"Owen's not there!" he gasped. "Slina—he's dead!"
"He ain't there don't mean he's dead. I'd stake Owen against them lorshes any day." Zeth remembered his mother saying the same thing, and took heart. Maybe he'd escaped.
Quickly, before the Gen soldiers stumbled on the massed
attack force, their little troop of counterfeit soldiers broke up into small groups and infiltrated the others. Without appearing to be bucking the tide, they worked their way toward the fort—and when they were close enough, the charge began.
Gen fear and astonishment permeated the plateau as the force of Simes and Gens appeared. Shots rang out, horns sounded, and the troops wheeled their horses and galloped back toward the gates, which were moving ponderously shut. Zeth could zlin Gens manning the walls, and saw puffs of smoke as they began firing. But some of their planted soldiers were inside by the time the gates closed.
Knowing Owen was not in the garrison made it easier for Zeth to do what he was supposed to: set up a field hospital outside range of those firing from the fort walls. Jimmy Norton, assigned to help Zeth, led up a pack horse and began unloading medical supplies as Hank and Uel set up the standard to mark the location of the channels for the Gens. Ironically, the flag they flew was one of the brand-new vivid green pennants from Slina's pens.
Already wounded were being brought in—mostly Gen soldiers who hadn't made it back inside the fort.
Then, even through the raging battle, Zeth caught the pain of the inevitable—the first kill. It came from inside the fort—one of the town Simes, then. Within seconds there was another—and then a roar of shock as the garrison exploded, shards of wood flying high into the air on a roiling black cloud. They'd blown the powder depot! With it went one side of the wall. Zeth could barely zlin through the shrieking Gen pain as men were torn to pieces or burned. Instantly, every Sime past turnover was shocked to intil, and the high-field Gen soldiers were plucked up and killed on every side.
Soldiers came billowing out of the fort, on horseback and on foot, their only chance now to attack swiftly and powerfully. At close range, their shots connected, and the hospital was suddenly busier than Zeth had yet seen. He worked, not allowing himself to think or he would sink into total despair. The kill raged around and through him, his heritage, his destiny. There was no way out. Owen was gone.
He worked numbly, glad now for the selyn the Mountain Chapel Gens had donated. He could heal a few more before he killed. Maddok, praying as he worked, was a rock Zeth could lean on—provided he didn't lean too hard.
Simultaneously, Zeth became aware of two facts. The first
was the fighting arrowing steadily toward the hospital. Bron said, "Dear God! They think the banner marks the command post!"
At the same time, a familiar nager approached from another direction, flickering as it moved between the rocky outcroppings. Owen!
Maddok started for the banner—obviously to tear it down. Zeth grabbed him. "No! Owen has to see it to find me!"
Bron stared at him as if Zeth had gone out of his head. "Owen's not here, Zeth—but I am—"
"No—he's coming. There!" He pointed to where Owen's bright hair could be seen shining in the sun as he dashed between two rocks, making his way down to the plateau. "And," added Zeth, "all the Gens have to be able to see where the channels are!
A few soldiers were driving directly toward the pennant. Zeth grabbed the ambient fields and sent up a shattering call for help. Nearby Simes fought loose and converged on the station to protect the channels. Mrs. Young, Hapen's mother, grasped one of the Gen soldiers who had made it almost to Zeth's feet, and killed. Zeth knew that he himself was poised to kill right now—that he would kill, without compunction, to save himself, or Owen, or anyone he loved.
As Owen's nager continued to work toward him, zigzagging to avoid the fighting, Zeth pulled his concentration down to healing one of the Mountain Chapel Gens. He had to let his own need pour through his nerves to get the Gen cells to produce more selyn, to heal themselves. He tried not to be aware of the long time Owen was taking, not to notice when the distant Gen's attention flicked to some battle scene before him. Slowly, the bleeding under his hands stopped. He gave Jimmy Norton a grim smile. "Bandage it," he instructed, and started to turn to the next patient when he saw and zlinned Owen, not a hundred paces away, caught on the opposite side of a mass of fighting.
Owen was watching Eph Norton and two burly soldiers. The soldiers closed on Norton, bayonets jabbing. Owen threw himself into the fight, knocking one of the Gens down while Norton rammed the butt of his gun into the other's jaw.
Zeth hardly felt the pain amid the scrambled ambient nager, and only realized he himself was in motion when Jimmy zipped past him at the highest level of augmentation.
The first soldier was on his feet again, slashing with his
sword while Norton parried with the clumsier gun. Jimmy leaped to his father's defense, flinging the sword from the soldier's hand with one blow to his wrist, and then even as the man was screaming in pain, grasped him in killmode. On a wave of augmentation, Zeth leaped on Jimmy, hauling him back with all his strength, shenning him out of the attack in pain that put Zeth helplessly into killmode himself.
Jimmy fell unconscious, and Zeth groped toward Owen– just as another soldier charged Zeth with his bayonet. Augmenting again, Zeth grasped the gun barrel, intending to fling it away—but he had forgotten the relative weights of Sime and Gen. The man stood rock solid until Zeth got his grip, and then he flung Zeth's lighter body right up into the air– and toward another man waiting with a sword to spit him!
Zeth twisted in midair to land on his feet—but as the soldier slashed at him he automatically grasped the man's right wrist with his left hand, twisting until he dropped the weapon. The soldier sought to throw a punch with his left hand, and Zeth grabbed that as well—and was holding the soldier in kill position while he flared horror.
Owen ran toward Zeth, trying to leap between them, but another soldier caught him in the stomach with his gun butt. It reached Zeth as the most exquisite flash of pain he had ever experienced. He was in killmode, the face before him already forming the rictus of fear as he reached for lip contact.
Owen, unable to move or even breathe, snatched his hunting knife from his boot and flung it straight into the back of the man
Zeth held. The Gen died in Zeth's arms before he could kill—the nager going flat and tasteless though still
replete with selyn.,
In a rage of denied killbliss, Zeth turned as another Gen field, high, warm, welcoming, closed on him. Pure predator, Zeth grasped and drew. He sought to slake his wakened yearning in true killbliss. But this Gen was giving—giving– He speeded his draw, already close to depleting the Gen field. He could still kill—drain—burn– Fierce joy spread through him as the Gen felt pain, then fear, and began to struggle.
Something in Zeth shifted. The searing need for Gen pain was gone. Though need was still there, he was filled with the joy of release.
Something slammed him duoconscious. The Gen fell away from his loosened grasp. In agonized protest, his dual system went into spasm. And then blackness closed over him.
Zeth came to, struggling to breathe, Owen's full weight crushing him. He was on his back on the battlefield, his hands pinned between their two bodies, against Owen's bare chest—this time Owen hadn't waited for help to give transfer when Zeth was unconscious. He'd torn open his shirt to let Zeth's laterals find contact. Somehow, it had worked; after the last trickle of termination, Owen lifted his head, smiling in relief to find Zeth looking at him. He climbed to his knees, his field ringing with triumph at overcoming his handicap. Zeth breathed deeply and managed, "Thanks."
The battle was skirling away from them now. Zeth knew he had tried to kill, but couldn't remember clearly why he hadn't. He sat up, ignoring the bruised feeling through his system. Del was bending over Maddok, who was unconscious and very pale. The other channel looked up at once. "He'll live, Zeth. It's just a burn. I zlinned the whole thing, but I couldn't reach you. You shenned yourself, thank God."