The Heptite Guild might not have been a military organisation, but they certainly expected their new recruits to train very hard.
To begin with, mornings consisted of learning - off by heart - the Rules and Regs that covered the rights and responsibilities of crystal singers. Despite Dane's repeated assertions that they were getting off lightly compared to the educational burden imposed on previous singer cohorts, there was certainly a lot to learn.
Zyan hated this with a low-grade, grizzling passion.
"Why can't we just look this stuff up when we need to?" Zyan asked Dane on the third morning.
"'Cos it's gotta be second nature. This stuff needs to be embedded so deep you don't even know you know it. Make no mistake, singin' crystal is murder on your memory. Even if you cut in sensible short shifts and come in out of the ranges at regular intervals you can find yourself forgetting things - little things like your own name or where you come from. Ain't always time to thumb through the user manual in the middle of the ranges." Dane explained, and that was that.
Janso hoovered it up: he had the right kind of brain for learning things quickly and recalling it with ease when required. Dane insisted he went through the same repetitions as Zyan had to anyway. Far from objecting on the grounds that he'd learnt it all adequately already, Janso readily agreed.
"Multiple iterations are an effective way of moving information into the long-term storage areas of the brain. CS Danelaw is correct. You should apply yourself to this with greater rigour, Jarvis." He informed Zyan in a lectorial manner.
Dane laughed. "Knew I was gonna like you the first time I saw you, Janso."
Zyan sighed, and read on.
Afternoons were given over to sled practice. At first Zyan loved it: he was naturally good at it, after all. The endless drill of landing, taking off, landing and taking off soon grew to be tiresome, though. Only the challenge of matching or beating Janso's score kept him going, so Zyan supposed there might've been something to the guy's 'productive rivalry' theory after all.
After sled practice on the third day, when Zyan dragged himself back to his echoingly overlarge quarters, he found a couple of messages waiting for him. The first was from Clarend: his sonic cutter was ready for collection. The second was from Donalla: some of his friends were awake and well enough to receive visitors.
Janso didn't answer when Zyan commed him, so he assumed he'd already headed down to Medical. Zyan splashed some water on his face and followed him.
It turned out to be Tornaz and Aviczue who were no longer comatose. Zyan saw Tornaz first.
"You look disgustingly healthy. Stop it this instant." Tornaz said, as Zyan entered his room.
Zyan grinned. "Sorry: got lucky. Nothing personal. How are you?"
"Awful, and aware exactly how awful in amazing never-before-experienced detail from every sense except smell, which has somehow escaped improvement in my case. The doctors tell me that now Sammy Symbiont has properly bedded in I'll be out of here by the end of the day, but right now I don't believe it." Tornaz said, somewhat sourly.
"Want to bet?"
"Against Captain Luck? No thanks." Tornaz snorted.
"They told you how Pharisa is?" Zyan asked.
"Only that she's out of danger and has made a satisfactory adaptation - everyone has. They nearly opened champagne on the spot." Tornaz related.
"Well, I guess if none of your patients die that's a big win for medics." Zyan said.
"Yup." Tornaz said. "So, you killed Janso yet, or do you get to avoid him now?"
"Actually we're okay now. I'm not saying we've become best friends forever overnight but, well, he's not such a bad guy." Zyan said.
"Shard it, the doctors got it wrong. My hearing must've been badly affected 'cos I could swear you just said you're getting along with Janso." Tornaz said, then faked a dramatic gasp.
"Well, the terrible medical ordeal we went through gave us a sense of perspective, and our dispute just didn't seem as important any more." Zyan shrugged. "Seriously, I sneezed. Several times."
Tornaz called him something very impolite. Zyan laughed.
Zyan had to pause on his way into Aviczue's room. Janso was already in there, with flowers. Zyan wondered where he had managed to find them.
"You never said anything." Aviczue was saying.
"I have problems finding the correct words and manner to express my emotions." Janso told her. "Previously this caused me to leave things unsaid, but recent experience has convinced me to simply speak my mind instead. I suspect the spore may have brought this about. At any rate: I am delighted to find you recovered. I would have been distraught had you been otherwise. I must admit to an admiration of your person and character that goes beyond the simple respect and friendship you command from any individual, and I hope these feelings may be reciprocated."
There was a moment of silence, then: "Do you know how rare it is to find a man who is actually open about how he is feeling?"
"I am afraid I have no hard data or even anecdotal evidence on that." Janso answered.
"Oh, you'll do just fine." Aviczue told him, and laughed.
Zyan coughed delicately from the doorway. "I would say 'get a room' but you're already in one and I'm just intruding anyway."
"Yeah, you might almost say you could've come back another time." Aviczue answered tartly.
"Wait." Janso said. "I know this one. Jarvis is making a humourous comment in order to smooth over a potentially embarrassing interruption. It is a well-meant social gesture. We should respond with polite laughter."
Aviczue gave Zyan a significant look: "Is this your doing?"
"Might've had a small hand in it." Zyan shrugged. "I had no idea he was going to come in here with a bunch of flowers and go all Jane Austen on you, though. That's news to me."
"Don't you dare engage in any mockery of this moment whatsoever." Aviczue ordered. "With or without allusions to classical Terran literature."
"Yes ma'am." Zyan smiled. "Also, it's called Earth. But anyway: how are you?"
"Apparently fine, apparently fully transitioned, although to be totally honest that's just manifesting as everything being too bright and too loud, right now. Also: why are you two even talking, Marin?" She asked.
"Jarvis and I have decided our differences are unimportant when set against the prospect of several centuries of association." Janso answered her. "I have decided he is not such a bad sort. He has decided I am apparently not a soulless military robot."
Aviczue laughed.
"Well, since you're not at death's door, I'll leave you two to it." Zyan smiled. "I'd advise rest – they work you pretty hard once you're up and about. You get the message about the cutters, Janso?"
"I think, at this point, 'Marin' will do just fine." Janso – Marin – said. "But yes, I did."
"Zyan – or even Zy – will do just fine an' all Marin." Zyan told him.
"Aw – do you two need to get a room?" Aviczue teased.
"You said no mockery." Zyan reminded her.
"Yep – I said that." She replied. "My room, my rules."
"I'm off to see if the cutter lab is still open." Zyan informed them. "Glad you came through okay, Aviczue. See you both later."
When Zyan got up there, the cutter technician was still, in fact, in.
"You just caught me. Here you go – not to be used until Dane's trained you on it." He unshipped a very nicely made looking device from a rack behind him and handed it to Zyan.
"Thank you, and understood." Zyan said. "This is top shelf kit, man. Wow." He said.
He meant it, too. Even in this age of freely available high-tech equipment, you could tell when something was merely stamped out by a production line and when it was the product of real craftsmanship, and the sonic cutter was definitely the latter. Zyan could see it in the precise lines of the casing and could feel it in the way the grips fit his hands exactly.
"You're welcome." Clarend said, clearly pleased. "May you use it to cut well and profitably."
"I'll do my best." Zyan promised him. "What's the power source, standard neolithium battery?"
Clarend shook his head, then grinned. "They used to use NL batteries here. My cutters, however, come with twin redundant FSP-5 spec microfusion reactors. Lifetime is three years – even the most crystal mazed among you manage to remember to get them serviced at least twice in that period, so there's no problem with replacing the fuel nodes in time. However, if by some incredible concatenation of unfortunate circumstances both reactors were to cease functioning – which they would do safely - then the cutter would fall back to an NL battery, good for thirteen point 8 hours of usage."
"Nice." Zyan nodded, hefting it. "Would've expected it to weigh more, for that."
Clarend almost literally buffed his nails. "I was able to come up with a few ways of reducing the required mass. The patents, I'm told, are highly lucrative."
"Also nice." Zyan sighed in regret. "Never got the chance to play with an MFR, let alone a top-grade custom one. Lucky to get my hands on a half-decent NL battery in my previous career. Got to admit I really want to have the service panels off this to see how it works." Zyan confessed.
"You did hear the part about it having twin fusion reactors, didn't you?" Clarend asked him.
"Someone says 'microfusion reactor', I hear 'fascinating bit of shiny tech'. What can I say, I'm an inveterate tinkerer." Zyan answered.
"I heard." Clarend told him. Zyan wondered what, exactly, he'd heard. "As much as I sympathise with the natural inclinations of a fellow tech nerd, though, please don't. I don't doubt you're competent technically, but it never ends well. Bring it in for a service after every trip, and if you're going off planet, make sure to bring it back here for storage. I guarantee you'll never need to do any field maintenance. If you absolutely must get a status report from it, hold your wrist unit over the area of the casing where your name is etched and lightly tap the trigger three times. It'll flash a package of diagnostic info."
"Standard diagnostic markup language?" Zyan asked.
"With a few extras, but yeah, anything that can parse a standard SDML file will be able to read it. And if you absolutely must must have a peek inside one, then when you're not busy training come down here and you can observe me doing maintenance. Lars keeps badgering me to be more 'inclusive' with singers so you'd be doing me a favour." Clarend told him. "Although I must say it's nice for a singer to actually be interested, for a change. Normally it's just 'I've broken this and obviously it wasn't my fault but your shoddy workmanship, now fix it yesterday'." The man sighed.
"Oh Clarend, you wrong us so." Came a familiar voice from behind Zyan. "Are we truly such shallow, vicious creatures?"
It was Shecherzia Alar, accompanied by her largely silent partner. They were dressed, Zyan noted, in hard-wearing working gear, which was worn and scuffed in places but looked to have been recently cleaned. Alar still managed to cut a striking figure even in utilitarian gear, her partner less so.
"CS Alar, CS Korzac." Clarend greeted them with a cordial nod. "You're here for your cutters?" Clarend asked.
"Why else would we be here?" The one identified as Korzac answered flatly. Clarend seemed unaffected by the rudeness, but Alar affected dismay.
"Danlo, really! There is no call for such discourtesy. Are you trying to prove Clarend right?" It was a real snap back at him, with real heat. Either she was a very good actress or she wasn't overly taken with her 'partner'.
"Do you want to go back to cutting on your own?" Was Korzac's sour response.
"It's starting to seem like an appealing alternative." Shecherzia told him, then turned an insincere smile on Zyan. "CS Jarvis. You survived, I see."
Zyan would have preferred his first 'CS Jarvis' to come from someone else. Almost anyone else, in fact.
"Sorry to disappoint." He replied flatly.
Shecherzia gave him a disdainful look. "It's a dangerous profession and the night is yet young." She said, then re-arranged her features into a pleasant mask. "I'm joking, of course. The very best of luck to you."
Zyan arranged an equally fake smile. "Of course you are." He turned back to the technician. "Thanks, Clarend. I'll definitely take you up on that invite."
"It would be my genuine pleasure." Clarend replied.
"Are you going to yammer all evening? We need our cutters." Korzac demanded flatly – of who, it wasn't clear.
Shecherzia glared at him again. "Perhaps, while I was here, I could upgrade to a newer model." She commented, standing beside Zyan rather than her partner. "Something likely to last a bit longer, perhaps perform a bit better when and where it matters."
It was an obvious insult, and nobody there thought she was really talking about sonic cutters. Korzac merely sneered and gave a soft snort of breath. Clarend looked mortified.
Enough of this, Zyan thought, refusing to be embarrassed, and equally resolute not to get drawn into anything. "Clarend: bye for now. CS Alar: don't put me in the middle of your personal stuff, please."
"Oh, you're no fun, Jarvis." Shecherzia sighed, and turned her smile on Clarend. "Would you be so kind, dear Clarend, as to fetch our cutters? Danlo and I are, as he has made clear in a somewhat abrasive fashion, off into the ranges."
Clarend's answering smile and nervous swallow made it clear that he was by no means as inured as Zyan was to her blandishments. Zyan slung his cutter over his shoulder, turned, and left.
By the end of his first morning tuning crystal, Zyan was halfway convinced he'd picked the wrong job. It was exhausting stuff.
The guild cube had a suite of training rooms set aside for tuning crystal, into one of which Dane - now bereft of his high-tech orthopaedic device and walking with only a slight limp - took Marin and Zyan. It had a few crates of crystal stacked up in readiness: Zyan could feel a faint sussuration from it, as, apparently, did Janso. A workbench with some sort of complex, multi-jawed vice set up on it completed the equipment. The crystal they were about to practice on was, Dane explained, sent in from nearer star systems or just removed from ships that put in at Shankill to have crystal drive or comms equipment replaced. Flawed or crazed crystal was hazardous material, expensive to dispose of properly, so captains were happy enough to have someone take it off their hands and sign the appropriate disclaimer. It was essentially free – until it was retuned it had no significant value. It also tended to be the shabbier end of the crystal market: light blues and pinks were the shades that recruits were normally allowed to work with.
"Does anyone ever send any black in?" Zyan asked.
"No – people tend to look after it real well. It never suffers from faulty bracketing and the techs who work with it never overload it. Something pretty significant has to go wrong for black to need replacing." Dane said meaningfully.
A sudden thought occurred to Zyan that had not occurred to him before. "There wasn't anyone from the Guild on Djiel when-"
"No." It was Marin who answered. "The Protectorate regime discouraged off-planet visitors, and the FSP had, at the time of your operation, already classified the Djiel system as a war zone and put measures in place to prevent FSP citizens from travelling there. No FSP observers from any agency were on-planet at the time, and FSP military personnel had yet to be deployed. The black crystal installation had been illegally seized by the Protectorate regime, in violation of a FSP treaty, and converted into a military base. It was a legitimate target and only Protectorate military personnel were killed. Set your mind at ease."
Zyan nodded, relieved. "Well, that's good."
"Yep." Dane said. "Now, best if we get back to the subject at hand."
Dane then ran through the basics of using a sonic cutter without killing yourself or removing one or more limbs: either your own or someone else's. Marin and Zyan were then required to go through the motions of activating their cutters.
That done, they moved onto setting their cutters to the correct note. They once again did a few dry runs, pitching their cutters at various frequencies, singing the note and feeling the blade vibrate in harmony.
"Right. Time to get your hands dirty." Dane said. He flipped the lid off the first crate with casual familiarity and withdrew a quintuple of light blue shafts, setting them on the workbench. Taking a small hammer, he tapped each in turn. The middle crystal sounded off. "Simple job: just recut it to pitch. You can take it in turns until I'm satisfied you know what you're about."
Dane fished a coin out if his pocket. "Zyan, call."
"Heads." Zyan said.
Dane flipped. It came up tails, but Marin insisted Zyan go first, so he did.
He set his cutter, cleared his throat, and cut. Zyan had never been electrocuted by an enraged cat screeching in C sharp, but he'd bet that if it was a particularly highly charged, very angry lion then it might - might - feel like his first experience of putting blade to crystal. He gritted mental teeth and completed the cut.
"Adequate." Dane judged. "Right: next."
Subsequent cuts were a bit easier, and he did get better as the days went by, but it was never going to be Zyan's favourite way to spend a morning. It left him feeling simultaneously drained and buzzing - it was not unlike the feeling in the immediate aftermath of a sortie over Protectorate held territory.
Sessions tuning crystal were invariably followed by sled simulation, and then, in what Zyan considered to be borderline sadism, they were tested on their knowledge of the Rules and Regs. The rationale behind this was clear enough: you had to be able to safely fly your sled in frankly harrowing weather conditions after you'd knackered yourself out cutting crystal, and you needed to know the Rules and Regs no matter what state you were in. Zyan's charitable disposition towards Dane started to slip a bit, though, and in his more vindictive moments he found himself wanting to tell the singer where he could shove paragraph five of section four of chapter eight.
The remainder of class 1999 moved out of the infirmary and started their training, and evening gatherings started to be a thing again, at least when anyone had any spare energy or it was a rest day. Everyone had come through their adaptations with all their senses intact, or at least all the ones they'd need to sing crystal, but Zyan noticed a few differences in some of his peers. Tornaz was just as quick to humour as he'd been before, and Pharisa equally quick to whack him on the arm when she considered he'd gone too far, but Hollin seemed to have lost most of his shyness – or perhaps gained confidence might be a better way of putting it. Colina was nowhere near as quiet as she'd been before her transition. Aviczue, out of them all, seemed the least affected – but she told them that her physical transition had been, according to Presnol, more pronounced than usual: she was much faster and stronger.
"Going to be interesting the next time I go climbing." She said. "Or go back into the dojo."
"I would be delighted to spar with you." Marin offered. They were now definitely 'an item'. Zyan had entertained a few inappropriate thoughts about Aviczue since he'd met her, but he certainly didn't feel any jealousy.
"I'd bet you would." Tornaz commented – and was duly whacked on the arm by Pharisa.
Zyan had his first checkup, and, much to the discomfiture of the Guild's medical minds, still didn't register pain as pain.
"I seriously haven't noticed anything odd, though." He told Donalla.
"That's because pain is, thankfully, not something you come across very often – at least not within the guild cube, at any rate. The brain uses pain signals for very many good reasons and it's worrisome that you're experiencing...interference with them." She was not happy, having expected Zyan's neurology to come back to some form of equilibrium.
"Donalla, I know it's not my field but it has only been like a week. That's not that long, right?" Zyan asked.
"Ten days, to be precise, and I would have expected to see some change in your readings by now." She answered.
"I'll have a word with Sammy Symbiont, see if he won't get his behind in gear and sort it out." Zyan replied.
Donalla laughed. "You're the fourth person today I've heard calling it 'Sammy'. Your friend Tornaz already has a legacy within the guild, I think."
"Don't tell him that – there'll be no living with him if he gets it into his head he's got a 'legacy'." Zyan replied.
He was dismissed back to his training, which, a few days later, he was told was over. Dane had decided that he and Marin were ready. They were going out into the ranges.
This information was, in point of fact, imparted to him not by Dane but by Jolinda, who appeared one morning to watch him tuning crystal. He and Marin had graduated to separate practice rooms, and Zyan had found, to his delight, that he was actually making good money retuning crystal.
"Dane is of the opinion that you and your friend Marin are ready for your first trip into the ranges." She told them.
"Please tell me you've made a bet with him about this." Zyan responded.
"That I will not say." Jolinda smiled. "I'm sure that the fact my esteemed partner's leg is all better and he's itching to get out of the cube has no bearing whatsoever on his opinion. However, you seem to know one end of a sonic cutter from the other and Flight tell me that the pair of you are both naturals behind the controls of a sled, so I'm willing to entertain the notion that he might not be completely wrong. "
Dane was sparing in his praise, so this came as a surprise to Zyan, who had envisioned week after week of tuning and simulated flight and yet more rules and regs until passover came and he was either confined to a radiant tank in the bowels of the cube or shunted off to Shankill to sit it out in orbit.
"Wow." Zyan replied. "Really?"
"Yes, really." Jolinda replied. "Also, the Guildmaster is pushing for as many singers as possible to be out in the ranges trying black co-ordinates."
"I'd go after black first time out?" Zyan asked, surprised.
Jolinda snorted. "No, of course not – but your second time? Definitely. There's issues, apparently – I don't know the details but I'm told we need black more than ever. Desperately enough that the Guildmaster is willing to push you two – and your classmates, once they too have achieved a basic level of competence – out the hangar door a lot sooner than is usual."
"Okay. So what happens now?" Zyan asked.
"First, I tell Flight that you and Marin need sleds. Manufacturing don't have anything new ready to go, but there are plenty of serviceable reconditioned sleds that just require safety checks: that will have to do. Then, you and Marin fly with Dane and I to what we know are viable co-ordinates. You'll watch us cut for a day or two, get some hands on experience, then you'll be sent to a set of co-ordinates of your own – not black, not for you, first time out and on your own aswell." Jolinda explained.
"That reminds me of something Donalla said. If you've had a Milekey transition, you're in increased danger of what she called thrall." Zyan said.
Jolinda nodded. "Nobody's been able to do a study of any kind, but most people who know what they're talking about ascribe to that theory. The spore confers huge advantages on us, but sometimes, it seems to hand out a bit of a curse to those it blesses most highly. Singers who are sensitive to black are almost always easily thralled by it – and sometimes by other colours, too. It's most likely when the crystal is in direct sunlight, so you can try and hold your body between it and the sun, but the only way of making 100% sure you don't end up holding what you've cut until a mach storm splashes you all over the nearest rockface is to cut with a partner."
"Should I team up with Marin, then?" Zyan asked.
"Maybe. Possibly. I understand he's formed an attachment to another class member?"
"Aviczue, yeah."
"Well, they'll probably partner up. It usually seems to work that way – if you're solid as a couple you'll be solid as a partnership, and vice-versa. A temporary partner can sometimes be a bit awkward, if you don't really vibe." Jolinda opined.
"Like Shecherzia and Korzac?" Zyan asked.
"How did you-? Never mind, they're not exactly discreet and this place is worse than a village square for gossip, sometimes. Yes, Shecherzia's latest attempt at finding a partner is a fairly good example of how not to do it. Neither of them have a claim worth an old half credit, I suspect, and she likes to live high on the hog. A hangover from when she was famous, no doubt." Jolinda said, proving her own point about gossip, but Zyan wasn't about to shut down the flow of information by pointing that out.
"Can't she just get some co-ordinates to try?" Zyan asked.
"Yes, well, you'd think, wouldn't you? The thing is, well, you'd find this out sooner or later so I suppose I can tell you, Guildmaster Dahl's way of doing things isn't universally approved. Some singers think they're better than that. They want to cut their claims, when they want to. They think a certain standard of living should be theirs by right. Offworld, they behave appallingly. On Ballybran, they've become used to being deferred to by people who should be - who are - their equals: sorters, technicians, medics. Colleagues who keep this guild running, who deserve respect, and whose specialist skills they'd be unable to function without." Jolinda's face became hard.
"Sounds like a few strikes'd sort that our pretty quickly." Zyan said offhandedly.
"Zyan! There's never been a strike in the history of the guild!" Jolinda appeared genuinely shocked at the concept.
"Doesn't have to apply to everyone." Zyan shrugged. "Act nice, your sled gets refuelled and resupplied and your crystal gets sorted. Act the goat and it doesn't. Problem'll soon go away."
Jolinda appeared to give this a moment's thought, but then shook her head. "It's not the way things are done here. In any case, the guild needs all singers out in the ranges cutting as much as possible, right now. We can't afford to have some of them be rendered unproductive due to industrial action. No matter how well-intentioned it might be. I really wouldn't mention that idea to anyone else, Zyan."
"I hear you." Zyan said. He started the mental process of figuring out who to talk to about it right then and there. The Sorters seemed like a good starting place: they weren't afraid of squaring off against truculent singers.
"Getting back in the general direction of my point, anyway, Shecherzia sees herself as one of this breed, even though she's been a singer only a year or two longer than I have. She's too proud to be seen adopting the working practices of mere 'employees'." Jolinda sounded slightly bitter, then recollected herself. "All of which is just more reason to get you and Marin out in the ranges and cutting on co-ordinates that we know are productive. As to a partner, well – if you're out in the ranges with someone, it's got to be someone you trust. Intimately. If there's anyone in your class you're close to, they'd be a good starting point. They won't be too long behind you, so once you've made your first trip, make it a priority."
Zyan nodded. "I will."
"Good. I'll inform the Guildmaster you and Marin are ready. The weather over the Joslin plateau should be clear by tomorrow morning – we'll be going then." Jolinda gave him a tight smile, and left him to his tuning.
There was, unfortunately, a big problem. Almost immediately. That evening, Zyan and Marin were in the common room with most of the rest of the group. The news that they were going out into the ranges had not, as Zyan had privately feared, resulted in any jealousy. The news that Jolinda had hinted that the rest of them weren't far behind had gone some way to heading this off, as had promises of being given All The Details when they returned, but they were also just, simply put, good people. There was bound to be someone in the group who'd partner him – not all of them were in relationships with another member. These musings were cut short when Dane approached.
"Hey all." He greeted them.
"I am really not in the mood for any rules and regs right now, Dane." Tornaz said with a groan.
Dane cracked a smile, but it was a rote, half-hearted thing. "Relax, Molovsky. I'm here to give these two bad news, not you." He pointed at Zyan and Marin.
"Oh well in that case let me get you a drink." Tornaz asked.
Dane waved him off. "Zyan, Marin, a word please."
He took them aside. "The bad news is, well, it's bad news for one of you, anyway. Which kinda makes it worse." Dane sighed. "One of you ain't gonna be goin' out anytime soon. Sorry to have to break it to you so soon after Jo said you were ready."
Marin frowned. "I thought, starting tomorrow, clear weather was predicted over the Milekey ranges for the next several days?"
Dane nodded. "It's not the weather. It's sleds. Turns out there ain't exactly an embarrassment of serviceable sleds right now. There's only one available – and it's a single, not a double. In a pinch you coulda gone out together in a double but, well, that might've had it's own complications to be totally honest."
"Are there any other sleds that could be fixed up in time?" Zyan asked.
Dane shook his head. "Maybe, but they've been runnin' kinda tight on manpower down in the sled shop for a while, now – one of the kind of specialists we desperately need is aerospace techs – and, long story short, it's gonna take them a few days to get maintenance done for active singers sleds before they can get to commissionin' an additional one. Really sorry, guys, but one of you is gonna have to cool your heels here for a bit longer. When your sled is ready and the Guildmaster can find someone else to shepherd you, you can go out – but to be totally frank it's not going to be this week. Me an' Jo'd be happy to wait to take you both out, but Lars says no – he needs us out cutting. There must be some serious pressure on for crystal, right now. Again, I'm really sorry. Me and Jo both feel bad over this."
"We understand, Dane." Marin said. "Duty to the Guild must come first. Your guilt and bad feelings are unnecessary, and you may now feel free to stop telling us about them. Please tell CS Jolinda to also not tell us about them."
Zyan winced. "He means that-"
Dane gave a rueful grin. "I know what he means, Zyan. Thanks, Marin. We knew you two'd understand. So, um, you want to borrow a coin to flip for it?"
"Nah." Zyan said. "We'll both see you tomorrow in the hangar."
Dane looked guilty again. "It ain't gonna be 'we', Zyan. Didn't you just hear what-?"
"I heard you were short of aerospace techs." Zyan said, with a smile. "And you happen to be talking to one right now."
Dane and Jolinda made some calls. Half an hour later, Zyan and Marin were stood in the sled shop.
"Tools." The Flight Officer said, pointing to a zero-grav trolley stacked with metal boxes and diagnostic equipment, most of which looked reasonably familiar to Zyan, who'd spent almost as long repairing craft as flying them.
"Status of this sled and readiness checklist." He handed Zyan a wadge of printout. A very thick wadge.
"Spare parts." He pointed through the sled shop door that led to what the techs called the Boneyard: the racks of dead sleds that were available for spare parts.
"Thank you, sir." Marin said.
"Hmph. Well, best of luck, I suppose. You break anything or blow it up, it's on you." The Flight Officer told them before departing. He clearly didn't hold out much hope.
The sled before them was, the Flight Officer had admitted, the best of a bad lot. Recent recruitment had contained more specialists than singer hopefuls, and the number of sleds that had been completely written off was, blessedly, going down. Add this to manpower shortages, and the sled shop had started to let the number of sleds kept in readiness for deployment slide: all the way down to one. It was nobody's fault, really – the techs were all needed elsewhere.
The next most serviceable sled was in need of a full diagnostic on it's drive unit, some critical maintenance on other important systems, and, more than likely, several things would need swapping out.
Zyan had already told Marin he could have the operable sled. Marin had refused. Zyan had said no way – but if it helped him feel better he could assist with the upcoming nightshift Zyan was about to pull getting his own sled up and running. Marin assented to this.
Zyan flicked through the sheaf of printout. There was a lot to do if he was going to be able to fly this thing out of the hangar tomorrow, even if he cut a few non-essential corners.
"This is going to take some doing." He admitted.
"Probably good you've got a lot of help, then." Tornaz's voice came from behind him. The eleven other members of the team walked into the shop, led by Dane and Jolinda.
"They wouldn't let us alone until we told them what was happening." Jolinda explained.
"And when we told 'em what you were plannin', well, they wanted to help." Dane added.
"And so do we." Jolinda smiled. "The Guildmaster sends good luck, too."
"The Guildmaster knows about this?" Zyan was surprised.
"That's who we called." Dane said. "Flight weren't overly happy about lettin' you in here, but he put his foot down. Seems like a 'presumed' qualification is good enough for him."
"I owe him, then. I owe all of you. Thanks, everyone." Zyan was, genuinely, touched.
"Don't you go getting' all emotional again, Jarvis." Dane warned him.
"I'll do my best." Zyan promised him.
"So – what do we do?" Tornaz asked.
Zyan realised that everyone was looking at him expectantly. This wasn't an unprecedented position for him to be in, but he still found it a little daunting.
"Okay – who's got experience working with anything technical at all?" Zyan asked.
The answer was, surprisingly, quite a few of them. Marin had some basic knowledge of field maintenance for various bits of military kit, up to and including had designed and built comm installations before deciding to become a crystal singer. Pharisa had been a computer tech, specialising in security systems but confident of being able to work a diagnostics tool. Three of the other girls – Hilyan, Q'Tonisa and a girl called Rhanui – had been in technical or scientific occupations before joining the guild. Everyone else, including Dane and Jolinda, had no applicable skills but were willing to do anything to help out.
Zyan split everyone up into two or three person teams, with a technical bod in each team, and assigned them to finding parts or performing a particular diagnostic task. Zyan checked any parts they retrieved from the Boneyard, discarding some as past use and fitting any that passed muster. While he was not doing that, he was undertaking the all-important drive unit diagnostic. One team was despatched to Supply to bring back basic rations, bedding and other necessaries – another relabelled the empty crates in the hold with Zyan's guild ID. Hollin showed himself to be a fair judge of clothing by fetching protective work gear in the right size.
It was, if truth be told, an almost classic case of too many cooks. Everyone seemed to be so happy helping, though, and the atmosphere was convivial despite the rush. Zyan didn't have the heart to tell anyone they were a fifth wheel.
It took four and a half hours, in the end, to get the sled to a stage where all the critical systems checked out, it could be legally flown, it could carry crystal, and Zyan would be able to live in it for a few days. It looked patched and dented, it was in serious need of a respray with orange safety paint, and at some point Zyan was going to have to do something about the mouldy, mildewy smell that permeated the living quarters – but it was functional and he could fly it tomorrow: or rather later on that day, as it was well past midnight.
"Ladies and gentlemen, congratulations." Zyan said, snapping shut a portable computer and unjacking the cable from the control panel. "We have officially achieved 'that'll do' – this baby is logged in as cleared for operational deployment with one Zyan E Jarvis behind the controls. Pats on the back all round."
There was a cheer, followed by laughter.
"Come here." Aviczue said, and made him stand a few paces away from the sled. She stood behind him and put her hands over his eyes. There was the sound of spraying.
"Okay – you can look." Tornaz said.
Aviczue took her hands away. "Tada!"
Tornaz had sprayed 'That'll Do' on the sled's nose. Someone, during the last half hour, had sneaked away and come back with a bottle of fizz. Pharisa was chosen to do the honours.
"Probably best not to hit it too hard!" Someone quipped, to general laughter.
"I christen this airsled the That'll Do. May any deities currently paying attention bless her and all who fly in her, I suspect they'll probably need any help they can get!" Pharisa announced. There was more laughter, and then she swung the bottle against the sled's nose. This left a dent in both the bottle and the airsled. Repeated attempts only produced similar results.
"It's plastic!" She said, identifying the issue. There was another round of laughter and some good natured jeering directed at Hollin, who had purchased the offending bottle.
"I don't think they do glass ones any more, to be fair." He said.
"Waste of perfectly good alcohol anyway." Tornaz said, taking the bottle from Pharisa. "Let's take it back to the common room and drink it."
"And then get to bed." Colina said, yawning.
"Speech!" Aviczue called out with a laugh, a call which was then repeated around the group until a boisterous chant of 'Speech" Speech! Speech!' had broken out. Zyan decided he'd better say something.
"Thank you everyone." He said. "Seriously. I came to Ballybran alone, not knowing what to expect, not really knowing why I was even doing it except I had to do something. A few days later and I've got like fifty million more friends than I ever had before – I include you and Dane, in that, too, Jolinda - and something to actually look forward to. You lot are miracle workers, really."
There was a moment of quiet and a few 'awwws', before Tornaz spoke up in an affected stentorian tone. "This is more than just a sled, good people of Ballybran. This is a symbol, nay, an icon of-"
The bottle of wine chose this moment to respond to it's recent abusive treatment by forcing the cork explosively outwards and spraying it's contents over Tornaz, again to much hilarity.
"Alright, clearly an adult has to step in here." Dane said. "Marin, Zyan – go get some rest. Tornaz, stop moaning and go get a shower for shard's sake. Everyone else: your work here is done. Go celebrate."
This brought things to a good natured end, with everyone filtering back out to the common room or their quarters. Zyan looked at his scruffy sled. He didn't think he'd ever received a better gift.
"You guys are somethin' special, Zyan, I'll give you that. Ain't never seen the like of this since I left Earth. Singers ain't normally co-operative types." Dane said. He had remained behind.
"You and Jolinda are. Couldn't've managed this without you." Zyan replied, still looking at the sled.
"Leave off, Zyan: I've got a gruff, acerbic reputation to maintain." Dane quipped. "Don't stare at her all night, man - we got an early start."
"I won't." Zyan promised. Dane followed the others.
He did stare at her a bit more. She was quite the most beautiful bit of kit Zyan had ever seen, right then. The moment was ruined when a member of the hangar crew came in and insisted he clean up the spilt wine, but it was okay – nothing was going to ruin the mood he was in right now.