"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 reflection 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."
"Perhaps," he said. "And perhaps, on the other hand, so long as one kills, there is no difference." He studied Rimon thoughtfully. "I wonder what the true test is?"
After that, Abel made no further protest against the experiment. "It's in God's hands," he told Rimon.
Rimon deliberately thrust his own doubts aside. Abel was rising to a challenge he expected to win—and Rimon wanted it for him. If he could not overcome his selfishness just one time, for the most selfless man he'd ever known, then he deserved any punishment Abel's God could mete out.
They told no one of their intentions. Rimon had meant to have Jord there to observe, but Abel's son had fallen back into those eccentric mood swings that had preceded both his last kill and the scene at the birthday party. "I thought Jord's crisis was past," Rimon told Abel. "When he was prevented from attacking Hank and he accepted Willa's transfer, I thought that was the end of it. He seemed so much better afterward."
"It was Willa's decision," Abel said, "not Jord's. Apparently the final crisis was only forestalled. I'm praying daily with my son, Rimon. The next time, he'll be prepared. I have faith that he'll not fail again."
In the meantime, though, poor Willa had to bear the brunt of Jord's instability. Still in the early months of pregnancy, she was able to give him transfer, but bewildered to find herself unable to control him as she was used to. From gleeful happiness at having a baby at last, she was plunged into the terrible anxiety of trying to deal with forces she could not understand.
I know how she feels, thought Rimon, as the day approached when he'd promised Abel Kadi's transfer. Abel's hope carried throughout Fort Freedom—even though no one outside their small circle knew the plan, spirits were high.
Everything was going well. The crops were growing lustily, as if to make up for last year. The Wild Gens, undoubtedly busy tending their own fields, remained on their own side of the border. The petition for recognition as a county was accepted and work began on the necessary census.
And no children changed over.