They'd had some spectacular arguments over his evaluation of the tonnes
of crystal she had presented for his inspection but she had known him to
be exceedingly competent, and fair.
The opinion had survived throughout all her trips in the Ranges.
Two faces she always remembered, no matter how crystal-mazed she was
Enthor's and Lanzecki's.
Clodine would have to be very good indeed to replace Enthor in
Killashandra's estimation. Ironic to find herself in the position of
teaching the woman all the skills she herself had learned from the old
Sorter. But Killa did know crystal.
The tall, slender girl - for Killa judged her to be young in real
chronology - kept blinking, her eyes going from one state to the other.
Involuntarily she shuddered when the magnification of her enhanced sight
made what was in her range of vision unnerving to behold. She was an
attractive girl, too, which might be why Lanzecki had enlisted Killa's
aid.
There'd been a time when Killa would have been intensely jealous of
anyone who took Lanzecki's interest but those days were a long time back
in the decades that had not included Lars dahl. Clodine had lovely
blonde hair, a lot of it, neatly confined in a thick net. She'd the
fair complexion of the genuine blonde and mid-brown eyes with light
flecks. Yes, very attractive. And some of Killa's unexpected anxiety
for Lanzecki's ageing dissipated. He'd still an eye for a pretty girl
and a lissom shape.
"I'm Killashandra Ree," she said, holding out her hand to Clodine.
That was a habit most humanoid worlds adopted and she'd been doing it so
much on Sherpa that it had become natural. Singers fresh out of the
Ranges never touched anyone if they could help it. Crystal shock
sometimes had an adverse effect on others. "Lanzecki sent me down as
back-up to this grimy lot on their way in. He doesn't want to scare you
off the job at too early a date." The crystal singer noticed that the
worn scales and equipment which had served Enthor for so many decades
had been replaced. Even the metal worktop, once scraped and scored by
hundreds of thousands of cut crystal forms, was pristine.
Clodine gave a tentative smile and her eyes flicked into the alter state
and then back again. "Oh, gods, I'll never get the hang of it."
"Make your eyes very round when you want to stay in normal visual mode,'
Killashandra said in a low voice, aware that, with nothing else to do,
the other Sorters were watching them.
Clodine tried to smile and widen her eyes, and groaned because her eyes
altered despite her efforts.
"It's surprising how soon you will become accustomed to the alteration,'
Killashandra said in her most sincere "buck-up-there' tone. "Ah, here
they come!"
"They do?" Clodihe looked up at the wraparound screens that gave those
in the Sorting Sheds full views of the as-yet empty Hangar where the
singers' sleds would land. The latest batch of Guild apprentices waited
there to help unload the precious crystal.
The Met screens showed that the squall, having wreaked brief havoc in
the Ranges, was passing harmlessly out to sea, half a continent away.
The Hangar crew was lounging about. When storm systems raged close to
the Guild's massive cube, their duties became far more urgent and
perilous: even to closing the great Hangar doors to incoming singers
rather than risk damage to those already safe within.
More times than she cared to remember, Killa had often been the last
singer to get in over the interlocking jaws of the great portal.
"See?" and Killa directed Clodine's attention to the long-range screen
where the first of the incoming sleds was just now visible as a speeding
blip.
"Oh!" She blinked nervously and, shaking her head in distress, looked
about to weep.
"Relax," Killa drawled and pushed herself up to sit on the brand-new
worktop. "They're a good half hour out - unless they've had a good
scare!" She grinned with amusement at that possibility. Clodine relaxed
a bit. "Where you from?"
"I don't imagine you've ever heard of my home system " she began
apologetically "Try me," Killa replied with a laugh.
"A planet named Scarteen "In the Huntsman System " Killashandra said,
oddly pleased by the girl's delight in her knowing.
"Nice place. Good currents in the Great Oceans."
"You've sailed on Scarteen?"
"I've sailed," and Killa paused, censored the ennui in her tone, and
smiled kindly at the child, "on most worlds that are hospitable to our
species."
"You sail? I mean, sheet-sail, not motor cruise?"
"Wind-sail, of course," and she flicked one shoulder, consigning motor
cruising to a suitable nadir, "and you'll find there's good sailing
here, too.
In fact, if we've time before we go out in the Ranges, my partner and I
would take you out on our ship, show you some of the tricks of sailing
Ballybran "5
currents and coasts."
"Oh, would you?" Once again, Lars' avocation won her unexpected
friendship. Killa sighed and filled in the time until the sleds arrived
with sea-tales that were honourably unembellished. They didn't need to
be! Sorters might not need to leave Ballybran as often as singers, but
they took holidays especially during Passover storms. It didn't hurt to
reassure the girl that there was more to life now she was a Heptite
Guild member than remembering to widen her eyes, not to blink to
crystal-gaze.
Clodine was, as Lanzecki suspected, suffering only from inexperience in
dealing with Range-crazed singers. Killashandra's presence quelled the
scruffy singer's urge to argue Clodine's estimate of his crystals -
which were a rather good mid-green, currently in scarce supply - so he
got a better price than Killa knew he had anticipated. So he had no
cause to berate a Sorter, new or experienced. But arguing price with
your Sorter got to be an ingrained habit. Some Sorters enjoyed
persiflage, and/or getting the better of the singer Timing was so often
the deciding factor in the worth of a cut. If the market was glutted,
the price was understandably low.
Some colours were always worth the premium price, like black crystals of
which there could never be enough since they could be used for
communication links. The pale pinks were always low market, but a fine
seven-shaft cut of even pink could be valuable in an industrial complex.
When the singer had left, grumbling in a desultory fashion, Killashandra
touched Clodine's shoulder and grinned at her woeful expression.
"He's all wind and piss. Most of us are. You know your grading, the
latest market price is what's on your terminal. Don't let "em hassle
you. Part of it's coming in suddenly from the Ranges without as much as
you thought you would cut this time out.
I'm always sure I should have been able to cut longer and more.
Most of it's pure singer cussedness. Ignore it, considering the source!
Enthor train you up?" she added, for something of the way Clodine had
handled crystal reminded her of the old man.
"Yes," and Clodine wide-eyed her in astonishment.
"How did you know that?" Killa sniffed. "Enthor loved crystal.
He passed that on to you. Remember that the next time a singer gives
you a hard time. You," and Killashandra prodded Clodine lightly in the
chest, "love crystal. I can see that in how you handle it.
Singers," and she turned her thumb into her own sternum, "invariably
hate crystal."
"You do?"
"For all that it does for us and to us, yes," and, feeling that that
sounded like a great exit line, Killashandra left the Sorter Shed.
lars had not returned to their apartment. She gave herself a long soak
in the water tub and, wearing a loose robe, began to unpack the carisaks
that had been delivered while she was overseeing Clodine.
When she got hungry and Lars still hadn't returned, she tapped out a
"where is' code on the terminal.
"Here," Lars' voice responded and his features formed on the screen.
"Where?"
"Lanzecki's," he -replied, as if she should have known.
"C'mon up." Puzzling over that, Killa changed and returned to the Guild
Master's domain.
The pair were sitting at the table where Killa had often dined alone
with Lanzecki. There was a third place set and, as Lanzecki gestured
her to be seated, Lars rose and met her halfway, giving her a quick
embrace and kiss.
Suppressing her surprise over what that was in token of, Killa smoothly
took her place.
"We waited," Lars said, and he nodded at the array of dishes, favourites
of hers, his and Lanzecki's.
"How did Clodine do?" Lanzecki asked, forestalling any query from
her"She's fine. I told her not to let singers get up her nose. Enthor
trained her. She loves crystal. I told her singers hate it. Opened
her eyes!" Killa grinned.
"In more ways than one, I trust?" Lanzecki said, quirking his eyebrow.
He was being Lanzecki the man, as he had been in their old loverly days
- a pose he had never before assumed in Lars' presence.
For -some reason it disturbed her "Well, that's the trick, isn't it?"
she replied, knowing better than to show her surprise. "Widening the
eyes to prevent the alteration. She was only nervous."
"Anything good in?" Lanzecki asked. Killa regarded him coolly.
The Guild Master ought to be the first to know the answer to that
question. "Lars and I have been discussing the Junk to the exclusion of
all else." He raised his wineglass in a toast to her, then included
Lars. "Interesting ... Junk. I'm almost sorry I have to turn the
matter over to the proper authority."
"Junk's sentient," Killa said in a flat tone, helping herself to food.
"Too bad sentience isn't a marketable commodity," Lanzecki said.
"Have some milsi stalks!" he added, passing her the plate and changing
the subject.
usedn't to tolerate Lanzecki at all, he'd been so possessive of her.
Well, after she'd permitted it, but only because she'd been so upset
about his being incarcerated at Regulus Base.
that and other considerations and began to stroke him where it would do
the most good.
Somehow, despite being reasonably sure that Brendan's shipboard manners
were impeccable, they'd never quite been able to abandon themselves on
the 1066. They proceeded to indulge each other shamelessly.
Uninhibited loving was the best!
"What under the suns were you and Lanzecki up to for half a day?" she
asked Lars as she swung her legs up on to the sleeping surface of their
bedroom.
He yawned mightily, stepping up off the floor and waldrig to the
pillowed end where he folded down, and began to wriggle into a
comfortable position.
"The Junk mostly, and speculation as to whether or not it could use the
crystal as a comlink. I doubt it.
And this and that." Lars punched a pillow into the right contours and
stuck it under his head, watching her as she rolled up against him.
He lifted one arm, a tacit invitation to nestle against him. She did.
"He misses Trag."
"Did you find out what crystal-crazed notion made him pick that dork in
Trag's place?" She settled her cheek against Lars' smooth chest.
At some point he'd bathed, too, for his skin exuded a subtly spicy
odour. Lanzecki preferred spicy scents.
What could these two be dreaming up together? Lars The comunit buzzed
until they woke, or rather until Lars waved his hand at the panel and
accepted the call.
"Lars? Can you spare me the morning?" Lanzecki asked.
Killashandra groaned at the sound of his voice but she hadn't quite
taken in the message. She flattened her body against the bedding and
determinedly resumed her interrupted slumbers. She wasn't quite certain
what had happened to Lars when she did wake but there was no residual
heat left where his body had been.
She roused, washed, and ordered food. As usual, that triggered a
response.
"Killa? I'm up in Lanzecki's office."
"Humph! What's he got you doing now?" She could hear the amusement in
Lars' voice.
"Actually, he's got me interested in spite of myself and you know I'm
not an admin type."
"No, you're not."
"Don't be so sour, sunny.
It's a bright day, and we don't have to go cut crystal - - yet!"
"Well, I can't say as I mind that - - . Killa said, as much because
that was the expected answer. Then she began to wonder. "Lars, what
are you-?" But the call had been disconnected at his end.
More curious than disgruntled, Killa finished her meal, dressed and went
up to Lanzecki's office.
There, the mere sight of Bollam, hunched over his terminal annoyed her.
His frantic look and his sudden intense interest in the contents of his
screen added to her aggravation.
"Lost something, Bollam?" She couldn't resist twitting him.
"Ah, yes, that is, no! No, I'm merely not sure under what category Trag
filed the pencil data file."
"Try the first four letters of whatever file you're hunting, the year if
you know it, and hit Search." She meant to be facetious and was
irritated that her advice seemed to solve his problem. She caught a
glimpse of the relieved smile on his face as she continued on her way
into the office.
"Haven't you two moved?" she demanded as she saw them in positions
similar to yesterday's.
"I didn't know just how much power the Guild wields," Lars said,
beckoning to her in an airy fashion.
"You ought to," Killa said, scowling at Lanzecki.
"We trade rather heavily on it whenever we leave Ballybran."
"I don't mean as singers, Killa, but the Guild as a force in
interstellar politics. And pa) "Oh?"
"And all without having to leave Ballybran!
Whoever needs to speak to the Heptite Guild must come here!" Lars
chuckled with an almost boyish delight in that advantage. Lanzecki wore
just the slightest smile as he glanced over at her.
To Killashandra that cynical amusement meant Lanzecki was building to
something devious. She cocked her head at him. He gave her the
slightest nod of denial.
"I've a meeting later today, Killa. I'd appreciate it if you and Lars
would sit in on it." Killa jerked her finger over her shoulder in the
direction of Bollam. "He's your assistant." The fleeting shift of
Lanzecki's dork eyes told her that he didn't expect much of Trag's
replacement and his lack of such expectation worried her all the more.
"Yesterday Enthor, today Trag?" she asked, mockingly.
"I'd appreciate your counsel," he said, bending his upper body just
slightly towards her in an unexpected bow.
She wondered how he knew that deference would ensure her support.
Lanzecki had usually been able to read her: at times better than Lars
did. She realized then that she usually compromised with Lars more than
she would have with Lanzecki. But then she wanted to. She trusted Lars
dahl more than she -had ever trusted Lanzecki, even when they had been
passionate lovers. Or maybe because of that!
"Bollam? Have you got those trade figures?" Lanzecki called out.
"00 "Still working," was the all too quick reply.
A look of pained patience crossed Lanzecki's face.
"I remember Trag's system," Killa said, turning on her heel and
retracing her steps to the worktop where Bollam was plainly unable to
find the relevant pencil files. "Move over," she told the flustered
man. "Now who's coming?"
"The Apharian IV Satellite Miners' League," he said, both resenting her
usurpation and relieved that finding the documentation was now someone
else's responsibility.
She typed Apha4SML.doc and obediently the recalcitrant entry blossomed
across the screen. Bollam groaned.
"I did, I tried that. I really did."
"The library banks know an authoritative punch when they get one," she
said, shrugging. She tapped a deliver.
"He wants the Interstellar Miners' League as well."
"What year?"
"2766." Killa frowned. 2766? When had she left Fuerte, storming out of
her native planet with that crystal singer . . .? ah, what was his
name? Had it been 2699? Or 2599? She shook her head in irritation with
sluggish recall. She concentrated on tapping out the sequence and the
required files joined the others in the delivery slot. She was a lot
better at his job than Bollam was. She gave him not even a look as she
gathered up the files and brought them in to Lanzecki and Lars.
Lanzecki gave her a grateful smile as he began feeding them into the
reader slot. He folded his arms across his chest as the first one came
up on the monitor.
Feeling an obligation to assist the Guild Master, Killa stayed on, as
Lars did. She accessed additional data when Lanzecki asked for it,
ignoring Bollam when he hovered, trying to figure out how she found
files so easily. At first it amused her that Lars and Lanzecki worked
together so effortlessly. She wondered that, at times, Lanzecki seemed
to defer to Lars' opinions. Certainly he tapped them into his own
notes.
Then the representatives arrived for the meeting and Lanzecki, hands on
the backs of Killashandra and Lars, steered them into the conference
room.
The Apharian Miners' League wanted to extend their communications link
in the asteroid belt they were currently working. They could not afford
black crystal.
"Black crystal isn't needed for belt comunits. Blue will do as well and
is half the price," Lanzecki said.
"Here are specifications and costs." He inserted a pencil in the screen
reader and specs and relative costs were displayed on the large monitor
for all to see.
"Even that's out of our budget," the head delegate said, shaking his
head.
"I doubt it," Lanzecki said bluntly. A tap of his finger and their
trade figures replaced the spec/cost data.
Another delegate, a woman with sharp features and narrow-set eyes,
glared first at the screen and then at him.
"How did you obtain restricted data?"
"I particularly like to assemble "restricted" data, Lanzecki replied.
"You could go to a green crystal connection, Lars suggested but his
manner did not indicate any concession if they used the alternative. "Of
course there is a longer time-lag in communication, especially for any
distant units. The blue link is unquestionably faster. Basically you
get what you pay for. The option is always yours." Though Killashandra
kept her expression bland, she was amused by Lars' hard-line pose. She
had rarely seen that facet of his personality. He was as cool and
uncompromising as Lanzecki. An interesting development.
"At present we have the necessary blue crystal cuts such an installation
would require," Killa said smoothly. She gave a little shrug with one
shoulder.
"Who knows when we'd have sufficient green. It's not an easy colour to
cut. Nearly as elusive as black.
Which we also don't have on hand. You might have a long wait for
quality crystal.
"We can't afford that quality crystal," the woman said, almost spitting
the words out. "But we did expect that, in making the effort to come
here and outline our need, you might be amenable to a deal." Lanzecki
cleared his throat dismissively. "Your League has nothing this Guild
requires. The Guild has what you require, and at the advertised price."
He rose. "You either take it or do without. It's up to you." 1-ars and
Killa moved to bracket him.
"Wait!" the head of the delegation said, his expression anxious.
"You don't understand. We've had accidents, deaths, problems, all due
to a lack of adequate communications. We must have a reliable
comsystem."
"Blue is available. You can wait for green if that's all you can
afford." Lanzecki spoke with no emotion whatever. He really didn't care
one way or another Killashandra saw hatred sparkle in the eyes of the
woman.
"My husband and my two sons died in an accident - .
Lanzecki turned halfway to her and inclined his head. "A singer died
and two more were seriously injured acquiring the blue crystal.
We have both lost and we can gain."
"You heartless . . ." She launched herself at Lanzecki, screaming
other epithets in her frustration at his indifference.
Lars intercepted her neatly even as Killashandra moved to interpose her
body to protect Lanzecki's back.
"Lideen, don't!" the leader said, reaching her first.
He grabbed her by the arms, passing her to the other members of his
party. He took a deep breath before he went on. "Guild Master, I do
recognize that sentiment has no place in business.
"In either yours or mine," Lanzecki replied with cool courtesy.
"You singers have crystal for blood! Crystal for hearts - - - !" Lideen
yelled as the other two miners' reps hauled her out of the room.
"The Guild does not make deals," Lars added. "The integrity of our
price scale has to be maintained. Two options are currently open to
you. You can, of course, wait until there is a glut of blue crystal on
the market, which would bring the unit price down, but there is no
downward market forecast on blue crystal at the moment. Or you can
install green when it is available. Your credit balance indicates that
your League is able to fund either. It's up to you to decide." As
Killashandra followed Lanzecki and Lars to the door, she sneaked a look
over her shoulder and saw the hesitation on the leader's face. He
wanted the crystal badly: he knew he could pay for it; he was just
trying it on as standard operating procedure. But he had obviously
never approached this Guild before.
Quite likely, there'd be an order from the Apharian League before the
Apharians departed Shankill Moon Base. Someone should have warned them
not to haggle with Lanzecki and the Heptite Guild. Most people knew
that. Still there were always those who would chance their arms to save
a few credits. Only this group had forgotten that mining crystal was
not so very much different to mining asteroids: the result of failure
bore the same cost.
She shrugged.
"Damn fools," she heard Lanzecki say as she closed the door to the
conference room.
He stalked across to the table at which he and Lars had been working,
slammed a new file into the reader slot and stared at the display.
That wasn't like Lanzecki and Killashandra blinked in surprise.
Lars gave an imperceptible shake of his head, she shrugged and dismissed
the matter.
* * * By the seventh day, when Lars hadn't mentioned going out into the
Ranges, she did.
"Did those Apharians order? Or should we concentrate on finding some
green crystal?" she asked when he finally appeared late that evening.
"Huh?" Lars' mind was clearly on other matters. She felt excluded and
that made her irritable. They were partners, close partners, and shared
everything.
"I thought we came back to cut crystal, not sit around playing diddly
with pencil files." He gave her one of his quick, apologetic grins.
"Well, we can depart in a day or two." She raised her eyebrows, trying
for a light touch.
"Are you aiming to take over from Bollam?"
"From Bollam?" He stared at her in amazement and laughed, pulling her
into his arms.
"Not likely, when I've the best partner in the whole Guild. It's just
that - - well, I can't help being flattered when Lanzecki keeps asking
my advice, now can I?"
"I don't mean to denigrate your advice, luv, but that's not like
Lanzecki."
"Too true, sunny, too true," he said with a sad sigh.
"I'd hazard that he misses Trag more than he'd admit."
"Then why did he take on such a want-wit as Bollam? There must be
someone more qualified!" Lars grinned at her vehemence and rocked her
close in his arms. "Did you find anyone over the last few days?" She
pushed him away, glaring reprovingly at him.
"Oh, there's little going on here that Lanzecki io6
doesn't hear about sooner or later. He said to tell you that he
appreciated your efforts. Bollam suits his needs." Killa swore.
"Hey, I wouldn't mind a late-night snack,> Lars said, hauling her with
him to the catering unit. "And yes, the Apharians ordered the blue,
still registering complaints about the cost, and issuing veiled
statements about unethical access and invasion of commercial privacy and
all that wind and piss." Two days later Killashandra and Lars lifted
their sled out of the Hangar and headed east, towards the Milekey
Ranges. Behind them a second sled departed, but immediately struck out
on a noreasterly course.
"That's Lanzecki's," Killashandra said in surprise.
"Yes, that's why he's been working such long hours, to clear all current
business. He'll be the better for a spell in the Ranges.
That's all he needs, really."
"But with Bollam?"
"I'll grant you that I've qualms but who knows?
Bollam might turn out to be top-rank cutter. Or why would Lanzecki
shepherd him?"
"Shepherd him?" Killa blinked. "Bollam's not been blooded in the Ranges
yet?" Killa recalled the fine crystal scars on Bollam's hands and arms.
"He's cuts enough." Lars grinned. "I heard tell that he was the
clumsiest apprentice they ever had on the Hangar floor. He's lucky to
find anyone to shepherd him, the number of singers he annoyed dropping
crystals when he was unloading sleds." Killa muttered uncomplimentary
epithets about Bollam.
"I suppose that sort of duty does fall with Lanzecki," Lars went on with
a sigh, "shepherding the ones no one else will take to initiate."
"I don't envy him the job, that's for sure."
"Nor I," and Lars turned to grin at her, his eyes deep with affection,
"but then, I had the best of all possible partners."
"You!" and she faked a cuff to his jaw. She could, and did, envy Bollam
the chance to be shepherded by Lanzecki on his first trip to the Ranges:
an honour the twit didn't deserve. Odd though, she'd've thought
Lanzecki would have blackmailed someone else to shepherd Bollam, then
take the rough edges off the man once he'd been exposed to the Ranges.
"Where'll we head, partner?" Lars asked her as they entered the Milekey.
Killashandra grimaced. The usual ambivalence surged up in mind and
body. A singer cut crystal to leave the Ranges as frequently as
possible. A singer also had to renew herself with the crystal she cut.
The more she cut out of a certain lode, the easier it was to find it. If
she went off planet for any length of time, that attraction diminished.
But a singer had to go off planet and ease the crystal pulse in her
blood.
Cutting too much was almost, not quite, as much a hazard as cutting too
little. With Lars, she had often been able to cut just enough which was
the main advantage of singing duet.
"Can you remember where we cut those greens a couple of trips back?"
Lars gave her a long thoughtful look.
io8
"09
"What's wrong?" she asked. "We have cut greens and with none available
it seems sensible to get top market price on something."
"Why don't we go for black?"
"You know how hard it is to find black, good black," she replied in a
cranky tone.
"Green it is," he said and slightly altered the sled's course.
"Our marker may have faded a lot," he went on. "Lots of storms have
passed over since we cut green.
"Not that many!" He said nothing and accelerated the sled. "It'll be a
while. Settle down." She did and saw the sun briefly glint off another
sled. Lanzecki's! The sled racks had been virtually empty when they'd
asked the Hangar Master for theirs. They must have been busy loading
when Lanzecki and Bollam came for theirs.
She watched the jagged pinnacles of the Range, a range which went down
into the skin of the planet, instead of being pushed up from it.
Paint splotches, old and new, indicated claims. Once she'd have
recognized markers by their colour and pattern. She didn't try any
more. Theirs was a black-and-yellow herring-bone design, which Lars had
thoughtfully painted on the console. She often cursed that choice,
distinctive as it was, because it was hell to paint the pattern on
uneven rock surfaces. She had to admit that the black and yellow
herring-bones had high visibility.
The sled ploughed through the skies, the sweep of peak and pinnacle
flowing past her, in an almost mesmeric blur. Below a relatively fresh
paint splotch, she caught the metallic glitter of a sled half-hidden
under a canyon overhang.
"They ought to watch out," she murmured under her breath. "Ledges can
fall down on top of you."
"What say, sunny?" Lars asked and she grinned as she waved at him to
ignore her.
It was late in the morning when he began to circle the sled.
"Think I found one," he said, bringing them down to hover over the spot.
"Are you sure?" Killa squinted down at rocks bearing the barest hint of
colour but the herring-bone pattern was distinguishable.
"Sure as I can be. Shall we put down and see what we remember of the
site?"
"We certainly have to renew the marker," she said, annoyed that the
paint, which was supposed to have a long sun-life, had faded so badly.
Markers were what kept other singers from usurping claims.
No one was supposed to enter the space so marked, for a claim was
circular in shape, with a radius of a halfkilometre radiating from the
painted logo. That didn't mean that the lode was close to the mark.
It could even be right at the edge of the enclosed space and still be
"owned' by the singer.
"Paint first, look later," Lars said, calling the order.
They painted and then took a meal break, all the while looking around
the circle, hoping to trigger recollections of this particular site.
"We've got to go down," Killa said after she'd swallowed her last
mouthful. "Nothing's familiar at this height."
"Eeny meeny, pitsa teeny," Lars chanted as he circled up from the peak.
At "teeny', Lars left the "I circle in that direction, bringing the sled
down into the small canyon. He grinned at Killa as he did so, a random
choice had often proved lucky. He neatly parked their vehicle in the
shadow cast by the higher side. She nodded approval of his caution.
They'd be hidden from an aerial view until the morning.
She was first out of the sled, running her fingers along the uneven rock
walls of the canyon and hoping to catch a trace of crystal resonance. Or
find the scars of a previous working.
Lars struck off in the opposite direction. They met on the far side,
having seen nothing to indicate this canyon was the one they were
looking for.
"Shall we go left or right?" Lars asked as they got back into the sled.
"Off the top of my head! Right!" Killashandra said after a moment's
sober thought. "Not that that's any indication." Actually it was - for
in the narrow ravine to the right of their first landing they came
across evidence of cutting.
"I'd know our style y,) Lars said.
"You mean yours," she replied, settling in to another of their long
debates even as they returned to the sled and unpacked their sonic
cutters.
"We'd do better if we waited until the sun hits them," Lars said.
"No better or no worse. Hit a C." Inhaling deeply, he sang a fine
powerful true mid C, his eyes sparkling at her, daring her as he so
often did. She sang out a third above his note, as powerfully as he
had. Sound bounced back at them, making them both flinch at the
undertones.
"Some of it's cracked," Killa said but, as one, they both moved towards
the resonating point. "Green, from the power in its echo.
"I told you I remembered where we'd cut green." Once at the side of the
ravine, they sang the pitch notes again and set their cutters to the
sound. Killa indicated the cut she would make and set herself for the
first wrenching scream of cut crystal. No sooner had she set the
cutter, Lars set his a hand-span to the right.
The first set cleared away the imperfect crystal to reveal a wide vein
of fine green.
"Shards, but those Apharians are going to be furious when they hear
about this," she said, slicing away additional marred quartz.
"What'll we try for?"
"Comunit sizes, of course," she said, snorting that he needed to ask.
The debris cleared, they sang again in case they had to retune the
cutters, but Lars' C and her A rang clearly back at them. Together they
placed their cutter edges and, taking a simultaneous breath, they turned
on the power.
Chapter Five
Darkness forced them to stop with twelve fine crystals cut and in the
padded carrier case carefully strapped in the cargo bay.
Quietly, from the ease of long practice, they made a meal and ate it.
Then, continuing their rituals, they washed - there would come days when
crystal song would override such habits. While Lars made entries in the
sled's log, Killashandra pulled down their double bunk and got out the
quilts. They were both ready to settle at the same time.
The morning sun, stroking the Ranges awake, provided an alarm no singer
could resist: the insidious chiming of crystal as the first rays
dispelled the chill of night. The notes were random, pure sound, for
only perfect crystal could speak on sunlight. The ringing stirred
senses, and awoke desires as it grew louder, more insistent.
Killashandra and Lars simultaneously turned to each other. She could
see his smile in the shadowy cabin and answered it, lifting her arm to
his shoulders, eager for the touch of his bare skin against hers. It
seemed to Killashandra that, as their lips met, an arpeggio rippled
through the air, excitingly sensual, deliciously caressing, ending on a
clear high C that shivered over them just as their bodies joined.
This was the real reason men and women sang crystal together - to hear
such music, experience such sensations and such ecstasy as only crystal
could awaken on bright clear mornings. Such unions made up for all the
mundane squabbles and recriminations between partners when crystal
cracked or splintered and a whole day's work might lie in shards at
their feet. There was always the prospect of the incredible combination
of sound and sensation in sunlit crystal to reanimate their
relationship.
"We must get moving, sunny," Lars murmured, making the effort to move.
Too languorous with remembered passion, Killashandra murmured a throaty
denial and shaded her eyes from the sun splashing into the cabin. "C'mon
now. Hell, we'll be having a spate of good clear weather," he said,
pushing her towards the edge of the bunk. "We can afford to do a little
work today. I'll start breakfast.
Your turn in the head." He used the light jocular tone which he knew
Killashandra would accept. As she rose and stretched luxuriously, she
glanced enticingly over her shoulder at him.
"That won't work on me today, sunny," he said wryly and gave her a slap
across the buttock.
Sometimes the sight of her at full stretch was enough to tempt him,
despite the fact that they both knew a repeat performance once the sun
had risen would be less than the first.
Nevertheless, she strutted sensually across to the head, flirting with
him but he only laughed and stuck his right leg into his coverall,
pulling the garment up past his unresponsive member So, she grabbed up
her own clothes and slid open the door. As he took his turn, she
finished making the substantial breakfast they needed to work crystal
all day. On clear days, singers rarely stopped to eat, cutting as long
as there was light enough to see where to place their blades.
Killashandra recalled, without remembering when, that there had been a
time or two when she had cut throughout a double-moon night: the times
when she had struggled to cut enough to get off the fardling planet and
find respite from crystal song.
They'd been profitably working that vein for five days when
Killashandra's weather sense began to pluck at her consciousness.
"Storm?" Lars knew her so well.
She nodded, and set her cutter for a new level.
"Not to worry yet."
"Nardy hell, Killa, we've got eight crates of the stuff. No sense in
taking a risk. And the marker's new enough to draw us right back here
after the storm.
"We've time. Sing out," she told him, half command, half plea.
"Greens aren't easy to find and I'm not about to quit when there's still
time to cut. The storm could ruddy well splinter this vein to nothing
good enough to spit at." Lars regarded her levelly. "Just let's not cut
it too fine!" His comment was also half plea, but half warning, too.
"I wouldn't let you get storm-crazed, lover."
"I'm counting on it.
I think this tier's going to be minor key," he added, humming a B-flat
and hearing the same tone murmur back at him.
"I'll make mine E, or would A be better?" He nodded crisp agreement for
the A and they sang, cutting as soon as they heard the answering notes
the crystal flung back at them, its own death knell.
But storm sense caught at Killashandra again, not long after they'd
crated the nine crystals of that cutting.
"I think we're going, she told him, hefting the cutter in one hand and
bending her knees to take one handle of the crate. He did the same and
she set a rapid pace back to the sled. As Lars settled the crate into
its strappings, Killa racked up both cutters and took the pilot's seat,
closing hatches and starting up the engines.
Lars peered out of the window of the right-hand side and muttered a
curse.
"Angle of the wall's wrong. Can't see anything.
Where's it coming from?"
"South," and just then the weather-alert klaxon cut in. It got one hoot
out before her hand closed the toggle.
"You're ahead of the best technology the Guild can beg, borrow or steal,
aren't you?" He grinned at her, proud of her ability.
"Yup!"
"Don't get cocky "It's going to be a bad one, too." She shifted uneasily
in the seat, her bones already responding to the distant stroking of the
crystal. "I swear, the longer I cut, the more sensitive I get to the
intensity of weather systems."
"Saves our skins, and our crystal." She lifted the sled vertically and,
as they rose ii6
above the sheltering walls of the ravine, storm-clouds could be seen as
a smudge of dark, roiling grey on the horizon. She veered the sled
about to port and lifted above the higher cliffs, hovering just briefly
over their paint mark, satisfied that it would survive this storm and a
few more before wind-carried abrasives scoured the rock clean again.
They were nearly out of the Ranges when their comunit lit up.
"Mayday, mayday," cried a frantic voice.
"Mayday? What the - - - ?" she demanded indignantly, leaning to one
side to close the connection but Lars' hand masked the plate.
"That's Bollam's voice."
"Bollam?" Killashandra stared at him in puzzlement for the name meant
nothing to her.
"Lanzecki's new partner," Lars muttered and responded. "Yes, Bollam?"
"It's Lanzecki, I can't get him to stop!"
"Take the crystal out of his hand," Killashandra said angrily, absurdly
irritated. She still couldn't place this Bollam fellow even if Lars
could.
"He's not holding crystal. He's cutting and he won't stop. He won't
listen. He's - - he's thralled!"
"You dork, of course he is, that's why he doesn't cut often. It's your
job to stop him. That's why he takes a partner into the Ranges," Lars
replied, his tone still reasonable.
"But I've tried, I've tried everything. He's bigger than I am," and
Bollam's voice had turned to a distressed whine.
"Knock his feet out from under him, Lars said, concern deepening in his
expression.
"I tried that, too."
"Cross cut with your cutter. Tune it off-pitch, queer his note," Killa
roared, becoming more incensed with this dork's stupidity. Where had
Lanzecki found such an ineffectual partner?
"I can't. I don't know how to cross cut. This is my first time in the
Ranges. He was shepherding me!" Now there was grievance and indignation
in Bollam "5
voice. That particular tone triggered the appropriate memory in
Killashandra's mind: exactly how Bollam had sounded when he couldn't
find the Apharian files.
"So this is why Bollam suited him," Killashandra said, bitter with
realization of exactly what Lanzecki was doing.
Lars stared at her, jerking her arm so she'd face him. "Turn the sled.
We've got to try."
"No," and she reset her hands on the yoke, gritting her teeth against
the pain that suddenly scored her and the tears that threatened to blind
her. "No, we can't! Rules and Regs!
Mayday means nothing on Ballybran!"
"Nothing?" Lars roared at her.
"Lanzecki's been our friend, your lover! How can you abandon him?"
"I'm not abandoning him," Killashandra shrieked back, glaring her anger,
her hurt, the pain of knowing what Lanzecki wanted! "Get out of there,
Bollam," she bellowed at the comunit. "Save your own skin.
You can't save his."
"But I can't just leave!" Bollam sounded shocked, horrified at this
heartless advice. "He's the Guild Master.
It's my duty "There is no such duty in the Rules and Regs, ii8
Bollam. There never was and there never will be. Get out of there,
Bollam, while you still can. Leave Lanzecki."
"I don't believe I'm hearing you say this, Lars cried.
She swivelled around at him, tears streaming down her face, her throat
closing so that she was momentarily deprived of speech.
"He wants it this way," she managed to choke out.
Then she swallowed hard on her grief and glared straight into Lars'
appalled face. "Consider, Lars, would there be any other logical reason
why Lanzecki would team up with a dork like Bollam? A novice in the
Ranges? Physically too weak to knock him out of thrall? We haven't the
right to interfere.
We owe Lanzecki his choice." She hooked her elbows through the yoke so
that Lars would have to break her arms to get control of the sled. But
Lars didn't try. He sat staring at her as she sent the sled roaring out
of the Range, using every ounce of power in its powerful new engines.
"Lanzecki intended to opt out?"
"Singers have that option, Lars, she said in a voice as low as his. Her
throat thickened again, her eyes stinging with tears. It was a hard
reality to accept but she didn't doubt for a moment - now - that that
had been Lanzecki's intention. She could even hear his deep voice
replying to her puzzled query about Bollam; that the man had his uses.
She ought to have known what Lanzecki was about and tried to Tried to
what? Talk a tired man out of ending a life which had grown too tedious
with.responsibility, too tiresome with problems, too lonely with his
longtime partner dead?
"He's been Guild Master for centuries." Lars was silent until, behind
them, they could both hear storm wail creeping inexorably nearer.
"Then is that also why he was so intent on me understanding Guild
politics?" Lars asked, softly, shakily.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.
"I'm not sure I know," Lars replied, raising his hands in doubt.
"It was just that . Well, Lanzecki knew you and - whenever we were in
from the Ranges, he sought out our company, but I always thought it was
you. . ." His voice trailed off.
"Don't get any ideas, Lars dahl," she said coldly, harshly. "You may be
a Milekey Transition - - -"
"So are you."
"But there's no way I'd be Guild Master." She glared at him, willing him
to respond in the same vein. Damn it, Lars, you're my partner. And
there 5
a lot more to being Guild Master than understanding the politics of the
job."
"That is true enough," he replied in a muted voice, his eyes looking
directly ahead as they passed over -the last hills before the cube.
The Flight Officer signalled them to park their sled near Sorting with
the other half-dozen vehicles which had fled the storm.
Killashandra killed the engines and turned to Lars "Start with the
crates, will you? I'll report," she said bleakly "I will, if you want
me to, Lars offered, suddenly human again in his unexpressed sympathy.
"No, I was pilot." * * The Flight Officer, a lanky lean man whom
Killashandra didn't recognize at all, was trotting in her direction,
signalling her to wait for him.
"Were you within range of Bollam? The one Lanzecki was shepherding?"
"Yes," Killashandra said in such a flat tone that the man blinked in
surprise. "He couldn't break Lanzecki out of thrall. We told him to
get the hell out of the Ranges."
"You mean. - ?" The Cargo Officer arrived at that point, her face grim.
"I mean Lanzecki chose!" She dared her to argue her point.
"You're sure, Killa?" the Cargo Officer asked, which gave Killashandra
the opportunity to round on her, away from the accusing eyes of the
Flight Officer.
"Why else would he choose a dork like Bollam?
And a novice? Too inexperienced to know how to break thrall and too
physically insignificant to be a threat!" The Cargo Officer bowed her
head, her eyes closed.
"I don't understand Were you near enough, Killashandra Ree, to reach
them in time?" the Flight Officer demanded.
"I accepted Lanzecki's choice. You'd better.
With that Killashandra turned on her heel, returning to her sled at a
pace that was nearly a run. Behind her she could hear the Flight
Officer arguing with Cargo whose low and curt rejoinders told
Killashandra that she, at least, accepted Lanzecki's option.
As she helped her silent partner unload their cut, she knew that Lars'
feelings about that option were ambivalent. The news seemed to seep
through from the Hangar into Sorting and conversations were muted,
arguments over crystal prices conducted in low tones. When the Sorter
told them how much they'd earned for the green, Killashandra felt none
of the elation such a figure should elicit. Lars only arched his
eyebrows, nodded acknowledgement and turned away. The Sorter shrugged.
Dully, Killashandra followed Lars to the lifts. She did listen to the
met report that was being broadcast, even in the lifts, since weather
had top priority with most singers. Nothing was said about missing
sleds.
Nothing ever was.
"That's a relief," Killashandra muttered as the report concluded.
The storm was one of those quick squalls, fierce in its brief life, its
only damage that of taking Lanzecki's life in its fury. "We can be back
out in the Ranges by tomorrow g) "Fardles! Killa," and Lars rounded on
her. "Lanzecki's not even found and-' Her livid expression stopped his
words. "The sooner I'm in the Ranges, the sooner I'll forget."
"Forget Lanzecki?" Lars was stunned.
"Forget! Forget!" The lift door opened and she ran down the hall to
their apartment. She heard him following her and wasn't even grateful
As she slammed into their quarters, she heard the radiant fluid slopping
into the tub and, pulling off her overall and boots, she stumbled into
the room and clambered into the bath. The fluid was no more than
calf-deep so she stood under the spigot and let it roll down her back
and shoulders. Dimly she heard Lars' voice, updating his records. She
began to curse so she couldn't possibly hear a word he said.
All the resident staff of the cube were quiet and depressed the next
noon when Killashandra and Lars reached the dining room. While Killa
filled her tray from the alcohol drinks' dispenser, Lars kept looking
around, peering at the faces of those sitting in alcoves. Such discreet
search recharged her vexation.
"Lanzecki opted out, Lars," she said in an intense, low voice, jerking
him to her side. "What're you drinking?"
"Yarran!" His voice was flat.
"Yarran? This is no time for beer! This is the time to get paralytic
drunk !" He gave her a bitterly amused look. "I thought you wanted to
be back in the Ranges tomorrow morning.
With a hangover?"
"With the most massive hangover I can acquire between now and then," she
told him in a savage voice, and downed the first of the many triple
measure glasses on her tray, pressing for a refill as she tossed the
empty glass into the recycler.
"You may just go out alone, then," he said and, taking the Yarran beer
from the slot, left her standing there.
Surprised, she watched him manoeuvre among the tables, heading for the
far alcove where the two Hangar officers were sitting. She hadn't
thought I--irs had a masochistic streak in him. Or maybe he just had to
find out if Bollam had somehow managed to get Lanzecki into the sled and
back to the cube.
The dork couldn't have managed it or the nonsingers of the Guild
wouldn't be so deep in drink.
Now that she'd looked around, she could see that most of them were as
badly gone as she'd like to be.
She downed another triple and, moving carefully so as not to slosh a
drop of liquid anaesthesia, she made her way towards Lars. The stench
of ketones was almost overpowering. These people must have been
drinking steadily since the news got out.
Some had already reached the desired state of oblivion.
"Oh, he'll live," Cargo was saying as Killashandra approached the table.
"That's not saying how much good he'll be." She glanced up at
Killashandra and, with a brief inclination of her head, indicated that
the singer could join them. The Flight Officer clearly did not agree
with that invitation. "Oh, leave it, Murr.
You haven't been here long enough to know. You did as you should,
Killa," she added and patted the cushion beside her. Her eyebrows did
lift at the sight of so much liquor on the tray. She raised her mug of
coffee. "Happy hangover!" Suddenly Killashandra lost any taste for the
boozing she'd planned. Her stomach roiled and growled.
She sat down, hands limp in her lap and stared across at Lars, wanting
his reassurance and understanding even more than she had ever wanted to
cut black crystal. He pointedly ignored her and the tears began to
stream down her face.
"You did right, Killa. You did," Cargo said softly and clasped her
fingers on the singer's forearm, 12S squeezing briefly with a gentling
firmness before releasing. "Didn't she, Lars dahl?" she added sternly,
commanding Lars' response.
Lars looked at Cargo, unable not to avoid his partner's tear-streaked
face. He closed his eyes, exhaling in defeat. "Yes, if you say so, she
did."
"Look here, dahl," and Cargo leaned across the table, her face fierce,
"I do say so. If you want, you can ask Medical. They could see," and
she waved her hand in the general direction of the infirmary wing where
damaged singers were tended until such times as hearts in crippled
bodies stopped and empty minds went dark. "1 could see!" And her tone
was fierce. "Murr here didn't know Lanzecki in his prime as I did, and
Killa did! And Killa knew him better than most. Face it, Murr, Lars,
she did the right thing. Don't know why that ass Bollam even qualified
- except he was probably too craven, or too shitless scared to step back
after Disclosure and he had heard all the risks he'd be taking on
Ballybran. He had a lousy Transition - as if the symbiont working into
his bloodstream also discovered it hadn't made a great choice of a home
body." The scorn in her voice gave unexpected ease to Killashandra's
anguish. "Certainly not as Lanzecki's partner!"
"Lanzecki was shepherding him . . ." I--irs said, trying to find some
perverse justification.
Cargo snorted bitterly. "When Lanzecki said he'd shepherd the geek, I
knew I wouldn't ever see Lanzecki back in the Hangar, Lars.
And I told you that, didn't I, Murr?"
"I just don't understand y,) Murr said. "Everyone's saying he was the
best Guild Master we've ever had "There've only been four, Cargo
replied.
"Four?" Murr was staggered. "But the Guild's been going close to seven
hundred years!"
"Hmmm, so it has, and I've been Cargo for nearly two and a half hundred.
That silenced Murr completely and he did nothing more than stare at the
woman as if he expected her active body and attractive face to crumple
into dust if he so much as blinked. Grieved as she was, his attitude
struck Killashandra as amusing.
"What did Medical know about Lanzecki?" Lars asked, his expression as
bleak as ever though, somehow, Killa sensed that his antagonism towards
her had eased.
Cargo shrugged. "What happens to all of us eventually? The symbiont is
weakened past restoration and degeneration finally starts.
All a fast downhill ride then." That was when she noticed Murr's
expression and grinned. "Never fear, Murr, you're stuck with me a while
yet. Me and my symbiont are in great shape "It doesn't say in Rules and
Regs," Lars began after watching Murr try to assume a normal attitude,
"how a new Guild Master is elected."
"No, it doesn't," Cargo agreed, frowning slightly.
"But, like I say, the problem doesn't come up very often." Killashandra
sent a fierce glare at Lars. The slight grin that tugged at one corner
of his mouth did not reassure her.
"It'll take time," Cargo added indifferently. "Politics is involved.
What else is new? They have to choose someone acceptable to the
majority of the long-term customers."
"Who're "they"?" Lars asked.
"I dunno," and Cargo shrugged again. "Maybe one of the Instructors
knows." She looked around the big room. "None of them appears to be
sober enough to ask. I gotta get back to work. Do I put your sled into
a ready slot? That storm's cleared off." Killashandra didn't dare look
at Lars.
"Yes, we'll be out again tomorrow," he said and she sagged against the
cushions with relief. A relief that was very short-lived as she
remembered that Cargo estimated it would be a long time before the new
Guild Master would be chosen.
So she didn't get drunk to blunt her acute sense of loss at Lanzecki's
death. She endured it as Cargo and Lars were, as Murr couldn't. But
she drank glass for glass of Yarran beer with them. A singer could
drink Yarran for days and barely blunt sensitivities. She heard that
Bollam had survived with what wits he originally possessed intact. He'd
been badly crystal cut when the rescue ship had found his crashed sled,
but he'd made it past the storm same before losing control. What she
hated Bollam for was that crystal had wiped all his memories of
Lanzecki. She couldn't wait to get out in the Ranges and hope for the
same respite. A few days cutting in the Ranges and you could forget
just about anything.
Lars was up before her the next morning, their gear all packed, and
silently they made their way to the Hangar. Cargo lifted her hand in
acknowledgement, Flight Officer Murr lifted his only to give them the
go-ahead. Some trainee gave them a formal release.
As if the sled was on some kind of giant spring that could not be
resisted, their direction took them back to the black-and-yellow chevron
of the green crystal.
"We shouldn't have gone direct," Killashandra remarked to Lars as he
passed over the marker.
"Sky's clear," he said with a diffident shrug. It was.
No other singer was aloft to see the direction they took, direct or
oblique.
When they landed in the little canyon, they both knew the vein had been
damaged. They spent the rest of the day trying to cut down into clear
colour.
"Fardles, it's gone, Lars, leave it," she said when decades of
experience finally surfaced to remind her how pointless their efforts
were. "Green cracks the worst of all when a vein's been exposed." He
kicked at the shards underfoot to relieve his frustration and led the
way back to the sled. They stayed there the night but when crystal song
woke desire in them, it was only crystal that spoke, not their hearts.
It took them a week to search the full circle of which that chevron was
the centre. They found a very light pink but it wasn't worth the effort
of turning on their cutters. They had withdrawn from each other as
never before and Killashandra cursed silently, craving to cut crystal
and relieve the tension.
Even Lars might forget - at least lose the edge of painful memory - if
they could just cut.
Perversely the weather stayed fair but summer had Ballybran in its
thrall and baked the Ranges. As they searched, they also looked for the
deepest, most shadowy canyons in which to spend the night and get some
relief from the unmitigated heat.
"I could almost welcome a storm, Lars said.
"Unless we can find some water, we're going to have to go back."
"No! Not until we find crystal.
He shrugged but they did find water, a deep pool under an overhang where
water had oozed out of the more porous rock and been collected in the
shade.
They filled the tank, then stripped and bathed, washing their clothing
where a tiny stream trickled out of the pond. The relief was physical,
not mental, but they were more m charity with each other than at any
time since Bollam' 5 voice had shattered their rapport.
Late the next morning Lars, whose turn it was to pilot the sled, spotted
an almost invisible black and yellow chevron.
"What do you think? We cut here?" he asked.
"I don't remember, don't care, I'd even cut pink, so long's we cut
something!"
"Eeny, meeny, pitsa peeny,) and Lars aimed the sled sou'-sou'-east to a
narrow gorge with high walls on the north side.
There was a V-shaped notch in the eastern lip. "That looks familiar."
"It's a cut all right." She had both their cutters unracked before Lars
landed the sled and, pausing only long enough to grab a water bottle,
she half ran to the fracture, slipping on old shards to reach the site.
"It's the black, Lars, it's the black!" Depression lifted from her and
she even remembered to be cautious as she climbed to the top of the
shelf. Lars sang out a fine strong C and she could feel the crystal's
response even through the thick soles of her boots. She cut the first
shaft, and struggled with Lars when he had to wrest it out of her hands
for it thralled her as black crystal usually did. She was weeping when
she saw him nestle the black in the padded crate. He slapped her hard,
three times across the face, and she leaned against him, grateful.
"It's all right, sunny. It's all right," he murmured, caressing her
hair briefly. "Now, let's cut. For Lanzecki. He did like to see us
bring in the blacks."
"Yeah, but he's not going to make me link "em!
No way will he talk me into linking again!" She was figuring where to
cut next, how many they could get out of this fine black crystal so she
didn't see the peculiar way Lars looked at her.
Clodine gave them top market price on their five crates of black.
There was enough for two planetary systems - if any could afford the
price of black crystal comunits. And some nice single pieces that might
just chord into current installations as auxiliaries.
Clodnie was full of praise for their work.
"No one cuts the way you two do. I didn't realize singers could be so
individual, but you are, you know," she said, slightly shy with
embarrassment but sincere in her compliment.
"Where'll we go, Lars?" Killashandra asked. "I think it's your choice."
"I think you're right," he replied, laughing. He was himself again, she
knew, but didn't know why she thought he hadn't been.
Back in their quarters, as usual she plunged directly into the tub while
he updated his file.
"That didn't take you long," she said, for it seemed only a few moments
before he came into the room. It usually took him a quarter of an hour
to update.
He was looking in a puzzled fashion at a printout.
He held it so she could see the message.
"Report to Conference? What does Lanzecki want you to do now?" She
hauled at his hand, for he hadn't stripped to join her. "You've got to
bathe first. We reek!" She laughed because the smell of him could
always arouse her no matter how rank he was.
"Lanzecki?" He sighed, his eyes sad and she wondered what was wrong.
"I'd better go find out.
This message is several days old."
"He can wait. He has before." Lars peeled off the perspiration-stained
and crystal-sliced overall.
"I'll shower. I'll be back as soon as I know what this means." He
crumpled the message in a wad and lobbed it at the recycler.
"Oh, Lars! We've got to make plans.
"You start. Just find us a water world that we haven't been to, sunny,'
he said, but she sensed his tone was forced.
And so it would be, being required to report so immediately to Lanzecki
after a month in the Ranges. Hot summer, at that. It would take
several long baths to cleanse her skin of accumulated sweat and dust.
Fardles, how she hated Ballybran in the summer. Even her hair had been
baked off her head; she fingered the inch-short strands. No, the memory
surfaced: they'd cut each other's hair scalp-close at one point because
they'd been so hot and their hair so manky.
She sank to her chin in the radiant fluid, heavy against her skin,
drawing out the vibrations that seemed to throb in every pore. She was
tired. She didn't know how Lars was finding the energy to answer
Lanzecki's summons. She did remember to pull the shoulder harness from
its alcove and get her arms through it. That way, if she did fall
asleep, she wouldn't slip beneath the fluid. A singer could drown that
way. She had too much awareness of danger to fall into thai trap the
way. . . She paused, unable to remember who it was who had been in
danger She was just beginning to feel clean when Lars came swinging into
the bathroom. He stood for a moment on the threshold, taking her in and
then began the grin she knew too well meant he was about to say
something he knew she wouldn't like.