Abel's personal plans for a new life, Rimon knew, rested more each day on Hank Steers. Finally convinced that he was not yet Gen, Hank had announced that he would remain in Fort Freedom—at least until he established or changed over. He and Uel had become fast friends, spending most of their leisure time out with their dogs. There was a friendly rivalry, as Hank tried to make his puppy behave as well as the mother dog Uel had trained. Biggie, as Hank named him, served another function, as well. Although Hank no longer shied away from Simes, his attitude made it clear he'd rather not be touched—but he would hug Biggie and tumble with him, and as the winter progressed and the dog grew, he'd lie by the fire in the evenings, studying, his head pillowed on Biggie's shaggy flank.
Rimon worried that Abel was too attached to the boy. The way Hank avoided anything warmer than courtesy with the Veritts suggested that if he established, he planned to go straight over the border. And what would happen to Abel's hopes if he changed over?
He decided to ask Abel. "What if Hank turns out Sime?"
"Do you mean, will I stop loving him, the way I did with Jord? Rimon, I've no intention of repeating the gravest mistake of my life. If Hank changes over, I'll have to help him accept that fact, and go on from there—as all the rest of us have done. It will be difficult for him, and—it will virtually force him to join our ranks. I'd prefer that he had a free choice in the matter, but if it's God's will– have you noticed some sign of changeover in him, Rimon?"
"The way he's shooting up and filling out, I think he'll establish before the. winter's over. But I'm not infallible. Nobody can call it before it actually happens, you know." Abel sighed. "Yes, we can only wait and pray." Waiting and praying were the order of business at Fort Freedom that winter. The carefully tended kitchen gardens provided enough food for the tables, and there was wood to chop for fuel, but there was little beyond necessities. As the flax crop had been so poor, there was not even the steady whir of spinning wheels that ordinarily vibrated through the winter evenings—and in the spring, there wouldn't be cloth to sell.
There was some wool from a small herd of sheep, and Abel decided to add to the flock as soon as finances permitted. When Kadi saw Margid knitting, with hands only and just two needles, she said, "But that way is so hard and slow! Mama always used four or six needles."
Margid extended her tentacles and flexed them curiously around the needles. "Can you teach me, Kadi?"
"I wish I could! But Mama couldn't teach me until I got tentacles—and I didn't. Doesn't anybody here know how?" But none of Fort Freedom's women had had Sime mothers; they knew only the Gen method, which Kadi promptly set out to learn. She also asked Slina to teach Margid the Sime method—without consulting Margid first. Slina and Kadi just turned up one afternoon, and Rimon realized only then where Kadi had gone.
Margid was properly embarrassed, but Slina would brook no denial. "Shen—almost a year since you folks bailed me out, and what have you let me do for you?"
Put that way, the lessons could not be refused, and soon every woman in Fort Freedom was even busier making warm clothes for her family. Rimon recalled his own plans to run some sheep on the rocky ground he couldn't till– but so far he hadn't been able to afford any, so his two goats had the land to themselves.
It was another snowy winter, but no one complained– it would mean a good runoff in the spring, and water in the streams all year. However, aside from Fort Freedom's Year's Turning ceremony, there was another date that everyone hoped would be free of hazardous weather. Del Erick was throwing a birthday party for his children.
"A what party?" Rimon asked him.
"It's a Gen custom. Carlana told me about it. They don't have changeover parties, of course. They celebrate the day a child is born—I guess because Gens can't tell when they establish." It was actually Jana's third birthday, but since neither child had had a birthday party before, they decided to include Owen in it, too. "Maybe we'll make it an annual affair," said Del.
As the plans grew, they couldn't decide where to draw the line on the guest list. Soon no one in Fort Freedom could be excluded, so the party was moved to the Fort's chapel, cleared and set up with tables for food, games for the children, and plenty of room for parents to come and watch.
A few days before the big event, Rimon was at Abel's when Hank arrived home from school. "Brrr! It's cold out there!" he announced as he shucked his coat and headed for the fire. Biggie, loping in behind him, paused politely to shake the snow off his coat at the door before he proceeded to track wet pawprints across the clean floor.
"Hank," said Abel, "you've been told before about tracking in snow. There's a broom on the porch."
"Yes, sir," replied Hank. "But it's cold! I'll clean it up." He pulled off his boots and set them by the fire to dry, padding toward the kitchen with Biggie behind making more tracks.
Rimon didn't laugh out loud, but Abel looked over to him with an apologetic shrug. Hank returned, shivering, and began wiping up the melting snow. Slowly it dawned on Rimon that Hank shouldn't be shivering as he worked before the fire. Concerned, he zlinned the boy—and discerned the first faint trace of selyn production. Yes, he had seen that symptom before—in a Gen establishing in cold weather, there were sometimes chills as the body adjusted. "Hank," he said, "you look chilled through. Why don't you go have a cup of tea?"
"That sounds good. Would you like some?"
Both Abel and Rimon agreed, but the moment Hank was out of the room Abel asked, "Is something wrong?"
"Not at all. He's establishing, Abel."
"Thank God!" Abel closed his eyes, holding himself rigid, and Rimon knew the conflicting emotions his beliefs caused the older man. With a shudder, Abel said, "Thank you for not telling me in front of him, Rimon. He must make his own choice—not be influenced by my desires."
Hank returned with the tea, carefully proffering the cups so that neither Abel nor Rimon would have to touch him. Then he sat down before the fire and sipped gratefully at the hot tea. "I can't seem to get warm today!"
"Do you know why you're cold, Hank?" asked Rimon.
"Maybe I'm catching cold. Things smell funny. The tea sure tastes good though—guess I'm learning to like it."
"Hank," Abel said very softly, "you've begun to establish."
A wild stab of joy, fear and disbelief went through the boy. "Then—I'm a Gen!"
"Definitely," said Rimon. "Congratulations, Hank." It was what one said to a changeover victim. It was the first time Rimon had congratulated a Gen upon establishment.
"But—?" Hank stared from Rimon to Abel. "What should I do?"
As Abel regarded the boy, Rimon noted with relief the older man was pre-turnover and as stable as he ever was.
"Hank," said Abel, "you must decide what to do with your life. Pray for God's guidance."
"You don't think I should give thanks for not being Sime?"
"You might give thanks for reaching adulthood healthy and free."
Hank frowned. "You really will let me go, won't you? Even though you were hoping I could somehow teach you not to kill?"
"If it's what you want, Hank, I'll arrange a Farewell."
"I—I don't know! I've never been so confused in my life."
Rimon remembered Kadi's fear and depression, as she had contended with the effects of establishment. The other Gens had shown some signs, too—but none of them had faced such turmoil as either Kadi or Hank. "Don't try to decide at once," said Rimon. "You're undergoing changes that influence your emotions. For now, you're perfectly safe—your field is so low that most people won't even notice it for a day or two. Stay here until the birthday party. Then, I think you should come out to stay with me until you make up your mind."