Crystal Line

by Anne McCaffrey

  "That's illegal." Lars shook his head at her outburst. "Isn't it?"

  "No, it isn't. I had that point clarified. We are custodians of those husks of former singers, and they get the best physical care we can supply. Some of them, under Donalla's care, have actually been restored as functioning humans."

  Killa stared at him, aghast. "You can't possibly put them back in the Ranges!"

  Lars laughed harshly. "I'm not sadistic, Killa, it's a plus to me if they are able to care for themselves. Some have improved enough to undertake simple duties in the Infirmary."

  "That's macabre, Lars," Killa said with a shudder.

  "It's also expedient. The infirmary is damned near full, and I won't short anyone on the care they need if they've totaled their minds. The other problem is that the Guild is not attracting enough new recruits to make up for those losses . . ."

  She felt both anger at him and a stirring of terror. She'd come all too close to being one of the "totals" herself "If I'd totaled, would you . . ."

  His eyes on the ground speeding past them, Lars reached out to grab her hand. "If you were totaled, Killa, you wouldn't be aware of anything that was happening to you."

  "But would you subject me to . . .?" She couldn't continue, horrified at the very idea of someone crawling about her mind without permission, at that ultimate loss of privacy. The painful grip of his fingers increased, jolting her out of such considerations.

  "I told you I didn't want to be Guild Master. Lanzecki left me with quite a mess to cope with, only, when I agreed, I didn't know the half of it. Full disclosure wasn't required of him." Lars's smile was droll. "But I did have some ideas on how to revitalize the Guild, to reorganize it for efficiency and predictability. I can't leave so much to the vagaries of the singers and the weather."

  "Vagaries?" she repeated indignantly. " Vagaries?" His choice of word infuriated her.

  "Yes, singers are permitted far too much leeway—"

  "Too much? When we risk our sanity every time we go into the Ranges?"

  "That's the most haphazard part of the whole operation," Lars said scornfully. "Most singers—and you are not in that category, Sunny, so relax and listen up—cut just enough to get off-planet. They leave viable sites long before they need to quit because of an approaching storm. They don't remember from one time to the next where they've profitably cut and waste a lot of time trying to locate old ones or find new ones. This paranoia that keeps a singer from noting coordinates of claims is absurd. It's easy enough to use codes."

  "If you can remember it later," Killa put in.

  "Numbers aren't that hard to remember," he said, "and something has to be done to make such invaluable information available to the individual. It'd cut out the guesswork and make every trip into the Ranges far more profitable. Our friend Terasolli's another example of wasted time. He gets top price to set that octave, and he won't come back to Ballybran until crystal itch drives him back. That'll be a year or so—a year or so of unproductivity. That's got to stop."

  "Stop?" She sputtered the word in her amazement at his uncompromising attitude.

  "Two, maybe three months, should be respite enough for a singer."

  "How the fardles would you know?" Killa demanded. "You've never set black crystal. You don't know . . ." She tried to stop, she was trembling so badly. "Set this thing down. I'm not going any further with you. I'd rather walk back to the Guild than stay another minute . . ."

  Lars did set the vehicle down, but he also shoved in the door lock and swung his back against it so she couldn't reach it. His face was set and his eyes flashing with anger. He took her by the shoulders.

  "You'll stay and you'll listen! If I can persuade a mind as closed as yours against any change in wasteful habits and stupid archaic perks, maybe I have a chance of pulling the Guild out of the hole it's in." He gave her a little shake, his fingers digging into the flesh of her upper arms. He ignored her squirming. "I'm trying my damnedest to save this Guild. Its position in communications is no longer as secure as it used to be because people have got tired of waiting for Ballybran crystals and have developed alternatives. Not as good as our crystal but performing much the same functions and . . . always . . . available . . . for replacement . . ." He spaced the last words for emphasis. "I've got nine orders for black crystal I can not fill because my singers can not relocate the sites where they've found black. So they go wandering about in the Ranges, looking, trying to remember. I want them to remember. I've been patient long enough—just as Lanzecki was patient—but there's an end to patience and I've reached it. I'll do anything I can to supply black crystal, to build up a backlog of the stuff, to reinstate the Guild to its former prominence. And if it means I have to plumb the depths of crazed minds to find out where black crystal is, I will. But it'd be much easier to have a live singer willing, and able, to cooperate with me."

  His bitter gaze held hers, and she could see his deep anxiety, his frustration, his fears in the dark agony of his clouded eyes. His voice was harsh with desperation.

  "How could I cooperate any more than I have?" she asked in a low voice, shivering internally with fear of what this compliance might do to her.

  "Oh, Sunny . . ." He embraced her tightly, holding her head under his chin with one hand, stroking her body as if contact would express his gratitude and relief. Then he held her slightly away, her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with gentle thumbs, looking deep into her eyes. "You know where you cut blacks. It's there in your memory." One hand cupped her head tenderly. "We just have to access those memories . . . it'll all come back. Donalla says that with the proper clues, you could remember everything . . ."

  Killashandra stiffened, regretting her impulse, pulling herself free. "I don't need to remember everything, Lars. I don't want to remember everything. Get that straight now."

  "Honey, all I'm asking is landmarks for the black-crystal sites you've cut. I've remembered only two and I know there were more. I have got to have black crystal," and he pounded his fist into the plas above the control panel with such force that it left a dent.

  She reached for his hand, to prevent him repeating the blow. Immediately he covered hers with both of his.

  "If we could only"—and his voice was low now, his frustration vented—"get singers to note down landmarks so they can get themselves back to the best sites . . ."

  Killa gave a snort, not as derisive as she might have been because she was not going to exacerbate Lars's despair. "Now that's asking a lot, love," she said wryly. "You know how paranoid singers are. Put something down that another singer could find and locate?" She shook her head. "Not to mention roping singers back to Ballybran before they absolutely have to return."

  Lars looked deeply in her eyes. "That's why your cooperation is so vital, Sunny. You're senior among the working singers. If you can be seen to accede to executive orders," he said with a bitter smile, "the others will accept them. Especially if you start bringing in more crystal, better crystal, because you know exactly how to get back to workable sites."

  "I've already cut more crystal than any other singer . . ."

  "You have that enviable reputation, Sunny," he said with a hint of his customary ebullience.

  "So how does this regression process work?"

  He straightened up, his eyes losing their grimness. "Under hypnosis. Donalla's become expert. She found the coordinates I needed to access one of our old claims the last time I went out."

  "You—by yourself?" The notion that he had risked himself like that made her choke with fear.

  "As Guild Master, I had to set the example, despite my partner's illness. I can't ask singers to do what I won't do myself, you know."

  "And you talk about capricious singers!"

  "Don't shout, Killa. I cut, I got back and at least filled another order."

  "Order? Order!" She was indignant.

  "An order that's been unfilled for twenty years, Killa! It's no wonder the Guild's reputation has been suffering. I've fin
ally got permission to inaugurate a more active recruitment campaign, but it's experienced singers I need and right now—and out in the Ranges, not carousing on Maxim's or Baliol and spread out across the galaxy."

  The bleak expression of a man who was not given to desperation, the flat, despairing edge to a voice that had always been rich with humor and optimism, moved her more deeply than any other moment in a basically egocentric and selfish life. She owed Lars Dahl, and now was the time to repay him in the only coin that mattered.

  "So, let's get back to the Cube and let Donalla beguile me, or whatever it is she needs to do."

  "Regress your memory."

  "I can't, and that's that," Donalla said, swinging her stool around and projecting herself off it. She paced angrily about the room. "You don't trust me, Killa. It's as simple as that. Until you can trust me, hypnosis can't happen."

  "But I do trust you, Donalla," Killa insisted, as she had over the past few days and the increasingly frustrating sessions she had had with the medic.

  "Look, ladies," Presnol said, coming out of the corner of the room where he had been as unobtrusive as possible, "there are some folk who are psychologically unable to release control of their minds to anyone, no matter how they trust the operator. Killa's been a singer a very long time now . . ."

  "Don't keep reminding me of that." Killa heard the edge on her voice, but she was too keyed up by failure to control the reaction.

  "Habits are ingrained . . ."

  "I've never been a creature of habit," Killa protested, trying to inject a little humor into the tensions that crackled about them all.

  "But," he said, turning to her, "protecting your site locations has played a dominant role in your subconscious. I mean, I've sat in on Donalla's sessions with some of the inactive singers"—Killa approved of his euphemism—"and often it's sounded to me as if they were keeping the information from themselves: the subconscious refusing to permit access of knowledge to the conscious."

  "Ha!" Killa folded her arms across her chest. "I go to sleep telling myself to remember. To dredge up the necessary referents, I dream of fardling spires and ranges and canyons and ravines. I dream of the act of cutting; I dream of crystal until I wake myself up thinking I'm asleep on a bed of the fardling shards!"

  "Like a mystic?" Donalla tried to cover up the giggle that had slipped out.

  Presnol looked shocked, but Killa grinned. "I know the sort you mean—total disregard of the purely physical. Mind over matter! Oh, Muhlah, if I only could . . ." And she groaned, covering her face with her hands.

  "Wait a minute," Donalla said, drawing herself erect at a sudden inspiration. "You get thralled, don't you? By crystal?"

  "It can happen to any singer," Killa said guardedly.

  "Yes, but thrall's a form of hypnosis, isn't it? I mean, the crystal triggers the mesmerism, doesn't it?"

  "Indeed it does."

  Presnol caught the significance of their exchange. "But that would mean you'd have to go into the Ranges."

  "What's wrong with that, Presnol?" Killashandra asked, slapping her hands to her knees. "I'd be doing something constructive at the same time, instead of sitting on my buns here accomplishing nothing. Sorry, Donalla. You've tried. I just can't comply! Maybe, in the Ranges, and in thrall, you can get through."

  "But—but—" Presnol floundered.

  "But you've never been out, have you?"

  "Only to rescue singers." And a convulsive spasm shook the medic's frame.

  "Well, it's about time you saw the Ranges at their best," Killa said, amused.

  Presnol gulped.

  "No, I'll go," Donalla said, giving her lover a reassuring smile. "I'm—supposedly—the hypnotist. And I'm not afraid of the Ranges."

  "I'm not, either," Presnol protested, but both women exchanged knowing glances. "I'm not, truly."

  "Donalla's presence is sufficient, I'd say," Killa said.

  "One of us should remain here, Pres," Donalla said, "and you could continue the hypnotics with—" She hesitated, glancing at Killashandra—"another patient."

  "Yes, I could," Presnol said, beginning to relax. He was not as adept at the process as Donalla, but he had been successful with two of the inactive singers. "That would be a much more useful disposition of my time right now. Ah, when will you be going?" he asked, turning back at the door.

  Killa and Donalla exchanged looks. Killa shrugged. "We'll check with Lars . . ."

  But when they explained their plan to Lars Dahl, Killa could see plainly his resistance to the idea of her going out into the Ranges without him. She herself had had to override her own reluctance to go out in the company of a nonsinger, however dispassionately involved with the singing of crystal.

  "There's been no tradition of nonsingers—" Lars began.

  "Ha! Since you've been demolishing tradition all over the place, why cavil at this one? The results could be exactly what's needed. At least with me," Killa said. "As you point out, I'm one of the oldest still active singers . . ."

  "Killa!" His tone held a warning not to try his patience just then.

  "Look, we can rig lots of safeguards. Weather's behaving itself right now, so we can cancel that worry. Donalla can wear a combutton direct to your console, so if you have to do a rescue flit, you'll be the first to hear," Killa went on, perversely determined to undermine any argument he might voice. "Donalla's stronger than she looks, if it comes to her having to break thrall." She grinned. "Know any good throws?" she asked Donalla, who dismissed the question. "So, teach her your special techniques, up to and including setting my cutter sour. Muhlah knows that the reward could be worth the price of a cutter."

  "Don't let Clarend hear you say that," Lars remarked with a good attempt at genuine humor.

  "Hmmm, too right," Killa grinned back at him. Over the decades they had both taken plenty of abuse from the cutter.

  "You'll lend us the double sled then?" Killa asked. She looked out of the broad window, beyond the Hangar. "Hell, it's only midday. We could be deep in the Ranges and cutting in a couple of hours." She leaned across the desk toward him, daring him, silently urging him to agree. "Of course, if you happened to have some black-crystal coordinates handy, I could be productive on several levels."

  "Killa, you do know what you're doing, don't you?"

  "No, but Donalla thinks that thrall will help her get past the barriers I can't seem to lower."

  He sighed deeply and threw his hands out in capitulation. "If you could come back with some black . . ." He set his lips firmly, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

  He propelled himself out of his chair, and while Killashandra contacted the Hangar and arranged for his sled to be readied and stocked, he demonstrated to Donalla the various ways in which thrall could be broken.

  "I didn't realize thrall was that dangerous," Donalla said, her eyes wide with the newly acquired information. "And you let Killashandra stay thralled to green . . ."

  "That was a most unusual situation. Killa needed the overdose of crystal to counteract deprivation. I would never have permitted her to thrall to black—it's far harder to break out of. And that's why I don't like just the pair of you going."

  "Well, if you want another singer along to see where we've cut black . . ." Killa teased.

  "There isn't another singer in or you can believe I'd send someone."

  "Who's that dork at Trag's desk then?"

  "Certainly not yet a singer," Lars said sarcastically, "but she does have business management experience and she's capable of organizing pencil files and auditing accounts."

  Killa smiled, relieved by his disparagement of the very pretty girl's abilities.

  "Now, if you can't break thrall by any of the methods I've demonstrated, you club her behind the ear and haul her bodily out of the Ranges. You are checked out on sleds, aren't you?"

  "You know we all are, Lars," Donalla said, giving him an almost condescending smile. "I've even driven some of the worksleds when there was excessive storm dama
ge to patch up." Lars nodded acceptance of her competence. "But I'm not charmed by the idea of bludgeoning Killashandra Ree into submission. I'll bring along something soothing."

  "You have to be careful, though." Lars held up a warning hand. "A singer in thrall can become violent. Strap her down in the sled if it comes to that."

  "Now that you've given her the worst-case scenario, how else can you scare her out of this attempt?" Killa asked in some disgust. She turned to Donalla. "Anyone would think he didn't want this to succeed. I've never slugged him yet. Though I might start . . ." And she lifted her fist in mock anger.

  He raised both arms and pretended to cringe from her blow. "Just in case," he added, his manner lighter and a sparkle in his blue eyes, "have you any idea where you're going?"

  She grinned at him. "You need black. So, since you have already bared the location of your latest black site to Donalla, I thought you wouldn't mind entrusting it to me, your partner."

  His smile deepened. "Here." He thrust a slip of paper at her. "When you're on course, eat it!"

  "You are all heart, Lars Dahl," Killa said, and marched Donalla out of the office and to the lift.

  In the descending car, Killa was amused by the way Donalla eyed her.

  "Sorry?"

  "Not a bit," Donalla said, scowling sternly; then her expression altered to anxiety. "It's just I hadn't realized the possible complications.

  Killa laughed. "You don't, unless you've had to work with 'em. Lars shouldn't have scared you like that."

  "He doesn't want to lose you again, Killa," Donalla said, her fine eyes intent. "He idolizes you."

  "He has an odd way of showing it at times," Killa replied, trying for a casual acceptance to conceal her reaction to Donalla's appraisal.