“I know. She has been out in the ranges since we were recruited.” Killashandra knew she wasn't excusing Borella, and she didn't need to explain to Rimbol.
“I know, I know, but that was only a few months ago.” Rimbol's blue eyes were clouded with worry. “Do we lose our memories that quickly?”
“Borella's sung a long time, Rimbol.” Killashandra could not reassure herself, either. “Have you started your personal file? Good. That's the way to remember what's important.”
“I wonder what she considers important.” Rimbol looked at Borella with narrowed eyes.
“Getting off this planet during Passover!” Even to herself, Killashandra sounded sharp. Rimbol threw her a startled look, and then he laughed. “I only know because I heard her talking to that tall fellow, Olin.” Killashandra added in an easier manner. “Say, have you been in contact with Shillawn at all?”
“Sure have. In fact, we're meeting here tomorrow. Join us?”
Killashandra met Rimbol's mildly challenging stare.
“If I'm free. I'm scheduled to take some crystals to the Trundimoux system. Evidently, having cut crystal, I'd be particularly susceptible to Passover, so they're whipping me off the planet.”
“Once I thought I'd have no trouble keeping up with you, Killa.” Rimbol's expression was rueful.
“What D'you mean by that?” Killashandra was aware of a flurry of unexpected feelings: anxiety, surprise, irritation, and a sense of loss. She didn't want to lose her friendship with Rimbol. She put her hand on his arm. “We're friends, remember. Class 895.”
“If we remember.”
"What is the matter with you, Rimbol? I've been having such a good time." Killashandra gestured at the others laughing and chatting, and the evidences of a hearty meal. "I haven't had a chance to see much of anyone because of that wretched Milekey transition and being shepherded out by that sonic-shorted Moksoon – "
“Not to mention finding black crystal.”
She took a deep breath against her seething reaction to Rimbol's implicit accusation.
«When» – she began slowly and in a taut voice – «you have been in the ranges looking for crystal, then you will know what I can not possibly explain to you now.» She rose, the tenuous sensation of comradeship abruptly severed. «Give my regards to Shillawn if you'd be so good as to remember.»
She excused herself and stalked past a startled Concera, who tried to protest Killashandra's exit.
“Let her go, Concera. She has matters of great importance to attend.”
Striding quickly into the main aisle, Killashandra nearly ran into Trag just entering the dining area
“Killashandra? Don't you ever watch the call display?” Trag pointed to the moving line above the catering area, and she saw her name flashing. Trag took her arm and hurried her toward the lifts. “The Trundimoux ship is at Shankill. We've been holding the shuttle for you.”
“The Trundimoux ship? Leave?” Killashandra glanced back at the table she had so hurriedly left. Only Concera was looking in her direction. She gave Killashandra a little wave for reassurance.
“They made time around their last sun and are here ahead of schedule and can not hold at slow much longer or they'll lose momentum.”
“I'll only need a few things . . .”
Trag shook his head impatiently and pushed her into a waiting lift.
“A Carisak is being prepared for you on the Base. Anything else you require, your accommodations and expenses are to be met by the Trundimoux. There's no time to lose now!”
Killashandra's protests waned. Her initial confusion turned quickly to resentment. Not only was she leaving without a chance to vindicate herself in Rimbol's opinion, she wasn't to see Lanzecki either. Or perhaps he had planned so hasty a departure to prevent her from embarrassing him? Soured as she was by Rimbol's accusations, it was easy to include Lanzecki.
That Milekey transition might have appeared to be a blessing, but that bit of “luck” had alienated her from the few friends she had ever made and left her vulnerable to speculations and subtly accused of harsh and indefensible suspicions.
«We were not expecting the Trundimoux to arrive so soon,» Trag said, «but that may be fortuitous with Passover not long away.» He thrust a sheaf of print out at her as she was puzzling that cryptic remark. «Antona said you were to read this. Medical advice on symbiotic adjustment and replenishment, so examine it carefully. The crystals are already on board the shuttle and locked in the supercargo's security hold. This is your Guild identification» – he offered her a slim folder like the one Carrik had carried «and the Guild band,» which he clasped around her right wrist. «With these, you have access to planetary governing organizations, including the Session of the Federated Sentient Planets. Though they're a boring lot, and I can not see this assignment leading to a meeting, it's wise to be prepared for all contingencies.»
Access to the Session of the Federated Sentient Planets? Killashandra did not think Trag would joke about such a privilege. The stimulation of such prestige and surprise lifted her depression.
They had reached the hangar level, and Trag's hand under her arm propelled her forward at a good pace toward the waiting shuttle. At the ramp, the boarding officer was gesturing them urgently to hurry. Trag increased his pace, and every inch of Killashandra wanted to resist as she glanced around the immense hangar area for one glimpse of Lanzecki.
“C'mon! C'mon!” the boarding officer exhorted. “Stragglers can be left for tomorrow's shuttle!”
“Quiet!” Trag turned Killashandra just as she put her foot on the ramp. “The Guild Master has considerable confidence in your abilities. I do not think it is misplaced Lanzecki wishes you a good voyage and a safe return! Remember!”
With that, Trag whirled, leaving Killashandra staring after him, his last words echoing in her mind.
“I can NOT close the ramp if you are standing on it,” the boarding officer exclaimed petulantly.
Obedient in her confusion, Killashandra hastened into the shuttle. The ramp retracted, and the shuttle's door slid with a ponderous whoosh and hiss across the aperture.
“Don't just stand there. Get a seat.” The boarding officer gave Killashandra a little push toward the rear of the shuttle craft.
She strapped herself into a seat without thinking, holding her identification folder and Antona's instructions with both hands resting on her thighs. She let her body relax to the motion of the shuttle as it lifted on air cushions and glided from the hangar. Having no viewport, she endured what seemed hours before she felt the power surge as the crystal drive was engaged. She was thrust back into the cushioning of her seat as the shuttle took off. The pressure was welcome as a source of minor discomfort. She wished that the gravity drag pushing flesh and muscles against resisting bone might squeeze unwelcome thoughts from her head.
Then the shuttle was free of Ballybran's pull, and the relief of weightlessness was accompanied by the return of common sense to Killashandra's tumultuous thoughts. She had built into a personal tragedy two totally unrelated incidents: Rimbol's curiously aggressive attitude during an otherwise convivial occasion when she had felt particularly relaxed, and Lanzecki's apparent dismissal. She'd muddled these about with her tendency to dramatize and a subconscious guilt about her easy transition, the Keborgen incident, Lanzecki's unexpected friendship, her first over charged trip into the ranges, and pre-Passover sensitivity.
So. Deep breath and rationalize. Rimbol was also feeling pre-Passover sensitivity. Not only had Trag personally escorted her to the shuttle, but he had given her three different messages: the Guild Master had confidence in her. So, unexpectedly, had Trag, whom Killashandra knew to be harder to please than any other instructor she had ever studied with. And Lanzecki wished her a good voyage and a safe return.