House of Zeor

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

“It is a very personal commitment, but not an odd one when you consider that the channels are all that stand between you and death. Put yourself in the place of our usual Gen recruit...weeks, maybe months, in the pens—and the pens are as horrible as rumor paints them—finally, one day, the overseer plucks you out of the press. You get your first shower in weeks, your first set of clean clothes in a year, but you can’t enjoy it. Within the hour you’re doomed. But the treatment in the pens is such that victims almost welcome death.

  “Now consider, how would you feel if you discovered that your fate was to be my donor, my property. Despite being a channel, a filthy pervert, I’m still entitled to one donor a month from the pens. I collect as often as Zeor’s space permits. But many die each year because it wasn’t I who chose them. How would you feel about me, if you were chosen?”

  “No matter how scared I might be,” said Valleroy thoughtfully, “you still wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “I have never injured accidentally. I can guarantee that I’ll never hurt you again.”

  Valleroy considered. “Two hundred Simes of Zeor don’t kill more than two thousand of my people a year. I guess I owe a lot to Zeor...when the time comes.”

  “If you travel with me, as my Companion, we can go to the Choice Auction. Maybe we’ll find Aisha there. If so, I’ll buy her, and that will be that.”

  “Companion! What makes you think I could impersonate a Companion? I’m nothing like Denrau!”

  “Denrau is exceptional. You’re good enough.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m not even an ordinary donor, let alone one who serves a channel’s need!”

  Klyd braced his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers, tentacles weaving an intricate dance through the spaces while his eyes remained on Valleroy. “True, you’re not yet an ordinary donor, but eventually, if you choose it, you can be a more popular Companion than Denrau.”

  “How do you know! The very idea scares—”

  “Do you question my professional judgment?”

  There was enough pride in Klyd’s tone to make Valleroy feel he’d demeaned the integrity of Zeor. “Of course not, Sectuib. I wouldn’t think of it.”

  The channel nodded, continuing to weave patterns through his fingers. “For the present, a good act will do. But it must be based on a firm decision for Zeor.”

  “I pay my debts.”

  “This will take more than that.”

  Valleroy stared at the folio propped against the side of the desk. He knew the design within that case, and he knew intimately what each line symbolized. Zeor had become a part of him, if only for a brief moment. It remained for him to become a part of Zeor, if only for a time.

  He raised his eyes to the channel, the exotic creature that had changed his life one dark, rainy night. Seated behind an ordinary desk amid piles of documents in an ordinary office smelling of fresh ink and furniture polish, Klyd was altogether too prosaic to be feared. Yet there was something in his eyes, in his voice, in the way he walked, that said he was one of the most important men alive; he knew it, didn’t particularly like it, but he accepted it.

  And Valleroy accepted it, too. There was nothing wrong with a man taking pride in his accomplishments. Valleroy knew that pride was only the armored shell Klyd had grown around himself to protect...what? Valleroy would never know unless he became a part of Zeor, and suddenly he realized he wanted to know what lay beneath that shell.

  As Valleroy studied the channel, the dancing tentacles stilled and retracted into their sheaths. The steepled fingers remained steady, but the channel’s eyes searched Valleroy’s face, probing each nuance of emotion that accompanied the Gen’s thoughts.

  As steadily as he could, Valleroy said, “Unto Zeor, forever.”

  Momentarily, Klyd blinked as if in relief. When he opened his eyes, he affirmed, “Unto Zeor, forever.”

  “But I still don’t know why you think I can impersonate a Companion.”

  “Let’s just say that in your place I could do it for Yenava. Four days from now, we may be back here with Aisha, and all will be settled.”

  “When do we leave?” Privately, he wondered if all this was worth the homestead Stacy had promised him as reward. If Aisha were already dead...he refused to think about that.

  Klyd reached for a stack of papers. “Tomorrow morning, after the funeral. It’s a two-day ride to Iburan so we should arrive just in time for the Choice Auction.”

  “Why not leave now?”

  “Hugh”—Klyd gestured helplessly at the work piled before him—“I will be lucky to get away tomorrow without hurting Zeor. Also, Grandfather must be consulted.”

  “Grandfather?”

  “Of course. I must have permission.”

  “What if he says no?”

  Glancing through the folder before him, Klyd continued absently, “Technically, I’ve been running Zeor for the last four years. But it is good for him to retain some authority. Uselessness is the worst part of old age, even for a Gen, but do you know what it does to a channel?” The question was rhetorical, and Klyd answered it himself with a shudder as he snapped the folder closed. “Come, bring your design, and we’ll ask him now.”

  Klyd took the papers he’d been reading while Valleroy followed with the folio under one arm. As they walked down the hall, Valleroy drew abreast. “What about Hrel?”

  “Maybe Grandfather will have something to say about him.” He led the way through a narrow door at the end of the hall, and then up a steep, twisting stairway.

  At the top landing, they stopped to gaze at the view. They were now in a penthouse set well back from the parapets of the tallest building at the western side of the court. From the wide windows, along a closed-in colonnade, they could look down on the buildings, the courtyard, the front gate, and beyond to the adjacent town of Valzor.

  Valleroy could now see patches of new roofing and off-color stone work where repairs had been made on the court buildings. The Householders didn’t often speak of the pogroms against the “perverts,” but the building themselves bore mute testimony.

  When Valleroy had caught his breath from the climb, the Sectuib led the way along the colonnade, and then through hangings into an antechamber lined with plush red draperies. And there, pacing back and forth in front of the inner door, was Yenava. She was carrying a folder in one hand, and, Valleroy noted, she was wearing new shoes.

  She turned, barring Klyd’s entrance.

  He stopped midway. “Is something wrong?”

  “Entran,” she said, tight-lipped. “Denrau’s with him now.

  “How long?”

  “He must have been like that all night. You know him. He wouldn’t call anybody if he was dying!” Valleroy could see she was on the verge of tears.

  “Entran isn’t that serious.”

  Hands on hips, she gave a ladylike snort, “Humph! When was the last time the Master Sectuib”—she looked him up and down—“went through it?”

  “The way I work, I have the opposite problem.”

  “Do I ever have to sit up all night holding your hand?”

  “You’re in a fine mood this morning.”

  Valleroy could see the unshed tears swimming in her eyes, and it embarrassed him. If it weren’t for the peculiar way Klyd had of creating an island of privacy in full public view, he’d have tiptoed out of the hot domestic scene. But then Zeor was very much like a big, quarrelsome family.

  After holding her breath as long as she could, Yenava burst out, “Some morning! First Feleho and now Grandfather....”

  “He’s not going to die. Denrau is perfectly capable.”

  “He wouldn’t require Denrau if you’d just let him work a little once a while.”

  Summoning a ragged patience, Klyd shifted his folder to three tentacles and took her shoulders in his hands while with the tentacles of his other arm he tilted her chin up. Two rivulets of tears wandered down her cheeks as he said, “Naavina, you know as well as I do it’s not a question of ‘lettin
g.’ We must face it, sooner or later. He’s old, too old to be trusted with the donors. And as for dispensary, his sensitivity is so low that he wouldn’t be able to satisfy anyone. He’s done all he can do for Zeor. Now it is Zeor’s turn to do for him.”

  For a moment, Valleroy thought she’d accept that. But then she threw the folder she’d been carrying to the floor at Klyd’s feet and broke loose from his grasp. “You...unfeeling...beast!” Without waiting for a reply, she tore out into the colonnade and was gone.

  Klyd parted the hangings she’d left swinging in her wake and called after her, “You’re tired. You’d better get some rest!” He stood in the archway gazing after her as if undecided whether to stay or follow.

  Wishing he hadn’t come, Valleroy kneeled to gather the papers that had scattered from her folder. They were pictures. A series of drawings made by schoolchildren. Careful lettering on each one made it obvious these were get-well offerings from a class in Zeor history.

  Each of the sixty drawings represented some event during Grandfather’s time as Head of Zeor. There was battle, carnage, and destruction depicted with an unglazed honesty foreign to the children Valleroy had known. There was a wedding scene, festivals, the dedication of a new building, a disjunction party portrait, a family-tree diagram, even a collage of mementos.

  As Klyd turned away from the colonnade, Valleroy tapped the papers into a neat stack and inserted them into the folder. “I think these must be for Grandfather.”

  Klyd riffled through them absently, nodding. Then he tucked them under his arm with the other folder. Valleroy asked, “Is he really very sick?”

  “I trust Denrau. But at Grandfather’s age, any little thing....”

  When Klyd didn’t finish, Valleroy said, “What’s entran?”

  As if glad of the opportunity to lecture clinically, he replied, “The channel has nerve systems absent in the ordinary Sime. They are those used in the selyn-channeling techniques. When these systems are not properly exercised, they can produce very...painful cramps. Entran is not lethal, but the complications can be.”

  “And your Grandfather can’t use these systems any more?”

  Klyd nodded. “After so many years, the channel’s nerves become accustomed to the load. When the work load is removed, the problems are...endless.”

  Klyd fell silent, looking at the inner door. Valleroy fidgeted uncomfortably, not knowing if he should stay or not.

  At last, the door opened. Denrau stood framed by a shaft of sunlight. He looked at Klyd for a long time as if sharing a somber awareness.

  Klyd stirred. “How was it?”

  The Companion frowned. “Rough. He’s all right now, but his reflexes are….” He closed his eyes and sketched the barest shake of his head.

  “Did you tell him about Feleho?”

  “I had to. I’m still....”

  From within the room, a cracked voice interrupted testily, “Don’t whisper like that! I’m not dead yet!”

  Klyd fixed a smile on his lips and called, “Your pardon, Sectuib. But after you’re dead, voices won’t disturb you.”

  “Get in here where I can hear you!”

  “Yes, Sectuib,” said Klyd, grabbing Valleroy by an arm and thrusting him hastily through the door. “Hugh, when Grandfather orders, move!”

  Valleroy found himself standing in the middle of the floor of the most extraordinary room he’d ever seen.

  Directly in front of the door, a canopied bed stood on a dais raised two steps above the floor. Three walls of the room appeared to be nearly all windows overlooking Zeor’s fields and factory complex...a sprawling U of buildings set amid a parklike forest. The air in the room was alive with the freshness of autumn, but Valleroy could find no open windows.

  The heavy drapes were drawn back admitting sparkling sun. One warm puddle of it lapped at the toes of Valleroy’s shoes. Overhead a skylight was draped so that the full heat of the sun wasn’t focused on the bed. But at night, Valleroy was sure, the stars lit the room magnificently.

  Wherever there wasn’t a window, case after ceiling-high case of books lined the walls. The wall behind Valleroy was one enormous, unbroken bookcase except for the huge double door by which they’d entered. And most of those books, thought Valleroy, looked old enough to be from the Ancients.

  His hands itched to explore them, but his eye was drawn to the withered figure that lay amid the billowing quilts on the bed. With Denrau on his right and Klyd on his left, the old man shook a newspaper under their noses as if it proved conclusively the world was going to hell. “And just what do you say to this!”

  The only newspaper Valleroy had seen in Zeor was the Tecton Weekly, put out by the Householdings. But from where he stood, Valleroy couldn’t see what scandalous article was being discussed.

  Klyd said, “Probably the same thing you said when you first read it.”

  The old man looked up slyly. “Then you agree with me?”

  Klyd looked at Denrau holding a perfect deadpan as he said, “Only when you agree with me, Sectuib.”

  The three of them exploded in laughter at a long-shared family joke. Valleroy relaxed. Suddenly, Grandfather was just as human as Klyd.

  Denrau and Klyd seated themselves on benches near the foot of the bed where the reclining patient could see them. For the moment, Valleroy was left standing on the vast expanse of carpet between the door and the foot of the bed. But, apparently, Grandfather couldn’t see that far.

  Klyd presented the folder he’d brought up from his desk. “These are the reports you asked for. I hope you find them satisfactory. Production was up ten per cent last month. Sales were seasonal.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “But next year we’ll be doing much better. I have the design that’s going to win at Arensti this year.”

  “Well, it’s about time. Let’s see it. Zeor’s reputation, you know.”

  Klyd motioned to Valleroy, who extracted the design from the folio. He had to step up into the dais at the foot of the bed so Grandfather could see it.

  The old man squinted at the design, obviously struggling not to gape. One irrepressible smile quirked the corner of his mouth, but then he got hold of himself. “Might do at that. See what the mill can do with it. I want a complete bolt by the day after tomorrow.”

  Klyd exchanged indulgent glances with Denrau and signaled Valleroy to put the folio away. “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “Don’t think, youngster, that I’m going to forget what day it is!”

  No indulgent glances this time. Klyd said, “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “Out with it!”

  “I’d like to go to the Iburan Choice tomorrow.”

  “Whatever for? With Feleho gone, we’re Gen-high.”

  Klyd threw Valleroy an apologetic glance and plunged into his explanation. What it amounted to, as far as Valleroy was able to follow the rapid-fire Simelan, was that, since Valleroy had created such an enviably great Arensti entry, Zeor ought to do all it could to keep him. Since he wasn’t married, the first thing Zeor had to do was to provide him with the wife of his choice. He hadn’t found anyone within Zeor, and rumor had it that Iburan’s Choice this month would be very close to Valleroy’s requirements. It was an intricate argument that balanced economic factors against moral obligations and projected profits from the winning Arensti design...and presumed future winners yet to be created.

  At length, Grandfather held up a quavering hand to stem the flood of statistics. “But what about Yenava?”

  “We’ll be right back, Grandfather...weeks before she’s due.”

  “Klyd, you went against my advice marrying a Gen. Now she’s giving Zeor an heir. She’ll die if you’re not here to supply that baby with selyn when Yenava’s delivered.”

  “Yenava is a well-trained Companion. I don’t expect much trouble.”

  “Nevertheless, she’ll need you. That’s one of the obligations....”
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  “I’ll be there, I promise.”

  “I’m an old man. Nobody listens to me any more. When I was running Zeor....”

  “You still run Zeor, Grandfather. I just attend to the details.”

  “An heir isn’t a detail! The gene runs in the family. Zeor must have a Farris heir.”

  “Yes, Sectuib.”

  The old man glared at Klyd’s bowed head. Finally, he threw himself deep into the pillows and sighed. “You are at least traveling with a Companion?” he asked sarcastically.

  “I’ve selected Naztehr Hugh since he must approve any purchase made in his behalf. I’ll leave Denrau in case you require him.”

  “I won’t require him. You might.”

  “In any event, Denrau will be your donor this month. Naztehr Hugh will take care of me.”

  Valleroy’s command of colloquialisms was still sketchy enough that he distrusted his understanding of that. He might be able to act the part of Companion, but he certainly couldn’t serve any channel’s need. Klyd knew that. Valleroy hardly had time to frame an objection, though. The old man propped himself up on his pillows and let loose a stream of colorful invective new to Valleroy...but he did recognize it as the kind of language nobody else in the Householding would dare to use to Klyd.

  The channel took the caustic abuse with bowed head. “Yes, Sectuib.”

  Breathless, Grandfather sank back into the pillows. “But you’re going to do it?”

  “I must, Sectuib,” said Klyd, both humble and stubborn, a combination Valleroy had thought impossible.

  “Well, then promise you won’t try to qualify him unless Denrau is standing by—just in case....”

  “You will have Denrau low-field by then.”

  “No I won’t. Charnye will serve me, just as he always has.”

  “Denrau has more experience in—”

  “And you require his experience more than I! You are Head of Zeor. You are Sectuib here whether you like it or not. All the rest of us depend on you...and you depend on Denrau. It’s about time you learned when to take the best for yourself!”

  “A lesson,” said Klyd softly, “which you learned many years ago but have forgotten.”

  “Nobody depends on me any more.”