Channel's Destiny s-5

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  "Well, I've got to prove I can be a Companion. They're not going to let me—" He looked past Zeth and said, "Uh-oh."

  Zeth turned and saw Abel Veritt coming across the strawberry field, headed straight for Owen.

  When he arrived, he asked conversationally, "Are the berries good this year?"

  "Very good, sir," replied Zeth.

  "I remember picking strawberries when I was a boy. Owen, you're getting along well, I see."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I've come to talk to you about something very serious, Owen. Are you happy here?"

  "Well—yes, sir."

  "You want to stay?"

  "Yes, sir." Owen was getting nervous.

  "Mr. Farris and Mr. Whelan have asked me to talk to you. Every Sime in Fort Freedom knows the mischief new Gens cause when they discover their effect on Simes. We also expect this to be a phase that passes quickly."

  "I didn't mean any harm, sir—I'm sorry for the headache I gave Jord, and the time I made Mrs. Veritt laugh so hard."

  "It seems you don't know your own strength. Only Mrs. Farris has a higher field than yours, but her field is always carefully controlled. Uel Whelan tells me he had to work with his Companion for almost an hour this morning before he could go on with his duties—after you raised his intil. You did that on purpose?''

  Owen hung his head. "Yes, sir. I would have followed through if he'd asked me to serve him. I wanted him to—you don't know what it's like—"

  Veritt smiled grimly. "I have a fair idea, Owen. But if you're not—satisfied—here, if you can't adhere to our standards of good manners, I'll arrange a Farewell Ceremony and send you into Gen Territory. You know the language. You can make a good life for yourself.''

  "No!" Owen cried, and Mr. Veritt moved back a step, wincing. Owen immediately calmed. "This is home," he said. "Pa—Jana—everyone I care about is here. I'll behave– honest. Don't send me away, Mr. Veritt!"

  In the past, Fort Freedom's Gens had been sent to a town built by other Gens from Fort Freedom, across the border in Gen Territory. But for years now, most of the Gens had stayed to donate selyn.

  "Very well, Owen—but my offer remains open. If life here doesn't suit you—we'll see you safely across the border."

  As he left, both boys knew he meant that life was hard

  enough for Simes without a Gen who made a child's game of enticing them.

  "It's not fair," said Owen.

  Zeth ached for his friend—cut off from the experience they had all dreamed about. How would I feel in his place? And he knew his job was not over.

  Chapter 3

  Midsummer brought plans for two celebrations. In Zeth's family, it was his eleventh birthday—a Gen tradition, the celebration of birthdays, but Fort Freedom deliberately maintained both Sime and Gen customs just as it maintained both languages.

  The other celebration was a community-wide conspiracy: a fiftieth birthday celebration for Abel Veritt. In Gen Territory that might not be a particularly long life, but Zeth's father speculated that Mr. Veritt might be the oldest Sime who ever lived.

  Three days before his birthday, Zeth was doing his morning chores when Mr. Veritt rode up to the New Homestead. By the time Zeth went in to breakfast, Mr. Veritt was seated at the table with Zeth's parents, drinking tea. Rimon said, "You don't have to put yourself through this again, Abel."

  "No, Rimon. I've told all the others, and I'll tell Zeth. It's my duty until there is nothing left to tell." He smiled. "Perhaps not long now. I managed seven months this time– and then transfer with Hank two days ago. This time—" He broke off, but Zeth understood.

  The Simes who had killed for years, before Rimon Farris found a way for them to stop, had to have direct Gen transfer every so often. Hank Steers always provided transfer for Abel Veritt, for he had lived with the Veritts when he first carne to Fort Freedom, and was like another son to them.

  Now Mr. Veritt said, "Zeth, I'm going to take you away from your chores today. One more lesson, and your changeover training will be complete."

  "Yes, sir," said Zeth. He had known it was coming. Eleven natal years was the youngest changeover his father had ever heard of; therefore every child in Fort Freedom was

  thoroughly trained before his eleventh birthday. Whatever he was to learn today was very adult and very sobering. He remembered Owen, and later Jana, returning from the final lesson with solemn, still faces.

  They rode through town, and out beyond the Old Homestead. Mr. Veritt reined in atop the hill that overlooked Gen Territory. "It is many years," he said as they got down from their horses, "since we sent one of our children down that trail in a Farewell Ceremony. But you must know, Zeth, that if you are Gen, if you choose, we will send you across with our blessings."

  "I won't be Gen," said Zeth. "I'll change over before autumn."

  "Zeth!" Mr. Veritt said reprovingly. "You don't know that."

  "Yes I do!" the boy protested, for somehow he did know.

  "You must not presume. Your father thinks you will be Sime and a channel. Indeed, we pray for it, as we must have more channels. But no one can know God's will before the event."

  Zeth had never been more certain of anything, but he decided not to argue further. "If I am Gen, Mr. Veritt, I'll stay and be a Companion like Mama.''

  Mr. Veritt nodded. "I'm sure you would. However, you must know that the choice is open. Zeth—you are unique. You're the only child in Fort Freedom of your age. I have always brought three or four children here before. It is a bitter secret I must confess to you, Zeth Farris."

  ". . . Confess?"

  They sat down on a shady rock, the horses wandering away to crop the dry grass. It was a still day, the only sounds the movement of the horses and some insect noises. Zeth stared down the trail, where some distance down the hill was the border between Sime and Gen Territories.

  Mr. Veritt seemed to read Zeth's thought. "Do you know what marks the border between the Territories?" he asked.

  "Fear," Zeth replied. "If we could remove fear between Simes and Gens, there'd be no borders."

  "Yes," said Mr. Veritt, "that's right. However, I meant the question literally. The border crossing on that trail before you is marked by a grave—the grave of a martyr."

  "I know," said Zeth. "Jon Forester." He had seen the name on the Monument in the chapel to all who had died to

  make it possible for Simes and Gens to live together. The most recent name was Ten Layton's.

  Jon Forester had died the same way Teri had: a Gen still learning to be a Companion, not yet able to avoid panicking when touched by a killer Sime. Jon Forester, though, had not been killed by some raiding stranger, but by Abel Veritt's own son, Jord.

  "You know the story," said Mr. Veritt, "and you know what we learned from Jon Forester's death."

  "The test," said Zeth. "If a Sime has killed, even once, like the ones who come to us from Gen Territory, they can go a few months without killing, but then they reach a crisis. They want to kill. It seems they need to kill, that transfer from a channel or Companion isn't enough."

  Mr. Veritt nodded. "You've learned your lessons well."

  "That one? I've heard it every day of my life. Dad's really scared I'll kill. He thinks I'll be like him, but there won't be a Gen like Mama to give me transfer. He's making me watch Bekka Trent." Bekka had changed over in Gen Territory, and killed in First Need, but her desperate flight had brought her across the border at Ardo Pass, where Del Erick had found her and brought her to Fort Freedom less than a month ago. Such Simes were welcomed at Fort Freedom, as they were willing to go through almost anything never to kill again.

  "The young ones," said Abel. "Yes, they go through agonies and come out purified, the kill burned forever from their souls."

  "Well, I'm not going through that," said Zeth with a shudder. "I'll do whatever Dad tells me." He studied Mr. Veritt. "Is that what this is about? I know I've disobeyed sometimes, but I'm sure not gonna take the chance I might kill someone!"

&nb
sp; Sadly, Mr. Veritt said, "No, Zeth. What I must tell you concerns those of us who had been killing every month for years, before your father learned to be the channel of life force between Sime and Gen. I was the first, Zeth. To save my life, Rimon Farris first transferred selyn to a Sime."

  "I know," Zeth whispered. He remembered being brought in afterward—the crowded room, the atmosphere of rejoicing, his vow to be a channel. The first time he had vowed it, a very small boy caught up in a moment that changed history. "I was there," he said. "I remember the way you looked—I guess I'll never forget. When I was a little kid, and used to

  picture God like a person ... I pictured you, except sort of mixed up with my dad."

  Heeling pain played over Mr. Veritt's features. "We set ourselves up for that, we who take on the spiritual leadership of a community. I felt the same way about my father. He was the minister of our church, many years ago."

  Zeth knew that Mr. Veritt had come from Gen Territory, fleeing across the border just as Bekka Trent had—but back then there was no Fort Freedom to welcome him, and in his despair he had fallen in with Freehand Raiders. But instead of launching into the familiar tale, Mr. Veritt said softly, "I killed my father, Zeth."

  The boy jumped, shocked.

  Veritt drew his gaze from the horizon. "To him I had become an abomination, for the Church of the Purity teaches that all Simes are evil demons. I believed that, even more when I realized what I had done. It took me years to find my way back to God, and many years more to stop distorting His truth with my own prideful theories. Your parents taught me that, Zeth. I no longer pretend to interpret God's will.

  "Yet some things I know. My entire life is evidence of God's mercy. He has a way of bringing together the right people to implement His plans. While I was building Fort Freedom, your father was undergoing his own changeover and suffering terrible guilt because in First Need he, too, killed someone dear to him. You bear the name of the man he killed."

  "I know," said Zeth, for that was another familiar story.

  "Throughout your father's sufferings, there was your mother, a woman of courage and devotion.-"

  That story was Zeth's favorite: how Rimon Farris and Kadi Morcot had grown up together. How Kadi, still a child, had helped Rimon survive the tragedy of his First Kill—not a Gen, but a Sime, his cousin and best friend. How Kadi had established and been taken by Gen traders to be sold at the Reloc Bazaar as a Choice Kill, and how Rimon had rescued her.

  Rimon, in need, had meant to escort Kadi to the border and send her safely into Gen Territory, controlling his own desires in the face of Kadi's soaring field. Then they had encountered a Gen raiding party, torturing to death a Sime they had captured.

  Rimon intended to release the prisoner, and send Kadi

  safely across the border with the Gens. Neither Rimon nor Kadi spoke the Gen language nor understood that a party of bounty hunters was no safe escort. When Kadi ran to them, pretending to flee for her life, they took her in all right—and began fighting over who would have her.

  Rimon had to rescue Kadi again. The Sime captive of the bounty hunters, he saw, was a member of the Lorder Patrol. It didn't take him long to find the rest of the Patrol and lead them to attack the Gens. In the melee of battle, he was releasing the Sime captive when she died in his arms, driving him from need to intil—the helpless urge to kill. Instinctively, he turned on the nearest Gen: Kadi.

  Somehow through hard need, Rimon Farris recognized her, and when he should have killed to renew his own life—he stopped. Shenned, ripped from the source of satisfaction through an act of pure will, he fell unconscious. Now Kadi faced a life-or-death decision—and decided to give her life for Rimon's. Taking him hi kill position, she gave selyn, expecting to die. But because she did not fear, she did not die.

  Zeth shivered as Abel Veritt retold the story. It was a perfect legend, each lover willing to die to save the other. Mr. Veritt continued, "When your mother and father could find no acceptance in their own home, God led them to us. Here they learned all that Sime and Gen can do together—and here your father found his destiny. Your heritage, Zeth. You may be the channel we so desperately need. We have not found another since Uel Whelan, nine years ago. You are our hope, along with Uel's children. In your father's family, changeover comes early, usually by twelve. Soon you may face a great responsibility."

  "It's what I want," said Zeth. "I vowed I'd be a channel before I even understood what a channel was!"

  Mr. Veritt looked down at his arms, extending his tentacles in an uncharacteristic gesture. "It is not always easy to keep a vow, no matter how heartfelt."

  The hollow despair behind the softly spoken words made Zeth put his hands over Mr. Veritt's. The old man twined his tentacles over the boy's hands, squeezing gently. "You have a channel's instincts, Zeth—or a Companion's. But you may not wish to touch me when you know that I have not yet kept the most important vow of my life."

  Zeth had heard that vow repeated at every year's turning ceremony. Slowly, the tone had changed from triumph to

  determination to something close to desperation, and the older Simes wept when Abel Veritt declared, "As God is my witness, I shall not die a killer!"

  Horror-struck, Zeth whispered, "No! Oh, no, you can't mean—"

  "Zeth . . . my last kill was not. nine years ago. It was seven months ago."

  Veritt had retracted his tentacles, but Zeth still clung while he fought conflicting emotions. "But. . . why?" he whispered. "We've got channels, and I know Mr. Steers gives you transfer. Why!" he cried, backing off with a sudden angry urge to throw the frail old man who had betrayed his trust down the rocky hillside.

  "I pray constantly for an answer to that question," Mr. Veritt replied softly. "Thus far, there is no answer . . . that I can accept. Perhaps I must pay for the presumption of my vow . . . and yet I cannot comprehend a judgment against me paid with the lives of others."

  "What . . . what does Dad say?" asked Zeth. Rimon Farris surely knew everything about Simes.

  "There is a change in the nager of a Sime who has killed, when once he passes the crisis and is separated from the kill. That change takes place only in the young—those Simes still in First Year, when they have the great flexibility required to adjust to being Sime. If they don't stop killing in First Year . . . your father thinks they never can."

  "No," said Zeth. "Dad killed for four years before—" Total panic overtook him. "No! No, he doesn't! He can't!"

  "No, Zeth," Mr. Veritt said firmly. "Your father does not kill, ever."

  "Then why—?"

  "I don't know. Your father passed his crisis the first time the test came upon him—for others, it may simply take longer." Mr. Veritt looked over into Gen Territory again. "I'm a very old man, Zeth. I never expected to live so long. But it is my fervent hope that God is allowing me time to fulfill my vow. As the years pass, the crisis comes on me less frequently—but with greater power."

  "When you were so sick last winter—?" Zeth realized.

  "It was not illness," Mr. Veritt confirmed. "I was determined to pass– the crisis. The first month, your father forced transfer on me, but I remained debilitated. The second month—I

  can't even remember. I've been told I shenned Uel, Hank, and then your father. I would have died of attrition."

  "What happened?" Zeth asked.

  "Slina." He sighed. "She doesn't understand us, but she is a good woman in her own way. She brought one of her Gens right into the house. I ... responded—demanded it, your father tells me. I was not in my right mind—but your father is a healer. I suppose he could not help weighing my life against the life of that poor drugged creature who had never had the chance to become a person. All I remember is coming to with that dead Gen a burden in my arms."

  Zeth's head was whirling. If Mr. Veritt could not stop killing, what about the other people he loved? Mrs. Veritt was another mother to him, Del Erick had taught him to ride—and all the others who had raised him—killers all? Hypocrites
?

  "Everybody . . . ?" He couldn't even ask.

  "Everybody beyond First Year when your father gave me transfer that day, when you were two years old. We have found that one of our Companions can meet the crisis sometimes, and prevent a kill. With Hank's help, I have gone eleven months. Now it has been seven months—and this time I shall pass the crisis. I cannot go on taking a life every year—and someone must prove it is possible to stop killing even at my age."

  "Everybody," Zeth repeated. "I thought we were different!"

  "You are different, Zeth. In nine years, no Sime who has changed over in Fort Freedom has killed. We have set our children free of the kill. Now you must carry on—you must do what we could not."

  As Zeth tried to absorb the enormity of what he had learned, he no longer felt anger toward Mr. Veritt. He wasn't sure what he felt.

  Zeth had never seen a kill. Transfer, yes; both Sime~Gen transfer and channel's transfer were demonstrated in the chapel, and every once in a while a channel gave public transfer to someone so desperate that he could not wait for privacy.

  But the kill ... that was the enemy kept at bay on the other side of the creek. Or, he realized with a shock, imprisoned within the walls of the Old Fort. Except for Del Erick, all those Simes Mr. Veritt said could not put the kill behind lived in the Old Fort. Only a few young Simes, who had never killed, lived at the New Farris Homestead, where all

  the newly established Gens came to live while they learned to be Companions who could walk safely among all Simes.

  All their customs were designed to protect the new Gens. Zeth found it impossible to imagine anyone requiring protection from Abel Veritt, or any of the older Simes. He remembered Del Erick, in hard need, holding Owen steady that day when his son accidentally provoked him. He had resisted what everyone said was the most tempting field since Kadi Farris. But Owen was his son, and Rimon Farris had come to extricate him—

  Zeth could not imagine Mr. Erick killing, or Abel Veritt taking a human life merely for some strange satisfaction. Any channel or Companion could provide the life force to satisfy his need. I don't believe it.