Hesitantly and watching Killa very warily indeed, Donalla stepped aside. Killa sang again and tuned the cutter, neatly slicing beyond her first cut. She excised that one, managed two more quick ones in the same level—smallish and stocky but black! She had the cutter poised for a third when the face turned sour. There was an intrusion or a flaw. Cursing under her breath, she stepped back and signaled Donalla to bring the carrier over. She finished packing crystal just as the last of the sunlight faded from the ridges above them.

The two women stumbled back to the sled, the carrier between them. Only when she had seen the carrier secured behind straps and the cutter properly racked did Killashandra allow fatigue to creep up on her.

"How long did you say I was thralled?" she asked, slumping into the pilot's chair.

"I forgot to check the time right away, Donalla admitted, "but from the time I did till I threw you down, it took three and a half hours!"

Killa chuckled weakly. "Don't doubt it." She rubbed at shoulder muscles still twinging from a long inactivity. "And I wouldn't answer?"

"You kept staring at the crystal. I tried every single maneuver Lars showed me and you might as well have been crystal yourself for all the blind good it did me."

She had been scared, Killashandra decided; that's what was making her angry now.

"Don't reproach yourself, Donalla. I got out, and the crystal's okay. I'd've been out of thrall once the sun went down. Or didn't Lars remember to mention that?" He hadn't, to judge by the expression on Donalla's face. "Fix me something to drink, will you? I'm too tired to move and my throat's so dry . . ."

Donalla banged the cup on the counter as she hauled the water out of the cooler, her movements revealing more plainly than any words the state of her feelings.

With food in her stomach, Killashandra took a hand beam and went out to examine the face. If she could cut past the damaged crystal to clear stuff, she ought to. She was damned lucky to find black—then she laughed, recalling that luck hadn't entered into the discovery. Knowing that she would have black to cut in this site took some of the elation out of the work. It was the mystery, the challenge of having to find the elusive material. But the work was still rewarding—and Donalla had had the chance to acquire firsthand Range experience to augment her clinical knowledge of crystal singers.

Killa hummed softly, listening for an answering resonance, and heard none. Cursing under her breath, she went back to the sled. She would have to wait till morning to see how deep the flaw was. Worse than not finding black was finding it uncuttable.

She woke in the night, aware of the warm body beside her and instantly recognizing it as Donalla's, not Lars's. That was another matter they had neglected to explain to Donalla. As the woman was apparently unremittingly heterosexual, Killa decided she would have to manage on her own—morning song could be rather more of a shock than Donalla was ready to handle.

Moving carefully, Killa rose. She found an extra thermal in the cupboard and let herself out of the sled. This wouldn't be the first time she had slept on the ground. Rolling herself up under the prow of the sled where she would be protected from any heavy dew, she wriggled around until she got comfortable and dropped off to sleep again.

Dawn and crystal woke, singing her awake. She took deep breaths to reduce the effect on her until she heard Donalla crying out. Grinning, but as uncomfortable herself as Donalla probably was, Killa endured. She waited until the effects had faded before returning to the cabin.

"What was that? Where did you go?" Donalla demanded, her tone almost accusatory.

"That's crystal waking up to sunlight. Fabulous experience, isn't it?" Killa grinned unrepentantly, folding her thermal to stow it away again. "I felt discretion was the better part of retaining our growing friendship."

"Oh!" Donalla flushed beet-red and turned away, looking anywhere but at Killashandra. "No one told me about this."

"I know," Killashandra said sympathetically. "It's another case of us knowing it so well we think everyone else knows it."

Donalla took another deep breath and managed a weak smile. "I gather—I mean—well, is that why certain partnerships . . . Oh, I'm not sure what I mean."

Killa laughed, flicking the switch on the hot-water heater, as she began preparations for cooking breakfast. "It has a tendency to make minor quarrels disappear in the morning."

By the time she had eaten, Donalla had turned clinical in her examination of the sensual effect of sun-warmed crystal on human libido. Killa answered honestly and fully, amused at Donalla's professional curiosity.

"What's astonishing is that more singers don't sing duet," the medic finally announced, turning inquiringly to Killa, who shrugged.

"I suppose it's like anything else," she said. "Palls after a few score years."

"You and Lars were partners for—" Donalla bit off the rest of her sentence.

Killa regarded her for a long moment. Those of the Guild who did not lose "time" in the Ranges were taught not to make comparisons that could upset singers.

"A long time," Killa said. "A very long time." She paused. "It doesn't seem like a long time. How old am I, Donalla?"

"You certainly don't look your age, Killashandra," Donalla said, temporizing, "and I won't put a figure to it."

Killa grunted and heaved a big sigh. "You're right, you know, and I don't really want a figure."

"You don't look older than four, maybe five decades," Donalla offered as compensation.

"Thanks." Then Killa rose, having finished her meal. "I've got black I might be able to cut out of that face. I've got to try." She waggled a finger at Donalla. "Only today, you make bloody sure you take any cut right out of my hand the moment I've pulled it free. You wrench it from me, if necessary; and carefully, mind you, stow it in the carton."

Donalla stood ready all day to follow those orders, but they were never needed. The black had fractured right down into the base of the site. Killa swore, because she had cut so carefully the day before. She hadn't heard the fracture note as she finished cutting the third shaft. Usually a crack like that was not only audible but sensed even through the thick soles of her boots.

"Damn, damn, and double damn," she said, admitting defeat in midafternoon. She had even tried to find an outcropping somewhere else in the rock, but hadn't had so much as a murmur from crystal.

"What?" Donalla asked, rousing from a state of somnolence. She had been patiently watching Killa's explorations from a perch on the height.

"It's gone. No point in staying here."

"We're going back?" Donalla's face brightened.

"We shouldn't. We should look around."

"Lars only gave you these coordinates."

"Yes, but somewhere around here," and Killa waved her hand in a comprehensive sweep that took in the entire ravine, "there'll be more black crystal."

"How long will it take you to find it?"

"Ah . . ." Killa waggled her forefinger. "That's the rub. I don't know where."

"Well, then, let's go back to the Cube and get coordinates to another known black-crystal site," Donalla said, pushing herself off her perch and brushing dust from her trousers.

"It'll take us three hours to get back," Killa heard herself protesting. "Why, I could be—"

"Circling the area unprofitably for hours, days, more likely," Donalla said. "Let's do it the easy way, with another set of coordinates. Huh?"

Killa considered this, sweeping aside all the arguments she was ranging against the common sense Donalla was speaking. She owed it to Lars. He had been right. She had some black to return with. She shouldn't waste time. She should cut where they knew there was more.