Thou lookest from thy tower to-day; yet a few years,

hid her shock this emotion manipulator made the equipment at Fuerte look like preschool toys. Talk about a captive audience! Optherian concertgoers hadnt a chance. The Optherian organ could produce a total emotional override with a conditional response unequaled anywhere. And a sufficient gauge of the audiences basic profile could be ascertained by matching ID plates and census data. Killashandra wondered that FSP permitted any of its citizens to visit the planet, much less to expose themselves to full-scale emotional overload at Festival time. I can see why youd need many soloists. Theyd be emotionally drained after each performance. We recognized that problem early on the performer is shielded from the full effect of the organ in order to retain a degree of objectivity. And, of course, in rehearsal the transducer system is completely bypassed and the signals inserted into a systems analyzer. Only the best compositions are played on the full organ system. Naturally. Tell me, are the smaller organs amplified in this fashion? The two-manual organs are. We have five of them, the rest are all single manual with relatively primitive synthesizer attentuator and excitor capability. Remarkable. Truly remarkable. Thyrol was not blind to the implied compliment and looked about to smile as the outside door opened to admit the work party. Behind them came three more men, their stance and costume identifying them as security. The work party stopped along the wall while the security trio tramped stolidly down to where Thyrol and Killashandra stood by the sensory feedback transponder. Elder Thyrol, Security Leader Blaz needs to know what disposition is to be made of the debris. He saluted, ignoring Killashandras presence. Bury it deep. Preferably encapsulated in some permaform. Sea trench would be ideal, Killashandra answered and was ignored by the security leader, who continued to look for an answer from Thyrol. Abruptly Killashandras captious temper erupted. She slammed her right hand into the leaders shoulder, forcefully turning toward her. Alternatively, insert it in your anal orifice, she said, her voice reasonable and pleasant. With a wave of astounded gasps sounding in her ear, she made her exit. Chapter 7 As Killashandra started across the stage to retrace her steps to the Complex, she decided that lessons that use digital camera that was the last place she wanted to go in her state of mind After all, Trag had chosen her because she could be more diplomatic than Borella. Not that Borella mightnt have handled that security fardle-face with more tact, or effectiveness. However, the Optherians were stuck with her and she with them, and just then she didnt wish to see one more sanctimonious, self-righteous, smug Optherian face. She strode to the edge of the stage, peered over at the ten-foot drop to the ground, saw the heavy doors at each end of that level and made her decision. She lay at the edge, swung her legs down, gripping the overhang, and let go. Her knees took the jar and she leaned against the wall for a moment just as she heard the men emerge from the organ room. Shell have gone back to the Complex, Thyrol said, breathless with anger. He hurried across the stage, followed by the others. Simcon, if you have offended the Guildmember, you may have jeopardized far more than you have protected The heavy door closed off the rest of his reprimand. Somewhat mollified by Thyrols attitude and pleased with her timely evasion, Killashandra dusted off her hands and moved toward the clearly marked exit door at the outer edge of the amphitheater. Even the soft sound of the brushing was echoed by the fine acoustics. Grimacing, Killashandra stepped as cautiously and as silently as she could toward the exit. The heavy door had the usual push-bar on the inside, which she depressed, holding her breath lest it be locked from a control point. The bar swung easily out. She opened it only wide enough to permit her egress and it closed with a thunk behind her. Its exterior was without handle or knob for reentry and a flange protected it from being forced open if such a circumstance ever arose on perfect Optheria. Killashandra now found herself on a long ledge which led to one of the switchback paths she had seen yesterday, though this one was at the rear of the Complex. From that height she had a view of an unpretentious area of the City, to judge by the narrow streets and the small single-story buildings crowded together. Between it and the Complex heights lay a stretch of cultivated plots, each planted with bushy climbing plants and fenced off from its neighbors, and most of them neat. In several, people were busily watering and hoeing in the early morning sunlight. A rural scene served as a restorative to Killashandras exacerbated nerves.

I poisoned the Lady Rosamond,

across the land was ever unexpected. This first one of the new season swept ferociously across the Milekey Ranges, bearing before its westward course the fleeing sleds of crystal singers like so much jetsam. Those laggard singers who had tarried too long at their claims were barely able to hold their bucking sleds on course as they bolted for the safety of the Heptite Guild Complex. Inside the 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 digital video cameras panasonic 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 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

Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

fronds, pleased that her deftness caused no questions. When a halt was called at midnight, Killashandra was far too tired to do more than curl up gratefully against Lars on the sand, her head pillowed on his arm, and fall asleep. At first light of a sullen day, the injured were floated on bladder rafts to the Pearl, carefully hoisted aboard, then secured in the cabin bunks. Killashandra was given instructions by the medic for the administration of necessary drugs and care. The patients had been sedated for the voyage, so he expected no problems. As soon as she could, Killashandra went up on deck. She found care of the sick and injured a distasteful necessity and the faint odor of antiseptics and medicine made her slightly nauseous. She said nothing about her disinclination, uncharacteristically wanting to sustain Larss good opinion of her. He was bent over the chart display on the small navigational terminal, plotting the most direct course for Angel Islands North Harbor where the main medical facility was situated. Tide and wind are in our favor this morning, Killa, he said, reaching his arm about her waist and drawing her in to him without taking his eyes from the display. He tapped for an overlay of the route he had chosen and she could see how it made use of the swift channels between the islands and the fuller morning tide. Well be in North before we know it. He made a final correction and laid in the course. Now the display cleared to show him the compass headings and the minimum required tacking to slip into the swift current just beyond Bar Islands western reef. Is the spinnaker set, Tanny? Aye, aye skipper, the young man called from the bow as Killashandra watched the vivid red and orange sail bellying out briefly over the bowsprit before the wind caught it. Theres an exhilaration to sailing a fast, trim ship, with a following wind and a current to assist smooth passage. The Pearl slipped into the flow as effortlessly as a slide down a greased pole. The sea was almost calm, and gunmetal green-gray, not quite the same color as the gray sky. Lucky its today instead of yesterday, Killashandra said, settling herself in the cockpit beside Lars. He had the tiller on its upper setting so that he could see forward without the cabin blocking him. Theyre all secure below? Secure and asleep! Ill check on the half hour. They sat together enjoying wind, sea, and sail while Tanny coiled lines and set all fair. Then 10 top selling digital cameras he joined them in the cockpit, maintaining the companionable silence. Just before noon, sailing smartly on the same westerly current that had nearly defeated Killashandra, they rounded the Toe and tacked eastward to sail right up to the large North Harbor pier at the elbow of the Angel. When Lars had been able to estimate his time of arrival, he had called it in, so medics and grav units were waiting for the injured. Killashandra, dutifully checking every half hour, had had no problems with her patients but it was an immense relief to turn them over to trained medical technicians. Father wants a word with us, Lars said quietly in Killashandras ear as they watched their passengers being trundled away. Tanny, anchor the Pearl at buoy twenty-seven, will you? And keep her ready. Dont know where well have to go next. Stay on the page, okay? Tanny nodded, his expression rather strained, as if he was relieved to stay on the Pearl, whose eccentricities he could cope with and understand. If the Wing Harbor on the south side of Angel Island had appeared rustic and homely to Killashandras eyes, North Harbor was the antithesis: that is, within the framework of the Charters prohibition against raping a natural world. The colorful buildings set up above the harbor behind sturdy sea walls utilized manmade materials and modernistic surfaces in some sort of tough, textured plastic and a good deal of plasglas so no vista would be hidden from the occupiers. If the architecture lacked warmth or grace, it was also practical in a zone where wind speeds could make a dangerous missile out of a polly branch. Lars guided Killashandra up a ramp that climbed to the top of the Elbow, where a dormered structure commanded views of the main harbor as well as the smaller curved bay that featured the old stratovolcano that was the Angels Head. A small sailing craft was tacking cautiously through the Fingerbone reefs at the end of the Hand. From the different colors in the sea, Killashandra could distinguish the safer, deeper channel, but she didnt think shed like to sail that in a ship as large as the Pearl. To her surprise, the first person they saw as they entered the Harbor Masters office was Nahia. She had been using the terminal and upon their entry she half rose, her expression eager for Larss news of the stranded crystal singer. We neednt have worried ourselves for a moment about out captive, Nahia. Lars strode up to the empath and, before she could protest,

Lest wee thy sides do baste."

welfare of the Guild, she said demurely. In a matter affecting the Guild reputation, I am, too? 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 digital camera movie frame rate contact any of them after tonights subliminal messages. I could try the marketplace Trag shook his head. It was politic to agree with Ampris and Torkes that you, Killashandra, have undoubtedly fallen under this young mans insidious spell. He raised his hand at Killashandras guffaw. Neither of you are to be allowed to leave the Conservatory without escort. For your safety, of course, Killashandra. Of course! What works in your favor, though, in this infatuation Trag! Im not Ballyblind, Killashandra, Trag said in a stern voice, and, if the Elders consider you two self-absorbed to the exclusion of other, more treacherous activities, it is a safeguard, however tenuous. At least while we are still on Optheria. Trag turned to Lars. Once we leave, Lars Dahl, you are in grave jeopardy. Lars nodded and, when Killashandra closed her fingers about his, he smiled down at her. All I need is a half-days start on any pursuit; no one will ever find me in the islands. Trag managed to look skeptical without changing a muscle in his face. Not this time, I think. This time the islanders are to be disciplined to a final and total obedience to the Optherian Council. They have to catch us first, Lars said calmly, although anger flared in his eyes and his fingers tightened on Killashandras. In an abrupt change he shrugged. The threat of wholesale reprisal is scarcely new. Trag has that warrant Killashandra suggested but caught the obstinate set of Larss face. May I remind you, Killashandra, Trag said, that a Federated Council warrant is not a writ one exercises with impunity. If I am forced to use it, Lars, and whoever else it includes, would be charged with your abduction and subject to the authority of the FSP Council. If I dont press charges, once theyre off Optheria If you perjure yourself in a Council Court, Killashandra Ree, not even the Heptite Guild can rescue you from the consequences. I repeat, and listen to me this time. Lars interrupted firmly, jiggling Killashandras arm for her attention, I only need a head start and there isnt a captain on this planet who could catch me. Look, Trag, its not your affair, but if youre willing to disorganize the Conservatory projector, would you consider doing others? There are quite a few two-manual organs

ROBIN HOOD AND THE BISHOP

kid!" Miller growled. "That'll do, Corporal!" Mallory said sharply. He looked at the American for a long moment, then turned to Stevens, his eyes cold. "Lieutenant, the whole concept of directing a successful war is aimed at placing your enemy at a disadvantage, at not giving him an even chance. We kill them or they kill us. They go under or we doand a thousand men on Kheros. It's just as simple as that, Lieutenant. It's not even a question of conscience." For several seconds Stevens stared at Mallory in complete silence. He was vaguely aware that everyone was looking at him. In that instant he hated Mallory, could have killed him. He hated him because-suddenly he was aware that he hated him only for the remorseless logic of what he said. He stared down at his clenched hands. Mallory, the idol of every young mountaineer and cragsman in pre-war England, whose fantastic climbing exploits had made world headlines, in '38 and '39: Mallory, who had twice been baulked by the most atrocious ill-fortune from surprising Rommel in his desert headquarters: Mallory, who had three times refused promotion in order to stay with his beloved Cretans who worshipped him the other side of idolatry. Confusedly these thoughts tumbled through his mind and he looked up slowly, looked at the lean, sunburnt face, the sensitive, chiselled mouth, the heavy, dark eyebrows barstraight over the lined brown eyes that could be so cold or so compassionate, and suddenly he felt ashamed, knew that Captain Mallory lay beyond both his understanding and his judgment. "I am very sorry, sir." He smiled faintly. "As Corporal Miller would say, I was talking out of turn." He looked aft at the caique arrowing up from the southeast. Again he felt the sick fear, but his voice was steady enough as he spoke. "I won't let you down, sir." "Good enough. I never thought you would." Mallory smiled in turn, looked at Miller and Brown. "Get the stuff ready and lay it out, will you? Casual, easy and keep it hidden. They'll have the glasses on you." He turned away, walked for'ard. Andrea followed him. "You were very hard on the young man." It was neither criticism nor reproachmerely statement of fact. "I know." Mallory shrugged. "I didn't like it either. . . . I had to do it." "I think you had," Andrea said slowly. "Yes, I think you had. But it was hard. . . . Do you think they'll use the big gun in the bows to stop us?" "Mightthey 37mm lens digital camera haven't turned back after us unless they're pretty sure we're up to something fishy. But the warning shot across the bowsthey don't go in for that Captain Teach stuff normally." Andrea wrinkled his brows. "Captain Teach?" "Never mind." Mallory smiled. "Time we were taking up position now. Remember, wait for me. You won't have any trouble in hearing my signal," he finished dryly. The creaming bow-wave died away to a gentle ripple, the throb of the heavy diesel muted to a distant murmur as the German boat slid alongside, barely six feet away. From where he sat on a fish-box on the port- of the fo'c'sle, industriously sewing a button on to the old coat lying on the deck between his legs, Mallory could see six men, all dressed in the uniform of the regular German Navyone crouched behind a belted Spandau mounted on its tripod just aft of the two-pounder, three others bunched amidships, each armed with an automatic machine carbineSchmeissers, he thoughtthe captain, a hard, cold-faced young lieutenant with the Iron Cross on his tunic, looking out the open door of the wheelhouse and, finally, a curious head peering over the edge of the engine-room hatch. From where he sat, Mallory couldn't see the poop-deckthe intermittent ballooning of the lug-sail in the uncertain wind blocked his vision; but from the restricted fore-and-aft lateral sweep of the Spandau, hungrily traversing only the for'ard half of their own caique, be was reasonably sure that there was another machine-gunner similarly engaged on the German's poop. The hard-faced, young lieutenanta real product of the Hitler Jugend that one, Mallory thoughtleaned out of the wheelhouse, cupped his hand to his mouth. "Lower your sails!" he shouted. Mallory stiffened, froze to immobility. The needle had jammed hard into the palm of his band, but he didn't even notice it. The lieutenant had spoken in English! Stevens was so young, so inexperienced. He'll fall for it, Mallory thought with a sudden sick certainty, he's bound to fall for it. But Stevens didn't fall for it. He opened the door, leaned out, cupped his hand to his ear and gazed vacantly up to the sky, his mouth wide open. It was so perfect an imitation of dull-Witted failure to catch or comprehend a shouted message that it was almost a caricature. Mallory could have

Are brimming cornucopias which spill

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 Fruits red and purple, sombre-bloomed and black; 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

And we vow we never spoke to a man

we buried the second officer? I wonder what Smallwood's burial service would have sounded like if we'd really been close enough to hear?" "I missed that," I nodded. "I missed the suggestion you made inside the plane that we should bury the murdered menif you had been guilty you'd never have dared make that suggestion for then the way these men died would almost certainly have been discovered." "You missed it," Zagero said feelingly. "How about me/said it, and I never even thought of it till now." He snorted. "Boy, am I disgusted with myself. As far as I can see the only thing I knew that you didn't was that Corazzini clouted our friend Smallwood back in the pass there simply in order to throw suspicion on me: but, then, I knew that even trying to tell you that would have been crazy." There was a long moment's silence, while we listened to the rise and fall of the Citroen's exhaust note in the gusting, strengthening wind, then Solly Levin spoke. The plane," he said. "The firehow come?" "There was enough high-octane fuel in its tanks to take Hillcrest's Sno-Cat a couple of thousand miles," I explained. "If Hillcrest's tanks had been empty when he arrived back at base and if he'd found out right away that the spare fuel in the tunnel had been doctoredwell, it wouldn't have taken him long to siphon out the stuff in the plane. So, no plane." The silence this time was even longer, then Zagero cleared his throat, as if uncertain how to begin. "Seeing explanations are in the airwell, I guess it's time we made one too." Zagero, to my astonishment, sounded almost embarrassed. "It's about the phony conduct of that phony character to your left, Doc, one Solly Levin. We'd plenty of time to talk about it when we were lashed to this damned sledge all of last night and" "Come to the point," I interrupted impatiently. "Sorry." He leaned across to Solly Levin. "Want I should make a formal introduction, Pop?" I stared at him in the darkness. "Did I hear" "Sure you did, Doc." He laughed softly. Top. The old man. The paternal parent. Says so on my birth certificate and everything." He was enjoying himself vastly. "Confirmation on the right here." "It's perfectly true, Dr Mason," Solly Levin smiled. The dreadful Bowery accent was quite 'gone, yielding place to a crisper, more decisive version of Zagero's cultured drawl. "I'll put it briefly. fujifilm finepix f50fd digital camera I'm the owner and managing directoror was till I retired a year agoof a plastics factory in Trenton, New Jersey, near Princeton, where Johnny managed to acquire a splendid accent and very little else. It was not, I might add, Princeton's fault; Johnny spent most of his time in the gymnasium, nursing hisahpugilistic ambitions, much to my annoyance as I wanted him to take over from me." "Alas," Zagero put in, "I was almost as stubborn as he is himself." "A great deal more so," his father said. "So I made him a proposition. I'd give him two yearsit seemed enough, he was already amateur heavyweight championto prove himself, and at the end of that time if he hadn't made it he was to take his place in the factory. His first manager was as corrupt as they come and Johnny literally kicked him out at the end of a year. So I took over. I'd newly retired, I'd time on my hands, I'd a very strong vested interest in his well-being apart from the fact that he was my sonand, quite frankly, I'd begun to see that he really was going to get to the very top." He broke off thereso I took the opportunity to interrupt. "Zagero or Levin. Which is it?" "Zagero," the elder man answered. "Why the Levin?" "Some state and national boxing commissions refuse to permit a close relative to be either manager or second. Especially second. So I used an alias. A practice by no means uncommon, and officially winked at. A harmless deception." "Not so harmless," I said grimly. "It was one of the worst acting performances I've ever seen, and that was one of the primary reasons for my suspecting your son and, in turn, for Corazzini and Smallwood getting away with what they did. Had you come clean earlier on, I would have known that they were bound, even in the absence of all possible evidence, to be the guilty men. But with Solly LevinI'll find it very difficult to think of you as Mr Zagero, I'm afraidwith Solly Levin sticking out like a sore thumb as an obvious phonywell, I just couldn't leave you two out of the list of suspects." "I obviously modelled myself on the wrong personor type of person," Levin said wryly. "Johnny ribbed me about it all the time. I'm deeply sorry for any trouble we may have caused, Or Mason. I honestly

On Marston, with Rupert, 'gainst traitors contending,

in Glasgow," he snapped. "I'd appreciate the chance to sit in that chair some day." Without another word, he turned away. I knew what he meant, all right. I knew we owed him our lives. Corazzini was as convinced as I that someone had engineered the whole thing. It didn't require any thought at all to guess who that someone was. My first thought was for Jackstraw. Jackstraw with a broken arm was going to make things very difficult for me: it might well make things quite impossible. But when I'd worked his parka off it required only one glance at the unnatural twist of the left arm to see that though Jackstraw had had every excuse for thinking his arm gone, it was, in fact, an elbow dislocation. He made no murmur and his face remained quite expressionless as I manipulated the bone back into the socket, but the wide white grin that cracked his face immediately afterwards was proof enough of his feelings. I walked over to where Helene Fleming sat on the sledge, still shaking from the shock, Mrs Dansby-Gregg and Margaret Ross doing their best to soothe her. The uncharitable thought struck me that it was probably the first time that Mrs Dansby-Gregg had ever tried to soothe anyone, but I was almost ashamed of the thought as soon as it had occurred to me. "That was a close call, young lady," I said to Helene. "But all's well.. . . Any more bones broken, eh?" I tried to speak jocularly, but it didn't sound very convincing. "No, Dr Mason." She gave a long shuddering sigh. "I don't know how to thank you and Mr Nielsen" "Don't try," I advised. "Who pushed you?" "What?" She stared at me. "You heard, Helene. Who did it?" "Yes, I -1 was pushed," she murmured reluctantly. "But it was an accident, I know it was." "Who?" I persisted. "It was me," Solly Levin put in. He was twisting his hands nervously. "Like the lady said, Doc, it was an accident. I guess I kinda stumbled. Someone tapped my heels and" "Who tapped your heels?" "For cryin' out loud!" I'd made no attempt to hide the cold disbelief in my voice. "What would I want to do a thing like that for?" "Suppose you tell me," I said, and turned away, leaving him to stare after me. Zagero stepped in my way, but I brushed roughly past him and went up towards the tractor. On the sled behind I saw fujifilm digital camera finepix a120 the Rev. Smallwood sitting nursing a bleeding mouth. Corazzini was apologising to him. "I'm sorry, Reverend, I'm really and truly sorry. I didn't for a moment think you were one of them, but I couldn't afford to take any chances back there. I hope you understand, Mr Smallwood." Mr Smallwood did, and was suitably Christian and forgiving. But I didn't wait to hear the end of it. I wanted to get through the Vindeby Nunataks, and get through with as little loss of time as possible, preferably before it became dark. There was something that I knew now that I had to do, and as soon as possible: but I didn't want to do it while we were all teetering on the edge of that damned crevasse. We were through without further incident and at the head of that long almost imperceptible slope that fell away for thousands of feet towards the ice-bare rocks of the Greenland coast, before the last of the noon twilight had faded from the sky. I halted the tractor, spoke briefly to Jackstraw, told Margaret Ross to start thawing out some corned beef for our belated mid-day meal, and had just seen Mahler, now semi-conscious, and Marie LeGarde once again safely ensconced in the tractor cabin when Margaret Ross came up to me, her brown eyes troubled. "The tins, Dr Masonthe corned beef. I can't find them." "What's that? The bully? They can't be far away, Margaret." It was the first time I'd called her that, but my thoughts had been fixed exclusively on something else, and it wasn't until I saw the slight smile touching her lipsif she was displeased she was hiding it quite wellthat I realised what I had said. I didn't care, it was worth it, it was the first time I had ever seen her smile, and it transformed her rather plain facebut I told my heart that there was a time and a place for somersaults, and this wasn't it. "Come on, let's have a look." We looked, and we found nothing. The tins were gone all right. This was the excuse, the opportunity I had been waiting for. Jackstraw was by my side, looking at me quizzically as we bent over the sled, and I nodded. "Behind him," I murmured. I moved back to where the others were grouped round the rear of the tractor cabin and took up a position where I could watch them allbut especially Zagero and Levin. "Well," I said, "you heard. Our last tins of beef have gone. They didn't just vanish. Somebody stole them. That somebody had better tell

'Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days?

Trag. He hasnt anyone else. And he certainly wouldnt entrust maintenance to the puff heads youre supposed to initiate into the art of crystal tuning. Especially not you, Lars, said Killashandra with a laugh. Lets not continue that part of the farce. Killa, Lars said. Why not? asked Trag. I think you must realize that we will not leave you on this planet, no matter how cleverly you could hide yourself amid your islands, Lars Dahl. Crystal tuning is a universal skill. So is sailing, Trag. But let us continue as we have started. Farce or not, it keeps you in our company and safe. Trag, are you recruiting? Even to herself, Killashandra sounded unnecessarily sharp. Trag turned his head slowly to look at her, his heavy features expressionless. Recruiting is not permitted by the FSP, Killashandra Ree. She snorted, Neither is subliminal conditioning, Trag Morfane! Lars looked from one to the other, grinning at this evidence of unexpected discord. Here, here, whats this? An old controversy, Killashandra replied quickly. If all the provincial organs need at least basic maintenance, then you and I, Trag, are the only qualified technicians on Optheria. Ampris will have to ask you, for I cant see him asking me, and that solves that problem, doesnt it? It should, Lars replied, grinning at her for her change of subject and the facile solution. We shall see. Trag added, rising to refill his glass. I need a bath, Killashandra said, rising. After a morning spent with Ampris, I feel unclean! Now that you mention it, Lars murmured and followed her. A stolid security man drove the small ground vehicle that evening. Its plasglas canopy gave her an unobstructed view of the City in its tortured sprawl as she was driven sedately down from the Conservatory prominence. The spring evening was mild and the sky cloudless. Quite likely, Killashandra thought, she was seeing the City at its best, for spring growth hazed most of the vegetation with a delicate green, gold, or fawn brown, providing some charm to the otherwise sterile buildings. The residential dwellings often sported vines, now sprouting a bright orange leaf or blossom. Most of the traffic was pedestrian, though a few larger goods-carrying vehicles intersected canon powershot sx100 is digital camera their route through the winding streets of the City. There seemed to be no visible roadway controls but her driver slowed to a complete halt at several cross streets. At one, she received incurious glances from the several pedestrians halted on the footpaths. Doubtless all good Optherians were at home with their families at that hour, and the few people that Killashandra did pass looked glum, anxious, or determined. It occurred to Killashandra that she missed the light-hearted islanders with their ready smiles and generally pleasant behavior. Shed seen very few genuine or lasting smiles in the Conservatory: a perfunctory movement of the lips, a show of teeth but no genuine delight, pleasure, or enthusiasm. Well, what else could she expect in such a climate? She spotted the Piper Facility before the driver turned up the broader thoroughfare to it. It hung, block-square and utilitarian, like hostels anywhere, even Fuerte. She had once thought the native orangy-red sandstone of Fuerte garish and common but she could feel almost nostalgic for its hominess. Certainly the relaxed and random designs of Fuertan architecture were a patch above Optherias contorted constructions. The timepiece above the entrance of the Piper Facility flashed a big 1930 as the driver reduced the forward speed of the vehicle. Precisely then, the main door slid aside and Corish, looking tanned and expectant, emerged. Immediately he saw Killashandra, he smiled a warm and enthusiastic welcome. Right on the dot, Killashandra, youve improved! he said, giving her an unnecessary assist out of the vehicle. Thank you, driver, Killashandra said. I really need to stretch my legs, Corish. Lets walk to the restaurant if it isnt far. I felt awfully conspicuous where so few people use ground transport. Have you paid him? Corish asked, reaching into his belt pouch. I told you I could, she began in a sulky voice and made shooing gestures at the driver. The man reengaged the drive and the vehicle slid slowly away. Im being monitored, Corish, and we need to talk, she said, cocking her head up at him with an apologetic expression on her face. I thought so. Im told to try the Berry Bush so I expect its got monitors in the utensils. This way. Corish cupped his hand under her elbow, guiding her in the right direction. Its not far. Im only just back from Ironwood. Lars is in a

Till fourteen of these fifteen foresters

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 Vpon the ground did lye. 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

Half broken-hearted

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 To sever for years, 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

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:

didn't know" "Two months ago we mounted a large-scale amphibious attack on Navarone." Jensen hadn't even heard the interruption. "Commandos, Royal Marine Commandos and Jellicoe's Special Boat Service. Less than an even chance, we knewNavarone's practically solid cliff all the way round. But then these were very special men, probably the finest assault troops in the world today." Jensen paused for almost a minute, then went on very quietly. "They were cut to ribbons. They were massacred almost to a man. "Finally, twice in the past ten days-we've seen this attack on Kheros coming for a long time nowwe sent in parachute saboteurs: Special Boat Service men." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "They just vanished." "Just like that?" "Just like that. And then to-nightthe last desperate fling of the gambler and what have you." Jensen laughed, briefly and without humour. "That interrogation hutI kept pretty quiet in there to-night, I tell you. I was the 'joker' that Torrance and his boys wanted to heave out over Navarone. I knew it was hopeless-but it had to be done." The big Humber was beginning to slow down now, running silently between the tumble-down shacks and hovels that line the Western approach to Alexandria. The sky ahead was already beginning to streak in the first tenuous greys of the false dawn. "I don't think I'd be much good with a parachute," Mallory said doubtfully. "In fact, quite frankly, I've never even seen a parachute." "Don't worry," Jensen said briefly. "You won't have to use one. You're going into Navarone the hard way." Mallory waited for more, but Jensen had fallen silent, intent on avoiding the large potholes that were beginning to pock the roadway. After a time Mallory asked: "Why me, Captain Jensen?" Jensen's smile was barely visible in the greying darkness. He swerved violently to avoid a gaping hole and straightened up again. "Scared?" "Certainly I'm scared. No offence intended, sir, but the way you talk you'd scare anyone. . . . But that wasn't what I meant." "I know it wasn't. Just my twisted humour.. . Why you? Special qualifications, laddie, just like I told you. You speak Greek like a Greek. You speak German like a German. Skilled saboteur, first-class organiser and eighteen unscathed months in the White Mountains of Crete a convincing demonstration of your ability to survive in enemy-held territory." Jensen chuckled. "You'd be surprised to know just how complete best weatherproof digital camera a dossier I have on you!" "No, I wouldn't." Mallory spoke with some feeling. "And," he added, "I know of at least three other officers with the same qualifications." "There are others," Jensen agreed. "But there are no other Keith Mallorys. Keith Mallory," Jensen repeated rhetorically. "Who hadn't heard of Keith Mallory in the palmy, balmy days before the war? The finest mountaineer, the greatest rock climber New Zealand has ever producedand by that, of course, New Zealanders mean the world. The human fly, the climber of the unclimbable, the scaler of vertical cliffs and impossible precipices. The entire south coast of Navarone," said Jensen cheerfully, "consists of one vast, impossible precipice. Nary a hand or foot-hold in sight." "I see," Mallory murmured. "I see indeed. 'Into Navarone the hard way.' That was what you said." "That was," Jensen acknowledged. "You and your gangjust four others. Mallory's Merry Mountaineers. Hand-picked. Every man a specialist. You'll meet them all tomorrowthis afternoon, rather." They travelled in silence for the next ten minutes, turned up right from the dock area, jounced their uncomfortable way over the massive cobbles of the Rue Souers, slewed round into Mohammed All square, passed in front of the Bourse and turned right down the Sherif Pasha. Mallory looked at the man behind the wheel. He could see his face quite clearly now in the gathering light. "Where to, sir?" "To see the only man in the Middle East who can give you any help now. Monsieur Eugene Viachos of Navarone." "You are a brave man, Captain Mallory." Nervously Eugene Viachos twisted the long, pointed ends of his black moustache. "A brave man and a foolish one, I would saybut I suppose we cannot call a man a fool when he only obeys his orders." His eyes left the large drawing lying before him on the table and sought Jensen's impassive face. "Is there no other way, Captain?" he pleaded. Jensen shook his head slowly. "There are. We've tried them all, sir. They all failed. This is the last." "He must go, then?" "There are over a thousand men on Kheros, sir." Vlachos bowed his head in silent acceptance,

That split his head in twain.

said, interrupting her reflections. A natural port? She smiled. Completely, though not nearly as good a 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 best 35 digital cameras ordered an assault on her, then hypocritically assured her that the culprit would be punished How could she punish Ampris? The method she had employed with Torkes would not work; Ampris was too wily. The gangplank had locked in place, the honor guard was arranged, Elder Torkes appeared, the welcoming committee began to applaud and, every inch the gracious celebrity, Killashandra descended. Mirbethan took a step forward, anxiously scanning Killashandras face for any sign of the ordeal. Thyrol, Pirinio, and Polabod all bowed low but permitted Elder Ampris to do the honors. Guildmember Ree, you cannot imagine our elation when we learned of your safe deliverance Then Ampris caught sight of Lars, whom he was patently not expecting. This is Captain Lars Dahl who rescued me so boldly, and at no small risk to himself and his vessel. Captain Dahl, this is Elder Ampris. Killashandra took the plunge, pretending ignorance of any previous contact between the two men. I am forever indebted to Captain Dahl, as Im sure the Council of Elders must be, for delivering me from that wretched patch of nowhere. Lars saluted crisply and impassively as Elder Ampris executed the shallowest of acknowledgments. The Harbor Master at Angel Island has detached him from duty there to be my personal bodyguard. Killashandra gave an elegantly delicate shudder. I wont feel safe without his sure protection. Quite understandable, Guildmember; however, I think that youll find our security measures I felt quite secure within the Conservatory, Elder Ampris, Killashandra said demurely. I seem to be only at risk when I leave its sanctuary. I assure you I have no desire to do that again. Security Leader Blaz Ill not have that officious oaf near me, Elder Ampris. Hes the reason I was put in jeopardy. The man has no intelligence or tact. I dont trust him to spit in the right direction. Captain Lars Dahl is in charge of my personal security at my personal insistence. Have I not made myself clear? For a second Elder Ampris looked about to argue the point, but the moment passed. He inclined his head again, forced his face into a grim smile, and then gestured toward the waiting vehicle. Why this vast throng? Killashandra asked, smiling graciously about her. Some of the winning composers and prospective performers for this years Festival and final-year students.

Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate,

anything: the strain, the nerve-racking expectancy could not be borne for much longer. Slowly, with infinite care, I moved off in a circle of about twenty yards diameter, but I saw nothing, heard nothing, and so well adjusted now were my eyes to the darkness, so well attuned my ears to the ice-cap's mournful symphony of sound, that I would have sworn that had there been anyone there to be seen or heard, I would have seen or heard them. It was as if I were alone on the ice-cap. And then the appalling truth struck meI was alone. I was alone, I realised in a belated and chilling flash of understanding, because shooting me would have been a stupid way of disposing of both myself and my dangerous knowledgethe discovery of a bullet-riddled body on the ice-cap during the brief hours of daylight would have provoked a hundred questions and suspicions. Much more desirable, from the killer's point of view, would be my dead body without a trace of violence. Even the most experienced man can get lost in a snow-storm on the ice-cap. And I was lost. I knew I was lost, I was convinced of it even before I got the wind on my left and walked back to the line of bamboo poles. The bamboos were no longer there. I made a wide circle, but still found nothing. For at least twenty yards back in the direction of the plane, and probably all the way towards the cabin, the poles had been removed, that slender series of markers which alone meant all the difference between safety and being irrecoverably lost on the ice-cap, were no longer there. I was lost, really and truly lost. For once, that night, I didn't panic. It wasn't just that I knew that panic would be the end of me. I was consumed by a cold fury that I should have been so ignominiously tricked, so callously left to die. But I wasn't going to die. I couldn't even begin to guess what the tremendously high stakes must be in the murderous game that this incredibly ruthless, wickedly-deceptive gentle-faced stewardess was playing, but I swore to myself that I wasn't going to be one of the pawns that were going to be brushed off the table. I stood still, and took stock. The snow was increasing now, thickening by the minute, building up into a blizzard with visibility cut down to a few feet: the yearly precipitation of the ice-cap was no more than seven or eight inches, and it was just my evil luck that it should fall so heavily that night. The wind was southerly, or had been, but in that fickle Greenland climate there was no knowing what minute it might back or veer. My torch was data recovery services for digital cameras failing: continual use plus the cold had left it with a pale yellowish beam that reached not much more than a few yards: but that was the limit of visibility, anyway, even downwind. The plane, I calculated, was not much more than a hundred yards away, the cabin six hundred. My chances of stumbling upon the latter, flush as it almost was with the surface of the ice-cap, were no better than one in a hundred. But my chances of finding the plane, or what came to the same thing, the great quarter-mile trench that it had gouged out in the frozen snow when it had crash-landed, were far better than even: it was impossible that it could have already been filled in with drift. I turned until I had the wind over my left shoulder and started walking. I reached the deep furrow in the snow inside a minuteI'd switched off my torch to conserve the battery but my stumble and heavy fall as I went over the edge was intimation enoughturned right and reached the plane in thirty seconds. I suppose I might possibly have lasted out the night inside the wrecked fuselage, but such was my singleness of purpose at the moment that the thought never occurred to me. I walked round the wing, picked up the first of the bamboos in the dim beam of my torch and started to follow them. There were only five altogether. After that, nothing. Every one of the others had been removed. These five, I knew, pointed straight towards the cabin and all I had to do was to keep shifting the last of the five to the front, lining it up straight with the others in the light of my torch, and it would be bound to bring out to the cabin. Or so I thought, for perhaps ten seconds. But it was a task that really required two people to achieve anything like accuracy: what with that, the feebleness of my rapidly dying torch and the hopeless visibility, I couldn't be accurate within two or three degrees at the least. That seemed a trifle, but when I stopped and worked it out I discovered that, over the distance, even one degree out would have put me almost forty feet off course. On a night like that, I could pass by the cabin ten feet away and never see it. There were less laborious means of committing suicide. I picked up the five sticks, returned to the plane and walked along the furrowed trench till I came to the depression where the plane had touched down. The 250-foot line of the antenna, I knew, was roughly four hundred yards away, just a little bit south

"By the truth of my body," the sheriff he said,

of the Bar Island injured. When I consider how unselfishly you volunteered to assist, and you only an hour away from being rescued, why, we are all in your debt. Shielding her face from Torkes with the handkerchief, Killashandra looked up at Olav. She blotted the last of the tears she could manage to squeeze out. She had received his message. She gave a sniff, then exhaled in a huge sigh. What else could I do? Their need was far greater than mine for I had suffered no real physical injury. It was excellent therapy, and she managed that on a rush of breath, for me to tend those less fortunate than I. And I do feel safe with you, Harbor Master, and with Captain Dahl! She touched each man on the arm, favoring them with a tremulous smile. Lars managed to give her shoulder an admonitory pinch which, she felt, indicated that she had milked this scene for all it was worth. I hope you didnt encounter that ferocious storm on your way here, Elder Torkes? Not at all, Guildmember. In fact, Torkes cleared his throat nervously, we didnt set out until sure that the hurricane had dwindled. I ought to have listened to Mirbethans representations, Captain he turned to the senior officer behind him for she offered to accompany us, Guildmember, on the slim chance that we would discover you here. How very kind of her. She would have been an ideal companion to settle your nerves, Guildmember. Yes, she was most considerate but, though I appreciate her willingness, I now insist on someone she waved a negligent hand in Larss direction, who is capable of managing himself in difficulties. I have seen Captain Dahl in action, fighting to bring his ship close enough to take me off that island, and in dealing with high seas, and injured people. And that should be the end of that notion. Had it been Mirbethans? Or Ampriss? From whichever source, shed not spend credit on it. If I may suggest it, Guildmember, would you be feeling recovered enough to dine now? Olav asked, deftly changing the subject. Or should Captain Dahl escort you to the quarters prepared for you here in the residence? Why, yes, Killashandra said, extending her hand to Lars and smiling graciously at Olav, I think that perhaps hunger is at the root of my deplorable temper. Im not usually so easily upset, citizens. Now that the scene had been played, she was ravenous and hoped that Olavs hospitality would be to the standard she expected. It was, and she was seated on Olavs right at the discount canon digital cameras beautifully appointed banquet table. Torkes was opposite her, Teradia appearing at his right hand. Evidently she had merely had to change her gown. Killashandra did wonder how she had arrived so promptly. Other charmingly dressed ladies partnered the officers of Torkess retinue and from some discreet corner delicate music wafted to the diners ears. The food was sumptuous, a feat, considering the island had so recently been in the throes of a hurricane. As Killashandra sampled the many dishes presented, she realized that the components were not as varied as the manner in which they had been prepared. Polly fruit, pulp, and heart was the basis of nine dishes. Smacker was served as a chowder, boiled, broiled, fried in a delicious light batter and in a rich piquant sauce. The largest yellowbacks she had yet seen had been lightly broiled with slivered nuts. A succulent mollusk was offered, grilled with a dollop of some flavor enhancer. There were salads of greens, molded salads of some jellied vegetable, fruit, and fish. From the way in which Torkess officers filled their plates, and refilled them when the dishes were presented a second time, they werent used to eating. Torkes was abstemious by comparison although a fair trencherman away from Elder Pentroms dietary regimen. He did not refuse the wine, either, though his two senior captains did. When the first hunger was appeased, Torkes addressed Lars, his expression far too bland to be as affable as he sounded. Just where did you discover the Guildmember, Captain Dahl? On a polly islet slightly east of Bar Island. I dont normally pass by for its a bit off the regular trade route, but with the higher tides to give me clearance over the reef in that area, I could take a bit of a short cut to Bar, which I aimed to beach before sunset. Do you have this islet marked on your charts? Of course, Elder Torkes. I will show you its location immediately after dinner. Lars had one hand on her thigh under the table and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Had his father tipped him off as he had her? As well as the entry in my log which verifies the position. You keep a log? Of a certainty, Elder Torkes. The Harbor Master is most insistent on such details which are, in my view, an integral part of

Its melting murmur o'er mine ear.

the stage, her robes flowing out behind her. She bowed quickly to the assembly and took her place at the organ console, her back, with its pleated draperies, illuminated by the spotlight. Killashandra saw her lift her hands to the first manual and then all the lights went out as the first chord was played. Killashandra all but kicked Lars as she recognized the music. In most Conservatories, a man named Bach would have been credited with its composition. On Optheria it was unlikely that any sheep safely grazed. Then the sensory elements began their insidious plucking. It was well done, the scent of new grass, spring winds, tender green, soothing color, bucolic fragrances and then Larss foot tapped hers urgently but she had already caught the image of the shepherd, a glamorized Ampris, a kindly, loving, affectionate, infinitely tender shepherd, gazing for that one moment upon members of his flock. Had Trag failed? Disappointment and a keen flare of apprehension suffused Killashandra. She forced herself to recall that first glimpse of this smaller theater. There had to be a second subliminal generator behind this organ console. Indeed, there was probably one attached to every one of these insidious instruments. How would they disconnect them all? A second image, of a grieving Ampris, saddened by a misdemeanor of his flock saddened but infinitely tolerant and forgiving capped her disgust with the entire exercise. Killashandra caught all of the images that were broadcast, as sharp and as clear as if a hologram had been suspended for inspection of a tri-d screen. The subliminals seemed etched on her retina. Something to do with her symbionts rejection of this superimposition? When the lights came up, Killashandra elected to seem to be affected by the performance as she should have been. Guildmember? Mirbethan asked in a soft eager voice. Why, it was charming. So soothing, such a lovely scene. I declare that I could smell new grass and spring blossoms. Lars tried to step on her toe. She struggled up out of the clutch of her seat and peered around him. Why. Lars Dahl, it is everything you told me it would be! He tapped twice, getting her message. A second performer strode out on the stage, his manner so militant that Killashandra laid a private bet with herself: one of the Germans or an Altairian, if Prosno-Sevics bombastic compositions had been composed before the Optherians had settled this planet. The music was an uninspired melange of many of the martial themes, each new one digital cameras with date time stamp buffeting the captive audience so that she found herself twitching away from the onslaught of the music, and wondering if she would survive the subliminals. She did, but her eyeballs ached with visions of Torkes and an improbably robust Pentrom urging the faithful onto the path to victory and planetarianism, defending the credo of Optheria to the death. An audible sigh of relief? preceded the applause this selection engendered. So the audience was being soothed to trust, encouraged to resist subversive philosophies: now what, Killashandra wondered? An alarmingly thin and earnest young man, swallowing his Adams apple convulsively as he crossed the stage, was the next performer. He looked more like a wading bird than a premier organist. And when he took his seat and lifted his hands, they splayed to incredible lengths, making the soft opening notes ludicrous to Killashandras mind, especially when she recognized the seductive phrases of a French pianist. The name escaped her momentarily but the erotic music was quite familiar. She held her breath against the first image and choked on the howl of laughter as the subliminal image of Ampris-the-seducer was superimposed, in reds and oranges, on the viewers abused senses. Fortunately, the notion of Ampris making love to her, or anyone, was so bizarre that the eroticism even magnified by scent and sensory titillation failed to achieve its full effect. Larss continual tapping was he succumbing to the illusion, keeping the beat, or trying to distract her from the powerful sensuality against her toe kept 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

Nor with other men's wives have lain."

of regret. Nor did they have a chance to be private that night. Everyone pitched in to finish constructing temporary communal shelters, and Killashandra found herself once again plaiting polly fronds, pleased that her deftness caused no questions. When a halt was called at midnight, Killashandra was far too tired to do more than curl up gratefully against Lars on the sand, her head pillowed on his arm, and fall asleep. At first light of a sullen day, the injured were floated on bladder rafts to the Pearl, carefully hoisted aboard, then secured in the cabin bunks. Killashandra was given instructions by the medic for the administration of necessary drugs and care. The patients had been sedated for the voyage, so he expected no problems. As soon as she could, Killashandra went up on deck. She found care of the sick and injured a distasteful necessity and the faint odor of antiseptics and medicine made her slightly nauseous. She said nothing about her disinclination, uncharacteristically wanting to sustain Larss good opinion of her. He was bent over the chart display on the small navigational terminal, plotting the most direct course for Angel Islands North Harbor where the main medical facility was situated. Tide and wind are in our favor this morning, Killa, he said, reaching his arm about her waist and drawing her in to him without taking his eyes from the display. He tapped for an overlay of the route he had chosen and she could see how it made use of the swift channels between the islands and the fuller morning tide. Well be in North before we know it. He made a final correction and laid in the course. Now the display cleared to show him the compass headings and the minimum required tacking to slip into the swift current just beyond Bar Islands western reef. Is the spinnaker set, Tanny? Aye, aye skipper, the young man called from the bow as Killashandra watched the vivid red and orange sail bellying out briefly over the bowsprit before the wind caught it. Theres an exhilaration to sailing a fast, trim ship, with a following wind and a current to assist smooth passage. The Pearl slipped into the flow as effortlessly as a slide down a greased pole. The sea was almost calm, and gunmetal green-gray, not quite the same color as the gray sky. Lucky its today instead of yesterday, Killashandra said, settling herself in the cockpit beside Lars. He had the tiller on its upper setting so that he could see forward without the cabin blocking him. Theyre all secure digital camera replacement lcd panasonic below? Secure and asleep! Ill check on the half hour. They sat together enjoying wind, sea, and sail while Tanny coiled lines and set all fair. Then he joined them in the cockpit, maintaining the companionable silence. Just before noon, sailing smartly on the same westerly current that had nearly defeated Killashandra, they rounded the Toe and tacked eastward to sail right up to the large North Harbor pier at the elbow of the Angel. When Lars had been able to estimate his time of arrival, he had called it in, so medics and grav units were waiting for the injured. Killashandra, dutifully checking every half hour, had had no problems with her patients but it was an immense relief to turn them over to trained medical technicians. Father wants a word with us, Lars said quietly in Killashandras ear as they watched their passengers being trundled away. Tanny, anchor the Pearl at buoy twenty-seven, will you? And keep her ready. Dont know where well have to go next. Stay on the page, okay? Tanny nodded, his expression rather strained, as if he was relieved to stay on the Pearl, whose eccentricities he could cope with and understand. If the Wing Harbor on the south side of Angel Island had appeared rustic and homely to Killashandras eyes, North Harbor was the antithesis: that is, within the framework of the Charters prohibition against raping a natural world. The colorful buildings set up above the harbor behind sturdy sea walls utilized manmade materials and modernistic surfaces in some sort of tough, textured plastic and a good deal of plasglas so no vista would be hidden from the occupiers. If the architecture lacked warmth or grace, it was also practical in a zone where wind speeds could make a dangerous missile out of a polly branch. Lars guided Killashandra up a ramp that climbed to the top of the Elbow, where a dormered structure commanded views of the main harbor as well as the smaller curved bay that featured the old stratovolcano that was the Angels Head. A small sailing craft was tacking cautiously through the Fingerbone reefs at the end of the Hand. From the different colors in the sea, Killashandra could distinguish the safer, deeper channel, but she didnt think shed like to sail that in a ship as large as the Pearl. To her surprise, the first person they saw as they entered the Harbor Masters office was Nahia. She had been using the terminal and upon their entry she half rose,

Robin Hood he would and to fair Nottingham,

means of summoning help from the outer world. I knew next to nothing about radios, but it was chillingly obvious to meas it was, I could see, to the semi-circle of fascinated onlookersthat the RCA was smashed beyond recovery. CHAPTER THREEMonday 2 A.M.3 A.M. Half a minute passed in complete silence, half a minute before I could trust myself to speak, even bring myself to speak. When at last I did, my voice was unnaturally low in die unnatural hush that was broken only by the interminable clacking of the anemometer cups above. "Splendid. Really splendid. The perfect end to the perfect day." I looked round them slowly, one by one, then gestured at the smashed transmitter. "What bloody idiot was responsible for thisthis stroke of genius?" "How dare you, sir!" The white-haired man whom I had mentally labelled as the Dixie colonel took a step forward, face flushed with anger. "Mind your tongue. We're not children to be" "Shut up!" I said, quietly enough, but there must have been something in my voice rather less than reassuring, for he fell silent, though his fists still remained clenched. I looked at them all again. "Well?" "I'm afraidI'm afraid I did it," the stewardess faltered. Her brown eyes were as unnaturally large, her face as white and strained as when I had first seen her. "It's all my fault." "You! The one person here who should know just how vital radio really is. I don't believe it." "You must, I'm afraid." The quiet controlled voice belonged to the man with the cut brow. "No one else was anywhere near it at the time." "What happened to you?" I could see he was nursing a bruised and bleeding hand. "I dived for it when I saw it toppling." He smiled wryly. "I should have saved myself the trouble. That damned thing's heavy." "It's all that. Thanks for trying anyway. I'll fix your hand up later." I turned to the stewardess again, and not even that pale and exhausted face, the contrition in the eyes, could quieten my angerand, to be honest, my fear. "I suppose it just came to pieces in your hand?" "I've told you I'm sorry. II'was just kneeling beside Jimmy here" "Who?" "Jimmy Watermanthe Second Officer. I" "Second Officer?" I interrupted. "That's the radio operator, I take it?" "No, Jimmy is a pilot. We've three pilots -we don't carry a radio operator." "You don't" I broke off battery camera digital external my surprised question, asked another instead. "Who's the man in the crew rest room? Navigator?" "We don't carry a navigator either. Harry Williamson iswas -the Flight Engineer." No wireless operator, no navigator. There had been changes indeed since I'd flown the Atlantic some years previously in a Stratocruiser. I gave it up, returned to my original question and nodded at the smashed RCA. "Well, how did it happen?" "I brushed the table as I rose andwell, it just fell." Her voice trailed off uncertainly. "It just fell," I echoed incredulously. "One hundred and fifty pounds of transmitter and you flicked it off the table just like that?" "I didn't knock it off. The legs collapsed." "It's got no legs to collapse," I said shortly. "Hinges." "Well, hinges, then." I looked at Joss, who had been responsible for the erection of the table as well as the radio. "Is it possible?" "No." His voice was flat, definite. Again the silence in the cabin, the hush, the tension that grew from the merely uncomfortable to the all but unbearable. But I was beginning to see that there was nothing to be gained now by further questioning, much to be lost. The radio was wrecked. Finish. I turned away without a word, hung up my caribou furs on nails on the walls, took off goggles and gloves and turned to the man with the cut brow. "Let's have a look at your head and your handit's a pretty nasty gash on your forehead. Forget the radio for the moment, Josslet's have coffee first, lots-of it." I turned to Jackstraw, who had just come down the steps from the hatch and was staring at the smashed radio. "I know, Jackstraw, I know. I'll explain later- not that I know anything about it. Bring seme empty cases for seats out of the food tunnel, will you. And a bottle of brandy. We all need it." I'd just started to wash the cut foreheada nasty gash, as I had said, but surprisingly little signs of bruisingwhen the big amiable young man who had helped us lower the second officer from the wrecked plane came to us. I looked across up at him, and saw that I could be wrong about the amiability: his face wasn't exactly hostile, but his eyes had