"It's all right, Chaynek. I can wait until the scheduled time for our transfer."

Frevven paced rapidly around the transfer suite, pausing to glance out the window and down to the now-deserted beach. "Shen, did you zlin that ambient? We've whipped them. No one will ever listen to Richt again. It was marvelous!" He stopped short, suddenly aware he was talking to a Gen. "No, of course you didn't zlin the ambient. What am I saying?"

"Frevven, I could see their faces," Chaynek said calmly. "I don't have to zlin them to know how they feel. Now stop ranting and lie down on the couch."

"Chaynek, I can wait. It's only a few more hours. I've broken enough rules already. There's no reason for me to get into even more trouble." He resumed his restless pacing, stopping by the counter to rearrange the already neatly placed jars of medications. "I did it. Shen and shid, Chaynek, I did it. They listened to me. They believed me. Out-Territory Gens, and they listened to me. Who'd have thought it?"

"Frevven­-"

"I'm all right," the channel insisted, opposing the concern he zlinned from his Donor. "I can wait. In fact, the way I feel right now, I could wait forever, if I had to." He turned his back and strode over to the window once again. At the end of the pier, the wreck of the Morning Star still smoldered. "We'll have to do something about the boat. Get a replacement. Maybe build a new one. We'll have to take care of that right away. There's so much to do­-"

Frevven had only a split second of warning before Chaynek wrenched himself free of the trautholo he had been holding. The channel had barely time to spin around and open his mouth to protest when the bright promise of the Gen's field dimmed and withdrew, leaving him alone, deserted, aching with need. Need? No, it was more like attrition.

Shenshid, am I this far gone, and didn't even know it? was his last rational thought before his instincts took over.

Chaynek was life, the only life Frevven wanted. He was already standing over the Gen, handling tentacles twined brutally around Chaynek's arms and his laterals reaching for the marvelous selyn source, fully prepared to take what he needed, if Chaynek wouldn't give it to him willingly.

Chaynek dropped his mock indifference, catching the channel up once more into peace and reassurance, and certain promise of fulfillment.

Much to his dismay, Frevven realized he had Chaynek pinned down on the transfer couch, practically lying on top of him, only a handbreadth short of lip contact. Such behavior would not impress the Donor with his self-control at all.

Shaking his head slightly, he pulled back. But he couldn't make himself release Chaynek's arms, couldn't force his laterals to withdraw.

Chaynek just smiled. "A channel's got to know his limits," he said, but there was no real criticism in his voice. "You've been pushing it, my friend. Now, stop trying to impress me and things will go much better."

Frevven stared into Chaynek's brown eyes, so close that he could barely focus his own eyes on them. Other times. Other places. Chaynek had always judged, and always found him wanting. Had he really thought he could impress this Gen? Frevven might have laughed, but he wasn't sure he could get the sound past the tightness in his throat.

"You're right," he admitted. But you haven't always been right. Not always. I told you I could be a good channel, and you tried to discourage me. I told you I could be just as good and just as reliable as any non-junct channel, and you didn't believe me. I knew Richt was the cause of the missing children on Innsfrey, and everybody told me I was paranoid. But I was right this time, Chaynek. And, as God is my witness, I was right the other times too! I'm good, Chaynek. Damn good. Even if I am only a Second.

Frevven leaned to touch his lips to Chaynek's, calmly and with the certain assurance that he was in full control. There would be no problems with this transfer. He could feel it.

He drew smoothly and steadily, knowing there was no chance he could hurt Chaynek. The Gen was a First. Even a full week early, he still had more selyn than Frevven would want. In all likelihood, the channel could have attacked him in full killmode and not done any harm.

Sweet warmth burned through his body, waking his starved system to life and hope. Dissonances smoothed and balanced. The empty, cramped universe that was Frevven's primary system shattered into billions of pieces and flowed away in a river of sparkles, shimmering and blazing like a galaxy of stars. Relief and peace at last, and a fading of the constant gnawing hunger it seemed he had never been without in all his life. For the second month in a row, he didn't have to hold back, stop himself short of full satisfaction for fear of hurting­- No, say it, Frevven, don't be afraid, he told himself sternly­-for fear of killing someone.

No chance of that with Chaynek. He allowed himself to draw faster, feeling the selyn flowing up from his laterals and then outward from the vriamic node in the center of his chest. Ah, lovely! If it could only last forever, never giving way to that sickening plunge into need each month. Or if he could only have a Donor like Chaynek for every transfer.

Even in the midst of ecstasy, a cold chill of fear pierced Frevven's mind. It wouldn't be like this next month, or the month after that. Or possibly ever again.

Spurred on by that thought, and Chaynek's obvious willingness, he drew faster and faster, greedily striving for the full satisfaction he had felt so very few times in his life. He had almost enough selyn, really he did, but he thought he might be able to cram in just a bit more if he tried.

Without the slightest warning, the bottom dropped out from under him. Insanely, Frevven recalled something he'd done as a child, climbing a flight of steps in the darkness, thinking there was one more to go, stepping up­-and coming down through empty air with a shock of surprise.

A strange, unfamiliar sensation ripped through him. Everything sharpened, just as his vision would sharpen whenever he put on his glasses. And suddenly, where he had thought himself almost full, almost replete with selyn, there was still a great aching abyss. Something unfolded, unwound, released­-and demanded more.

Confused, he simply continued to draw, letting selyn flow into these deeper levels he had never even known existed. He felt Chaynek falter momentarily, seeming puzzled. Then the Gen picked it up and went with him again. But there was a hesitation now, a sense of anxiety.

What was going on?

Frevven realized his lips had curled into a maniac grin, still pressed hard against Chaynek's. Whatever it was, it was nice. He hoped it would never stop.

He was just beginning to consider the sheer amount of selyn he had drawn, wondering vaguely where it was going, when alarm bells began going off in his mind.

The physical pleasure was too much like killbliss, too close to the peak sensation he had felt only twice before in his life, when he had truly killed a Gen in transfer.

He was hurting Chaynek.

No, impossible. How in the world could he hurt Chaynek? Ridiculous.

And yet he was, he could feel it. Chaynek couldn't keep up with his draw anymore. His field was dimming, darkening dangerously.

Nonsense. Chaynek could shen him, if he was in trouble. He'd done it once, hadn't he, when they'd first met? He could do it again. Maybe he was just teasing, putting up a show of resistance to spur Frevven on. He couldn't be in real difficulty. Not Chaynek.

I won't shen you this time, Frevven. I swear it, unto Zeor.

Chaynek had said that, trying to lure him away from Richt. Frevven realized sickly that the Gen would keep that promise, although he died for it. And Chaynek was a week early for transfer.

Sure. For transfer with a First Order channel. Not for me.

It just didn't make sense. And Frevven didn't want to stop, wasn't even sure he could. Chaynek's now-frantic attempts to supply more selyn faster only made it more fun. The Gen's suppressed but definite pain goaded Frevven on. He was wrenching selyn across Chaynek's resistance now, feeling the Donor fighting the reflex that would raise his barriers and send Frevven into slamming shen. Chaynek couldn't keep this up much longer.

I should stop. I must stop. But the destruction of the Gen's usual confidence pleased him. I have you. You can't stop me, he exulted.

The pleasure grew and spread, overwhelming him with its intensity. He had thought he'd never feel it again, never in his life.

Jozanna. Jozanna had felt like this, trying to help him, trying­-and dying under his hands.

NO!!

All the control he had fought so hard to gain during that long-ago time of training fell into place. He struggled to stop before it was too late, although his body cried out against him, to stop no matter what the cost, stop short of paradise if it must be obtained through another's hell.

And it worked. But there was no use telling himself he didn't still want to kill. That was a lie. Wearily, Frevven recognized the still-hungry and forever-insatiable monster in his soul as nevertheless an integral part of himself. And accepted what he was and chose to deal with it, rather than deny it. And, at last and finally, stopped hating himself quite so much for it.

Frevven flung himself out of the transfer by sheer willpower, steeling his nerves against the expected pain of the abort backlash. It wasn't so bad; he could override it. He wanted desperately to know if Chaynek was all right. He forced the ringing from his ears and the blackness from his vision.

Chaynek sprawled unconscious on the transfer couch. Frevven reached for him hesitantly, hoping it was not just his imagination that sensed life in the Gen's limp body. So soon after transfer, he found it nearly impossible to zlin.

"Chaynek, don't die. Please don't die," Frevven pleaded hysterically. "You've got to be okay. You've got to."

So involved had he become in willing the Gen to live that he hardly realized he had seized Chaynek by the shoulders and was actually shaking him insistently, as if attempting to wake him up.

The distraught channel was entirely unprepared when Chaynek's eyes fluttered open. "Truly, Frevven, I have absolutely no intention of dying," he said weakly. "That is, unless you intend to keep shaking me like this. I have one hell of a headache already, and I doubt I can stand this sort of treatment much longer."

Frevven stared, torn between laughter and tears. "Then I didn't kill you, did I?"

"Apparently not," Chaynek replied calmly. "Did you really think you would?"

"Yes­-er­-no­-that is­-I don't know," Frevven stammered in confusion. He still had hold of the Gen's shoulders, and he was somehow reluctant to let him go. "What happened?"

"You mean you don't know?" Then he groaned and put a shaky hand to his aching forehead. "Will you get me some fosebine, please?"

Unwillingly, Frevven released Chaynek and went to the counter, twisting the top off a bottle of the foul-tasting painkiller and preparing to pour some into a glass.

"Congratulations," Chaynek said softly from behind him. "You Qualified First Order on that transfer, unless my senses deceived me."

Frevven dropped the bottle of fosebine abruptly onto the counter top, staring for a second as some of the white liquid ran out and dribbled down onto the floor. Then he snatched up the fallen bottle, poured a dose into the glass, and handed it roughly to Chaynek. "Don't kid about something like that, Chaynek. Please."

He was about to turn away when the Gen caught his hand. "I'm not kidding. I meant it. Couldn't you feel it?"

Was it possible? That inexplicable bottom-dropping-out sensation? Yes, that made sense. It had been a little like that when he had Qualified Second Order six years ago, if he remembered correctly. Besides, how had he been able to even come close to draining Chaynek, if he weren't a First? Such a thing should have been impossible for him.

He sat down on the transfer couch next to Chaynek, who was sipping distastefully at the fosebine. "I really did it?"

Chaynek nodded.

"But everyone said it would be impossible. I'd never make First."

Chaynek shrugged mutely.

" You always told me it was impossible."

"So I was wrong," Chaynek said, just the slightest twinkle of mischief in his dark eyes.

Frevven almost laughed. Chaynek admitting he was wrong. If only he could zlin the Gen now. Somehow he thought he might relish that sensation for the rest of his life.

And then, faintly, he was zlinning Chaynek's dim nager. It wasn't entirely clear and it took an effort, but he shouldn't have been able to do it at all. The Gen was profoundly ashamed and regretful, even though it didn't show on his face. But there was something else there also, something Frevven didn't quite understand.

Frevven stopped immediately. He had no right trespassing on the other man's feelings that way.

But Chaynek had noticed. His face changed. "Frevven, I mean it. Maybe­-maybe I've been wrong about you."

Chaynek apologizing to him? Would wonders never cease?

"But tell me this," the Donor continued. "Without me to push you, would you have gotten so far?"

That put a new face on the matter. How many times indeed had he tried just a little harder, gone a step farther than he thought he could, simply to prove to Chaynek that he could do it?

Frevven was still too astonished to take in the full import of that idea. "I really did it then? I Qualified First Order?"

The Gen sat up stiffly, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch so that he sat next to the channel.

It was beginning to sink into Frevven's brain that this was for real. It had actually happened.

Chaynek touched his shoulder softly, and Frevven looked into the Gen's brown eyes. Slowly, he smiled.

"Listen," Chaynek said. "This is the Oath of Firsts. I want you to repeat it after me." In a faraway voice, the Gen began, "`A First has opened me to my own First level . . .'"

Dazed, Frevven repeated the words he'd never in a million years expected to say.

" . . . the price of freedom is obligation; the price of attainment is struggle . . "

" . . . I stand not alone . . . "

" . . . I will not kill . . . "

"As one First has been to me, all Firsts will be to me. This is the foundation of my being, from which I reach out to all humankind," he said at the end, his voice breaking. He was surprised to find tears running down his cheeks. When he started crying for sheer joy, Chaynek held him in his arms and cried with him.

The channel sent to replace Frevven arrived on the Cormorant the following morning, along with official orders for Frevven to report to the Center in Easthaven.

"Phooey!" he exclaimed, too exultant over yesterday's events to be seriously upset. " Now they replace me, after all the excitement is over?"

He went in search of Chaynek, finding him in his room. "Can't you do something about this?" Frevven demanded of the Gen. "Rescind your previous recommendation, or something?"

"I could, but I won't." Chaynek shrugged as he went on packing clothes into his suitcase. "Besides, the problem isn't exactly solved, you know. The Town Council still has a request in that the Innsfrey Center be closed. That hasn't changed."

"Right. All the more reason I should stay here, try to work things out­-"

"You just don't want to face the music, that's all. You know there will be disciplinary measures as a result of what happened between you and V'lissia. And there's going to be an official investigation into everything that went on with Richt and the Salvation Church."

Frevven waved a hand in dismissal of all that. "That's not important. What's important is­-"

Chaynek stopped what he was doing. "Truly, Frevven, what's important is that you don't belong out-Territory. And you should know it by now."

Frevven hung his head. "All right. Maybe I don't belong here. But I have a responsibility to the folks on Innsfrey. I can do a lot of good in a place like this."

"You can do a lot of good in-Territory also. Maybe even more than you can here." Chaynek picked up a pair of trousers and folded them into a neat bundle. Then he looked up at the channel as if a thought had just struck him.

"How would you like to be assigned to the Santenkaty Center for Special Problems? I might be able to manage that, since I'm on the committee in charge of staffing. You would be with V'lissia when the baby is born." Chaynek smiled at the astonished expression on Frevven's face. "Think about it, why don't you? But just now, I suggest you pack your bags. We have passage aboard the Cormorant when she leaves this afternoon."

Against his will, Frevven took the Gen's advice. But he was still filled with misgivings as he formally turned over authority to the new channel and bid farewell to his small staff. Still less than happy with the entire situation, he left the Center along with Chaynek, Janni, and the Escort who had been sent from the mainland to accompany her.

Janni lingered, falling behind Frevven and Chaynek as they walked down the street. The channel knew she felt homesick already. Combined with the discomfort of wearing retainers for the first time, her misery was sad to zlin.

"Poor kid," Chaynek remarked, softly enough so that only Frevven could hear. "She's going to face a hard disjunction, unless I miss my guess. I'm willing to bet she'll be sent to the Santenkaty Center. We have a special ward just for that sort of thing. It's still under construction, but it's already operating on a limited basis."

"Chaynek, cut it out, will you? Most of the staff at that Center will be Zeor people. I don't belong with them."

"Oh? Why not?" the Gen asked innocently.

"I'm not good enough for Zeor, Chaynek. I never will be."

"There's no such thing as being good enough for Zeor. Don't you know that? Sure, Zeor is committed to excellence, but that doesn't mean we've gotten there yet."

"Stop preaching, Chaynek. I know what the Zeor channels are like. I'm nowhere near that good."

"The direction you're travelling is more important than where you happen to be on the road," the Donor persisted. "It's striving for perfection that counts, not reaching it. Trying to better your own previous mark, not someone else's."

"But the Farrises­-"

"The Farrises have their own demons to fight. Different from yours, perhaps, but just as real."

Frevven shook his head in exasperation. "Save your breath, Chaynek. I'll never be invited to pledge Zeor, no matter what you say."

"Don't be so sure, Frevven. Don't be so sure." Then Chaynek turned very serious. "But we were discussing Santenkaty Landing, not Zeor."

"All right, I admit I'd love to work there. But after all the trouble I caused here, I doubt the district controller will offer me such a responsible assignment. I'll be lucky to be sent to some big city Center as fifth assistant to the channel in charge of paperwork," he grumped.

"I don't know. You dealt with Richt pretty well."

"Yeah. Real well. He burned the Morning Star. The town petition to close our Center still stands, as you pointed out earlier. I did just great."

"Lem and Janni are alive," Chaynek countered. "Richt's Church is discredited. The Watchkeepers won't be murdering children anymore."

"Fine. Without a Center, they'll be murdered by their parents instead. Big improvement."

"You're going to have to leave that up to the Tecton now. If the two of us make a personal report on what happened here, there's an outside chance we could convince Controller Shagoury that the worst of the trouble is over and the Center should remain open. But if the local citizens truly don't want a Center, there isn't much we can do to­­"

As they turned the corner leading from the main street to the town pier, Frevven and Chaynek halted dead in their tracks.

"Speaking of the local citizens," Frevven said tensely. "I wonder what's going on up ahead? Looks like quite a crowd on the pier."

"Uh-oh. More trouble?"

Frevven shook his head, zlinning. "I don't think so. The ambient shows no hostility." In fact, it showed a strange mix of shame and jubilation.

They waited for Janni to catch up, then the little party from the Center drew together and started cautiously along the pier. The two tall masts of the Cormorant poked up into the brilliant afternoon sky, but most of the schooner was concealed from view by a crowd of Gens milling around in front of the gangway.

The crowd parted as they drew near, but no one said anything. Janni shuddered, not yet accustomed to coping with such a dense ambient. Frevven held himself duoconscious, alert for any sign of trouble.

Nothing happened until they were almost up to the gangway. Six Gens stepped forward to stand in their path, blocking the way to the schooner. Frevven recognized the Town Manager, Haskell Snow, among them. He thought he knew one of the women also, a member of the Town Council. Was this perhaps the entire Town Council, then?

Haskell Snow stepped forward. Reluctant resentment leaked into the ambient as he spoke. "Mr. Aylmeer, the Town Council has voted to rescind our previous demand that your Center be closed." It was very clear to Frevven that Snow disagreed with this decision. Judging by the coldly closed nagers of two of the Council members, the vote must have been very close indeed.

Close or not, the Center would remain. Frevven let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was about to try to thank the Council, when Mr. Snow continued stiffly, "The town will also provide a replacement for your Morning Star." He wasn't happy about that either, but he said it.

This was more than Frevven had expected in his wildest dreams. "I don't know how to thank you­-" he began, addressing the entire gathering rather than just the members of the Council. This couldn't be happening. Richt. Where was Richt, to let this go on? There was no trace of his nager anywhere.

Lem Cabrell shouldered his way through the crowd, smiling broadly. He stopped in front of his daughter, his hands reaching out as if he wanted to hug her, but he wasn't at all sure if that was the proper thing to do. Janni touched his fingers, moving gingerly so as not to hurt herself with the retainers she wore.

"Good-bye, Daddy," she said.

"Until next time, darling. Not good-bye. I'll write, and come visit whenever I can."

Frevven knew that sort of thing seldom worked out, but he said nothing. Maybe this one time, an out-Territory relative might honor his promise to keep in touch.

"I love you, Daddy." Janni held her head high despite the tears running down her cheeks. Her face was no longer that of a little girl. "I'll come back to Innsfrey to see you someday," she said as she released her father's hands. "I promise."

That was even less likely, but Frevven held his tongue.

Lem turned towards the channel, taking a large envelope from his coat pocket. "Would you take this in-Territory for me and see that it's delivered to the proper people? It's a request that the Church of the Unity send us a real minister for our church."

Frevven stared. "What church?" The Watchkeepers had pretty well wrecked the storefront chapel. Wasn't Lem aware of that yet?

Lem grinned. "A majority of Reverend Richt's congregation voted to turn their building over to us. The Salvation Church no longer exists on Innsfrey Island. Thanks to you."

Huh?

Chaynek asked the question before Frevven could. "But what about Darnay­-I mean, Reverend Richt?"

"Last anyone seen of him was last night, on the beach. He seems to have plumb disappeared." Lem grinned, then added softly, "And so has Farika Snow, and one of the Snow family's racing sloops. Funny thing about that."

Haskell Snow looked off into the distance as if he were seeing something very interesting out there. His nager drew together and jittered.

Lem cleared his throat and raised his voice again. "Most of us here would like to express our gratitude for all you've done on Innsfrey." He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "I'm not much for making speeches, but we think you've done a good job and we're sorry you're leaving. Some of us­-" he waved his hand out over the assembled crowd. Frevven recognized John Veara and his son, Garvin, both smiling hopefully. Mrs. Rodrick, leaning on her cane, as always. Next to her, Flora grinned, no longer afraid to show her teeth. He noticed with surprise that she had established. Her nager had firmed up into an adult configuration, and it fairly bubbled with joy and new selyn production. With training, she might make a technical class Donor, Frevven thought. He'd have to talk to her about that.

No. Someone else would have to do that. He was leaving. Well, no matter. The seed had been planted. Whether it blossomed or not was no longer his responsibility.

Lem turned to gaze at his own daughter, standing proudly next to her Escort. "Well, some of us have a lot to thank you for. We got together and made you something, just to kind of show our appreciation, as they say."

Lem gestured to John Veara and the man handed him a small box. He opened it and carefully lifted out a miniature model of the Morning Star, complete with sails, rigging, and beautifully wrought fittings and tiny details. He held the exquisite little boat out to Frevven.

The channel stared in dumb amazement at the group of Gens, most of whom wore tentative smiles on their faces and hesitant affection in their nagers. Then his eyes came to rest on the model and he took it carefully from Lem.

Holding the little boat in front of him and squinting in an effort to see it clearly, Frevven said, "It's lovely. Thank you."

Someone started to applaud and soon the whole crowd was clapping and cheering. Frevven blushed and readjusted his glasses. As if all this commotion weren't enough, the Cormorant's whistle blew, reminding everyone it was time to board.

"Thank you," Lem replied. "For Janni's life. And mine. May the day soon come when all Simes and Gens can live together in peace."

And Frevven answered, "Amen."