Crystal Line

Chapter 7

Killashandra came in from the Milekey Mountains with a load of blue-quartz prisms and cylinders in A-sharp or higher.She had always worked well solo in the upper registers, which gave her a distinct advantage over most crystal singers.

She made it into the Hangar on a windy blast from the oncoming storm.Cutting it fine again, but she grinned at having made it without harm to herself or her sled.That was all that mattered: coming back in the same state of mind or body as she had gone out.Still, and in the back of her mind, she allowed herself to be relieved that her recklessness had not exacted a penalty.

Being one of the last in, she had to wait for Clodine to be free to assay her crystal.It was a long wait, especially with every nerve in her body screaming for the radiant fluid that would reduce the resonance to a mild discomfort.The storm outside seemed to stroke her body to an intense pitch.She shuddered from time to time, but managed to survive the waiting.

When Clodine told her she had hit the top of the market, she could feel the physical relief course through her despite storm scream.

"I've been due a change of luck," she said, wincing as she remembered the last week in the Range.The sun had been fierce on the scars of her cuttings, half blinding her, and the scream of crystal had sliced through her mind as she had cut.But she had been desperate to hack enough cargo to get off-world for a while-away from crystal song, far away, so her mind would have a chance to heal."How much?"

Clodine peered up at her from her console, a little smirk bending the left corner of her mouth."Don't you trust me any more, Killa?"

"At this point, I wouldn't trust my own mother-if I could remember who she was," Killa replied.She forced a smile for Clodine on her grimy lips and tried to relax.Clodine was her friend.She would know how badly Killa needed to get away from Ballybran and crystal whine."Is it enough?"

Clodine altered her enhanced eyes and gazed at Killashandra almost maternally."You've been a singer long enough, Killa, to know when you've cut sufficient crystal."

"Tell me!"With totally irrational fury, Killashandra brought both fists down on the counter, jarring the crystal and startling Clodine to blink into enhancement.Immediately she relented."I'm sorry, Clodine.I shouldn't shout at my only friend.But…"

"You've enough," Clodine said gently.She reached to grasp Killa's arm encouragingly but drew back her fingers as if she had been burned.The Sorter's expression altered to sadness.Then her gaze switched to someone over her shoulder.

Killashandra jerked her head slightly sideways to see who had joined them.It was the Guild Master.She looked back at Clodine, ignoring the man as she had done for a long time now.

"Killa," he said, his tenor voice pitched to concern, "that was cutting it too close by half.You shouldn't work solo for a while.Any singer in the Guild would partner you for a couple of runs."

"I'll work as I please," she said, forcing her wretchedly tired body into a straight and obstinate line."I'm not so ancient that I can't scramble when I have to."

The Guild Master pointed to the weather displayed on the back wall of the Sorting Shed, and despite herself, Killashandra followed his finger.She maintained a show of indifference, but she felt cold fear in her belly.She hadn't realized the storm was that powerful: twelve-mach-force winds?Had her weather sense betrayed her?Lost its edge?No, but she had been deeper in the Ranges than she realized when she started out.She could well have been caught out over crystal.But she hadn't.And she had safely brought in enough crystal to get off-planet again.

"A good blow," she said with a defensive shrug and a wry twist of her lips, "but it's going to knock hell out of my claim."

The Guild Master touched her shoulder lightly; he did not pull away from her as Clodine had."Just don't go back solo, Killa."She dipped out from under his hand.He continued, "You've sung crystal a long time now.You kited in here just ahead of a mach-twelve storm and one day you'll stay just that moment too long and-poof!"He threw his hands up, fingers wide."Scrambled brains."

"That's the time, Guild Master," she said, still with her back to him, "that I get some of my own back."

She saw the pity and concern in Clodine's eyes.

"With your ears ruptured and your mind a balloon?Sure, Killa.Sure.Look, there're half a dozen good cutters who'd double you any time you raised your finger.Or don't you remember"-and the Guild Master's voice turned soft-"how much you made singing duet…"

"With Lars Dahl!"Killashandra made her voice flat and refused to look around.

"We worked well together, Killa."His voice was still soft.

"How kind of you to remember, Guild Master."

She turned away from the counter, but he stepped in front of her.

"I was wrong, Killashandra.It's too late for you to cut duo.Crystal's in your soul."He strode out of the shed, leaving her standing there.

She tried to be amused by the accusation-but, from him, it cut like crystal.As if she would want to sing duet again.Especially with Lars Dahl.She cast her mind back, trying to recall some details of those halcyon days.Nothing came.They must have happened a long, long time ago: many storms, many Passovers, many cuts past.

"Killa?"

At the sound of Clodine's voice, Killashandra jerked herself back to the present: the tote was up on the screen-and the news was good.Even with the Guild tithe, she had enough to keep out of the Ranges for close to a year.Maybe that would be enough to take crystal out of her soul.

The Guild Master had to be wrong about that!He had to be!She thanked Clodine, who seemed relieved that her friend's mood had altered.

She stopped in the Hall long enough to tap in her name and get a locator keyed into her quarters.It had long since stopped irritating her that she couldn't remember where she lived in the great cube of the Heptite Guild.She merely let the locator guide her.The mach winds seemed to follow her, echoing through the lift and the corridor.The key vibrated more imperiously in her hand and she hurried.The sooner she immersed herself in the radiant bath, the sooner she would be rid of the angry pulsing of crystal in her blood.

No, it wasn't in her blood.Not yet.

So there were men willing to cut duo with her, were there?Well, Guild Master, what if it's not just any man who is acceptable to me?The door to her quarters sprang open as she neared it, so she began to trot.It was going to take so long to fill the radiant bath.Somehow there ought to be a way to trigger that amenity from afar, especially for singers as crystal-logged as she was.Once, someone-what was his name?-someone had done her that courtesy and she had always returned to her room to find the tub full.

As she turned the corner into the sanitary facility, she was amazed to see the tap running the viscous liquid in a bath that was nearly full.But that someone-she pulled at memory even as she pulled off her grimed jumpsuit-was long dead.She was eternally grateful to whoever had started the bath.The Guild Master?Not likely.What had been that other man's name?

She could abuse her mind no longer with pointless attempts to remember.With an immense sigh of relief, she eased into the liquid, feeling it just slightly heavy against her skin, filling her pores.Her flesh gratefully absorbed the anodyne and she placed her head into the recess, slipping her legs and arms into the restraining straps.She forced muscle after weary muscle to relax, willing the resonances to stop echoing through her bones.

She must have slept: she had been exhausted enough to do so.But she felt slightly better.This would be a four-bath cleansing, she decided, and let the used fluid out.

"Dispenser!" she called, loud enough to activate the mechanism in the other room, and when it chimed its attention, she ordered food.She waited until the second chime told her the food was ready."Now if they'd only invent a 'bot to bring it to me…"

In her past, she hadn't had to worry about that detail, had she?That much she remembered.She crawled out of the tub, setting it for refill, and, flinging a big towel about her, she made for the dispenser slot, ignoring the puddles made by the fluid that sheeted off her body as she walked.The aroma of the food activated long-unused saliva.

"Don't eat too much, Killa," she warned herself, knowing perfectly well what would happen to her underserved stomach if she did.That much she always remembered.

She had a few bites and then forced herself to bring the tray back to the tub, where she rested it on the wide rim.Climbing back into the filling tub, she moved her body under the splash from the wide-mouthed tap.With one hand on the rim, she scooped of milsi stalks into her mouth, one at a time, chewing conscientiously.

She really must remember to eat when she was in the Ranges.Muhlah knew her sled was well-enough stocked, and since the provisions were paid for, she ought to eat them.If she remembered.

By her fourth bath, she recollected snatches and patches of her last break.They didn't please her.For one thing, she had come in with a light load, forced off the Range a few klicks ahead of a storm.She had reaped the benefits of that blow this trip, of course-that was the way of it with crystal.If a singer could get back to the vicinity of a lode fast enough, the crystal resonated and told your body where it was.But she hadn't had enough credit to get off-planet, a trip she had desperately needed then-though not half as much as she did now.

She'd had to take what relief she could from a handsome and somewhat arrogant young landsman on the upper continent: tone-deaf, sobersided, but he hadn't been man enough to anneal her.

"Crystal in my soul, indeed!"The Guild Master's words stung, like crystal scratch.

She made a noise of sheer self-disgust and pulled herself from the tank, knocking the tray off.She turned to the big wall mirror, watching the fluid sheet off her body, as firm and graceful as a youngster's.Killashandra had long since given up keeping track of her chronological age: it was irrelevant anyway, since the symbiont kept her looking and feeling young.Not immortality but close to it-except for the youth of her memory.

"Now where will I go off this fecking planet this time?" she asked her reflection, and then slid open the dresser panel.

She was mildly surprised at the finery there and decided she must have spent what credit she'd had for pretty threads to lure that unwary landsman.He had been a brute of a lover, though a change.Anything had been a change from Lars Dahl.How dare the Guild Master suggest that she'd better duo?He had no right or authority, no lien or hold on her to dictate her choice!

Angrily Killashandra punched for Port Authority and inquired the destinations of imminent departures from Shankill.

"Not much, C.S.Killashandra," she was told politely."Small freighter is loading for the Armagh system…"

"Have I been there?"

Pause."No, ma'am."

"What does Armagh do for itself?"

"Exports fish oils and glue," was the semidisgusted reply.

"Water world?"

"Not total.Has the usual balance of land and ocean…"

"Tropical?"For some reason the idea of a tropical world both appealed to and repelled her.

"It has a very pleasant tropical zone.All water sports, tasty foods if you like a high fruit/fish diet."

"Book me."Crystal singers could be high-handed, at least on Ballybran.

"Blast-off at twenty-two thirty today," Port Authority told her.

"I've just time then."And Killashandra broke the connection.

She drew on the most conservative garments in the press, then randomly selected a half dozen of the brighter things, tossed them into a carisak, and closed it.She hesitated, midroom, glancing about incuriously.It was, of course, the standard member accommodation.Vaguely she remembered a time when there had been paintings and wall hangings, knickknacks that were pretty or odd on the shelves and tables, a different rug on the floor of the main room.Now there was no trace of anything remotely personal, certainly nothing of Killashandra.

"Because," Killashandra said out loud as if to imprint her voice on the room, "I'm nothing but a crystal singer with only a present to live in."

She slammed the door as she left, but it didn't do much to satisfy her discontent.She found slightly more pleasure in the realization that, though she might have trouble finding her apartment after a session in the Ranges, she had none finding her way up from the subterranean resident levels and to the shuttle bays.

She took the time to get the protective lenses removed from her eyes.It didn't change her outlook much.In fact, Ballybran looked duller than it should have as the shuttle lifted toward Shankill.The storm had cleared away, and she felt a brief twinge as her body ached for the resonances she was leaving, for the dazzle of rainbow light prisms dancing off variegated quartz, for the pure sweet sound of crystal waking in the early morning sun, or sighing in the cold virginal light of one of the larger moons, for the subsonic hum that ate through bone in black cold night.

Then she dealt with the formalities of lifting off-world and was directed to Bay 23, where the Armagh freighter, Maeve 18, was docked. She was escorted to her cabin by a youngster who couldn't keep far enough ahead of her-and the crystal resonance that pinged off her-in the narrow corridors.

"Is there a radiant-fluid tub on board?" she asked him with a grim smile at his reaction to her condition.

"In your cabin, Crystal Singer," he said, and then scooted away.

It was a courtesy to call it a tub-it was a two-meter tube, just wide enough to accommodate a body.To reach it one had to perform certain acrobatics over the toilet; and, according to the legend on the dials, the same fluid was flushed and reused.Well, she could count on three to four washes before it became ineffective.That would have to do.She opened the tap and heard the comforting gurgle of the fluid dropping to the bottom of the tub.

From there she flung her carisak to the narrow bunk, shucked off her clothes, and did her acrobatic act, inserting herself just as the flow automatically cut off.There were hand and ankle grips, and she arranged her limbs appropriately, tilted her head back, and let the radiant fluid cleanse her.

She entered the common room for the first time the third day out, having purged sufficient crystal resonance from blood and bone to be socially acceptable.She was hungry, for more than food, a hunger she could keep leashed as far as she was concerned.But the eight male passengers and the two crewmen who circulated in the transit area were obviously affected by her sensuality.There wasn't anyone she wanted, so she retired to her cabin and remained there for the rest of the trip.She had traveled often enough in the shape she was in to practice discretion.

Armagh III's Port Terminal smelled of fish oil and glue.Great casks were being trundled into the hold of the freighter as she bade an impatient farewell to the captain.She flashed her general credentials and was admitted unconditionally to the planet as a leisure guest.She didn't need to use her Guild membership-Armagh III was an open planet.

She rented a flit and checked into the Touristas for a list of resorts.The list turned out to be so lengthy that she merely closed her eyes and bought a ticket to the destination on which her finger settled: Trefoil, on the southeastern coast of the main continent.She paused long enough to obtain a quick change of Armagh clothing, bright patterns in a lightweight porous weave, and was off.

Trefoil reminded her of somewhere.The resemblance nagged at her even as the interoceanic air vehicle circled the small fishing town.Ships tacking across the harbor under sail caused her heart to bump with a curiously painful joy.She knew she must have seen sailships, since the nomenclature-sloop, lateen-rigged, schooner, ketch, yawl-sprang to mind with no hesitation.As did a second pang of regret.She grimaced and decided that such clear recollection might even be an asset on this backward little world.

The landing field wasn't that far from one of the longer wharves, where a huge two-master was moving, with graceful and competent ease, to a berth along the port side.That term also came unbidden to her mind.As much because she would not give in to the emotion of the recall as because the ship excited her, she swung the carisak to her shoulder and sauntered down to the wharf.The crew was busy in the yards, reefing the last of the square sails used to make port, and more were bustling about the deck, which glinted with an almost crystalline sheen.

"What makes the decks shine?" she asked another observer.

"Fish oils" was the somewhat terse reply, and then the man, a red-bearded giant, took a second look.Men usually looked twice at Killashandra."First time on Armagh?"

Killashandra nodded, her eyes intent on the schooner.

"Been here long?"

"Just arrived."

"Got a pad?"

"No."

"Try the Golden Dolphin.Best food in town and best brewman."

Killashandra turned to look at him then."You pad there?"

"How else could I judge?" the man replied with charming candor.

Killashandra smiled back at him, neither coldly nor invitingly.Neutral.He reminded her of someone.They both turned back to watch the docking ship.

Killashandra found the process fascinating and reminiscent, but she forced memory out and concentrated on the landing, silently applauding the well-drilled crew.Each man seemed to perform his set task without apparent instruction from the captain in the bridge house.The big hull drifted slowly sideways toward the wharf.The last of the sails had now been fastened along the spars.Two crewmen flung lines ashore, fore and aft, then leaped after them when the distance closed, flipping the heavy lines deftly around the bollards and snubbing the ship securely.

Armagh men ran to height, tanned skins, and strong backs, Killashandra noticed approvingly.Redbeard was watching her out of the corner of his eye.He was interested in her all right.Just then, the nearest sailor turned landside and waved in her direction.His teeth were startlingly white against the mahogany of his skin.He tossed back a streaked blond curly mane of hair and waved again.He wore the long oil-shiny pants of his profession and an oddly fashioned vest, which left chest and arms bare and seemed stiff with double hide along the ribs.He looked incredibly muscular.

Why was he waving at her?No, the greeting was for Redbeard beside her, who now walked forward to meet his friend.A third man, black-bearded and tangle-maned, joined them and was embraced by Redbeard.The trio stood facing the ship and talking among themselves until a fearsome machine glided along the rails to their side of the dock.It extruded a ramp out and down and into the deck of the boat, where it hovered expectantly.The two sailors had jumped back aboard, the blond man moving with the instinctive grace of the natural athlete.In comparison, the black-haired man looked clumsy.As a team, they heaved open the hatch.The hesitant ramp extruded clamps that fastened to the deck and the lip of the opened hold. More ramp disappeared into the maw of the ship.Moments later the ramp belt moved upward and Killashandra saw her first lunk, the great oil fish of Armagh, borne away on its last journey.

She became absorbed in the unloading process, which, for all the automated assistance of the machine, still required a human element.The oil scales of the huge fish did not always stay on the rough surface of the ramp belt and had to be forced back on manually.The blonde used an enormous barbed hook, planting it deep in what was actually the very tough hide of the elusive fish and deftly flipping the body into place again.Redbeard seemed to have some official position, for he made notes of the machine's dials, used the throat mike often, and seemed to have forgotten her existence entirely.Killashandra approved.A man should get on with his work.

Yes, especially when he worked with such laudable economy of motion and effort.Like the young blonde.

In fact, Killashandra was rather surprised when the ramp suddenly retracted and the machine slid sideways to the next hold.A small barefoot rascal of a lad slipped up to the crewmen, a tray of hot pies balanced on his head.The aroma was tantalizing, and Killashandra realized that she had not eaten since leaving the freighter that morning.Before she could signal the rascal to her, his merchandise had been bought up by the seamen.Irritated, Killashandra looked landward.The docks couldn't be dependent on the services of small boys.There must be other eating facilities nearby.With a backward glance at her blond sailor, contentedly munching from a pie in each hand, she left the wharf.

As it happened the eating house she chose displayed a placard advertising the Golden Dolphin.The hostelry was up the beach, set back amid a grove of frond-leaved trees, which also reminded her of something and excited an irritation in her.She wouldn't give in to it.The inn was set far enough around a headland from the town and the wharf so that commercial noise was muted.She took a room with a veranda looking out over the water.She changed into native clothing and retraced her steps along the quiet corridor to the public room.

"What's the native brew?" she asked the barman, settling herself on the quaint, high wooden stool.

"Depends on your capacity, m'dear," the little black man told her, grinning a welcome.

"I've never disgraced myself."

"Tart or sweet?"

"Hmmmm… Tart, cool, and long."

"There's a concoction of fermented fruits, native to this globe, called 'harmat'.Powerful."

"Keep an eye on me then, man.You call the limit."

He nodded respectfully.He couldn't know that a crystal singer had a metabolism that compensated for drug, narcotic, or excess alcohol.A blessing-curse.Particularly if she were injured off-world, with no crystal around to draw the noise of accidental pain from her bones and muscles.Quietly cursing to herself, she knew she had enough crystal resonance still in her to reduce even an amputation to minimal discomfort.

Harmat was tart, cool, and long, with a pleasant aftertaste that kept the mouth sweet and soothed the throat.

"A good drink for a sun world," she commented."And sailors."

"Aye, it is," the barman said, his eyes twinkling."And if it weren't for them, we could export more."

"I thought Armagh's trade was fish oils and glue."

The barman wrinkled his nose disdainfully."It is.Harmat off-world commands a price, only trade rules say home consumption comes first."

"Invent another drink."

The barman frowned."I try.Oh, I try.But they drink me dry of anything I brew."

"You're brewman as well?"

He drew himself up, straight and proud."I gather the fruit from my own land, prepare it, press it, keg it, age it."

She questioned him further, interested in another's exacting trade, and thought if she weren't a crystal singer, brewmaking would have been fun.

Biyanco, for that was the brewman's name, chatted with her amiably until the laughter and talk of a large crowd penetrated the quiet gloom of the public room.

"The fishermen," he told her, busying himself by filling glass after glass of harmat and lining them up along the bar.

He was none too soon, for the wide doors of the public room swung open and a horde of oil-trousered, vested men and women surged up to the bar, tanned hands closing on the nearest glass, coins spinning and clicking to the wooden surface.Killashandra remained on her stool, but she was pressed hard on both sides by thirty or so people who spared her no glance until they had finished the first glass and were bawling for a refill.Then she was, rather casually, she felt, dismissed as the fisherfolk laughed among themselves and talked trade.

"You'd best watch that stuff," said a voice in her ear, and she saw Redbeard.

"I've been warned," she answered, grinning.

"Biyanco makes the best harmat this side of the canal.It's not a drink for the novice."

"I've been warned," she repeated, mildly amused at the half insult.Of course, the man couldn't know that she was a crystal singer.So his warning had been kindly meant.

A huge bronzed fist brushed past her left breast.Startled, she looked up into the brilliant blue eyes of the blond sailor, who gazed at her in an incurious appraisal that warmed briefly in the way a man will look at a woman, and then grew cautious.

Killashandra looked away first, oddly disturbed by the blue eyes, somehow familiar but not the same, and disappointed.This one was much too young for her.She turned back to Redbeard, who grinned as if he had watched the swift exchange of glances and was somehow amused by it.

"I'm Thursday, Orric Thursday, ma'am," the redbeard said.

"Killashandra Ree is my name," she replied, and extended her hand.

He couldn't have guessed her profession by her grip, but she could see that the strength of it surprised him.Killashandra was not a tall or heavily boned woman: cutting crystal does not need mass, only controlled energy, and that could be developed in any arm.

Thursday gestured to the blond."This is my good friend, Shad Tucker."

Thankful that the press of bodies made it impossible for her to do the courteous handshake, Killashandra nodded to Shad Tucker.

"And my old comrade of the wars, Tir Od Nell."Orric Thursday motioned to the blackbeard, who also contented himself with a nod and a grin at her."You'd be here for a rest, Killashandra?"Thursday asked.And when she nodded, he went on."Now, why would you pick such a dull fisherman's world as Armagh if you'd the galaxy to choose from?"

Killashandra had heard that sort of question before, how many times she couldn't remember.She had also heard the same charming invitation for confidences.

"Perhaps I like water sports," she replied, smiling back at him and not bothering to hide her appraisal.

To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed.She could see where he had trimmed the hairs from his throat, leaving a narrow band of white flesh that never saw sun.His two friends said nothing, but their eyes were on her.

"Perhaps you do, ma'am.And this is the place.Did you want the long wave ride?There's a boat out every dawn."Orric looked at her questioningly."Then water skating?Submarining?Dolphin swimming?What is your pleasure, Killashandra Ree?"

"Rest!I'm tired!"

"Oh, I'd never think you'd ever known fatigue."The expression in his eyes invited her to edify him.

"For someone unfamiliar with the condition, how would you know it?"

Tir Od Nell roared.

"She's got you there, Orr," he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.Shad Tucker smiled, a sort of shy, amused smile, as if he hadn't suspected her capable of caustic reply, and wasn't sure he should enjoy it at his friend's expense.

Orric grinned, shrugged, and eyed Killashandra with respect.Then he bawled to Biyanco that his glass had a hole in it.

When the edge of their thirst had been satisfied, most of the fishermen left."In search of other diversions," Orric said, but he, Tir Od Nell, and Shad Tucker merely settled stools around Killashandra and continued to drink.

She matched them, paid her rounds, and enjoyed Orric's attempts to pry personal information from her.

He was not, she discovered, easily put off, nor shy of giving facts about himself and his friends.They had all worked the same fishing boat five seasons back, leaving the sea as bad fishing turned them off temporarily.Orric had an interest in computers and often did wharfman's chores if the regular men were away when the ships came in.Tir Od Nell was working the lunk season to earn some ready credit, and would return to his regular job inland.Shad Tucker, the only off-worlder, had sailed the seas of four planets before he was landed on Armagh.

"Shad keeps saying he'll move on, but he's been here five years and more," Orric told Killashandra, "and no sign of applying for a ticket-off."

Tucker only smiled, the slight, tolerant smile playing at the corner of his mouth, as if he were chary of admitting even that much about himself.

"Don't let Shad's reticence mislead you, Killashandra Ree," Orric went on, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder."He's accredited for more than a lunk fisher.Indeed he is."Killashandra felt yet another tweak of pain that she masked with a smile for Orric."Shad's got first mate's tickets on four water worlds that make sailing Armagh look like tank bathing.Came here with a submarine rig one of the Anchorite companies was touting."He shrugged, eloquently indicating that the company's praise had fallen on deaf Armaghan ears.

"They're conservative here on Armagh," Tucker said, his accent a nice change, soft after Orric's near-bellow.She almost had to sharpen her hearing to catch what he said.

"How so?" she asked Shad.

"They feel there is one good way to catch lunk when it's in oil.By long line.That way you don't bruise the flesh so much and the lunk doesn't struggle the way it does in a net and sour the oil.The captains, they've a sense of location that doesn't need sonic gear.I've sailed with five, six of the best and they always know when and where lunk are running.And how many they can bring from that deep."

And, thought Killashandra, bemused by Shad's soft accent, you'd give your arm to develop that sense.

"You've fished on other worlds," she said out loud.

"Aye."

"Where, for instance?"

He was as unforthcoming as a fish-or herself.

"Oh, all over.Spiderfish, crackerjaw, bluefin, skaters and Welladay whales."

The young man spoke casually, as if encounters with aquatic monsters were of no account.And how, Killashandra wondered to herself, did she know that's what he'd named?Nervously, she glanced to one side and saw Orric's eyes light up, as if he had hoped that the catalog would impress her.

"A crackerjack opened his back for him on Spindrift," Orric said proudly."And he flew five miles with a skater and brought it down, the largest one ever recorded on Mandalay."

Killashandra wasn't sure why Orric Thursday wished to extol his friend.But it made him more acceptable in her eyes.Shad was too young, anyhow.Killashandra made no further attempt to draw Shad out but turned to Tir and Orric.

Despite a continued concern for her consumption of harmat, Orric kept ordering until full dark closed down abruptly on the planet and the artificial lights came on in the room.

"Mealtime," Biyanco announced in a loud, penetrating voice, and activated a barrier that dropped over the bar.He appeared through a side door and briskly gestured them to a table for four on the other side of the room.Killashandra made no resistance to Orric's suggestion that they all dine together, and she spent the rest of the evening-listening to fish stories-in their company.She spent her night alone-by choice.She had not made up her mind yet.

When the sun came up over the edge of the sea, she was down in the hotel's private lagoon, floating on the buoyant waters, just as the lunk ships, sails fat with dawn winds, slid out to open sea with incredible speed.

To her surprise, Orric appeared at midday and offered to show her Trefoil's few diversions.Nothing loath, she went and found him most agreeable company, conversant on every phase of Trefoil's domestic industry.He steered her from the usual tourist path, for which she was grateful.She abhorred that label, though tourist she was, on any world but Ballybran.Nor did she give Orric Thursday any hint of her profession, despite all his attempts to wheedle the information from her.

It wasn't that she liked being secretive, but few worlds understood the function of crystal singers, and some very odd habits and practices had been attributed to them.Killashandra's discretion and caution was instinctive now.

Late that afternoon, a bleeper on Orric's belt alerted him to return to the dock: the fishing boats had been sighted.

"Sorry, m'dear," he said as he executed a dipping turn of his fast airflipper."Duty calls."

She elected to join him on the wharf, allowing him to think it was his company she preferred.Actually, she wanted to watch the silent teamwork of docking, and see the mahogany figure of Shad Tucker again.He was much too young for her, she told herself again, but a right graceful person to observe.

They had made a quick plenteous catch that day, Killashandra was told as the fishermen drowned their thirsts in harmat at the Golden Dolphin.Tucker seemed unusually pleased, and Killashandra couldn't resist asking why.

"He's made enough now to go off-world," Orric said when Shad replied with an indolent shrug."He won't go."Orric shook his head, a wry grin on his face."He never does.He's been here longer than on any other planet."

"Why?"Killashandra asked Shad, then had to hush Orric."Let Tucker reply.He knows his own mind, doesn't he?"

Shad regarded her with mild surprise, and the indolent look left his blue eyes, replaced by an intensity she found hard to ignore.

"This is a real sea world," Shad said, picking his words in his soft-accented way, "not some half-evolved plankton planet."

He doesn't open his lips wide enough to enunciate properly, she thought, and wondered why he guarded himself so.

"You've lunk for profit, territ and flatfish for fine eating, the crustaceans and bivalves for high livers, then the sea fruits for a constant harvest.Variety.I might buy myself a strip of land and stay."

"You do ship on more than the lunk boats?"

Shad was surprised by her question."All the boats fish lunk when it runs.Then you go after the others."

"If you've a mind for drudgery," Tir Od Nell said gloomily.

Shad gave Tir a forbearing glance."Lunk requires only muscle," he said with a sly grin.

This appeared to be an old challenge, for Tir launched into a debate that Shad parried with the habit of long practice.

For the sake of being perverse, Killashandra took Tir to bed that night.She didn't regret the experience, although there was no harmony between them.If it gave her no peace, his vehemence did take the edge off her hunger.She did not encourage him to ask for more.Somewhere, long ago, she had learned the way to do that without aggravating a lover.

He was gone by dawn.Orric dropped by a few hours later and took her to see a sea-fruit farm on the peninsula, ten klicks from Trefoil to the south.When she assured Max Ennert, the farmer, of her experience, they were all fitted out with breather tanks and went submarine.

Enclosed by water, isolated by her trail of bubbles, though attached by guideline to Max and Orric, she realized-probably not for the first time-why crystal singers sought water worlds.Below sea level, there was insulation against aural sound, relief from the play of noise against weary eardrums.

They drifted inches above the carefully tended sea gardens, Max and Orric occasionally pruning off a ripe frond of grape or plum and shoving them in the net bags they towed.They bypassed reapers in a vast sea-valley where weed was being harvested.Occasionally, loose strands would drift past them, the fuller, longer ones deftly caught and netted by the men.

Killashandra was content to follow, slightly behind Max, slightly ahead of Orric, craning her neck, angling her body to enjoy as much of the clear-sea view as possible.One or the other man checked her gauges from time to time.Euphoria could be a curse undersea, and they didn't know of the professional immunity she enjoyed.

Perhaps that was why Orric argued with Max at one point, when they had been below some two hours.But they stayed down almost three more before they completed the circuit.As they walked out of the sea at Max's landing, night was approaching with the usual tropical dispatch.

"Stay on, Orric, Killashandra, if you've no other plans," Max said but the words sounded rehearsed, strained.

She entered the room where she had changed to sea dress and heard Orric's footsteps right behind her.She didn't bother closing the door.He did, and had her in his arms the next instant.She made no resistance to his advance nor did she respond.He held her from him, surprised, a question in his eyes.

"I'm not susceptible to euphorics, Orric," she told him.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, gray eyes wide with innocence.

"And I've submarined on more worlds than Shad has sailed."

"Is it Tucker you're after?"He didn't seem jealous, merely curious.

"Shad's…" She shrugged, unwilling to place the young man in any category.

"But you don't fancy me?"He did not seem aggrieved-again, merely curious.

She looked at him a long moment."I think…" She paused then voiced an opinion that had been subconscious till that moment."You remind me too much of someone I've been trying to forget."

"Oh, just remind you?"Orric's voice was soft and coaxing, almost like Tucker's.She put that young man firmly out of her mind.

"No offense intended, Orric.The resemblance is purely superficial."

His eyes twinkled merrily, and Killashandra realized that the resemblance was not purely superficial, for the other man would have responded in just the same way, amused with her and taking no offense.Perversely that annoyed her more.

"So, dark and mysterious lady, when you get to know me better…"

"Let me get to know you better first."

They flitted back to Trefoil, circling over quays empty of any fishing craft.

"Lunk is moving offshore," Orric said."Season's about over, I'd say."

"Does Tucker really have enough for a ticket-off?"

"Probably."Orric was busy setting the little craft down in dim light."But Tir needs one more good haul.And so, I suspect, does Skipper Garnish.They'll track school as far as there's trace before they head in."

Which was the substance of the message left for Orric at the Golden Dolphin.So Killashandra, Orric, and Biyanco talked most of the evening with few other drinkers at the bar.

That was why Killashandra got an invitation to go with Biyanco fruit-harvesting."Land fruit for harmat," Biyanco said with an odd shudder.

Orric laughed and called him an incorrigible lubber."Biyanco swears he's never touched sea fruit in his life."

"Never been that poor," Biyanco said with some dignity.

The brewman roused her before dawn, his tractor-float purring outside her veranda.She dressed in the overall he had advised and the combi-boots, and braided her hair tightly to her skull.On the outward leg of their trip, Trefoil nestled on the curved sands of a giant horseshoe bay, foothills at its back.Rain forests that were all but impenetrable swept up the hills, sending rank streamers across the acid road in vain attempts to cover that man-made tunnel to the drier interior.

Biyanco was amiable company, quiet at times, garrulous but interesting at others.He stopped off on the far side of the first range of foothills for lorries and climbers.None of the small boys and girls waiting there looked old enough to be absent from schooling, Killashandra thought.All carried knives half again as long as their legs from sheaths thong-tied to their backs.All wore the coveralls and combi-boots with spurred clamp-ons for tree-climbing.

They chattered and sang, dangling their legs from the lorries as the tractor hovered above the acid road.Occasionally one of them would wield a knife, chopping an impertinent streamer that clasped itself to a lorry.

Biyanco climbed farther above sea level by the winding acid road until he finally slowed down, peering at the roadside.Five kilometers later he let out an exclamation and veered the tractor-float to the left, his hands busy with dials and switches.A warning hoot brought every climber's legs back into the lorries.Flanges, tilting downward, appeared along the lorry load beds and acid began to drop from them.It sprayed out, arcing well past the tractor-float's leading edge, dissolving vegetation.Suddenly the float halted, as if trying to push against an impenetrable barrier.Biyanco pushed a few toggles, closed a switch, and suddenly the tractor-float moved smoothly in a new direction.

"Own this side of the mountain, you know," Biyanco said, glancing at Killashandra to see the effect of his announcement."Ah, you thought I was only a bar brewman, didn't you?Surprised you, didn't I?Ha!"The little man was pleased.

"You did."

"I'll surprise you more before the day is out."

At last they reached their destination, a permaformed clearing with acid-proofed buildings that housed his processing unit and temporary living quarters.The climbers he had escorted went further on, sending the lorries off on automated tracks, six climbers to each lorry.They had evidently climbed for him before and in the same teams, for he gave them a minimum of instruction before dismissing them to pick.

Then he showed Killashandra into the processing plant and explained the works succinctly.

Each of the teams worked a different fruit, he told her.The secret of good harmat lay in the careful proportions and the blending of dead ripe fruit. There were as many blends of harmat as there were fish in the sea.His had made the Golden Dolphin famous; that's why so many Armaghans patronized his hostelry.No vapid, innocuous stuff came from his stills.Harmat took months to bring to perfection: the fruit he'd process today would be fermented for nine months and would not be offered for sale for six years.Then he took her below ground, to the cool dark storage area, deep in the permaform.He showed her the automatic alarms that would go off if the vicious digger roots of the jungle ever penetrated the permaform.He wore a bleeper on his belt at all times (he never did remove the belt, but it was made of a soft, tough fiber).He let her sample the brews, and it amused her that he would sip abstemiously while filling her cup full.Because she liked him and she learned about harmat from him, she gradually imitated drunk.

And Biyanco did indeed surprise her, sprier than she had ever thought him and elated with his success.She was glad for his sake and somewhat puzzled on her own account.He was adept enough that she ought to have enjoyed it, too.He had tried his damnedest to bring her to pitch but the frequency was wrong, as it had been with Tir, would have been with Orric, and this badly puzzled Killashandra.She ought not to have such trouble off-world.Was there crystal in her soul, after all?Was she too old to love?

While Biyanco slept, before the full lorries glided back to the clearing, she probed her patchy memory again and again, stopped each time by the Guild Master's cynical laugh.Damn the man!He was haunting her even on Armagh.He had no right to taint everything she touched, every association she tried to enjoy.She could remember, too, enough snatches to know that her previous break had been as disastrous.Probably other journeys, too.In the quiet cool dark of the sleeping room, Biyanco motionless with exhaustion beside her, Killashandra bleakly cursed Lars Dahl.Why was it she found so little fulfillment with other lovers?How could he have spoiled her for everyone else when she could barely remember him or his lovemaking?She had refused to stay with him, sure then of herself where she was completely unsure now.Crystal in her soul?

Experimentally, she ran her hand down her bare body, to the hard flesh of her thighs, the softness of her belly, her firm breasts.A woman never conceived once she had sang crystal.Small loss, she thought, and then, suddenly, wasn't sure.

Damn!Damn!Damn Lars Dahl.How could he have left her?What was rank to singing black crystal?They had been the most productive duo ever paired in the annals of the Heptite Guild. And he had given that up for power.What good did power do him now?It did her none whatsoever.Without him, black eluded her.

The sound of the returning lorries and the singing of the climbers roused Biyanco.He blinked at her, having forgotten in his sleeping that he had taken a woman again.With solemn courtesy, he thanked her for their intercourse and, having dressed, excused himself with grave ceremony.At least a man had found pleasure in her body, she thought.

She bathed, dressed, and joined him as the full fruit bins began spilling their colorful contents into the washing pool.Biyanco was seated at the controls, his nimble fingers darting here and there as he weighed each bin, computed the price, and awarded each chief his crew's chit.It was evidently a good pick, judging by the grins on every face, including Biyanco's.

As each lorry emptied, it swiveled around and joined the line on the tract-float that was also headed homeward.All were shortly in place, and the second part of the processing began.The climbers took themselves off under the shade of the encroaching jungle and ate their lunches.

Abruptly, noise pierced Killashandra's ears.She let out a scream, stifling a repetition against her hand but not soon enough to escape Biyanco's notice.The noise ceased.Trembling with relief, Killashandra looked around, astonished that no one else seemed affected by that appalling shriek.

"You are a crystal singer, then, aren't you?"Biyanco asked, steadying her as she rocked on her feet."I'm sorry.I wasn't sure you were, and I've not such good pitch myself that I'd hear if the drive crystals were off.Honest, or I'd have warned you."He was embarrassed and earnest.

"You should have them balanced," Killashandra replied angrily, and immediately apologized."What made you think I might be a crystal singer?"

Biyanco looked away from her now."Things I've heard."

"What have you heard?"

He looked at her then, his black eyes steady."That a crystal singer can sound notes that'll drive a man mad.That they lure men to them, seduce them, and then kidnap 'em away to Ballybran, and they never come back."

Killashandra smiled, a little weakly because her ears still ached."What made you think I wasn't?"

"Me!"He jabbed at his chest with a juice-stained finger."You slept with me!"

She reached out and touched his cheek gently."You are a good man, Biyanco, besides being the best brewman on Armagh.And I like you.But you should get those crystals balanced before they splinter on you."

Biyanco glanced over at the offending machinery and grimaced."The tuner's got a waiting-list as long as Murtagh River," he said."You look pale.How about a drink?Harmat'll help-oh, you are a witch," he added, chuckling as he realized that she could not have been as drunk as she had acted.Then a smile tugged his lips across his face."Oh-ho, you are a something, Killashandra of Ballybran.I should've spotted your phony drunk, and me a barman all these decades."He chuckled again."Well, harmat'll help your nerves."He clicked his fingers at one of the climber chiefs, and the boy scampered into the living quarters, returning with glasses and a flask of chilled harmat.

She drank eagerly, both hands on the glass because she was still shaky.The cool tartness was soothing, though, and she wordlessly held the glass out for a refill.Biyanco's eyes were kind and somewhat anxious.Somehow he could appreciate what unbalanced crystalline shrieks could do to sensitive nerves.

"You've not been harmed by it, have you?"

"No.No, Biyanco.We're tougher than that.It was the surprise.I wasn't expecting you to have crystal-driven equipment…"

He grinned slyly."We're not backward on Armagh, for all we're quiet and peaceful."He leaned back from her, regarding her with fresh interest."Is it true that crystal singers don't grow old?"

"There're disadvantages to that, my friend."

He raised his eyebrows in polite contradiction.But she only smiled as she steadily sipped the harmat until all trace of pain had eased.

"You told me you've only a certain time to process ripe fruit.If you'll let me take the tractor down the rails past the first turn-No…" She vetoed her own suggestion, arriving at an impulsive alternative."How long do you have left before the pick sours?"

"Three hours."And in Biyanco's widening eyes she saw incredulous gratitude as he understood her intention."You wouldn't?" he asked in a voiceless whisper.

"I could and I would.That is, if you've the tools I need."

"I've tools."As if afraid she would renege, he propelled her toward the machine shed.

He had what she needed, but the bare minimum.Fortunately, the all-important crystal saw was still very sharp and true.With two pairs of knowledgeable hands-Biyanco, he had told her, had put the driver together himself when he had updated the plant's machinery thirty years before-it was no trick at all to get down to the crystals.

"They're in thirds," he told her needlessly.

"Pitch?"

"B-flat minor."

"Minor?For heavy work like this?"

"Minor because it isn't that continuous a load and minors don't cost what majors do," Biyanco replied crisply.

Killashandra nodded.Majors would be far too expensive for a brewman, however successful, on a tertiary fishing world.She hit the B-flat, and that piece of crystal hummed sweetly in tune.So did the D.It was the E that was sour-off by a halftone.She cut off the resonance before the sound did more than ruffle her nerves.With Biyanco carefully assisting her, she freed the crystal of its brackets, cradling it tenderly in her hands.It was a blue, from the Ghanghe Range, more than likely, and old, because the blues were worked out there now.

"The break's in the top of the prism, here," she said, tracing the flaw."The bracket may have shifted with vibration."

"G'delpme, I weighed those brackets and felted them proper…"

"No blame to you, Biyanco.Probably the expansion coefficient differs in this rain forest enough to make even properly set felt slip.Thirty years they've been in?You worked well.Wish more people would take such good care of their crystal."

"That'd mean less call for crystal, bring the price down, wouldn't it?"

Killa laughed, shaking her head."The Guild keeps finding new ways to use crystal.Singers'll never be out of work."

They decided to shift pitch down, which meant she had to recut all three crystals, but that way he would have a major triad.Because she trusted him, she let him watch as she cut and tuned.She had to sustain pitch with her voice after she had warmed them enough to sing, but she could hold a true pitch long enough to place the initial, and all-important, cuts.

It was wringing-wet work, even with the best of equipment and in a moderate climate.She was exhausted by the time they reset the felted brackets.In fact, Biyanco elbowed her out of the way when he saw how her hands were trembling.

"Just check me," he said but she didn't need to.He was spry in more than one way.She was glad she had tuned the crystals for him.But he was too old for her.

She felt better when he started the processor again and there was no crystal torment.

"You get some rest, Killashandra.This'll take a couple more hours.Why don't you stretch out on the tractor van seat?It's wide enough.That way you can rest all the way back to Trefoil."

"And yourself, Biyanco?"

He grinned like the old black imp he was."I'm maybe a shade younger than you, Crystal Singer Killashandra.But we'll never know, will we?"

She slept, enervated by the pitching and cutting, but she woke when Biyanco opened the float door.The hinge squeaked in C-sharp.

"Good press," he said when he saw she was awake.Behind, in the lorries, the weary climbers chanted to themselves.One was a monotone.Fortunately they reached the village before the sound could get on her nerves.The lorries were detached, and the climbers melted into the darkness.Biyanco and Killashandra continued on the acid road back to Trefoil.

It was close to dawn before they pulled up at the Golden Dolphin.

"Killashandra?"

"Yes, Biyanco?"

"I'm in your debt."

"No, for we exchanged favors."

He made a rude noise.And she smiled at him."We did.But, if you need a price, Biyanco, then it's your silence on the subject of crystal singers."

"Why?"

"Because I'm human, no matter what you've heard of us.And I must have that humanity on equal terms or I'll shatter one day among the crystal.It's why we have to go off-world."

"You don't lure men back to Ballybran?"

"Would you come with me to Ballybran?"

He snorted."You can't make harmat on Ballybran."

She laughed, for he had given the right answer to ease his own mind.As the tract-float moved off slowly, she wondered if he had ever heard of Yarran beer.A chilled one would go down a treat right now.

She slept the sun around and woke the second dawn refreshed.She lazed in the water, having been told by the pug-nosed host that the lunk ships were still out.Biyanco greeted her that noonday with pleasantries and no references to favors past, present or future.He was old enough, that brewman, she thought, to know what not to say.

She wondered if she should leave Trefoil and flit around the planet.There would be other ports to visit, other fishermen to snare in the net of her attraction.One of them might be strong enough-must be strong enough-to melt the crystal in her.But she tarried and drank harmat all afternoon until Biyanco made her go eat something.

She knew the lunk boats were in even before the parched seamen came thronging up the beach road, chanting their need.She helped Biyanco draw glasses against their demand, laughing at their surprise to see her working behind the bar.Only Shad Tucker seemed unamazed.

Orric was there, too, with Tir Od Nell, teasing her as men have teased barmaids for centuries.Tucker sat on a stool in the corner of the bar and watched her, though he drank a good deal of harmat to "unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth".

Biyanco made them all stop drinking for a meal, to lay a foundation for more harmat, he said.And when they came back, they brought a squeeze box, a fiddle, two guitars, and a flute.The tables were stacked against the wall, and the music and dancing began.

It was good music, too, true-pitched so Killashandra could enjoy it, tapping her foot in time.And it went on until the musicians pleaded for a respite and, leaving their instruments on the bar, swept out to the cool evening beach to get a second wind.

Killashandra had been dancing as hot and heavy as any woman, partnered with anyone who felt like dancing, including Biyanco.Everyone except Tucker, who stayed in his corner and watched… her.

When the others left to cool off, she wandered over to him.His eyes were a brighter blue in the new red-tan of his face.He was picking his hands now and again because the last of the lunks had an acid in their scales that ate flesh, and he'd had to grab some barehanded at the last.

"Will they heal?" she asked.

"Oh, sure.Be dry tomorrow.New skin in a week.Doesn't hurt."Shad looked at his hands impersonally and then went on absently sloughing off the drying skin.

"You weren't dancing."

The shy grin twisted up one corner of his mouth, and he ducked his head a little, looking at her from the side of his eyes.

"I've done my dancing.With the fish the past days.I prefer to watch, anyhow."

He unwound himself from the stool to reach out and secure the nearest guitar.He picked a chord and winced; he didn't see her shudder at the discord.Lightly he plucked the strings, twisting the tuning knob on the soured G, adjusting the E string slightly, striking the chord again and nodding with approval.

Killashandra blinked.The man had perfect pitch.

He began to play, softly, with a style totally different from the raucous tempi of the previous musicians.His picking was intricate and his rhythm sophisticated, yet the result was a delicate shifting of pattern and tone that enchanted Killashandra.It was improvisation at its best, with the player as intent upon the melody he produced as his only audience.

The beauty of his playing, the beauty of his face as he played, struck an aching in her bones.When his playing ceased, she felt empty.

She had been leaning toward him, perched on a stool, elbows on her knees, supporting her chin with cradled hands.So he leaned forward, across the guitar, and kissed her gently on the mouth.They rose, as one, Shad putting the guitar aside to fold her in his arms and kiss her deeply.She felt the silk of his bare flesh beneath her hands, the warmth of his strong body against hers and then… The others came pouring back with disruptive noise.

As well, thought Killashandra, as Orric boisterously swung her up to the beat of a rough dance.When next she looked over her shoulder, Shad was in his corner, watching, the slight smile on his lips, his eyes still on her.

He is very much too young for me, she told herself, and I am brittle with too much living.

The next day she nursed what must have been her first hangover in a century.She had worked hard enough to acquire one.She lay on the beach in the shade and tried not to move unnecessarily.No one bothered her until midday-presumably everyone else was nursing a hangover as well.Then Shad's big feet stopped on the sand beside her pallet.His knees cracked as he bent over her and his compelling hand tipped back the wide hat she wore against sun glare.

"You'll feel better if you eat this," he said, speaking very softly.He held out a small tray with a frosted glass and a plate of fruit chips on it.

She wondered if he were enunciating with extra care, for she understood every soft word, even if she resented the gist of them.She groaned, and he repeated his advice.Then he put gentle hands on her, raising her torso so she could drink without spilling.He fed her, piece by piece, as a man feeds a sick and fretful child.

She felt sick and she was fretful, but when all the food and drink were in her belly, she had to admit that his advice was sound.

"I never get drunk."

"Probably not.But you also don't dance yourself bloody-footed either."

Her feet were tender, come to think of it, and when she examined the soles, she discovered blisters and myriad thin scratches.

Tucker sat with her all afternoon, saying little.When he suggested a swim, she complied.The lagoon water was cooler than she had remembered, or maybe she was hotter for all she had been lying in the shade.

When they emerged from the water, she felt human, even for a crystal singer.And she admired his straight tall body, the easy grace of his carriage, and the fineness of his handsome face.But he was much too young for her.She would have to try Orric, for she needed a man's favors again.

Evidently it was not Shad's intention that she find Orric: he persuaded her that she didn't want to eat in the hostelry; that it would be more fun to dig bivalves where the tide was going out, in a cove he knew of, a short walk away.It is difficult to argue with a soft-spoken man, who was taller than she by several centimeters, and could carry her easily under one arm… even if he was a century or so younger.

And it was impossible not to touch his silky flesh when he brushed past her to tend the baking shellfish, or when he passed her wine-steeped fruit chips and steamed roots.

When he looked at her, sideways, his blue eyes darker now, reflecting the fire and the night, it was beyond her to resist his subtle importunities.

She woke on the dark beach, before the dying fire, with his sleeping weight against her side.Her arms were wrapped around his right arm, her head cradled in the cup of his shoulder.Without moving her head, she could see his profile.And she knew there wasn't any crystal in her soul.She could still give, and receive.For all she sang crystal, she still possessed that priceless human quality, annealed in the fire of his youth.

She had been wrong to dismiss him for what was a mere chronological accident, irrelevant to the peace and solace he brought her.Her body was exultant, renewed.

Her stretching roused him to smile with unexpected sweetness into her eyes.He gathered her against him, the vibrant strength of his arms tempered to tenderness for her slighter frame.

"You crazy woman," he said, in a wondering voice, as he lightly scrubbed her scalp with his long fingers and played with her fine hair."I've never met anyone like you before."

"Not likely to again."Please!

He grinned down at her, delighted by her arrogance.

"Do you travel much?" he asked.

"When the mood strikes me."

"Don't travel for a while."

"I'll have to one day.I've got to go back to work, you know."

"What work?"

"I'm a guild member."

His grin broadened and he hugged her."All right, I won't pry."His finger delicately traced the line of her jaw."You can't be as old as you make out," he said.She had been honest enough earlier to tell him they were not contemporary.

She answered him with a laugh, but his comment brought a chill to her.It couldn't have been an accident that he could relieve her, she thought, caressing his curving thigh.She panicked suddenly at the idea that, once she had tasted, she could not drink again and strained herself to him.

His arms tightened and his low laugh was loving to her ears.And their bodies fit together again as fully and sweetly in harmony as before.Yes, with Shad Tucker, she could dismiss all fear as baseless.

Their pairing-off was accepted by Orric and Tir, who had his ready credit now and was off to apply it to whatever end he'd had in mind.Only Biyanco had searched her face, and she had shrugged and given the brewman a little reassuring smile.Then he had peered closely at Shad and smiled back.

That was why he said nothing.As she had known he wouldn't.For Shad Tucker wasn't ready to settle on one woman.Killashandra was an adventure to him, a willing companion for a man just finished with a hard season's work.

They spent the days together as well, exploring the coastline in both directions from Trefoil, for Shad had a mind to put his earnings in land or seafront.She had never felt so… so vital and alive.He had a guitar of his own that he would bring, playing for hours little tunes he made up when they were becalmed in his small sloop and had to take shelter from Armagh's biting noonday sun in the shade of the sail.She loved to look at him while he played: his absorption had the quality of an innocent boy discovering major Truths of Beauty, Music, and Love.Indeed, his face, when he caressed her to a fever pitch of love, retained that same youthful innocence and intent concentration.Because he was so strong, because his youth was so powerful, his delicate, restrained lovemaking was all the more surprising to her.

The days multiplied and became weeks, but so deep was her contentment that the first twinge of uneasiness caught her unawares.She knew what it was, though: her body's cry for crystal song.

"Did I hurt you?"Shad asked, for she was in his arms.

She couldn't answer, so she shook her head.He began to kiss her slowly, leisurely, sure of himself.She felt the second brutal knock along her spine and twisted herself closer in his arms so he wouldn't feel it and she could forget it had happened.

"What's wrong, Killa?"

"Nothing.Nothing you can't cure."

So he did.But afterward, she couldn't sleep and stared up at the spinning moons.She couldn't leave Shad now.Time and again he had worked his magic with her, until she would have sworn all crystal thought was purged… until she had even toyed with the notion of resigning from the Guild.No one ever had, according to the Rules and Regs she had reviewed over and over.No one ever had, but likely no one had wanted to.When she had to have crystal, she could tune sour crystal.There was always a need for that service, anywhere, on any world.But she had to stay with Shad.He held back fear; he brought her peace.She had waited for a love like Shad Tucker for so long, she had the right to enjoy the relationship.

The next moment another spasm struck her, hard, sharp, fierce.She fought it through a body arched with pain.And she knew that she was being inexorably drawn back.And she did not want to leave Shad Tucker.

To him, she was a novelty, a woman to make love to-now-when the lunk season had been good and a man needed to relax.But Killashandra was not the sort of woman he would build a home for on his acres of seafront.On her part, she loved him: for his youth, for his absurd gentleness and courtesy; because, in his arms, she was briefly ageless.

The profound cruelty of her situation was driven home to her mind as bitterly as the next hunger pain for crystal sound.

It isn't fair, she cried piteously.It isn't fair.I can't love him.It isn't fair.He's too young.He'll forget me in other loves.And I-I'll not be able to remember him.That was the cruelest part.

She began to cry, Killashandra who had forsworn tears for any man half a century before, when the harmony between herself and Lars Dahl had turned chaotic.Her weeping, soft as it was, woke Shad.He comforted her lovingly and complicated her feelings for him by asking no questions at all.Maybe, she thought with the desperation of fearful hope, he isn't that young.He might want to remember me.

And, when her tears had dried on her face, he kissed her again, with an urgency that must be answered.And was, as fully and sweetly as ever.

The summons came two days later.Biyanco tracked them in the cove and told her only that she had an urgent message.She was grateful for that courtesy, but she hated the brewman for bringing the message at all.

It was a Guild summons all right: a large order for black crystal had been received.All who had sung black crystal were needed in the Ranges.Implicit in the message was a Guild warning: she'd been away too long from crystal.What crystal gave, it took away.She stared at her reflection in the glass panel of the message booth.Yes, crystal could take away her appearance of youthfulness.How long would Shad remember the old woman she would shortly become?

So she started out to say goodbye to him.Best have it done quickly and now!Then back to Ballybran and forgetfulness in the crystal song.She felt cold all over.

He was sitting by the lagoon, strumming his guitar, absorbed in a melody he had composed for her.It was a pretty tune, one that stayed in the mind and woke you humming it the next day.

Killashandra caught back her breath.Shad had perfect pitch-he could come with her, to Ballybran.She would train him herself to be a crystal singer.

"Don't," said Biyanco, stepping to her side.

"Don't what?" she asked coldly.

"If you really love the boy, Killashandra, don't.He'll remember you this way.That's what you want, isn't it?"

It was, of course, because she wouldn't remember him.So she stood there, beside Biyanco, and listened to Shad sing, watched the boyish intensity on his beloved face, and let cruelty wash hope out of her.

"It never works, does it, Killashandra?"Biyanco asked gently.

"No."She had a fleeting recollection of Lars Dahl.They had met somewhere, off-world.Hadn't they?His had been a water world, too.Hadn't it?Had she chosen another such world, hoping to find Lars Dahl again?Or merely anyone?Like Shad Tucker.Had she herself been lured to Ballybran by some ageless lover?Perhaps.Who could remember details like that?The difference was that now she was old enough not to play the siren for crystal.Old enough to leave love while he was young, and still in love enough to remember her only as a woman.

"No one forgets you, Killashandra," Biyanco said, his eyes dark and sad, as she turned to leave.

"Maybe I can remember that much."