Killashandra (8 page)

“What’s the delay?” one of her cushions demanded.

“They’re loading some crates,” was the indignant reply. “Must be something special. There’re seals and impregtape all over them.”

“I shall complain to the Cruise Agent. I was under the impression that people got preference over commodities on this Line!”

As suddenly as it had begun, the press eased off and everyone was shuffling toward the ramp into the shuttle. Killashandra didn’t see Corish among the passengers already seated but she couldn’t fail to miss three large foam boxes that contained the white crystal, for they occupied the first three rows of seats on the shuttle’s starboard side.

“They must be immensely valuable,” the first cushion-man said. “Whatever could it be? Optherians don’t import much.”

“Too right,” his companion said in an aggrieved tone. “Why those are Heptite Guild seals.”

The shuttle attendant had taken complete control of seating arrangements, peremptorily filling the rows as he backed down the main aisle. He gestured Killashandra to an inside seat and the two cushions obediently settled in the next two. She caught a brief glimpse of Corish as he passed, but he was assigned a seat on the other side of the aisle.

“Not wasting any time, are they?” the first man said.

“Have none to waste in a parabolic orbit,” his friend replied.

“There mustn’t have been any outgoing passengers.”

“Probably not. Optherians don’t leave their planet and the tourist season hasn’t really started.”

A rather ominous rumbling, issuing from the floor plates, startled them. This was quickly followed by additional metallic complaints, causing further vibrations under their feet.

Two distinct thuds signaled the closing of the cargo bays. Then Killashandra felt the air compress as the main passenger lock was shut and secured. Through the skin of the hull beside her, she heard the snick of the
grapple release so she was prepared for the stomach-wrenching motion of the shuttle’s falling away from the
Athena
. Her seatmates were not and gasped in reaction, clutching the arm rests as the shuttle’s engines took hold and pushed the passengers into the foam of their seats.

The transfer from liner to planetary surface was a relatively short run, though Killashandra’s seatmates complained bitterly about the discomfort and duration all the way down. Killashandra accounted the landing smooth but the two cushions found fault with that as well, so she was immensely grateful when the port opened again, flooding the shuttle with the crisp clean cool air of Optheria. She inhaled deeply, clearing her lungs of the
Athena
’s recycled air. For all the craft’s modern amenities, it had not quite solved the age-old problem of refreshing air without the taint of deodorizers.

No sooner had the first passengers filed into the arrival area than the public address system began a recorded announcement, scrolling through the same message in all major Federated Planets languages. Passengers were requested to have travel documents ready for inspection by Port Authorities. Please to form a line in the appropriately marked alphabetic or numeric queues. Aliens requiring special life support systems or supplies would please contact a uniformed attendant. Visitors with health problems were to present themselves, immediately after Clearance, to the Port Authority Medical Officer. It was the hope of the Tourist Bureau of Optheria that all visitors would thoroughly enjoy their holiday on the planet.

Killashandra was relieved to see that she would be able to present her i.d. in some privacy, for the Inspectors presided in security booths. Those waiting their turn in the queue could not observe the process. She kept glancing to the far right of the line where Corish
should be waiting but he was not immediately visible. She caught sight of him just as it was her turn to approach the Inspector.

Killashandra suppressed a malicious grin as she slid her arm and its i.d. bracelet under the visiplate. The blank expression of the Inspector’s square face underwent a remarkable change at the sight of the Heptite Seal on his screen. With one hand he pressed a red button on the terminal in front of him and with the other urgently beckoned her to proceed. Quitting the booth, he insisted on relieving her of her carisak.

“Please, no fuss,” Killashandra said.

“Gracious Guildmember,” the Inspector began effusively, “we have been so concerned. The cabin reserved for you on the
Athena—
”

“I traveled economy.”

“But you’re a Heptite Guildmember!”

“There are times, Inspector,” Killashandra said, bending close to him and touching his arm, “when discretion requires that one travel incognito.” The hair stood up on the back of his hand. She sighed.

“Oh, I see.” And clearly he did not. He unconsciously smoothed the hair back down.

They had walked the short distance to the next portal, which slid apart to reveal a welcoming committee of four, three men and a woman, slighlty breathless. “The Guildmember has arrived!” The Inspector’s triumphant announcement left the distinct impression that he himself had somehow conjured her appearance.

Killashandra stared apprehensively at them. They had a disconcerting resemblance to each other, not only a sameness of height and build but of coloring and feature. Even their voices were pitched in the same sonorous timber. She blinked, thinking it might be some trick of the soft yellow sunshine pouring in from the main reception area. Then she gave herself a little shake: all
were government employees, but could any bureaucracy, Optherian or other, hire people on the basis of their uniform appearance?

“Welcome to Optheria, Guildmember Ree,” the Inspector said, beaming as he ushered her past the portal, which whispered shut behind them.

“Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Thyrol,” the first and oldest man said, taking one step toward her and bowing.

“Welcome, Killashandra Ree, I am Pirinio,” said the second, following the example of the first.

In unvarying ceremony, Polabod and Mirbethan made themselves known to her. Had they practiced long?

“I am truly welcomed,” she said with a gracious semibow. “The crystal? It was aboard the shuttle.”

All four looked to her right, left hands rising from their sides at the same instant, to indicate the float appearing through a second portal. Nullgravs suspended float and cartons above the gold-flecked marble floor but proper guidance apparently required six attendants, each wearing an anxious frown of concentration. A seventh man directed their efforts, dancing from one side to the other to be certain that nothing impeded their progress. These citizens of Optheria were reassuringly mismatched in size, form, and feature.

“We four,” Thyrol began, indicating his companions with a twist of his hand, “are to be your guides and mentors during your stay on Optheria. You have only to state your wishes and preferences and we—Optheria—will provide.”

The four bowed again, like a wave from right to left. The Inspector beside her also bowed. Thyrol lifted one eyebrow and the Inspector, bowing again as he surrendered Killashandra’s carisak to Pirinio, formally receded until the portal hissed apart and then closed. Killashandra wondered if the Inspector’s euphoria would
extend to lesser breeds, those without Guild affiliation, when he resumed his booth in Immigration.

“If you will step this way, Guildmember Ree.” Thyrol made another of his graceful gestures.

When she moved to walk beside him, he altered his stride to keep a deferential meter from her. The others fell in behind. Killashandra shrugged, accepting the protocol. Not having to chat with her escort gave her a chance to glance about the shuttle port. The facility was functional and decorated with murals of Life on Optheria: the main attraction of the Summer Festival—the organ—was not depicted. Nor did the vaulted arrivals hall appear to have any catering areas apart from one narrow bank for beverage dispensing. Conspicious by their absence were curio and souvenir booths. Not even a ticket bank was to be seen. And only one lounge area. At the wide exit, the doors sighed aside for Killashandra and Thyrol, who quickly walked down the wide shallow steps to a broad, intricately patterned apron of flat stones. Beyond was the roadway where the crew had just finished stowing the three foam crates in a large ground effect machine.

Suddenly an arc of light flashed on behind Killashandra and a muted alarm sounded. Guards materialized from inconspicuous booths on both sides of the main entrance and approached the three Optherians of the reception committee who were walking behind Killashandra and Thyrol.

“Please do not be disconcerted, Guildmember Ree.” Thyrol waved to the guards and they retreated back into their stations. The arc of light disappeared.

“What was that all about?”

“Merely a security precaution.”

“For my leaving the shuttle port?”

Thyrol cleared his throat. “Actually, for Optherians leaving the shuttle port.”

“Leaving?”

“This is our vehicle, Guildmember,” Thyrol said, smoothly urging her across the flagstone plaza. She allowed herself to be diverted because it was obvious that, whoever
left
the Shuttle Port was first obliged to
enter:
the alarm would work in both directions. But how could the device distinguish Optherians from other humans? No mutation had been mentioned in her perusal of the
Encyclopedia Galactica
entry for the planet: most ingenious for a warning device to differentiate between residents and nonresidents. But surely it got a bit noisy and confusing when Optherians were escorting tourists to the shuttle port. Or was that the reason for this broad flagstone area? She would have to check on FSP regulations about security measures restricting citizens of their planets.

As her vehicle glided forward, the first of the shuttle passengers began to emerge. On cue, fat accommodation buses filed out of the parking area to the flagstone curb. Craning her neck slightly, Killashandra took due note of the fact that the security system did not respond to the foreigners’ exits.

Already the vehicle was climbing out of the valley which contained the shuttle port and the clutter of maintenance buildings. The place looked bleakly ordered and preternaturally neat in comparison to what Killashandra recalled of Fuerte’s busy space port. Perhaps when the tourist season started … Even the clumps of trees and bushes which softened the harder lines of the buildings had a regulated look. Killashandra wondered how often the plantings had to be replaced. Shuttle emanations had a disastrous effect on most vegetation.

“Are you comfortable, Guildmember?” Mirbethan asked from her seat behind Killashandra.

“Of necessity the shuttle port was placed close to the City,” Pirinio took up the conversation, “but is
screened by these hills which also absorb much of the noise and bustle.”

Noise and bustle, his tone of voice told Killashandra, were the unpleasant concomitants of space travel. “How wise of you,” Killashandra replied.

“Optherian’s founding fathers planned for every contingency,” Thyrol said smugly. “No effort has been spared to conserve our planet’s natural beauty.”

The vehicle had reached the top of the gap and Killashandra had an unimpeded view of the broader valley below them, in which nestled the felicitous arrangement of pastel colored buildings, domes, and round towers that comprised Optheria’s capital settlement, known as the City. From that height, the impressive view drew a surprised exclamation from Killashandra.

“It is breathtaking!” Thyrol chose to interpret her response his way.

Beautiful was a fair adjective, Killashandra thought, but breathtaking, no! Even at that distance something was too prim and proper about the City for her taste.

“None of the indigenous trees and bushes were removed, you see,” Thyrol explained, gesturing with his whole hand rather than a single finger, “when the City was constructed, so that the natural, unspoiled landscape could be retained.”

“And the river and that lake? Are they natural features?”

“But of course. Nature is not distorted on Optheria.”

“Which is as it should be,” Polabod added. “The entire valley is as it was when Man first landed on Optheria.”

“The City Architect planned all the buildings and dwellings in the unoccupied spaces,” Mirbethan said proudly.

“How exceedingly clever!” Killashandra was wearing the contact lenses recommended for Optheria’s sunlight
and wondered if the planet would be improved, viewed via augmented Ballybran vision. Just then it was very, very,
blah
! Killashandra had to delve a long way for an adequate expression which, tactfully, she did not voice. Would Borella have restrained herself? Would she have noticed? Ah, well, Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder! For Optheria’s sake, she was glad that someone loved it.

While it might have been laudable of the Founding Fathers to wish to preserve the entire valley as it was when Man first landed, it must have given the architects and construction crews a helluva lot of trouble. Buildings wrapped around copses of trees, straddled brooks, incorporated boulders and ledges. Probably the floors on upper levels were even but it must have been bumpy going at ground level. Fortunately the airfoils of her vehicle were up to the uneven surface in the suburbs but the ride became rather bouncy as they proceeded deeper into the City.

Pausing at the intersection of a huge open square—open except for the many thorn bushes and scrawny trees—Killashandra could not fail to notice that the ground floor of one corner building made uneven arches over repulsively greasy-looking bushes whose thorny branches were obviously a hazard to pedestrians; something was to be said for the curtailment of natural “beauty.” She could learn to hate the City quite easily. No wonder some of the natives were restless. Just how did the Summer Festival compensate for the rest of the Optherian year?

Once past the open square, the road climbed gently to a cluster of buildings evidently uninhibited by natural beauties, for they seemed to have an architectural integrity so far lacking in the City.

“It was necessary,” Thyrol said in a muted voice, “to add the merest trace of a ramp to ascend to the Music Center.”