you, and at the same time addict your friend to the kill. Come for me, Uel Whelan, or lord Veritt."

If Zeth inherited his father's capacity for selyn storage, he would also inherit his voracious need–beyond the capacity of any

Companion except Kadi Farris. "That means you could kill even a Companion, Zeth," his father had warned him grimly.

"Not burning out his system drawing against fear, but draining him totally. I will give you your first transfer, and you'll have

transfer with Gens only after you've learned control."

That was the role of the channel: to stand between the Sime and the kill. The channels, like Rimon Farris, had a dual

selyn system—one like any other Sime's and a secondary storage system which they could control. Rimon Farris was the

first channel to learn that control, to draw selyn slowly from even a frightened Gen, without hurting him, and then transfer

that selyn to another Sime, so he could live without killing.

Zeth was willing to do anything to learn to channel. To be like his father–the best channel–no, Owen won't die, not with Dad there!

"Zeth. Zeth!"

He looked up as his mother's voice penetrated. "Yes, Mama?"

She put her hand to his forehead. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. It's just—Mama, Owen won't really die, will he?"

She hugged him tightly, and Zeth realized she knew full well that he could have been the one lying upstairs, mutilated. "Not if

your father has anything to say about it! Now go find Uel Whelan, all right? Ask him to zlin you to be sure you don't have some

hidden injury, and then ask him ... to check on your father. He can do that without disturbing him."

Glad to do anything that might contribute to Owen's recovery,

Zeth went out into the yard. The setting sun cast a golden glow. A sour smell came from the smoking ruin of the hay bam. No one had yet begun to work on the trampled kitchen garden, but the fires in the other outbuildings had been doused, and the corral fence repaired.

In the long rays of the setting sun, the raiders' path sliced across the newly sprouted fields. People were shooing the dairy cows out of the field. Among them were Hank and Uel—along with Slina, who ran the pen in town. Slina wasn't "Mrs." like the women of Fort Freedom. She was Slina to everybody, and her little girl was simply Mona.

Slina was another adult mystery to Zeth. A killer with no intention of trying to stop, she always came to help when there was trouble. Even Rimon Farris and Mr. Veritt respected her. She sent Mona to school in Fort Freedom, too.

"Hi, Slina!" he called.

"Well, hi there, Zeth. Come help us move this stubborn cow."

Slina had, as usual, been in the thick of the fight. Her hair was coming loose, her boots were muddy, her shirt torn—no, slashed by a whip. He could see the cuts on her shoulder and neck. Her dagger, stuck through her belt to be cleaned before being sheathed, showed by the stains 'on its blade that she'd given as good as she got.

"Come on, Slina," Uel was saying, "let the others chase the cows while I treat your injuries."

She laughed. "What—these coupla cuts? I've had worse from the bite of a stubborn Gen."

"You want to contend with this stubborn Gen?" Hank threatened cheerfully.

"All right, all right—but there's nothing wrong with me that soap and water and a little sleep won't cure."

They walked back to the house, where Slina let Mrs. Veritt clean her wounds as Uel turned to Zeth. "How about you? Feeling achy?"

"Yeah. Mama wants you to zlin me." – "All right—let's do a thorough job. Hank—'' Zeth watched as Uel's Companion moved to the precise spot where his field would cancel the Sime fields around them, allowing Uel to read Zeth's childish nager.

Slina shook her head and asked Hank, "How do you do that?"

He chuckled, "Gen secret."

Uel laid his hands gently on Zeth's forearms, wrapping his handling tentacles about the boy's arms. When his grip was secure, but not tight, the hot, moist laterals emerged to touch Zeth—a tinglingly pleasant feeling. Dismantling his grip, Uel said, "Nasty muscular strain, Zeth. Take a hot bath and get ready for bed. I'll give you some fosebine and help you heal in your sleep."

Zeth's lip curled at the thought of fosebine, but he couldn't argue with a channel. "All right—but . . . Mama wants you to check on Dad."

"I intend to," Uel assured him.

"And Owen. Uel, I don't want to be asleep if he—if he—" Tears threatened to break through.

Uel said, "I'll wake you, Zeth. I promise—whatever happens. And, Zeth—Owen is alive if your father is still in there. The longer he stays alive, the more likely his recovery."

Zeth managed a watery smile. "Thanks," he said. When he returned, though, clean and wrapped in a borrowed robe, he explained, "I don't know where I'm sleeping. Jana's in my room."

There were pallets already prepared in the upstairs hall, they found. Del Erick was sitting on a bench beside Kadi Farris, just staring at the door behind which Rimon Farris fought for his son's life.

Kadi gave Uel a welcoming smile, but no one spoke. Zeth accepted the fosebine Uel gave him, trying to drink the vile stuff down so fast his taste buds wouldn't notice it.

He didn't expect to fall asleep right away, but the next thing he knew he was in the strange state of knowing he was dreaming. Bright afternoon sun poured down as Trev and Kora tossed him aside, then grasped Owen and began to hack him to pieces. Zeth could rescue him, but his legs were a dead weight. Endlessly, Zeth tried to move, while the attackers cut off Owen's arms, his legs, his head—

The dream shifted. Rimon Farris bent over Owen, miraculously putting his body back together. The parts all joined neatly, even his clothes—but Owen was still . . . dead.

Del Erick was suddenly there, saying, "Save him, Rimon."

Farris looked up. "He can't live as a Sime."

"Then he has to be Gen!" said Erick desperately. "He's got to be Gen, Rimon!"

Zeth chimed in the growing chorus, "He's got to be Gen!"

"—to be Gen."

"—be Gen."

"—Gen!"

Zeth woke, disoriented to find himself on the hall floor. Dawn was breaking—but what had wakened him was the sound of a door opening. His father stood in the doorway to the master bedroom, looking unutterably weary. Del Erick sprang to his feet, his whole bearing one fearful unasked question.

"It's all right!" Farris said at once. "Owen's alive, Del, and out of shock. He's sleeping."

As Erick started forward, Farris gripped him hard by both shoulders. "Del, I almost lost him. But then, a couple of hours ago, his field shifted and suddenly I could get a grip on him. He's started selyn production—he's established, Del. He's going to live. He's going to be all right."

As his father kept talking while Del Erick slowly assimilated the news, Zeth felt a warm glow of security. My dad can do anything, even bring a person to be Gen if he has to.

It was only hours later that he recalled the conversation of the afternoon, and realized that Owen probably wouldn't remember anything from the time he was grabbed by the attacker until he woke up in bed, one arm missing—to be told he was Gen.

He wanted so much to be a channel. Now what?