So up to their master they steerd.

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 "O what's the matter?" quoth William Stutely; 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

In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle

"They aren't," Mallory said flatly. "They're here to stay. Just keep your eyes on that leading plane." Even as he spoke, the flight-commander tilted his gull-winged Junkers 87 sharply over to port, halfturned, fell straight out of the sky in a screaming power-dive, plummeting straight for the carob grove. "Leave him alone!" Mallory shouted. "Don't fire!" The Stuka, airbrakes at maximum depression, had steadied on the centre of the grove. Nothing could stop him nowbut a chance shot might bring him down directly on top of them: the chances were poor enough as it was. . . . "Keep your hands over your headsand your heads down!" He ignored his own advice, his gaze following the bomber every foot of the way down. Five hundred, four hundred, three, the rising crescendo of the heavy engine was beginning to hurt his ears, and the Stuka was pulling sharply out of its plunging fall, its bomb gone. Bomb! Mallory sat up sharply, screwing up his eyes against the blue of the sky. Not one bomb but dozens of them, clustered so thickly that they appeared to be jostling each other as they arrowed into the centre of the grove, striking the gnarled and stunted trees, breaking off branches and burying themselves to their fins in the soft and shingled slope. Incendiaries! Mallory had barely time to realise that they had been spared the horror of a 500-kilo H.E. bomb when the incendiaries erupted into hissing, guttering 'life, into an incandescent magnesium whiteness that reached out and completely destroyed the shadowed gloom of the carob grove. Within a matter of seconds the dazzling coruscation had given way to thick, evil-smelling clouds of acrid black smoke, smoke laced with flickering tongues of red, small at first, then licking and twisting resinously upwards until 'entire trees were enveloped in a cocoon of flame. The Stuka was still pulling upwards out of its dive, had not yet levelled off when the heart of the grove, old and dry and tindery, was fiercely ablaze. Miller twisted up and round, nudging Mallory to catch his attention through the cracking roar of the flames. "Incendiaries, boss," he announced. "What did you think they were using?" Mallory asked shortly. "Matches? They're trying to smoke us out, to burn us out, get us in the open. High explosive's not so good among trees. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred this would have worked." He coughed as the acrid smoke bit into his lungs, peered up with watering eyes through the tree-tops. "But not this time, not if we're lumix digital camera by panasonic lucky. Not if they hold off another half-minute or so. Just look at that smoke!" Miller looked. Thick, convoluted, shot through with fiery sparks, the rolling cloud was already a third of the way across the gap between grove and cliff, borne uphill by the wandering catspaws from the sea. It was the complete, the perfect smoke-screen. Miller nodded. "Gonna make a break for it, huh, boss?" "There's no choicewe either go, or we stay and get friedor blown into very little bits. Probably both." He raised his voice. "Anybody see what's happening up top?" "Queuing up for another go at us, sir." Brown said lugubriously. "The first bloke's still circling around." "Waiting to see how we break cover. They won't wait long. This is where we take off." He peered uphill through the rolling smoke, but it was too thick, laced his watering eyes until everything was blurred through a misted sheen of tears. There was no saying how far uphill the smoke-bank had reached, and they couldn't afford to wait until they were sure. Stuka pilots had never been renowned for their patience. "Right, everybody!" he shouted. "Fifteen yards along the tree-line to that wash, then straight up into the gorge. Don't stop till you're at least a hundred yards inside. Andrea, you lead the way. Off you go!" He peered through the blinding smoke. "Where's Panayis?" There was no reply. "Panayis!" Mallory called. "Panayis!" "Perhaps he went back for somethin'." Miller had stopped half-turned. "Shall I go " "Get on your way!" Mallory said savagely. "And if anything happens to young Stevens I'll hold you . . ." But Miller, wisely, was already gone, Andrea stumbling and coughing by his side. For a couple of seconds Mallory stood irresolute, then plunged back downhill towards the centre of the grove. Maybe Panayis had gone back for something and he couldn't understand English. Mallory had hardly gone five yards when he was forced to halt and fling his arm up before his face: the heat was searing. Panayis couldn't be down there; no one could have been down there, could have lived for seconds in that furnace. Gasping for air, hair singeing and clothes smouldering with fire, Mallory clawed his way back up the slope, colliding with trees, slipping, falling, then stumbling

Perchance in some succeeding year,

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 Reflect on me as on the dead, 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 that from his quiver an arrow he drew,

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 A broad arrow with a goose-wing: 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

We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town,

back on his heels, gently replacing the covers over the sick boy. "You speak the truth," he said softly. "We are not barbarians. I have no quarrel with a dying man. Leave him there." He rose to his feet, walked slowly backwards. "The rest of you outside." The snow had stopped altogether, Mallory saw, and stars were beginning to twinkle in the clearing sky. The wind, too, had fallen away and was perceptibly warmer. Most of the snow would be gone by midday, Mallory guessed. Carelessly, incuriously, he looked around him. There was no sign of Casey Brown. Inevitably Mallory's hopes began to rise. Petty Officer Brown's recommendation for this operation had come from the very top. Two rows of ribbons to which he was entitled but never wore bespoke his gallantry, he had a formidable reputation as a guerrilla fighterand he had had an automatic rifle in his hand. If he were somewhere out there. . . . Almost as 'if he had divined his hopes, the German smashed them at a word. "You wonder where your sentry is, perhaps?" he asked mockingly. "Never fear, Englishman, he is not far from here, asleep at his post. Very sound asleep, I'm afraid." "You've killed him?" Mallory's hands clenched until his palms ached. The other shrugged his shoulder in vast indifference. "I really couldn't say. It was all too easy. One of my men lay in the gully and moaned. A masterly performancereally pitiablehe almost had me convinced. Like a fool your man came to investigate. I had another man waiting above, the barrel of his rifle in his hand. A very effective club, I assure you. . . ." Slowly Mallory unclenched his fists and stared bleakly down the gully. Of course Casey would fall for that, he was bound to after what had happened earlier in the night. He wasn't going to make a fool of himself again, cry "wolf" twice in succession: inevitably, he had gone to check first. Suddenly the thought occurred to Mallory that maybe Casey Brown had heard something earlier on, but the thought vanished as soon as it had come. Panayis did not look like the man to make a mistake: and Andrea never made a mistake; Mallory turned back to the officer again. "Well, where do we go from here?" "Margaritha, and very shortly. But one thing first." The German, his own height to an inch, stood squarely in front of him, levelled revolver at waist height, switched-off torch dangling loosely from his right hand. "Just a little thing, Englishman. digital camera to webcam software Where are the explosives?" He almost spat the words out. "Explosives?" Mallory furrowed his brow in perplexity. "What explosives?" be asked blankly, then staggered and fell to the ground as the heavy torch swept round in a vicious half-circle, caught him flush on the side of the face. Dizzily he shook his head and climbed slowly to his feet again. "The explosives." The torch was balanced in the hand again, the voice silky and gentle. "I asked you where they were." "I don't know what you are talking about." Mallory spat out a broken tooth, wiped some blood off his smashed lips. "Is this the way the Germans treat their prisoners?" he asked contemptuously. "Shut up!" Again the torch lashed out. Mallory was waiting for it, rode the blow as best he could: even so the torch caught him heavily high up on the cheekbone, just below the temple, stunning him with its jarring impact. Seconds passed, then he pushed himself slowly off the snow, the whole side of his face afire with agony, his vision blurred and unfocused. "We fight a clean war!" The officer was breathing heavily, in barely controlled fury. "We fight by the Geneva Conventions. But these are for soldiers, not for murdering spies" "We are no spies!" Mallory interrupted. He felt as if his head was coming apart. "Then where are your uniforms?" the officer demanded. "Spies, I saymurdering spies who stab in the back and cut men's throats!" The voice was trembling with anger. Mallory was at a lossnothing spurious about this indignation. "Cut men's throats?" He shook his head in bewilderment. "What the heli are you talking about?" "My own batman. A harmless messenger, a boy onlyand he wasn't even armed. We found him only an hour ago. Ach, I waste my time!" He broke off as he turned to watch two men coming up the gully. Mallory stood motionless for a moment, cursing the ifi luck that had led the dead man across the path of Panayisit could have been no one elsethen turned to see what had caught the officer's attention. He focused his aching eyes with difficulty, looked at the bent figure struggling up the slope, urged on by the ungentle prodding of a bayoneted rifle. Mallory let go a long, silent breath of relief. The left side of Brown's face was caked with blood from a gash above the temple, but he was otherwise unharmed. "Right! Sit down in the snow, all of you!" He gestured to several of his men. "Bind their hands!" "You are going to shoot us now,

The eccho of which through the vallies did fly,

It was becoming steadily colder as they climbed out of the valley, and the wind was rising, climbing up the register with a steady, moaning whine: they had to lean into it now, push hard against it, to make any progress. Suddenly both men stopped, listened, looked at each other, heads bent against the driving snow. Around them there was only the white emptiness and the silence: there was no sign of what had caused the sudden sound. "You heard something, too?" Mallory murmured. "It is only I." Mallory spun round as the deep voice boomed out behind him and the bulky, white-smocked figure loomed out of the snow. "A milk wagon on a cobbled street is as nothing compared to yourself and your friend here. But the snow muffled your voices and I could not be sure." Mallory looked at him curiously. "How come you're here, Andrea?" "Wood," Andrea explained. "I was looking for firewood. I was high up on Kostos at sunset when the snow lifted for a moment. I could have sworn I saw an old hut in a gully not far from hereit was dark and square against the snow. So I left" "You are right," Louki interrupted. "The hut of old Leri, the mad one. Leri was a goatherd. We all warned him, but Len would listen and speak to no man, only to his goats. He died in his hut, in a landslide." "It is an ill wind. . ." Andrea murmured. "Old Leri will keep us warm to-night." He checked abruptly as the gully opened up at his feet, then dropped quickly to the bottom, surefooted as a mountain sheep. He whistled twice, a double high-pitched note, listened intently into the snow for the answering whistle, walked swiftly up the gully. Casey Brown, gun lowered, met them at the entrance to the cave and held back the canvas screen to let them pass inside. The smoking tallow candle, guttering heavily to one side in the icy draught, filled every corner of the cave with dark and flickering shadows from its erratic flame. The candle itself was almost gone, the dripping wick bending over tiredly till it touched the rock, and Louki, snow-suit cast aside, was lighting another stump of candle from the dying flame. For a moment, both candles flared up together, and Mallory saw Louki clearly for the first timea small, compact figure in a dark-blue jacket black-braided at the seams and flamboyantly frogged at the breast, the jacket tightly bound to his body by the crimson tsanta or cummerbund, and, above, the swarthy, smiling face, the magnificent moustache that he flaunted like a banner. A olympus fe220 digital camera Laughing Cavalier of a man, a miniature d'Artagnan splendidly behung with weapons. And then Mallory's gaze travelled up to the lined, liquid eyes, eyes dark and sad and permanent ly tired, and his shock, a slow, uncomprehending shock, had barely time to register before the stub of the candle had flared up and died and Louki had sunk back into the shadows. Stevens was stretched in a sleeping-bag, his breathing harsh and shallow and quick. He had been awake when they had arrived but had refused all food and drink, and turned away and drifted off into an uneasy jerky sleep. He seemed to be suffering no pain at all now: a bad sign, Mallory thought bleakly, the worst possible. He wished Miller would return. . . . Casey Brown washed down the last few crumbs of bread with a mouthful of wine, rose stiffly to his feet, pulled the screen aside and peered out mournfully at the falling snow. He shuddered, let the canvas fall, lifted up his transmitter and shrugged into the shoulder straps, gathered up a coil of nope, a torch and a groundsheet. Mallory looked at his watch: it was fifteen minutes to midnight. The routine call from Cairo was ahnost due. "Going to have another go, Casey? I wouldn't send a dog out on a night like this." "Neither would I," Brown said morosely. "But I think I'd better, sir. Reception is far better at night and I'm going to climb uphill a bit to get a clearance from that damned mountain there; I'd be spotted right away if I tried to do that in daylight." "Right you are, Casey. You know best." Mallory looked at him curiously. "What's all the extra gear for?" "Putting the set under the groundsheet, then getting below it myself with the torch," Brown explained. "And I'm pegging the rope here, going to pay it out on my way up. I'd like to be able to get back some time." "Good enough," Mallory approved. "Just watch it a bit higher up. This gully narrows and deepens into a regular ravine." "Don't you worry about me, sir." Brown said firmly. "Nothing's going to happen to Casey BrOwn." A snow-laden gust of wind, the flap of the canvas and Brown was gone. "Well, if Brown can do it . . ." Mallory was on his feet now, pulling his snow-smock over his head. "Fuel, gentlemenold Leri's hut. Who's for a midnight stroll?" Andrea and Louki were on their feet together, but Mallory shook his head. "One's enough. I think someone should stay to look after

And bade him for Robin Hood pray.

the curve of his shoulder and neck, inhaling the smell of him, and exhaling into the tears she had kept bottled for the eternity in which they had been parted. Lars swept her up in his arms, and carried her to the chair, where he cradled her, appalled at the wildness of her sobbing and comforting her with kisses, caresses, and strong embracings. That fardling machine that served justice was never told we were emotionally attached, the one piece of information that no one but us would have thought relevant, he said, releasing in talk the tension he had endured all through the process of getting to this point when he would be ready, and able, to meet her again. Then Father found out what had happened and he moved the entire Department to revoke that judgment on the basis of misinterpretation of your psychological response. Poor sweet Sunny, so worried about me she messed us both up. To her surprise, he chuckled. You didnt know that the only reason that disciplinary action was entered against me was the Courts attempt to satisfy what they took to be a suppressed desire for revenge in you. Justice was being served, blind as it was. Father finally reached a human in authority, swore blind to half a dozen psych-units that he himself had hand-fasted us on Angel Island and got the action revoked. Dyou know, that Court Bailiff was a narding construct! No wonder I couldnt move when he grabbed me. Then, when we did understand our rights, Trag had already departed with you. I guess you were pretty upset. At such a massive understatement of fact, she managed to nod, trying not to laugh at the absurdity, but she couldnt stop weeping. It had built up quite a head and it ought to prove conclusively to Lars, if he needed any, just how much she had missed him. She had waited so long to be in his arms, to hear his rich and pleasant tenor voice, and the sort of nonsense he was likely to speak. He could have been speaking gibberish and shed have been content to listen. But he was also telling her the things she would have asked about him, what she needed to know to put some color in the past dreadful year. Then Father, Corish, and I spent two months processing material for the Council. Theach, Brassner, and Erutown had come out with Corish and they got assigned to the Revision Corps until someone in the Council took a closer look at the equations which Theach was idly calling up on his terminal. Lars smiled tenderly as he delicately blotted camera digital hot nikon pink tears from her cheeks, then kissed her forehead for such an un-Killashandraish display of sentimentality. So he landed on his feet, as usual. Five more people, including the brewmaster of Gartertown, whom you might remember, he added, tapping her nose as he teased, got out on the next liner and are being resettled. What had worried Nahia and Hauness was what refugees would do once they got off Optheria, but there seems to be a resettlement policy. Not that Optherians have all that many skills to offer the advanced societies. Father and I got drafted to brief the actual Revision Force. You see, right after that infamous hearing, several more agents were sent in to play tourist during the Summer Festival. Good job we left some two-manuals intact. They came back, reporting that they were subjected to blatant subliminal conditioning at public concerts in Ironwood, Bailey, Everton, and Palamo. One thing Father and I emphasized was that the Revision Forces had better wait until after The Festival or theyd have a bankrupt planet as well as a disorganized one. So Optheria got its annual chance to acquire revenue, and Lars grinned with great satisfaction, and the Elders hadnt twigged to the fact that no subliminal messages were going out on either of the big Conservatory organs. Leaving the mainlanders quite willing to accept anything said about them. When weve spare time, Ive got some tapes of the actual landing and the takeover. Four Elders had fatal seizures but Ampris, Torkes, and Pentrom will answer to the Supreme Judiciary for their infamous, felonious, malicious, premeditated, and illegal manipulation of Optherian loyalties. The Revision Forces are well installed now on Optheria He looked out with the unfocused gaze of someone imagining a scene and was briefly sad. He bent to kiss Killashandra again, noting that her tears had abated and her breath was no longer taken in ragged gasps. Why didnt you go with them? Oh, I was given many arguments why I should. Even a rather complimentary commission. Father returned, but I rather thought he wouldnt leave Teradia for long. To my surprise, Corish went, and of course Erutown and Brassner. I had other plans. Killashandra shook her head in sad rebuke. If Id known what you planned to do Her gesture included all that his presence in the infirmary signified. Lars hugged her tightly to him. Thats why

Nere doubt me, for I 'll play my part."

that Elder Ampris would leave them to the task but he elected to remain, observing every movement. Killashandra hated to be overseen under any circumstances, and to have Ampriss gimlet eyes on her made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She was annoyed, too, because Ampriss presence put the damper on any conversation between herself and Lars. She had enjoyed the bantering exchanges which relieved the tedium and tension of this highly precise work. So she felt doubly aggrieved to be denied a morning of matching wits with Lars Dahl. They would have so little time left to enjoy each others company. Therefore, it gave her a great deal of vicarious pleasure to spin out the last final bracketings, giving Trag ample time to make his alterations on the Conservatory program. And deliberately irritating Elder Ampris with her persnickety manipulations. He was in a state of nervous twitch when she and Lars tightened the last bracket. There! she said on a note of intense satisfaction. All right and tight! She picked up the hammer and, seized by a malicious whimsy, struck the first note of the Beethoven motif. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ampris start forward, one hand raised in protest, his face drained of all color. She went up the scale, and then, positioning the hammer on the side of the crystal shafts, descended the 44 notes in a glissando. Clear as the proverbial bell and not a vibration off the tune. A good installation, if I say so myself. Killashandra slid the hammer into its space in the tool-box and brushed her fingertips lightly together. She released the damper on the striking base of the crystals and replaced the top. I dont think well fasten it just yet. Now, Elder Ampris, the moment of truth! I would prefer that Guildmember Trag He cant play! Doesnt even read music, Killashandra said, deliberately misinterpreting Elder Ampris. Lars pinched her left flank, his strong fingers nipping into the soft flesh of her waistline. She would have kicked back at him if she could have done so unobserved. But I suppose you would feel more secure if he was to vet the completed installation, she added, giving Ampris a timorous smile more consonant to someone in the thrall of subliminal conditioning than her previous declaration. Trags reappearance was fortuitous. Just as I suspected, Elder Ampris, a loose bracket on the middle G. I checked both manuals thoroughly. Ampris regarded find digital camera suppliers Trag with a moments keen suspicion. You dont play, he said. No. Then how can you tune crystal? Killashandra laughed aloud. Elder Ampris, every would-be crystal singer has perfect and absolute pitch or they cant get into the Heptite Guild. Guildmember Trag doesnt need to be a trained musician. Guildmaster Lanzecki isnt either. One of the reasons I was chosen for this assignment is because I am and trained in keyboard music. Now, Trag, if you will inspect the installation? She and Lars lifted off the cover. Trag was not above giving Ampris a second fright for he tapped out three of the Beethoven notes in the soprano register before altering the sequence to random notes. Then he did each note in turn, listening until the exquisite sound completely died before hitting the next crystal. Absolutely perfect, he said, handing her the hammer. Now, with your permission, Elder Ampris, Killashandra began, I would like to use the organ keyboard. When she saw his brief hesitancy, she added. It would be such an honor for me and it would only be the sonics. After last nights performance, I would be brash indeed to attempt any embellishments. Bowing stiffly to the inevitable, Elder Ampris gestured for her to proceed from the loft. Not that she could have done anything to damage the actual organ keyboard, and live, with so many security guards millimeters from her. As she took her seat, pretending to ignore the battery of eyes and sour expressions, she decided against any of the Beethoven pieces she remembered from her Fuertan days. That would be risking more than her personal satisfaction was worth. She began to power up the various systems of the organ, allowing the electronic circuits to warm up and stabilize. She also discarded a whimsical notion to use one of Larss themes. She flexed her fingers, pulled out the appropriate stops, and did a rapid dance on the foot pedals to test their reactions. Diplomatically she began with the opening chords of a Fuertan love song, reminiscent of one of the folk tunes that shed heard that first magical night on the beach with Lars. The keyboard had an exquisitely light touch and, knowing herself to be rather heavy handed, she tried to find the right balance, before she began the lilting melody. Even playing softly and delicately, she felt, rather than heard, the

"Come tripping over the lee?"

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 "The're my attendants," brave Robin did say, 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

But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

affability ooze through her voice. Now that this installation is nearly completed, and with Trag here, I realize how much tension Ive been under. It is always so much easier to share responsibilities, isnt it, Elder Ampris? she added gaily. He murmured something and withdrew. Trag looked at her expectantly. When the inevitable can no longer be avoided, it is always wise to accept it gracefully. She grimaced. Though I have to admit I despise student concerts. Lars grinned. Oh, you wont be getting the students tonight, Killa. And in view of what you told me of the origin of Ampriss party piece, I eagerly await your critical appraisal. Are you at all musical, Guildmember? he asked Trag. Frequently. Trag carefully replaced the tools in their case, gestured for Lars to close the crystal container. Killashandra covered the manual, and taking a hair from her head, wet it and laid it carefully across one corner of the lid. Trag gave a snort that she translated as approval. Hair of the dog that bit? Lars asked. Where do you get these sayings? Killashandra demanded, rolling her eyes in exaggerated dismay. Then she pointed to his pocket. Id like to have a close look at that device, Trag said. Lars withdrew the little jammer. Trag, Im trying to get them to believe that its me distorting their monitors. Trag surprised Killashandra by placing his hand flat against her shoulder blade. Not any more. But I would qualify. Sensible of you. How many of the myths about crystal singers are derived from sensible precautions? she asked Trag. Or survival techniques? Trag shrugged indifferently. Lars deactivated the device as Killashandra opened the door panel and the three left the loft. Killashandra watched Trag to see if the acoustics of the Festival auditorium affected him. Trag did not so much as alter his firm stride or respond to the echoes his vigorous pace produced. The guards had to scurry to keep up with them. Once inside the guest suite which Trag was to share with them, Lars switched on the jammer before he passed it over to Trag. Theyve been replacing the monitors in the organ loft every day but a trill of crystal and they shatter. Killashandra told Trag as she made her way to the beverage counter. A cold glass of the Bascum, Trag? Please. Trag returned the jammer to Lars. What sort of detector do they have at the shuttleport? Isotope scanner. Lars said with a grimace. The popular theory is fast shot digital camera that the detector is set off by a rare isotope of iron peculiar to Optherian soil. Once the residue of the isotope builds up in the bone marrow, it tends to be self-perpetuating. Thereve been unsuccessful attempts to neutralize the isotope and jam the scanners but nothing works. Then he scowled. All the guards are rehabs and never miss. Trying to get past them is an effective form of suicide. There is also a stun field that operates in the event that another concerted attempt is ever made to gain entry to the port. I was met by four Optherians Trag began. Who had been passed in. Oh, authorized personnel come and go but they are very careful to display their authorization to the guards. Killashandra had punched up sandwiches which she now passed to the men. We dont have much time before dinner and the concert, and I need a bath, she announced, her mouth half full of sandwich. So do I. Lars followed Killashandra, taking the jammer with him after an apologetic nod to Trag. Trag is no threat to us, huh? Lars murmured sarcastically, once they were in the unmonitored bathroom. Killashandra shrugged and grimaced. I didnt think hed cut up that stiff, but then, neither of us knew what lies the elders were spinning. And the Guild does have a reputation to maintain, especially if they had to call in the FSP to get a cruiser for a fast trip here. But, she added, rather pleased, it means they cared. I felt I was talking to a brick wall, Killa, until it came down. Lars ran his fingers through his thick hair. What would you have done if it hadnt, Killa? Well, it did and Trag has been converted. Now all we have to do is get word to your father. Just how many people would we have to get to safety? I mean, if Trag has that warrant for party or parties Lars framed her face with his hands, grinning down at her. No matter how broad that warrant, Killa, it wouldnt extend to all those who really need our protection. Nahia, Hauness, Theach, Brassner, and Olver are just the most important. Why Couldnt some just disappear into the islands? Lars shook his head. Then well have to hold tight somehow until Trag reports the subliminal conditioning to the Federated Council. The Fleet Marines would land, in force, and the

-"The hart did skip, and the hart di'd l???,

sweat and tremble and, with Lars carefully tightening the matching bracket, they were ready to fasten it the moment Trag inserted the crystal in place. The door panel whooshed over the rectangle of sunlight. Killashandra tightened her bracket just as Lars finished his. Trag took up his hammer for the ceremonial tap and the D, mellow and clear, broke the silence of the room. Just two more, Trag and I believe well have something to show you, Killashandra said, reaching for more brackets. This is Lars Dahl. A lover posing as a bodyguard! A young man with highly suspicious credentials, Trag said bluntly, his hooded stare fixed on Lars. Killashandra held up a hand to restrain any understandable outburst from Lars but he only smiled, inclining his head in brief acknowledgment of the description. According to Elder Ampris or Torkes? Killashandra asked, grinning at Trag as she faced him squarely. Trag focused his attention on her. Had she not been so positive of her own righteousness, she would have been hard pressed to maintain her composure beneath that basilisk stare. I will hear your explanation, then, for I warn you, Killashandra Ree, the Guild looks with disfavor on a member who abrogates her contractual obligations for whatever personal reasons obtain Killashandra stared at Trag incredulously. I was given two assignments here, Trag, by you The secondary assignment was considerably less important than the primary Trags big hand indicated the unfinished installation. The two are more closely linked than you or Lanzecki imagined when the Guild accepted that contract. But then abduction ought not to be a high-risk-factor on well-ordered, conservative secure Optheria. Right? Ever aware of my primary obligation, Killashandra allowed some of her outrage to color her voice, I swam dangerous channels from one island to another in order to escape the one I was dumped on. Confounding all parties and managing thus to return to my primary contractual obligation. Trag merely raised his eyebrows. Tell me, Trag, what is your opinion of subliminal conditioning? Trags bleak eyes widened fractionally. The Council of the Federated Sentient Planets has declared any form of subliminal projection morally criminal and punishable by expulsion from the Federation. Then if I were an Elder, Lars said in a quiet, faintly amused tone, I wouldnt be so cannon digital cameras compare quick to accuse anyone else of having highly suspicious credentials. If you will assist us to install the next two crystals, Trag, I believe we may be able to prove our allegation, Killashandra said. If you cannot prove this allegation, Killashandra Ree, you are liable to severe discipline and censure. Then isnt it convenient that Im right? Guildmember, I have been subjected to subliminal conditioning, Lars said, as if he sensed her minute uncertainty. Trag turned his penetrating stare on the islander. The insidiousness of subliminal conditioning, Lars Dahl, is that the victim is totally unaware of the bombardment. Only if he is unprepared, Guildmember. My father, late an agent of the Federated Council, was able to safeguard me, and other friends, against electronically induced subliminals. Which, I might add, are particularly adaptable to the heavy emotional experience of the sensory organ. Late an agent? Killashandra fancied she saw some diminution of Trags intractability. Trapped here by the same restraint which keeps Optherians from competing in galactic enterprise, Lars replied. Contact with the Federated Council has only just been reestablished after nearly thirty years She and Trag heard the minute sound at the same instant and assumed suitable poses of interrupted labor when the door panel slid open. Mirbethan escorted the lunch table which the security guard wheeled in. If youll just leave it there, Mirbethan, Killashandra gestured with a hand full of brackets while Trag and Lars bent over an already sited crystal, well take a break shortly. Not the one they expect, either, Lars murmured when the door panel had closed. Trag favored him with another unnerving stare. Lars returned it equably, with a slight bow toward the manual case. After you, Guild-member. Why three more crystals? Trag asked. This loft is half the size of the available space behind the organ console on stage, Lars said. We think the subliminal programming equipment is hidden behind that wall, and accessed by a musical key activated from this manual. We have reason to believe that Comgail, who is alleged to have smashed the crystal, Trags eyebrows raised, was killed because he had discovered that musical key, not because he was injured by the shards or because he had destroyed the manual. That would have only got him

For soon he would make them to fly.

even if we did get them all back, how to feed themfor our own supplies were already dangerously low? And where, in heaven's name, were we going to put them all? Jackstraw's shout checked me so suddenly that I stumbled and all but fell. I turned back, and Joss came running up. "The end of the line?" I asked. He nodded, flashed a torch in my face. "Your nose and cheek -both gone. They look bad." Gloves off, I kneaded my face vigorously with my mittened hands until I felt the blood pounding painfully back, then took the old jersey which Jackstraw dug out from a gunny sack and wrapped it round my face. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. We struck off to the north, with the wind on our right cheeks -1 had no option but to gamble on the hope that the wind had neither backed nor veeredour torches probing the ground in front of us, stopping every fifteen or twenty feet to drive a pointed bamboo marker into the frozen ground. We had covered fifty yards without sighting anything, and I was just beginning to become convinced that we must still be well to the west of the plane's touchdown point and wondering what in the world we should do next when we almost literally stumbled into an eighteen inch deep, ten foot wide depression in the snow-crust of the ice-cap. This was it, no question about that. By a one in a hundred chance we had hit on the very spot where the plane had touched downor crashed down, if the size of the depression in that frozen snow were anything to go by. To the left, the west, the ground was virginal, unmarkedten feet to that side and we should have missed it altogether. To the east, the deep depression shelved rapidly upwards, its smooth convexity now marred by two large gouge marks, one in the centre and one to the right of the track, as if a pair of gigantic ploughs had furrowed through the ground: part of the under fuselage must have been ripped open by the impact -it would have been a wonder had it not been. Some way farther to the east, and well to the right of the main track, two other grooves, parallel and of a shallow bowl shape, had been torn in the snow. The gouge marks, plainly, of the still-racing propellers: the plane must have tilted over on its right wing just after the moment of landing. To see all this took no longer than to sweep a torch through a swift semi-circle. I shouted to Joss to take another bundle of canes and prop up the Homing spool line that led back to the antenna- if this weren't done it would drift over and be lost full body pentax digital cameras to sight in ten minutes- and then rejoin us: then I turned and ran after Jackstraw who had already urged his team forwards and eastwards along the track of the crashed plane. The wind was worse than ever, the drift an almost solid wall that reduced our speed to a lurching stumble and forced us to lean far into it to maintain our balance. Two hundred yards, three hundred, and then, almost a quarter of a mile from where it had touched down we found the airliner simply by walking straight into it. It had slewed almost 90 degrees as it had come to a halt, and was lying square across its own path, still resting on even keel. In the feeble light of my torch the airliner, even although its fuselage rested on the ground, seemed immensely high and to stretch away for a vast distance on either side, but for all its great size there was something peculiarly pathetic and forlorn about it. But this, of course, was purely subjective, the knowledge in my own mind that this crippled giant would never leave here again. I could hear no movement, see no movement. High above my head a faint blue light seemed to glow behind some of the cabin windows but apart from that there was no sign of life at all. CHAPTER TWOMonday 1 A.M.2 A.M. My greatest fear had already proved groundlessthere was no sign of fire anywhere, no flickering red to see, no hidden crackling to hear. It was still possible that some small tongue of flame was creeping along inside the fuselage or wings looking for the petrol or oil that would help it blaze into destructive lifeand with that wind to fan the flames, destruction would have been complete -but it hardly seemed worth worrying about: and it was unlikely that any pilot cool-headed enough to turn off the ignition would have forgotten to shut down the petrol lines. Already Jackstraw had plugged our searchlight into the dry battery and handed me the lamp. I pressed the switch, and it worked: a narrow but powerful beam good for six hundred yards in normal conditions. I swung the beam to my right, then brought it slowly forward. Whatever colours the plane may have had originally, it was impossible to distinguish any of them now. The entire fuselage was already shrouded in a sheet of thin rimed ice, dazzling to the eye, reflecting the light with the intensity, almost, of a chromed mirror. The tail unit was intact. So, too, was the fuselage for half its length, then crumpled and