Elder Ampris shot a sour glance at Lars. “More helpers?”
Killashandra gave a bark of laughter. “Just find me a vacuum capable of sucking up crystal dust and we’d clear this in an hour. Or, supply me with a brand new case!” And she gave the one before her a dismissive slap with her hand. Crystal pinged, Lars and Ampris winced. “Gets to you, doesn’t it? Well, Elder Ampris, that’s where we stand. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the nitty gritty doesn’t get done by talking about it.” She picked up her brush but Ampris cleared his throat.
“A dinner and concert have been arranged for your enjoyment this evening,” he said.
“I appreciate the courtesy, Elder Ampris, but until I have finished this, I wouldn’t feel right about taking any time off for mere entertainment. If you’ll send us in some more food – ”
“Guildmember,” Lars interrupted, “with all due respect, Elder Ampris is not . . . I mean, it is hardly his responsibility . . . “
“What are you trying to say, Captain?”
Ampris, his eyes glinting with the first glimpse of the humor she had seen from him since that long-ago reception, held up his hand, relieving Lars of the necessity of explanation.
“If the Guildmember is willing to forego pleasure to complete her task, I feel I may serve as messenger for her requirements.”
“Apparently everything I require has to be authorized by you anyway. Seems silly to waste time with all those intermediate stages.” Killashandra grinned at Ampris without a sign of remorse. “Would you not have a word with them out there, or Thyrol? Speed things up tremendously. Oh, and don’t forget, I need two hundred of those brackets. And the handlight. Lars, you go with him and get it, will you? It has to be small enough not to hamper sight, and I’d prefer a tight beam.”
They left and she returned to work. When Lars came back with several handbeams, his eyes were bubbling with humor.
“Your wishes are his commands, Oh mighty Guild-member, Oh sweeper of the white crystal specks! Orders were issued to all the boys out there,” and he jerked his thumb at the closed door panel, “that anything you request is to be secured as fast as possible.”
“Hmmm. Bring one of those lights to bear on this corner, will you, Lars?” She flicked the brush and disclosed tiny granules that glittered in the light. “See? The fardling things are pernicious! I’ll get ‘em, every last speck!”
When the sumptuous dinner was wheeled in to them some time later, she grumbled but stopped working.
“Is crystal singing some kind of disease!” Lars asked conversationally.
“You sail. Do you call a halt in the middle of a storm? Do you leave off fishing in the midst of a school to nap?”
“It’s not quite the same thing – ”
“It is to me, Lars. Be of good cheer. The bracketing will be relatively easy and you can help me do that.”
Despite her protests, Lars carried her out of the organ loft just before midnight. When they reached her suite, she insisted that they had better have a good soak, to be sure none of the crystal dust had penetrated their clothing. In the bath, he had to hold her head above water, for she kept falling asleep.
It took nearly four days to ensure that no speck of crystal dust remained in the case. By the time they arrived each morning, new monitor buds had been installed. So the first thing that Killashandra did on entering the organ loft was to hum a happy tune, charging the white crystal shards to do their duty and blast the fragile sensors.
On the third day, the new brackets were delivered and Killashandra set Lars Dahl to checking each one under a microscope. Fourteen were rejected for minor flaws. After the visit of Elder Ampris, they had no visitors. Thyrol would conduct them every morning to the loft, unlocking it and inquiring after their needs. Excellent meals were delivered at the appropriate hours. Assured of uninterrupted privacy, with easily disabled monitors, Lars had the freedom to undertake a very patient examination of the room, searching for the location of the subliminal equipment.
On the fourth morning, as Thyrol led them across the stage, Killashandra noted a curious discrepancy. The loft room did not extend the entire length of the stage behind the organ console. She silently counted her paces to the door. When Thyrol had closed the panel and Lars had activated the jammer, she paced out the width of the room.
“In-ter-est-ing,” she said, her nose against the far wall. “This room is only half the length of the stage, Lars. Does that suggest anything to you?”
“It does, but there is no corresponding door on the other side of the console!” He joined her in her scrutiny of the blameless wall. “The subliminals have to be linked to the main frame data bases. I wonder . . .”
She followed his inspection of the cables that festooned the ceiling, pausing where they ran alongside the wall.
“Just a little minute,” he said, his eyes wide with discovery, and he spun one of the impervo tubs to position just under the cables.
He had to crane his neck, half stooped against the ceiling, but he gave a low and triumphant whistle. When he jumped down, he gathered Killashandra in his arms and whirled her about, crowing with exultation.
“The wall drops – how I don’t know, but there is just the slightest gap at the top, where no one would think to look for it. And three very heavy cables go through the wall.”
Lars replaced the tub before he began to inspect the corner joint. Once again he gave an exultant yip.
“The whole wall must move, Killa – but how?”
That large a mass sinking into the floor might be a touch noisy.”
“If we knew the mechanism . . .” He felt along the corner, then the floor, pressing and tapping.
“That’s far too obvious, Lars. Stupid they are but never obvious. Try for an extrusion on one of the units, underneath ‘em, inside . . .” She ran searching fingers under the one nearest her, finding nothing but a rough edge on one corner which produced a gouged finger. “Ach, I haven’t the patience for this sort of nonsense right now. You go ahead. I’ll finish this last bit of cleaning.”
By the time their lunch was brought in, Lars had found nothing more. The units that could be opened had been opened with no result. Lars stewed and fussed all through the meal at his inability to resolve the problem.
“What sort of form do the security measures generally take on Optheria? Bureaucracies tend to find a reliable mechanism and stick with it,” Killashandra suggested, with only half her attention on that part of the problem since she was so close to clearing the manual case for the next task.
“I can find out. Would you mind being left alone this evening?” He grinned at her, stroking her arm gently. “You’d be a mite conspicuous where I want to go.”
“And where would that be?” she asked with an arch glance of mock disgust.
“I’ve got to acquire a few more clothes,” and he twitched the fabric of his shirt, not as gaudy as that of most island designs but certainly noticeable amid the drab garb of the city dwellers. “Talk to a few people. Lucky for us, it’s nearing the time of year when the subliminals wear off and normal student appetites revive. I might he late, Killa,” – he made a grimace of regret – “We don’t have as much time together . . .”
She kissed the pulse in his throat. “Whenever you return then. That is, of course,” and she had to add a light touch to relieve the tension in her throat, “if the guards pass you in.”
Chapter 20
And?” Killashandra prompted Lars the next morning as they breakfasted. Despite a valiant effort to stay awake, she had been asleep when he returned and he was showering when she was awakened by the distant chimes.