Hank was staring at Abel. By now he had no trouble recognizing need—nor satisfaction. “Abel!” he whispered. “Oh, Abel, I’m sorry! I could have—”
“You could not do both, Hank, and what you did for Uel is far more important than what you may one day do for me.”
“Next month. As we planned—”
At the stab of fear/resentment/jealousy from Uel, Rimon put a hand on Hank’s arm. “Not next month. Uel needs you until he learns for himself not to kill. But in the meantime, no one’s going to give up the attempt to stop everyone from killing.” But especially Abel. How can I let him go through this again? I’ve got to find a way—and soon.
To that end, he sought more information, for he sensed that somehow, some way, he’d find some bit of knowledge that would make everything else fall into place. And then he’d know how to stop any Sime from killing. So he consulted Jord about Abel’s kill on Uel’s changeover day.
“Rimon! I wouldn’t zlin my father’s kill!”
“I know you wouldn’t deliberately, but, how could you help it that day? You must have had to force that Gen on him.”
“Well—I did shove them into the storeroom together, but then I put Willa between me and them, and tried to stay completely hypoconscious until it was over.”
Rimon fought down an irrational anger at the loss of information. He knew how sensitive the people of Fort Freedom were about their privacy—especially about the kill. Nonetheless, he screwed up his courage and approached Abel with the request to witness his next kill.
Abel fought down a series of emotions, and finally managed to ask, “Why, Rimon?”
“I wish I could tell you exactly what I’m looking for, but I don’t know. I think I’ll know it when I zlin it. There was something about your kill at the Whelans’—something that could be the key to stopping you from killing. But I wasn’t focused on you, and I don’t know what it is.”
“Something to stop me from killing?”
“I can’t promise. It’s just a hunch, Abel.”
“I understand.” But he didn’t say yes. He shuddered. “When I was a Freehand Raider, we used to zlin each other’s kills. While I know God forgives everything if one is truly repentant, I sometimes wonder if, after all my sins, I’m asking too much.”
“No!” Rimon recalled his own vision of what transfer was like if one had never killed—a knowledge he could have only vicariously. That was enough frustration for anyone to live with. “Abel, I’m going to find the way. What we’re doing is too slow; only one Sime separated from the kill for each Gen we train—and a majority of Gens who simply can’t learn not to fear transfer. We’ve got to have every scrap of information!”
So, hesitantly, Abel agreed. “When the times comes, you may have to remind me of my promise.”
They were interrupted just then by Jord and Willa, hand in hand and bursting with good news. Willa could not wait to break it easily. “I’m going to have a baby!”
“Willa!” exclaimed Abel. “Jord! Oh, that’s wonderful– have you told your mother yet?”
“Congratulations,” said Rimon, trying to hide the conflict in his emotions. On the one hand, the news that at last there would be another child in Fort Freedom assuaged a part of his guilt. Still, he was not sure that Jord should have allowed it yet; he seemed stable enough these days, yet Rimon sensed that he didn’t have that deep inner security Rimon himself felt.
As Margid and Kadi, who had already been told the news, came in from the kitchen with tea, Abel heaved a happy sigh. “A grandchild. We are blessed indeed.”
When the day came for Rimon to observe his kill, Abel was more nervous than Rimon had ever seen him. It was Rimon who almost backed out, though, when he saw the Gen waiting in the killroom, drugged, uncomprehending. He’d been thinking in terms of selyn flows, field gradients, experiments—but there before him was a person, about to die. He felt the same reaction from Abel. Every month he goes through this!
It was far worse than Rimon remembered. Even that terrible time—his last kill—when the boy had spoken to him… even then he’d more than half believed that Gens were not people. But that was three years ago, before Kadi —Willa—Hank…
The girl looked up at them with dull brown eyes, expecting nothing, her field high but lusterless. Like an animal, but not an animal. A human being. Somehow he had to make himself zlin one more kill. For Abel. For Zeth. I can’t let all those deaths be in vain.
Steeling himself, he went hyperconscious, seeing the Gen’s bright field, Abel a shadow of need, a void aching to be filled. Abel allowed his need to rise in full force and stepped forward. Even now, he was gentle as he drew the girl to her feet, not frightening or hurting her. Like all Slina’s Gens, she showed no reluctance to be handled, waiting dumbly for whatever Abel might do.
There was a horrifying familiarity to the scenario. Abel took the Gen in kill position, the draw began without fear, painlessly—but as the draw increased there was resistance —pain—fear—the fear fed need, increasing the draw voraciously, a feed back of pain/pleasure—killbliss.
Abel dropped to hypoconsciousness on a wave of guilt as vicious as the killbliss had been, turning his post-kill reaction to depression. He let the limp body pull him to his knees, then disentangled himself, closing the Gen’s staring eyes and composing her limbs before wrapping the body in a cloth laid by for the purpose.
Rimon didn’t interrupt the ritual. Finally Abel rose to face him, raw pain in his voice as he asked, “Did you learn anything?”
“Yes,” Rimon replied. “Abel—you drew so little!”
“I drained her.”
“No! That’s just it: it wasn’t your draw that killed her– it was her reaction. Come on—I’ve got to tell Kadi.”
“You go,” said Abel. “I must pray first. Each time… I pray it may be the last time.”
“Abel—I must talk with Kadi first. But I have an idea.”
The problem was that the idea terrified Rimon, and he couldn’t understand why. He felt an overwhelming relief when he was back with Kadi in the main room.
“What happened? Where’s Abel?” she asked anxiously.
“Praying. Kadi, I can’t believe it. Abel uses so little selyn, I don’t know how he can live on it! More selyn is wasted—dissipated—than he actually draws.”
“Rimon—what—”
“You could give Abel transfer and never know you’d done it.”
“But—”
“I’d never miss that amount, Kadi!”
“Rimon—I don’t know if I can stand to give transfer to anyone but you. What I did to that Raider—”
Rimon forced himself not to grasp at the excuse. He hated the nagging jealousy that sought to keep him from what he knew was right. It had to be right! Why else did Gens produce more selyn than most Simes needed? Why did they grow constantly in capacity? If selyn were not wasted in the kill, there’d be plenty to go around, even if some Gens never learned to give real transfer.
“Kadi—Abel’s not a Raider. You won’t want to hurt him —there won’t be anything unnatural, like running your system backwards, or his. The worst that can happen is that he’ll draw more than I expect—and for one month, if necessary, I can draw from the kids and balance my fields.”
“I—I don’t like it, Rimon. I don’t know why I feel it’s wrong.”
“Try it—just once.”
“Try what?” asked Abel from the doorway.
When Rimon told him, he shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. I cannot interfere between you and your wife.” But the surge of desire in his nager belied his words, even as heartfelt relief emanated from Kadi.
Putting his arm around her, Rimon told Abel, “That’s just it—you wouldn’t interfere. As little selyn as you need, I wouldn’t notice any difference at my own transfer. And Kadi has that ability to produce—on demand, it seems. All Gens may have it. Every Gen I’ve worked with has increased production.
“And the waste! I haven’t witnessed
a kill by an ordinary Sime since Vee Lassiter’s changeover, and that time I either didn’t know what to look for, or wasn’t sensitive enough to see the difference. More than half the selyn in that Gen today was lost, not consumed. Abel, you don’t have problems with shorting, do you?”
“Almost never. Jord always had. Apparently, I’m just an —‘ordinary Sime,’ ” he finished painfully.
Rimon winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that we’re better, just different. If anything, needing extra selyn is a detriment, except that we may pay back by healing. I think the dual system is hereditary—my father has it, and I had cousins with shorting problems. Dan Whelan doesn’t have it, but he recalls that Uel’s mother did.”
“Yes,” said Abel. “She faced a terrible moral dilemma during her pregnancy, taking many extra kills in order to produce a new life. If only she could know—but she must. If God is just, she knows her child has found a new way of life.”
“Then the only exception is Jord. Neither your nor Margid seems to have an extra selyn reservoir.”
“Margid is not lord’s mother, although he never knew the woman who gave birth to him. Her death may have been due to this very condition, for she died of attrition in childbirth.”
“I’m sorry,” murmured Kadi.
“It was long ago,” Abel replied. “But what you’re saying is, I may be physically incapable of learning not to kill.”
“We don’t know that!” Rimon said fiercely.
Kadi clung to him, seeking strength as she said, “It’s important that we try, Abel. Now that Willa’s pregnant, Jord is going to require help soon. Remember what Rimon went through? We may learn something that will help Jord and Willa—and your grandchild.”
With great, wrenching pain, Abel said, “Yes, of course. I can’t refuse to try.”
Abel was not the only one to relinquish his privacy that day. Hank and Uel had agreed to have their second transfer in the chapel, as Jord and Willa had done, before the whole of Fort Freedom. It was another bit of progress, a boost to everyone’s morale—especially as Uel represented a future in which no Sime would ever have to kill.
Rimon had worried that there might be a tendency among the people of Fort Freedom to consider Hank and Uel saints, on some untouchable moral plane. The boys, however, saw to it that any such image was immediately shattered, by acting like what they were: two adolescents testing their newfound abilities. When no one managed to snag them for chores or lessons, they ranged as far from authority as they could get, each trying to outdo the other in a happy contest of Sime versus Gen. Uel, unhampered by conscious or unconscious guilt, had no aversion to augmenting, or to using his tentacles. Rimon watched him explore the world anew with Sime senses, envying his untrammeled delight. It will be that way for Zeth one day.
Hank, freer with Uel than with any adult, used his friend to try what he could do as a Gen—discovering such useful abilities as how to tickle someone from ten paces away. Uel soon found that although he could overpower Hank physically, whenever he came close enough to do so he was in range of Hank’s nageric tricks. Rimon let them alone, figuring that the lessons they learned were good for both of them.
They capped their adventures by sneaking off into town one evening, where both had previously been forbidden to go. No one ever found out exactly what they did there, but the next day was Uel’s turnover, complicated by a headache for which he got no help from Hank because he had one too.
Both boys settled down after that—apparently having proved something to themselves—and the lessons went apace. Like Jord, Uel was able to imitate healing mode the first time he zlinned it. After a few successful experiments, and before Uel hit turnover and the risk of instability, Rimon had him try drawing in healing mode from Anni Suttin, the most stable of the Gens staying with him. The result was a successful lesson and a tremendous vitalization of Uel’s secondary system.
As Uel approached need, his high spirits dampened somewhat, but even the last few days he continued surprisingly steady, and Hank could still coax a smile out of him even on their transfer day. Both boys were subdued, though, when Rimon went to seek them after he left Abel. They were in the chapel together, praying, in that solemn mood of adolescents facing a public responsibility.
“It’s over an hour, yet,” said Rimon. “Do you want to stay here, or come have some tea?”
Hank looked to Uel, properly respecting his friend’s mood.
“I’d rather stay here,” said Uel. “I really don’t want to talk to anybody—till afterward.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said Hank, back in the protective mood of last month. Rimon zlinned him carefully. He was like Kadi and Willa. There was something wonderfully reassuring about these particular Gens—imagine living in a world full of them.
Rimon returned to Abel’s house, just in time to see Dan Whelan leaving. “Uel and Hank are already in the chapel.”
“I know,” said Dan. “I don’t blame them for not wanting to be on public display. I’ve just been telling Abel—I’ve managed to talk Sara Fenell into coming to see.”
And to walk out again? Rimon wondered. The boys’ relationship was only a month old, and both had been raised in a heavily religious atmosphere. If Sara made her charges of demonic possession and witchcraft again, what would that do to two impressionable boys? He could only hope their experiences together would outweigh anything anyone might say to them.
Rimon and Kadi sat on either side of Hank and Uel at the front of the chapel, giving them what protection they could from the emotions of the people entering. Uel’s parents came up front, with the Veritts—and with them was Sara Fenell. He felt the start of surprise from Uel; Hank, of course, knew of her only secondhand.
Rimon’s gaze drifted to the monument to the martyrs. But there would be no martyrs today; joy filled the chapel. The wave of hopeful anticipation reached Uel; he reached for Hank’s hand, and wrapped his tentacles about their two hands united. A soft gasp from the congregation reminded Rimon of the time Abel had deliberately displayed his tentacles in the chapel—and Sara Fenell had led away so many of his followers.
When everyone was seated, Abel rose. “You all know why we’re here. God has blessed us time and again—the most recent miracle just one month ago. We give thanks that one of our own children, Uel Whelan, has been doubly blessed. Like Rimon Farris, like my son Jord, he has healing powers. But, unlike them, Uel will never have to learn not to kill—for God sent Henry Steers, Jr.—Hank—to us, to befriend Uel, and to give him transfer at his changeover itself. Anyone,” he looked toward Sara Fenell, “must recognize God’s plan in action in our community. Tonight we gather to witness the miracle. Once more, I urge you to use your Sime senses to witness. Witness truly, in Uel, that there is no curse in being Sime. The curse is in killing. Behold—before you is a Sime who has never killed.”
“And I never will,” Uel said solemnly.
As the boys stood and assumed transfer position, Rimon felt everyone going hyperconscious. He didn’t want to– he’d had one glimpse of what was denied him—but he couldn’t resist. Again, that unadulterated bliss, that painless, joyous giving. Again the embarrassment of the boys afterward, unable to face it as a solemn occasion—unable, Rimon realized with a shock, to perceive the meaning of their innocence because they’d never known corruption.
But in the audience, everyone understood. The chapel bore the aura of killbliss—the ambience of joy and sorrow, too mixed to conceive of one without the other. Even Kadi was crying, and Rimon realized his own face was wet.
Hank and Uel looked about them, at a loss to comprehend the tears. Last month, Rimon recalled, they had laughed. Abel, smiling through his own tears, told them, “Thank God you don’t understand—may it be God’s will that in another generation there will be no Sime capable of understanding how we feel tonight.”
And then Sara Fenell came forward to kneel at Abel’s feet. “God forgive me,” she sobbed, “what I thought was a demon was the re
flection of my own sinful nature. These blessed children—surely they’re God’s angels sent to give us a glimpse of paradise. And surely God is all-merciful, for despite my sins, my denials, my pride, He has allowed me to bear witness to this miracle.” She collapsed in tears. Dan Whelan helped her back to her seat as Abel calmed everyone.
Rimon had a sudden moment of terror that Abel was about to announce the plan for his own transfer next month; but no, he merely led the prayer of thanksgiving and dismissed the congregation. Why am I so afraid of it? Rimon wondered. If I only knew what I was afraid of, I’d either have a concrete problem to solve, or I’d get rid of my fear by understanding it. Watching the three Gens in his care struggling with their own fears, though, he doubted whether understanding could help. They certainly knew what they were afraid of, but that didn’t end their fears.
Kadi was no help. Her fear was that she’d hurt Abel. Rimon didn’t understand how she could think that, unless it was the same guilt that had kept her silent about her encounter with the Freeband Raiders. “I think you should tell Abel,” he told her.
“That I killed?”
“He has the right to know what you can do, Kadi.”
Abel was astonished. “You killed three Freeband Raiders?”
“Only one of them intentionally,” she replied. “That doesn’t disturb me, Abel—that to save my own life and protect Rimon, I used my hands as weapons. The terrifying thing is that I—I killed in transfer.”
“But the man was trying to kill you. I don’t believe God expects us to allow ourselves to be brutally murdered. In such a case, the kill becomes a weapon.”
“An uncontrolled weapon is very dangerous,” said Kadi.
“Ah—I see. Because I was once a Freehand Raider, you fear you’ll react toward me in the same way.”
“Abel, no!” gasped Kadi. Then, “Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of, but not because you were a Raider years ago, before I was even born! You’re nothing like those– creatures.”
First Channel s-3 Page 36
