"Yeah." Killa wasn't all that happy with her affinity. She liked the money from blacks but not cutting them solo. They tended to thrall more easily than any other color. "I'll remember that."

She was not the only singer departing the Guild Hangar that day: fifteen others were making ready and each of them was determined to be the last one out and thus not only see the direction every other singer was taking but conceal his or her own ultimate destination.

Disgusted, Killashandra gave up waiting. At this rate, it would be dark before she made any significant progress into the Range. Noting the marks of age and misuse on most of the other vehicles, she realized that with her new sled, she could easily outfly any of them. She asked, and received, clearance, along with a heartfelt thanks from the flight officer, who was losing patience with the dilatory singers.

"Blinding damn paranoid, the lot of 'em," he muttered, forgetting to close the circuit.

"You better believe it," Killa said with a laugh, and eased her new vehicle through the Hangar's immense outer doors.

The exchange put Killashandra in a good mood, which improved when she heard five other singers suddenly demanding clearance. Well, she'd show them!

Capriciously she zipped off at a speed inappropriate for her proximity to the Hangar, laughing at the flight officer's irate reprimand. Running at a recklessly low altitude over the uneven terrain of the foothills, she built the sled up to maximum power as fast as she dared.

"Try to follow me now, you dorks! Shatter yourself on the hills trying!"

She let out a musical hurrah as the ground hurtled past her. Lyrics to the aria deserted her, but she sang on, using vowels and singing at the top of her lungs, reveling in her renewed freedom.

Killashandra came in from the Milekey Mountains with a load of blue-quartz prisms and cylinders in A-sharp or higher. She had always worked well solo in the upper registers, which gave her a distinct advantage over most crystal singers.

She made it into the Hangar on a windy blast from the oncoming storm. Cutting it fine again, but she grinned at having made it without harm to herself or her sled. That was all that mattered: coming back in the same state of mind or body as she had gone out. Still, and in the back of her mind, she allowed herself to be relieved that her recklessness had not exacted a penalty.

Being one of the last in, she had to wait for Clodine to be free to assay her crystal. It was a long wait, especially with every nerve in her body screaming for the radiant fluid that would reduce the resonance to a mild discomfort. The storm outside seemed to stroke her body to an intense pitch. She shuddered from time to time, but managed to survive the waiting.

When Clodine told her she had hit the top of the market, she could feel the physical relief course through her despite storm scream.

"I've been due a change of luck," she said, wincing as she remembered the last week in the Range. The sun had been fierce on the scars of her cuttings, half blinding her, and the scream of crystal had sliced through her mind as she had cut. But she had been desperate to hack enough cargo to get off-world for a while—away from crystal song, far away, so her mind would have a chance to heal. "How much?"

Clodine peered up at her from her console, a little smirk bending the left corner of her mouth. "Don't you trust me any more, Killa?"

"At this point, I wouldn't trust my own mother—if I could remember who she was," Killa replied. She forced a smile for Clodine on her grimy lips and tried to relax. Clodine was her friend. She would know how badly Killa needed to get away from Ballybran and crystal whine. "Is it enough?"

Clodine altered her enhanced eyes and gazed at Killashandra almost maternally. "You've been a singer long enough, Killa, to know when you've cut sufficient crystal."

"Tell me!" With totally irrational fury, Killashandra brought both fists down on the counter, jarring the crystal and startling Clodine to blink into enhancement. Immediately she relented. "I'm sorry, Clodine. I shouldn't shout at my only friend. But . . ."

"You've enough," Clodine said gently. She reached to grasp Killa's arm encouragingly but drew back her fingers as if she had been burned. The Sorter's expression altered to sadness. Then her gaze switched to someone over her shoulder.

Killashandra jerked her head slightly sideways to see who had joined them. It was the Guild Master. She looked back at Clodine, ignoring the man as she had done for a long time now.

"Killa," he said, his tenor voice pitched to concern, "that was cutting it too close by half. You shouldn't work solo for a while. Any singer in the Guild would partner you for a couple of runs."

"I'll work as I please," she said, forcing her wretchedly tired body into a straight and obstinate line. "I'm not so ancient that I can't scramble when I have to."

The Guild Master pointed to the weather displayed on the back wall of the Sorting Shed, and despite herself, Killashandra followed his finger. She maintained a show of indifference, but she felt cold fear in her belly. She hadn't realized the storm was that powerful: twelve-mach-force winds? Had her weather sense betrayed her? Lost its edge? No, but she had been deeper in the Ranges than she realized when she started out. She could well have been caught out over crystal. But she hadn't. And she had safely brought in enough crystal to get off-planet again.

"A good blow," she said with a defensive shrug and a wry twist of her lips, "but it's going to knock hell out of my claim."

The Guild Master touched her shoulder lightly; he did not pull away from her as Clodine had. "Just don't go back solo, Killa." She dipped out from under his hand. He continued, "You've sung crystal a long time now. You kited in here just ahead of a mach-twelve storm and one day you'll stay just that moment too long and—poof!" He threw his hands up, fingers wide. "Scrambled brains."

"That's the time, Guild Master," she said, still with her back to him, "that I get some of my own back."

She saw the pity and concern in Clodine's eyes.

"With your ears ruptured and your mind a balloon? Sure, Killa. Sure. Look, there're half a dozen good cutters who'd double you any time you raised your finger. Or don't you remember"—and the Guild Master's voice turned soft—"how much you made singing duet . . ."

"With Lars Dahl!" Killashandra made her voice flat and refused to look around.

"We worked well together, Killa." His voice was still soft.

"How kind of you to remember, Guild Master."

She turned away from the counter, but he stepped in front of her.

"I was wrong, Killashandra. It's too late for you to cut duo. Crystal's in your soul." He strode out of the shed, leaving her standing there.

She tried to be amused by the accusation—but, from him, it cut like crystal. As if she would want to sing duet again. Especially with Lars Dahl. She cast her mind back, trying to recall some details of those halcyon days. Nothing came. They must have happened a long, long time ago: many storms, many Passovers, many cuts past.

"Killa?"

At the sound of Clodine's voice, Killashandra jerked herself back to the present: the tote was up on the screen—and the news was good. Even with the Guild tithe, she had enough to keep out of the Ranges for close to a year. Maybe that would be enough to take crystal out of her soul.

The Guild Master had to be wrong about that! He had to be! She thanked Clodine, who seemed relieved that her friend's mood had altered.

She stopped in the Hall long enough to tap in her name and get a locator keyed into her quarters. It had long since stopped irritating her that she couldn't remember where she lived in the great cube of the Heptite Guild. She merely let the locator guide her. The mach winds seemed to follow her, echoing through the lift and the corridor. The key vibrated more imperiously in her hand and she hurried. The sooner she immersed herself in the radiant bath, the sooner she would be rid of the angry pulsing of crystal in her blood.