First Channel Part 26

But the older man was impeded by Willa, who was trying to get back to Jord, as Jord reached for Rimon's throat. Rimon raised his arms to fend Jord off, only to find Jord's tentacles whipping about his forearms, laterals extended for contact. Jord's grip put pressure on Rimon's lateral extensor nodes, twining their laterals together. What is he doing?

Hideous familiarity told Rimon at once what Jord was in fact doing-what Rimon had done to Zeth, instinctively, on that far-off day of his First Kill. Nol NO! Raw panic surged through Rimon, feeding Jord's attack. But Jord was jerking Rimon into lip contact at that very instant, and all Rimon could do was refuse-refuse! He felt the pain of Jord's denied draw, the shock of shen, and then Jord collapsed, unconscious, pulling Rimon down on top of him.

Chapter Twenty.

FAILURE.

Ignoring his own spinning head, Rimon scrambled to his knees, zlinning Jord. I've killed him! He'll die of shock! Willa dropped down beside Jord, grabbing for his arms.

"Jord, Jord! Wake up! Let me help you!" She looked up at Rimon in fury. "Why did you do that?!"

Jord was pre-turnover. Zlinning him, Rimon said, "I think he'll be all right, Willa. Just hold him and try to make him calm."

As Abel zlinned Jord, profound relief spread out from him. "Are you all right, Rimon?"

"Me? Sure. It's your son I nearly killed."

"Not this time," said Abel, with a flash of smugness.

Jord stirred. "Willa!" He hugged her close, then looked over her shoulder at Rimon to say, "G.o.d forgive me! I'm sorry, Rimon. I don't know what made me do that."

"Why did you hurt him?" demanded Willa. "Jord never hurt you."

"Willa," said Jord, tightly controlling agonized guilt, "I tried to kill Rimon!"

"You can't kill Rimon that way any more than you can kill me," she said.

Now there's a thought. There was so much they didn't know. "Jord," said Rimon, "I shouldn't have shenned you. I panicked. If you'd actually been in need, it could have killed you."

His head hurt suddenly-sympathetic reaction to Jord's pain, plus that great, looming burden that seemed to grow ever heavier on his shoulders. I know I can kill a Sime in transfer. I know I never want to kill another Gen. But now I find out I can kill merely by defending my own life.

I don't want that kind of power-power that can get out of control so easily.

Jord held out a hand to Rimon, tentacles neatly retracted. "I'd have deserved it if you'd killed me. I don't blame you, Rimon." His gaze strayed to Willa, then back to Rimon. "I should trust you, of all people-and Willa. In a sense, you gave her to me, like a father giving his daughter in marriage."

"That you don't trust him is a good sign," Abel said. "It's useless to try to make sense of your motives now. We just have to see that such a situation never occurs again. Willa, you must not approach any Sime except Jord, in any way, until he learns to deal with this, as Rimon did. Do you remember how jealous Rimon was of Kadi last year?"

"I remember."

"Well, Jord is going through the same thing, and you must be very understanding, and very careful, until he reaches the stage Rimon is in now."

"It feels like changeover all over again," said Jord. "I never know what to expect next. I've become something uncontrolled and dangerous."

"Jord," said Abel, "that's the right way to think of it but as we now see changeover, not the h.e.l.l I put you through. Look to the future. Look at Rimon. You're going to come through this unwilling, perhaps unable to kill. Then you'll teach others. My son, I'm relying on you to teach us all-to teach me."

As Rimon listened to Abel calming his son, a part of his bleak burden lifted. If Abel would just place his hope of salvation on Jord's shoulders, if Rimon could have responsibility only for Kadi and Zeth-that was enough. That much, he thought, he could handle.

Rimon felt good that early spring, with relief in sight from his burdens. He began to think that perhaps he could handle anything life decided to throw at him.

Willa was gone, but Jon continued to live with them for days at a time, helping with the ch.o.r.es and even taking care of Zeth as he grew more active. But Jon also spent a great deal of time in Fort Freedom, with his parents, with Jord and Willa, and talking to Abel Veritt.

Abel put Jon on a regimen of prayer and meditation to end on the first day of summer with Jon's first real transfer. With a target date now set, Abel hoped Jon would gain command of his nerves. Rimon wasn't too sure about that, but he conceded Abel knew more of Gen psychology than anyone raised in-Territory. And, with the date set, Jon did seem to settle down securely.

One difficulty refused to resolve itself. Fort Freedom was still struggling under the combination of the bad year, people's continuing guilt at the kill, and the financial burden of saving enough to purchase Henry Steers. Every time Rimon mentioned that to Abel, he would be put off sharply with one or another statement that added up to "Fort Freedom does not borrow money!"

Yet knowing what Slina was doing to Steers in her attempts to emulate the more elaborate breeding operations, Rimon felt more and more urgency to get the Gen out of there.

Jord Veritt spent a great deal of time at Slina's. The few times Rimon went with him, he observed a growing respect between the two men. Religion seemed to be as important to Steers as to Fort Freedom, and Rimon noticed a kind of nageric link between the two men when they were on that subject-even when they were arguing some point of theological disagreement. But then, each time Jord came back to the subject of Simes and Gens living together, the link would shatter under Steers' uncontrollable anxiety. "How do I know you'd treat me any more as a person than that woman does?" Steers demanded one day. "Can't you convince her that I am not going to run away?"

"I don't think anything will convince Slina not to lock you in," said Rimon.

"That's not so bad," said Steers. "It's the drugs. I never know if I dare eat or drink-every few days I lose time to crazy dreams, and I know she put something in my food again. Afterward, I always feel I've been doing something, not just sleeping, but I can't remember it."

Rimon knew, but hesitated to tell Jord. Wild Gens would not cooperate for breeding, but there were combinations of drugs that could produce compliance without impairing virility. It was a dangerous practice. The hallucinations could lead the Gen to harm himself or his partner, but nothing could stop the newest fas.h.i.+on in Gen-breeding.

Jord was putting pressure on Abel to get Steers out of the Pens, privately explaining to Rimon, "My father has vowed not to die a killer. Steers has been sent to teach him, Rimon, I know it. I've got to see them work together."

Rimon could not ignore the vibrant hope in Jord, the carefully suppressed hope in Abel, the air of expectancy throughout Fort Freedom. But what if they fail? Yet he sensed that Jord was right; Steers no longer reacted hesitantly toward Jord, and he was losing his apprehension with Rimon, as well. If Slina entered, his nager shattered with resentment-but not fear.

"The most hopeful sign," said Rimon, "is that he reacts to us as individuals. But I'm afraid his first priority on getting out of here will be to go home. Mine would be."

"His wife was killed by the raiders that captured him. He doesn't know what happened to his twelve-year-old son but he thinks he's probably on this side of the border. His only hope of finding him is staying here."

Rimon took a deep breath. "Jord-I don't know if you'll want to tell Steers this, but I do know the Trade. The boy's probably dead, especially if he was established, or did so since capture. I don't think it's fair to get Henry's hopes up-even if his son is alive, it would be a tremendous job to trace a single pre-Gen, even if I still had access to my father's information network. If he was still a child, the raiders would have sold him cheap, because nine out of ten Wild Gen children are dead within the month. Especially in winter."

Jord reached for Willa's hand. "I'll have to tell Henry. We can't give him false hopes. Still-we don't know his son is dead."

"He'd be better off, Jord," Rimon said softly.

"No," said Willa. "If he is alive, someday someone will take him from the Pens, the way you took me. When Simes don't kill anymore, they'll have to let all the Gens out. Then Henry and his son will find each other and be happy."

It was the longest speech Rimon had ever heard from Willa. Jord said, "I wish you spoke English, Willa. Henry would believe you-but he can't understand you."

"Then we must teach him to talk like us," said Willa.

That plan, however, was delayed by a new problem the very outgrowth of Reloc fever both Slina and Rimon had feared all winter: pneumonia. As spring approached, the spa.r.s.e snows melted and an early warm spell encouraged tender shoots of new gra.s.s while the daffodils poked up a month early in the yards of Fort Freedom. Inevitably, freezing rain and hail soon destroyed the premature signs of life. Another warm spell turned the rutted roads to slushy mud, but Rimon and Kadi managed to get through on horseback to Fort Freedom, where they were told that Abel, Jord, and Willa were at Slina's fighting a new illness.

Rimon left Kadi and Zeth at Fort Freedom and rode quickly back into town. Even light cases of Reloc fever were debilitating. Gens might recover completely, but for about six months after they were susceptible to anything that came along-and the recent thaw-and-freeze pattern was exactly what Rimon's father always called "pneumonia weather."

Slina's infirmary was full, and she had set up cots in several holding rooms. When Rimon came in, Risko was carrying out one blanket-wrapped form. "Third one today," he grunted.

Slina, busy with the fosebine, didn't look up when Rimon entered, but told him, "I'm out of healthy Gens. Everyone close enough to need to pick up his month's choice has been in the last two days. Everyone else will get sick ones-and the way they're dying, I may be out before I can get an emergency s.h.i.+pment."

"Out? Completely out?"

"Well, whaddya want me to do?" she snapped. Then, pus.h.i.+ng back a lock of hair with one tentacle, she said, "Shen, Rimon, they're gonna raid, you know. And you know what'll happen this summer."

"The Gens will raid us," Rimon said heavily.

"Organized Gens!" spat Slina. "With their b.l.o.o.d.y shen guns, killing right and left!"

"We've got to save enough Gens to get along until you get some more," said Rimon. "I'm here to help."

"Go spell Jord Veritt-he's about ready to drop. I never used to like the boy-the old man's a good sort, but Jord was a real lorsh. You done something to him, Rimon, or maybe Willa did-he's been going day and night for a week. s.h.i.+doni-who'd think I'd be beholden to them Fort Freedom characters?"

Rimon found Jord and Abel, both haggard and bleary-eyed, in one of the larger rooms. Willa, pale and exhausted, had fallen asleep in a chair. She was high-field, however, a support to Jord even though she was not consciously doing anything.

High-field? Rimon zlinned Jord. He was approaching need, and something in his pattern had changed. So Jord was almost in need, and Rimon past turnover-neither one of them in the best shape for this work. Rimon told Jord, "Willa's asleep. Take her with you, and get some sleep."

"Can't sleep now," Jord murmured.

"You can with Willa, Give yourself two hours." He took over support of the Gen Jord had been concentrating on, alert to the others, apparently the most critical cases.

Abel said, "Go ahead, Jord. Rest. Thank G.o.d Rimon is here now."

"How about you, Abel?" asked Rimon.

"I'm fine; I haven't been doing anything but physical work. It's healing mode that's so exhausting."

Rimon smiled. "Then I'd be glad if you stayed. When you're meditating-praying-your nager is almost as soothing as a Gen's."

The moment he could take his concentration off the worst patient, Rimon zlinned the other Gens. Two were slowly rallying. The three others were all critical. And one of them was Henry Steers. Rimon said to Abel, "Slina was keeping Steers isolated; he shouldn't be down with pneumonia."

"Isolated indeed!" replied Abel, his nager flaring more fury than Rimon had ever seen in the gentle old man. "Do you know what she was doing to him?"

Rimon sighed. "I knew, but I didn't know you did, and I was hoping he'd never find out."

"You knew?"

"Abel-I tried to talk her out of it. It's dangerous to try to breed the Wild males. But he was strong, and healthy after he got over the fever. She was just trying to recoup her losses."

"Rimon-I'm glad Jord isn't here right now. I find it hard to recognize you, and I've seen more of the world than my son has. I think I could understand if it were simply that Slina tried to use Henry-for breeding. It's how she used him I He would have refused, but still, she didn't ask, or tell him what she was doing-and don't say it's because she doesn't speak English, because we'd have translated for her."

"Would you have?" asked Rimon.

"If I couldn't have persuaded her to give up the attempt. He had a right to know-but she drugged him! You remember his telling of memory lapses? G.o.d forgive me, I had no idea there were such drugs-but you did, Rimon. How could you have hidden it from us?"

"What would you have done if I'd told you?"

Shaking his head, Veritt ran all his tentacles through his hair, looking very much like Rimon's father. But then he sheathed his tentacles self-consciously and met Rimon's gaze.

"If we'd known, we'd have gone to Mr. Erick. He's been very generous, but no one can give outright the huge price Slina has set. Yet I think Mr. Erick would have lent us the money-if you'd only spoken out! You concealed the truth, and because of that, Mr. Steers has lost his will to live."

"Oh, now, wait a minute, Abel! If you found out and told him, and that made him give up, don't blame me. I know you believe in telling the truth, but this time I can't see he's any better off knowing!"

"I didn't tell him," Abel protested. "He told us. The last time Slina drugged him-he remembered. Whatever she gave him-it turned him into an animal, unable to control his own desires; but that time he knew what he did, even though he couldn't stop himself. Afterward, he didn't want to talk to Jord or me. And in a few days he came down with pneumonia, and now all he'll say is that he'd rather die than be used as an animal, by Slina or by us."

"Abel, I'm sorry!" said Rimon. "I didn't think Slina'd ever get the dose right! It's tricky-"

"Oh, G.o.d help us, Rimon-how could you know that a human being was being used like that and keep silent?"

Abel's tone said clearly that Rimon, the first nonkilling Sime, had no right to be less than perfect. It was the same tone his father had often used to him.

"Abel," he said, suddenly angry, "this whole Pen uses human beings against their will, drugs them, buys and sells them for the kill. I don't see much difference between Mr. Steers and the nameless creatures grown in Pens. They're all people."

They're all people.

The words echoed in the room. The older man crumpled, head in his hands, defeated. Instantly, Rimon was on his knees before Veritt. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it that way Abel, listen to me; it's not your fault. Abel?"

Something crystallized in the old man. He raised his head, sheathed his tentacles tightly, and gazed up over Rimon's head. "I've vowed I'll not die a killer. One day, I will be able to look at the world as you do, Rimon-as my son does. I yearn for that day. I pray for it."

Rimon, kneeling at Abel's feet, realized something about himself. Veritt had made Rimon into an image to be wors.h.i.+ped. Rimon had resented that, yet the moment Veritt's image wavered, Rimon hastily rebuilt it. They're all people, and I'm better than you are because I don't kill them.

He turned from Abel, back to the patients. Something good might yet come of this night. Perhaps Abel would turn to Jord, now that Rimon had shown a flaw. Jord was maturing rapidly; he deserved his father's trust and faith, especially since he'd soon be through his "period of adjustment." If they could pull Steers through the pneumonia, surely things would straighten out, and they could get on with training another Gen.

Rimon set to work with Steers, barely noticing when Jord returned an hour later, a sleepy but determined Willa by his side. "I can't rest until Henry's out of danger. How is he?"

"About the same," Rimon replied. Jord zlinned the Gen in silence.

Abel helped Slina remove the two recovering Gens, then returned to aid in dosing the others with another round of fosebine. Steers muttered incoherently and tried to push them away.

"Henry!" said Jord, "you must take your medicine. We'll take you home with us as soon as you're well enough to be moved." The Gen opened feverish eyes, numb despair in his nager.

"Better off dead," he muttered, and tried weakly to turn away from Jord. He wheezed helplessly, and then his breathing became more labored as he fell into unconsciousness.

"Did Father tell you what Slina did to him?"

"I know," replied Rimon.

"I'm not here for her sake," said Jord. "It's to keep my friends alive, to help Henry-and to keep those foul creatures in town from raiding across the border. As for Slina-I hope she rots in h.e.l.l!"

"Jord!" said Abel sharply. "Slina's not inherently evil. May G.o.d forgive me for thinking the poor creatures she raises were not people-and may He forgive Slina for thinking the same about Henry Steers."

"G.o.d may forgive her," said Jord, "but it will be a long time before I do."

A few hours later, Margid Veritt came and sent her husband home to rest. It was the first time Rimon had ever seen Abel defer to his wife. He was back at dawn, looking rested. By that time, Rimon was feeling a slight, nagging strain, and Jord was on the thin edge of exhaustion.

Willa said, "Jord, come on. You're in need. Let's go home and-" , "Not until Henry is out of danger."

"He's just the same," she protested. "He will sleep. Please, let me give you transfer, make you feel better."

"Willa, I will decide when we have transfer."