Crystal Line

by Anne McCaffrey

  "It should look fatter after all we gave it to eat yesterday," Killashandra repeated, more to herself than to the others.

  "I don't see as much expansion on the rib we cut, though," Lars remarked, peering up at it. That extrusion had not moved from the position into which it had retracted.

  "Muhlah! I hope we haven't done irremediable harm," she said with genuine remorse.

  "The other end had no trouble absorbing what we gave it to eat. Maybe it can . . ." Lars began.

  "Can, can, cannibal?"

  "Omnivorous, certainly," Lars replied wryly.

  "It didn't exactly 'eat', it sort of absorbed substances," Killa said.

  Lars took the "finger" out of the duraplas sack with duraplas calipers and reached up, his extended arm not quite long enough. "Damnation!"

  "If you hoist Killa to your shoulders, Lars, that will give you sufficient height," Brendan said.

  Lars eyed his partner. She was a lean-bodied woman, and long in the leg.

  "C'mon, lover boy, play acrobat. That'll be dead easy in point-seven gravity."

  "Just don't wriggle around on my back. Be careful of my oxygen tanks."

  "Hmmm. You've got a point. Whoops!"

  Lars handed her the tongs and the "finger," then ducked under her legs and, in an athletic heave, raised her from the ground.

  " Don't obscure my vision!" he exclaimed. Involuntarily, she had grabbed at his helmet before he steadied her with his hands on her belt.

  "Two steps forward, and one slightly . . ." Killa caught her balance. "To the left and . . . here we are. Steady!" Even with his almost two-meter height, she had to stretch to reach the end of the rib.

  "You're wiggling!"

  "Am not! I'm stretching. You're the one who's wiggling. To your right half a step. There!" And she whistled in disbelief as, before her very eyes, the Junk turned even more liquid and flowed over the amputated piece, reabsorbing it. Lars started to waver. "Hey!" She dropped the tongs and clung to him. "Don't move!"

  " I'm not moving!" And suddenly Lars was down on one knee, Killa falling forward off his shoulders.

  "Wooof!" she muttered as she lay sprawled on the ground, automatically checking the panel of lights that ringed the bottom of the helmet join. They were all green, not a flicker into the orange.

  "You okay, Ki?" Brendan asked, his tone anxious. "That was a quake, not a tremor!"

  "Quite a thank-you!" Killashandra got to her feet.

  "Certainly a reaction," Brendan said. "Lars?"

  "Oh, I'm all right," Lars replied, checking both knees. "Well, lookee there," he added, pointing to the ceiling. "Come home, all is forgiven!"

  Neither could see a demarcation on the rib end.

  "Absorption? Not the same reaction though," Killashandra said, "as it gave when we offered it merely metal. Should we recommend that the other piece be returned?"

  "After four years or more?"

  "It's worth a try—as a peace offering." She grinned at the deliberate pun. Lars groaned.

  "It would establish human bona fides," Brendan said. "That the people who return it have recognized the attempt as mutilation?"

  "Not merely amputation for the sake of investigation," Killa said in a caustic voice.

  "So? What do we do for an encore?" Lars asked.

  Killa shrugged. "Have we been in all the caves that have Junk?"

  "All those recorded," Brendan said.

  "And we still haven't found the source, if there is one?"

  "That wasn't in our brief, was it?" Lars asked, brushing his gloved hands. "We were to discover if this stuff had some commercial value to the Heptite Guild."

  "It doesn't belong under the Guild's aegis. It's sentient," Killa said with more vehemence than she intended.

  "We don't know that for a fact," Bren said, "but while it may not be animal, it doesn't appear to be mineral in the strict definition of the word."

  "I'll go along with that," Lars said, turning to his partner.

  "'And beings animalculus'"," Killa murmured. "There's something . . ." She struggled with the vague notion she was trying to verbalize and then shrugged. "I dunno, but one sure thing, you can't mine it the way we can crystal, or other gemstones and ores. What's your opinion, Brendan?"

  "I'm a minder, not a miner."

  "Yes, but you've been a big help."

  "As a caterer . . ."

  "Yuckh!" The very thought of food suddenly nauseated Killashandra. She and Lars locked eyes. "Oh, blast it."

  "I'd say the timing was pretty good," Lars said.

  "You're ready for the Sleep phase?" Brendan asked.

  "Undeniably," Killa said, moving toward the exit of the cavern. "We've done what we were supposed to, and it's now up to the xenos! This isn't a Heptite matter. So . . ." She looked expectantly toward her partner. "Where are we going to spend all those lovely credits we've just earned, Lars? And if you say 'water world', I'll excise a few chunks of you."

  Following close behind her, Lars rapped her helmet. "No, it's your turn to pick."

  I'll pick after I've slept on it, Killashandra said.

  "In a week I'll be out of this system," Brendan said. "Which way do I go?"

  "Turn left then straight on till morning," Killa said facetiously.

  "If that's your wish, it is my command," the ship said.

  Once back aboard the ship, the lingering odors of previously delectable meals made them gag.

  "You weren't joking, were you?" Brendan said. "Ah, you can restrain the compulsion?" he added urgently.

  "Don't worry. We never disgrace ourselves," Lars said grimly, depressing his nausea as he stripped off the suit and stuffed it in the cleanser.

  Killashandra had a very set look to her face and swallowed constantly as she peeled off not only her suit but the mesh undergarment.

  "Hey!" Lars had not taken off his briefs and stared after her as she strode—regally, he thought—across the lounge.

  "Brendan won't mind," Killa said absently

  "Indeed I don't, but I find it difficult to see that all that food—"

  "Don't!" Killa held both hands up toward his column. "Don't even think that word!" She gagged and hurried to their cabin and into the sanitary unit.

  "Anything I can get you?" the ship asked solicitously as Lars hurried after his partner.

  "Not a damned thing, Bren," Lars said resignedly.

  Killa was already in the shower, sluicing her body down, staggering occasionally as even the mild force of the water unbalanced her. When Lars entered the enclosure, they clung to each other, until they had soaped and soaked themselves clean.

  Wrapping the generous towels about their bodies, they reeled to the wide bunk and, with groans of immense relief, crawled on and sprawled across it. As Brendan watched, their limbs relaxed despite what he considered to be uncomfortable postures. They were oblivious to any externals.

  "These crystal singers don't do anything by halves. As bad as Boira in some respects." His voice echoed in the silent living quarters.

  Delicately, as a mother will carry her sleeping babe to its cot, the Brendan/Boira-1066 lifted off Opal, though his passengers wouldn't have stirred no matter what g force he used in takeoff. A week of sleep? Well, if he "turned left"—now why was that sentence vaguely familiar—made one Singularity Jump and headed straight on, he would reach the Lepus sector, which offered the system Nihal. The primary was G2, and it had an inhabited third planet. Taking that route, Brendan would also have the chance to get a closer look at the very red Mira Variable R. Leporis. Boira would be interested in his observations over that anomaly.

  Serendipitously, it occurred to him that he was under no obligation to return immediately to Regulus Base. From the last report piped to him, Boira had another six or seven weeks to go in rejuvenation and then time in rehab and retraining. He really didn't have to take another short-term assignment or jump about on a courier route: they'd cleared all 1066's indebtedness with the bonus and danger money from the assignment that
had put Boira in hospital.

  But was the Nihal system where Killashandra meant to go? She'd told Lars that she'd pick after she'd had some sleep. Brendan accessed his galactic encyclopedia. Nihal's third planet had some unusual recreational facilities and was regarded as an ideal honeymoon planet. Killa and Lars were well past that stage of a partnership, but they might still appreciate a place like that for the extended vacation they intended to take from Ballybran and singing crystal. If he had misinterpreted her remark—and Killa's somewhat incoherent directions had sounded a bit like a quotation—they could change their minds when they woke up.

  Then he remembered to do the medscans that he had been programmed to carry out, to ensure that the symbiont was indeed protecting the singers. What would the Heptite Guild do if they had been contaminated? Exile them? Where? In those Crystal Ranges, until the next storm took care of the problem? The Guild was known to be ruthless, arrogant, and powerful. This pair had been the best company he'd had the entire time he'd been solo—he'd hate to see them mistreated . . . or worse. But just as the dust of their suits had shown no contaminants, neither did their bodies. Reassured, he added the medical data of this latest investigation to the private file.

  "Nihal? Never heard of it," Killashandra said between sips of the fruit beverage she had requested of Brendan. Lars was still slumbering beside her.

  "That's where we're going on the heading you gave me."

  "What heading?" Killashandra skewed around on the wide bunk until she could see through the open cabin door to his column.

  "'Turn left and straight on till morning.'" Brendan's search through his library files had made him no wiser.

  "Shards! That wasn't a direction, Bren."

  "So you were quoting?"

  Killashandra snickered. "And you couldn't find the source? How far back do your files go? No, abort that. I don't want to know. It's from an old children's story, and I didn't even remember that I remembered it. And that spurious direction leads us to Nihal? What's there?"

  "A rather nice climate, temperate to cold, recreational, excellent—ah, can I use the f–word now?"

  "Food? Oh, yeah, but we won't need anything more than liquids for a day or two."

  "So was that a direction from your subconscious?"

  Killashandra finished the last of her drink and yawned. "I'll know when we get there. How long did I sleep?"

  "Five days."

  "Wake me in another two, huh?" And she was asleep before Brendan could propose that he stay with them a while longer.

  "Have a brain ship as our private yacht?" Lars exclaimed, sipping a clear soup.

  "Well, I would have to ask you to pay for fuel, supplies and landing fees," Bren answered tentatively. "You see, Boira and I have bought ourselves free . . ."

  Lars recalled that the brain ships could do so, working off the immense debt with Central Worlds occasioned by their early childhood care and the cost of the ship itself. Some partners never did discharge the debt, but a good pair could earn enough in bonuses to do so. "My sincere congratulations on that feat, Brendan!"

  "But I don't want to go into our savings."

  "Medical expenses high?" Lars asked solicitously. Most humans complained about services singers never required.

  "Oh, that! Repairs and injuries are part of our contract, and the contractor has to pay the full tab of Boira's rejuv since they neglected to inform us of the hazards inherent in the assignment." Bren sounded both irritated and smug. "So, all her expenses are paid. I just have to—well, sing for my supper."

  "How long a contract did you have with Heptite?"

  "To the conclusion of your investigations plus travel time to return you to Shankill Moon Base and me to my base."

  "And you wouldn't object to carting us about?"

  "If you defray my costs . . ."

  "Sure, we can do that. Any sailing on this Nihal planet?"

  "It's more known for its mountain sports."

  "Oh!" Lars took the last gulp of his soup, yawned, and settled back down under the thermal beside Killashandra.

  "Lemme sleep on it, wouldja, Bren? S'a great ideeeeee . . . ah . . . mmm."

  When Killashandra woke from her second sleep, she woke alert, with that sense of having slept deeply and well—and of being mildly hungry. She rolled out of the bunk so as not to rouse Lars and made it to the sanitary facility before she burst. She showered and shrugged into the loose, colorful striped robe she preferred to wear in transit.

  She paused by the broad bunk to see how Lars looked—his face was no longer gaunt so she thought he'd awaken soon. As soon as she had closed the door and was out in the short corridor, Brendan gave her a good morning.

  "Is it?"

  "Well, it is morning, Nihal time, early morning."

  "Oh! Yes, Nihal, of course. That G2—straight on till morning. How far away is it, Bren?" She was in the galley now, making herself a hot caffeine-rich drink.

  "Relatively not far at my present speed."

  "And it's not a water world?"

  "It has water, of course, but mountain sports are featured."

  "Hmmm, in that case, I'm not averse to it. Haven't done any hiking or skiing or climbing in—well, I can't remember when."

  "There are lakes . . ."

  "Lakes don't fascinate Lars as much as seas do," Killa said with some feeling.

  "There are seas, but not much traffic on them. The fishing is limited to shoreline nettings, though there are said to be some tasty bivalves."

  "Hmmm. You know, I'm hungry, but not ravenous, if you appreciate the distinction."

  "I appreciate the distinction, Ki." Brendan chuckled. "What might you be hungry for?"

  Aware that she couldn't overburden her system, she settled on a light meal of juice and cereal, which she took from the galley into the main room.

  "Shards! But we get to be sloppy eaters, don't we," she said with chagrin, noticing the food stains on the arm of her usual chair. "Anything I can use to wash these out, Bren? I don't really want to hand you back to Boira in less than the condition you arrived in. That's not shipshape."

  "And Bristol fashion?"

  Killa laughed. Then she noticed the view on the main screen. "Muhlah! What's that?"

  "Ah, that is the very red Mira Variable R. Leporis. It has a four-hundred-and-thirty-two-day cycle. A type N, and, with any luck, we'll see it at its hottest. The pulsations should be magnificent as it begins to contract."

  Killa squinted. "It's very bright."

  "I can darken the screen if it is visually uncomfortable."

  "Hmmm, would you? Ah, thanks. That is undoubtedly the very reddest object I've ever seen. What are you seeing?"

  "The emission spectra. Stupendous!"

  They both, in their separate ways, considered the spectacle blazing light-years away but so vivid.

  "Of course, if you find nothing of interest on Nihal Three, I'd be happy to take you elsewhere."

  Killashandra snapped her fingers. "Just like that?"

  "It's like this, Ki," and Brendan explained what he had offered Lars.

  The crystal singer whooped and fell against the back of the chair in a paroxysm of laughter.

  "Our own brain ship? Acting the yacht? You've got a deal, man!" She gasped the phrases out between spasms of laughter and ended up wiping her eyes of tears. "You really mean it?" she asked, turning toward Brendan's column.

  "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't."

  "Don't huff, Bren, honestly, I didn't mean to offend. But don't you cost a lot?"

  "I only need fuel, landing fees, and whatever supplies you and Lars require. To be sure, my larder's a bit bare right now."

  "I can well imagine. You were champion to feed us as you did, Bren. I haven't eaten better during any Passover I can remember." Then practicality gripped her. "I think you'd better tell me just how much your fuel and general landing fees run to. We got a great fee for risking skin and symbiont on Opal, but . . ."

  Brendan then ran through some
figures for her so that she realized the idea was feasible. In fact, downright exciting.

  "Of course, we've got to get our report back to Lanzecki. Does Nihal Three have black crystals?"

  "It does."

  A shiver ran up Killashandra's spine. She didn't like to use black-crystal communications. One of the few crystal singers who could locate and cut black crystal, she was unusually sensitive to its presence in cut or raw form. Especially since she had installed the black-crystal communications system for the Trundomoux: she had never managed to bury the memory of the soul-shattering shock of activating the king crystal. She had asked Lanzecki about that lingering pull, but he hadn't had any answers. Whatever it was, it made her wary of actually using black crystal—especially when she wanted to forget crystal for a while.

  "There are significant bodies of water down there," Killashandra said as Brendan approached their destination.

  "We can go somewhere else," Lars said to pacify her. "I didn't choose Nihal Three, remember. It was your 'straight on till morning' . . ."

  His partner glowered at him.

  "The chief recreational activity of the planet Sherpa is mountain climbing," Brendan said, raising his voice to distract them. "Downhill and cross-country skiing, skidoo and other snow-based sports, canoeing and kayaking on only designated rivers, trekking on foot or mounted, hunting and fishing. The catering is deemed one of the highlights of the planet and indeed, wears the Four Comets of Gastronomical Excellence."

  Killashandra groaned.

  "A little exercise would improve your appetite," Brendan remarked. "Although I never thought I'd have to say that to the pair of you!"

  Lars chuckled, and even Killa managed a grin. Then Lars regarded her queryingly, his expression blandly conciliatory.

  "Oh, all right. We do mountain sports first," she said in assent, then waggled her finger at him. "I might do some canoeing, but you're on the bow paddle."

  "Landing fees are moderate," Brendan said happily. "This won't cost you much," he added cheerfully. "You can send in your report, and I can get an update on Boira's condition. Ah, I'm getting a signal. Oh, really?" he added in surprise. "Penwyn, how good to hear your voice!" To the astonished singers, he added, "The planetary manager was in my class! I'm very glad we decided to come here."