"Moksoon is all right?" Killashandra asked, anything to be able to speak in the face of Lanzecki's fury.

"His head will heal, and he will doubtless cut more rose quartz!"

That Lanzecki's tone was not derisory did not signify. Killashandra understood what was implied. Nor could she break from his piercing stare.

"I couldn't very well leave him," she said, the solace of indignation replacing fear. After all, Lanzecki had arranged for Moksoon to shepherd her.

"Why not? He would have shown no compunction in leaving you had the circumstances been reversed."

"But . . . but he was cutting. All the storm warnings were on in his sled. He wouldn't listen. He tried to slice me with his cutter. I had to knock him out before he . . ."

"You could be subject to claim-jumping, Section 49, Paragraph 14," Lanzecki went on irreconcilably.

"What about the section dealing with rescue and salvage?"

Lanzecki's eyelids dropped slightly, but it was Enthor who answered her in a startled voice.

"There are none, my dear. Salvage is always done by the Guild, not a Singer. I would have thought you'd been taught to know what exactly is in rules and regs. Ah, now these . . . these are very good indeed. Two a trifle on the thin side."

Enthor had unpacked the quintet. For the first time, Lanzecki's attention was diverted. He shifted his body slightly so that he could see the weighplate. He lifted one eyebrow in surprise, but his lips did not soften with appeasement.

"You may come out of this affair better than you deserve to, Killashandra Ree," Lanzecki said. His eyes still glinted with anger. "Unless, of course, you left behind your cutter."

"I could carry that, and these," she retorted, stung more by his amusement than his anger.

"Let us hope then that Moksoon can be persuaded not to charge you with claim-jumping since you preserved his wreck of a ship, his skin, and his crystal. Gratitude is dependent on memory, Killashandra Ree, a function of the mind that deteriorates on Ballybran. Learn that lesson now!"

Lanzecki swept away from Enthor's table and walked down the long room to the farthest exit, thus emphasizing that he had come on discipline,

CHAPTER 10.

Killashandra stayed with Enthor while he tallied her four cartons, though she was hardly aware of what the old Sorter was saying to her. She kept glancing toward the far door where Lanzecki had made his dramatic exit, aware of the surreptitious looks in her direction from other Sorters, aware of an emotion more intense than hatred, emptier than fear.

"Now that'll buy you your two sleds." Enthor's words penetrated her self-absorption.

"What?"

"Those black crystals brought you a total of twenty-three thousand credits."

"How much?" Killashandra stared incredulously at the displayed figures, blinking green. "But a sled only costs eight thousand."

"There's the tithe, my dear. Thirty percent does eat a hole in the total. Actually, you have to pay for two sleds, the one you lost and the replacement. Still, 16,100 clear does help."

"Yes, it does." Killashandra tried to sound grateful.

Enthor patted her arm. "You'd best take a good long radiant bath, m'dear. Always helps. And eat." Then he began to package her beautiful black crystal.

She turned away, unexpectedly feeling the separation from her first experience of crystal. The weight of the cutter made her sag as she slung it to her back. She would take it to be checked in the morning. She estimated she had just enough strength left to get her body back to her quarters and into the radiant bath. She took the nearest door out of the Sorting room, aware marginally that people were still rushing cartons in to Storage, that the howl of the wind was loud at this level even inside the complex. She should be grateful! She was too weary to laugh or snort at her inappropriate choice of word. She got into the lift and its descent, though smooth, made her sink toward the floor. She was able to prevent complete collapse only by hanging on to the support rail.

She wobbled to her room, oblivious to the gaze of those in the Commons. As she walked, the drag of the cutter pulled her to the right, and once she caromed numbly from a doorway.

When she finally raised her hand to her own door plate, she realized that she still wore the ident wristband. She wouldn't need that anymore, but she hadn't the strength to remove it. As she passed a chair, she dropped her right shoulder, and the cutter slid onto the cushioning. She continued to the tankroom where she stared in dazed surprise at the filling tank. Did her entry into the room trigger the thing? No, it was almost full. Someone must have programmed it. Enthor? Rimbol? Her mind refused to work. She tore at her coverall, then her sweat liner, pulling her boots off with the legs of her coverall, and crawled up the three steps to the platform around the tank. She slid gratefully - that word again - into the viscous liquid, right up to her throat, her weight supported by the radiant fluid. Fatigue and the ache of crystal drained from her body and nerves. In that suspension, she remained, her mind withdrawn, her body buoyed.

Sometime later, the room announced a visitor, and she roused sufficiently to deny entrance. She didn't want to see Rimbol. But the intrusion and the necessity of making a decision aroused her from her passivity. The fluid had provided the necessary anodyne, and she was acutely aware of hunger. She had pulled herself from the tank, the radiant liquid dripping from her body, and was reaching for a wrap when a hand extended the garment to her. Lanzecki stood there.

"I will not be denied twice!" he said, "though I will allow you couldn't know that it was I at your door."

Surprised at his presence, Killashandra wavered on the edge of the tank, and he immediately held out a steadying hand.

"You can fill tanks and open doors?"

"One can be programmed, and the other was not locked."

"It is now!"

"It is," he said smoothly; his mouth, she quickly noticed, was amused. "But that can be changed."

For a picosecond, she wanted to call his bluff. Then she remembered that he had said she might he luckier than she deserved as Enthor tallied her cut. He had implied she had enough credit not only to buy a new sled but pay off what she already owed the Guild. Lanzecki had remembered the vouchers she still held. With those, she would have just enough. What mattered was that Lanzecki had remembered that margin at a time when he was rightfully infuriated by her disregard of her Guild Master's summons.

''I'm much too tired to change anything." She gathered the toweling about her and extended her hand to him, palm up, summoning a weary smile.

He looked from her smile to her palm, and his lips curved upward. Now he took a step forward. Placing both hands on her slender waist, he swung her down from the tank platform. She expected to be set on her feet. Instead Lanzecki carried her into the lounge. The spicy aroma of a freshly cooked meal was heady, and she exclaimed with pleasure at the steaming dishes on the table.

"I expected you might be hungry."

Killashandra laughed as Lanzecki deposited her in the chair, and she gestured with the over blown gentility of an opera heroine for him to assume the other seat.

Not that evening or ever did Lanzecki ask her if she had found Keborgen's black crystal, though he had occasions later to refer to her claim. Neither did he ask her any details of her first trip to the Milekey Ranges. Nor was she disposed to volunteer any comment. Except one.

Having teased her adroitly, Lanzecki finally gave her the caress she had been anticipating so long, and the sensation was almost unbearable.

"Crystal touches that way, too," she said when she could talk.

"I know," he murmured, his voice oddly rough, and as if to forestall her reply, he began to kiss her in a fashion that excluded opportunity.

She awoke alone, as she had expected, and much later than she had planned, for the time was late evening. She yawned prodigiously, stretched, and wondered if another radiant bath would further her restoration. Then her belly rumbled, and she decided food was the more immediate concern. No sooner had she dialed for a hot drink than a message was displayed on her screen for her to contact the Guild Master when convenient.

She did so promptly before she considered convenience, expedience, or opportunity.

Her reply was cleared immediately, and her screen produced a visual contact with the Guild Master. He was surrounded by printout sheets and looked tired.

"Have you rested?" Lanzecki asked. Belatedly, Killashandra activated her own screen. "Yes, you look considerably improved."

"Improved?"

A slight smile tugged at his lips. "From the stress and fatigue of your dramatic return." Then his expression changed, and Lanzecki became Guild Master. "Will you please come to my office to discuss an extra-planetary assignment?"

"Will," not "would," Killashandra thought, sensitive to key words.

"I'll be there as soon as I've eaten and gotten dressed." He nodded and broke contact.

As she sipped the last of the drink, she took a long look at herself in the mirrors of the tank room. She'd never been vain about her appearance. She had good strong face bones, wide cheeks, a high forehead, and thick, well-arched eyebrows, which she had not narrowed, as the natural emphasis made a good stage effect. Her jaw was strong, and she was losing the jowl muscles formed by singing. She slapped at the sides of her chin. No flab. Whatever produced the gaunt aspect of her face was reflected in her body. She noticed how prominent her collarbones were. If her appearance was now an improvement, according to Lanzecki, whatever had she looked like the previous day? Right now, she wouldn't have needed face paint to play Space Hag or Warp Widow.

She found something loose and filmy to wear, with ends that tied about her neck and wrists and a long full skirt. She stood back from the mirrors and did a half turn, startled by her full-length reflection. Something had changed. Just what she couldn't puzzle out; she had to see the Guild Master.

She was almost to the lift shaft when a group emerged from the Commons.

"Killashandra?"

"Rimbol?" Killashandra mocked his surprised query with a light laugh. "You ought to know me!"

Rimbol gave her an odd grin that relaxed into his usual ingenuous smile. Jezerey, Mistra, and Borton were with him.

"Well, you're more like yourself this evening than you were yesterday," Rimbol replied. He scratched his head in embarrassment, grinning ruefully at the others. "I didn't believe Concera when she kept saying singing crystal makes a big change, but now I do."

"I don't think I've changed," Killashandra replied stiffly, annoyed that Rimbol and, by their expressions, the others could perceive what eluded her.

Rimbol laughed. "Well, you've used your mirror" - and he indicated her careful grooming - "but you haven't seen."

"No, I haven't."

Rimbol made a grimace of apology for her sharp tone.

"Singers are notorious for their irritability," Jezerey said with an uncordial look.

"Oh, pack that in, Jez," Rimbol said. "Killa is just in off the ranges. Is it as bad as it's made out, Killa?" He couched that question in a quiet tone.

"I would have been fine if I hadn't had to deal with Moksoon."

"Or the Guild Master." Rimbol was sympathetic.

"Oh, you stayed on?" Killashandra decided to brazen through that episode. "He was quite right, of course. And I pass on that hard-learned lesson. Save your own sled and skin in the ranges. Will you be around later, Rimbol? I've got to see Lanzecki now." She allowed her voice to drop, expressing dread and looking for sympathy in their expressions. "I'd like to join you later if you're in the lounge."

"Good luck!" Rimbol said, and he meant it. The others waved encouragingly as she entered the lift.

She had much to think about during the short drop, and none of it about her interview with Lanzecki. How could she have changed so much in the past few days just by cutting crystal? Jezerey had never been overly friendly, but she had never been antagonistic. She was annoyed with herself, too, for that off handed reassurance to Rimbol. "I would have been fine without Moksoon." Yet how could she possibly have explained the experience that had annealed her, confirmed her as a Crystal Singer? Maybe, alone with Rimbol, she would try to explain, forewarn him that once past the curious unpainful agony of the initial cut, there was an elevation to a totally bizarre ecstasy that could only be savored briefly or it overwhelmed mind, nerve, and senses.

She sighed, standing before the door to the Guild Master's office. In the second between the announcement of her presence and the panel's smooth retraction, she remembered how hard Concera had tried to explain some facets of crystal singing. She recalled the odd harsh tone in which Lanzecki had admitted knowledge of the tactile feel of crystal.

"Killashandra Ree." Lanzecki's voice came from the corner of his large office, and she saw him bent over a spotlighted work surface, layers of printout in front of him. He did not look up from his research until she reached him. "Did you have enough to eat?" he asked with more than ordinary courtesy and a close scrutiny of her face.

"I had a high-protein and glucose cereal - " she began because, as soon as he mentioned eating, she felt hungry again.

"Hmmm. A bowl was all you had time for, I'm sure. You've slept sixteen hours, so you've missed considerable nourishment already."

"I did eat in the ranges. Really I did," she protested as he took her hand and led her to the catering console.

"You've still wit enough to feed yourself, but you can't know how immensely important it is to replenish reserves at this point."

"I won't be able to eat all that." She was appalled at the number and variety of dishes he was dialing.

"I get peckish myself, you know," he said, grinning.

"What happens that I need to eat myself gross?" she asked, but she helped him clear the catering slot of its first deposit, sniffing appreciatively at the enticing mixture of aromas from the platters.

"You'll never see a plump Singer," he assured her. "In your particular case, the symbiont is only just settled into cell tissue. A Milekey transition may be easier on the host, but the spore still requires time to multiply, differentiate, and become systematically absorbed. Here, start with this soup. Weather and other considerations compelled me to direct you into the ranges prematurely as far as the process of your adaptation is concerned." He gave her a sardonic glance. "You may one day be grateful that you had only two days on your claim."

"Actually three. I didn't spend two with that twithead Moksoon. He's utterly paranoid!"

"He's alive," Lanzecki replied succinctly, with sufficient undertone to make the statement both accusation and indictment. "Three days! In ordinary training, you would not have gone out into the ranges until the others were also prepared."

"They won't make it out before the Passover storms now." Killashandra was dismayed. If she had had to wait that long . . .

"Precisely. You were trained, eager and clever enough to precipitate the event."

"And you wanted that black crystal."

"So, my dearling, did you."

The caterer chimed urgently to remind them to clear the slot for additional selections. Lanzecki slapped a hold on the remainder of the programmed order.

"Even with your help, I'll never eat all this," Killashandra said after they had filled the small table and three more dishes remained in the slot.

"Listen to me while you eat. The symbiont will be attenuated after intense cutting. I could see that in your face. Don't talk. Eat! I had to be sure you ate last night once the radiant fluid had eased your nerves. Your metabolism must be efficient. I would have thought you'd been awakened by hunger a good four hours ago."

"I was eating when I got your message."

He grinned as he inserted a steaming, seeded appetizer into his mouth. He licked his fingers as he chewed, then said, "My message was programmed the moment your caterer was used." He stuffed another piece of appetizer into her mouth. "Don't talk. Eat."

Whatever it was he fed her was exceedingly tasty. She speared another.

"Now, several unexpected elements are in display. One" - and he ate a spoonful of small brilliant green spheres - "you brought in five medium black crystals for which we have received an urgent request." He waved his empty spoon at the printout layers on his desk. "Two, you have no sled, nor can Manufacturing produce a replacement before the Passover storms. Which, by the way, were heralded by that unpredicted blow in the Bay area. Short, hard, but destructive. Even though conjunction occurs over the seas north and east of this continent, Passover is going to be particularly nasty, as it coincides with spring solstice. Weather is generally cyclical on Ballybran, and the pattern which has been emerging coincides with '63 . . . 2863GY, that is - eat, don't gawk. Surely you have wandered through data retrieval, Killashandra, and discovered how long I've been a member. Fuerte cannot have eradicated human curiosity, or you wouldn't be here."

She swallowed as the significance of his qualifying the century occurred to her.

"But not how long you've been Guild Master."

He chuckled at her quick reply, passing a dish of stewed orange-and-green milsi stalks to her. "Excellent for trace minerals. The Passover turbulence will be phenomenal even in terms of Ballybran's meteorological history. Which, I might add, goes back further than I do. Don't choke now!" he rose to give her a deft thump between her shoulder blades. "Even the Infirmary level will shake. You, so recently exposed to crystal for the first time, will be severely affected by the stress. I can, as Guild Master, order you off Ballybran," and his face fell into harsh immobile lines, impersonal and implacable. But his mouth softened when he saw her determined expression. "However, I would prefer that you cooperate. The five blacks you brought in are currently, if you'll forgive the pun, being tuned and should be ready for shipment. I would like to assign you to take them to the Trundimoux System and install them."

"This duty will provide me with the margin of credit for my future foolishness?"

Lanzecki chuckled appreciatively.