“Guild do what?” Borton and Jezerey asked, joining the others.

“About dossers like her.” Shillawn nodded his head in Carigana's direction.

“What?” Jezerey asked, sliding into a lounger, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“Well, they can reduce her rations.”

Jezerey didn't think much of that discipline.

“And other amenities can be discontinued at random.”

“Such as?” Jezerey realized that Shillawn's face was contorted more by amusement than the effort to speak.

«Well, such as cold water instead of hot: the same with food. You know, the cold hot and the hot cold. Then the computer takes to making noises and shuffling the sleeping unit. Other furniture collapses when least expected, and, of course, the door doesn't always respond to your print. And,» Shillawn was warming to the delighted response of his audience «and since you have to print in for any meals, and it wouldn't be accepted» – he spread both arms wide and smirked again – «all sorts of insidious, uncomfortable, miserable things can happen.»

“How in the name of any holy did you get the computer to tell you that?” Killashandra demanded. Her request was seconded by the others.

“Didn't ask the computer,” Shillawn admitted, casting his eyes away from them. “I asked the supplier I worked with yesterday.”

Rimbol burst out laughing, slapping his thighs. “The best computer is still the human brain.”

“That's about all my supplier has left that's human,” Shillawn said in a disgusted tone of voice.

“And that's happening to Carigan?” Jezerey asked, her expression hopeful.

“Not yet, but it could if she keeps up. Meanwhile, she's two days in debt for bed and biscuits, and we're four ahead.”

"Yet Guild rules state – " Borton began.

«Sure» – and Rimbol chortled again – «but they haven't deprived someone of shelter or sustenance, just made them bloody hard to acquire or uncomfortable.»

“I dread the thought of a future as a stockist or a supplier,” Jezerey said, echoing the unspoken anxiety in everyone, judging by the gloom that settled over the quintet.

“Think positively,” Shillawn suggested with a slight stammer that impeded the advice. “We've been here eight days now.”

“Well, we ought to know fairly soon,” Rimbol said. “We've been here eight days now.”

“Almost nine.” Shillawn's correction was automatic.

“Tomorrow?” Jezerey's voice held a tinge of horror.

“Could be much longer than ten days if I remember what Borella said about the incubation period,” Shillawn reassured her in a mock cheerful tone.

"That's enough, friend " Killashandra said firmly, and drained her beaker. "Let us eat, drink, and be merry – "

“For tomorrow we die?” Rimbol's eyebrows shot upward.

“I don't intend to die,” Killashandra replied. and ordered a double beaker of Yarran beer for herself and Rimbol.

They had quite a few refills before they went to bed together. As Killashandra woke in her own room, she assumed they'd ended up there, but Rimbol was gone. The light was far too brilliant for her eyes, and she dimmed the plasglas on the unshuttered windows. After the storm and its attendant hard labor, it was pleasant to look out on the hills. She scoffed at herself for missing 'a view.' The rain must have encouraged growth, for vivid reddish-purple blooms tinged the slopes, and the gray-green vegetation was brighter. Doubtless she would grow to love the seasonal changes of Ballybran. Until she'd gone with Carrik to see the sights of Fuerte, she hadn't quite appreciated natural scenery, too accustomed to the holograms used in performances.

Carigana was the first person she saw as she entered the lounge. Killashandra hoped the day would improve from that point. The space worker had an ability to ignore people, so that Killashandra was not obliged to acknowledge her presence. The woman's obstinacy annoyed her. No one had forced her to apply to the Heptite Guild.

The recruits were laggard, and by the time all had assembled, Tukolom was clearly impatient.

"Much to be done is this day," he said. "Basic lessons delayed have been – "

“Well, it will be a relief to sit and relax,” someone said from the center of the group.

“Relax is not thinking, and thought must earnest be,” Tukolom replied, his eyes trying to find the irreverent. “Geography today's study is. All of Ballybran. When adjusted you are, another continent may you be sent to.”

Carigana's exaggerated sigh of resignation was echoed by others, though Tukolom stared only at her for such a public display of insolence. Carigana's vocabulary of monosyllables punctuated Tukolom's fluid explanations throughout the morning until someone hissed at her to stop it.

Whoever had organized the lecture material had had a sense of humor, and though Killashandra wagered with herself that Tukolom could not have been aware of the amusing portions of his rote discourse, she, and others, waited for these leavening phrases. The humor often emphasized the more important aspects of the lessons. Tukolom might be reciting what he had patiently learned or switching mental frames in an eidetic review, but he had also learned to pace his delivery. Knowing the strain of uninterrupted speaking, Killashandra was also impressed by his endurance.

“I wouldn't mind farming in North Ballinteer,” Rimbol confided in her as they ate lunch during the midday break. “Nice productive life, snow sports in the winter . . .”

Killashandra stared at him. “Farmer?”

“Sure, why not? That'd be meters ahead of being a supplier! Or a sorter. Out in the open . . .”

“In mach storms?”

“You heard your geography lesson. The produce areas are 'carefully situated at the edge of the general storm belts or can be shielded at need'.” Rimbol imitated Tukolom's voice and delivery well, and Killashandra had to laugh.

That was when she saw a group moving together with a menacing deliberation, closing off one corner and its lone occupant. Noting her preoccupation, Rimbol swiveled and cursed under his breath.

“I knew it.” He swung out of his chair.

“Why bother, Rimbol? She deserves it.”

“She can t help being the way she is. And I thought you were so big on Privacy on your world. On mine, we don't permit those odds.”

Killashandra had to accede to the merit of that reply and joined him.

"What do I care about that?" Carigana's strident voice rose above the discreet murmur addressed to her by the group's leader. "And why should you? Any of you? They're only biding their time until we get sick. Nothing matters until then, not all your cooperation or attention or good manners or volunteering" – and her scorn intensified – to clean up messes in sleds. Not me! I had a pleasant day – What?" She snapped her head about to the questioner. "Debit?" She tossed her head back and laugher raucously. "They can take it out of my hide – later. Right now, I can get anything I want from stores. If you had any intelligence, you'd do the same thing and forget that stuffed mudhead – "

“You helped unload crystal . . .” Killashandra heard Jezerey's voice.

«Sure I did. I wanted to see this crystal, just like everyone else . . . Only» – and her tone taunted them – «I also got wise. They'll work you at every mean, disagreeable, dirty grind they've got until the spore gets you. Nothing will matter after that except what you're good for.»

“And what do you expect to be good for?” Jezerey demanded.

“Crystal Singer, like everyone else!” Carigana's expression mocked them for the ambition. “One thing sure. I won't be sorting or supplying or mucking in mud or . . . You play along like good cooperative contributing citizens. I'll do what I choose while I still have eyes and ears and a mind that functions properly.”

She rose quickly, pushing herself through the unsympathetic crowd, then pounded down the corridor to her room. The red light flashed on.