The man in the bed was big and blond, like Owen—Zeth knew even before Owen exclaimed, "Uncle Glian!" that they had to be related. Only the eyes were different—this man's were hazel, not the startling blue of Owen's and Jana's.
Glian Lodge pushed himself up on the pillows, wincing at the pain from broken ribs. "Well, hi there, son. You're a hero, I'm told!"
"Not really," said Owen, and Zeth could zlin that the • thought surprised him. "Zeth saved Fort Freedom—and you, and all the others who came to help."
"Hell, a chance to shoot them slimy sons of—" He broke off. "Yeah—I know. All Simes aren't alike." He called to the man in the next bed. "Hey—Eph! Wake up and see who's here!"
"Hello, Mr. Norton," Owen said politely when the other man opened his eyes. His head was swathed in bandages, covering an array of painful cuts. Owen pulled Zeth forward to be introduced.
They had already exchanged the normal pleasantries when Lodge said suddenly, "Hey, wait!" His field jarred with startlement, and Zeth clenched his teeth and backed a step toward Owen. "You're the kid went into changeover—?"
"Yes, sir," he replied. "Don't worry—I won't hurt you. No Sime here would."
The Gen shook his head. "I'll be damned. You seem like any normal, healthy kid."
"I am," said Zeth, although he wasn't really a kid anymore.
Eph Norton stared at him. "Dear God," he whispered, and
turned his head away. Zeth felt the tears stinging the Gen's eyelids as he pretended to fall back to sleep. He remembered that the man had lost his son to changeover.
When Zeth and Owen continued toward the insulated hangings' Owen said, "Let me go first, and don't zlin until you look first. This is one shidoni-be-flayed experience to throw a new channel into. Let me shield you. No heroics.
Zeth nodded and followed Owen through the curtain. Each of the severely injured Gens was surrounded by heavy hangings cutting the fields to a shattered haze so the channels could work without interference. One of the compartments, though, throbbed with a ruddy glow that drew him helplessly, and when he pushed the hangings aside, he saw what he already knew: his mother, lying in the bed unconscious. Her field was so strong that he was surprised to see three other people there: Marji Carson in the channel's position beside the bed, Trina Morgan assisting her, and Marji's father, Lon Carson, watching his daughter work.
Owen started to pull Zeth back, but when he saw Kadi Farris he followed Zeth, his field marbled with concern and sympathy.
Marji looked up. "Your father said, you were home, Zeth. He was just in—Kadi came conscious for him."
"How bad—?"
"They were caught in the fire. Both of them have bad burns on their legs. Rimon threw himself over Kadi when the roof fell in—he has even worse burns. Kadi has lung damage from smoke—and your father says there are scars from another time."
"Gen raiders burned their first house down around them when they started to homestead here. Marji," said Zeth, "will she live?"
"Oh, yes! I'm sure. Rimon will be back later—she responds best to his field, but I can maintain her."
Zeth began to zlin his mother. She could hardly breathe. The burns on her legs were painful, but the dark anomaly of failing cells was in her lungs. Marji was projecting need, encouraging Kadi's cells to produce selyn—to live and work and sustain her—but his mother's field resisted full cooperation with the young channel's. As Zeth pored over what he zlinned, the fields became abstract designs, fascinating in their complexity. He allowed his own field to impinge on the
linked fields before him. Kadi's field responded—and then she became aware of her pain, crying out, "Rimon!"
"No, Mama, it's me—Zeth."
She turned to look at him. Her eyes were normally deep blue, but now pain had drained the color from them until they seemed almost gray. Her hair was dull with smoke and soot—she was faded, not the flaming-haired angel he remembered. Then she smiled, and was his mother again.
"Zeth. My baby. They told me—"
"Don't try to talk, Mama. Yes, I'm all right, and I'm a channel, like Dad."
"You feel like your father," she murmured. Zeth didn't know what to make of that, but didn't ask because he could see how it hurt her to talk. "... so proud of you," she whispered, and then could not stay awake any longer.
"She must be getting stronger," said Marji. "She could hardly talk to Rimon." Zeth let himself become duoconscious again, but could comprehend nothing more from Kadi's field. As he turned to go, he passed Lon Carson, who was projecting a savage pride as he watched Marji. His nager didn't interfere with her work. Probably Rimon had decided making Lon go would create a greater disturbance.
Owen held the hangings aside. "Zeth, can you hear me?"
"Sure."
"Well, listen! Stay with me and let me shield you—you can't go drifting off in a hospital!"
"All right, Owen," said Zeth with absolute intent as he followed along in Owen's wake . . . until the flow-pattern of the ambient nager became an irresistible lure. He turned around, caught in the intensity of ebbing and flowing energy.
This time Owen shook him impatiently. "Come on, Zeth, the channels will throw us out of here!" He led Zeth on to where, heavily shielded with many layers of drapery, the channels were treating the critically wounded patients. Zeth jolted back to hypoconsciousness when he zlinned that the body being carried out by Dan Whelan and Del Erick was dead. The bodies out in the field had not bothered him—but this one meant the channels had failed to save someone. Bron?
No, Maddok Bron had been laid on a table, still unconscious. Duoconscious again, Zeth perceived the fighting strength that denied Bron's state of depletion.
Two Mountain Chapel Gens with guns had accompanied
the party into the chapel. Their fields thrummed with suspicion as Rimon bent over the still form of their leader. "You gotta take the bullet out," one of the Gens insisted.
Zeth's surprise and revulsion were reflected in his father's field, and Rimon fought irritation, fatigue, and pain before he answered calmly, "Then he would surely die. Prying about inside the wound would start the bleeding again, just when I've managed to stop it."
"Whad'ya mean, you stopped it? You didn't do nothin'. We watched you the whole time."
Again Rimon gathered patience before replying, "I'm sure you're aware that Simes can sense a Gen's life force. Those of us who are channels can sense such things as the bullet inside Mr. Bron—and just as a Gen's field affects a Sime, a channel's field can affect a Gen. I'm afraid I can't explain further in terms you can understand." He paused. "How did this man get shot? There were no Simes with guns."
One of the men explained, "When most of the ranchers went down, we were ready to retreat. Mr. Bron wouldn't let us. He rode through the ranks to lead us—I think he must have gotten in the way of someone's shot. I don't think he knew he was hurt till the battle was over."
Rimon nodded. "A brave man. Now will you allow me—?"
Maddok Bron suddenly surfaced to semi-consciousness, flaring pain. Both Rimon and Zeth turned at once, and the Gens raised their guns by reflex. Owen moved to shield Zeth, who suddenly realized Rimon was working without a Gen. "Go help Dad," he urged.
Rimon motioned Owen back, saying, "No—he's so weak I shouldn't have any field interfering. I worked alone when I healed you, Owen. Stay with Zeth—he has no experience."
Bron was lying on his side. Rimon carefully placed his hands over his back and abdomen, the wound between them. One of the Gens gasped, "What are you doing?"
"If he moves, he could start bleeding again," Rimon replied. "He could go into shock. How can I make you understand that the best thing is to leave him here?"