from which they had taken the "tite.  They saw no other change in the

central portion of the rib.

"Hey, look, Lars, a channel," Killa said, having noticed the faint

shadow on the wall where the Junk had been.  "It makes a channel.  Does

it absorb rock as it extrudes?"

"Could it be making the caves?" Lars asked and stunned both listeners

into silence.

"Total absorption?" asked Brendan, puzzled.  Most beings excrete some

waste material "This Junk makes a waste of space," Killashandra replied,

grinning at Lars.  "I can't see any movement now but it sure moved

incredibly fast in the twenty odd minutes it took us to get back up

here.  Getting tape on this, Bren?"

"You bet."

"Well, then, let's try some comparison," Lars said.

He motioned for Killashandra to follow him.  "The first team found nine

such phenomena?  Well, let's go see the next one.

"I'm hungry again," Killashandra added apologetically.

Brendan made an exceedingly gross sound but he had more food ready for

them when they reached the airlock.  They ate while he changed sites And

that became the routine of the next ten hours.

Search and eat.  Eat while searching.  At first Brendan had clever,

often hilarious comments to make about their "starvation diet', but then

he became as fascinated as they by what could only be called the

"behaviour' of the Junk.

At each of the five sites they investigated, they found the opalescence

had diminished in size from the mass that the geologists had recorded.

"Hey, you two, I'm calling a rest period.  Your vital signs are becoming

erratic."

"With all the food we're ingesting?" Killa said, half teasing. "Now that

you mention it - whoops," and she tripped and fell forward into Lars.

"Now that you mention it," Lars continued, steadying her, "I could curl

up for a hundred or so hours."

"Hunger would uncurl you in about three," Brendan replied.  "Chow's up!"

They waited long enough before eating to insert their suits in the

cleanser and shower themselves.

Bren did manage to keep them awake long enough after they'd eaten to get

to their bunk.

But the next morning, as he served an enormous breakfast, the two

singers were alert and keen to examine the remaining locations.  By

comparing the exploration notes with the present state of the ribbing,

they saw distinct differences: less alteration the farther the

opalescence was from the rib they had sampled.

"Is this a mass defection, migration, withdrawal?" Lars asked, puzzled.

"Pinch me, you pinch us all?" Killa responded.

"How could one piece of Junk communicate with the others?" was Brendan's

query"That's the easy one," Killa said with a grin, "through the rock

mass.  We felt that tremble.  Maybe that's communication.

"I'll credit that," Lars said, "but where is the Junk retreating to?

Anything show up on the scopes, Bren?"

"Visualize me shrugging," the ship said drolly, "because I have checked

all my systems for malfunction.  The Junk refuses to have its picture

taken.

There isn't so much as a black blob registering on the walls of any of

the caverns you've been in.  But the Junk's very much in situ."

"Wait a minute, team," Killashandra said, a grin deepening, "I know what

I missed - - .  crunch underfoot.  There's no debris or rubble or

pebbles or anything in the caves!" Lars blinked and lowered his head,

frowning as he thought over her remark.  "No, you're right, there isn't.

Only that small pile of dust."

"Where the rib finger had wormed its way down. It may eat its way down."

"I could draw a comparison between your appetites and the.  .  .  hey!"

Brendan protested as Killa lobbed a pencil file at his titanium panel.

"I wonder what it does eat," Lars said.  "Shall we whip up some

appetizing bits and pieces for it to sample?"

"Didn't the explore team do that, Bren?" Killa asked.

"No, they did not," and then Bren's voice rippled in amusement.

"After they seemed to lose tools to its melt process."

"I don't remember a mention of that," Killa said, frowning.  She had

only just reviewed the reports during breakfast.

"I gather that by inference, Ki," Brendan said.

"And the inventory."

"So, what shall we offer up in sacrifice to the Junk God in the Grotto?"

asked Killa.

"A bit of this, a bit of that," Lars said.  "Can I have a walk through

your spare parts hold, Bren?"

"And can we return to our first cave?" Killa said, speaking from an

impulse she didn't quite understand.  "I'm beginning to feel guilty

about carving off that hunk of the Junk.  We really ought to make

restitution by letting it have first crack at our offerings." That was

granted and Brendan told them what to take, and graciously offered what

little garbage was left from preparing their meals, as well as samples

of protein and carbohydrate.

Packaging their appetizers, the two resumed their now clean suits,

packed the tube wells for their snack, checked the oxygen tanks, snapped

on their helmets and cycled through the airlock.

"You know, you're right about rubble out here and none in the caves,'

Lars remarked.

As soon as they saw the blue light, they doused their suit lamps.

"The crunch stops here," Lars added as he strode on to the smooth

surface of the cavern.  "I don't think it's retracted further, Killa.

What d'you think?"

"Hmm.  We should have thought to mark it.  We can reach this far tip,'

and she took out a sample as she made her way across.  "Copper, Bren,'

she said.

Using forceps and stretched at full length upward, she laid the copper

on the surface.  Then yanked her arm back.  "Muhlah!  Talk about hungry.

And see, Lars, there's a definite pulse that's copper-toned running all

the way back to the hub .  - - Fascinating." By the time they'd

exhausted the contents of their sacks, the Junk had accepted every

single offering, the metallic ones with noticeable alacrity and

reaction.

"Omnivorous.

"Not grateful though," Killa added.  "Not so much as a centimetre has it

expanded.  Humpf." Lars regarded the central mass.  "No, but I think

it's brighter.  Should we see if any of the others are more receptive?"

She was standing in a pose of thoughtfulness, one arm across her chest,

propping the elbow of the gloved hand supporting the tilt of her helmet.

"I'm thinking!"

"Are you?"

"And what are you thinking?" Killashandra began slowly, formulating her

thoughts as she spoke.  "I think we ought to return the piece we took. I

don't think we ought to carve up the Junk." Lars regarded her for a long

moment.

"You know, I think you're right.  That should put us in their good

gravel?  Dust?"

"Cinder?" Killa offered coyly.

"Well, we'll just do that wee thing then.  Especially as it isn't doing

us a blind bit of good as a specimen."

"Which reminds me.  When we excised that bit of stalactite, there was

that shaking.  Was that just a tremor or an incredibly rapid beat of

some kind?"

"A percussive type signal?" asked Lars.

"Ah, like some primitive groups who wished to make long distance

communications," said the ship.

"I'll analyse.  Never thought of that." There was a pause during which

lights and flicks of messages crossed the main control screen.

"Ah, indeed!  Spot on, Killa.  The tremor does indeed parse into a

variety of infinitesimal pulses of varying length."

"We need some drumsticks, Bren," Killa said, grinning at Lars.

He put his hands on his hips in an attitude of exasperation.

"Neither of us could rap that fast."

"So we'll be "argo, but it'll be a beat.  We can at least use rhythm to

see if we'd get any sort of response.

Open some sort of a communications channel to this intelligence.

"Intelligence?  The retreat could be no more than a basic survival

impulse."

"Impulse is the word," said Bren.  "I have no wood in my stores but

would plastic do?"

"Anything strong enough to beat out a pulse maybe we can get an in" to

our Junk." Lars groaned at her whimsy but he was quite ready to return

to the ship and take delivery of two pairs of taper-ended plastic

lengths.  He gave Killa one pair and practised a roll on the bulkhead of

the airlock.

"A little ragged," she said.

"Who's had time to practise for the last seventy years?" Killashandra

frowned in surprise that Lars would even mention a time span.  Most

singers ignored time' references.  Seventy years?  Since they'd been

singing duet?  Or since they'd last done much instrumentalizing?  She

really didn't want to know which.  Unlike herself, Lars often input

material to his private file.  And after a session in the Ranges, he

also accessed his file.  She couldn't remember when she had thought to

add anything to hers.  She shook her head, not wanting to think about

that.  She had far more important things to do than worry about relative

time - it was rhythmic time she had to play with right now.

"We are armed and ready," she said flippantly, holding the sticks under

her nose, as she had seen ceremonial drummers do on some old tape clip.

"Front and centre, and forward into the fray."

"We go, we go," Lars sang out.

Long-forgotten neurons rubbed together properly and Killashandra came

out with the beginning of that chorus, altering it slightly to suit

their circumstances.

"Go, we heroes, go to gThry/ We shall live in song and story.

"Yes, but you don't go!" And Brendan's baritone entered the chorus.

"We go!  We go!" And Lars toggled the airlock to open, awkwardly hanging

on to his drumsticks as he resettled his helmet.  Killashandra fastened

hers.

"Yes, onward to the foe!" sang Brendan melodiously.

"We go!  We go!" And then the airlock completed its cycle and they could

go back out into the darkness of Opal.  They marched into the nearest of

the Junkie caves and came to a militarily abrupt halt.

"All right, Ki," Lars said, "where - and what - do we beat?"

"Let's see if we can get its attention.  Do we both happen to know a

ceremonial roll?"

"I do," and Lars proceeded to beat it out.

"Show off.  Now, let's do it together." They did, heads up to see if

there was any reaction in the Junk.

"I think you got through," Brendan said.  "A hemisemi-demi-quaver of a

response but definitely just after your roll duet." Lars grinned drolly

at Killashandra.  "Having said that, what do we say next?"

"Howdy?" Hunger drove them from the cave, and once they got back into

the B&B, sheer fatigue required them to stay.  They had beat every tempo

they knew, with all the power in their arms until their muscles had

protested.  Brendan kept reporting reaction and once or twice, a repeat

- at a much faster speed - of what the two crystal singers had just

tapped out.  Other patterns of response made no sense to Brendan.

But as Killa and Lars reboarded the ship, he told them that he was

trying to figure out any code or pattern in the Junk's response to their

rolls.  When he started to tell them, they begged a reprieve.

"Save it, will you, Bren?" Lars said, an edge to his voice.

"Sorry about that.  You've seemed indefatigable.  I was beginning to

think you were crystal analogues.

You have, after all, only been on the go today for twenty-seven hours.

I'll reprise after you've had some sleep.  And I mean, sleep."

"Wicked little man," Killashandra said, struggling out of her suit and

tiredly cramming it into the cleaner - a service hers at least badly

needed. Lars had to prop himself up against the wall to balance while he

pulled off his suit.

As she stumbled into the main cabin, she yawned, feeling those

twenty-seven hours in every sinew in her body - and especially in her

weary hands.  "I'm almost too tired to eat," she said, but roused

herself when the aromas of the feast Brendan prepared wafted through the

main cabin.

"I'm never too tired to eat during Passover," Lars announced and picked

up the biggest bowl.  He half collapsed into the chair, then settled

back with a plate on his chest so he didn't have so far to reach to get

food into his mouth.  "Can you analyse any particular response from the

Junk?"

"In all the caves, it has stopped retreating," Brendan said, "and while

I do perceive a definite pattern in the rhythm of its tremors, that's

the problem.  You could never rap fast enough to "speak" to them, and

they can't seem to slow down enough to "speak" to you."

"How about us recording something, and you play it back at their tempo,

Bren?" Killa asked.  "Use one of your extendible tools to hammer the

message home?" Lars tipped respectful fingers in her direction for that

notion.

"Yeah, but what exactly are we trying to tell them?" Killa shrugged, her

mouth too full to answer just then.  She swallowed.

"We're singers, not semanticists.  I think we've done very well!"

"I concur," Brendan added stoutly.  "There are specialists who could

handle it from here, now you've established an avenue."

"Yeah, but what about the disease?"

"The specialists do not need to exit their vehicle.

I've just monitored the dust your suits left in the cleaner's filters. I

can find no contaminants.  So the planet must be safe enough.  Remember,

the geologists had a specimen on board to examine and I doubt they

thought of keeping it shielded."

"You know," Killashandra began, interrupting herself with a great yawn.

"We forgot to put the piece back." Her head lolled back.

They fell asleep as they were, half-empty plates balanced on their

chests.  Brendan decided that he had not been scrupulous in monitoring

them today but he'd been as fascinated by their attempts as they: he

must remember that singers had phenomenal powers of concentration, as

well as appetite.

Then Brendan noticed that weary fingers had left splotches on chair and

carpets.  Though Brendan could send the cleaner "hot to attend to floor

spillage, he resigned himself to spots on the chairs until they reached

port again.  Not that Boira was any neater all the time.  He dimmed the

lights and raised the ambient temperature since he couldn't exactly

arrange covers for them.  Being a ship had a few limitations in dealing

with passengers who insisted on falling asleep off their bunks.

He was also obscurely delighted by their resolve to restore the specimen

to the Junk.  It was one thing to take samples of inanimate objects but

to do so to a living, feeling, communicating sentience was quite another

in his lexicon.  Singers were not as insensitive and unfeeling as he'd

been led to believe.  In fact, his opinion of the breed had been raised

by several singular leaps.

He must remember to mention it - adroitly, of course, for even to imply

that he had had his doubts about this mission, and them, was

embarrassing.  He had a lot to relate to Boira when his partner was

restored to him.

Chapter Three

Implementing their decision to return the excised "finger' when hunger

next woke them, Killashandra and Lars noticed the increase of the

luminescence.

"Well, we fed it, didn't we?" Killa said.  "Big Junk looks fatter, too,

don't you think?" Lars shrugged.  "Brendan?"

"Ambient light has increased in your present location but, as you both

know, I can read nothing of the Junk itself."

"It should look fatter after all we gave it to eat yesterday,'

Killashandra repeated, more to herself than to either man.

"I don't see as much expansion on the rib we cut, though," Lars

remarked, peering up at it.  That extrusion had not moved from the

position into which it had retracted.

"Muhlah!  I hope we haven't done irremedial harm," she said with genuine

remorse.

"The other end had no trouble absorbing what we gave it to eat maybe it

can "Lars began "Can, can, cannibal?"

"Omnivorous, certainly," Lars replied wryly "It didn't exactly "eat", it

sort of absorbed substances," Killa said.

Lars took the "finger' out of the duraplas sack with duraplas calipers

and reached up, his extended arm not quite long enough.

"Damnation!"

"If you hoist Killa to your shoulders, Lars, that will give you

sufficient height," Brendan said.

Lars eyed his partner.  She was a lean-bodied woman, and long in the

leg.

"C'mon, lover b0y pay acrobat.  That'll be dead easy in this light

gravity.

"Just don't wriggle around on my back.  Be careful of my oxygen tanks."

"Hmmm.  You've got a point.  Whoops!" Lars handed her the tongs and the

"finger' and, even as she took hold of the implement, he ducked under

her legs and, in an athletic heave, raised her from the ground.

"Don't obscure my vision!" Involuntarily, she'd grabbed at his helmet

before he steadied her with his hands on her belt.

"Two steps forward, and one slightly " Killa directed him, "to the left

and here we are.  Steady!" Even with his almost two-metre height she had

to stretch to reach the end of the rib.

"You're wiggling!"

"Am not!  I'm stretching.  You're the one who's wiggling.  To your right

half a step.  There!" And she whistled at a reaction she almost didn't

believe she saw.  The Junk turned even more liquid and flowed over the

amputated piece, reabsorbing it.

"Hey!" She dropped the tongs and clung to him for Lars started to waver.

"Don't move!"

"I'm not moving!" And suddenly Lars was down on one knee, and Killa

falling forward off his shoulders.

"Woof!" she muttered as she lay sprawled on the ground, automatically

checking the panel of lights that ringed the bottom of the helmet join.

They were all green, not a flicker into the orange.

"You OK, Ki?" Brendan asked, his tone anxious.

"That was a quake, not a tremor!"

"Quite a thank-you!" Killashandra got to her feet.

"Certainly a reaction," Brendan said.  "Lars?"

"Oh, I'm all right," Lars replied, checking both knees for he'd landed

heavily.

"Well, lookee there," he added, pointing to the ceiling.  "Come home,

all is forgiven!" Neither could see a demarcation on the rib end.

"Absorption?  Not the same reaction though," Killashandra said, "as it

gave when we offered it merely metal.  Should we recommend that the

other piece be returned?"

"After four years or more?"

"It's worth a try - as a peace offering," and she grinned at the

deliberate pun.

Lars groaned.

"It would establish Human bona fides," Brendan said.  "That the people

who return it have recognized the attempt as mutilation?"

"Not merely amputation for the sake of investigation," Killa said in a

caustic voice.

"So?  What do we do for an encore?" Lars asked.

Killa shrugged.  "Have we been in all the caves that have Junk?"

"All those recorded," Brendan said.

"And we still haven't found the source, if there is one?"

"That wasn't in our brief, was it?" Lars asked, brushing his gloved

hands.

"We were to discover if this stuff had some commercial value to the

Heptite Guild."

"It doesn't belong under the Guild's aegis.  It's sentient," Killa said

with more vehemence than she intended.

"We don't know that for a fact, Bren said.  "But while it may not be

animal, it doesn't appear to be mineral in the strict definition of the

word."

"I'll go along with that," Lars said, turning to his partner.

"And beings animacula"," Killa murmured.

"There's something " She struggled with the vague notion she was trying

to verbalize and then shrugged.  "I dunno, but one sure thing, you can't

mine it the way we can crystal, or other gemstones and ores.

What's your opinion, Brendan?"

"I'm a minder, not a miner."

"Yes, but you've been a big help."

"As a caterer - - "Yuck!" The very thought of food suddenly nauseated

Killashandra.  She and Lars locked eyes.

"Oh, blast it."

"I'd say the timing was pretty good, Lars said.

"You're ready for the sleep phase?" asked Brendan.

"Undeniably," Killa said, moving towards the exit of the cavern.

"We've done what we were supposed to and it's now up to the Xenos!

This isn't a Heptite matter.  So," and she looked expectantly toward her

partner, "where are we going to spend all those lovely credits we've

just earned, Lars?  And if you say "water world", I'll excise a few

chunks of y6u." Following close behind her, Lars rapped her helmet.

"No, it's your turn to pick." I'll pick after I've slept on t,

Killashandra said.

"In a week I'll be out of this system," Brendan said.

"Which way do I go?"

"Turn left then straight on till morning"," Killa said facetiously "If

that's your wish, it is my command," the ship said.

Once back aboard the ship, the lingering odours of previously delectable

meals made them gag.

"You weren't joking, were you?" Brendan said.

"Ah, you can restrain the compulsion?" he added urgently "Don't worry.

We never disgrace ourselves," Lars said in a grim tone, depressing his

nausea as he stripped off the suit and stuffed it in the cleaner.

Killashandra had a very set look to her face and she swallowed

constantly as she peeled off not only her suit but the mesh

undergarment.

"Hey?" Lars had not taken off his briefs and stared after her as she

strode - regally he thought - across the lounge.

"Brendan won't mind," Killa said absently "Indeed I don't but I find it

difficult to see that all that food-' "Don't!" With entreaty, Killa held

both hands up towards his column.  "Don't even think that word!" She

gagged and hurried to their cabin and into the sanitary unit.

"Anything I can get you?" the ship asked solicitously as Lars hurried

after his partner.

"Not a damned thing, Bren," Lars said resignedly.

Killa was already in the shower, sluicing her body down, staggering

occasionally as even the mild force of the water unbalanced her.  When

Lars entered the enclosure, she clung to him - and he to her and/or the

wall, until they'd soaped and soaked themselves clean.

Wrapping the generous towels about their bodies, they reeled to the wide

bunk and, with groans of immense relief, crawled on and sprawled across

it.  As the ship watched, their limbs relaxed despite what he considered

to be uncomfortable postures.  They were oblivious to any externals.

"These crystal singers don't do anything by halves.

As bad as Boira in some respects." His voice echoed in the silent living

quarters.

Delicately, as a mother will carry her sleeping babe to its cot, the

Brendan-Boira 1066 lifted off Opal, though his passengers wouldn't have

stirred no matter what g-force he used in take-off.  A week of sleep?

Well, if he "turned left' - now why was that sentence vaguely familiar?

- made one Singularity Jump and headed straight on, he would reach the

Lepus sector which offered the system Nihal.  The primary was G2 and it

had an inhabited third planet.

Taking that route, Brendan would also have the chance to get a closer

look at the very red Mira Variable R.  Leporis.  Boira would be

interested in his observations over that anomaly Was the Nihal system

where Killashandra meant to go?  But she'd told lars that she'd pick

after she'd had some sleep.  He accessed his galactic encyclopaedia.

Nihal's third planet had some unusual recreational facilities and was

regarded as an ideal honeymoon planet.  Killa and Lars were well past

that stage of a partnership but they had been discussing where to spend

a long absence from Ballybran and singing crystal.  If he had

misinterpreted her remark - and Killa hadn't seemed particularly

coherent with directions which he felt might be a quotation - they could

change their minds when they woke up.

Out of curiosity, he began to check his library banks just as it

serendipitously occurred to him that he was under no obligation to

return immediately to Regulus Base.  From the last report piped to him,

Boira had another six or seven weeks to go in rejuvenation and then time

in rehab and retraining.

He really didn't have to take another short-term assignment or jump

about on a courier route: they'd cleared all 1066's indebtedness with

the bonus and danger money from the assignment that had put Boira in

hospital Then he remembered to do the medscans that he had been

programmed to carry out, to ensure that the symbiont was indeed

protecting the singers.  Just as the dust of their suits had shown no

contaminants, neither did their bodies.  Reassured, he added the medical

data of this latest investigation to the private file.  What would the

Heptite Guild do if they had been contaminated?  Exile them?

Where?  In those Crystal Ranges until the next storm took care of the

problem?  The Guild was known to be ruthless, arrogant, and powerful but

this pair had been the best company he'd had the entire time he'd been

solo.

"That's where we're going on the heading you gave me."

"What heading?" Killashandra screwed round on the wide bunk until she

could see through the open cabin door to his column.

"Turn left and straight on till morning"," Brendan's search through his

library files had made him no wiser.

"Shards!  That wasn't a direction, Bren."

"So you were quoting?" Killashandra snickered.  "And you couldn't find

the source?  How far back do your files go?  No, abort that.  I don't

want to know.  It's from an old children's story and I didn't even

remember that I remembered it.  And that spurious direction leads us to

Nihal?

What's there?"

"A rather nice climate, temperate to cold, recreational, excellent - ah,

can I use the "f" word now?"

"Food?  Oh, yeah, but we won't need anything more than liquids for a day

or two.

"So was that a direction from your subconscious?" Killashandra finished

the last of her drink and yawned.  "I'll know when we get there.  How

long did I sleep?"

"Five days."

"Wake me in another two, huh?" And she was asleep before Brendan could

propose that he stay with them a while longer.

"Nihal?  Never heard of it," Killashandra said between sips of the fruit

beverage she had requested of Brendan.  Lars was still slumbering beside

her "Have a brain ship as our private yacht?" Lars exclaimed, for he

managed to stay awake, sipping a clear soup, long enough for Brendan to

suggest his plan.

"Well, I would have to ask you to pay for fuel, supplies and landing

fees," Bren answered tentatively.  "You see, Boira and I have bought

ourselves free.  .

And Lars recalled that the brain ships could do so, working off the

immense debt with Central Worlds occasioned by their early childhood

care and the cost of the ship itself.  Some partners never did discharge

the debt but a good pair could earn enough in bonuses to do so.  "My

sincere congratulations on that feat, Brendan!"

"But I don't want to go into our savings."

"Medical expenses high?" Lars asked solicitously.

Most humans complained about services singers never required.

"Oh, that!  Repairs and injuries are part of our contract and the

contractor has to pay the full tab of Boira's rejuv since they neglected

to inform us of the hazards inherent in the assignment." Bren sounded

both irritated and smug.  "So, all her expenses are paid.  I just have

to well, sing for my supper."

"How long a contract did you have with Heptite?"

"To the conclusion of your investigations plus travel time to return you

to Shankill Moon Base and me to my base."

"And you wouldn't object to carting us about?"

"If you defray my costs.

"Sure, we can do that.  Any sailing on this Nihal planet?"

"It's more known for its mountain sports.

"Oh!" Lars considered this for a moment, took the last gulp of his soup,

yawned and settled back down under the thermal beside Killashandra.

"Lemme sleep on it, wouldja, Bren?  "S'a great ideeeeee - - - ah - .

mmm." Brendan was quite happy to plant the idea and let it mature.  So

seldom did he and Boira have a chance to visit the planets, or systems,

that interested them.

Invariably their contracts and commissions required the utmost speed,

discretion and often, for his mobile partner, Boira, discomfort on

godforsaken mudballs.

If his running expenses were paid - and something the crystal singers

had let drop suggested to him that they were high in credit for the Opal

investigations he could afford to indulge this whimsy of his, especially

with the Mira Variable enroute.  And incidentally save himself a less

congenial assignment.

He liked to keep busy.  But some degrees of "busy' were unappealing.

When Killashandra woke from her second sleep, she woke alert, with that

sense of having slept deeply and well - and of being mildly hungry.  She

rolled out of the bunk so as not to rouse Lars and made it to the

sanitary facility before she burst.  She showered and shrugged into the

loose, colourful striped robe she preferred to wear in transit.

She paused by the broad bunk to see how Lars looked - his face was no

longer gaunt so she thought he'd be awake soon.  As soon as she had

closed the door and was out in the short corridor, Brendan gave her a

good morning.

"Is it?"

"Well, it is morning, Nihal time, early morning."

"Oh!

Yes, Nihal, of course.  That G2 - straight on till morning.  How far

away is it, Bren?" She was in the galley now, making herself a hot

caffeine-rich drink.

"Relatively not far at my present speed."

"And it's not a water world?"

"It has water, of course, but mountain sports are featured."

"Hmmm, in that case, I'm not averse to it.  Haven't done any hiking or

skiing or climbing in - - - Well, I can't remember when.

"There are lakes "Lakes don't fascinate Lars as much as seas do," Killa

said with some feeling.

"There are seas but not much traffic on them.  The fishing is limited to

shoreline nettings though there are said to be some tasty bivalves."

"Hmmm.  You know, I'm hungry, but not ravenous, if you appreciate the

distinction.

"I appreciate the distinction, Ki," and Brendan chuckled.  "What might

you be hungry for?" Aware that she couldn't overburden her system, she

settled on a light meal of juice and cereal which she took from the

galley, settling herself in the main room.

"Shards!  But we get to be sloppy eaters, don't we, she said with

chagrin, noticing the food stains on the arm of her usual chair.

"Anything I can use to wash these out, Bren?  I don't really want to

hand you back to Boira in less than the condition you arrived in.

That's not shipshape."

"And Bristol fashion?" Killa laughed.  Then she noticed the view on the

main screen.  "Muhlah!  What's that?"

"Ah, that is the very red Mira Variable R.  Leporis.

It has a 432-day cycle.  A type N, and, with any luck, we'll see it at

its hottest.  The pulsations should be magnificent as it begins to

contract." Killa squinted.  "It's very bright "I can darken the screen

if it is visually uncomfortable."

"Hmmm, would you?  Ah, thanks.

That is undoubtedly the very reddest object I've ever seen.

What are you seeing?"

"The emission spectra.  Stupendous!" They both, in their separate ways,

considered the spectacle blazing light-years away but so vivid; Killa at

least flinched from the vision of such searing heat.

"Of course, if you find nothing of interest on Nihal III, I'd be happy

to take you elsewhere." Killashandra snapped her fingers.  "Just like

that?"

"It's like this, Ki," and Brendan explained what he had offered Lars.

The crystal singer whooped and fell against the back of the chair in a

paroxysm of laughter.

"Our own brain ship?  Acting the yacht?  You've got a deal, man!" She

gasped the phrases out between spasms of laughter, and ended up wiping

her eyes of laugh tears.  "You really mean it?" she asked, turning

towards Brendan's column.

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't."

"Don't huff, Bren, honestly, I didn't mean to offind.  But don't you

cost a lot?"

"I only need fuel, landing fees, and whatever supplies you and Lars

require.  To be sure, my larder's a bit bare right now."

"I could well imagine.  You were champion to feed us as you did, Bren. I

haven't eaten better during any Passover I can remember." Then

practicality gripped her.  "I think you'd better tell me just how much

your fuel and general landing fees run to. We got a great fee for

risking skin and symbiont on Opal but Brendan then ran through some

figures for her so that she realized the idea was feasible.  In fact,

downright exciting.

"Of course, we've got to get our report back to Lanzecki.  Does Nihal

III have black crystals?"

"It does." A shiver ran up Killashandra's spine.  She didn't like to use

black crystal communications.  Most of the newer installations she and

Lars had cut from the Milekey Ranges had been located by others but she

still had conflicting feelings about making use of them.  Though it was

a long, long time since she had installed the black crystal

communications system for the Trundomoui, she had never managed to bury

the memory of the soul-shattering shock of activating the King crystal.

The proximity of black crystal always awakened echoes of that trauma.

"There are significant bodies of water down there," Killashandra said as

Brendan approached their destination.

"We can go somewhere else," Lars said to pacify her.  "I didn't choose

Nihal III, remember.  It was your straight on till morning.

His partner glowered at him.

"The chief recreational activities of the planet Sherpa are mountain

climbing," Brendan said, raising his voice to quash their

argumentativeness, "downhill and cross-country skiing, skidoo and other

snow-based sports, canoeing and kayaking on designated rivers, trekking

on foot or mounted, hunting and fishing.  The catering is deemed one of

the highlights of the planet and, indeed, wears the 4

Comets of Gastronomical Excellence." Killashandra groaned.

"A little exercise would improve your appetite," Brendan remarked.

"Although I never thought I'd have to say that to the pair of you!" Lars

chuckled and even Killa managed a grin.

Then Lars regarded her queryingly, his expression blandly conciliatory

"Oh, all right.  We do mountain sports first," she said in assent, then

waggled her finger at him.  "I might do some canoeing but you're on the

bow paddle."

"Landing fees are moderate," Brendan said happily "This won't cost you

much," he added cheerfully.

"You can send in your report and I can get an update on Boira's

condition.  Ah, I'm getting a signal.  Oh, really?" he added in

surprise.  "Penwyn, how good to hear your voice!" To the astonished

singers, he added, "The Planetary Manager was in my class!  I'm very

glad we decided to come here." Although Killashandra worked on the

official report with Lars, she let him take it to the Communications

Centre.  When they had passed it in the ground vehicle on their way into

the settlement, she experienced the friction in her guts that told her

she'd cut the system's King crystal.  She'd asked Lanzecki about that

lingering pull but he hadn't had any answers.  She was one of the few

crystal singers who could locate and cut the black crystal: she was even

unusually sensitive to its presence in cut or raw form.

Not her choice, certainly, but there were advantages.  Not now, on

Sherpa, when she wanted to forget crystal.

In an atavistic burst, she scrubbed the food stains off the chairs while

she waited for Lars to return.

When he seemed to have been gone rather longer than the despatch of a

message should have taken, she began to feel ill-used, then irritated

and finally worried.

"This isn't an over-regulated planet, is it?  Crystal singers aren't

forbidden?" she asked Brendan.

"Not at all.  It's a very loosely settled place, though there's a fair

competition between recreational facilities to attract visitors.

Penwyn handles what administration there is and he arbitrates any

disputes as well, but it's an orderly world." Lars came back with

promotional halos crammed into every pocket of his shipsuit.  He was

plainly delighted as he dumped them on to the worktop by the viewer and

gestured dramatically at Killashandra.

"Take your pick!  Reports filed - state of the art Comtower, I'll tell

you that, with your friend, Penwyn, handling the transmission, Bren.

Guess you won't mind how long we're away, will you?"

"Hmmm, no, of course I won't," Brendan answered, slightly distracted by

Lars' question because he was so busy chatting up Penwyn.

During the day it took the two crystal singers to decide where to go

first - cross-country skiing to get their muscles limbered up for

downhill runs - they didn't hear much from Brendan.

"Must be making up for the last fifty years," Lars said.

"Must you measure time!" she replied in a burst of irritation.  It was a

bad habit of his, this reckoning of time, and mentioning it.  She wished

he'd just stop making such references.  He knew they upset her.

What did time have to do with anything?  Why should it count?  It was

today that mattered and how well they spent it, how much they enjoyed

or, if they were working in the Ranges, how much they could cut in a

day!

Lars regarded her in surprise and then apologized in such a perfunctory

manner that he aggravated her further.  The lingering stress put a bit

of a damper on their journey to the resort Killashandra had chosen.

But once at the "port that serviced the area, her mood altered to a more

cheerful one and Lars was quick to respond to the change.

Indeed, he wouldn't have noticed if she'd continued to be morose.

Her choice of resort was set in a long narrow valley amidst the most

magnificent mountain scenery.

High enough in the mountainous rim of Sherpa's main continent, Nipal, to

be above the snowline, they were collected at the "port door by the

soberly welcoming rep of the snotel they had booked into.

"I am Mashid," he told them, making a low bow which was respectful

despite the fact that dark eyes in almond-shaped sockets did not so much

as blink as he continued his greeting, "and have been appointed to see

that your sojourn with us is all that you desire." Killashandra and Lars

exchanged quick looks.

"We're remarkably easy to please," Killa said, "so long as you don't

show me any large bodies of water' She dug Lars in the ribs.

"All water at this altitude is frozen," Mashid replied stolidly "What do

we drink then?" Lars wanted to know.

"Melted snow?"

"Drinking water," and Mashid's attitude towards drinking that was

contemptuous, "is of course supplied as needed from protected

reservoirs."

"I was joking," Lars said.

"As you wish," and Mashid tendered another bow.

Sweat had appeared on his forehead, for he was bundled in furs and

thick, fur-topped boots.

"Lead on," Lars suggested, gesturing to the door.

He and Killashandra had bought outerwear suitable to the mountain

climate but, though it had been pricey in the spaceport shop, neither

jacket was as lush as Mashid's apparel.  They learned later that he had

caught, tanned and made his garments.  Most mountain people did Turning

with yet another bow, Mashid led them outside to an animal-drawn sleigh,

brightly painted in orange-and-black stripes with the name of their

snotel blazoned in huge letters on its sides.  Two antlered,

rough-coated beasts were harnessed to it, stamping their cloven hooves

in the snow.  They were nearly as long as the sleigh.

Lars and Killashandra were gestured into the passenger seat and an

immense fur robe was deftly tucked about them.  Mashid swung expertly up

on to the driver's seat, flicked a whip at the rumps of the beasts.

The speed of their departure nearly gave Lars and Killashandra whiplash

The pace was exhilarating, so was the crisp air, and the unusual method

of transportation.  Killa shouted out in laughter of sheer delight.

She couldn't remember ever seeing so much snow before.  She almost asked

Lars if they had and then, as abruptly, didn't want to know: she wanted

less to know if she had seen snow than if Lars could remember if they

had.

Then he turned a happy smile to her and it didn't matter.  She was here,

with Lars, and they had months before they had to even think of crystal

and Ballybran.  She was totally distracted by the cold wind nipping at

her ears and clamped gloved hands to protect them.

In their four months at the snotel, they attempted every single snow

sport available, including races on single skis and on snow-bikes down

almost vertical slopes.  They missed being buried in an avalanche by the

length of a ski; they skate-danced, snow-surfed and planed, and,

adapting their skills, went spelunking through ice and rock caverns of

incredible beauty.  They absorbed Mashid's instructions and improved on

them, finally surprising approval - even compliments - from the sturdy

Nipalese who began to view their new indestructibility with awe.  They

doubted he had ever met crystal singers before or knew that their minor

bruises, lacerations and contusions healed overnight, leaving them fully

able to cope with the new day's ordeals.  They almost regretted leaving

him behind in the mountains.

But they'd done all they could of the snow sports and so they moved from

the mountains to the vast bowl of the internal plains of Nipal.  There

they did take to the water and acquired a new guide without the

imperturbability of Mashid.  With him, they canoed through tortuous

canyons on flumes of water, shooting dire-toothed rapids.

Once in a while they checked in with Brendan who informed them that he

was quite content and they needn't hurry.  So they hunted for two months

in the lake districts with a party of mixed planetarials, and rode and

camped along the coastline for a month with another, during which time

Lars so pointedly said nothing about sailing that Killashandra was sure

she would burst with not hearing the words he didn't speak.

"We've done everything else," Killashandra said the night before they

would turn inland back to the vicinity of the space port, "we really

can't leave Sherpa without sailing, can we?"

"Can we not?" retorted Lars placidly.

"If you wanted to, we could' "Wrong," he said, and with his index finger

pressed her nose in, "if you wanted to, we could." Perversely, she

ducked away from him and rolled off the bed, unaccountably annoyed with

his self sacrifice.

"It was my turn to pick, she said in a savage tone.

"Hey, honey-love," and Lars sprang from the bed to catch her in his

arms, his face anxious, "don't be like this.  It was your turn to pick

the place and activities and I've enjoyed everything we've done

together' She struggled in his arms, furious with his acquiescence, even

with his concern.

"Hey, y,) and he tried to gentle her, pulling him against his bare body,

"need a radiant bath?" He stroked her to judge crystal resonance in her

body.

"I don't need one.  I don't need crystal that badly yet.  Ahhhhh!" And

her irascibility disappeared as she arched in his arms.  "Crystal!

We didn't try crystal."

"Try crystal?  Where?  What are you talking about, Killa?"

"We never gave the Junk any crystal."

"It would have absorbed .  .  .  Oh, I see what you mean!" He blinked in

sudden comprehension.  "D'you really think Ballybran crystal would be

absorbed by the Junk?" Lars asked, catching a bit of her excitement

though he was clearly sceptical.  "What good would that do?"

"Communication.  A lot easier than rapping out rhythm.  There'd be a

useful link with it if nothing else." Killashandra was as tense with

eagerness as she had been with irritation.

"We've done our job," Lars argued in protest.

"We've acquitted the assignment - .

"But we didn't find out anything.

"We found out the Junk is not a Heptite concern "But we didn't try

crystal!" she repeated, struggling to release his grip.

"Well, if it means that much to you, let's see what Brendan says about

taking us back there with crystal.  There, there, love-heart," and Lars

soothed her with hand and voice until she relaxed against him again.

"Only where will we get some Ballybran crystal here?"

"They've black crystal.  .

"Do we know what we're doing, Killa?" Lars asked as he settled his

helmet.

"No."

"D'you know why you're doing it?"

"No."

"Maybe the Junk is sentient."

"You mean, some sort of psionic emanations?" Killashandra was not only

sceptical but incredulous.

"Why else would you have such a harebrained notion to feed Ballybran

crystal to an opalescent rib?" he demanded.

"I got the notion on Sherpa, not in the cave.  I could have understood

some sort of a connection if I'd thought of it then."

"You probably did," Lars replied, "you just forgot it.  And don't snap

at me over your lapsus memoriae!

Let's get this experiment on the pad." Even as he spoke he had touched

the lock release and it cycled open.  Oxygen left the airlock with a

whoosh.  They stepped out on to Opal's cindery hide and followed the

bright paint markings to Hungry Junk's precinct.

"Hey, improvement," Lars said as soon as they had descended to the level

of the cavern.  The blue radiance, edging towards white, made their

suitlights unnecessary.  "Wow !"

"Wow what?" Brendan asked when the silence went on for fifty seconds.

"You're sure your instrumentation doesn't read anything?" Lars asked.

"Not a thing.  What occasioned your unusual exhortation?" Brendan asked

flippantly.

"We fed it too much," Killashandra replied softly.

"Now, Lars said, "but we fed it g) "Tell me, do!" was Brendan's slightly

sarcastic remark.

"Sorry, Bren," Killashandra replied, "but it's a bloody shame you can't

see.  Junk's covered the entire cave, and there are long fingers that

we'll probably find have descended to the next level.  It's more

beautiful than ever, all colours now, reds and oranges and yellows as

well as the blues, dark greens and purples that it originally had.

They seem to flow in and out of patterns "Like fractiles," Lars added,

his tone oddly languid.

"I could watch Hey, what'd you do that for?" She'd given him such a push

he'd nearly lost his balance.

"Junk's hypnotic and maybe even addictive," Killa said, her voice sharp.

"Rapt-like."

"Should we give it crystal then?" Lars asked, crisp again.

"That's what we came to do.  So let's do it!"

"All the crystals to old Hungry Junk?"

"No, just one," Killashandra said.  "Let's see what happens' She pointed

to a large swag of the Junk that was flowing towards the floor.  Lars

took the largest crystal, the B-flat and, holding it into the calipers,

inserted the blue.  Junk obligingly flowed over it.

The two crystal singers held their breaths as they watched.

"YUP!" Killashandra let out a triumphant crow.  "It can't eat crystal."

"It can't?" Brendan asked.  "What's it doing?"

"Holding it in its cheek," Lars said flippantly, 8o grinning at

Killashandra, "having a good taste." For the Junk rippled back and forth

across the crystal insertion, going through all the colours of its

visible spectrum without altering the outline of cube.  Then it seemed

to push the cube upward, towards the crown in the centre of the ceiling.

Though apparently drawn deep into the opalescence, the crystal patently

retained its integrity.

"Now what?" asked Brendan when the singers had nothing further to

report.

"Look!" In astonishment Killashandra pointed to the half-open sack of

crystals at her feet.  They pulsed from mid-blue to dark and then paled.

"Damn!" She dropped to her knees beside them.  "Are they singing?

Can't hear a bloody thing." Tentatively Lars placed the tip of his

gloved finger on the faceted surface of the nearest one.

"Vibration all right," and he grinned in triumph up at Killashandra.

"Communications established?"

"Could be, but pulsations and colour alterations are no more

intelligible than drum codes - until a code or even a language can be

established.  And semanticists we are not," Killashandra said, a degree

of regret in her voice.

"Then let us by all means leave it to the experts," Brendan said.

"Around such an unknown quantity, I find that I get almost as nervous

for you as I do for Boira."

"Why, thanks, Bren," Killashandra said, touched by the ship's concern.

"But I don't think we're in any danger."

"You are edible," he replied succinctly.

Killashandra laughed and Lars grinned at her.

"I wonder if any of the other Junk has expanded."

"We only fed this one," she replied.  "Let's go see." Lars picked up the

remaining crystal and it glowed until they deposited it in the airlock.

As soon as Brendan lifted from the immediate vicinity of Big Hungry, the

glow subsided.  No other formation had increased as significantly as

Hungry Junk although all had begun to flow downward again.

"Got anything on board to feed the starving?" Lars asked.

"In point of fact, I do," Brendan said.  "Penwyn had un-recycleable

wastes he did not care to dispose of on planet.

"Dirty stuff?"

"Obliging I am, stupid I'm not!  No, most of it's clean litter from the

spacefield.  I thought we might use the refuse to better effect "Indeed

we can.  I think the Junk's starved too long." Lars was dubious.  "We

might be making more problems "We might," Killa said with a shrug, "but

I can't not.

"I've kept a file on the metallic and organic content of what we're

feeding it," Brendan said "Then we do a comparison, a standard

scientific practice," Lars replied, dismissing his reservations.

"We feed four metallic and four organic." It was tiring work, even in .7

gravity, distributing and feeding eight very hungry opalescents.

As they trudged back to the 1066, both singers felt a curious

satisfaction in the heightened glow and vigorous flow as Junk ingested

their meals.

When they had finished, the two singers returned briefly to the Big

Hungry to check on the crystal.

"Not even Junk can eat Ballybran crystal," Killashandra said proudly.

"The cubes you left in the lock, however," Brendan remarked, "have

remained dormant."

"Too bad we didn't have any dirty waste to give the Junk," Lars said,

"to see if it could digest half-lifes." Killashandra regarded him

warily.  "You do want to live dangerously, don't you?"

"Well, I don't think we've done any lasting harm.

How long can one good meal last Junk?  I think we leave this to the

experts.  Singers we are, scientists we're not."

"We're a lot smarter than that exploratory team who found Junk," Killa

said.

"Are we?"

"Who can say at this juncture?" Brendan said, deftly diverting an

argument for they groaned in unison at his outrageous pun.

"You've done more than you were required to.  And, while I hate to press

you.  .  .  he added tentatively "Yes, yes, of course," Killashandra

said, suppressing any comment on the fact that he was indeed pressuring

them.  "You're anxious to collect Boira."

"I think we've got more than enough to prove to Lanzecki that we earned

our fee," Lars added, giving her a meaningful nod.

She exhaled restively, swinging her arms indecisively.  But the men were

right: they'd done more than was expected even if not what had been

anticipated, finding a Heptite use of the Junk.  Its fate would now be

decided by others.

Lars moved to the exit arch and, with one more backward look at the

surging flow of the Big Hungry's questing "finger', she followed, though

she had an unresolved sense that they hadn't done enough.

Chapter Four

The BB1066 returned them to Shankill Moon Base and deposited them with

many expressions of pleasure at their company and hopes to see them

again.  Wryly Killashandra heard the undertone of polite impatience in

his courtesies and nudged Lars to hurry the disembarkation process.

Brendan wanted to return, full speed, to Regulus Base where he'd be

rejoined by Boira.

They had the pencil files of their report for Lanzecki in their carisaks

which had multiplied to bulge with souvenirs from their months on

Sherpa.

Periodically Killashandra cleared out her storage space of items that

she could not remember acquiring.  She couldn't recall if she had

corners into which to stuff the new additions.  She hated discarding

things until they brought back no memories of where they had been used.

She preferred to do it when Lars wasn't around.  His memory was much

better than hers and he could remember where and when clothes or

equipment had been purchased.  And why They caught the first shuttle

down to Ballybran.  It was half full of singers.  To the three she

recognized she gave a brief nod: Lars smiled at most though he did not

get a response from all.

"Sometimes they act as if they're going to their own executions," he

said - evidently often enough for the phrase to stick in her mind for

her reply was automatic.

"Sometimes they are." That was true enough to be sobering.  There was no

chatter, no merriment, no laughter at all and very few grins as singers

returned to the planet from which they earned enough to indulge in

whatever fancies rocked their jollies.  The ambience today was enough to

depress anyone.  Except Lars who was smiling tenderly at the screen's

magnificent view of the broad oceans on the day side.  He must be the

only singer who enjoyed another aspect of the Guild homeworld.

He was smiling because soon he could look forward to sailing.

"You kept your word," she murmured to him.  "You choose the next one."

He grinned absently at her.  "Hope Pat put Angel back in the water after

Passover' "We won't have time now for a cruise His hand covered hers on

the armrest and his smile was tender and deeply affectionate.  "I like

the "we", sunny!" His fingers squeezed and she, too, was suffused with

loving warmth for him.  They did make a very good team!  Then he

exhaled.  "Lanzecki'll probably have us both out in the Ranges before

the morning." The shuttle was crossing into the night zone as it

spiralled down to Ballybran's surface.

"More than likely." Killashandra felt no resistance to the prospect.

The need to sing crystal had become more insistent during the last leg

of their return voyage.  Not unbearably so, for all they'd had nearly a

year away from it.  Now that Ballybran was in sight, the lure of crystal

became a throb in her blood that would need to be silenced.

When she'd last checked their credit balance, it was sizeable enough to

reassure her against any eventuality - not finding one of their old

lodes of good crystal, a sudden storm flushing them out of the Ranges,

even more damage to the sled - though that she intended to avoid.  The

last accident had caused her extreme aggravation.  So asinine to have

been caught in an avalanche!  Lars had maintained that no blame could be

attached to them; she railed that they "ought' to have checked the

stability of the projection that had decided to drop on their sled.

She even remembered the piercing, almost pitying, look he had given her.

"Look, Killa, you can't be everything in the Ranges.

You've got weather sense that has saved our hides more times than I care

to count: you're a superb cutter and you've never cracked a crystal

pitching it.  Neither of us is geologist enough to have known that

projection was unstable.  Leave it!" She remembered his reassurance now:

more vivid and embarrassing was her remembered ignominy at having to be

hoisted out of the Ranges.  She'd be grateful when that memory was

expunged from her mind by her return to the Ranges.  Soon enough only

Lars would have access to that embarrassment.

Time after time, she'd heard him making reports to his private file.

Well, he wasn't likely to tease her about the avalanche.  She'd give him

that, but she almost wished he wouldn't commit every damn detail to

electronic memory The shuttle landed them and, glumly, everyone save

Lars - filed out.  He seemed in very good spirits.

The port duty officer signalled for their attention.

"Lanzecki said you're to report to him immediately, forthwith and now!"

"When have I heard that before?" Lars replied with a grin, clipping

Killashandra under the elbow as he guided her towards the lift that

would take them to the executive level.

As they entered the administration office, Bollam gave them a brief nod

of acknowledgement.

"I really don't like that man," Killa murmured to Lars as she placed her

hand on the door-plate.  "He's a dark!  A real dark!  I wouldn't trust

him in the Ranges and I don't have Lanzecki's problem." Lars jiggled her

elbow to move on as the door slid open.  It was as if the Guild Master

hadn't moved from the position in which they'd last seen him.

Except, Killa noticed as he raised his head at their approach, he looked

more tired and less .  .  .  less substantial.  She shook the notion out

of her head.

"Good work," he said, nodding at them.

"Good work?" Killa was astonished.  "But the Junk isn't something the

Guild can use." Lanzecki shrugged.  "One less complication.  And this

Junk of yours couldn't digest Ballybran crystal?" That was more a proud

statement than question and a slight smile pulled at the corner of

Lanzecki's thin mouth.

He was ageing, Killa thought, noticing thin vertical lines on his upper

lip, and the deeper marks from nose to mouth, the discolouration under

his eyes.

"You're working too hard," she said.  Lanzecki raised his eyebrows

enquiringly.  "That dark at the door's no help.  You need someone more

like Trag.

He was efficient She stopped, for Lanzecki's expression had altered to a

courteous mask that rebuked her for impudence.

"Look, anything we can do to help?" Lars asked.

He glanced at Killashandra, not for permission but for her to reinforce

his offer of assistance.

Lars never had learned the lesson Moksoon had taught her - that you

asked, and expected, no help from anyone in the Ranges.  Only, the cube

was not the Ranges.

"Neither of us have to get out a while yet," she replied, though she

wouldn't have all that much time before an urgency would begin to pulse

through her veins.  Helpfulness and cooperation were not singer

characteristics but even she could remember being obliged to - and

alternately infuriated by - Lanzecki's demands on her and on herself and

Lars.

However, she was currently grateful for the benefits of the intriguing

Junk assignment.

"I appreciate that very much indeed."

"Isn't there anyone else more suitable than Bollam?" she demanded.

Lanzecki shrugged.  "He has his uses.  Now," and he turned immediately

to red-sheeted Priority notices, "these can no longer be ignored, Lars.

And Killa, Enthor's gone and his replacement needs to be overseen.

You've a finely tuned sense for crystal's potential.  Can you see your

way clear to assisting in the Sorting Shed until the woman's less

tentative?

She's got to be more confident that her judgement's right.  I can't be

hauled in to mediate her evaluations with disgruntled singers." Killa

made a face.  "So I'm Trag's stand-in?" Lanzecki gave her a level look.

"In that aspect of our craft, you were always his superior."

"Well, well," she said and would have teased him but saw the flicker in

his eyes that suggested she restrain her flippancy.  "Any singers due

in?"

"The Tower says that five are on their way back.

Storm gathering over the south-east tip of the Ranges.  Met says it's

just a squall." Killa snorted in disgust.  Even "just a squall' on

Ballybran was mortally dangerous to any singers caught in it.  The high

winds that gusted over the canyons stroked mind-blowing resonances out

of the crystalline Ranges.

"Who's the new Sorter?"

"Woman name of Clodine," Lanzecki replied.

"Don't ride her, Killashandra.  Her main fault is being new at the

game." Lars cocked an eyebrow at her and winked conspiratorially.  She

caught the warning that she'd do more good to be patient.  She shook her

hair back over her shoulder in denial of the reminder and, on her

mettle, strode out of the room Clodine greeted Killashandra with a

nervous blend of gratitude and caution.  Sorters, whose adjustment to

the Ballybran symbiont affected their vision to the point where they did

not need any mechanical aid to see intrusions and flaws in crystal, did

not suffer the memory deterioration that singers did.  The other four

Sorters on duty gave Killashandra a pleasant nod or wave as she made her

way to Clodine's station: a station that had been Enthor's since before

Killa had become a member of the Heptite Guild.  She'd miss him, too.