(c) copyright 2003 by Sime~Gen Inc. All rights
reserved.
BEST OF FOOLS
by
Jean Lorrah
This story tells what happened to supporting characters Zhag and
Tonyo during the events of chapters Five and Six of To Kiss or to
Kill.
"Why do you introduce me as Tonyo?" demanded Zhag Paget's
young protege. "My name is Tony."
"That's a Gen name," Zhag replied.
"In case you hadn't noticed, I am Gen."
"I mean, it's an out-Territory name," Zhag explained.
"In case you hadn't noticed ... " Tonyo repeated, voice
and energy field dripping sarcasm.
Zhag sighed. "It makes you sound like a Wild Gen."
Annoyance resonated in the boy's field as he threatened, "You
want to see wild? Dammit, Zhag, I'm me, you don't own me, and
you can't change my identity!" Abruptly he got up and stomped
out, a frequent response to their disagreements. Was Tonyo used to
someone who wouldn't listen?
The Gen went only as far as the woodpile. Zhag picked up his
shiltpron and went to sit on the rickety steps of his house. Snatches
of melody churned up in his mind, disconnected phrases that would not
form a tune. He plucked the notes anyway, knowing that music often
soothed away his Gen's annoyance.
Tonyo was chopping wood for the cookstove Zhag had never used - the
extent of his "cooking" was to make tea over an oil burner.
The Sime had learned to avoid disparaging comments about Gens and
sharp instruments. He didn't want to provoke the boy again, but he was
relieved when Tonyo carried the wood inside and returned to sit at the
other end of the step. Tonyo's nager - the field of life energy that
surrounded all humans, Simes like Zhag and Gens like Tonyo - precisely
echoed the notes Zhag played.
Zhag let go of the senses he shared with Gens, except for hearing,
and zlinned the boy with Sime senses. Perhaps Tonyo's golden field
would provide the inspiration to compose something. Anything. Just one
more song before he died.
Or killed.
Zhag was prepared to die, but if he were to kill again -
That's Need depression talking, he told himself. The loss of
creative energy was the worst effect of Zhag's chronically unsatisfied
need. When Tonyo was nearby - and not frustrated - he could almost ...
almost ... feel normal.
But normal for Zhag was creating new music, not merely playing at
Milily's Shiltpron Parlor. Since Tonyo had joined him, he frequently
felt well enough to improvise - as the Gen was doing now, vocalizing
variations around Zhag's new riff.
But Tonyo had not warmed up his voice. He reached for a note - and
missed. His field followed his voice out of tune, a jolt to Zhag's
wide open systems. When he next skidded flat, Zhag stopped playing.
"Follow your nager with your voice."
"What?" Gen confusion.
"Your nager has perfect pitch," Zhag explained. "You
think of yourself as a singer, Tonyo, but it's your field Simes
'listen' to."
"I know that," the boy said.
"You know it, but you don't feel it," Zhag
told him. The way I know I will never kill again, but can't feel
it - can't trust that I'm not deluding myself.
"Well, I'm Gen!" Tonyo protested. "I can't
zlin."
Zhag searched for words. "When you were listening, your field
matched every note - before you started singing."
Tonyo pondered. "I was thinking those notes."
"That's it, then, isn't it?" Zhag suggested. "Follow
your inner voice."
The Sime played the riff again - then deliberately raised the key.
The Gen met the challenge nagerically, but when he tried to follow
with his voice, it cracked. He waved a hand. "I know. I'll get
it. Play it again."
Zhag did ... and Tonyo's voice sailed up the scale, well above his
normal range before it cracked again. Unmindful of Zhag's wince, the
young Gen laughed. "This is wonderful!"
"Not to me!" Zhag said through gritted teeth.
"You're still thinking about your voice."
"But it's my voice I'm trying to improve," Tonyo said
with impeccable Gen logic ... something that theoretically couldn't
happen when he was speaking Simelan. The boy frequently managed to be
equally dense in either language.
Zhag had no words to explain what he could have demonstrated to
another Sime. "Try again," he said, "and ... focus on
your field instead of your throat."
Tonyo echoed the riff in different keys, voice and nager in synch
until he ran out of his range and again shredded Zhag's nageric
comfort. Oblivious to the Sime's reaction, he asked, "What's the
rest of the song? Does it have words?"
"There isn't any more," Zhag told him. "I haven't
been able to compose since - for a long time now. At this time of
month it's not possible anyway."
"Maybe after your transfer," Tonyo suggested.
"When's your appointment?"
"Day after tomorrow."
"No wonder you don't feel creative." Tonyo got up,
stretching. "We're out of food." This close to hard need,
the boy's hunger made Zhag faintly ill.
"It's market day," said the Sime. "Come on - let's
get you something to eat."
Zhag had to wonder how he could keep the Gen. It wasn't so much the
risk of having a high-field Gen nearby - Tonyo was as easy to be near
as a Householding Companion. But Zhag's earnings at the shiltpron
parlor would not pay his Pen Taxes - Selyn Taxes, as they were called
since Unity - and also feed a growing Gen. Until there were new laws,
Tonyo was here only as a visitor. Since using up his small supply of
money, he was dependent on Zhag ... unless he became a selyn donor.
It was the obvious solution. Tonyo had donated twice before
arriving in Norlea, but donating selyn, the life energy that Gens
produced and Simes needed to live, would reduce Tonyo's glorious
field. No low-field Gen Zhag had ever zlinned could hold a roomful of
Simes spellbound.
They had been performing together for over a month now, drawing
more customers each week. Zhag had wangled a raise out of Milily, but
not enough to keep his Gen fed, let alone clothed. The denims he wore
today were practically threadbare.
In the public forum of Norlea's market, Tonyo kept his nager
carefully neutral. Nevertheless, when the boy stopped at a citrus
stand Zhag sensed bristling annoyance in Sime customers. Tonyo picked
up a lemon -
"You!" It was Zhag the proprietor addressed. "Make
your Gen stop squeezing the fruit!"
Feeling outrage rolling off Tonyo, Zhag stepped between him and the
vendor, saying, "He's not my property."
Zhag won a smile from Tonyo - but sneers from nearby Simes. One
muttered, "Don't look like Householders," for Zhag
referred to Tonyo with the pronoun for a male Sime ... as, despite
protests, he called the boy by the Simelan version of his name.
Zhag said, "Tonyo is a guest in Gulf Territory. Under the law
he has the same rights as a Sime."
"Shenned Tecton law!" said a woman in bright
calico. "Can't kill Gens anymore, but we don't have to live with
'em!"
Mutters of agreement were backed with nageric static. Tonyo,
wide-eyed but with his field under tight control, put the fruit back
and edged away.
Zhag shared the boy's consternation: there were always Gens in
Norlea's streets. Usually they were ignored, but today the ambient
nager rang with hostility. These juncts didn't care where the boy came
from - to them he was need denied.
Life denied.
Zhag had not killed for far longer than most Simes, nor did he want
to. He had chosen another way two years before Tonyo wandered into
Milily's and brought that shining nager to brighten Zhag's
ever-bleaker existence.
Simes always gravitated toward Tonyo, but usually it was a positive
response. The only Gens his age they saw were breeders on the
Genfarms, Companions in the Householdings, or the few living with
disjunct or nonjunct families. Until very recently, most in-Territory
Gens were raised on Genfarms, sold for the Kill as soon as they began
producing selyn ... and never allowed to learn Gen defenses against
Sime attack.
While many Simes wished nothing had changed, most acknowledged that
it had to: even by capturing Wild Gens, Sime Territory governments
could not provide sufficient Kills. Raids across the border brought
retaliatory strikes by the Gen army. If nothing changed, eventually
all the Gens would be killed ... and the remaining Simes would die.
There was a solution: Simes called channels could take selyn from
Gens without hurting them, and transfer it to other Simes so they did
not have to kill. But for those addicted to the Kill - the vast
majority of Simes alive today - channel's transfer meant never knowing
true satisfaction again.
And ... it meant an early death.
Zhag trailed Tonyo through the market. As long as his Gen was near,
he could avoid feeling life draining heartbeat by heartbeat. But his
comfort was an illusion - he would never draw Tonyo's selyn, unless
the boy became a Companion in a Householding. If he were ever tempted
to attack the untrained boy ... one or both of them would die. What a
shidoni-doomed choice: to satisfy his selyn needs, he must give up the
musical partner of a lifetime. But he had so little time - how could
he part with the one thing that made life tolerable?
Besides, Tonyo had come to Gulf Sime Territory in pursuit of music.
The way he told it, when he donated at Keon, the Householding near the
north territory border, they had done everything short of locking him
in a Killroom to make him stay. So he had avoided Norlea's
Householding, Carre.
Tonyo stopped at the stand run by the local Genfarm. Here he was
waited on by another Gen, a breeder male by the look of it, well fed,
strong, and alert enough to total prices with an abacus. The local
farm produced healthy Gens. Prime Kills.
But those days were over. For now, the Genfarmer could sell his
Gens' selyn. But if, as the Tecton wanted and everyone else feared,
Gens were made free citizens of Gulf Territory, they would be paid for
their own selyn. The Genfarmer would lose his means of earning a
living.
Verl, the Genfarmer, was a patron of Milily's - but while he might
appreciate Tonyo's performance, Zhag could zlin that he didn't like
him acting as good as a Sime.
Tonyo chose the cheapest goods, but still had too little to cover
the cost. If Milily would pay Tonyo -
Well, that was not going to happen. The boy counted out his coins,
and Zhag handed him as much as he dared put toward Tonyo's keep. The
boy understood Selyn Taxes; he knew Zhag was not holding out.
With a frown, Tonyo set aside nut butter and cheese. Zhag said,
"You require protein, Tonyo."
"Pasta and rice are cheaper," the boy said. "I'll go
fishing tomorrow - cook and eat 'em down by the river, so you don't
have to zlin it."
But you'll be gone for hours. Zhag forced down panic. Tonyo's
field unconsciously locked onto his own, soothing and steady.
"That's ... a good idea," Zhag managed.
"We'll talk about it later," said Tonyo, and turned back
to his purchase. Their funds would almost cover it now.
Selyn fields reflected emotions, not thoughts - Tonyo was making a
decision, but Zhag assumed it was what other items to put back so
their money would cover the purchase. Then the Gen said, "Verl,
we're good customers. Let us have this for the money we have, and
we'll buy you a porstan next time you come into Milily's."
The worker Gen gasped. To suggest that a Gen buy a drink for a Sime
- Even Zhag was shocked.
"Control your Gen!" Verl said through clenched teeth.
When Zhag made no move to discipline Tonyo, Verl added, "Get
away from my stand. I don't sell to Gens or Genlovers!"
Nager hard as diamond, Tonyo began, "My money's as - "
"Your money?!" The furious Genfarmer pulled a whip
from his belt. The worker Gen hid under the table, emanating fear -
emotion every junct Sime craved.
"Tonyo - don't." Zhag warned as Simes gathered.
But the boy had had enough. His field drew in upon itself, as if
drained from within. Zhag knew what was coming and forced himself to
stop zlinning.
Three Simes dropped bonelessly to the market floor.
Verl flicked his whip, caught Tonyo around the upper arm, and sent
him careening into Zhag. The musician did not have the mass to hold
him, and they went down in a heap.
The Sime sat up, wincing at the pain of Tonyo's whip cut. Tonyo
immediately focused inside himself. His pain left the ambient, but
blood trickled down his arm, pluming selyn, as he helped Zhag to his
feet.
Without Tonyo's brilliant field masking it, the worker Gen's panic
throbbed a siren song. A man with an eyepatch knocked the Genfarm
table over - but a woman snatched up the cowering Gen. It squealed in
terror as Sime tentacles grasped its arms - and then in pain as the
one-eyed man tried to tear it from the woman's grasp.
Zhag's attention was torn between the Kill about to happen and
Tonyo's reaction to it. The boy had grown up in Gen Territory - had he
ever seen a Kill?
Zhag had to zlin, every sense alert to get Tonyo out of the market
alive.
Tonyo froze, nager damped almost into nonexistence. Keep it that
way, Zhag willed.
Verl's whip snaked about the Sime woman's arm, lashing her lateral
sheaths. Zhag shared her gasp of pain - but she hung onto the Gen's
other arm. The one-eyed man slashed the edge of his hand down on a
sensitive nerve point.
As the woman bent over her injured arms, Verl flicked his whip back
-
The man gripped the keening Gen from behind, tentacles lashing Sime
and Gen arms together. Zhag felt Tonyo's relief. He thinks a Sime
can't kill from that position.
The Gendealer raised his whip -
The one-eyed Sime pressed his lips to the back of the worker Gen's
neck. The keening became a screech -
The whip came down -
Killbliss split the ambient. Juncts screamed frustration.
Zhag howled in despair as pain/fear/ecstasy ripped through his
nerves.
Tonyo's skin crawled.
Verl's whip slashed the killer, who dropped the corpse to turn and
fight. Other Simes converged, some lashing out at one another, but
more turning toward -
Dizzy with denial, Zhag lurched toward the luscious fear borne on
the golden field he knew as his.
Another Sime cut between Zhag and his prey. A growl rose in his
throat. He knocked the other aside, reaching for the promise of
satisfaction denied so long, so long -
Something inside Zhag whimpered. But something else exulted.
His hand found the Gen's arm, tentacles seeking Killgrip.
Mine!
Zhag's laterals licked out toward perfect terror. Tonyo! He
recognized sole satisfaction - as his soul rejected it.
His knees gave way.
The Gen went down with him. Zhag couldn't let go - he needed the
selyn, the fear, the pain.
But not the Kill! Never again! On a wave of sheer shen, he
fell into blackness.
#
Zhag fell unconscious, pulling Tony Logan down with him. Shaken out
of his shock, the Gen realized: with any other Sime, he would be dead
- and it would be his own damn fault!
If a Sime attempted to draw selyn from a frightened Gen, the
resistance burned out the Gen's nervous system. Zhag had torn himself
out of the commitment caused by Tony's fear.
But Zhag's frail old systems could not take many such shocks. Shame
replaced panic. My fault, my fault.
Abruptly turned from protected to protector, Tony looked up at
converging Simes. I know how to handle Simes, he reminded
himself. Their laterals licked out of their sheaths, zlinning him ...
and that made them vulnerable. Zhag was out cold - he couldn't hurt
him any more than he had already done.
Tony slammed the ambient again as he had learned to do at Keon. All
around him, Simes fell unconscious.
But those still on their feet were angrier than ever. He had only
moments before they were on him -
Tony slung his mentor over his shoulder, wincing at the pain from
his whip cut, and sought an escape route.
"This way!" called a voice.
Tony slid through a tent flap that was raised, then closed behind
him. As his eyes adjusted, he made out two Sime women, calm, dressed
in neat shirts and trousers, no weapons visible.
He laid Zhag down on a grass mat. The older woman exclaimed,
"He's unconscious! Greet, run to the pharmacy for some
fosebine."
The younger woman dashed out the front of the tent as Tony knelt by
Zhag. Their rescuer lowered the front canopy, but there was enough
light for Tony to examine his friend.
The musician had the beginning of a black eye, scratches and whip
cuts on his neck and hands, nothing that looked serious. But what
about internal damage? "Zhag?"
"Stop that!" the woman scolded. "Wait for the
medicine. What kind of Companion are you?"
"I'm not," said Tony. "Zhag's been sick, and I'm
afraid he's badly hurt." He looked up. "It's my fault. I
know how powerful my field is, but I panicked when I saw the
Kill."
"You're a Wild Gen!" the woman said in astonishment.
"I'm Tony Logan, from Heartland Gen Territory. Can you tell
why Zhag isn't coming to?"
"You moved him while he was unconscious."
"They were trying to kill us."
"You they want to kill," the woman corrected. "Him
they just want to murder. He may want to murder you,
though."
The Simelan word "kill" was reserved for what Tony had
just seen in the market - caused not merely by Sime need for selyn,
but by the addiction to Gen death agony. Zhag had overcome that
addiction, said to be harder to break than the worst drug dependency,
long before he met Tony.
And Tony had triggered the craving for Gen fear today, when Zhag
was in Need. What a fool I am! "It was the first Kill I
ever saw," he said. "I still shouldn't have reacted. Zhag
shouldn't have had to - " he realized that he had the right to
say the forbidden Simelan word, as it was what had literally happened,
" - shen himself to protect me."
"He'll forgive you for that," said the Sime woman.
"It proves his disjunction is true. But then you moved him."
Tony still did not understand, so he just sat back on his heels and
radiated confusion.
Sure enough, the woman explained. "Unconsciousness disrupts a
Sime's sense of where he is - I can't explain it in Gen terms. Worse
than the worst hangover you've ever had. And your friend will have
disorientation on top of shen."
"Should I have left Zhag to the mercy of that crowd?"
The woman sighed. "Obviously you couldn't. And you didn't move
him far. You're lucky they're fighting among themselves instead of
hunting for you."
Tony looked around. Although he could hear shouting, the booth must
be selyn shielded. Most of the market booths had canopies, but this
one was a complete tent. Again he didn't have to ask. The woman told
him, "My other daughter is Gen, as is Greet's husband. But we had
the sense to leave them home today."
Zhag moaned. Tony focused his attention on his mentor, knowing his
field soothed the fragile Sime. He pushed damp dark hair off the
musician's pale forehead.
The frail body shivered, then arched into a convulsion. Tony pulled
Zhag's belt off, doubled it, and wedged it into the Sime's mouth so he
would not bite or swallow his tongue. The only other thing he knew to
do was to examine Zhag's tentacles.
At full extension, the four handling tentacles on each wrist would
reach the tips of the fingers. Normally they twined in graceful
patterns about the hands, but Zhag's now stuck out stiffly over and
under his clenched fists.
The small, pinkish gray laterals moved, though, retracting into
their sheaths on either side of the Sime's wrists, then thrusting out
on a gush of ronaplin, the selyn-conducting fluid. Zhag dripped the
stuff when he performed, for shiltpron music required nageric as well
as physical manipulation.
But Zhag was not performing now. "He's voiding selyn!"
the Sime woman informed Tony.
Zhag had no selyn to spare. "Tell me what happens," Tony
said, and held his hands close to, but not touching, Zhag's forearms. Rest
on my field. You're safe. No one will hurt you. You don't have to
fight anymore.
"That's amazing," said the Sime woman. "You say
you're not a Companion?"
"Has he stopped voiding?" Tony asked, although as Zhag's
laterals retracted and stayed in their sheaths, he was pretty sure he
had achieved his goal.
"Yes. He's coming out of it."
The younger Sime woman returned with a vial of liquid. "The
police are breaking up the fight."
Zhag's eyes opened a crack and immediately shut again as he
groaned, putting both hands to his head. Tony followed Zhag's hands
with his own, thinking soothing thoughts. The Sime gagged as he pulled
the belt from his mouth, but after a moment whispered, "You're
still here."
"I'm so sorry!" Tony told him. "I never meant to
hurt you. Here - this will make you feel better."
After a moment Zhag allowed Tony to support his head and accepted
the vial. "Fosebine?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Yeah."
Zhag upended the vial and swallowed the contents in one gulp. He
made such a face, Tony was almost tempted to laugh.
But the medicine worked. Tension drained from Zhag's face and body.
His eyes finally opened beyond slits. "How did you manage not to
get killed?"
"I was so worried about you, I forgot to be scared. Zhag, I'm
sorry I lost control. I never meant to hurt you."
"I meant to kill you," said Zhag.
"No you didn't. The others did, but you shenned yourself
rather than harm me." Seeing Zhag ponder that, he repeated what
the woman had said, "It confirms your disjunction. I would trust
you anywhere. I just hope that after this, you can trust me."
"You got us both out alive," Zhag replied. "You'd
never seen a Kill before, had you?"
"No."
"I hope you never do again." Then the Sime looked past
Tony to their rescuers. "Where are we?" he asked.
"Halpern's Ironmongery," the older Sime woman replied,
introducing herself as Eliza Halpern, her daughter as Greet. Then she
demanded, "What were you thinking, to bring a Wild Gen to the
market today? Any Gen, for that matter?"
"What's special about today?" asked Tony.
"It's turnover day for half of Norlea!" said Greet.
Turnover occurred when a Sime used up half a month's supply of
selyn, and began the descent into need. It made Simes edgy and
irritable - and explained why once the temptation disappeared they had
turned to fighting each other rather than hunting Tony for selyn they
didn't actually need. "Why would so many Simes be on the same
transfer schedule?" he asked.
"The Last Kill," Eliza replied.
"Of course," said Zhag. "I'm sorry, Tonyo - I forgot
about that. I'm on a different schedule."
"What's the Last Kill?"
Greet explained, "When the Unity Treaty was signed, the Tecton
set a date after which no more Kills would be allowed. That was two
and a half months ago."
Tony still didn't understand. "Why would so many kill on that
one day? They couldn't all be in need at once."
Greet said disapprovingly, "Every junct who could afford to
pay for an extra Kill wasted enough selyn to ... enjoy it."
Eliza took up the story. "It was their last chance to kill.
Most of them have stayed on the same schedule for the past two months
- so today they all hit turnover."
"It will happen every month," added Greet, "until
their cycles drift apart."
"Or till they all disjunct," said Tony. He had studied up
before coming in-Territory: juncts would reach a physical and
psychological crisis six months or so after their last Kill. Then
there would likely be worse scenes than what had happened in the
market. If not for his fight with his father, Tony might have stayed
home until that time was over.
Some Simes, he had been told, would die, forbidden to kill but
unable to accept channel's transfer. But most, he understood, would
come through as Zhag had ....
The two women stared at him ... and then at Zhag. Eliza asked,
"Tony, when do you plan to go home?"
He sensed something in the unexpected query, so he answered
honestly. "When I can show my dad I'm making a living at music.
Maybe I'll visit for Year's Turning."
"Visit?" the Sime woman questioned.
"My work is here, with Zhag. He can't go into Gen Territory -
it'll be years before people trust that Simes don't kill anymore. Even
my mom was scared when I came into Gulf, and she was born here! If
she'd seen Zhag today, though - "
Eliza turned to Zhag. "How long do you think you can lie to
this young man?" she asked. "If he finds out the truth from
someone else, how can he continue to trust you?"
"What ... truth?" Tony asked. "Zhag?"
His Sime friend swallowed hard, and then answered, "For most
junct Simes ... disjunction is not possible."
"But ... the Tecton promised - "
"It was the only way to get the Gen governments to sign the
Unity Treaty," Greet said.
"You can't break the treaty in less than a year!" Tony
protested.
Zhag shook his head, gasping at the pain the movement caused him.
"We won't break the treaty. Four or five months from now ...
junct Simes will start to die."
"Why can't they disjunct?" Tony asked. "You
did."
"So did my husband and I," said Eliza, "but it's
only possible in First Year. Our youngest Simes will survive ... but
juncts who changed over more than a few months ago will die."
Her daughter took up the story. "My sister and I never worried
if we turned Sime or Gen - we wouldn't kill, and we wouldn't have to
flee across the border like your mom did, Tony. We turned out one of
each, and I married a Companion from Carre, so we have two Gens in the
family."
Eliza added, "Our whole Territory would have disjuncted in
another generation or two. Then we could have made a sensible treaty
with the Gens. But last year, before we were ready, we faced the
extinction of the human race. It's a bad choice, Tony ... but it's the
only one."
"Oh, my God," Tony whispered. "No wonder the juncts
want to kill me - and murder Zhag. We're going to be alive in a few
months, when they're all - "
Milily was junct. Their customers - all his new friends, the women
he had -
"You let me make friends with people who're gonna be dead in
six months!" Tony accused. "When were you planning to tell
me, Zhag - when the shiltpron parlor was empty?"
"They won't all die," said Zhag. "Not that soon. I'm
still alive after more than two years."
Tony realized ... Zhag was far too old to have been in his First
Year as a Sime two years ago. " ... what? You don't kill. You
certainly proved that today."
"That's right." Zhag's eyes fixed on Tony's. "It's
almost a year since I killed, and I never will again."
"You said two years."
"I decided to disjunct two years ago. I didn't know I was too
old. A year ago, to save my life, the channels tricked me into
killing. I made them swear never to do it again - I would rather die.
Eventually ... I will."
Tony's head was spinning. Not knowing what to ask, he settled for,
"What happened six months after you killed?"
Zhag frowned. "I'm not proud of it, even though Thea says I
should be."
"Thea?"
"A channel in Carre. She ceded me her Companion. Janine. I
burned her. I ... couldn't overcome the junct need for pain."
"But you didn't kill this Janine?"
"No. She says Companions expect a burn once in a while. I
still hate what I did - I don't want to crave pain,
Tonyo!" Tony saw tortured truth in Zhag's eyes as he continued.
"I don't know if a Gen can comprehend, or even a nonjunct Sime. I
am disjunct. My mind. My heart. I will not kill. But my body
demands it. My mind and heart are stronger than my body."
Had Tony found his music in Zhag - the music just out of reach his
whole life - only to lose it so soon? "How long do you
have?" he asked, harshly controlling his sense of betrayal.
Zhag shrugged. "Months. Maybe another year. I don't think
about it. Your field helps immensely, as does my music. You ... will
be my legacy. The music will live on in you, Tonyo ... if you are
willing to stay with me."
Tony wasn't surprised at the time frame - Zhag had that pinched,
tired look Tony's grandmother had developed in the months before she
died. If Zhag had a year, how much he could learn in that time!
"Of course I'll stay," he replied. "Just - don't hide
anything else from me, all right?"
Zhag managed a weary smile. "All right."
Someone raised the front tent flap - a Sime in the uniform of the
local police. "Miz Halpern? You all right?"
"Yes, thank you, Officer," Eliza told him, "but
we've got injured customers who require transportation to Carre."
"There are some channels here - " the policeman began.
"Zhag has all the help that can be given here. Waiting for a
channel would just delay getting him to the infirmary."
"Sure thing, Ma'am," the officer agreed, and a few
minutes later a buckboard pulled up before the tent. Tony squeezed
himself between his friend and some barrels and boxes, and took Zhag's
hands. Warm, dry handling tentacles lashed around his fingers. When
Zhag's small moist laterals licked out of their sheaths, the Gen slid
his hands up toward the Sime's elbows to allow them to connect.
"Zhag? What else can I do?" His friend was growing
steadily weaker, and Tony bent close to hear him.
"Sing ... to me." Zhag's soft voice trailed into silence.
Tony tried to ease the tightness in his throat before launching
into one of the songs they performed every night:
"Taxes goin' higher,
Last month I sold my horse.
Border's too far for raiding -
How could things get worse?
Ol' Mizipi rising -
Flood and hurricane - "
His voice cracked, and Zhag gasped.
Tony remembered what Zhag had tried to teach him that morning: let
his voice follow his field. But his "inner voice" was as
agitated as the Sime he was trying to soothe.
Zhag could zlin through the enforced calm Tony had pasted over his
worry. He saw his anxiety reflected in the Sime's pinched features ...
just as his anger and annoyance - the tone of his inner voice in the
market today - had triggered anger and annoyance in surrounding Simes.
With shocking clarity, he recognized his power and responsibility. He
had started the fight in the marketplace ... out of sheer ignorance.
His stupid pride in being what Simes called a Giant Killer Gen. Did he
want a Sime to die at his hands? That would make him ... as
junct as any Sime.
His enemy was neither Sime nor Gen: it was ignorance. Ignorance had
nearly killed him today, and badly hurt Zhag. Tony determined to end
his ignorance as rapidly as possible.
Putting his mind at ease set Tony's field at ease. Zhag relaxed,
tentacles loosing their frantic grip.
Tony began to sing again, following his now peaceful inner voice.
Zhag's frown melted, although Tony knew it was less from the clear
notes than from the peace in his nager.
When they pulled up at Carre's infirmary, two women ran out, one
Sime, one Gen.
"Zhag!" gasped the Sime woman, jumping onto the wagon. To
Tony she said, "Don't move," and extended her laterals to
zlin the interaction between the two men.
She turned a brilliant smile on Tony. "Oh, thank God! Zhag -
where did you find him?"
Zhag opened his eyes. "Thea," he whispered.
"What have you been doing, you fool?" she asked.
"It's my fault," Tony replied. "Can you help Zhag?
He's awfully weak."
His Gen Territory accent once again drew that curious reaction.
"You're not a Companion?"
"I'm a musician, like Zhag," Tony replied. "Will he
be all right?"
"He will now. Can you relinquish him to me? We'll take him
into the infirmary. Janine will care for him while I do a deep contact
on you - but I'm sure already."
Tony followed the channel's instructions as they carefully moved
Zhag inside. Thea deep-zlinned Zhag, then gave him more medicine and
left him in Janine's care. She took Tony into a treatment room, where
she dealt with his cuts and bruises.
"Zhag will be fine once he has transfer," Thea told Tony.
"He's off-schedule by almost two days - his injuries aren't
enough to account for that much loss."
Tony told her about Zhag's convulsions and voiding.
"You shenned him?"
"No - he did it to himself. I take full responsibility,
though. Now that I've seen a Kill, I'll know better than to react if
it happens again."
"Shen!" she swore. "How many Gens were killed? How
many others saw and were traumatized?"
"I only saw one Kill, and I was the only other Gen
there."
Thea frowned, her eyes unfocused as she zlinned Tony's reaction
when he remembered. "You were frightened."
"It was the first time I actually saw a Sime kill a Gen."
"How did Zhag react? To your fear?" Thea asked.
"He ... started to attack me," Tony carefully recalled.
"Before I got control of myself, he shenned out."
"You're sure? You didn't shen him?"
"No." He searched his memory, knowing details were
important. "I wasn't exactly afraid when I saw the Kill.
Not for myself. It was - a chill up the spine because what I'd only
heard about was really happening."
"It doesn't matter," said Thea, "especially with a
field like yours. Simple startlement can provoke Killmode."
Tony nodded, looking down at the bruises on his arms. "I know now.
But in the market I didn't understand - I certainly wasn't afraid of Zhag
- I never have been."
"You have no reason to be - today Zhag proved our worst fears:
he'll suicide-abort before he'll kill."
"Suicide? Is that why he was voiding selyn? Thea ... what did
I do to him?" Tony asked.
The channel put a hand over his. "You provoked him - but if he
were in good health, he could have handled it. Now, though, his
systems are so fragile that aborting sent them into chaos." She
gently squeezed his hand. "What I zlinned in that wagon is that
you are the only reason he survived."
"Yeah, but I'm also the reason he's so sick. I didn't know I
shouldn't move him."
"You didn't know? Where are you from?"
"Heartland Territory."
"How in the world did you get to Norlea? The Tecton is doing
out-Territory Companion training in the Sime Centers."
"I'm not a Companion," Tony repeated. "I know, I
know - every channel that zlins me wants me to move into a
Householding, but I came here looking for Zhag's music."
Thea looked into his eyes. "Would you be willing to be Zhag's
Companion?"
"What would I have to do?" he asked suspiciously.
"Give him transfer. Otherwise, not much more than you're
already doing. Less, actually, as he will get well with the right
transfer mate."
"Get well? You mean he doesn't have to die of
disjunction?" Tony asked eagerly.
"That's right."
"Yes!" Tony said at once. "I mean, we can work
together? I don't have to live in a Householding?"
That smile again. "We'll train you, but Zhag needs you with
him. He's a junct channel, so he will have occasional problems
- but if you can bring him through psycho-spatial disorientation, you
can handle just about anything. I know you can do the job. What
concerns me is your commitment. What if you decide to go back to
Heartland Territory?"
"Hajene," Tony said, using the term of respect for a
channel that he had learned at Keon, "I'm young, but I know what
I was meant to do with my life. Zhag is the music I came here
for. I can't think of anything to keep me from staying, but I have to
be sure I understand. Why me? Why hasn't Janine or another Companion
already done what you say I can do?"
"Because Zhag is a channel, like me. It's much harder to find
him a matchmate than it is for a renSime." RenSimes were the
majority of Simes, who were not channels.
"And a matchmate," he wanted to be sure, "can keep a
junct Sime from dying if he's too old to disjunct?"
"Yes. Keon and Carre are trying to match as many Simes as we
can before people begin dying. But we are at a huge
disadvantage."
"Not enough Gens," Tony realized.
"Not enough Gens who are not frightened. The least fear, the
least resistance, and there will be a Kill."
Tony thought a moment. "And not necessarily of a Gen. I nearly
killed Zhag today."
She didn't correct his terminology. "It's Zhag's
responsibility, not yours. But when you give him transfer, you are
going to have to take some responsibility."
"Just tell me what to do."
"In transfer, Zhag has to be completely open to your feelings.
It doesn't matter if your fear is for him rather than of
him. Fear will trigger Killmode - and Zhag will abort. Weak as he is,
he won't survive shen a second time."
"I'm not afraid. Zlin the truth of it."
She nodded. "It's hard to believe you didn't grow up in a
Householding. But can you handle the paradox? Zhag needs a
Killmode transfer - it's the only way to satisfy him physically. But
emotionally he will reject it - if you trigger Killmode, he will
abort," she repeated.
"Then what should I do?" Tony asked in frustration.
She sighed. "How often have you given transfer?"
"I've donated twice."
"Donated?" Thea asked. "Your field is in synch with
mine, responding like an experienced Donor's - and you're telling me
you've never given transfer?!"
He shrugged. "I can do it. I met kids twelve or fourteen years
old who are Companions in Keon. I'll bet you've got some here, too.
All the Companions say transfer's the best thing - "
But Thea shook her head vehemently, hands out, palms toward him,
tentacles tightly retracted. "No, no - you can't force Killbliss
on an injured channel in disjunction crisis as your First Transfer!
Shen and shid! I was worried about convincing Sectuib when I thought
you were experienced! We'll find someone appropriate for you today,
train you over the next four weeks, and next month you and Zhag can
try it."
"What happens to Zhag this month?" Tony demanded.
"We've brought him through crisis before. Janine is his
closest match here, but we'll probably want to overmatch him."
She sat back and looked Tony up and down, shaking her head as if what
she saw contradicted what she zlinned. "You slightly overmatch
him now, but we'll give you a conservative match this month - no risk
of knocking you out of synch with Zhag. But you've got to experience a
channel's draw without having to control the transfer at the same
time."
"Thea - I'm young and strong and healthy. Zhag is old and weak
and sick. He can't hurt me."
"You may be right - but Sectuib won't risk Zhag's hurting you
... and I won't risk your hurting Zhag."
Tony remembered his decision on the way to Carre. There were too
many things he had to learn. Thea continued, "Don't go near Zhag
before his transfer, so he won't fix on you again - but I want you
there, high-field, immediately afterward. Then we'll tell him you'll
give him transfer next month."
"Why didn't he ask me?" Tony wanted to know. Then he
realized - "Oh, shit. I told him I didn't want to be a Companion.
I meant that I wouldn't go off to a Householding, not that I wasn't
willing to give him my selyn."
This time Thea's smile was wistful. "Self-destructive
attitudes are typical of disjunction crisis. Zhag surely recognized a
potential matchmate ... you did, too, and just didn't know what you
were feeling. Well," she shrugged, "we have to deal with the
existing situation. Zhag is always terrified of hurting his Donor.
You'll have to seduce him - but I expect that will be easy enough.
Sectuib should be back soon. He'll verify my readings and schedule
your training."
Thea gave Tony a clean shirt. "I'll put your old one in the
rag bin. Go wash up before you meet Sectuib. Can you read Simelan well
enough to follow the signs to his office?"
"Sure. My mom made sure that if I changed over and had to run
to Gulf, I wouldn't be illiterate."
"Smart mom," Thea told him.
He didn't tell her how angry his father had been - or that his
mother regretted making it easy for her son to leave home.
Tony took advantage of hot water and soft towels, and felt much
more ready to be presented to the head of Householding Carre. It
wasn't much of a presentation - the Sectuib in Carre stole a few
minutes to deep-zlin Tony, confirm Thea's diagnosis, and assign his
first lesson after he had transfer with a channel named Sansee.
Apparently he wouldn't even meet Sansee until their appointment.
"Now go over to the refectory and have something to eat!"
Sectuib told him in dismissal. Tony suddenly remembered that he was
still hungry.
But he hardly noticed what he ate - his mind was on Zhag. The Sime
musician was more than a skilled shiltpron player. There were others
who played amazing music ... but not the music of Tony's soul, the
rhythm and harmony always just beyond his reach ... until he touched
its reality in Zhag Paget.
It was an hour till Zhag's transfer. Tony wanted to see his friend,
but understood that he would make matters worse. Still, he couldn't
help wandering back toward the infirmary.
Simes were leaving, bandaged, provided with transfer if necessary.
Householdings had first gained wary acceptance among juncts because of
channels' healing ability. Local Simes came to rely on them, got to
know the Gen Companions, and some, like Zhag and the Halpern family,
chose to leave the Kill behind. But most of these Simes were junct,
and in months or a few short years would be dead. But what could Tony
do, other than save the one Sime he could?
He entered the infirmary through the twisting corridor that served
to buffer nageric fields. Nevertheless, he held his own field in
tightly, not knowing whether he might encounter injured Simes around
the corner.
The lobby was empty except for two channels: Thea and the Sectuib
in Carre. Their backs were to Tony as they bent over a chart - Zhag's
chart, he realized as he heard the Sectuib say, "He's fixed on
Tonyo. Neither you nor I can imitate that field of his, and it's a
sure bet Janine can't."
"Then it has to be Tonyo," said Thea.
"No," said the Sectuib. "We could lose both of
them." He raised a tentacle to forestall her protest. "You
zlinned the potential in that boy. Zhag managed a clean abort this
afternoon, but he has no strength left. A botched abort would surely
kill him ... and it could leave Tonyo crippled for life."
"Nerve damage," Thea agreed with a sigh. "He might
never regain nageric control."
I could lose my music! Tony realized, and clamped down hard
lest the two channels zlin his reaction.
But ... if Zhag dies, I lose it anyway, he realized.
Could he make the Sectuib understand that, or was the man a Sime
version of Tony's father, unable to comprehend music as a sacred
vocation? Zhag understood. But Zhag was dying.
Before he could gather courage to try to make his case to the stern
Sectuib, though, a Gen came running from another corridor.
"Sectuib - Hajene! That woman with the torn lateral is voiding -
Jaramee can't stop it!"
The two channels disappeared down the corridor with the Gen. Tony
went to the desk and picked up Zhag's chart. The clipboard was thick
with pages of hasty penmanship, but on the top sheet he made out a
list of medications. He recognized only fosebine - and a note that
"patient resists intil and trautholo," whatever the hell
that meant.
And at the bottom, "Condition: critical."
There was a mark beside the word "Prognosis:" as if
someone had started to write something. Terminal, Tony
realized. Zhag's life. My future. It all hinges on this moment.
Nobody trusted his commitment - not even Zhag. Consciously, Zhag
had been trying to train him so that he could go on after the musician
was dead ... but unconsciously ... Thea had said Zhag recognized his
matchmate, but dared not hope -
Zhag has to trust me always to be there for him. That's why he
wants me to use the Simelan version of my name - to show I'm not some
Wild Gen who will go running across the border at the first
provocation. Zhag's the other half of my creativity. Our lives are
lived to the same rhythm, the same harmony. If I deny him ... I deny
myself.
Tonyo put down the chart, and went to Zhag's room. Janine still sat
by the bed, concentrating. Zhag was asleep or unconscious, barely
breathing.
Janine looked up. "Go away!" she whispered sharply.
"You'll ruin the work we've done!"
"Thea needs - uh, requires you, Janine. She and Sectuib are
trying to help a patient with a torn lateral."
"She wouldn't send you!"
Tonyo looked into the Companion's eyes. She had to
understand. "Take your time finding her," he said, "and
then say you believed me."
"Tonyo - leave, please!"
He stood his ground. "Tell me you can save his life, Janine.
Swear you believe it, and I'll go."
She bit her lip, and tried to stare him down ... but she couldn't.
"And if you die?" she asked.
"My conscience, not yours. But I won't die, and neither will
Zhag. You're Gen. You understand what Simes can't."
After a long moment, she nodded, and rose carefully from her chair
beside the transfer couch. Tonyo ignored the chair and, relying on
Janine's experience to ease the transition for Zhag, sat in the
channel's position on the specially-constructed couch. He was
supported in position to grasp Zhag's forearms, and, when the time
came -
Janine bent and kissed Tonyo's cheek. "Good luck!" she
whispered, and was gone, leaving Tonyo once more where he belonged. It
reminded him of sitting on the steps of Zhag's house as they had that
morning, but with their roles reversed. Now it was Tonyo who had to
find the way to make Zhag understand, by that same instinct with which
Zhag had taught him to follow his field with his voice.
Before Tonyo even touched him, Zhag's chest rose and fell in a deep
breath. Yes, Tonyo willed, I have what you need, Zhag - I'll
share it with you, just as we share our music.
He played their music in his mind. His joy when he heard new sounds
from Zhag's shiltpron, the lessons he had learned – What music they
would make - new music they would compose together, the whole greater
than the sum of its parts.
Perhaps Zhag sensed the music in his field ... Tonyo took heart
when a small smile touched the corners of Zhag's mouth.
He slid his hands forward, aligning their arms in transfer
position. Zhag's tentacles lay under the skin along his forearms,
sheaths visible because he had almost no flesh to hide them. But they
did not emerge from the wrist openings, nor did his hands grip Tonyo's
forearms.
Tonyo felt for the tentacle roots. Where was the reflex point - ?
He pressed gently around the root of each tentacle. The handling
tentacles emerged and wrapped around his arms, but the laterals
remained stubbornly sheathed. It seemed cruel to heighten Zhag's need
- worse, he'd been told, than any Gen hunger - but he was there to
assuage it. Zhag should feel something like the pleasure of hunger
just before a good meal.
Tonyo conjured up his hunger of an hour ago, along with the music
that always drew Zhag's laterals forth. In his mind he played the sad
and difficult songs that demanded all of Zhag's virtuosity ... the
songs of need.
The small, sensitive laterals licked out of their sheaths and
settled on Tonyo's arms. He smiled. Now - let's do this!
Zhag's eyes opened, at first unfocused, then fixed on Tonyo. All
his effort could not take his voice above a whisper. "Tonyo -
no!" Weakly, he tried to pull his arms away - but his tentacles
remained seated.
"Shut up, Zhag," Tonyo told him. "Just feel
it!"
He ignored the protest in Zhag's eyes, his feeble attempts to
escape, keeping the Sime under control by sheer power of will.
Something inside him erupted with anticipation. This is even better
than our music! it told him, and he leaned forward to touch his
lips to Zhag's.
It was not a kiss. Twice Tonyo had performed this act with Tecton
channels, an impersonal touch that completed the circuit for the
transfer of selyn. In those transactions he had felt nothing except
vague disappointment. With Zhag he felt hope and exhilaration.
When need turned him inside out, he rode the music like an ocean
wave. He was pure energy, blissfully pouring life and warmth into the
welcoming void. It was perfect harmony, exact counterpoint - A peak of
pleasure, another, and then - What - ? Poignant ebb - No! Not enough!
He struggled, needing more, denying that need in crashing discord.
What more could there possibly be?!
He caught the panting, terrified Gen in a woodland clearing. Need
clawed at his vitals - Need for the fear of the Gen writhing and
screaming under his tentacles. He pulled it to him, glorying in
anticipation of the Kill.
He pressed his lips roughly to the Gen's whimpering mouth. Terror
sang through his nerves - pain - sweet death agony burned away his
need. Giddy with satisfaction, he let the husk of the dead Gen drop
carelessly from his hands and tentacles ... .
He was alive!
#
Warm hands loosed their grip on Zhag's arms and fell away. A head
rested heavily against his neck. Fresh, clean, soap scent filled his
nostrils. He was brimming with life, but -
His vision was obscured by fallen sunlight. It took a moment to
recognize Tonyo's blond hair - he never looked at the boy, always
consumed in his golden nager. But now ... nothing.
The door opened. Thea and the Sectuib in Carre entered - and
stopped so abruptly that Janine, behind them, almost ran into the two
Simes.
Tonyo raised his head, blue eyes wide with awe.
"You're alive!" Zhag gasped.
The Gen grinned. "I've never been so alive!"
Carre's Sectuib stepped forward, laterals extended. "What the
shidoni-doomed shen happened here?"
Zhag was too busy taking stock of himself to answer. His pain was
gone, along with his Need. He had a sense of well being so alien he
couldn't respond to it. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time,
and ... he couldn't zlin.
"Tonyo - what have you done to me?" he asked. "I
haven't felt like this since - "
"The last time you killed?" Tonyo asked. "You can
say it, Zhag. You don't ever have to do it again."
But that wasn't it. As Zhag changed focus to the trio on the other
side of the room, a wave of vertigo swept over him.
"What's wrong?" Tonyo gasped.
"Nothing serious," said the Sectuib, zlinning them. He
shook his head. "God protects fools and children."
"Zhag's alive!" Tonyo protested. "That's more than
you could promise."
"Tonyo!" Zhag put a hand on the boy's arm ... and felt
his ability to zlin return as he sensed the pulse-pulse-pulse of selyn
production. He had been wrong - Tonyo was storing far less selyn than
before their transfer, but his field was no less vital. He would be
able to perform tonight.
"Thea," the Sectuib was saying, "zlin this. You will
probably never see anything like it again."
"What's wrong with Zhag?" Tonyo asked anxiously.
A chuckle escaped the channel's attempt to be stern. "You
burned him!" he told the Gen.
" ... what?" Tonyo and Zhag spoke at once, then looked at
one another.
"How could a Gen burn a Sime?" Zhag asked in confusion.
"Tonyo is what the juncts call a Giant Killer Gen," the
Sectuib explained.
"I know," Zhag said. "Otherwise I wouldn't allow him
to work around the juncts at Milily's."
"Here we call them Natural Donors - Gens who instinctively
control transfer. Being in control eliminates fear. Of course they
still require training," he added with a sharp glance at Tonyo,
"because they can harm Simes."
"Zhag needed pain," said Tonyo. "I ... felt
it."
"I don't doubt it," the Sectuib replied. "But next
time deliver something like your pain when the whip cut you
today."
Tonyo blushed. "Oh. Zhag, I'm sorry. I'll learn to do it
right."
"It couldn't have been more right," Zhag told him.
"Tonyo," said the Sectuib, "you know that, as a
channel, Zhag has a dual selyn system?"
"Yes."
"You filled his primary and secondary systems, and when he
wasn't satisfied, you forced more selyn into his primary system
against his resistance. It's only a slight burn - and Zhag, you feel
strange because your fields have never been unbalanced in this
particular way."
Zhag's secondary system, which Tecton channels used to provide
transfer and he used to play the shiltpron, often contained more selyn
than his primary system, which stored selyn for daily living. He
couldn't remember ever having it unbalanced in the other direction.
"Tonyo, I can correct the imbalance if you'll let me touch you
again."
Immediately, his Gen reached out to him. Zhag settled his
tentacles, laid his head on Tonyo's shoulder, and let the two systems
level. The movement of energy erased the effects of the burn, and Zhag
felt even better.
Had he ever felt this good in his life? He wanted to run, to dance,
to play his shiltpron - but first, "I'm hungry!" he
announced in astonishment.
Tonyo laughed. "Let's go to the refectory - I was too worried
to eat much earlier."
"I'll have to have an accounting first," the Sectuib
said, and Zhag's good cheer disappeared. Numbly, he submitted to deep
contact, unsurprised to hear that he had received more selyn than last
month. "You're still in the same category," the channel
reassured him.
"Yeah - but early," he grumbled. He counted out the
carefully hoarded coins while Janine made notes. The Sectuib deducted
the collection fee, and held out the rest to Tonyo.
The boy made no move to take it.
"You were paid for your donations, Tonyo," said Thea.
"I can't take money for what Zhag and I just did. I'd feel
like a whore!"
"Take it," said Zhag. "You can eat for the next
month."
Tonyo frowned. "Can't we have a private arrangement, with no
money changing hands?"
The Sectuib explained, "The government will collect Zhag's
taxes, no matter what. We never used to do accounting inside the
Householdings - I've got couples who've been transfer partners for
years. But the new laws apply to everyone."
Tonyo reluctantly accepted the money, but did not put it away.
"It's your money," he said to Zhag.
"You earned it, Tonyo."
"Zhag, it's not right. We did it together - the way we
play music together. At least take half."
"Shen it!" Zhag snapped. "I'm beholden to you for my
life! Isn't that enough?"
Thea said, "Zhag! That's postsyndrome talking."
Zhag felt guilty at the boy's crestfallen look - but he also felt
the anger, along with a hundred other emotions he had been incapable
of expressing for nearly two years.
But Tonyo was in the grip of Gen postsyndrome, unable to feel bad
for more than a moment. "Zhag," he said, "I know it
bothers you to need me to stay alive ... but isn't it more important
that you don't need me to keep you from killing?"
At the boy's words - he felt it, no more doubt or
questioning. The most important thing was completely in his own
control. Zhag's mood flipped back to exhilaration, carrying him even
higher than he had been a moment ago. Tonyo grinned - and Zhag
realized it was in response to his own expression.
And when he thought his mood could not go any higher, Janine held
out the receipt form for Tonyo to sign ... and he saw the boy write
"Tonyo Logan." The Simelan version of his name. He's
going to stay! And Tonyo looked up at him as if he felt and shared
the overwhelming emotion it caused in Zhag.
The Sectuib left Thea and Janine to explain to Tonyo what to do as
Zhag's pent-up feelings surfaced.
"I know what Zhag requires," said Tonyo. "He'll work
it off on stage tonight." He turned a charming smile on Thea.
"Why don't you and Janine come to the performance?"
Zhag expected an automatic refusal - Householders did not frequent
shiltpron parlors - but to his surprise Thea said, "I can't
promise ... but I'd love to see you perform."
After a stop at Carre's refectory, where Zhag actually enjoyed
eating, they started walking home. Zhag had had to conserve energy for
so long, had been so weak, that he wanted to run - almost felt he
could fly. As his steps speeded, Tonyo scurried to keep up. "We
have time to get there," the Gen protested. "We don't go on
for nearly two hours."
"I'm ready to play right now," Zhag told him. And just
because he could, he turned cartwheels down the street, then
backflipped back to his Gen.
Tonyo laughed delightedly. "Are you gonna do that on stage
tonight?"
"Maybe. I don't know what I'm gonna do."
Tonyo watched him with a puzzled look. Out of the blue, he asked,
"Zhag ... how old are you?"
"Six," the musician replied.
"Oh. Well, how old were you when you changed over?"
Out-Territory Gens figured age from birth, Zhag remembered.
"Almost fifteen."
Tonyo was wide-eyed. "I thought you were at least my dad's
age. You're only four years older than I am!"
Zhag laughed at his astonishment. "I feel like a child - as if
I didn't even know the Kill existed."
Tonyo pondered for a moment. Then, very seriously, he said,
"That's because you gave it to me."
"Gave what to you?"
"The Kill," Tonyo replied. "During transfer. Thea
said you'd shen out if you felt Killmode, so I guess you made me feel
it instead. Was that your First Kill?"
"Tonyo, what are you talking about?"
The young Gen frowned. "I was Sime," he said,
"chasing a Gen through the woods. I caught it ... and I ...
killed it."
Zhag zlinned Tonyo's emotions, the rush of anticipation, the glee
at his victim's terror, the bliss of the Kill ....
"Shen," he whispered. "Tonyo, you can't know
those feelings!"
"I got them from you."
Zhag shook his head. "I've never hunted. All my Kills were ...
regulated." A chill ran up his spine. "It doesn't
matter," he decided, not wanting to know how a Gen could get such
a feel for Sime experience. "It was what you ... needed ... to be
able to give me that transfer. Lucky for me you have a vivid
imagination, yes?"
Tonyo nodded, accepting. How long would he continue to accept
Zhag's word, especially when the Sime had no idea what he was talking
about?
"Come on!" said Zhag, as they entered a lane overhung
with ancient oaks. He caught a branch, and swung from one tree to
another. When he hung upside down by his knees from the last one, he
finally got the laughter he wanted from his Gen.
"You're not even out of breath," said Tonyo. "I
could use some of that Sime energy for singing."
"You sing just fine." Zhag chuckled, landing on his feet
beside the Gen. "Tonight I'll be able to hear you without working
at it. I hope Thea can come."
"So do I," said Tonyo.
"You think she's after you, like all the others?"
"Not Thea!" Tonyo protested. "Can't you tell she's
in love with you? I knew it the minute I saw you together."
The Gen's words made Zhag feel warm. The ravages of disjunction
might not be erased with one good transfer, but -
Suddenly, his mind and heart were flooded with melody. Tonyo's
field responded in harmony, and Zhag laughed in pure joy. They were
about to create something unique - something he could never have
composed alone. "Come on, Tonyo!" he urged, eager to have
his instrument in his hands. "We have a new song to finish before
showtime!"
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