Rimon worked his way back along the edge of the valley to where he could overlook the whole green flatland to the border. In the distance, there was a haze of dust, and just in front of it, now that he was concentrating, he could barely discern the collective nager of a band of Simes—the border patrol. It had to be the border patrol—but any Simes would be delighted to attack that band of Gens.

Augmenting slightly, confident he would soon have a kill, Rimon went to meet them. They had already spotted the Gen nager ahead, and Rimon told them, "They have one of your scouts." In two-syllable words, he described what had been done to her. Then he said, "And they've got my—"

"Your Gen? You can prove legal ownership, I presume."

"Yes, of course." Thanks to those tags!

The patrol leader held out a hand, tentacles extended. "Then come!" Rimon vaulted aboard, suggesting a sheltered route back to the Gen camp. Soon they drew up behind a stand of trees, dismounted, and crept up with Rimon to survey the scene.

The Gens had a fire going, several rabbits and a grouse spitted over it. Surely, thought Rimon, they think they're in Gen Territory. Off to one side, Kadi's new owner was sawing away at her collar. The Sime leader took all this in, muttering something about a reprisal raid on Larchmont Crossing, and then turned to Rimon. "You wait here– No—" Changing his mind, he said, "I guess you couldn't. But, ware this—the girl with the tags is legally yours. The rest are ours. Understand?"

Rimon swallowed hard. He'd been counting on the one with the spurs. But patrollers didn't work for nothing. Once again he set himself to deny himself a kill. "Agreed."

The patrol deployed and charged into the Gen camp, whips cracking. Several Gens were caught and tied at once, but the Gen with Kadi had time to draw his rifle and get off a shot before dragging Kadi toward the horses.

In an instant, three patrollers were after them. Kadi was caught around the waist by a patrol whip and flung into Rimon's arms while the rest gave chase to the escaping Gens.

With the Gens scattering in every direction, patrollers after them but wary of their rifles, the camp was quickly emptied of all except trussed-up Gens, two dead Gens Rimon hadn't even seen taken, a dead Sime, and the Gens' captive, still barely alive.

Kadi was clinging to him, gasping for breath. "Rimon!" Her nager was no help to Rimon for the first time he could remember. He wanted a kill. He had to have selyn—now.

The pain of the injured captive assaulted him from one side as Kadi's strong field irritated him from the other. He thrust her aside—must stop that pain!

Bending over the trap, he released the catch. As the vicious teeth drew free of her flesh, the Sime woman's selyn loss rate redoubled. She screamed at the pain.

As Rimon lifted her, trying for a grip to snap her neck, she twisted and instinctively grasped at his arms as rapid attrition drained her life. It felt as if his own life were draining away.

He was slammed into hyperconsciousness, the whole world glowing selyn, the patroller's life pluming away in a burst of brilliance that made him ache with intil, need, attrition– And then she was dead, and he was in hardest need, desperate for the kill he knew he could not have.

Sick, dizzy, Rimon folded in on himself, gasping for air. It seemed a long, long time that he crouched there. Then, slowly, there was a warm, golden glow seeping through him, melting his locked muscles, soothing ravaged nerves. Pulse after pulse, brighter and brighter, the brightest Gen nager he'd ever felt, pure, solid, ruddy-gold glory. He went for the core of it without conscious thought as every cell in his body cried out—salvation!

A cracking shock of black fear sent freezing shards through every nerve of Rimon's body. The tempting field moved away from him and then fled. Must have it. Thrusting aside the lifeless Sime body, he scrambled to his feet.

The field he sought was ahead of him, fleeing madly. In seconds he was closing, dodging trees and rocks, vaulting fallen trunks with the ease of the Sime predator on the hunt. Skidding down a slope, ankle deep in pine needles, the musty smell coming to him in flashes of duoconsciousness, Rimon found a curious portion of his mind standing aside, untouched and remembering.

Once before he'd hunted—once before he'd killed—and once, only once before had he reached true satisfaction.

He was upon the fleeing field. Now, again, at last! Sweet familiar field of love and friendship and hope and life, now under his tentacles. Zeth!

But this time, Zeth—this time you won't be afraid. It was so good before you were afraid. It didn't hurt before you were afraid. Stop—Zeth! Stop.…

No. Zeth was dead. Long—long ago…

The texture of the nager—the sweet delirious fear—was Gen. Gen—not Sime! Gen!

KADI!

With the most terrible effort of his life, Rimon shut off that selyn killdraw, choked it down and fought his way duo-conscious even as the imperative of the kill drove him, and saw that he held Kadi, and this time, his aching, dripping laterals lay along her arms as firmly as his lips contacted hers. A trickling of selyn activated the nerve-rich laterals. Despite her wild struggles, Kadi couldn't break that contact. No Gen could have.

In a time-stretched instant, Rimon stared into a face so distorted by terror that it wasn't Kadi, but just another Gen. Yet it was Kadi. That nager—unmistakable. All the years he had lived to rest within her nager.

She recognized that he was conscious, and a degree of her panic faded. Warily, she ceased to struggle, her terror turning to frozen resignation. Only then was Rimon able to break lip contact, cutting off that tempting trickle of selyn through his laterals.

Searing pain ripped through him, centered in his chest but lancing out in every direction, causing him to tighten his grip on Kadi's arms bruisingly. Through gritted teeth, he said, "No! I—will—not—kill—you!"

With the last dregs of his will, he broke lateral contact, aborting his kill in fiendish shen. Pain flashed. From some great distance, he observed his body convulse in agony.

Then there was nothing.

He was in pain. Immense, undeniable forces tore at his body. Raw, abused nerves screamed for release. Relentless spasms locked muscle against muscle, forcing him to awareness of every cell of his body, all burning in self-destruction, wasting his life-force out into empty nothingness.

Slowly, the nightmare turned to peaceful dreaming. On some sweet nageric plane, Rimon floated, gently buoyed up by a soothing golden field. Kadi, he recognized, but could not speak to her—his physical body seemed to disappear in her presence, beyond his control or caring. He knew he was dying, his life wasting away, but Kadi had eased the pain —it would be so pleasant just to drift away now to death… no more pain… no more responsibilities. I didn't kill her. It was all that mattered; in that one act of denial, he had accomplished everything life could possibly ask of him. At last he could rest.

He wanted to speak, just to say good-bye to her, but he had lost contact with his body. Somehow, that didn't disturb him—what had his body ever been to him but a source of frustration, need, and pain? Kadi was sad, he saw. Don't be sad, Kadi. We're both better off this way. But Kadi had her own ideas.

Bemused, Rimon remained passive, uncaring, observing what Kadi was doing without understanding it. She was touching him, her hands provoking flickers of pure delight along his lateral sheaths. He should have told her not to touch him there, but it felt too good, and he couldn't move anyway…

Something surged from Kadi to Rimon—an emotion strangely akin to need, reawakening Rimon's need—but painlessly. For one instant he fought to remain in his numbed state, but then he felt his laterals lick out of their own volition, meeting Kadi's high and willing field. Rimon could not stop them, nor could he move his hands or handling tentacles. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought flickered that Kadi was in danger, but he couldn't focus on it.