She’d want to know how he’d made out with his uncle and she hoped she’d be able to tell him of her success, invading the Optherian musical hierarchy. Of course that sort of chatter was in character with her role. What astonished Killashandra was that she meant what she said.
“That’s very sweet of you, Killa,” Corish replied, patting her shoulder in a condescending fashion that returned her instantly to her own personality.
“If I don’t get a place at the Music Center hostel, I’ll go to the Piper Facility,” she said, ducking away from his hand as she fumbled with the fastening on the side pocket of her carisak. She tendered the small plastic card distributed by the Facility with its communit codes. “The Optherian Traveler’s Guide says they’ll take messages for visitors. You could leave word for me there.” She smiled up at him with tremulous wistfulness. “I know that once we leave Optheria, we’ll never meet again, Corish, but at least while we’re still on the same planet, I was hoping we could stay friends.” She broke off, ducking her head and dabbing at her eyes which, on cue, had filled with moisture. She let him have just a confirming glimpse of her teary face, although why she was prolonging their association, she hadn’t a notion. One can get too wrapped up in role-playing.
“I promise you, Killa, that I’ll leave word at the Piper for you.” And Corish put a finger under her chin and lifted her head to his gaze. He had a rather engaging half-smile, she thought, though it wasn’t a patch on Lanzecki’s. She managed to squeeze out a few more tears on the strength of that comparison. “No need for tears, Killa.”
Just then the shuttle clanged against the
Athena
’s side and conversation became impossible with the noise of lock engagement and the excited crescendo of farewells. Then crewmen were officiously directing passengers to move to the port side of the lock. Killashandra was crammed rather tightly between two large men and separated from Corish by another sideways push.
“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
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