Clodine gave a tentative smile, and her eyes flicked into the alter state and then back again. “Oh, Gods, I’ll never get the hang of it.”
“Make your eyes very round when you want to stay in normal visual mode,” Killashandra said in a low voice, aware that the other Sorters were watching them.
Clodine tried to smile and widen her eyes, then groaned because her eyes altered despite her efforts.
“It’s surprising how soon you will become accustomed to the alteration,” Killashandra said in her most sincere “buck up there” tone. “Ah, here they come!”
“They do?” Clodine looked up at the wraparound screens that showed the as-yet empty Hangar where the singers’ sled would land. The latest batch of Guild apprentices waited there to help unload the precious crystal. The Met screens showed that the squall, having wreaked brief havoc in the Ranges, was passing harmlessly out to sea, half a continent away. The Hangar crew was lounging about. When storm systems raged close to the Guild’s massive cube, their duties became far more urgent and perilous—even to closing the great Hangar doors to incoming singers rather than risk damage to those already safe within. More times than she cared to remember—probably many more times than she could remember—Killa had been the last singer to get in over the interlocking jaws of the great portal.
“See?” Killa said, directing Clodine’s attention to the long-range screen where the first of the incoming sleds was just now visible as a speeding blip.
“Oh!” Clodine blinked nervously and, shaking her head in distress, looked about to weep.
“Relax,” Killa drawled, and pushed herself up to sit on the brand-new worktop. “They’re a good half hour out—unless they’ve had a good scare!” She grinned in amusement and saw Clodine relax a bit. “Where you from?”
“I don’t imagine you’ve ever heard of my home system …” the Sorter began apologetically.
“Try me,” Killa replied with a laugh.
“A planet named Scarteen—”
“In the Huntsman system,” Killashandra said, oddly pleased by the girl’s delight in her knowing. “Nice place. Good currents in the Great Oceans.”
“You’ve sailed on Scarteen?”
“I’ve sailed—” Killa paused, censored the ennui in her tone, and smiled kindly at the child. “—on most worlds that are hospitable to our species.”
“You sail? I mean, sheet-sail, not motor cruise?”
“Wind-sail, of course.” She flicked one shoulder, consigning motor cruising to a suitable nadir. “And you’ll find there’s good sailing here, too. In fact, if we’ve time before we go out in the Ranges, my partner and I would be happy to take you out on our ship, show you some of the tricks of sailing Ballybran’s currents and coasts.”
“Oh, would you?”
Once again, Lars’s avocation won her unexpected friendship. Killa sighed and filled in the time until the sleds arrived with sea tales that were honorably unembellished. They didn’t need to be! Sorters might not need to leave Ballybran as often as singers, but they took holidays—especially during Passover storms. It didn’t hurt to reassure the girl that there was more to life as a Heptite Guild member than remembering to widen her eyes to avoid blinking to crystal-gaze.
Clodine was, as Lanzecki suspected, suffering only from inexperience in dealing with Range-crazed singers. Killashandra’s presence quelled the other singer’s urge to argue with Clodine’s estimate of his crystals—which were a rather good midgreen, currently in scarce supply, so even without arguing he got a better price than Killa knew he had anticipated. He would have had no cause to berate a Sorter, new or experienced, but arguing price with the Sorter got to be an ingrained habit with singers. Some Sorters enjoyed persiflage, and/or getting the better of the singer.
Timing was so often the deciding factor in the value of a cut. If the market was glutted, the price was understandably low. Some colors were always worth the premium price, like black crystals, which were so valuable as communication links. The pale pinks were always low market, but a fine seven-shaft cut of even pink could be valuable in an industrial complex.
When the singer had left, grumbling desultorily, Killashandra touched Clodine’s shoulder and grinned at her woeful expression.
“He’s all wind and piss. Most of us are. You know your grading, the latest market price is what’s on your terminal. Don’t let ’em hassle you. Part of it’s coming in sudden from the Ranges without as much as you thought you would cut this time out: I’m always sure I should have been able to cut longer and more. Most of it’s pure singer cussedness. Ignore it, considering the source! Enthor train you up?” she added, for something of the way Clodine had handled the crystal reminded her of the old man.
“Yes.” Clodine’s eyes widened in astonishment. “How did you know that?”
Killa sniffed. “Enthor loved crystal. He passed that on to you. Remember that the next time a singer gives you a hard time. You”—Killashandra prodded Clodine lightly in the chest—“love crystal. I can see that in how you handle it. Singers”—she turned her thumb into her own sternum—“invariably hate crystal.”
“You do?”
“For all that it does for us and to us, yes.” And, feeling that that sounded like a great exit line, Killashandra left the Sorter Shed.
Lars had not returned to their apartment. She gave herself a long soak in the water tub; then, wearing a loose robe, she began to unpack the carisaks that had been delivered while she was overseeing Clodine. When she got hungry and Lars still hadn’t returned, she tapped out a “where is” code on the terminal.
“Here,” Lars’s voice responded as his features formed on the screen.
“Where?”
“Lanzecki’s,” he replied, as if she should have known. “C’mon up.”
Puzzling over that, Killa changed and returned to the Guild Master’s domain.
The pair were sitting at the table where Killa had often dined alone with Lanzecki. There was a third place set, and as Lanzecki gestured her to be seated, Lars rose and met her halfway, giving her a quick embrace and kiss.
Wondering what this was all about, Killa smoothly took her place.
“We waited,” Lars said, and he nodded at the array of sumptuous-looking dishes.
“How did Clodine do?” Lanzecki asked, forestalling any query from her.
“She’s fine. I told her not to let singers get up her nose. Enthor trained her. She loves crystal. I told her singers hate it. Opened her eyes!” Killa grinned.
“In more ways than one, I trust?” Lanzecki said, quirking his eyebrow. He was being Lanzecki-the-man, as he had been in their old loverly days—a pose he had never before assumed in Lars’s presence. For some reason it disturbed her.
“Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it?” she replied, knowing better than to show her surprise. “Widening the eyes to prevent the alteration? She was only nervous.”
“Anything good in?” Lanzecki asked.
Killa regarded him coolly. The Guild Master ought to have been the first to know the answer to that question.
“Lars and I have been discussing the Junk to the exclusion of all else.” Lanzecki raised his wineglass in a toast to her, then included Lars. “Interesting … Junk. I’m almost sorry I have to turn the matter over to the proper authority.”
“Junk’s sentient,” Killa said flatly, helping herself to food.
“Too bad sentience isn’t a marketable commodity,” Lanzecki said. “Have some milsi stalks!” he added, passing her the plate and changing the subject.
“What under the suns were you and Lanzecki up to for half a day?” she asked Lars as she swung her legs up onto the sleeping surface of their bedroom.
He yawned mightily, stepping up off the floor and walking to the pillowed end, where he folded down and began to wriggle into a comfortable position.
“The Junk mostly, and speculation as to whether or not it could use the crystal as a comlink. I doubt it. And this and that.” Lars punched a
pillow into the right contours and stuck it under his head, watching her as she rolled up against him. He lifted one arm, a tacit invitation to nestle against him. She did. “He misses Trag.”
“Did you find out what crystal-crazed notion made him pick that dork in Trag’s place?”
She settled her cheek against Lars’s smooth chest. At some point he, too, had bathed, for his skin exuded a subtly spicy odor. Lanzecki preferred spicy scents. What could these two be dreaming up together? she wondered. Lars had never used to tolerate Lanzecki at all, he’d been so possessive of her.
His fingers lazily trailed across her back, and she forgot about all other concerns and began to stroke him where it would do the most good. Somehow, despite being reasonably sure that Brendan’s shipboard manners were impeccable, they had never quite been able to abandon themselves on the 1066. They proceeded to indulge each other shamelessly.
Uninhibited loving was the best!
The comunit buzzed until they woke, or rather until Lars waved his hand at the panel and accepted the call.
“Lars? Can you spare me the morning?” Lanzecki asked.
Killashandra groaned at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t quite take in the message. She flattened her body against the bedding and determinedly resumed her interrupted slumbers. So when she did wake, she wasn’t quite certain what had happened to Lars. There was no residual heat left where his body had been.
She roused, washed, and ordered food. As usual, the latter triggered an interruption.
“Killa? I’m up in Lanzecki’s office.”
“Humph! What’s he got you doing now?”
She could hear the amusement in Lars’s voice. “Actually, he’s got me interested in spite of myself, and you know I’m not an admin type.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Don’t be so sour, Sunny. It’s a bright day, and we don’t have to go cut crystal—yet!”
“Well, I can’t say as I mind that …” Killa said, as much because that was the expected answer. Then she began to wonder. “Lars, what are you—” But the call had been disconnected at his end.
More curious than disgruntled, Killa finished her meal, dressed, and went up to Lanzecki’s office. There, the mere sight of Bollam, hunched over his terminal, annoyed her. His frantic look and his sudden intense interest in the contents of his screen added to her aggravation.
She couldn’t resist twitting him. “Lost something, Bollam?”
“Ah, yes, that is, no! No, I’m merely not sure under what category Trag filed the pencil data files.”
“Try the first four letters of whatever file you’re hunting, the year if you know it, and hit Search.” She meant to be facetious and was irritated that her advice seemed to solve his problem. She caught a glimpse of his relieved smile as she continued on her way into the office.
“Haven’t you two moved?” she demanded as she saw them in positions similar to yesterday’s.
“I never knew just how much power the Guild wields,” Lars said, beckoning to her in an airy fashion.
“You ought to,” Killa said, scowling at Lanzecki. “We trade rather heavily on it whenever we leave Ballybran.”
“I don’t mean as singers, Killa, but the Guild as a force in interstellar politics. And policies.”
“Oh?”
“And all without having to leave Ballybran! Whoever needs to speak to the Heptite Guild must come here!” Lars chuckled with an almost boyish delight. Lanzecki wore just the slightest smile as he glanced over at her.
To Killashandra that cynical amusement meant that Lanzecki was building to something devious. She cocked her head at him. He shook his head very slightly in denial.
“I’ve a meeting later today, Killa. I’d appreciate it if you and Lars would sit in on it.”
Killa jerked her finger over her shoulder in the direction of Bollam. “He’s your assistant.”
The fleeting shift of Lanzecki’s dark eyes told her that he didn’t expect much of Trag’s replacement, and his lack of such expectation worried her all the more.
“Yesterday Enthor, today Trag?” she asked, mockingly.
“I’d appreciate your counsel,” he said, bending his upper body just slightly toward her in an unexpected bow.
She wondered if he knew that that deference would insure her support. Probably. Lanzecki had usually been able to read her, at times better than Lars did. She realized then that she usually compromised with Lars more than she would have with Lanzecki. But then, she wanted to. She trusted Lars Dahl more than she had ever trusted Lanzecki, even when they had been passionate lovers. Or maybe because of that!
“Bollam? Have you got those trade figures?” Lanzecki called out.
“Still working” was the all too quick reply.
A look of pained patience crossed Lanzecki’s face.
“I remember Trag’s system,” Killa said, turning on her heel and retracing her steps to the worktop where Bollam was plainly unable to find the relevant pencil files. “Move over,” she told the flustered man. “Now, who’s coming?”
“The Apharian Four Satellite Miners League,” he said, both resenting her usurpation and relieved that finding the documentation was now someone else’s responsibility.
She typed “Apha4SML.doc” and obediently the recalcitrant entry blossomed across the screen. Bollam groaned.
“I did, I tried that. I really did.”
“The library banks know an authoritative punch when they get one,” she said, shrugging. She tapped a deliver.
“He wants the Interstellar Miners League, as well.”
“What year?”
“Twenty-seven sixty-six.”
Killa frowned. Twenty-seven sixty-six? When had she left Fuerte, storming out off her native planet with that crystal singer—ah, what was his name? Had it been 2699? Or 2599? She shook her head in irritation, then concentrated on tapping out the required sequence. The new files joined the others in the delivery slot. She was a lot better at his job than Bollam was. She gave him not even a look as she gathered up the files and brought them in to Lanzecki and Lars.
Lanzecki gave her a grateful smile as he began feeding them into the reader slot. He folded his arms across his chest as the first one came up on the monitor.
Feeling an obligation to assist the Guild Master, Killa stayed on, as Lars did. She accessed additional data when Lanzecki asked for it, ignoring Bollam when he hovered in an attempt to figure out how she found files so easily. At first it amused her that Lars and Lanzecki worked together so effortlessly. She wondered that, at times, Lanzecki seemed to defer to Lars’s opinions. Certainly he tapped them into his own notes.
Then the representatives arrived for the meeting, properly attired against breathing Ballybran air. Lanzecki, hands on the backs of Killashandra and Lars, steered them into the conference room.
* * *
The Apharian Miners League wanted to extend their communications link in the asteroid belt they were currently working. They could not afford black crystal.
“Black crystal isn’t needed for belt comunits. Blue will do as well and is half the price,” Lanzecki said. “Here are specifications and costs.” He inserted a pencil file in the screen reader, and specs and relative costs were displayed on the large monitor for all to see.
“Even that’s out of our budget,” the head delegate said, shaking his helmeted head.
“I doubt it,” Lanzecki said bluntly. A tap of his finger and their trade figures replaced the spec/cost data.
Another delegate, a woman with sharp features and narrow-set eyes, glared first at the screen and then at him. “How did you obtain restricted data?”
“I particularly like to assemble ‘restricted’ data,” Lanzecki replied.
“You could go to a green-crystal connection,” Lars suggested. “Of course, there is a longer time lag in communication, especially for any distant units. The blue link is unquestionably faster. Basically you get what you pay for. The option is always yours.�
�
Though Killashandra kept her expression bland, she was amused by Lars’s hard-line pose. She had rarely seen that facet of his personality. He was as cool and uncompromising as Lanzecki. An interesting development.
“At present we have the necessary blue-crystal cuts such an installation would require,” Killa said smoothly. She gave a little shrug with one shoulder. “Who knows when we’d have sufficient green. It’s not an easy color to cut. Nearly as elusive as black. Which we also don’t have on hand. You might have a long wait for quality black crystal.”
“We can’t afford that quality crystal,” the woman said, almost spitting the words out over her helmet mike. “But we did expect that, in making the effort to come here and outline our need, you might be amenable to a deal.”
Lanzecki cleared his throat dismissively. “Your League has nothing this Guild requires. The Guild has what you require, and at the advertised price.” He rose. “You either take it or do without. It’s up to you.”
Lars and Killa moved to bracket him.
“Wait!” The head of the delegation said, his expression anxious. “You don’t understand. We’ve had accidents, deaths, problems, all due to a lack of adequate communications. We must have a reliable comsystem.”
“Blue is available. You can wait for green, if that’s all you can afford.” Lanzecki spoke with no emotion whatever. He really didn’t care one way or another.
Killashandra saw hatred sparkle in the eyes of the woman.
“My husband and my two sons died in an accident …”
Lanzecki turned halfway to her and inclined his head. “A singer died and two more were seriously injured acquiring the blue crystal. We have both lost, and we can both gain.”
“You heartless—” The woman launched herself at Lanzecki, screaming other epithets in her frustration at his diffidence.
Lars intercepted her neatly even as Killashandra moved to interpose her body to protect Lanzecki’s back.
“Lideen, don’t!” the leader said, reaching her first. He grabbed her by the arms and passed her to the other members of his party. He took a deep breath before he went on. “Guild Master, I do recognize that sentiment has no place in business.”
Crystal Universe - [Crystal Singer 03] - Crystal Line Page 8