Hideous familiarity told Rimon at once what Jord was in fact doing—what Rimon had done to Zeth, instinctively, on that far-off day of his First Kill. Nol NO! Raw panic surged through Rimon, feeding Jord's attack. But Jord was jerking Rimon into lip contact at that very instant, and all Rimon could do was refuse—refuse! He felt the pain of Jord's denied draw, the shock of shen, and then Jord collapsed, unconscious, pulling Rimon down on top of him.
Chapter Twenty
FAILURE
Ignoring his own spinning head, Rimon scrambled to his knees, zlinning Jord. I've killed him! He'll die of shock! Willa dropped down beside Jord, grabbing for his arms.
"Jord, Jord! Wake up! Let me help you!" She looked up at Rimon in fury. "Why did you do that?!"
Jord was pre-turnover. Zlinning him, Rimon said, "I think he'll be all right, Willa. Just hold him and try to make him calm."
As Abel zlinned Jord, profound relief spread out from him. "Are you all right, Rimon?"
"Me? Sure. It's your son I nearly killed."
"Not this time," said Abel, with a flash of smugness.
Jord stirred. "Willa!" He hugged her close, then looked over her shoulder at Rimon to say, "God forgive me! I'm sorry, Rimon. I don't know what made me do that."
"Why did you hurt him?" demanded Willa. "Jord never hurt you."
"Willa," said Jord, tightly controlling agonized guilt, "I tried to kill Rimon!"
"You can't kill Rimon that way any more than you can kill me," she said.
Now there's a thought. There was so much they didn't know. "Jord," said Rimon, "I shouldn't have shenned you. I panicked. If you'd actually been in need, it could have killed you."
His head hurt suddenly—sympathetic reaction to Jord's pain, plus that great, looming burden that seemed to grow ever heavier on his shoulders. I know I can kill a Sime in transfer. I know I never want to kill another Gen. But now I find out I can kill merely by defending my own life.
I don't want that kind of power—power that can get out of control so easily.
Jord held out a hand to Rimon, tentacles neatly retracted. "I'd have deserved it if you'd killed me. I don't blame you, Rimon." His gaze strayed to Willa, then back to Rimon. "I should trust you, of all people—and Willa. In a sense, you gave her to me, like a father giving his daughter in marriage."
"That you don't trust him is a good sign," Abel said. "It's useless to try to make sense of your motives now. We just have to see that such a situation never occurs again. Willa, you must not approach any Sime except Jord, in any way, until he learns to deal with this, as Rimon did. Do you remember how jealous Rimon was of Kadi last year?"
"I remember."
"Well, Jord is going through the same thing, and you must be very understanding, and very careful, until he reaches the stage Rimon is in now."
"It feels like changeover all over again," said Jord. "I never know what to expect next. I've become something uncontrolled and dangerous."
"Jord," said Abel, "that's the right way to think of it– but as we now see changeover, not the hell I put you through. Look to the future. Look at Rimon. You're going to come through this unwilling, perhaps unable to kill. Then you'll teach others. My son, I'm relying on you to teach us all—to teach me."
As Rimon listened to Abel calming his son, a part of his bleak burden lifted. If Abel would just place his hope of salvation on Jord's shoulders, if Rimon could have responsibility only for Kadi and Zeth—that was enough. That much, he thought, he could handle.
Rimon felt good that early spring, with relief in sight from his burdens. He began to think that perhaps he could handle anything life decided to throw at him.
Willa was gone, but Jon continued to live with them for days at a time, helping with the chores and even taking care of Zeth as he grew more active. But Jon also spent a great deal of time in Fort Freedom, with his parents, with Jord and Willa, and talking to Abel Veritt.
Abel put Jon on a regimen of prayer and meditation to end on the first day of summer with Jon's first real transfer. With a target date now set, Abel hoped Jon would gain command of his nerves. Rimon wasn't too sure about that, but he conceded Abel knew more of Gen psychology than anyone raised in-Territory. And, with the date set, Jon did seem to settle down securely.
One difficulty refused to resolve itself. Fort Freedom was still struggling under the combination of the bad year, people's continuing guilt at the kill, and the financial burden of saving enough to purchase Henry Steers. Every time Rimon mentioned that to Abel, he would be put off sharply with one or another statement that added up to "Fort Freedom does not borrow money!"
Yet knowing what Slina was doing to Steers in her attempts to emulate the more elaborate breeding operations, Rimon felt more and more urgency to get the Gen out of there.
Jord Veritt spent a great deal of time at Slina's. The few times Rimon went with him, he observed a growing respect between the two men. Religion seemed to be as important to Steers as to Fort Freedom, and Rimon noticed a kind of nageric link between the two men when they were on that subject—even when they were arguing some point of theological disagreement. But then, each time Jord came back to the subject of Simes and Gens living together, the link would shatter under Steers' uncontrollable anxiety. "How do I know you'd treat me any more as a person than that woman does?" Steers demanded one day. "Can't you convince her that I am not going to run away?"
"I don't think anything will convince Slina not to lock you in," said Rimon.
"That's not so bad," said Steers. "It's the drugs. I never know if I dare eat or drink—every few days I lose time to crazy dreams, and I know she put something in my food again. Afterward, I always feel I've been doing something, not just sleeping, but I can't remember it."
Rimon knew, but hesitated to tell Jord. Wild Gens would not cooperate for breeding, but there were combinations of drugs that could produce compliance without impairing virility. It was a dangerous practice. The hallucinations could lead the Gen to harm himself or his partner, but nothing could stop the newest fashion in Gen-breeding.
Jord was putting pressure on Abel to get Steers out of the Pens, privately explaining to Rimon, "My father has vowed not to die a killer. Steers has been sent to teach him, Rimon, I know it. I've got to see them work together."
Rimon could not ignore the vibrant hope in Jord, the carefully suppressed hope in Abel, the air of expectancy throughout Fort Freedom. But what if they fail? Yet he sensed that Jord was right; Steers no longer reacted hesitantly toward Jord, and he was losing his apprehension with Rimon, as well. If Slina entered, his nager shattered with resentment—but not fear.
"The most hopeful sign," said Rimon, "is that he reacts to us as individuals. But I'm afraid his first priority on getting out of here will be to go home. Mine would be."
"His wife was killed by the raiders that captured him. He doesn't know what happened to his twelve-year-old son– but he thinks he's probably on this side of the border. His only hope of finding him is staying here."
Rimon took a deep breath. "Jord—I don't know if you'll want to tell Steers this, but I do know the Trade. The boy's probably dead, especially if he was established, or did so since capture. I don't think it's fair to get Henry's hopes up—even if his son is alive, it would be a tremendous job to trace a single pre-Gen, even if I still had access to my father's information network. If he was still a child, the raiders would have sold him cheap, because nine out of ten Wild Gen children are dead within the month. Especially in winter."
Jord reached for Willa's hand. "I'll have to tell Henry. We can't give him false hopes. Still—we don't know his son is dead."