by Jean Lorrah
“Very good,” Nedd murmured. “Now mesh handling tentacles. Develop a secure grip, Risa. Bring your ventrals over my lateral extensor nodes—now your dorsals around and over them.” He twined his handling tentacles with hers. “Your patient cannot slip away, and you can force his laterals out if necessary. Retract and reverse, your hands under mine—”
They practiced until her handling tentacles assumed the correct position even when he resisted. “Good work. You didn’t hurt me, even though you had your tentacles on my extensor nodes. Let me take channel’s grip now, Risa.”
She let his tentacles entwine with hers. Simes often entwined one or two handling tentacles as a gesture of friendship. But then he said, “Extend your laterals again.”
When Nedd’s laterals licked out of their sheaths, Risa’s instinctively shied away.
This was it. This was the perversion of the householders, Sime to Sime, lateral to lateral.
Risa’s gorge rose. Her laterals retreated. “I can’t!”
“You can,” Nedd said soothingly. “You can do anything you want to do. You want to disjunct. You want to be of use to Keon—”
Tigues pay their debts.
I have to learn it.
Once more she forced her small, vulnerable laterals out of their sheaths toward Nedd’s laterals, lying still against her arms. They touched—creating a sensation weirdly resembling transfer without selyn movement.
Nedd allowed her time to become accustomed before he continued. “Activate your secondary system. Stay in channel’s mode and I cannot touch your primary system. I’ll just withdraw some selyn, then return it.”
Risa tensed as Nedd touched his lips to hers. The Sime heat of his skin, his tentacles entwined with hers, were alien. She shuddered, but endured, resting on Sergi’s calm.
When Nedd completed the circuit, a small but steady flow began. Risa fought down the suffocating sense that he was stealing her life away, reminding herself firmly that only her secondary system was open. It was painless, but frightening. When it ended, Risa wilted in relief.
Nedd lifted his head and smiled reassuringly. “You’re doing fine, Risa. The worst is over. Stay in channel’s mode. I’ll put the selyn back, and that will end today’s lesson.”
Risa’s trust in Nedd had grown all through the lesson, so she was caught off guard when the sensation of Sime selyn grated along her nerves—
Involuntarily, she squirmed. Nedd’s field flared imitation Gen, only making things worse with the deception.
She fought, her system refusing to accept the wrong-flavored energy—pain skittered along Nedd’s nerves as he took the backflow.
Distantly, she perceived Gevron supporting Nedd, but immediately her awareness was enveloped in Sergi’s field, radiating a firm, benevolent, but very strong negative.
From somewhere, she found the strength to stop fighting, to lie there with some distant part of her soul whimpering as Nedd’s selyn entered her.
Nedd dismantled his grip and leaned back against Gevron.
Risa pulled her arms across her chest, tentacles tightly retracted, curling up against the violation.
“Risa,” said Nedd, “why did you fight me? I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“It didn’t hurt,” she said, hating the way her voice sounded like a frightened child’s. “It was...wrong, that’s all!”
“Wrong?” Genuine puzzlement in his voice and nager.
“Sime selyn,” she said, the words a bad taste on her tongue. “How can you do that to people? Expect me to—”
Her whole body trembled. Sergi moved to sit on the edge of the couch, wrapping her in his arms and his field.
“Risa, that was not transfer!” Nedd explained. “I made no attempt to satisfy you—just return your selyn. Channels often have to exchange selyn. It should have been meaningless, not disagreeable.”
“Are you so perverse that you can’t see that meaningless is disagreeable? Disgusting?” She shook Sergi off and jumped down from the couch. “I can’t do that. It’s—it’s—” When she couldn’t find a word ugly enough, she ran.
She couldn’t learn to give Simes such a sad substitute for satisfaction! Around her, the people of Keon were working, Simes and Gens together, but separated by the channels. They didn’t even know what they were missing!
She had to take Kreg and—
What if he established?
She had already dragged him away from one life. What would she take him to now if they left Keon?
It was time to look for an answer. She went back to her room for the things she required, and met Sergi.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I have business in town.”
“Risa, you don’t know Laveen. It’s a rough border town—”
“Am I a prisoner here?” she demanded.
“Of course not. But I’m on the work schedule—I won’t be free to escort you until sometime tomorrow.”
“I don’t require an escort! I certainly don’t want a Gen tagging along, marking me as a pervert!”
“Risa—” His field rang with concern, regret, hurt.
“I’ll be back. Shen it, Sergi, you don’t think I’d desert Kreg, do you? I’ll be back for your shidoni-be-flayed dinner. Now get out of my way!”
* * * * * * *
THE TOWN OF LAVEEN WAS INDEED ROUGH—a border community of misfits. There was a small Pen, foul-smelling, green banners tattered. Risa was glad to claim no Gens from there.
There were three saloons with horses tethered outside, although it was early afternoon. Laughter and shouts from inside told her there was gambling going on.
The livery stable was also none too clean or prosperous. The general store, however, was well-stocked and scrupulously kept. Risa lingered for almost an hour, nursing a lemonade. There were farms around somewhere; several men and women came to town on plow horses or in wagons, and two girls and a boy ranging in age from perhaps eight to eleven came in to pick up an order and get a special treat of licorice sticks.
Risa did not approach the customers, but pumped the proprietor for information. The store required no outside investor’s money. Risa would have to look elsewhere.
At least the town had a bank. Risa flashed her letter of credit, and was escorted into the president’s office.
Tannen Darley wore a suit that had surely been tailored in Lanta or Norlea, boots that shone like glass, and a diamond ring of the exquisite work Risa recognized as Sergi’s. The man clearly knew quality—Risa saw him appraise the fine tailoring of her otherwise plain outfit.
“Tigue,” he said. “You’re Morgan Tigue’s girl? What brings you to this part of the territory?”
“My father died in the hurricane last month.”
“I’m sorry. He was a good man—and one shendi-fleckin’ horse trader! Obviously—” he flicked the letter of credit with a ventral tentacle “—you don’t require financial help. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for advice. After the storm, I sold out the store and brought my brother here for a fresh start. I’ll open an account, and later make some investments.”
“I’ll be glad to help you, Risa. You just get to town? The hotel’s not exactly a proper place for a lady—”
“Kreg and I have a place to stay, thank you,” Risa said hastily—but then had to lie a few minutes later, not wanting to put Keon as her address on the account. “As soon as I have a permanent address I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, surely I can withdraw on my signature.”
“Of course, of course. It’s your money. And I’ll be on the lookout for investments. Old Skif’s been wanting to fix up the livery stable—”
“Old Skif doesn’t know how to fix up a stable,” said Risa. “There’s no secret to soap, water, and hard work. I said I want to invest my money, Mr. Darley, not throw it away.” She studied his nager, then asked, “How much does old Skif owe you, anyhow?”
He laughed. “Shrewd, Miz Tigue. Your father’s daughter, all right. We’re
going to get along just fine!”
* * * * * * *
SERGI DIDN’T SEE RISA AGAIN UNTIL DINNER. Kreg joined them, plate piled high. He certainly eats like a Gen, Sergi thought, then suppressed the idea. Her brother’s establishment would be the wrong reason for Risa to commit herself to Keon.
Kreg rattled on excitedly about his day. Risa answered in monosyllables, and Sergi remained silent.
He focused on the boy, looking for signs of Gen growth. Kreg was taller than his sister, but then so was almost everybody. Simes often grew tall, especially with proper nutrition. What Sergi looked for was the muscle development that sometimes preceded establishment of selyn production.
If anyone should know there’s no predicting, I should, he reminded himself.
Still he studied Kreg, weighing the options. With two Sime parents, chances were two in three he’d be Sime. If he changed over while Risa thought channel’s transfer was cold and unfeeling, would she let a channel touch him? But if he established, might she not remain at Keon for her brother instead of discovering her own reasons? Her personal need to live without killing was crucial to disjunction.
Stay a child, Kreg, Sergi thought. Don’t go either way until your sister makes her commitment.
Sergi accompanied Risa from the dining hall. “You didn’t get your assignment for tomorrow,” he told her. “Nedd wants you to read some Householding history. The story of Rimon Farris, the first channel—what little is known of it.”
“Farris,” she said. “You told me I’d learn about Farrises.”
“They originated the idea of householdings centuries ago, over in Nivet Territory. Nedd wants you to read how Simes and Gens first learned to live together. Then tomorrow you’ll witness him giving transfer—see that it’s no less satisfying than the Kill.”
She looked up at him, her large dark eyes studying his face. “I don’t thinkthe Kill is satisfying, Sergi—not after transfer with you.”
He resisted the impulse to withhold the truth. “Unfortunately you will crave killbliss in a few months. By far the worst is yet to come. We will not lie to you, Risa.”
“I’ve survived late changeover, a hurricane, and psycho-spatial disorientation. I’ll survive disjunction...with you there to help me through.”
“I know you will. But you have to survive it now; there is never a second chance at disjunction. If you kill—”
“I won’t!”
“Your body will betray you,” he replied. “You’re approaching turnover. Between turnover and transfer, you must avoid Gens unless you have a channel or a Companion with you. Keon is not a junct world, with the Gens locked up in Pens or holding rooms, out of your reach.”
“Sergi, I’d never touch a Gen who—” She faltered to a halt, then amended firmly, “I would never kill another Gen.”
“Risa, you are being naive,” he told her. “You will discover how much more enticing householding Gens are than Pen Gens could ever be. We will not have you—and one of Keon’s Gen members—become victims of a cascade.”
“What’s a cascade?” Risa asked curiously.
“Something triggers fear or startlement in Gens who are not Companions. Nearby Simes in Need attack. It is possible to provoke even a nonjunct renSime to kill if he is deep into Need, sick, injured, stressed beyond his limits.”
“Or a channel?” she asked. “Sergi, are you saying that I could go through all this only to—?”
“No!” He calmed himself and continued. “No, in your channel’s training you will learn to deal with such situations. But you must disjunct first, and that means avoiding the danger in the most innocuous situations.”
“I can take care of myself,” she insisted. “Besides, why would I want to kill? I’m getting wonderful transfers from you. That’s what Simes Need, Sergi—Gens that can give them transfer. If someone like Gevron can do it—”
“Not all Gens can,” he insisted. “At least not as the world is now. We’ll talk again tomorrow, after you’ve witnessed real channel’s transfer.”
But the next day Risa seemed little more convinced, and didn’t want to talk. “I’m going into town,” she announced.
“Again?” Sergi asked.
“I asked about having my horse shod this morning—she’s about to throw a shoe. I don’t understand you people. Keon specializes in metalwork, but doesn’t have a blacksmith!”
“Not that kind of metalwork,” Sergi protested. “We make jewelry. Our pieces have won the Arensti competition five years running.”
“Which gives you nice ribbons to hang on the wall, and an empty moneybox! Why can’t you design something practical? There’s no reason the holders for tea-glasses can’t be beautiful, is there? If you would lower yourself to producing plowshares or nails or fence wire you might not always be on the verge of being confiscated by the tax collector!”
He recognized her flare of temperament as a symptom of disjunction—a very early symptom, this fault-finding with the people she must depend on. Good. The sooner the process began, the more likely she would reach crisis in First Year.
“I’ll think about your suggestions,” he said, trying not to project condescension. “Ask at the stable if any other horses should be taken to the blacksmith. No sense someone else having to make the trip in a day or two.”
“Uh...yeah...maybe,” Risa fumbled. “I’ll see you at dinner, Sergi.” And she turned and practically ran.
Now, what was going on in her strange junct mind? She was still pre-turnover. Had she met someone in town—?
He refused to entertain the thought. As a Gen, he now had free time for lunch and a brief rest. He took a sandwich and a glass of tea from the dining hall and returned to his room. His sketchpad was covered with designs for a new householding ring, suited to the small, slender hands of Simes. The one Sergi wore openly now that he was safe at home was massive, perfectly suited to his large hands. On Nedd and some of the other men the design was acceptable—but on the hands of most Sime women it appeared unwieldy.
He toyed with the sketches while he ate, without much interest. His glance went to the tea glass in its plain metal holder. Turning to a clean leaf in his sketchpad, he began to draw—tentacled arms hugging the glass, drawing comfort from trin tea. He drew a trinrose in one hand and surveyed the effect. No, it should have a lighter touch, less obvious—
* * * * * * *
AT THE BLACKSMITH’S, RISA AGAIN ENCOUNTERED TANNEN DARLEY, and was immediately glad she had not brought any of Keon’s horses. “Fine animal,” the banker appraised her mare. “Care to sell her?”
“No, thank you.” She kept her tone and her field pleasant, as she zlinned that the banker was within two or three days of hard Need.
“I’m riding over to the Nashul Choice Auction,” said Darley. “Care to come along?”
“No, thank you,” she replied. “My taxes pay for Pen Gens.”
“After you zlin the local Pen, you may reconsider,” he said. “There’s an investment for an ambitious young person. A little pressure on the inspector, and Nikka would lose her license. You could do some breeding, bring in Choice Kills—”
The man’s voice turned to a buzzing in Risa’s ears. In her mind, poor Alis fell limp from Darley’s tentacles.
Sergi says I’ll crave it again. How could I? Simes don’t have to kill. Gens don’t have to be raised to die.
She didn’t know what she said to Tannen Darley, except that she had no intention of becoming a Gendealer. He had no patience for conversation either, and mounted his horse as soon as the smith was finished. “In a few days, Risa,” he promised, “we’ll find you exactly the right investment.”
Risa explored the town further while her horse was being shod, ending back at the general store. A bee-keeper was delivering honey. She could not think of any business suited to a community this size that Laveen did not already have. She wandered over to the livery stable, pondering how much it would cost to clean the place up, repair the rickety building, get in the prope
r feed—
But was the stable so run down because the owner was lazy—or because there wasn’t much call for boarding horses here? Supply and demand. She would investigate further.
On the way back to Keon, she considered what she had learned that morning. She had zlinned Nedd giving transfer to two Simes who had obviously been quite satisfied with his Gen imitation. It was not cold and unfeeling—his caring flowed with the selyn just as when Sergi gave transfer. Nonetheless, it lacked something.
“Something you need,” Nedd tried to explain, “but that renSimes do not. Channel’s transfer provides everything a renSime needs. Tomorrow you will begin to learn it.”
Determined more with every day she ate Keon food, knew Kreg was in Keon classes, slept in a Keon bed, Risa tried her best to do the one thing Keon asked of her in return. The mechanics she mastered; the emotions were beyond her.
With her turnover, she began to feel edgy whenever Sergi was not nearby—most of the day, since there were only seven Companions for Keon’s three channels. She felt isolated by the proscription against her approaching any group with Gens in it.
Life was routine; no crises interrupted the flow of daily life, but if Sergi was right, that flow could be interrupted easily and fatally.
The schedule board showed where every channel and every Companion was at any time each day. Rikki, one of the channels, had the duty of arranging the schedule. “A channel has to do it,” he explained to Risa when, looking for permitted company, she watched him one morning. “You have to know where each channel is in his cycle, how long he has been working on what—and the Companions’ strengths, who’s good under pressure—and who falls asleep. The Gens coming to donate aren’t much problem at the moment; they’re all long-time donors except Lewsiel, who established last month. Nedd hopes she’ll be able to train as a Companion.”
“Why aren’t all the Gens Companions?” Risa asked.
“In theory they could be, but it’s very hard to overcome fear traumas. Two years ago the local Pen had a shaking plague scare; the juncts were afraid to take Pen Gens, so they raided Keon and broke into a Gen dormitory. Eight young Gens were in the building that night; one managed to give transfer, one was badly burned—and the others couldn’t help being frightened. Six deaths. The boy who was burned, Jori, is barely able to donate. Only Dreela managed to become a Companion—and three kids who weren’t in the dorm that night were so shaken by what had happened to their friends that only one of them could overcome it.”