The important things to remember she remembered, she told herself. The rest was chaff, which time would have winnowed out of active memory anyway.

And, as they anchored every evening in a cove and the ship could be rigged to rouse the crew if its monitors received any critical readings, Lars and she spent their nights together in the captain's double bunk.

They fished and ate the panfried catch, sweet and delicate in flavor and flesh. They sailed, or rather Lars did—he would let no one take the helm for very long, even Killa. By the afternoon of the third day out, they encountered some stormy weather. She reveled in it, for it brought back to mind flashes of other storms she had experienced on ships with Lars. It was four days before the pressures of the Guild had to be considered. Lars tried to settle one set of problems that were patched through to him, but since he had no assistant to handle matters during an absence, they regretfully had to turn back.

"I thought you were going to find yourself an aide," Killa said, unhappy at having the halcyon trip truncated.

"I've been trying to find the right personality for the past seven years, Sunny. Isn't easy to find anyone suitable. Oh, there've been a couple of recruits who had some potential, passable as temporaries, but none who had the breadth of experience to be effective executives. I need someone who knows and understands Guild tenets, has or could cut crystal, has managerial skills without being a power freak. Most especially someone I can trust . . ."

"Not to usurp your prerogatives?" Killa asked facetiously.

"That, too," he agreed, grinning at her. "It's not an easy position to fill. I've learned to do as much as I can myself without delegating it to others because, bluntly, singers forget too much."

Killa heard that on several levels and winced. His arm came about her, lovingly tucking her against him, and she felt his kiss on the nape of her neck.

"Worse, they sublimate—Donalla's word—crystal singing into the most important aspect of their lives which, in many senses, it has to be. The disadvantage to that is the balance: they end up with such narrow parameters in which they can function that they're bloody useless for any broader view. They're either singing or they flee from singing until they can no longer ignore the need for crystal. That sort of myopia compromises a lot of otherwise good people. Life holds more—hey, Sunny, what's the matter with you?" Killa had stiffened in his arms, and tried to push him away. "Hey, no need to take offense!" He laughed at her and pulled her back into his arms, caressing her until she began to relax. "Silly chunk!"

She made herself soften in his arms because they were nearly back at the Guild harbor, but whether or not he denied it, she felt that his comments had not been as casual as he pretended. And yet . . . nothing in the past few days suggested to her that there had been any other, subtle alteration to their long relationship. Donalla was patently interested in Presnol, and Clodine apparently had a like-for-like preference.

Then Lars issued the necessary orders to ready the ship for docking, and there was no time for any further conversation. On the one hand, Killa resented that Lars had left her so unsettled with his remarks unclarified, but, on the other, she wanted time to mull over what he had said. If the suit fits, wear it, she thought.

With utter honesty, she recognized that she was guilty of compressing her personal parameters into just such a narrow track. Had Lars seen that? Was he hoping that his remarks would jolt her out of that myopia? Only how? Something teased at the edge of her mind. Something important. She couldn't catch so much as a hint.

She sighed and finished cleaning up the galley and removing the last of the perishable foods. Well, maybe she wasn't as myopic as some. She sailed, didn't she? And she could remember seeing more water worlds than any galaxy had the right to offer.

Sailing had given Lars Dahl some respite from the pressures of his responsibility, but the main one had doubled on him—more black crystal was ordered.

"I left instructions that no further orders were to be taken," Lars said, angrily furrowing his brows as he glared at the comscreen. It had been buzzing for his attention the moment he opened the hatch on his private ground vehicle.

"Guild Master, we never refuse orders for black," he was told.

"We can't fill the orders we've got." Lars leaned out of the open door. "Donalla, you're going to have to lean on Borella and Rimbol."

The names were vaguely familiar to Killashandra.

"I'll do what I can, Lars," Donalla called back to him, but she shrugged as if she was none too sanguine about success.

"Rimbol? I knew him—I think," Killashandra said as a hazy image of an ingenuous smile on a boyish face flickered in recall. "And Borella . . ." The woman's face was not clear; memory centered on a tall strong body and a badly lacerated leg. "I haven't seen them in a long time," she added.

"You're not likely to, Sunny," Lars said kindly. "They both turned off storm warnings once too often."

"Oh!" She paused, considering that information. "Then how can Donalla lean on them?"

Lars had stowed their two duffels; he strapped himself into his seat, motioning for Killa to do the same, as he prepared to drive back to the cube.

"Regression," he replied succinctly.

That was the word.

"What's that?"

"It's an old technique of accessing segments of memories lost on purpose or from brain injury. We don't use but two-fifths of the brains we've got. As Donalla explained, some functions can be switched to unused portions of the mind, and often memories get shunted out of active recall. Off and on, there have been fads of regression, usually to former lives." He chuckled before continuing, an indication of his opinion of such an exercise. "We're using it to tap memory strings. Donalla's research on memory loss suggests that we don't actually lose anything we've seen, heard, and felt. The unpleasant we tend to bury as deep as possible, depending on its effect on our psyches. Oddly enough, good memories get dropped just as thoroughly. Through a careful use of hypnosis, Donalla has been able to reclaim lost knowledge."

"That's illegal." Lars shook his head at her outburst. "Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. I had that point clarified. We are custodians of those husks of former singers, and they get the best physical care we can supply. Some of them, under Donalla's care, have actually been restored as functioning humans."

Killa stared at him, aghast. "You can't possibly put them back in the Ranges!"

Lars laughed harshly. "I'm not sadistic, Killa, it's a plus to me if they are able to care for themselves. Some have improved enough to undertake simple duties in the Infirmary."

"That's macabre, Lars," Killa said with a shudder.

"It's also expedient. The infirmary is damned near full, and I won't short anyone on the care they need if they've totaled their minds. The other problem is that the Guild is not attracting enough new recruits to make up for those losses . . ."

She felt both anger at him and a stirring of terror. She'd come all too close to being one of the "totals" herself "If I'd totaled, would you . . ."

His eyes on the ground speeding past them, Lars reached out to grab her hand. "If you were totaled, Killa, you wouldn't be aware of anything that was happening to you."

"But would you subject me to . . .?" She couldn't continue, horrified at the very idea of someone crawling about her mind without permission, at that ultimate loss of privacy. The painful grip of his fingers increased, jolting her out of such considerations.

"I told you I didn't want to be Guild Master. Lanzecki left me with quite a mess to cope with, only, when I agreed, I didn't know the half of it. Full disclosure wasn't required of him." Lars's smile was droll. "But I did have some ideas on how to revitalize the Guild, to reorganize it for efficiency and predictability. I can't leave so much to the vagaries of the singers and the weather."