Ambrov Keon

by Jean Lorrah

  “Rest!” he said, leaning back in his comfortable chair.

  “But I don’t require rest! Nedd, there is no reason I cannot do my own business and perform my duties for Keon—if only you would give me a sensible schedule.”

  As he forced both eyes open, she realized he was not exaggerating. He was indeed tired, his systems in recovery mode but not yet back to normal, although it was probably half an hour since his last function.

  “Nedd—are you ill?” she asked, conscience-stricken.

  He gave a wry chuckle. “No, I’m not ill. I’ve been working on and off since midnight, that’s all. My last shift comes up in twenty minutes, and I will be fully recovered.

  “You’re unusual, Risa—not Rikki or Loid or me. I don’t think even my father had your capacity. You belong at Zeor, not Keon—if Keon didn’t need you so desperately I might be tempted to see what they could do with you.”

  His tone of voice and nager told her that his threat to send her to the “best”—and strictest—householding was not exactly a compliment.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize—”

  “No, you’re right. I’ll tell Rikki to reduce your rest periods to twenty minutes.”

  With an improved schedule, Risa felt better about her life. Kreg gave transfer to Rikki just before Risa’s turnover, and came from the experience glowing. “I’ve never felt so good in my life.” he told her. “Where’s Sergi—I’ve got to tell him he was right.”

  “I couldn’t tell the difference from what Sergi gave me, the few times I’ve had transfer with him,” Rikki told Risa. “What Kreg doesn’t know is that I couldn’t really satisfy him. Someday I suppose he’ll have to do what Sergi did—go find himself a channel up to his capacity.”

  The next day Sergi, who had been spending much of his time in the metal shop, began dogging Risa’s footsteps. When he did not leave her side as she returned to her room after midnight, she realized it was her turnover day. She examined her systems, found that she was indeed on the descent toward Need—and had not felt a thing.

  “Sergi—I’m not junct anymore,” she told him. “If you want your privacy—”

  He looked up from turning the cover back on the second bed, unused since Risa had left the infirmary. Someone on housekeeping detail had made it up fresh today. “What I want is for you to sleep. You’ll wake before I do. Just go on with your duties, and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  Risa shrugged. It wasn’t worth arguing about.

  Three days later Triffin gave transfer to Loid, and Nedd called Risa, Triffin, and Kreg to his office. Sergi was already there. “It’s time for a celebration,” said the Sectuib, “when the three of you pledge unto Keon. I don’t believe we have ever had a three-way pledge party before—and certainly never one welcoming a channel and two Companions!”

  Sergi said, “If you’ve wondered why I’ve spent so much time in the metal shop this month, here’s the reason.” He held out his hand. Three gold rings gleamed on his large palm, rubies winking. They were of graduated sizes—a large one like Sergi’s for Kreg, one slightly smaller for Triffin, and the new, more delicate design he had been working on—

  “No!” Risa said involuntarily, staring at the enameled white chain surrounding the stone in each ring.

  Everyone stared at her, Nedd zlinning her concernedly. “Risa, this will only formalize what you already are.”

  “A member of Keon? I’m not—and I don’t want to be.”

  “Sis!” Kreg said, stricken. “You aren’t leaving?”

  “I owe Keon far too much for that. You pledge, Kreg. You’re happy with Keon’s system. But I can’t live under it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sergi asked, his field under harsh control.

  Nedd’s field was numb. “What system?” he asked blankly.

  “Your whole way of life,” Risa answered. “There’s no incentive here. All you have is duty, duty, duty, ‘So burdensome, still paying, still to owe.’”

  “What?” asked Sergi.

  “It’s from an Ancient poem,” Kreg explained. “Dad used to quote it. But Risa, I don’t feel that way. Why do you?”

  “Maybe because I owe more than you do—and always will,” she replied, surprising herself. “But Kreg, half the money I got from selling the store is yours. I’ve invested it.”

  “I trust you.”

  “What Risa is saying,” Nedd suddenly realized, “is that she fears Keon is asking for all your worldly goods. And...she’s right. All that you are and have will be Keon’s, and all that Keon is and has will be yours.” He sighed. “This is the first time I can remember that we have had someone come to us with worldly goods. Just how wealthy are you two, anyway? No, I’m sorry—that was a rude question.”

  “You have the right to know,” said Kreg. “Risa, as a Gen I’ve lost inheritance rights. If you won’t let me pledge my money, that’s up to you. Sectuib, I will pledge myself, if you will have me.”

  Risa managed a rueful laugh. Verla planned to give half of her profits from the shiltpron parlor to Keon. Kreg’s decision meant that his half of Risa’s portion would also go to Keon. “Kreg, you know I would not cheat you of your inheritance. If that is your decision, half of all profits from the investment go to Keon—but Nedd, I think you will be surprised to discover what you own half of.”

  “Not me—the householding,” he replied. “I’m sure you have made a profitable choice. I looked at our accounts yesterday, Risa. Keon made enough profit on those glass holders last month to buy metal for the new orders coming in and still pay our taxes despite acquiring two extra Gens. As for your own decision, we would never demand a pledge of anyone who does not want with all her heart to give it.”

  “You have my services as long as you Need them.”

  “I would ask that you live here, please,” Nedd added. “We are Gen high. Having another Sime in residence not only decreases taxes, but makes less likely the threat of confiscation for hoarding when there are shortages.”

  Risa could feel the deep hurt Nedd was trying to conceal, and wished desperately that she had been able to find a gentler way to inform the Sectuib of her plans. Shen Sergi and his shedoni-doomed rings, anyway!

  If Nedd was hurt, Sergi was seething with indignation. “How could you do that to Nedd?” he demanded when they had left the office and were out of earshot of the others.

  “How could you do that to me?” she challenged. “I told you I won’t be chained!”

  “But you’re a channel. How can you even think of leaving Keon? Risa...all of a sudden I don’t know you!”

  “I’m the same person I’ve always been. I told you I wanted to disjunct, and I did. I said I’d channel for Keon, and I will. What more do you expect from me?”

  “Loyalty! Caring!” He seemed about to add something else, but cut it off.

  “Sergi, I do care,” she said softly. “I love channeling—but I can’t earn a living at it.”

  “What?” He was bewildered.

  “Look at you. You work as a Companion. You make objects that bring Keon money. If you did nothing but produce selyn, you’d deserve twice the payment of anyone else at Keon. But you are paid the same as everyone else: nothing!”

  “Risa, you cannot talk about selyn in terms of money!”

  “Why not? You should be paid for it.”

  His eyes flashed blue ice. “And then I suppose you’d have the channels sell it to the renSimes—at a profit?”

  “Yes!” she said eagerly. “You do understand.”

  He turned away. “Is that all you think about? Money? How can you speak of life in terms of—of profit?”

  “Because profit is important, that’s why. Value for services rendered. Of course money isn’t everything—but look what a little money has done for Verla. Do you think she’d be better off without it, selling her body for barely enough to pay her Gen taxes?”

  “Verla is a junct living in a junct society. That society buys and sells peop
le...and you grew up in it. I’m sorry, Risa. I don’t know why we didn’t realize that you were still thinking that way. But it can’t go on. Perhaps—” he fixed her with angry eyes again, “perhaps if you pictured your little brother on the auction block, you would stop thinking of life in terms of money.”

  * * * * * * *

  SERGI WAS NOT SURE RISA UNDERSTOOD, even when she went pale at the thought of Kreg auctioned off forthe Kill. He had thought she had adopted Keon as her family...and now he learned she regarded the householding as a necessary evil.

  And their transfers as something to be paid for—

  He traded the next duty shift with Triffin. Knowing what had happened in Nedd’s office, she agreed. Loid seemed puzzled, but Sergi rarely claimed personal privilege.

  Nedd, though, had heard about the trade by the time of his next conference with Sergi. “You quarreled with Risa?”

  “Yes.”

  “When she is well past turnover?”

  “Don’t try to make me feel guilty, Nedd. I have just found out what a cold, unfeeling—”

  “Sergi!” Nedd had not used that tone of voice with him since he was a small boy folding paper into airship models during changeover class.

  But he was a man now, even if disillusioned and hurt. He calmed himself, determined to make Nedd understand. “Risa thinks life is to be bought and sold. Verla deserved to disjunct, not Risa!”

  “Do you realize what you are saying?”

  “Yes. Since she could not disjunct, Verla made sure her children will never kill. She changed her way of life. But Risa would buy and sell selyn! She regards me as providing a...commodity! I can’t give her transfer, Nedd. I never want to touch her again.”

  The Sectuib let Sergi storm. When the Companion finally sat down, he said, “You saved her life when you knew she meant to kill you. You brought her through disjunction.”

  “And now she rejects everything we stand for.”

  “Not everything.” Nedd smiled. “Sergi, how can you abandon Risa over a difference in economic philosophy?”

  “You don’t understand,” Sergi said numbly.

  “I know you’re in love with her. That’s why it hurts you so to think she sees you as a commodity. Son, Risa is on her last defenses. Give her time! She loves you—but she is not ready to make that final commitment.”

  “She still sees Gens as objects to buy and sell.”

  “That’s not what you said,” Nedd reminded him. “You said Risa sees selyn as a commodity. I said you think she sees you that way.”

  “What’s the difference?” Sergi asked hopelessly.

  “How does she perceive the role of channel?”

  “She said—channels should sell selyn at a profit,” Sergi said.

  To his dismay, Nedd laughed. “Sergi, don’t you see? Purveyors of a commodity! You may not like the way Risa perceives you, but she perceives herself the same way.”

  As Sergi studied his Sectuib, a thought surfaced that he had been suppressing since the day of Risa’s disjunction. “Nedd...how do you perceive us?”

  “Us?”

  “Gens. You’re a channel. You’ve never killed a Gen. Yet...you risked killing me at our first transfer.”

  “I judged that you were ready—and I was right. Such judgments are a Sectuib’s duty, Sergi.”

  “Like your judgment that Risa would not kill her brother?”

  “You think I arranged—?”

  “Of course you did. Or at least let it happen. Two augmenting Simes could not prevent a Gen from running into that room? You held Litith back. You let Kreg risk his life—and Risa’s! What if she’d killed her brother?”

  “She did not kill him. She could not—and we would have aborted any try she made.”

  “If you could have in time,” Sergi said flatly.

  “She had to make a choice, Sergi. No choice, no disjunction. You are satisfied that she is truly disjunct?”

  “I would stake my life on her,” Sergi replied.

  “Then my judgment was correct. Such decisions are the Sectuib’s burden. Be grateful they are not yours.”

  Sergi was astonished—not so much at Nedd’s revelation as at the fact that in all the years he had worked closely with the channel, he had taken such decisions for granted. Nedd had always been right...for the first time he was wrong, it would mark the end of Keon.

  Nedd broke the silence. “Go find Risa and make up—you’ll be giving her transfer again in a few days. And if you two should decide to take your relationship beyond that of channel and Companion, it would be the best thing that could happen to either of you.”

  * * * * * * *

  TWO DAYS BEFORE TRANSFER, RISA DECIDED TO RIDE INTO TOWN. At the stable, she discovered Nedd saddling up. “I was beginning to think you never left the grounds,” she told him.

  “I was beginning to feel that way!” he replied. “It’s become such a habit, I almost gave you the bank deposit—then I realized I had time to do it myself. Mind if I ride with you?”

  “Not at all.” Nedd could hardly call more attention to Risa’s status than Sergi did.

  When they were on the road to town, Nedd asked, “Are you and Sergi getting along better?”

  “We work together just fine,” she replied.

  “That was not what I asked. A channel and her Companion cannot afford to be at odds.”

  “Nedd, Sergi and I have the same differences you and I have. I’d rather not argue with you, either.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with arguing, as long as it doesn’t turn into fighting.”

  Risa smiled. “My dad always said the same thing to Kreg and me. All right. What do you want to argue about?”

  That drew a low chuckle. “Actually, I’d like some information. Kreg will pledge to Keon day after tomorrow. He still doesn’t know how you’ve invested his inheritance.”

  “When we get to town, I’ll show you. Before you decide to withdraw Keon’s support, consider what you would do to someone you have been helping to change.”

  “Verla? I heard something about her starting a business, but I don’t remember that she said what kind.”

  “A profitable one. Nedd, it could be Keon’s financial salvation.”

  “We have never invested outside the householding,” he said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t expect juncts to accept the householding as an investor.”

  “Some people are going to be prejudiced forever,” Risa said, “but most are like Verla: make their lives more comfortable, and you will soon have them on your side. Too many people in this area can’t find work—and can’t pay their taxes. So you get drifters and unlicensed raiders. Still, I’m amazed at the way people around here can’t seem to count.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The local Pen carries enough Gens to supply roughly three-quarters of the people on the rolls. Not counting Keon’s Simes, either. A good number of the local Simes must either raid across the border or be involved in some sort of scheme with Nikka, the Gendealer.”

  “Scheme?”

  “There was a scandal at one of the Lanta Pens. The local dealer was siphoning off Gens, selling them as extra kills. In bad times some local citizens couldn’t pay their taxes—so why keep surplus Gens? The food money went into the dealer’s pocket, along with extra funds from illegal kills. People who couldn’t pay their taxes turned raider, stole other people’s kills—or died. A small shortfall could be kept under wraps—but the dealer got greedy, and sold off more and more Gens illegally. Soon there weren’t enough for people who had paid. My dad—” Risa choked over the memory.

  “Risa—are you all right?” Nedd asked in concern.

  “Yes. I was fifteen; Kreg was nine. Dad took us to Lanta to see the dealer, publicly caged. Execution by attrition. Shedoni.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t zlin—but it was bad enough. Dad said it was an object lesson, in case we ever considered being dishonest in business.”

  “It’s barbarous,” said the Sectuib.

  �
�To steal people’s kills, force them to raid or steal or die horribly? Yes. It’s barbarous.”

  She felt Nedd zlin her. “The method of execution is equally barbarous.”

  She looked over at him. “I agree. And it will happen right here in Laveen if the quiet conspiracy continues to support Nikka’s greed. Tannen Darley knows what’s going on—or at least suspects it. He’d like to get rid of Nikka, but if he doesn’t have the influence, who does?”

  “Not Keon,” Nedd replied.

  “No. Not Keon. Not Darley and other honest business people. Not the farmers. None of us alone. But think of what we could do together.”

  “Risa—that is a lovely dream, but it won’t happen. No junct will have anything to do with us.”

  “Oh? Let’s go in here for a drink,” she said as they approached Verla’s, “and see how we’re welcomed.”

  Verla had finished her remodeling. The bar had been moved to the other side of a highly polished floor. The tables and chairs were back in place, also shining with polish.

  Ambru was seated on a platform at the back, playing a lively tune on his shiltpron. He played on the audial level only for the afternoon crowd—but crowd it was, more than twenty people right in the middle of the day.

  There were dusty farmhands at the bar. The usual gamblers sat around the largest table, concentrating on their cards. Drifters loitering away a few hours in the warmth for the price of a drink or two occupied the small back tables.

  Verla was sitting with three other women at a table near the door—but wonder of wonders, these were neither prostitutes nor townswomen, but modest farm wives, one with a baby on her knee. Such women never set foot in Laveen’s saloons. How had Verla wooed them in?

  “Didn’t I tell you someone from Keon would stop by soon?” she asked the other women as Nedd and Risa entered. “Here’s the Sectuib himself—the very man to ask!”

  Some of the women looked startled; others shy, especially the young woman Verla introduced as Melli Raft, whose strong Gen accent placed her as a refugee from across the border.

  When the introductions were completed, and Nedd was served porstan and Risa tea, the explanations came. The three wives ranged in age from Melli’s three years past changeover to Miz Frader’s some thirty years past, showing in her stooped shoulders, lined face, and sparse silver hair. Joi Sentell, the one with the baby, was somewhere between—this was her youngest of four children. Children were what they had in common—and grandchildren in Miz Frader’s case.