Robin Hood he would and to fair Nottingham,

their sense. The sentence, and the voice, echoed in her mind as if spoken in a tunnel. At the softest repetition, comprehension returned. The voice was Antonas, the Chief Medical Officer of the Heptite Guild. Sensation returned then, but sensation was limited to feeling something under her chin and a restraint about her shoulders. The rest of her body was deprived of feeling. Killashandra twitched convulsively and felt the viscous resistance of radiant fluid. She was immersed that explained the need for chin support and the shoulder restraint. Opening her eyes, she was not surprised to find herself in the tank room of the Infirmary. Beyond her were several more such tanks, two occupied, judging by the heads visible above the rims. So, youve rejoined us, Killashandra! How long have you been soaking me, Antona? Antona glanced at a display on the tank. Thirty-two hours and nineteen rinses. Antona shook a warning finger at Killashandra. Dont push yourself like this, Killa. Youre stretching your symbionts resources. Abuses like this now can cause degeneration problems later on. And its later on you really need protection. Remember that! A mirthless smile crossed Antonas classic features. If you can. Well, at least put it in your memory banks when you get back to your room, she added, with a sigh for the vagaries of singer recall. When can I get up? Killashandra began to writhe in the tank, testing her limbs and the general response of her body. Antona shrugged, tapping out a code on the terminal of the tank. Oh, anytime now. Pulse and pressure readouts strong. Head clear? Yes. Antona pressed a stud and the chin support and shoulder harness released Killashandra. She caught the side of the tank, and Antona handed her a long robe. Do I need to tell you to eat? Killashandra grinned wryly. No. My stomach knows Im awake and its rumbling. Youve lost nearly two kilos, you know. Can you remember when you last ate? Antonas voice and eyes were sharp with annoyance. No use asking, is it? Not the least bit. Killashandra replied blithely as she climbed out of the tank, the radiant fluid sheeting off her body, leaving her skin smooth and soft. She pulled the robe on. Antona held up a hand to balance her down the five steps. How much crystal resonance do you experience now? Antona poised her fingers above the tanks digital camera what is small terminal. Killashandra listened attentively to the noise between her ears. Only a faint trace! Her breath escaped her lips in a sigh of relief. Lanzecki said that you cut enough to go off-world. Killashandra frowned. He said something else, too. But I forget what. Something important, though, Killashandra knew. Hell probably tell you again in good time. Get up to your quarters and get some food into you. Antona gave Killashandras shoulder an admonitory squeeze before she turned away to check on the other patients. As Killashandra made her way up from the Infirmary level, deep in the bowels of the Guild Complex, she puzzled over the memory lapse. She had been reassured that most singers had several decades of unimpaired recall before memory deteriorated, but no fast rule determined the onset. She had been lucky enough to have a Milekey Transition ending in full adaptation to Ballybrans spore, an adaptation that was necessary for those inhabiting the planet Ballybran. That kind of Transition held many benefits, not the least of which was avoiding the rigors of Transition Fever, and was purported to include a longer span of unimpaired memory. In this one instance, she could, perhaps, legitimately blame fatigue. As the lift door opened on the deserted lobby of the main singer level, not a singer was in sight. The storm had blown itself out. She paused to glance through to the dining area and saw only one lone diner. Pulling the robe more tightly about her, she hurried down the corridor to the blue quadrant and her apartment. The first thing she did was call up her credit balance, and felt the knot that had been tightening in her belly dissolve as the figures 12,790 rippled onto the screen. She regarded the total for a long moment, then tapped out the all-important query: how far away from Ballybran would that sum take her? The names of four systems were displayed. Her stomach rumbled. She shifted irritably in her chair and asked for details of the amenities in each system. The replies were not exciting. In each system the Terran-type planets were purely industrial or agricultural, having, at best, only conservative leisure facilities. From comments she had overheard, Killashandra gathered that because of their proximity the locals had seen quite enough of their neighbors from Ballybran and tended to be either credit crunchers or rude to the point of dueling offense. The only thing