said. "There'd be no reason to kill him then, would there?"

Kincaid frowned. "But we don't know how he changed in the first place."

"Maybe we do." Forester pointed to the gauge set in the panel over the oxygen control. "This oxygen reading is taken right at the point where the gasses for his air mixture are combined. That point is outside the cubicle itself, for some technical reason, so the air has to go a meter or so past the sensor before it gets to him. Now, if there's a leak somewhere in that meter of tubing you'll get room air mixed in, which the doc tells me is richer in oxygen. It could be enough to make a difference."

"Pretty far-fetched," Kincaid growled, nevertheless looking thoughtful. "What would cause a leak like that?"

"I don't know, but I could check it out in fifteen minutes."

"A slow leak might explain why this has happened so often with this one," Barenburg murmured.

"If I'm right it might save you the cost of a new Spoonbender," Forester pointed out.

Kincaid hesitated, then nodded. "It's worth the risk. Get going."

Grabbing the proper repair kit from the wall rack, Forester hurried from the room.

—

The persons are displeased.

That thought is a severe and frightening shock to me, but I cannot pretend it is not true. I have touched three of them, and all are unhappy... and I know, somehow, that they are unhappy with me.

I am unprepared for the strength of the reaction I feel at this knowledge. Ever since I touched that first person I have suspected that the urge to do my work was only part of a still larger desire to please these other persons. But I did not realize how strong this desire was.

I feel sick at heart. Withdrawing to myself, I huddle with my grief, wishing I knew how to express my sorrow. Wishing I was not aware.

I am so alone....