Killashandra (4 page)

“I’d appreciate it. Only do it now, would you, Killashandra, before you forget?”

Promising faithfully, Killashandra rang off. Lanzecki had said there was a list. Were there only five names? Borella Seal and Concera she knew and she wouldn’t have minded doing them out of the assignment; Gobbain Tekla was a total stranger. Rimbol had been cutting successfully, and in the darker shades just as Lanzecki had predicted. Why would he want such an assignment? So, four people had been interested enough to check Travel. Were there more?

She asked for a list of unassigned singers in residence and it was depressingly long. After some names, including her own, the capital I—for Inactive—flashed. Perhaps unwisely, she deleted those and still had thirty-seven possible rivals. She twirled idly about in the gimbaled chair, wondering exactly what criterion was vital for the Optherian assignment. Lanzecki hadn’t mentioned such minor details in the little he had disclosed. From what she had already learned of the planet and the mechanics of installation, any competent singer
could do the job. So what would weigh the balance in favor of one singer?

Killashandra reexamined the list of her known rivals: Borella and Concera had both been cutting a long time. Gobbain Tekla, when she found his position on the Main Roster, was a relative newcomer; Rimbol, like Killashandra, was a rank tyro. When she inquired, she discovered that each of the others had been a redundant or a failed musician. Perhaps that was the necessary requirement. It certainly made sense for the installer to have an instrumental background. She rephrased her question to apply to all thirty-seven available singers. Nineteen fit that category.

Lanzecki appeared reluctant to offer her the assignment but she oughtn’t to fault him. She was acutely aware of past concessions from her Guildmaster. She had no right to expect an interrupted flow of benefits simply because he chose to share his bed with her. Nor, she decided, would she jeopardize their relationship by referring to the assignment again. Lanzecki might well be doing her a favor by not recommending her. She must keep that aspect of the situation firmly in mind. She might not be thrilled to vacation on the four systems to which her available credit would take her, but that was another string in her deplorable luck. She would get a rest from crystal and that was the essential requirement.

Her reawakened appetite reminded her that it had been some hours since breakfast. During lunch, she’d decide where to take herself. When, refreshed and revitalized, she returned to her labors for the Heptite Guild, she’d find a fresh vein of black crystal and
then
she’d get to the planet Maxim.

Before she could plan her vacation in any detail, Antona rang her from the Infirmary. “Have you eaten, Killa?”

“Is that an invitation or a professional query? Because I just finished a very hearty lunch.”

Antona sighed. “I should have liked your company for lunch. There’s not much doing right now down here. Fortunately.”

“If it’s just the company you want while you eat …”

Antona smiled with genuine pleasure. “I do. I don’t enjoy eating by myself
all
the time. Could you drop down here first? You’re still listed as inactive and you’ll want that status amended.”

On her way down to the Infirmary level, Killashandra first worried then chided herself for fearing there was more to Antona’s request than a simple record up-date. It might have nothing to do with her fitness to take on the Optherian job. Nor would it be discreet to imply that she knew such an assignment was available. On the other hand, Antona would know more about the amenities of the nearby worlds.

The medical formality took little time and then the two women proceeded to the catering section of the main singer’s floor of the Guild Complex.

“It’s so depressingly empty,” Antona said in a subdued voice as she glanced about the dimly lit portions of the facility.

“I found it a lot more depressing when everyone else was celebrating a good haul,” Killashandra said in a glum tone.

“Yes, yes, it would be, I suppose. Oh, fardles!” Antona quickly diverted Killashandra toward the shadowy side. “Borella, Concera, and that simp, Gobbain,” she murmured as she made a hasty detour.

“You don’t like them?” Killashandra was amused.

Antona shrugged. “One establishes a friendship by sharing events and opinions. They remember nothing and consequently have nothing to share. And less to talk about.”

Without warning, Antona caught Killashandra by the
arm, turning to face her. “Do yourself a sterling favor, Killa. Put everything you’ve experienced so far in your life, every detail you can recall from cutting expeditions, every conversation you’ve had, every joke you’ve heard, put everything”—when Killashandra affected surprise, Antona gave her arm a painful squeeze—“and yes, I do mean ‘everything,’ into your personal retrieval file. What you did, what you said, what you felt”—and Antona’s fierce gaze challenged Privacy—“how you’ve loved. Then, when your mind is as blank as theirs, you can refresh your memory and have something with which to reestablish
you
!” Her expression became intensely sad. “Oh, Killa. Be different! Do as I ask! Now! Before it’s too late!”

Then, her customary composure restored, she released the arm and seemed to draw the intensity back into her straight, slim body. “Because I assure you,” she said as she took the last few steps into the catering area, “that once your brilliant wit and repartee become as banal and malicious as theirs,” she jerked her thumb at the silent trio, “I’ll seek other company at lunch. Now,” she said, her fingers poised over the catering terminal, “what are you having?”

“Yarran beer.” Killashandra said the first thing that came to mind, being slightly dazed by Antona’s unexpected outburst.

Antona raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, then rapidly dialed their orders.

They were served quickly and took their trays to the nearest banquette. As Antona tackled her meal with good appetite, Killashandra sipped her beer, digesting Antona’s remarkable advice. Till then, Killashandra had had no opportunity to appreciate the viewpoint of a colleague who would not lose her memory as an occupational hazard. Stubbornly, Killashandra preferred to forget certain scenes in her life. Like failure.

“Well, you don’t have long to wait for a fresh supply of cluttered minds,” Killashandra said at last, blotting the beer foam from her upper lip and deferring conversation on Antona’s unsettling advice.

“A new class? How did that privileged information seep out? You are only just out of an Infirmary tank. Well, you won’t be allowed to brief them if that’s what you had in mind, Killa.”

“Why not?”

Antona shrugged and daintily sampled her nicely browned casserole before replying. “You’ve no injury to display. That’s an important part of the briefing, you see—the visible, undeniable proof of the rapid tissue regeneration enjoyed by residents of Ballybran.”

“Irresistable!” Antona gave Killashandra a sharp glance. “Oh, no complaints from me, Antona. The Guild can be proud of its adroit recruiting program.”

Antona fastened a searching glance on her face and put down her fork. “Killashandra Ree, the Heptite Guild is not permitted by the Federated Sentient Planets to ‘recruit’ free citizens for such a hazardous profession. Only volunteers—”

“Only volunteers insist on presenting themselves, and so many of these have exceedingly useful skills …” She broke off, momentarily disconcerted by Antona’s almost fierce glance.

“What concern is that of yours, Killashandra Ree? You have benefited immensely from the … selection process.”

“Despite my unexpected inclusion.”

“A few odd ones slip through no matter how careful we are,” Antona said all too sweetly, her eyes sparkling.

“Don’t fret, Antona. It’s not a subject that I would discuss with anyone else.”

“Particularly Lanzecki.”

“I’m not likely to get that sort of an opportunity,” she said, wondering if Antona knew or suspected their
relationship. Or if her advice to remember loves and emotions had merely been a general warning to include all experience. Would Killashandra want to remember, decades from now, that she and Lanzecki had briefly been lovers? “Advise me, Antona, on which of our nearer spatial neighbors I should plan a brief vacation?”

Antona grimaced. “You might just as well pick the name at random for all the difference there is among them. Their only advantage is that they are far enough away from Ballybran to give your nerves the rest they need.”

Just then a cheerful voice hailed them.

“Killa! Antona! Am I glad to see someone else alive!” Rimbol exclaimed, hobbling out of the shadows. He grinned as he saw the pitcher of beer. “May I join you?”

“By all means,” Antona said graciously.

“What
happened
to you?” Killashandra asked. Rimbol’s cheek and forehead were liberally decorated by newly healed scars.

“Mine was the sled that did a nose dive over the baffle.”

“It did?”

“You didn’t know it was me?” Rimbol’s mouth twisted in mock chagrin. “The way Malaine carried on you’d’ve thought I’d placed half the incoming singers in jeopardy by that flip.”

“Did you rearrange the sled as creatively as your face?”

Rimbol shook his head ruefully. “It broke its nose, mine was only bloody. At that it’ll take longer to fix the sled than for my leg to heal. Say, Killa, have you heard about the Optherian contract?”

“For the fractured manual? That could pay for a lot of repairs.”

“Oh, I don’t want it,” and he flicked his hand in dismissal.

“Why ever not?”

Rimbol took a long pull of his beer. “Well, I’ve got a claim that was cutting real well right now. Optheria’s a long way away from here and I’ve been warned that I could lose the guiding resonance being gone so long.”

“And because you remembered that I haven’t cut anything worth packing—”

“No.” Rimbol held up a hand, protesting Killashandra’s accusation. “I mean, yes, I knew you’ve been unlucky lately—”

“Who do you think cut the white crystal to replace the fractured Optherian manual?”

“You did?” Rimbol’s face brightened with relief. “Then you don’t need to go either.” He raised his beaker in a cheerful toast. “Where d’you plan to go off-world?”

“I hadn’t exactly made up my mind …” Killashandra saw that Antona was busy serving up the last of her casserole.

“Why don’t you try Maxim in the Barderi system.” Rimbol leaned eagerly across the table to her. “I’ve heard it’s something sensational. I’ll get there sometime but I’d sure like to hear your opinion of it. I don’t half believe the reports. I’d trust you.”

“That’s something to remember,” Killashandra murmured, glancing sideways at Antona. Then, taking note of Rimbol’s querying look, she asked smoothly, “What’ve you been cutting lately?”

“Greens,” Rimbol replied with considerable satisfaction. He held up crossed fingers. “Now, if only the storm damage is minimal, and it could be because the vein’s in a protected spot, I might even catch up with you on Maxim. You see …” and he proceeded to elaborate on his prospects.

As Rimbol rattled on in his amusing fashion, Killashandra wondered if crystal would dull the Scartine’s infectious
good-nature along with his memory. Would Antona give him the same urgent advice? Surely each of the newest crystal singers had some unique quality to be cherished and sustained throughout a lifetime. Antona’s outburst had been sparked by a long frustration. To how many singers over her decades in the Guild had she tendered the same advice and found it ignored?

“… So I came in with forty greens,” Rimbol was saying with an air of achievement.

“That’s damned good cutting!” Killashandra replied with suitable fervor.

“You have no trouble releasing crystal?” Antona asked.

“Well, I did the first time out,” Rimbol admitted candidly, “but I remembered what you’d said, Killa, about packing as soon as you cut. I’ll never forget the sight of you locked in crystal thrall, right here in a noisy crowded hall. A kindly and timely word of wisdom!”

“Oh, you’d have caught on soon enough,” Killashandra said, feeling a trifle embarrassed by his gratitude.

“Some never do, you know,” Antona remarked.

“What happens? Do they stand in statuesque paralysis until night comes? Or a loud storm?”

“The inability to release crystal is no joke, Rimbol.”

Rimbol stared at Antona, his mobile face losing its amused expression. “You mean, they can be so enthralled, nothing breaks the spell?” Antona nodded slowly. “That could be fatal. Has it been?”

“There have been instances.”

“Then I’m doubly indebted to you, Killa,” Rimbol said, rising, “so this round’s on me.”

They finished that round, refreshed by food, drink, and conversation.

“Of the four, I think you’d prefer Rani in the Punjabi system,” Antona told Killashandra in parting. “The food’s better and the climate less severe. They have
marvelous mineral hot springs, too. Not as efficacious as our radiant fluid but it’ll help reduce crystal resonance. You need that. After just an hour in your company, the sound off you makes the hairs on my arm stand up. See?”

Killashandra exchanged glances with Rimbol, before they examined the proof on Antona’s extended arm.

Antona laughed reassuringly, laying gentle fingers on Killashandra’s forearm.

“A perfectly normal phenomenon for a singer who’s been out in the Rangers steadily for over a year. Neither of you would be affected but, as I don’t sing crystal, I am. Get used to it. That’s what identifies a singer anywhere in the Galaxy. But the Rani hot springs will diminish the effect considerably. So does time away from here. See you.”

As Killashandra watched Antona enter the lift, she felt Rimbol’s hand sliding up her arm affectionately.

“You feel all right to me,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Then he felt her stiffen and suppress a movement of withdrawal. He dropped his hand. “Privacy—sorry, Killa.” He stepped back.

“Not half as sorry as I am, Rimbol. You didn’t deserve that. Chalk it up to another side effect of singing crystal that they don’t include in that full disclosure.” She managed an apologetic smile. “I’m so wired I could broadcast.”