Crystal Singer (32 page)

She was philosophical when Trag said they would repeat the day’s exercise on the morrow, for she knew she must be motion perfect during the actual installations. Guild members had a reputation to maintain, and she would be up to Trag’s standard of performance even if this was the only installation she ever made. Since her notion tallied with Trag’s, she was undaunted by his perfectionism.

Lanzecki joined her again for her evening “gorge,” but he excused himself as soon as he’d finished. She didn’t mind so much that night because she was very tired.

By mealtime the following day, she had secured Trag’s grudging approval for a deft, quick, and competent installation within a time limit he had arbitrarily set.

“Why not take more time?” she’d asked reasonably. “Installing a link between people ought to be an occasion.”

“You won’t
have
time,” Trag said. “You’ll be on an inbound gravity deflection course. There’ll be no
time
to spare.”

He gave her no chance to query his emphasis on time. With a curt nod, he left the room. Maybe Lanzecki would be in an expansive mood. If, she qualified to herself, he joined her for dinner.

Dinner? She was starving for her midday meal. As she passed through the main training room, Rimbol had just finished making a diagonal cut under Concera’s tutelage.

“Are you eating soon?” she asked Rimbol and the Older Singer.

“I’m always eating!” Rimbol’s reply was half groan, half belch, and Concera laughed.

“Finish the last cut,” Concera told him.

“Go save us a table.” Rimbol shooed her off, then turned his attention to his cutting.

Killashandra went directly to the Commons and found the dining area well occupied, tables stacked with a variety of dishes that bore witness to the problem of symbiotic instinct. She was about to order something to sustain her during the search for a free table when a large group vacated one of the booths. She ordered hastily, dialing for beer in a pitcher and beaker and setting them about the table to prevent occupation. She had retrieved her first order and was already eating as Rimbol, Concera, and two others of Class 895 joined her.

The meal became a convivial occasion, and all made suggestions of this or that favored delicacy they’d discovered during what Concera styled “the hunger.”

“It’s so good to have new members,” she said in a giddy voice, waving her beaker of beer, “to remind us of things we’ve forgotten. I can’t think, of course, who it was the last time, but Yarran beer is so satisfying.”

Rimbol rose, bowed to the entire table. “Be upstanding all. Let us toast to the brewers of Yarran beer. May they always be remembered—by somebody!”

As the company hastily stood, the table was knocked askew, and before the toast could be made, the surface had to be mopped and more beer dialed.

Killashandra was suffused by a sense of camaraderie that she had often observed in the Music Center but had never been part of. She supposed it was Rimbol’s special gift that, given half a chance, he could make an occasion of any gathering. She said little, smiled much, and ate with a heartier appetite for such good company.

As she sat facing the dispensing area, she found herself identifying high-ranking Guild members as well as Singers obviously just in from the ranges, some of whom were gaunt, nervous, and confused by the throng of diners. Others, despite the same noise-pollution discomfiture, appeared in very good spirits. The nervous ones hadn’t cut enough crystal to get off-planet, Killashandra thought, and the relaxed ones had. Certainly, when Borella entered with Olin and another pair of Singers, they were a vivacious group. Obstreperously so, Killashandra thought, for they would whisper among themselves, then burst into laughter as they looked with mock surreptitiousness at silent diners.

Though Rimbol was joking with Concera and Celee, he had noticed Borella’s table.

“D’you know?” he said in an undertone to Killashandra, “she doesn’t remember any of us.”

“I know. She has been out in the ranges since we were recruited.” Killashandra knew she wasn’t excusing Borella, and she didn’t need to explain to Rimbol.

“I know, I know, but that was only a few months ago.” Rimbol’s blue eyes were clouded with worry. “Do we lose our memories that quickly?”

“Borella’s sung a long time, Rimbol.” Killashandra could not reassure herself, either. “Have you started your personal file? Good. That’s the way to remember what’s important”

“I wonder what she considers important.” Rimbol looked at Borella with narrowed eyes.

“Getting off this planet during Passover!” Even to herself, Killashandra sounded sharp. Rimbol threw her a startled look, and then he laughed. “I only know because I heard her talking to that tall fellow, Olin.” Killashandra added in an easier manner. “Say, have you been in contact with Shillawn at all?”

“Sure have. In fact, we’re meeting here tomorrow. Join us?”

Killashandra met Rimbol’s mildly challenging stare.

“If I’m free. I’m scheduled to take some crystals to the Trundimoux system. Evidently, having cut crystal, I’d be particularly susceptible to Passover, so they’re whipping me off the planet.”

“Once I thought I’d have no trouble keeping up with you, Killa.” Rimbol’s expression was rueful.

“What d’you mean by that?” Killashandra was aware of a flurry of unexpected feelings: anxiety, surprise, irritation, and a sense of loss. She didn’t want to lose her friendship with Rimbol. She put her hand on his arm. “We’re friends, remember. Class 895.”

“
If
we remember.”

“What is the matter with you, Rimbol? I’ve been having such a good time.” Killashandra gestured at the others laughing and chatting, and the evidences of a hearty meal. “I haven’t had a chance to see much of anyone because of that wretched Milekey transition and being shepherded out by that sonic-shorted Moksoon—”

“Not to mention finding black crystal.”

She took a deep breath against her seething reaction to Rimbol’s implicit accusation.

“When”—she began slowly and in a taut voice—“you have been in the ranges looking for crystal, then you will know what I cannot possibly explain to you now.” She rose, the tenuous sensation of comradeship abruptly severed. “Give my regards to Shillawn if you’d be so good as to remember.”

She excused herself and stalked past a startled Concera, who tried to protest Killashandra’s exit.

“Let her go, Concera. She has matters of great importance to attend.”

Striding quickly into the main aisle, Killashandra nearly ran into Trag just entering the dining area.

“Killashandra? Don’t you ever watch the call display?” Trag pointed to the moving line above the catering area, and she saw her name flashing. Trag took her arm and hurried her toward the lifts. “The Trundimoux ship is at Shankill. We’ve been holding the shuttle for you.”

“The Trundimoux ship? Leave?” Killashandra glanced back at the table she had so hurriedly left. Only Concera was looking in her direction. She gave Killashandra a little wave for reassurance.

“They made time around their last sun and are here ahead of schedule and cannot hold at slow much longer or they’ll lose momentum.”

“I’ll only need a few things . . .”

Trag shook his head impatiently and pushed her into a waiting lift.

“A Carisak is being prepared for you on the Base. Anything else you require, your accommodations and expenses are to be met by the Trundimoux. There’s no time to lose now!”

Killashandra’s protests waned. Her initial confusion turned quickly to resentment. Not only was she leaving without a chance to vindicate herself in Rimbol’s opinion, she wasn’t to see Lanzecki either. Or perhaps he had planned so hasty a departure to prevent her from embarrassing him? Soured as she was by Rimbol’s accusations, it was easy to include Lanzecki.

That Milekey transition might have appeared to be a blessing, but that bit of “luck” had alienated her from the few friends she had ever made and left her vulnerable to speculations and subtly accused of harsh and indefensible suspicions.

“We were not expecting the Trundimoux to arrive so soon,” Trag said, “but that may be fortuitous with Passover not long away.” He thrust a sheaf of printout at her as she was puzzling that cryptic remark. “Antona said you were to read this. Medical advice on symbiotic adjustment and replenishment, so examine it carefully. The crystals are already on board the shuttle and locked in the supercargo’s security hold. This is your Guild identification”—he offered her a slim folder like the one Carrik had carried—“and the Guild band,” which he clasped around her right wrist. “With these, you have access to planetary governing organizations, including the Session of the Federated Sentient Planets. Though they’re a boring lot, and I cannot see this assignment leading to a meeting, it’s wise to be prepared for all contingencies.”

Access to the Session of the Federated Sentient Planets? Killashandra did not think Trag would joke about such a privilege. The stimulation of such prestige and surprise lifted her depression.

They had reached the hangar level, and Trag’s hand under her arm propelled her forward at a good pace toward the waiting shuttle. At the ramp, the boarding officer was gesturing them urgently to hurry. Trag increased his pace, and every inch of Killashandra wanted to resist as she glanced around the immense hangar area for one glimpse of Lanzecki.

“C’mon! C’mon!” the boarding officer exhorted. “Stragglers can be left for tomorrow’s shuttle!”

“Quiet!” Trag turned Killashandra just as she put her foot on the ramp. “The Guild Master has considerable confidence in your abilities. I do not think it is misplaced. Lanzecki wishes you a good voyage and a safe return! Remember!”

With that, Trag whirled, leaving Killashandra staring after him, his last words echoing in her mind.

“I canNOT close the ramp if you are standing on it,” the boarding officer exclaimed petulantly.

Obedient in her confusion, Killashandra hastened into the shuttle. The ramp retracted, and the shuttle’s door slid with a ponderous whoosh and hiss across the aperture.

“Don’t just stand there. Get a seat.” The boarding officer gave Killashandra a little push toward the rear of the shuttle craft.

She strapped herself into a seat without thinking, holding her identification folder and Antona’s instructions with both hands resting on her thighs. She let her body relax to the motion of the shuttle as it lifted on air cushions and glided from the hangar. Having no viewport, she endured what seemed hours before she felt the power surge as the crystal drive was engaged. She was thrust back into the cushioning of her seat as the shuttle took off. The pressure was welcome as a source of minor discomfort. She wished that the gravity drag pushing flesh and muscles against resisting bone might squeeze unwelcome thoughts from her head.

Then the shuttle was free of Ballybran’s pull, and the relief of weightlessness was accompanied by the return of common sense to Killashandra’s tumultuous thoughts. She had built into a personal tragedy two totally unrelated incidents: Rimbol’s curiously aggressive attitude during an otherwise convivial occasion when she had felt particularly relaxed, and Lanzecki’s apparent dismissal. She’d muddled these about with her tendency to dramatize and a subconscious guilt about her easy transition, the Keborgen incident, Lanzecki’s unexpected friendship, her first overcharged trip into the ranges, and pre-Passover sensitivity.

So. Deep breath and rationalize. Rimbol was also feeling pre-Passover sensitivity. Not only had Trag personally escorted her to the shuttle, but he had given her three different messages: the Guild Master had confidence in her. So, unexpectedly, had Trag, whom Killashandra knew to be harder to please than any other instructor she had ever studied with. And Lanzecki wished her a good voyage and a safe return.

Killashandra smiled to herself and began to relax. With the unstated import as reassurance, she ceased to regard the precipitous departure as more than coincidence. Still, she’d been on the handy end of coincidence rather much recently. From the moment the sorters recruited her class to help with crystal and Enthor had chosen her; her sensitivity to black crystal; a Milekey transition that, according to Antona, no one could predict. Chance had been on Killashandra’s side when she’d gone with the rescue team to Keborgen. True, an application of deduction and fact had helped her determine Keborgen’s flight path. Her premature introduction to the ranges had occurred at Lanzecki’s direction, governed by the Guild’s necessity to keep Keborgen’s claim operative. She might not have found it, might have been deterred by the fresh claimer paint. She wondered about the effect of Passover storms on paint.

Then she remembered Antona’s message, and shoving the Guild ident into a hip pocket, she unfolded the print sheet.

Antona had researched the foods available in the Trundimoux system and listed the best for Killashandra’s needs. The list was ominously short. Antona reminded the new Singer that her hunger would slacken but that she might also encounter considerable drowsiness as Passover point was reached. This effect most frequently occurred when symbiont and host were adjusting. Antona advised her to complete the installations as quickly as possible and gave her a mild stimulant to overcome lethargy. Antona ended by advising Killashandra not to return to Ballybran’s surface until Passover was completed, and the farther away from the system she stayed, the better.

The message, typed by voice-printer, sounded like Antona in a cheerful way, and Killashandra was extremely grateful for the thoughtfulness that prompted it. Her uncertainties allayed, she mentally reviewed the installation procedures in which Trag had drilled her. Both he and Lanzecki had confidence in her. So be it.

The retrodrive and the swaying, dropping motion of the shuttle indicated it was maneuvering to the base docks. She felt the impact as the maneuver was successful.

“Clumsy!” a familiar voice commented several rows up from Killashandra.

“No doubt, one of your recruits showing off,” the drawling voice of Olin replied.

She must really have been in a daze when she boarded the shuttle, Killashandra thought, if she hadn’t noticed Borella and her companion. Killashandra had just unstrapped when she was surprised to hear her own name in Borella’s unmistakably scornful voice.