Channel's Destiny s-5

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  "She's my daughter and I deserted her when—"

  "You were there last night. The first time a patient died under her care—" He shook his head. "Having her father

  there, accepting her, was as important as anything Trina could do.".

  The other men from Mountain Chapel did not join them in the kitchen, but accepted the food Margid took in to them. They would leave this morning, along with most of the other uninjured men from Mountain Chapel. Many of the ranchers had been killed or injured, leading the charge against the Raiders. Glian Lodge, though, turned up in the Veritt kitchen, a bit leery of the Simes gathered there. He was seated between Owen and Lon Carson.

  When Del Erick, Slina, and Uel Whelan arrived together, carrying extra chairs, Zeth realized that this was a planned meeting—but no one suggested he and Owen should leave. The conversation was conducted in English—in which, if possible, Slina's grammar was even worse than in Simelan. She wasn't embarrassed; she spoke fluently, if inventively.

  Uel's report, from the channels, came first, so he could get back to Rimon's side. Zeth's father, he reported, was stable, but still unconscious. "And that puts me out of commission until I dare leave Rimon for more than a few minutes at a time." His mouth set grimly. "We lost three Gens during the night, and five Simes. At least a dozen more people ought to have a channel in attendance, and we can't spare one! Marji's trying to handle the Gen ward with just Trina and Wik. Nobody's attending the Simes at all right now, till I get back and relieve Jord with Rimon. He and Anni are working together better than usual, but we all know Jord's pattern."

  "I'll come and bring him home as soon as we're finished here," said Abel. "How many people are left to care for?"

  "A few are up and about," said Uel. "Mr. Lodge, here, insisted on getting up this morning."

  "I'm fine," the rancher said, although Zeth could zlin the throb of his injury.

  "Your friend Mr. Norton can be moved out of the infirmary later today, but neither of you is in shape to ride for home yet. Three other Gens won't require channel's supervision anymore, leaving twenty-one in the chapel. The Simes are recovering rapidly—fifteen left the infirmary this morning. That leaves forty-three patients." He shook his head. "And we're out of fosebine."

  Slina put in, "Ain't none at my place—ain't no place no more. Filthy lorshes burnt it down. Winter settin' in—"

  "I know," said Abel. "We'll get to your report, Slina, but let Uel finish so he can go back to Rimon."

  "That's it, except for the three Raiders we captured. Two died in the night, but the kid's still alive, screaming with disorientation. Without fosebine or a Companion to spare, there's nothing to do for him but confine him in that back room. Oh, yeah—we'll have a problem in the Gen ward with Hapen Young's transfer burn. His last dose of fosebine will wear off about noon, and he'll have that sick headache for days."

  "But, thank God, he survived," said Abel, adding for the benefit of Glian Lodge and Lon Carson, ' 'Hapen established as a Gen only six weeks ago. He hadn't even donated to a channel yet, but he somehow managed to keep from resisting when one of the Raiders got to him."

  "Resisting?" asked Lodge.

  "That's how Gens get killed," Uel explained. "They resist

  letting a Sime take their selyn, and the forceful drain burns out their nervous systems. Maybe we can move some insulating curtains from around Maddok Bron to insulate poor Hapen."

  "How is Mr. Bron?" asked Zeth.

  "Your father brought him through the immediate crisis. If we can keep him from dying of secondary infection, he'll recover. Abel, work with him, all right?"

  "What can I do? I'm no channel."

  "You can pray with him. You speak his language. Oh, yes, someone ought to be keeping a close eye on Bekka Trent. She'll be approaching crisis soon."

  "I'll remind people," said Abel.

  The grim statistics soaked through Zeth's numbness. Fort Freedom might not survive. There just weren't enough channels.

  When Uel had gone, Del Erick reported that both the New Farris Homestead and his own home had been set afire. The stone walls of the New Homestead were still standing, but the outbuildings were gone. "My horses, and Fort Freedom's sheep and cattle, are scattered all over the range. I set some of my men to milking the cows that had come back to the New Homestead—they didn't much care for the job, but we've got Gens and children to feed."

  "Good work, Del," said Abel. "Shelter is a problem. We've lost the town, your place, and Rimon's. We have what's left of Fort Freedom, and the Old Homestead. It seems best to rebuild right here before the winter really sets in—and try to keep the mixture of people stable by shuttling some out to the Old Homestead."

  Zeth noted the careful wording. Obviously, no one had informed their rescuers from out-Territory that mingled with the Simes who didn't kill were those who had to kill occasionally, and those from town who killed every month.

  Lon Carson said something similar to what Zeth had been thinking when he resurfaced into awareness. "We can spare some supplies, maybe even a milk cow."

  "We can contribute," said Glian Lodge for the ranchers. "Owen, the next time you—"

  Zeth managed not to squirm, and Owen quickly answered, "I won't be crossing the border anymore, Uncle Glian. But we'll find other couriers, and you're always welcome here."

  Zeth's blur of relief ended only when the ambient nager shifted with the departure of Lodge and Carson. Then the

  group around the table could tackle the most serious problem: the lack of Gens for those who had to kill.

  Slina's Gens had been brought to Fort Freedom before the attack and sheltered in three houses near the wall. Their nager had attracted the Raiders; they had smashed the wall and killed more than half the Gens by setting fire to the houses to drive them out. Others had died in the fires. "We got a two-week supply left," said Slina. "That's a two-week normal supply. Sick Simes, they need extra kills. Abel, we'll be out in ten days, easy."

  "How long—?"

  "I sent Risko over to Ardo Pass this morning. Ol' Mack owes me a favor, but no way is it gonna stretch to a month's supply, 'specially this time of year."

  "Then," said Abel very quietly, "until you have replenished your supply, we cannot allow any Gens to be killed."

  "Hey, now," Slina began, "there's no way—!" Then she stopped. "You mean everybody should—? The channels—?"

  "Slina, that is the only way—unless you want to see Simes mad with need cross the border to kill the very people who just saved our lives?"

  "Shen," she murmured, staring at her tight-clasped hands, handling tentacles wrapped protectively around them. "I don't think I could stand—" Her field ached with revulsion.

  'No one is asking you to disjunct," said Abel. "This is a severe emergency. Everyone must accept channel's transfer once, twice at the most. But we must have your permission to have the channels draw selyn from your Gens today—that way, they'll produce a new supply. And we must have your cooperation in persuading the townspeople."

  "You gonna try to convince 'em to take up your ways?"

  "Slina," Abel said gently, "have we ever tried to persuade you?"

  "Naw," she admitted. "That's why I trust you with my kid." She sighed. "It gives me the creeps to think it. But if anybody knows how hard it is to be sure everyone who needs a Gen can get one, it's a Gendealer. Shen and shid! This coulda happened at least five times since Rimon come here, 'cept you people come and healed my sick Gens and stretched the use of healthy ones. I owe you. The townspeople owe you. I'll convince 'em. Go ahead and have the channels take all the selyn they can from my Gens." But Zeth could feel her horrified shudders as she made the commitment.

  When the meeting was over, Zeth and Owen went to the chapel, where Rimon was shielded in one of the back rooms. In the other room was the young Freehand Raider. Being moved while unconscious had distorted his Sime sense of precisely where he was in the world—the new sense Zeth had awakened to that very morning. Owen put his arm about Zeth's
shoulders as they passed, to be sure Zeth did not get caught up in the boy's nager.

  Owen remained precisely at Zeth's left shoulder as they entered Rimon's room. Channel and Companion, they could thus refrain from disturbing the nageric balance of the sickroom.

  Rimon Farris lay unconscious, Uel Whelan beside him, while Hank Steers lay sound asleep on a pallet on the floor. Yet even in sleep Hank's field was a steady support for Uel.

  With the dirt and soot washed off his face, Rimon appeared dead, pale, his breathing so shallow as almost not to disturb the covers that were heaped across his middle. His blistered legs were smeared with shiny salve. Pain penetrated even Rimon's unconscious state.

  Last night Rimon had been vigorous, animated. Now Zeth could find almost no trace of his father in what he saw or what he zlinned. Zeth had been relieved to find Fort Freedom still standing and all the channels alive and working,, but he realized as he watched the still form of his father, The battle isn't over; it's just begun.

  Wishing he could help, but glad Uel was there to take the responsibility, Zeth moved closer, automatically sliding into healing mode. Uel said, "Zeth—where did you learn that?"

  "From Dad, last night."

  "Of course. Someone said they put you right to work, poor kid. And we'll have to work you some more. We're out of almost all our medicines—Mr. Lansing brought his last aloe plant for Rimon's burns. He and Len Deevan are going out to the Old Homestead to harvest mushrooms today. Then they'll head down south to sell them for medicines and herbs. In the meantime, all we've got are channels."

  "What do you want us to do, Uel?". asked Owen.

  "Relieve Jord. He's going to' try to give a couple of transfers this morning—after that, do as much as you can with the Simes. Owen, you keep Zeth doing what he's assigned, and not trying anything else."

  "We'll manage," said Zeth, trying to hide his apprehension.

  Just as they came out of Rimon's room, Glian Lodge

  emerged from the main room of the chapel, half leading Eph Norton. "Owen," said the rancher, "can you show me the Deevan house? They told us we could stay there."

  "Yeah—probably in Len's room, while he's away. It's the house with the big apple tree—about five houses down the street."

  They had to raise their voices over the moans coming from the room where the young Raider was. Suddenly the incoherent shouts turned to words: "Papa! No, Papa, no!" A thud, as the boy hurled himself against the barred door.

  Simultaneously, Zeth realized that the boy was shouting in English and that Eph Norton's field had suddenly gone wild. "No!" he groaned. "Jimmy! Oh, my God. Oh, my God!"

  Owen was trying to step in front of the door to stop the flaring Gen fields from irritating the boy inside, and at the same time maneuver Zeth to where he was shielded, too.

  Eph Norton took the move as if the boys were trying to bar him from the room, demanding hoarsely, "Who's in there?"

  "One of the Raiders," said Zeth. "A young boy—can't be many months past changeover."

  "A young boy? Jimmy?"

  As if in answer, the boy inside the room cried, "Papa! Please, Papa! Don't lock me in the barn! Let me out!"

  Norton was white with shock. "That's my son! Dear God, why?"

  Glian Lodge was staring at Zeth and Owen. "A Raider? What can you do with him? He's a raving monster."

  Zeth said, "I don't know what we're going to do with him, but we can't just murder him, can we?" The way I was almost murdered. He forced the thought aside.

  "I meant to," said Norton. "I locked him in the barn, went for my gun—he broke out! I never saw him again. It wasn't three weeks later I met Owen, and he told me about– I could have sent him—" He broke into sobs.

  "Eph, you can't be sure that's Jimmy," said Lodge.

  "It's Jimmy. I want to see him."'

  "No," Zeth and Owen chorused, Zeth's sympathy for the boy's situation putting him a beat behind. Then Owen continued, "He can't help himself, Mr. Norton. He's been living like a Freehand Raider for months. Now he has an injured lateral and he's hallucinating. It could make him do anything,"

  Glian Lodge said, "You don't have to guard the door,

  boys. I'll see that Eph doesn't do anything stupid. Come on now—if it is Jimmy, you can't help him now." He looked to Zeth. "Do I understand right that his upset will upset the boy?"

  "That's right."

  "So the best thing you can do is let me put you back to bed. You were only supposed to walk down the street." As he led the man out, he added, "We'll talk to this Abel Veritt. He seems a good sort—you even forget he's a Sime, y'know?"

  The Raider boy—Jimmy Norton, apparently—continued to sob. Grimly, Zeth led the way out through the chapel. There were only a few Gens left now, none seeming critical to Zeth. Despite heavy curtains hung about one bed, Zeth felt the aching and sick headache which identified Hapen Young's transfer burn. Without fosebine, the boy would suffer, but he'd survive.

  The insulated hangings around Maddok Bron's bed were turned back so that Marji Carson could sit beside him and still keep an eye on the other patients. Trina Morgan looked tired, but was awake. Bron was sleeping.

  A good smell permeated the air, and Zeth looked up to see some women wheeling in a cart with a huge pot. As they began handing out bowls of soup, Maddok Bron came awake. "Good morning, Mr. Bron," Zeth said, though it was almost noon.

  Bron forced an unconvincing smile. When he tried to lift his head, a spasm of pain shot through his lower back. Marji said, "Don't move. Let us help you, Mr. Bron."

  "Marji? They told me—I didn't believe it. God bless you, child, and forgive me for thinking you a demon."

  "You couldn't know," she replied. "Even Mama didn't know. But everything's all right now." She blinked back tears. "You're hungry. That's a sign you're getting better."

  Cautiously, Bron asked, "You can read my thoughts?"

  "No, only feelings."

  "A gift. And you're a healer, too." Zeth felt the man's awe, akin to his own—but while Zeth was perceiving his familiar world in a new way, Bron was encountering a world he had never dreamed possible. "So much to think about—"

  "Not today," said Zeth. "You're much better, but you're not well. Eat, and then go back to sleep."

  Bron looked from Marji to Zeth and back again. "Children

  tending the injured? Are things that bad, then?" He tried to peer out into the main room.

  "We're not children; we're channels," Marji said firmly. "Don't worry—Mountain Chapel will manage till you're well. Daddy and some other men are going home today. They'll take care of everything. You concentrate on healing."

  As Bron had used up his strength, he allowed Marji and Trina to prop him up with pillows. He didn't flinch when Marji extended handling tentacles to steady the bowl of soup, but ran a hesitant finger over one of her dorsals, saying in a bemused tone, "I don't understand. I must pray and meditate, for there is too much I do not understand."

  Zeth had not meant to stay so long in the chapel. As he and Owen hurried out the front, they met a gruesome sight: rows of dead bodies laid out on the cold ground, not even blankets to cover them. Four Simes were digging a trench in the unused portion of the cemetery, while the ranchers and the men of Mountain Chapel loaded onto wagons the bodies of their own dead.

  Zeth flinched, and backed against Owen, who could hardly soothe Zeth because he was shivering in horror himself. Zeth did not see his mother's body. Someone had taken it to prepare it, as he saw people taking other bodies off now . . . and one being brought back, wrapped in fine linen cloth. There was no time to make coffins.

  Abel Veritt, crossing from his house toward the Sime infirmary, met them. "I didn't think," he said. "I should have warned you."

  "Mama?" Zeth asked hesitantly.

  "She is in heaven, Zeth. Her earthly remains are being prepared . . . but that is not your job, son. We all have other duties, even before we can hold the memorial service."

  Abel's field was comforting. Zeth
felt Owen choke back tears as he squared his shoulders and followed the two Simes along the path lined with corpses.

  Abel took Zeth and Owen into the Brandon house, now turned into an infirmary for the most seriously wounded Simes.

  Jord Veritt looked as bad as Zeth had ever seen him, older than his father, eyes sunk so far into their perpetual dark, circles that his-face appeared a skull. His field felt very different from those of Rimon, Uel, or Marji—a peculiar sense of precarious balance, as if his systems held only a

  tenuous grasp on their selyn, and his control might at any moment dissolve into explosive release.

  But he was working, Wik at his side, Anni Steers sleeping in the armchair in the corner.

  "Jord," said Abel, "you've done enough now. You may be needed elsewhere later, so you must save your strength."

  Jord gave a bitter smile. "You mean I'd better not get sick myself. It's all right, Father—I know my limits." He looked at Zeth and Owen. "You're supposed to relieve me?"

  "I learned to balance fields last night," said Zeth. "I can do healing mode. Let's hope nothing else is required."

  "Show me," said Jord, and Zeth went into healing mode as Rimon had taught him. "Good," said Jord, "but you're projecting for Gens, as if you were in need. For Simes, you have to pretend to be Gen. Like this."

  Zeth strove to mesh fields, but the anguished fear that underlay Jord's projection of repletion repelled him. Forcing himself, he managed to imitate the repletion only. Jord said, "That's it, Zeth—keep that up, and you'll have everyone comfortable." Zeth realized that Jord couldn't tell the difference between their fields–night and day to Zeth. If another channel couldn't tell, he decided, then the Simes who were to benefit probably couldn't either.

  Soon Zeth's mind was occupied with the new experience of balancing Sime fields as opposed to Gen fields, Owen drawing him back every so often to be sure he didn't miss a crisis. There were other Simes caring physically for the patients; fortunately, nothing happened that Zeth and Owen together couldn't handle. It would be weeks before he knew enough to realize how badly an untrained channel might have mishandled an emergency; on that day he felt proud and grown up, totally in control.