Then, her customary composure restored, she released the arm and seemed to draw the intensity back into her straight, slim body. “Because I assure you,” she said as she took the last few steps into the catering area, “that once your brilliant wit and repartee become as banal and malicious as theirs,” she jerked her thumb at the silent trio, “I’ll seek other company at lunch. Now,” she said, her fingers poised over the catering terminal, “what are you having?”
“Yarran beer.” Killashandra said the first thing that came to mind, being slightly dazed by Antona’s unexpected outburst.
Antona raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, then rapidly dialed their orders.
They were served quickly and took their trays to the nearest banquette. As Antona tackled her meal with good appetite, Killashandra sipped her beer, digesting Antona’s remarkable advice. Till then, Killashandra had had no opportunity to appreciate the viewpoint of a colleague who would not lose her memory as an occupational hazard. Stubbornly, Killashandra preferred to forget certain scenes in her life. Like failure.
“Well, you don’t have long to wait for a fresh supply of cluttered minds,” Killashandra said at last, blotting the beer foam from her upper lip and deferring conversation on Antona’s unsettling advice.
“A new class? How did that privileged information seep out? You are only just out of an Infirmary tank. Well, you won’t be allowed to brief them if that’s what you had in mind, Killa.”
“Why not?”
Antona shrugged and daintily sampled her nicely browned casserole before replying. “You’ve no injury to display. That’s an important part of the briefing, you see – the visible, undeniable proof of the rapid tissue regeneration enjoyed by residents of Ballybran.”
“Irresistible!” Antona gave Killashandra a sharp glance. “Oh, no complaints from me, Antona. The Guild can be proud of its adroit recruiting program.”
Antona fastened a searching glance on her face and put down her fork. “Killashandra Ree, the Heptite Guild is not permitted by the Federated Sentient Planets to ‘recruit’ free citizens for such a hazardous profession. Only volunteers – ”
“Only volunteers insist on presenting themselves, and so many of these have exceedingly useful skills . . . .” She broke off, momentarily disconcerted by Antona’s almost fierce glance.
“What concern is that of yours, Killashandra Ree? You have benefited immensely from the . . . selection process.”
“Despite my unexpected inclusion.”
“A few odd ones slip through no matter how careful we are,” Antona said all too sweetly, her eyes sparkling.
“Don’t fret, Antona. It’s not a subject that I would discuss with anyone else.”
“Particularly Lanzecki.”
“I’m not likely to get that sort of an opportunity,” she said, wondering if Antona knew or suspected their relationship. Or if her advice to remember loves and emotions had merely been a general warning to include all experience. Would Killashandra want to remember, decades from now, that she and Lanzecki had briefly been lovers? “Advise me, Antona, on which of our nearer spatial neighbors I should plan a brief vacation?”
Antona grimaced. “You might just as well pick the name at random for all the difference there is among them. Their only advantage is that they are far enough away from Ballybran to give your nerves the rest they need.”
Just then a cheerful voice hailed them.
“Killa! Antona! Am I glad to see someone else alive!” Rimbol exclaimed, hobbling out of the shadows. He grinned as he saw the pitcher of beer. “May I join you?”
“By all means,” Antona said graciously.
“What happened to you?” Killashandra asked. Rimbol’s cheek and forehead were liberally decorated by newly healed scars.
“Mine was the sled that did a nose dive over the baffle.”
“It did?”
“You didn’t know it was me?” Rimbol’s mouth twisted in mock chagrin. “The way Malaine carried on you’d’ve thought I’d placed half the incoming singers in jeopardy by that flip.”
“Did you rearrange the sled as creatively as your face?”
Rimbol shook his head ruefully. “It broke its nose, mine was only bloody. At that it’ll take longer to fix the sled than for my leg to heal. Say, Killa, have you heard about the Optherian contract?”
“For the fractured manual? That could pay for a lot of repairs.”
“Oh, I don’t want it,” and he flicked his hand in dismissal.
“Why ever not?”
Rimbol took a long pull of his beer. “Well, I’ve got a claim that was cutting real well right now. Optheria’s a long way away from here and I’ve been warned that I could lose the guiding resonance being gone so long.”
“And because you remembered that I haven’t cut anything worth packing – ”
“No.” Rimbol held up a hand, protesting Killashandra’s accusation. “I mean, yes, I knew you’ve been unlucky lately – ”
“Who do you think cut the white crystal to replace the fractured Optherian manual?”
“You did!” Rimbol’s face brightened with relief. “Then you don’t need to go either.” He raised his beaker in a cheerful toast. “Where d’you plan to go off-world?”
“I hadn’t exactly made up my mind . . . .” Killashandra saw that Antona was busy serving up the last of her casserole.
“Why don’t you try Maxim in the Barderi system.” Rimbol leaned eagerly across the table to her. “I’ve heard it’s something sensational. I’ll get there sometime but I’d sure like to hear your opinion of it. I don’t half believe the reports. I’d trust you.”
“That’s something to remember,” Killashandra murmured, glancing sideways at Antona. Then, taking note of Rimbol’s querying look, she asked smoothly, “What’ve you been cutting lately?”
“Greens,” Rimbol replied with considerable satisfaction. He held up crossed fingers. “Now, if only the storm damage is minimal, and it could be because the vein’s in a protected spot, I might even catch up with you on Maxim. You see . . .” and he proceeded to elaborate on his prospects.
As Rimbol rattled on in his amusing fashion, Killashandra wondered if crystal would dull the Scartine’s infectious good-nature along with his memory. Would Antona give him the same urgent advice? Surely each of the newest crystal singers had some unique quality to be cherished and sustained throughout a lifetime. Antona’s outburst had been sparked by a long frustration. To how many singers over her decades in the Guild had she tendered the same advice and found it ignored?
“. . . So I came in with forty greens,” Rimbol was saying with an air of achievement.
“That’s damned good cutting!” Killashandra replied with suitable fervor.
“You have no trouble releasing crystal?” Antona asked.
“Well, I did the first time out,” Rimbol admitted candidly, “but I remembered what you’d said, Killa, about packing as soon as you cut. I’ll never forget the sight of you locked in crystal thrall, right here in a noisy crowded hall. A kindly and timely word of wisdom!”
“Oh, you’d have caught on soon enough,” Killashandra said, feeling a trifle embarrassed by his gratitude.
“Some never do, you know,” Antona remarked.
“What happens? Do they stand in statuesque paralysis until night comes? Or a loud storm?”
“The inability to release crystal is no joke, Rimbol.”
Rimbol stared at Antona, his mobile face losing its amused expression. “You mean, they can be so enthralled, nothing breaks the spell?” Antona nodded slowly. “That could be fatal. Has it been?”