Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold,

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 Go feast thy brethren with wine." 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

The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget.

from which there would have been no wakeningand Zagero was stirring. That theyand Iwould survive, I didn't doubt. Helene was a question mark. A seventeen-year-old, though short on endurance, was usually high on resilience and recuperative powers, but Helene's seemed to have deserted her. After the death of her mistress and up to the time she had collapsed she had become strangely withdrawn and unresponsive, and I guessed that the death of Mrs Dansby-Gregg had hit her far more than any of us would have guessed. The previous forty-eight hours apart, it seemed to me that she had had little enough to thank Mrs Dansby-Gregg for in the way of affection and warmth: but, then, she was young, Mrs Dansby-Gregg had been the person she had known best and, as a foreigner, she must have regarded Mrs Dansby-Gregg as her sole anchor in an alien sea.... I asked Jackstraw if he would massage her hands, then turned to have a look at Mahler and Marie LeGarde. "They don't look so hot to me." Zagero, too, was studying them. "What's their chances', Doc?" "I just don't know," I said wearily. "I don't know at all." "Don't take it to heart, Doc. It's no fault of yours." Zagero waved a hand towards the snow-filled emptiness and desolation of the glacier. "Your dispensary ain't all that well stocked." "No." I smiled faintly, then nodded at Mahler. "Bend down and listen to his breathing. The end's coming pretty close. Ordinarily I'd say a couple of hours. With Mahler I don't knowhe's got the will to live,sheer guts,his beliefs-the lot.. . . But in twelve hours he'll be dead." "And how long do you give me, Dr Mason?" I twisted round and gazed down at Marie LeGarde. Her voice was no more than a weak, husky whisper: she was trying to smile, but the smile was a pitiful grimace and there was no humour in either the eyes or the voice. "Good lord, you've come to!" I reached out, pulled off her gloves and started to massage the frozen wasted hands. "This is wonderful. How do you feel, Miss LeGarde?" "How do you think I feel?" she said with a flash of her old spirit. "Don't try to put me off, Peter. How long?" "About another thousand curtain calls at the old Adelphi." The light came from the torch that had been thrust, butt down, into the snow, and I bent forward so that my face was shadowed, my expression unreadable. "Seriously, the fact that you've recovered consciousness is a good sign." "I once played a queen who recovered consciousness only to speak a compare olympus digital camera few dramatic words before she died. Only, I can't think of any dramatic words." I had to strain to catch the feeble whispered words. "You're a shocking liar, Peter. Is there any hope for us at all?" "Certainly," I lied. Anything to get away from that topic. "We'll be on the coast, with a good chance of being picked up by ship or plane, tomorrow afternoonthis afternoon, rather. It can't be more than twenty miles from here." "Twenty miles!" Zagero interjected. "In this little lot?" He raised a cupped hand significantly to his ear, a gesture superbly superfluous in the ululating shriek of the blizzard. "It won't last, Mr Zagero," Jackstraw put in. "These williwaws always blow themselves out in a short time. This already has gone on longer than most and it's easing a lot. Tomorrow will be clear and calm and cold." "The cold will be a change," Zagero said'feelingly. He looked past me. "The old lady's off again, Doc!" "Yes." I stopped massaging her hands and slid the gloves on. "Let's have a look at these paws of yours, Mr Zagero, will you?" " 'Johnny' to you, Doc. I've been dismissed without a stain on my character, remember?" He thrust his big hands out for inspection. "Pretty, aren't they?" They weren't pretty, they were the worst case of frostbite I had ever seen, and I had seen all too many, in Korea and later. They were white and yellow and dead. The original skin had vanished under a mass of blisters, and from the few warm spots I could detect on either hand I knew that much of the tissue had been permanently destroyed. "Fraid I was a mite careless with my gloves," Zagero said apologetically. "In fact, I lost the damn' things about five miles back. Didn't notice it at the timehands were too cold, I reckon." "Feel anything in them now?" "Here and there." He nodded as I touched some spots where the blood still flowed, and went on conversationally: "Am I goin' to lose my hands, Doc? Amputation, I mean?" "No." I shook my head definitely. I saw no point in mentioning that some of his fingers were beyond hope. "Will I ever fight again?" Still the same casual, careless tone. "It's difficult to say. You never know" "Will I ever fight again?" "You'll

And needed not a foil of contraries

ten years, theyve been able to warn those they felt could be trusted. Do the Elders know that some escape? Killashandra asked. There is a head check at the concerts which simultaneously registers with the Central Computers. But islanders dont go to concerts, do they? Killashandra said with a chuckle. It was a relief to know that she had occasion to be amused. It had looked very grim for a bit there, with Trag coming on strong as Guildmember. I think it is time to end such pernicious subjugation, Trag said. He took from his biceps pocket a hand-unit of the sort used to check programming systems, and placed it on the nearest cabinet. It should be a simple matter of reprogramming the master sensory mixer to bypass the subliminal generator. That would inhibit the subliminal processor, yet leave no physical trace of alteration. Taking from the same pocket a heavy compound knife of the kind favored by crystal singers for field use, he opened the heaviest cutting blade. He sliced carefully at the plastic cable cover, peeling it back to expose the multicolor flex package. Killashandra watched as Trag set the system checker against the flex, taking a preliminary reading. As he pondered the results, she could not restrain a glance at the subliminal room. The devices were so repugnant to her, abusing every precept of the individual privacy which had been her birthright on Fuerte, that she felt besmirched just looking at them. If theres no power Lars began, his hand half-raised in caution. I have had sufficient experience with this sort of equipment, Lars Dahl. Trag entered instructions on the hand unit, noted the display on the rectangular vdr, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. The subroutine of the subliminal will function on any dummy test, and indicate the programming modes selected under their program listing, but I am placing a security lock, and with those words he put the device firmly against the thick red-coded cable and depressed the main key, on it now. I dont have the equipment necessary to generate a program for propaganda detoxification. Thats too bad, Killashandra said with heartfelt dismay There! Trag said. And unless they know exactly what Ive done to inhibit the subliminal processor, the alterations cant be reversed. Let the Optherians program that computer for whatever images they wish. None will reach the minds of the people they intend to pervert! Trag pulled hard on the casino exilic digital camera review plastic coating and then pressed it firmly back around the cables. Killashandra could not see where the cable had been entered. And youll bear witness to the Federated Council? Lars was taut as he eagerly awaited Trags reply. We shall all bear witness to the Council, young man, Trag replied. Lars nodded but his smile was wry. It will be the crystal singers word that will be credited, Guildmember Trag, not that of an islander whose motivations are suspect. Even if he could leave the planet, Trag, Killashandra said. Remember the arc at the shuttle port? Didnt it glow blue and erupt guards with weapons? Trag nodded. Except when I passed under it. That arc deposits a mineral deposit in Optherian bones, Lars said, and in those of anyone here for more than six months. Which is what caught my father originally. Trag dismissed that difficulty with a flick of his hand. I have a warrant in my possession to arrest the party or parties responsible for the Guildmembers abduction, which would take you past their reprisals. You came well prepared, Trag, Killashandra said with a rueful smile. But youd have to bring the entire population of the Archipelago if you named Lars Dahl abductor. When Trag turned to Lars for affirmation. he nodded. I hadnt planned on leaving Optheria, Lars said, with a slightly embarrassed grin, and Im sure my father is more than willing to, but youd need an entire liner to remove those whod be vulnerable. The Optherian Elders have been waiting for years for an excuse to search and seize the adult population of the islands. Theyd all end up in rehab. Unless, of course, you also have the authority to suspend every government official on this charge. Trag was silent for a long moment, regarding Lars steadily. Then he exhaled slowly. I was given broad powers by the Federated Council but not that broad. His lower jaw jutted out slightly. Had there been any suspicion of this. He paused, his contempt for once visible in his expression. Let us not reveal this knowledge prematurely. Carefully they removed every trace of their entry. Neither man had touched the cabinets or files, so covering their tracks took little time. Meanwhile, Killashandra repositioned herself at the door panel, listening for sounds of approach. Trag reexamined the cables he had clipped, checking from all angles to be sure the incision would escape

Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor,

to-night, Mallory thought. Navarone. He knew it well, rather, knew of it. So did everyone who had served any time at all in the Eastern Mediterranean: a grim, impregnable iron fortress off the coast of Turkey, heavily defended byit was thoughta mixed garrison of Germans and Italians, one of the few Aegean islands on which the Allies had been unable to establish a mission, far less recapture, at some period of the war. . . . He realised that Torrance was speaking, the slow drawl heavy with controlied anger. "Bloody awful, sir. A fair cow, it was, a real suicide do." He broke off abruptly, stared moodily with compressed lips through his own drifting tobacco smoke. "But we'd like to go back again," he went on. "Me and the boys here. Just once. We were talking about it on the way home." Mallory caught the deep murmur of voices in the background, a growl of agreement. 'We'd like to take with us the joker who thought this one up and shove him out at ten thousand over Navarone, without benefit of parachute." "As bad as that, Bill?" "As bad as that, sir. We hadn't a chance. Straight up, we really hadn't. First off, the weather was against us the jokers in the Met. office were about as right as they usually are." "They gave you clear weather?" "Yeah. Clear weather. It was ten-tenths over the target," Torrance said bitterly. "We had to go down to fifteen hundred. Not that it made any difference. We would have to have gone down lower than that anywayabout three thousand feet below sea-level, then fly up the way: that cliff overhang shuts the target clean off. Might as well have dropped a shower of leaflets asking them to spike their own bloody guns. . . . Then they've got every second A.A. gun in the south of Europe concentrated along this narrow 50-degree vectorthe only way you can approach the target, or anywhere near the target. Russ and Conroy were belted good and proper on the way in. Didn't even get half-way towards the harbour.... They never had a chance." "I know, I know." The commodore, nodded heavily. 'We heard. W/T reception was good. . . . And McIlveen ditched just north of Alex?" "Yeah. But he'll be all right. The old crate was still awash when we passed over, the big dinghy was out and it was as smooth as a millpond. He'll be all right," Torrance repeated. The commodore nodded again, and Jensen touched his sleeve. "May I have a digital blue video camera for kids word with the Squadron Leader?" "Of course, Captain. You don't have to ask." "Thanks." Jensen looked across at the burly Australian and smiled faintly. "Just one little question, Squadron Leader. You don't fancy going back there again?" "Too bloody right, I don't!" Torrance growled. "Because?" "Because I don't believe in suicide. Because I don't believe in sacrificing good blokes for nothing. Because I'm not God and I can't do the impossible." There was a flat finality in Torrance's voice that carried conviction, that brooked no argument. "It is impossible, you say?" Jensen persisted. "This is terribly important." "So's my life. So are the lives of all these jokers." Torrance jerked a big thumb over his shoulder. "It's impossible, sir. At least, it's impossible for us." He drew a weary hand down his face. "Maybe a Dornier flyingboat with one of these new-fangled radio-controlled glider-bombs might do it and get off with it. I don't know. But I do know that nothing we've got has a snowball's chance in hell. Not," he added bitterly, "unless you cram a Mosquito full of T.N.T. and order one of us to crash-dive it at four hundred into the mouth of the gun cave. That way there's always a chance." "Thank you, Squadron Leaderand all of you." Jensen was on his feet. "I know you've done your very best, no one could have done more. And I'm sorry. Commodore?" "Right with you, gentlemen." He nodded to the bespectacled Intelligence officer who had been sitting behind them to take his place, led the way out through a side door and into his own quarters. "Well, that is that, I suppose." He broke the seal of a bottle of Talisker, brought out some glasses. "You'll have to accept it as final, Jensen. Bill Torrance's is the senior, most experienced squadron left in Africa to-day. Used to pound the Ploesti oil wells and think it a helluva skylark. If anyone could have done to-night's job it was Bill Torrance, and if he says it's impossible, believe me, Captain Jensen, it can't be done." "Yes." Jensen looked down sombrely at the golden amber of the glass in his hand. "Yes, I know. I almost knew before, but I couldn't be sure, and I couldn't take the chance of being wrong. . . . A terrible pity that it took the lives of a

And feel no more the spirit to retort; I

still wearing his steel-shod bootson his head. And not once had Andrea protested or stumbled or yielded an inch. The man was indestructible, as tough and enduring as the rock on which he stood. Since dusk had fallen that evening, Andrea had laboured unceasingly, done enough work to kill two ordinary men, and, looking at him then, Mallory realised, almost with despair, that even now he didn't look particularly tired. Mallory gestured at the rock chimney, then upwards at its shadowy mouth limned in blurred rectangular outline against the pale glimmer of the sky. He leant forward, mouth close to Andrea's ear. "Twenty feet, Andrea," he said softly. His breath was still coming in painful gasps. "It'll be no botherit's fissured on my side and the chances are that it goes up to the top." Andrea looked up the chimney speculatively, nodded in silence. "Better with your boots off," Mallory went on. "And any spikes we use we'll work in by hand." "Even on a night like thishigh winds and rain, cold and black as a pig's insideand on a cliff like this?" There was neither doubt nor question in Andrea's voice: rather it was acquiescence, unspoken confirmation of an unspoken thought. They had been so long together, had reached such a depth of understanding that words between them were largely superfluous. Mallory nodded, waited while Andrea worked home a spike, looped his ropes over it and secured what was left of the long ball of twine that stretched four hundred feet below to the ledge where the others waited. Andrea then removed boots and spikes, fastened them to the ropes, eased the slender, double-edged throwing knife in its leather shoulder scabbard, looked across at Mallory and nodded in turn. The first ten feet were easy. Palms and back against one side of the chimney and stocking-soled feet against the other, Mallory jack-knifed his way upwards until the widening sheer of the walls defeated him. Legs braced against the far wall, he worked in a spike as far up as he could reach, grasped it with both hands, dropped his legs across and found a toe-hold in the crevice. Two minutes later his hands hooked over the crumbling edge of the precipice. Noiselessly and with an infinite caution he fingered aside earth and grass and tiny pebbles until his hands were locked on the solid rock itself, bent his knee to seek lodgement for the final toe-hold, then eased a wary head above the cliff-top, a movement imperceptible in its slow-motion, millimetric stealth. crayola 2.1 mp digital camera He stopped moving altogether as soon as his eyes had cleared the level of the cliff, stared out into the unfamiliar darkness, his whole being, the entire field of consciousness, concentrated into his eyes and his ears. Illogically, and for the first time in all that terrifying ascent, he became acutely aware of his own danger and helplessness, and he cursed himself for his folly in not borrowing Miller's silenced automatic. The darkness below the high horizon of the lifting hills beyond was just one degree less than absolute: shapes and angles, heights and depressions were resolving themselves in nebulous silhouette, contours and shadowy profiles emerging reluctantly from the darkness, a darkness suddenly no longer vague and unfainliiar but disturbingly reminiscent in what it revealed, clamouring for recognition. And then abruptly, almost with a sense of shock, Mallory had it. The cliff-top before his eyes was exactly as Monsieur Vlachos had drawn and described itthe narrow, bare strip of ground running parallel to the cliff, the jumble of huge boulders behind them and then, beyond these, the steep scree-strewn lower slopes of the mountains. The first break they'd had yet, Mallory thought exultantlybut what a break! The sketchiest navigation but the most incredible luck, right bang on the nose of the targetthe highest point of the highest, most precipitous cliffs in Navarone: the one place where the Germans never mounted a guard, because the climb was impossible! Mallory felt the relief, the high elation wash through him in waves. JubiJantly he straightened his leg, hoisted himself half-way over the edge, arms straight, palms down on the top of the cliff. And then he froze into immobility, petrified as the solid rock beneath his hands, his heart thudding painfully in his throat. One of the boulders had moved. Seven, maybe eight yards away, a shadow had gradually straightened, detached itself stealthily from the surrounding rock, was advancing slowly towards the edge of the cliff. And then the shadow was no longer "it." There could be no mistake nowthe long jack-boots, the long greatcoat beneath the waterproof cape, the close-fitting helmet were all too familiar. Damn Viachos! Damn Jensen! Damn all the know-ails who sat at home, the pundits of Intelligence who gave a man wrong information and sent him out to die. And in the same instant Mallory damned himself for his own carelessness, for he had

As many there did know;

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 They digd them graves in their church-yard, 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

"I've a bag for meal, and a bag for malt,

alias. A practice by no means uncommon, and officially winked at. A harmless deception." "Not so harmless," I said grimly. "It was one of the worst acting performances I've ever seen, and that was one of the primary reasons for my suspecting your son and, in turn, for Corazzini and Smallwood getting away with what they did. Had you come clean earlier on, I would have known that they were bound, even in the absence of all possible evidence, to be the guilty men. But with Solly LevinI'll find it very difficult to think of you as Mr Zagero, I'm afraidwith Solly Levin sticking out like a sore thumb as an obvious phonywell, I just couldn't leave you two out of the list of suspects." "I obviously modelled myself on the wrong personor type of person," Levin said wryly. "Johnny ribbed me about it all the time. I'm deeply sorry for any trouble we may have caused, Or Mason. I honestly never looked at it from your point of view, never realised the dangers involved in maintaining the impersonationif you could call it that. Please forgive me." "Nothing to forgive," I said bitterly. "A hundred to one I'd have found some other way of messing things up." Shortly after five o'clock in the evening Corazzini stopped the tractorbut he didn't stop the engine. He came down from the driver's seat and walked round to the cabin, pushing the searchlight slightly to one side. He had to shout to make himself heard above the roar of the tractor and the high ululating whine of the still-strengthening blizzard. "Half-way, boss. Thirty-two miles on the clock." "Thank you." We couldn't see Smallwood, but we could see the tip of his gun barrel protruding menacingly into the searchlight's beam. "The end of the line, Dr Mason. You and your friends will please get down." There was nothing else for it. Stiffly, numbly, I climbed down, took a couple of steps towards Smallwood, stopped as the pistol steadied unwaveringly on my chest. "You'll be with your friends in a few hours," I told Smallwood. "You could leave us a little food, a portable stove and tent. Is that too much to ask?" "It is." "Nothing? Nothing at all?" "You're wasting your time, Dr Mason. And it grieves me to see you reduced to begging." "The dog sledge, then. We don't even want the dogs. But neither Mahler nor Miss LeGarde can walk." "You're wasting your time." He turned his attention to the sledge. "Everybody off, I high megapixel digital camera review said. Did you hear me, Levin? Get down!" "It's my legs." In the harsh glare of the searchlight we could see the lines of pain deep-etched round Levin's eyes and mouth, and I wondered how long he had been sitting there suffering, saying nothing. "I think they're frozen or sleeping or something." "Get down!" Smallwood repeated sharply. "In a moment." Levin swung one of his legs over the edge of the sledge, his teeth bared with the effort. "I don't seem to be able" "Maybe a bullet in one of your legs will help," Smallwood said unemotionally. "To get the feeling back." I didn't know whether he meant it or not. I didn't think so -gratuitous violence wasn't in character for this man, I couldn't see him killing or wounding without sound reason. But Zagero thought differently. He advanced within six feet of Smallwood. "Don't touch him, Smallwood," he said warningly. "No?" The rising inflection was a challenge accepted, and Smallwood went on flatly: "I'd snuff you and him like a candle." "No!" Zagero said, softly and savagely, the words carrying clearly in a sudden lull in the wind. "Lay a finger on my old man, Smallwood, and I'll get you and break your neck like a rotten carrot if you empty the entire magazine into me." I looked at him as he crouched there like a great cat, toes digging into the frozen snow, fists clenched and slightly in advance of him, ready for the explosive leap that would take him across that tiny space in a split second of time and I believed he could do exactly what he said. So, too, I suspected, did Smallwood. "Your old. man?" he inquired. "Your father?" Zagero nodded. "Good." Smallwood showed no surprise. "Into the tractor cabin with him, Zagero. We'll exchange him for the German girl. Nobody cares about her." His point was clear. I couldn't see how we could offer any danger to Smallwood and Corazzini now, but Smallwood was a nan who guarded even against impossibilities: Levin would be a far better surety for Zagero's conduct than Helene. Levin half-walked, was half-carried into the tractor cabin. With Corazzini and Smallwood both armed, resistance was hopeless: Smallwood had us summed up to a nicety. He knew we were desperate men, that we would fling ourselves on him and his gun a moment of desperate emergency: but he also knew that

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

only, or maybe a Master or two. Theyd need someone with a hefty dab of imagination and energy to create subliminal images. Unless the subliminals reflected the inflexibility of the Elders attitudes toward everything, which was also logical Why search for a template when one was oneself the ultimate role model? The necessary equipment was indeed in the loft, neatly stacked against one side of the long wall. Lars maintained an attitude of casual indifference after giving the room a sweeping glance. Killashandra noted the monitor buds, caught Larss glance and gave him a nod. She waited until his hand disappeared into his pocket and then bent over the open console and the glittering shards of crystal. Lars Dahl, grab a mask and some gloves, and bring that bin over here. And a mask and gloves for me. I dont fancy inhaling crystal dust in those close quarters. Then she looked up at the burly men taking up so much space in the loft. Out! She flicked her fingers at them. Out, out, out, out! Youre taking up space and air. This room is well ventilated, Guildmember, Thyrol began. That is not the point. I dislike observers peering at my every move. Theres no need for them. Certainly no one can get in or out of here. They can stand on the other side of the door and repel boarders! In fact, Thyrol, without meaning offense, your absence would oblige. Youll only be hovering. Im sure you have more important duties than hovering! And youre a distraction Or, are you one of those Im to teach crystal installation? Thyrol drew back, affronted by the suggestion and without further protest retired from the loft. Now, Killashandra began, not even watching the man leave, the first thing we must do is clear the shards. Stick to the larger pieces, Lars Dahl. My body deals with cuts more easily than yours. Hang up that lid. Well put the pieces on that before transferring them to the bin. Crystal has a disastrous habit of spraying shards when it bounces Shouldnt want unnecessary accidents to mar this procedure. Whyd you want the jammer on in here? Guild secrets? Larss voice was muffled by the mask. I just want them to understand that monitors wont work around me. I was brought up on a planet that respects privacy and Im not allowing Optherians to violate that right. Not for all the sensory organs on this narking world. Besides, how else can we search for the access? It would look far odder if suddenly their scanners dont work, than if they havent worked from the start. Now, lets buy barbie digital camera do what we came for. It was slow work, especially once Lars had cleared the larger pieces. The extractor could be used only in short bursts; continued suction expelled tiny splinters right through the bag. For that reason, the bag had to be emptied and brushed out after each burst. Itd be easier with two of these, wouldnt it? When Killashandra nodded, Lars strode to the door panel, slid it open, and issued the request. Killashandra heard a murmured reply. Now, I said! We dont have time to wait for the request to go through Security. By the First Fathers! Does everything have to be authorized by Ampris. Move it! Now! Killashandra grinned at him. Larss return grin was pure satisfaction. If you knew how often Ive wanted to bark at a Security man I cant honestly imagine you making meek Youd be surprised at what Im willing to do for a good reason. He gave her a singularly wicked look. A case of the extractors was delivered in half an hour by an officer whom Lars later told Killashandra was Blazs second in command, but not a bad fellow for all of that. Castair had been known to look the other way during student romps which Blaz never would have permitted. Guildmember, Castair began, as Lars took the case from him, theres some problem with the monitoring system in here. There is? Killashandra straightened up from the console, glancing about her. Castair indicated the corner nodules. Well, I dont want someone distracting me while Im doing this. Your repairs can wait. We certainly are not damaging anything! No, of course not, Guildmember. Then leave it for now. She waved him off, bending back to the tedious cleaning before he had left. Perfect pitch is not the only talent required to sing crystal. Larss comment startled Killashandra as she finally stood erect, arching her back against tight muscles. His expression was a mixture of respect and something else. A crystal singer has total concentration and an absence of normal human requirements such as hunger! Killashandra twisted her wrist to look at the chrono and chuckled, leaning against the unit behind her. It was mid-afternoon and they had been working steadily since nine that morning. You

"As thou dost seem to be,

He followed the others into the room, closing the door behind him. It was a small, bleak room, heavily curtained. A table and half a dozen chairs took up most of the space. Over in the far corner the springs of the single bed creaked as Corporal Miller stretched himself out luxuriously, hands clasped behind his head. "Gee!" he murmured admiringly. "A hotel room. Just like home. Kinda bare, though." A thought occurred to him. "Where are all you other guys gonna sleep?" "We aren't," Mallory said briefly. "Neither are you. We're pulling out in less than two hours." Miller groaned. "Come on, soldier," Mallory went on relentlessly. "On your feet." Miller groaned again, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked curiously at Andrea. The big Greek was quartering the room methodically, pulling out lockers, turning pictures, peering behind curtains and under the bed. "What's he doin'?" Miller asked. "Lookin' for dust?" "Testing for listening devices," Mallory said curtly. "One of the reasons why Andrea and I have lasted so long." He dug into the inside pocket of his tunic, a dark naval battledress with neither badge nor insignia, pulled out a chart and the map Vlachos had given him, unfolded and spread them out. "Round the table, all of you. I know you've been bursting with curiosity for the past couple of weeks, asking yourselves a hundred questions. Well, here are all the answers. I hope you like them. . . . Let me introduce you to the island of Navarone." Mallory's watch showed exactly eleven o'clock when he finally sat back, folded away the map and chart. He looked quizzically at the four thoughtful faces round the table. "Well, gentlemen, there you have it. A lovely set-up, isn't it?" He smiled wryly. "If this was a film, my next line should be, 'Any questions, men?' But we'll dispense with that because I just wouldn't have any of the answers. You all know as much as I do." "A quarter of a mile of sheer cliff, four hundred feet high, and he calls it the only break in the defences." Miller, his head bent moodily over his tobacco tin, rolled a long, thin cigarette with one expert hand. "This is just crazy, boss. Me, I can't even climb a bloody ladder without falling off." He puffed strong, acrid clouds of smoke into the air. "Suicidal. That's the word I was lookin' for. Suicidal. One buck gets a thousand we never get within five miles of them gawddamned guns!" "One in a thousand, eh?" Mallory looked at him for a long time without speaking. "Tell me, Miller, cannon eos digital camera package what odds are you offering on the boys on Kheros?" "Yeah." Miller nodded heavily. "Yeah, the boys on Kheros. Fd forgotten about them. I just keep thinkin' about me and that damned cliff." He looked hopefully across the table at the vast bulk of Andrea. "Or maybe Andrea there would carry me up. He's big enough, anyway." Andrea made no reply. His eyes were half-closed, his thoughts could have been a thousand miles away. "We'll tie you hand and foot and haul you up on the end of a rope," Stevens said unkindly. "We'll try to pick a fairly sound rope," he added carelessly. The words, the tone, were jocular enough, but the worry on his face belied them. Mallory apart, only Stevens appreciated the almost insuperable technical difficulties of climbing a sheer, unknown cliff in the darkness. He looked at Mallory questioningly. "Going up alone, sir, or" "Excuse me, please." Andrea suddenly sat forward, his deep rumble of a voice rapid in the clear, idiomatic English he had learnt during his long association with Mallory. He was scribbling quickly on a piece of paper. "I have a plan for climbing this cliff. Here is a diagram. Does the Captain think this is possible?" He passed the paper across to Mallory. Mallory looked at it, checked, recovered, all in the one instant. There was no diagram on it. There were only two large, printed words: "Keep talking." "I see," Mallory said thoughtfully. "Very good indeed, Andrea. This has distinct possibilities." He reversed the paper, held it up before him so that they could all see the words. Andrea had already risen to his feet, was padding cat-footed towards the door. "Ingenious, isn't it, Corporal Miller," he went on conversationally. "Might solve quite a lot of our difficulties." "Yeah." The expression on Miller's face hadn't altered a fraction, the eyes were still half-closed against the smoke drifting up from the cigarette dangling between his lips. "Reckon that might solve the problem, Andreaand get me up in one piece, too." He laughed easily, concentrated on screwing a curiously-shaped cylinder on to the barrel of an automatic that had magically appeared in his left hand. "But I don't quite get that funny line and the dot at" It was all over in two secondsliterally. With a deceptive ease and nonchalance Andrea opened the door with one hand, reached out with the other, plucked a wildly-struggling figure through the gap, set him on the ground again and closed the door, all in

To the stranger, and merrily spoke:

him to the ground and the darkness closed over him. CHAPTER 12 16001800 Once, twice, half a dozen times, Mallory struggled up from the depths of a black, trance-like stupor and momentarily touched the surface of consciousness only to slide back into the darkness again. Desperately, each time, he tried to hang on to these fleeting moments of awareness, but his mind was like the void, dark and sinewless, and even as he knew that his mind was slipping backwards again, loosing its grip on reality, the knowledge was gone, and there was only the void once more. Nightmare, he thought vaguely during one of the longer glimmerings of comprehension, I'm having a nightmare, like when you know you are having a nightmare and that if you -could open your eyes it would be gone, but you can't open your eyes. He tried it now, tried to open his eyes, but it was no good, it was still as dark as ever and he was still sunk in this evil dream, for the sun had been shining brightly in the sky. He shook his head in slow despair. "Aha! Observe! Signs of life at last!" There was no mistaking the slow, nasal drawl. "or Medicine Man Miller triumphs again!" There was a moment's silence, a moment in which Mallory was increasingly aware of the diminishing thunder of aero engines, the acrid, resinous smoke that stung his nostrils and eyes, and then an arm had passed under his shoulders and Miller's persuasive voice was in his ear. "Just try a little of this, boss. Ye olde vintage brandy. Nothin' like it anywhere." Mallory felt the cold neck of the bottle, tilted his head back, took a long pull. Almost immediately he had jerked himself upright and forward to a sitting position, gagging, spluttering and fighting for breath as the raw, fiery ouzo bit into the mucous membrane of cheeks and throat. He tried to speak but could do no more than croak, gasp for fresh air and stare indignantly at the shadowy figure that knelt by his side. Miller, for his part, looked at him with unconcealed admiration. "See, boss? Just like I saidnothin' like it." He shook his head admiringly. "Wide awake in an instant, as. the literary boys would say. Never saw a shock and concussion victim recover so fast!" "What the hell are you trying to do?" Mallory demanded. The fire had died down in his throat, and he could breathe again. "Poison me?" Angrily he shook his head, fighting off the pounding ache, the fog that still swirled round the fringes of his mind. "Bloody fine physician you are! Shock, you say, yet the first thing you do is administer a digital camera trade-in prgram dose o spirits" "Take your pick," Miller interrupted grimly. "Either that or a damned sight bigger shock in about fifteen minutes or so when brother Jerry gets here." "But they've gone away. I can't hear the Stukas anymore." "This lot's comin' up from the town," Miller said morosely. "Louki's just reported them. Half a dozen armoured cars and a couple of trucks with field guns the length of a telegraph pole." "I see." Mallory twisted round, saw a gleam of light at a bend in the wall. A cavea tunnel, almost. Little Cyprus, Louki had said some of the older people had called itthe Devil's Playground was riddled with a honeycomb of caves. He grinned wryly at the memory of his momentary panic when he thought his eyes had gone and turned again to Miller. "Trouble again, Dusty, nothing but trouble. Thanks for bringing me round." "Had to," Miller said briefly. "I guess we couldn't have carried you very far, boss." Mallory nodded. "Not just the flattest of country hereabouts." "There's that, too," Miller agreed. "What I really meant is that there's hardly anyone left to carry you. Casey Brown and Panayis have both been hurt, boss." "What! Both of them?" Mallory screwed his eyes shut, shook his head in slow anger. "My God, Dusty, Fd forgotten all about the bombthe bombs." He reached out his hand, caught Miller by the arm. "Howhow bad are they?" There was so little time left, so much to do. . "How bad?" Miller shook out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Mallory. "Not bad at allif we could get them into hospital. But hellish painful and cripplin' if they gotta start hikin' up and down those gawddamned ravines hereabouts. First time Fve seen canyon floors more nearly vertical than the walls themselves." "You still haven't told me" "Sorry, boss, sorry. Shrapnel wounds, both of them, in exactly the same placeleft thigh, just above the knee. No bones gone, no tendons cut. I've just finished tying up Casey's legit's a pretty wicked lookin' gash. He's gonna know all about it when he starts walkin'." "And Panayis?" "Fixed his own leg," Miller said briefly. "A queer character. Wouldn't even let me look at it, far less bandage it. I reckon he'd have knifed me if I'd tried." "Better to leave him alone anyway,"

You say we'll emigrate to the Eastern Shore

your return to civilization that were celebrating! Lars squeezed her about the waist. One point, Lars, and Olav laid a restraining, hand on his sons arm as he reached and removed the garland from his neck. I am sorry, but these would bring unwelcome questions. He reached for Killashandras and she hesitated before giving it to him. Not half as sorry as I am. She walked out of the building, Lars following quietly behind her. Chapter 16 Teradias house was situated on one of the upper levels facing North Harbor, and as they hurried up the steep, zigzag stairs that linked the terraces, Killashandra saw that much of the debris occasioned by the hurricane had already been removed. Groups of young people were unhurriedly staking polly trees upright and replanting those young pollys which had been entirely uprooted. Others were pruning bushes or restoring bedding plants. Are there any snakes in this paradise? Killashandra asked when they paused at the first level to let her catch her breath. Snakes? What are those? Lars asked, humoring her. Normally, a long, slender, legless reptile only I meant humans with unpleasant characteristics. She made a weaving, sinuous gesture with her hand, and grimaced with distaste. Surely the Elders make use of informers and spies. Oh, they do. Most of whom report themselves to us and pass back such information as we want the Elders to have. Lars grinned as his fingers caressed her arm. Its not naive of us; islanders stick together. The Elders can give us little that we lack except the freedom to leave the planet. To be sure, not many of us would leave: its having the option to do so. And my father has a small detector so that people posing as tourists can be quickly identified. Father has a theory that only a certain type of personality is attracted to such an infamous occupation, and they often give themselves away. Strangely enough, by not singing! He gave her a mischievous grin. I was relieved to hear you singing lustily at the barbecue. I nearly didnt because, if I could recognize your tenor, you might have spotted me as that midnight soprano. So I sang alto. But, Lars, isnt Nahia in jeopardy for being here? Someone might just slip up and mention her presence? Lars took her by the elbows and pulled her against him, unconcernedly stroking her hair. Beloved Sunny, Nahia would be protected under any circumstances but, as it happens, only my camera case digital ex z750 father, you, and the people she came with, know she was on this island during the hurricane. Her partys ocean jet has been secreted in another of the Back caves, unseen by anyone. Its still there and wont emerge until weve had a chance to jam the cruisers surveillance systems. Nahia and Hauness will use the islands to screen them from any possibility of detection when the cruiser takes you all right, and me back to the Mainland. Satisfied? I told you my father is efficient. He is. There will also be no one here tonight from Wing Harbor who might inadvertently remember the girl Lars Dahl had as his partner. But No one in Wing will feel slighted: theyre all too busy with storm damage. Every building on the waterfront collapsed. And Wingers avoid Elder inspection as they would a smacker school. Killashandra did feel relieved by his explanations. She was rather pleased, too, as she reviewed her confrontation with Torkes. Nor would she fail to be exceedingly cautious in the presence of any of the elders. Torkes would never forgive her for that tongue-lashing, and she knew that he would do everything he could to rank the others against her if a second confrontation was to occur. Still, she was glad she had launched her frontal assault on the fardling tyrant. We shant leave anything to chance, however, Sunny, Lars went on as they climbed to the last terrace level. If sun-bleached hair and eyebrows alter your appearance enough to deceive an FSP agent Corish was not expecting me to be on that beach, any more than you Then Teradia can restore your beauty. With more sophisticated clothes, and that hauteur of yours, youll be every inch the crystal singer. Lars halted, swinging her into his arms again. No one was in sight. Will the impressively beautiful crystal singer still favor her island lover? He smiled down at her, but tension caught at the corners of his grey-tinged eyes. Dont tell me you who braves hurricanes, Elders, and Masters feared my ranting? She soothed the creases from his eyes. I assume a role, Lars Dahl, from some opera or other. I play no role with you, no matter under what circumstances. Believe me. Lets not lose a moment of what we have together! She stood on tiptoe to kiss him and the hunger they both felt made them tremble. How are we going to make out, Killa, on board that cruiser? And back on the Mainland? Oh, citizen! Killashandra laid her hand

The copious use of claret is forbid too,

ignoring the rank taste for the sake of the moisture. That need attended to, she gathered up enough dry fronds to cushion her body, and went to sleep. She woke sometime in the night, thirsting for more of the overripe fruit which she hunted in the dark, cursing as she tripped over debris and fell into bushes, staggering about in her search until she had to admit to herself that her behavior was somewhat bizarre. About the same time she realized that she was drunk! The innocent polly fruit had been fermenting! Given her Ballybran adaptation, the state could only have been allowed by her weakened constitution. Giggling, she lay down on the ground, impervious to sand or discomfort and fell into a second drunken sleep. Much the worse for her various excesses, Killashandra awoke with a ghastly headache and a terrible need for water. Number five was a much larger island than her other way stops and she was searching so diligently to relieve her thirst that she almost passed the little canoe without its registering on her consciousness. It was only a small canoe, pulled up beyond the high tide mark, a paddle angling from the narrow prow. At another time and without her urgent need, Killashandra would not have ventured out on the open sea in such a flimsy craft. But someone had already brought it from wherever they came so it could as easily convey her elsewhere, too. Her need for water diminished by this happy discovery, Killashandra climbed the nearest polly tree and, hanging precariously to the ridged trunk, managed to saw through several stems with her short knife blade. She didnt waste time then, but threw the fruit into the small craft, slid it into the gentle waves, and paddled down the coast as fast as she could, just in case the owner should return and demand the return of his canoe. While she no longer needed to wait until noon to cross to the next island in her northern course, Killashandras previous days fright made her cautious. She keenly felt the loss of her hatchet. But good fortune continued to surprise her for, as she paddled around a narrow headland, she spotted the unmistakable sign of a small stream draining into the sea. She could even paddle a short way up its mouth and did so, pausing to scoop up a handful of sweet water before she jumped out of the canoe and pulled it out of sight under the bushes. Then she lay down by the water and drank until she was completely sated. By evening, just before the sun suddenly settled below the horizon in the manner characteristic of tropical latitudes, she stood out on the canon xt digital rebel camera price headland, deciding which of the island masses she would attempt to reach the next day. The nearest ones were large, by comparison, but the distant smudge lay long against the horizon. The water lapped seductively over her toes and she decided that she had fooled around with the minor stuff long enough. With the canoe, a fair start in the morning, and plenty of fruit in her little craft, she could certainly make the big island, however distant. She had the foresight to weave herself a sun hat, with a fishtail down her back to prevent sunstroke, for she wouldnt have the cooling water about her as she had while swimming. She had no experience with currents or riptides, nor had she considered the possibility of sudden squalls interrupting her journey. Those she encountered halfway across the deep blue stretch of sea to the large island. She was so busy trying to correct her course while the current pulled her steadily south that she was unaware of the squall until it pelted against her sunburned back. The next thing she knew she was waist deep in water. How the canoe stayed afloat at all, she didnt know. Bailing was a futile exercise but it was the only remedy she had. Then suddenly she felt the canoe sinking with her and, in a panic lest she be pulled down, she swam clear, and had no way to resist the insidious pull of the current. Once again the stubborn survival instinct came to Killashandras aid, and wisely she ceased struggling against the current and the run of the waves, and concentrated on keeping her head above water. She was still thrashing her arms when her legs grated against a hard surface. She crawled out of the water and a few more meters from the pounding surf before oblivion overcame her. Familiar sounds and familiar smells penetrated her fatigue and allowed her to enjoy the pangs of thirst and hunger once again. Awareness of her surroundings gradually increased and she roused to the sound of human voices raised in a happy clamor somewhere nearby. She sat up and found herself on one end of a wide curving beach of incredible beauty, on a harbor sheltering a variety of shipping. A large settlement dominated the center of the harbor, with commercial buildings at the center gradually giving way to residences and a broad promenade that paralleled the beach before retreating into the polly plantations. For a long time Killashandra could only sit and stare at the scene, rendered witless by her great good fortune.

Then he put on the old man's breeks,

across the instrument nearest her, glancing around at the rest of the anonymous equipment. This is a more complex device than Id been led to believe. She turned and presented a politely inquiring expression to Thyrol. Well, ah, that is Come now, Thyrol, I am scarcely connected with the subversives. No, of course not. Killashandra diverted Thyrols attention from realizing that he had covertly admitted the existence of an underground organization by turning, once again, toward the front of the chamber and pointing at the access panel to the keyboard. Now the actual keyboard is beyond that panel, so the right-hand box houses the stops and voicing circuitry. And is that, she pointed to the largest unit, the CPU? The induction modulator and mixer must be in that left-hand cabinet. You are knowledgeable about organ technology? Thyrols expression assumed a wary blankness. For the second time since her arrival, Killashandra perceived empathic emanations from an Optherian: this time a strong sense of indefinable apprehension and alarm. Not as much about organs as I do about interface techniques, sensory simulators, and synthesizer modulators. Crystal singing requires a considerably wide range of experience with sophisticated electronic equipment, you know. He obviously didnt or he wouldnt have nodded so readily. Killashandra blessed her foresight in utilizing the sleep-teaching tapes she had copied from the Athenas comprehensive data retrieval system. Her answer reassured Thyrol and the shadow of his fear slowly dissipated. Of course there is a double handshake between the program, and he tapped the black case by him, and the composition memory banks. Composition, and he walked from one to the other, his hand lightly brushing the surfaces, of course leads directly into the recall excitor stimulator, for that uses the memory symbology of the median individual member of any audience so that a composition is translated into terms which have meaning to the auditors. Naturally the subjective experience of a program for Optherians would differ greatly from the experience a nonhuman would have. Of course, Killashandra murmured encouragingly. And the information from the crystal manual goes? Assuming the pose of a pompous lecturer, Thyrol pointed to the various units in flow sequence. Into the synapse carrier encoder and demodulator multiplexer, the top five digital cameras olympus both of which feed into the mixer for the sensory transducer terminal network. Beaming with pride, he continued, While the composition memory bank primarily programs the sensory synthesizer, the feedback loop controls the sensory attenuator for maximum effectiveness. I see. Keyboard to CPU, direct interface with manual and synapse carrier encoder, plus the double handshakes. Killashandra hid her shock this emotion manipulator made the equipment at Fuerte look like preschool toys. Talk about a captive audience! Optherian concertgoers hadnt a chance. The Optherian organ could produce a total emotional override with a conditional response unequaled anywhere. And a sufficient gauge of the audiences basic profile could be ascertained by matching ID plates and census data. Killashandra wondered that FSP permitted any of its citizens to visit the planet, much less to expose themselves to full-scale emotional overload at Festival time. I can see why youd need many soloists. Theyd be emotionally drained after each performance. We recognized that problem early on the performer is shielded from the full effect of the organ in order to retain a degree of objectivity. And, of course, in rehearsal the transducer system is completely bypassed and the signals inserted into a systems analyzer. Only the best compositions are played on the full organ system. Naturally. Tell me, are the smaller organs amplified in this fashion? The two-manual organs are. We have five of them, the rest are all single manual with relatively primitive synthesizer attentuator and excitor capability. Remarkable. Truly remarkable. Thyrol was not blind to the implied compliment and looked about to smile as the outside door opened to admit the work party. Behind them came three more men, their stance and costume identifying them as security. The work party stopped along the wall while the security trio tramped stolidly down to where Thyrol and Killashandra stood by the sensory feedback transponder. Elder Thyrol, Security Leader Blaz needs to know what disposition is to be made of the debris. He saluted, ignoring Killashandras presence. Bury it deep. Preferably encapsulated in some permaform. Sea trench would be ideal, Killashandra answered and was ignored by the security leader, who continued to look for an answer from Thyrol. Abruptly Killashandras