The Farris Channel: Sime~Gen, Book Twelve

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “With enough people, I can do that. Only problem is, my guards have been assigned to digging. That will be starting again tonight. We have to clear this snow, build fires to soften the ground, and start on those post holes again. The Raiders won’t attack a group of just renSimes, so we only have to worry about Lexy and Garen.”

  “I zlinned a lot of hatred in that band that attacked us. They weren’t just looking for Kills. They wanted to destroy us, maybe take this Fort as their winter quarters since they destroyed Shifron so thoroughly.” Arrows, particularly fire-arrows were not Raider weapons for good reason.

  Oberin nodded. “That’s what Jhiti said, too.”

  “The guards on duty have to be ready to fight efficiently at a moment’s notice. I treated more than fourteen cases of frostbite today. I don’t want to see any more. Send them in to change their socks and gloves as frequently as you can. Be sure they get some hot food between stints digging and sentry duty on the walls.”

  “Fourteen cases? Jhiti will be livid.”

  “Yes, he will.”

  Oberin zlinned her guards, already thinking hard. “I’ll send a runner for you when they get close.”

  Satisfied he’d gotten his message across, worried about Lexy and their late night return, Rimon went back inside to socialize with the new channels, surprised at how disappointed he was when Solamar wasn’t there. Even more grimly disappointing though was the way the dining hall was peopled by small groups separated by Fort of origin.

  At last, he spotted a group of channels from Unity and Veritt huddled over hot trin tea and biscuits with a group born in Fort Rimon. They were near one of the blazing hearths that barely took the chill off the large room. That chill was emanating nagerically from the cold Gens.

  That made Oberin’s problem with stoic guards clearer to Rimon. The chill felt by the Gens, even inside the thick log walls and with hearths blazing, prevented most renSime guards on the walls from distinguishing the sensation of their own distress from nageric echo in the Fort’s ambient.

  He brought his trin tea to the channels’ table and tossed the topic of ignored frostbite out to the group. Then he watched as they spun plans for dealing with the more severe winter to come. He learned more about the new individuals in an hour than he had since they’d arrived.

  By the time he left the dining hall he was filled with renewed optimism about their chances of surviving. They had a superlative channeling team here. All they had to do was pull the renSimes and Gens together and the Fort would hum. Planning to discuss that with Lexy the moment she got back, he pushed to get their office space reorganized.

  About midnight, Bruce came into Rimon’s office where a crew was moving Val’s scheduling operation back to her room, which Rimon had cleared of injured Gens.

  “Benart told me to tell you they might have the school operating at least part time using the dining hall. If we can get the children onto a normal schedule, everyone will be more productive. Oh, and Oberin wants you on the wall.”

  Rimon looked at the chaos around him. “Can’t do anything until this is cleared out anyway.” He headed for the door, felt Bruce’s protest. “All right, come along. But change your socks, and grab gloves and a stocking cap.”

  Rimon was almost three days past Turnover, aching with Need which had Bruce’s selyn production rate rising steeply. Chill carried on that Gen field, broadcast over the Fort from up on the walls, would be felt by every renSime. On the other hand, Bruce’s anxiety as he waited inside, not knowing what was happening would be worse.

  Bruce caught up with Rimon on the catwalk at the eastern edge of the Fort. Rimon put his arm around his friend’s shoulders and enveloped them both in a firm nageric field. “She’s not with them,” he whispered, absorbing the Gen’s shock. “Neither is Garen.”

  When Bruce’s nager had leveled out, he let go and stepped aside. “Let me zlin.”

  Oberin took Bruce aside and distracted him while Rimon observed the snow covered fields.

  The vast, flat expanse of drifted snow was lit by the moon shining through a crack in the clouds creating a ribbon of bluish light across the snow. The river made a flat, white ribbon on rippled white meandering down the valley.

  Lexy and Garen were zlinnable, camped up on the trail through the pass, surrounded by an indistinct haze of renSimes. He knew the moment she zlinned him zlinning her across that expanse.

  Well over halfway to the Fort, the sledge entered the shaft of moonlight, the renSime driver concentrating on zlinning the path invisible beneath the snow.

  In the sledge, Rimon zlinned three renSimes. It seemed that Lexy had given each a good transfer, but Rimon was sure they were far from well. Without any detail at this distance, he was guessing, but knowing Lexy, he was sure.

  A squad of Oberin’s guards departed by the small door beside the gates. Rimon swept the surrounding valley, paying careful attention to the direction of Shifron, and found it all deserted except for the huddled livestock.

  Rimon reported to Oberin and Bruce. “Jhiti is not with them.”

  Oberin sent word around the Fort’s walls, but no one had to be reminded to keep their attention on the quarter they were guarding, rather than on the approaching sledge.

  In time, the big gates were swung open to admit the sledge and horsemen, and the well practiced Fort Rimon welcoming committee went into action.

  Rimon and Bruce took charge of the three strange renSimes, clearly non-juncts, Fort renSimes. The sledge and horses were swept away into the barn and the guards sent inside to warm up. In minutes, with the three strangers all talking at once, they had them installed in the infirmary rooms that Rimon had prepared.

  They were scouts for the last survivors of Fort Hope now camped four days’ ride east with search parties out in every direction searching for Fort Rimon.

  Once that was clear, Rimon and Bruce locked gazes, knowing what Lexy planned. She and Jhiti were going after the rest of Fort Hope. As one, they set aside the frisson of alarm, the reflexive if unwarranted fear for Lexy’s life, and went to work on the three patients she’d sent them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FORT HOPE

  One of the renSimes had a cracked bone in his right leg. The other had been badly clawed in a close fight with a bobcat, though his laterals were intact. The third was frostbitten and exhibiting symptoms of exposure.

  The three took turns relating their story as they were carried to the infirmary. “It happened at the top of the last rise before the pass, just where you can zlin a trail under the snow,” said the woman who had been clawed. “I knew that had to be the trail to Fort Rimon. The bobcat knocked Haben there,” she indicated the man with the broken leg, “off his horse. Came at us out of the rocks. I went for it with my knife, but my hands were too cold and I lost my grip. Kreg threw his cloak over the beast’s head, and we finally broke its neck.”

  She indicated the frostbitten renSime who added self-deprecatingly, “Stupid thing to do, but it worked.”

  “Sort of,” corrected Haben, easing his broken leg as they maneuvered the three stretchers through the door into the infirmary hall. “Then we were stuck. Lost one horse to the cat’s attack. It ran off the cliff. Kreg got us over the crest, away from the bobcat and dead horse, and made camp. Only, we were stuck. Kimra was unconscious and good as dead until Lexy came. I thought Kreg was dead the way his nager collapsed. Never zlinned anything so good as that Farris nager coming at us!”

  Kimra was still weak from loss of blood. Haben, immobilized by pain, had lost blood too, and Rimon was concerned that Kreg’s immune system seemed inactive. Gangrene was a real possibility there. Yet Lexy had done her usual superlative job so almost any channel in the Fort could have finished the work.

  As they were about to separate the three renSimes, Kimra stopped Rimon. “Thank you for your help but we have to ask more. Lexy and Jhiti have taken our horses. With what they can retrieve from the horse that went over the cliff, they can make it to the camp. They’ve just
got to have help bringing all the wagons, cows, horses, mules, sheep, dogs, children, pregnant women, sick, injured, wounded here. With this weather, I’m afraid of what they’ll find in camp.”

  Rimon asked the one question he really didn’t want to know the answer to. “How many people?”

  “Two hundred sixty three counting the children if nobody’s died since we left.”

  No way. There was just no place to put them. He turned, took a deep breath and called Oberin who had stepped in to give the stretcher bearers new orders. When she arrived at his side, he relayed what the scouts had said. Fort Hope was short on warm clothing, channels, Companions, but had broken wagons laden with excess food. Within minutes Oberin was organizing a series of parties to ride out and establish a chain of supply dumps and by dawn teams with wheelwrights, all their gear, and a few channel and Companion volunteers, moved out.

  Oddly enough, it took until late into the afternoon, after most of the hubbub of departures had subsided, for the main explosion to begin.

  Rimon was treating four frostbite cases at once, three guards he had brought to Kreg’s room for efficiency. He was restoring circulation, cleaning out dead cells and triggering their immune systems in five minute rotations with Bruce coming along behind him, stimulating the renSime systems. They all sat with the frostbitten limb immersed in bowls of tepid water that BanSha refreshed at intervals. They joked about absurd scenes that might occur with the overcrowding after Fort Hope’s arrival.

  Rimon felt Xanon approaching but barely had time to pull out of the healing functional before Xanon broke into the room without regard for the fields, “There you are, hiding from the consequences of your actions!”

  “Hiding?” asked Rimon whose field when coupled to Bruce’s dominated the entire Fort for those who could zlin. Even when he was in a well insulated infirmary room like this one, he knew most of the channels could find him.

  “I’m here to take over this treatment room from you. You’re wanted by the new Fort Council. You have once again placed us all at insane risk without due process.”

  The two Fort Rimon renSimes and one Fort Unity renSime Rimon was treating began to object, but Rimon forestalled their outburst with a flick of his nager. The new Fort Hope patient was shocked.

  “What Council?” asked Rimon.

  “The one preparing to hold elections,” answered Xanon. “Not that you ever pay any attention to what the people of this Fort are doing.”

  Bruce stepped in front of Xanon, field reflecting like polished walnut, cutting the lesser channel off from the renSimes. “The people of this Fort consist of the remnants of six, almost seven, failed Forts and the membership of one very successful Fort. The policies that have failed are not likely to be adopted by the owners of this Fort.”

  It was way past time someone had pointed that out, but Rimon hadn’t wanted it to be Bruce or himself, and certainly not in public. “Xanon,” said Rimon quietly, “Bruce didn’t really mean that.”

  The Unity renSime said, “If Bruce hadn’t said it, I would have. Rimon’s leadership and judgment have spelled success for Fort Rimon beyond what any of the rest of us have achieved. You can’t argue with that.”

  Bruce moved to let the two channels zlin each other.

  Kreg said, “Speaking for Fort Hope, though nobody’s authorized me to, I’d say it’s enough he’s a Farris. We did fine until we lost our last Farris channel in childbirth.”

  Xanon’s cold stare made Kreg fall silent, nager very still. Xanon snapped to Rimon, “Ten minutes in your office,” spun on his heel and marched out of the room, letting the door stand ajar behind him. Rimon scrambled to contain the turbulence in the ambient.

  Two breaths later, Kreg ventured, “I guess things are a bit...complicated here?”

  The Unity renSime observed, “They wouldn’t be without Xanon. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  “He’s scared,” offered Rimon. “He’ll gain confidence as he develops as a channel. It’s just that he won’t accept tutelage from anyone yet, though I hoped he’d learn from Bruce.”

  Bruce flashed a glance at Rimon, then fixed his attention harmlessly on his own toes. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking how Xanon felt. A lot of people must be just as scared, just as determined to regain control in their lives.”

  “I started off wrong with him,” admitted Rimon. “Maybe Solamar will get through where I haven’t.”

  From the door Solamar said, “I doubt that. Xanon has already gathered that I trust your judgment and considers that a fatal flaw in my judgment.”

  Rimon shrugged. “One of us has to get through to him. You here to take this over?”

  “No. Val has me in Dispensary in a few minutes. I dropped by your office to see if we could talk, but it was full of very upset people. Very full.”

  “Yes, exactly. Well.” Rimon waved Solamar off with one tentacle. “Go on then. Val’s madly juggling the schedule around the channels who went to rescue Fort Hope. She has to accommodate the new people Lexy will bring back.” Rimon had counted on time to talk to Solamar.

  “Lexy will be fine, Rimon. She did the right thing.”

  “I know. I knew that before I knew why she did it.”

  Solamar went to find Kahleen and get to work while Rimon did one more round of therapy on his frostbite victims. Then he sent Bruce to tell Val to send someone to finish up and check on Kimra and Haben so he could talk to this ad hoc Fort Council full of very upset people.

  “Meet me in my office,” added Rimon, “once you’ve got the schedule straight with Val. Remind her I’m due for Collectorium soon. Getting a Council elected will be good. Channeling staff has no business coordinating work crews.”

  His office was too crowded, even with the excess furniture gone. Xanon sat behind Rimon’s desk.

  All the other seats were full. There was even a Gen perched on the corner of his desk. Others stood.

  Except for himself, there was no one from Fort Rimon. He barely knew them by name, though their medical histories rose from memory as he zlinned each nager in turn.

  Rimon lifted control of the fields from Xanon, the only other channel in the room, and approached his desk chair. Xanon vacated the seat to stand beside the desk straining not to let his showfield betray his resentment.

  Rimon sat and looked up at the crowd. Six renSimes and five Gens formed Xanon’s appointed Council. None were master craftsmen, proven managers, or the sort of wise elders Fort Rimon generally put onto the Fort Council. No survivors of the old Council. None who had sat on Fort Rimon’s Council in the past. They were all looking at him with grim distaste.

  “Good,” smiled Rimon into the ambient. “When will the election be held?”

  The stunned silence quieted the ambient.

  “We thought you would object,” said one Gen. She was a general donor, not a Companion to a channel. Rimon had taken selyn from her on occasion. He knew her medical history and was sure he’d think of her name in a moment.

  “But why? Organizing an election is a task that must be done, but nobody has had time. I’m glad you’ve banded together to take the initiative.”

  “You aren’t going to tell us we should be out logging for the new wall?” It was a renSime at the rear. Rimon hadn’t given the man transfer, but recalled seeing him in the Dispensary waiting room. He had a disk in his back that shouldn’t be stressed so Rimon had told Benart not to schedule him for logging duty.

  “Why?” asked Rimon. “Aren’t you doing useful work right here?” He let the ambient reflect his trust.

  Someone asked, “You want a new Council elected?”

  “Of course. How soon can we get the polling done? We’ll have to do it in two shifts I think. The dining hall won’t hold everyone at once and you can bet everyone will want to air their opinions before the vote. Can we can start tonight, then let the day crew vote at breakfast?”

  “That soon?” muttered someone on the side.

  Rimon projected a disconcerted bewilde
rment. “Solamar said you’ve been in here for a while. Haven’t you figured out a schedule yet?”

  Xanon, striving to hide his discomfort at losing control of the new Council, tried to wrest the ambient from Rimon. Rimon paused, then glanced at him as if just noticing his bid for attention. He favored the channel with a smile. Making sure every renSime in the room noticed, he relinquished the ambient to Xanon.

  Xanon couldn’t handle the conflicting fields, so he ignored the increasing nageric chaos he’d created and said, “There will be a new and duly elected Fort Council when this Council decides to hold the election. What we want to know from you is will you ignore that elected Council? Or will you acknowledge its authority.”

  “We?” asked Rimon. “You’re on this Council?”

  Caught, Xanon had to backpedal. “Of course not. I’m channeling staff.”

  Rimon nodded, “Me, too.” He let the chaos in the room continue to worsen while Xanon made a few clumsy swipes at organizing the fields again. “I don’t generally have much occasion to interact with the Council. Here in Fort Rimon, the Council has always kept things running smoothly so the channeling staff didn’t have to pay much attention.” He looked at the people in the room. “Isn’t that usually the way a Fort operates?”

  General agreement disrupted the ambient.

  In fact, in Fort Rimon, the Council usually consulted Rimon so their plans didn’t disrupt selyn delivery.

  Xanon still couldn’t bring the fields together and it was getting on the renSimes’ nerves.

  Treating Xanon like a First Year channel just learning his craft, Rimon gently corrected the fields into a coherent ambient nager again without lifting them from Xanon’s control. He clasped his hands and twined his tentacles, and smiled up at Xanon.

  Xanon said, “We are taking precious time from our other duties to organize this Council because you, once again, took it upon yourself to implement decisions that belong to the Council and the residents of the Fort.”