Ambrov Keon

by Jean Lorrah

  “Do you segregate Simes and Gens in the householding, so incidents like that can’t happen?”

  “That would negate the value of our lifestyle. No, only at hard Need do our renSimes avoid the Gens who are not Companions, and that is just a precaution. All our Simes are nonjunct or disjunct. Their systems are so accustomed to channel’s transfer that they will not be attracted to Gens.”

  “Is that...what you plan to do to me?” Risa asked warily.

  “We can’t. You are a channel, and we desperately need the skills you can develop. Risa—no one will tell you that disjunction is easy. It’s the hardest thing you will ever do in your life. But I will be with you through every moment.”

  And then what? Risa wondered. She looked at Kreg, so much like their father. She clung to that thought: Kreg was depending on her. She couldn’t let him down.

  * * * * * * *

  SERGI WAS GLAD TO BE HOME, even if his homecoming was a scolding from Nedd Varnst, Sectuib in Keon. Nedd had now missed two transfers with him—but that had been planned anyway, as Sergi was supposed to train Erland, and Gevron was certainly as much Companion as Nedd required.

  Besides, Nedd was right. “A junct channel! Sergi, have you lost your mind? I told you to forget this nonsense and come home. Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I knew Risa would decide to disjunct. I was right, Nedd—and she has the capacity—”

  The older man zlinned him, then sat down at his desk, rubbing his eyes with his hands and running handling tentacles through his hair. He had none on top, and what little was left on the sides seemed to have turned whiter while Sergi was away. “Shen that woman!” he said. “Yes, I can zlin what she’s done to you.”

  “For me.”

  “As you perceive it. She’s probably juncted you.”

  “Nedd, I’m Gen.” He carefully controlled a stab of shock as he recalled killing the Sime looter—and noticed that Nedd missed his reaction. Risa sensed every nuance of his field.

  “What I mean is that she probably forced a kind of simulated kill out of you, and—”

  “No! It wasn’t like that at all. Either time. Nedd, she was half-drowned, injured, disoriented—on the edge of attrition the first time. I was completely in control. And the second time she had made her commitment to disjunct, so she let me deny her killbliss. There’s a toughness about her, though she looks as if one touch would break her.”

  “She zlins like a stone wall—all strength, no subtlety. There’s no match here for her but you, Sergi. I can’t disjunct her. Shen and shid! I hoped you could bring Erland up to your strength—”

  “He never would have matched me,” said Sergi. “Risa does. Nedd, she wants to disjunct. Will you turn her away?”

  “No, of course not. I can’t even refuse to use her as a channel. We had three more changeovers while you were gone. It reduces the Gen tax, but it threw the schedule into chaos and it’s not back to normal yet. Why couldn’t you have obeyed my order to return? Then if this Risa had decided to disjunct she would have been Yorn’s problem, not mine!”

  “She’ll be a blessing, not a problem, once she disjuncts,” Sergi insisted stubbornly.

  “Well, let’s find out what she knows. Bring her in.”

  * * * * * * *

  WHEN RISA ENTERED NEDD’S OFFICE, Sergi said, “I hope you’re ready to start lessons right away.”

  “Let’s find out how much control you have over your secondary system,” suggested Nedd.

  On occasions like this, Sergi wished he had the Sime ability to zlin fields. It was frustrating to watch the two channels, Nedd saying, “Try this,” and, “That’s right, but not so strongly,” and not be able to perceive a thing happening. Only at one point, when his own body’s natural response to Nedd’s presence diminished, did he know that Nedd was demonstrating transfer mode—his channel’s secondary system masking his own primary system, projecting as a Gen.

  Sergi felt a surge of sympathy toward Nedd, and knew he was projecting a feigned Need, to give Risa a target.

  Sergi had had little response to Risa’s field since their transfer. She was still pre-turnover, and lacked a householder’s habit of seeking comfort in Gen fields. Still, he had a growing awareness of her presence, and it was a shock when that awareness cut off. He had no more nageric response to her than to another Gen!

  Nedd said, “Yes—that’s it, Risa. But you would provoke an attack that way. You’ll learn control in your training.”

  Sergi felt Risa’s presence again. “Sectuib—” she began.

  “I am not your Sectuib, Risa,” Nedd told her. “I hope I will be one day—but for now call me Nedd.”

  “Nedd, then. I think you should know my misgivings immediately. I assume these exercises have to do with functioning as a channel?”

  “Yes. You have a natural talent, Risa. With practice and development, you’ll make a fine channel.”

  “I don’t really want to be a channel,” Risa explained. “Sergi tells me you need one—and I want to disjunct. I know I will be a burden to you until I do—and for that I will owe you. Tigues always pay their debts. I will work for Keon until you can find a channel to take my place. Or, if you find one soon I will pay you whatever you consider reasonable. Sergi tells me Keon is short of funds as well as channels.”

  Nedd stared from Risa to Sergi and back. “You are very young, and you do not understand. You will feel different once you disjunct. But let me reassure you, Risa: you owe Keon nothing. The virtue of our householding is freedom. No one is bound to Keon except by his or her own choice.”

  He gestured toward the Keon crest, woven into the tapestry behind his desk. “Our color is red, the color of love—passion, if you will. The interlocking links of white chain have many meanings, which you will come to understand as you live among us. We say, ‘The only true freedom is the freedom to choose one’s chains.’ You have chosen to break your bondage to the Kill.”

  Risa nodded serenely. “Yes. I understand the symbolism: the white chain which binds Gens destined forthe Kill. I want to disjunct because being bound to the Kill is as true for Simes as for Gens.”

  For the first time, Nedd smiled. “Good. In the days ahead, when you find yourself weakening, think of yourself as a link in Keon’s chain—never alone, always with others to support you. A chain is as strong as its weakest link—and we will lend you strength when you require it, when you Need it. And you will freely share your strength with us.”

  “I told you: Tigues pay their debts.”

  Nedd sighed. “Not debts. A householding is a family, not a business.”

  “So was Tigue’s General Store,” said Risa. “We were family first, but we always turned a profit.”

  “Well, there is no sense arguing,” said Nedd. “You’ll find out what Keon is by living here. We can’t afford to waste your First Year learning capacity. Tomorrow I will teach you to move selyn within your dual system. I want you to learn as much as possible before you get too close to disjunction to concentrate.”

  “All right,” said Risa, but Sergi sensed a faint reluctance in her tone.

  He was sure Nedd must have zlinned it in her nager, but the channel continued smoothly, “I’m a few days past turnover. I want to check your health as thoroughly as possible, Risa—about six days from now I will be at my most sensitive, so I will fit you into my schedule for an examination then. Meanwhile, you’ll follow the regimen for all Simes in the householding, which includes showing up for breakfast and dinner every day—no excuses.”

  “Sergi already insists on that schedule.”

  “Very well, then. Just one more thing today.” He pulled a blank card from a file, and filled in Risa’s name. “How old are you—natal years?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Both Nedd and Sergi stared in astonishment. “But you’re still in First Year!” Sergi protested.

  “Mine may be the latest changeover on record,” Risa said cheerfully. Then she added more seriously, “Dad was terribly wor
ried when I passed sixteen, and nothing happened. But when it did happen—it was easy. I mean, it wasn’t fun, but everybody predicted that at that age I’d die of horrible complications. Instead, I had a perfectly normal changeover, even quicker than most. Less than a day.”

  “That’s typical of channels,” Nedd told her. “Lateness isn’t. You were fortunate. I can tell that you are still very young as a Sime, but I must have your exact age. How long ago was your changeover?”

  “Nine months.”

  Though Sergi felt sudden panic, he refused to let it affect his field, clamping down tighter control than ever before in his life.

  Nedd must have exercised the same control, for when he asked, “Then you were eight months past changeover when Sergi first gave you transfer?” Risa agreed calmly, apparently noticing nothing amiss.

  “You killed at your changeover, and seven times thereafter?” the channel pursued.

  “Yes. Oh—I see,” said Risa. “Eight kills, but it wasn’t eight full months because I always came up short.” She gave the date of her changeover. “So it’s actually only a little over eight months now.”

  “Yes,” the channel nodded, taking notes. “Very well, Risa. Go and rest now, until dinner time. I want to talk to Sergi alone.”

  When the insulated door closed behind Risa, Sergi let go of his control. Nedd winced, then said angrily, “How could you do that to her? Why didn’t you ask her age?”

  “Nedd—I’m sorry. It never occurred to me that she could be so long past changeover! She looks twelve—I thought she was thirteen or fourteen only because Kreg is twelve. She still moves like a child half the time—you saw it. And whatever you zlinned in her field—”

  “She has so little subtlety, I thought as you did. But I had the sense to ask.” Nedd sat back, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and pressing his hands together, handling tentacles stretched to touch his fingertips. It was a gesture intended to enforce calm. “Shen it, I like her, Sergi, junct as her ideas are. What do we do now? She could reach crisis right at the end of First Year. Maybe she would have the flexibility left to survive it.” He cocked his head to one side, watching Sergi and waiting.

  So Sergi was forced to say it: “Maybe she will survive. But chances are she will have to kill...or die.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS A TOSSUP AS TO WHICH OF THE NEWCOMERS was less satisfied with Keon. After dinner, Kreg went off with some other boys his age while Sergi showed Risa the grounds.

  The earth was brown, not the blood-red found farther south, the buildings an ugly patchwork of tan and gray stone. Outbuildings were weathered gray wood. Except for a large oak shading the front of the main building, only a few bushes broke the monotony of brown and gray.

  Guest trailed Risa, as it was the time she usually fed him. She asked Sergi about it. “He’ll hunt rats and mice for his keep, but he’s also a pet.”

  “Of course,” said Sergi, changing course toward the dining hall. “All the animals get scraps after dinner. But you’d better—”

  Sergi’s voice was suddenly drowned by a loud “Woof!” and two enormous red-gold dogs came running down the path to leap on him, wagging huge plumes of tails as they nearly knocked him over in their ardor.

  He buried his fingers in their thick fur and hugged them as they licked his face. Then he ordered, “Down, Leader! That’s enough, Feathers!” and squatted down to pet them.

  Guest decided to challenge. He shot past Risa, halted with back arched and fur standing on end, and spat defiance.

  The dogs barreled over Sergi, dumping him onto his back, and took off after the cat with a happy bugling.

  Sergi called, “Leader! Feathers! Come back here!”

  Reluctantly, the male dog loped back to his master. The female, though, sailed after the fleeing cat until Guest swarmed up a tree on the far side of the kitchen garden, yowling and spitting abuse at the barking dog below.

  Sergi said apologetically to Risa, “I gave Feathers her name because her fur looks like feathers on her legs and tail—but she sometimes acts as if the feathers are in her head! I’ll get a rope and—”

  “Guest can take care of himself,” said Risa.

  Sure enough, as soon as Feathers abandoned her frantic barking and began sniffing around the base of the tree, Guest leaped, landing on Feathers’ back. The dog yipped in surprise, rose straight up in the air, and landed running. Guest jumped off and ambled back toward Risa, but Feathers kept going as if pursued by mountain cats.

  “I don’t think he hurt your dog,” said Risa, “but I’m afraid he’s going to fight every animal here.”

  Sergi watched Leader studiously ignore the approaching cat. “I doubt he’ll face too many challenges!”

  But Risa did, not the least trying to encourage Kreg while her own enthusiasm rapidly drained away.

  Kreg complained at being made to go to classes when he had already finished school. “Changeover class, that’s all right,” he told Risa. “Doesn’t hurt to brush up. But art class—ick! Why would I ever paint silly flowers? And Genlan—English, they call it. Why learn the Gen language?”

  “For the same reason Dad made me learn it,” Risa told him. “If you can’t understand your enemies, how can you learn their secrets?”

  “But in First Year I can learn it in no time,” Kreg protested.

  “If you turn out not to have a First Year, when will you learn?”

  “You used to be sure I’d be Sime,” the boy complained.

  “Remember what Dad said: goods and money can be lost or stolen, but nobody can take away knowledge.”

  “Yeah. At least I get to learn metalworking. That could be worth something.”

  Risa’s misgivings were not so easily overcome. She hated being closed behind walls. She knew she could walk out...but then she would ally herself with those people the walls protected Keon from. But she began paying the price of admission to Keon her second day there.

  After putting her through the same exercises as before, Nedd told her, “First you will learn to shunt selyn between your own primary and secondary systems.” He demonstrated with his Companion, Gevron, while Risa zlinned. Then she took Sergi in transfer grip, leaning her head against his chest instead of making lip contact, and found that she could indeed control the selyn within her body.

  As the energy surged, Nedd said, “Not so fast! Risa, you always try too hard!”

  It was a very weird sensation. She could fill her own primary system to repleteness without satisfaction, then empty it into her secondary system and know Need without urgency.

  “Now,” said Nedd, “return your systems to normal.”

  She tried to find the configuration, the balance her fields had had before the lesson had begun. She overbalanced one way, then the other—

  “Relax,” Sergi murmured in her ear. “Rest on my field and let your systems find their own levels. Relax your hands—you’re hurting me. That’s it—”

  He talked her through until she finally stopped trying to control, and her fields adjusted themselves.

  “Good job, Sergi,” Nedd approved. “Risa, you should have learned relaxation exercises in changeover training.”

  She nodded. “I never thought I’d require them again.”

  “Sergi will work with you later. While you’re still pre-turnover, I want to start you on channelling. You overmatch me—there’s no one here who can handle you except Sergi, and this he cannot teach you.”

  “What are you going to do?” Risa asked warily.

  “Draw a little selyn from your secondary system, then return it. That will let you see for yourself that it does not affect your personal supply and how it feels to let someone else manipulate your fields. A channel must be able to control completely, often under tremendous stress, but relax completely when necessary. Since we have no channel here who matches your strength, you must learn not to use that strength against someone trying to help you.”

  As Nedd was explaining, Sergi massaged
Risa’s neck and shoulders, easing away her tension. As if reading her mind, he said, “Nedd may not have your nageric power, but he has discipline you cannot master until you disjunct, and many years of experience. Trust him, Risa. He’s brought many Simes safely through disjunction.”

  Risa was placed on one of the strange contoured couches, Sergi standing behind her, Nedd in the seat from which transfer was given. Gevron moved to the precise point behind Nedd at which all four fields blended into a bubble of nageric privacy. How do Gens do that? Risa wondered, knowing they had no organs for perceiving selyn fields. Gevron’s field was a pale echo of Sergi’s and in appearance he was a portly middle-aged male, hair fading from sandy brown, skin weatherbeaten into creases, eyes overhung by bushy eyebrows flecked with white. Yet he had the same fearless ease of manner Sergi had, the same ability to make a group of Simes and Gens totally comfortable.

  Risa relaxed as she concentrated on the Gens. It already seemed normal for their fields to mesh with hers. But this was different. Now a Sime was placing his hands under her forearms, saying, “Extend your laterals, Risa.”

  She couldn’t.

  The lateral reflexes were both voluntary and involuntary, like blinking or breathing. A Sime in Need could not prevent his laterals from extending when he grasped a high-field Gen. But Gens were what they were supposed to touch, not Simes.

  Nerve-rich organs, as sensitive to selyn as eyes to light, the laterals might touch a child, zlinning for illness, or for signs of changeover or establishment. Otherwise they were private organs, no more to be touched than one’s eyes.

  Sergi placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Nedd’s a channel. He won’t hurt you.”

  Swallowing hard, Risa forced the recalcitrant tentacles from their sheaths on either side of each forearm. Weak and vulnerable, they depended on her handling tentacles to hold contact during the Kill—or transfer.