Crystal Universe - [Crystal Singer 03] - Crystal Line

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Fluid metal is the proper description of its composition and, even, of its function,” Klera said, her round face solemn.

  “But have you established any level of communication with my Jewel Junk?”

  “Yyyeesss, and nn-no,” Klera said, momentarily flustered. “Our xenolinguist had hundreds of hours of recording but …” She sagged with a weary sigh.

  “No mutual lexicon,” Killa said, adding her own sigh.

  “The individual FMs, however,” Klera said, brightening, “seem to be communicating on some level. Though whether or not it’s through use of the crystal shards, we haven’t been able to ascertain.” She shot a worried look at Rudney.

  “Just the nine, or the other Junks you’ve discovered?” Killa asked, wondering if that was the problem.

  “We can’t be positive that they don’t have another means of interacting. But we have established that the crystals send bursts of piezoelectric current,” Klera said.

  “Though we have been unable to determine the exact reason for the activity,” Rudney said, smoothly taking over the explanations. “All the twenty FM deposits show irrefutable evidence of a thermoelectric effect, generating a voltage flow which, we have posited, is due to the extremes of temperature through which the planet goes. There is a recognizable tide, as it were, in the fluctuations of the thermoelectric effect that can be timed to the onset of deviations in the planet’s rotation around its primary.

  “Naturally, we established a control group of three,” he went on, settling himself in his chair for a long lecture. “Caves Three, Nine, and Fifteen remain as we found them on our arrival, complete with their central nub of crystal. We’ve divided the others into three groups according to size, giving each group a special diet: organic wastes, which seem to have little effect on growth; inorganic wastes, which demonstrably increase the size exponentially to the amount offered; and a mixture, half and half, to the third group, which seems to thrive the best,”

  “We’ve done hours of recordings,” Klera managed to slip in while Rudney took a deep breath, “which I do maintain are not merely thermoelectric statics. Fizal, our linguist, is certain that the various rhythms are conversations of some sort.”

  “That’s not as immediate or as interesting as the history we have postulated about the primary 478-S-2937 and the planet’s relationship to it,” Rudney went on. “Star 478-S has been through many stages, and our investigations point to the probability that the planet, Opal, was formed from ejecta of the various stages of the star’s development.”

  “Now, Rudney,” Klera said firmly, “you know that Sarianus’s theory is equally viable.” She turned to Lars. “Our astrophysicist is of the opinion that the star was a huge new star, formed near the remnants of others.”

  “That has yet to be proved, Klera. That theory does not explain—”

  “The flares, Rudney,” Klera said, and the pair ignored the others in the room to continue what was obviously a long-standing argument. “The solar flares affect the planet. We’ve noted the exceptional activity of the ‘static’ messages shortly before and after solar flares.”

  “Klera, you cannot seriously believe that FM is controlling the flares?”

  “I do, Rudney, and there is much evidence to support this.” She looked at Killa as if requesting her support. “I believe that the FM has developed intelligence—a bizarre form, to be sure.” She pointedly ignored Rudney’s crackling snort. “Its vision and sensory systems would be electric and magnetic fields, ions and electrons. Its pain would be changes in the strengths of those fields and their threat to its existence when the solar flares are especially violent. Until recently—well, recently in solar terms—it has been the sun which has manipulated the planet’s environment, and therefore it tries to control the sun by emanations of its own thermoelectric fields, making sunspots come and go as needed. Our geologist has noted that the planet has had more than its share of magnetic pole charges, many earthquakes, and some major readjustments in consequence of the polarities. You might say that it’s attempting to avoid ‘pain.’ But it follows that the FM is intelligent, because it is attempting to adjust its environment. Only intelligence seeks to do this. I also think,” she added, shooting a repressive glance at Rudney, who kept opening his mouth to interrupt, “it is capable of reproducing itself by asexual fission in order to increase its ability to control the sun. We have monitored a steady growth in all FM units …”

  “How many levels do they go now?” Killashandra asked, suddenly remembering that part of their investigation.

  “FMs with crystal nubs receiving the mixed diet have descended nineteen levels,” Klera said, as pleased with such growth as a doting mother. “Those without crystal do not make significant progress and …” She faltered, glancing nervously at Rudney.

  “Food plus crystal means growth?” Killashandra asked.

  “And intelligence,” Klera said emphatically. “The FMs with crystal nubs exhibit more thermoelectric activity than those deprived of crystal. Who knows what progress could be made in measuring FM intelligence if they were all equal in opportunity? Or if they had undamaged crystal!”

  That sentence came out in a rush—and the purpose of their visit became clear to Killashandra.

  “We’ve tried,” Rudney said, his tone nearly apologetic, “to obtain a modest budget from the Solar Investigative Society to cover the cost of small pieces of undamaged Ballybran crystal …” He trailed off lamely and raised his hands in appeal.

  She glanced at Lars’s bland expression, not sure if she was amused or annoyed with him. When he was trying to put the Guild on a more solid commercial basis, how could he entertain what was clearly an appeal for a donation of crystal for these scientific types on a project that had nothing to do with the Guild? It seemed to her that Lars was seriously contemplating this request. Why else had he invited her to the conference?

  As the silence lengthened, Rudney turned redder inside his protective suit; Klera just kept running her finger up and down the seam of her sleeve.

  “I gather that no more deaths have resulted from contact with the opalescence?” Killa asked.

  “Of course not,” Saplinson-Trill said, flicking away that consideration with his fingers as he resumed his professional manner. “We follow a strict regimen of decontam and weekly med checks. We are extremely careful not to touch the FM with anything but the instruments kept in the cave for that purpose which have been made of a special alloy that FM does not melt.”

  “The lapses certainly haven’t proved fatal,” Klera added candidly.

  Rudney smothered an oath as he glared at her.

  “What lapses?” Killa asked, covering her delight with a bland, inquiring expression.

  “Nothing fatal, or even producing physical discomfort,” Klera said quickly.

  “What sort of lapse? Memory loss?” Killa remembered that both she and Lars had spent long moments admiring the brilliant, shifting coruscation in the caves. Like a very sophisticated fractal, it had been beautiful to watch, almost mesmeric.

  “What Klera refers to,” Rudney told them, the rasping edge to his voice communicating clearly his wish that she had not spoken, “are periods when the FM displays the most thermoelectric activity. Several of our team members experienced what, ah, I suppose, could be termed time lapses …”

  “The Jewel Junk’s shifting patterns had a certain hypnotic rhythm to them when we were there, didn’t they, Guild Master?” Favoring Lars with a quick glance, Killashandra began to perceive another reason why he had wanted her in on this meeting.

  “Yes, they did,” he agreed amiably. “While the Guild does not make a practice of assisting outside research in crystal applications, it just happens that there are some useful shapes and colors available from apprentice cuttings that could be released to you. They are now unflawed crystal, having been returned, but not of the size, color, or warrantable stability of pitch to be offered for commercial sale.”

  Utter relief flooded Rud
ney’s face. Klera, after giving a squeak of delighted surprise, covered her mouth as if afraid she might say something wrong and compromise the offer.

  “However, the Guild requires that a singer install the crystal,” Lars said, “and right now, the Guild needs all experienced singers in the Range. We can’t spare one for the time it would take to make the trip.”

  “But, Guild Master, we’ve the services of a B-and-B ship,” Rudney surprised both singers by saying. “That’s the only way we, as leaders of the FM Project, could justify our absence.”

  “A brain-and-brawn ship with a Singularity Drive?” Lars asked, expecting a negative response.

  “Yes, indeed, Guild Master,” Rudney said. “Archeological and Exploratory are exceedingly interested in the FM project and put a ship at our disposal for this important mission. The BB-1066.”

  “How very convenient,” Killa said, twitching an eyebrow at Lars. “I’d be tempted to take the assignment, if only to see Brendan again.”

  “You are, C.S. Ree, one of my most experienced singers,” Lars began repressively, and Killa wondered why he was glaring at her. Surely he was merely priming the pump to haggle a good fee for her services. As he had the right to do. The Guild had a reputation to maintain—especially right now.

  “I am due some relief time away from Ballybran,” she said.

  To her surprise, Lars frowned. “This really isn’t the time for you to be away from the Ranges, C.S. Ree.”

  He spoke so firmly that she was uncertain of how to proceed. She was also peeved at him, for she really could use some time off-planet. And who else had previous experience with the Jewel Junk? As Guild Master, he really couldn’t leave Ballybran, but she could. Muhlah!

  “In that case, I shall plan to return to my duties tomorrow,” she said stiffly and, bowing courteously to the scientists, marched out of the office.

  “Well?” she asked Lars as he entered their quarters much later that evening.

  “Well, what?” he said, scrubbing at his hair with irritation and fatigue.

  “Did you give them crystal?”

  “You heard me. FM, indeed,” he muttered. She had ordered Yarran beer and some light snacks, which she served him. “Thanks!” He sighed with gratitude as he tipped the recliner back.

  “So, how much did you get?”

  “Hummm?” he mumbled over a long pull of the beer.

  “How much for a singer to go install the crystals, and whom have you chosen? Because I insist on going.”

  “Sunny, I need you here …” he began.

  “You can do without me for the eight-ten days it’ll take by way of the B-and-B. And frankly, I could use the break.”

  “Not when you’re cutting crystal every time you go out.”

  “Aren’t Tiagana, Borton, and Jaygrin?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “And anyone else you can talk into this direct-line approach to cutting, I’m sure,” she said. “I thought that was why you had me sit in.”

  “I had you sit in to see how much you could remember,” he said. He gave her a quick grin. “You did better than I expected.”

  “I did, did I? Well, thank you, Guild Master.”

  “Donalla says a lot of memory is association. The more—”

  “And thank you not for discussing me with Donalla!” Killa wasn’t certain why that made her so mad, but it did. “I’m not inactive yet, by a long twig, Lars Dahl. And I don’t need hypnosis to remember!”

  “You proved that conclusively today,” he said in the mild tone he used whenever he wished to defuse her anger.

  “Now stop manipulating me, will you?”

  “I’m not, Sunny.” There was a genuine note of surprise in his voice. In one lithe movement, he slipped from the recliner to her chair and embraced her. She kept herself rigid, refusing to relax and let him think he had cajoled her into a better humor.

  “I also had to get someone else in the office or I’d’ve kicked Rudney out,” he went on. “Wasn’t he the pompous ass!”

  Killa did relax a bit then, glowering and still suspicious. “Asshole, you mean. Though she wasn’t as bad. Why would she put up with him?”

  “Why do you put up with me?” And Lars flashed a smile at her.

  “Then why did you give them the crystal?”

  “Ah, yes.” Nudging his hip against her to make her give him some room, he slid his arm about her. “Well, I received an urgent burst requesting assistance from Archeological and Exploratory. Seems our Jewel Junk is exceedingly important.”

  “Then why do they entrust it to a dork like Saplinson-Trill?”

  “Because, despite his manner, he’s tops in his field.”

  “Which is?”

  “Planetary mechanics. His is not the first group to try to solve the mystery of our opalescent junk, but he’s had far more demonstrable success than any other. And Ballybran crystal is very important to the success of the next phase of their investigations. Or so A and E seems to think.”

  “Why didn’t A and E pay for the crystal?”

  “Too many slices out of their budget already.”

  “Then who’s paying for a singer to install ’em?”

  Lars cleared his throat. “The Guild was asked to absorb the cost.”

  She hauled herself about to face him, scowling. He pinched her lips shut.

  “Oh don’t worry,” he said. “The Guild got concessions I’ve been trying to wangle for the last three years.”

  “Such as?”

  “Permission to publicize the employment opportunities of the Guild …”

  “What?” That was an exceptional concession.

  Lars grinned smugly. “And the Guild is being allowed to actively recruit specialists on nineteen human planets.”

  “That must be a first!”

  “In living memory.”

  “So, they’ve finally realized how important Ballybran crystal is.”

  “I’d say that’s a fair comment.” He stretched languorously beside her, arching his back, before he cocked his free arm to cushion his head. “A good day, all totaled.”

  “Who’s the new dork at the desk?” she asked after a moment.

  “Oh.” The frown returned. “Him. Well, he’s a spare pair of hands, and he’ll be more useful when he becomes accustomed to the filing codes.”

  “I’d hazard the guess,” she said after a long pause, “that you also can’t afford to annoy the Council and A and E by sending an incompetent singer to set those crystals.”

  “I’m not letting you go, Sunny,” he said sternly.

  “Who else can you send?” she asked reasonably. “I’m the only one qualified, and you can’t afford to have the installation messed up, can you?”

  Lars gave her a long searching look and then sighed. “You’re right there. Much is at stake.”

  Just as he gathered her closer, she caught a fleeting expression on his face that might have been satisfaction. She didn’t have time, then, to sift the matter through, because he distracted her thoroughly.

  Being aboard the Brendan/Boira 1066 was a mixed pleasure, since Killashandra had to share the ship’s good company with Rudney and Klera. Fortunately the two scientists had brought reports with them to study, and they spent most of their time in their cabin, or using Brendan’s powerful and complex computer banks.

  “They did the same thing on the way out,” Boira told Killa.

  “The tedium was palpable,” Brendan added, in the exact affected tone Rudney used.

  Killa and Boira smothered laughs. Killa had taken to Boira the moment she had seen the 1066 brawn. Not that Boira could be described as brawny: she was of medium height, and her figure was compact. She was very attractive, smooth-skinned and with the symmetry provided by reconstruction; her eyes were dark, and her dark hair was kept at shoulder length. She moved with an odd grace that Killa suspected was also due to the accident that had left Brendan unpartnered during the singers’ first expedition to Opal. Best of all, Boira ha
d the same quick wit and ready humor that had made Brendan such a good travel companion.

  “Do be careful, Bren,” Boira murmured. “You’ll set me off again. Bren had me in kinks,” she told Killashandra. “It got to be embarrassing, because every time they ventured out of their cabin, they’d say something that Bren had lampooned and I’d dissolve—in a coughing fit, of course. Wouldn’t do to laugh in their faces!”

  “Then it isn’t just me,” Killa said, grinning broadly.

  “Oh, no,” Boira assured her. “It’s them! The only time they acted human at all was during decomposition.”

  “Then they were very human,” Bren said caustically. “Had to circulate and clean the air nine times.”

  “D’you still have the radiant-fluid tub on board?”

  “Indeed we do,” Boira said, “and back in your cabin.”

  “What’ll you do about them, then?” Killa asked, jerking her finger in the direction of the Saplinson-Trills.

  “Oh, them! This time we may let them stew in their own juices, as it were,” Brendan said. “I can close off the vents to their cabin so we’re spared the stench. At least they cleaned themselves up afterward.”

  “And what about you?” Killashandra asked Boira. But apart from a mild headache, Boira was not adversely affected by decomposition.

  “Repetition dulls the effect,” she told Killashandra, “though it’ll never be my favorite way to spend five of the longest minutes ever invented by the mind of man.”

  “So, did you see much of the FMs?” Killa asked, drawling the term sarcastically.

  Boira gave a snort. “After a very lengthy briefing and all sorts of dire warnings about keeping my mitts to myself and going through a rather ridiculously involved decontam. It was worth the effort,” she said. “The brilliance, the design … I really think they ought to pay attention to the complex patterns—what did you call them? Jewel Junk? I suggested,” she added, grimacing at her recollection, “that the patterns the Junk displays could be another attempt at communication.”

  “And?”

  “I got told in long chapters how such a theory was ludicrous and had no possible scientific basis.” She shrugged. “I am entitled to an opinion.”