by Jean Lorrah
THE SIME~GEN SERIES
House of Zeor, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#1)
Unto Zeor, Forever, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#2)
First Channel, by Jean Lorrah and Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#3)
Mahogany Trinrose, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#4)
Channel’s Destiny, by Jean Lorrah and Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#5)
RenSime, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#6)
Ambrov Keon, by Jean Lorrah (#7)
Zelerod’s Doom, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg and Jean Lorrah (#8)
Personal Recognizance, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#9)
The Story Untold and Other Stories, by Jean Lorrah (#10)
To Kiss or to Kill, by Jean Lorrah (#11)
The Farris Channel, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#12)
Other Jean Lorrah Books from Wildside:
Savage Empire (Savage Empire #1)
Dragon Lord of the Savage Empire (#2)
Captives of the Savage Empire (#3)
Flight to the Savage Empire (#4, with Winston A. Howlett)
Sorcerers of the Frozen Isles (#5)
Wulfston’s Odyssey (#6, with Winston A. Howlett)
Empress Unborn (#7)
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2011 by Sime~Gen, Inc.
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All my work in the Sime~Gen universe must first and foremost be dedicated to Jacqueline Lichtenberg, who many years ago invited me to come and play in the Sime~Gen universe. We have long since become business partners and best friends, and it is sheer delight to have the opportunity to continue these stories at last.
Both of us must acknowledge the fans who kept the dream of Sime~Gen alive after all the books went out of print—I can do no more than sincerely agree with Jacqueline’s sentiments below, both about our fans and about Karen MacLeod and Patric Michael. Without their help, we would not have simegen.com, and without simegen.com it is highly doubtful that there would be the opportunity to write new Sime~Gen stories.
Jacqueline and I believe in interaction between writers and readers, and invite comments on our work. Send them to [email protected] and we will both receive them.
I am grateful for the encouragement my readers have given me over the years, and sincerely hope those of you familiar with my work will enjoy this new adventure. If you’ve never read anything else I’ve written, welcome! I hope you’ll find something new and exciting in To Kiss or to Kill. To old friends, welcome back! I hope you also find something new here, along with whatever has brought you back for more.
Acknowledgments by
Jean Lorrah and Jacqueline Lichtenberg
Firstly and most importantly, we have to acknowledge the extraordinary effort put forth by Karen MacLeod in meeting absurd copyediting deadlines during the final moments of production of this manuscript.
Over the years, Karen has taken skills learned in fanzine editing and honed and then applied them to become a professional copyeditor in the ebook field. With this volume and the October 2003 trade paperback release of Those of My Blood by Jacqueline Lichtenberg from BenBella Books, Karen has begun working on “tree-books.”
Cherri Munoz enthusiastically volunteered to use her talents as a publicist to line up autographing appearances at various bookstores for us, and has done other publicity work and even proofreading of this manuscript into the wee hours.
Beyond even that, as Cherri and Jacqueline accidentally ended up neighbors in Arizona, she has saved Jacqueline a lot of writing time by helping her pick out a house, teaching her to navigate around town, and pointing out the best places to shop. Cherri even raced around town finding a copy of one of Jean’s novels, Survivors, when it was suddenly needed for show-and-tell because the producers of Trekkies Two, the sequel to the documentary Trekkies, (www.trekkies2.com ) asked to interview Jacqueline.
Acknowledgments 2011
We thank Robert Reginald at Borgo Press for unrelenting detail work, as well as John Betancourt at Wildside Press for creating an amazing publishing house.
We also thank Karen MacLeod for editing as well as Patric Michael and all the many people who have contributed to simegen.com.
Jean Lorrah & Jacqueline Lichtenberg
INTRODUCTION
Zeor, Keon, and other Housholdings forced through a treaty to save the world at the end of Zelerod’s Doom. This is the story of the people expected to keep it. Although To Kiss or To Kill is a direct sequel to Zelerod’s Doom—as a matter of fact begins a few months before that book ends—none of the characters in Zelerod’s Doom appear here.
This is a book our fans asked for: it’s not about Farrises or Householders or the people who run the Tecton. It’s about ordinary, everyday Simes and Gens who must rise to heroism and actually do what Risa Tigue, Sergi Ambrov Keon, Klyd Farris, and Hugh Valleroy promised they would. The two main characters are a renSime and a Gen whose Sime parents sell her as a Choice Kill.
It’s also a love story, a traditional romance set against a world turned upside down. Love in the time of Unity.
If you are new to Sime~Gen, please don’t think you have to read the books in order. As a matter of fact, they were neither written nor published in the chronological order of the universe. Therefore, each Sime~Gen novel is designed as an entry into this science fiction universe.
CHRONOLOGY OF THE SIME~GEN UNIVERSE
The Sime~Gen Universe was originated by Jacqueline Lichtenberg who was then joined by a large number of Star Trek fans. Soon, Jean Lorrah, already a professional writer, began writing fanzine stories for one of the Sime~Gen ’zines. But Jean produced a novel about the moment when the first channel discovered he didn’t have to kill to live which Jacqueline sold to Doubleday.
The chronology of stories in this fictional universe expanded to cover thousands of years of human history, and fans have been filling in the gaps between professionally published novels. The full official chronology is posted at
http://www.simegen.com/CHRONO1.html
Here is the chronology of the novels by Jacqueline Lichtenberg and Jean Lorrah by the Unity Calendar date in which they are set.
-533—First Channel, by Jean Lorrah & Jacqueline Lichtenberg
-518—Channel’s Destiny, by Jean Lorrah & Jacqueline Lichtenberg
-468—The Farris Channel, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
-20—Ambrov Keon, by Jean Lorrah
-15—House of Zeor, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
0—Zelerod’s Doom, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg & Jean Lorrah
+1—To Kiss or to Kill, by Jean Lorrah
+1—The Story Untold and Other Sime~Gen Stories, by Jean Lorrah
+132—Unto Zeor, Forever, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+152—Mahogany Trinrose, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+224—“Operation High Time,” by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+232—RenSime, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+245—Personal Recognizance, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
SIME~GEN
where a mutation makes the evolutionary
division into male and female
pale by comparison.
CHAPTER ONE
THE DAY THE WORLD CHANGED
JONMAIR FELT VERY MATURE that day, allowed to come along to mind her younger brother and sister while her mother claimed her monthly Gen. Any day now, Jonmair would become Sime, like her parents—strong and graceful and gifted with Sime senses that made it nearly impossible to slip anything past them. She was eager to get on with her future, to start her life’s work, her own family—to be an adult, capable of deciding her own destiny.
Jonmair knew what her mother would do with the Gen assigned to h
er, something her little brother and sister were too young to understand. Her job was to keep them distracted and entertained, so they would not ask awkward questions, as well as to carry packages while Mama coped with the Gen.
As the parcels piled up, Jonmair wished all the more that she were a full-grown Sime, for her fingers were not designed to hold so many objects at once. She envied her mother the graceful tendrils that emerged from her wrists, easily carrying several small packages.
The Pen was the last stop on a long list, and by that time Jonmair’s little brother Wawkeen was cranky. Her sister Faleese scampered ahead while the little boy dragged his feet, pulling Jonmair in two directions. Mama, in no mood to cajole children, piled the last of her packages into Jonmair’s arms and pressed a coin into her hand. “Buy them a treat,” she instructed, “but stay right in this area.”
Usually Jonmair babysat at home on Mama’s claim day, but this month there were transport problems because boats and wagons had been sent to aid in the war out west, and Norlea’s Gen shipments were delayed. So today’s task of fitting the three children with shoes had been combined with the Gen pickup. “Why don’t I take the kids on home?” Jonmair suggested.
“Do what I tell you!” Mama replied irritably. “I expect to find you right here when I come out.” Then she disappeared into the Pen.
Jonmair understood her mother’s abruptness: at this time of month, Simes had trouble concentrating on anything other than the Gen that would provide another month of life. Mama would feel better as soon as she had the reassurance of a Gen to assuage her Need.
All Jonmair’s younger siblings understood was the promised treat. Jonmair struggled to hang onto the packages as they hurried her toward the vendors. Wawkeen was quickly satisfied with a caramel fruit treat, but while Jonmair was paying for it Faleese skipped on down the street.
“Faleese—come back!” Jonmair shouted as her annoying younger sister disappeared into the crowd. Faleese knew perfectly well that Wawkeen would be impossible to move until he had consumed his sticky treat.
Sparkly objects caught the sunlight at the stand Faleese headed toward. Dragging a protesting Wawkeen, Jonmair came close enough to see that they were toys, small multicolored windmill-like sails, each pinned to a stick so that it spun in the breeze, creating lovely changing effects. No wonder Faleese wanted one—they made Jonmair wish she were not too old for such pretty toys.
“You know you can’t have a sweet if you buy one of these,” Jonmair warned Faleese.
“This is better than a sweet,” her little sister replied. “I’ll have it for a long time.”
“I want one too.” Wawkeen instantly demanded.
“You’ve already had your treat,” Faleese said in exactly the superior tone of voice that would set the little boy off.
“Want one! Want one! Me, too!” Wawkeen wailed, sticky fists rubbing at his face.
Stooping down to try to calm him, Jonmair dropped some of her packages. The little boy grabbed her around the neck, screaming as if he were hurt and rubbing sticky caramel everywhere he touched. Instead of helping, Faleese looked on in satisfaction as Jonmair tried to both calm and clean up Wawkeen, and keep their packages from being trampled by the passing crowds.
And that was how their mother found them when she arrived with a plodding Gen at the end of a white-painted chain. “Jonmair!” she exclaimed, picking parcels out of the dust. “I only asked you to buy your brother and sister a treat. Can’t you do even the simplest tasks?”
While Jonmair held her tongue, knowing that her mother would only be more irritated if she responded, Faleese had no such restraint. “Jonmair never bought me my treat!” she complained, stamping her foot.
Jonmair stood, wishing she dared slap her sister, wishing her brother was somebody else’s problem as she pushed her hair back and felt caramel goo in it. Wishing above all that she herself would hurry and grow up!
* * * *
ONE STREET AWAY FROM THE HUBBUB in Norlea’s square, Baird Axton bolstered his courage by reading the last letter he had received from his sister, then put it away once more under the blotter on his desk. I only have to make it through today, he reminded himself. This could be the day.
But probably not. It was too early—today would be only his fourth transfer...as opposed to Kill. He would receive selyn—the life force that Gens produced and Simes had to have to live—without having to kill a Gen to get it. In the Householdings, Simes called channels had learned to take selyn from Gens without hurting them, and transfer it to other Simes to provide the life force they needed.
Unfortunately, any Sime who had ever killed was addicted to the sensation of forcefully stripping a Gen’s system and reveling in the creature’s death agony. No channel in Baird’s experience had even come close to reproducing that feeling.
Baird was determined to break his addiction to Killbliss. He tried to tell himself that the reason each transfer from a channel was less satisfactory than the last was that he was about to break that addiction. Next month his crisis might come—if not, most assuredly the following month. Then he would be free of this constant state of depression, anxiety, and chronically unsatisfied Need.
He had been trying to disjunct—to separate himself from the Need to Kill—ever since his changeover into an adult Sime. He reread his sister’s encouraging letters each time he was tempted to succumb to his father’s disapproval. At Householding Carre, where Simes lived peacefully with Gens who had no fear of being killed, he had made friends with Zhag Paget.
Zhag was undergoing the same process of learning to live without killing. He had been at it longer than Baird—in fact, this would be his sixth month without a Kill—so Zhag now faced what the channels called “disjunction crisis.” Zhag’s cycle put him a few days behind Baird for transfer, but at this critical time the channels wanted him at Carre well before his Need peaked.
Zhag was a shiltpron player—a brilliant musician who could not command the audience he deserved because he was ill so much of the time. It was a hardship for him to walk across town to Carre, so Baird planned to pick Zhag up in his buggy.
Baird went quietly down the back stairs, but his father was waiting in the hall. “Where are you going, Baird?” Treavor Axton demanded.
“You know where I’m going, Dad. You have no right to stop me.” It’s your fault I’m addicted to the Kill and have to go through this, he wanted to add, but he could not face arguing anymore. Baird’s father sincerely believed that a healthy Sime lifestyle included killing Gens “as nature intended.” It was hard to argue with a man who honestly grieved that his son had chosen what he perceived as a perverted lifestyle.
“Baird—look at the condition you’re in,” his father pleaded.
“I’m in Need!” Baird snapped. “I’ll be fine as soon as I take transfer.”
“Son, you won’t be fine. You’re getting sicker and sicker—”
“Once I disjunct I won’t be sick anymore. Please don’t make me force my way past you, Dad.”
Sadly shaking his head, Treavor Axton stood aside, and Baird went out to the buggy their groom had waiting for him.
Now running late, Baird set his spirited mare trotting. He preferred to ride her, and would have gladly let Zhag borrow a horse, but his friend was too weak to handle a mount even for the ride across town to Carre.
Although Zhag’s house was not far away in distance, it was worlds away from the affluence that the Axtons lived in. Near the docks, Baird drove past Milily’s Shiltpron Parlor, a shabby dive where Zhag played for the couple of hours he could manage each evening.
The street leading to Zhag’s place was a rutted dirt track lined with homes that had never been built well in the first place, and now were run down rental property. Zhag’s house—shack, rather—had an untended front yard sporting a woodpile, a front gate that hung by a single hinge, and an excellent crop of weeds. The back of the house was so overgrown with kudzu that Baird suspected the stuff actually held the structure
up.
Zhag himself sat on the rickety front steps, shiltpron on his lap. Sweet, sad music greeted Baird, not only touching him through his sense of hearing, but echoing on the nageric level, affecting the fields of life energy in the whole area—but especially within Simes themselves.
It was Zhag’s special talent to transform the world through music. But as soon as Baird drew his buggy to a halt at the gate, the music stopped.
“Hi, Baird.” Zhag called, pushing himself up with one hand as if he were an old man instead of only five years older than Baird. “Thanks for the ride,” he added as he placed his instrument carefully in the buggy first, and then climbed up onto the seat beside Baird.
It was not very encouraging to see the condition Zhag was in. All Simes were slender, but Zhag was practically skin and bone. He was so pale, even his eyes seemed drained of color—not that you could see them with his perpetual squint. His hair hung lusterless in a way no barber could correct, even if Zhag could afford a good cut.
Zhag insisted that his condition was temporary: that he was nearing the point at which he would reject the Kill once and for all, and thereafter live without the temptation that tortured both young men each month.
Zhag must have zlinned Baird’s Need depression, for although Baird was healthier, he was closer to using up his month’s supply of selyn. As they drove, Zhag tried to cheer him up with tales of goings on at the shiltpron parlor. Baird barely listened, trying to bolster his determination by taking the most direct route to the Householding. That was a mistake: it took them through the center of Norlea at midday. The steady stream of wagons, buggies, riders, and pedestrians slowed progress more than taking a longer route would have.
The occasional pedestrian led a monthly Kill home: a vapid Pen Gen, unaware of its fate, following at the end of the white-painted chain attached to its collar. It was an ordinary enough sight, for the city’s main Pen was just off the square. Baird paid no heed to such creatures, for their fields of life energy were too dull to impact the busy ambient nager—the total impression of all life energy in the vicinity.
