Crystal Line
Anne Mccaffrey
Copyright 1992
VERSION 1.1 (Oct 08 01). If you find and correct errors in the text, please update the version number by 0.1 and redistribute.
Anne McCaffrey
Crystal Line
Chapter 1
"'And a star to steer her by,'" Killashandra Ree shouted to herself. Not that Lars Dahl could have heard her over the roar of the sea crashing against the bow of the Angel and the humming tension of the wind through the sail stays and across the sloop's mainsail.
She pointed to the first star of the evening in the darkening eastern sky and looked back at him to see if he was watching her. He was and nodded, his grin showing his very white teeth against his very tan skin. She was nearly as dark as he was after their circumnavigation of the main continent of Ballybran. But Lars always looked the complete captain, especially as he was standing now—his straddled legs bracing his long lean body on bare feet against the slant of the deck, strong hands firmly on the spokes of the wheel as he kept the Angel on the starboard tack under tight sail. The stiff breeze had ruffled his sun-bleached and salt-encrusted hair into a crest, much like the ritual headdress of a primitive religion.
They had plenty of sea room between the Angel and the jagged stones of the shore, but soon—all too quickly—they would reach the headland and the harbor that served the Heptite Guild Headquarters.
Killashandra sighed. She almost didn't want this voyage to end—and yet this kind of voyage, therapeutic though it was, was not quite enough to ease the surge of crystal in her blood. Lars, not having sung as long as she, was in better shape; but they had to strike a good lode of crystal on this next trip into the Ranges and make enough to get off-world for Passover, which was, once again, nearly upon them. She devoutly hoped that their sled was repaired and ready for the Ranges.
Killashandra gritted her teeth, remembering the ignominy of having to be rescued when their sled had been buried by a rockslide! Hauling the crushed sled out of the Ranges had sliced a hefty hunk out of their credit balance. The crystal they had cut before the rockslide—which had been preserved in containers sturdy enough to resist collapse—had been sufficient to pay the huge repair bill, but there hadn't been enough credit left for them to take an off-world jaunt while the refit was being done. Once again the Angel, and the ever-challenging seas of Ballybran, had rescued them from the ping of crystal in their blood and the boredom of the Heptite Guild quarters.
But, by all the holies, Killashandra swore, this time they would sing good crystals—if they could possibly find that wretched lode again. Communication crystal was always valuable. If they could just cut one set quickly and without foul-ups! She wanted to get off-planet, and this time Lars was not going to talk her into going to yet another water world. There were other planets that could prove just as interesting. If she didn't get to choose once in a while, she might just seriously consider finding another partner. There was that stocky young redhead with weird eyes and a roguish grin—he reminded her of someone. She grimaced into the wind. The need for "reminders" was becoming more frequent for her. She had been singing crystal a long time now, and she knew very well indeed that her memory was eroding; what or how much she was losing she didn't know. She shrugged. As long as she didn't forget Lars Dahl, nor he her . . .
The Angel was nearly round the massive headland, and Killashandra could just see a slice of the eastern face of the great Heptite Guild cube that loomed large from all directions even though it was kilometers inland. The good mood that had sustained her abruptly altered.
"Back to the old grind," she muttered, anticipating Lars's next words.
" Back to the old grind, huh?" Lars bellowed, and she rolled her eyes and gave herself a shake.
Damn! Knowing what would come out of his mouth because they had shared so much, so intensely, was also beginning to irritate her. Or maybe all she and Lars needed was new stimulation. He found enough in their sea trips, but suddenly she realized that these were no longer enough for her. She grimaced again. How long was too long?
Lars bellowed for her attention, motioning for her to join him in the cockpit. With cautious but practiced steps she made her way astern, balancing against both wind and the slant of the Angel, turning her head against spray and the occasional high wave that broke across the deck.
As she came even with him, Lars reached out an arm and hooked her to his side, smiling down at her, contented in the elements of the sea/wind/ship, even if the end of their voyage was now in sight. She let herself be held against his long, strong body. She knew him so well! Was that such a bad thing for a crystal singer? Especially when memory began to erode? She glanced up at Lars's profile, elegant despite his peeling nose: Lars Dahl, the constant factor in her life!
"Hey, Killa, Lars! Lanzecki wants to see you soon as you dock," the harbor master yelled as he caught the line Killa deftly threw at him. He bent it neatly about the bollard as she ran aft, leaping lightly on to the marina slip, stern line in hand.
"Ya heard me?" he roared.
"Sure, I heard."
"We both heard," Lars added, grimacing at Killa.
Then, from long-established habit, Killashandra ducked down the companionway to check that everything in the cabin had been stowed properly, her chore as Lars had motored into the harbor. Satisfied, she threw their duffels topside, following more circumspectly with the bag of nondegradable trash.
Lars had shut down the engines and was checking the boom crutch to be sure it was properly secured.
"I'll keep an eye on the boat for ya," the harbor master said anxiously. Singers were not expected to dally when the Guild Master sent for them. This pair made their own rules, but he wasn't about to receive debits for their impudence.
"Sure you will, Pat," Lars said reassuringly, as he checked the mast stays, "but old habits die hard. You'll run her in,"—he jerked his head toward the spacious boathouse—"if there's a bad blow?"
Pat snorted, jamming his hands indignantly into his jacket pockets. "And when haven't I?"
Lars scooped his duffel bag off the deck and, leaping neatly from the Angel to the pier, gave Pat a grateful grin and a clout for the reassurance. Killashandra was a step behind him, adding her nod of appreciation before she matched Lars's stride for stride up the ramp to the wharf. They took the nearest scooter and turned its nose inland, to the Guild Complex.
By the time they had parked the scooter, entered the residential section of the Complex, and taken a lift to the executive floor, nineteen other people had informed them, in tones varying from irritated malice to sheer envy, that Lanzecki wanted to see them.
"Fardles!" Killashandra said, stressing the f sound against her teeth and lips. "What's up?"
"Hmmm, we are not in favor with our peer group," Lars said, his expression carefully bland.
"I've got a bad feeling," Killashandra muttered for his ears only.
Lars gave her a long searching look, just as the lift halted at the executive floor. "You think Lanzecki might have one of those choice little extra jobs for us?"
"Uh-huh!"
Then, in step, they swung left to Lanzecki's office. The first thing Killashandra noticed was that Trag was not in sight. A slender man rose from Trag's accustomed place: he bore the fine scars of healing crystal scores on face, neck, and hands, but Killashandra couldn't remember ever seeing him before.
"Killashandra Ree?" the man asked. He looked from her to her companion. "Lars Dahl? Don't you ever turn on your ship comunit?"
"When we're in the cabin," Lars answered pleasantly enough.
"Weren't in it much, not with only two to crew her through some nasty storms," Killa added with mock contrition. "Where's Trag?"
"I'm Bollam." He gave t
he odd shrug of one shoulder and tilt of his head that told them that Trag was no longer alive. "You know your way?"
"Intimately," Killashandra snapped over her shoulder as she strode angrily around him and toward the door to Lanzecki's sanctum. She didn't like Trag being dead. He had taught her to retune crystal during her apprenticeship, and she vaguely remembered other remote things about him, mainly good. Bollam didn't look like the sort of personality who could manage the duties that Trag had so effortlessly—and unemotionally—executed. If she were Lanzecki, she wouldn't trust that dork-looking weed as a partner in the Ranges. Fardles, she didn't have half that many scars on her arms, and she'd been singing crystal for . . . for a long time!
Slapping the door plate with an angry hand, she pushed through as soon as its identifying mechanism released the lock. She strode across to where Lanzecki was leaning over a worktop.
"You do have a comunit aboard that boat of yours," he began before she could take the initiative.
"Ship." Lars automatically corrected Lanzecki.
"When we turn it on," Killashandra said simultaneously. "What's so earth-shattering?"
Lanzecki tossed the stylus he had been using to the worktop and, straightening, gave the pair a long look. Killa felt something twist inside her. Lanzecki's face looked drawn and—aged. Had Trag's death been that recent?
"In the 478-S-2937 system in the Libran area of space, they've found what they think might be a new version of crystal, opalescent, but purported to be considerably more complex than Terran opals or Vegan firestones, either clear or opaque."
He clicked on the viewing screen, fast-forwarding it so that the exploration ship zoomed in speedy orbit, landed and early-evaluation processes went at an ever-increasing kaleidoscopic rate.
"Ah! Here!" And Lanzecki pressed for normal speed. "Planet's a shell with an immense cavern system—geologists suggest that the planet cooled too fast."
"No oceans?" Lars asked.
Lanzecki shook his head, and Killa grinned, a trifle sourly, for that was always Lars's first question about a new planet: Were there seas to sail?
"Underground deposits of ice neither drinkable nor," the Guild Master added a rare display of broad humor, "sailable."
"Damn!"
"Ah!" Killa said, as the vid angled up and a coruscation of what appeared to be liquid was reflected back. The angle altered, and Killa and Lars became aware that the liquidity was actually the reflection of what appeared to be a band of Lanzecki's medium blue opalescent stone.
Abruptly Lanzecki fast-forwarded to another extrusion, this time a deeper blue in a wider band that was almost a complete rib, vaulting across the ceiling from one side of the cavern to the other, nearly to the floor on both sides, seemingly spread from the "pool" in the center of the roof. Curiously, the color seemed to flow as if it was forcing itself downwards on both ends, striving to reach the base.
"This is taken with only existing light," Lanzecki said, his tone laced with amused interest. "The planet has a very slow rotation, taking nearly forty standard hours to complete one diurnal revolution. This was taped in dawn light. Full noon is blazing."
Lars was more vocal in his admiration. "All this one stone, or a vein?" he asked, sounding awed.
"Well, that is another matter no one has been able to ascertain," Lanzecki said dryly.
"Oh?" Killa wasn't sure she liked the possibilities becoming apparent in the situation.
"Yes, these tapes are several years old. Every member of the exploration team died within four months of landing on Opal."
"Opal?" Killashandra asked, staving off the gorier details she was sure Lanzecki would give them.
He shrugged, his lips twitching briefly. "The team named it."
"Not knowing it would be their memorial?" Lars commented wryly.
"Happens."
"How did they die?" Lars asked, hitching one leg over the corner of the worktop and settling himself there.
"Not nicely. When the deadman alarm went off, broadcasting a contamination code, the Trundomoux who investigated took every precaution. They recovered the tape cassette in the airlock along with the ship's log and a small chunk of unflexing material which turned out to be part of that coruscating stuff. There were notes from the geologist and the doctor of the stricken ship in the log entries. They concurred in the opinion that they had acquired a lethal dose of something on Opal, and it could well have been from contact with the stone. The log said that to get this sample, they had had to laser out the stone around it, as they couldn't detach it in any other way." Lanzecki paused for effect. "The survey guys have identified cesium, gallium, rubidium, and lesser quantities of iron and silicon in the sample. There are also several radioactive isotopes, indicating that at some point the sample included a radioactive element, but we found no trace of one to identify. Odd thing was that the sample did not have the coruscating look of the parent body. Trag thought it had died, being excised from the main body."
"Trag went?"
Lanzecki looked away from them for a long moment before he answered. Then he made eye contact first with Killashandra, then with Lars.
"The Ballybran symbiont will heal our bodies and reduce degeneration to a very slow crawl, but eventually it, too, loses its resilience. Trag has been on the Guild Roll a long, long time. He knew his symbiont protection was waning. When the Guild was asked to send a representative on the premise that the Ballybran symbiont might protect a Heptite member, Trag volunteered. Presnol put him through exhaustive tests and discovered that the symbiont was still active. Trag insisted that he had protection enough to be safe."
There were many in the Guild who called Lanzecki "the Stone-face." Even Killashandra had once made the mistake of thinking him emotionless, but later events had corrected that misjudgment. The stony look now was masking at least regret, if not something deeper. Lanzecki had depended on Trag for more than just partnership when he had to cut crystal.
"He spent unshielded time with the stone and suffered no ill effects."
"Then what killed him?" Killashandra demanded.
Lanzecki gave a snort. "Some damned fool respiratory ailment he caught on the voyage back." A twist of his right shoulder indicated his dislike of such an ignoble ending. "Presnol did consider the possibility that contact with the stone had further reduced his symbiont protection, and tissue examination proved that Trag certainly hadn't contracted the same, or a similar, disease to that which affected the geological ship's personnel." Lanzecki paused again. "In his report Trag was confident that the Ballybran symbiont would protect crystal singers, and that further investigations should be carried out by the Heptite Guild. He reported a resonance from the stone, unlike anything he ever encountered in the Ranges—unlike but similar."
Killashandra folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the querying expression on Lars's face. "And you want us to explore the possibilities?" she finally asked.
"Yes."
Lars caught her gaze, blinking his left eye in their private code of interest. Killa made Lanzecki wait for their answer.
"How much?"
Lanzecki gave her a shark's grin. "We have quoted them a . . . substantial fee for the services of a Heptite Guild team."
"Ooooh, then the Powers that be are really interested," she said. When Lanzecki nodded, she went on, "And you have a price in mind—for us, as well as the Guild?"
"I am able to offer you fifty thousand credits. You'd be off-planet during Passover—and you should have more than enough time to complete the investigation before the frenzy overtakes you."
Killashandra dismissed that aspect as she rapidly considered the monetary enticement and decided the Guild must have asked for twice or three times that amount.
"We wouldn't take less than ninety thousand for that sort of hazardous work." She flicked a quick glance at Lars. Even the fifty thou would take them anywhere in explored space for as long as they could stand being away from Ballybran.
Lanzecki inclined his head brie
fly, but the slight upturn of his lips told Killa that he had expected her to haggle. "Sixty. The Guild will have expenses . . ."
"You should have asked for those above and beyond the danger money," Killashandra said with a snort of contempt. "Eighty-five."
"We might have to keep you in isolation on your return from Opal . . ."
"Why else have I been paying dues all these years? And don't you trust Trag's evaluation?"
"As I always trusted him. He was, however, only in the chamber with the stone for a relatively short period."
"How long?" Lars asked.
"Three weeks."
"And you want us to believe that it didn't affect the symbiont?"
"Presnol says not. A simple bronchial infection killed him. Those on the exploration ship—examined by remote probe—died of a rampant lymphatic leukemia which no medication available to any nonaltered humans could combat. There were no indications of lymphatic failure or alteration in Trag."
"Three weeks might not have been long enough for the problem to develop."
Lanzecki shook his head. "Not according to the data in the log of the medic on board the exploration ship. Initial symptoms of fatigue, headache, et cetera, appeared in the second week after contact."
Killashandra kept staring at Lanzecki. After the Trundomoux black-crystal installation—a traumatic memory she hadn't been able to eradicate—and some other little special assignments, the memories of which had been reduced over the years to feelings of annoyance rather than specific complaints, Killashandra had an innate distrust of any Lanzecki assignments.
"Eighty buys our time and effort," she told him with terse finality.
" Plus . .." and Lars held up his hand, entering the bidding for the first time. "A half percent of Guild profits arising from viable merchandising of this as a product."
" What!" Lanzecki's blast of surprise startled Lars off his perch.
Killashandra threw her head back in a burst of laughter as he pulled himself back onto the worktop. "Boy, you're learning!"
Crystal Line Page 1
