Crystal Line

by Anne McCaffrey

  "I said, I don't recognize that there is one."

  "You could if you remembered it," Donalla insisted, and something in the almost wheedling tone made Killashandra wary.

  "I avoid people trying to do me good," she said in a flat and, she hoped, discouraging voice.

  Donalla perched on the edge of the bed and regarded Killashandra for a moment. "That's because you haven't heard what the good bit is."

  "Do I have to?" Killa sighed resignedly.

  "Yes, because the Guild Master has asked me to approach every singer on this matter."

  "Oh, He has." Killa set up an immediate resistance to the notion.

  Donalla laughed lightly, as if she recognized the reaction and had expected it. "Hmmm, yes, well. Quite a few singers have taken me up on my offer."

  "Enough of the jollying. Inform me in words of one syllable."

  "Don't be churlish, Killashandra Ree." There was a caustic tone to Donalla's voice now that made Killashandra regard her with surprise. "Since I recovered my health here, I've tried to figure a way around the most important drawback that all singers face."

  "How kind of you!" Killashandra gave a supercilious snort.

  "Kindness has little to do with it. An efficient use of singers' time and energies does. Singers lose memory function every time they go into the Ranges. They lose crucial details of the precise location of valuable sites."

  "Detail maybe, but not the resonance that'll lead you right back to a good claim," Killashandra said, shaking her head to dismiss Donalla's faulty logic.

  "Only if you go right back into the Ranges. How much more convenient it would be to recall the exact locations by accurately remembering the relevant landmarks."

  "And leave such information around for other singers to access? No way! Try another on me."

  "I'm not trying anything on you. I've already had notable success in accessing memory in crystal-mazed singers' minds."

  "You've what?" Killashandra sat up, fury building in her at such an intrusion. Who did this woman think she was?

  "I had the Guild Master's authority and it's—"

  "Get out of here. I don't want any part of such a scheme. That Guild Master of yours must be out of his gourd to permit such harassment. That's the worst example of privacy invasion I've ever heard."

  "But so much information can be restored," Donalla said urgently, bending toward Killashandra in an effort to win her over. "So much lost memory can be retrieved."

  "I haven't lost anything I want retrieved." Killashandra was a decibel away from a shout. "Go peddle your nonsense to someone else, Donalla. Leave me alone!"

  "But I want to help you, Killashandra," Donalla said, switching tactics.

  "I don't need that kind of help. Now go, or do I have to throw you out? I'm well enough to do so, you know." And she half rose from her chair.

  Donalla pushed off the edge of the bed and took a step back, flustered. "You'll be helping Lars Dahl as well, you know. Not to mention your Guild."

  "Spare me the sentimental violin passage, Donalla. Loyalty is another commodity singers lack and don't need!" Killashandra completed her rise in one fluid movement, delighted that her body would respond so readily. She grabbed Donalla by the arm, turned her toward the door, and forcefully ejected her from the room. "And don't come back."

  "If you'd only listen . . ." Donalla began, but Killa shut the door on her entreaty.

  "Regression isn't painful!" The woman was incredible, shouting through a closed door at her. With one twist of the volume control, Killa turned on to full whatever program was on the in-room entertainment, drowning out Donalla's voice. Then she threw on the door privacy lock.

  For a long moment, she seethed, letting the music, some sort of a baroque chorus, roll over her. The song was familiar to her. She picked up the soprano line, surprised and pleased to be able to add words to the notes. She broke off singing when, even to herself, her voice sounded harsh and strident.

  Well, wouldn't it? When she was being harassed by a silly bitch who had made a unilateral decision about what Killashandra Ree "needed"? Only Killashandra Ree could make those decisions. She had earned that right, by all the holies! Ridiculous woman! Absurd notion—reviving a useless baggage of memories. And the Guild Master agreed?

  Killa exhaled in disgust, reviewing what Donalla had said. Her memory might be faulty but she had been reading voices for years. She snorted again, remembering tonalities and inflections that told her more than Donalla might have intended. The woman had said Lars's name in a tone that indicated more than casual acquaintance with him, intimating a relationship that was more than work-oriented. They were a fine pair, they were! Well suited! If she'd known the woman would take on this way, behaving like a conscience, she'd've let her die in the Recruitment Room.

  "There, too, I can remember—when I want to!" Killa muttered to herself. Then she laughed as she heard the childish petulance in her voice. She remembered the important things, like how to fly a sled, how to locate claims, how to cut—and, most important of all, she generally remembered what to cut in order to get top market value on her crystal. What more did she need to remember? The petty details of everyday life? The trivia that clogged the brain and got in the way: the incidents that humiliated or enraged, the bilge, bosh, claptrap that happened while traveling, things inconsequential when one would only be visiting the world once?

  What about remembering the new world?

  If it was worthwhile, interesting, or exciting, I'll remember it, she told herself.

  Will you?

  I can, if I want to! I can!

  She slept away the afternoon and awoke to hear a tentative tapping on her door. It was the bright little infirmary aide wanting to serve her dinner. She ate heartily, trying to ignore the fact that someone had gone to the trouble of ordering a selection of her favorite foods. That would pad the charges for her Infirmary usage. Ah, well. She'd always paid for exotics, and the Yarran beer did go down a treat!

  She didn't see the irritating Donalla over the next three days, but had several sessions with therapists, who worked to help her regain full muscle tone. She retrieved her cutter from Clarend, who warned her again to remember – remember – that she couldn't abuse her cutter again or she would have to replace it. She took possession of a sparkling brand-new sled.

  "I won't tell you how many you've banged up over the years, Killa," Ritwili told her in a sour tone as he extended the purchase order for her signature. "And stocking it took the rest of your credit. You're in the red right now—so cut well!"

  She paused long enough to contact Clodine and find out what crystal she ought to look for.

  "Someone's wanting those deep amethysts and, of course, any black you stumble across," Clodine said with a grin. "You've a natural affinity for them anyway, and blacks are always needed."

  "Yeah." Killa wasn't all that happy with her affinity. She liked the money from blacks but not cutting them solo. They tended to thrall more easily than any other color. "I'll remember that."

  She was not the only singer departing the Guild Hangar that day: fifteen others were making ready and each of them was determined to be the last one out and thus not only see the direction every other singer was taking but conceal his or her own ultimate destination.

  Disgusted, Killashandra gave up waiting. At this rate, it would be dark before she made any significant progress into the Range. Noting the marks of age and misuse on most of the other vehicles, she realized that with her new sled, she could easily outfly any of them. She asked, and received, clearance, along with a heartfelt thanks from the flight officer, who was losing patience with the dilatory singers.

  "Blinding damn paranoid, the lot of 'em," he muttered, forgetting to close the circuit.

  "You better believe it," Killa said with a laugh, and eased her new vehicle through the Hangar's immense outer doors.

  The exchange put Killashandra in a good mood, which improved when she heard five other singers suddenly demanding cle
arance. Well, she'd show them!

  Capriciously she zipped off at a speed inappropriate for her proximity to the Hangar, laughing at the flight officer's irate reprimand. Running at a recklessly low altitude over the uneven terrain of the foothills, she built the sled up to maximum power as fast as she dared.

  "Try to follow me now, you dorks! Shatter yourself on the hills trying!"

  She let out a musical hurrah as the ground hurtled past her. Lyrics to the aria deserted her, but she sang on, using vowels and singing at the top of her lungs, reveling in her renewed freedom.

  Chapter 7

  Killashandra came in from the Milekey Mountains with a load of blue-quartz prisms and cylinders in A-sharp or higher. She had always worked well solo in the upper registers, which gave her a distinct advantage over most crystal singers.

  She made it into the Hangar on a windy blast from the oncoming storm. Cutting it fine again, but she grinned at having made it without harm to herself or her sled. That was all that mattered: coming back in the same state of mind or body as she had gone out. Still, and in the back of her mind, she allowed herself to be relieved that her recklessness had not exacted a penalty.

  Being one of the last in, she had to wait for Clodine to be free to assay her crystal. It was a long wait, especially with every nerve in her body screaming for the radiant fluid that would reduce the resonance to a mild discomfort. The storm outside seemed to stroke her body to an intense pitch. She shuddered from time to time, but managed to survive the waiting.

  When Clodine told her she had hit the top of the market, she could feel the physical relief course through her despite storm scream.

  "I've been due a change of luck," she said, wincing as she remembered the last week in the Range. The sun had been fierce on the scars of her cuttings, half blinding her, and the scream of crystal had sliced through her mind as she had cut. But she had been desperate to hack enough cargo to get off-world for a while—away from crystal song, far away, so her mind would have a chance to heal. "How much?"

  Clodine peered up at her from her console, a little smirk bending the left corner of her mouth. "Don't you trust me any more, Killa?"

  "At this point, I wouldn't trust my own mother—if I could remember who she was," Killa replied. She forced a smile for Clodine on her grimy lips and tried to relax. Clodine was her friend. She would know how badly Killa needed to get away from Ballybran and crystal whine. "Is it enough?"

  Clodine altered her enhanced eyes and gazed at Killashandra almost maternally. "You've been a singer long enough, Killa, to know when you've cut sufficient crystal."

  "Tell me!" With totally irrational fury, Killashandra brought both fists down on the counter, jarring the crystal and startling Clodine to blink into enhancement. Immediately she relented. "I'm sorry, Clodine. I shouldn't shout at my only friend. But . . ."

  "You've enough," Clodine said gently. She reached to grasp Killa's arm encouragingly but drew back her fingers as if she had been burned. The Sorter's expression altered to sadness. Then her gaze switched to someone over her shoulder.

  Killashandra jerked her head slightly sideways to see who had joined them. It was the Guild Master. She looked back at Clodine, ignoring the man as she had done for a long time now.

  "Killa," he said, his tenor voice pitched to concern, "that was cutting it too close by half. You shouldn't work solo for a while. Any singer in the Guild would partner you for a couple of runs."

  "I'll work as I please," she said, forcing her wretchedly tired body into a straight and obstinate line. "I'm not so ancient that I can't scramble when I have to."

  The Guild Master pointed to the weather displayed on the back wall of the Sorting Shed, and despite herself, Killashandra followed his finger. She maintained a show of indifference, but she felt cold fear in her belly. She hadn't realized the storm was that powerful: twelve-mach-force winds? Had her weather sense betrayed her? Lost its edge? No, but she had been deeper in the Ranges than she realized when she started out. She could well have been caught out over crystal. But she hadn't. And she had safely brought in enough crystal to get off-planet again.

  "A good blow," she said with a defensive shrug and a wry twist of her lips, "but it's going to knock hell out of my claim."

  The Guild Master touched her shoulder lightly; he did not pull away from her as Clodine had. "Just don't go back solo, Killa." She dipped out from under his hand. He continued, "You've sung crystal a long time now. You kited in here just ahead of a mach-twelve storm and one day you'll stay just that moment too long and—poof!" He threw his hands up, fingers wide. "Scrambled brains."

  "That's the time, Guild Master," she said, still with her back to him, "that I get some of my own back."

  She saw the pity and concern in Clodine's eyes.

  "With your ears ruptured and your mind a balloon? Sure, Killa. Sure. Look, there're half a dozen good cutters who'd double you any time you raised your finger. Or don't you remember"—and the Guild Master's voice turned soft—"how much you made singing duet . . ."

  "With Lars Dahl!" Killashandra made her voice flat and refused to look around.

  "We worked well together, Killa." His voice was still soft.

  "How kind of you to remember, Guild Master."

  She turned away from the counter, but he stepped in front of her.

  "I was wrong, Killashandra. It's too late for you to cut duo. Crystal's in your soul." He strode out of the shed, leaving her standing there.

  She tried to be amused by the accusation—but, from him, it cut like crystal. As if she would want to sing duet again. Especially with Lars Dahl. She cast her mind back, trying to recall some details of those halcyon days. Nothing came. They must have happened a long, long time ago: many storms, many Passovers, many cuts past.

  "Killa?"

  At the sound of Clodine's voice, Killashandra jerked herself back to the present: the tote was up on the screen—and the news was good. Even with the Guild tithe, she had enough to keep out of the Ranges for close to a year. Maybe that would be enough to take crystal out of her soul.

  The Guild Master had to be wrong about that! He had to be! She thanked Clodine, who seemed relieved that her friend's mood had altered.

  She stopped in the Hall long enough to tap in her name and get a locator keyed into her quarters. It had long since stopped irritating her that she couldn't remember where she lived in the great cube of the Heptite Guild. She merely let the locator guide her. The mach winds seemed to follow her, echoing through the lift and the corridor. The key vibrated more imperiously in her hand and she hurried. The sooner she immersed herself in the radiant bath, the sooner she would be rid of the angry pulsing of crystal in her blood.

  No, it wasn't in her blood. Not yet.

  So there were men willing to cut duo with her, were there? Well, Guild Master, what if it's not just any man who is acceptable to me? The door to her quarters sprang open as she neared it, so she began to trot. It was going to take so long to fill the radiant bath. Somehow there ought to be a way to trigger that amenity from afar, especially for singers as crystal-logged as she was. Once, someone—what was his name?—someone had done her that courtesy and she had always returned to her room to find the tub full.

  As she turned the corner into the sanitary facility, she was amazed to see the tap running the viscous liquid in a bath that was nearly full. But that someone—she pulled at memory even as she pulled off her grimed jumpsuit—was long dead. She was eternally grateful to whoever had started the bath. The Guild Master? Not likely. What had been that other man's name?

  She could abuse her mind no longer with pointless attempts to remember. With an immense sigh of relief, she eased into the liquid, feeling it just slightly heavy against her skin, filling her pores. Her flesh gratefully absorbed the anodyne and she placed her head into the recess, slipping her legs and arms into the restraining straps. She forced muscle after weary muscle to relax, willing the resonances to stop echoing through her bones.

 
She must have slept: she had been exhausted enough to do so. But she felt slightly better. This would be a four-bath cleansing, she decided, and let the used fluid out.

  "Dispenser!" she called, loud enough to activate the mechanism in the other room, and when it chimed its attention, she ordered food. She waited until the second chime told her the food was ready. "Now if they'd only invent a 'bot to bring it to me . . ."

  In her past, she hadn't had to worry about that detail, had she? That much she remembered. She crawled out of the tub, setting it for refill, and, flinging a big towel about her, she made for the dispenser slot, ignoring the puddles made by the fluid that sheeted off her body as she walked. The aroma of the food activated long-unused saliva.

  "Don't eat too much, Killa," she warned herself, knowing perfectly well what would happen to her underserved stomach if she did. That much she always remembered.

  She had a few bites and then forced herself to bring the tray back to the tub, where she rested it on the wide rim. Climbing back into the filling tub, she moved her body under the splash from the wide-mouthed tap. With one hand on the rim, she scooped of milsi stalks into her mouth, one at a time, chewing conscientiously.

  She really must remember to eat when she was in the Ranges. Muhlah knew her sled was well-enough stocked, and since the provisions were paid for, she ought to eat them. If she remembered.

  By her fourth bath, she recollected snatches and patches of her last break. They didn't please her. For one thing, she had come in with a light load, forced off the Range a few klicks ahead of a storm. She had reaped the benefits of that blow this trip, of course—that was the way of it with crystal. If a singer could get back to the vicinity of a lode fast enough, the crystal resonated and told your body where it was. But she hadn't had enough credit to get off-planet, a trip she had desperately needed then—though not half as much as she did now.

  She'd had to take what relief she could from a handsome and somewhat arrogant young landsman on the upper continent: tone-deaf, sobersided, but he hadn't been man enough to anneal her.