Killashandra smiled to herself and began to relax. With the unstated import as reassurance, she ceased to regard the precipitous departure as more than coincidence. Still she'd been on the handy end of coincidence rather much recently. From the moment the sorters recruited her class to help with crystal and Enthor had chosen her; her sensitivity to black crystal; a Milekey transition that, according to Antona, no one could predict. Chance had been on Killashandra's side when she'd gone with the rescue team to Keborgen. True, an application of deduction and fact had helped her determine Keborgen's flight path. Her premature introduction to the ranges had occurred at Lanzecki's direction, governed by the Guild's necessity to keep Keborgen's claim operative. She might not have found it, might have been deterred by the fresh claimer paint. She wondered about the effect of Passover storms on paint.
Then she remembered Antona's message, and shoving the Guild ident into a hip pocket, she unfolded the print sheet.
Antona had researched the foods available in the Trundimoux system and listed the best for Killashandra's needs. The list was ominously short. Antona reminded the new Singer that her hunger would slacken but that she might also encounter considerable drowsiness as Passover point was reached. This effect most frequently occurred when symbiont and host were adjusting. Antona advised her to complete the installations as quickly as possible and gave her a mild stimulant to over come lethargy. Antona ended by advising Killashandra not to return to Ballybran's surface until Passover was completed, and the farther away from the system she stayed, the better.
The message, typed by voice-printer, sounded like Antona in a cheerful way, and Killashandra was extremely grateful for the thoughtfulness that prompted it. Her uncertainties allayed, she mentally reviewed the installation procedures in which Trag had drilled her. Both he and Lanzecki had confidence in her. So be it.
The retrodrive and the swaying, dropping motion of the shuttle indicated it was maneuvering to the base docks. She felt the impact as the maneuver was successful.
“Clumsy!” a familiar voice commented several rows up from Killashandra.
“No doubt, one of your recruits showing off,” the drawling voice of Olin replied.
She must really have been in a daze when she boarded the shuttle, Killashandra thought, if she hadn't noticed Borella and her companion. Killashandra had just unstrapped when she was surprised to hear her own name in Borella's unmistakably scornful voice.
“Killashandra Ree? Now how should I know whether she's on board or not. I don't know her.”
The calculated indifference to what must have been a courteous query infuriated Killashandra. No wonder Crystal Singers had such bad reputations.
She made her way to the shuttle door, coming to an abrupt halt as her augmented vision was assaulted by the garishly uniformed pair standing to one side of the dock port. On the chests of each man, emblazoned in vivid, iridescent, and inharmonious colors, was a stylized symbol, a planet, two moons lined by three whirling asteroid belts. The movement, Killashandra decided as she closed her eyes for a moment, must be due to the men's normal breathing and some special quality of the material.
“I'm Killashandra Ree,” she said politely, but she could almost understand Borella's curt arrogance. To the more sensitive eyes of an altered human, the Trundimoux uniform was visually unbearable.
"Star Captain Francu of the Trundimoux Navy, at your service, Guild Member Ree." A stiff gesture introduced his companion. Senior Lieutenant Engineer Tallaf."
By narrowing her eyes, Killashandra could filter out the appalling color and appreciate that these were very attractive men, lean as most spacers were, and equally obvious, uncomfortable. Nervous?
The shuttle pilot, his casual coverall a complete contrast to the Trundimoux officers', emerged from the lock.
“You're from the Trundy ship? Cargo's unloaded on the lower deck.”
Killashandra noted Captain Francu's wince at the nickname and thought that the lieutenant was amused.
“Senior Lieutenant Supercargo Pendel is attending to that matter, Captain . . .”
“Senior Captain Amon, Francu. Pendel has been thoroughly briefed on the crystal?”
Francu stiffened.
“Where's your ship docked?” Amon continued, looking at his wrist-unit.
«Our cruiser» – and Francu emphasized the type of vessel in such a pompous tone that Killashandra had a presentiment that her voyage companions might be very dull – «is in hyperbolic.»
“Oh, your system did get the 78 then.” Amon replied with such genial condescension that Killashandra nearly laughed aloud. The two officers exchanged startled glances.
“Well, you'd hardly have got here so fast in any of your old 59s. Quite a compliment to you, Killa, for them to send their newest.”
To her knowledge, Killashandra had never met Amon, but she didn't miss the slight wink that accompanied the abbreviated form of her name.
«I don't think the compliment is to me, Amon» – and she smiled understandingly at the officers – «but rather to the black crystals.»
“You Trundies are lucky to get the quintet,” Amon went on; he, too, had caught Francu's disapproval of the nickname.
“After all, there is an FSP priority for the Trundimoux system,” Killashandra interjected diplomatically. Amon might be getting some pleasure out of antagonizing Francu, but she was the one who had to travel with the man.
“True,” Amon replied, and smiled affably. “Now, Killa, there are a few details . . .” and he began to shepherd her toward the Guild exit.
"Captain Amon, we were assured that there would be no delays as soon as the Guild – " Francu's wrist-unit blurted a noise. "Yes? They are? Secured? We'll be in the cutter – "
«Not until Killashandra has cleared Shankill authority, Captain. If you'll just wait at – which port is your cutter at?»
“Level 4, port 18.” Francu yielded the information with a look compounded of anger and apprehension. “We are hyperbolic.”
“This won't take long.”
Amon hustled her through the Guild door, and she smiled back reassuringly at the startled officers.
“What's all this nonsense about?” she demanded, breaking Amon's grip as the panel slid behind them. “If they're on hyperbolic, we've only so much time to catch up with their cruiser.”
“Over here!” He grabbed her hand again and pulled her into a side room. The odors of food that assailed her aroused an instant appetite. She groaned.
“Eat!” Amon exhorted her. “You've got to cram as much as you can into your belly.” He shoved some pepper fingers into her mouth. “You won't get a chance to eat while that cruiser is on interplanetary drive. Those 78s don't carry luxurious catering devices, and the mess will be closed while they build speed. You'd starve. I got the ship to fix up a necessaries kit for you. I know the Trundies have females on board, but it isn't right for a Singer to wear their uniforms. Your eyes'd bleed. There're lenses in this kit to filter the color intensities to the bearable level.” Amon rattled through the inventory as he checked the items in the small bag. “Not much variety in clothing but good quality. I'll put in some of this food, too. We really have to hop if they're on hyperbolic. Bells and bollux, they must be separating some expensive rocks in their asteroid belts if they could buy a 78.” He whistled. “I saw the length of the drone string they brought. However, if they traded with the Guild, I know who came out best. Here, try these nut meats. Heard you liked Yarran beer. Have a gulp to wash the meats down. Good. Now, another word of advice. Play Crystal Singer to the hilt with those belt knockers. That captain's a bad print, and I've seen enough to know. Eat! I can't hold you up much longer.” He was covering the remaining uneaten dishes and stowing them in the kit. His wrist-unit bleeped. “Yes? Yes, I know. Mere formalities? Fardles, she was starving to death, shaft head. It is rising Passover and you know cruisers. We'll be off in a pico.” Amon slung her kit bag over her shoulder, thrust a bowl of small crispy fried squares in one hand, took up another dish and her beer in the other. “You can eat as we go, but Francu's cutting up stiff with Authority about the delay. Bells and bollux! Did anyone remember to warn you about the sleepies?” Amon was guiding her down the corridor to the peripheral lifts.