House of Zeor

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  The detail work within each hexagon consisted of flows of color, some sharp, some pastel, and some brilliant but overlaid with pastel veils that blended the sharp differences into one another, denoting the unquestioning way Zeor had accepted him.

  As he put the finishing touches on his final sketch, he wondered just how long that acceptance would last. He was still low-field. His body stored very little selyn to arouse any passing Sime. But, he was a Gen, a generator of selyn, the essential energy of life. With each passing day his body produced and stored more selyn, increasing his selyn potential field. Two weeks more, and he would have to donate through Klyd or some other channel of the Householding who would then be able to transfer that selyn to an ordinary Sime whose body could not produce it.

  Would he, Valleroy asked himself, be able to suppress his panic long enough to do it? He sat back to admire his design while one hand sought the starred-cross beneath his shirt. When facing a Sime, his mother had told him, you have nothing to fear but fear itself. The starred-cross will keep you safe, if you have faith in it.

  Valleroy wasn’t sure he had enough faith in the starred-cross, but he knew his design was a winner. It had a soothing depth, almost as if viewing fog-smeared city lights through a mesh fence, and was sure to please the eye of Sime and Gen alike whether they sought deeper meanings or not.

  He placed the stiff paper-board into a folio case, tied it with a flourish, and set out for Klyd’s office. It was only just dawn, but the channel would probably be at work.

  Valleroy strode out of the factory complex, crossed the small orchard on a brick pathway, and took a long hall passage through the buildings of the court. Frost crunched underfoot in mid-October chill, and he was glad to pass into the warmth of the main buildings.

  He threaded his way through the maze of corridors expertly. He’d come this way many times. Often he found Klyd and Denrau followed by a swirling retinue. It was the pride of Zeor that here the Sectuib himself visited the aged, supervised, administrated, and settled quarrels. Yet this required him always to move in haste to get back to his main duties of collecting selyn from Gens and dispensing it to Simes who didn’t have the channel’s ability to draw slowly enough not to kill.

  Yet, somehow, Klyd always managed to convey the illusion of unhurried concentration on each person he dealt with. For that moment, each suppliant became the most important person in all existence receiving the full attention of a Sectuib. It was, Valleroy learned, an exhilarating experience. Together with his skill at delegating authority, Klyd’s knack with individuals was indeed what made Zeor great among the Householdings.

  Valleroy couldn’t deny that Sectuib Farris of Householding Zeor was a personage, capable, efficient, and busy. But today was Valleroy’s day of reckoning. He’d been off medication for one whole day now, and still he felt as fit as ever. Today, he was going after Aisha...personally.

  His steps echoed in the deserted corridors. Only the farmers working the harvest were up so early, and they had long since gone to the fields. Valleroy broke through the huge double doors that gave onto the courtyard he’d watched from his infirmary window. To his right, another door gave entrance to the building where Klyd worked...to his left, the infirmary and residences...straight ahead, the huge barred gates separating Zeor from the Sime city of Valzor. On this side of that high stone wall, the Householders were free to do as they chose. On the other side, any Gen not wearing collar chain and tags was fair game for a quick kill or to be sold to the pens. And out there, somewhere, on the other side of that wall—Aisha.

  Valleroy breasted the wave of frigid air and plunged across the deserted court. Halfway to his goal, he heard a faint tapping sound. He stopped in his tracks, holding his breath. There was no wind to stir tree branches. But the tattoo came again, hardly more than a flutter.

  Head cocked in concentration, Valleroy moved a few steps toward the outer wall and paused. Again it came, louder now. He moved toward the small postern gate at the left of the big gates. Again that pattering knock, but this time he detected deliberate urgency behind it, as if the knocker now perceived some one coming.

  Propping his folio against the wall, Valleroy lifted the formidable bar that secured the outside door against Berserkers or Sime Raiders. Then he yanked the door open, half afraid of what he’d find there.

  The bloody scarecrow that staggered into his arms was less shocking than the scenes he’d imagined. Valleroy eased the limp figure onto the cobblestones, almost losing his grip in the slippery blood. Around the man’s waist coiled one of the Sime Raider’s whips complete with inlaid handle. It seemed to Valleroy a grotesque contrast to the tattered, Zeor-blue coverall.

  The man’s face and torso were covered with hundreds of lacerations, as if he’d tumbled down a gravel embankment. But, Valleroy saw, most of the blood was coming from his forearms. He peeled back the sleeves to find deeply slashed tentacle sheaths from which the blood spurted rhythmically, but not as profusely as it had. It slowed visibly as Valleroy watched.

  “I’ll get Sectuib Farris,” said Valleroy in his most assuring voice, though he knew this man wouldn’t see another dawn.

  “Stay, Naztehr!” husked the Sime, marshaling all his strength.

  Valleroy paused, transfixed by an odd thrill at the man’s use of the most intimate Householding term of membership...the one thing he’d never been called before. He had to bend close to hear the faint whisper of dying breath. “Tell Klyd...Hrel spies for Andle...Aisha...with Runzi....”

  The blood-soaked form went limp, eyes glazed, and Valleroy knew the blood ceased its rhythmic spurting even before he looked. He stood, repeating those strange words...Andle, Runzi...over and over to himself, fearful of forgetting the message from the edge of the grave.

  A door squeaked open behind him; boots clattered and Valleroy turned to see Klyd running toward him across the court...the incredibly swift charge of a Sime in a hurry.

  The channel slid to his knees beside the still form, anguish written in every muscle of his back, and a strangled groan escaped his sensitive lips.

  Heedless of the caked and congealing blood, the channel took the slashed arms in his hands, tentacles exploring the wounds gently before he swore. “The filthy perverted sub-men! Feleho! I shouldn’t have sent you. It was my fault...mine....”

  Valleroy watched helplessly as Klyd collapsed across the body, sobs wracking him from head to foot; tentacles still twined about the dead man’s arms. Even a channel couldn’t bring the dead to life.

  Stepping around the channel, Valleroy closed the outer door, sliding the bar into place with a resounding thud. It gave him no feeling of safety.

  He turned just in time to see Klyd stumbling toward a sewer grating where he retched violently. Recalling the first time he’d seen a bloody corpse, Valleroy went to his aid.

  “No,” said Klyd, pulling himself erect. “I’m all right.”

  “I’ve seen uglier corpses,” said Valleroy.

  “So have I, but didn’t you see what they did to him?”

  “Cut a few arteries....”

  “Arteries! That he could have survived. But the laterals, the selyn transport nerves....” He turned away as if to retch again, but regained command quickly. “And they say we are perverts! If I ever get my hands on the person who did this...!”

  “Andle,” said Valleroy, beginning to realize the magnitude of the atrocity.

  “What?”

  “Andle. Feleho said it. His dying words were...tell Klyd, Hrel spies for Andle...Aisha with Runzi.”

  “Andle! So that’s it! Do you realize what this means?”

  “That Aisha is with Runzi...who or whatever Runzi is.”

  “The Runzi Raiders,” said Klyd with exaggerated patience, “are led by Andle’s cousin. If they have Aisha, and if Andle finds out who she is...he could use her to smash the Tecton, and without the Tecton to bind us together...well, no Householding could stand alone!”

  “The Tecton is the central organization of
the channels?”

  “More than that. Much more. But it’s just barely legal. If Andle can prove that I’ve been trying to find Aisha for Stacy...he could cast doubt on the integrity of all channels...and the Tecton.”

  “Andle is that powerful?”

  “Highly placed in government. He’s the leader of the anti-Tecton faction. If Hrel has been spying for him, we must assume that Andle knows I’m looking for Aisha.”

  “Maybe not....”

  “If not, then why was Feleho killed? I sent him to check the Iburan Choice Auction when I learned they had a consignment from Runzi’s Raiders...and Runzi’s Raiders operate near Hanrahan Pass.”

  “Then Feleho must have found Aisha! And they murdered him and sent him home as a warning.”

  “It’s possible.” He pondered, speaking half to himself. “That whip is the kind the Raiders use. They believe us cowards because we don’t go armed. It could be Feleho was the victim of an ordinary attack. Or they might have captured him.”

  “How much could he tell them?”

  “Nothing...except that I wanted the girl.”

  “That might be enough....”

  “Andle has a twisted mind. He might think the Tecton wants her for the same reason he does.”

  “Where is Iburan? We have to go there.”

  “We can’t. I have to stay here and deal with Hrel. You can’t travel without tags, and I don’t have any for you.”

  “If Aisha’s there, we have to go. There’s got to be a way.”

  Standing straighter now, Klyd shook his head. “Can’t think like this. Help me get the body inside...the children will be awake soon.”

  Valleroy helped move the body to the infirmary, where he left Klyd to handle the funeral arrangements. He and another Gen went to scrub down the court. The red blood was already turning to brown stains, which they had to scour out of the stones. Valleroy worked benumbed by the rhythmic cursing of the Gen beside him. Death by injury to the lateral tentacles, the organs richest in selyn transport nerves, was the second most horrible death a Sime could know. Apparently, it was so horrible that even the Gens who lived with Simes, understood some measure of Klyd’s revulsion.

  As the morning shadows retreated across the court, Valleroy took his folio once more, and headed for Klyd’s offices. The outer rooms were deserted, all the desks draped in deep blue. He found the channel idling over a cup of tea, which was set in a small cleared space on his desk.

  “Come in, Hugh. Have something to drink.”

  On the stack of papers before him lay a coiled whip, handle uppermost.

  “No, thanks,” said Valleroy, propping his folio against the side of the desk. “Things like that still affect my appetite.”

  “Trin tea will settle your stomach. Good for you.” Klyd pulled a cup out of a drawer and poured.

  “Yes, Sectuib,” said Valleroy, meekly accepting the cup.

  Klyd looked up sharply. “That’s the first time you’ve ever addressed me...Hugh, that’s it! You don’t need tags if you wear the Zeor crest!”

  “That’s only for members, isn’t it?”

  “Well, you’ll qualify in another two weeks anyway. You don’t have to return a pledge just to accept our protection”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” said Valleroy, taking a chair near the corner of the desk. “Don’t go so fast. What do you mean I’ll qualify for membership in another two weeks?”

  “You were planning to donate, weren’t you?”

  Valleroy could see Klyd’s bewilderment. It never occurred to the channel that a Gen might prefer almost any other option than donating. “Well...if I’m still here, I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”

  “You’re frightened! Don’t you realize that it is Gen fear that triggers the worst Sime instincts?”

  Valleroy gripped the starred-cross and clenched his teeth. Nothing was going to happen to him now.

  “That’s better. You could travel under the crest of Zeor, but you’ll need a Sime escort, and I’m not free until I decide what to do about Hrel.”

  “Everyone was so happy that night....”

  “Yes, of course. It was hard for Hrel, harder than for most. Now we know why. He wasn’t totally committed.” Thoughtfully, he ran the tip of a tentacle over each fingernail. “He may have overheard our argument that night. He may have reported what he heard. They may have gotten Feleho killed....”

  “You mean it might have been my fault.”

  “No, Hugh. Any blame must be affixed only to the one who wielded the knife.”

  Valleroy took a sip of his tea. It was the hot, savory brew favored by the Simes, but it did have a soothing effect on the Gen stomach. “Do you know what Feleho called me...even before I knew his name or mission?”

  “No. I arrived...too late.”

  “Naztehr. He called me ‘Naztehr.’ You know how that made me feel?”

  “How?”

  “As if I owed him something. Revenge, maybe. He died because he found Aisha for me. He died because I said something where Hrel could hear. So Zeor loses both Hrel and Feleho and no longer has need of me...a spare Gen.”

  “No Gens are ever ‘spare.’ Other Simes will come, and we’ll be balanced again.”

  Valleroy sighed. “So what are you going to do with Hrel? If he learns you know about him, he’ll be dangerous.”

  “Not dangerous, no. I’m more worried about the danger to him if word gets around what he’s done.”

  “You’re worried about what people might do to him? Klyd, if they did to him the same as he did to Feleho, it would be too good for him!”

  Klyd frowned at Valleroy. “Sometimes I wonder if Andle isn’t right. Gens are a disgustingly vicious people, sometimes.”

  Valleroy bounced to his feet, outraged. “Killing a Gen a month isn’t vicious?”

  Klyd laughed, a single burst of sound, hardly more than a bark. “Yes I guess from your viewpoint it is.”

  “From your viewpoint, it isn’t? If Hrel’s a killer, and Zeor stands against the kill, then Hrel’s an outsider. Why should you care what happens to him?”

  Klyd leaned back in his chair looking up into Valleroy’s eyes. “He’s disjunct, Hugh. He’s ours. Usually we discover spies before they get that far. This time we didn’t, so now we’ve got a real problem. If I turn Hrel out, he’ll be killing your people again. If I keep him, maybe the experience will induce him to change allegiances, and then we’ll have really won that round over Andle!”

  “Is it worth the risk?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Putting aside his tea, Klyd changed the subject. “What have you got here in the folio?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I was on my way to show you this when I heard Feleho knocking. What do you think?”

  Valleroy extracted the design for inspection. The channel’s eyes widened in appreciation. “This...is...beautiful!”

  “Do you think your weavers could achieve that depth effect?”

  “Possibly. They’re very ingenious when they decide something is worth doing. This is for Arensti.” It was a statement of a fact so obvious it scarcely needed statement.

  “Thank you, Sectuib.”

  Klyd froze in mid-motion to stare calculatingly at Valleroy. “Am I your Sectuib?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Would you donate to me?”

  The flatness of Klyd’s tone underlined the intensity in the channel’s eyes. Valleroy sat down hard in his chair. “I don’t know. The last time a Sime touched me...like that...it was horrible. If I could ever trust any Sime, I doubt if it would be that one.”

  “Would you donate to Zeor through one of the other channels?”

  Valleroy met Klyd’s gaze, trying to avoid the sight of those restless tentacles. “I want to, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to bring myself to do it. I get shaky just thinking about it.”

  “Do you have any idea how shaky a Sime gets in disjunction?”

  “Yeah. I’ve seen a couple. Worse than
morphine withdrawal.”

  “Much worse. If they’re willing to go through that in order to avoid killing your people, how much are you willing to endure in order to make their sacrifices meaningful.”

  “I see what you mean. I can’t do less, can I?”

  “Many do.”

  “But they live out there.” Valleroy swept a hand toward Gen Territory. “And they don’t even know about disjunction.”

  “Does your knowing make a difference?”

  “Yes, Sectuib, I think it does.”

  “Do you know what will happen to me if it is ever known that I injured you?”

  “Execution?”

  “Of a kind that makes Feleho’s death look easy and pleasant.”

  “I didn’t think there was anything worse.”

  “Death by attrition is...far worse. You can’t imagine.”

  “I’d rather not try.” Attrition, thought Valleroy, would be a very slow death as the Sime body used irreplaceable reserves of selyn. Valleroy shuddered, almost nauseous.

  “Exactly,” said Klyd. “It is customary for the Head of Householding to take first donations. Such Heads are usually the most skilled channels in the Householding, able to withstand the onslaught of the normal Gen fears. How could it be explained that you fear me more than any other channel?”

  “I see. But it’s not a decision that must be made right now.”

  “Yes, it must, and it must be made with all sincerity. This,” he said, indicating the folio with a graceful tentacle, “gives me an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “It won’t work unless you adopt a certain attitude toward me. But it must be a true adoption...one that won’t slip out of character under stress.”

  “I haven’t blown the cover yet.”

  “Yes you did, during Hrel’s party. You forget, Simes read emotions as clearly as words.”

  Valleroy thought about that. He had been angry when the cover called for everything but anger. “What kind of an attitude?”

  “That of a member of my Householding. That of a loyal donor who would do anything...anything at all...to see that I never suffer need.”

  “That’s asking a lot.”