"There's a terminal patient waiting escort at Shankill, Killa," he said,

drawling the words out.

She groaned.  "And you volunteered?  Why does Lanzecki always pick on

us?" He pointed his index finger at her, lifting his eyebrows and

grinning rather sheepishly and she groaned again "He picked me again?"

Lars' expression altered as an odd expression flashed across his face

and his brows levelled again.  "1

picked you." He strode over to the bath, hooking a towel in one hand as

he passed the rack.  He held it up to her.  "This is a real bad one. She

wasn't diagnosed properly and the symbiont is the only chance she has."

Killashandra heaved herself out of the bath, ignoring the entreaty in

his eyes and the set of his lips.  She stalked to the shower stall, the

radiant fluid sleeting off her body with every step.

She turned the water shower on full blast.  From the curtain of water

she glared at him, turning slowly to be sure the fluid rinsed off

completely.  Slamming the lever in the opposition direction she deigned

to take the towel from his hand.  And sighed.

"Does Lanzecki need singers so badly he'll recruit the moribund?" she

asked flippantly, drying herself, deliberately making the actions

sensual.  Catching that same odd expression on her partner's face, she

realized that dalliance was the last thing on his mind just then.

"She hails from a planet named Fuerte.  1 thought you'd be the best

representative the Guild could send." She caught the slight emphasis of

the personal pronoun.  A second flippant remark was on her lips when she

sensed that Lars really wanted her to take this assignment.

"Shuttle's waiting, Killa," he said gently.  "She doesn't have much

time."

"Shards!  Why me?" and she flipped the towel away, examining her body.

"I don't even have a recent scar to show off.  I couldn't prove the

positive rejuvenation of the symbiont.  Much less," she added with a wry

smile, "much less that I originated on Fuerte."

"She doesn't have much time," and then Lars gave her his one-sided grin

though his blue eyes remained sad, "and you're much better at Disclosure

than anyone else I know.

Grumbling to herself, nevertheless Killashandra went to the closet and

dragged the first clean shipsuit she saw, thrusting her feet through the

trouser legs, shoving her arms down the sleeves and closing the front as

she used her toes to hook boots from the floor and jam her feet into

them.

"Where've they stashed her?" Lars' arm came around her shoulders and he

nuzzled her ear, kissing fondly but with no hint of sensuality.

"In Recruitment."

"Recruitment?" He nodded.  "You'll understand when you get there, now

go!" In fact, he walked her to the lift and gave her another kiss when

she exited at the shuttle level.

Killashandra wasn't happy about Lanzecki preempting Lars' assistance.

She didn't really mind about her assignment - she'd done it before.

The Ballybran symbiont was the last chance for those whose illnesses

could not be cured by modern techniques.  In a galactic civilization,

minor human mutations could result in major immune reactions to

relatively innocuous viruses that refused to respond even with an

immense pharmacopoeia and therapeutics cunningly developed from

old-world reliables and alien innovations.  Exposure to the Ballybran

symbiont had proved remarkably effective in almost every single case at

least the ones that reached the planet before the organ damage have gone

past the point of retrieval.  The obvious deterrent was that the patient

must take up whatever new life the symbiont provided - and not always

that of crystal singer, since that required perfect pitch.  But crystal

singing was not the only career available on Ballybran.

Support skills and professions were always welcomed.  Killa wondered

what skills this new candidate might have.  Maybe replace that dork in

Lanzecki's office?

Lanzecki's personal shuttle was parked at the bay, and the pilot ceased

lounging the moment she emerged from the lift, gesturing her urgently to

hurry.  She gave him a smile since he appeared to know her.

"What's the gen on this candidate?" she asked as she strapped herself

in.

He nodded briefly and completed the formalities with Traffic Control but

he didn't answer until they had cleared Ballybran's atmosphere.

"The daughter of some planetary official.  .

"Fuerte "Yeah, that's the place.  Medic says they got her here just

about in time.  Some bug's doing nasty things to her spinal cord."

Killashandra gave a shudder "The irony is that she was trying to find a

vaccine for the same infection."

"She's medical?" Medically trained personnel were especially valuable on

Ballybran despite the symbiont's benefices.

"Research and Development.  Not enough R and very little D," he added.

Shanganagh Station cleared them immediately to the Guild portal.

"I'll wait," the pilot said with a nod of his head as he opened the

shuttle's lock.

The Recruitment Director - a rather portly and impressive-looking man -

looked immensely relieved at her arrival.

"This way, Killashandra Ree, he said.  "They oughtn't to have left this

so long," he added with a mixture of annoyance and criticism.

"She may not make it." Killa started to give a facetious response but

limited herself to a shrug.

"This way " he said, gesturing her away from the interview rooms toward

one of the larger accommodations.  "We have completed all the necessary

formalities.

"Then why .  .  ?" She broke off for he had palmed the door open and she

was momentarily startled by the numbers of people crowded into the room.

From the expressions on their faces, she began to understand some of the

problems.  The candidate was on a float, to one side of the room, a

medic hovering anxiously and fussing with the dials of the support

system that evidently kept the girl alive.  But patently she wasn't the

problem.

Five people whose faces were tanned by Fuertan sun and anxious with

fear, rushed towards her, each addressing her with such urgency she

could understand nothing.

"Which of you are her parents?" Killashandra asked.  "I can plainly see

who's the applicant." Two stepped forward while the other three looked

displeased that they were being excluded.

"I am Governor Fiske-Ulass," the man said, "Donalla's father and this is

her mother, dian FiskeUlass."

"So what's your problem?" The man gave a twitch to his shoulders which

suggested to Killa that he was rarely in the position of petitioner and

found it unacceptable.

"We find that we are unable to accompany Donalla to Ballybran "You may -

if you wish to remain with her, Killa said drolly.

Irritation flickered in his eyes but he went on, regarding her with

growing suspicion.  Fuertan officials hated being challenged.

"That there is absolutely no guarantee that this this unusual symbiosis

will cure her - "It was her option, Governor," spoke up the medic from

the side of the room.  "Her option when she was still able to speak. She

maintains that position." Killa made eye contact with the medic.

"She can no longer speak?"

"She can communicate," the medic replied, sending a glance at the

Governor who flicked his fingers in repudiation of that statement.

"How?"

"If you have been in attendance on an invalid, you learn to interpret

requirements ù" This remark caused the Governor to snort in dismissal

and the mother to stifle a sob.  Killa nodded her head in acceptance,

however, and waited for the medic to continue.  "One blink of the

eyelids is no, two is yes." She stepped away from the float, gesturing

Killa to see for herself.

"Everyone blinks," the Governor said.

Killa ignored him and approached the patient.

Looking at the bleached white face, lines of long suffering and pain

drawn on the papery-looking dry skin, Killashandra felt a stab of

sympathy for this wreck of a human being.  Her head was braced so that

Killa had to bend slightly over her to see her eyes, light blue pupils

alive and vivid in a sickly yellow of what should be healthy white.

"Is Ballybran symbiosis what you wish?" she asked.

The eyelids closed firmly once, then twice, and then held Killa's glance

with an appeal that was crystal clear.

"What's the prognosis without symbiont?" she asked the medic.

"How she's held on to life this long is beyond me," she murmured.

"A few more days at the most and that's close to miraculous."

"And there's been full Disclosure to which Donalla has agreed," and

Killashandra lightly stressed the girl's name as she regarded the

Recruitment Officer.

He nodded.  "In strict accordance with regulations.

But the parents have to sign in her place since she is unable to.

That's also regs."

"So what is your problem?"

"We've heard tales " the mother said, blurting the words out while her

husband glared at Killashandra, as suspicious as most Fuertans were.

"That the symbiont changes people into monsters?" Killashandra said and

knew that, indeed, that was their fear.

She snatched an ampoule from the medic's pack, smashed it against the

table, and, to the horrified astonishment of those in the room,

deliberately gouged her forearm with a shard of the broken ampoule.

The lacerations were satisfactorily long and bled profusely.

"A monster that heals in minutes," Killa said, holding out her arm so

that all could see how quickly the symbiont worked to stem blood flow

and repair tissue.  "Sign!" she said to the parents in her most

imperious tone.  "You've got thirty seconds before I leave.  .  .

without her and her last chance to live." It didn't take dian

Fiske-Ulass that long to reach for the document and scrawl her

signature.  She held the stylus out to her husband.  "What other chance

has Donalla got?" she cried.

"None," said the medic and closed her lips firmly over whatever else she

would have added.

With a shrug of angry resignation, the Governor took the stylus and

scribbled an illegible name, but embellished that scrawl with rather

fancy amendments.

"There!  You've taken my only daughter from me.

"And you're Governor of Fuerte?" Killa asked with contempt and then

turned to the medic.  "Let's get her aboard the shuttle.  The Guild

Master sent his personal craft." She shot a jaundiced look at

FiskeUlass.

The others trailed after the float, dian beginning to sob, the Governor

trying to recover his public image by appearing sternly resolved.

As soon as the pilot saw them in the corridor, he moved forward, to take

the front end of the float from Killa who gently took the other position

from the medic.

"Give me your code and I'll let you know the outcome," she told her The

medic jerked her head back at the retinue.

"They're all staying on the station until-' Killashandra snorted.

"Our head medic will communicate all details to you.  What's your name?"

The medic gave her a very odd smile.  "Hendra Ree."

"Ree?

You're a relative?" When the medic nodded, her eyes dancing a bit, Killa

went on, "So you knew I was here?"

"You're something of a family legend and I mentioned you, and

Ballybran's symbiont, to Donalla when her condition disimproved."

"Legend?" Killashandra asked, surprised for she hadn't expected her

family to remember her at all considering she had left the planet in the

company of an infamous crystal singer Manoeuvring the float into the

shuttle and strapping the handles in the space allowed for it gave them

the chance for such covert conversation.

"Even in todays sophisticated tech societies, legends have their place."

"No, sir, not even in shuttle," the pilot was saying.

"Not unless you want to stay.  Shards, the air in here was processed on

Ballybran.  You're getting enough just saying your farewells." Instantly

the Governor backed out, restraining his wife from setting foot over the

threshold.

The medic gave a little snort, tugged to be sure the restraining straps

were secure and then, in a swift movement, bent to kiss Donalla's cheek.

"Good luck, kid!" she whispered.

Hendra turned slightly as she left the shuttle and gave Killa a good

luck sign and a broad grin.  Was that what you did when you met a family

legend?

Killa wondered.

"Let's move it," Killashandra said, belting into her seat as the pilot

slipped into the control chair.

As soon as he was released from the satellite dock, he contacted Heptite

HQ, telling them to be ready to receive the terminally ill applicant.

The medical team was squeezing through the portal before it was fully

dilated.  As they angled the float out, Killashandra noticed the tear

streaks down the pallid face.

"You OK, Donalla?" she asked.

The eyelids closed twice, each time squeezing out tear drops, oddly

emphatic in a bizarre fashion.

"I'll keep in touch, kid!" Killa added as the medical team whisked her

away to the waiting lift.

Donalla wouldn't be in the Infirmary, but in one of the candidate rooms

until she became infected with the symbiosis.  Killa just hoped that it

wouldn't take long for a body already weakened and stressed by illness.

There was an aura of courage about Donalla that Killa certainly

respected and she hoped that her stupid, bias-ridden parents hadn't

dallied away her last hope of life.

She nodded her thanks to the pilot and then strode to the nearest

comunit, asking for Lars dahl.

"You got her?"

"Let's hope in a timely fashion.  She's pretty far gone.

Lars gave a grunt.  "All the easier for the symbiont to get to work.

according to Medical."

"By the way, being Fuertan was no help!" Killa grinned at his look of

query.  "Except for the medic."

"That's right, keep me guessing."

"It appears," and Killa chuckled, "I'm a family legend."

"And all the time you thought you were a black sheep," Lars replied with

a suitably dour expression.

"All this time I thought I had been expunged from the Ree genealogy."

"Well, well!  Life has its little surprises, does it not?"

"When one can remember them!'

Chapter Six

Thinking that a legend ought to be compassionate or kindly or at least

welcoming, Killashandra accompanied Donalla to her new quarters.

Greengarbed medical personnel hovered, checking dials and hooking up

remote life-support gear.

Presnol, the Guild's senior medical officer, huddled over the record

printout, tsk-ing, occasionally swearing, and looking extremely

displeased with what he saw.

"Why do they leave it so late?"

"Miracles occur with every passing second," Killa said.

"Well, it's been left bloody late, Presnol repeated with a fierce scowl.

"Why, her throat muscles aren't even strong enough to operate an

implant.  How does she communicate?"

"One blink is no, two are yes." Presnol was clearly appalled, both

professionally and humanly, for his long, equine face registered a

series of expressions.  "What backwater planet spawned her?" Killa

grinned.  "A mudball named Fuerte.

However, there's not a thing wrong with her ears." Presnol swore again,

his skin darkening with embarrassment.  Then his expression cleared to a

thoughtful look.  "Hmmm, I certainly hope the symbiont can do its trick.

She'd be invaluable in the labs with her background." Lowering her

voice, Killa asked, "How long before you see any transitional traces?"

"In her weakened state, it won't take long.  It'd better not take long."

"Here, symbiont.  Nice symbiont, come here please," Killa said in a

discreet whisper as if calling a recalcitrant animal, then grinned

wickedly at Presnol.

"That's about it." Then Presnol went up to the float, his expression

blandly friendly.  "I'm Presnol Outrad, Head Medical Officer.  I've read

your files and there's every chance that, in your current state, the

symbiont has already entered your system.  We will know fairly soon once

it has had a chance to filter through your blood but I hesitate to

subject you to unnecessary phlebotomies.  There are several degrees the

Transition can take.  Of that I must apprise you.

I think we all hope," and his gesture took in Killashandra, "that you

enjoy one of the gentler forms." His grin was more friendly than

professional.  "I'd like to stay on in attendance if you don't object?"

Killa was relieved by Presnol's manner and explanations.  But then

Antona had trained him out of the false heartiness that some medical

personnel affected.

He was also dealing with someone medically trained and the usual

medic-patient interface would have been insulting.  Her respect for

Presnol rose.  She saw Donalla blink firmly once.

"Very good.  In your condition a monitor wouldn't be adequate.

However, if you become aware of any increase in discomfort, a rapid

eyelid motion will attract my instant attention.  You could experience ù

- -" and as he began to enumerate the manifestations, Killa saw Lars at

the doorway, watching the scene.  His expression sombre.

Deciding that Donalla couldn't be in better hands, Killa tiptoed away

"We could wait a little while, couldn't we, before we go off-planet?"

she asked Lars.

He regarded her with no expression whatever for a long moment, and then

gave her a quick hug.  "We certainly should wait to see how Donalla

makes out.

Being a fellow Fuertan and all .  - -" and he ducked before she could

pummel him.

The symbiont took very little time installing itself in Donalla's

immune-deficient body.  Speech returned first, and she indulged in a

near hysterical spate of weeping which was certainly understandable and

relieved her of a backlog of stress.  Weeping can be quite therapeutic,

Presnol remarked when he reported to Lars and Killa, as pleased as if he

had had more to do with it than the symbiont.

"Back from the jaws of death, and all that," he said proudly Killa

exchanged glances with Lars and they both managed not to laugh.

"What's her alteration?" Lars asked.

Presnol regarded him blankly.  "How on earth could we know that yet?

Why, she's barely "Back from the jaws of death, Lars," Killa said,

struggling to keep her expression bland.  "How can she possibly know how

she's changed?"

"Point, and Lars' lips twitched.  "We'll look in on her later," he added

and blanked the screen.

Killa let loose the giggle she had been controlling.

"The jaws of death, indeed!" When they came to visit, Donalla was

sitting up, propped by pillows, able to move her head and even raise one

limp, wasted hand in greeting.

"I'd hoped to be able to thank you in person, Killashandra Ree," she

said.

Although her voice was low, it was a rich, warm contralto.  Killa

wondered if the woman was actually musically inclined and might have

come out of Transition as a singer.

"Why?  We Fuertans have to stick together in this alien environment,

Killashandra replied genially and appropriated one of the guest chairs

while Lars took the other.

Two days had improved Donalla Fiske-Ulass considerably.  Her face had

lost its gaunt, wasted look: her hazel eyes had gained a sparkle, her

skin a healthier colour, her lips were pink and less pinched.

In fact, from a death's head she was quickly turning into a rather

attractive woman.  Perhaps even pretty and Killa shot a glance at Lars

who, as he had often told her, liked to look - only look - at pretty

women.

"Easier on the eyes than ugly ones." There was nothing in his expression

other than attentive concern and interest.

Donalla dropped her eyelids, covering either embarrassment or confusion.

"I didn't even know about the Heptite Guild until Hendra mentioned it,

and you." Killa shrugged.  "Why should you?"

"It would have saved me a great deal of stress if I had known more about

Fuertan notables." Killa snorted at the same time as Lars said, with a

mischievous glint in his eyes, "And here you always gave me the

impression you were a renegade, Killa!"

"I suppose in time even renegades become respectable," Killa said in a

diffident tone.  But she was irritated: she couldn't remember any

details of her departure from Fuerte.  Except that she had been very

glad to go.  Perhaps it was just as well that she had forgotten the

circumstances.  Maybe she hadn't wanted to remember.  Being a crystal

singer made that easy enough.

"You told me that you almost didn't make it off the planet with

Carrick," Lars said.  He turned to Donalla.  "Were you given the usual

misinformation that crystal singers are wicked, dangerous, eager to

entice the unwary into their lairs, corrupting the innocent?" Donalla

gave a little smile, her eyes glinting slightly.  "No, but then my

informant was a relative, as much of a renegade as I guess you were,

Killashandra.  She thought you were daring and adventurous.  She was

thrilled with the chance to meet you, you "Really?" Killashandra was

amused.  That hadn't come across in Hendra's brief conversation with her

but they had had other priorities at the time.

"Certainly I managed to escape Fuerte."

"It's changed since you were there," Donalla said loyally.

"It would have had to," Killa said dilly.  "Presnol tells me you're over

the worst of the Transition." Donalla managed another of her

semi-smiles.  "I'm unaware of any Transition - - -"

"That's it exactly," Killa said, rather pleased that the woman had not

had to endure an unpleasant or extreme one.  "The symbiont was kind to

you.

You won't be bedridden much longer' "I'm -deeply grateful for that, I

assure you.  I just wish that I'd been allowed here earlier when the

extent of my paralysis was app) "Just like Fuertans to resist the

inevitable," Killa said.

"My parents only wanted the best for me," Donalla said.

Lars rose then.  "Let's not tire her, Killa." Obediently, Killa followed

his lead although Donalla protested that she enjoyed company especially

now she could talk again.

"I've a lot of catching up to do."

"We have, too," Lars said in a cryptic tone, guiding Killashandra out of

the room.

"What did you mean by that?" she asked him when they were walking down

the corridor.

He said nothing, continuing to guide her down the corridor to the lifts,

pretending to concentrate on the met reports in the short journey to the

administrative level.  When she realized that their destination was

Lanzecki's office, she tried to pull away from him.

"Oh, no!  I'm not falling for one of Lanzecki's deals.  And you're daft

if you let him talk you into anything.  We're in good credit, Lars.  We

can coast for a while.  What we need to do is get out in the Ranges

again.  We've hung about far too long."

"We don't have to worry about Lanzecki," Lars said in a tight voice.

"He's not involved, Killa.  Come in, please." She couldn't withstand the

entreaty in his voice but she entered the ante-room warily, looking

about her Trag's desk was empty. Killashandra frowned because vaguely

she realized that she wouldn't have seen Trag anyway.  Splinters of

recall suggested there'd been someone else, someone she didn't like.

Lars had his hand on her back now and was propelling her into the

office.  It was empty.

She looked about, wondering where Lanzecki had got to.  Lars released

her and, striding around the desk, sat himself down in the big chair

that had been the Guild Master's.

"Killashandra Ree," Lars began in a tone she had never heard him use

before: part entreaty, part frustration and part anger.  "You've simply

got to recognize that Lanzecki is dead.  You knew that two months ago.

You even insisted that no one try to rescue him from Bollam " She

recognized that name and put an unattractive face to it.

"Have you got that lodged in your head?  Finally?  Lanzecki is dead."

Killashandra stared at Lars, uncomfortably aware that this was something

else she had conveniently managed to forget.  She shouldn't forget who

was Guild Master.  He was the most important person to a crystal singer,

to all Heptite Guild members.

"There has to be a Guild Master - -" she began, floundering badly as the

discomfort swelled and brushed against concepts and memories that she

didn't want to recognize.

"There is a Guild Master, Killashandra, and Lars' tone was kind,

soothing, his expression concerned.  "I am the Guild Master now."

"No!" she repudiated that, backing away from the desk.

He jumped to his feet and came round the desk, arms outstretched to her,

his expression both desperate and supplicatory.

"I know you've been resisting it, sunny.  I know that you've suppressed

the fact of Lanzecki's death, but it is a fact.  It's also a fact that

I've been appointed -Guild Master in his place.  I would like you to be

my executive partner in this as you have been my partner in the Ranges."

Killashandra shook her head at him, more and -more forcefully as she

resisted the sense of his statements.  How could Lars become Guild

Master?

That was absurd.  He was her partner.  They sang crystal together.

They were the best duet the Guild had ever had.  They had to return to

the Ranges and -sing crystal.  With Lanzecki dead it was more important

than ever that th sing crystal - .  black crystal, green crystal, blue!

A Guild Master didn't have the time to sing crystal.  Lars had to sing

crystal with her.  He couldn't be the Guild Master.

"I know, sunny," Lars went on in a kinder tone, "his death is hard to

take.  He was such a force for us all.

like to be as good a leader but I want, I, your help.  You're

incontestably the best singer the Guild has.  You know more about

singing crystal than anyone else, and you can explain what you know.

Many can't articulate or convey the information they have locked in

their brains.  You can.  Hell, you taught me, and he grinned with wry

flattery.  "That's only one reason why I need your cooperation and your

input." He had come close enough to take her in his arms, trying with

his clever hands, to which she had always responded, to soothe her

distress and somehow stroke her into acceptance of the hard truths he

had given her.

"There, there, sunny.  I see now that I was wrong to let you forget what

you didn't want to remember just because I could always remember for

you.  But now, I don't have that luxury.  And I need you as my partner

more than ever."

"But I'm a crystal singer.  I'm not a .

.  .  an office flunky) Lars gave a brief laugh.  "You think Trag was a

flunkey?"

"Trag was Trag, Killa finished lamely, casting about for any rebuttal he

would accept as her refusal.

Lanzecki was Guild Master.  He had been and would be.  Trag - she wasn't

Trag.  She wasn't anything like Trag.

"I know it'll take getting used to, sunny, but accept the reality.

Accept me as the Guild Master.  I know I'm not Lanzecki but each Guild

Master puts his own stamp on the Guild, and I've got some positive, if

bizarre, ideas on how to improve - "That's why Lanzecki monopolized you

so much," she said in petulant accusation.  "That's why you had so many

meetings with him "Believe me, Killa, I didn't know what Lanzecki was

doing.  I had no idea that he was briefing me to take over from him.

But he did think my ideas had merit.

Killa stared at the man who had been her constant companion to the point

where she could not envisage life without him at her side.  She stared

at his familiar face and wondered that she knew so little about him.

"You could have said no," she whispered, appalled by what he said, what

he wanted of her.  "You didn't have to accept the appointtnent."

"Lanzecki suggested it with terms I couldn't refuse."

"You want to be Guild Master!" she accused him.

He shook his head slowly, a sad smile on his lips.

"No, sunny, I didn't want to be Guild Master.  But I am and I'm going to

improve the Guild and every ùkicking, screaming resisting member will

benefit."

"Benefit?  I don't like the sound of that." She stepped back from him.

"What's wrong with the ùGuild the way it is?

Who do you think you are to change it?" Her voice rose, shrilling with

the growing sense of panic that enveloped her.  "You're not Lanzecki!

You've never cared about the Guild before.  Just sailing.  That's all

you care about sailing and seas and ships -" And, whirling, she ran from

the office.

"Killa, love, let me explain.  .  ." he called after her.

She bashed at the lift buttons, begging the door to open and get her out

of here.  Lars was a seaman, not a Guild Master.  Lanzecki was.

He always had been.

The stable, safe and secure pivot of her life in the Guild.  The door

slid open and she jumped inside the car, pounding the panel to make the

door close because Lars was following her.  He was going to talk her

into this, too, because he could always convince her that his

suggestions would work.  She wouldn't let him wheedle her into an office

job.  He'd keep her out of the Ranges, keep her from cutting crystal and

she'd end up like Trag - with less and less symbiont protection.  That's

what had killed Trag.

No protection.

She had to protect herself against Lars, now.  He'd talk her into doing

something she did not want to do.

The Guild didn't need to be changed!  It had run perfectly well for

centuries.  What could possibly need changing?  Well, she wasn't going

to help.  Best cutter in the Guild, huh?  Just the kind of soft-talk

that had got Lars his way with her too often!  Make her a stand-in for

Trag, would he?  She wasn't old sober-sides Trag, critical, unswerving,

duty-bound.

She was Killashandra Ree.  She always would be!  The door opened again

and she fled, not at first realizing that she was on the Hangar floor.

She gasped with relief that she was.  She mustn't let Lars catch up with

her.

She'd lose herself in the Ranges and then Lars, the Guild Master,

wouldn't be able to find her.  She'd go as deep as she could, past any

claim they had made together.  She'd find new ones, ones he didn't dream

existed.  She'd cut and cut and she'd show the Guild Master that she was

too important a cutter to be restricted to an office!

She was only peripherally aware that the Flight Officer was trying to

tell her something.  She repeated her urgent request for her sled.

When he seemed recalcitrant, trying to restate his message, she barged

past him, running towards the racks where sleds were stored. Hers was in

the first rank so she climbed to it, palmed the cabin door open and

settled herself in the pilot's seat.  She could easily unpark since the

Flight Officer wasn't going to be helpful.  She checked the engines,

slipped on the headpiece and heard the babble from Operations.

"I want clearance and I don't want any nonsense.  I have got to get out

into the Ranges.  Is that understood?" Suddenly the voices that were

trying to dissuade her went silent.  There was a long pause during which

she revved the engines and clenched and unclenched her hands on the

yoke, waiting for her release.  She'd go without it if she had to.

She was reaching for the propulsion toggle when the silence ended.

"Killashandra Ree, clear to go," said a tenor voice, flat with a lack of

emotion.  "Good luck, singer!" She was in such a swivet to depart that

she didn't realize that it wasn't the Flight Officer who released her.

She eased the sled out of the rack and headed for the open Hangar door.

Once clear, she pointed the nose of the sled north.

She allowed the merest margin of distance before she engaged the drive.

The relief of her escape diminished the discomfort of gravitational

pressure as the sled obediently shot forward, shoving her deep in the

cushioning.

The first storm caught her still looking for a possible site.  She

didn't return to the Guild.  She headed further north, skipping across

the sea away from the storm, and settled on the North Continent to wait

out the heavy weather.  She slept most of the interval.

Then returned to the Ranges and continued her search.

Lack of supplies, especially water, finally drove her back.  She stayed

only long enough to replenish her stores, ignoring all suggestions from

both the Flight and Cargo Officers, both of whom were desperately trying

to delay her.  Lanzecki probably had something in mind for her and she

didn't want any part of it.

"It isn't Lanzecki, Killa," Cargo insisted, her expression troubled.

"Donalla.

"I don't know any Donalla - - -" And Killashandra brushed past the woman

and slid into her restocked sled and closed the door firmly.

Flight Officer kept wildly pointing to his headphones, wanting her to

open up her comline, as she manoeuvred the sled out of the Hangar but

she ignored him and sped away, taking a zigzag course at such speed that

no one could track her.

She finally found crystal - deep greens in dominants.

She was still cutting when the alarms in her sled went off.  That made

her stop - briefly - and consult her weather sense.  For the first time

it had not given her advance notice.  Or had it?  She'd had a few

sessions with crystal thrall lately.  Perhaps But it was only the first

of the warnings.  She had time.

She almost didn't, for the last of the greens, a massive plinth,

thralled her and only the lashing of gale-force winds broke the spell by

knocking her off balance and out of the trance.

Frantic to load her cartons, for she obviously hadn't bothered to for

several days, she worked against the slimmest margin ever.  Luck barely

hung on to the fins of her sled for the crash came on the very edge of

the storm, but near enough for a crew to rescue the crystal and her

battered body.  The sled was a write-off.

"Whaddid I cut?  How much did I earn?" were Killashandra's first

coherent questions when she finally roused from accident trauma.

"En0ugh I gather, to replace your sled, Killa," sold a female voice.

Killashandra managed to open her eyes, though her lids were incredibly

heavy to raise.  It was hard to make her eyes focus but gradually she

could distinguish a woman's face.

hello ethen She retrieved a suitable name with "No, not Antona.

Donalla."

"Donalla?" Killa peered earnestly, blinking furiously to clear her

sight.  She didn't recognize the face.  "Do I know you?"

"Not very well," and there was a slight ripple of amusement in the tone,

"but a while ago you saved my life."

"I don't remember cutting crystal with anyone."

"Oh, I'm not a singer.  I'm a medic.  Do you remember anything at all

about helping persuade my parents to let me come to Ballybran?"

"No," and, when Killa began to shake her head to emphasize the negative,

she experienced considerable pain.  "I've had little to do with

recruitment," she said repressively.  "I sing crystal.  I don't entice

people to it."

"You didn't entice me, Killashandra Ree, but you did give my parents

incontrovertible proof that the Ballybran symbiont heals. Fast."

"It has to, doesn't it, to keep singers in the field.  I nearly bought

it this time, didn't I?"

"As near as makes no never mind," said a man's voice.  That one was

familiar, despite the pain it produced panic in her.  Him she didn't

want to see.

That much she remembered.  She turned her head away from the direction

of the voice: the Guild Master's voice.

A hand clasped her fingers warmly, the thumb caressing the back of her

hand with an intimacy she found both reassuring and insidious.  She

tried to pull away and hadn't the strength to do so.

"Mangled yourself rather extensively, sunny.  I've always been afraid

that would happen.  If I'd been there -" Infuriated at his impudence,

she did manage to snatch her hand free.  "You weren't.  You were in an

office.  Where the Guild Master has to stay!" She chewed the words out

spitefully and when she saw his face come into her line of vision, she

raised her arm, despite the pain, to cover her eyes.  "You had your

chance to cut crystal with me.  Go away." She flung her arm in his

direction in an effort to strike him.

"I think you'd better go, Lars.  Your presence is definitely not

reassuring.  She's incoherent."

"On the contrary, Donalla, she's most coherent -"

"Please, Lars, don't take her seriously.  Not now.

She's in considerable pain despite the symbiont - -, "She'll survive?"

"Oh, most certainly.  The lacerations are healing quickly and the leg

bones are almost completely joined.  Strained tendons and pulled muscles

take a little longer to mend."

"Let me know when she's herself again, will you, Donalla?  And suggest-'

"I'll keep you informed, Lars, and I won't suggest anything right now.

It would be totally inappropriate." Killashandra moved restlessly,

subconsciously resenting the friendliness of the exchanges, the subtle

inference of a relationship between the two speakers: this Donalla and

the man she did not want to acknowledge at all.

"I'm giving you something to put you out a while longer, Killashandra,'

the woman said and Killa felt the cold of a spray on her neck.  "You'll

be better when you wake."

"Nothing's ever better when you wake.

It was morning when next she woke, or so the digital on the wall told

her.  Day, month and year were never a function of Heptite time-keepers.

And, as the Infirmary was deep in the bowels of the Guild, shielded

against the ravages of Passover storms, a wall hologram reflected the

external weather.  Somehow a bright clear morning seemed blasphemous to

Killashandra.  She groaned.  But the bed sensors had already picked up

the alteration from a sleep pattern and the door opened, a bright face

looked round it.

"Hungry?"

"Ravenous," Killa said with a groan.  That also seemed a travesty to her

and she buried her face in the pillows.

"Be right back.

Food did set immediate needs to rights.  Sitting up to eat also

emphasized her recuperation.  She didn't hurt, though she felt very

stiff in her limbs.  She examined her arms and legs and ran wondering

fingers down the whitening scars that showed how horrific her wounds had

been.  Inevitably that reminded her that she'd crashed the sled.

She couldn't quite face that yet so she heaved herself out of bed and

into the bathroom, running a deep tub of hot water, drenching it with

aromatics to ease the lingering stiffness.  Refreshed as well as more

flexible, she settled at the room terminal and tapped out her personal

code.  Ignoring the line that invited her to update her memory data, she

accessed for her credit balance.  For a moment her spirits sank.

There wasn't enough to replace the sled.

Wait a minute.  There was not enough credit to replace the sled she had

crashed but that had been a double.  And she wasn't singing duet any

more.  She'd enough for a single, maybe not top of the line, but

sufficient to get her back into the Ranges and, if she bought just basic

rations, enough supplies for a month.  She tapped out a query about her

cutter.  If she'd banjaxed the cutter, she'd be in heavy debt.

Not for long, she assured herself.  Not for long.  She'd cut blacks

again - and show him!  She dialled the cutter's facility but no one

answered.  She couldn't remember the current one's name and stewed over

that.  She called up the Admin roster to see who it was: "Clarend

nabOst' rang no bells and, evidently, answered no calls to his or her

quarters.  Fortunately the girl arrived with lunch to distract a growing

sense of frustration.

By the time she'd finished the second hearty meal, she'd also managed to

contact Clarend nabOst who had a few choice words to say about someone

who would leave her cutter unracked, crash and then expect the tool to

be ready to go.  She hotly insisted that she always racked her cutter

"So how come it was stuck in the cargo hatch door?" he'd asked snidely.

That silenced her.  She was far more appalled by that lapse than she was

about crashing the sled or her own injuries.  So she apologized

profusely and Clarend finally ended his tirade against careless,

derelict, wanton, blase, feeble-minded, lack-witted singers and their

sins, errors and shame.  Then he told her in a less trenchant tone that

he hadn't quite finished repairs and he couldn't vouch for its continued

efficiency if she abused it her next time in the Ranges and she was

bloody lucky she had a cutter at all the way she'd treated it.

Oddly enough, the episode made her feel somewhat better: things were

normal when you got properly chewed out by a technician for blatant

irresponsibility.  She called the Hangar and asked how long she'd have

to wait for a replacement single.

"I've enough credit - unless you've jacked the cost up again," she told

the Supply Officer.

"The very idea of our benefiting by your "misfortune!  Single, you want

now?  I thought-' "You're not keeping up with the gossip, Ritwili," she

said so angrily that there was a long silence.  "Haul one out of stock

and commission it, provision it.

Basic rations for a month.  I should be out of here soon.

i6o i6i "Not quite "soon"," said the medic who had overheard the last of

her conversation.

Killa frowned, for the woman looked familiar and yet didn't.

Killashandra shrugged, unable to prod recall.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm Donalla FiskeUlass, a fellow planetarian

from Fuerte," the woman said and advanced to the bed.  Her voice ended

on an upnote of enquiry Killa sighed and shook her head.

"I don't remember.  Don't expect me to."

"Oh, I do.  I expect that the woman who saved my life should remember

the fact," Donalla said blandly, shoving her hands in the pockets of her

clinical coat.

She was a very attractive woman, slender without being thin, although

"thin' reminded Killashandra of something.  Her hair was curly, short,

and framed a delicate-featured, clever face.  She had lovely eyes and

exuded an air of authority and competenceee.

"Especially when I consider myself under obligation to you.

"There're no obligations in the Guild - - -"

"Among singers, yes, because you lot are, and have to be competitive,

dedicated and woefully singleminded." Donalla grinned again.  "So you'll

allow me to discharge my obligation to you."

"I said, I don't recognize that there is one."

"You could if you remembered it," and something in the almost wheedling

tone the woman used made Killashandra wary "I avoid people trying to do

me good," she said in a flat and, she hoped, discouraging voice.

Donalla perched on the edge of the bed and regarded Killashandra for a

moment.  "That's because you haven't heard what the good bit is."

"Do I have to?" Killa sighed resignedly "Yes, because the Guild Master

has asked me to approach every singer on this matter' "Oh?  He has," and

Killa set up an immediate resistance to the notion.

Donalla laughed lightly as if she recognized the reaction and had

expected it.  "Hnimin, yes, well.

Quite a few singers have taken me up on my offer."

"Enough of the jollying.  Inform me in words of one syllable-' "Don't be

churlish, Killashandra Ree," and there was a caustic tone to Donalla's

voice now that made Killashandra regard her with surprise.  "Since I

recovered my health here, I've tried to figure a way around the most

important drawback that all singers face."

"How kind of you!" Killashandra gave a supercilious snort.

"Kindness has little to do with it.  An efficient use of singers' time

and energies does.  Singers lose memory function every time they go into

the Ranges.

They lose crucial details of the precise location of valuable sites."

"Detail maybe, but not the resonance that'll lead you right back to a

good claim," Killashandra said, shaking her head to dismiss Donalla's

faulty logic.

"Only if you go right back into the Ranges.  How much more convenient it

would be to recall the exact locations by accurately remembering the

relevant landmarks."

"And leave such information around for other singers to access?  No way!

Try another on me.

"I'm not tying anything on you.  I've already had notable success in

accessing memory in crystalmazed singers' "hinds."

"You've what?" Killashandra sat up, fury building in her at such an

intrusion.  Who did this woman think she was?

"I had the Guild Master's authority and it "

"Get out of here.  I don't want any part of such a scheme.  That Guild

Master of yours must be out of his gourd to permit such harassment.

That's the worst example of privacy invasion I've ever heard."

"But so much information can be restored," Donalla said urgently,

bending towards Killashandra in an effort to win her over.  "So much

lost memory can be retrieved."

"I haven't lost anything I want retrieved." Killashandra was a decibel

away from a shout.  "Go peddle your nonsense to someone else, Donalla.

Leave me alone!"

"But I want to help you, Killashandra -" Donalla switched her tactics.

"I don't need that kind of help.  Now go, or do I have to throw you out?

I'm well enough to do so, you know." And she half-rose from her chair,

implementing an intention to give physical violence.

Donalla rose, flustered.

"You'll be helping Lars dahl as well, you know.

Not to mention your Guild."

"Spare me the sentimental violin passage, Donalla.

Loyalty is another commodity singers lack and don't need!" Killashandra

completed her rise in one fluid movement, delighted that her body would

respond so readily.  She grabbed Donalla by the arm, turned her towards

the door and forcefully ejected her from the room.

"And don't come back."

"If you'd only listen "Donalla began but Killa shut the door on her

entreaty.  "Regression isn't painful!" The woman was incredible,

shouting through a closed door at her.  With one twist of the volume

control, Killa turned on to full whatever programme was on the in-room

entertainment.  Donalla's voice was drowned out.  As a precaution

against such single-mindedness, Killa threw on the door privacy lock.

For a long moment, she seethed, letting the music, some sort of a

baroque chorus, roll over her.  The song was familiar to her.  She

picked up the soprano line, surprised and pleased to be able to add

words to the notes.  She broke off singing when, even to -herself, her

voice sounded harsh and strident.

Well, wouldn't it?  When she was being harassed by a silly bitch who had

made a unilateral decision about what Killashandra Ree "needed'?

Only Killashandra Ree could make those decisions.  She had earned that

right, by all the holies!  Ridiculous woman!  Absurd notion reviving a

useless baggage of memories.  And the Guild Master agreed?

Killa exhaled in disgust, reviewing what Donalla had said.  Her memory

might be faulty but she'd been reading voices for years.  The subtleties

in Donalla's made her repeat them as heard.  Killa snorted again,

remembering tonalities and inflections that told her more than Donalla

"hight have intended.  The woman had said Lars' name in a tone that

indicated more than casual acquaintance with him, intimated a

relationship that was more than work oriented.  They were a fine pair,

they were!  Well suited!  If she'd known the woman would take on this

way, behaving like a conscience, she'd've let her die in the Recruitment

Room.

"There, too, I can remember - when I want to!" Killa muttered to

herself.  Then laughed as she heard the childish petulance in her voice.

She remembered the important things, like how to fly a sled, how to

locate claims, how to cut and, most important of all, she generally

remembered what to cut and get top market value on her crystal.  What

more did she need to remember?  The petty details of everyday life?  The

trivia that clogged the brain and got in the way: the incidents that

humiliated or enraged, the bilge, bosh, claptrap that happened to you

travelling, or became inconsequential when you'd only be visiting the

world once?

What about remembering the new world?

If it was worth while, interesting or exciting, I'll remember it.

Will you?

I can, if i want to!  I can!

She slept away the afternoon and awoke to hear a tentative tapping on

her door.  It was the bright little Infirmary aide wanting to serve her

dilemma.  She ate heartily, ignoring the fact that someone had ordered

many of her favourite foods for the meal.  That'd pad the charges for

her Infirmary usage.  Ah, well.  She'd always paid for exotics and the

Yarran beer did go down a treat!

She didn't see the irritating Donalla over the next three days but had

several sessions with therapists, working to regain full muscle tone.

She retrieved her cutter from Clarend who warned her again to remember,

remember that she couldn't abuse her cutter again or she'd have to

replace it.  She took possession of a sparkling brand-new sled.

"I won't tell you how many you've banged up over the years, Killa,'

Ritwili told her in a sour tone as he extended the purchase order for

her signature.  "And stocking it took the rest of your credit.  You're

in the red right now so cut well!" She paused long enough to contact

Clodine and find out what crystal she ought to look for.

"Someone's wanting those deep amethysts and, of course, any black you

stumble across," Clodine said with a grin.  "You've a natural allhity

for them anyway and blacks are always needed."

"Yeah," and Killa wasn't all that happy with her afinity.  She liked the

money from blacks but not cutting them solo.  They tended to thrall more

easily than any other colour.  "I'll remember that." She was not the

only singer departing the Guild Hangar that day: fifteen others were

making ready and each of them was determined to be the last one out so

they could 1) see the direction every other singer was taking and 2) not

have their ultimate destination suspected.

Disgusted, Killashandra gave up waiting.  At this rate, it'd be dark

before she made any significant progress into the Range.  Noting the

marks of age and his use on most of the expectant vehicles, she realized

that with this new sled, she could easily out fly any of them.

She asked, and received, clearance and a heartfelt thanks from the

Flight Officer who was losing patience with the dilatory singers.

"Blinding damn paranoid, the lot of "em, he muttered, forgetting to

close the circuit.

"You better believe it," Killa said with a laugh and eased her new

vehicle through the Hangar's immense outer doors.

"Fardles!" For Murr hadn't realized that his unit was open.

The exchange put Killashandra in a good mood and that improved when she

heard five other singers suddenly demanding clearance.  Well, she'd show

them!

Capriciously she zipped off at a speed inappropriate for her proximity

to the Hangar, laughing at the Flight Officer's irate reprimand. Running

at a recklessly low altitude over the uneven terrain of the foothills,

she built the sled up to maximum power as fast as she dared with new

engines.

"Try to follow me now, you dorks!  Shatter yourself on the hills trying!

She let out a musical hurrah as the ground hurtled past her.

Lyrics to the aria deserted her but she sang on, using vowels and

singing at the top of her lungs, revelling in her renewed freedom.

Chapter Seven

Killashandra came in from the Milekey Mountains with a load of blue

quartz prisms and cylinders in A sharp or higher.  She had always worked

well solo in the upper registers, which gave her a distinct advantage

over most crystal singers.

She made it into the Hangar on a windy blast from the oncoming storm.

Cutting it fine again but she grinned that she'd made it without harm to

herself or her sled.  That's all that mattered: coming back in the same

state of mind or body as you'd gone out.  Still, and in the back of her

mind, she allowed herself to be relieved that her recklessness had not

exacted a penaltyBeing one of the last in, she had to wait for Clodine

to be free to assay her crystal.  It was a long wait, especially with

every nerve in her body screaming for the radiant fluid that would

reduce the resonance to a "mild discomfort.  The storm outside seemed to

stroke her body to its intense pitch.  She shuddered from time to time

but managed to survive the waiting.

When Clodine told her she'd hit the top of the market, she could feel

the physical relief course through her despite storm scream.

"I've been due a change of luck," she said, wincing as she remembered

the last week in the Range.  The sun had been fierce on the scars of her

cuttings, halfblinding her, and the scream of crystal had sliced through

her mind as she'd cut.  But she'd been desperate to hack enough cargo to

get off-world for a while: away from crystal song, far away, so her mind

would have a chance to heal.  "How much?" Clodine peered up at her from

her console, a little smirk bending the left corner of her mouth.

"Don't you trust me any more, Killa?"

"At this point, I wouldn't trust my own mother - if I could remember who

she was," Killa replied.

She forced a smile for Clodine on her grimy lips and tried to relax.

Clodine was her friend.  She'd know how badly Killa'd need to get away

from Ballybran and crystal whine.  "Is it enough?" Clodine altered her

enhanced eyes and gazed at her almost maternally.

"You've been a singer long enough, Killa, to know when you've cut

sufficient crystal."

"Tell me!" With totally irrational fury, she brought both fists down on

the counter, jarring the crystal and startling Clodine to blink into

enhancement.

Immediately she relented.  "I'm sorry, Clodine.  I shouldn't shout at my

only friend.  But.  .

"You've enough," Clodine said gently, reaching to grasp her arm

encouragingly but she drew back her fingers as if her arm burned.  The

Sorter's expression altered to sadness.  Then her eyes switched to

someone over her shoulder.

Killashandra jerked her head slightly sideways to see who had joined

them.  It was the Guild Master.

She looked back at Clodine, ignoring the man as she had done for a long

time now.

"Killa," he said, his tenor voice pitched to concern, "that was cutting

it too close by half.  You shouldn't work solo for a while.

Any singer in the Guild would partner you for a couple of runs."

"I'll work as I please," she said, forcing her wretchedly tired body

into a straight and obstinate line.  "I'm not so ancient that I can't

scramble when I have to." The Guild Master pointed to the weather

displayed on the back wall of the Sorting Shed and, despite herself,

Killashandra followed his finger.  She maintained a show of indifference

but she felt cold fear in her belly.  She hadn't realized the storm was

that powerful: twelve-mach force winds?  Had her weather sense betrayed

her?

Lost its edge?  No, but she had been deeper in the Ranges than she

realized when she started out.  She could well have been caught out over

crystal.  But she hadn't.  And she'd safely brought in enough crystal to

get off-planet again.

"A good blow," she said with a defensive shrug and a wry twist of her

lips, "but it's going to knock hell out of my claim." The Guild Master

touched her shoulder lightly but he did not pull away from her as

Clodine had.  "Just don't go back solo, Killa." She dipped out from

under his hand.  He continued, "You've sung crystal a long time now.

You kited in here just ahead of a mach-twelve storm and one day you'll

stay just that moment too long and poof.  .  ." He threw his hands up,

fingers wide.  "Scrambled brains."

"That's the time, Guild Master," she said, still with her back to him,

"that I get some of my own back." She saw the pity and concern in

Clodine's eyes.

"7' "With your ears ruptured and your mind a balloon?

Sure, Killa.  Sure.  Look, there're half a dozen good cutters who'd

double you any time you raised your finger.  Or don't you remember," and

the Guild Master's voice turned soft, "how much you made singingduet - -

?"

"With Lars dahl!" Killashandra made her voice flat and refused to look

around.

"We worked well together, Killa." His voice was still soft.

"How kind of you to remember, Guild Master." She turned away from the

counter but he stepped in front of her.

"I was wrong, Killashandra.  It's too late for you to cut duo.

Crystal's in your soul." He strode out of the shed, leaving her standing

there.

She tried to be amused by the accusation - but, from him, it cut like

crystal.  As if she could sing duo again.  Especially with Lars dahl.

She cast her mind back, trying to recall some details of those halcyon

days.  Nothing came.  They must have happened a long, long time ago:

many storms, many Passovers, many cuts past.

"Killa?" Clodine spoke and she jerked herself back to the present: the

tote was up on the screen and she focused her mind.  Even with the Guild

tithe, she had enough to keep out of the Ranges for close to a year

Maybe that would be enough to take crystal out of her soul.

The Guild Master had to be wrong about that!  He had to be!  She thanked

Clodine who seemed relieved that her mood had altered.

She stopped in the Hall long enough to tap in her name and get a locator

keyed into her quarters.  It had long since stopped irritating her that

she couldn't remember where she lived in the great cube of the Heptite

Guild.  She merely let the locator guide her.

The mach winds seemed to follow her, echoing through the lift and the

corridor.  The key vibrated more imperiously in her hand and she

hurried.  The sooner she immersed herself in the radiant bath, the

sooner she'd be rid of the angry pulsing of crystal in her blood.

No, it wasn't in her blood.  Not yet.

So there were men willing to cut duo with her, were there?  Well, Guild

Master, what if it's not just any man who is acceptable to me?

The door to her quarters sprang open as she neared it, so she began to

trot.  It was going to take so long to fill the radiant bath.

Somehow there ought to be a way to trigger that amenity, especially for

singers as crystal-logged as she was.  Once, someone - what was his

name?

someone had done her that courtesy and she had always returned to her

room to find the tub full.

As she turned the corner into the sanitary facility, she was amazed to

see the tap running the viscous liquid in a bath that was nearly full.

But - - that someone - - She pulled at memory even as she pulled off her

grimed jumpsuit was long dead.

She was eternally grateful to whoever had started the bath.  The Guild

Master?  Not likely.  What had been that other man's name?

She could abuse her mind no longer with pointless attempts to remember.

With an immense sigh of relief, she eased into the liquid, feeling it

just slightly heavy against her skin, filling her pores. Her flesh

gratefully absorbed the anodyne and she placed her head into the recess,

slipping her legs and arms into the straps that would keep her immersed

without risk of drowning.  She forced muscle after weary muscle to

relax, willing the resonances to stop echoing through her bones.

She must have slept: she'd been exhausted enough to do so.  But she felt

slightly better.  This would be a four-bath cleansing, she decided, and

let the used fluid out.

"Dispenser!" she called, loud enough to activate the mechanism in the

other room, and when it chimed its attention, she ordered food.

She waited until the second chime told her the food was ready.

"Now if they'd only invent a "hot to bring it to me In her past, she

hadn't had to worry about that detail, had she?  That much she

remembered.

She crawled out of the tub, setting it for refill, and, flinging a big

towel about her, she made for the dispenser slot.  She ignored the

puddles made by the fluid that sheeted off her body as she walked.  The

aroma of the food activated long unused saliva.

"Don't eat too much, Killa," she warned herself, knowing perfectly what

would happen to her underserved stomach if she did.  That much she

always remembered.

She had a few bites and then forced herself to bring the tray back to

the tub where she rested it on the wide rim.  Climbing back into the

filling tub, she moved her body under the splash from the widemouthed

tap.  With one hand on the rim, she scooped a handful of milsa stalks

into her mouth, one at a time, chewing conscientiously.

She really must remember to eat when she was in the Ranges.

Mulilali knew her sled was well enough stocked and, since it was paid

for, she ought to eat it.

If she remembered.

By her fourth bath, she recollected snatches and patches of her last

break.  They didn't please her.  For one thing, she'd come in with a

light load, forced off the Range a few klicks ahead of a storm.

She'd reaped the benefits of that blow this trip, of course: that was

the way of it with crystal.  If a singer could get back to the vicinity

of a lode fast enough, the crystal resonated and told your body where it

was.

But she hadn't had enough credit to get off-planet which she had needed

then - though not half as much as now.

She'd had to take what relief she could from a handsome and somewhat

arrogant young landsman on the upper continent: tone-deaf, sober-sided

but he hadn't been man enough to anneal her.

"Crystal in my soul, indeed!" The Guild Master's words stung, like

crystal scratch.

She made a noise of sheer self-disgust and pulled herself from the tank,

knocking the tray off.  She turned to the big wall "mirror, watching the

fluid sheet off her body, as firm and graceful as a youngster's.

Killashandra had long since given up keeping track of her chronological

age: it was irrelevant anyway since the symbiont kept her looking and

feeling young.  Not immortality but close to it.

Except for the youth of her memory.

"Now where will I go off this fecking planet this time?" she asked her

reflection and then slid open the dresser panel.

She was mildly surprised at the finery there and decided she must have

spent what credit she'd had for pretty threads to lure that unwary

landsman.

He'd been a brute of a lover, though a change.

Anything had been a change from Lars dahl.  How dare the Guild Master

suggest that she'd better duo?

He had no right or authority, no lien or hold on her to dictate her

choice!

Angrily Killashandra punched for Port Authority and enquired the

destinations of imminent departures from Shankill.

"Not much, C.S.  Killashandra, she was told politely.  "Small freighter

is loading for the Armagh system.

"Have I been there?" Pause.  "No, ma'am.

"What does Armagh do for itself?"

"Exports fish oils and glue," was the se-disgusted reply.

"Water world?"

"Not total.  Has the usual balance of land and ocean - - "Tropical?" For

some reason p?  both appealed to and repelled her "It has a very

pleasant tropical zone.  All water sports, tasty foods if you like a

high fruit/fish diet."

"Book me." Crystal singers could be high-handed, at least on Ballybran.

"Blast-off at 22.30 today," Port Authority told her "I've just time

then." And Killashandra broke the connection.

She drew on the most conservative garments in the press, randomly

selected a half-dozen of the brighter things, tossed them into a carisak

and closed it.  She hesitated, d-room, glancing about incuriously.  It

was, of course, the standard member accommodation.

Vaguely she remembered a time when there had been paintings and wall

hangings, "things' that were pretty or odd on the shelves and tables, a

different rug on the floor of the main room.  Now there was no trace of