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Killashandra’s mind that Antona knew of Lanzecki’s circumstances. And she did doubt that the woman knew about their relationship. She also doubted that Trag would mention so personal an aspect of the Guild Master’s business. Why couldn’t Lanzecki have been just another singer, like herself? Why did he have to be Guild Master and far too valuable, too essential to be placed in jeopardy by unruly affection?
    Why, the situation has all the trappings of an operatic tragedy! A genuine one-solution tragedy, where hero and heroine both lose out. For she could now admit to herself that she was as deeply attached to Lanzecki as he was to her. She covered her face with both hands, clasping them to cheeks gone chill.
    She thought of Antona’s advice, to put down everything—including love—Killashandra writhed in her chair. Antona couldn’t have known that Killashandra would so shortly be faced with such an emotional decision. Which, Killashandra realized with a flicker of ironic amusement, was one to be as deeply and quickly interred and forgotten as possible.
    One thing was sure—no matter how long the journey to Optheria, it wouldn’t be long enough to forget all the wonderful moments she had enjoyed with Lanzecki the man. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain of encountering him when she returned, and, perhaps, finding no recollection of her in his dark eyes. Nor feel his lips again on her hand …
    “Killashandra?” Trag’s voice recalled her to his watching presence on the viewscreen.
    “Now that I know the ramifications of the assignment, Trag, I can hardly refuse it.” Her flippant tone was belied by the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Do you go with him to break the thrall?” she asked when her throat opened enough to speak again.
    At any other time, she would have counted Tag’s startled look as a signal of victory. Maybe if she found someone to sing with, she would also find such a passionate and unswerving loyalty. She must remember that.
    “When’s the next shuttle to Shanganagh, Trag?” She rubbed her cheeks dry with an urgent impatience. “Tell Lanzecki—tell him … crystal resonance drove me to it.” As she spun off her chair, she heard herself give a laugh that verged on the hysterical. “That’s no more than the truth, isn’t it?” Driven by the need just to
do
something, she began to cram clothes into her carisak.
    “The shuttle leaves in ten minutes, Killashandra Ree.”
    “That’s great.” She struggled to secure the fastenings on the bulging sak. “Will you see me aboard again, Trag? That seems to be your especial duty, rushing me onto shuttles to Shanganagh for unusual assignments all over the galaxy.” She was unable to resist taunting Trag. He was the author of her misery and she was being strong and purposeful in a moment of deep personal sacrifice and loss. She glanced up at the screen and saw that it was dark. “Coward!”
    She hauled open her door. She decided that slamming it was a waste of a grand gesture. She had just enough time to get to the shuttle.
    “Exit Killashandra. Quietly. Up stage!”

T rag had timed Killashandra’s departure well for she and the three crates of white crystal were on board a freighter bound for the Rappahoe Transfer Satellite within four hours of their confrontation. She didn’t think about it at the time for she was totally immersed in the strong emotions of self-sacrifice, remorse for her effect on Lanzecki, and a perverse need to redeem herself in Trag’s eyes. Even though she had permitted herself to be borne on the tide of circumstance, she kept hoping that Lanzecki might somehow get wind of her defection and abort the mission.
    To insure that her whereabouts were known, she rummaged through the shopping area of Shanganagh Base like a mach storm. She bought necessities, fripperies, and foodstuffs, accompanying each purchase with a running dialogue at the top of her voice and spelling out her name for every credit entry.