He blew both loud and amain,

to remedy her appearance. Then the boarding call for the Pink Tulip Sparrow was broadcast and she had no option but to proceed to the loading bay. In an effort to delay the inevitable, she walked at a funereal pace down the access ramp. Singer, weve got to get moving! Now, please, hurry along. She made an appearance of haste but when the Mate tried to take her arm and hurry her into the lock, her body arched in resistance. Abruptly he let go, staring at her with an expression of puzzled shock his arms were bare, and the hairs on them stood erect. Im awaiting purchases from Stores. Killashandra was so desperate for a last-minute reprieve that any delay seemed reasonable. There! The Mate conveyed frustrated disgust and impatience as he pointed to a stack of odd-size parcels littering the passageway. The crystals? Cartons all racked and tacked in the special cargo hold. He made a move as if to grab her arm and yank her aboard, but jingled his hands with frustration instead. Weve got to make way. Shanganagh Authority imposes heavy fines for missed departure windows. And dont tell me, Crystal Singer, that youve got enough credit to pay em. Abruptly she abandoned all hope that Lanzecki, like the legendary heroes of yore, would rescue her at the last moment from her act of boundless self-sacrifice. She stepped aboard the freighter. The airlock closed with such speed that the heavy external hatch brushed against her heels. The ship was moving from the docking bay before the Mate could lead her out of the lock and close the secondary iris behind them. Killashandra experienced an almost overpowering urge to wrench open the airlock and leap into the blessed oblivion of space. But as she had deplored such extravagant and melodramatic actions in performances of historical tragedy, integrity prevented suicide despite the extreme anguish which tormented her. Besides, she had no excuse for causing the death of the Mate who seemed not to be suffering at all. Take me to my cabin, please. She turned too quickly, stumbled over the many packages in the passageway and had to grab the Mates shoulder, to regain her balance. Ordinarily she would have cursed her clumsiness, and apologized but cursing was undignified and inappropriate to her mood. From the pile, she chose two packages with the victualers logo, and waved negligently at the remainder. The rest may be brought to my cabin whenever convenient. The Mate wended a careful passage through the tumbled parcels as he best nikon digital cameras passed her to lead the way. She noticed that the hair on his neck, indeed the dark body hairs that escaped the sleeveless top he wore, were piercing the thin stuff, all at right angles to his body. This was no longer an amusing manifestation. Just another fascinating aspect of crystal singing that you dont hear about in that allegedly Complete Disclosure! It should be renamed A Short Introduction to whats really in store for you! One day, no doubt, she would be in the appropriately damaged state to give All the Facts. The Mate had stopped, flattening himself against the bulkhead, and gestured toward an open door. Your quarters, Crystal Singer. Your thumbprint will secure the door. He touched his fingers to a spot above his right eye and disappeared around the corner as if chased by Galormis. Killashandra pressed her thumb hard into the door lock. She was pleasantly surprised by the size of the cabin. Not as big as any accommodation she had enjoyed on Ballybran but larger than her student room at Fuerte and much more spacious than that closet on the Trundomoux cruiser. She slid the door shut, locked it, and put the packages down on the narrow writing ledge. She looked at the bunk, strapped up to the wall in its daytime position. Suddenly she was light-headed with fatigue. Strong emotion is as exhausting as cutting crystal, she thought. She released the bunk and stretched herself out. She exhaled on a long shuddering sob and tried to relax her taut muscles. The hum of the ships crystal drive was a counterpoint to the resonance between her ears, and both sounds traveled in waves up and down her bones. At first her mind did a descant, weaving an independent melody through the bass and alto, but the rhythm suggested a three-syllable word Lan-zec-ki so she changed to an idiot two-note dissonance and eventually fell asleep. Once she got over the initial buoyancy of self-sacrifice aboard the Pink Tulip Sparrow, Killashandra vacillated between fury at Trag and wallowing in despair at her Loss. Until she concluded that her misery was caused by Lanzecki after all, if he hadnt made such a determined play for her affections, he wouldnt have become so attached to her, nor she to him, and she wouldnt be on a stinking tub of a freighter. Well, yes, she probably would. If all Trag had told her about the Optherian assignment was true. In no mood to be civil to either the crew or the other passengers, she stayed in her cabin the entire