Ambrov Keon

by Jean Lorrah

  “Yeah. He had the nerve to ask about you.”

  “What did you tell him?” she asked, hiding her amusement at her little brother’s protectiveness.

  “I told him to stay away from here!” Then, toying with the remains of his sandwich, “Risa...I also told him what I heard in town. Some of the people who can’t get Gens are talkin’ ’bout attacking Carre.” The gray eyes suddenly looked up defiantly. “Well, you said he saved your life!”

  “You did the right thing, Kreg.”

  “Yeah, but—People’re sayin’ Carre rounded up kids left orphans—and murdered the ones that refused to take a blood oath to join ’em!”

  “Oh, Kreg, don’t you remember what Dad always said about rumors? Nobody saying those things ever set foot in Carre.”

  “Well, who’d want to?” he demanded self-righteously, and began clearing the table.

  Risa knew her brother was worried about her association with Sergi. There was no reason, for she would never see the big Gen again—at the end of the month he would go back to Keon, out of her life forever.

  Yet...she somehow couldn’t bring herself to tell Kreg that Sergi had given her transfer.

  The next day, business at Tigue’s General Store was brisk—yet not as brisk as Risa would have liked. The Gen shipment was still delayed, and edgy Simes were concentrating on Need, not yard goods, wagon wheels, or tea glasses.

  Alis and Jobob’s mother, Treesh, was clerking, along with her two children. Her husband worked on a riverboat—Risa sensed her worry, for she had heard nothing from him since the storm. The boat had been due back two days ago.

  Risa had known Treesh for years; hers was a hardworking family exactly like the Tigues, and Morgan Tigue had been happy to hire any of them. Jobob and Risa had a strange relationship; she was nearly four natal years older than he was, and she had classed him with the “kids,” Alis and Kreg, until he changed over two years ago and was suddenly an adult while she was still a child. Since her changeover their positions had reversed again; as her father’s partner, she was Jobob’s employer. The final adjustment seemed to be working smoothly; Jobob did his job without resentment.

  Kreg and Alis were the same age; they had gone to the same school—Treesh as determined as the Tigues that her children should have a good education—and had the happy rivalry/friendship that often happen ed when a boy and a girl grew up together. Risa and her father had always expected that the two would change over at about the same time, and eventually marry.

  Alis had put her blond hair up like her mother’s, and both children tried to act like adults in the tense atmosphere. Both Treesh, a few days past turnover, and Risa, who was still feeling satisfied, seemed to provoke Simes close to Need, either by reminding them of their condition or by causing envy. Risa tried to let the children, with their unprovoking nager, wait on as many customers as possible.

  Risa was renewing supplies from the stockroom when Treesh came back to her. “Risa—word is spreading that the Pen will be completely out of Gens by midnight! What will we do?” Her laterals licked out of their sheaths, a sheen of ronaplin bathing them despite the fact that she had at least a week’s supply of selyn still in her system.

  “Shush,” said Risa. “You’ll be all right. The shipment left Mefis two days ago. And Jobob’s still pre-turnover.” She put her arm around the woman, and Treesh buried her head against Risa’s shoulder. Risa wanted to ease her Need—and found that somehow she could.

  Treesh looked up. “How did you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Feel so...I don’t know. I’ve stopped feeling Need. Thank you. I’m sorry I got upset. I’ve been so worried about Rang, and Alis was crying all last night with nightmares—it’s not at all like her. I’m so afraid it’s a premonition—all she could say was ‘Dead!’ over and over—and I was so afraid it was her father—”

  “Now Treesh, don’t get upset all over again. Rang will be home any time now—why, maybe his boat will bring the Gen shipment. Come on—help me bring out this cotton.”

  The two women restocked the yard goods. Alis was bending over a tablet, chewing on a pencil as she tried to add a column of figures. “Oh, dear!” she said in frustration, “that’s the third different answer I’ve gotten!”

  “Children shouldn’t be waiting on customers,” said the woman waiting impatiently to pay for her order. Risa started over to help, but Kreg got there first.

  “I’ll have it for you in a moment, Miz Carder,” he said, plucking the pencil from Alis’s hands. Risa watched him run the point down one column, then another, and jot down the answer. “There you are—quite a bargain today.”

  Risa approached, trying to exude good will. “I’m so pleased that we had all these things you were looking for, Miz Carder. Jobob, come carry these packages—”

  Risa’s voice faltered, and she fought every instinct to suppress the dagger of fear stabbing her in the chest.

  The Sime woman gave her an odd glance, but Jobob was picking up the packages, and she had to follow, saying, “Now you be careful with that!”

  Selyn production! Faint, but sure, Gen cells were beginning their task of producing life force—selyn to be torn from them by a Sime in Need—Kreg!

  No, not Kreg, Risa realized in painful relief as she let her laterals creep out of their sheaths so that she could zlin more accurately. Alis.

  “Alis,” she said as gently as she could, “you’ve worked very hard today. Come into the back and rest. Kreg, you and Jobob can handle things. Treesh, please come with me.”

  The girl and her mother followed, Treesh saying, “I told you she didn’t sleep last night. I’m sorry, Risa.”

  Risa shooed them into the living quarters, closed the door, and leaned against it. “Treesh—zlin Alis.”

  “What?” But the woman did so. No reaction. “Is she sick? I can’t zlin anything—”

  “Do a lateral contact.”

  The girl knew, then. Risa could feel her fear—it charged even the faint field she had, illuminating the growing promise of life—

  Treesh took her daughter’s arms, extending her laterals. In her shock, she squeezed, and Alis cried out in pain.

  “Stop!” said Risa. “Treesh—you’ve got to get her out of here!”

  “Yes,” said Treesh, gathering Alis against her. “Alis, it’s going to be all right, baby. I’m going to get you away.”

  “Where?” Alis asked, eyes wide with fear.

  “The border. I’ll take you, darling. Don’t be afraid—oh, Alis, don’t be afraid or they’ll catch us—”

  How can Alis help being afraid? Risa wondered. Fear was the Gen nature.

  Sergi’s fearless nager warmed her memory. “Treesh—you can take her to Carre!”

  “You know I can’t! I’ve got to sneak her out of town. Risa, please—oh, please—”

  “I won’t report it,” Risa assured her. “Better take her out the back way. I’ll check that it’s clear.”

  No, Treesh could not take Alis across town to Carre—the law prohibited taking a Gen child to a householding to save its life. Only before the child established or changed over could a parent give it to the householders—and who would ever do that?

  She zlinned through the back door without opening it. Shen! A wagon was pulled up to the loading dock, three Simes sitting around waiting, all in varying states of Need. She opened the door a crack and peeked out—oh, yes, Dran Muller’s crew, come to pick up his order. They were taking a break, drinking porstan—but any minute they’d be at the back door, wanting the order.

  “You’ll have to go out through the front,” Risa said. “Hurry. Alis, your field is hardly noticeable yet. Just pretend nothing is wrong, and you can walk right out. Your mother will take care of you. Trust her.”

  Treesh was holding her daughter, stroking her hair. It was a good thing she was past turnover, Risa thought; she would not burst into tears and give everything away.

  “Jobob—” Treesh began.

 
“No,” Risa said firmly. “Just go. When I know you’re safely away, I’ll tell him what happened.”

  Risa led the way into the storefront. Kreg and Jobob were each waiting on a customer, and two women and a man were queued at the till. Risa asked, “Who’s next, please?” and turned toward the woman who raised a tentacle. Treesh and Alis walked through the middle aisle, as far from the customers as possible—and froze facing the front door.

  Two Simes entered, a man and a woman, both in hard Need. These were ordinary people, neatly dressed, regular customers who occasionally asked for credit and always paid their bills. Good people, just exactly like Risa’s family, like Treesh and Alis and Jobob.

  “It’s only a two-hour wait,” the woman, Sairi, was saying. “Our Gens will be ready when we go back, Brovan. Come on—it’s better to do something than sit around worrying—”

  “Shuven!” Brovan gasped, his hands reaching out toward Alis. “Gen!”

  Jobob turned, saw, understood—and leaped!

  “She’s mine!” Brovan growled, throwing the boy aside and lunging for Treesh’s throat as she tried to thrust her daughter behind her. The girl’s field shrieked with terror as the Sime choked her mother.

  Sairi came after her husband. “She’s mine!” she shouted. “I’m on the roll half an hour ahead of you!” She tried to pull him off the pile. Alis cringed between her mother and the attacking Simes. The woman grasped one of Alis’s arms, Brovan the other. The girl screamed with pain as they almost tore her apart. Treesh grabbed her about the waist, trying hopelessly to drag her free.

  Risa shouted, “Stop!” but the Simes could not hear her.

  Jobob flung himself on the nearest attacker, Sairi, pulling her off Alis—allowing Brovan to swing the screaming girl into kill position. His tentacles wrapped around her arms, laterals settling hotly into place, splashing ronaplin as he thrust his face against hers. He missed her mouth, took the fifth transfer point off her cheek—and the ambient nager shrieked with the Kill.

  Treesh stared, immobile. Alis dropped from Brovan’s tentacles, limp, empty, dead. Brovan’s field rang with momentary satisfaction, then settled into a weak pattern—Alis had not yet produced enough selyn to satisfy him. Kreg buried his face against Risa’s shoulder. Jobob began to sob.

  And the Sime woman knelt and began to beat on her husband, gasping, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! She was mine, I tell you—mine!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AT DAWN ON RISA’S KILLDAY, she went into Kreg’s room and shook him awake. “Come on, Kreg. Get up. We’re leaving.”

  He woke slowly from the deep sleep of childhood. When his eyes focused on Risa’s traveling clothes, a cold stab of fear made Risa wince. “Has it happened?” His gray eyes grew enormous in the dim light. “Am I...Gen?”

  “No,” she assured him quickly, knowing that the fear had plagued him ever since Alis’s death. “You’re going to be Sime,” she said positively.

  Kreg pulled his arms from under the covers and stared at them. “Changeover? I don’t feel anything—” His fear was just as great. Risa knew she had made the right decision; having seen a close friend killed, Kreg was a likely candidate for the emotional trauma that made children die in changeover.

  “No, Kreg, it’s neither. You’re still a child—but we’re going where it won’t matter if you do turn Gen, and you won’t have to kill if you’re Sime.”

  “What? Why?” Risa was in Need, sensitive to every ebb and flow of selyn. Kreg’s field whirled with confusion—but it could not mesh with hers.

  “I don’t want you to be like Brovan. I don’t want to be like that. Think how you’d feel if you were the one who killed Alis.”

  “I’d never—!”

  “Yes, Kreg, you would if you were desperate, in hard Need. And any situation like the storm, delaying Gen shipments, can make that happen again.”

  “There’s plenty of Gens now,” Kreg protested. “You’ve got yours waiting.”

  “I’m not going to kill it,” she replied.

  “Then...what are you going to do?”

  “We’re going to Carre.”

  “No! They’re perverts!”

  “Oh, Kreg. Do you even know what that word means?”

  “They’re dirty. They do unnatural things.”

  “Am I dirty, Kreg. Unnatural? I know you guessed it—but I couldn’t tell you before. Last month I didn’t kill.”

  “No.” Kreg shook his head, closing his eyes. She waited. Finally he looked at her again and said tightly, “It was that Sergi, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Sergi is a Companion. He gave his selyn freely—and he will again. Kreg, it’s so much better than killing—”

  “No! Gens are s’posed to be killed! That’s what they’re raised for!”

  “Was Alis raised to be killed?”

  “She wasn’t s’posed to be Gen,” he said sullenly.

  “But she shouldn’t have died,” Risa insisted. “If Brovan hadn’t been walking around in hard Need, she wouldn’t have. After the hurricane, Gen supplies will be short for months.”

  “They’ll bring in more Gens!” Kreg protested.

  “From where? Raiders will make a fortune—but what if the Gen Territory army decides we’ve broken the border treaties? Think, Kreg. Stop letting your prejudices think for you. Looters. Nice people crazy with denied Need. It can happen again so easily—a storm, a flood, poor crops on the Genfarms. Remember the panic two years ago, when there was an epidemic in the government Pens?”

  She watched his face settle into respectful attention before she brought out her most logical, yet most radical argument. “Kreg—it doesn’t make economic sense to use a Gen only once. If you take his selyn without killing him, he produces a new supply the next month. A Sime could use the same Gen for years! That’s the secret of the householdings—and I’m going to learn it.”

  “Well...it makes sense, kinda. But that Sergi—he doesn’t act like a Gen. How come he let you take his selyn?”

  Memories of the Shrine of the Starred-cross stirred through Risa’s Need-sensitized nerves, but she could not explain it to Kreg. “What else can he do with it? In the householdings the Gens supply selyn, and the Simes take care of the Gens. I want to learn how the householders live, and the only way to do that is to go live with them.”

  “What about the store?”

  “I’ve sold off the bulk of the inventory—and Treesh and Rang are buying the rest. We have plenty of money for now. I’ll invest it when we get to the north part of the Territory, so it will start growing again.”

  Kreg pushed his dark hair back—a gesture that reminded Risa painfully of their father. “You had it all thought out, all planned. What if I said I wouldn’t go?”

  She would not force him. “I’m sure Treesh and Rang would be happy to adopt you. You know they love you.”

  He threw his arms around her, oblivious to what even his child’s emotion did to her. “Oh, Risa, I can’t let you go alone! I don’t want to be like Brovan, either! I’ll come with you. I love you, Sis!”

  Within the hour they were on their way in the quiet of early morning, Risa’s assigned Gen in tow. They skirted the edge of the produce market, where fruit and vegetables were brought in fresh each day.

  Laughter and music drifted from the taverns nearby. Women in gaudy dresses smiled invitingly at men going in. Their business must be poor now, for three-quarters of the town was between turnover and hard Need, with no interest in sex. That included the women flaunting themselves—if they found customers, they would pretend a desire they didn’t feel. Risa wondered what a man could get from that—but maybe if he was in condition to hire a partner, he didn’t care.

  Kreg had seen these women every day, known their occupation for at least a year or two. He knew the facts of the Sime cycle, even if he had never experienced it...and he thought the householders unnatural?

  “Psst! Psst—Risa!”

  One of the gaudily dressed women came out into the street. R
isa knew her: Verla, a customer at the store. Sometimes she would come in late in the morning, still in her wilted finery. At other times she might be with her children, looking every bit the respectable matron.

  Verla had occasionally tried jobs around the docks, but as she could neither read nor write her opportunities were limited. Risa had once heard her tell Morgan Tigue, “I enjoy my work. It’s easy, it makes people happy—and it gives me days with my kids.”

  Now Verla looked up at Risa, a big grin on her painted face. “You’re goin’ to Keon! Oh, I’m so glad. Sergi will be so happy. You tell him hello for me, you hear?”

  Her voice was pitched low, so no one else could hear, but the combination of Verla’s glee and Risa’s astonishment caused several people to zlin them curiously.

  “You know Sergi?” Risa managed.

  Verla laughed. “He’s not a customer,” she assured Risa, “though I’d take him free if he wanted it.” Obviously the thought had never crossed her mind before. “Shen! I wonder what it’d be like with a Gen?”

  “Verla, my brother is—”

  “Still a child. I know. Sorry, kid,” she said with a wink at Kreg. “No, no—Sergi saved my life, him and the channels at Carre. If it hadn’t been for them, my babies wouldn’t have a mama. The householders are good people, no matter what folks say.

  “You tell ’em all I’m thinkin’ of ’em. And I’m making plans. I’m too old to disjunct, but I got kids. We’re gonna work something out.”

  “I hope...your plans work out,” Risa faltered.

  “Hey—I’m sorry. I’m delaying you when you need Sergi. You go on now. He’ll be waiting for you!”

  Risa rode on in the gloom of hard Need. She had made Kreg take the Pen Gen on his horse, while she carried Guest. Now she said, “Put the pack horses between us, Kreg.” That put some distance between her and the unappealing but provoking Gen field. The world kept dissolving into shifting selyn fields, and it became more of an effort to use her other senses.

  Verla stayed on her mind, though. Why would men pay women like Verla for what was readily available free? “Supply and demand runs the world,” her father had always said.