Having leisurely finished their meal, the supercargo and engineer excused themselves, claiming duties before lift off. Andurs waved them a genial go-ahead and then turned to Killashandra.
“D'you see what would happen if you become a Singer?”
“What?” she asked guilelessly.
Andurs flicked his fingers impatiently at the aloof quintet. “You'd be alone. Wherever you went.”
“I wasn't alone with Carrik. He was very good company.”
“For a specific reason, I've no doubt, and don't spout Privacy at me.”
Killashandra laughed at his sour reply. “The reason was mutual, my friend. And I still don't see why the Crystal Singers are at fault.”
“And who do they think they are?”' he mimicked in a fair imitation of her instinctive reaction to the Singers.
"Well, I also didn't notice anyone making them welcome the way everyone else – "
“Nor will you. Disagreeable bastards, that's what they are. And they always act that superior.”
"Carrik – " she began, remembering how much fun he had been.
«He might have been halfway gone by the time you met him. They change – and not for the better.»
“They would have to, wouldn't they?” she said, somewhat abruptly, for Andurs' irrational insistence on generalities annoyed her. “The fax said they take rigorous physical, psychological, and aptitude tests. Only the best are taken, so they would be above the ploddies you have to put up with everywhere else in the galaxy.”
“You don't understand. They are very different!” Andurs was becoming agitated in his effort to explain.
“I'll never understand if you won't be specific.”
«Well, I can.» Andurs almost leaped at her offer. «The Singer in the brown tunic – how old would you say he is? And don't stare at them too hard. They can be offensive if irritated. Especially when they're just off the Ranges like that set.»
Killashandra had noticed the brown-clad man; he was the tallest one and exuded some of the same magnetic quality that had distinguished Carrik.
“I'd say about second half of his third decade, perhaps beginning of his fourth.”
“I'm in my fourth and have been making this run for nine years standard. I know he's been a Singer for at least nine decades because his name's appeared on the passenger lists for my ship for that long.”
Killashandra glanced discreetly over at the subject in question. It was hard to believe the man was well over his first hundred years. Modern science delayed the worst ravages of physical degeneration but —
“So eternal youth is your gripe?”
«No, not mine. Frankly I wouldn't want to have more than ten or twelve decades. It's not just that Singers look young longer, though that does get at some, it's – it's other differences . . .»
“Psychological? Professional? Physical? Or financial?”
“Look, the point is, there are differences that the rest of us note, sense, feel, and resent in Singers!” Andurs was vehement now, pounding one fist into the other palm to emphasize his points. “Whatever it is separates you forever from the rest of mankind. Is that what you want?”
Killashandra gave the question due consideration before she looked Andurs in the eye and said, “Yes. Crystal Singers are a rigidly selected, highly trained professional minority. And I want to be a member of that sort of group. I've had some training in that direction already,” she added with a sour smile.
“Then your bringing Carrik back . . .” Andurs' nostrils flared with suspicion, and he leaned away from her.
"Was what I owed the man," she added hastily, for she didn't like that expression to appear so soon, and for no cause, on Andurs' face. She honestly had been motivated by regret for Carrik's condition. "Who knows? I may not pass the requirements. It harms no one for me to try, does it?" She gave Andurs a sweet, somewhat tremulous smile. "I was not motivated toward any goal when I encountered Carrik, you see – "
«Then ship out with me – or on any of the other ships. This» – Andurs' forefinger pointed at the door – «is a dead end.»
Killashandra sneaked one more look at the Crystal Singers – proud, aloof, and curiously radiant. She contrived a thoughtful frown for Andurs' benefit, but the group, remote and inaccessible, were indeed people apart, clearly marked by a subtle difference that set them above humans otherwise no less physically attractive or intelligent. This distinction would cause Singers to be singled out no matter where they were. Forever, Killashandra thought, as Stellar performers when basking in the applause of adoring audiences. Since she was deprived of the one, she would try for this.
"There is something about them . . ." she said aloud with a diffident lift of her shoulders and a wry smile. "You know, you're right about the brew – " and she turned a more winning smile at Andurs.
“I'll get more.”
She spent a pleasant evening with the captain, though
she was glad that it was just an evening, for his limitations soon became apparent. Carrik had had many revelations for her. But when Andurs left for his ship at date change, it was only with expressions of regret and additional urgings for her to be on board. Though he was only going as far as Regulus Exchange, Killashandra could pick up a ship bound anywhere in the galaxy with her Guild voucher.
She thanked him, affecting more drowsiness than she felt, and left him with the notion that she had been swayed by his persuasions and person.
She didn't learn until much later that his ship, the Rag Blue Swan Delta, had delayed departure until peremptorily forced to leave by an aggravated landing officer. By that time she was already in the Guild block of the base.
CHAPTER 4
Arriving punctually at the beginning of business hours, Killashandra was not the only one so prompt. Some of the dozen or so milling about the large reception area were quite obviously buyers, peering at the displays and jotting entries on their wrist units. The tall, thin young man was there. He looked startled to see Killashandra and swerved away from her. Just as Killashandra noted two men and a woman emerge from a panel in the far side of the dodecahedron, someone stamped in from the base entrance. Killashandra glimpsed a set, hard, angry face and the close-cropped hair of a space worker as the bone-thin figure of a female swept past her.
The chandelier responded to the vibrations of her passage and picked up the tone of her voice. From the resonance of the chiming art form, Killashandra knew the woman was making demands. What surprised Killashandra more was that the Guild woman did not pay any attention, her head remaining bent over the module. The angry space worker repeated her question, sharp enough now for Killashandra to hear that the woman was demanding to be taken immediately for testing as a Guild candidate.
Suddenly, one of the Guildsmen, excusing himself from his conversation with a buyer, touched the programmer on her arm, directing her gaze to the now irate space worker. Another angry spate of words jarred the crystal drops, although the Guild programmer seemed not the least disturbed either by her discourtesy or the space worker's ire. In the next moment, the panel at the back of the room opened again, and the space worker moved toward it, her head set at an aggressive angle, her stride jarring her slender frame. The panel closed behind her.