Crystal Singer

“They told me she didn't require anything special.”

“Guild Member Ree doesn't require anything special, but as I've been telling you, the mess served on this ship isn't universally nourishing or satisfying. Chasurt has more than enough in stores. I should know. I buy for him.”

There wasn't an audible click at the end of the exchange, but the captain's complaint had been dismissed. Killashandra regarded Pendel with more respect.

“Hard worker, that Francu. Runs a tight ship. Never lost a person. Just the sort of man to trust the newest ship to.” Pendel rubbed the side of his nose, his broad grin implying all the negative facets of Captain Francu that he did not voice.

“I appreciate your cooperation and support, Pendel, almost as much as the beer. One more favor, if it's possible. Do I have to listen to all the ship's business?” Another harsh buzz punctuated her request.

“Just leave it with me, Killashandra,” Pendel said comfortably. “I'll send round some handy rations for you in the meantime.” He gestured apologetically at the plates and chips piled on the printouts on his desk, and she took the hint. She also took the second bowl of fruit, winking at Pendel as she left.

The man contrived well and shortly after Tic led her back to her dinky cabin, the u

Tic arrived, tapping politely and waiting for Killashandra's acknowledgment, with parcels of plain plastic in both hands. One was a variety of the special rations, the other an array of food. Tic kept her eyes averted from that luxury, but Killashandra perceived that any generosity from her would be ill advised. She thanked Tic and dismissed her until evening mess. Killashandra knew that she had to put in at least one appearance a day and sighed at the thought of such boredom. While she munched on Chasurt's prized packages, she occupied herself by studying the deck plan of the 78. Even as she watched, certain sections were updated and changed for purposes that escaped her. Was this to be a cargo ship, a passenger liner, or a trading vessel? Its specifications meant nothing to her, but the length of the numericals was impressive.

She was duly escorted to the officers' mess, Chasurt and Prancu mercifully absent, so she chatted with Tallaf, an agreeable enough young man without his captain's presence to inhibit him, though when he got flustered, his neck had the tendency to puff out. He admitted to being planet-bred, educated for his duties as executive in theoretics rather than the practical. Most of the other officers and crew members were space or station born. His tone was a shade wistful, as if he regretted the difference between himself and his shipmates.

“I understand that your system has been isolated due to poor communications,” Killashandra said conversationally.

Tallaf looked anxiously around him.

I also understand that a step forward is not generally popular."

Tallaf regarded her with awe.

“Oh, come now, Tallaf,” Killashandra said in a teasing voice “that's been obvious to me since I boarded. I assure you, it's not an unusual phenomenon.”

“Crystal Singers get to go everywhere, don't they?” An ingenuous envy flickered across his face.

«Not necessarily. This is an unusual assignment for an unusual world and unusual circumstances.» Tallaf preened a little at the implied compliment to his system. «Quite an achievement for an emergent political unit» – Killashandra was a little awed by her own eloquence – «to purchase a 78 and black crystals.»

She watched Tallaf keenly as she spoke and decided that the young engineer was evidently for instant interstellar communications. She wondered briefly how the split of support went – spacers against planetaries or parochials against galactics. She sighed, wishing someone had given her more data on the Trundies. Perhaps there just wasn't much in the galactography.

Pendel arrived, smiling pleasantly to the small groups of officers standing around. It was then that Killashandra realized that she and Tallaf had formed a solitary pair. She smiled more graciously at Tallaf for his fortitude as a crewman appeared from the galley with two beakers of Yarran ale. Tallaf drifted away discreetly, and Killashandra toasted Pendel, whose jolly self evidently masked considerable prestige.

Pendel chuckled. “Good boy, that Tallaf.”

“He's for crystal?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. That's why he's exec this trip. His first.” Pendel's affable smile was truly in place as he glanced around the messroom. Killashandra was certain he knew exactly who should be there and who wasn't. “Not bad at all for a shake down crew.” Killashandra wondered what the deficiencies were. “A man looks for certain goals at certain times of his life,” and his eyes caught hers over the rim of the Yarran beer glass. “Adventure brought me to this system two and a half decades ago. My timing was right. They urgently needed an experienced supercargo. They were being done out of their sockets on cargo rates.” Pendel's tone was laden with remembered indignation. Then he smiled. “Can't do business properly without proper communication.”

“Which is why crystal and this 78 are so important!” She tilted her glass toward him as if Pendel had single-handedly accomplished all. “You Yarrans are known for your perspicacity. Quite a few from your system have become Crystal Singers . . .” She was subtly aware of Pendel's reaction. “Oh, come now, Pendel,” she continued smoothly, for if she couldn't have this man's support, she might well be left in Chasurt's hands, and that wouldn't suit. “Surely you don't believe the spaceflot about Crystal Singers?” She contrived a very amused gurgle of laughter.

“Of course not,” and Pendel shrugged negligently, though his smile was not quite as assured.

«Especially now you've met and talked with me and discovered a Crystal Singer is as human as anyone on board this ship. Or» – and Killashandra glanced about the messroom and its subdued occupants – «perhaps a bit more so.»

Pendel surveyed his fellow officers and grimaced.

“At least I can appreciate a proper brew,” Killashandra continued, inwardly suppressing both apprehension and amusement. Pendel was nowhere near as cosmopolitan as he liked to appear, though in contrast to the other Trundies, he was tolerably informed about the galaxy. Somehow Killashandra must contrive to keep a friendly distance from him. “I do give them credit,” and she glanced around her with an air of compliment.

“So evidently does the Heptite Guild.” Pendel had recovered his basic optimism. “But none of us expected a Crystal Singer would install the things.”

“The Federated Sentient Planets have their own schedule of priorities. Ours not to reason why.” Killashandra couldn't remember where that line came from, but it seemed to apply.

Fortunately, the steaming platters and trays of their evening meal arrived, and Killashandra noted that only she and Pendel were served the one appetizing selection.

Without the repressive presence of Captain Francu and Chasurt, Killashandra managed to draw into conversation most of the older officers. Though the youngsters were far too shy to speak, she could sense that they were listening very closely and storing every word exchanged. The subs were still malleable, and if she could influence them favorably and maintain Pendel's good will by judicious flattery, she'd have done more than she'd been contracted to do. And the Trundies would need more crystal.

That night, as she stretched out on the appallingly hard bunk, she reviewed her extravagant performance of that evening. “Crystalline cuckoo” and “silicate spider,” Maestro Valdi had called Crystal Singers. She thought she knew why now: the survival instincts of the symbiont. And judging from Pendel's subconscious reaction to her, she knew why the symbiont remained a trade secret. There were, she decided, more invidious threats than giving space and survival to a species that paid good value with the rent.