Crystal Singer Read Online Free PDF

always strike the right vibes for the crystal faces you find. Of course, you can make terrific cuts singing duo.” He seemed to vacillate.
    “How do you find out?” She made her tone ingenuous.
    He gave an amused snort. “The hard way, of course. But you don’t want to be a Crystal Singer.” An almost frightening sadness tinged his voice. “Once you sing crystal, you don’t stop. That’s why I’m telling you, don’t even think about it.”
    “So . . . you’ve told me not to think about it.”
    He caught her hand and gazed steadily into her eyes. “You’ve never been in a mach storm in the Milekeys.” His voice was rough with remembered anxiety. “They blow up out of nowhere and crash down on you like all hell let loose. That’s what that phrase on Retrieval means, ‘the Guild maintains its own.’ A mach storm can reduce a man to a vegetable in one sonic crescendo.”
    “There are other—perhaps less violent—ways of reducing a man to a vegetable,” she said, thinking of the spaceport official of the supercargo worrying over drone-pod weights—of teachers apathetically reviewing the scales of novice students. “Surely there are instruments that warn you of approaching storms in a crystal range.”
    He nodded absently, his gaze fixed above her head. “You get to cutting crystal and you’re halfway through. You know the pitches will be changed once the storm has passed and you’re losing your safety margin by the minute, but that last crystal might mean you’d get off-world . . .”
    “You don’t get off-world with every trip to the ranges?”
    He shook his head, frowning irritably at her interruption. “You don’t always clear the costs of the trip or past damages, or you might not have cut the right shape or tone. Sometimes the tone is more important than the shape, you know.”
    “And you have to remember what’ll be needed, don’t you?” If she had perfect pitch, and she knew she had an excellent memory, crystal singing seemed an ideal profession for her.
    “You have to
remember
the news,” he said, oddly emphasizing the verb.
    Killashandra was contemptuous of the problem. Memory was only a matter of habit, of training, of mnemonic phrases that easily triggered vital information. She had plenty of practice in memorization.
    “Is there any chance that I could accompany you back to Ballybran and apply—”
    His hand had a vise grip on hers; even his breath seemed to halt for a moment. His eyes swept hers with an intense search. “You asked. Remember that!”
    “Well, if my company—”
    “Kiss me and don’t say anything you’ll regret,” he said, abruptly pulling her into his arms and covering her mouth so completely she couldn’t have spoken.
     
    The second convulsion caught him so soon after the climax of their lovemaking that she thought, guiltily, that overstimulation was the cause. This time, the spasms were more severe, and he dropped into a fevered, exhausted sleep when they finally eased. He looked old and drawn when he woke fourteen hours later. And he moved like an advanced geriatric case.
    “I’ve got to get back to Ballybran, Killa.” His voice quavered, and he had lost his proud confidence.
    “For treatment?”
    He hesitated and then nodded. “Recharging, actually. Get the spaceport on the communit and book us.”
    “Us?”
    “You may accompany me,” he said with grave courtesy, though she was piqued at the phrasing of an invitation that was more plea than permission. “I don’t care how often we have to reroute. Get us there as fast as possible.”
    She reached the spaceport and routeing, and after what seemed an age and considerable ineptitude on the part of the ticket clerk, they were passengers confirmed on a shuttle flight leaving Fuerte in four hours, with a four-hour satellite delay before the first liner in their direction.
    He had an assortment of personal things to pack, but Killashandra was for just walking out and leaving