably condone. And subliminal conditioning sustains them in their power.”
“Arrange for me to meet your father, Lars Dahl.”
Lars grinned. “His credentials are as suspicious as mine, Guildmember. I doubt we could reach him. In any event, we are here, close to the damning proof of what we suspect. Surely a bird in hand—”
“Bird?” The word exploded from Killashandra, a result of the tension she felt and a combination of surprise and respect for Lars’s sterling performance under Trag’s unnerving scrutiny.
“Perhaps the analogy is wrong,” and Lars shrugged diffidently. “Well, Guildmember? Have I my day in court, too?”
“Three more crystals?” Trag’s manner gave no indication of his thoughts.
“Two more,” Killashandra said, “if we are using the original key.”
Trag made a barely audible grunt at that comment before he reached for the next crystal and motioned Lars to place his bracket.
Killashandra could not keep her mind entirely on the task at hand for she suddenly realized just how much rested on the truth of the dissidents’ contentions. Had she indeed allowed a sexual relationship to cloud her judgment? Or favorable first impressions from Nahia, Hauness, and the others to color her thinking? And yet, there was Corish von Mittelstern, and Olav Dahl. Or was that convoluted situation carefully contrived? She might be out on a limb, the saw in her own hand, she thought as she delicately tightened the bracket on the second crystal. She didn’t dare look at Lars across the open case as they straightened up.
Expressionless as ever, Trag handed Lars the tuning hammer. Lars gave Killashandra a rakish and reassuring grin and then tapped out the sequence: da da da-dum, da da da-dum. For one hideous moment nothing happened and Killashandra felt the last vestige of energy drain from her body with the groan she could not stifle. A groan that was echoed by a muted noise and a slight vibration in the floor. Startled, she and Lars looked down but Trag remained with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Clever!” was his comment as the wall sank slowly and, to their intense relief, noiselessly apart from the initial protest. “Clever and utterly despicable.” As soon as the descending wall reached knee height, Trag swung over it, Lars right behind him.
For a heavy man, Trag moved with considerable speed and economy of motion. He did a complete circuit of the room, his eyes sweeping from one side to the other, identifying each bank in the complicated and extensive rack system, and the terminal which activated the units. He completed his circuit at the three heavy cables that provided the interface between the two sets of computers.
“No one has been in here for some time,” he said finally, noting the light coating of dust on the cabinets.
“No need, Guildmember.”
“You may address me as Trag.”
Lars grinned triumphantly at Killashandra, where she stood, resting her ear against the door panel. Nothing must interfere at this critical moment.
“Trag. The yearly dose for Optherians occurs shortly before the Festival season begins, and the tourists arrive. All Optherians are given the ‘opportunity and privilege,’ ” and Lars’s voice was mildly scornful, “of attending the preliminary concerts for the current year’s Festival selections. The Mainlanders get their dose then, to keep them contented while the tourists are here. Then, the tourists get theirs, which includes sufficient Optherianisms to prevent them from accepting messages from strangers for posting once they return to their homes. Some don’t, you know, having fallen for the vastly superior and secure Optherian natural way of life.”
Trag dropped his gaze from the fascinating cable. “How many escape these conditioning sessions?”
“Not many Mainlanders, though there are a few who independently discovered the subliminal images.” Lars turned to Killashandra. “Nahia, Hauness, Brassner, and Theach. Over the last ten years, they’ve been able to warn those they felt could be trusted.”
“Do the Elders know that some escape?” Killashandra asked.
“There is a head check at the concerts which simultaneously registers with the Central Computers.”
“But islanders don’t go to concerts, do they?” Killashandra said with a chuckle. It was a relief to know that she had occasion to be amused. It had looked very grim for a bit there, with Trag coming on strong as Guildmember.
“I think it is time to end such pernicious subjugation,” Trag said. He took from his biceps pocket a hand-unit of the sort used to check programming systems, and placed it on the nearest cabinet. “It should be a simple matter of reprogramming the master sensory mixer to bypass the subliminal generator. That would inhibit the subliminal processor, yet leave no physical trace of alteration.” Taking from the same pocket a heavy compound knife of the kind favored by crystal singers for field use, he opened the heaviest cutting blade. He sliced carefully at the plastic cable cover, peeling it back to expose the multicolor flex package.
Killashandra watched as Trag set the system checker against the flex, taking a preliminary reading. As he pondered the results, she could not restrain a glance at the subliminal room. The devices were so repugnant to her, abusing every precept of the individual privacy which had been her birthright on Fuerte, that she felt besmirched just looking at them.
“If there’s no power …” Lars began, his hand half-raised in caution.
