"Thank you," Zeth said uncertainly, but was rescued from further embarrassment by other people surrounding the Veritts.

The two boys hung back to let the crowd pass. Then Owen said, "I've got to find Pa."

"Why?" asked Zeth.

"Look at that wagon. Did you see the stack of messages? I want to go with Mrs. Carson. Living proof, Zeth! I want to see Gen Territory—and then I'll bring back messages. And I'll tell all the young people there how to get here if they have to.'' And he hurried off to find his father.

As Zeth watched him go, a strange, numb feeling spread through his body. It's just one trip, he told himself. He doesn't want to go over there to live.

But the sense of celebration had gone out of the day.

If only he wouldn't be so blame blasted Independent!

Zeth often found himself thinking that, angrily, in the days that followed. Ever since that day of the raid, he had given all his strength to making Owen fend for himself.

But as the days passed after Owen left Fort Freedom, Zeth began to realize what that meant. His friend, an adult Gen, had to leave him behind just as a Sime left his childhood friends behind. Zeth finally let the unthinkable thought surface. Will he stay in Gen Territory?

One day when Owen had been gone for two weeks, Zeth encountered Marji after lunch, sitting on the back porch. She was depressed, caught up again in the teachings of her former spiritual leader, Mr. Bron, who held that Simes were possessed by demons.

"Marji, it's turnover depressing you," Zeth told her. "I've seen Simes possessed by evil—those two who cut off Owen's arm. If you'd seen that, and compared them to people like your grandfather—"

A stern voice interrupted from the top of the steps. "What's going on out here?"

It was Kadi Farris. She came swiftly down the steps and sat on Marji's other side. "What's wrong, Marji? Turnover?"

Marji jerked her head in a reluctant assent, then began visibly relaxing as the field of a skilled Companion did its work. She asked in wonder, "How can you tell?"

"Gen secret, as Hank likes to say." She smiled the radiant smile Zeth loved. "Actually, Marji, I haven't the least idea how I do it—I just let it happen. Now, what has my insensitive son been doing to upset you so?"

Marji shook her head. "It's not Zeth. I expected to hear from home by now. I guess I'm afraid of bad news."

Zeth's mother said positively, "If Owen had been thrown out, he'd be home by now."

"If no one got him along the way," said Zeth gloomily.

His mother frowned at him. "I'd stake Owen against the Border Patrol any day!"

As his mother took Marji into the house, Zeth decided to take his new horse out for some exercise. He whistled for Patches and went out to the barn to saddle up.

The bay filly had been a birthday present from the Bricks, although it was Jana who had presented her, saying, "She's from Owen, too, you know." But Owen had missed Zeth's eleventh birthday party, and the surprise party for Abel Veritt, too.

Zeth had named the horse Star, thinking, Now I can keep up with Owen wherever he goes! And then he remembered Owen was an adult, and he was just a kid. It would be that way forever!

Zeth remembered how he had felt just before Owen left– the irrational, total conviction of his imminent changeover. That conviction, more than anything, had sustained him as Owen struck for independence. Now that certainty of impending changeover had deserted him, and he felt lost.

He walked Star out of the barn, then turned onto the road and gave her an easy warmup until they were cantering breezily along the road. Patches ran ahead or behind, darting off to chase rabbits, barking joyfully.

Zeth was deep in his own thoughts. This is why Dad always says it's bad to get too dependent on a certain person. Of course, Rimon Farris was referring to the dependence of a Sime on a certain Gen, or vice versa. But this is how it must feel. I'm afraid of losing Owen. In changeover class, they'd taught him that that was the way a Sime in need felt about a Gen he'd fixed on. It was what made a Sime attack, strip selyn by force from the Gen—and kill.

The specter rose before his eyes—Owen dead, white and drained falling from Zeth's own hands.

No! I won't.

The walls of Fort Freedom loomed before him, the gate lookout hailing him with a friendly wave. Unable to think of anything else, he said, "I came to talk to Mr. Veritt."

"He's at his house!" called the lookout, and Zeth walked Star on into the circle of clean, white houses. Mrs. Veritt was on her front porch, hemming a dress.

"Hello, Mrs. Veritt," said Zeth, getting down from his horse. "Is Mr. Veritt home?"

"Yes, but he's about to go into town," she replied, just as her husband came out.

"Hello, Zeth, can I help you with something?" Abel Veritt appeared completely recovered.

"I ... just wanted to talk."

"If it's something we can talk about on the road, how about riding into town with me?"

Zeth accepted eagerly—children were not allowed to go into the town across the creek except with an adult.

Slina, Mr. Veritt explained, had a Gen she didn't want killed. "It's getting harder on her every year," he said sadly. "Someone has to run the local pen, and Slina does it as humanely as possible. I suppose she can manage as long as there are those who have need of it." He abruptly changed the subject. "Well, Zeth, what did you want to talk about?"

If it's Marji's turnover, thought Zeth with sudden insight– "It's your turnover day! I'm sorry, Mr. Veritt!"

The old man smiled. "You're very sensitive, son. Usually no one notices but the channels. Let's talk about you, not me."

"But that's just it. Turnover. Need. I ... I don't think I want to be Sime!" It was out before he thought. If any Sime hated being in thrall to his selyn system, it was Abel Veritt.

As if reading his mind, the old man said, "Your father will see to it that you don't kill, Zeth. Then you'll learn control. Look at Del—not even your father notices Uel's turnover. Hank always knows, but I'm certain he just keeps count, as part of his job."

Hank and Uel. All his life Zeth had heard the two spoken of in one breath, like bread-and-honey. "But what if Hank died or something?"

"Merciful God!" said Veritt, pulling his horse up short, whitelipped with shock.

"I'm sorry," Zeth said hastily. He didn't know where his manners had gone. Things just came blurting out. "It's just that I don't see how anyone can be sure of anything in life." That wasn't what he meant to say, either. He bit his tongue, afraid to make it worse.

With studied calm, the old man urged his horse up beside Star. The hot summer sun glared down from a cloudless sky. A lark took flight and Patches ran off, barking merrily.

"I understand how you feel, Zeth," said Veritt quietly. "It's a feeling no Sime can escape save for a few blessed moments after—a transfer."

"It doesn't mean I'm going to be Sime, though."

"No," agreed Veritt, more readily than Zeth wanted him to. "There's no way to know that until the first sign of changeover, or establishment." He sighed. "You tempt me to my worst fault, son—presuming to know God's will. Yet He has allowed me to know it at times. He allowed me to recognize your father. Our community must have other such channels, and you may be one. My granddaughter is also a channel, though. She will require—and need—a Companion."

"She's getting along fine with Trina."

"For now. But if you should establish, Zeth, you'll inherit your mother's abilities. She brought your father to his current capacity. There is a direct relationship between capacity and sensitivity—ask Rimon to explain it."