Crystal Singer

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 meal time 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 di

Di

“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 ma

“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 can not 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 can not 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 pla

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 print out 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 can not see this assignment leading to a meeting, it's wise to be prepared for all contingencies.»