Still, Zeth was busy. When he was done he stopped to see his father again. Rimon had fallen into a coma-like sleep, completely unnatural for a Sime. Abel said, "He used to get like this before he disjuncted," the gloom in his nager contrasting with the guarded hope of the channels.
Zeth and Owen had begun work before dawn that morning, and it was hours after dark when they got back to the Veritt house. Owen barely managed to eat supper without falling
asleep. Zeth put him to bed, and slept for a few hours, waking after midnight, wanting a cup of tea.
Zeth went down the hall, and was about to enter the main room when he suddenly realized there were two people in it: Sessly Bron and Jord Veritt. She was seated in Abel's big armchair; he was sitting on the rug at her feet, his head resting against her knees. Her hand was on his shoulder, and he had placed his hand over it. They were sitting very, very still, completely absorbed in one another. And Sessly was low-field.
"... and if he dies trying to disjunct," Jord was saying, "who will hold Fort Freedom together? I can't. I never could, and now as a channel, I'm too busy. I'm not even a very good channel," he added bitterly.
"Of course you are!" said Sessly. "I couldn't have donated to anyone else, Jord. Not after what you did today—to save my life."
"You should never have been in danger from me! I'm a channel—I'm supposed to give life, not take it."
"Jord, you refused to—"
"You don't understand, Sessly. I didn't kill today—but I'll come into crisis again, and then I'll—"
"No!" she said, leaning down, her arm across his chest, holding him tightly. "Never again, Jord. We'll keep the demon off."
"It feels like a demon," Jord said. "I used to believe in demons—but—oh, it would be so easy . . . !"
"Believe it!" she whispered fiercely. "Let me help you!"
"No," he said flatly, but Sessly obviously felt what Zeth could zlin: there was no conviction whatsoever in the word.
Grasping control of his show-field, hoping that Jord was too involved in his own thoughts to notice him, Zeth retreated silently to the room he shared with Owen. There he wrapped himself in a blanket and sat down, getting madder by the minute. If Jord were tempted to abdicate responsibility for his actions, how could other juncts resist Maddok Bron's claims? No one would ever disjunct again. His frustration grew until Owen turned restlessly, mumbling in his sleep. Then Zeth turned his mind to ways to disprove the theory. But who will listen to me?
One eager listener was Jimmy Norton. In fact, the next day Jimmy sought Zeth out, promising to break the habits he had learned among the Freehand Raiders. He had been wasting
selyn augmenting, making a nuisance of himself. Ever since Fort Freedom had been built there had been a firm rule: no augmenting within the gates. Bowling over Gens or children in a fit of high spirits was not to be tolerated.
But after Bekka's disjunction, Jimmy was a different person. "Zeth, I want transfer from you from now on."
"Jimmy, we've got you scheduled for Jord, because–"
"I know why, and I don't want that! Please, Zeth, help make it safe for me to be around my father or my sister without three other people to grab me if I try to kill one of them!" He blinked back tears. "I'm never going to kill again. I swore that with Mr. Veritt. I want to be like you, Zeth. Oh, God, how I wish—" He broke off, setting his jaw firmly. "It's my responsibility. Bekka decided not to kill—I zlinned it all. If she can do it, I can do it."
"I'll do everything I can to help you, Jimmy," said Zeth, thinking, If a Freehand Raider can disjunct by his own will, that should prove there Is no demon.
Even with Jimmy Norton on his schedule, Zeth's simulation of killbliss did not improve, creating great difficulties in juggling the schedule. He could handle the sheer numbers of transfers his father had, but he could not satisfy all his father's clients.
"You're afraid of the kill," said Owen after another session in which the complaint had been raised against Zeth. "Why are you so frightened? You won't be tempted to kill. Even if you were, you don't think I'd let you?"
"I don't require you to keep the demons away," Zeth snapped.
"Come on, Zeth—you know that's superstition. It's like Abel said: you take care of other Simes, and I take care of you. It all works out equally between Simes and Gens."
"No, Owen. It leaves Gens running things because they control the channels. I don't want you controlling me!"
"I'm not—"
"Oh, yeah? Don't tell me you don't know what you're doing right now, trying to calm me down when I don't want to calm down! I want to think. Why don't you just run along and see Sue Norton? I'm going to visit my father."
The Nortons were back again, along with Glian Lodge, all staying with Del Erick. Del, however, was in Rimon's sickroom, high-field—the visit of his Gen guests was timed for that—and therefore no irritation to Rimon. Zeth had noticed
how carefully Del timed his visits, and how faithfully he came, despite Rimon's indifference.
"You should have zlinned Glian when Jana cut those horses out for him!" he was telling Rimon proudly. "He said he's never seen a girl ride like that. Of course she explained to him just how she selected the best stock." He chuckled. "He said he'd like to replace his wrangler with Jana." He looked up. "Hi, Zeth. Where's Owen?"
"Over at your house. I don't have to have a watchdog every minute!"
"Hey," said Del, "nobody said you did. I was just asking about my son. What's wrong, Zeth?"
Rimon seemed not to have noticed either Del's conversation or Zeth's entrance. Anni Steers was sitting on the other side of the bed, her attention focused on her knitting so as to be ,as unobtrusive as possible. Zeth recalled that she was pregnant again—and Uel teasing Hank about how he had found time to accomplish that feat. It never seemed to bother Uel to rely on Hank—in fact, now that he thought about it, even the way people referred to them was different. Rimon and Kadi. Zeth and Owen. Marji and Trina. Always the channel first—except Hank and Uel.
The silence stretched until Zeth blurted, "I'm tired of Owen pushing me around."
"Does he?" asked Del. "Just to exercise power?"
"No," Zeth admitted. "He thinks it's for my own good."
"Maybe he's a little tactless? Should I talk to him, Zeth? I can't fully understand the relationship between a channel and his Companion, but often an outsider can help when someone too closely involved can't."
But Zeth couldn't explain. Owen wasn't tactless. He was just supremely confident . . . and Zeth wasn't. He found himself saying exactly that to Del.
"And why do you think that is?" Del asked.
"Because Owen has faced death," Zeth realized, "and I haven't. I thought I had when I was trapped in the stable at Mountain Chapel but I didn't really come close to dying, because of Owen."
Del smiled. "And so you resent Owen's ability to take care of you. I can remember Rimon and Kadi arguing over the same problem." He looked hopefully toward Rimon, his field ringing with expectancy, but Zeth's father did not respond.
"Dad's getting worse," said Zeth.
"It's chronic need. Get one good transfer into him—"
"Who's going to do it?" Zeth demanded. "Owen's his only match!"