Erick leaped for his own horse and raced after his son, gaining gradually. As he caught up, Owen pulled the horse into a sharp turn, seemed almost to lose his balance for a moment as Zeth held his breath, and then was racing back to the yard gate.

When the two horses pulled up, blowing hard, Erick said harshly, "What made you pull that fool stunt? Where did you think you were going?"

Owen slid to the ground and met his father's eyes on a level. "There's nothing for me to be afraid of in town. If I can't donate, I can't be killed!"

Erick was trembling, his tentacles restless with need. "But you can certainly make a Sime want to kill!"

Ready to snap back at his father, Owen stopped. It was as if he saw beyond his own anguish for the first time since the raid. "Oh, Pa, I'm sorry!" His arm went about his father's waist, and Zeth noticed that although they were the same height, Owen was already a larger man than Erick, who was thin even for a Sime. He seemed suddenly frail, leaning on his son, and Zeth, knowing that he was about the same age as

his own parents, wanted to deny the sight, tie looks almost as. old as Mr. Veritt.

Erick's face smoothed, his tension relaxing under his son's touch. It took long months of Companion's training to learn that. Owen had no training.

Del Erick spoke slowly, carefully. "Owen, now don't be afraid, son—but you've got to stop that."

"What am I doing?" Owen asked blankly.

"Offering me selyn. I mustn't fix on you. Think about something else. Zeth, go get your father."

But Rimon Farris was already running from the house, Kadi Farris behind him. Immediately, Rimon fell into his channel's stance, voice soothing as he said, "Easy, now. Nobody's going to be hurt. Del, I'm here. Zlin me."

"I—I can't—"

"Kadi," said Rimon, pointing. As she moved into position, Erick pulled his eyes from his son to look at Rimon. Rimon held out his arms. "Owen, let him go now, gently—you're not denying. It's just the wrong time. Come, Del, you don't need Owen, not now. That's it. Excellent."

Rimon put his arm around the man's shoulders and sheltered him from Owen's nager. "Rimon," Erick said with infinite sadness, "I don't dare touch my own son."

"It's all right, Del. Nobody got hurt," said Rimon.

Erick raised his head. "Owen never did that before!"

"I know—" said Rimon, looking toward Owen. "Shen! What a Companion you'd make!"

"Well, why can't I be?"

Zeth saw his father flinch at Owen's frustration, even with his mother standing between Owen and the Simes.

"Dad, you've got to find a way! You've said yourself our community can't afford to waste selyn."

"Rimon," said his mother. "You could take his field down using a shoulder contact, for example."

"What?" said Erick.

"It's something Kadi and I worked out," said Rimon. "I saw it done by Freehand Raiders once. Any symmetrical contact for the laterals will work, you know."

Erick's gaze went again to his son. "Yes—of course."

"Then I can do it—I can become a Companion!"

"No," said Rimon gently. "Using secondary positions, you can never have that kind of control. But at least I can

take your field down, and perhaps with a little training and discipline, you'll stop disrupting every Sime you come near."

"Then I could still help you, Pa! I can ride! I can help herd the horses." But Owen was more subdued now, desperately clinging to the day's gains.

"Del, come on inside, and I'll give you your transfer now. Then—Owen, I've got two more people waiting, and then you and I have some work to do together.''

Owen and Zeth were left alone. Owen turned away from Zeth, crying with renewed frustration.

"Owen, nobody got hurt." Zeth tried to reassure his friend. "You can learn—"

Owen turned on him furiously. "You couldn't feel it. It was beautiful. I was doing something not just useful, but . . . there aren't any words!" He took a deep breath and tried again. "Pa was in need. I wanted to help—and I could! Zeth—I could have given him transfer, I know I could."

Over the next few days, Zeth's father worked with Owen until finally one afternoon he did take Owen's field down, When Owen came back to their room, Zeth said, "How did it feel?"

"I didn't feel a thing," said Owen disgustedly. "Now he wants me to work with Uel Whelan, learning not to affect Simes. But you know what? I'm going to prove I can give a real transfer!"

"But why? You're donating now—"

"Zeth, when I'm near someone in need, I want to ease that need so bad my whole body goes weak inside! And air they want me to do is turn myself off!"

This was a side of Owen Zeth had never seen before. It seemed to be a healthy side, and as Owen took hold of his life again, Zeth thought his punishment was over.

One bright early-summer day, Owen was working beside Zeth, the other children, and several of the community's Gens, picking strawberries. He tucked a basket into a sling Jana had rigged for him, and picked berries almost as fast as Zeth and Jana. It was a glorious day, with fluffy white clouds high in the brilliant blue sky. The smell of berries was intoxicating, and the children ate almost as many as they put into their baskets.

Zeth moved along in pursuit of the biggest, reddest berries, and suddenly looked up to find that he had drifted away from Owen and Jana, to where Kadi Farris and Trina Morgan were

sorting through the berries, choosing the largest, sweetest ones to be eaten fresh, and putting the others aside for jam-making.

Strawberry season was a time for Gens and children. The luscious berries were poisonous to Simes, who stayed away from the kitchen these few days.

As Zeth emptied his overflowing basket into his mother's tray, Trina was saying, "They're guarding us again. Look– Tom Carson's up on top of the hill."

"Well, we do have all these Gens running around free and acting like people."

"We are people!" Trina said.

"Not by law," said Kadi. "Our petition to count Gens as citizens scares people. Slina says that's why we were raided."

"You think we should stop petitioning?"

"If it were only myself, I'd be tempted to stop," Zeth's mother replied. "It's never made any difference between Rimon and me that by law I'm his property. But what about Zeth?" She reached out and gave him a little squeeze. "My son will probably be Sime, but suppose he's Gen? I want him to have full legal protection."

Zeth worked his way back to where the children were picking strawberries and singing while Owen, whose voice was changing, whistled a merry accompaniment. He sounded so happy that Zeth joined in the song, off key as usual. Owen was soon laughing so he couldn't whistle, and told Zeth, "Hush! You'll sour the strawberries!"

"You're in a good mood," Zeth observed.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Owen glanced around, making sure no one else could hear over the singing. "You know what, Zeth? It's a whole lot better to be Gen than to be Sime."

"Owen, it doesn't matter—"

"But it does! Oh, Simes can zlin, but Gens can use it against them. I can make a Sime laugh or cry, make him feel wonderful or terrible. Channels are only a little harder. I almost got Uel Whelan into a transfer this morning."

"Owen! Even if you can, you shouldn't. Mama wouldn't do anything like that, or any of the other Companions."

"Well, I've got to prove I can be a Companion. They're not going to let me—" He looked past Zeth and said, "Uh-oh."

Zeth turned and saw Abel Veritt coming across the strawberry field, headed straight for Owen.

When he arrived, he asked conversationally, "Are the berries good this year?"

"Very good, sir," replied Zeth.

"I remember picking strawberries when I was a boy. Owen, you're getting along well, I see."