Gyles left Ballybran for Shankill several days earlier than most of the singers, being unwilling to risk exposure to the rising Mach winds. He spends the usual time in the adapted's hibernation during the height of Passover, then returns as quickly as possible to the surface of Ballybran and the ranges. There he finds the only worthwhile claims he had possessed have been damaged beyond measure by the Passover storms, leaving him with nothing worth cutting.

Gyles has spent the past several months deep in the ranges, searching for cuttable claims and having little success. Finally he finds a small black claim that yields only three sets, and a badly damaged very pale blue vein that will at least cover the costs of its own extraction and a few meals, too. He spends several days clearing damage and cutting, and finally fills his sled's cargo area. With this, he finally heads back toward Joslin Plateau to see his cuts, sleep, soak, and maybe eat a good meal. He arrives at the Joslin Facility a day later, having flown the entire trip in one session and tired beyond measure.

Gyles
Gyles is a thin fellow, on the small side, with close-cropped brown hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes. He strikes you as friendly but reserved, and looks to be in his third decade. His hair is tousled and matted, with that uneven look of a singer who has been cutting his own hair without benefit of a mirror or scissors. His range jump suit is well-worn, dotted with small holes and tears, and stained at the knees and elbows. Tiny specks glint from around the cuffs of his sleeves. His feet are shod in flexible but sturdy range boots. His slight frame has the gaunt look of someone who hasn't been eating regularly. He looks exhausted, only the need to sell his cuts keeping him on his feet. He limps slightly, his ankle visibly swollen.
Carrying:
Jade Ring
Gyles's Crystal Cutter

Gyles's sled
Your sixth sense begs you to leave this sled, and the other five are seconding the motion. Your entire body itches even when you aren't touching anything. It seems this sled hasn't been cleaned, inside or out, since last Passover, or probably the one before that. The interior is so relentlessly dusty that the drinking water is gritty, and there are weeds growing in one corner. When the catering unit last worked can only be estimated by the size of the heap of prepackaged food containers, some eaten, some unopened and some neither. A platoon of social insects is industriously scavenging what they can from a patch of dried vomit on the floor and carrying it into the sanitary unit, from which the latrine seems to regard your presence with brooding pre-sentience. Contents:
Climbing Equipment(#7483d)
Gyles's Communication Unit
Carton 8 - Gyles
Carton 7 - Gyles
Carton 6 - Gyles
Carton 5 - Gyles
Carton 4 - Gyles
Carton 3 - Gyles
Carton 1 - Gyles
Carton 2 - Gyles
GPS Receiver
Uncharged Lamp.(#4564V)
Dirt

Gyles steps down from his airsled to the hangar floor and sits non-too-gently in the door frame, looking exhausted but smug. He rests there a moment, then begins to scan the hangar for an unloading crew.

Kyril walks out of the sorting area into the hangar. Kyril emerges from the main sorting area, wiping his hands on a cloth which he then replaces in his trous. He pauses for a moment, gazing rather sadly toward the sledtech desk.

Gyles is standing near his vehicle, looking for a crew of cargo handlers and not having a lot of luck finding any. He sighs disgustedly and begins unloading his precious cuts by himself.

Aram looks up just as Gyles is unloading his crystal and walks over. "Need some help with that?"

Kyril's eyes are drawn to the movement and he sees the singer moving back into his sled. "May I offer assistance, Singer?"

Gyles pauses, right hand on the main cargo hatch, and looks around to identify the unexpected offers. "Oh, no, I like unloading a whole sledful all by myself," he mutters, uncharacteristicly rude, for him. He scrubs at his face with his hand, then. "Sorry. Yes, If you don't mind. Half of it is black, please be gentle with it."

Aram selects a carton from the vehicle's cargo hold and begins carrying cartons into Processing.

Kyril's lips twitch in some amusement. "I shall be glad to assist, Singer," he says. "And will certainly take the greatest care with your crystal."

Gyles smiles tiredly and waits for the pair to exit, then enters himself to haul cartons. Eventually all eight cartons are deposited in Processing, where Gyles begins repacking the two cuts even as the last of the cartons are brought from his vehicle by Aram and Kryil.

"One more left," Kyril murmurs, quietly. "Should you wish me to look at the crystals now," he adds, "I am currently on duty."

Aram says "I got it."

Gyles looks over at the sorter. "Would you happen to know if Tamber is on duty tonight?"
Gyles quietly repacks his cut into the larger storage cartons, grouped by color, one black, one blue, noting the few flaws he'll have to attend to.

Kyril gapes. He then clears his throat, several times. "You mean you've not heard, Singer?" The sorter takes several breaths. "Sorter Tamber, along with several other guild members, died in an unfortunate shuttle accident some months ago."

Gyles pauses, carton of blue in hand, and squints tiredly at the sorter. "What are you talking about? What accident? You're joking, right?"

Kyril's face is a mask of sorrow. "Believe me," he m murmurs quietly, "I wish I /were/ joking. Tamber is dead. So are many others. Singer Edwin, Sledtech Jerrik, several others. One of the big shuttles bringing them back from Passover," he continues, grasping for words, "the retros failed. All hands were lost."

Aram nods. "Gyles You mean you don't remember?"

Gyles stands where he is, carton forgotten, a growing sense of horror appearing in his eyes. "I didn't hear. I've been in the ranges for months. Oh, damn." He blinks, and looks at Aram a moment, nearly overwhelmed. "I never knew." He looks back at the sorter. "Tamber, and Jerrick both? What about Kevlan, the singer they traveled with?"

"I'm...sorry," Kyril murmurs, his voice soft. "It must be a terrible blow to you to hear this just back from a trip out." Absently running a hand over his arm, he continues. "It's my understanding that Singer Kevlan Sharr is with his wife, on her home world." A pause. "He wasn't in the shuttle," he adds, gently.

Gyles remembers the carton he's holding, finally, and places it back on the table. "Well. Is there a report on this I can read somewhere? Find out what happened, who else was on it I might know?" He glances at Aram again, relieved to know that someone in his class is safe, anyway.

"I believe," Kyril murmurs, looking at the cartons for a brief moment, "that there's a full report available on the administrative level. As well as a list of casualties."

Aram looks at his wrist unit. "Shit just my timing. I need to go rescue some one from out in the rages." Aram heads through the automatic door into the chaos of the Hangar.

Gyles nods, news of an actual report on level 5 an unwelcome addition to the growing dread the singer feels. If there is a report, it follows there really was a crash. Damn. He shakes his head to clear it of fatigue and blinks as Aram departs through the door. Some things never change. "Well." He looks at his two cartons, hesitates, and shrugs. Another hour won't change whatever the truth is. "Let's get these sorted, then." Typical Singer.

Kyril nods after Aram as he departs for the hangar. And then looks sympathetically at Gyles. "I truly am sorry. I only knew Tamber slightly. He was one of the best." Silent again for a moment, he bends to retrieve the other carton. "Shall we go to the first table?"
Kyril picks up the carton, holding it securely to his chest.

Gyles winces. Tamber's table, during his shift. Damn. It must be true. "Yeah, right. Where ever," he mutters dispiritedly. "Let's just get this stuff sold so I can go soak."
Gyles slings his cutter over one shoulder and takes the carton back from the table, waiting for the sorter to lead.

Kyril nods solemnly. "Of course, Singer,' he says, voice quiet. "If you'll just follow me."
Kyril heads into the relative quiet of cargo storage. Gyles pads along behind the sorter as they pass through cargo storage and into the bustle of the main sorting area.

1st Table Area
The line here is long, giving plenty of opportunity for scrutiny of your surroundings. The table here as well as the computer is nondescript. Around you Singers and handlers wait their turns for the sorter's attention. After what seems an eternity the sorter turns toward you and reaches for the cartons.
Contents:
Kyril
Sorting Table
Obvious exits:
Out

Kyril slowly sets the carton down. "Shall I begin with this one?" he asks, all business.

Gyles joins the sorter at Table 1, and eyes its new surface and equipment. More unwelcome evidence Gyles doesn't want to see right now. He puts the carton down and uses it for a seat. "Yeah," he waves a hand vaguely, "That's the black crystal. An octave and two chords. I probably need to trim flaw."

Kyril sets the carton down with care.
Kyril opens Storage Carton - Gyles Label: Black and looks inside. Kyril carefully lifts each of the 17 crystals out. He arranges them reverently on the sorting table.

Carefully placing the crystals into their bracket, Kyril lets the lens slide over them as he examines them. "Beautiful cutting," he murmurs. "Let me take a close look here."

Gyles sits where he is, numb with fatigue, and a vague emotional shock his stoic personality is having trouble identifying. "Yeah," he agrees idly, not watching the sorter work at all but staring out into the rest of the sorting facility.

Kyril gives a brief nod. "Yes, two of the very small blacks have slight flaws in them. They'd fetch better value if the flaws were cut out." Blinking, he looks over to Gyles, red film gone from his eyes, expression one of compassion. "Would you like to recut the two crystals yourself? The large grouping could be sorted and sold right now."

Gyles finally turns to look at the table and the crystals on its surface. "What did you pick out? I was trying for an octave but couldn't manage it."

<Look Kyril>
This man projects an aura of elegance. Kyril's raven-black hair is cut short and carefully styled, with one forelock occasionally dropping down into his eyes. His lean, muscled body just exceeds six and a half feet. A sabre scar marks the man's left cheek, adding character to his high, sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw, and aquiline nose. These are set off by his deep blue, crystal clear eyes and his full lips which are, more often than not, twisted in a sardonic smile. Kyril is dressed in starkly elegant clothes. A black shirt, close-fitting, outlines his muscular arms and torso while the matching trousers set off his long legs. A belt and boots, also of black complete his ensemble.

Kyril looks at the crystals, red film flicking over his eyes again. "You've got a large five-chord, unflawed." He looks more closely. "And enough for a very small octave. And a tiny chord."

Gyles peers at it, blinking, and nods. "Well, pack up what needs to be trimmed and I'll handle it now. Sell what you can, before the market changes on me, eh?"

Kyril carefully repacks several of the crystals. "There," he states. "The smalls and the tinies don't need to be retouched, though you could recut the smalls if you wanted. There are only two with flaws."

Kyril says "The large five chord I could sort right now."

Gyles nods, "Please do." He stands there, the repacked crystals cradled in one arm, watching the sorter work. Trying to ignore the fact this was Tamber's table, who always sorted this singer's black crystal.

Kyril looks up. "3744 for the large four-chord. Would you like to sell?"

Gyles eyes the total thoughtfully. It barely dents the hole in his credit balance. "Of course."

Total value of crystals is: 3744. Taking into consideration the 30% Guild tithe, 2620 will be credited to Gyles's account.

The crystal is quickly packed and removed by Heptite Guild workers, as the computer voice says "Transaction complete. Sorting computer reset."

Kyril gestures to the second storage carton. "There is another of the blacks to be grouped with the rest. It doesn't need to be recut, however. And can remain here. Would you like me to look at the others?" he asks, gesturing with a hand to the carton the Singer is sitting on.

Gyles nods and stands.
Gyles gestures at the carton of flawed blacks. "I'll go handle these while you do those blues."

You pick up the carton. You feel an odd, pleasant tingling run down your spine. You notice a stamp on the side of the carton.

Kyril reaches for the carton of blues and nods. "Of course, Singer. I'll do my work with these quickly. And await your return."

Gyles eyes the table another moment, then turns and wanders out toward level eight. He carries the carton and his cutter along and spends a short time on level eight removing the flaws from the cut.

Gyles rejoins the sorter at the table, placing the carton on the floor and again using it as a resting spot.

Kyril sets several crystals into a carton, which he then sets aside. "The blues," he says, with a smile, "would fetch a higher price if they, too, were recut, Singer."

Gyles nods, looking more and more tired, but shrugs it off. "I expected that. The thing was full of storm damage."

An expression of distaste comes over Kyril's face, and he nods. "Understandable," he murmurs. "There have been several bad storms of late. There's a single here, and a tiny, neither of which really stand with others. And another large, which has a flaw in it. Would you like me to set the flawed large blue in with the others and sell the two singles?"

Gyles studies the table's collection of blue. "Not if it degrades a set."

Kyril says "It could be cut down to a tiny, and complete a 5-chord. Or sold as is." The red film falls away, and Kyril looks up. "Which is your preference?""

Gyles asks the standard singer question. "Which brings the best price?

Kyril punches a few keys on the keyboard near him. "The better price would be to sell it with the flaw. Or to cut it down and sell as a small single. There's not a great variance in price, however."

Gyles waves tiredly. "Then sell it now. The less I have to recut now, the better."

Kyril nods, and turns back to the crystals still on the table.

Gyles watches owlishly, feeling less and less stable but forcing himself to stand solidly, cheating by leaning one hip against the edge of the table.

Looking up, Kyril murmurs, "Seventy-one for the three singles. Shall I sell and then look at the recut blacks?" He pauses, brows knitting in concern. "Singer, are you in need of assistance?"

Gyles blinks. "Sell them, yeah." He looks up a moment, meeting the sorter's red gaze, then looking away. "I'm fine," he lies. "Please look at the black."

Gyles doesn't look very impressed by that total, but shrugs it off, knowing he's spoiled by better pricing.

As he reaches for the carton holding the black, Kyril gives the Singer a long look. "You don't look fine,' he says. "But I shall endeavor to hurry through the rest."

Kyril opens Storage Carton - Gyles Label: black octave and looks inside. The sorter arranges the group on the table.

Kyril's eyes light up as he punches the evaluation button after carefully, reverently placing the blacks in their brackets. "7776 for the octave, Singer. There's a single. Shall I put it on the table and sell at the same time?"

Gyles nods approvingly, hip still planted firmly against the edge of the table. "Yeah, if it doesn't fit a group anywhere." Gyles waves vaguely toward cargo. "I sent the other carton there."

Kyril nods. "I'll go get the other carton, then," he says, quickly raising up from his scanning of the black. "One moment."

Kyril opens Storage Carton - Gyles Label: 4 chord and looks inside. Kyril carefully lifts each of the 4 crystals out. He arranges them reverently on the sorting table.
Kyril labels this group of crystals and sets it aside. Total value now: 7776.

Kyril shakes his head. "Only if you felt like recutting it to a tiny in a different note."

Gyles hasn't budged from his spot at the end of the table. "It's a black?" he asks, clearly not paying coherent attention to much at this point.

Kyril nods. "Actually, let me look at it again." Kyril smiles. "There," he says. "It completes a 5-chord with the tinies."

The display on the computer lights up, showing the value 936.

Gyles waves vaguely toward the total display, "Then sell them, please."

Kyril punches the necessary buttons. "The total, after tithe, is 6098 credits, Singer. Do you wish to recut the blues? Or shall I send them down to tuning?"

Gyles squints at the cartons. "Very pale isn't worth much anyway. Go ahead have have tuning do it." He scrubs at his face with his left hand. "I don't feel up to it right now. Black is too tiring."

Kyril nods, slowly, straightening up and carefully turning off the computer. "Of course, Singer,' he says, inclining his head. "My sincere apologies on having been the bearer of such unhappy tidings earlier. Is there anything else I can do to assist you?"

Gyles frowns slightly at the further reminder of the losses. "No," he sighs, "That's it. Is there anything else I need to do?" This singer is so tired he's hardly thinking straight. "You sold the black, right?"

Kyril shakes his head. "No," he says quickly, "I'll take care of the rest. And the black is indeed sold." Pausing a moment, the sorter asks, "Do you need assistance in reaching your quarters? Or a medic?"

Gyles shakes his head and pushes himself away from the table. "No, I'm fine," he mutters. "I'm just tired." And upset, though he doesn't voice this.

Kyril nods, slowly. "Very well, Singer," he says quietly. "Rest well. And well sung."

Gyles covers a wince at the 'well sung', and nods, turning wordlessly to wobble away toward the lifts, and level 5, to see for himself.

Administration Foyer

Plush red carpet speckled with gold fibers runs from wall to wall, muffling the sound of footsteps to a dull thud for the most enthusiastic stepper. A crystal chandelier lights the room with a soft incandescent glow, soothing to the eyes and more relaxing than the harsh glare of fluorescent bulbs. The walls have been tinted a soft ivory which shades toward cream. The soft color also lends to the comforting atmosphere of the room. A circle of low-slung armchairs ring a round coffee table in one corner, giving the sense that the Guild conducts business out here on occasion.

A wing of offices leads off to the north while in the east is the Guild Master's Office. Directly opposite the Guild Master's office, to the west, is the lift area.
Obvious exits:
GuildMaster Office Wing Lift
Viewable items in this area:
passenger list

To: All Members of the Heptite Guild
From: Maxwell Farantine, Guildmaster

This is the passenger list from the tragic shuttle collision of just before Passover. Notifying next of kin took longer than I anticipated but the task is finally complete. Here are the names of the Guildmembers we lost:

Akili, Sorter
Antonya, Tuner
Aric, Sorter
Chestra, Sorter
Craven, Meditech
Darkling, Sledtech
Dominique, Sorter
Elyaida, Meditech
Ender, Meterology
Jerrick, Sledtech
Jovan, Supplier
Juliana, Tuner
Kalere, Sorter
Kennard, Meditech
Malron, Sledtech
Matachin, Meditech
Melin, Singer
Mia, Sorter
Modarale, Tuner
Peter, Sledtech
Slade, Singer
Spolar, Sledtech
Sylence, Meditech
Tamale, Sledtech
Tamber, Sorter
Tasmin, Meditech

Anyone with questions concerning this list or any pending Memorials should contact my office. Thank you for your patience and understanding during this trying time.

Gyles stands there for several minutes, studying the list numbly, matching up names with people he knows. Or used to know. At least he doesn't spot any classmates on it. Damn damn damn. Antonya, Jerrick, Malron, Spolar, Tamber, Tasmin. Finally Gyles rubs his eyes tiredly and turns to stumble his way down to his own flat and his radiant tank.

You shed your clothes on the bed and walk into the alcove.

Sunken Tub Alcove
This room continues the soothing color scheme of the bedroom, but it's barely big enough to contain the radiant tub. Contents:
Radiant Bath
Obvious exits:

Gyles wearily slides into the radiant fluid and lies there, falling quickly into sleep.