Free Crystal Universe - [Crystal Singer 03] - Crystal Line by Anne McCaffrey Page A

can’t hang about there
too
long,” he said, “and get you back to Ballybran in time to collect Boira. She’s doing splendidly in rehab and retraining.” Pride in his partner’s recuperation colored his pleasant voice.
    “That’s very good news indeed, Bren,” Killa said, meaning it. “We just want to see what effect
our
crystal might have on the Junk.”
    “It’ll probably gulp it down like it did everything else and lick its chops at the taste.”
    “Only sound has any effect on Ballybran crystal,” Killashandra said with considerable pride. “And there’s no sound on an airless planet.”
    “Possibly,” Brendan said. “And we didn’t try diamond either.”
    “Ballybran crystal’s tougher than any diamond ever compressed from carbon!”
    “My, we are loyal!” Lars said facetiously.
    Killashandra gave a sniff. “Well, there isn’t any substance like Ballybran crystal anywhere else in the universe.”
    “Except”—and Lars’s eyes glinted with teasing—“possibly the Junk!”
    Crystal resonance
was
beginning to get to Killashandra as Brendan took them back to the Opal system in one Singularity Jump. It had started when she and Lars retuned to a minor fifth the sour dominant midblue crystals that Penwyn had procured for them. As Lars had thought, there were quite a few soured crystals onthe planet. Though Penwyn didn’t ask them to, they tuned them all—the work of three days for such experienced singers—and he canceled Brendan’s landing fees. But the sessions had an effect on Killashandra, and she spent a full day in the radiant-fluid tub.
    “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she insisted to Lars and Brendan when they were too solicitous of her. “Being near black always does it.”
    Lars desisted then and must have told Brendan to leave off inquiring, for neither of them said another word until the BB-1066 landed near the Big Hungry Junk—as Killa dubbed it—with the sweet-tuned slivers of crystal that they had salvaged.
    “Old home week,” she said with unforced gaiety as they suited up.
    “Do we know what we’re doing, Killa?” Lars asked as he settled his helmet over his head.
    “No.”
    “D’you know why you’re doing it?”
    “No.”
    “Maybe the Junk
is
sentient.”
    “You mean, some sort of psionic emanations?” Killashandra was not only skeptical but incredulous.
    “Why else would you have such a harebrained notion to feed Ballybran crystal to an opalescent rib?” he demanded.
    “I got the notion on Sherpa, not in the cave. I could have understood some sort of a connection if I’d thought of it then.”
    “You probably did,” Lars replied. “You just forgot it. And don’t snap at me over your
lapsus memoriae!
Let’s get this experiment on the pad.”
    Even as he spoke he touched the lock release and it cycled open. Oxygen left the airlock with a whoosh.They stepped out onto Opal’s cindery hide and followed the bright paint markings to Hungry Junk’s precinct.
    “Hey, improvement,” Lars said as soon as they had descended to the level of the cavern. The blue radiance, edging toward white, made their suit lights unnecessary. “Wow!”
    “Wow what?” Brendan asked when the silence went on for fifty seconds.
    “You’re sure your instrumentation doesn’t read anything?” Lars asked.
    “Not a thing. What occasioned your unusual exhortation?” Brendan asked flippantly.
    “We fed it too much,” Killashandra replied softly.
    “Naw,” Lars said, “but we fed it good.”
    “Tell me, do!” was Brendan’s slightly sarcastic response.
    “Sorry, Bren,” Killashandra replied, “but it’s a bloody shame you
can’t
see. Junk’s covered the entire cave, and there are long fingers that we’ll probably find have descended to the next level. It’s more beautiful than ever, all colors now, reds and oranges and yellows, as well as the blues, dark greens, and purples that it originally had. They seem to flow in and out of patterns …”
    “Like