"Is that what you want to do?  Exchange?" Killa asked, surprised because

Rudney had neglected to mention that part of the operation at all.

"Of course, of course.  You only supplied us with twelve crystals.

We now have thirty FMs to be brought into the comnet we posit."

"Have you ever tried to remove anything from a Junk?"

"A Junk?" For a moment, Rudney was confused.

"Oh, please employ the proper nomenclature." Killa gave him the sort of

look that had once been extremely effective in reducing affectations.

"No, we actually haven't," Klera admitted.

"It's always been on the receiving end, though, hasn't it?" Killa said.

"Well, I'll try but I'm not risking a finger or a hand.

"We're most certainly not asking you to take a physical risk," Rudney

said.

To prove that, he and Kiera were among those in the A&E installation who

suited up to watch Killashandra install the crystal.

When Rudney pompously introduced her, she got the usual guarded reaction

from the staff assembled in the decontamination room but there were

several broad smiles of welcome as well as help when she began suiting

up.

There was one black crystal, not a large shaft but tuned to a dominant

and this was the one she felt Big Hungry Junk deserved.

"Surely this one," Rudney said, pointing officiously to the largest, a

pale blue, "would be more suitable."

"It's blue, a minor and considerably less stable than the black, she

said in a tone that she hoped would end the moller "But.  .  .  but

"Rudney," she said in a loud firm tone, "I am the crystal singer, not

you!" Rudney seemed surprised at her vehemence and stood there, blinking

in astonishment.  She became aware that everyone else was regarding her

with similar surprise.

Well, Rudney might be a bore to her but he was clearly held in

considerable respect by his staff.  "Black," she began in a milder tone,

"is the most powerful of the Ballybran crystal range.  Even a small one,

like this, is three times as useful as the large pale blue.

The paler colours are notoriously fragile." She held up the black,

though she could feel the tingle of the damned thing right through her

heavy vacuum gloves.  "The black is also in a dominant key which

increases its potential three-fold.  Minors are good for small

repetitive jobs but you want some character for Big Hungry Junk to work

with.  Now, let's go." She gestured for the two who had been assigned to

carry the crystal packing carton to put on their helmets as she adjusted

her own.  A few more moments sufficed for the usual pre-exit tests and

then everyone was checked out as ready to go.  She activated the private

com to Brendan and Boira.

The airlock cycled open to the black bleakness of Opal's surface.

Changes had been made: light flooded the cindery surface, illuminating

paths from the facility to the various caves, each path neatly

signposted for its destinations.  Big Hungry, posing as Cave Fifteen,

seemed to be the most popular direction: the path being the smoothest in

appearance.  Killa struck out, leading the way, Rudney having missed the

chance to get in front of her.

As she neared the cave, she could see splodges of brilliance penetrating

to the surface.  "Big Hungry must be really big," she murmured to

herself.

"I can pick you up at that level, Killa," said Brendan softly "What did

you say, crystal singer?" asked Rudney, reaching forward to tap her arm.

"I mutter a lot," she said in a tone that would carry to his comsystem.

Then she smiled.  Nice to be one up on Rudney!  "You really have

improved the place," she added, for the approach was cleared of all

rubble and the steps down to the entrance of the cave widened.

Lights weren't needed: blue radiance leaked up the first five steps.

And suddenly dimmed as Killa's helmet adjusted in the increased exterior

illumination.

Even with that aid, she was nearly blinded by light as she turned the

corner into Big Hungry's cave.  Her gasp elicited a concerned request

for explanation from Brendan and a smug chuckle from Rudney which turned

into a gargle of surprise.

"Great Muhlah on the mountains of Za!" She was transfixed in the

entrance until Rudney brushed past her.

"Can I have a reading on why the pattern has so dramatically altered?"

Rudney asked in a sharp tone.

No one could miss the shower of complex interlacing designs that

expanded from the centre core.

They were different to the idle banding she had seen as she paused on

the threshold.  Majestic, they proceeded, radiating down the sides of

the cave, to disappear below the surface of the cave.

"It's most unusual, Doctor.  First time this one has been screened,'

Rudney was told.

"Maybe it's a welcome for me," she said facetiously.

Rudney shot her a fierce look of disgust and denial as he brushed past

her and into the cave, gesturing the rest of his people to pass her out

where she stood at the entrance.

"There is a considerably higher level of static," the technician added.

"Now it's dropping to normal output." Hastily, Killa stepped to one

side, watching the last of the fractile-like design slide out of sight.

She gave a shiver.  Her remark had been meant facetiously but something

made her shiver now.

To divert herself, she looked about the magnificently festooned cave. No

one had told her that the fluid metal completely covered the walls of

its site.

She'd thought it had merely sent tendrils to the lower levels.

How many had Kiera said Big Hungry went down?  Nineteen? Incredible and

yet All it may have needed to grow was some decent food.

As the plasglas of her helmet darkened sufficiently in the gloriously

lighted cave, she finally made out the central hub of the Junk, a now

infinitesimal sliver held at the perpendicular in the pulsing core.

Rudney probably used a more accurate scientific name for the heart of

the Junk.  Odd, though, Killa thought, searching her memory for details

of that earlier visit.

She could resurrect little beyond knowing that Big Hungry had grown.

"Bren," she asked softly, "did we ever measure the original centre of

Junk?"

"We did, and " He paused briefly, "Circumference is the same but I'd say

it was denser, thicker.

Ask Rudney.  The sort of thing he'd know." She heard Bren but her

attention was somewhat distracted by the shift and play of colour - of

pattern - that radiated from the core down the sheet of opalescence.

It was more colourful, too, than it had been: speeding up and down the

spectrum of visible colour even as arcs of shifting hues and shades

rippled across.  Try as she would to follow one pattern it melded or was

overrun by others.  She remembered Junk doing that before but surely not

as rapidly.

"Our instrumentation is picking up considerable excitation but not on a

band usually occupied," someone said over the comunit.

"Crystal Singer," Rudney said, bouncing over to her and tapping her

shoulder, "let's proceed.  There's unusual activity recorded -"

"I heard, she said repressively for, abruptly, the thought of setting

black crystal in that throbbing heart of opalescence disturbed her to a

degree she had never experienced before.  "Having seen this one, I

believe it would be wiser to install crystals in the lesser units

first."

"I disagree," Rudney said, appalled at the sudden change of plans. "Cave

Fifteen is responding to some sort of-' "Exactly!  I'm not risking my

wits on black until the last possible moment," she said and, gesturing

imperiously to the two carrying the carton, she started from the cave.

"I'll start with Three." 3" Rudney objected, even to jumping in front of

her when they had left Cave Fifteen in his effort to stop her.  She

bounced away from him, urging the carton carriers to follow her.  He

tried to get them to follow his orders.

"You want crystal installed.  I do it.  I do it my way, she roared at

him, and saw people recoil.  "Now, do I proceed to Three or back to the

1066?  Because if you don't let me handle the installation my way, I'll

leave.

With the crystals, too, by the way, since they're the g:it of the

Guild!" That threat, combined with pleas from Kiera and one of the other

senior members of his team, silenced Rudney's objections and she was

allowed to proceed.

Three had been a pretty, small cap of Jewel Junk when she and Lars had

first seen it.  Sothi, one of the carton carriers, told her that it had

insinuated itself down three levels now.  Smack dab in the centre of its

core was the original splinter of pink.  Muhlah, if the Junk could do

this well with only bloody pink, it would flood with the good green

destined for its second crystalline intrusion.

The rest of the observers had filed into the cave by then and the

portable ladder was erected right under the core.  Killa hefted the

green shaft, peered at it in the radiance to be sure it hadn't somehow

flawed in transit.  She clamped the forceps about the green and,

carefully examining the position of the pink splinter, started to insert

the new crystal.  The moment it touched the opalescence, it was sucked

up so rapidly that only her trained reflexes kept her hand from

following it into the core.  The forceps were gone.  In the next

instant, the pink splinter fell and there was a flailing of gloved hands

as three people tried to catch it.

"Got it!" Sothi exclaimed, holding up the splinter for all to see.

"More than a mouthful is impolite," Killa said drolly.  She hadn't

anticipated any success in trying to yank out the old splinter.

"Ooooh!" Kiera's exclamation, anxious and fearful, brought everyone's

attention back to the core.

"Bloody hell, it swallowed it!" Killa announced, unable to perceive any

trace of the green.  "Of all the ungrateful - - "Oh, it is," Kiera went

on, pointing vehemently again and the green slowly came into view again,

positioned in the exact centre of the core, with two thirds of its

length visible.

"We are monitoring increased activity in Three," was the report from the

base.

"No quarrel with that," Killa said, delighted with the effect.

And yes, Boira's theory about pattern talk was an avenue that ought to

be explored.  She found herself tracking a brilliant display of green,

blue and yellow herring-bones that flashed from the core to the floor

and disappeared.

"Crystal Singer.  - -" Sothi had her by both hands, gripping tightly.

"You were swaying " She accepted his help down from the ladder.  He

pressed his helmet against hers.  "Don't watch the patterns, CS.  You

lose time that way," he murmured.

Killa wondered how much time she had lost but it had gone unnoticed,

save by Sothi, for the other observers were helmet to helmet in deep

consultations.

"Does it happen often, Sothi?" she asked, pulling him towards her again.

"Often enough to need to be cautious."

"Which cave is next?" she asked him, for in that moment of distraction

she'd forgotten.

"Two, which is only a step away," he answered and suddenly she

remembered the entire sequence and where each crystal was supposed to

go.  Time was not the only thing that you lost following Junk patterns,

she thought.

Then, when Sothi would have signalled to Rudney that they were leaving

Three, she caught his hand and waggled her finger at him.

"C'mon.  We can get this all done in half the time if we leave these

science types to talk." Sothi seemed hesitant but his mate, whose suit

bore the name "Asramantal', pulled him towards the entrance.

She had done four, with Sothi or Asra neatly catching the discarded

slivers, before Rudney and the observers caught up.  She ignored

Rudney's harangue and continued on her scheduled round.  If she kept

herself busy, watching her feet on the cindery paths, even doing a bit

of pattern watching, with Sothi or Asramantal to pull her out if she

dallied too long, she didn't have to think about installing the black in

Big Hungry.  As they had trudged from one cave to the next, she had

confided some of her anxiety to Brendan and Boira.

"Can I count on you two for a bit of help?" she asked.

"What kind?" Boira wanted to know.

"I might have trouble with Big Hungry "What sort of trouble?"

"I'm not sure, really.  Ah, well, it's mainly that hate

installing-blacks-anywhere-for-anything reason," she said, trying not to

infuse her voice with the anxiety that she could feel building into

full-blown stress.

Muhlah!  This black wasn't being used - not in the normal sense as a

comcrystal.  Maybe she was borrowing trouble.

"Feedback?" Brendan asked.

"Like you never felt before," she said.

"What can we do?"

"Stay tuned and talk me out of the backlash."

"What form does that take?"

"It sings back through me."

"Gives you quite a jolt, huh?"

"That's putting it mildly "How do we help?" Boira asked.

"Could you suit up, Boira, and come down to Fifteen for the finale?"

"Sure.  Be with you in two strokes of a handpump.

Only what do I do if you do freak out?"

"Get me back to Bren as fast as possible!  I think I'll pull out on my

own as long as there's distance between me and the black.  And, by the

way, Boira, your theory about patterns is not so far-fetched.  The Junk

radiates them in everchanging displays."

"Hmm.  Boira's voice was cut off "Boira?"

"She's in her suit and has not turned on the com, Brendan said in the

patient tone of someone who's accustomed to such bungles.

With her confidence shored up by Boira's promise to be present, Killa

completed the other installations.

On her way to Big Hungry, Killa took a swallow of the suit's emergency

ration.  And, as badly as she needed an energy boost, she wished she

hadn't.

Somehow she'd been expecting something considerably more palatable.

"Yecht!" she said, keeping it low enough to be heard only by Brendan.

"What's the matter?"

"The suit's food!"

"Oh?  So you do appreciate the lengths to which I went?"

"If that's what I thought I was getting, yes." And the memory of more

delectable flavours was indeed vivid in her mind.

She had no time for a pleasant review for she was at the cave entrance.

Boira stood out from the others lining the big cavern: not only was her

suit a vivid citron yellow but of a different design.  She lifted her

gloved hand in a salute to Killashandra.  That alerted the other suited

figures.  Killa guessed that every member of Rudney's team who could be

spared from the laboratory was now present.  There was a jumble of

helmet comments which told her that there'd been a draw to see who got

to attend.  Killa also heard excited reports from the few technicians

still manning the instrumentation.  Activity in the Junks had speeded

up, pushing the monitors to designer limits to process the incoming

data.

"Watch out, you guys and gals," Killashandra said as Sothi and Asra

positioned the ladder under the core.  "You ain't seen nothing' yet."

"What precisely do you mean by that remark, Crystal Singer?" Rudney

demanded, his apprehension reflected in his voice as well as the sudden

stiffening of his suited figure.

Killa had been talking to bolster her own confidence and wished Rudney

didn't require so many explanations of casual comments.  She sighed as

she clamped the forceps firmly about the black.  If she could avoid

touching it at all, maybe that would reduce its effect on her.

She'd got the hang of jamming crystal into cores now and she didn't plan

to bungle this final, and most crucial, insertion.

"Watch and observe, Dr Saplinson-Trill." She extended her arm, noting

that Sothi and Asra stood ready to catch the old splinter.  Oh, Muhlah!

This wasn't the last she had to install.  There were all the old slivers

to be put into the new Junks.

"Observe what?"

"Wait and see," she said and, taking a deep breath, she touched the

black to the Junk, quiveringly ready to drop forceps and all at any sign

that the black was going to react.

The black shaft was ingested so swiftly her reflexes didn't respond.

Forceps, crystal and her gloved hand were pulled into the sudden

maelstrom of frenzied, turbulent patterns that cascaded down the Junk.

And flowed through Killashandra with such devastating force that she

felt her death was imminent!  Her whole life flashed across her mind,

pushing her down into black oblivion.

Chapter Twelve

It was therefore a vast surprise to Killashandra Ree to waken once more

to the living world.

"She's back," a low voice murmured and a cool hand rested lightly on her

forehead.  "Hey, you made it," and the cheery tone, rich with relief,

was Boira's.

"I'm not so sure of that," Killa replied, spacing her words carefully.

Her head felt several sizes too large and, while it didn't ache, it

might just as well have.  A brightness pressed unmercifully against her

eyelids and she squeezed them tighter.  "Got any analgesics?"

"what?  A crystal singer needing medication?"

"There's always a first time.  I certainly wouldn't blame my symbiont

for decamping after that.  whatever it was."

"There s considerable debate on that score back at the base," Brendan

said, his whisper rippling with mirth.  Or maybe her hearing was

impaired.

"Are you whispering for my benefit?" she asked.

"Yes," Boira said in a more normal tone, "you kept complaining about

noise, and bright lights.  Not that I blame you for that.  Big Hungry

Junk nearly turned nova when you fed it the black.  D you remember

anything?"

"I remember dying.

"You didn't," Boira said.  "First thing I did was check your suit

readings and, mind you, you were rigid "I died - - - Killashandra

insisted.

"Not according to your suit readings, friend, and when I got you back

here----' "Against heavy opposition, Brendan added.

"You'd have been real proud of Boira.  She mowed "em down."

"Sothi and Asra helped," Boira went on graciously.

"what on earth can I give you that might help?" Killa heard a rattling

that rumbled like an avalanche inside her head.

"Try one of the homeopathics, Boira," Brendan suggested.  "I think that

wouldn't interfere with the symbiont' "Why isn't it working when I need

it?" Killa moaned.  "How much light do you have on out there?" The

brilliance was instantly dimmed.  "Thanks, Bren."

"Ah, this says it's a specific for trauma, injury and systemic

malfunction.  See, Bren?

what d'you think?"

"Try it," Killashandra said urgently.

The spray was cool against her skin and she could actually feel the

preparation diffusing..  .  diffusing and easing the intolerable and

unidentifiable malaise that gripped her.

"Oh, Mulilali!  It's working," and Killa sighed with infinite relief.

She lay, feeling taut muscles and stressed nerves beginning to relax.

The noise level began to drop and the light beating against her eyelids

reduced to a comfortable level.

"I'm thirsty," she said then, aware now of a parched throat and mouth

tissues.  She didn't quite have the courage to open her eyes.

Very gently, Boira laid an arm under her and raised her head enough to

make it easy to drink from the beaker pressed against her lips.

"It's full of electrolytes and the other junk a convalescent needs,'

Boira said.

She couldn't taste a definite flavour but the moisture was very welcome.

It, too, was traceable all the way down her gullet and into her stomach.

She could also feel her body absorbing the wetness.  Was her bloody

symbiont fast asleep, zapped out of existence, or working overtime?

She'd been injured often enough to know that the symbiont's work was

generally too subtle to be noticeable.  What had Big Hungry done to her?

"Our diagnostic unit says you're in perfect physical condition," Boira

said, "in case you're worried."

"I wish I could agree." She forced her lids open to a slit and, finding

that this was not painful, opened them further.  She was in her cabin on

the 1066, and the digital dateline over the door informed her that she'd

lost two full days.

"So, tell me what happened?" she bravely asked Boira who was sitting

beside her bunk, an open medical chest on a stand next to her.

"First you went rigid.  .."

"I remember that very clearly." And Killa did with a clarity that

astounded her.  In the moment she anticipated her death, every bone

seemed to harden, every artery, vein and capillary solidified.  Colour

had coruscated through her eyes into every cell of her body, rippling in

an inexorable tide, lapping back and plunging forward again, as if she

were being swirled in some liquid element, all this while her life was

fast-forwarding through her mind.

"I got to you before Rudney did, and your two cronies helped me get you

off the ladder.  Even the suit material felt petrified but, as I said,

your life signs registered normal."

"Normal was not what happened to me.

"Agreed, but that's what the monitors told me.

And I was relieved.  Meanwhile, all hell had broken loose.  I mean, the

Junk was indescribable.  Brendan'll show you his recording' "Later,'

Killa suggested weakly.  The thought of seeing all that colour again was

more than she could handle.

"Of course, whenever you wish," Brendan said gently.  "Talk about

scientific detachment and impartial observation - - -" And he chortled

maliciously, "Rudney and his crew were hysterical.  Everyone tried to

get through the exit at the same time.  "S'a wonder suits weren't ripped

in the press."

"I don't blame them for being scared," Killa said charitably.

"They weren t scared," Brendan replied in scathing tone.  "They just

wanted to get back to the base to see what the instruments were logging.

Rudney kept trying to shut "em up so he could hear the broadcasts."

"Sothi and Asra were marvelous, by the way," Boira went on.  "They

helped me get you out of the cave and then you sort of folded, like an

empty sheet.

Thought we'd nearly lost you but Bren was monitoring and kept telling us

to hurry you to him.  Sothi worried that perhaps we were wrong to remove

you from Big Junk.  .

"Big Junk had just done all it could to me and for me," Killa murmured,

though she still had no idea of the extent of the alteration.

She merely knew there had been one.

"D'you know what it's done?" Boira asked tentatively.  "Nothing new

registers?"

"Sensory overload doesn't always produce measurable output," Brendan

said.

"Is that your diagnosis, Bren?" Killa asked.

"Empiric only, Killa, since it's obvious by your comments and the need

for supplemental medication that what you're experiencing is not

corroborated by the med monitors."

"Well, maybe it's nothing more than a good night's sleep won't set right

in next to no time, huh?" Killa kept her tone facetious because she

could not discuss, even with such staunch friends as Boira and Brendan,

what seemed to have happened to her during that sensory overload.  "I do

feel as if I'd been turned inside out, back to front and then wrung dry.

.

The emotional and physical discharge of her first black crystal

installation had now paled to the insignificance of an insect sting.

Lars was going to be furious with her but there was no way she would

ever again cut black crystal.  Of that, if nothing else at this

particular moment in time, she was certain.  On the plus side, she would

be able to tell him every single location where she had cut black.

Indeed she now remembered every site she had ever cut, and the type,

size, number and tuning note of every cutting she'd ever made over the

past one hundred and ninety-seven years.  She remembered everything, and

completely, to the last petty detail and the weight of such total recall

was worse than having it restored to her.

"Hungry?" asked Boira gently.

Killashandra considered this.  "Yes, I think I am.

"Then you must be on the road to complete recovery," Boira said, smiling

as she rose.  "Any special requests?"

"Chicken soup?"

"The very thing," Brendan replied so heartily that Killa winced.  "I've

an old family recipe that's supposed to cure anything from ingrown

toe-nails to the worst degree of space fg) Killa closed her eyes.

Chicken soup, no matter how efficacious, was not going to cure what

really ailed her.

who needed to remember e v e r y t h i n g?  Everything except how Big

Hungry Junk had done what it did to her.

Besides excellent nursing care and incredible food, being aboard the

BBlO66 had other advantages.

Rudney could not get to her, though he demanded interviews on an hourly

basis, insisting that she finish installing the crystal according to the

contract he had made with the Guild Master.  He threatened to sue her

and the Guild for breach of contract.

"Tell him I installed the crystals as per the contract.  Nothing in it

said I had to do the old splinters, too.  And I won't." When Rudney

exhorted the 1066 to comply, Brendan informed him that he had no

authority over the B&B ship and/or its occupants.

They remained on Opal's surface only long enough to be sure Killa had

sufficiently recovered from the physical depletion to withstand the

disorientation of a Singularity Jump.  Then Brendan lifted his tail from

the planet.

After the second of the three Jumps, curiosity got the better of

Killashandra.  She wanted to know what had happened to Big Hungry after

it had gobbled the black crystal.  Maybe that would distract her head

from a constant survey of memories she really didn't want to have on

replay.

"Rudney's group haven't come to any conclusions, Brendan said, having

discreetly continued to monitor all their transmissions and internal

conversation.

"They're still examining their data.  Therma-electric emissions have

gone off the scale of their instrumentation.  Significant growth of all

the FM units - "Jewels, please, Bren, or Junk," Boira interposed.

"They seem to be oozing into every available cave, crack, crevice,

cranny.  The planet's rotation has undergone changes and sunspot

activity has also increased.  All the crystals glow and the static they

emit is constant."

"Junk is using the crystals for communication then?" Killa asked.

"It would appear so, Brendan said, "though to what end, Rudney's group

doesn't know.  Their semanticist is analysing the frequency and

consistency of patterns, and the rhythm at which they flow, which

varies."

"Kiera was correct?" Killa asked, quite delighted if that was so.

"They won't commit themselves, Brendan said in a mildly snide tone of

voice.

"Naturally.  They don't deny the sentience of Junk, do they?"

"They can't when it is obviously altering its environment," Boira said,

grinning broadly.  "Oh, by the way, Rudney sent off a request for

another singer to install the splinters."

"For all the good it'll do him," Killa said caustically.

"Fifteen minutes to the last Jump, Brendan said and Killa scurried to

the radiant fluid tank.

Lars was waiting for her at Shankill, his worried expression clearing

when he saw her striding down the corridor towards him.  He embraced her

hungrily, burying his face in her hair, his fingers biting into her

shoulder blades and then her waist.  She leaned into him, grasping him

as tightly as he did her.  He was warm, strong and just as lean as he

had been when they first met so many years ago on Optheria.

The essential Lars dahl hadn't changed .  She cut off the other memories

that threatened to swamp her.

She was getting the hang of censoring recall when she had all she

needed.  Otherwise memory could be overwhelming.

"Honest, sunny, I had no idea what I was asking of you!" he murmured.

"You didn't ask anything," she said, surprised.  "I volunteered.

Remember?" He held her off, his expression wretched.  "Sunny, I

manoeuvred you into volunteering." She reviewed the occasion quickly,

laughed and pulled him back to her.  "So you did, but I didn't resist

much, did I?"

"How could you?  Crystal-mazed as you were.  And he was so miserably

repentant that she chuckled.

"At least you have the grace to apologize," she said.

"Lanzecki never did." She felt the change in him and this time when he

held her away, he apprehensively searched her face.

"What happened, sunny?" His anxiety was palpable, even the grip of his

hands on her arms altered as if she had become noticeably fragile.

"It would appear," and she gave a breathless laugh, "that Big Hungry

Junk reconnected all my memory circuits when it zapped me.  The brain's

electric, you know, and it got recharged, right back to my first

conscious memory.

"Muhlah!" Lars stared at her, appalled.

"And I thought placing that Trundomoul King crystal was bad.  The merest

piffle in comparison.  It's all right, love," she reassured him as she

saw his eyes blink frantically.  "Now let's get back to Ballybran which,

incidentally, I have never been more glad to see.  By die way, did you

get Rudney off your back?"

"I did, finally!  I had to threaten to sue him for placing my best

singer in jeopardy.  And you got all your memories back?" She knew that

he had briefly assumed his Guild Master's role.  "Maybe I should send

another singer in-' "Lars dahl!" She stopped dead in her tracks, pulling

him off balance.  "Don't you dare, Lars dahl, don't you dare consider

for one moment sending any member of the Guild to Opal for any reason!"

"Was it that bad, sunny?" And Lars was instantly solicitous.

"Was, is and shall be, I suspect, my love, but I can handle it." She

anticipated his next question.  "And yes, as a bonus, I can give you the

coordinates of every single claim I ever cut.  I can't wait to get that

off my mind." She began to hurry him along to the airlock where his

shuttle awaited them.

"All your coordinates?"

"That's right." She'd explain the other side of that coin to him later,

and as gently as possible.  Maybe out sailing in Angel II.  Then she had

to cope with a flood of memories, all associated with the word "angel'

Sailing to the island Angel's Back, the storm, sheltering in the command

post, meeting Nahia and Hauness, meeting his father, Olav, marrying Lars

formally by island rites.  .  .  Ruthlessly she cut off the stream .  .

.  Resolutely she closed down those reminiscences.

Lars handed her into the cabin of the shuttle and would have fastened

her harness but, laughing, she slapped at his hands, saying she could do

it herself "Oddest thing, Lars," she said in a low tone so Flicken, the

pilot, wouldn't hear.  She was going to freak a lot of folk out by

suddenly remembering their names.  She forced her errant mind back to

what she had to tell Lars.  "Big Junk recognized me.  I remembered that

little bit during the last Singularity Jump.

I don't mean it said "hello", but I think I was aware of its recognition

when I got to its cavern the first time.  That's why I panicked and did

Three first."

"Hmmm.  Interesting."

"Yeah," and she smiled in a somewhat maudlin fashion, "I'm glad we put

its piece back."

"Is that what it remembered?" She shrugged.  "who knows what passes for

memory with Junk? Rudney certainly doesn't and we decided "We who?"

"Brendan, Boira and me .  .  decided that Kiera had the right idea about

the patterns being part of the communication effort."

"Pattern and rhythm?"

"Pattern, rhythm and colour."

"Hmmm.  Complex."

"Too much for this back-planet girl."

"You remember everything?" he asked, dismayed for her sake.

She nodded.  "But I'm learning to chop "em off before they overwhelm me.

Too much is not a good thing."

"Hmmm." He laced his fingers in hers and she let her head roll to rest

on his shoulder.  She had been exceedingly lucky to have been kidnapped

by Lars dahl.  She hadn't really had any guide by which to measure that

serendipity or realize how truly Donalla had spoken when she said that

Lars was devoted to her.  She could see it now, in the tapestry of their

years together - all hundred and twenty-three of them, incredible as

that total was - that he had been more than friend, lover, partner,

alter ego and yet all of them.  She remembered how devastated, how lost

she had been when he'd been falsely disciplined for the Optherian affair

.

.  .  She remembered, with great relish, their first sexual encounter on

the beach at Angel - and, more importantly, how the mutual attraction

had only strengthened and deepened throughout the years. "Everlasting

love' took on a new dimension when applied to what she and Lars shared.

And now, she could share even more with him, his duties as Guild Master.

She'd be Trag to his Lanzecki.  Muhlah!  Had Lanzecki and Trag .  .  .

She stifled a giggle.  Lanzecki had been quite willing but she'd never

known if Trag had had any liaisons with Guild members.  Lack of memory,

a fear of displaying the gaps and embarrassing herself, and Lars, had

been behind her resistance to his offers.

She couldn't be less than the best for Lars, and now she could take on

those responsibilities with a clear conscience and an infallible memory

Odd how so many things worked out - if you waited long enough.  That

initial humiliation back on Fuerte when she'd been refused solo status

by the bombastic little Maestro Valdi had resulted in her meeting

Carrick, and discovering the covert Heptite Guild.

"Silicate spider', "crystal cuckoo' - Valdi's accusations rang in her

head.  Foolish little man.

Singing crystal had been so much more rewarding than being a mere

concert singer, who could expect only three or four decades of a "good'

voice!  She was still "singing' after a hundred and ninety-five years.

She turned her head and caught her reflection in the porthole .  .

.  Well, a quadruple thickness of plasglas might blur lines but she

really didn't have many, thanks to the Ballybran symbiont.  She

certainly didn't look any two hundred and fifteen years.

She smiled at her image.  She wasn't much changed from the girl who'd

left Fuerte with a mind-damaged crystal singer.  She gripped Lars'

fingers tightly.

Now, if she could manage to cushion his shock that she couldn't ever

again cut black crystal, she was good for another couple of hundred

years.

"You won't mind letting Presnol and Donalla give you a good check-up,

will you, sunny?" he asked, his eyes dark and anxious.

"Not at all," she replied blithely.  "Though I'm sure Bren sent a report

on ahead, didn't he?"

"That was hardly reassuring," he remarked dryly.

"Especially the part where you were sure you were dead.  I don't

exaggerate when I say that the heart went out of me." She stroked his

hand.  "But as it was me saying it, you had no cause to worry." He gave

her a long and trenchant look.  "By any chance, among your newly revived

memories, do you have the one of our first night together?" She ducked

her head because the recall was instant, and almost embarrassing in its

intensity.

"Did I not tell you then," and his voice was intimately low and rich

with emotion, "that you gave me the most incredible love experience of

my life?"

"Lars!  You don't remember that?" He smiled at her, his eyes so filled

with passion that she could feel the blood rising to suffuse her face.

"It's one of my fondest recollections, sunny, and its so wonderful that

you remember it now, too." He kept gazing into her eyes, stroking her

hand, so that she felt like a giddy youngling.  Which, she remembered,

she had never been, for at that age she was already dedicated to the

notion of herself as a singer "Ah, ahem.  And the throat clearing of

Flicken who was standing by the open shuttle door.

"Thanks, Flick," Lars said, suavely recovering.  He reached across

Killashandra to release her harness and then handed her out as regally

as if she were indeed a queen.

"The courier's scheduled for an 08.30 docking at Bay 43, Guild Master.

Shall I be ready at 07.00?"

"That'll be fine," Lars said and hurried Killa out, obviously wishing

that Flicken had not spoken.

"who's going where tomorrow in a courier, Lars?" Killa demanded as he

guided her towards the lift.  As they entered, he ran his hand through

his crisp blond hair.

"I've put it off as long as I could, Killa," he said apologetically.

"Presnol said he'd sit in for me.  I shouldn't be gone long."

"Where?" She felt a definite sinking feeling in body and mind that she

would be deprived of his presence in only a few hours, for it was

already evening on Ballybran.

Now he scratched the back of his neck.  "I've been putting it off

because you were away, and I wasn't leaving until you got back after

what Big Hungry did to you.  .

"Out with it!"

"I'm not sure if you'd remember.  .

She quirked an eyebrow at him, grinning.  "Try me." He jabbed an

impatient finger on the control pad and she didn't take her eyes off his

face.

"All right," and he grinned, his eyes sparkling with the challenge.

"Recruitment.

33' "You've got permission for overt recruitment," she replied without

hesitating, precisely remembering the scene and where they had stood in

his office in relation to each other, "and the courier's taking you

where there're some live ones."

"My, my, we are vastly p,) he said, slightly mocking, but his fingers

were wrapped tenderly about her forearm.

The lift stopped and he tugged her out.  She stopped in the foyer.

"This is not the medical level.

"No, it is not.  It is our level and you can spend tomorrow with Presnol

and Donalla, but you are spending the next hours with me, your Guild

Master, and your ardent lover who is overjoyed to have his sunny compos

mentis, hale, whole and hearty, back again." With a deft twist of his

wrist, he pulled her into his arms and demonstrated his overjoy!

Some time during the loverly renactment of their first night together,

he spoke of his trip to three overpopulated city-planets where he hoped

to find recruits.  He also had permission to enlist specific technicians

to fill the empty positions or to train up in the specialist support

skills.

"We desperately need more medical staff," he told her, stroking her hair

as they lay entwined on the sleeping platform.  "Too many singers are so

long in their craft that they get arrogant about their abilities and

lose all common sense and any caution they might have once possessed."

"And a one-way trip to the Infirmary." She thought of Rimbol, poignantly

remembering the bright gay chap he'd been when they'd both first come to

Ballybran.  That was not a comfortable memory when contrasted with what

he now was.  She shuddered.

"Which will have to be enlarged unless we can somehow stop the stupid

mistakes singers are making...

"You know, Lars, it can be stopped," she said, describing idle circles

on his chest as she chose her words.  "By knowing where exactly to go to

cut, cutting and coming right back out."

"You tell "em, sunny," he said wearily.  "They're not listening to me.

And if you can get them to listen, I'll love you for ever."

"You already have, Lars, you already have." Such a statement demanded

ratification.  Later he returned to the subject.  "A few of them are,

because Tiagana, Barton and Jaygrin have been loudly declaring how much

credit they've made in easy straight-out-in runs.  But so many singers

are running on instinct now, there's no way to get through to them."

"Maybe I was hasty a bit ago, Lars," she said, "saying you mustn't send

other singers to Big Hungry. If he could bring my memory back..

"I think we'll leave that as the solution of last resort.  I may be

prejudiced," and he kissed her cheek, "but you were always more than

just a singer, sunny' "Being just a singer would have been rather

limiting," she remarked but she meant something different than he.

"Which reminds me, why on earth saddle Presnol with pro-teen duties?

I'm much better qualified than he is."

"Are you volunteering, Killa?"

"I believe so " She grinned up at him in the dim light of their sleeping

room.  "But only while you're away.  You don't want to risk me getting

to enjoy the power, you know." He gave a snort and wiggled his shoulders

into the pillows.

"Not bloody likely.  You are the best singer I've got." She didn't like

the way he said that but when she thought of a suitable response, his

breathing had slowed into a sleep rhythm.  An infectious one because she

slipped into it, too.

Donalla and Presnol ran her through a gamut of tests, sampling her

bodily juices and wiring her up to all kinds of monitors that provided

reams of printout.

"All of which only tells us that you're in great physical shape "For a

gal my age," Killa added, preening in front of the mirror.

She'd been allowed to dress again and was hoping they'd think of feeding

her some time soon.

"Ah, yes," Donalla responded, needing to clear her throat.

Killashandra laughed.  "whatever zapped me seems to have burned off the

outlived dross and stupidities any human collects along the way.  I

don't mind being two hundred and fifteen years old.  In fact, it's fun

in a bizarre fashion.  How's my symbiont, by the way?  I'm keenly

interested in its continued functioning."

"Oh, that," and Presnol flicked his fingers dismissively.  "It's as

vigorous as mine or Donalla's and we're both much much younger than

you."

"I," Killashandra said quellingly, "may make comments, and even jokes,

about my antiquity, Presnol, but," and now she waggled her finger at

them, "no one else can. Read me?" Presnol looked properly subdued but

Donalla covered her mouth to suppress laughter and Killashandra focused

all her attention on the medic.

"And you, you ingrate," she added sternly, "had better watch your step,

too!  Imagine!  Not showing proper respect to a legend of your planet!

Who is exceedingly hungry right now.  And I don't care if you need to

make more tests.  I'm eating first."

"We'll join you." There were as few diners as there had been on her last

appearance in the big room.

"How many singers are actually active?" she asked Donalla, vividly

remembering this room packed.

"Four hundred and forty-two," Donalla said sadly.

"Ouch!  That's ridiculous." Killashandra was stunned, all too aware that

there had been 4,425

singers when she had joined the Guild.  "How many are off-planet right

now?"

"Three hundred and five."

"How many inactives?" Presnol made a face.  "Three hundred and seventy

five." Killa could not recall the appropriate total of that category but

then, she hadn't been interested in the figures.  In any event the

number was depressing.

"Seventy-four," Donalla said with a sigh.  "Rimbol passed on this

morning.  I haven't had a chance to mention it."

"Rimbol!" Killa's throat closed over after she spoke his name.  She

swallowed, felt tears forming in her eyes.  She hadn't cried in .  No,

that she couldn't bring to mind.  She ducked her head and struggled to

get control of herself. A beaker of Yarran beer was pushed into her line

of sight.

She picked it up, nodding her appreciation to Presnol, and she held it

up.  "To Rimbol, a gay lad with a kind heart and a fine tenor voice."

Then she drowned the beer in one draught.

She looked around her then, to see if she could put names to the handful

of singers dining.  She recognized two: they'd been in the batch of

twenty that Lars had recalled to cut black crystal.  The tall, thin

fellow with the long jaw was Marichandim.  Search as she did, she could

not dredge up a name for the blonde woman.

"D'you know her name, Donalla?" Donalla craned her head over her

shoulder.  "The one with Marichandim?  That's Siglinda.  They've done

quite well cutting from coordinates."

"How many have joined in that program?"

"Of the active singers, only twelve." Donalla shook her head and Presnol

looked solemn.  "The others won't even listen.  They run if you try to

approach them.  They're too far gone in their sublimations."

"Well," Killashandra said, rising, "I think I want to go over the

orientation program.  If it's the same as I had under Tukolom, I think

we'd better overhaul the whole thing.  That's where the trouble started.

Whatever singers Lars brings back are going to learn more than Rules and

Regs!" It was strange to be in this office, Killashandra thought as she

entered the Guild Master's quarters.

Trag's desk was clear, empty, waiting.  Waiting for her, she decided

with a wry grin, even if she'd done her damnedest to delay the

inevitable.

Lars' desk was neat, with pencil files set in four platoons across the

broad surface.  One group had the notation "Orient.  Revis." And she

smiled.  She should have known he'd consider that vitally important. She

peered at the other notations: "Coords', and there were nine files in

that group; "Recruit' had seven, was the sparsest with only three.

There were several scrawled notes stuck to one side, near his comunit,

which she couldn't decipher, and a hologram base.  She flicked it on and

was gratified to see herself - a shot taken while they were on Sherpa

III - and then she noticed that the unit, which could hold a hundred

grams, was full.  She flicked the change switch and there she was again,

in the orange wet suit he'd bought her for Flag, where he'd seen the

prototype of Angel II.  She joggled the switch again and again, pausing

only long enough to identify where the gram had been taken.  She turned

the halo off and, hauling the chair under her butt, resolutely turned to

the big monitor and called up the Guild Roster.

She had a lot of work to do before Lars got back.

As she had discovered once before on her single foray into

administrative work for Lanzecki - she must remember to find out what

happened to that darkish Bollam - she enjoyed rooting among the files

and collating information.

The Guild's operating costs, of which the Infirmary was now requiring an

increasingly large share, came from tithing every singer's cut, a bone

of contention between singer and Sorter.  Other costs, which the singer

bore for sled, fuel, equipment, living accommodation and food, were

presented at market rate.  That sank her notion that the Guild took a

cut from the supplies, jacking the prices up periodically.

The files proved that there was no mark-up whatever, merely a gradual

increase in wholesale costs throughout the inhabited galaxy.

There had been an increase of farming on Ballybran and, to give the

Guild fair credit, they paid above the average market price for foods

produced on Guild lands.

There were, however, far fewer active singers to produce any tithes for

the Guild and more inactive ones - some of those in a vegetable state -

who had to be supported by an ever-dwindling income.

Fewer cutters in the field meant less crystal to offer, and Killashandra

came across orders three and four years old that were waiting to be

filled.  Black crystal figured largely in these back-orders but all the

dark crystals were needed.

Before she could be totally depressed by the outlook, she saw a

remarkable upswing over the past few months - since Lars had thrown open

unused claims.

Her cuts were significant in that revival though now both Tiagana and

Jaygrin had brought in more.  To comfort herself, she reviewed the total

of one hundred and ninety-five years of cutting, compared it with the

records of any other singer.  She was tonnes ahead of the two younger

singers.

She then reviewed Lars' notes on orientation and noted the continued

emphasis on note-taking after every Range trip and on the return from

off-planet jaunts.  He planned to have an automatic reminder on each

singer's console.  He had been listing the ways in which coordinates

might be inviolably kept on file.

There were notes on compulsory hypnotic sessions that would access such

memories.

Lars also had notes on how to modernize the various departments of the

Guild, what new technology there was to replace worn machines and at

what cost with obsolescence factors: many notes on how to capitalize on

the talents of the support staff with appropriate bonuses.  Most of

these ramifications would have to wait on a continued upward turn of

filled orders.

He had taken the trouble to investigate the alternatives used by people

weary of waiting for the Guild to supply crystal.  Advantage one to the

Guild Ballybran crystal had a longer work life and if damaged did not

need to be jettisoned but could be retuned and used in other

installations.  Its competitors could not be recycled.  Some of the

original shafts of Ballybran crystal, cut by Barry Milekey for whom the

Milekey Range was named, were still in use after eight hundred years.

"What we need is an advertising campaign, too," she murmured and tried

to think of interesting slogans without much success.  Ballybran crystal

hadn't needed hype: it sold itself.  So long as the supply met demand.

"Well, there is an improvement," she told herself, leaning back in the

conform chair and stretching.

"We'll build on it." The lights had come up when the sensors registered

a diminution in available illumination.  She swivelled the chair and

noted that night had fallen, Shanganagh and Shilmore were chasing each

other across the sky but they were soon to be occluded by the clouds

billowing in from the west.  She turned the chair enough to see the

weatherline, blinking on its strip across the top of the room.

Barometer was dropping and the isobars were tight with gale force winds.

Storm warnings had been broadcast.  She altered the monitor to pick up

the Hangar scan and saw the blips of forty or so sleds homing in.

Good!  She'd have a chance to speak to some of the less productive

singers.  She accessed the program which would identify returning craft

and asked for details of each singer as they came in.  She'd approach

them with facts and figures, the productive time charts on those working

from coordinates, and the credit they raked in.  Something that appealed

to any singer was how to make enough credit quickly enough to get

off-planet for as long as possible.  Oxiy "as long as possible' was

going to be curtailed to as long as necessary' until the Guild had

returned to its once prestigious position.

Somewhat to Killashandra's surprise, she was received with a good deal

of awe by the first group of singers she approached.  She had quickly

scanned the details of the forty-seven who'd left the storm-bound Ranges

so she knew what and how much they'd cut and how long it had taken them

so that she was prepared to talk them out of resisting the proposal.

She marked her victims as she sat, drinking with them: the ones who

didn't have enough credit to go anywhere interesting.  She'd been to a

staggering number of R&R and vacation planets in nearly two centuries so

she was able to spin tales to make them yearn to visit such fabulous

places.  It didn't take her long to interest this group, eighteen in

all, in using a sure-fire way to achieve their ends.

The insistent buzz of the comunit roused her from a deep, dreamless

sleep.  Once she heard it, she also recognized the emergency code and

floundered with her blankets to roll to the control panel at the edge of

the sleep panel.

"Killashandra!" The caller was Flicken, his face stark with grief.

"Oh, how can I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"The B&B courier - it 5 sent out a mayday."

"A B&B courier " She stopped, gasping.  Lars had been on a courier ship.

"Lars?" Flicken nodded slowly, his chin quivering and his mouth working.

"Just came in."

"How?  What? Couriers are-' "Singularity trouble!" Flicken gasped out

again.

"That's all I know.  All I can find out.  Mayday and a Jump disaster

tag."

"Where?" He shook his head more vigorously but there were tears falling

down his cheeks and he couldn't control the trembling of his mouth.

"Keep me informed," she said, amazed that she could sound so calm, that

she wasn't raging at how 34' abruptly her life had been shattered once

again.  She palmed the lights up and sat there a long, long time, her

mind going in tight circles.  B&B ships were very sophisticated vessels.

Courier ships were the best of the BBs.  Both brains and browns could be

expected to function under the most adverse conditions and survive

against incredible odds.  Singularity Jump disasters were few but they

could happen.  Brendan had mentioned, in passing, that, while he was

equipped to handle thousands of minute calculations during a Jump, he

had several back-up, worst-scenario corrective capabilities.

Furthermore, and she began to revive from the shocking news, every B&B

ship, every naval vessel, every liner, every tanker, freighter, private

yacht anywhere in the sector where the courier ship had been lost would

be looking for it.  If a Singularity disaster had to happen to a ship,

then a courier B&B was the most likely one to survive.

She forced her mind to hang on to that thought and found something to

wear.  She went to the Guild Master's office and palmed up all the

lights.  She sat down in the conform chair, brought up the comsystem and

accessed Shanganagh Port Authority.

"Deputy Guild Master Ree, here," she said in an even tone, "keep me

informed on any developments of the-' "Yes, of course, Deputy Ree.

We've initiated emergency proceedings and requested all naval,

mercantile and private spaceships to forward all messages."

"By crystal cams, I trust," she said, mildly surprised that she could be

droll at a time like this.  A time like this was when a bit of drollery

kept you sane, she amended.

"Yes, yes, of course, Deputy.  The blacks we have here will pick up

whispers in the furthest sectors of inhabited space."

"I think we'll have to find crystal that operates in Singularity space."

"Nothing works in decomposition space, Deputy." She wondered if Jewel

Junk would.

"We'll keep you informed, Deputy." Deputy!  Had she the right to use

that title?  Well, why not?  Lars had appointed her, hadn't he?

She was a better deputy than Presnol would be.  She was a singer, a

sometime diplomat, spy - she grinned sadly to herself.  Then she pulled

the multi-halo base to her and called up the earliest "gram it had

stored.  The halo of herself, sun-bleached hair, the garlands Olav had

put around her neck the morning they left Angel, accenting the colour of

the lovely gown of Teradia's making materialized.  When had Lars taken

that?  But he had for here it was.

She sat there, looking at the halo, remembering all that had happened

before and after its taking.  She jumped when someone rapped at the

door.

"I've only just been informed, Killa," Donalla said.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, there is," Killashandra said, adopting a brisk tone.  She'd idled

away enough time in private meditations.  "Would you dial me some

breakfast?  I haven't had time with so much to put in motion."

"Put in motion?" Donalla stared at her.

"Yes, I must implement the plans Lars made." And she gestured at the

neat piles of pencil files.  "It'll take my mind off the waiting."

"Oh! Then you think there's hope that-' "There's always hope, Donalla,

but I think Lars would prefer it if I didn't sit about moping like a

fool, don't you?" She had her breakfast and then arranged appointments

with the Hangar-bound singers she'd talked to the previous evening.

Since everyone was dazed by the news that had swept through the cube,

she obtained more agreement than argument and sent seventeen of the

eighteen off with three sets of coordinates each and a mission to cut

where possible for some claims were likely to be unworkable - and return

as soon as they'd at least a carton of backordered colours.  She didn't

want to see a single shaft of pink or any of the pale blues and greens.

Darks, and blacks whenever possible.

She managed to bury herself so deeply in revitalizing the orientation

program that she was astonished to hear multiple sleds leaving the

Hangar and realize that she'd worked through the night.

She allowed herself four hours sleep and then was back at the desk,

going back over Guild affairs of the past decade.

By the fifth day, she had digested every current file, reviewed older

ones on Merchandizing and Research and Development so that she was fully

up to date on Guild business.  She had talked four more singers into

foraging by coordinates and seen eight of the original seventeen back in

with viable crystal cuts, all dark.  She encouraged the happy singers to

stay overnight, have a good meal, relax with their peers, and talk about

how easy it was to work known coordinates.

Each day she allowed herself a glimpse of a new hologram from Lars'

incredible collection.  With each new "gram, she accessed the memories

of that excursion, as fresh in her mind now as when she and Lars had

lived those lovely moments.  She could never be grateful enough to Big

Hungry Junk for restoring the memories that allowed her to continue

living.  When she was dead, too, there would be no one to remember Lars

dahl as vividly as she could now.  And that would be a real pity The

restoration of memory brought with it a desire not to lose it again. She

would eventually have to go out into the Ranges and cut crystal but she

did not want to jeopardize the reinstatement of so much valuable

information.  She had a long chat one day with the meteorologists and

then asked Presnol and Donalla to have dinner with her.

"It's like this," she began when they were on their cheese and beer,

"the met guys tell me that Ballybran storms are apt to produce more

electricity in the air than storms on other planets.  Is it possible

that an overload of such electrical discharges could affect singers'

minds?  I mean, most of us wait until the last possible moment before

leaving the Ranges.  Is that why we tend to forget between trips?  The

electricity has somehow affected our circuits?"

"It is a possibility, isn't it?" Donalla said, looking to Presnol.

He mulled it over.  "I think we could profitably check memory retention

on say those singers who are working coordinates regularly, and those

who prospect right up until a storm drives them out of the Ranges.  See

if we can get any relevant data.  We could also check just how much

electricity is discharged into the atmosphere - - sort of a continuous

measurement.  I'm sure we could find instrumentation to register that

sort of emotion.  Hmm, rather interesting.  But what good would it do?"

"If we can prove any correlation between the intensity of a particular

storm and memory loss, all the more reason for us to teach the next

candidates to come in at the first warning," Killa said.  "Or, if we can

manage it, keep them all on coordinate mining."

"That would be quite a departure from tradition," Presnol said, clearing

his throat over such a radical change.  He'd been on Ballybran a lot

longer than Donalla.

"That's exactly the attitude that needs changing, Presnol," Killa said.

"The Guild needs to alter a lot of its thinking and its "traditions",'

and she imbued that word with disgust, "if it wants to improve.  And

keep singers active and productive."

"Let's see what we can discover, Pres," Donalla said, smiling winningly

at her lover.  She gave Killa a wink that suggested the matter could be

left safely in her hands now The fourth week brought the first of the

recruits from Lars' ill-fated journey.  Forty-four, young, eager persons

trained in a variety of skills and fifteen others with the perfect pitch

required for crystal singers.  That was more than had applied to the

Guild in several years. There were two more groups scheduled to arrive

over the next weeks but, once they had been processed, Killashandra

ordered them down to Ballybran.  She would take the first orientation

sessions herself.  She would show them the way to go, to be successful

singers.

They, and others like them, would revitalize the Guild - in Lars'

memory.

The Council, composed of the heads of departments of the Heptite Guild

on Ballybran, were becoming more insistent that she formally accept the

position of Guild Master but she resisted.  Acceptance meant, in her

lexicon, that she had accepted Lars' death and she couldn't.  She still

didn't want to be Guild Master no matter how many people, Murr, Ritwili,

Presnol, Clarend, the Farms and Fisheries' Managers, told her she had

taken command as if she'd trained all her life to assume the rank.  What

she could do was implement Lars' plans and have the Guild operating

efficiently again.

when Donalla insisted she take a break from the console, before her eyes

turned square, she'd go down to Angel II in its big shed.  She felt

close to Lars there and could dwell on the memories of their many sea

voyages together.  Oh, how she longed to sail with him just one more

time!  She grieved over her acrimonious griping about his love for the

sea, her perverse opposition to his choice of water planets for their

holidays.  She'd been unkind, and ungrateful, to insist on "her' turn at

choosing a vacation place, when she knew how much the sea and sailing

meant to him.

She'd just returned from another maudlin review of her shortcomings,

foibles and limitations and listlessly entered the office which now felt

more hers than Lars'.  She was wondering which chore she could use to

occupy her mind until fatigue pushed her into sleep when the comunit

beeped.

"Now what?" she demanded, irritated to have duties press in on her so

quickly.

"Patching through,3 was the excited comment and then an intolerable

rasping, squeaking, high-pitched blast.

"Sunny?"

"LARS!" His name came out of her mouth in a scream.  But there was no

one else in the galaxy who called her "sunny' and no voice with quite

the same timbre as his.  "You're alive?"

"Kicking, too."

"Turn on the vision, Lars.  I've got to see you!" Tears streamed down

her face and she had to grip the edge of the desk to keep on her feet.

But the voice, the words: it had to be Lars.

His chuckle reassured her again.  "Not on your life, sunny, or mine.

Over-immersion in radiant fluid produces curious effects on skin and

muscle, but it saved the lives of me and the ship's brawn.  They say

that we'll look human again soon but I've my doubts.

Brendan and Boira found us.  That pair refused to give up.  Praise be to

Muhlah!  We're all safe, though the courier ship'll need a new shell -

no, that's wrong way round - the shell person will need a new ship, hers

got Singularly twisted." She didn't care what he looked like: he sounded

like himself and that was what counted.  "But you're alive!"

"I repeat, I am alive!  I even survived the Singularity Jump we just

made." His voice quavered briefly.

"Had to, according to Boira.  And I suppose I'll have to again but not

soon!  Not soon!" He sighed gustily.

"Where are you?" He chuckled again, teasing her.  "Estimated time of

arrival at Shankill Base is four hours!"

"Four hours!" She was shrieking again.  How could she wait that long to

set eyes on him!  To hold him to her, to feel his arms about her.  "Oh,

Lars love "What did you call me, sunny?" And his voice was tender with

surprise.

She swallowed.  "I called you "Lars love"," she said almost defiantly.

"D'you know," and his laugh was tentative, "you've never called me

"love" before."

"I'll remember to call you that every other breath Lars love.  I've had

a lot of time to remember things, while you've been .

.  .  away." Her voice broke slightly and she hastily cleared her

throat.

"I remember all the love you've given me," she went on, determined to

say what had become so imperative he know.  "I've remembered so much,

Lars love.  Especially that I have always been in love with you, in

spite of the way I treated you!"

"It's almost worth nearly dying to hear you say that, Killashandra Ree."

He sounded stronger now, almost exultant!

"I'll remember that, love.  I'll remember that, too.3

Immediately she disengaged the channel, Killashandra Ree left the office

to meet Lars dahl at Shankill Moon Base.  Exit, triumphant, stage

centre.

THE END