Noises, too, assaulted Killashandra. Despite thick sound deadening walls, she recognized one voice.

“Rimbol!” She twisted to the right and was opening the door before Antona could stop her.

The young Scartine, his back arched in a convulsion, was being held to the bed by two strong meditechs. A third was administering a spray to Rimbol's chest. In the two days since she had seen him, he had lost weight, turned an odd shade of soft yellow, and his face was contorted by the frenzy that gripped his body.

“Not all have an easy time,” Antona said, taking her by the arm.

“Easy time!” Killashandra resisted Antona's attempt to draw her from the room. “The fax said satisfactory. Is this condition considered satisfactory?”

Antona regarded Killashandra. «Yes, in one respect, his condition is satisfactory – he's maintaining his own integrity with the symbiont. A massive change is occurring physically: an instinctive rejection on his part, a mutation of the symbiont's. The computers prognosis gives Rimbol an excellent chance of making a satisfactory adjustment.»

“But . . .” Killashandra couldn't drag her eyes from Rimbol's writhing body. “Will I go like that, too?”

Antona ducked her head, hiding her expression, an evasion that irritated Killashandra.

“I don't think that you will, Killashandra, so don't fret. The results of the latest scan must be analyzed, but my initial reading indicates a smooth adaptation. You'll be the first to know otherwise. Scant consolation, perhaps, but you would barge in here.”

Killashandra ignored the rebuke. “Have you computed how long he'll be like that?”

“Yes, another day should see him over the worst of the penetration.”

“And Jezerey?”

Antona looked blankly at Killashandra. «Oh, the girl who collapsed in the hangar yesterday? She's fine – I amend that.» Antona smiled conciliatorily. «She is suffering from a predictable bout of hyperthermia at the moment and is as comfortable as we can make her.»

“Satisfactory, in fact?” Killashandra was consumed by bitterness for that misleading category but allowed Antona to lead her out of Rimbol's room.

“Satisfactory in our terms and experience, yes. There are degrees, you must understand, of severity with which the symbiont affects the host and with which the host rejects the symbiont.” Antona shrugged. “If we knew all the ramifications and deviations, it would be simple to recruit only those candidates with the requisite chromosomes. It isn't that simple, though our continuous research gets closer and closer to defining exact parameters.” She gave Killashandra another of her warm smiles. “We're much better at selection than we used to be.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know how lucky you are. And to hope that you'll continue so fortunate. I work generally with self treating patients, since I find the helpless depress me. Here we are.”

Antona opened a door at the end of the corridor and started to retrace her steps. Killashandra caught her arm.

“But Rimbol? I could see him?”

Another expressive shrug. “If you wish. Your belongings will be along shortly. Go settle in,” she said more kindly. “Program the air conditioner and rest. There's nothing more to be done now. I'll inform you of the analysis as soon as I have the results.”

“Or I'll inform you,” Killashandra said with wry humor.

“Don't dwell on the possibility,” Antona advised her.

Killashandra didn't. The room, the third she'd had in as many weeks, was designed for ease in dealing with patients, though all paraphernalia was absent. The lingering odors of illness seeped in from the hall, and the room seemed to generate antiseptic maskers. It took Killashandra nearly an hour to find a pleasant counter odor with which to refresh her room. In the process, she learned how to intercept fax updates on the conditions of the other patients. Never having been ill or had occasion to visit a sick friend, she didn't have much idea of what the print out meant, but as the patients were designated by room number, she could isolate Rimbol's. His monitor showed more activity than the person in the next room, but she couldn't bring herself to find out who his neighbor was.

That evening, Antona visited her room, head at a jaunty angle, the warm smile on her face.

“The prognosis is excellent. There'll be no fever. We are keeping you on a few days just to be on the safe side. An easy transition is not always a safe one.” A chime wiped the smile from her face. “Ah, another patient. Excuse me.”

As soon as the door closed, Killashandra turned on the medical display. At the bottom, a winking green line warned of a new admission. That was how Killashandra came to see Borton being wheeled into the facility. The following day, Shillawn was admitted. The fax continued to display “satisfactory” after everyone's condition. She supposed she agreed, having become fascinated with the life-signal graphs until the one on Rimbol's neighbor unexpectedly registered nothing at all.

Killashandra ran down the hall. The door of the room was open, and half a dozen technicians could be seen bent over the bed. Antona wasn't among them, but Killashandra caught a glimpse of Carigana's wide-eyed face.

Whirling, she stormed into the chief medic's office. Antona was hunching over an elaborate console, her hands graceful even in rapid motion on the keys.

“Why did Carigana die?” Killashandra demanded.

Without looking up from the shifting lights of the display, Antona spoke. “You have privileges in this Guild, Killashandra Ree, but not one gives you the right to disturb a chief of any rank. Nor me at this time. I want to know why she died more than you possibly could!”

Rightly abashed, Killashandra left the office. She hurried back to her room, averting her eyes as she passed the open door to Carigana's. She was ashamed of herself, for she didn't genuinely care that Carigana was dead, only that she had died. The space worker had really been an irritant, Killashandra thought candidly. Death had been a concept dealt with dramatically in the Music Center, but Carigana was Killashandra's first contact with that reality. Death could also happen to her, to Rimbol, and she would be very upset if he died. Even if Shillawn died.

How long Killashandra sat watching the life-signs' graphs, trying to ignore the discontinued one, she did not know. A courteous rap on the door was immediately followed by Antona's entrance, and her weary expression told Killashandra that quite a few hours must have passed. Antona leaned against the door frame, expelling a long sigh.

"To answer your question – ''

"I apologize for my behavior – "

“We don't know why Carigana died,” Antona went on, inclining her head to accept the apology. “I have a private theory with no fact to support it. An intuition, if you will that the desire to be acceptable, to surrender to the symbiont is as necessary to the process of adjustment as the physical stamina, which Carigana had, and those chromosomes which we have established as most liable to produce a favorable adaptation. You did want to become a Crystal Singer very much, didn't you?”

“Yes, but so do the others.”

“Do they? Do they really?” Antona's tone was curiously wistful.

Killashandra hesitated, only too aware of the inception of her own desire to become a Crystal Singer. If Antona's theory held any merit, Killashandra should also be dead, certainly not so blatantly healthy.

“Carigana didn't like anything. She questioned everything,” Killashandra said, drawn to give Antona what comfort she could. “She didn't have to become a Crystal Singer.”

«No, she could have stayed in space.» Antona smiled thinly, pushed herself away from the wall, and then saw the graphs on the display. «So that's how you knew. Well» – and she tapped the active graph in the left-hand corner – «that's your friend, Rimbol. He's more than just satisfactory now. The others are proceeding nicely. You can pack your things. I've no medical reason to keep you here longer. You'll be far better off learning the techniques of staying alive in your profession, my dear, than sitting death watch here. Officially, you're Lanzecki's problem now. Someone's coming for you.»