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matter under investigation.”
    Trag was not going to be deflected from the offical wording of the request.
    “All right, I copy!”
    “You’ll accept this assignment?”
    Killashandra blinked. Did she imagine the eagerness in Trag’s voice, the sudden release of tension from his face.
    “Trag, there’s something you’ve not told me about this assignment. I warn you, if this turns out to be like the Trundie—”
    “Your familiarity with elements of this assignment suggests that you have already done considerable background investigation. I have informed you of the FSC request—”
    “Why don’t you leave it with me for a little while, Trag,” she said, studying his face, “and I’ll consider it. Lanzecki gave me the distinct impression that I shouldn’t apply for it.”
    There. She hadn’t imagined
that
reaction. Trag was perturbed. He’d been deliberately tempting her, with as subtle a brand of flattery as she’d ever been subjected to. Her respect for the Administration Officer reached a new level for she would never have thought him so devious. He was so completely devoted to Guild and Lanzecki.
    “You’re asking me without Lanzecki’s knowledge?” She did not miss the sudden flare of Trag’s nostrils nor the tightening of his jaw muscles. “Why, Trag?”
    “Your name was first on the list of qualified available singers.”
    “Stuff it, Trag. Why me?”
    “The interests of the Heptite Guild are best served by your acceptance.” A hint of desperation edged Trag’s voice.
    “You object to the relationship between Lanzecki and me?” She had no way of knowing in what way Trag had adapted to Ballybran’s symbiont or in what way he expressed thought that such respect required additional outlets. If jealously prompted Trag to remove a rival …
    “No.” Trag’s denial was accompanied by a ripple of his facial muscles. “Up till now, he has not allowed personal consideration to interfere with his judgment.”
    “How has he done that?” Killashandra was genuinely perplexed. Trag was not complaining that Lanzecki had awarded her another valuable assignment. He was perturbed because he hadn’t. “I don’t follow you.”
    Trag stared at her for such a long moment she wondered if the screen had malfunctioned.
    “Even if you just go to Rani, it will not be far enough away or long enough. Lanzecki is long overdue for a field trip, Killashandra Ree. Because of you. Your body is so full of resonance he’s been able to delay. But your resonance is not enough. If you’re not available, he will be forced to cut crystal again and rejuvenate his body and his symbiont. If you have a real regard for the man, go. Now. Before it’s too late for him.”
    Killashandra stared back at Trag, trying to absorb the various implications—foremost was the realization that Lanzecki was genuinely attached to her. She felt a wave of exultation and tenderness that quite overwhelmed her for a moment. She’d never considered that possibility. Nor its corollary: that Lanzecki would be reluctant to cut crystal because he might forget his attachment. A man who’d been in the Guild as long as he had would be subject to considerable memory loss in the Ranges. Had he learned his duties as Guild Master so thoroughly that the knowledge was as ingrained in him as the rules and regulations in a crystal-mad brain like Moksoon’s? It was not Lanzecki’s face that suddenly dominated her thoughts, but the crisscross tracings of old crystal scars on his body, the inexplicable pain that occasionally darkened his eyes. Antona’s cryptic admission about singers who could not break crystal thrall echoed in her head. She puzzled at the assortment of impressions and suddenly understood. She sagged against the back and arms of her chair for support. Dully she wondered if Trag and Antona had been in collusion. Would the subject of crystal thrall have come up at that lunch hour even if Rimbol had not arrived?
    There was little doubt in