Crystal Singer (35 page)

“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 shakedown 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.

CHAPTER 12

K
illashandra made good use of her next five days, having Tic or Tac lead her on exercise walks about the cruiser, dropping hints about the exacting nature of her work and how she had to keep fit. The silicate spider preparing its web for a Passover sleep. She had a few uncomplimentary thoughts about the Guild, mainly Lanzecki, for sending her among the uninformed without a hint that the Trundimoux were so parochial.

She did a great deal of listening to the subordinates when they relaxed enough to talk in her presence and to the general conversations, mostly good-natured slagging among work teams. She learned a great deal about the short and awesome history of the Trundimoux system and stopped referring to them as Trundies in the privacy of her thoughts.

As it had Pendel, the system had attracted many restless and adventurous people, a percentage of them either physically or temperamentally unsuited to the hazards. The survivors bred quickly and hugely, and natural selection again discarded the weaknesses and the weaker, some of whom could usefully work in the relative safety of the larger mining units. The second generation, who survived the rigors of knocking likely chunks of the suburanic metals out of orbit and jockeying their payloads into long drone strings, those hardy souls perpetuated their genes and became yet another variant of human. This system was, in its own way, as unique as Ballybran’s, its entrance requirements as stringent and its workers as rigorously trained.

One night while juggling those elements in her mind—the dangers of space as opposed to the physical tests on Shankill—Killashandra waxed philosophical. The galaxy was not merely physical satellites circling flaming primaries but overlapping and intertwining metaphysical ones. She was currently the bridge between two such star systems and two totally opposite mental attitudes. She’d use the charm of one to survive in the other.

The Trundimoux had already developed some strong traditions, the evening’s solemn dedication of the officers to their system’s survival, the worship of water, a callousness toward death, a curious distrust of out-system manufactured equipment. This, Killashandra thought, was why they were so assiduously altering the 78’s interior. Then, after she’d seen some tri-di’s of the mining stations and the space-built edifices themselves, she understood. In spatial sense, the Trundimoux were adapting constantly to the needs of their hostile environment. In another, they were refusing to admit that any other system, hers included, had something worthwhile to offer them that couldn’t be improved on.

Killashandra listened, too, to subtler opinions on the wisdom of instant interstellar communications. Some were skeptical that the crystals would work, due, it was claimed, to some peculiarity of the Trundimoux system that was designed to keep them isolated. Others thought it a shocking waste of time, effort, and precious metal-credit. The division of thought split age groups, first- and second-generation representatives, and even contracted extraplanetaries on local assignment.

Meanwhile, the cruiser was fast closing with its home system on its hyperbolic trajectory. Killashandra’s appetite had leveled off, a relief to herself as well as to Pendel’s dwindling supply of her requirements. Passover was occurring over Ballybran, and conjunction was as imminent as her first installation. She judiciously kept the stimulant tabs on her person.

The change in the crystal drive tone heralded her first unexpected nap. Tic’s insistent tapping on her door panel roused her.

“Captain Francu’s compliments, Killashandra Ree, and would you follow me to the bridge?”

Tic was suddenly very formal, not so much as a shy answering smile to Killashandra’s acknowledgment. She followed the sub, much refreshed by her sleep, but she felt for the stimutabs in her sash pocket

The bridge, a misnamed cavern midship, was busy and full. Tic found the captain among those circled about the dimension tank, caught his attention, presented Killashandra, and retreated.

“If you will observe the tank, Guild Member,” the captain began at his most overbearing.

“I would if I could,” Killashandra said, and smiling sweetly, inserted her hip between two male bodies and with a deft twist pushed the men sideways so that she occupied their previous vantage point. She left one officer between her and Francu, consoling the startled man with a soothing glance. “Ah, yes, fascinating.” She
was
fascinated, though she wanted to give the distinct impression that this was scarcely the first time she had been on a bridge or gazed at a dimension tank. The cruiser was a very tiny blip, coasting inward, past the orbit of the outermost planet, toward the primary. Blinking lights indicated major mining stations in the asteroid belts; two tiny solid lights, the two moon bases. The bright planet, fourth from the primary, exuded a supercilious superiority despite being the last to be settled in the hard-working system.

“We are coasting now, Guild Member, if you haven’t noticed the change of the drive—”

“A Crystal Singer is unusually sensitive to crystal drive, Captain—an occupational skill.”

Francu set his jaw, unused to being interrupted for any reason.

“We are traveling on a hyperbolic course that will intersect the orbit of the two mining stations, which have deviated from their courses to meet us—”

“Sometimes progress can be awkward—”

Francu glared at her. “The moon bases provide no problem on their relative planes, though Terris will require a longer shuttle flight—”

“You will have a far more difficult maneuver in catching up with your planet, won’t you?” and Killashandra pointed.

“Not at all,” and it was Francu’s turn to be scornful. “Merely a question of braking, using the planetary attraction, pick up the sun’s gravitic pull marginally, deflect away and on to our next destination.”

“How very clever of you.” Killashandra winced inwardly, wondering why the man’s simplest explanation evoked the worst side of her nature.

“You must realize, Guild Member, how tight the schedule is. I was informed that mounting the crystal takes no more than six minutes. We shall need every spare second available to get you to and away from these installation points—particularly at the planet. You do understand the spatial considerations?”

“It has always seemed essentially simple when expertly and efficiently handled, Captain Francu. I’m sure there’ll be no problem.” Six minutes. That gave her quite a safety margin, or had Trag in mind the lethargy that would soon overcome her? She gazed at the dimensional tank, smiling diffidently. Problem was, if she took less than six minutes installing at one point, it still wouldn’t affect her arrival at the next one. “Thank you, Captain. May I have updated printout as we near each installation point?”

“Certainly. You will be given eighteen minutes warning before each shuttle run.”

“As much as that?” Again, Killashandra was reacting to Francu’s grating manner.

“Ah, yes, I have to take the crystal from the super’s locked room.”

“Really, Captain, no one will steal it in Trundimoux space and, until all the elements are installed, they are quite harmless. The container can be webbed in at the shuttle lock for easier access now and give you that much more time to spare.”

Captain Francu’s anxiety about crystal itself warred with his time factors. He accorded her a stiff bow and turned resolutely back to contemplation of his dimensional tank.

“Close to first objective and give me a deviation check.”

“How long before the first objective, Captain?”

“Five hours, six minutes, and thirty-six seconds, Guild Member.”

Killashandra moved away from the tank, her place quickly taken by those she had ousted. She nodded to Tic, and the subbie, with an air of intense relief, hurried to guide her away from the bridge.

She would have liked to stay and watch the cruiser angle toward the first mining station, a delicate and tedious affair since four dimensions—five, really, if one considered the captain’s obsession with the time factor—were involved.

Six minutes in which to cement or change the attitudes of an entire system, six minutes five times gave her exactly one-half hour prime time. Killashandra smiled to herself. The Trundimoux system had traditions already. She’d add to them an extrastellar treat. She’d alter Francu’s plan merely to slip in and slip out to a significant occasion that should be one of the greatest rejoicing for the Trundimoux—they could talk with each other: surely a moment for ceremony rather than secrecy. Six minutes wasn’t much time. She would see to it that it was enough, and a whole new mass of rumor about Crystal Singers would circulate.

Trundimoux clothing was wildly colored, and bits of metal were woven into the fabric to refract whatever light was available. Even the life-support units blazed with color, shocking oranges and vibrant pinks. Offensive as such hues were to Killashandra, they served a purpose for the Trundimoux space-bred population.

While the cruiser jockeyed toward its first destination, the mining station named Copper, she created her costume. Black for the crystal she would carry: black and flowing to stand out against the gaudy Trundimoux in their tight-fitting garb. She wished for some of the cosmetics she had abandoned in her student cubicle at Fuerte, but she was tall enough to stand out, in black, her hair loose to her shoulder blades, unusual enough in a society of space-goers with shaved or clipped hair.

Six minutes! That time bothered her even though she had mounted the mock crystals in far less. Then she remembered.
Crystal
was what she would be handling. She could get lost in touching crystal. She might, at that, be grateful to Francu and his neat slots of time. She could count on him to break a crystal trance. But she mustn’t fall into one.
That
would spoil the image she wished to create. She worried about that problem until Tallaf arrived to escort her.

“Cutter’s ready and waiting, ma’am,” he said, alertly poised and very formal.

“And the crystal?”

Tallaf cleared his throat; his eyes avoided hers, although she rather thought that the young man was amused.

“Supercargo Pendel has conveyed the container to the lock, awaiting your arrival. All webbed and secure.”

Indeed the carton was, with a double row of alert guards standing as far from the crystal as they could in the confines of the lock. The sides and bottom of the carton were webbed securely to the deck, but the top had been unsealed. One of the guards carried a seal-gun on his belt.

Killashandra strode forward, remembering to keep her full skirts clear of her toes.

“Open it,” she said to no one in particular. There was a brief hesitation, then Pendel performed that office, winking at her surreptitiously.

To her intense relief, the five crystals had been cocooned before shipment. She did not need to handle raw crystal until she reached the actual installation point. She picked up the small package, feeling the mild shock with a double sense of relief. Crystal knew she was there and responded but bided its time. And this was real crystal. She’d had a sudden horrid thought that, in a crazy set of errors, the mock shafts had been sent instead.

She held the package straight-armed before her as she walked to the cutter’s entrance. No sooner was she seated than everyone seemed to move at double speed, webbing her in, taking their own places as the hatch was sealed. She was forced back into her cushions by the acceleration away from the cruiser.

“Are we running behind time, Tallaf?” she asked.

“No, ma’am, precisely
on
time.”

“How far from the station lock to the communications room?”

“Exactly five minutes and twenty seconds.”

“In free-fall?” Free-fall in this gown would be ridiculous. She wished she’d thought of that aspect before.

Tallaf looked surprised.

“All but the very small detector units have gravity, ma’am.”

The cutter fired retrorockets, again pushing her into the cushions.

“I thought we were on time.”

“We are, ma’am, but we’re correcting to match velocities.”

A second spate of jockeying occurred, but the actual docking was no more than a cousinly kiss. The deck crew was again working double time, and infected by their pace, she rose and entered the first of the mining stations. The five minutes and twenty seconds of travel time within Copper was spent twisting down corridors and jumping over security frames. She prided herself on managing all the awkward bits without stumbling or losing her balance, the cocoon of crystal held before her so that all could see. And many people were gathered at intersections wanting a glimpse of the momentous occasion.

It is a shame, Killashandra thought as she was ushered into the communications nerve center of the Copper Station, that this was not the linkage point. Nothing really exciting would happen here or on the other stations until the final shaft was fitted and their bonding would produce the instantaneous link.

Still, she was conscious of stares, hostile and thoughtful, as she was directed to the installation point. It was on the raised outer level of the huge room, an excellent vantage.

Killashandra mounted the shallow steps, her quick glance checking the brackets to be sure they were correct, and then turned to the center of the area. She stripped the plastic from the cocoon and held up the dull, muddy shaft. She heard the gasps as the assembled saw for the first time what they had mortgaged their system to buy. Even as she heard their mumble, the crystal warmed in her hands, turning the matte black, which gave it its name. It vibrated against her hands, and before she could fall in trance, she whirled and laid the crystal in its place. The pressure arms moved silkily at her light touch. She brought the upper brackets to bear and, one finger on the still darkening crystal, increased the pressure on each side carefully. The crystal began to resonate along her finger, making her throat ache. She fought the desire to caress the crystal and made her hands complete the installation. As if burned, she snatched her hands back from the beautiful crystal mass. She took the small hammer and tapped the mounted crystal. Its pure note sang through the room’s sudden hush.