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They're all people.

The words echoed in the room. The older man crumpled, head in his hands, defeated. Instantly, Rimon was on his knees before Veritt. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it that way– Abel, listen to me; it's not your fault. Abel?"

Something crystallized in the old man. He raised his head, sheathed his tentacles tightly, and gazed up over Rimon's head. "I've vowed I'll not die a killer. One day, I will be able to look at the world as you do, Rimon—as my son does. I yearn for that day. I pray for it."

Rimon, kneeling at Abel's feet, realized something about himself. Veritt had made Rimon into an image to be worshiped. Rimon had resented that, yet the moment Veritt's image wavered, Rimon hastily rebuilt it. They're all people, and I'm better than you are because I don't kill them.

He turned from Abel, back to the patients. Something good might yet come of this night. Perhaps Abel would turn to Jord, now that Rimon had shown a flaw. Jord was maturing rapidly; he deserved his father's trust and faith, especially since he'd soon be through his "period of adjustment." If they could pull Steers through the pneumonia, surely things would straighten out, and they could get on with training another Gen.

Rimon set to work with Steers, barely noticing when Jord returned an hour later, a sleepy but determined Willa by his side. "I can't rest until Henry's out of danger. How is he?"

"About the same," Rimon replied. Jord zli

Abel helped Slina remove the two recovering Gens, then returned to aid in dosing the others with another round of fosebine. Steers muttered incoherently and tried to push them away.

"Henry!" said Jord, "you must take your medicine. We'll take you home with us as soon as you're well enough to be moved." The Gen opened feverish eyes, numb despair in his nager.

"Better off dead," he muttered, and tried weakly to turn away from Jord. He wheezed helplessly, and then his breathing became more labored as he fell into unconsciousness.

"Did Father tell you what Slina did to him?"

"I know," replied Rimon.

"I'm not here for her sake," said Jord. "It's to keep my friends alive, to help Henry—and to keep those foul creatures in town from raiding across the border. As for Slina—I hope she rots in hell!"

"Jord!" said Abel sharply. "Slina's not inherently evil. May God forgive me for thinking the poor creatures she raises were not people—and may He forgive Slina for thinking the same about Henry Steers."

"God may forgive her," said Jord, "but it will be a long time before I do."

A few hours later, Margid Veritt came and sent her husband home to rest. It was the first time Rimon had ever seen Abel defer to his wife. He was back at dawn, looking rested. By that time, Rimon was feeling a slight, nagging strain, and Jord was on the thin edge of exhaustion.

Willa said, "Jord, come on. You're in need. Let's go home and—" ,

"Not until Henry is out of danger."

"He's just the same," she protested. "He will sleep. Please, let me give you transfer, make you feel better."

"Willa, I will decide when we have transfer."

As Jord's parents eased out of the room, Rimon realized that the situation was not new. He hadn't been around Jord in need for several months; thus he hadn't seen this resentment in Jord, toward Willa. He recalled his own resentment of Kadi's control—but he had decided that was due to her attempts to hide her true feelings—his sense that she was lying nagerically. Willa was completely open– her concern was genuine and loving, and still Jord responded with resentment.

He decided to let Jord cool off, then try tactfully to send him home with Willa. Jord went to the foot of Steers' bed, staring at him, brooding. Willa tried again. "Look, he is sleeping. Sleep is good, Jord. He will be well soon."

"You don't know anything about it!" Jord snapped. "You don't know anything!" Then he pulled himself together, genuinely sorry. "Forgive me, Willa," he said with the tone of habit. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You are' in need. Come home and have transfer—then you won't say things you shouldn't."

"Will you stop pestering me?! I said I'm staying here!"

Steers moaned, wheezed, and began to breathe stertorously. Rimon moved to where he could zlin him without Willa's field interfering. It was bad—his nager was fading. Apparently he had the strength of will to let himself die. Rimon moved in, one eye on Jord's reaction, and tried to support the Gen's field. Even unconscious, Steers resisted. Perhaps the best thing was to leave him in peace. Rimon zli

Rimon withdrew to check the other Gens. They had lost another one during the night, but the other two would survive. Survive to be killed, he thought with a shudder, the first time the thought had gotten through his carefully laid defenses. I am getting tired.

He was vaguely aware of murmuring between Jord and Willa. Suddenly a flare of anguished fury reached him, and he turned as Willa said, "But Jord—"

"Leave me alone!" he cried. "You don't understand anything about it! Just let me go pray for my friend in peace." And shaking Willa off, Jord ran out, leaving her staring after him.

Rimon hurried to her. Steers was dead. "What happened?"

"I don't know. The man died. So I told Jord we could go have transfer now. I wanted to make him feel better—"

"Why didn't you go with him?" he asked, pulling her toward the door.

"He told me not to."

"But he's in need! Come on, Willa! We've got to catch him."

To pray, Jord had said. The chapel. Rimon took off after Jord at a run, Willa following. Foreboding weighed in the pit of Rimon's stomach. Jon would be in the chapel at this hour. Rimon speeded up, seeing Jord augmenting now, dashing for home and whatever solace he found in that chapel.

As they pounded toward the opera gates of Fort Freedom, Rimon zli

My fault! Why did I let anyone keep their children here?

Zli

Jord was through the gate now—practically on top of the oncoming Gen. It wasn't that Jord failed to sense him—it was that he didn't care. He would have gone straight past, but for the sudden nageric screech of startlement as Jord almost ran the Gen down—and at that moment Rimon recognized Jon Forester.

The twinge of fear stopped Jord in his tracks.

Oh, Jon, hold it in this once—just this once! Rimon willed. Jord had taken Jon's field down three times—maybe he wouldn't fear. If he held steady for just a moment, Rimon could catch up and hold Jord until Willa got there.

For a moment he thought it was going to be all right Jon's startlement dissolved into anger—no augmenting inside the gates was the rule in Fort Freedom, where people let their children play on the green, and it was strictly enforced now that there were Gens likely to be startled by exactly what had just happened.

Even as Rimon rounded the gates so that he could see what was happening, Jon turned on Jord, ready to snap at him, and saw—saw a Sime haggard with need, zli

Thready fear pulsed through his field. Rimon shot forward, but Jord was reaching toward Jon already, sending the boy's fear 'flaring into a beacon that Rimon himself felt drawn to for a terrible moment.

Rimon launched himself at the pair in a desperate leap. In midair, he saw Jord grasp Jon, felt the fear, the pain, the insane pleasure of killbliss, and as he hit Jord in the chest, knocking him away from his prey, it was a dead body that fell from Jord's grip. Rimon rolled in a tangle of bodies, feeling Jord's frustration, not because the kill was interrupted, but because he had drawn all the life-force from Jon and still it was not enough.