Crystal Singer Read Online Free PDF Page A

mattered.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    He gave her a quick look. “Not to worry, pet.” His standard phrase of evasion. “Come, give me a kiss and get the crystal out of my blood.”
    There was nothing crystalline about his lovemaking or the enjoyment he derived from her body, so Killashandra elected to forget how often he avoided answering her questions about crystal singing. At first, she felt that since the man was on holiday, he probably wouldn’t want to talk about his work. Then she sensed that he resented her questions as if they were distasteful to him and that he wanted, above all, to forget crystal singing, which did not forward her plan. But Carrik was not a malleable adolescent, imploring her grace and favor. So she helped him forget crystal singing, which he was patently able to do until the night he awakened her with his groans.
    “Carrik, what’s the matter? Those shellfish from dinner? Shall I get the medic?”
    “No, no!” He twisted about frantically and took her hand from the communit. “Don’t leave me. This’ll pass.”
    She held him in her arms as he cried out, clenching his teeth against some internal agony. Sweat oozed from his pores, yet he refused to let her summon help. The spasms racked him for almost an hour before they passed, leaving him spent and weak. Somehow, in that hour, she realized how much he had come to mean to her, how much fun he was, how much she had missed by denying herself any intimate relationships before. After he had slept and rested, she asked what had possessed him.
    “Crystal, my girl, crystal.” His sullen manner and the haggard expression on his face made her drop the subject.
    By the afternoon he was almost himself. But some of his spontaneity was gone. He went through the motions of enjoying himself, of encouraging her to more daring exercises on the waterskis while he only splashed about in the shallows. They were finishing a leisurely meal at a seaside restaurant when he finally mentioned that he must return to work.
    “I can’t say so soon?” Killashandra remarked with a light laugh. “But isn’t the decision rather sudden?”
    He gave her an odd smile. “Yes, but most of my decisions are, aren’t they? Like showing you another side of fusty, fogey Fuerte.”
    “And now our idyll is over?” She tried to sound nonchalant, but an edge crept into her tone.
    “I must return to Ballybran. Ha! That sounds like one of those fisherfolk songs, doesn’t it?” He hummed a banal tune, the melody so predictable that she could join in firm harmony.
    “We do make beautiful music together,” he said, his eyes mocking her. “I suppose you’ll return to your studies now.”
    “Studies? For what? Lead soprano in a chorus of annotated, orchestrated grunts and groans by Fififidipidi of the planet Grnch?”
    “You could tune crystals. They obviously need a competent tuner at Fuerte spaceport.”
    She made a rude noise and looked at him expectantly. He smiled back, turning his head politely, awaiting a verbal answer.
    “Or,” she drawled, watching him obliquely, “I could apply to the Heptite Guild as a Crystal Singer.”
    His expression went blank. “You don’t want to be a Crystal Singer.”
    The vehemence in his voice startled her for a moment.
    “How do you know what I want?” She flared up in spite of herself, in spite of a gnawing uncertainty about his feelings for her. She might be the ideal partner for lolling about a sandy beach, but as a constant companion in a dangerous profession—that was different.
    He smiled sadly. “You don’t want to be a Crystal Singer.”
    “Oh, fardles with that ‘highly dangerous’ nonsense.”
    “It is true.”
    “If I’ve perfect pitch, I can apply.”
    “You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for,” he said in a toneless voice, his expression at once wary and forbidding. “Singing crystal is a terrible, lonely life. You can’t always find someone to sing with you; the tones don’t