Bright ones far away made the nearby one seem the answer to everything. She reached for that ball of brightness. It withdrew slightly, and that shattered the dreamy state. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted, and she went for it.
Her tentacles lashed themselves about the bright Gen flesh, the four handling tentacles on each of her arms securing the grip so the laterals would not be dislodged.
Once she had the grip, the Gen yielded willingly. Selyn blasted into her consciousness for the very first time, and she surrendered to the reflexive draw, slaking the dark need that macerated her insides.
As she forced selyn to come faster, there was a sharp flash of searing white overload. The selyn changed, became harder and hotter, like a scream of delicious fright, as the Gen resisted. It cut through to her and lit up her innermost being with the exultation of Self over Other: sheer egobliss. But before it was enough, the selyn flow cut off abruptly. Ice-cold needles of pain showered through every cell of her body. She came to bare consciousness, dimly aware of the limp weight sliding from her wet, pain-weakened tentacles.
One framed moment etched into her consciousness: the Gen officer's head lolling to one side, mouth agape, eyes staring.
Then tentacles sought hers, her need still shrieking through her nerves, worse for being thwarted of satisfaction by the Gen who died too quickly. She yielded to the source of selyn that folded her in a bubble of blurred fields—a feeling of utmost privacy and bottomless selyn.
She began to draw again, seeking to re-create that moment of peak overload. A moment of struggle for control, and the instant of ego-bliss was on her again—but oh, so briefly.
She came to awareness again, the stinging rain, the cold bright lights, the surging hiss of rain blurring speech, the scratch of her clothing against her arms, all claimed her full attention. The glowing fields around people had disappeared.
The corpses of the people she'd killed slumped on the pavement frozen in grotesque positions.
She was renSime, never to be Gen, never to participate in the channel's service. She might have lived with that, but now she was also junct. The Gen who'd offered her transfer had known her to be only a renSime, and had been unafraid until her draw had built relentless pain, nerve burn and death. The Second Order channel had understood only that a Farris renSime had killed and still needed. He had not anticipated that her draw speed could kill him. Had he been prepared, he could have aborted on her—but, out-Territory, he had not even considered such a possibility.
That trip out-Territory had been the last time Laneff had prayed to get something she wanted, the last time she had dared to want something so urgently that she cast aside all thought of consequences. The price of getting what she wanted had been just too high.
Wakening, she nestled against the massive Gen nager, letting it fill her core with brightness so she could feel as if she were herself Gen, could sense her own selyn building outward in pulse after pulse of clean, sharp energy in eternal abundance.
Clinging to that illusion, she could admit to herself that her First Kill was still her standard of excellence, her standard of satisfaction by which she measured all other experiences. Small wonder Jarmi fell short, as did every channel who'd ever served her. Even the kill of the terrorist had not been the same. She had not gone at him with that same freedom from considering his feelings and the consequences.
Shanlun was right. What I achieved in disjunction has held. She knew that in two weeks, she would again go through turnover into need and become a threat to any Gen who couldn't handle her. She had nothing but her naked will to keep her from the kill, and for a renSime that just wasn't enough. The craving for killbliss would drive her at any Gen who experienced pain or fear, or who dared to offer her selyn, as that Gen officer had. In need, she would not dream of channels anymore, she'd dream of Gens—in deathscream. And if that's not junct, then what is? I must be careful.
Shanlun's arm circled her, heavy with sleep, possessive. Fully awake now, she heard a distant roaring, and zlinning she discerned a nageric turmoil to match the roar.
She sat up, shaking the Gen. "Shan! Something's wrong!"
He mumbled, then wakened smoothly. "What? What is it?"
She scrambled to dress. "Can't zlin much through these walls, but our corridor is full of people in battle dress!"
He struggled into his clothes. "Could be the Diet attack. What time is it?"
"Four twenty-three," she said, heading for her own office to grab up the copies of her notes she'd prepared for just this emergency.
The two of them were halfway to the lab entrance when the door banged open and shut behind Azevedo and the four gypsies. At the same moment, the speakers came on with a squawk and electronic howl. Then a coded horn call played twice through before it was cut off in midnote.
In the silence, Azevedo said, "That means the Diet has broken into the warren. Yuan has ordered all his people up onto the surface. He's prepared to blow this place up."
"Then what are you doing here?" asked Laneff. "This is a dead end." But that was irrelevant. "Never mind, we can get out through the hangar. There may just be time enough!"
She led them back into the corridor where the mob scene had abated. There were sounds of fighting in the distance, and the occasional blunted thud of an explosion. "If they get into the selyn batteries, we'll be in the dark!" said Laneff.
Behind her, the Gens linked up with the Simes, prepared to keep moving even in sudden darkness. She stopped beside Azevedo at the intersection with the main corridor. People were running, dressing as they moved. The fighters on watch were no doubt engaging the Diet raiders. These were the noncombatants and the Simes too close to need to be thrown into a melee against Gens.
Laneff pulled Shanlun up beside Azevedo, giving them directions to the hangar exit. "Stay with him, Shan. I've got to go make sure Jarmi woke up. She sleeps like a stone." And there was now a tang of smoke in the recirculated air.
She took off, weaving among the Gen figures, augmenting slightly. She'd gotten new shoes since her disastrous slip on the tile floors. And these floors were composition, not as slippery or noisy. But still she moved with utmost caution. Before long, she became aware of Shanlun behind her—and Azevedo with his gypsies strung out in a line behind them all. She shrugged. There was no time to argue.
Jarmi was dressing when Laneff arrived, and the Gen took time to ask the irrelevant questions Laneff had avoided. Exasperated, Laneff grabbed Jarmi's wrist and towed her out the door. "Didn't you hear the evacuation horn? Move!"
With the Gens to consider, Laneff couldn't augment. She had to move at their speed. The air was choked with smoke now. The fans were off, producing an ominous silence.
Laneff guided them to the branch that let them out near the hangar and its wide exit. But here the ceiling had fallen in, dust thickening the air. Coughing, they retreated.
"I don't know all the emergency exits," confessed Laneff. They hadn't trusted her completely yet.
Jarmi had her bearings now, and still gasping from the long run, said, "I know a way. Here!" She opened a side door into a storeroom and led them into darkness. The lights refused to come on, and Laneff took Jarmi's arm, saying, "Which way should be out?"
"Straight across, there's a door into another storeroom that opens off Corridor Q-12, Sipples-Bay."
"I don't zlin any other door," said Laneff, scanning.
Azevedo moved to their right. "I do. This way."