“I don't think I've worked this hard since I was a kid on my father's fishing trawler,” Borton continued. “And fishing on Argma is done in the oooold-fashioned way.”

“Which is why you studied spaceflight?” asked Killashandra.

“Too right.”

“Well. you're slaving again.” said Jezerey, fatigue making her sullen.

“But we're Guild members,” Rimbol mocked her.

“Reducing our initial debt,” Shillawn added with a sigh of relief.

“All green and go!”

At Rimbol's quip, they reached the top of the ramp and the lounge. Rimbol made drinking motions to Killashandra, smiling wistfully.

“Not until I'm clean, really clean!”

“Me, too,” Jezerey said, her whole body giving way to a shudder.

They all made for their private quarters. Carigana's red-lit door caught Killashandra's gaze as she passed it.

“Don't worry about her, Killa. She's trapped by more than just the Guild,” Rimbol said, taking her elbow to move her on.

“I'm not sorry for her,” Killashandra replied, obscurely annoyed by herself and Rimbol's remark.

“No one's ever sorry about anything here,” Shillawn commented almost sadly. “No one thanks anyone. No one has good manners at all.”

This was very true, Killashandra thought as she wallowed in steaming – hot, scented water, scouring the stench of the day's labors from body and breath.

The matter of debt stuck in her mind, and the old supplier's obsession with it. She pulled the console before her as she lay languidly on her bed after her bath.

Suppliers earned more than caterer's assistants. And bonuses for speedy completion of their duty. She tapped for her own account and discovered that her labors were covering her living expenses and eating away at the shuttle fare. If she got double time for the next day and perhaps a speed bonus, she'd be clear of debt. It was only then that she remembered the two Guild vouchers. If she submitted them, she might even be able to pay for whatever equipment her post symbiosis rank required. A soothing thought. To be one step ahead of the Guild. Was that what prompted the supplier?

Out of curiosity, she asked for a roster of the Guild in rank order. It began with Lanzecki, Guild Master, then the chiefs of Control, Marketing, and Research, and the names of active Singers followed. That information wasn't in the form Killashandra wanted. She thought a moment and then asked for enlistment order. Barry Milekey was the first member of the Guild. The names, with the planet of origin, rolled past on the display. They must all be dead, she thought, and wondered that no such notation was made. Once a Crystal Singer, always a Crystal Singer? No, some of these must have been support personnel. If Borella's statistics were to be believed since the rate of adaptability to the symbiont spore had been low in the early days of the Guild. What did surprise her was that nearly every planet of the Federated Sentient Planets inhabited by her life form was represented on the Guild roster. Several planets had more than a fair share, but they were heavily populated worlds. There were even two Fuertans. That was an eye opener. What the listing did not show was when they had joined the Guild. The names must be listed in order of membership, for it was certainly not alphabetical. Borella's name flashed by, then Malaine's and Carrik's. She wondered if Enthor's had passed already but, on cue, his appeared. He originated from Hyperion one of the first planets settled in Alpha Proxima in the Great Surge of exploration and evaluation that forced the organization of the Federated Sentient Planets. Was he younger than Borella, Malaine, or Carrik? Or had he joined as an older man? And the supplier, who wouldn't admit to a name – when had he joined? She shuddered. Sorter aptly fitted Anthor's skill, whereas supplier was a glamorous title for a job that could have been done mechanically and wasn't. Cutter, applied to a Crystal Singer, certainly didn't imply the rank the designation commanded.

She flipped off the console. Computers hadn't changed all that much since their invention; one still had to know what question to ask even the most sophisticated system. The Guild's tremendous data banks, using Ballybran crystals with their naturally structured synapse like formation, stored data nonvolatilely for indefinite retention, but Killashandra was far more adept at finding obscure composers and performers than galactic conundrums.

Later. she joined the others in the lounge for a few drinks, wondering if Shillawn had fathomed any startling interpretations from his time with the data banks. He was far too involved in figuring out a mechanical means of cleansing the sleds, and Killashandra was glad when Rimbol tapped her arm and winked.

“I think I'm too tired for much, Killa,” he said as they reached his room, “but I'd like my arms around something warm, friendly, and in my decade.”

Killashandra grinned at him. “My sentiments entirely. Can your account stand a Yarran beer?”

“And one for you, too,” he replied, deliberately misinterpreting her.

They slept soundly and in harmony as if, indeed, the company kept was mutually beneficial. When the computer woke them, they ate heartily, without much conversation but still in accord, and then reported to the hangar officer. As they were the first to arrive, the man looked with some anxiety back up the ramp.

“They'll be along,” Rimbol told him.

“I've got sleds that must be ready by midday. You two start with these. Other numbers will come up on the display boards when I find out which flaming Singers will lift their asses out of the racks today.”

Killashandra and Rimbol hurried off, hoping to be out of his range if the other volunteers didn't arrive. They had cleaned and stocked eight sleds by midday. Numbers had disappeared periodically from the display, so Killashandra and Rimbol knew that other recruits had gone to work.

Almost at the stroke of 1200 hours, raised voices, echoing in the vastness of the hangar, warned Killashandra and Rimbol of the influx.

“I don't like the tone of that,” she said, giving a final swipe to the cutter brackets on the sled they had just readied.

“Sound of angry mob in the distance,” Rimbol said, and pulling her arm, urged her into the stock rooms and behind a half-empty section where they had a view of the rack beyond them as well as the hangar entrance.

Bangs, curses, metallic slammings, and the thud of plastic resounded. Drive motors started, too fast for such an enclosed space, Rimbol told Killashandra. She plugged her fingers in her ears. Rimbol grimaced at one particularly loud screech and followed her example. The exodus didn't take long, but Killashandra was wide-eyed at the piloting and wondered that the Singers didn't collide with such antics. As abruptly as the commotion had started, it ended. The final sled had veered off to the Brerrerton Ranges.

“We did eight sleds?” Rimbol asked Killashandra. “That's enough at double time. Let's go. I've had enough!”

When they reached the lounge, it was empty. Carigana's door was red-lit and closed. Rimbol still held Killashandra's hand. Now he pulled her toward him, and she swayed against his lean body.

“I'm not tired now. Are you?”

Killashandra was not. Rimbol had a way about him, for all his ingenuousness and deceivingly innocent appearance, that was charmingly irresistible. She knew that he counted on this appeal, but as he didn't disappoint and gave no evidence of possessiveness, she complied willingly. He was like his Yarran beer, cool, with a good mouth and a pleasant after taste: satisfying without filling.

They joined the others as they straggled back to the lounge, consoling themselves for their scraped and solution withered fingers with thoughts of the double credits accruing to their accounts.

“You know what the Guild can do, though?” Shillawn began, seating himself opposite Rimbol and Killashandra. He swallowed and then sipped at his own drink in quick gulps.