Free Crystal Singer by Anne McCaffrey Page B

It’s not just that Singers look young longer, though that does get at some, it’s—it’s other differences . . .”
    “Psychological? Professional? Physical? Or financial?”
    “Look, the point is, there are differences that the rest of us note, sense, feel, and resent in Singers!” Andurs was vehement now, pounding one fist into the other palm to emphasize his points. “Whatever it is separates you forever from the rest of mankind. Is that what you want?”
    Killashandra gave the question due consideration before she looked Andurs in the eye and said, “Yes. Crystal Singers are a rigidly selected, highly trained professional minority. And I want to be a member of that sort of group. I’ve had some training in that direction already,” she added with a sour smile.
    “Then your bringing Carrik back . . .” Andurs’ nostrils flared with suspicion, and he leaned away from her.
    “Was what I owed the man,” she added hastily, for she didn’t like that expression to appear so soon, and for no cause, on Andurs’ face. She honestly had been motivated by regret for Carrik’s condition. “Who knows? I may not pass the requirements. It harms no one for me to try, does it?” She gave Andurs a sweet, somewhat tremulous smile. “I was not motivated toward any goal when I encountered Carrik, you see—”
    “Then ship out with me—or on any of the other ships. This”—Andurs’ forefinger pointed at the floor—“is a dead end.”
    Killashandra sneaked one more look at the Crystal Singers—proud, aloof, and curiously radiant. She contrived a thoughtful frown for Andurs’ benefit, but the group, remote and inaccessible, were indeed people apart, clearly marked by a subtle difference that set them above humans otherwise no less physically attractive or intelligent. This distinction would cause Singers to be singled out no matter where they were. Forever, Killashandra thought, as Stellar performers when basking in the applause of adoring audiences. Since she was deprived of the one, she would try for this.
    “There is something about them . . .” she said aloud with a diffident lift of her shoulders and a wry smile. “You know, you’re right about the brew—” and she turned a more winning smile at Andurs.
    “I’ll get more.”
    She spent a pleasant evening with the captain, though she was glad that it was just an evening, for his limitations soon became apparent. Carrik had had many revelations for her. But when Andurs left for his ship at date change, it was only with expressions of regret and additional urgings for her to be on board. Though he was only going as far as Regulus Exchange, Killashandra could pick up a ship bound anywhere in the galaxy with her Guild voucher.
    She thanked him, affecting more drowsiness than she felt, and left him with the notion that she had been swayed by his persuasions and person.
    She didn’t learn until much later that his ship, the
Rag Blue Swan Delta
, had delayed departure until peremptorily forced to leave by an aggravated landing officer. By that time she was already in the Guild block of the base.

 
    CHAPTER 4
    A rriving punctually at the beginning of business hours, Killashandra was not the only one so prompt. Some of the dozen or so milling about the large reception area were quite obviously buyers, peering at the display and jotting entries on their wrist units. The tall, thin young man was there. He looked startled to see Killashandra and swerved away from her. Just as Killashandra noted two men and a woman emerge from a panel in the far side of the dodecahedron, someone stamped in from the base entrance. Killashandra glimpsed a set, hard, angry face and the close-cropped hair of a space worker as the bone-thin figure of a female swept past her.
    The chandelier responded to the vibrations of her passage and picked up the tone of her voice. From the resonance of the chiming artform, Killashandra knew the woman was making demands. What surprised