House of Zeor

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “Hoarder, am I? Why you skinny little runt....”

  “You’ll show me? Come on, then, let’s see you pay your debts, miser!”

  Knuckles white, Vrian gripped the bars and stared at Valleroy. In the harsh world of the Reconstruction, the Gens valued only a man’s willingness and ability to pay his own way...in that order. There was no deadlier insult than “miser,” one who was able but unwilling to pay.

  The two Gens faced each other, eyes locked in mutual loathing. Vrian knew the coin he’d have to pay in was selyn, even if he didn’t know the word for it. Valleroy knew that Vrian knew.

  Very softly, Valleroy breathed, “You’re scared. You’re scared sick.”

  Vrian matched his tone. “I’ll show you who’s scared!”

  “So get out here and donate to Sectuib Nashmar. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “You first,” said Vrian coldly.

  “I already have. I’m so low in potential they don’t even react to me. See?” He moved to place a hand on Klyd’s bared forearm.

  Grenel said, “All I see is a turnie coward bought by promises of immunity.”

  “If I can do something you’re scared to do, who’s the coward?” Vrain said, “We’re not scared to die!”

  “No,” said Valleroy, “you’re scared to live, miser!”

  Fury building visibly, Vrian stared at Valleroy. Suddenly, Nashmar moved to Vrian’s door and pulled it open as if it had never been locked. Wordlessly, the channel watched the captive as if waiting for some sign.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Valleroy saw Loyce take up a position between Nashmar and Vrian, but a little to one side. Behind him, Klyd faded back toward the outer door while the confrontation grew ever more tense.

  Some signal must have passed between Nashmar and Loyce, for just when Valleroy thought Vrian would attack the channel, Loyce took the Gen hand and joined it to the Sime’s, sliding his own hand from between the two with a peculiar caress.

  A moment later, Nashmar made full contact. Vrian endured that embrace as if paralyzed. Nashmar was almost as tall as the Gen, but only about half his weight. Nevertheless, as Vrian began to struggle, it was obvious the Sime was the stronger. It was only at Nashmar’s will that the contact ended.

  Vrian staggered back, suddenly off balance. He fetched up against the doorjamb and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his overall. He couldn’t take his eyes off the channel, who stood impassively before him. “I didn’t feel a thing. Why didn’t you do it?”

  “I did. You may go now.”

  “What?”

  “The cafeteria is now serving dinner. If you ask him nicely, Naztehr Hugh will show you the way.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without my brothers!”

  “Where they go is up to them,” said Nashmar, turning to the third brother, the silent Prins. “You want to try it now?” Without waiting for assent, Nashmar pulled open the door and stepped into the room beyond. There was the sound of a few footsteps and then silence. Prins was the youngest of the three and, thought Valleroy, had probably been willing all along.

  Presently, Nashmar emerged followed by Prins, who stood before Vrian, head hung like a little boy caught in mischief.

  Now the channel stood before Grenel, who still scowled fiercely. “Not me!”

  Vrian shoved Prins aside and confronted his captive brother. “Shut up, Grenel! You want to spend the rest of your life in there?”

  They glared at each other for a moment. Then Nashmar pulled open Grenel’s door. Grenel backed away, crouching like a wrestler looking for a hold. Nashmar threw the door shut with a clang. “All right. If that’s the way you want it, we can do without you.”

  “Grenel,” said Vrian, “don’t be a fool!”

  Grenel straightened, coming back to the bars. Nashmar opened the door to let him out. Smoothly, Loyce interposed himself and made the contact.

  From the first instant, Grenel struggled, but against a Sime he had no chance. When he was ready, Nashmar let the big Gen go. From these unwilling general-class donors, a channel drew selyn only very slowly and only from the very shallow, surface levels. Thus, he could reduce their field to the comfort range while not causing the donor any sensation at all. Even so, the selyn thus gleaned was sufficient to support an ordinary Sime for nearly a month because the channel’s method wasn’t as wasteful as the kill.

  “You see,” said Vrian, “now we can all go.” It was obvious even to Valleroy that Vrian had something other than dinner in mind. Nashmar seemed to realize this. “Even Gens of the Householdings aren’t safe out there. Your bills are paid, and you are now low-field. You’re welcome to try your luck. But why don’t you come upstairs and have some dinner first.”

  Prins nerved himself to speak. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. I’d rather not get caught on an empty stomach.”

  Using this as assent from all three of them. Nashmar herded his recruits through the outer doors. “Good. I’m sure you’ll like us much better once you get to know us. After dinner I’ll take you all on the grand tour, and....” The doors closed behind them.

  Valleroy turned around to find Loyce watching him closely. “Naztehr, that was brilliant! We guessed from your accent you must be a specialist in their psychology....”

  “Oh, it was nothing.”

  “Far from it. Now I can see the real purpose behind your gambit on the road...the way you flirted with danger when you knew that Klyd and Nashmar were so busy masking the captive’s gradients that they couldn’t protect you! I can see why Zeor prizes you so highly!”

  “Uh...thank you,” said Valleroy, totally non-plussed by this interpretation. It gave him a lot to think about, but Loyce didn’t allow him a moment.

  “But we’re glad you haven’t been at Zeor long enough to have absorbed all their ways.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, because I can see you’re going to have a night ahead of you.”

  “I am?”

  With an eloquent shrug, the dark-haired, coffee-skinned Companion gestured toward the hall beyond the double doors. Valleroy could just see Klyd leaning against the wall waiting. The back of his head was against the wall. He seemed to be examining the ceiling intently.

  Loyce put an arm around Valleroy’s shoulders and walked him slowly toward the double doors. “Entran is no joke. Oh, I know you two have been doing one of those famous Zeor denial exercises. You people get to be pretty good at it, and I suppose it really is the source of the Zeor excellence. But I’ll tell you this. I’m glad I’m not the one who’s changing his name to Ambrov Zeor!”

  “Oh, I don’t know...you performed very competently just now.”

  Loyce chuckled dryly. “I thank you, Naztehr. Zeor is rarely so generous with compliments. But Loyce Ambrov Imil is good enough for me.”

  “Actually you’re right that I haven’t been at Zeor very long.” At that moment he recalled how carefully Klyd had avoided using Valleroy’s last name. Since only the Farris family retained their last name within the Householding, everybody had, no doubt, assumed that Valleroy had already pledged Ambrov Zeor. He tried it out for flavor. Hugh Ambrov Zeor. It felt very strange.

  They reached the doors. Loyce stopped, turning to Valleroy. “Perhaps you won’t feel offended if I offer some professional advice?”

  “Isn’t the sign of a true professional the ability to take good advice no matter where it comes from?”

  “Yes, well, as I was saying, entran is nothing to fool around with...especially for a Farris. And you know how stubborn Klyd gets. But...he’s Sectuib. The whole of Zeor depends on him. You owe it to Zeor to make him behave sensibly even if he doesn’t want to.”

  “You know about how far I’d get?”

  “Don’t I! We tried all day yesterday to get him to work an hour in dispensary...or something...anything. He wouldn’t, and now look at him! Just watching Nashmar functioning has tied him in knots. How long do you think he can go on like that?”

  “I couldn’t
guess.”

  “How long do you think you can stand it?”

  Not knowing what he was supposed to be enduring, Valleroy made a noncommittal noise.

  “I know what you mean. Listen, Hugh, you’re his Companion. You have ways of dealing with him that nobody else does—”

  “Oh, I’m not—”

  “I know, it’s not exactly ethical. But there are times we have to take certain liberties. They always thank us, afterwards, don’t they?”

  Valleroy squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not that—”

  “It’s about time you learned to be, then. Just look at him! How long were you intending to wait?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Good. You’ll take care of it tonight, and we’ll all rest better.” Using a metal rod hanging beside the door, Loyce tapped on the grass.

  When Klyd failed to respond to the faint sound, Loyce cocked an “I-told-you-so” brow at Valleroy and tapped louder. Pulling himself out of his reverie, Klyd moved to open the door, and the three of them went up to dinner.

  All during the meal, Valleroy watched Klyd. The channel’s appetite was even scantier than usual. He seemed to move in a daze, almost unable to focus his eyes. Valleroy decided that something really was wrong.

  As they were bussing their dishes, Valleroy saw Nashmar watching from the new candidate’s table where a select group of members were welcoming the newcomers. Valleroy smiled. Shifting his gaze from Klyd, Nashmar smiled back in what seemed to Valleroy genuine relief.

  Both the top channel and the top Companion in Imil seemed to think Klyd was in serious trouble. Valleroy as limited as his experience was, concurred.

  But Valleroy was no true Companion. He didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t even know if he could do anything. So it was that he found himself alone in his darkened room dressed for bed and pacing back and forth. Grandfather had made him promise to take care of Klyd in spite of himself, and not to let anyone suspect that Zeor would send an unqualified Companion with their most valuable channel.

  Entran. Yenava had been so upset about Grandfather suffering from it while Klyd escaped completely. Valleroy wondered if maybe Klyd was punishing himself for some imagined wrong to Grandfather.

  Or maybe Klyd was afraid of him because of the anger he felt when Klyd had been faking entran to gain them privacy. Well, thought Valleroy, that would be a switch...Sime fears Gen.

  Still not knowing what he was going to do, Valleroy pulled on his nightrobe and crossed the suite to Klyd’s door. On impulse, he opened the door without knocking and went in.

  The room was dark, draperies drawn so even starlight was cut off. “Hugh! What...?”

  Homing on Klyd’s voice, Valleroy struck out across the floor. “Sectuib, I have a grave matter to discuss with you. A matter involving the pride of Zeor.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing yet. That’s the problem.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. Tell me what is it a Companion can do to make a channel listen to reason?”

  “Oh...now I see. Nashmar and Loyce have been after you!”

  “Just Loyce. He seems to think the situation is critical.”

  “These people are Imil, not Zeor. They have little conception of what we can do when we want to.”

  “I’m thinking, perhaps you don’t really want to...or you wouldn’t go around looking like an incipient disaster.”

  Klyd was silent, invisible in the dark. Valleroy thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then the channel got up and went to the window, drawing open the drapes. The stars were bright and clear. The moon cast long shadows across the fields and illuminated the room.

  “Entran is painful, isn’t it, Sectuib?”

  “But trivial.”

  “Not for Farrises, according to Loyce. What makes Farrises different?”

  Klyd opened the window so he could breathe deeply of the cold night air. In the dimness, Valleroy could just see that the channel was drenched in sweat. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost too controlled. “There is a theory that the Sime mutation is still evolving. We’ve classified eight distinct Sime variants, none of which is ideal. The Farris family produces the channels of the highest capacities and greatest tolerances. We also suffer from the widest range of ailments unknown among others. Entran complications are only a minor part of that.”

  “If Denrau were here, wouldn’t he do what was, needed to avoid complications?”

  “You’re not Denrau.”

  “I know.” Valleroy sat down on the bed. He found himself wishing forlornly that his mother hadn’t fled Sime Territory but had joined a Householding instead. Watching the channel, Valleroy saw him start to shiver in the cold air. He went to the window, hand out to close it. Klyd’s hands were there before his. The sensitive laterals were half extended, seeking the cold to numb the pain.

  The contact was made before Valleroy realized what was happening. Klyd’s hands closed over his, tense but gentle.

  Valleroy said, “I promise not to be angry this time, if you promise not to fake it.”

  With a swift surge of movement, Klyd turned full toward him, gripping his wrists in that peculiar hold. He laid his head on the Gen shoulder, face averted, not seeking the fifth contact point of transfer. Valleroy almost staggered as the channel’s full weight came against him. He didn’t feel anything happening except the nearly imperceptible vibration of the moist laterals against his skin.

  An instant later, Klyd stood erect. “How did you...?” He shook his head, bewildered. “I thought you didn’t know how to induce—”

  “I don’t know,” said Valleroy, shaken. “If there’s anything more I should do, you’ll have to tell me...before Imil finds out I didn’t do it.”

  “You wanted to do that to me, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “No, of course you don’t,” said Klyd wonderingly. “Not yet.” He sat down on the bed.

  “Stop talking in riddles.”

  “There’s another theory,” the channel continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “The theory of the symmetry of nature. If there are so many different types of Simes, there must also be different types of Gens.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you do. Perhaps it’s just as well. Right now, you’d better get some sleep.”

  “You do feel better?”

  “Yes.”

  Valleroy retreated to the door, still not sure what exactly he’d done. As he opened the door, Klyd called, “Naztehr....”

  “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “Thank you. Denrau couldn’t have been better.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Valleroy, surprised to find that he really meant it.

  The next morning, as Valleroy worked his way from one studio to the next, he often caught glimpses of Loyce studying him covertly. During the noon break, Valleroy wiped his hands on a rag and approached the Companion. “Good morning.”

  “It certainly is!” Loyce agreed. He glanced around to make sure there was nobody within earshot. “He’s magnificent this morning. How did you do it? I couldn’t have managed with less than a transfer.”

  Valleroy didn’t have a chance to reply. Just then Brennar came in with a rack of wedding dresses from which Valleroy was to select the ones he wanted to sketch.

  Later that afternoon, three of Imil’s lovely girls came through escorting the three new candidates. Valleroy scarcely had time to wave, though he knew they passed behind him several times. When they left, he got the vague impression they were headed for a tour of the fields.

  Shortly after that, the Sectuib’s flying squad swept into the studio clearing the way and making ready for the galloping administrator, who followed right on their heels.

  “Sectuib Nashmar,” said Valleroy, rising from his last sketch.

  “Naztehr. I’ve been looking through your work. Beautiful!”

  “Thank you.”

/>   “I wonder if we could prevail upon you for a special favor?”

  “I am at your service, Sectuib.”

  “The Tarinalar Collection. If we could have just one real sketch from that...say the Martesa....”

  “Well, I suppose so. Why not? It’s your time, isn’t it?”

  Nashmar beamed, making his dark skin and shockingly blond hair all the more striking. “No other artist could possibly do the Martesa! I’ll see that you get a copy of the catalog and full credit in print.” He raised his voice, “Renita, pose the Martesa. Naztehr Hugh is going to do the Martesa for the cover!”

  Valleroy struggled not to groan as the girls in the studio squealed with exquisite joy. He just couldn’t see anything so exciting about another outlandish costume, but he resolved to do the best he could.

  The ensuing bustle made the mad rush of the last few days seem like a leisurely vacation. Streams of lighting technicians with their lenses and mirrors, mountains of backdrop material, flushed models, half-clothed, dashing about as if preparing for a royal visit...all these boiled around Valleroy as he stood mutely in the center of the main salon while they turned one of the studios into an imperial coronation scene.

  When Valleroy was finally allowed to enter, Nashmar was posing two new models on the heavily draped dais. Not only were the models new to Valleroy, but both were men. One of them reclined on a cushioned couch that was oddly contoured to accommodate the one seated beside him. Nashmar was supervising the joining of their hands, tentacles twined in the transfer position.

  As Valleroy approached, Nashmar was saying, “Are you certain you can hold the gradient steady, Zinter?”

  “I’d better be able to if I’m going to Zeor!”

  “If you get tired, take a break.”

  “Yes, Sectuib. But Enam will tire before I do.”

  Nashmar turned to the reclining figure...hardly more than a boy really. “Enam, don’t over-reach yourself.”

  “Yes, Sectuib,” he replied without taking his eyes from Zinter’s.

  “Naztehr Hugh, what do you think?” asked Nashmar taking Valleroy aside.