Crystal Singer

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 can NOT 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 over charged 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 over come 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.

“Killashandra Ree? Now how should I know whether she's on board or not. I don't know her.”

The calculated indifference to what must have been a courteous query infuriated Killashandra. No wonder Crystal Singers had such bad reputations.

She made her way to the shuttle door, coming to an abrupt halt as her augmented vision was assaulted by the garishly uniformed pair standing to one side of the dock port. On the chests of each man, emblazoned in vivid, iridescent, and inharmonious colors, was a stylized symbol, a planet, two moons lined by three whirling asteroid belts. The movement, Killashandra decided as she closed her eyes for a moment, must be due to the men's normal breathing and some special quality of the material.

“I'm Killashandra Ree,” she said politely, but she could almost understand Borella's curt arrogance. To the more sensitive eyes of an altered human, the Trundimoux uniform was visually unbearable.

"Star Captain Francu of the Trundimoux Navy, at your service, Guild Member Ree." A stiff gesture introduced his companion. Senior Lieutenant Engineer Tallaf."

By narrowing her eyes, Killashandra could filter out the appalling color and appreciate that these were very attractive men, lean as most spacers were, and equally obvious, uncomfortable. Nervous?

The shuttle pilot, his casual coverall a complete contrast to the Trundimoux officers', emerged from the lock.

“You're from the Trundy ship? Cargo's unloaded on the lower deck.”

Killashandra noted Captain Francu's wince at the nickname and thought that the lieutenant was amused.

“Senior Lieutenant Supercargo Pendel is attending to that matter, Captain . . .”

“Senior Captain Amon, Francu. Pendel has been thoroughly briefed on the crystal?”

Francu stiffened.

“Where's your ship docked?” Amon continued, looking at his wrist-unit.

«Our cruiser» – and Francu emphasized the type of vessel in such a pompous tone that Killashandra had a presentiment that her voyage companions might be very dull – «is in hyperbolic.»

“Oh, your system did get the 78 then.” Amon replied with such genial condescension that Killashandra nearly laughed aloud. The two officers exchanged startled glances.

“Well, you'd hardly have got here so fast in any of your old 59s. Quite a compliment to you, Killa, for them to send their newest.”