Part 21 (1/2)
”And the catering unit instructed to supply proper-size portions of food without requiring additional authorization?”
”Of course.”
”Thank you. I, for one, am starving. Sea air, you know.” With a final smile, Killashandra swept through the door Lars held open.
By the time he had shut it, she had discovered four ceiling surveillance units in the main salon. ”I am quite weary, Captain.”
”With due respect, Guildmember, you did not eat much of the evening meal, perhaps a light supper -- ”
”The variety on the catering unit seems geared to student requirements . . . unless you, having spent time here, can make a suggestion.”
”Indeed I would be delighted to, Guildmember.” Lars located several more as they moved through the suite to the two bedrooms. He peered into the first bathing room and grinned broadly at her. ”May I draw you a bath?”
”An excellent idea.” She strode to what was evidently the one room that had been left unmonitored.
Lars began filling the tub, having turned the taps on full.
He reached into his tunic and extracted an innocuous metal ball. ”A deceiver, Father calls it. It distorts picture and sound -- we can be quite free once it's operating. And when we leave the suite,” -- he grinned, miming the device returned to his pocket -- ”it'll drive their technicians wild.”
”Won't they realize that the distortion only works when we're here?”
”I suggest that tomorrow you complain about being monitored in the bedroom. Can we cope with just one free room?” He began to undress her, his expression intense with antic.i.p.ation.
”Two,” Killashandra corrected him with a coy moue as the bright and elegant overall Teradia had chosen for her fell in a rainbow puddle at her feet.
It was, of course, thoroughly soaked with the water displaced when Lars overbalanced her into the tub.
When they had sated their appet.i.tes sufficiently, Killashandra idly described wet circles on the broad expanse of Lars's chest. ”I think that with the best motives in the world, I have placed you in an awkward situation.”
”Beloved Killashandra, when you sprang that,” and he aptly mimicked her voice, ” 'I have no fear of being a.s.saulted with Captain Dahl beside me,' I nearly choked.”
”I felt you quaking, but I didn' t know if it was laughter or outrage.”
”And then suggesting that someone else had instigated the attack to implicate islanders -- Killashandra, I wouldn'd have missed that for anything. You really got mine back on the flatulent fardling. But watch him, Killa. He's dangerous. Once he and Torkes start comparing notes . . .”
”They still have to get that organ fixed in time for all those lucky little composers to practice their pieces. I'm here and even if a replacement is coming, it's the old bird-in-the-hand.”
”Yes, and they've got to have done all the Mainland concerts to ensure a proper Optherian att.i.tude toward visitors.”
”Proper att.i.tude? Mainland concerts? What do you mean?”
Lars held her slightly away from him in the capacious bath, reading her face and eyes.
”You don't know? You don't really know why that organ is so important to the Elders?”
”Well, I do know that the set-up will produce an intense emotional experience for the listener. It verges on illegal manipulation.”
Lars gave a sour laugh. ”Verges? It is. But then you would only have seen the sensory elements. The subliminal units are kept out of sight, underneath the organ loft.”
”Subliminals?” Killashandra stared at Lars.
”Of course, ninny. How do you think the Elders keep the people of Optheria from wanting any of the marvels that the visitors tell them about?
Because they've just had a full dose of subliminal conditioning! Why do you think people who prefer to exercise their own wits live in the islands? The Elders can't broadcast the subliminals and sensories.”
”Subliminals are illegal! Even the sensory feedbacks border on illegality! Lars, when I tell the FSP this -- ”
”Why do you think my father was sent to Optheria? The FSP wants proof! And that means an eyeball on the illegal equipment. It's taken Father's group nearly thirty years to get close enough.”
”Then you weren't here just to learn to play that blasted thing?”
”Playing the blasted thing is the only way to get close enough to it to find out where the subliminal units are kept. Comgail did. And died!”
”You're suggesting he didn't suicide?”
Lars shook his head slowly. ”Something Nahia said during the hurricane confirmed my suspicion that he hadn't. You see, I knew Comgail.
He was my composition tutor. He wasn't a martyr type. He certainly wanted to live. He was willing to risk a lot but not his life. Nahia mentioned that he'd asked Hauness to provide him with rehab blocks. A good block -- and Hauness is the best there is -- prevents the victim from confessional diarrhea and a total loss of personality. Comgail had been so above reproach all the time he'd been at the Conservatory that not even a paranoid like Pedder would have suspected him of collusion with dissidents.
But, for shattering the manual, Comgail'd automatically be sent to rehab.
He had prepared himself for that. He wasn't killed by a crystal fragment, Killa, he was murdered by it. I think it was because he had found the access to the subliminal units.”
”Subliminals!” Killashandra seethed with horror at the potentially total control. ”And he found the access? Where? All I need is one look at them -- ”
Lars regarded her solemnly. ”That's all we need -- once we find them. They've got to be somewhere in the organ loft.”
”Well, then” -- Killashandra embraced him exuberantly -- ”wasn't I clever to insist that you and I handle the repairs all by ourselves.”
”If we're allowed!”
”You've the jammer.” She rose from the deep bath, Lars following her. ”Say, if your father's so clever with electronics, why hasn't he figured a Way to jam the shuttleport detection arch?”
Lars chuckled as she dried him, for once more interested in something other than his physical effect on her.
”He's spent close to thirty years trying. We even have a replica of the detector on Angel. But we cannot figure a way to mask that residue.
Watch out for my ears!” She had been briskly toweling his hair.
”Does the detector always catch the native?”
”Infallible.”
”And yet . . .” She wrapped her hair in a towel. She pointed to the jammer and then proceeded to the salon. Lars followed, the jammer held above his head like a torch, a diabolical gleam in his eye as he waved it at each of the monitors he pa.s.sed. ”Yet when Thyrol came out right with me, the detector didn't catch him. And pa.s.sed me.”
- ”What? No matter how many people pa.s.s under it, it will always detect the native!”