Crystal Singer by Anne McCaffrey Page A

nervous young man had sidled up to them without either noticing his approach.
    Killashandra frowned slightly with displeasure, but the other young man grinned encouragingly.
    “No sweat, no stress, no strength exerted, man. A breeze,” and he planed his hand in a smooth gesture indicating ease. “All I got to do now is go up to the panel, knock on the door, and I’m in.” He snapped the shoulder strap of his carisak.
    “You’ve been given the full disclosure?” the dark-haired man asked.
    “Not yet.” The red-head grinned again. “That’s the next step and only done here.”
    “Shillawn Agus Vartry,” the other said formally, raising his right hand, fingers spread in the galactic gesture that indicated cooperation without weapon.
    “Rimbol C-hen-stal-az” was the red-head’s rejoinder.
    Killashandra wasn’t in the mood to be drawn into further conversation about applying for Guild membership, not with this Shillawn swallowing and stammering his way to a decision. She accorded Rimbol a smile and the salute as she backed away courteously before veering toward the module with more assurance than she felt. Once there, she spread her fingers wide where the movement would catch the woman’s eye.
    “I’d like to apply for membership to the Heptite Guild,” she said when the woman raised her head. Killashandra had meant to say she wanted to become a Crystal Singer, but the words had shifted in her mind and mouth with uncharacteristic discretion. Perhaps Carigana’s very bad example had tempered her approach.
    The programmer inclined her head in acknowledgment of the request, her fingers flashing across the terminal keys. “If you will proceed through that entrance.” She motioned toward the opening panel in the wall.
    Killashandra could just imagine how anticlimactic that mild phrase must have been for the storming Carigana. She smiled to herself as the panel closed behind her without so much as a sigh. Exit Killashandra Ree softly and with no fanfare.
    She found herself in a short corridor, with a series of color-coded and design-patched doors on either side, and made for one that opened quietly. Just as she entered the room from one door, a man with an odd crook to one shoulder entered from another. He gave her such a quick searching look that she felt certain he had had to greet Carigana.
    “You agree to submit to SG-1 examinations of physical, psychological, and aptitudinal readiness? Please state your name, planet of origin, and whatever rank you hold. This information is being processed under the Federated Sentient Planets’ conditions regarding admission into the Heptite Guild of Ballybran.” He ran through the speech in two breaths, staring expectantly at her while her mind caught up with his rote comments.
    “Yes, I, Killashandra Ree of Fuerte, agree to the examinations. Rank, tertiary student in performing arts, released.”
    “This way, please, Killashandra Ree.” She followed him into an anteroom, the usual examination facility. The panel on one door blazed red, and Killashandra supposed that Carigana was within, being subjected to the same tests she was about to undergo.
    She was shown to the next cubicle, which held the couch and hood that were standard physical diagnostic equipment for her species. Without a word, she settled herself on the couch as comfortably as possible, inured since childhood to the procedures, to the slightly claustrophobic sensation as the upper half of the diagnostic unit swung down over her. She didn’t mind the almost comforting pressure of the torso unit or the tight grip across one thigh and the hard weight on her left shin, but she never could get used to the constricting headpiece and the pressures against eyes, temple, and jaw. But cerebral and retinal scanning were painless, and one never felt the acupuncture that deadened the leg for the blood, bone marrow, and tissue samples. The other pressures for organ readings, muscle tone, heat and cold tolerances,