Del also studied him with an air of concern. "Zeth—don't deny your grief over your mother's death. It's not a time to put on a brave front, son."

"I'm not," said Zeth, quite astonished. Then they were moving out of the chapel, conversation becoming difficult as they worked their way through the crowd.

At the back, off to one side, stood the Raider boy, Jimmy Norton, his face streaked with tears. On either side of him stood tough Simes from town, but the boy didn't look in any shape to make trouble. Even a few months of the harsh Raider's existence had taken their toll. He was emaciated, his hair stringy, although he was well scrubbed and dressed in clean clothes. Zeth had overheard the women discussing how to rid him of lice.

As Zeth passed, Owen moved automatically to Zeth's left, as if to protect him—and the boy saw the stump of Owen's missing arm. A scream of utter terror broke from him.

"The one-armed Gen! The wer-Gen! Don't let him kill me!"

It was a wonder that the Raider boy's panic didn't cause a riot. Still radiating terror, he was hustled away from the vulnerable Simes. Wik broke out of the crowd, using his field to calm the boy.

Owen stood frozen until Zeth started after the boy in avid curiosity—then he ran after Zeth. Eph Norton headed toward his son, cut off by Abel Veritt and Del Erick.

The explanations came in the Veritt kitchen. Jimmy Norton was seated, Wik on one side and Hank Steers on the other keeping him steady enough to face Owen and explain, over half an hour's patient coaxing, why he was so terrified. Eph Norton listened, grim-faced, as his son told what he'd learned in his three months as a Freehand Raider.

"Everybody knows—even in the cities—that in Fort Freedom they live on Sime-kills instead of Gens," Jimmy blurted at last.

"How could they 'know' such a thing?" asked Abel.

"The town here used to be a good raiding stopover. Now everyone who comes to raid disappears!"

Under Abel's gentle prodding, Jimmy described the burgeoning reputation of Fort Freedom. "Yeah, we heard the way you give selyn to Simes—it ruins the"—he eyed his father—"appetite for the kill," he finished in Simelan, his nager sick with conflict.

Owen said, "It wasn't a channel who frightened you."

"Fort Freedom's Gens can't be killed. Everybody knows the Giant Killer Gen came from here. Your Gens can kill! Just a flick of their monstrous fields and—" He broke off, choking.

"Is that why," asked Abel, "the New Farris Homestead

was attacked last spring? Because people are afraid our Gens can kill—supernaturally?"

"Well—it certainly isn't natural!" Jimmy's eyes fastened on Owen's missing arm.

The silent tension stretched until suddenly Abel lunged with the swiftness of a killstrike, tentacles out, grabbing at Owen's bare neck. With a faint flicker of adjustment, Owen turned to Abel, holding the same warm compassion he gave Zeth.

Zeth came to his feet, every fiber resonating to Owen's betrayal. Before the feeling could take hold, Abel relinquished. He had never tried for lateral contact.

Only then did Zeth become aware of Jimmy Norton. The boy was also on his feet, the two Gens beside him still seated, holding him by their focused attention. Zeth understood. It was one of Abel's demonstrations, much more eloquent than words. Our Gens do not kill—nor do we.

Just then Marji Carson and Jord Veritt appeared, supporting Maddok Bron between them. Bron said, "Will one of you get me a chair, please? Eph—even though you and your son never joined our church, I want to help."

"Jord," said Abel, "bring in the big armchair for Mr. Bron. His counsel will be welcome."

Bron was settled and brought up to date. While they talked, Zeth watched Jimmy scanning the room. He looked from Abel to Jord, Wik, Hank, Uel, Eph, and then Zeth and Owen. His eyes skittered over Owen, but hungrily devoured everyone else with a sharp edge of hope.

Finally, Owen leaned forward and said, "Jimmy, we've never met before. Why are you afraid of me?"

"You can never be Sime again, can you? They turned you Gen so you could live without your arm—but—can they do that to anyone? Can they do it to me?"

Wik broke into giggles. "That's just silly!"

Zeth let his shock recede amid the laughter. Jimmy's awe reminded him so of how he'd felt when his father had announced Owen's establishment that Zeth said, "It does seem like magic, Jimmy, when the channels save people's lives. But it's not. Nobody can turn a Sime into a Gen—or vice versa."

"But he was in changeover when they cut his arm off!"

"No," said Uel and Jord almost in unison. Then Uel

added, "I was there, Jimmy. The tale has been exaggerated out of fear."

"I think I know how," said Owen. "The people who did it kept saying they wanted us to die in changeover. Someone overheard and misunderstood."

Wik nodded. "Uel's a channel;" he said reassuringly. "He'd know a changeover."

"What's a channel?" asked Jimmy, his nager calming.

As everyone gave his own definition, Zeth pondered a new thought. He had led Owen and Jana into the battle where Owen had lost his arm. So in a way he was responsible for the reputation that had brought the Freehand Raiders down on them.

Maddok Bron was saying, "Jimmy, you must understand. I am here only because these Simes do not kill. Ever."

All this time, Eph Norton had been sitting silently, on the brink of tears. Now he said, "Jimmy—oh, son, please listen to these people!" He turned to Uel. "Can you teach him to be like you? Can you . . . make him my son again?"

Uel looked to Abel, who said cautiously, "We can try. But, Mr. Norton, we cannot do it to him. Only if he wants to stop killing can we help. It's a long, difficult process."

Jimmy was staring at his father. "Papa—you want me as your son?"

"Of course I do! If I'd known this place existed, I'd have brought you here myself."

Zeth understood the rarity of Norton's attitude from Jimmy's tremulous hope, a hope the boy didn't quite dare feel.

"Jimmy—" Norton looked around. "I can't be alone with him?"

"It's not safe," said Uel.

"No, Papa, it's not," said Jimmy. "I can't—trust myself. That's the worst part—you go crazy, and then you wake up and you've lulled someone—"

In answer to Eph Norton's flare of horror, Abel said, "The Freeband Raider pattern. He's never been through a normal need cycle. Mr. Norton, we're doing our best to protect all the Gens from out-Territory. You will go home safely if you'll observe one precaution: always take a Sime's word if he tells you nor to trust him."

But as father and son wanted badly to talk, Jord and Wik accompanied them out. As the others rose to leave, Abel said,

"Stay for a moment, please. Maddok, there is something you urgently have to know. Do you feel up to it now?"

"Tell me, Abel," said Bron, settling back into his chair. Zlinning, Zeth decided he could take perhaps ten minutes of sitting up.

Abel steepled his fingers, tentacles retracted. "Maddok, we have not lied to you. However, you do not know the whole truth.

"I gathered as much, from what you said to Mr. Norton." His eyes were fixed on Abel's hands. "God will not hold you responsible for what you did before you knew there was another way. The important thing is that you have stopped killing."

Pain swirled through Abel's nager, but he looked straight into Bron's eyes. "No," he said quietly, "I have not stopped."

The only emotion in Bron's field was disbelief.

Abel went on softly. "I have been trying for nine years to live entirely on channel's transfer . . . but at least once each year—"

"It's a physical problem," Uel interjected. "Mr. Bron, no one who had been Sime for over a year when Rimon discovered how to channel has been able to disjunct—to stop killing."