KILLASHANDRA

by: Anne McCaffrey

copyright 1985

 

VERSION 1.1 (Feb 16 00). If you find and correct errors in

the text, please update the version number by 0.1 and

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Chapter 1

 

Winters on Ballybran were generally mild, so the fury of the first spring

storms as they howled across the land was ever unexpected. This first one

of the new season swept ferociously across the Milekey Ranges, bearing

before its westward course the fleeing sleds of crystal singers like so

much jetsam. Those laggard singers who had tarried too long at their claims

were barely able to hold their bucking sleds on course as they bolted for

the safety of the Heptite Guild Complex.

        Inside the gigantic Hangar, its baffles raised against the mach

winds, ordered confusion reigned. Crystal singers lurched from their sleds.

half deafened by windscream, exhausted by their turbulent flights. The

Hangar crew, apparently possessed of eyes in the backs of their heads,

miraculously avoided injury as they concentrated on the primary task of

moving incoming sleds off the Hangar floor and into storage racks, clearing

the way for the erratic landings of the stream of incoming vehicles. The

crash claxon pierced even storm howl as two sleds collided, one to dip over

the baffle and land nose down on the plascrete while the other veered out

of control like a flat rock skipping across water, coming to a crumpling

halt against the far wall. A tractor zipped in to fasten grapples on the

upside-down sled, removing it only seconds before another sled skimmed over

the baffle.

        That sled almost repeated the nose dive, pulling up at the last

second and skidding across the Hangar floor to stop just inches away from

the line of handlers carrying the precious cartons of crystal in to

Sorting. Only a near miss, the incident was disregarded even by those who

had barely escaped injury.

        Killashandra Ree emerged from the sled, taking as a good omen the

fact that her sled had skidded to a halt so close to the Sorting Sheds. She

caught the arm of the next handler to pass her and firmly diverted him to

her cargo door, which she flung open. She didn´t have much crystal, so

every speck she had cut was precious to her. If she didn´t earn enough

credit to get off-planet this time . . . Killashandra ground her teeth as

she hurried her carton into the Sorting Shed.

        As the man she had pressed into her service quite properly put her

carton down at the Hangar end of a line of ranked containers,

Killashandra´s patience evaporated. »No, over here!« she shouted. »Not

there! It´ll take all day to be sorted. Here.«

        She waited until he had deposited her carton in the indicated row

before adding her own. Then she strode back to her sled for a second load,

commandeering two more unencumbered handlers on the way. Only after eight

cartons were unloaded did she permit herself to pause briefly, coping with

the multiple fatigues that assailed her. She had worked nonstop for two

days, desperate to cut enough crystal to get off Ballybran. Crystal pulsed

in her blood and bones, denying her rest in sleep, surcease by day, no

matter how she tried to tire her body. Her only respite was immersion in

the radiant fluid bath. But no one cut crystal from a bathcube! She had to

get off-planet to ease the disturbing thrum.

        For over a year and a half, ever since the Passover storms had

shattered Keborgen´s old claim, she had searched unremittingly for a

workable site Killashandra was realist enough to admit to herself that the

probability of finding a new claim as important and valuable as Keborgen´s

black crystal was very low. Still, she had every right to expect to find

some useful, and reasonably lucrative, crystal in Ballybran´s Ranges. And,

with each fruitless trip into the Ranges, the credit balance she had

amassed from her original cutting of Keborgen´s site and from the

Trundomoux black crystal installation had eroded beneath the continuous

charges the Heptite Guild exacted for even the most minor services rendered

a crystal singer.

        By fall, when everyone else she knew -- Rimbol, Jezerey and Mistra

-- had managed to get off-planet, she had labored on, unable to make a

worthwhile claim in any color. During the mild winter, she had doggedly

hunted in the Ranges, returning to the Complex only long enough to

replenish food packs and steep her crystal-weary body in the radiant fluid.

        »You really ought to take a week or two up at Shanganagh Base,«

Lanzecki had said, intercepting her on one of her brief visits.

        »What good would that really do?« she had replied, almost snarling

at him in her frustration. »I´d still feel crystal and I´d have to look at

Ballybran.«

        Lanzecki had given her a searching look. »You´re in no mood to

believe me,« and he paused to be sure that he had her attention, »but you

will find black crystal again, Killashandra. Meanwhile, the Guild has

pressing needs in any shade you can find. Even the rose you so despise.« A

gleam shone in his black eyes and his voice turned lugubrious as he said,

»I am certain that you will be distressed to learn that the Passover storms

destroyed Moksoon´s site, too.«

        Killashandra had stared at him a moment before her sense of the

ridiculous got the better of her and she laughed. »I am inconsolable!«

        »I thought you might be.« His lips twitched with suppressed

amusement. Then he reached down and pulled the plug on the radiant fluid.

»You´ll find more crystal, Killa.«

        It had been that calm and confident statement which had buoyed her

flagging morale all during the next trip. Nor had it been entirely

misplaced. The third week out, after disregarding two sites of rose and

blue, she discovered white crystal but very nearly missed the vein

entirely. If she had not been bolstering her spirits with arousing aria,

causing the pinnacle under her hand to resonate, she might have missed the

shy white crystal. Consistent with her long run of bad luck, the while

proved elusive, the vein first deteriorating in quality and then

disappearing entirely from the face at one point, resurfacing half a mile

away in fractured shards. It had taken her weeks to clear the fault,

digging away half the ridge before she got to usable crystal. Only the fact

that white crystal had such a variety of potentially lucrative uses kept

her going.

        Forewarned of the spring storm by her symbiotic adaptation to

Ballybran´s spore, Killashandra had cut at a frenzied pace until she was

too hoarse to key the sonic cutter to the crystal. Only then had she

stopped to rest. She had continued to cut until the first of the winds

began to stroke the dangerous crystal sound from the Ranges. Recklessly,

she had taken the most direct route back to the Complex, counting on the

fact that she´d be the last singer in from the Ranges to protect her claim.

        She had almost cut her retreat too fine: the hangar doors slammed

shut against the shrieking storm as soon as her sled had cleared the

baffles. She could expect a reprimand from the Flight Officer for her

recklessness. And probably one from the Guild Master for ignoring the storm

warnings.

        She forced several deep breaths in and out of her lungs, dredging

sufficient energy to complete the final step necessary to leave Ballybran.

On the last breath, she grabbed the top carton and walked it into the

Sorting Room, depositing it on Enthor´s table just as the old Sorter turned

toward the shed.

        »Killashandra! You startled me.« Enthor´s eyes flicked from normal

to the augmented vision that was his adaptation to Ballybran. He reached

eagerly for the carton. »Did you find the black vein again?« His face fell

into lines of disappointment as his fingers found no trace of the

sensations typical of the priceless, elusive black crystal.

        »No such luck.« Killashandra´s voice broke on weary disgust. »But I

devoutly hope it´s a respectable cut.« She half sat on the the table,

needing its support to keep on her feet, as she watched Enthor unpack the

crystal blocks from their plastic cocoons.

        »Indeed!« Enthor´s voice lilted with approval as he removed the

first white crystal shaft and set it with appropriate reverence on his work

table. »Indeed!« He subjected the crystal to the scrutiny of his augmented

eyes. »Flawless. White can so often be muddy. If I am not mistaken -- «

        »That´ll he the day,« Killashandra muttered under her breath, her

voice cracking.

        »Never about crystal.« Enthor shot her a glance from under his

brows, blinking to adjust his eyes to normal vision. Killashandra idly

wondered what Enthor´s eyes saw of human flesh and bone in the augmented

mode. »I do believe, my dear Killa, that you´ve anticipated the market.«

        »I have?« Killashandra pulled herself erect. »With white crystal?«

        Enthor lifted out more of the slender sparkling crystal shafts.

»Yes, especially if you have matched groupings. These are a good start.

What else did you cut?« As one, they retraced their steps to the storage,

each collecting another carton.

        »Forty-four -- «

        »Ranked in size?«

        »Yes.« Enthor´s excitement triggered hope in Killashandra.

        »Forty-four, from the half centimeter -- «

        »By the centimeter?«

        »Half centimeter.«

        Enthor beamed on her with almost as much enthusiasm as if she had

brought him more black crystal.

        »Your instinct is remarkable, Killa, for you could not have known

about the order from the Optherians.«

        »An organ group?«

        Enthor gestured for Killashandra to help him display the white

shafts on the workbench.

        »Yes, indeed. An entire manual was fractured.« Enthor awarded her

another of his beams. »Where are the rest? Quickly. Get them. »If there´s

so much as one with a cloud --

        Killashandra obeyed, stumbling against the swinging door. By the

time the crystal was sparkling on the table, she was shuddering and had to

cling to the bench to keep upright. It took a century for Enthor to

evaluate her cut.

        »Not a single cloudy crystal, Killashandra.« Enthor patted her arm

and, taking up his little hammer, cocked his ear to the pure sweet notes

each delicate rap coaxed from the crystal.

        »How much, Enthor? How much?« Killashandra was hanging onto the

table, and consciousness, with difficulty.

        »Not as much, I fear, as black.« Enthor tapped figures into his

terminal. He pulled at his lower lip as he waited for the altered display.

»Still, 10,054 credits is not to be sneezed at.« He raised his eyebrows,

anticipating a pleased response.

        »Only ten thousand . . .« Her knees were collapsing, the muscles in

her calves spasming painfully. She tightened her grip on the table´s edge.

        »Surely that´s enough to take you off-planet.«

        »But not far enough or long enough away.« Blackness was creeping

across her sight. Killashandra released one hand from the table to rub her

eyes.

        »Would Optheria be far enough?« a dry, amused voice asked from

behind her.

        »Lanzecki . . .« she began, turning toward the Guild Master, but

her turn became a spin, down into the darkness which would no longer be

evaded.

 

        »She´s coming round, Lanzecki.«

        Killashandra heard the words. She could not understand their sense.

The sentence, and the voice, echoed in her mind as if spoken in a tunnel.

At the softest repetition, comprehension returned.

        The voice was Antona´s, the Chief Medical Officer of the Heptite

Guild.

        Sensation returned then, but sensation was limited to feeling

something under her chin and a restraint about her shoulders. The rest of

her body was deprived of feeling. Killashandra twitched convulsively and

felt the viscous resistance of radiant fluid. She was immersed -- that

explained the need for chin support and the shoulder restraint.

        Opening her eyes, she was not surprised to find herself in the tank

room of the Infirmary. Beyond her were several more such tanks, two

occupied. judging by the heads visible above the rims.

        »So. you´ve rejoined us, Killashandra!«

        »How long have you been soaking me, Antona?«

        Antona glanced at a display on the tank. »Thirty-two hours and

nineteen rinses.« Antona shook a warning finger at Killashandra. »Don´t

push yourself like this, Killa. You´re stretching your symbiont´s

resources. Abuses like this now can cause degeneration problems later on.

And it´s later on you really need protection. Remember that!« A mirthless

smile crossed Antona´s classic features. »If you can. Well, at least put it

in your memory banks when you get back to your room,« she added, with a

sigh for the vagaries of singer recall.

        »When can I get up?« Killashandra began to writhe in the tank,

testing her limbs and the general response of her body.

        Antona shrugged, tapping out a code on the terminal of the tank.

»Oh, anytime now. Pulse and pressure readout´s strong. Head clear?«

        »Yes.«

        Antona pressed a stud and the chin support and shoulder harness

released Killashandra. She caught the side of the tank, and Antona handed

her a long robe.

        »Do I need to tell you to eat?«

        Killashandra grinned wryly. »No. My stomach knows I´m awake and

it´s rumbling.«

        »You´ve lost nearly two kilos, you know. Can you remember when you

last ate?« Antona´s voice and eyes were sharp with annoyance. »No use

asking, is it?«

        »Not the least bit.« Killashandra replied blithely as she climbed

out of the tank, the radiant fluid sheeting off her body, leaving her skin

smooth and soft. She pulled the robe on. Antona held up a hand to balance

her down the five steps.

        »How much crystal resonance do you experience now?« Antona poised

her fingers above the tank´s small terminal.

        Killashandra listened attentively to the noise between her ears.

»only a faint trace!« Her breath escaped her lips in a sigh of relief.

        »Lanzecki said that you cut enough to go off-world.«

        Killashandra frowned. »He said something else, too. But I forget

what.« Something important, though, Killashandra knew.

        »He´ll probably tell you again in good time. Get up to your

quarters and get some food into you.« Antona gave Killashandra´s shoulder

an admonitory squeeze before she turned away to check on the other

patients.

        As Killashandra made her way up from the Infirmary level, deep in

the bowels of the Guild Complex, she puzzled over the memory lapse. She had

been reassured that most singers had several decades of unimpaired recall

before memory deteriorated, but no fast rule determined the onset. She had

been lucky enough to have a Milekey Transition ending in full adaptation to

Ballybran´s spore, an adaptation that was necessary for those inhabiting

thc planet Ballybran. That kind of Transition held many benefits. not the

least of which was avoiding the rigors of Transition Fever, and was

purported to include a longer span of unimpaired memory. In this one

instance, she could, perhaps, legitimately blame fatigue.

        As the lift door opened on the deserted lobby of the main singer

level, not a singer was in sight. The storm had blown itself out. She

paused to glance through to the dining area and saw only one lone diner.

Pulling the robe more tightly about her, she hurried down the corridor to

the blue quadrant and her apartment.

        The first thing she did was call up her credit balance, and felt

the knot that had been tightening in her belly dissolve as the figures

12,790 rippled onto the screen. She regarded the total for a long moment,

then tapped out the all-important query: how far away from Ballybran would

that sum take her?

        The names of four systems were displayed. Her stomach rumbled. She

shifted irritably in her chair and asked for details of the amenities in

each system. The replies were not exciting. In each system the Terran-type

planets were purely industrial or agricultural, having, at best, only

conservative leisure facilities. From comments she had overheard,

Killashandra gathered that because of their proximity the locals had seen

quite enough of their neighbors from Ballybran and tended to be either

credit crunchers or rude to the point of dueling offense.

        »The only thing that´s good about any of them.« Killashandra said

with disgust, »is that I haven´t been there yet.«

        Killashandra had thought to take her long-overdue holiday on Maxim,

the pleasure planet in the Barderi system. From all she´d heard, it would

be very easy to forget crystal resonance in the sophisticated amusement

parks and houses of hedonistic Maxim. But she hadn´t yet the credit to

indulge that whimsy.

        Exasperated, she rubbed her palms together, noticing that the thick

calluses from cutter vibrations had been softened by her long immersion.

The numerous small nicks and cuts that were a singer´s occupational hazard

had healed to thin white scars. Well, that function of her symbiont worked

efficiently. And the white crystal would assure her some sort of an

off-planet holiday.

        White crystal! Enthor has said something about a fractured manual!

Optherian sense organs used white Ballybran crystals and she had cut

forty-four from the half centimeter on up in half-centimeter gradients.

        Lanzecki had asked her a question.

        »Would Optheria be far enough?« The words, remembered in his deep

voice, sprang to mind.

        She grinned with tremendous relief at retrieving that question and

turned to the viewscreen to punch up his code.

        » -- Killa?« Lanzecki´s hands were poised over his own terminal,

surprise manifested by his raised eyebrows. »You haven´t used the catering

unit.« He frowned.

        »Oh, programmed to monitor that, did you?« she replied with a

genuine smile at that reminder of their amorous alliance before her first

trip into the Ranges. On her return from the Trundomoux System, they had

had only a few days together before Lanzecki was swamped with work and she

had to venture back into the Ranges. Since then, she had returned to the

Complex only to replenish supplies or wait out a storm. Their reunions had

consequently been brief. It was reassuring to realize that he wished to

know when she was back.

        »It seemed the ideal way to make contact. After thirty-two hours in

a tank, you should be ravenous. I´ll just join you. if I may . . .« When

she nodded assent, he typed a quick message on his console and pushed his

chair back, smiling up at her. »I´m hungry, too.«

        As further reassurance of her unimpaired memory. Killashandra had

no trouble remembering Lanzecki´s tastes. She grinned as she ordered Yarran

beer. Though her stomach gurgled impatiently, she´d had no desire for food

in so long that she was as glad to be guided by Lanzecki´s preferences.

        She was just slipping a brilliantly striped robe over her head when

her door chimed an entry request. »Enter!« she called. On the same voice

cue, the catering slot disgorged her order. The aroma of the dishes aroused

her already voracious appetite.

        She wasted no time in taking the steaming platters from the

dispenser, grinning a welcome at Lanzecki as he joined her.

        »The Commissary has asked me to relay a few well-chosen words of

complaint about the sudden fad for Yarran beer,« he said, taking the

pitcher and the beakers to the table. He seated himself before filling the

two glasses. »To your restoration!« Lanzecki lifted his glass in toast, his

expression obliquely chiding her for that necessity.

        »Antona´s already scolded me. but I had to cut enough marketable

crystal to get off-planet this time.«

        »You´ve certainly succeeded with that white.«

        »Don´t I remember you saying something about Optheria just as I

passed out?«

        Lanzecki took a swallow of the Yarran beer before he replied.

»Quite likely.« He served himself a generous helping of fried Malva beans.

        »Don´t the Optherians utilize white crystal in that multi-sense

organ of theirs?«

        »They do.«

        So Lanzecki chose to be uncommunicative. Well, she could be

persistent. »Enthor said that an entire manual was fractured.« Lanzecki

nodded. She continued. »And you did ask me would Optheria be far enough?«

        »I did?«

        »You know you did.« Killashandra hung on to her patience. »You

never forget anything. And the impression I got from your cryptic comment

was that someone, and the inference was me« -- she pressed her thumb into

her chest -- »would have to go there. Am I correct?«

        He regarded her steadily, his expression unreadable. »Not long ago

you gave me to understand that you would not undertake another off-world

assignment -- «

        »That was before I´d been stuck on this fardling planet -- « She

noticed the wicked gleam in his eyes. »So, I´m right. A crystal singer does

have to make the installation!«

        It was a shocking incident,« Lanzecki said diffidently as he served

himself more Malva beans. »The performer who damaged the organ was killed

by the flying shards. He was also the only person on the planet who could

handle such a major repair. As is so often the case with such sensitive and

expensive equipment, it is a matter of planetary urgency to repair the

instrument. It´s the largest on the planet and is essential to the

observances of Optheria´s prestigious Summer Festival. We are contracted to

supply technicians as well as crystal.« He paused for a mouthful of the

crisp white beans. He was definitely baiting her, Killashandra knew. She

held her tongue. »While the list of those qualified does include your name

. . .«

        »The catch can´t be the crystal this time,« she said as he

purposefully let his sentence dangle unfinished. She watched his face for

any reaction. »White crystal´s active, reflecting sound . . .«

        » -- Among other things,« Lanzecki added when she paused.

        »If it isn´t the crystal, what´s the matter with the Optherians,

then?«

        »My dear Killashandra, the assignment has not yet been awarded.«

        »Awarded? I like the sound of that. Or do I? I wouldn´t put it past

you, Lanzecki, to sucker me into another job like that Trundomoux

installation.«

        He caught the finger she was indignantly shaking at him, pulling

her hand across the laden table to his lips. The familiar caress evoked

familiar responses deep in her groin and she tried to use her irritation

with his methods to neutralize its effect on her.

        Just then a communit bleep startled her. With a fleeting expression

of annoyance, Lanzecki lifted his wrist unit to acknowledge the summons.

        A tinny version of Trag´s bass voice issued from the device. »I was

to inform you when the preliminary testing stations reported,« the

Administration Officer said.

        »Any interesting applicants?«

        Although Lanzecki sounded diffident, even slightly bored, the

curious tension about his lips and eyes alerted Killashandra. She pretended

to continue eating in a courteous disregard of the exchange, but she didn´t

lose a syllable of Trag´s reply.

        »Four agronomists, an endocrinologist from Theta, two

xenobiologists, an atmospheric physicist, three former spacers« --

Killashandra noted the slight widening of Lanzecki´s eyes which she

interpreted as satisfaction -- »and the usual flotsam who have no

recommendations from Testing.«

        »Thank you, Trag.«

        Lanzecki nodded his head at Killashandra to indicate the

interruption was concluded and finished off the dish of fried Malva beans.

        »So what is the glitch in the Optherian assignment? A lousy fee?«

        »On the contrary, such an installation is set at twenty thousand

credits.«

        »And I´d be off-world as well.« Killashandra was quite impressed

with the latitude such a credit balance would give her to forget crystal.

        »You have not been awarded the contract, Killa. I appreciate your

willingness to entertain the assignment but there are certain aspects which

must be considered by the Guild as well as the individual. Don´t commit

yourself rashly.« Lanzecki was being sincere. His eyes held hers steadily

and a worried crease to his brows emphasized his warning. »It´s a long haul

to the Optherian system. You´d be gone from Ballybran nearly a full year .

. .«

        »All the better . . .«

        »You say that now when you´re full of crystal resonance. You can´t

have forgotten Carrik yet.«

        His reminder conjured flashing scenes of the first crystal singer

she had met: Carrik laughing as they swam in Fuerte´s seas, then Carrik

wracked by withdrawal fever and finally the passive hulk of the man,

shattered by sonic resonance.

        »You will in time, I´ve no doubt, experience that phenomenon,«

Lanzecki said. »I´ve never known a singer who didn´t try to push himself

and his symbiont to their limits. A major disadvantage to the Optherian

contract is that you would lose any resonance to your existing claims.«

        »As if I had a decent claim among the lot.« Killashandra snorted in

disgust. »Rose is no good to anyone and the blue petered out after two

days´ cutting. Even the white vein skips and jumps. I cut the best of the

accessible vein. With the kind of luck I´ve been enjoying, the storm has

probably made a total bollix of the site. I am not -- not, I repeat --

spending another three weeks in a spade and basket operation. Not for

white. Why can´t Research develop an efficient portable excavator?«

        Lanzecki cocked his head slightly. »It is the firm opinion of

Research that any one of the nine efficient, portable and durable,« a

significant pause, »excavators already field-tested ought to perform the

task for which it was engineered . . . except in the hands of a crystal

singer. It is the opinion of Research that the only two pieces of equipment

that do not tax the mechanical aptitude of a singer are his cutter --

though Fisherman does not concur -- and his sled, and you have already

heard section and paragraph from the Flight Engineer on that score. Haven´t

you?«

        Killashandra regarded him stolidly for a few moments, then

remembered to chew what was in her mouth.

        »Overheard him,« she said, with a malicious grin. »Don´t try to

distract me from this Optherian business.«

        »I´m not. I am bringing to your notice the several overt

disadvantages to an assignment that involves a long absence from Ballybran

for what might, in the long run, be inadequate compensation.« His

expression changed subtly. »I´d rather not be professionally at odds with

you. It interferes with my private life.«

        His dark eyes caught hers. He reached for her hands, lips curved in

the one-sided smile that she found so affecting. She no longer shared a

table with her Guild Master hut with Lanzecki the man. The alteration

pleased her. On numerous occasions, during sleepless nights in the Milekey

Ranges, she had fondly remembered their love-making. Now, seated opposite

the charismatic Lanzecki, she found that her appetite for more than food

had been completely restored.

        Her smile answered his and together they rose from the little table

and headed for the sleepingroom.

 

Chapter 2

 

Killashandra pushed herself back from thc terminal and, balancing on the

base of her spine, stretched arms and legs as far from her body as bone and

tendon permitted. She had spent the morning immersed in the Optherian entry

of the Encyclopedia Galactica.

        Once she had got past the initial exploration and evaluation report

to the release of the Ophiuchine planet for colonization, and the

high-flown language of its charter -- »to establish a colony of Mankind in

complete harmony with the ecological balance of his adopted planet: to

ensure the propagation thereon of the Species in its pure, unadulterated

Form.« She kept waiting for the fly to appear in the syrupy ointment of

Optheria´s honey pot.

        Optheria was an old planet in geological terms. A near-circular

orbit about an aging sun produced a temperate clime. There was little

seasonal change since the axial »wobble« was negligible, and modest

glaciers capped both poles. Optheria was inordinately proud of its

self-sufficiency in a civilization where many planets were so deeply in

debt to mercantile satellites that they were almost charged for the

atmosphere that encapsulated them. Optherian imports were minimal . . .

with the exception of tourists seeking to »enjoy the gentler pleasures of

old Terra in a Totally Natural World.«

        Killashandra, reading with an eye to hidden significance´s, paused

to consider the implications. Although her experience with planets had been

limited to two -- Fuerte, her planet of origin, and Ballybran, she knew

enough of how worlds wagged to sense the iron idealism that probably

supported the Optherian propaganda. She tapped a question and frowned at

the negative answer: Optheria´s Charter Signers were not proselytizers of a

religious sect nor did Optheria recognize a federal church. As many worlds

had been colonized for idealist forms of government, religiously or

secularly oriented, as for purely commercial considerations. The guiding

principle of foundation could not yet be considered the necessary criterion

for a successful subculture. The variables involved were too numerous.

        But the entry made it clear that Optheria was considered

efficiently organized and, with its substantial positive galactic balance

of payments, a creditably administered world. The entry concluded with a

statement that Optheria was well worth a visit during its annual Summer

Festival. She detected a certain hint of irony in that bland comment. While

she would have preferred to sample some of the exotic and sophisticated

pleasures available to those with credit enough, she felt she could

tolerate Optheria´s »natural« pastimes in return for the sizeable fee and a

long vacation from Ballybran.

        She considered Lanzecki´s diffidence about the assignment. Could he

be charged with favoritism if he gave her another choice off-world

assignment? Who would remember that she had been away during the horrendous

Passover Storms, much less where? She´d been peremptorily snatched away by

Trag, shoved onto the moon shuttle, and without a shred of background data

about the vagaries of the Trundomoux, delivered willy-nilly to a naval

autocracy to cope with the exigencies of installing millions of credits´

worth of black communication crystal for a bunch of skeptical spartan

pioneers. The assignment had been no sinecure. As Trag was the only other

person who had known of it, was he the objector? He very easily could be,

as Administration Officer, yet Killashandra did not think that Trag could,

or did, influence Guild Master Lanzecki.

        A second wild notion followed quickly on the heels of that one.

Were there any Optherians on the roster of the Heptite Guild to whom such a

job might be assigned? . . . The Heptite Guild had no Optherian members.

        From her ten years in the Music Department of Fuerte´s Culture

Center, Killashandra was familiar with the intricacies of Optherian sensory

organ instruments. The encyclopedia enlarged the picture by stating that

music was a planetwide mania on Optheria, with citizens competing on a

planetary scale for opportunities to perform on the sensory organs. With

that sort of environment, Killashandra thought it very odd indeed that

Optheria produced no candidates with the perfect pitch that was the Heptite

Guild´s essential entry requirement. And, with competitions on a worldwide

scale, there would be thousands disappointed. Killashandra smiled in sour

sympathy. Surely some would look for off-world alternatives.

        Her curiosity titillated, Killashandra checked other Guilds.

Optherians did not go into the Space Services or into galactic mercantile

enterprises, nor were embassies, consulates or legates of Optheria listed

in the Diplomatic Registers. There she lucked out by discovering a

qualifier: As the planet was nearly self-sufficient and no Optherians left

their home world, there was no need for such services. All normal inquiries

about Optheria had to be directed to the Office of External Trade and

Commerce on Optheria.

        Killashandra paused in perplexity. A planet so perfect, so beloved

by its citizens that no one chose to leave its surface? She found that very

hard to believe. She recalled the encyclopedia´s entry on the planet,

searching for the code on Naturalization. Yes, well, citizenship was

readily available for those interested but could not be rescinded. She

checked the Penal Code and discovered that, unlike many worlds, Optheria

did not deport its criminal element: any recidivists were accommodated at a

rehabilitation center.

        Killashandra shivered. So even perfect Optheria had to resort to

rehabilitation.

        Having delved sufficiently into Optheria´s history and background

to satisfy her basic curiosity, she turned to research the procedure

necessary to replace a fractured manual. The installation posed no overt

problems as the bracketing was remarkably similar to that required by the

black communications crystal. The tuning would be more complex because of

the broad-frequency variable output of the Optherian organ. The instrument

was similar to early Terran pipe organs, with four manuals and a terminal

with hundreds of stops, but a performer on the Optherian organ read a score

containing olfactory, neural, visual, and aural notes. The crystal manual

was in permanent handshake with the multiplex demodulator, the synapse

carrier encoder, and the transducer terminal networks. Or so the manual

said; no schematic was included in the entry. Nor could she remember one

from her days at the Fuerte Music Center.

        Dedicated Optherian players spent lifetimes arranging music

embellished and ornamented for reception by many senses. A skilled

Optherian organist could be mass-psychologist and politician as well as

musician, and the effect of any composition played on the fully augmented

instruments had such far-reaching consequences that performances and

practitioners were subject to Federal as well as artistic discipline.

        Bearing that in mind, Killashandra wondered how the manual could

have been fractured -- let alone have killed the performer at the same

time, especially as that person had also been the only one on the planet

capable of repairing it. Was there perhaps a spot of rot on the Optherian

apple of Eden? This assignment could be interesting.

        Killashandra pulled her chair back to the console and asked for

visual contact with the Travel Officer. Bajorn was a long, thin man, with a

thin face and a thin nose with pinched nostrils. He had preternaturally

long, thin fingers, too, but much was redeemed by the cheerful smile that

broke across his narrow face, and his complete willingness to sort out the

most difficult itinerary. He seemed to be on the most congenial terms with

every transport or freight captain who had ever touched down at or veered

close to the Shanganagh Moon base.

        »Is it difficult to get to the Optherian System, Bajorn?«

        »Long old journey right now -- out of season for the cruise ships

on that route. Summer Festival won´t be for another six months galactic.

So, traveling now, you´d have to make four exchanges -- Rappahoe, Kunjab,

Melorica, and Bernard´s World -- all on freighters before getting passage

on a proper liner.«

        »You´re sure up to date.«

        Bajorn grinned, his thin lips almost touching his droopy ears.

»Should be. You´re the fifth inquiry I´ve had about that system. What´s up?

Didn´t know the Optherians went in for the sort of kicks singers like.«

        »Who´re the other four?«

        »Well, there´s no regulation against telling. »Bajorn paused

discreetly, »and as they´ve all asked, no reason why you shouldn´t be told.

You,« and he ticked names off on his fingers, »Borella Seal, Concera,

Gobbain Tekla, and Rimbol.«

        »Indeed. Thank you, Bajorn, that´s real considerate of you.«

        »That´s what Rimbol said, too.« Bajorn´s face sagged mournfully. »I

do try to satisfy the Guild´s travel requirements, but it is so depressing

when my efforts are criticized or belittled. I can´t help it if singers

lose their memories . . . and every shred of common courtesy.«

        »I´ll program eternal courtesy to you on my personal tape, Bajorn.«

        »I´d appreciate it. Only do it now, would you, Killashandra, before

you forget?«

        Promising faithfully, Killashandra rang off. Lanzecki had said

there was a list. Were there only five names! Borella Seal and Concera she

knew and she wouldn´t have minded doing them out of the assignment; Gobbain

Tekla was a total stranger. Rimbol had been cutting successfully, and in

the darker shades just as Lanzecki had predicted. Why would he want such an

assignment? So, four people had been interested enough to check Travel.

Were there more?

        She asked for a list of unassigned singers in residence and it was

depressingly long. After some names, including her own, the capital I --

for Inactive -- flashed. Perhaps unwisely, she deleted those and still had

thirty-seven possible rivals. She twirled idly about in the gimbaled chair,

wondering exactly what criterion was vital for the Optherian assignment.

Lanzecki hadn´t mentioned such minor details in the little he had

disclosed. From what she had already learned of the planet and the

mechanics of installation, any competent singer could do the job. So what

would weigh the balance in favor of one singer?

        Killashandra reexamined the list of her known rivals: Borella and

Concera had both been cutting a long time. Gobbain Tekla, when she found

his position on the Main Roster, was a relative newcomer; Rimbol, like

Killashandra, was a rank tyro. When she inquired, she discovered that each

of the others had been a redundant or a failed musician. Perhaps that was

the necessary requirement. It certainly made sense for the installer to

have an instrumental background. She rephrased her question to apply to all

thirty-seven available singers. Nineteen fit that category.

        Lanzecki appeared reluctant to offer her the assignment but she

oughtn´t to fault him. She was acutely aware of past concessions from her

Guildmaster. She had no right to expect an interrupted flow of benefits

simply because he chose to share his bed with her. Nor, she decided, would

she jeopardize their relationship by referring to the assignment again.

Lanzecki might well be doing her a favor by not recommending her. She must

keep that aspect of the situation firmly in mind. She might not be thrilled

to vacation on the four systems to which her available credit would take

her, but that was another string in her deplorable luck. She would get a

rest from crystal and that was the essential requirement.

        Her reawakened appetite reminded her that it had been some hours

since breakfast. During lunch, she´d decide where to take herself. When,

refreshed and revitalized, she returned to her labors for the Heptite

Guild, she´d find a fresh vein of black crystal and then she´d get to the

planet Maxim.

        Before she could plan her vacation in any detail, Antona rang her

from the Infirmary. »Have you eaten, Killa?«

        »Is that an invitation or a professional query? Because I just

finished a very hearty lunch.«

        Antona sighed. »I should have liked your company for lunch. There´s

not much doing right now down here. Fortunately.«

        »If it´s just the company you want while you eat . . . .«

        Antona smiled with genuine pleasure. »I do. I don´t enjoy eating by

myself all the time. Could you drop down here first? You´re still listed as

inactive and you´ll want that status amended.«

        On her way down to the Infirmary level, Killashandra first worried

then chided herself for fearing there was more to Antona´s request than a

simple record up-date. It might have nothing to do with her fitness to take

on the Optherian job. Nor would it be discreet to imply that she knew such

an assignment was available. On the other hand, Antona would know more

about the amenities of the nearby worlds.

        The medical formality took little time and then the two women

proceeded to the catering section of the main singer´s floor of the Guild

Complex.

        »It´s so depressingly empty,« Antona said in a subdued voice as she

glanced about the dimly lit portions of the facility.

        »I found it a lot more depressing when everyone else was

celebrating a good haul,« Killashandra said in a glum tone.

        »Yes, yes, it would be, I suppose. Oh, fardles!« Antona quickly

diverted Killashandra toward the shadowy side. »Borella, Concera, and that

simp, Gobbain,« she murmured as she made a hasty detour.

        »You don´t like them?« Killashandra was amused.

        Antona shrugged. »One establishes a friendship by sharing events

and opinions. They remember nothing and consequently have nothing to share.

And less to talk about.«

        Without warning, Antona caught Killashandra by the arm, turning to

face her. »Do yourself a sterling favor, Killa. Put everything you´ve

experienced so far in your life, every detail you can recall from cutting

expeditions, every conversation you´ve had, every joke you´ve heard, put

everything« -- when Killashandra affected surprise, Antona gave her arm a

painful squeeze -- »and yes, I do mean ‘everything,´ into your personal

retrieval file. What you did. what you said, what you felt« -- and Antona´s

fierce gaze challenged Privacy -- »how you´ve loved. Then, when your mind

is as blank as theirs, you can refresh your memory and have something with

which to reestablish you!« Her expression became intensely sad. »Oh, Killa.

Be different! Do as I ask! Now! Before it´s too late!«

        Then, her customary composure restored, she released the arm and

seemed to draw the intensity back into her straight, slim body. »Because I

assure you,« she said as she took the last few steps into the catering

area, »that once your brilliant wit and repartee become as banal and

malicious as theirs,« she jerked her thumb at the silent trio, »I´ll seek

other company at lunch. Now,« she said, her fingers poised over the

catering terminal, »what are you having?«

        »Yarran beer.« Killashandra said the first thing that came to mind,

being slightly dazed by Antona´s unexpected outburst.

        Antona raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, then rapidly dialed

their orders.

        They were served quickly and took their trays to the nearest

banquette. As Antona tackled her meal with good appetite, Killashandra

sipped her beer, digesting Antona´s remarkable advice. Till then,

Killashandra had had no opportunity to appreciate the viewpoint of a

colleague who would not lose her memory as an occupational hazard.

Stubbornly, Killashandra preferred to forget certain scenes in her life.

Like failure.

        »Well, you don´t have long to wait for a fresh supply of cluttered

minds,« Killashandra said at last, blotting the beer foam from her upper

lip and deferring conversation on Antona´s unsettling advice.

        »A new class? How did that privileged information seep out? You are

only just out of an Infirmary tank. Well, you won´t be allowed to brief

them if that´s what you had in mind, Killa.«

        »Why not?«

        Antona shrugged and daintily sampled her nicely browned casserole

before replying. »You´ve no injury to display. That´s an important part of

the briefing, you see -- the visible, undeniable proof of the rapid tissue

regeneration enjoyed by residents of Ballybran.«

        »Irresistible!« Antona gave Killashandra a sharp glance. »Oh, no

complaints from me, Antona. The Guild can be proud of its adroit recruiting

program.«

        Antona fastened a searching glance on her face and put down her

fork. »Killashandra Ree, the Heptite Guild is not permitted by the

Federated Sentient Planets to ‘recruit´ free citizens for such a hazardous

profession. Only volunteers -- «

        »Only volunteers insist on presenting themselves, and so many of

these have exceedingly useful skills . . . .« She broke off, momentarily

disconcerted by Antona´s almost fierce glance.

        »What concern is that of yours, Killashandra Ree? You have

benefited immensely from the . . . selection process.«

        »Despite my unexpected inclusion.«

        »A few odd ones slip through no matter how careful we are,« Antona

said all too sweetly, her eyes sparkling.

        »Don´t fret, Antona. It´s not a subject that I would discuss with

anyone else.«

        »Particularly Lanzecki.«

        »I´m not likely to get that sort of an opportunity,« she said,

wondering if Antona knew or suspected their relationship. Or if her advice

to remember loves and emotions had merely been a general warning to include

all experience. Would Killashandra want to remember, decades from now, that

she and Lanzecki had briefly been lovers? »Advise me, Antona, on which of

our nearer spatial neighbors I should plan a brief vacation?«

 

        Antona grimaced. »You might just as well pick the name at random

for all the difference there is among them. Their only advantage is that

they are far enough away from Ballybran to give your nerves the rest they

need.«

        Just then a cheerful voice hailed them.

        »Killa! Antona! Am I glad to see someone else alive!« Rimbol

exclaimed, hobbling out of the shadows. He grinned as he saw the pitcher of

beer. »May I join you?«

        »By all means,« Antona said graciously.

        »What happened to you?« Killashandra asked. Rimbol´s cheek and

forehead were liberally decorated by newly healed scars.

        »Mine was the sled that did a nose dive over the baffle.«

        »It did?«

        »You didn´t know it was me?« Rimbol´s mouth twisted in mock

chagrin. »The way Malaine carried on you´d´ve thought I´d placed half the

incoming singers in jeopardy by that flip.«

        »Did you rearrange the sled as creatively as your face?«

        Rimbol shook his head ruefully. »It broke its nose, mine was only

bloody. At that it´ll take longer to fix the sled than for my leg to heal.

Say, Killa, have you heard about the Optherian contract?«

        »For the fractured manual? That could pay for a lot of repairs.«

        »Oh, I don´t want it,« and he flicked his hand in dismissal.

        »Why ever not?«

        Rimbol took a long pull of his beer. »Well, I´ve got a claim that

was cutting real well right now. Optheria´s a long way away from here and

I´ve been warned that I could lose the guiding resonance being gone so

long.«

        »And because you remembered that I haven´t cut anything worth

packing -- «

        »No.« Rimbol held up a hand, protesting Killashandra´s accusation.

»I mean, yes, I knew you´ve been unlucky lately -- «

        »Who do you think cut the white crystal to replace the fractured

Optherian manual?«

        »You did!« Rimbol´s face brightened with relief. »Then you don´t

need to go either.« He raised his beaker in a cheerful toast. »Where d´you

plan to go off-world?«

        »I hadn´t exactly made up my mind . . . .« Killashandra saw that

Antona was busy serving up the last of her casserole.

        »Why don´t you try Maxim in the Barderi system.« Rimbol leaned

eagerly across the table to her. »I´ve heard it´s something sensational.

I´ll get there sometime but I´d sure like to hear your opinion of it. I

don´t half believe the reports. I´d trust you.«

        »That´s something to remember,« Killashandra murmured, glancing

sideways at Antona. Then, taking note of Rimbol´s querying look, she asked

smoothly, »What´ve you been cutting lately?«

        »Greens,« Rimbol replied with considerable satisfaction. He held up

crossed fingers. »Now, if only the storm damage is minimal, and it could be

because the vein´s in a protected spot, I might even catch up with you on

Maxim. You see . . .« and he proceeded to elaborate on his prospects.

        As Rimbol rattled on in his amusing fashion, Killashandra wondered

if crystal would dull the Scartine´s infectious good-nature along with his

memory. Would Antona give him the same urgent advice? Surely each of the

newest crystal singers had some unique quality to be cherished and

sustained throughout a lifetime. Antona´s outburst had been sparked by a

long frustration. To how many singers over her decades in the Guild had she

tendered the same advice and found it ignored?

        ». . . So I came in with forty greens,« Rimbol was saying with an

air of achievement.

        »That´s damned good cutting!« Killashandra replied with suitable

fervor.

        »You have no trouble releasing crystal?« Antona asked.

        »Well, I did the first time out,« Rimbol admitted candidly, »but I

remembered what you´d said, Killa, about packing as soon as you cut. I´ll

never forget the sight of you locked in crystal thrall, right here in a

noisy crowded hall. A kindly and timely word of wisdom!«

        »Oh, you´d have caught on soon enough,« Killashandra said, feeling

a trifle embarrassed by his gratitude.

        »Some never do, you know,« Antona remarked.

        »What happens? Do they stand in statuesque paralysis until night

comes? Or a loud storm?«

        »The inability to release crystal is no joke, Rimbol.«

        Rimbol stared at Antona, his mobile face losing its amused

expression. »You mean, they can be so enthralled, nothing breaks the

spell?« Antona nodded slowly. »That could be fatal. Has it been?«

        »There have been instances.«

        »Then I´m doubly indebted to you, Killa,« Rimbol said, rising, »so

this round´s on me.«

        They finished that round, refreshed by food, drink, and

conversation.

        »Of the four, I think you´d prefer Rani in the Punjabi system,«

Antona told Killashandra in parting. »The food´s better and the climate

less severe. They have marvelous mineral hot springs, too. Not as

efficacious as our radiant fluid but it´ll help reduce crystal resonance.

You need that. After just an hour in your company, the sound off you makes

the hairs on my arm stand up. See?«

        Killashandra exchanged glances with Rimbol, before they examined

the proof on Antona´s extended arm.

        Antona laughed reassuringly, laying gentle fingers on

Killashandra´s forearm.

        »A perfectly normal phenomenon for a singer who´s been out in the

Rangers steadily for over a year. Neither of you would be affected but, as

I don´t sing crystal, I am. Get used to it. That´s what identifies a singer

anywhere in the Galaxy But the Rani hot springs will diminish the effect

considerably. So does time away from here. See you.«

        As Killashandra watched Antona enter the lift, she felt Rimbol´s

hand sliding up her arm affectionately.

        »You feel all right to me,« he said, his blue eyes twinkling with

amusement. Then he felt her stiffen and suppress a movement of withdrawal.

He dropped his hand. »Privacy -- sorry, Killa.« He stepped back.

        »Not half as sorry as I am, Rimbol. You didn´t deserve that. Chalk

it up to another side effect of singing crystal that they don´t include in

that full disclosure.« She managed an apologetic smile. »I´m so wired I

could broadcast.«

        »Not to worry, Killa. I understand. See you when you get back.«

Then he made his wobbly way into the yellow quadrant to his quarters.

        Killashandra stared after him, irritated with herself for her

reaction to a casual caress. She´d had no such reaction to Lanzecki. Or was

that the problem? She was very thoughtful as she walked slowly to her

quarters. Fidelity was an unlikely disease for her to catch. She certainly

enjoyed making love with Lanzecki, and definitely he exerted an intense

fascination on her. Lanzecki had unequivocally separated his professional

life from his private one.

        »Rani, huh,« she murmured to herself as she put her thumb to the

door lock. She entered the room, closing the door behind her, and then

leaned against it.

        Now, in the absence of background sounds, she could hear the

resonance in her body, feel it cascading up and down her bones, throbbing

in her arteries. The noise between her ears was like a gushing river in

full flood. She held out her arms but the static apparently did not affect

her, the carrier, or she had exhausted that phenomenon in herself. »Mineral

baths! Probably stink of sulfur or something worse.«

        Immediately she heard the initial phluggg as radiant fluid began to

flow into the tank in the hygiene room. Wondering why the room computer was

on, she opened her mouth to abort the process, when her name issued from

the speakers.

        »Killashandra Ree?« The bass voice was unmistakably Trag´s.

        »Yes, Trag?« She switched on vision.

        »You have been restored to the active list.«

        »I´m going off-world as soon as I can arrange transport, Trag.«

        Expressionless as ever, Trag regarded her. »A lucrative assignment

is available to a singer of your status.«

        »The Optherian manual?« As Trag inclined his head once,

Killashandra controlled her surprise. Why was Trag approaching her when

Lanzecki had definitely not wanted her to take it?

        »You‘re aware of the details?« For the first time Trag evinced a

flicker of surprise.

        »Rimbol told me. He also said he wasn´t taking it. Was he your

first choice?«

        Trag regarded her steadily for a moment. »You were the logical

first choice, Killashandra Ree, but until an hour ago you were an

Inactive.«

        »I was the first choice?«

        »Firstly, you are going off-world in any event and do not have

sufficient credit to take you past the nearer inhabited systems. Secondly,

an extended leave of absence is recommended by Medical. Thirdly, you have

already acquired the necessary skills to place white crystal brackets. In

the fourth place, your curriculum vitae indicates latent teaching abilities

so that training replacement technicians on Optheria is well within your

scope.«

        »Nothing was said about training technicians. Borella and Concera

both have considerably more instructional experience than I.«

        »Borella, Concera, and Gobbain Tekla have not exhibited either the

tact or diplomacy requisite to this assignment.«

        Killashandra was amused that Trag added Gobbain to the list. Had

Bajorn told Trag who had inquired about transport to Optheria?

        »There are thirty-seven other active Guild members who qualify!«

        Trag shook his head slowly twice. »No, Killashandra Ree, it must be

you who goes. The Guild needs some information about Optheria -- «

        »Tactfully and diplomatically extracted? On what subject?«

        Why the Optherian government prohibits interstellar travel to its

citizens.«

        Killashandra let out a whoop of delight. »You mean, why, with their

obsession for music, there isn´t a single Optherian in the Heptite Guild?«

        »That is not the relevant issue, Killashandra. The Federated

Sentient Council would be obliged if the Guild´s representative would act

as an impartial observer, to determine if this restriction is popularly

accepted -- «

        »A Freedom of Choice infringement? But wouldn´t that be a matter

for -- «

        Trag held up his hand. »The request asks for an impartial opinion

on the popular acceptance of the restriction. The FSC acknowledges that

isolated individuals might express dissatisfaction, but a complaint has

been issued by the Executive Council of the Federated Artists Association.«

        Killashandra let out a low whistle. The Stellars themselves

protested? Well, if Optherian composers and performers were involved, of

course the Executive Council would protest. Even if it had taken them

decades to do so.

        »And since the Guild´s representative would certainly come in

contact with composers and performers during the course of the assignment,

yes, I´d be more than willing to volunteer for that facet.« Was that why

Lanzecki had been against her going? To protect her from the iron idealism

of a parochial Optherian Council? But, as a member of the Heptite Guild,

which guaranteed her immunity to local law and restrictions, she could not

be detained on any charges. She could be disciplined only by her Guild.

That any form of artistry might be limited by law was anathema. »There´ve

been Optherian organs a long time . . .«

        »Popular acceptance is the matter under investigation.«

        Trag was not going to be deflected from the official wording of the

request.

        »All right, I copy!«

        »You´ll accept this assignment?«

        Killashandra blinked. Did she imagine the eagerness in Trag´s

voice, the sudden release of tension from his face.

        »Trag, there´s something you´ve not told me about this assignment.

I warn you, if this turns out to be like the Trundie -- «

        »Your familiarity with elements of this assignment suggests that

you have already done considerable background investigation. I have

informed you of the FSC request -- «

        »Why don´t you leave it with me for a little while, Trag,« she

said, studying his face, »and I´ll consider it. Lanzecki gave me the

distinct impression that I shouldn´t apply for it.«

        There. She hadn´t imagined that reaction. Trag was perturbed. He´d

been deliberately tempting her, with as subtle a brand of flattery as she´d

ever been subjected to. Her respect for the Administration Officer reached

a new level for she would never have thought him so devious. He was so

completely devoted to Guild and Lanzecki.

        »You´re asking me without Lanzecki´s knowledge?« She did not miss

the sudden flare of Trag´s nostrils nor the tightening of his jaw muscles.

»Why, Trag?«

        »Your name was first on the list of qualified available singers.«

        »Stuff it, Trag. Why me?«

        »The interests of the Heptite Guild are best served by your

acceptance.« A hint of desperation edged Trag´s voice.

        »You object to the relationship between Lanzecki and me?« She had

no way of knowing in what way Trag had adapted to Ballybran´s symbiont or

in what way he expressed thought that such respect required additional

outlets. If jealously prompted Trag to remove a rival . . .

        »No.« Trag´s denial was accompanied by a ripple of his facial

muscles. »Up till now, he has not allowed personal consideration to

interfere with his judgment.«

        »How has he done that?« Killashandra was genuinely perplexed. Trag

was not complaining that Lanzecki had awarded her another valuable

assignment. He was perturbed because he hadn´t. »I don´t follow you.«

        Trag stared at her for such a long moment she wondered if the

screen had malfunctioned.

        »Even if you just go to Rani, it will not be far enough away or

long enough. Lanzecki is long overdue for a field trip, Killashandra Ree.

Because of you. Your body is so full of resonance he´s been able to delay.

But your resonance is not enough. If you´re not available, he will be

forced to cut crystal again and rejuvenate his body and his symbiont. If

you have a real regard for the man, go. Now. Before it´s too late for him.«

        Killashandra stared back at Trag, trying to absorb the various

implications-foremost was the realization that Lanzecki was genuinely

attached to her. She felt a wave of exultation and tenderness that quite

overwhelmed her for a moment. She´d never considered that possibility. Nor

its corollary: that Lanzecki would be reluctant to cut crystal because he

might forget his attachment. A man who´d been in the Guild as long as he

had would be subject to considerable memory loss in the Ranges. Had he

learned his duties as Guild Master so thoroughly that the knowledge was as

ingrained in him as the rules and regulations in a crystal-mad brain like

Moksoon´s? It was not Lanzecki´s face that suddenly dominated her thoughts,

but the crisscross tracings of old crystal scars on his body, the

inexplicable pain that occasionally darkened his eyes. Antona´s cryptic

admission about singers who could not break crystal thrall echoed in her

head. She puzzled at the assortment of impressions and suddenly understood.

She sagged against the back and arms of her chair for support. Dully she

wondered if Trag and Antona had been in collusion. Would the subject of

crystal thrall have come up at that lunch hour even if Kimbol had not

arrived?

        There was little doubt in Killashandra´s mind that Antona knew of

Lanzecki´s circumstances. And she did doubt that the woman knew about their

relationship. She also doubted that Trag would mention so personal an

aspect of the Guild Master´s business. Why couldn´t Lanzecki have been just

another singer, like herself? Why did he have to be Guild Master and far

too valuable, too essential to be placed in jeopardy by unruly affection?

        Why, the situation has all the trappings of an operatic tragedy! A

genuine one-solution tragedy, where hero and heroine both lose out. For she

could now admit to herself that she was as deeply attached to Lanzecki as

he was to her. She covered her face with both hands, clasping them to

cheeks gone chill.

        She thought of Antona´s advice, to put down everything -- including

love -- Killashandra writhed in her chair. Antona couldn´t have known that

Killashandra would so shortly be faced with such an emotional decision.

Which, Killashandra realized with a flicker of ironic amusement, was one to

be as deeply and quickly interred and forgotten as possible.

        One thing was sure -- no matter how long the journey to Optheria,

it wouldn´t be long enough to forget all the wonderful moments she had

enjoyed with Lanzecki the man. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain

of encountering him when she returned, and, perhaps, finding no

recollection of her in his dark eyes. Nor feel his lips again on her hand .

. .

        »Killashandra?« Trag´s voice recalled her to his watching presence

on the viewscreen.

        »Now that I know the ramifications of the assignment, Trag, I can

hardly refuse it.« Her flippant tone was belied by the tears rolling down

her cheeks. »Do you go with him to break the thrall?« she asked when her

throat opened enough to speak again.

        At any other time, she would have counted Tag´s startled look as a

signal of victory. Maybe if she found someone to sing with. she would also

find such a passionate and unswerving loyalty. She must remember that.

        »When´s the next shuttle to Shanganagh, Trag?« She rubbed her

cheeks dry with an urgent impatience. »Tell Lanzecki -- tell him . . .

crystal resonance drove me to it.« As she spun off her chair, she heard

herself give a laugh that verged on the hysterical. »That´s no more than

the truth, isn´t it?« Driven by the need just to do something, she began to

cram clothes into her carisak.

        »The shuttle leaves in ten minutes, Killashandra Ree.«

        »That s great.« She struggled to secure the fastenings on the

bulging sak. »Will you see me aboard again, Trag? That seems to be your

especial duty, rushing me onto shuttles to Shanganagh for unusual

assignments all over the galaxy.« She was unable to resist taunting Trag.

He was the author of her misery and she was being strong and purposeful in

a moment of deep personal sacrifice and loss. She glanced up at the screen

and saw that it was dark. »Coward!«

        She hauled open her door. She decided that slamming it was a waste

of a grand gesture. She had just enough time to get to the shuttle.

        »Exit Killashandra. Quietly. Up stage!«

 

Chapter 3

 

Trag had timed Killashandra´s departure well for she and the three crates

of white crystal were on board a freighter bound for the Rappahoe Transfer

Satellite within four hours of their confrontation. She didn´t think about

it at the time for she was totally immersed in the strong emotions of

self-sacrifice, remorse for her effect on Lanzecki, and a perverse need to

redeem herself in Trag´s eyes. Even though she had permitted herself to be

borne on the tide of circumstance, she kept hoping that Lanzecki might

somehow get wind of her defection and abort the mission.

        To insure that her whereabouts were known, she rummaged through the

shopping area of Shanganagh Base like a mach storm. She bought necessities,

fripperies, and foodstuffs, accompanying each purchase with a running

dialogue at the top of her voice and spelling out her name for every credit

entry. No one could fail to know the whereabouts of Killashandra Ree. After

adding a few items of essential clothing to the garments she had stuffed

into her carisak, her keen instinct for survival asserted itself in the

base´s victualers. She had vivid memories of the monotonously nutritious

diet on the Selkite freighter and the stodge supplied by the Trundomoux

cruiser. She did have to consider her palate and digestive system.

        Sadly, no deferential shopkeeper tapped her on the arm to tell her

of an urgent call from the Guild Master. In fact, people seemed to keep

their distance from her. A chance glimpse of her gaunt, harrowed face in a

mirror provided one explanation -- she´d have needed no cosmetic aids to

play the part of any one of a number of harried, despairing, insane

heroines. At that point her humor briefly reasserted itself. She had often

thought that the make-up recommended for, say, Lucia, or Lady Macbeth, or

Testuka and Isolde was totally exaggerated. Now, at last having had

personal experiences with the phenomenon of losing one´s great love through

selfless sacrifice, she could appreciate the effect which grief could have

on one´s outward appearance. She looked awful! So she purchased two

brilliant multihued floating kaftans of Beluga spider-silk, and hastily

added their fingerlength cases to her bulging carisak, then a travel-case

of fashionable cosmetics. She´d nine days to travel on the first freighter

and it would only be civil to remedy her appearance.

        Then the boarding call for the Pink Tulip Sparrow was broadcast and

she had no option but to proceed to the loading bay. In an effort to delay

the inevitable, she walked at a funereal pace down the access ramp.

        »Singer, we´ve got to get moving! Now, please, hurry along.«

        She made an appearance of haste but when the Mate tried to take her

arm and hurry her into the lock, her body arched in resistance. Abruptly he

let go, staring at her with an expression of puzzled shock -- his arms were

bare, and the hairs on them stood erect.

        »I´m awaiting purchases from Stores.« Killashandra was so desperate

for a last-minute reprieve that any delay seemed reasonable.

        »There!« The Mate conveyed frustrated disgust and impatience as he

pointed to a stack of odd-size parcels littering the passageway.

        »The crystals?«

        »Cartons all racked and tacked in the special cargo hold.« He made

a move as if to grab her arm and yank her aboard, but jingled his hands

with frustration instead. »We´ve got to make way. Shanganagh Authority

imposes heavy fines for missed departure windows. And don´t tell me,

Crystal Singer, that you´ve got enough credit to pay ‘em.« Abruptly she

abandoned all hope that Lanzecki, like the legendary heroes of yore, would

rescue her at the last moment from her act of boundless self-sacrifice. She

stepped aboard the freighter. The airlock closed with such speed that the

heavy external hatch brushed against her heels. The ship was moving from

the docking bay before the Mate could lead her out of the lock and close

the secondary iris behind them.

        Killashandra experienced an almost overpowering urge to wrench open

the airlock and leap into the blessed oblivion of space. But as she had

deplored such extravagant and melodramatic actions in performances of

historical tragedy, integrity prevented suicide despite the extreme anguish

which tormented her. Besides, she had no excuse for causing the death of

the Mate who seemed not to be suffering at all.

        »Take me to my cabin, please.« She turned too quickly, stumbled

over the many packages in the passageway and had to grab the Mate´s

shoulder, to regain her balance. Ordinarily she would have cursed her

clumsiness, and apologized but cursing was undignified and inappropriate to

her mood. From the pile, she chose two packages with the victualer´s logo,

and waved negligently at the remainder. »The rest may be brought to my

cabin whenever convenient.«

        The Mate wended a careful passage through the tumbled parcels as he

passed her to lead the way. She noticed that the hair on his neck, indeed

the dark body hairs that escaped the sleeveless top he wore, were piercing

the thin stuff, all at right angles to his body.

        This was no longer an amusing manifestation. Just another

fascinating aspect of crystal singing that you don´t hear about in that

allegedly Complete Disclosure! It should be renamed »A Short Introduction

to what´s really in store for you!« One day, no doubt, she would be in the

appropriately damaged state to give All the Facts.

        The Mate had stopped, flattening himself against the bulkhead, and

gestured toward an open door.

        »Your quarters, Crystal Singer. Your thumbprint will secure the

door.« He touched his fingers to a spot above his right eye and disappeared

around the corner as if chased by Galormis.

        Killashandra pressed her thumb hard into the door lock. She was

pleasantly surprised by the size of the cabin. Not as big as any

accommodation she had enjoyed on Ballybran but larger than her student room

at Fuerte and much more spacious than that closet on the Trundomoux

cruiser. She slid the door shut, locked it, and put the packages down on

the narrow writing ledge. She looked at the bunk, strapped up to the wall

in its daytime position. Suddenly she was light-headed with fatigue. Strong

emotion is as exhausting as cutting crystal, she thought. She released the

bunk and stretched herself out. She exhaled on a long shuddering sob and

tried to relax her taut muscles.

        The hum of the ship´s crystal drive was a counterpoint to the

resonance between her ears, and both sounds traveled in waves up and down

her bones. At first her mind did a descant, weaving an independent melody

through the bass and alto, but the rhythm suggested a three-syllable word

-- Lan-zec-ki -- so she changed to an idiot two-note dissonance and

eventually fell asleep.

        Once she got over the initial buoyancy of self-sacrifice aboard the

Pink Tulip Sparrow, Killashandra vacillated between fury at Trag and

wallowing in despair at her »Loss.« Until she concluded that her misery was

caused by Lanzecki -- after all, if he hadn´t made such a determined play

for her affections, he wouldn´t have become so attached to her, nor she to

him, and she wouldn´t be on a stinking tub of a freighter. Well, yes, she

probably would. If all Trag had told her about the Optherian assignment was

true. In no mood to be civil to either the crew or the other passengers,

she stayed in her cabin the entire trip.

        At Rappahoe Transfer Point, she boarded a second freighter, newer

and less unpleasant than the Pink Tulip Sparrow, with a lounge for the ten

passengers it carried. Eight were male and each of them, including the only

attached man, stood quickly at her entrance. Plainly they were aware that

she was a crystal singer. Equally apparent was the fact that they were

willing to put scruples aside to discover the truth of the space flot about

singers. Three of them desisted after their first hour of propinquity. Two

more during the first evening´s meal. To have one´s hair constantly

standing on end seems like a little thing but so is a drop of water

patiently wearing away a stone. The bald Argulian was the most persistent.

He actually grabbed her in the narrow companionway, pressing her close to

his body in an ardent embrace. She didn´t have to struggle for release.

        He dropped his arms and slid away, flushing and trembling. »You´re

shocking.« He scrubbed his arms and brushed urgently at those portions of

his body which had been in contact with her. »That´s not a nice thing to do

to a friendly fellow like me.« He looked aggrieved.

        »It was all your idea.« Killashandra continued on to her quarters.

And another singer legend is spawned!

        The female captain of the third freighter, which she boarded at

Melorica, bluntly informed her that, under no circumstances, would she

tolerate any short term disruption of the pairing in her all-female crew.

        »That´s quite all right, captain. I´ve taken a vow of celibacy.«

        »What for?« the captain demanded, raking Killashandra with an

appraising scrutiny. »Religious or professional?«

        »Neither. I shall be true to one man till I die.« Killashandra was

pleased with the infinitesimal tremor of pathos in her voice.

        »No man´s worth that, honey!« The captain´s disgust was genuine.

        With a sad sigh, Killashandra asked if the ship´s library had much

in the way of programs for single players and retired to her quarters,

which had been getting smaller with each ship. Fortunately this was the

shortest leg of her space hike to Bernard´s World.

        By the time Killashandra reached the Bernard´s World Transfer

Satellite, she entertained doubts about Trag´s candor. The journey seemed

incredibly long for a modern space voyage, even allowing for the fact that

freighters are generally slower than cruisers or liners. She´d logged five

weeks of interstellar travel and must somehow endure another five before

she reached the Optherian system. Could Trag have done a subtle job

recruiting her because no other singer would consider the assignment? No,

the fee was too good -- besides. Borella, Concera, and Gobbain had been

trying for it.

        In the orbital position of a small moon, the Transfer Satellite

inscribed a graceful forty-eight-hour path about the brilliant

blue-and-green jewel of a planet. The satellite was a marvel of modern

engineering, with docking and repair facilities capable of handling FSC

cruisers and the compound ships of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps,

felicitously sited at the intersection of nine major space routes. Fresh

fruit and vegetables were grown in its extensive gardens, and high quality

protein was manufactured in its catering division: sufficient in quantity

and diversity to please the most exacting clients. Stores of the basic

nutrients were available for five other star-roving species. Additional

nodules accommodated small industries and a thriving medical research

laboratory and hospital. In the transient quadrant, there were playing

fields, free-ball and free-fall courts, spacious gardens, and a zoo housing

a selection of the smaller life forms from nine nearby star systems. As

Killashandra perused the directory in her room, she noted with considerable

delight that a radiant fluid tank was one of the amenities in the gymnasium

arc.

        Although she was certain that there had been some decrease of the

resonance in her body, she ached for the total relief provided by an hour

or so in the radiant fluid. She booked the room and, fed up with the

reaction of »ordinary« people to her proximity, took the service route to

it. She had also decided that she was not going to spend the five weeks on

the cruise ship enhancing crystal singer myths. Just then her bruised and

aching heart had no room for affection, much less passion. And crystal

neutralized passing fancy or pure lust

        If she could reduce the hair-standing phenomenon to a minimum, she

intended to adopt a new personality: that of an aspiring young musician

traveling to Optheria´s Summer Festival, and required by economics to

travel off-season and on the cheaper freight lines. She had spent long

hours preparing the right make-up for the part, affecting the demeanor of

the very young, inexperienced adult and recalling the vocabulary and idiom

of her student days. So much had transpired since that carefree time that

it was like studying for an historic role. In such rehearsals, Killashandra

found that time passed quickly. Now if her wretched body would co-operate .

.

        After nine hours of immersions over the course of three days,

Killashandra achieved her goal. She acquired a suitable modest wardrobe. On

the fifth day on the Bernard´s World Transfer Station, in wide-eyed and

breathless obedience to the boarding call, she presented her ticket to the

purser of the FSPS Liner Athena, and was assigned a seat on the second of

the two shuttles leaving the station to catch the liner on its parabolic

route through the star system. The shuttle trip was short and its single

forward viewscreen was dominated by the massive orange hulk of the Athena.

Most of the passengers were awed by the spectacle, babbling about their

expectations of the voyage, the hardships they had endured to save for the

experience, their hopes for their destinations, anxieties about home-bound

relatives. Their chatter irritated Killashandra and she began to wish she

had not posed as a student. As the respected member of a prestigious Guild,

she would have been assigned to the star-class shuttle.

        However, she´d made the choice and was stuck with it, so she grimly

disembarked onto the economy level of the Athena and located her single

cabin in the warren. This room was the same size as her Fuertan student

apartment but, she told herself philosophically, she wouldn´t be so likely

to step out of character. Anyway, only the catering and lounge facilities

differed with the price of the ticket: the leisure decks were unrestricted.

        The Athena, a new addition to the far-flung cruise line Galactica,

Federated, was on the final leg of its first sweep round this portion of

the Galaxy. Some of the oh´s and ah´s that Killashandra breathed were quite

genuine as she and other economy class passengers were escorted on the

grand tour of the liner. A self-study complex included not only the

schoolroom for transient minors but small rehearsal rooms where a broad

range of musical instruments could be rented -- with the notable exceptions

of a portable Optherian organ -- a miniature theater, and several large

workshops for handicrafters. To her astonishment, the gymnasium complex

boasted three small radiant fluid tanks. Their guide explained that this

amenity eased aching muscles, overcame space nausea, and was an economical

substitute for a water bath since the fluid could be purified after every

use. He reminded people that water was still a rationed commodity and that

two liters was the daily allowance. Each cabin had a console and vdr,

linked to the ship´s main computer bank which. their escort proudly told

them, was the very latest FBM 9000 series with a more comprehensive library

of entertainment recordings than many planets possessed. The FSPS Athena

was a true goddess of the spaceways.

        During the first forty-eight hours of the voyage, while the Athena

was clearing the Bernard´s World system and accelerating to transfer speed,

Killashandra deliberately remained aloof, in her pose of shy student, from

the general mingling of the other passengers. She was amused and educated

by the pairings, the shiftings and realignments that occurred during this

period. She made private wagers with herself as to which of the young women

would pair off with which of the young men. Subtler associations developed

among the older unattached element.

        To Killashandra´s jaundiced eye, none of the male economy

passengers, young or old, looked interesting enough to cultivate. There was

one absolutely stunning man, with the superb carriage of a dancer or

professional athlete, but his classic features were too perfect to project

a hint of his character or temperament. He made his rounds, a slight smile