Channel's Destiny

"Of course I will. Everyone here will help you."

"We will pray for you, and with you," Abel added.

"On that we all agree," said Maddok Bron. "Jimmy, we'll take you out of the grip of the Devil—"

"Maddok, he will take himself," interrupted Abel. "Your prayers and your encouragement are welcome—but every Sime must make his own commitment to refuse the kill."

Thus it was no surprise to Zeth, when the bell had been rung and everyone was gathered in the chapel, that Abel had a new statement to make. "Like many of you here with us today, Bekka Trent grew up in Gen Territory. She believed that to be Sime was to be cursed—but she had the courage to refuse that curse. To refuse the kill.

"God has blessed Bekka Trent, as He has blessed this community. Never before in history has a community of Gens made friends with a community of Simes. The only way we can continue that friendship is to guarantee their safety among us:—to end the kill, forever. When we have done that we can tell the truth—the entire truth—to Simes and Gens alike, to

dispel the superstitious fear that brought the Freehand Raiders down on us."

Abel's voice and his field rang with conviction. "There will be no more equivocation. No more careful wording to hide what is or what must be. Truth will prevail!

"Nine years ago, I made a vow. As God is my witness, I shall not die a killer. I gave no thought to the wording of that vow. In nine years, I have killed eleven times—and yet I have said I am not forsworn. I still live. I live for the day when no Sime's need will be a need to kill. To bring that day about, there must be a new vow. I do not ask it of any of you today—but I pray that one day each and every one of you will vow it, before God, as I do now. It does not matter whether you have killed never, or once, or a hundred times. What matters is a future in which everyone, Sime and Gen, is in control of his own destiny. To that end, I make a new vow:

"As God is my witness, I shall never kill again!"

Chapter 10

Carried away with Abel Veritt's joyous dedication, Zeth was amazed to feel utter horror from Owen. Incredulously, he realized that Owen didn't think Abel could keep his vow. If only he could zlin! Bekka Trent's feeling that morning was nothing toward Abel's. He whispered to his Companion, "He's really going to do it, Owen. You can't feel—"

"Yes I can!" Owen returned in an agonized hiss. "He'll die, Zeth!"

But the despair that had gripped Zeth since his second transfer was gone now—the sorrow he sensed in all the Companions merely made him pity their inability to share what all the Simes in the chapel knew that day—all except Jord, whose field also showed worry and sadness, probably because he didn't trust himself to join in his father's vow.

But Zeth could join in. He might not feel the personal presence of God the way Abel Veritt apparently did, but his vow was no less heartfelt: I will never kill. Never!

As they left the chapel, Zeth caught traces of community feeling even from the town Simes. As he and Owen stepped outside, Slina came over to them, her little girl at her side.

"I seen what you done this morning, Zeth," she said. "For a minute I thought it was your father out there, pushin' my men around. Born leader."

Before Zeth could assimilate that, Slina was off on another topic. "Zeth, your dad don't kill—you don't kill—the old man there, he'd do anything not to kill—an' you're all good people. You folks are the only reason there's still a town here. You bailed me out more times than I can think—"

"And you've always helped us, too, Slina," said Zeth.

"Yeah, well, you don't return favors, you don't get none. Shidoni. I'm too old to change now. But change is comin'.

An' my kid—" She pulled the little girl forward. "My Mona, she—oh, shen it, Zeth, I want her to be better off than me!"

The child studied Zeth solemnly with piercing black eyes, disturbingly familiar. Slina squatted down to talk to the girl, pushing a lock of black hair back off her forehead. "This here's Zeth Farris—you remember him? Well, he's a cha

"Yeah," said the girl. "You grow up—turn Sime."

"That's right. Well, when that happens, you come to Zeth, so you don't kill."

"You're not goin' away, Ma!"

"No, honey—just my usual trips. Now quit that!" as tears ran down the girl's cheeks. "You promise me!"

Mona looked up at Zeth, and then back at her mother. "I promise, Ma," she said, throwing her arms about Slina's neck. "I'm go

The afternoon was spent trying to straighten out the transfer schedule, which had started late because of the problems with Rimon. Bekka's disjunction, Jord's problems, and the ceremony in the chapel had thrown them even later, but at least Jord was at work again now, hours early—and Zeth, his gloom dispelled, also rejoined the schedule. He found it slightly a

It was not a new story. Everybody used to clamor for Rimon, but now that he was not functioning, the choice of all the older Simes was Jord. Zeth could see the pattern: the younger Simes, those who had never killed, had little preference among Uel, Marji, or Zeth. But those who killed occasionally, and even those who had disjuncted, preferred something Jord could give them that the others could not.

Still, Zeth was busy. When he was done he stopped to see his father again. Rimon had fallen into a coma-like sleep, completely u

Zeth and Owen had begun work before dawn that morning, and it was hours after dark when they got back to the Veritt house. Owen barely managed to eat supper without falling

asleep. Zeth put him to bed, and slept for a few hours, waking after midnight, wanting a cup of tea.

Zeth went down the hall, and was about to enter the main room when he suddenly realized there were two people in it: Sessly Bron and Jord Veritt. She was seated in Abel's big armchair; he was sitting on the rug at her feet, his head resting against her knees. Her hand was on his shoulder, and he had placed his hand over it. They were sitting very, very still, completely absorbed in one another. And Sessly was low-field.

"... and if he dies trying to disjunct," Jord was saying, "who will hold Fort Freedom together? I can't. I never could, and now as a cha

"Of course you are!" said Sessly. "I couldn't have donated to anyone else, Jord. Not after what you did today—to save my life."

"You should never have been in danger from me! I'm a cha

"Jord, you refused to—"

"You don't understand, Sessly. I didn't kill today—but I'll come into crisis again, and then I'll—"

"No!" she said, leaning down, her arm across his chest, holding him tightly. "Never again, Jord. We'll keep the demon off."

"It feels like a demon," Jord said. "I used to believe in demons—but—oh, it would be so easy . . . !"

"Believe it!" she whispered fiercely. "Let me help you!"

"No," he said flatly, but Sessly obviously felt what Zeth could zlin: there was no conviction whatsoever in the word.

Grasping control of his show-field, hoping that Jord was too involved in his own thoughts to notice him, Zeth retreated silently to the room he shared with Owen. There he wrapped himself in a blanket and sat down, getting madder by the minute. If Jord were tempted to abdicate responsibility for his actions, how could other juncts resist Maddok Bron's claims? No one would ever disjunct again. His frustration grew until Owen turned restlessly, mumbling in his sleep. Then Zeth turned his mind to ways to disprove the theory. But who will listen to me?