Ambrov Keon

by Jean Lorrah

  She had gone a full twenty-eight days again, and with Sergi by her side it was easy to wait out the two hours to her transfer. Then she felt ready for anything.

  As they were drinking tea after transfer, Sergi asked, “Can you tell me what disturbed you during the night? Even asleep, I should have kept dreams from bothering you.”

  “That’s probably why I didn’t feel the dream as a nightmare,” she said. Remembering that telling a dream was supposed to make it stop recurring, she told Sergi—except the part about the father’s eyes. For some reason, she was reluctant to tell Sergi she had met the Gen girl again.

  “It was the strangest dream I ever had—being someone else. A boy. And living out-Territory, on a farm. I’ve never lived on a farm—never even stayed on one. I’ve certainly never lived out-Territory.”

  “And you’re certainly not a boy,” he said with a grin.

  “Yet it only seemed strange afterward, not while I was dreaming. That man was my father—but it wasn’t my father—my real father, you know? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “The gypsies say everybody lives many lives, as man and woman, Sime and Gen. Maybe you were once a berserker.”

  “That’s just superstition. I don’t believe in anything that can’t be proved.”

  The dream haunted Risa’s rare moments of solitude. For the next few days, Nedd had her taking donations from the most experienced of the householding Gens, and transferring selyn to himself, Rikki, or the third channel, Loid.

  Risa learned quickly. When she completed the first day’s task under the channel’s supervision, he told her, “You can handle donations without me—which will ease my schedule. Sergi will be with you. After you disjunct, you won’t have to have a Companion for this kind of donation—only for the skittish donors, to protect you more than to protect them.”

  “Why aren’t these donors Companions? No one was frightened today. Most were more concerned about putting me at ease than about letting a...junct...touch them.”

  “But how much selyn did they give?” asked Sergi.

  “More than a renSime needs for a month.”

  “But not enough for a channel,” Nedd explained. “These people have years of experience. If they had had the attitude in adolescence that they have now, they could have become Companions. But they didn’t. They donated with courage, out of duty...but not joyfully and without fear. Attitude is as important as physical ability. A Gen’s selyn production levels off soon after his body reaches full growth, if he does not experience selyur nager.”

  The Need to give. Risa understood the term well; she felt that Gen Need in Sergi, Gevron, the other Companions.

  “There are exceptions,” Sergi pointed out. “We call them Natural Donors—adults who are able to train as Companions.”

  “Like Sintha,” Nedd agreed. “Have you worked with her yet, Risa?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You’d know,” said Sergi. “She speaks Simelan with a Gen accent—she was captured out-Territory by raiders. Nedd and I were at the Choice Auction that month, thank goodness.”

  “Despite what she’d been through, she was able to develop a Companion’s abilities,” Nedd added. “Now—no more history lessons. It’s time to practice transfer. Instead of my drawing the selyn, I want you to transfer it into my secondary system—as if I were a renSime in Need.”

  In channel’s mode, Nedd’s secondary system masked his primary. He projected the restless Need of a renSime. Risa found transfer grip and completed the circuit, letting her own secondary system take precedence. Nedd accepted about as much selyn as a renSime would, then broke contact. “Do you really think that would satisfy anyone?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You gave me nothing, Risa—nothing but selyn. Come on, now—give me some feeling along with it.”

  She tried again, projecting pleasure and fulfillment. “That’s better,” said Nedd, “but it’s not egobliss.”

  “Egobliss?”

  “Not killbliss—a Sime accustomed to that might seek it in the Kill. But you must give a renSime the same quality of peak experience that your Companion gives you.”

  Again Risa tried—and went on trying day by day until her turnover, when she went back into semi-seclusion.

  Her turnover was two days early. She didn’t under stand why, for Sergi had provided her with plenty of selyn at their last transfer, and she had done no augmenting.

  Sergi explained, “You are not consciously augmenting, but you are on edge, expending selyn in tension.”

  “But if I reach hard Need early, what about you?” she asked in panic, remembering what he had said about draining a Gen to death. “You won’t have replenished your selyn!”

  “Risa,” he said calmly, “zlin my selyn production.”

  She could sense his very cells at work, pulsing in rhythm with hers, preparing to serve her Need however great it might be. His field enveloped her, making her feel safe, secure.

  She spent as much time as she could within Sergi’s nager. She accompanied him to the metal shop, watching him create and burnish the teaglass holders for Tannen Darley. Searching for other small objects that could be cast in metal, she had thought of fancy pencils or pens, belt buckles, harness ornaments—things the local people would do without or carve from wood. Sergi designed some, and the general store took a few, but only the teaglass holders sold well.

  Staring at the holders one day, though, Risa remembered another beverage served in glasses in holders: porstan. They probably serve it in thick mugs out here! she thought, and wondered if Laveen was ready for the refinement of delicate glasses in metal holders. “Let’s try it,” she told Sergi. “Make some, and I’ll approach the saloon owners.”

  “Porstan glass holders? I’ve never been in a Sime saloon. I don’t know what design would be appropriate.”

  “You have at least drunk porstan?”

  “Of course I have!” he replied. “It’s available in the dining hall. But...juncts don’t use it just as a thirst-quencher after a hard day’s work. They get drunk, maybe even have shiltpron music.”

  Porstan alone could not inebriate a Sime, but in combination with the music of the Sime instrument, played in a nageric as well as an audible range, it could produce one roaring drunk—and a mind-splitting hangover the next day. Risa had seen her father in that condition twice within three months after her mother’s death, and then never again as he adjusted to his loss and focused his caring on his children.

  “Design a shiltpron into the holster,” Risa suggested.

  “That’s obscene!”

  “Exactly!”

  When Risa took samples into town two days later, she came away from the first two saloons with orders that would keep the metal shop busy for the next two months. In the third saloon, as she approached the bar she was suddenly stopped by a cheerful, “Risa! Risa Tigue! How are you?”

  It was Verla, the young woman from Norlea, wearing her gaudy working clothes. The men in the saloon studied the two women, zlinned Risa’s state of Need, and lost interest.

  “Come over here where we can talk,” said Verla, leading Risa to a corner table. People were at the bar, and several were gambling with dice around a table, shouting loudly at every throw. No one paid attention to the two women.

  “I’m making a better life for my kids,” Verla informed Risa. “There’re even more men for each woman here than there were in Norlea, so I have plenty of work—but I’m not gonna do this forever. I’m gonna open my own business.”

  “That’s very good, Verla,” said Risa, afraid to ask what kind of business the woman planned.

  “Does Keon have a school?” Verla asked abruptly.

  “A school? Well, not exactly. They have classes for their own children—”

  Verla’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Can I get my kids in? Can I visit them if they live there? Risa, my Dinny stole candy from the store a coupla days ago. I’ve raised my kids honest—I whaled the tar outa
him for stealing, but the boys here in town are a bunch of ruffians. I can’t make him stay in all day—we got nothing but one room in the hotel. He minds his sister; I can’t afford someone to keep the kids.

  “Look, Risa,” she added, very serious, “my Dinny, he knows what his mama does—but I don’t want my little girl to have to do the same. In Norlea we had a house. Here we got no privacy except a screen in front of their bed. I don’t like it—but I can’t see anything different for a long time. Unless Keon will take them in.”

  “Verla, if it were up to me, of course I’d say yes—but I’m not even a member of Keon. I’m just a guest, paying my way by keeping the books, doing some trading for them—” She showed Verla the glass holders.

  “Ooh, aren’t they pretty? Shiltprons on porstan glasses!” She giggled. “That’s really clever.” Then her eyes took on a faraway look. “Laveen doesn’t have a shiltpron parlor! If I can save enough money, I got a friend plays so great— My kids’d have a future! What do you think Risa?”

  “Well, you’d probably make a lot of money,” Risa said dubiously. It was not Risa’s kind of business—but for Verla it would be a step up. So she tried to be encouraging. “I will ask the Sectuib in Keon about taking in your children. You understand that they would learn householding ways—?”

  “I want them to!” Verla said in a fierce whisper. “Risa, I wanted to disjunct at Carre, but they said I’m too old. Please—you tell the Sectuib I don’t want my kids to kill. I don’t want to give them away—I want to be their mama—but I want them to live the way I saw at Carre. Please, Risa—if you can get the Sectuib to talk to me—”

  “I’ll do my best,” Risa promised, so astonished at the woman’s desire that her own approaching Need subsided.

  Nedd was both surprised and delighted at the money Risa brought back that day. “And that’s only the deposit,” she told him. “Zabrina, who owns the biggest saloon, wants to know if you can make these out of steel—she says this base metal breaks when people throw it.”

  “Throw it?”

  “Apparently they frequently have fights. Can you make steel?”

  “No, Risa, we can’t. If we could, we would be trading in knives—even I have that much business sense.”

  “Don’t you know how, or is it too expensive?”

  The channel explained, “The best steel comes from out-Territory. Sergi’s got some pieces of Ancient work—I’ve often scolded him for spending Keon’s money on such things, but he is fascinated by different types of metal. He more than earns what he spends—but we’re always so short of cash.”

  Keon’s books had told Risa more than just that Nedd was a poor bookkeeper. The householding was run as a family. Everything belonged to everyone, and consequently to no one. If someone went into town, he took money from the petty cash supervised by Nedd’s wife, Litith, who acted as householding secretary. Large purchases had to be approved by Nedd.

  Money brought in went into the community coffers. It set Risa’s teeth on edge to think of wasters bankrupting hard workers under such a system, although she had seen neither waste nor laziness here. She bit back comment, reminding herself that she was a guest—but she could not live permanently under these conditions. She had to know what was hers, control her own property, as her father had taught her. She kept up his principles with Kreg, giving him an allowance every week. But the boy had no place to spend it here, and simply locked it into his “treasure box.”

  Kreg showed no inclination to leave the householding, nor did Verla’s children after they saw that their mother did indeed visit them often. Nedd was perfectly willing to take them in; “How could we possibly refuse?”

  He would take no money for room and board—and Verla later told Risa, “When I open my shiltpron parlor, Keon is gonna have a share in it—you mark my words.”

  Risa tried to smile tolerantly, but in her last days of Need the woman’s impossible dreams irritated her. She bit her tongue to keep from telling Verla that she would never be anything but a pitiful whore, selling her body for barely enough to live on.

  * * * * * * *

  THE DAY BEFORE RISA WAS SCHEDULED FOR TRANSFER, Sergi finished the first batch of porstan glass holders. Risa was with him, but he could feel her restlessness. “I’ll take them into town,” she said.

  “Tomorrow,” he replied, “after our transfer.”

  She bridled, and he knew he had mishandled her again. Keon had never before tried to disjunct a channel, so Sergi had never before dealt with a disjuncting Sime who did not yield easily to his efforts and his nager. “What if I wanted to go today?” Risa challenged.

  “But you really don’t want to, do you?” he asked calmly, deliberately projecting a seductive lethargy. It wasn’t hard—she had kept him up all night.

  Her dream had returned in nightmare form. Her terror wakened him, and they spent the rest of the night talking.

  “You should take a nap,” Risa told him. “Let’s go back to my room. You sleep and I’ll read.”

  “I’ll be all right if I eat something,” he replied. “I’ve gone on less sleep in other emergencies.”

  “But there is no emergency now,” she began, then suddenly broke out, “You don’t trust me! You think if you fall asleep I’ll run away to town—maybe kill somebody! You lorsh!” she exclaimed, dark eyes flashing anger. “I’d be safer in town than here. Only Simes in town. You’re the one who kills Simes, you wer-Gen!”

  Risa jumped down from her stool and ran. Sergi followed, but despite his long legs she outdistanced him by augmenting.

  She started for the stable, then veered toward the main gate instead. “Get out of the way!” Sergi shouted at some Gens in her path, and Simes darted in to pull them from Risa’s way. When she ignored them, he recognized in relief a common mood for a disjuncting Sime, not seeking a Kill, just running from the Companion or channel who seemed to stifle her. Still, she had to be stopped and calmed down, or she would augment herself into genuine Need, possibly miles from a Companion.

  The door in the gate was closed. The guard jumped down from his platform to bar Risa’s way. She charged him. He took a stance to ward her off as other Simes ran to help.

  At the very last moment, Risa spun away from the crouching guard, swarmed up the ladder to the lookout platform, and flung herself over the wall.

  Sergi pounded up to the door, tearing at the latch. A Sime was immediately beside him, pulling the heavy bolt. “Get a channel!” Sergi told her. “And get my horse! We may have to chase her down!”

  He charged through the door just as Risa disappeared into the road at the end of a tree-lined lane.

  She had turned away from town. She sought solitude, not a Kill. Then, as he was about halfway down the lane, Risa reappeared, trotting cautiously across his field of vision, arms outstretched in the direction of the road to town. She was zlinning something—

  Sergi’s hope disappeared in a rush of adrenalin. He put on speed as Risa broke into a run.

  Keon’s gate was well back off the road. By the time Sergi reached the end of the lane he could hear horses galloping from town, and turned the corner to face disaster.

  Risa was a good fifty paces down the road. A horse bore down on her, a child’s pony with two riders. Far down the road a second horse pursued, the distant rider Sime and male. The two riders on the pony were female, one of them only a child, the other a Gen in traveling clothes, collar about her neck, tags jingling—

  The pony shied as it approached Risa. She reached for the reins, frightening it further. It reared, tumbling both riders into the road.

  The child scrambled to her feet, trying to shield the Gen girl. “Let her go!” she pleaded. “She’s going to Keon!”

  Sergi saw Risa back off, fighting her instinct to react to Gen pain as the girl climbed to her feet, limping—but she must not be flaring fear.

  No. Sergi recognized her: the pale blond girl they had seen on their way here. She had a Companion’s spirit—

  “
It’s all right, Susi,” the Gen girl said. “She’s a householder. She won’t hurt us.”

  But the Sime bearing down on them certainly would!

  “Run!” Sergi shouted, as close to the three now as the rider on the other side—but a horse was faster than a man!

  The Gen girl grasped Susi’s hand and started to run toward Sergi. The little girl, though, held her ground, shouting to the rider, “No, Daddy, no!”

  The man pulled his horse to a stop and jumped down, thrusting the child out of the way. Sergi recognized Tannen Darley, the banker.

  The Gen girl backed away, limping, eyes widening—

  Sergi felt intil surge in Darley, who was closer to Need than Risa—but disjunction had made Risa ultra-sensitive.

  They were two Simes in Need, faced off over a frightened Gen!

  Desperately repressing his fear for Risa, Sergi dashed between them—but how could he handle both? Risa needed his selyn; he would give her transfer right here in the road if necessary—but how could he let Darley kill the Gen girl who had escaped and come to them?

  Edging between the two Simes, Sergi felt drawn to Darley. The man was truly in hard Need, Risa only raising intil. With Sergi’s field intervening, she came out of it, and he turned to Darley. Behind him, he heard people coming from Keon. He had to keep Darley from killing only for moments—then the channels would take over. If only Risa understood that he was not going to give him transfer—

  Darley turned eagerly toward the tempting field Sergi projected, laterals extended and dripping ronaplin as he reached for the Gen’s arms—

  “No!” Risa screamed, leaping on Sergi with augmented strength, knocking him all the way across the road and into the ditch. “No!” she cried again. “I won’t let you kill him!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TANNEN DARLEY LEAPED FOR RISA’S THROAT—a killer Sime trying to choke the life out of her for stealing his Kill.

  She was small enough to get a grasp on his arms and swing up to kick him in the solar plexus. Darley staggered back with a “Whuff!” and his hold relaxed.

  His Need deepened as he augmented to fight her, triggering Risa’s Need again—