"I like your place, but—if I stay, I want to live here in Fort Freedom," Hank said. "Willa does."
"Hank," said Abel, "let's not talk yet about your learning to give transfer as Willa does. First, decide if you want to stay on this side of the border at all. Remember, Willa learned from Rimon before she tried working with Jord."
The boy looked from Abel to Rimon and back again, his growing field a study in conflict. Then he turned to Biggie, put an arm around the dog, and leaned on him. The aching loneliness in that gesture pierced Rimon to the quick. There were tears in Abel's eyes, as he held back from reaching out. He'd give Hank up, let all his hopes go with him, rather than frighten him, let alone hurt him. Does Hank know that? Surely he couldn't turn away like that if he knew—if he only knew.
The birthday party was a huge success. The children played games while Del and Carlana and Rimon and Kadi saw to it that every child won some bauble from the collection the adults had pitched in to make.
Hank, suddenly elevated to adult status, didn't compete. Uel laughingly accused him of establishing just so he wouldn't have to be in the boys' obstacle race—which Uel won easily without Hank's competition. Rimon would have bet on Hank, who had gained strength as well as size this winter in the physical regimen of Fort Freedom's children—preparation for a hard pioneer life on the other side of the border. The hopes might have changed, but the training hadn't. However, Uel's teasing was tinged with envy; he'd grown up being told it was better to be Gen.
As everyone sat down to watch Owen and Jana cut the huge cake decorated with their names spelled out in small candies, Uel said to Hank, "It's not fair for you to establish before me. I'm older than you are."
"Only two months," Hank replied. "Maybe you'll establish soon. We could cross the border together." Rimon glanced around to be sure Abel couldn't hear. "Haven't I told you often enough? I really mean it, Hank. I'm going to stay here and learn to give transfer."
"You wait till everybody starts looking at you—and then not looking at you—that way! You could get killed."
"It's up to the Gen," said Uel. "Mrs. Farris has told you that the Gen keeps the Sime from killing. It's true, you know."
"Probably is," agreed Hank.
"Well, I'm going to learn. All the established kids are staying, Hank—if everyone leaves, how will our parents or our brothers and sisters learn not to kill? If your mom and dad had been Sime, wouldn't you want to be able to stop them from killing?"
"Len and Sordal and Anni—they haven't stopped anyone."
"Not yet. It's not easy—but look at Mrs. Farris and Willa Veritt I figure if Willa can learn it, so can I. My mom and dad—they're not my mom and dad, you know."
"Huh?"
"My real father was my dad's brother. He and my mother were killed in a Gen raid when I was a baby—I don't remember them at all. But Mom and Dad took me in and raised me as their own son. Do you think I'd repay them by crossing the border when I establish? I saw Willa give transfer to Jord on their wedding day. That's what I want to do."
Rimon saw Hank look down the table to Abel and Margid. Perhaps he was realizing at last how much love they had to give a homeless boy who gave them nothing in return but hope.
They were seated at a distance because they had both passed turnover. Rimon had reduced the fields of the other three Gens, so they could mingle freely at the party, but Hank's field had climbed to a bright beacon, rivaling Willa's and even apparent against Kadi's nager. Thus the Simes of Fort Freedom had assumed their Farewell Ceremony configuration, with only those most recently satisfied coming anywhere near Hank.
Except for Rimon, of course. He was just below mid-field, but had to think twice to recall where he was in his cycle. Recently, noticing that need didn't clamor at him even when Kadi wasn't nearby, he'd decided that the secret was security: he knew she'd be there, and so his fears were slowly receding. If only Jord would hurry up and reach this stage…
But Jord was on the ragged edge of need today, carefully avoiding Hank and the other Gens, but spoiling Willa's fun by refusing to stay with her as she helped the smallest children. Each time she'd get involved, Jord would wander off, and Willa would have to leave the children she loved to go after him.
Jord is paying for another of my bright ideas, thought Rimon. The month before, when Jord became edgy and started avoiding Willa, Rimon had suggested that they have their transfer a day early. The result was not a disaster, but Jord had come from the transfer high-field, yet with a sense of being shorted. So this month they were letting his full cycle run out.
Rimon knew he ought to send them home for transfer now, but he wondered if he could persuade Jord. Abel probably could, so Rimon got up and headed toward the low-field Simes at the end of the table. The children, having eaten their cake, were starting to move away from the tables, but Hank and Uel remained talking together, Hank's field a flare Rimon could keep pinpointed without trying.
He glanced over to the table where Kadi and Willa were cleaning up the smallest children before turning them loose to fingerprint the chapel. Jord stood back, watching impatiently, but at least he wasn't leaving Willa's sphere of influence. With grim humor, Rimon noted how Willa carefully kept herself between Jord and Kadi. Jord was not going to be allowed to slip up again, if Willa had anything to do with it.
Secure that Jord and Willa were safely placed, Rimon turned to Abel, leaning close so that his words wouldn't alarm anyone nearby. "Abel, can you help me get Jord and Willa to go home?"
"They shouldn't be here at all," said Abel, "but there was no way to keep Willa away from a party for the children."
"What's wrong?" Margid wanted to know.
"Nothing," Rimon replied. "We just think—"
"Rimon!" Margid interrupted him. "Jord!"
Rimon zlinned Jord headed out of the chapel. Well, at least he was going away from any Gen here. Before Rimon could move, Willa called, "Jord!" and started after her husband.
Jord stopped when Willa called his name. Then, to avoid her, he began weaving back through the scattered tables and chairs in the center of the chapel, moving with Sime agility that Willa couldn't match. She plowed through, shoving tables and chairs out of her way, and at the clatter both Uel and Hank rose, easing out of the path of the chase.
Rimon couldn't allow a disaster this time; he shot down an aisle of tables, vaulted over one, and came up behind Jord just as he approached the two boys. He zlinned curiosity more than fear from Hank—until Uel grabbed Hank's arm, saying, "Get behind me!"
A lot of good that will do! The thought had hardly formed in Rimon's mind when Uel's good intentions erupted in startlement from Hank, followed by real fear as Jord turned toward him.
Rimon lunged for Jord and spun him into Willa's arms as she panted up to them. From the opposite side, at the same instant, Abel came seemingly out of nowhere to grasp Hank by the shoulders and pull him back out of harm's way.
Willa grasped Jord's arms, and with a flick of her field threw him into helpless need—shocking every Sime in the chapel but immediately damping any effect as she attacked Jord with her own need to give, assuaging his pain, filling the bleak void in him, easing away all his tensions in one outpouring.
Rimon was so close, so involved, that the sudden strong surge in the fields made his head spin. He felt the effect on Abel, equally close, still tensed against Hank's momentary fear. Now Abel, nearly blacking out with the effects of the rapid nageric shift, sagged, leaning his whole weight on Hank.
The boy turned, gasped, "Abel!" and caught him before he could fall, then eased him onto the bench where he and Uel had been sitting, supporting him physically and nagerically.