“This is but one carton, one set, Uyad-vuic-Holm. Your cargo has been very good according to the input here,” for Lanzecki had made use of the terminal even as Uyad's manner changed from ire to entreaty. “Yes, I think it'll be sufficient to take you off-planet for a decent interval. Come, I'll supervise the sort myself.”
Simultaneously, several things happened: working noises recommenced in the room; Lanzecki was guiding the distressed Singer to another sorting slide, his marker encouraging rather than condescending, which Killashandra could not help but admire in the Guild Master; the other sorter had returned to his position. Enthor swiftly packed the offending pyramids, marked their container, and dealt it to a little-used slide above his head, then, seeing her bemused, gave her a friendly dig in the ribs.
“An even pace makes light of the biggest load. Another box, m'dear.”
Even pace or not, they didn't seem to be making much of an impression on the mound of containers waiting to be sorted. What made a repetitive day interesting was the tremendous input of information Enthor divulged on crystal, grading, sound, and disposition. When he noticed she was taking a keen interest in the valuations, he chided her.
"Don't sweat your head remembering prices, m'dear. Change every day. Value's computed by the Marketing Office before we start sorting, but tomorrow, values might be totally different. One aspect of crystal's enough for me to cope with: I leave the merchandising to others. Ah, now here's beauty in rose quartz! Just look at the shading, the cut. Dooth's work, or I miss my guess," and Enthor peered at the carton, blinking his eyes for a lens change. "I don't." I'd know his cut among the whole roster's."
“Why?” Killashandra leaned closer to inspect the octagon. It was beautiful, a deep pale pink with a purple tinge, but she couldn't understand Enthor's enthusiasm.
The sorter took a deep breath as if to explain and then exhaled sharply.
“Ah, but if you knew, you'd have my rating, wouldn't you?” He blinked again and regarded her with a shrewd narrowing of his eyes.
“Not necessarily,” she replied. “I'd prefer to sing crystal . . .”
Enthor looked from her to the rose octagon. «Yes, perhaps you would at that. However, I recognize Dooth's cut when I see it. When – if – you cut crystal, you will know crystal that is so fine, so rare.»
With both hands, he laid the heavy jewel on the scale plate, running two fingers over his lips as he watched the configurations change and settle.
“I thought you said there was a surplus of rose crystal . . .”
"Not of this weight, color, or octagonal," he said, his fingers tapping out a sequence. "I happen to have heard" and Enthor lowered his voice – " that someone very highly placed in the Federated Planets is looking for large pieces this hue." He lifted the octagon to the coating rack where the deep pink was swiftly cocooned from sight with plastic webbing, and at a touch of his finger on the terminal, an identifying code was stippled along the hardening surface.
At the close of the first day of sorting, Killashandra felt as tired as she had after unloading in the gale. She said as much as Shillawn and Rimbol joined her in a weary trudge to their lounge.
“We're getting paid for our efforts,” Shillawn said by way of cheering them.
“Yesterday we got a danger bonus as well,” Killashandra said, not to be outdone.
“Making use of the data banks, are you?” Rimbol asked, grinning at her with some malice. Killashandra hadn't admitted to him that she'd taken a skimmer out the evening before the storm, but he'd known.
“Told we were. Available to us is the data.” Killashandra so aptly mimicked Tukolom's ponderous tones that she had the other two laughing. “I'm going for a shower. See you in the lounge later?”
Rimbol nodded, and so did Shillawn.
In the catering slot by her bed was another beaker of the lemon liquid. She drank it and had her shower, by the end of which she felt sufficiently revived to enjoy a quiet evening at dice with Rimbol and Shillawn.
Though no more peevish crystal cutters added excitement to the sorting routine during the next three days, Killashandra did have an unusual slice of luck. Halfway through the second day, Lanzecki and the handsome woman Killashandra guessed must be the chief marketing officer walked swiftly into the sorting room and marched right up to Enthor.
“Gorren's conscious. Muttering about black crystal. Have any of his cartons been released to you yet?”
“By my bones, no!” Enthor was shocked and amazed. Shocked, he later confided to Killashandra, that Gorren's cuttings had been stored separately and amazed because he hadn't known that Gorren had returned. He'd half expected to hear, Enthor continued solemnly, that Gorren had been one of the Singers trapped in the ranges by the storm. Gorren's black crystals were always entrusted to Enthor for evaluation.
A work force was hastily assembled in the sorting room, checking the labels of the many boxes still waiting evaluation. The group that had unloaded Gorren's ship – his had been the one to overturn – were identified and summoned. Fortunately, the handlers were regular hangar personnel, and since they had known the cartons were Gorren's and valuable, they had placed them on a top layer, fifth stack, with buffering layers on either side.
Reverently, the eleven valuable cartons were handed down. Since it had been impressed constantly on Killashandra that very little could damage these specially constructed boxes or their contents, and she'd seen some of these same men indifferently lobbing cartons through the air to one another, she reflected that the presence of Lanzecki and Chief Marketing Officer Heglana had a salutary effect.
She was more surprised to see the two officials each take up a carton and was delighted when Enthor, his expression severe, pressed one firmly into her body, waiting until she had grasped the handles tightly.
Killashandra was elated by Enthor's confidence in her and walked the short distance back to the sorting room with the black crystal crammed against her breasts. Unaccountably, she was trembling with tension when she deposited her burden safely beside the others.
Later, she remembered that Enthor had moved with his normal dispatch to unpack: it was probably just because so many important people were watching and she herself caught their suppressed excitement that Enthor appeared to be dawdling. Tension can be transferred, and the sorting room was certainly crackling despite the hush. Those at nearby sorting tables had managed to be in positions to observe the unpacking, while those not directly in the Guild Master's view had suspended work completely, watching.
As Enthor lifted the first black crystal from its protecting foam, a sigh rippled through the watchers.
“Flipped right over, didn't he?” Heglana remarked, and made a clicking sound in her throat. Lanzecki nodded, his eyes on Enthor's hands.
The second black was larger, and to Killashandra's surprise, Enthor did not place it safely apart from the first but against the first where it seemed to fit securely. She felt a tingle at the very base of her head that spread upward across her skull. She shook her head, and the sensation dissipated. Not for long. A third, the largest crystal, fit against the second, a fourth and a fifth. The tingle in her head became a tightening of the scalp. Or was it her head bones pressing out hard against her skin, stretching it?
“Five matched crystals. Gorren hadn't imagined it.”
Lanzecki's voice was level, but Killashandra sensed his satisfaction with such a cut. “Quality?”
“High, Lanzecki,” Enthor replied calmly. “Not his best cut, but I dare say the flaws, minute as they are, will not impair the function if the units are not too far separated.”