The Farris Channel: Sime~Gen, Book Twelve

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  BanSha and Rimon joined their effort, countering Xanon’s clumsiness. People felt Rimon’s touch on the ambient and opened a gap in the crowd. Silence spread.

  Bruce, conspicuously low field, followed in Rimon’s wake. That focused all the attention in the room on them.

  Rimon walked to Tuzhel’s side, noticing the youth had grown since he’d first arrived. He had probably reached his full adult height now. Rimon wrapped Tuzhel in a nageric shield, agreeing with BanSha that the renSime had been about to crack. The youth was bewildered, and scared, and probably dwelling on his dread of Turnover.

  With one tentacle, Rimon signalled Bruce that he didn’t have to work. Now, he couldn’t influence the ambient much, so Rimon wanted him to absorb as much of the sense of things as he could.

  Alind, seated in the middle of the long Council table, said, “I suppose you expect us to stop and explain this proceeding to you.”

  Rimon zlinned Xanon who was striving to level the field gradient around the Council from his awkward position at the end of the table. He was making a hash of the complex fields. “I admit I’m curious about why the Council would call on one of my patients, especially when he’s so close to Turnover. I can just ask someone else, later.”

  Xanon started to reply but Alind cut him off. “According to our witnesses,” Alind said gesturing to the Church group at the far right, “you’ve sanctioned this Raider’s unpardonable behavior despite the ruling we handed down last month. Your complicity makes you as guilty as he is.”

  Raider? Rimon felt Tuzhel react, nerves raw, as if expecting a death sentence. “What unpardonable behavior?” Ruling? Tuzhel hadn’t Killed, that was clear from his fields. What could he possibly have done?

  “It isn’t his fault!” cried Bekka Esren, her voice husky from crying or screaming. She lunged forward. Her parents grabbed her shoulders and drew her back against them. Rimon felt the bruising tentacle grip the two renSimes had on their Gen daughter.

  Bekka had begun to develop an adult Gen’s selyn production and she was as upset as Tuzhel, her adolescent rage fracturing the ambient. Since her field was still so pale, her Sime parents, though non-junct, were too embroiled in their own anger to notice what they were doing to their daughter or she to the room full of people

  Rimon pulled BanSha forward. He had Bruce step in closer to Tuzhel on one side and Maigrey on the other, then said to BanSha, “With me now.”

  He walked toward Bekka but spoke to the Council, “Whatever is, or perhaps is not, Tuzhel’s fault we’re not going to resolve the matter while embedded in a nageric stew so thick nobody can think straight.”

  He reached the Esrens and said, “Bekka, come here. Jor and Shaddyr, you should stand back a little.” Her parents noticed what they’d been doing. They moved with alacrity, their chagrin evident.

  Rimon placed Bekka in BanSha’s nageric care with a brief instruction, then positioned them near Tuzhel. Since he couldn’t move the Council members he moved a few Church members to balance things out.

  Zlinning what he was up to, the other channels in the crowd repositioned themselves and reworked the crowd’s fields into a coherent ambient nager. Soon the renSimes grasped the pattern Rimon was creating and shifted to help smooth it out. The Gens reshuffled themselves.

  Even Xanon’s work smoothed out when Rimon motioned him to stand behind Alind. Rimon was certain the Fort Butte channel had no idea what had just happened, but now the few channels available could manage the ambient. The tension abated especially among those trying to eat a meal without getting involved.

  Rimon zlinned his handiwork. The anger was still there. “So Bekka, tell me what is not Tuzhel’s fault?”

  “He was kissing me. I didn’t like it. I knew he’d have stopped if I’d asked him to. I told him to kiss me. There’s nobody else I’d ever let do that, and I wanted to see what it felt like! Then they,” she gestured to the witnesses, “they saw us and said, well terrible things!”

  He flicked Tuzhel an I-told-you-so look, then asked Bekka, “So what did Tuzhel do wrong?”

  “You see!” crowed Alind. “He actually urges people to ignore the rulings of this Council!”

  “What ruling?” asked Rimon.

  “What ruling!” said Alind. “Is there anyone else here who does not know what ruling has been blatantly ignored?”

  Zlinning behind him while watching Alind, Rimon noted that most of the channeling staffers were bewildered while the rest of the people had varying opinions.

  Jor eyed his daughter and answered, “The only ruling this Council has come up with that shouldn’t be ignored, the prohibition against unions between ex-Raiders and non-juncts or Gens.”

  What?

  Rimon locked eyes with Bruce who was likewise bewildered. Jor was head of the Church of the Unity that had been founded by an ex-Raider. How could he think that way? And what business was it of the Fort Council anyway? What marriages would be safe and stable was a matter for channels to judge, not the Council.

  Jor moved up to the Council table and challenged Alind, “So are you going to take that vote or not?”

  “Of course we are. We’re not going to allow Rimon or any other Farris to disrupt these deliberations.”

  Rimon expected Jor to object to Alind’s language. Jor said nothing. His wife said nothing. The other Church supporters expected no objection.

  Alind went on, “According to the resolution passed by this Fort Council, though existing unions will not be disrupted, no future unions between disjuncts and non-juncts or Gens will be permitted. Now we must vote to prohibit sexual liaisons between juncts and non-juncts or Gens, with specific application to the Raider known as Tuzhel who hasn’t seen fit to confess his actual out-Territory name.”

  The Church of the Unity members were of mixed opinion but Jor and Shaddyr watched with great satisfaction as the Council members each voted to pass the new ruling.

  Tuzhel zlinned the reactions near him with a cold horror. Rimon remembered Bekka’s Establishment party. Her parents had already chosen her husband, probably for social position. If Rimon supported Bekka’s preference, Rimon no longer had Church support.

  The vote progressed with only Rinda, the Fort Hope representative, dissenting. Tuzhel turned to Rimon with a silent plea to stop it. The desperate intensity reminded him of Clire’s last plea to him.

  Those who had come to eat had gathered to watch, some aghast and some faintly approving, most bewildered.

  Rimon stepped up to the Council table, “Before you finish voting, you should know one thing. If you attempt to enforce any ruling treating the juncts or disjuncts in my care differently from everyone else here, I will leave this Fort and never return.”

  Bruce’s shock would have knocked the renSimes unconscious if he hadn’t just given Rimon transfer.

  Shaddyr Esren said, “That would be a great loss, but we would survive.”

  “It’s not my preference either,” said her husband, “but Rimon, you and Lexy have done nothing but cause trouble by ignoring the duly elected authority in this Fort. You seem to have lost the call to follow God’s Will.”

  The Church members’ shock filled the room.

  Jor explained, “The other Forts have failed and returned to us, so we must lead the way forward. We must become a non-junct community, leaving the Kill behind.” To Rimon he said, “The Council is right. There’s no place in a Fort for the disjunct. They must prove themselves elsewhere. Their children may join us if they can.”

  The Church was a small but powerful minority throughout the Fort, a solid group that acted of one accord. The Church had members among all the Fort factions except Butte. All acknowledged Jor Esren as their leader. He no longer supported Rimon Farris. He supported this Council.

  Rimon would not abandon Tuzhel as he had Clire.

  “I will not live in a Fort where the Council builds walls between the people. Our disjuncts have paid the most dearly to uphold our principles, and they are the most honored among the ex
alted of this Fort. Abel Veritt who founded the Church of the Unity and nurtured the discovery of channeling had been a Freeband Raider. He died trying to disjunct before it was known to be impossible after First Year. Anyone who has succeeded in doing what Veritt yearned to accomplish will be accepted wherever I live.”

  Rimon gathered Tuzhel and headed for the door, wrapping them in a nageric bubble. The stunned silence, audible and nageric, paralyzed everyone else.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DISILLUSIONMENT

  Rimon and Tuzhel had passed through the dining hall’s outer door having rudely left the inner door open when movement shattered the crowd’s paralysis.

  Bruce then BanSha came out of the door behind Rimon, then a slow trickle of individuals, and finally a small stream. Not a majority, but he didn’t stand alone.

  Tuzhel whispered, “The Unity people’ll let that Council take over the whole Fort.”

  Even the innate optimism of Postsyndrome couldn’t deter a muttered, “They might.”

  Rimon instantly regretted it because the junct still lurking in Tuzhel was terrified. “You said you’d keep me safe, but you can’t,” Tuzhel accused. He twisted out of Rimon’s grasp and ran for the infirmary, augmenting. The infirmary had been his home in Fort Rimon, his refuge. Rimon let him go measuring the junct’s condition. Turnover before dawn. A little after midnight, maybe.

  BanSha started after Tuzhel, floundering toward the path through the snow. He stopped at Rimon’s nageric flicker. “Later, BanSha.”

  Rimon turned to the supporters gathered around him under the dark gray sky. “Fengal, would you go tell Val or Dakin that you and Aislinn should keep Turnover vigil with Tuzhel? Turnover will be a few hours before dawn. This one will be very hard.”

  “Disjunction?” asked Fengal gathering his Companion with a glance and starting to move.

  BanSha flared anticipation. He headed for Rushi who had stayed on the path, treasuring her new boots.

  “Not disjunction,” said Rimon, “but...I could be wrong. BanSha, Tuzhel is more volatile than I want you handling right now.”

  Grimly, Aislinn muttered, “Let’s go Fengal. Last I saw Val’s schedule board, she’d have to assign Xanon to Tuzhel if he’s run away from BanSha.”

  BanSha did an amazing job of hiding his hurt. Rimon reassured him nagerically. Fengal loped off leaving his Companion to skid through the muck after him. The snow banked beside the path was waist high on the Gen woman.

  Rimon remembered how Tuzhel and BanSha had taken a turn shoveling around the infirmary after the last storm, working side by side with Rushi, Bekka and other young Gens, all of them laughing and teasing Tuzhel who teased right back. Rimon remembered noting how the youth felt completely accepted in the Fort. Now that feeling had been ripped away at his most vulnerable time. What will he do?

  “Fengal will take care of him,” Bruce offered. “Now tell me, when are we leaving and where are we going? Dayyel will want to know what to pack and there’s the baby to consider. Iriela’s fine, but that baby is a lot of work.”

  The group around them now included Benart and the guards Lhazron, Kreg, Kimra and Jokim and a group of scouts led by Kaires. They were people Jhiti had come to rely on. They hung on Rimon’s answer. If they were going to leave and rebuild elsewhere, spring was the time to do it so there was not much time left to plan.

  Rimon looked at the people who believed he would not mislead them. His mind went blank. Words flew out of his mouth. “We won’t have to leave because they will.”

  Even these staunch supporters couldn’t quite accept that absurd prophecy.

  Rimon projected the optimism that should be his in the grip of Postsyndrome. “I’ll look in on Tuzhel as soon as Val lets me back on duty. Let’s not decide anything until the Council tries to enforce that new rule of theirs.”

  Bruce said, “Very little of what they’ve voted for has ever happened, so I’d say that’s a good strategy.”

  Then Tuzhel took the decision out of their hands.

  Just after midnight, BanSha pounded up to the door of the room where Rimon was sleeping, young nager slamming through the walls in a jangling alarm. Every channel snoozing in the on duty wing leaped out of bed.

  Breathless from the shock, Rimon found himself standing over the bed where Eskalie had been sleeping. “What’s the matter?” she asked groping for the blankets Rimon had flung aside.

  Rimon grabbed his pants. “BanSha, damp your nager!” Rimon was not sure if he was having one of those horrid nightmares. He grabbed the Starred Cross belt off the floor and slung it around his hips then reached for his shirt.

  “BanSha’s overexcited,” he told Eskalie. “Go back to sleep. I’ll quiet him down.” He untangled his sweater from the last of the blankets. BanSha had run down the hall apologizing loudly to the channels he’d rousted. Rimon flipped the blanket over Eskalie, and headed for the hall still buttoning his shirt.

  “Rimon!” called BanSha racing back to Rimon’s door. “Tuzhel’s gone! Fengal’s hurt. Aislinn’s hysterical. Rushi’s gone to the stable searching for Tuzhel. Lexy said to get you because she shouldn’t do this, but I don’t know what this is. I can’t find Bruce. Solamar and Kahleen are on duty and trying to treat Fengal.”

  “We’re Post, BanSha. Bruce is home! Go get him and don’t wake the whole family.” Rimon took off down the hall toward the end of the building near the infirmary and galloped up the stairs three at a time.

  The upper hall of the infirmary was frigid. Rimon followed the cold breeze to the end room, Tuzhel’s residence. Aislinn stood in the open doorway, so distraught she was useless as a Companion to Fengal. Rushi, hair and boots soaked, face rosy from the cold, gripped Aislinn’s shoulders with one arm. Both stared into the room, Rushi’s calm creating an interference pattern with Aislinn’s anguish over Fengal’s condition.

  Rimon edged between them zlinning Fengal. Rushi panted out her report, “Nobody’s seen or zlinned Tuzhel. Oberin mounted search parties in and outside the Fort.”

  The window shutters flapped open, icy rain sheeting off the roof and spraying into the room. Solamar and Kahleen knelt over Fengal, dim streaks rippling his nager.

  Head injury, diagnosed Rimon. He picked his way to the window and zlinned the darkness. Oberin’s searchers were saddling horses. A foot party dispersed around the yard. A Gen rounded the corner of the dining hall carrying a smoking torch, lending enough nageric glow for Rimon to zlin the snow heaped against the building below the window.

  The pile almost reached the sill of the window below him. Rain had gathered in a deep hollow on top of the snow, draining where the lip of the hollow was depressed. He zlinned a trail of what might be footsteps along the wall of the building opposite, the Collectorium.

  Someone about Tuzhel’s size had jumped from the window into the snow heap, slid to the ground, crept along the wall of the building opposite them toward the cemetery gate in the new wall. He’d either gone over the wall or through the gate and down the hill.

  Tuzhel’s gone to Shifron! No! No!

  Just then a great cry went up from the cemetery gate. He’s taken out the guard at the gate, or maybe on the wall.

  Rimon, stiff with dread, wrapped himself in a granite hard showfield, pulled the shutters tight, then built up the remains of the fire in the hearth. He kept his attention on what Solamar was doing, nagerically assisting his effort.

  When Rimon approached, Solamar looked up, attention on Fengal. “Concussion. Skull fracture, not depressed.”

  Rimon admired the high precision work Solamar and Kahleen were doing. He couldn’t have done better.

  With one tentacle, Solamar indicated the blood on the corner of a counter. “Aislinn says she went to get them something to eat and returned to find this. Maybe it was an accident Fengal fell, then Tuzhel panicked when he thought Fengal was dead. He nearly was when I got here.”

  Kahleen’s concentration was rock steady, even when Rimon strode to the door. “Don’t send Bruce aft
er me. He hasn’t enough selyn to cope with a disjuncting renSime.”

  He raced down the stairs, grabbed two wool cloaks and oiled cloth slickers. He raced out the infirmary door, rounded the dining hall and headed for the stables.

  Scouts and guards were still organizing. Some horses were saddled. Rimon vaulted aboard a saddled horse with a big blanket roll and galloped toward the now opening gate. Augmenting wouldn’t help Tuzhel much slogging calf deep snow. Rimon could catch up with him before it was too late.

  Behind him the Fort lit up with spreading ripples of alarm. Guiding the horse down the familiar path to the level valley floor, Rimon turned left, rounded the hill eastward, then angled north northeast, calculating where he’d cut Tuzhel’s trail if the youth was really heading for Shifron.

  As he moved away from the Fort, the ambient dimmed. Soon both Rimon and his horse were nearly blind in the night. He kept going by dead reckoning and his innate sense of location, straining to zlin the ground through the snow and rain to guide the horse’s feet.

  Behind him, a nageric disturbance signalled BanSha chased by Jhiti and several of his guards. Jhiti scolded BanSha, and the young channel blew the fields sky high, totally forgetting to use his showfield to shield others.

  Surely BanSha zlinned Rimon though Jhiti probably couldn’t. The youth wasn’t slowing down for any adult’s order. Rimon’s horse stumbled. He snapped attention back to his horse’s footing. He had to stop Tuzhel before he hurled himself back into the Freeband Raider existence.

  A pre-crisis disjunction candidate typically plunged into suicidal depression followed by an eruption of violence. No candidate had ever had a better reason to give up. From Tuzhel’s current point of view, after that Council vote, he had nothing to gain by disjuncting.