A week after the attack, Olav had no further excuse to stay at the Conservatory, and left, it was said, for the islands. He had been able to convince the Elders of his determination to send more islanders to the public concerts. Actually, he stayed in the City and made a few minor but important alterations to his appearance. The next day, he reported to Hauness and Nahia in Killashandra’s suite, bearing documents that proved him to be the qualified empath whom Hauness and Nahia had drafted from their clinic to attend Killashandra. Now that Killashandra was recovering, they wished to return to their other patients in Ironwood.
“Nahia’s the one who ought to be leaving,” Lars had bitterly objected. “She’s the most vulnerable of us all.” “No, Lars,” Trag had said. “She is needed here, and she needs to be here for reasons which you might not understand but for which I esteem her.”
Trag’s unstinted approval of the woman did much to placate Lars but he told Killashandra that, in leaving, he keenly felt himself the traitor.
“Then come back with the Revision Force,” she said, more than a little irritated by Lars’s self-reproach on this and other issues. She immediately regretted the suggestion at the look of relief in Lars’s face. But it was a solution which could resolve many of Lars’s doubts, especially when she knew he loved his home world and would be happy enough sailing the Pearl Fisher around the islands. She was somewhat relieved that Lars would be happy on Optheria once the government had been changed. “The Federation will need people with leadership potential. Trag says it usually takes a full decade before a new provisional government is appointed, much less ratified by the Federation. You might even end up a bureaucrat.”
Lars snorted derisively. “That’s the most unlikely notion you’ve had. Not that I wouldn’t like to get back here unprejudiced. I’d like to make sure the change is going to be beneficial.”
“And ensure that you had official permission to sail about in your beloved islands.” She managed to keep the bitterness out of her voice for she could think of many things that a man with Lars’s abilities and talents could do, once free to move about the galaxy. It rankled that her body was not sufficiently mended to add that argument to verbal ones. Lars was treating her as if she were fragile. He was gentle and affectionate. His caresses, though frequent, were undemanding, leaving her frustrated. He was so solicitous of her comfort that she was frequently tempted to wreak a bit of violence on him. Although her jagged, red scars looked more painful than they were, a lover as considerate as Lars had always been would be reluctant to approach her. The symbiont couldn’t work fast enough for her. But would it have repaired her before the scout ship brought them to the Regulus Federation Base? She tried to overcome her desire for Lars and to ignore the fact that time was running out for them both.
It was too soon and not soon enough when Mirbethan communicated the imminent arrival of the scout ship, the CS 914. Then she was called upon to witness Trag’s confrontation of Lars, in the presence of the astonished, and delighted, Elders Ampris and Torkes as the Guildmember, imposing in his righteous indignation and wrath, accused Lars Dahl of infamous acts against the person of Killashandra Ree, and displayed the Federal Warrant. Against Killashandra’s loud cries of distress and disillusionment over her erstwhile lover’s felonies, Ampris and Torkes struggled to contain their exultation over the arrest.
Trag’s timing was superb and his manner so daunting that, with the Federal Scout ship landed in the shuttleport valley, the Elders were left with no option but to permit the arrest and the deportation of their erring citizen. There was no doubt they were delighted, though deprived of the joy of punishing him, that the Federal justice due to be meted out to Lars Dahl would be far more severe than their Charter allowed them. Among the others vindicated by this unexpected climax was Security Officer Blaz, who clamped restraints on Lars’s wrists with undisguised satisfaction.
What was supposed to have been a dignified farewell to their auspicious guests was hastily cancelled by Ampris, waving off the various instructors and senior students gathered on the steps of the Conservatory. Presently only Torkes, Mirbethan, Pirinio, and Thyrol were left.
Lars was strong-armed by Blaz into the waiting transport and it was difficult for Killashandra not to react to that treatment. Or deliver an appropriate parting shaft at the officious Blaz. But she was supine on the grav-stretcher guided by the disguised Olav and she had to concentrate on looking ill to require the services of an empath.
When Torkes stepped forward, obviously about to say something which would nauseate her, she forestalled him. “Don’t jostle me when you load this floating mattress,” she irritably warned Olav.
“Yes, let us not unnecessarily prolong our leave-taking,” Trag said, giving the float a little push into the ground transport. “Scout pilots are notoriously short-tempered. Is the prisoner secure?” Trag’s voice was the cold of glaciers as he glanced back at his prisoner, and Security Captain Blaz growled a reassurance. He had insisted on personally turning over this felon to the scout captain.
It was a silent journey, only Blaz enjoying his circumstances. Lars affected an appropriate dejected, fearful pose, not looking up from his hand restraints. From her position, Killashandra could see nothing but the upper stories of buildings and then sky, and they passed so fluidly she experienced motion sickness; she spoke severely to her symbiont until the reaction disappeared. Trag was staring stolidly out the window on the seat in front of her, and Olav was beyond her view. Rather an ignominious departure to all appearances. And yet, a triumphant one, considering what she and Trag and Lars had accomplished.
She contented herself with that reflection but it was with considerable relief that she saw the spires of the shuttle port appear, approach, and pass by as the transport was driven to the landing site of the scout ship. It was on its tail fins, ready for take-off; the mobile scout pilot waited for her passengers by the lift on the ground.
“There is no way I am going up that,” and Killashandra pointed to the lift, “in this,” and she slapped the grav-stretcher
“Guildmember, you have been – ” Olav began firmly.
“Don’t ‘Guildmember’ me, medic,” she said, raising up on her elbow. “Just get me off this thing. I’ll leave this planet as I got on it, on my own two feet.”
The transport stopped and Trag and Olav were quick to get her float out
“Chadria, Scout Pilot of the CS 914,” said the trim woman in the Scout Service blue, walking forward to lend an unobtrusive hand. “My ship’s name is Samel!” A smile lurked in her eyes but fled as Security Officer Blaz hauled Lars unceremoniously out of the transport and roughly propelled him to the lift
“Where do I stow the prisoner, Scout Pilot Chadria?” he said in an ill-tempered growl.
“Nowhere until the Guildmembers are settled,” Chadria replied. She turned to Killashandra. “If you’re more comfortable on the float – ”
“I am not! “Killashandra swung her legs over the side of the float, and Olav hastily adjusted its height so that she only had to step off it to be erect. Lars moved forward but was hauled back to Blaz’s side and she could see him tensing in rebellion. “Trag!” The man supported her around the waist. “Permission to come aboard, Chadria, Samel!”
“Permission granted,” scout and ship replied simultaneously.
“The unexpected male voice, apparently issuing about his feet, startled an exclamation out of Blaz. A small, superior smile twitched at Lars’s lips, hastily erased but reassuring to Killashandra.
She let herself be conducted to the lift by Trag and the medic, wondering how Olav would be able to stay if Blaz continued in his officious manner. There was no hint of uncertainty in either man’s face so she decided to let them worry about such a minor detail. She remembered to salute the ship as she stepped aboard.