“Del, what are you suggesting?” asked Abel. “We can form a county!” said Rimon. “Fort Freedom and our two places have enough people to outvote the town—and then we can form a local government and make our own laws!”
“Abel,” said Del, “if we make the laws, we can declare Gens to be people. Rimon’s marriage would be recognized, and Jord’s—it will take years—but isn’t it worth the effort?” Abel looked at the two young men and smiled. “We had to work hard to get the Territory government to accept Fort Freedom. I’m willing to work just as hard to carve out a part of the Territory where we can build our new life.”
Abel’s personal plans for a new life, Rimon knew, rested more each day on Hank Steers. Finally convinced that he was not yet Gen, Hank had announced that he would remain in Fort Freedom—at least until he established or changed over. He and Uel had become fast friends, spending most of their leisure time out with their dogs. There was a friendly rivalry, as Hank tried to make his puppy behave as well as the mother dog Uel had trained. Biggie, as Hank named him, served another function, as well. Although Hank no longer shied away from Simes, his attitude made it clear he’d rather not be touched—but he would hug Biggie and tumble with him, and as the winter progressed and the dog grew, he’d lie by the fire in the evenings, studying, his head pillowed on Biggie’s shaggy flank.
Rimon worried that Abel was too attached to the boy. The way Hank avoided anything warmer than courtesy with the Veritts suggested that if he established, he planned to go straight over the border. And what would happen to Abel’s hopes if he changed over?
He decided to ask Abel. “What if Hank turns out Sime?”
“Do you mean, will I stop loving him, the way I did with Jord? Rimon, I’ve no intention of repeating the gravest mistake of my life. If Hank changes over, I’ll have to help him accept that fact, and go on from there—as all the rest of us have done. It will be difficult for him, and—it will virtually force him to join our ranks. I’d prefer that he had a free choice in the matter, but if it’s God’s will– have you noticed some sign of changeover in him, Rimon?”
“The way he’s shooting up and filling out, I think he’ll establish before the. winter’s over. But I’m not infallible. Nobody can call it before it actually happens, you know.” Abel sighed. “Yes, we can only wait and pray.” Waiting and praying were the order of business at Fort Freedom that winter. The carefully tended kitchen gardens provided enough food for the tables, and there was wood to chop for fuel, but there was little beyond necessities. As the flax crop had been so poor, there was not even the steady whir of spinning wheels that ordinarily vibrated through the winter evenings—and in the spring, there wouldn’t be cloth to sell.
There was some wool from a small herd of sheep, and Abel decided to add to the flock as soon as finances permitted. When Kadi saw Margid knitting, with hands only and just two needles, she said, “But that way is so hard and slow! Mama always used four or six needles.”
Margid extended her tentacles and flexed them curiously around the needles. “Can you teach me, Kadi?”
“I wish I could! But Mama couldn’t teach me until I got tentacles—and I didn’t. Doesn’t anybody here know how?” But none of Fort Freedom’s women had had Sime mothers; they knew only the Gen method, which Kadi promptly set out to learn. She also asked Slina to teach Margid the Sime method—without consulting Margid first. Slina and Kadi just turned up one afternoon, and Rimon realized only then where Kadi had gone.
Margid was properly embarrassed, but Slina would brook no denial. “Shen—almost a year since you folks bailed me out, and what have you let me do for you?”
Put that way, the lessons could not be refused, and soon every woman in Fort Freedom was even busier making warm clothes for her family. Rimon recalled his own plans to run some sheep on the rocky ground he couldn’t till– but so far he hadn’t been able to afford any, so his two goats had the land to themselves.
It was another snowy winter, but no one complained– it would mean a good runoff in the spring, and water in the streams all year. However, aside from Fort Freedom’s Year’s Turning ceremony, there was another date that everyone hoped would be free of hazardous weather. Del Erick was throwing a birthday party for his children.
“A what party?” Rimon asked him.
“It’s a Gen custom. Carlana told me about it. They don’t have changeover parties, of course. They celebrate the day a child is born—I guess because Gens can’t tell when they establish.” It was actually Jana’s third birthday, but since neither child had had a birthday party before, they decided to include Owen in it, too. “Maybe we’ll make it an annual affair,” said Del.
As the plans grew, they couldn’t decide where to draw the line on the guest list. Soon no one in Fort Freedom could be excluded, so the party was moved to the Fort’s chapel, cleared and set up with tables for food, games for the children, and plenty of room for parents to come and watch.
A few days before the big event, Rimon was at Abel’s when Hank arrived home from school. “Brrr! It’s cold out there!” he announced as he shucked his coat and headed for the fire. Biggie, loping in behind him, paused politely to shake the snow off his coat at the door before he proceeded to track wet pawprints across the clean floor.
“Hank,” said Abel, “you’ve been told before about tracking in snow. There’s a broom on the porch.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Hank. “But it’s cold! I’ll clean it up.” He pulled off his boots and set them by the fire to dry, padding toward the kitchen with Biggie behind making more tracks.
Rimon didn’t laugh out loud, but Abel looked over to him with an apologetic shrug. Hank returned, shivering, and began wiping up the melting snow. Slowly it dawned on Rimon that Hank shouldn’t be shivering as he worked before the fire. Concerned, he zlinned the boy—and discerned the first faint trace of selyn production. Yes, he had seen that symptom before—in a Gen establishing in cold weather, there were sometimes chills as the body adjusted. “Hank,” he said, “you look chilled through. Why don’t you go have a cup of tea?”
“That sounds good. Would you like some?”
Both Abel and Rimon agreed, but the moment Hank was out of the room Abel asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. He’s establishing, Abel.”
“Thank God!” Abel closed his eyes, holding himself rigid, and Rimon knew the conflicting emotions his beliefs caused the older man. With a shudder, Abel said, “Thank you for not telling me in front of him, Rimon. He must make his own choice—not be influenced by my desires.”
Hank returned with the tea, carefully proffering the cups so that neither Abel nor Rimon would have to touch him. Then he sat down before the fire and sipped gratefully at the hot tea. “I can’t seem to get warm today!”
“Do you know why you’re cold, Hank?” asked Rimon.
“Maybe I’m catching cold. Things smell funny. The tea sure tastes good though—guess I’m learning to like it.”
“Hank,” Abel said very softly, “you’ve begun to establish.”
A wild stab of joy, fear and disbelief went through the boy. “Then—I’m a Gen!”
“Definitely,” said Rimon. “Congratulations, Hank.” It was what one said to a changeover victim. It was the first time Rimon had congratulated a Gen upon establishment.
“But—?” Hank stared from Rimon to Abel. “What should I do?”
As Abel regarded the boy, Rimon noted with relief the older man was pre-turnover and as stable as he ever was.
“Hank,” said Abel, “you must decide what to do with your life. Pray for God’s guidance.”
“You don’t think I should give thanks for not being Sime?”
“You might give thanks for reaching adulthood healthy and free.”
Hank frowned. “You really will let me go, won’t you? Even though you were hoping I could somehow teach you not to kill?”
“If it’s what you want, Hank, I’ll arrange a Farewell.”
&nb
sp; “I—I don’t know! I’ve never been so confused in my life.”
Rimon remembered Kadi’s fear and depression, as she had contended with the effects of establishment. The other Gens had shown some signs, too—but none of them had faced such turmoil as either Kadi or Hank. “Don’t try to decide at once,” said Rimon. “You’re undergoing changes that influence your emotions. For now, you’re perfectly safe—your field is so low that most people won’t even notice it for a day or two. Stay here until the birthday party. Then, I think you should come out to stay with me until you make up your mind.”
“I like your place, but—if I stay, I want to live here in Fort Freedom,” Hank said. “Willa does.”
“Hank,” said Abel, “let’s not talk yet about your learning to give transfer as Willa does. First, decide if you want to stay on this side of the border at all. Remember, Willa learned from Rimon before she tried working with Jord.”
The boy looked from Abel to Rimon and back again, his growing field a study in conflict. Then he turned to Biggie, put an arm around the dog, and leaned on him. The aching loneliness in that gesture pierced Rimon to the quick. There were tears in Abel’s eyes, as he held back from reaching out. He’d give Hank up, let all his hopes go with him, rather than frighten him, let alone hurt him. Does Hank know that? Surely he couldn’t turn away like that if he knew—if he only knew.
The birthday party was a huge success. The children played games while Del and Carlana and Rimon and Kadi saw to it that every child won some bauble from the collection the adults had pitched in to make.
Hank, suddenly elevated to adult status, didn’t compete. Uel laughingly accused him of establishing just so he wouldn’t have to be in the boys’ obstacle race—which Uel won easily without Hank’s competition. Rimon would have bet on Hank, who had gained strength as well as size this winter in the physical regimen of Fort Freedom’s children—preparation for a hard pioneer life on the other side of the border. The hopes might have changed, but the training hadn’t. However, Uel’s teasing was tinged with envy; he’d grown up being told it was better to be Gen.
As everyone sat down to watch Owen and Jana cut the huge cake decorated with their names spelled out in small candies, Uel said to Hank, “It’s not fair for you to establish before me. I’m older than you are.”
“Only two months,” Hank replied. “Maybe you’ll establish soon. We could cross the border together.” Rimon glanced around to be sure Abel couldn’t hear. “Haven’t I told you often enough? I really mean it, Hank. I’m going to stay here and learn to give transfer.”
“You wait till everybody starts looking at you—and then not looking at you—that way! You could get killed.”
“It’s up to the Gen,” said Uel. “Mrs. Farris has told you that the Gen keeps the Sime from killing. It’s true, you know.”
“Probably is,” agreed Hank.
“Well, I’m going to learn. All the established kids are staying, Hank—if everyone leaves, how will our parents or our brothers and sisters learn not to kill? If your mom and dad had been Sime, wouldn’t you want to be able to stop them from killing?”
“Len and Sordal and Anni—they haven’t stopped anyone.”
“Not yet. It’s not easy—but look at Mrs. Farris and Willa Veritt I figure if Willa can learn it, so can I. My mom and dad—they’re not my mom and dad, you know.”
“Huh?”
“My real father was my dad’s brother. He and my mother were killed in a Gen raid when I was a baby—I don’t remember them at all. But Mom and Dad took me in and raised me as their own son. Do you think I’d repay them by crossing the border when I establish? I saw Willa give transfer to Jord on their wedding day. That’s what I want to do.”
Rimon saw Hank look down the table to Abel and Margid. Perhaps he was realizing at last how much love they had to give a homeless boy who gave them nothing in return but hope.
They were seated at a distance because they had both passed turnover. Rimon had reduced the fields of the other three Gens, so they could mingle freely at the party, but Hank’s field had climbed to a bright beacon, rivaling Willa’s and even apparent against Kadi’s nager. Thus the Simes of Fort Freedom had assumed their Farewell Ceremony configuration, with only those most recently satisfied coming anywhere near Hank.
Except for Rimon, of course. He was just below mid-field, but had to think twice to recall where he was in his cycle. Recently, noticing that need didn’t clamor at him even when Kadi wasn’t nearby, he’d decided that the secret was security: he knew she’d be there, and so his fears were slowly receding. If only Jord would hurry up and reach this stage…
But Jord was on the ragged edge of need today, carefully avoiding Hank and the other Gens, but spoiling Willa’s fun by refusing to stay with her as she helped the smallest children. Each time she’d get involved, Jord would wander off, and Willa would have to leave the children she loved to go after him.
Jord is paying for another of my bright ideas, thought Rimon. The month before, when Jord became edgy and started avoiding Willa, Rimon had suggested that they have their transfer a day early. The result was not a disaster, but Jord had come from the transfer high-field, yet with a sense of being shorted. So this month they were letting his full cycle run out.
Rimon knew he ought to send them home for transfer now, but he wondered if he could persuade Jord. Abel probably could, so Rimon got up and headed toward the low-field Simes at the end of the table. The children, having eaten their cake, were starting to move away from the tables, but Hank and Uel remained talking together, Hank’s field a flare Rimon could keep pinpointed without trying.
He glanced over to the table where Kadi and Willa were cleaning up the smallest children before turning them loose to fingerprint the chapel. Jord stood back, watching impatiently, but at least he wasn’t leaving Willa’s sphere of influence. With grim humor, Rimon noted how Willa carefully kept herself between Jord and Kadi. Jord was not going to be allowed to slip up again, if Willa had anything to do with it.
Secure that Jord and Willa were safely placed, Rimon turned to Abel, leaning close so that his words wouldn’t alarm anyone nearby. “Abel, can you help me get Jord and Willa to go home?”
“They shouldn’t be here at all,” said Abel, “but there was no way to keep Willa away from a party for the children.”
“What’s wrong?” Margid wanted to know.
“Nothing,” Rimon replied. “We just think—”
“Rimon!” Margid interrupted him. “Jord!”
Rimon zlinned Jord headed out of the chapel. Well, at least he was going away from any Gen here. Before Rimon could move, Willa called, “Jord!” and started after her husband.
Jord stopped when Willa called his name. Then, to avoid her, he began weaving back through the scattered tables and chairs in the center of the chapel, moving with Sime agility that Willa couldn’t match. She plowed through, shoving tables and chairs out of her way, and at the clatter both Uel and Hank rose, easing out of the path of the chase.
Rimon couldn’t allow a disaster this time; he shot down an aisle of tables, vaulted over one, and came up behind Jord just as he approached the two boys. He zlinned curiosity more than fear from Hank—until Uel grabbed Hank’s arm, saying, “Get behind me!”
A lot of good that will do! The thought had hardly formed in Rimon’s mind when Uel’s good intentions erupted in startlement from Hank, followed by real fear as Jord turned toward him.
Rimon lunged for Jord and spun him into Willa’s arms as she panted up to them. From the opposite side, at the same instant, Abel came seemingly out of nowhere to grasp Hank by the shoulders and pull him back out of harm’s way.
Willa grasped Jord’s arms, and with a flick of her field threw him into helpless need—shocking every Sime in the chapel but immediately damping any effect as she attacked Jord with her own need to give, assuaging his pain, filling the bleak void in him, easing away all his tensions in one outpouring.
Rimon was so clo
se, so involved, that the sudden strong surge in the fields made his head spin. He felt the effect on Abel, equally close, still tensed against Hank’s momentary fear. Now Abel, nearly blacking out with the effects of the rapid nageric shift, sagged, leaning his whole weight on Hank.
The boy turned, gasped, “Abel!” and caught him before he could fall, then eased him onto the bench where he and Uel had been sitting, supporting him physically and nagerically.
“I’m all right!” insisted Abel although clearly he was not. “Jord?”
“I’m all right, Father—thanks to Willa again. God forgive me—I don’t know why I want to run from her when I get like that. But—Hank?”
“You never touched me,” the boy said. “What did you do to your father?”
Rimon, steady once more, said, “It was the selyn flow between Willa and Jord—Abel was too close.”
Hank asked Abel, “Can I help?”
“You are helping, Hank. Thank God you weren’t hurt.”
“But you were—protecting me. I—I don’t want you to be hurt—not because of me, or because of anything.”
Abel turned to meet the young eyes. Rimon could almost hear the words the older man was holding back. Then stay.
All at once, Hank blurted out, “You want what Willa did for Jord just now—instead of killing. Now I know—I want to do that for you!”
Astonished, Abel raised his head sharply, paying for the move with a stab of pain, but Rimon saw that it was well worth it as he looked into Hank’s eyes. “Y-you’ve decided to stay?”
The boy nodded. “You said God sent me. I believe it. He must want me to teach you—why else was my father sent here? I’m sorry I was rude to you—” He broke into the tears he’d been holding back all these months. “They killed my mother—I never saw my father again—and I was afraid—Now I’m home. Don’t make me leave—don’t take it all away. Not again.” He ran out of breath, sobbing on Abel’s shoulder as the older man held him, Rimon seeing the same helpless despair in the boy that he expected only in Sime refugees from out-Territory.
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