Channel's Destiny

This morning I was so proud, wanting to be all grown up. And this is what it means, knowing things that hurt–

"Zeth," Uel Whelan said gently, "I'm sorry I scolded you—I forgot completely what day this was for you. I'll take you home now. Rimon would never forgive me if I didn't relieve him so he can come check on Abel and Marji for himself. I wonder if anyone rode over to Farris to tell them?"

Someone had, and Zeth's father was chafing at his own rule that there would always be at least one cha

Thus Zeth received no more than a perfunctory examination from his father, and a hug from his mother, before they both galloped off into the twilight.

No light showed under the door of the room he now shared with Owen. It-was too early to be sleeping, so Owen must not be there. But when he opened the door, he saw Owen at the window, silhouetted against the darkening sky. The older boy didn't move, and that in itself told Zeth there was something wrong.

Zeth came to his side, saying, "Owen—what's the matter? Haven't you heard the good news? There's another cha

Owen sniffed, and rubbed his hand against his eyes. In a voice thick with forced-back tears, he said, "Oh, fine! Another cha

"What happened?"

"My donation. Jord was in need, and—Zeth, I didn't mean it!"

'You gave him transfer?" Zeth asked in an awed whisper.

"No! I didn't even try—but they'll never believe me!"

"Owen—Jord didn't attack you?!"

"Of course not. He's a cha

"What?"

Even in the dim light Zeth could see the tears on Owen's cheeks. "For a moment I felt something—it was so great– and I thought, maybe I'm the one who can help Jord–and then he pushed me away and collapsed! She

Zeth, your dad thinks I tried to seduce Jord to transfer. But I didn't!"

"I know you didn't," said Zeth. "Anyway, you didn't hurt Jord. He was just fine this evening."

"Sure, once they got transfer into him. He had one of his attacks—voiding selyn. He almost died, Zeth."

"So that's what was going on here! But Jord's all right, Owen. You'd have sworn it was Dad, the way he handled Mrs. Carson."

"Mrs. Carson? What was the matter with her?"

Realizing Owen was thinking of Tom Carson's wife, Zeth said, 'No, Hope Carson—Abel Ve

"I've been up here all day. I just didn't want to face your dad. He's going to send me away, Zeth."

"It wasn't your fault," Zeth repeated helplessly.

"Maybe it was. Maybe I can't help it any more than a Sime can. You don't know what it's like not to be able to help a Sime in need! The 'need to give,' your mother calls it. The Simes say that's gibberish, that Gens don't feel anything but sympathy, but they're wrong. You'll see—if you're Gen."

"I'll be Sime," said Zeth, more positive than ever. The certainty was always strongest when he was around Owen, as if his friend's quintessential Gen-ness called to some opposing polarity in Zeth.

"Yes," said Owen glumly. "You'll be a cha

"I can't promise that, Owen. You know what my dad says—I might kill you!"

Zeth felt Owen's hand tighten, then very deliberately release him. Forcing calm, Owen said, "If not you, somebody. You found out today, didn't you? All the older Simes need direct Gen transfer every so often ... so they can go longer between kills. Let me do that. Zeth! Promise me! I can stand to wait if I know I'm going to have a chance at—something real."

A strange feeling stirred in the pit of Zeth's stomach at the idea of Owen giving transfer to someone who—He shoved the thought aside, and said, "Owen, we can't see what the cha

you. If there's any way you can give transfer, safely, I'll find it."

Owen sighed. "Thanks, Zeth. I know you would. . . but I'll be on the other side of the border before you change over.''

"No you won't! Nobody can force you to leave."

"If I hurt people by staying here– Do you know what I've been thinking? Wild ideas. I could go into town and . . . and seduce someone into transfer. Prove I could do it!"

"Are you crazy? If you didn't panic and get killed, you'd end up with a dagger between your ribs."

"Not from Slina, I wouldn't," Owen said thoughtfully.

"No, Owen!"

"Why not? She respects us. She sends her little girl to school here. Next time she's in need—"

"Do you want her to be like Mr. Veritt? Or Jord? Or your own pa? Do you deliberately want to hurt Slina?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"She raises Gens 'cause someone has to. I used to wonder how Slina could know us, and send Mona here, and still go on raising Gens for the kill. And kill every month herself. It has to be a choice she's made never to know, never to experience transfer without killing. Maybe you think that's a coward's choice, but maybe you just can't understand it. Maybe Gens can never—"

"Stop it!" cried Owen, sinking onto his bunk. "Zeth– what's happened to you? You sound like your dad. Yes, I understand! I won't seduce Slina, or anyone else . . . not to have them go through what Pa does. But that means ... if your dad tells me to leave, I've got to go." •

"He won't. What's it been—four months? It takes some Gens a year to learn everything a Companion can do. And you've been busy just getting well. Dad will understand." It was full dark by now. Zeth lit the lamp, saying, "I guess we better get to bed. But I'm hungry."

"Me, too," said Owen. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

They went downstairs, past the room where Uel Whelan sat with his feet propped up, reading a book from the small collection kept at Farris. The community's real library, Abel Veritt's pride, was at the Fort. "What are you boys up to?" Uel asked.

"We're just go

Uel looked up. "I'm sorry, Zeth. You missed supper at the

Veritts'. Hank puts his foot down when I forget he has to eat."

"Did you eat today?" Owen asked suspiciously.

The young cha

Zeth and Owen were eating sandwiches in the kitchen when Zeth's parents arrived home. Kadi Farris went straight to her son and put her arms around him. "They told us what you did today. Oh, Zeth, you could have been killed!"

"It's my fault, Kadi," said Zeth's father. "Shen and shid! How could I have let my own son think a child couldn't be killed? We're too casual, Simes and Gens together—the children think there's no danger . . . and then we have a day like today." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think Abel's right that God is personally looking out for us. We certainly put Him to the test today." He ran fingers and tentacles through his wiry black hair. "Owen. I meant to talk with you this afternoon, but we got behind, and then this thing with Abel's granddaughter—"

Owen had put down his half-eaten sandwich and was staring at Rimon as if waiting for a blow to fall. "I didn't mean to hurt Jord," he blurted out. "I was trying not to tempt him!"

"I know," said Rimon. "Jord told us. It wasn't your fault, but from now on I'll take your donations."