"You are all healthy, with no signs of contamination or illness," Phan said. "I plan no more tests for you. You have heard from your duty officer, I believe, that the Guest is dead. I have finished the first level of autopsy, and found no microbiologicals anywhere within its system. It appears to have been a completely sterile creature. This is good news for you."

"No bugs, m'lady," Minelli said. Edward winced.

"I have recommended that you be released," Phan said, staring levelly at each in turn. "Though I do not know when they will do so. As the President said, there are security concerns."

Edward saw Stella Morgan through her window and smiled at her. She did not return the smile; perhaps the fight was wrong and she did not see him; perhaps she was feeling as depressed as Reslaw, who seldom said anything now.

The combination of free interaction through the intercom and separate confinement seemed to undermine the camaraderie Edward thought was typical of prison camp inmates. They were not being abused. They had nothing really solid to fight against. Their confinement, until now at least, had not been senseless. Consequently, they were not "drawing together" as Edward thought they might. Then again, he had never before been held in long-term detention. Maybe his expectations were simply naive.

"We are preparing papers that you will sign, promising not to speak of these last few days—"

"I won't sign anything like that," Minelli said. "There aren't any best-sellers if I sign that. No agents, no Hollywood."

"Please," Phan said patiently.

"What about Australia?" Edward asked. "Are you talking with them?"

"Conferences begin today in Washington," Phan said.

"Why the wait? Why didn't everybody start talking weeks ago?"

Phan did not answer. "Personally, I hope all is made public soon," he said.

Edward tried to control a building anger. "Why can't we get together? Take us out of here and put us in a BOQ or something."

"Barbecue?" Minelli snorted.

"Bachelor officer's quarters," Edward explained, his lower lip trembling. He was beginning to cry. He checked that response immediately, putting on an air of indignant rationality. "Really. This is hell. We feel like we're in jail."

"Worse. We can't make zip guns or knives," Minelli said. "Bottom of the world, Ma!"

Phan regarded Minelli with an expression between irritation and concern. "That is all I have to tell you now. Please do not worry. I am sure you will be compensated. In the meantime, we have new infodisks."

"Goody," Minelli said. As Phan turned away, he shouted, "Wait! I'm not feeling well. Really. Something's wrong."

"What is it?" Phan asked, gesturing to a watch supervisor behind him.

"In my head. Tell them, Reslaw."

"Minelli's been disturbed recently," Reslaw said slowly. "I'm not doing too well, myself. He doesn't sound good. He's different."