Then the boarding call for the Pink Tulip Sparrow was broadcast and she had no option but to proceed to the loading bay. In an effort to delay the inevitable, she walked at a funereal pace down the access ramp.
“Singer, we’ve got to get moving! Now, please, hurry along.”
She made an appearance of haste but when the Mate tried to take her arm and hurry her into the lock, her body arched in resistance. Abruptly he let go, staring at her with an expression of puzzled shock – his arms were bare, and the hairs on them stood erect.
“I’m awaiting purchases from Stores.” Killashandra was so desperate for a last-minute reprieve that any delay seemed reasonable.
“There!” The Mate conveyed frustrated disgust and impatience as he pointed to a stack of odd-size parcels littering the passageway.
“The crystals?”
“Cartons all racked and tacked in the special cargo hold.” He made a move as if to grab her arm and yank her aboard, but jingled his hands with frustration instead. “We’ve got to make way. Shanganagh Authority imposes heavy fines for missed departure windows. And don’t tell me, Crystal Singer, that you’ve got enough credit to pay ‘em.” Abruptly she abandoned all hope that Lanzecki, like the legendary heroes of yore, would rescue her at the last moment from her act of boundless self-sacrifice. She stepped aboard the freighter. The airlock closed with such speed that the heavy external hatch brushed against her heels. The ship was moving from the docking bay before the Mate could lead her out of the lock and close the secondary iris behind them.
Killashandra experienced an almost overpowering urge to wrench open the airlock and leap into the blessed oblivion of space. But as she had deplored such extravagant and melodramatic actions in performances of historical tragedy, integrity prevented suicide despite the extreme anguish which tormented her. Besides, she had no excuse for causing the death of the Mate who seemed not to be suffering at all.
“Take me to my cabin, please.” She turned too quickly, stumbled over the many packages in the passageway and had to grab the Mate’s shoulder, to regain her balance. Ordinarily she would have cursed her clumsiness, and apologized but cursing was undignified and inappropriate to her mood. From the pile, she chose two packages with the victualer’s logo, and waved negligently at the remainder. “The rest may be brought to my cabin whenever convenient.”
The Mate wended a careful passage through the tumbled parcels as he passed her to lead the way. She noticed that the hair on his neck, indeed the dark body hairs that escaped the sleeveless top he wore, were piercing the thin stuff, all at right angles to his body.
This was no longer an amusing manifestation. Just another fascinating aspect of crystal singing that you don’t hear about in that allegedly Complete Disclosure! It should be renamed “A Short Introduction to what’s really in store for you!” One day, no doubt, she would be in the appropriately damaged state to give All the Facts.
The Mate had stopped, flattening himself against the bulkhead, and gestured toward an open door.
“Your quarters, Crystal Singer. Your thumbprint will secure the door.” He touched his fingers to a spot above his right eye and disappeared around the corner as if chased by Galormis.
Killashandra pressed her thumb hard into the door lock. She was pleasantly surprised by the size of the cabin. Not as big as any accommodation she had enjoyed on Ballybran but larger than her student room at Fuerte and much more spacious than that closet on the Trundomoux cruiser. She slid the door shut, locked it, and put the packages down on the narrow writing ledge. She looked at the bunk, strapped up to the wall in its daytime position. Suddenly she was light-headed with fatigue. Strong emotion is as exhausting as cutting crystal, she thought. She released the bunk and stretched herself out. She exhaled on a long shuddering sob and tried to relax her taut muscles.
The hum of the ship’s crystal drive was a counterpoint to the resonance between her ears, and both sounds traveled in waves up and down her bones. At first her mind did a descant, weaving an independent melody through the bass and alto, but the rhythm suggested a three-syllable word – Lan-zec-ki – so she changed to an idiot two-note dissonance and eventually fell asleep.
Once she got over the initial buoyancy of self-sacrifice aboard the Pink Tulip Sparrow, Killashandra vacillated between fury at Trag and wallowing in despair at her “Loss.” Until she concluded that her misery was caused by Lanzecki – after all, if he hadn’t made such a determined play for her affections, he wouldn’t have become so attached to her, nor she to him, and she wouldn’t be on a stinking tub of a freighter. Well, yes, she probably would. If all Trag had told her about the Optherian assignment was true. In no mood to be civil to either the crew or the other passengers, she stayed in her cabin the entire trip.
At Rappahoe Transfer Point, she boarded a second freighter, newer and less unpleasant than the Pink Tulip Sparrow, with a lounge for the ten passengers it carried. Eight were male and each of them, including the only attached man, stood quickly at her entrance. Plainly they were aware that she was a crystal singer. Equally apparent was the fact that they were willing to put scruples aside to discover the truth of the space flot about singers. Three of them desisted after their first hour of propinquity. Two more during the first evening’s meal. To have one’s hair constantly standing on end seems like a little thing but so is a drop of water patiently wearing away a stone. The bald Argulian was the most persistent. He actually grabbed her in the narrow companionway, pressing her close to his body in an ardent embrace. She didn’t have to struggle for release.
He dropped his arms and slid away, flushing and trembling. “You’re shocking.” He scrubbed his arms and brushed urgently at those portions of his body which had been in contact with her. “That’s not a nice thing to do to a friendly fellow like me.” He looked aggrieved.
“It was all your idea.” Killashandra continued on to her quarters. And another singer legend is spawned!
The female captain of the third freighter, which she boarded at Melorica, bluntly informed her that, under no circumstances, would she tolerate any short term disruption of the pairing in her all-female crew.
“That’s quite all right, captain. I’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”
“What for?” the captain demanded, raking Killashandra with an appraising scrutiny. “Religious or professional?”
“Neither. I shall be true to one man till I die.” Killashandra was pleased with the infinitesimal tremor of pathos in her voice.
“No man’s worth that, honey!” The captain’s disgust was genuine.
With a sad sigh, Killashandra asked if the ship’s library had much in the way of programs for single players and retired to her quarters, which had been getting smaller with each ship. Fortunately this was the shortest leg of her space hike to Bernard’s World.
By the time Killashandra reached the Bernard’s World Transfer Satellite, she entertained doubts about Trag’s candor. The journey seemed incredibly long for a modern space voyage, even allowing for the fact that freighters are generally slower than cruisers or liners. She’d logged five weeks of interstellar travel and must somehow endure another five before she reached the Optherian system. Could Trag have done a subtle job recruiting her because no other singer would consider the assignment? No, the fee was too good – besides. Borella, Concera, and Gobbain had been trying for it.
In the orbital position of a small moon, the Transfer Satellite inscribed a graceful forty-eight-hour path about the brilliant blue-and-green jewel of a planet. The satellite was a marvel of modern engineering, with docking and repair facilities capable of handling FSC cruisers and the compound ships of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps, felicitously sited at the intersection of nine major space routes. Fresh fruit and vegetables were grown in its extensive gardens, and high quality protein was manufactured in its catering division: sufficient in quantity and diversity to please the most exacting clients. Stores of the basic nutrients were available for five other star-roving species. Additional nodules accommodated small industries and a thriving medical research laboratory and hospital. In the transient quadrant, there were playing fields, free-ball and free-fall courts, spacious gardens, and a zoo housing a selection of the smaller life forms from nine nearby star systems. As Killashandra perused the directory in her room, she noted with considerable delight that a radiant fluid tank was one of the amenities in the gymnasium arc.