correct.  She had cut it fine.

She ought to have started back to Ballybran the day she'd felt the first

shock of crystal deprivation.  And that was what was shorting out her

decision-making faculty, too.

Now that she put a reason to her mazedness, she also knew how to cure

it: cut crystal!  Let it sing through her body, bones and blood.

Let it clear the confusion in her mind and strengthen her flagging

energies.  Crystal!  The worst addiction in the galaxy: difficult to

live with and impossible to live without.

She stumbled and Donalla's helping hand steadied her Then the noise and

ordered confusion of the Hangar swirled about her.  Faces peered at her,

large blurred objects moved slowly past.  She was gently propelled into

a space which shut out much of the noise.  Hands turned her body this

way and that and she was inserted into a shipsuit, her feet into the

familiar restriction of boots.

"My cutter - Her right hand was pressed against a hard, cold surface and

her fingers, of their own accord, fitted themselves around the grip,

slipping into grooves exactly carved to fit her grasp.  The tension

within her eased further.

She was settled into the appropriate contour chair and the harness

buckled about her.  Passive now, because she didn't have to make any

movement or decision, she waited.  The air around her smelled familiar -

and new, of paint and oil with enough of the pungent fuel odour to be

acrid - nevertheless comforting.

A sudden burst of noise and a wave of fuel and grease-laden air whooshed

across the sensitive skin of her face.  Someone had entered the sled,

not so much noisily as confidently.  She felt the throb of engines

revving up, increasing the stink of fuel in the air which also oddly

reassured her.  The sled moved forward and she sighed with relief.

Slowly she was pushed back against the seat cushions as the sledge

gathered speed.  Sunlight pierced the windows, too brilliant for her

tired eyes, and she made a protest as she closed them against the glare.

Had she remembered to put in the refractive lenses?  She blinked.

She had but it always took a few seconds for them to alter to the

necessary refractory index.  The blaze diminished, the backward pressure

of take-off eased and she opened her eyes, suddenly more aware of her

surroundings.  Lars' lithe figure occupied the pilot's chair.

"Get some rest, sunny," he said as he had so often said as they departed

the Guild for the Ranges.

Because it was easier to obey than resist, she wriggled into the

cushions, dropping her head back to the rest and let herself slip into

the sleep which wasn't far away.

"Eeny meeny, pitsa teeny .  -) The old choosing phrase roused her.

"Muhiah!  Any time I need to blackmail the Guild Master - -" she

murmured.

Lars laughed, the infectious laugh that had been one of his most

endearing traits and despite herself, she felt her mouth curving up in a

grin.

"Works every time," he replied and when she gargled a denial at him, he

amended it.  "Well, sooner or later, it works." She struggled upright in

the seat, biting her lip, for movement stirred up the crystal sting that

pinched at blood and bone.  She was in the Ranges and it would ease

soon.  Ease when she finally cut again.  She released the harness and

peered out at the steeples and ridges of deep Range.

"Where are we?"

"Scouring the parameters of an old claim." She frowned, stared at him

until recent memory returned.  "Oh?  Whose?" Lars grinned. "Such details

are irrelevant.  The marker's on the list: that's enough."

"Where did you find a statute of limitation in Rules and Regs?"

"In the Guild Master's prerogatives." Lars grinned at her.

When she snorted derisively, he added, "Why have the rule and not put it

into effect?  The Guild has to supply legitimate demands.  Like

Lanzecki, I use every trick I'm allowed-' "You're not Lanzecki!"

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," he replied and the buoyancy had

gone out of his voice.  After a long silence while she rubbed

surreptitiously to ease the crystal sting, he asked, "Is it bad?" His

tone held genuine concern.

"I've been worse," she said diffidently though, candidly, she doubted

that.  She'd've remembered it - and tried to avoid a repetition.

"Ha!  Try that on someone who doesn't know you as well as I do, sunny.

Take heart.  We're nearly there."

"Where?" Her voice had an edge on it. "Oh, quick!

Mark there!" And she pointed imperiously to starboard.  The evening

sunlight had just briefly glinted off crystal shard.

Lars gave an appreciative chuckle.  "You may be writhing with crystal

itch but your eye's as keen as ever." He veered to the right, slowing

the sled and neatly landing it on the bottom of the ravine.

"You're one of the best in the Guild," he murmured as they saw the

unmistakable evidence of a cutter's discards.

Killa could not control the trembling that racked her body.  She fumbled

with the door release, managed it the second time and half fell from the

sled.

"Careful now, sunny," Lars called, rapidly flicking through essential

landing procedures at the console.

She stumbled forward to the shards, crouching to gather handfuls,

closing her fingers about them, oblivious to the sharp edges, even

grateful for the caressing cut of crystal, grateful to spill blood and

ease the sting that made artery, vein and capillary itch.

"Easy, sunny, easy," Lars cried and gripped her firmly by the shoulders,

pulling her to a standing position.

"Muhlah!" she sighed with relief.  "I needed that!"

"I don't think you need go to extremes, however," Lars said dryly.  He

leaned down and picked up a hunk that had crazed in faulty cutting.  He

tilted her bloody hands to tip the fragments out and replaced them by

the larger piece with blunter edging.  Putting his arm about her, he

guided her back into the sled, washed each hand while she held the shaft

against her in the other like the talisman it was.  The tiny crystal

slices were healing as he finished.

"You'd better eat, sunny," Lars went on, still using that gently

matter-of-fact tone.  And he prepared a meal while she sat rocking the

crystal against her, feeling it draw the sting from her, damaged as it

was, as contact warmed it to her body temperature.

As she mechanically ate the meal he placed in front of her, she kept up

her rocking motion, shifting the crystal to her thighs, bending her

knees so the crystal touched her belly.  She didn't resist when he put

her to bed, letting her wrap herself around the crystal in a semi-foetal

position.  And that was how she spent the long night, comforted by

crazed crystal.

When crystal song woke her the next morning, the damaged shaft sent out

painful emanations.  With a cry, she unwound, pushing the crystal from

her as if it were polluted.  Lars picked it up and flung it from the

sled, relieving her of the sudden agony.

Then he spread himself across her body, for she was arching in the agony

of crystal song - too long from it to be stimulated in the usual way.

"It'll ease, sunny, it'll ease - - ." he murmured, struggling to keep

her from straining herself in the paroxysms that now shook her.

If she'd been alone in such a state, she would have launched herself to

the nearby lode.  In such disorientation, compelled by the irresistible

need to re-establish contact with the ecstasy of sun-warmed singing

crystal, she could have done herself a fatal injury.

Writhing against his restraint, she screamed at him, desperate to get to

the crystal face and ease the intolerable sting and achings "Let me go!

I'm begging you, Lars, let me go!  I've got to get to-' "You do and

you're dead," he yelled back at her, resetting his hands on her wrists,

managing, each time she nearly squirmed free, to cover her body with his

and deny her freedom.  "Hang on, sunny.  It won't be long now.

Just let the sun get up!" She twisted and bit at him, tried to knee his

crotch but he was quicker, stronger and fitter than she and evaded her

savage attempts to inflict enough pain to get free.

Abruptly the dawn chorus ended as the sun's rays flicked up and over the

surrounding ridges and lit the ravine.  She sagged against the hands

that held her, limp with reaction, weeping because the itch was back,

intensified.  The compulsion to seek crystal, however, had eased.

Wearily, she rubbed sweat and tears from her face on the quilt beneath

her.

"Let me up, Lars," she said dully.

He kept his grip a moment longer and then his fingers slowly released

her wrists and he slid off her.

"Sorry about that, Killa, but.  you know I was right."

"Yes, I know," she replied, absently rubbing her wrists before she

elbowed herself to a sitting position.

"You're sneakier than an Altairian tangIer," she said in no tone of

compliment.  But the purely physical aches distracted her nerves from

the interior throb of crystal sting.

A mug of some warm liquid was thrust at her.

"Drink this.  Stuffed full of stimulants," Lars said and she obeyed.

The beverage coursed down her gullet and seemed to find an immediate

path to her armpits and stomach, radiating out from those points to her

extremities.

"Thanks, Lars," she said.

He ruffled her hair.  "That's my sunny!"

"I am not your sunny," she said, shooting him a brief, dark scowl of

denial.

"No, you're not much like my sunny, are you?" And his voice had gone

expressionless again.

She tried not to care but perhaps it was as well.

"We're here to cut, aren't we?  Let's do it." Stiffly she got to her

feet and walked as firmly as she could to the cutter rack.  The weight

of the tool was almost more than her flaccid arm could support but, just

as Lars' hand came to her assistance, she managed to heave the cutter

strap on to her shoulder.

"Let's go." As she descended from the sled on to the rock and

shard-strewn ground, she was vaguely aware that he had slung more than

his cutter to his shoulder.  By the time she had scrambled to the rock

face only fifteen metres from the sled, she was panting with exertion.

She paused long enough to catch her breath to sing.  She chose an A,

heard Lars sing out in C and the face echo it back.  Not a strong

rebound but enough of a one to encourage her.  With her hand flat on the

rock, she tried to find the source of the echo.

"It's stronger over here," Lars said and she closed the distance between

them with a leap.  "Don't break a leg!" he shouted.

She sang A again and the reverberation rippled through her hand.

"Easy, girl," he said, but she was too busy tuning her cutter.

Old habit guided them both, and Killa managed to hold her cutter against

the buck of the subsonic blade through the crystal that had lain hidden

since the tectonic pressures had formed it.

"Hold it steady!" Lars' voice penetrated her cutting fever and steadied

her just enough so that their initial cut was true.  Lars did the

underslice as Killa held out eager hands to receive the excision.

Her fingers clawed it free, ignoring the lacerations, and she held it

up.  .  .  a form in green, clear and solid.

She held it up and sunlight caught it, making it sing in her hands.  The

shaft sang on and on, its sound coruscating through her skin to bone and

blood, flowing down her arms to her body, through her body to her legs,

flowing and blotting out the sting with its resonance, leeching the

agony of her long absence from the crystal that rejuvenated her.

When someone wrenched the shaft from her, she screamed and received a

hard slap across her face that dropped her to the ground, bruising her

knees on the scattered crystal debris.

"KILLA!  You've been thralled!" Lars' voice caught her just as she was

about to launch herself at him, a formless silhouette in the haze beyond

her crystal rapture.

Slowly she got to her feet, crawling her hands arduously up her legs to

straighten a body shaking with fatigue and the residue of thrall.  Lars

reached out to support her, one hand gently brushing dirt and sweat from

her face.  Instinctively she leaned into his body, accepting support,

unconsciously entreating sympathy, and his arms closed about her, his

chin on her head as they had so often stood after a good cutting.

"There, there, sunny," he said, patting her shoulder and cuddling her.

"You needed that.  Feel somewhat better?" he asked, tipping her head

back and looking down into her haggard face.

"How long did you let thrall last?" she asked, aware of her incredible

weariness.

"Considering your condition," and he gave a slight smile as he laughed,

"most of the day," She pushed away from him.  "You mean, you let me

thrall all day long when I could have been cutting?

An hour or so at most would have been enough He stepped back from her

ire, grinning more broadly now, holding up his hands in mock appeal.

"That's more like my sunny."

"I'm not your sunny," she said, needing to rant and rave herself back to

a more normal humour than the limp, nauseating and disgusting lug she

knew she'd been.

"Well, then, it's a good deep green, and I cut around you, in case you

didn't hear, locked in that thrall." She both hated and admired Lars in

this sort of a mood: far too amenable, far too effective, far too.

right!  Shard his soul!

Glaring at him, she sang out a high C; lost it for lack of support in

her weakened condition, set her diaphragm muscles and sang it again -

hearing his A an octave below.  The green resonated and their blades

touched its bright surface as one.

When they'd excised five shafts, Lars refused to let her pitch for more.

He even refused to let her help him carry the carton back to the sled.

When they got back and had racked their cutters, he insisted that she

needed to wash, however briefly, and when she was obviously unable to

stand up under the dribble coming from the shower head, he undressed,

too, and supported her He made her lie down under the quilt while, buff

naked, he made a quick meal for them both.  She managed to spoon it into

her but the effort was all she had left and he caught the sagging plate

before it tipped over on to the quilt.

"Can't mess it up.  It's the only one we've got." She tried to think of

a smart reply to that.  Honour demanded that she not let Lars get away

with the last word today, but she fell asleep before she could think of

something appropriately scathing.

Crystal song woke her and, aware of the warmth of the body beside her,

she turned, eager for the benison of relief.  She matched the eagerness

of her partner, accepting and returning the passion she found.  But the

gentleness, the tenderness he displayed reminded her of Shad, and yet,

as she opened her eyes, it wasn't Shad's engagingly innocent face that

she saw.  It was Lars dahl's.

He gazed down at her for a long moment, his blue eyes dark with unspoken

words as he searched her face.  When she gave a little impatient twitch,

he moved away.

"A better day today, isn't it, sunny?" he said in a non-committal tone.

"Yes, it is," she said with an equal lack of emphasis as she snagged her

clothes from the floor.  Sleds were so compactly organized that nothing

was out of reach from the bunk when it was pulled out.

It was easy to fall into the old habits.  She might rail silently at

finding herself accepting their former routine, but it helped.  They

didn't have much to discuss.  Except the cutting.

"We shouldn't stay here," she said after they had finished eating.

"Green's not black and that's what we're after."

"Feeling up to it?" he asked off-handedly.

She shrugged.  "I'd rather waste time on looking than on cutting."

"Green's easier to cut to get back into the swing of it."

"Ha!  I'm back already." He cocked an eyebrow at her.  "When thrall can

hold you for hours?"

"That," she said, snapping her words out, "was your fault.

I wouldn't have needed more than an hour.  .

"Ha!" he mimicked her But they were already, out of long habit, setting

the cabin of the sled to rights to take off.

They bickered with some heat and contempt for the first hour in the air.

Some equity was reached when they came across another worn paint-mark

that bore enough resemblance to one of the released ones for them to

land.  But as they were surveying the canyons, they caught sight of a

sled in one of the gorges and quickly left the area, Killa swearing

under her breath.

"What about one of the claims we cut?  Aren't there any in the

vicinity?" Lars frowned thoughtfully.  "Should be." Then he banged his

fist on the console.  "If only we could establish some method by which

singers could register the location of sites-' "Ha!  And have renegades

spend weeks trying to break into the program - "There are security

measures available now that no singer could break "Ha!  I don't believe

you!  I won't believe you."

"I know," he said, shrugging away her anger, and grinned over his

shoulder at her.  "But I'll win "em over to my way of thinking!"

"That'll be the day!"

"It'll come, sunny.  The Guild has to reorganize.  It can't continue to

operate on guidelines that're centuries old, incredibly obsolete and

damned naive."

"Naive?"

"It's a rough galaxy we live in.  The business ethics that motivated the

earliest Guild Masters simply don't exist and modernization is long

overdue."

"Modernization?" And Killa swept her hand around the cabin, where

sophisticated equipment was installed in small, discreet and effective

packages.

"I don't mean the hardware.  I mean," and he jammed a finger to his

temple, "the software.  The thinking, the ethos, the management." Killa

made a disparaging noise in her throat.  "This Guild Mastership has

addled your software, that's for sure."

"Is it?" and he cast her a sideways glance.  "I think you'll come to

agree that updates are essential."

"Hmmm.  Hey, isn't that a marker of ours to starboard.  .

?" It was, though nearly rubbed completely off the flat summit. They

touched down, as much to refurbish the marker as to see if anything was

familiar "Vaguely," was Killashandra's verdict.  Something nagged at her

- something quite insistent.  "I think," she began hesitantly, "I think

it's black."

"You don't sound sure "I think you were also right to ask me if I was up

to it." She fought the friction that racked her.

"We can go back and cut more green."

"No, we're here to cut black and black we'll cut, if it kills me."

"I draw the line at suicide, no matter how badly the Guild needs black

right now." She gave him a wry grin for that.

What they found was a deep blue crystal, one of the loveliest colours

either had ever cut.  They got three cartons of it and were back at the

sled, filling up their water-bottles when the first twinge of storm

warning caught Killashandra.  She sucked in her breath at the intensity

of it.  The crystal deprivation must have made her doubly vulnerable.

She caught at the side of the cistern and Lars reached out to support

her.

"What's the matter?  And don't you dare say nothing, Killa, he said,

eyes piercing hers with his growing recognition of the probable cause.

"Storm?" When she nodded, he cursed under his breath.  Then he closed

the water tap and covered his half-filled canteen, stowing it in place.

He took hers from her limp hand and put it away as well.  "All right,

let's get ready "But it's only the-' "Fardles, Killa, I can tell just

from your reaction that it's going to be a bad blow' "It's only

because-' "I don't care what it's because," he cried, chopping his hand

irritably to interrupt her.  He took her arm and turned her towards the

galley.  "We're returning and that's that.  I'm not risking you to even

the mildest blow.  Your head's not on straight yet from deprivation.

Though she protested vehemently, she had to recognize the fact that he

was absolutely correct in assessing her state.  She wouldn't admit it to

him: she argued out of habit.  He refused to entertain her contention

that they would have enough time to cut at least five, agreed but

discounted the fact that this was the best blue lode she'd seen in

decades.

"It isn't black," he said, his mouth and eyes angry.

"Try not to forget that, sunny, it's black we need!"

"Then why did we waste time cutting this blue?"

"You thought there was black here!" He was moving around his side of the

sled, securing cabinets and stowing oddments away.

"We cut good blue "she began, going meek on him, a tactic that had often

worked.  "I don't remember how many times you've told me that The anger

went out of him in a gush and, reaching across the narrow space that

separated them, he caressed her cheek briefly, his smile penitent.

"Sorry, sunny, no matter how you try to slice it, we're not cutting any

more .  here - - .  today."

"It should be a partners' decision, not one wy,) she said, wondering if

he were weakening.

"You've never been this arbitrary before." He gave a weary sigh. "I'm

arbitrary now!  As Guild Master, I have more than a partner's stake in

keeping your brain unscrambled."

"I didn't want you to be Guild Master.

"You've made that clear," he said, and his eyes flashed at her before

once again he relented.  "We were the best duet the Guild ever had. I've

seen the printout of our aggregate cuttings.  Impressive!" The smile he

gave her was suddenly boyish and she felt her heart unseize as the Lars

she knew so intimately surfaced briefly.  "Now let's scramble.  I'm not

risking you, or me." In far better charity with each other than they had

started this trip, they returned to the Guild.  By then the storm

warnings were far-flung, and sleds from all sectors began pouring into

the Hangar.

"Rack my sled in the first-out slot," he told the Hangar Officer and she

nodded compliance.

The scramble for such a preferred position was a constant battle among

singers but no one could supersede the Guild Master.

Killashandra ducked her head to hide a grin.  Lars was also calling for

assistance to unload their crystal just as the Flight Officer handed him

a comunit with the message that the call had top wiority "I'll take ours

through Sorting," Killa told him when he looked expectantly at her.

For a moment she watched his tall figure stride to the nearest exit, his

head bent as he listened to the priority call.  Someone else needing

black crystal?

Guild Master's cut also took priority in the Sorting Shed and Killa

waved her cartons towards Clodine "s stall.  She ignored Clodine's

initial nervousness and did her best to be pleasant.  It was the cut

which helped restore Clodine to their previous easy relationship.  The

market price of the blues would have been enough to appease the most

desperate singer.

Once assured of the hefty credit balance, Killashandra became aware of

externals - like the pong emanating from her person and her clothes.

Jauntily she strode to her quarters.  As she palmed open the door, she

heard the radiant liquid ploshing into the tub and smiled.

That was nice of Lars.  A good long soak, something to eat, and she'd be

back to normal.

Well, as normal as any crystal singer ever was.  She had at least worked

free of all that crystal cramp.

Good cutting was what she'd really needed to cure it.

The moment she toggled the food dispenser, the screen lit up to display

Lars' face.

"Killa?  That's a handy total on the blues, he said "Shards, I wanted to

tell you myself," she said, feeling a surge of disgruntlement.

"I've ordered up a meal here, if you'd care to join me - The hesitant

tone of his invitation struck her as atypical but it pleased her that

this Guild Master was not as autocratic as Lanzecki had been.

"I think I might at that," Killa said graciously and cancelled the order

she'd just placed.  Dinner with lars, or for that matter, dinner with

the Guild Master, tagged elusive wisps of memory: most of them pleasant.

Looking at the garments in her closet, she picked the one that suited a

slightly smug mood and dressed carefully, spending time to comb out her

snaggled hair and arrange it attractively.  She ought to get it cut

short again.  It had been a nuisance in the Ranges, sweating up and

falling into her eyes when she wanted a clear view of her cuts.

She peered at her face: she'd a tan again, making her eyes brighter,

cancelling the yellow that was beginning to tint the white. She pulled

her hands down her cheeks: they were still gaunt and were those age

grooves from her nose to her mouth?  She grimaced to smooth them away.

Then frowned.  She did look older.  She must be very careful not to tax

her symbiont again as badly as she must have done to look this way.

As she entered the Guild Master's offices, the first thing she saw was

the empty desk, its surface clear of pencil files or any work at all.

She frowned.  Trag?

No, Trag was gone.  Lars had not found a suitable assistant.  He'd have

to.  No wonder he'd been snapping at her in the Ranges.  She knew from

the amount of work she'd seen Lanzecki get through and that with Trag's

help - that the Guild Mastership was no sinecure.  She snorted to

herself: Lars had been a damned fool to get roped into the job.  She bet

he hadn't been sailing since he took it!

"When' was not a word she often used but it suddenly flicked across her

consciousness.  When had he taken over from Lanzecki?  She grunted,

cancelling that irritating consideration as she continued across the

floor to the inner office Lars was deep in contemplation of whatever was

on his desk screen.  He had had time to shower and change, his hair

still damp.  To one side, in front of the wide window that overlooked

the immense doors of the Hangar, a table had been set and the enticing

odours of some of her favourite foods wafted to her.

Becoming aware of someone else in the room, he looked up with a scowl

which shifted into a smile as he jumped to his feet.

"Sunny!" He gestured for her to join him at the table and he seated her.

"What are you after now?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice to draw

the sting of her cynicism.

"Ah, lovey," and he dropped a kiss on her cheek before he took his own

seat, "give me credit for some altruism -"

"Why should I?" He grinned at her, searching her face and evidently

satisfied by what he saw.  She cocked her head at him.

"So?"

"Eat first, talk later.  I'd like to see a little more She groaned.  "So

we're not going back out as soon as the storm clears?" In place of an

answer, he served generous portions of her favourite foods on to her

plate.  When he started to help himself, she saw that he had ordered the

nicco spikes she hated even to smell.  He grinned when she twitched her

nose in disgust.

"You see, I'm not catering entirely to you, Killa Ree, and no, we're not

able to go out immediately.

Black crystal's not the only one of our products in demand." He ended

the sentence abruptly.  "I'd be able to go quicker if you could see your

way clear to giving me a little help."

"I thought helping you was finding black.  I'll go alone----' "No!" The

single word was so forceful that she stared at him in surprise.  Lars

didn't used to take such a tone with her.  She bristled but he reached

for her arm, shaking some of the nilsi pods from her half-raised spoon,

before his touch softened in apology.  "No, Killa.  Too dangerous.

You're not completely over the deprivation and you'd thrall.

Especially if you were cutting black alone." While she still resisted

his prohibition, she had to admit that she would be extremely vulnerable

to black thrall.  She also had to admit that she had been in a terrible

state when they'd gone out: as near as made no never mind to being a

crystallized cripple.

They might have been searching for black crystal, but she was bloody

lucky they hadn't found any.

Green thrall had been deep enough.  She owed him a lot for risking his

own neck taking her out at all in the state she'd been in.

"So, what do you need done, Guild Master?" she asked in a flippant tone.

He smiled, with genuine relief.  "Thanks, sunny, I really appreciate

it."

"So?"

"Eat first," he said.  "I can't think when my stomach's clinging to my

backbone." She was hungrier than she thought and quite willing to

concentrate on eating.  Odd how a full belly could reduce resistance to

unpalatable business.

When they had cleared the last morsel from the platters, Lars leaned

back, patting his stomach and smiling with repletion.

"That's better.  Now, if you could finish rounding up the figures and

prices on the accounts I have on the screen, then I can go salve wounded

feelings."

"Whose?"

"Clarend and Ritwili have legitimate grievances which must be addressed,

and I've a delegation to meet at Shankill that I can no longer

postpone."

"I might be better with the delegation than with the files," she

suggested warily "It's the sort of thing you've done for Lanzecki

before.  D'you remember the Apharian contingent?

Well, I've got the Blackwell Triad looking for favours now.

Similar circumstances, similar solution, but I need the account figures

on hand."

"Bar-ring," she said, rolling her eyes.

"A lot of what I have to do is boring, and yet, Lars regarded her, his

wide mouth curling in a grin, "I rather like finding out how this Guild

hangs together against all corners." Killashandra snorted. "We've a

unique product that no one else can produce, no matter how hard they

try.  We're in control."

"I like that "we", sunny," and he reached across the table to fondle her

hand.  "I'll go heal fractured feelings, you find me figures."

"Just this once, because I owe you," she warned him, pulling her hand

away and shaking her finger at him. "Don't think you can rope me into

this full time.  I'm a singer, not a key tapper!

Find yourself a recruit with business training."

"I'm trying to," he said with a sly grin.

Once she got stuck into the analysis, Killashandra found it more

interesting than she'd realized.  Certainly the scope of the Guild's

authority - and its unassailable position as the only source of

communication crystal systems - was wider than she'd imagined.  Her job

- the cutting - was but the beginning of a multitude of complex

processes with end uses in constant demand throughout the inhabited

galaxy.  Deprive worlds of Ballybran crystal and their economies

collapsed, so vital were the shafts, and even the splinters, to

technology on all levels.  The pure research burros in the labs here

kept finding new applications of crystal - even ground shards had uses

as abrasives.  The more brilliant of smaller splinters could be made

into resonating jewellery, much in vogue again.  She wondered how the

galaxy had let one Guild gain so much power.  .  .  What had Lars been

on about?  Reorganizing?  Modernizing?

What?  The Guild bought state of the art technology in other fields.

Unable to resist the temptation of having unrestricted access to the

Guild's master files, Killashandra ran some that she might never again

have a chance to discover.  Lars had said something about aggregate

cutting figures.  She wanted to know just how much she, Killashandra

Ree, had contributed to the success of the Guild.  Once in the

ultra-confidential files, those entries were easy enough to find.

But the dating of their first duet journey was a shock.  They couldn't

have been cutting that long.  They couldn't.

She cancelled the file and sat looking at the screen, patiently blinking

a readiness to oblige her.  She couldn't "Sunny?" Lars' voice on the

comunit broke through the fugue such knowledge caused.  "Sunny, got

those figures for me?  Sunny?  Sunny, what's wrong?" His voice,

concerned and increasingly anxious, roused her "I got "em - - " She

managed to get the words out.

"Sunny, what's the matter?"

"Am I old, Lars?" There wasn't much of a pause and, later on, she was

never sure if there had been any before he laughed.  "Old?  A singer

never gets old, sunny." His voice rippled with a laughter that sounded

genuine to her critical ear.  She couldn't even imagine his amusement

had been forced.  "That's why we become singers. To never get old.  Give

me those figures, will you?  And then I can get back from Shankill and

show you just how ageless we both are!

Don't get sidetracked by trivia like that, Killa.  Now, what are those

figures?  I'm nearly at Shankill Base.  Patch them through, will you?"

Like an Al, she performed the necessary function and then leaned back in

the Guild Master's comfortable chair, too big for her frame, tall though

she was, and tried to remember how she could possibly have cut so many

tonnes of crystal over so many decades.

Lars found her there when he returned long after night had fallen over

Ballybran.  Nor could he, using all his skills as lover or persuader,

bring her out her fugue.

She broke out herself when she realized that they were deep in the

Milekey Range.  On that trip they found the elusive black crystal, a

full octave in E that was likely to sing messages around the biggest of

the systems vying for comcrystals.  But cutting the blacks enervated

Killa to the point that she did not argue with Lars when he reluctantly

but firmly turned the sled back to the Guild.  For the first time it

wasn't a storm that drove them m.

Dimly, Killa realized that he carried her in his arms all the way down

to the Infirmary, refusing any assistance or the grav-gurney.  He

undressed her himself while Donalla attached the monitors and Presnol

fussed over which medication would produce the best results in the

optimum time.

"Shard the optimum!" Lars raved.  "Juice up her symbiont!  Heal her!" He

saw her harnessed into the radiant fluid bath before he stormed off. She

let herself drift then and didn't even wonder how much credit that

octave of blacks had earned them.

of

Chapter Nine "

Did you get enough blacks in?" Killa asked Lars the first time she saw

him after she began to pull out of the traumatic exhaustion.

"Enough to reduce the clamour a few decibels, sunny." He bent to kiss

her cheek and then pinched it with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "The

ones we cut together were the best."

"Naturally," she said with a flash of her usual arrogance.

"Seen the figures on that octave?" he asked.

"One of my first conscious acts." She leaned into the fingers that

stroked her cheek.  "I've a bird to pluck with you.  You gave me part of

those you brought in when you went back out by yourself and that's not

in Rules and Regs.  You cut by yourself," she said, scowling at him but

well pleased that he'd been so generous.

"Ah, but it's your site.  All things being equal, you'd've continued

cutting with me until the weather turned."

"So," and she moved her head slightly back from his caresses and eyed

him speculatively, "what is such charity going to cost me?" Lars gave a

hearty laugh, throwing his head back and tipping the chair away from the

bed, balancing it deftly-on- the back legs.

"I wasn't so much charitable as conscious of my administrative edict

that those whose claims were cut without their participation would be

awarded a settlement.

"I'm an existing and active singer," she said, outraged.  "I'm not not

yet, at any rate - - "And she waved her hand in agitated denial towards

the section of the Infirmary which cared for the braindamaged singers.

"No, of course, you're not.  The fact remains that I was compelled by

press of orders to obtain black crystal from any viable site," he said,

solemn for a moment.  "And you did cut there earlier with me soit was

only just, meet and fair that you got your share: especially at the

current market price of blacks." He rolled his eyes.  "Best ever."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it!" Killa grinned back at him.

Blacks always generated top earnings.  Their octave had earned her more

than she'd made m her mind stumbled over the time factor.  Quickly she

turned away from such speculations.  "Has that octave been processed

yet?" She was still annoyed with Donalla and Presnol for not allowing

her to access that information.  They'd kept her restricted to a simple

voice-only comunit.

"Oooh, as fast as it could be shaped and bracketed.

The Blackwell Triad drooled when I made it available to them.

Eight was what they needed and eight matched was a plus.  Which they

paid for."

"Too right!"

"Terasolli installed them." Then Lars' grin turned sour.  "Then lost

himself so well in Maxim's Planet I haven't been able to locate a trace

of him.  Even with the prices establishments on Maxim's charge, he's got

enough to lose himself for months.

"I remember going to Maxim's once with y,) Killa said, though she could

recall no details of the legendary exotic pleasances that the leisure

planet offered.  Though some singers risked mind and body to cut enough

for repeated visits to Maxim, she couldn't recall any desire to do so.

"Once.  No seas, not even lakes, so no sailing." He cocked her a

malicious grin.  "Which reminds me.

Care to get out of here for a few days R&R?  You can crew for me."

"To get out of here I'd even crew!" Counterfeiting irritation at her

jibe, he ruffled her hair into snarls and left, whistling a chanty.

Three days later, when she made her way down to the pier, she was

surprised to find Donalla, Presnol and Clodine already there, carisaks

at their feet.  She very much resented him extending his invitation to

anyone else, much less these three.  She'd wanted expected - only his

company on board the Angel.  The ship was more than enough rival for his

attention.

Then she experienced a second, more disjointing shock when she got a

good look at the ship moored to the long pier it was not the Angel she

thought she remembered clearly, but a craft some ten or fifteen metres

longer.  A sloop but a much bigger one.  That somewhat explained the

extra hands but did not disperse her disgruntlement.

Lars arrived before she got past a stiff greeting to the others.

He jogged down the pier, grinning broadly at the success of his

surprise.

"She's great, isn't she?" he said, his face boyish and more like the

Lars she knew than the Guild Master he had become.  "This'll be her

maiden voyage.

You're the shake-down crew' Not even Killashandra had the effrontery to

blight his pleasure as he shepherded them on board, pointing out the

technological improvements and amenities, the spaciousness, the luxury

of the several cabins and wardroom, still smelling of varnish, paint and

that indefinable odour of the "unused'.

There was even space for a body-sleeve-sized radiant bath.

Killa lost the edge of her vexation when Lars guided her to the

captain's cabin, genially waving the other three to pick out their own

bunks.  There'd be much more privacy on Angel II - unless, of course,

Lars insisted on standing a different watch.  Maybe they'd have to, for

she'd no idea of how much seamanship the two medics and the Sorter had.

Vaguely she remembered that Clodine had expressed an interest in sailing

with them but she didn't recall having sailed at all recently.

Certainly not on this craft.

"Like it, sunny?" Lars said, tossing his duffle to the wide bunk and

gesturing around the beautifully appointed cabin.  "The rewards of

cutting black!"

"Must have cost you every bit you made," she murmured, looking about her

appreciatively.  "State of the art?"

"She was when she left the boat yard on Optheria." And Lars slipped his

arms about her waist, enfolding her to him, and burying his face in her

short crisp curls.  "Probably still is, though I waited to sail her

until I could have my sunny aboard.  No fun for me to sail without you,

you know." He kissed her, letting her go, to swing his arms about

expansively.  "She's a beaut, isn't she?  Saw her sister ships on Flag

III and I've lusted after one like her ever since."

"Do the others know how to sail?" she asked, curious and still somewhat

resentful "They sailed on the old ship a couple of times, he admitted

casually.  "They don't get seasick if that's your worry and, while this

baby should run herself, they know their way about a deck."

"Who cooks?" Killa said, half teasing.

"Whoever's off-duty," he replied gaily and then hugged her to him.

"It's good to have you back on board, lovey.  Real good.  Now," and his

manner turned brisk, "let's get this cruise underway." It turned out to

be a very good cruise, especially when Killashandra realized that she

was a much more capable sailor than any of the others.  And, as usual,

she responded automatically, and correctly, to any of Lars' orders.

The important things to remember she remembered.  The rest was chaff

which time would have winnowed out of active memory anyway And, as they

anchored every evening in a cove and the ship could be rigged to rouse

the crew if its monitors received any critical readings, Lars and she

spent their nights together in the captain's double bunk.

They fished and ate the panfried catch, sweet and delicate in flavour

and flesh.  They sailed, or rather Lars did for he would let no one take

the helm for very long, even Killa.  By the afternoon of the third day

out, they encountered some stormy weather.  She revelled in it for it

brought back to mind flashes of other storms she had experienced on

ships with Lars.

It was four days before the pressures of the Guild had to be considered.

Lars tried to settle one set of problems which were patched through to

him but, with no assistant to handle matters during an absence, they

regretfully had to turn back.

"I thought you were going to find yourself an aide," Killa said, unhappy

at having the halcyon trip truncated.

"I've been trying to find the right personality for the past seven

years, sunny.  Isn't easy to find anyone suitable.  Oh, there've been a

couple of recruits who had some potential, passable as temporaries, but

none who had the breadth of experience to be effective executives.  I

need someone who knows and understands Guild tenets, has or could cut

crystal, has managerial skills without being a power freak.

Most especially someone I can trust "Not to usurp your prerogatives?"

Killa asked facetiously.

"That, too," he agreed, grinning at her.  "It's not an easy position to

fill.  I've learned to do as much as I can myself without delegating it

to others because, bluntly, singers forget too much." Killa heard that

on several levels and winced.  His arm came about her, lovingly tucking

her against him and she felt his kiss on the nape of her neck.

"Worse, they sublimate - Donalla's word - crystal singing into the most

important aspect of their lives which, in many senses, it has to be. The

disadvantage to that is the balance: they end up with such narrow

parameters in which they can function that they're bloody useless for

any broader view.  They're either singing or they flee from singing

until they can no longer ignore the need for crystal.  That sort of

myopia compromises a lot of otherwise good people.

Life holds more.  .  .  Hey, sunny, what's the matter with you?" Killa

had stiffened in his arms, and tried to push him away.  "Hey, no need to

take offence!" He laughed at her and pulled her back into his arms,

caressing her until she began to relax.  "Silly chunk!" She made herself

soften in his arms because they were nearly back at the Guild harbour

but, whether or not he denied it, she felt that his comments were not as

casual as he pretended.  And yet.  .  .  Nothing in the past few days

suggested to her that there had been any other, subtle alteration to

their long relationship.  Donalla was patently interested in Presnol and

Clodine apparently had a like-for-like preference.

Then Lars issued the necessary orders to ready the ship for docking and

there was no time for any further conversation.  On the one hand, Killa

resented that Lars had left her so unsettled with his remarks

unclarified but, on the other, she wanted time to mull over what he had

said.  If the suit fits, wear it.

With utter honesty, she recognized that she was guilty of compressing

her personal parameters into just such a narrow track.

Didn't Lars see that?  Or maybe he did and he was hoping that his

remarks would jolt her out of that myopia.  Only how?  Something teased

at the edge of her mind.  Something important.  She couldn't catch so

much as a hint.

She sighed and finished cleaning up the galley and removing the last of

the perishable foods.  Well, maybe she wasn't as myopic as some.  She

sailed, didn't she?  And she could remember seeing more water worlds

than any galaxy had the right to offer.

Sailing had given Lars dahl some respite from the pressures of his

responsibility but the main one had doubled on him - more black crystal

was ordered.

"I left instructions that no further orders were to be taken," Lars

said, angrily furrowing his brows as he glared at the comscreen.

It had been buzzing for his attention the moment he opened the hatch on

his private ground vehicle.

"Guild Master, we never refuse orders for black," he was told.

"We can't fill the orders we've got.  Then he leaned out of the open

door.  "Donalla, you're going to have to lean on Borella and Rimbol."

The names were vaguely familiar to Killashandra.

"I'll do what I can, Lars," Donalla called back to him but she shrugged

as if she was none too sanguine about success.

"Rimbol?  I knew him - I think," Killashandra said as a hazy image of an

ingenuous smile on a boyish face flickered in recall.  "And Borella "

The woman 5 face was not clear for memory centred on a tall, strong body

and a badly lacerated leg.  "I haven't seen them in a long time," she

added.

"You're not likely to, sunny," Lars said kindly.

"They both turned off storm warnings once too often."

"Oh!" She paused, considering that information.

"Then how can Donalla lean on them?" Lars had stowed their two duffles,

strapped himself into his seat, motioning for Killa to do the same, as

he prepared to drive back to the cube.

"Regression," he replied succinctly.

That was the word.

"What's that?"

"It's an old technique of accessing segments of memories lost on purpose

or from brain injury.  We don't use but two-fifths of the brains we've

got.  As Donalla explained, some functions can be switched to unused

portions of the mind, and often memories get shunted out of active

recall.  Off and on, there have been fads of regression, usually to

former lives." He chuckled before continuing, an indication of his

opinion of such an exercise.  "We're using it to tap memory strings.

Donalla's research on memory loss suggests that we don't actually lose

anything we've seen, heard, and felt.  The unpleasant we tend to bury as

deep as possible, depending on its effect on our psyches.  Oddly enough,

good memories get dropped just as thoroughly. Through a careful use of

hypnosis, Donalla has been able to reclaim lost knowledge."

"That's illegal." Lars shook his head at her outburst. "Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't.  I had that point clarified.  We are custodians of those

husks of former singers and they get the best physical care we can

supply.  Some of them, under Donalla's care, have actually been restored

as functioning humans." Killa stared at him aghast.  "You can't possibly

put them back in the Ranges Lars laughed harshly.  "I'm not sadistic,

Killa.  It's a plus to me if they are able to care for themselves.

Some have improved enough to undertake simple duties in the Infirmary."

"That's macabre, Lars," Killa said, with a shudder.

"It's also expedient.  The Infirmary is damned near full and I won't

short anyone on the care they need if they've totalled their minds.  The

other problem is that the Guild is not attracting enough new recruits to

make up for those losses - She felt both anger at him and a stirring of

terror.

She'd come all too close to being one of the "totals' herself "If I'd

totalled, would you ?" His eyes on the ground speeding past them, Lars

reached out to grab her hand.  "If you were totalled, Killa, you

wouldn't be aware of anything that was happening to you - .

"But would you subject me to.  .  .  ?" She couldn't continue, horrified

at the very idea of someone crawling about her mind without permission,

at that ultimate loss of privacy.  The painful grip of his fingers

increased, jolting her out of such considerations.

"I told you I didn't want to be Guild Master.

Lanzecki left me with quite a mess to cope with.

Only, when I agreed, I didn't know the half of it.

Full disclosure wasn't required of him." Lars' smile was droll.

"But I did have some ideas on how to revitalize the Guild: to reorganize

it for efficiency and predictability.  I can't leave so much to the

vagaries of the singers and the weather."

"Vagaries?" she said indignant.  "Vagaries?" His choice of word

infuriated her "Yes, singers are permitted far too much leeway - "Too

much?  When we risk our sanity every time we go into the Ranges.

"That's the most haphazard part of the whole operation," Lars said

scornfully.  "Most singers and you are not in that category, sunny, so

relax and listen up - cut just enough to get off-planet.  They leave

viable sites long before they need to quit because of an approaching

storm.  They don't remember from one time to the next where they've

profitably cut and waste a lot of time trying to locate old ones or find

new ones.  This paranoia that keeps a singer from noting coordinates of

claims is absurd.

It's easy enough to use codes "If you can remember it later," Killa

added.

"Numbers aren't that hard to remember," he said, "and something has to

be done to make such invaluable information available to the individual.

It'd cut out the guesswork and make every trip into the Ranges far more

profitable.  Our friend Terasolli's another example of wasted time.  He

gets top price to set that octave, and he won't come back to Ballybran

until crystal itch drives him back.  That'll be a year or so.

.  - a year or so of unproductivity.

That's got to stop."

"Stop?" She sputtered the word in her amazement at his uncompromising

attitude.

"Two, maybe three months, should be respite enough for a singer.

.

"How the fardles would you know?" Killa demanded.  "You've never set

black crystal.  You don't know .  ." She tryed to stop she was trembling

so badly.  "Set this thing down.  I'm not going any further with you.

I'd rather walk back to the Guild than stay another minute.

- Lars did set the vehicle down but he also shoved in the door lock and

swung his back against it so she couldn't reach it.  His face was set

and his eyes flashing with anger.  He took her by the shoulders.

"You'll stay and you'll listen!  If I can persuade a mind as closed as

yours against any change in wasteful habits and stupid archaic perks,

maybe I have a chance of pulling the Guild out of the hole it's in." He

gave her a little shake, his fingers digging into the flesh of her upper

arms.  He ignored her squirming.  "I'm trying my damnedest to save this

Guild.  Its position in communications is no longer as secure as it used

to be because people have got tired of waiting for Ballybran crystals

and have developed alternatives.  Not as good as our crystal but

performing much the same functions and ,.

always - - - available - - - for replacement - - - He spaced the last

words for emphasis.  "I've got nine orders for black crystal I cannot

fill because my singers cannot relocate the sites where they've found

black.  So they go wandering about in the Ranges, looking, trying to

remember.  I want them to remember.  I've been patient long enough just

as Lanzecki was patient but there's an end to patience and I've reached

it.  I'll do anything I can to supply black crystal, to build up a

backlog of the stuff, to reinstate the Guild to its former prominence.

And if it means I have to plumb the depths of crazed minds to find out

where black crystal is, I will.  But it'd be much easier to have a live

singer willing, and able, to cooperate with me." His bitter gaze held

hers and she could see his deep anxiety, his frustration, his fears in

the dark agony of his clouded eyes.  His voice was harsh with

desperation.

"How could I cooperate any more than I have?" she asked in a low voice,

shivering internally with fear of What this compliance might do to her.

"Oh, sunny," and he embraced her tightly, holding her head under his

chin with-one hand, stroking her body as if contact would express his

gratitude and relief.  Then he held her slightly away, her face in his

hands, stroking her cheeks with gentle thumbs, looking deep into her

eyes.  "You know where you cut blacks.  It's there in your memory," and

one hand cupped her head tenderly.  "We just have to access those

memories.  .  .  it'll all come back.  Donalla says that with the proper

clues, you could remember everything.

Killashandra stiffened, regretting her impulse, pulling herself free. "I

don't need to remember everything, Lars.  I don't want to remember

everything.  Get that straight now' "Honey, all I'm asking is landmarks

for the black crystal sites you've cut.  I've remembered only two and I

know there were more.  I have got to have black crystal," and he pounded

his fist into the plaster above the control panel with such force that

it left a dent.

She reached for his hand, to prevent him repeating the blow.

Immediately he covered hers with both of his.

"If we could only," and his voice was low now, his frustration vented,

"get singers to note down landmarks so they can get themselves back to

the best sites.

Killa gave a snort, not as derisive as it might have been because she

was not going to exacerbate Lars' despair.  "Now that's asking a lot,

love," she said wryly.  "You know how paranoid singers are.  Put

something down that another singer could find and locate?" She shook her

head.  "Not to mention roping singers back to Ballybran before they

absolutely have to return." Lars looked deeply in her eyes.  "That's why

your cooperation is so vital, sunny.  You're senior among the working

singers.  If you can be seen to accede to executive orders," and he gave

a bitter smile, "the others will accept them.  Especially if you start

bringing in more crystal, better crystal, because you know exactly how

to get back to workable sites."

"I've already cut more crystal than any other singer.

"You have that enviable reputation, 5y,) he said with a hint of his

customary ebullience.

"So how does this regression process work?" He straightened up, his eyes

losing their grimness.

"Under hypnosis.  Donalla's become expert.  She found the coordinates I

needed to access one of our old claims the last time I went out."

"You. .  .  by yourself?" The notion that he'd risked himself made her

choke with fear.

"As Guild Master, I had to set the example, despite my partner's

illness.  I can't ask singers to do what I won't do myself, you know."

"And you talk about capricious singers!"

"Don't shout, Killa.  I cut, I got back and at least filled another

order."

"Order?  Order!" She was indignant.

"An order that's been unfilled for twenty years, Killa!  It's no wonder

the Guild's reputation has been suffering.  I've finally got permission

to inaugurate a more active recruitment campaign, but it's experienced

singers I need and right now, and out in the Ranges, not carousing on

Maxim or Baliol and spread out across the galaxy." The bleak expression

of a man who was not given to desperation, the flat despairing edge to a

voice that had always been rich with humour and optimism affected her

more deeply than any other moment in a basically egocentric and selfish

life.  She owed Lars dahl and now was the time to repay him in the only

coin that mattered.

"So, let's get back to the cube and let Donalla beguile me, or whatever

it is she needs to do."

"Regress your memory."

"I can't, and that's that," Donalla said, swinging her stool around and,

projecting herself off it, she paced angrily about the room.  "You don't

trust me, Killa.

It's as simple as that.  Until you can trust me, hypnosis can't happen."

"But I do trust you, Donalla," Killa insisted, as she had over the past

few days during the increasingly frustrating sessions she had had with

the medic.

"Look, ladies," Presnol said, coming out of the corner of the room where

he had been as unobtrusive as possible, "there are some folk who are

psychologically unable to release control of their minds to anyone, no

matter how they trust the operator.

Killa's been a singer a very long time now "Don't keep reminding me of

that.  "Killa heard the edge on her voice but she was too keyed up by

failure to control the reaction.

"Habits are ingrained.  .

"I've never been a creature of habit," Killa protested, trying to inject

a little humour into the tensions that crackled about them all.

"But," and Presnol turned to her, "protecting your site locations has

played a dominant role in your subconscious.  I mean, I've sat in on

Donalla's sessions with some of the inactive singers," Killa approved of

his euphemism, "and often it's sounded to me as though they were keeping

the information from themselves: the subconscious refusing to permit

access of knowledge to the conscious."

"Ha!" Killa folded her arms across her chest.  "I go to sleep telling

myself to remember.  To dredge up the necessary referents.  I dream of

fardling spires and ranges and canyons and ravines.  I dream of the act

of cutting, I dream of crystal until I wake myself up thinking I'm

asleep on a bed of the fardling shards!"

"Like a mystic?" And Donalla covered up a giggle that slipped out.

Presnol looked shocked but Killa grinned.  "I know the sort you mean

total disregard of the purely physical.  Mind over matter!  Oh, Muhlah,

if I only could " And she groaned, covering her face with her hands.

"Wait a minute," Donalla said, drawing herself erect at a sudden

inspiration.  "You get thralled, don't you?  By crystal?"

"It can happen to any singer," Killa said guardedly.

"Yes, but thrall's a form of hypnosis, isn't it?  I mean, the crystal

triggers the mesmerism, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does." Presnol caught the significance of their exchange.

"But that would mean you'd have to go into the Ranges."

"What's wrong with that, Presnol?" Killashandra asked, slapping her

hands to her knees.  "I'd be doing something constructive at the same

time, instead of sitting on my buns here accomplishing nothing.

Sorry, Donalla.  You've tried.  I just can't comply!

Maybe, in the Ranges, and in thrall, you can get through."

"But but - . -" Presnol floundered.

"But you've never been out, have you?"

"Only to rescue singers." And a convulsive spasm shook the medic's

frame.

"Well, it's about time you saw the Ranges at their best," Killa said,

amused.

Presnol gulped.

"No, I'll go," Donalla said, giving her lover a reassuring smile.

"I'm - - supposedly - - the hypnotist.  And I'm not afraid of the

Ranges.

"I'm not, either," Presnol protested but both women exchanged knowing

glances.  "I'm not, truly."

"Donalla's presence is sufficient, I'd say," Killa said.

"One of us should remain here, Pres," Donalla said, "and you could

continue the hypnotics with - " She hesitated, glancing at Killashandra,

"another patient."

"Yes, I could," Presnol said, beginning to relax.  He wasn't as good at

the process as Donalla, but he had been successful with two of the

inactive singers.

"That would be a much more useful disposition of my time right now.  Ah,

when will you be going?" he asked, turning back at the door Killa and

Donalla exchanged looks.  Killa shrugged.

"We'll check with Lars.

Killa could see that he resisted the idea of her going out into the

Ranges without him.  She had overridden her own reluctance to go out in

the company of a non-singer, however dispassionately involved with the

singing of crystal.

"There's been no tradition of non-singer' Lars began.

"Ha!  Since you've been demolishing tradition all over the place, why

cavil at this one?  The results could be exactly what's needed.  At

least with me," Killa said.  "As you point out, I'm one of the oldest

still active singer Killa!" There was a warning not to try his patience

just then.

"Look, we can rig lots of safeguards.  Weather's behaving itself right

now, so we can cancel that worry.  Donalla can wear a combutton direct

to your console so if you have to do a rescue lift, you'll be the first

to hear," Killa went on, perversely determined to undermine any argument

he might voice.  "Donalla's stronger than she looks if it comes to her

having to break thrall." She grinned.  "Know any good throws?" she asked

Donalla who dismissed the question.

"So, teach her your special techniques, up to and including setting my

cutter sour.  Muhlah knows that the reward could be worth the price of a

cutter."

"Don't let Clarend hear you say that," Lars remarked with a good attempt

at genuine humour "Hmmm, too right." And Killa grinned back at him,

reminding him of abuse they'd both taken from the Cutter over the

decades.

"You'll lend us the double sled then?" Killa asked.

She looked out of the broad window, beyond the Hangar.  "Hell, it's only

midday.  We could be deep in the Ranges and cutting in a couple of

hours." She leaned across the desk towards him, daring him, silently

urging him to agree.  "Of course, if you happened to have some black

crystal coordinates handy, I could be productive on several levels."

"Killa, you do know what you're doing, don't you?"

"No, but Donalla thinks that thrall will help her get past the barriers

I can't seem to lower." He sighed deeply and threw his hands out in

capitulation.  "If you could come back with some black .  ." He set his

lips firmly, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

He propelled himself out of his chair and, while Killashandra contacted

the Hangar and arranged for his sled to be readied and stocked, he

demonstrated to Donalla the various ways in which thrall could be

broken.

"I didn't realize thrall was that dangerous," Donalla said, her eyes

wide with the newly acquired information.  "And you let Killashandra

stay thralled to green "That was a most unusual situation.

Killa needed the overdose of crystal to counteract deprivation.  I would

never have permitted her to thrall to black.

It's far harder to break out of.  And that's why I don't like just the

pair of you going."

"Well, if you want another singer along to see where we've cut black - -

-" Killa teased.

"There isn't another singer in or you can believe I'd send someone."

"Who's that dork at Trag's desk then?"

"Certainly not yet a singer," Lars said sarcastically, "but she does

have business management experience and she's capable of organizing

pencil files and auditing accounts." Killa smiled, relieved by his

disparagement of the very pretty girl's abilities.

"Now, if you can't break thrall by any of the methods I've demonstrated,

you club her behind the ear and haul her bodily out of the Ranges.  You

are checked out on sleds, aren't you?"

"You know we all are, Lars," Donalla said, giving him an almost

condescending smile.

"I've even driven some of the worksleds when there was excessive storm

damage to patch up." Lars nodded acceptance of her competenceee. "But

I'm not charmed by the idea of bludgeoning Killashandra Ree into

submission.  I'll bring along something soothing."

"You have to be careful, though," and Lars held up a warning hand.  "A

singer in thrall can become violent.  Strap her down in the sled if it

comes to that."

"Now that you've given her the worst case scenario, how else can you

scare her out of this attempt?" Killa asked in some disgust.  She turned

to Donalla.

"Anyone would think he didn't want this to succeed.

I've never slugged him yet.  Though I might start - - -" And she lifted

her fist in mock anger.

He raised both arms and pretended to cringe from her blow.  "Just in

case," he added, his manner lighter and a sparkle in his blue eyes,

"have you any idea -where you're going?" She grinned at him.  "You need

black.  So, since you have already bared the location of your latest

black site to Donalla, I thought you wouldn't mind entrusting it to me,

your partner." His smile deepened.  "Here," and he thrust a slip of

paper at her.  "When you're on course, eat it!"

"You are all heart, Lars dahl," Killa said and marched Donalla out of

the office and to the lift.

In the descending car, Killa was amused by the way Donalla eyed her

"Sorry?"

"Not a bit," Donalla said, scowling sternly, then her expression altered

to anxiety.  "It's just I hadn't realized the possible complications.

Killa laughed.  "You don't, unless you've had to work with "em.

Lars shouldn't have scared you like that." -"He doesn't want to lose you

again, Killa," Donalla said, her fine eyes intent.  "He idolizes you."

"He has an odd way of showing it at times," Killa replied, trying for a

casual acceptance to conceal her reaction to Donalla's appraisal.