Crystal Singer

The screen switched frequently from satellite pictures to planetary weather stations where the wind shifts were marked by waves of debris flung in vertical sheets. Killashandra fell into that mesmerized state that can befuddle the mind, and for one hideous second she almost heard windshriek. A particularly frenzied cross-current of detritus shattered the trance by inducing motion nausea. She hastily left the theater, looking for a toilet. The moment she reached the soundproof stability of the quiet corridor, her nausea waned, only to be replaced by the gnawing of severe hunger.

“I had breakfast,” she said through clenched teeth “I had plenty of breakfast.”

She entered a lift, wondering just how long the postrange appetite remained critical. She punched for the infirmary level and swung into the same anteroom she had entered barely four weeks before.

No one was on duty.

“Is anyone here?” she demanded acidly.

“Yes,” the verbal address system responded.

"I don't want you. I'd like to see – "

“Killashandra Ree?” Antona walked through the right hand door panel, an expression of surprise on her face. “You can't have been injured?” The chief medic took a small diagnostic unit from her thigh pocket and advanced toward Killashandra.

“No, but I'm starving of the hunger.”

Antona laughed, slipping the instrument back into her pocket. «Oh, I do apologize, Killashandra. It's not the least bit fu

Food enough for the entire final year student complement of the Music Center presently covered two large tables, and Killashandra ravenously started to eat.

«If it's any encouragement, your appetite will slack off especially after the symbiont has prepared for Passover.» She smiled at Killashandra's groan. «Don't worry. You'll have no appetite at all during the height of Passover – the spore buries itself in crevices.» Antona smiled. «In the Life lab, we have rock crabs and burrow worms over four hundred years old.» Antona's grin became wry. «I don't suppose that aspect of Ballybran's ecology figured in your orientation. There isn't much life on this mudball, but what there is lives in symbiotic relation to the spore. That's how it keeps itself alive, by increasing the survival mechanisms of whatever host it finds. It behooves Us, the new dominant life form, to study the indigenous.»

As she ate, Killashandra found Antona's ramblings more interesting than Tukolom's lectures. It did cross her mind that Antona might just be indulging in the luxury of a captive audience. Antona was not lazy with fork and spoon, so her “morning snack” must have answered a real need if not as urgent as Killashandra's.

"I keep trying" – and Antona emphasized that word "to correlate some factor, or factors, which would once and for all allow us to recruit without anxiety." She paused and looked with unfocused eyes to one corner of the dining area. "I mean, I knew what I was to do before I came here, but if I had made the complete adjustment, I'd've been required to sing crystal." Antona made a grimace of dislike, then smiled radiantly. "The prospect of having all the time in the world to delve into a life form and carry through a research program was such a gift – "

“You didn't want to be a Crystal Singer?”

“Shards and shades, girl, of course not. There's more to life here than that.”

“I had the impression, that crystal singing was the function of this planet.”

“Oh, it is,” and Antona's agreement rippled with laughter. “But the Crystal Singers could scarcely function without support perso

“I'm a little confused . . .”

"I shouldn't wonder, Killashandra. You do come from Fuerte, and that conservative government had off notions about self-determination. I did wonder how you came to be recruited, though you are one of our nicer surprises." Antona patted Killashandra's arm reassuringly. "The Fuertans we've had in previous decades also made good hosts." Suddenly, Antona frowned, eyeing Killashandra speculatively. "I really must run your scans again. I've developed five separate evaluation tests, two at the primary level, which, if I say so myself – and Antona smiled modestly – "have increased the probability figures by 35%."

“I didn't think the Guild was permitted active recruiting,” Killashandra said, doggedly returning to that blithe comment.

Antona looked startled. “Oh, nothing active. Certainly less blatant than service programs. The FSP definitely frowns on any sort of conditioning or coercion due to the specific adaptation, you see. That's a direct contradiction of the freedom of movement in the FSP Charter. Of course, when FSP recruits, no one dares complain but it's common knowledge what Service people do.” She emitted a sort of giggle. “Freedom of movement, indeed. Most good citizens of the FSP never leave or want to leave their home worlds, but they have to be able to do so according to FSP, and that forces us to use the Shankill clearing point.”

“Don't you mind being restricted to this planet?”

“Why should I?” Antona did not appear to be resigned.

“Singers seem very keen to get off Ballybran,” Killashandra said, but her mind was chaotic, remembering Carigana's intransigence, the farce of the Shankill Moon Recruitment, Rimbol's passing his “preliminaries,” Carigana and her “trap,” the way Killashandra found herself reacting to the suspicion that Antona had confirmed.

“Singers should leave Ballybran whenever possible,” she said, completely sincere and much at her ease. “It's a tense, demanding profession, and one should be able to . . . escape . . . from one's work to completely different surroundings.”

“Escape.” That was the verb Lanzecki had used. “Do you escape your work Antona?”

“Me? Of course. My work is in the infirmary and the labs. I have the whole planet to roam and the moons if I wish a change of view.”

“Even at Passover?”

Antona chuckled indulgently at Killashandra's jibe. “Well, everyone holes up during Passover. Or gets off the planet if possible.” She leaned over to touch Killashandra's arm. “For your own sake, I wish you hadn't cut so near to Passover, but you can be sure I'll help you all I can.”