She snatched an ampoule from the medic's pack, smashed it against the table, and, to the horrified astonishment of those in the room, deliberately gouged her forearm with a shard of the broken glass. The lacerations were satisfactorily long and bled profusely.

"A monster that heals in minutes," Killa said, holding out her arm so that all could see how quickly the symbiont worked to stem blood flow and repair tissue. "Sign!" she said to the parents in her most imperious tone. "You've got thirty seconds before I leave . . . without her and her last chance to live."

It didn't take Dian Fiske-Ulass that long to reach for the document and scrawl her signature. She held the stylus out to her husband. "What other chance has Donalla got?" she cried.

"None," the medic said firmly, and closed her lips over whatever else she would have added.

With a shrug of angry resignation, the governor took the stylus and scribbled his name, illegible, but embellished with rather fancy amendments. "There! You've taken my only daughter from me."

"And you're governor of Fuerte?" Killa asked with contempt and then turned to the medic. "Let's get her aboard the shuttle. The Guild Master sent his personal craft." She shot a jaundiced look at Fiske-Ulass.

The others trailed after the float, Dian beginning to sob, the governor trying to recover his public image by appearing sternly resolved.

As soon as the pilot saw them in the corridor, he moved forward to take the front end of the float from Killa, who gently took the other position from the medic.

"Give me your code and I'll let you know the outcome," she told her.

The medic jerked her head back at the retinue. "They're all staying on the station until . . ."

Killashandra snorted. "Our head medic will communicate all details to you. What's your name?"

The medic gave her a very odd smile. "Hendra Ree."

"Ree? You're a relative?" When the medic nodded, her eyes dancing a bit, Killa went on, "So you knew I was here?"

"You're something of a family legend, and I mentioned you, and Ballybran's symbiont, to Donalla when her condition disimproved," the medic told her as they maneuvered the float into the shuttle.

"Legend?" Killashandra asked, surprised, for she hadn't expected her family to remember her at all, considering she had left the planet in the company of an infamous crystal singer. She strapped in the handles of the float.

"Even in today's sophisticated tech societies, legends have their place."

"No, sir, not even in shuttle," they could hear the pilot saying. "Not unless you want to stay. Shards, the air in here was processed on Ballybran. You're getting enough just saying your farewells."

Instantly the governor backed out, restraining his wife from setting foot over the threshold.

The medic gave a little snort, tugged to be sure the straps were secure, and then, in a swift movement, bent to kiss Donalla's cheek. "Good luck, kid!" she whispered.

Hendra turned slightly as she left the shuttle and gave Killa a good-luck sign and a broad grin. Was that what you did when you met a family legend? Killa wondered.

"Let's move it," Killashandra said, belting into her seat as the pilot slipped into the control chair.

As soon as he was released from the satellite dock, he contacted Heptite HQ, telling them to be ready to receive the terminally ill applicant.

The medical team was squeezing through the portal before it was fully dilated. As they angled the float out, Killashandra noticed the tear streaks down the sick girl's pallid face.

"You're okay, Donalla?" she asked.

The eyelids closed twice, each time squeezing out tear drops, oddly emphatic in a bizarre fashion.

"I'll keep in touch, kid!" Killa added as the medical team whisked the girl away to the waiting lift.

Donalla wouldn't be in the Infirmary, but in one of the candidate rooms until she became infected with the symbiosis. Killa hoped that it wouldn't take long for a body already weakened and stressed by illness. There was an aura of courage about Donalla that Killa respected, and she hoped that the girl's stupid, bias-ridden parents hadn't dallied away her last hope of life.

She nodded her thanks to the pilot and then strode to the nearest comunit, asking for Lars Dahl.

"You got her?"

"Let's hope in a timely fashion. She's pretty far gone."

Lars gave a grunt. "All the easier for the symbiont to get to work—according to Medical."

"By the way, being Fuertan was no help!" Killa grinned at his look of query. "Except for the medic."

"That's right, keep me guessing."

"It appears," Killa said with a chuckle, "I'm a family legend."

"And all the time you thought you were a black sheep," Lars replied with a suitably dour expression.

"All this time I thought I had been expunged from the Ree genealogy."

"Well, well! Life has its little surprises, does it not?"

"When one can remember them!"

Thinking that a legend ought to be compassionate or kindly or at least welcoming, Killashandra accompanied Donalla to her new quarters. Green-garbed medical personnel hovered, checking dials and hooking up remote life-support gear.

Presnol, the Guild's senior medical officer, huddled over the record printout, tsk-tsking, occasionally swearing, and looking extremely displeased with what he saw.

"Why do they leave it so late?"

"Miracles occur with every passing second," Killa said.

"Well, it's been left bloody late," Presnol repeated with a fierce scowl. "Why, her throat muscles aren't even strong enough to operate an implant. How does she communicate?"

"One blink is no, two are yes."

Presnol was clearly appalled. "What backwater planet spawned her?"

Killa grinned. "A mudball named Fuerte. However, there's not a thing wrong with her ears."

Presnol swore again, his skin darkening with embarrassment. Then his expression cleared to a thoughtful look. "Hmmm, I certainly hope the symbiont can do its trick. With her background, she'd be invaluable in the labs."

Lowering her voice, Killa asked, "How long before you see any transitional traces?"

"In her weakened state, it won't take long. It better not take long."

"Here, symbiont. Nice symbiont, come here please," Killa said in a discreet whisper, as if calling a recalcitrant animal, then grinned wickedly at Presnol.

"That's about it." Then Presnol went up to the float, his expression blandly friendly. "I'm Presnol Outerad, head medical officer. I've read your files, and there's every chance that, in your current state, the symbiont has already entered your system. We will know fairly soon, once it has had a chance to filter through your blood, but I hesitate to subject you to unnecessary phlebotomies. There are several degrees the Transition can take. Of that I must apprise you. I think we all hope—" and his gesture took in Killashandra—"that you enjoy one of the gentler forms." His grin was more friendly than professional. "I'd like to stay on in attendance if you don't object?"

Killa was relieved by Presnol's manner and explanations. But then Antona had trained him out of the false heartiness that some medical personnel affected. He was also dealing with someone medically trained, and the usual medic-patient interface would have been insulting. Her respect for Presnol rose. She saw Donalla blink firmly once.

"Very good. In your condition a monitor wouldn't be adequate. However, if you become aware of any increase in discomfort, a rapid eyelid motion will attract my instant attention. You could experience . . ." And as he began to enumerate the manifestations, Killa saw Lars at the doorway, watching the scene, his expression somber.

Deciding that Donalla couldn't be in better hands, Killa tiptoed away.