Crystal Line Book3
by Anne McCaffrey
Synopsis:
When Killashandra Ree joined the mysterious Heptite Guild to become a
crystal singer, she was well aware of the awesome responsibility . . .
and the consequences: little by little, her memories would be destroyed
forever. A new technique could restore her lost memories, but is she
ready for the pain they'll bring?
sequal to Crystal singer and Killashandra
Chapter One
Killashandra shouted to herself. Not that Lars Dahl could have heard
her over the roar of the sea crashing against the bows of the Angel and
the hurrirning tension of the wind through the sail stays and across the
sloop's main sail.
She pointed to the first star of the evening in the darkening eastern
sky and looked back at him to see if he was watching her. He was and
nodded, his grin showing his very white teeth against his very tan skin.
She was near as dark as he was after their circumnavigation of the main
continent of Ballybran.
But Lars always looked the compleat captain, especially as he was
standing now - his straddled legs bracing his long lean body on bare
feet against the slant of the deck, strong hands firmly on the spokes of
the wheel as he kept the Angel on the starboard tack under tight sail.
The stiff breeze had ruffled his sun-bleached and salt-encrusted hair
into a crest, much like the ritual head-dress of a primitive religion.
They had plenty of sea room between the Angel and the jagged stones of
the shore but, all too quickly, they would reach the headland and the
harbour that served the Heptite Guild Headquarters.
Though the huge cube was kilometres inland, it loomed large from
whatever direction it was approached.
Killashandra sighed. She almost didn't want this voyage to end, and yet
the voyage, therapeutic though it was, did not quite ease the surge of
crystal in her blood. Lars, not having sung as long as she, was in
better shape but they had to strike a good lode of crystal on this trip
into the Ranges and make enough to get off-world for Passover which was,
once again, nearly upon them. She devoutly hoped that their sled was
repaired and ready for the Ranges.
Killashandra gritted her teeth, remembering the ignominy of having to be
rescued when their sled had been buried by a rockslide! Hauling the
crushed sled out of the Ranges had sliced a hefty hunk out of their
credit balance. Fortunately the crystal they'd cut before the rockslide
- which had been preserved in containers sturdy enough to resist
collapse - had been sufficient to pay the huge repair bill.
There hadn't been sufficient credit left for them to take an off-world
jaunt while the refit was being done. Once again the Angel, and the
ever-challenging seas of Ballybran, had rescued them from the ping of
crystal in their blood and the boredom of the Heptite Guild quarters.
But, by all the holies, Killashandra swore, this time they would sing
good crystals - if they could possibly find that wretched lode again.
Communication crystals were always valuable: if they could just cut one
set quickly and without foul-ups! She wanted to get off-planet and this
time Lars was not going to talk her into going to yet another water
world. There were other planets that could prove just as interesting.
If she didn't get to choose once in a while, she might just seriously
consider finding another partner. There was that stocky young redhead
with weird eyes and a roguish grin - he reminded her of someone. She
grimaced into the wind - the need for "reminders' was becoming more
common for her. She'd been singing crystal a long time now, and she
knew very well indeed that her memory was eroding: what or how much she
was losing she didn't know. She shrugged. As long as she didn't forget
Lars Dahl, nor he her.
The Angel was nearly round the massive headland and Killashandra could
just see a slice of the eastern face of the great Heptite Guild cube.
The good mood that had sustained her now abruptly altered.
"Back to the old grind," she muttered.
"BACK TO THE OLD GRIND, HUH?" Lars bellowed and she rolled her eyes in
her head and gave herself a shake.
Damn! Knowing what would come out of his mouth because they had shared
so much, so intensely, was also beginning to exacerbate her nerves.
Or maybe all she, and Lars, needed was new stimulation. He found enough
in a sea trip and these had until just this moment - been enough for
her, too.
She grimaced again. How long was too long?
Lars bellowed for her attention, motioning for her to join him in the
cockpit. She made a cautious but practised way astern, balancing
against both wind and the slant of the Angel, turning her head against
spray and the occasional high wave that broke across the deck.
As she came even with him, Lars reached out an arm and hooked her to his
side, smiling down at her, contented in the elements of the
sea-wind-ship, even if the end of their voyage was now in sight. She
let herself be held against his long, strong body. She knew him so
well! Was that such a bad thing for a crystal singer? Especially when
memory began to erode. She glanced up at Lars' profile, elegant despite
his peeling nose: Lars Dahl, the constant factor in her life!
"Hey, Killa, Lars, Lanzecki wants to see you soon as you dock," the
harbour master yelled even as he caught the line Killa deftly threw at
him. He bent it neatly about the bollard as she ran aft, leaping
lightly on to the marina slip, stern line in hand. "Ya heard me?" he
roared.
"Sure, I heard."
"We both heard," Lars added, grimacing at Killa.
Then, from long-established habit, Killashandra ducked down the
companionway to check that everything in the cabin had been stowed
properly, her chore as Lars had motored into the harbour.
Satisfied, she threw their duffles topside, following more circumspectly
with the bag of non-degradable trash.
Lars had shut down the engines and was checking the boom crutch to be
sure it was properly secured.
"I'll keep an eye on the boat for ya," the harbour master said
anxiously. Singers didn't dally when the Guild Master sent for them.
This pair made their own rules but he wasn't about to receive debits for
their impudence.
"Sure you will, Pat," Lars said reassuringly, as he checked the mast
stays, "but old habits die hard.
You'll run her in," and he jerked his head towards the spacious boat
houses, "if there's a bad blow?" Pat snorted, jamming his hands
indignantly into his jacket pockets. "And when haven't I?" Lars scooped
his duffle-bag off the deck and, leaping neatly from the Angel to the
pier, gave Pat a grateful grin and a clout for the reassurance.
Killashandra was a step behind him, adding her nod of appreciation
before she matched Lars stride for stride up the ramp to the wharf.
They took the nearest scooter and turned its nose inland, to the
Guild-hall.
By the time they had parked the scooter, entered the residential section
of the hall, taken a lift to the executive floor, nineteen people also
informed them, in tones varying from irritated malice to sheer envy,
that Lanzecki wanted to see them.
"Fardles!" Killashandra said, stressing the "f' sound against her teeth
and lips. "What's up?"
"Hmmm, we are not in favour with our peer group," Lars said, his
expression carefully bland.
"I've got a bad feeling," Killashandra muttered for his ears only.
Lars gave her a long, searching look, just as the lift halted at the
executive floor. "You think Lanzecki might have one of those choice
little extra jobs for us?"
"Uhhuh!" Then, in step, they swung left to Lanzecki's office.
The suite occupied a corner section but the first thing Killashandra
noticed was that Trag was not in sight.
II A slender man rose from Trag's accustomed place: he bore the fine
scars of healing crystal scores on face, neck and hands but Killashandra
couldn't remember ever seeing him before.
"Killashandra Ree?" the man asked, looking at her and then to her
companion. "Lars Dahl? Don't you ever turn on your ship comunit?"
"When we're in the cabin," Lars answered pleasantly enough.
"Weren't in it much, not with only two to crew her through some nasty
storms," Killa added with mock contrition. "Where's Trag?"
"I'm Bollam," she was told and Bollam gave the odd shrug of one shoulder
and tilt of his head that told them Trag was no longer alive. "You know
your way?"
"Intimately," Killashandra snapped over her shoulder as she strode
angrily around him and towards the door to Lanzecki's sanctum.
She didn't like Trag being dead. He'd taught her to retune crystal
during her apprenticeship and she vaguely remembered other remote things
about Trag: mainly good. Bollam didn't look like the sort of
personality who could manage the duties Trag had so effortlessly - and
unemotionally - executed. If she was Lanzecki, she wouldn't trust that
dark-looking weed as a partner in the Ranges. Fardles, she didn't have
half that many scars on her arms and she'd been singing crystal for for
a long time!
Slapping the door-plate with an angry hand, she pushed through as soon
as its identifying mechanism released the lock. She strode across to
where Lanzecki was leaning over a worktop.
"You do have a comunit aboard that boat of yours he began before she
could take the initiative.
Ship." Lars automatically corrected Lanzecki.
"When we turn it on," Killashandra said simultaneously. "What's so
earth-shattering ?" Lanzecki tossed the stylus he'd been using to the
worktop and, straightening, gave the pair a long look. Killa felt
something twist inside her. Lanzecki's face looked drawn and - aged.
Had Trag's death been that recent or - - "In the 478-S-2937 system in
the Libran area of space, they've found what they think might be a new
version of crystal, opalescent, but purported to be considerably more
complex than Terran opals or Vegan firestones, either clear or opaque."
He clicked on the viewing screen, fast-forwarding it so that the
exploration ship zoomed in speedy orbit, landed and early evaluation
processes went at an ever-increasing kaleidoscopic rate.
"Ah! Here!" And Lanzecki pressed for normal speed. "Planet's a shell
with an immense cavern system - geologists suggest that the planet
cooled too fast."
"No oceans?" Lars asked.
Lanzecki shook his head and Killa grinned, a trifle sourly, for that was
always Lars' first question about a new planet - "Were there seas to
sail?"
"Underground deposits of ice neither drinkable nor," and then the Guild
Master added a rare display of broad humour, "sailable."
"Damn!" Lars made the appropriate response.
"Ah!" Killa said, as the vid angled up and a coruscation of what
appeared to be liquid was reflected back. The angle altered and Killa
and Lars became aware that the liquidity was actually the reflection of
what appeared to be a band of Lanzecki's medium-blue opalescent stone.
Abruptly Lanzecki fast-forwarded to another extrusion, this time a
deeper blue in a wider band that was almost a complete rib, vaulting
from one side of the cavern across the ceiling, nearly to the floor on
both sides, seemingly spread from the "pool' in the centre of the roof.
There was a curious quality to the scene, for the colour seemed to flow
as if it was forcing itself downwards on both ends, striving to reach
the base.
"This is taken with only existing light, Lanzecki said, his tone lightly
laced with amused interest.
"The planet has a very slow rotation, taking nearly forty standard hours
to complete one diurnal revolution. This was taped in dawn light. Full
noon is blazing." Lars was more vocal in his admiration.
"All this one stone or a vein?" he asked.
"Well, that is another matter no one has been able to ascertain,'
Lanzecki said dryly.
"Oh?" Killa wasn't sure she liked the possibilities becoming apparent in
the situation.
"Yes, these tapes are several years old. Every member of the
exploration team died within four months of landing on Opal."
"Opal?" Killashandra exclaimed, staving off the gorier details she was
sure Lanzecki would give them.
He shrugged, his lips twitching briefly. "The team named it."
"Not knowing it would be their memorial?" Lars wryly.
"How did they die?" Lars asked, hitching one leg over the corner of the
worktop, settling himself.
"Not nicely. When the deadman alarm went off, broadcasting a
contamination code, the Trundomoui who investigated took every
precaution. They recovered the tape cassette in the airlock along with
the ship's log and a small chunk of unjiexing material which turned out
to be part of that coruscating stuff.
There were notes from the geologist and the doctor of the stricken ship
in the log entries. They concurred in the opinion that they had
acquired a lethal dose of something on Opal, and it could well have been
contact with the stone. The log said that to get this sample, they had
had to laser out the stone around it as they couldn't detach it in any
other way." Lanzecki paused, an interval not without some drama to it.
"The survey guys have identified the elements Cesium, Gallium, Rubidium
and lesser quantities of iron and Silicon in the sample.
There are also several radioactive isotopes indicating that at some
point the sample included a radioactive material but we found no trace
of which one. Odd thing was that the sample did not have the
coruscating look that the parent body had. Trag thought it had died,
being excised from the main body' "Trag went?" This time Lanzecki looked
away from them for a long moment before he answered. Then he made eye
contact with first Killashandra, then Lars.
"The Ballybran symbiont will heal our bodies and reduce degeneration to
a very slow crawl but eventually it, too, loses its resilience. Trag
has been on the Guild Roll a long, long time. He knew his symbiont
protection was waning. The Guild was asked to send a representative on
the premise that the Ballybran symbiont might protect a Heptite member.
Trag volunteered. Presnol put him through exhaustive tests and
discovered that the symbiont was still active.
Trag insisted that he had protection enough to be safe in proximity to
the specimen." There were many in the Guild who called Lanzecki the
stone-face. Killashandra had once made the mistake of thinking him
emotionless but events had corrected that misjudgement. The stony look
now was masking at least regret if not something deeper.
Lanzecki had depended on Trag for more than just partnership when he had
to cut crystal.
"He spent unshielded time with the stone and suffered no ill effects."
"Then what killed him?" Killashandra demanded.
Lanzecki gave a snort. "Some damned fool respiratory ailment he caught
on the voyage back." A twist of his right shoulder indicated his dislike
of such an ignoble ending. "Presnol did consider the possibility that
contact with the stone had reduced significantly his symbiont
protection, and tissue examination proved Trag certainly hadn't
contracted the same, or a similar, disease to that which affected the
geological ship's personnel." Lanzecki paused again. "In his report
Trag was confident that the Ballybran symbiont would protect crystal
singers and suggested that further investigations be carried out by the
Heptite Guild. He reported a resonance from the stone, unlike anything
he ever encountered in the Ranges: unlike but similar." Killashandra
folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the querying expression on
Lars' face. "And you want us to explore the possibilities?" she finally
asked.
"Yes." Lars caught her eye, blinking his left eye in their private code
of interest. Killa made Lanzecki wait.
"How much?" Lanzecki gave her a shark's grin. "We have quoted them a .
. . substantial fee for the services of a Heptite Guild Team."
"Ooooh, then the powers that be are really interested." When Lanzecki
nodded, she went on, "And you have a price in mind - for us, as well as
the Guild?"
"I am able to offer you fifty thousand credits.
And you should have more than enough time before the Passover frenzy
overtakes you." Killashandra dismissed that aspect as she rapidly
considered the monetary enticement and decided the Guild must have asked
for twice or three times that amount.
"We wouldn't take less than ninety thousand for that sort of hazardous
work," and she flicked a quick glance at Lars. Even the fifty thou
would take them anywhere in explored space for as long as they could
stand being away from Ballybran - and together that surcease could run
into two years or more since they both sang crystal.
Lanzecki inclined his head briefly, but the slight upturn of his lips
told Killa that he expected her to haggle. "Sixty. The Guild will have
expenses i6
"You should have asked for those above and beyond the danger money,
Killashandra said with a snort of contempt for that omission.
"Eighty-five."
"We might have to keep you in isolation on your return from Opal "Why
else have I been paying dues all these years?
And don't you trust Trag's evaluation?"
"As I always trusted him.
He was, however, only in the chamber with the stone for a relatively
short time "How long?" Lars asked.
"Three weeks."
"And you want us to believe that it didn't affect the symbiont ?"
"Presnol says not. A simple bronchial infection killed him. Those on
the exploration ship - examined by remote probe - died of a rampant
lymphatic leukaemia which no medication available to any nonaltered
humans could combat. There were no indications of lymphatic failure or
alteration in Trag."
"Three weeks might not have been long enough for the problem to
develop." Lanzecki shook his head. "Not according to the data in the
log of the medic on board the exploration ship. Initial symptoms of
fatigue, headache et cetera appeared in the second week after contact."
Killashandra kept staring at Lanzecki.
After the Trundomoui affair - a memory she hadn't been able to eradicate
- and some other little special assignments which had been reduced over
the years to feelings of annoyance rather than specific complaints,
Killashandra had an innate distrust of any Lanzecki assignments.
"Eighty buys our time and effort, she told him with terse finality "PLUS
- - -" and Lars held up his hand, entering the bidding for the first
time, "a half percent of Guild profits arising from viable merchandizing
of this as a product."
"WHAT!" Lanzecki's blast of surprise startled Lars off his perch.
Killashandra threw her head back in a burst of laughter. "Boy, you're
learning!"
"Well, I don't see why not," Lars told her but he was watching
Lanzecki's face. "If we're risking our asses for the Guild, we should
see some of the profits!"
"It may be nothing more than a pretty stone!" Lanzecki bit out the
words.
"Then there'd be no royalty to be p) "It could be sentient,'
Killashandra put in.
"Whose side are you on?" Lars demanded.
But Lanzecki grinned.
"Done!" And before either crystal singer could protest, he caught
Killashandra's hand - she was nearer him - and slapped it down on the
palm pad, effectively registering her agreement. Then he extended the
unit to Lars Dahl who was grinning broadly and made a show of wriggling
his fingers before placing them down on the pad.
"We could have held out for more," Killashandra said with some
self-disgust.
Lars parted his lips in a broad grin. Bargaining was usually her
province and she was very good at it. He was rather pleased with his
initiative in adding the percentage: not too much for Lanzecki to i8
reject out of hand but, if the rock was useful, they could easily never
have to cut crystal unless they needed to renew the symbiont.
Still, eighty thousand credits and a royalty was enough to salve pride
and greed.
"So, if unaltered humans can't land on this planet, how do we?"
Killashandra asked.
"Brain ship's been allocated.
"Our old friends Samel and Chadria?" Lars asked.
The names titillated Killashandra's memory but produced no further
recall.
Lanzecki gave Lars a patient stare. "Not them." Killashandra winced,
for his attitude plainly indicated that pair were no longer alive.
Killashandra wondered, but only briefly, how long ago their demise had
occurred. Brain ships had life expectancies of several hundred years.
Could she have cut crystal that long?
"They had an awkward acddent," Lanzecki amended. Killashandra relaxed.
"I'll inform the Agency that you've taken the contract."
"So there've been no tests or assays or anything completed on this
stone?
Even by Trag?" Lars asked.
"Discounting its effect on humans?"
"Trag felt it was sentient."
"Trag did?" Killashandra was astounded. "Then it is.
"And you treat that as a possibility only, Killashandra Ree," Lanzecki
said, sternly waggling a blunt finger at her.
"You bet!" She began to feel better about the assignment. If blunt al'
thick-skinned conservative Trag had felt something, she rather supposed
that she and Lars would have much better luck. "A silicon sentience has
been postulated.
"Will it say it's sorry it killed the team?" Lars asked sarcastically,
crossing his arms over his chest.
"Does crystal?" responded Killashandra with a snort.
"At least crystal sings," was Lars' soft rejoinder.
To Lars, Lanzecki passed a flimzie and a thin tape cassette.
"That's all we have on the silicon, and the relevant log entries."
"So when do we go?"
"Your transport - the BB1066," and he held up his hand when Killashandra
started to interrupt him.
"The Brendan-Boira but Boira's on sick leave so he's willing to
undertake the journey."
"Truly a B&B ship," Lars said.
"And I suppose you expect us to depart immediately?" Killashandra asked
irascibly.
Lanzecki gave a brief nod of his head. "Brendan's been patiently
waiting your return." He stressed the adverb.
"We just got in - - -" Killashandra protested.
"From a holiday," Lanzecki pointed out.
"Holiday?" Noting Lars Dahl stiffen on his corner of the worktop, she
grinned impudently. "Well, from one point of view, but I'd like time to
get the salt off my skin and a bit of crystal out of my blood."
"A tub - a double one," and Lanzecki's grin was malicious, "and
sufficient radiant fluid are aboard the 1066. With eighty thou to your
credit, you can surely see your way clear to a precipitous departure.
Everyone you might know - bar Presnol - is out in the Ranges."
Killashandra sniffed her displeasure at a 2' manoeuvre suspiciously
close to being shanghaied.
"If you'd bothered to keep in contact, you'd've had more time."
"C'mon, Killa," Lars said, dismounting from his perch and draping an
affectionate arm about her shoulders.
"I suppose our sled isn't ready?" she said, eyeing Lanzecki sourly.
"It is," and Lanzecki thwarted any suggestion of Guild inefficiency,
"and you'll earn more from this as well as easy credit from the Guild-'
"Not to mention that we're the best ones for this little errand," added
Lars.
"That, too," Lanzecki unexpectedly conceded.
"Only this time," and his pointed finger stabbed in Lars' direction, "I
want on-the-site accounts recorded in Brendan 5 memory circuits from the
moment you land on Opal."
"This time," and Killashandra smiled in saccharine obedience, "you'll
have "em. We'll just dump our gear and grab a few personal things from
our quarters."
"Brendan's stocked your usual brands and being a B&B ship, he's amply
supplied with more than the usual trip paraphernalia. Leave for
Shanganagh from here. Now. There's a shuttle waiting Killashandra
unslung her duffle and launched it at Lanzecki who neatly caught it.
Lars merely slipped the webbed carry strap from his shoulder.
"Everything needs cleaning," he said.
Lanzecki nodded. "Get out of here!" The phrase combined imperative
order as well as gruff farewell.
* * * So they left Lanzecki's office. Being more diplomatic than his
partner, Lars nodded briefly to Bollam who stared back with no response.
"Once in a while Trag'd smile," Lars muttered in Killa's ear as the door
slid shut behind them.
"I don't like the idea of that dark going out into the Ranges with
Lanzecki," she muttered, scowling.
Lars made a comforting noise in his throat. The Guild Master was in the
unenviable position of having to keep as much memory current as possible
to manage the intricacies of his position. But he also had to renew
contact with crystal periodically or lose the vitality of his symbiont,
despite being a virtual prisoner on Ballybran.
As they entered the lift and pushed the shuttle level plate,
Killashandra's frown deepened. Lanzecki wasn't stupid. So Bollam must
have more substance or intelligence or skill than his appearance
suggested.
But she couldn't help fretting. Lanzecki was one of those unfortunate
singers who became so rapt by the song of the crystal they cut, that he
could be totally lost to the thrall. A partner was essential to singers
with that handicap or they never returned from the Ranges. Antona had
once told Killashandra that it was an infrequent enough manifestation,
more often accompanying the Milekey Transition, the mildest form of
adjustment to the Ballybran symbiont.
Lanzecki would put off cutting crystal as long as he possibly could even
with Trag to accompany him and bring him safely back from the Ranges.
Sometimes, as with Killashandra, he could establish an intimate
relationship with someone whose body was singing with crystal pulse, the
contact supplying surrogate reinforcements. Killashandra did remember
her interview with Trag who had all but physically man-handled her off
the planet to force Lanzecki out to the Ranges for a thorough
revitalization of his symbiont. Would this Bollam have that sort of
loyalty to his Guild Master?
The lift door slid back into the brightly banded corridor that led to
the shuttle bays. The blinking orange ready light steered them to the
waiting ship.
The pilot waved urgently to them to hurry but as they passed him on
their way into the vessel, he glowered and pinched his nostrils.
"You reek? Where have you two been?"
"Oh, around and about," Lars said with a grin.
"If I wasn't under orders t(H' "Well, we are all under orders t, said
Killashandra, sliding into the back seat of the otherwise vacant
transport. "So the sooner you get us to Shanganagh, the faster you lose
the stink of us."
"Can't be too soon for me," the pilot said sourly and, pausing just
before he entered his cabin to be sure they had buckled up, somehow
managed to slam his door.
Lars grinned at Killashandra. "Shall we stuff our old socks somewhere?"
They would have, too, but the pilot had taken their suggestion and their
take-off was the most perpendicular Killashandra had ever experienced.
They were jammed so forcefully back into their cushioned seats that she
swore she felt the flexible plastic turn rigid. It was also the
shortest trip she remembered making.
As soon as the shuttle had locked on to the Shanganagh Moon facility,
the lock opened with such unusual despatch there was no misinterpreting
an urgent invitation to depart.
"The B&B is one level above, Bay 87," the pilot's voice said over the
com.
"You are above all a courteous gentle person, skilled in the performance
of your appointed duties," Lars said, facetiously.
"I'm what?" was the startled comment that followed them down the lock
ramp.
"They must have lowered entrance standards, Killashandra remarked.
"I'm first in the bath."
"Lanzecki said it's a double, Lars reminded her.
At the end of the lock tunnel, they took turns placing their palms in
the ID plate and the aperture irised open into the corridor.
They encountered no one, which was slightly unusual as Shanganagh was a
major stopover point as well as the Guild's main display and testing
centre. It also had supply and servicing facilities for vessels of any
size.
"You don't suppose that antsy pilot warned everyone off until we've
passed and the corridor's been fumigated?" asked Lars.
Killashandra snorted, frowning, and lengthened her stride. "I shall,
however, be very grateful for the tub."
"Last one in. . ." Lars began but then they saw the plate above Bay 87
blinking orange.
"He warned the B&B!"
"Last one in - "After we make our duty to Brendan," Killa said
quellingly. Of all the myriad manifestations of humans, altered or
otherwise, she respected shell people to a point of reverence. There
was something awesome about knowing that a human being, residing within
the main titanium column ran all ship's functions and was the ship in a
way a human pilot could never be.
Combined with a mobile partner, known as a "brawn', Brain & Brawn ships
were the elite of space-going vessels. Some, like the HN 834, had been
famous throughout the galaxy.
"Of course!" Lars murmured.
As soon as they entered the lock, the panel behind them slid shut.
"Permission to come a-' "Oh, I never stand on ceremony when I'm solo,
kids," said a pleasantly resonant baritone voice.
"Don't you ever answer your comunit? I've been sitting here on the moon
long enough to pick up cobwebs."
"Sorry, Brendan," Lars said, giving a respectful bow to the titanium
column that encased Brendan "5
shelled body as Killashandra did.
"Ah! A tenor!" Brendan said with delight.
"And he can sing!" Killashandra said. Crystal singers might require
perfect pitch but that did not always accompany a good singing voice or
any musicality.
"So, who's going to be last in the tub?" Brendan asked.
"Which way?" the two singers demanded.
"And when can we get under way?" Lars asked, stripping his
salt-stiffened garments off. He nearly tripped out of the shorts,
trying to keep up with Killa who had less to shed.
"We are!" Laughter rippled in Brendan's voice. "I don't waste time."
Then he laughed again as Killa elbowed Lars to prevent him from getting
to the ladder to the tub rim. Lars merely vaulted and neatly inserted
himself in the thick viscous fluid just as Killa insinuated herself into
the tub. Both gave simultaneous sighs of relief as the liquid covered
them. Moments later they found the arm holds and secured themselves
against the pressure of take-off "You're sure you're under power?" Killa
asked, after a long interval, having braced herself.
"Most certainly," and abruptly a screen in the corner of the small cabin
lit up with a spectacular view of Shanganagh and Ballybran receding at
an astonishing speed. "And about to initiate the Singularity Drive. I
think you will find that being immersed in radiant fluid will reduce the
discomfort that can often give you soft shells."
"Never thought of that before," Lars said.
"Here we go," Brendan said and everything altered before the eyes of the
two singers.
Killashandra squeezed her eyes shut, not liking the Singularity effect.
Possibly Lars did, too, but she did not like seeing the decomposition
and reformation of space as the Singularity Drive "surfed' them (Lars
liked the nautical analogy) down the long funnel of "interspace' from
one relative spatial point to another. And yes, the radiant fluid did
reduce that nauseating feeling of falling in on one's self, spinning and
yet deprived of any sense of one's own position relative to that spin.
Then they were through.
"Does the fluid help?" asked Brendan solicitously "You know," Lars said
in surprise, "I do believe it does. Killa?"
"Hmmmm! How many more of these Jumps do we have to make to get to
Opal?"
"Only two more." Killashandra groaned.
"Something to eat, perhaps?" Brendan suggested. "I took on all your
favourite foods.
"Yarran beer?" Killa rallied hopefully.
Brendan chuckled. "Would I forget that?"
"Not if you're as smart a brain as you're supposed to be," Lars said
and, disengaging his arms, pushed himself to the ladder. "You want
anything else, Killa?" he asked as he clambered down.
What else she wanted required two trips by Lars but, in the end, they
were both well supplied.
Brendan had even acquired flotation trays for them to use while
immersed.
"I think this trip'll be sheer luxury," Killa murmured to Lars.
"I'll do my part," Brendan said, though she had kept her voice low "Ah,
Brendan " she began and was rewarded by a knowing chuckle.
"Just tell me when I'm off-limits and I'll chop the audio system," the
ship said.
"Will you really?" Killa asked, trying to keep scepticism out of her
tone.
"Actually," Brendan went on conversationally, "if I didn't, Boira would
haul off the panel and disconnect me. Now there's a gal that liked her
privacy. - "How's she doing?" Lars asked.
"Oh, she's regenerating nicely." The two bathers exchanged glances.
"Do we solicitously ask what happened or shall we keep our noses short?"
A long silence ensued. "I won't say she was foolish, or stupid, just
very unlucky," Brendan said in such an expressionless tone, compared to
his previous remarks, that the two would have had to be tone deaf not to
appreciate how distressed he was at his partner's injuries. "I was only
just able to get her to proper medical assistance in time. And, in
time, she will completely recover."
"She's been a good partner?" Killa asked gently.
"One of the best I've had," and then his voice altered, not too brightly
or lilting falsely. "One tends to nurture the good ones carefully.
"Even if there is only so much one can do?" Killa made it not quite
statement, not quite query.
"Exactly. Now, shall I leave you to enjoy your bath in peace?" Lars and
Killa once again exchanged glances.
Lars' yawn was not feigned.
"I'm going to have to get some tub-sleep," he said.
"Can you monitor this contraption so we don't inadvertently go under?"
"Of course," and by Brendan's tone, the two singers realized they had
struck the right attitude with him.
"I could probably sleep a few weeks -" Killa said.
"At which point you'd be a wrinkled prune," Lars -replied caustically.
"I shall not permit that desecration of your most attractive self,
Killashandra Ree," Brendan said in a flirtatious tone.
"Now, wait a mo----' Lars yawned, "-ment, Brendan. This one's mine, you
rotten baritone." Brendan chuckled, a sound which had odd resonances
since he used an artificial diaphragm to speak or laugh.
"Go to sleep, Lars Dahl. You're no match for me in your present
semi-somnolent state." Killa yawned, catching that infectiousness from
Lars, and jammed her arms deeper in the straps, tipping her head back
against the padded rim of the tub. She never knew which of them fell
asleep first.
Chapter Two "
What a cheese hole! Lars said in a disgusted tone.
Killashandra said nothing. She didn't dare express what she did feel
about the planet Opal. And especially about Lanzecki for taking
advantage of their greed, and need, to be off-planet. She scrubbed at
her face in a gesture to cover the fact that she was also making her
lips stay closed while mentally she ticked the Guild Master off. Only
the thought that she and Lars were making eighty thousand credits for
this kept her from exploding.
Well, that and wanting to keep Brendan's good opinion. He had turned
out to be the most excellent of escorts. Not only did he sing good
baritone, but he had the most astonishing repertoire of lewd and
salacious, prim and proper cantatas and languishing lieder. He wasn't
as fond of opera as Killa but he knew the comic operettas, musicals,
lilts, pattern songs, croons and a selection of the best of every decade
back to the beginning of taped music. He also had the most amazing and
catholic files.
"Boira's a mezzo, you see, and while I can only sing the one voice "Is
the ship who sings - . whatsername?"
"Helva? Yes, she still is, but no one knows where." Brendan chuckled.
"There's a reward if she's spotted 3' but I don't know a ship worth its
hull who'd tell."
"But couldn't she sing any range?"
"So legend has it," Brendan replied, amused. "It's possible. I could
make modifications to my diaphragm and voice production, as she did,
but, frankly, it'd be damned hard to match the 834.
Then, too, Boira likes me being baritone."
"Can't fight that," Killashandra said, grinning at Lars.
But now they were orbiting Opal and musicality was irrelevant.
"Where did the geological survey land, Bren?" Lars asked as they
finished their first circumnavigation of the pock-holed satellite.
It was more moon than planet, one of a dozen such aborted attempts of
satellites weaving eccentric patterns about its primary. Opal had no
atmosphere and seven-tenths standard gravity. Its primary still
emanated the unusual spectrums, coronal blasts and violent solar winds
which had so adversely affected its dependent bodies. Exploration HQ
had decided that circumstances might possibly have resulted in unusual
metals. Artefacts from some ancient civilization had been composed of
heretofore undiscovered metallic components - some not kind to the hand
of Mankind but quite likely workable by remote control. These
substances were, however, invaluable to modern metallurgy, electronics
and engineering and, as such, assiduously sought. Which was why this
star system was surveyed.
"Leaving no turn unstoned," as Bren had quipped The now deceased team
had also discovered some very interesting slag on one of the outer
satellites of Libran 2937. It had been mentioned in the log, samples of
which had not posed the problems that the liquid opal had and which were
still being analysed - and their use extrapolated from the all too small
supply.
"Their landing of record," Bren began, "is - - right - - below us." He
magnified the image of his main screen and the iridescent nauseous green
paint which exploration teams used to mark their sites was visible.
Lars and Killashandra turned to the display on one of the smaller bridge
screens which gave a close-up of the site.
"Shall we?" the ship asked in a wry tone.
"Ach! Why not?" Lars said.
"We've time to eat," Killa said, feeling hunger pangs though she was
certain they'd eaten not too long ago.
"Is it that time?" Lars asked with a startled expression. "We've done
nothing but eat since we came aboard."
"They used to term it singing for your supper," Brendan added with a
chuckle which he cut short with, "Oh, I see. You mean, your home
planet's going through one of its Passover periods?"
"Should be, about now," Killa said. "That's the only time we can't stop
eating."
"Hmmm. Well, we've plenty aboard," Brendan replied soothingly.
Killashandra grimaced. "But we're going to have to suit up to move
around down there and suit food's not very satisfying." Lars considered
this aspect of the unusual hunger of their symbionts at Passover time:
an urge which would overtake their bodies no matter how far they were
from Ballybran since it was generated by the symbiont, ever in phase
with its native planet.
"We could work in shifts: one of us eat while the other explores.
"No! Absolutely not, Brendan said in a firm veto.
"As a team always. How long do you last between snacks?" Killa laughed.
"Snack? You've never seen a singer eat!"
"Well, tell me how much and I can deliver it to the lock so you don't
have to unsuit completely to assuage your need."
"That's a thought," and Killa brightened "We'll certainly give it a
try," Lars said with a grin.
"Now, just let's see if we can plan our excursions around our
appetites." He accessed the log files of the fateful geology ship.
"How about I land you near the biggest of the vaults? This one!" and
Bren called up the most remarkable of the liquid-like ribs.
"That's not the landing of record, but it 5 certainly the most
interesting site they found. Of course, I'm far more flexible than the
Toronto was. We can pit hop as much as we need. While you're chowing
down a good Iced."
"Then there's the problem of the Sleep," Killa said, making a sour face.
"Oh?" Brendan encouraged a response to that enigmatic comment.
"Yes, - having stuffed ourselves like hibernators, we then sleep for the
duration of the actual Passover."
"Or rather, our symbionts force us to sleep during the combined transit
of the three moons."
"How long?" Lars shrugged. "A week. That's why we stock up so heavily
"For a week's sleep?" Lars shrugged and grinned at Brendan's column.
"Not my choice."
"Then you eat again?" Brendan asked solicitously.
"Just before we fall asleep, even the sight of food makes us nauseous.
That's generally how we know we'd best get into a comfortable position,'
Lars explained.
"Most unusual," Brendan said mildly, "though I've heard and encountered
weirder ones."
"You're most reassuring," Killashandra said dryly.
"I try to be. You'd best belt in," he added. The main screen showed
their precipitous approach to the pock-marked moon, so the two singers
hastened to obey.
As there was no atmospheric envelope to pierce, one of the main hazards
of landing on strange planets was absent. Brendan was an excellent
pilot - as he was the ship to all intents and purposes - and he neatly
deposited them on the sol-disant surface of Opal, Lars and Killa
applauding in the traditional manner. They ate what the ship served
them, items which Brendan knew they particularly liked and in quantities
that should have daunted a normal appetite.
"You really do stow it away, don't you?"
"Hmmm," was the response, for Killa and Lars were determinedly occupied
in loading themselves with the tasty food.
They both groaned a bit as they stuffed their replete bodies into their
vacuum suits. Over the centuries, the "space suit' has been refined to
the varied and particular needs of those who required diverse degrees of
protection. The model suitable for nonatmospheric explorations was less
cumbersome than, for instance, those needed for EVA repairs on a ship in
transit. The material formed around the body it protected with maximum
efficiency while providing the wearer with a nearly impervious second
skin.
Fine controls for digital manipulations were available as were much less
intrusive sanitary arrangements.
The helmet afforded complete head mobility and visibility, while the
tubes for eating and drinking were housed at the neck rim. The oxygen
unit fitted snugly rather than bulkily across the shoulder-blades and
down to the end of the spine which it also protected. Helmet, digital
and arm lights helped see where the wearer was going. Versatile tools
attached to special rigs on the belt and in thigh and leg pouches gave
them additional external resources.
"I've stocked your suit packs with a rather tasty high protein, followed
by a sweet confection that might just relieve hunger pangs---' Brendan
began.
"No matter what you feed us, mate, we'll have to come back for more than
any suit could supply," Lars said as the two singers entered the
airlock. "All right now, Bren, let us out." During their meal, they'd
both studied the log records of the Toronw. As it was an hour or so
before Opal's "dawn', they exited with helmet and arm lights on and
turned left as soon as the outer lock iris opened.
"Humpf," Killa said, setting her arm light on the fluorescent line the
previous expedition had painted on the porous shell. "Nice of them,
considering."
"They expected to return," remarked Lars quietly.
"I see the markings," Brendan said, obliquely reminding them to use more
explicit comments.
"For posterity then," and Killashandra began the running commentary as
they followed the guideline, descending steps which had also been cut by
their predecessors. There was even a line sprayed across low thresholds
to warn them where to bend and, hunching over, they started down the
short passage into the larger chamber.
"Hey, there's light ahead," Lars said, and turned off his beams.
"A sort of blue radiance," he went on and gestured for Killa to
extinguish her lamps.
The light source did not actually illuminate the passage. It wasn't
sharp enough for the two singers to notice details but they were "lit'
to the source.
As they entered the big cavern, they were both speechless for a moment.
Luminescence cascaded in splinters of brilliance that were like sparks,
except they didn't shoot out of their parent substance.
The material that arced across the high ceiling seemed to flow, dark
blue and dark green and then silver.
"I am not there," Brendan said with a tactful reminder.
Lars turned on his helmet light and immediately the "radiance' was
quenched. And where the helmet beam touched, the material writhed with
bands of black and dark blue and dark green. Almost, Killashandra
thought, as if rushing blood to heal a wound.
Did "light' on this lightless world constitute a threat or injury?
She wondered if the sun's rays - unfiltered with no atmosphere to reduce
ultra-violet and infrared - penetrated the cavern to the jewel?
For jewel it appeared to her, one graceful long sweep of jewel, a living
necklace across the vault of the cavern. Or was it a tiara?
"It's the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long time," she murmured,
more to herself than the posterity of the node Brendan was taping. "And
I've seen some magnificent crystal." She paused, frowning. "I also
don't know why or how, but I agree with Trag, Brendan. This Jewel Junk
is alive. Sentient possibly, but definitely a living organism!"
"I agree with that," Lars said quietly, then began to examine the
chamber while Killashandra concentrated on the gem cascade.
"It's grown, too, Brendan, since the team was here four-five years ago.
It's made a complete hoop across the ceiling from floor to floor - - -"
Killashandra went on.
"And down into the next cavern, if there is one," Lars added, kneeling
to shine the pencil-thin line of his forefinger light down the
shimmering opalescent where it had seemed to penetrate the floor of the
cavern. The jewel itself darkened and seemed to contract, to retreat
from the light source.
"To the basement level for housewares and utensils," Killashandra
recited in the tone of a robotic lift device. She had to dispel the
unusual sense of reverence which the chamber, and its denizen, evoked in
her. "NO!" she cried in sudden fear as she saw Lars reach out to touch
the narrow descending - tongue?
Facet? Finger? Probe? Tentacle? - of the opalescent.
Lars turned his helmeted head towards her and his white teeth flashed a
grin at her.
"Let's not be craven about this. If the symbiont protects me, it
protects me. After all, I'm suited-' "Use an extendible," said Brendan
in a tone remarkably close to command. "The material of your suit is
only guaranteed impervious to known hazards."
"Good point, Lars," Killashandra added in a neutral tone.
He gave a shrug and snagged a tool from his belt.
A light pass of the instrument across the coruscating extrusion gave no
results. When he prodded it in, he jerked back his arm.
"WOW!"
"Report?" Killa said, reminding him to be vocal.
First he looked at the tool. "Well, I'm glad you stopped me, Bren." And
he turned the implement towards Killa. She tongue-switched the
magnification of her visor and saw that the end had melted, blurring its
outline. "Hot the material is, but it gave on contact."
"Pliable?"
"Hmmm, flexible, maybe, or able to absorb intrusions," Killa suggested.
"Or is it semi-liquid, like mercury, or that odd stuff they found on
Thetis Five?"
"So far, except for your observation that the ah," and Brendan paused,
". -. semi-liquid has spanned its cave in the four years since
discovery, you have trod in the same path the geologists did.
They also melted a few instruments trying to probe it.
"I know, I know," Lars said, "but I like to draw my own conclusions." He
passed his gloved hand several times over the material, being careful
not to touch it.
"Any heat readings on record?"
"None, and I'm getting none either from the instrumentation you're
carrying," the ship responded, sounding slightly disgusted.
"Any movement?"
"Negatory."
"Can you give us a reading on whether the ground beneath us is solid or
not, Brendan?" Killa asked.
"You are currently standing on the intersection of three caves
approximately two metres below you.
Two of them are large, the other is small, less than half a metre in
width and height. My readings collaborate the expedition's report that
this satellite is riddled with cavities, probably right down to what
used to be its molten core, in irregular layers and with equally
irregular cavities."
"Can you keep a scan on possible spots too thin to bear any weight?"
Killashandra had a quick vision of herself falling through level after
level of cinder. The rock was more substantial than that: she had felt
her boots crunching loose rubble on their way to the cavern but the
surface here had seemed solid enough.
"Monitoring," was the ship's response.
Killa realized she'd been holding her breath and expelled it.
That allowed her stomach to mention it was empty so, while she made a
confident circuit of the cavern, she sucked up the ration. In several
places and with great care, she placed her gloved hand on the walls and
her wrist gauge gave not so much as a wiggle. The ambient temperature
of the cavern was the same as that on the satellite's surface.
But there was something she was missing. Unable to think what that was,
she shrugged: she'd mull that over as she sucked on her tube.
"Hey, this glop's not bad, Bren," she said.
"Not eating already?"
"On the hour, every hour, Lars answered Brendan. He was now hunkered
down by the visible end of the material and poked, careful not to let
his chisel-headed tool touch the glowing substance as he scraped out a
semi-circle. He gave a grunt. "It's going down. But where? Any
access to the next level, Bren?"
"I think so," the ship answered after a bit. "Sort of a maze but your
suits have tracers on "em, so I can keep track and direct you. Go out
the way you came in," and, following his directions, they travelled one
of the more tortuous routes they had ever followed, accustomed as they
were to the vagaries of sly crystal in the Milekey Ranges on Ballybran.
"I'm glad we don't have to stay too long in this place," Killa muttered,
shining her lights around.
The passageways seemed darker than ever after the subtle radiance of the
Jewel Junk cave. She preferred to have as much light around her as
possible in dark burrows. The rock around them seemed to absorb their
lights. "You eat it," she growled as she walked.
"What? Me? Oh, you mean the rock?" Lars asked.
"Yeah, it does sort of soak it up. Speaking of which. .
"Not you, too!" exclaimed Brendan, almost sputtering. "It's scarcely
two hours since you consumed an immense meal."
"Hmmm, true!"
"We can last about another hour, I think," Lars said, and grinned as
Killa glanced back at him.
Would Brendan catch the teasing note?
"At this rate," replied Brendan trenchantly, "we'll be here for months!
Turn obliquely right now, and watch that it is oblique.
There's a hole!"
"Whoops, so there is," Killa said, teetering on the edge as her hand and
head lamps outlined the even deeper blackness and, then, as she swung
right, the comforting arch of a passage was visible.
"Nice save there, Bren. And what have we here but another cave!" Her
tone was richly facetious. "And," as she shone both lamps in a swing,
"our little creepy crawly has fingers in this pie, too." Lars stepped
around her and walked up to the glittering nubbin just entering the roof
of this cavity.
He dropped his light to the floor and they could both see a small pile
of debris. Lars hunkered down, and with the end of his hammer,
carefully prodded the mound, examining the end of the tool when he'd
finished.
"Nope, not a melt. More like simple dust."
"Take a sample," his partner suggested.
"Take a sample of the rock, too," Brendan added.
"Now, look a'that," Killa said, holding her light steady on the opposite
wall where the liquid opal had intruded as well. "How many layers of
this cave complex did the geologists explore?"
"At the original landing site, they penetrated several miles below the
surface before they could proceed no further, but not here. However,
records indicate that, in the cave above, the arch of the Junk was
incomplete.
Nor do they mention that it penetrated below the first level in the
landing site."
"Fascinating!" was Killa's comment. "How many such manifestations were
recorded, Bren?" Dammit, she'd only studied those reports last night and
she couldn't recall the details.
"In nine of the twenty-three sites explored they observed this
opalescence. By then they hadn't found anything else particularly
noteworthy so they decided to proceed to the next system on their route
when-' "Hmm, yes, indeed, when!"
"You'd think it would grow up, out of the core," Lars remarked, "instead
of down from the surface."
"If it is indigenous," Brendan suggested.
Lars and Killa were silent a moment, considering that theory.
"Well, being alien to this system would answer why it's topside instead
of down below," Lars remarked.
"Is there a way to prove alien origin?" Killa asked.
"If you could find a sample that'll submit to examination, possibly,'
the ship replied wryly.
"Suppose we explain that this won't hurt?" Killa was feeling waggish at
this point. Faint from hunger, maybe. She sucked on the tube and got a
mouthful of something rather more sweet than she liked.
But it did depress the hunger pangs. "An alien substance?
Hmm. Wherever could it have originated?"
"There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatia . . ." Brendan
intoned on a marvellously sepulchral note.
"Nonsense, Bren, there's usually a scientific explanation for
everything," Killa said sharply, because the very idea of something like
the opal just "dropping' in made her slightly nervous. They hadn't
discovered any thing about it yet. And it had killed a whole
exploratory team.
"I wonder," Lars began, "if a quick freeze might not work to get us a
sample."
"Work how?" Killa asked, her mind taken off both stomach and
apprehension. "How can you freeze something in space, Lars?"
"I can't imagine how this stuff generates heat enough to melt an alloy
as tough as the chisel, but maybe liquid nitrogen - -) "Wouldn't hurt to
try," Bren said. "Fight liquid with liquid?"
"Have you got some?" Killa asked, again surprised.
"My dear Killashandra Ree, this ship has everything!" And Bren's voice
was smug. "My inventory shows that there are two cylinders of liquid
nitrogen in storage. I have both spray and stream nozzles that will fit
the standard apertures."
"Hmmm."
"I'll have one ready when you return for your next meal," Brendan added
at his driest.
"And more luminescent paint, too," Lars added as the last drop dribbled
out of his marking tube.
They retraced their steps very carefully, feeling the cindery crunch of
the surface under their booted feet.
Again, something teased at the back of Killa's mind but refused to be
identified.
The promised meal awaited them in the airlock and they could barely wait
until the iris had cycled shut and the oxygen level was adequate before
they undid their helmets and attacked the food.
"Oh, this is good, Bren," Killa said, gobbling down refried steakbean
and reaching for the orange and green milsi stalks of which she was
particularly fond.
Lars, as usual, was munching on grilled protein.
"Is indeed," Lars mumbled.
"You'll notice the nitro tank?" Brendan asked pointedly.
"Hmmm," and Killashandra waved a forkful of beans at it, "appreciate
that."
"And the marker tubes?"
"Thanks." It was Lars' turn to reply.
"You're welcome," and Brendan sounded a trifle miffed.
"Can't help this, Lars added glancing up apologetically at the airlock's
optic.
Brendan's sigh was audible. "No, I suppose you can't, really.
I've just never seen any bodies consume so much food in such a short
time. And you're both bone-thin."
"Symbiont," Killashandra managed to say, one hand cramming as many of
the bright green vegetable spheres into her mouth as she could while she
scooped up more milsi stalks in the other. The queue formed in front of
her teeth. Both foods were so flavourful that she gestured urgently to
Lars to bring them to his attention. "You'll never see a fat singer,'
she added after swallowing her mouthful.
Oddly enough, the compulsion to gorge eased off about the time they were
mopping up the plates with a yeast bread that was one of Brendan's
specialties.
Though, as a shell person, he was nourished entirely by the fluids
pumped into the titanium capsule that contained his pituitarily stunted
body, still he was fascinated by food and did most of the catering, even
when Boira was around.
Replete, Killashandra and Lars exchanged the depleted catering packets
in their suits for fresh ones, donned their helmets, picked up the extra
equipment and exited the B&B to resume their explorations.
"Why are we trying to carve a hunk out of the Junk?" Killashandra asked
as they made their way back to the lower cavern.
"We were sent here to investigate the stuff, in situ, make
recommendations as to its possible value, andi or usefulness," Lars
said. "And see what makes it luminesce. Any report on whether or not
the hunk of the Junk grew in captivity, Bren?"
"No. I mean, no mention of increase in the sample: however, once
excised, the report said that the specimen lost all iridescence."
"The Junk doesn't like light," Killa said thoughtfully. "Could be it
has to have darkness to sparkle.
Or there's something in the composition of this planet that makes it
iridescent?"
"And some element that makes it expand, grow, flow, whatever it does,'
Lars remarked, equally thoughtful, "down the sides and to the next
level. All in four years or so.
"Never heard of anything that grew in such a deprived environment as
this," Killa said with a snort.
"Well, we ain't seen everything yet, have we?" was Lars' equable
response.
A ten-second spray of liquid nitrogen turned the entire stalactite
colourless and when Lars gave it a sharp chop with his rock hammer, the
end - a piece the length and width of his gloved hand - fell to the
ground. Through her boot soles, Killashandra felt a sharp shaking,
unexpected and severe enough to unbalance her.
"Did you feel that, Lars?"
"Indeed I did!" Lars had flailed his arms briefly to steady himself.
"Feel what?" Brendan asked sharply.
"A tremor, a shake, a quake. Did you register anything?" Lars wanted to
know.
"Hmm. Well, there is a minute blip on the stability gauge. Not enough
to set off a stabilizer alarm."
"Look!" Killa shone her light to the opposite wall and the two singers
saw that the other intrusion had disappeared. "A definite reaction to
our action. The Junk has enough sense to retract from peril?"
"Sense or reflex?" Lars asked, scooping the colourless stalactite into
the duraplas specimen sack from his thigh pocket. "Let's see how far
it's retracting." Guided by Bren and moving as fast as was safe in the
dark maze, they returned to the first chamber.
The opalescence was subtly muted and they had to turn on their suit
lights. Then they could see that the Junk had noticeably contracted on
both sides of the wall, though the farther "rib' was longer than the one