"That's it, except for the three Raiders we captured. Two died in the night, but the kid's still alive, screaming with disorientation. Without fosebine or a Companion to spare, there's nothing to do for him but confine him in that back room. Oh, yeah—we'll have a problem in the Gen ward with Hapen Young's transfer burn. His last dose of fosebine will wear off about noon, and he'll have that sick headache for days."
"But, thank God, he survived," said Abel, adding for the benefit of Glian Lodge and Lon Carson, ' 'Hapen established as a Gen only six weeks ago. He hadn't even donated to a channel yet, but he somehow managed to keep from resisting when one of the Raiders got to him."
"Resisting?" asked Lodge.
"That's how Gens get killed," Uel explained. "They resist
letting a Sime take their selyn, and the forceful drain burns out their nervous systems. Maybe we can move some insulating curtains from around Maddok Bron to insulate poor Hapen."
"How is Mr. Bron?" asked Zeth.
"Your father brought him through the immediate crisis. If we can keep him from dying of secondary infection, he'll recover. Abel, work with him, all right?"
"What can I do? I'm no channel."
"You can pray with him. You speak his language. Oh, yes, someone ought to be keeping a close eye on Bekka Trent. She'll be approaching crisis soon."
"I'll remind people," said Abel.
The grim statistics soaked through Zeth's numbness. Fort Freedom might not survive. There just weren't enough channels.
When Uel had gone, Del Erick reported that both the New Farris Homestead and his own home had been set afire. The stone walls of the New Homestead were still standing, but the outbuildings were gone. "My horses, and Fort Freedom's sheep and cattle, are scattered all over the range. I set some of my men to milking the cows that had come back to the New Homestead—they didn't much care for the job, but we've got Gens and children to feed."
"Good work, Del," said Abel. "Shelter is a problem. We've lost the town, your place, and Rimon's. We have what's left of Fort Freedom, and the Old Homestead. It seems best to rebuild right here before the winter really sets in—and try to keep the mixture of people stable by shuttling some out to the Old Homestead."
Zeth noted the careful wording. Obviously, no one had informed their rescuers from out-Territory that mingled with the Simes who didn't kill were those who had to kill occasionally, and those from town who killed every month.
Lon Carson said something similar to what Zeth had been thinking when he resurfaced into awareness. "We can spare some supplies, maybe even a milk cow."
"We can contribute," said Glian Lodge for the ranchers. "Owen, the next time you—"
Zeth managed not to squirm, and Owen quickly answered, "I won't be crossing the border anymore, Uncle Glian. But we'll find other couriers, and you're always welcome here."
Zeth's blur of relief ended only when the ambient nager shifted with the departure of Lodge and Carson. Then the
group around the table could tackle the most serious problem: the lack of Gens for those who had to kill.
Slina's Gens had been brought to Fort Freedom before the attack and sheltered in three houses near the wall. Their nager had attracted the Raiders; they had smashed the wall and killed more than half the Gens by setting fire to the houses to drive them out. Others had died in the fires. "We got a two-week supply left," said Slina. "That's a two-week normal supply. Sick Simes, they need extra kills. Abel, we'll be out in ten days, easy."
"How long—?"
"I sent Risko over to Ardo Pass this morning. Ol' Mack owes me a favor, but no way is it gonna stretch to a month's supply, 'specially this time of year."
"Then," said Abel very quietly, "until you have replenished your supply, we cannot allow any Gens to be killed."
"Hey, now," Slina began, "there's no way—!" Then she stopped. "You mean everybody should—? The channels—?"
"Slina, that is the only way—unless you want to see Simes mad with need cross the border to kill the very people who just saved our lives?"
"Shen," she murmured, staring at her tight-clasped hands, handling tentacles wrapped protectively around them. "I don't think I could stand—" Her field ached with revulsion.
'No one is asking you to disjunct," said Abel. "This is a severe emergency. Everyone must accept channel's transfer once, twice at the most. But we must have your permission to have the channels draw selyn from your Gens today—that way, they'll produce a new supply. And we must have your cooperation in persuading the townspeople."
"You gonna try to convince 'em to take up your ways?"
"Slina," Abel said gently, "have we ever tried to persuade you?"
"Naw," she admitted. "That's why I trust you with my kid." She sighed. "It gives me the creeps to think it. But if anybody knows how hard it is to be sure everyone who needs a Gen can get one, it's a Gendealer. Shen and shid! This coulda happened at least five times since Rimon come here, 'cept you people come and healed my sick Gens and stretched the use of healthy ones. I owe you. The townspeople owe you. I'll convince 'em. Go ahead and have the channels take all the selyn they can from my Gens." But Zeth could feel her horrified shudders as she made the commitment.
When the meeting was over, Zeth and Owen went to the chapel, where Rimon was shielded in one of the back rooms. In the other room was the young Freehand Raider. Being moved while unconscious had distorted his Sime sense of precisely where he was in the world—the new sense Zeth had awakened to that very morning. Owen put his arm about Zeth's shoulders as they passed, to be sure Zeth did not get caught up in the boy's nager.
Owen remained precisely at Zeth's left shoulder as they entered Rimon's room. Channel and Companion, they could thus refrain from disturbing the nageric balance of the sickroom.
Rimon Farris lay unconscious, Uel Whelan beside him, while Hank Steers lay sound asleep on a pallet on the floor. Yet even in sleep Hank's field was a steady support for Uel.
With the dirt and soot washed off his face, Rimon appeared dead, pale, his breathing so shallow as almost not to disturb the covers that were heaped across his middle. His blistered legs were smeared with shiny salve. Pain penetrated even Rimon's unconscious state.
Last night Rimon had been vigorous, animated. Now Zeth could find almost no trace of his father in what he saw or what he zlinned. Zeth had been relieved to find Fort Freedom still standing and all the channels alive and working,, but he realized as he watched the still form of his father, The battle isn't over; it's just begun.
Wishing he could help, but glad Uel was there to take the responsibility, Zeth moved closer, automatically sliding into healing mode. Uel said, "Zeth—where did you learn that?"
"From Dad, last night."
"Of course. Someone said they put you right to work, poor kid. And we'll have to work you some more. We're out of almost all our medicines—Mr. Lansing brought his last aloe plant for Rimon's burns. He and Len Deevan are going out to the Old Homestead to harvest mushrooms today. Then they'll head down south to sell them for medicines and herbs. In the meantime, all we've got are channels."
"What do you want us to do, Uel?". asked Owen.
"Relieve Jord. He's going to' try to give a couple of transfers this morning—after that, do as much as you can with the Simes. Owen, you keep Zeth doing what he's assigned, and not trying anything else."
"We'll manage," said Zeth, trying to hide his apprehension.
Just as they came out of Rimon's room, Glian Lodge
emerged from the main room of the chapel, half leading Eph Norton. "Owen," said the rancher, "can you show me the Deevan house? They told us we could stay there."