"0 what shall I do?" said Robin Hood then,

knew how much she treasured and admired him. But he had not heard her impassioned plea to the Court, and she doubted if I love you had been included in the hard copy of the hearing transcript. And he had other plans for the rest of his life. She frequently entertained the notion of returning to Optheria to see how he was getting on, even if she never made actual contact with him. He might have found another woman with whom he could share his life on Optheria. Sometimes she returned from the Ranges, full of determination to end her wretched half-life, one way or another. She had more than enough credit for a fiercely expensive galactic call: ironically through some of the black crystal she had herself cut. But would she reach Lars on Optheria? Maybe, once he had completed that disciplinary action and his subordination to the Federal investigation of Optheria, he had found another channel for his abilities and energies. Once he discovered his freedom to travel the stars, they might have won him from his love of the sea. At her most rational, she recognized all the ifs ands and buts as procrastinations. Yet, it was not exactly an unwillingness to chance her luck that restrained her: it was a deep and instinctive knowing that she must remain in this period of suspension for a while yet. That she had to wait. When the time was right, action would follow logically. She settled down to wait, and perfected the art. Youre in early, too, you know, Enthor was saying to her. Storm warnings only just gone out. Arent those good enough? Killashandra asked. No need to risk life and limb, is there? No, no, Enthor hastily assured her. Killashandra had, in fact, answered the storm warning her symbiont had given her. She was used to listening to it because it so often proved the most accurate sense she had. Youve enough here to spend a year on Maxim, Enthor went on with a sly sideways glance. You havent gone off in a long time, Killashandra. You should, you know. Killashandra shrugged her shoulders, glancing impassively at a credit line that would once have made her chortle in triumph. I dont have enough resonance to have to leave, she said tonelessly. Ill wait. Thanks, Enthor. Killa, if talking would help She looked down at the light hand the old Sorter had put on her arm, mildly surprised at the contact. His unexpected solicitude, the concern on his lined face nudged the digital camera power consumption olympus aa thick shell which encased her mind and spirit. She smiled slightly as she shook her head. Talking wouldnt help. But you were kind to offer. And he had been. Sorters and singers were more often at loggerheads than empathetic. The northeaster which her symbiont had sensed swept a fair number of singers in from the Ranges to the safety of the Complex. The lift, the hall, the corridors were crowded but she wended her way through, and no one spoke to her. She didnt exist for herself so she didnt exist for them. The screen in her quarters directed her to contact Antona. There usually was a message from the medical chief waiting for her. Antona kept trying to make a deeper contact. Ah, Killa, please come down to the infirmary, will you? Im not due for another physical? No. But I need you down here. Killashandra frowned. Antona looked determined and waited for Killashandras acquiescence. Let me change. Killashandra brushed at the filthy blouse of her shipsuit. Ill even give you time to bathe. Killashandra nodded, broke the connection and, unfastening the suit as she made her way to the hygiene room, switched on the taps. Though once fresh in from the Ranges she might have done, she didnt luxuriate in the steaming water. She made a quick but thorough bath, and put on the first clean clothes she found. Her hair, close crapped for convenience, dried by the time she reached the Infirmary Level. Her nostrils flared against the smell of sickness and fever, and the muffled sounds reminded her of her initial visit to Antonas preserve. A new class must be passing through adjustment to the Ballybran symbiont. Antona came out of her office, her color high with suppressed excitement. Thank you, Killa. Ive a Milekey Transition here whom Id like you to talk to reassure him. Hes positive theres something wrong. Her words came out in a rush, as she dragged Killashandra down the hall, and thrust her through the door she opened. Impassively, Killashandra noted the number: it was the same room she had so briefly tenanted five years before. Then the occupant rose from the bed, smiling.Killa! She stared at Lars Dahl, unable to believe the