Channel's Destiny

It was so simple, so obvious. Why hadn't the adults thought of it?

When he reached Mountain Chapel, Zeth quickly found out why. He'd crossed rugged uninhabited terrain, and begun wondering if perhaps he'd lost his way, when suddenly he came around a rocky hill to look down into a small valley, still green from the summer, as if the frosts had missed that pleasant and protected land. Nestled in the bend of a winding river was a town, the homes surrounding a large stone structure exactly like the chapel in Fort Freedom. Zeth knew he had found Mountain Chapel at last.

He wanted to gallop down there and shout out his news, but the mountainside was steep, the trail hardly more than a

track. He rode into shadow, shivering. Night fell before he reached the town.

As Star's hoofbeats clattered on the bridge across the river, people came out with lanterns—and guns.

Zeth found himself facing a semicircle of men studying him suspiciously. "Who are you, boy?" one of them asked.

"Zeth Farris—from Fort Freedom."

The tension relaxed a little. "All right, son, get down from your horse, and let's have a look at you."

Zeth dismounted, saying, "I'm looking for Owen Lodge Erick. It's important. I mean—" as it dawned on him that although he personally longed for Owen, his message had to be delivered at once to the town's leader, "I've got to talk to Mr. Bron."

One of the men handed his gun to another and approached Zeth. "You're safe here, Zeth. I'm Lon Carson. I have a great deal to thank you for. You come on home with me—"

"No, you don't understand!" Zeth protested. "I came for help—"

"You'll find it here," said Mr. Carson, putting his arm around Zeth's shoulders. Then he whispered, in Simelan, "Come in the house with me before you say anymore!"

The other men parted to let them pass. Zeth let himself be led into one of the houses. When Mrs. Carson saw him, she cried, "Zeth!" and enveloped him in a warm hug. "But what are you doing here? Have you established? Surely you're not old enough—"

It was happening again. No one would take him seriously because he looked so young. "No," he said impatiently, "but Marji and everyone at Fort Freedom are in terrible danger!"

Mr. and Mrs. Carson looked at one another in shock. Then Mr. Carson said, "What's wrong?"

"Freehand Raiders!" Zeth spilled out his story, ending breathlessly, "And if you won't bring your guns and help, the Raiders will destroy Fort Freedom and then come right across the border and attack you here!"

Mr. Carson nodded. "You've done a good job, Zeth. I'll get the other men with family at Fort Freedom. Hope—"

"I'll take care of Zeth," she said. "You must be hungry."

He hadn't eaten since breakfast. He wasn't hungry, but he had been brought up on a strict regimen. "Yes, I should eat something. But where's Owen?"

"He was supposed to be back in town this evening. Mr. Bron always insists that Owen stay with him. Zeth, you must understand how difficult it is for people who did not come from Fort Freedom to believe there are Simes who don't kill. Mr. Bron is ... much like my father. He sincerely wants to do God's will, but until I returned from Fort Freedom with Owen, he was positive it was God's will that all Simes be destroyed on sight."

"But there are lots of people here from Fort Freedom—"

"Not even a third of the town," she replied. "And what could we say before last summer? Our own parents killed someone every month. Now we say they don't anymore . . . but how can I persuade anyone that it's real? If it weren't for Owen, I might think I dreamed it myself."

Mrs. Carson took Zeth into the kitchen, where she fed him while they talked of Fort Freedom. "So the real drive of the Raiders in our direction started after Owen left," he concluded, dabbling with his soup. It tasted fu

When Mr. Carson returned with a dozen other men, Mrs. Carson tried to herd Zeth off to bed. ' 'But I have to explain what's happening!" he insisted.

"We all know about Freeband Raiders," said Mr. Carson grimly. "We're all going. What we have to decide right now is, who we dare ask to go with us."

"But it has to be the whole town!" Zeth exclaimed.

"You don't understand, son," said a swarthy man with thick black hair. "We have to think of our wives and children– especially our children. Right now that means heading off the Raiders. But when we get back—"

"We'll worry about that when we get back, Joe," said a man in a plaid shirt. "I think I can talk Cord Ashley into helping. He's allowing his son to court my Nancy."

"Webb Simmins lost his boy to changeover two months ago," said a grizzled, bent-over man so thin he might have been Sime. He coughed, then went on "He said to me next day he wished he could've sent him to—'that Fort Freedom place,' he called it. If he won't come along ... at least I don't think he'll try to stop us."

At an imperious knocking on the back door, silence fell. The men glanced anxiously at one another, and Mrs. Carson pulled Zeth against her protectively. Lon Carson opened the door.

For one incredulous moment Zeth had the impression that it was Abel Veritt at the door. Then the man moved, Zeth's eyes focused on him, and he didn't know why he should have thought it. This man was much younger, a tall, slender Gen with dark hair untouched by gray and grave brown eyes that swept over the men in the Carson kitchen with a sad bewilderment that did nothing to undermine his authority. In another reversal of impression, Zeth realized that that was what reminded him of Mr. Veritt: the ability to acknowledge his feelings without losing his dignity.

"So," he said in a tone of disappointment without accusation, "the children of Simes counsel together in the night."

Zeth's hackles rose. "They're here because of me," he said. As the man's eyes evaluated him, he added, "And I'm not a child of Simes. I'm the child of a Sime and a Gen, and if you want the only place in the world where that can happen to survive, you'll get your gun and join us in driving the Freehand Raiders from Fort Freedom."

Out of breath, his charge of adrenaline abating, Zeth plunged into acute embarrassment as the man stared at him in silence before he said, "You must be Zeth Farris. Mountain Chapel welcomes you, and thanks you for preserving the life of Mrs. Carson."

At the man's completely reasonable tone, Zeth wished he could sink through the floor. Then he remembered why he was here, and forced himself to say politely, "You must be Mr. Bron. I'm honored to meet you—but Fort Freedom needs your help." He stumbled over the English word "needs," but knew it was the right word to convey his meaning.

Mr. Bron's level gaze swept the assembled men. "Is that what you were counseling about? Whether you dared ask my help? Are you afraid to confide in me?"

The thin, bent-over man rose. "No, we're not afraid. We are going to help our friends and families on the other side of the border. We'd welcome your help."

"To go to the aid of ... Simes?"

"Simes who don't kill," said Lon Carson, "under attack from Simes who do. Freeband Raiders, Mr. Bron. It's not a moral issue from what Zeth tells us. It's a plain practical one: either we join forces with Fort Freedom and stop the Raiders there, or we risk their destroying the Fort and then descending onus."

Mr. Bron nodded slowly. "I see. On the 'plain practical'

side, if we ride in force across the border, can we hope to avoid detection? Or will we be branded Sime sympathizers, and have the militia down on us?" At the murmur of protest, he raised a hand. "I understand fully that that question is academic if we are attacked by such a huge band of Raiders. I've seen those monsters of depravity—and I share your desire to fend them off."