"Something wrong?" she asked, worried. "I feel fine."

He took her tentacles and made a brief lip contact. Pulling back, he tilted his head to one side, zlinning. "Yes, indeed. Why didn't you tell me—"

"What?"

"You don't– Oh, Laneff. I do hope it's on purpose. A Farris woman —a pregnancy is nothing to play around with."

CHAPTER 9

THIRITEES

Shanlun stormed into Azevedo's den without pausing to announce himself nagerically. Laneff followed, feeling as if she'd touched off a volcanic eruption.

"You knew this three days ago!" accused Shanlun with none of the deference he usually showed the old man. His nager was in its neutral particolored confetti state, not forcing his emotional turmoil on the Simes about him, but his indignation was in his voice. "Azevedo, don't you see how this changes everything?"

"Shanlun!" said Laneff before the channel could reply, "I begged him not to tell you right away. Chances are that nothing will come of it; besides, I wanted to tell you!"

Fuming, Shanlun looked from Azevedo to Laneff and back. Gradually, his ire subsided. "My apologies, Azevedo. Permission to enter?"

He was already standing in the middle of the intricately patterned matting. Azevedo motioned with two tentacles, a gracious invitation to be seated. He was sitting cross-legged on a cushion set on a wicker platform surrounded by hanging plants and lit by a skylight. Tastefully upholstered wicker chairs and stools dotted the room. A fireplace filled one wall, the mantel strewn with huge fat candles and wax sculptures. Woven tapestries adorned the walls with abstract designs. There was no desk, no books, no files, yet Laneff had been told that Azevedo ruled the tribe from this room, as a Sectuib once would rule a Householding.

Shanlun took two strides toward the old man and crossed his legs at the ankles, easing himself gracefully to the floor. Laneff closed the door and hovered, unsure of the protocol. She was wearing gypsy costume—a floor-length skirt and hip-length tunic, hemp sandals, and wide hair band, all in pale beige. For disguise, in case she were seen by outsiders, they had dyed her black hair and eyebrows to a rusty blond and had given her a cream to use on face and hands that would bleach her complexion. She hardly looked Farris anymore.

Studying Shanlun's downcast eyes, Azevedo motioned her to a chair beside him, and said, "Or you may sit beside Shanlun, if you like."

She took the patch of floor matting beside Shanlun, feeling the ache of shame in his nager and wanting with unbearable intensity to soothe it away.

Azevedo closed his eyes, seeming to ignore them. At first, Laneff thought this the rudest possible rebuke to Shanlun. But the ambient settled into a calm she was loath to disturb, and presently she noticed Shanlun's nager changing. The stark contrast in color and brightness between the randomized chips at his nageric surface seemed to fade. The flecks danced less energetically, finally stilling and merging into a hazy solidity behind which the bright gold of packed selyn pulsed. His intense shame turned to chagrin and faded to a self-forgiveness.

At last, Azevedo said in the distant voice of a working channel, "Your feelings are understandable, Shanlun ambrov Zeor. You're personally involved here, a deep involvement."

"Yes. But it seems years in the Tecton have addled my perspective."

"But not your acuity. You're correct that this does change the

situation."

Eyes like burning coals, Shanlun looked up at Azevedo, his hand stealing aside to grip two of Laneff’s tentacles. "Is there anyone among the Company who has handled a Farris renSime's pregnancy?"

"I have, of course, put out the call for experienced midwives."

"I'm sorry," said Shanlun. "I should have realized you'd already be working on it." He added, "But even at best, she's going to have to be told everything. She can't survive this without hope."

Laneff quelled a leap of curiosity and listened.

Azevedo gathered Laneff’s attention. "I do believe you can survive to be delivered. But we dare not fail to consider abortion."

Laneff had not thought of that. Objections burst into her mind, but before she could speak, Shanlun said, "No!" And then, worried, "It's a channel, isn't it?"

Azevedo nodded. "A female, unless I'm mistaken. But a channel will demand so much selyn of Laneff’s system that she'll need transfers very frequently, and will likely go into disjunction crisis much sooner."

Scientific terminology in their outlandish accent, their gypsy costumes, seemed totally bizarre. Laneff laughed and then had to explain what was funny about disjunction.

"And that's the other thing," said Shanlun. "Azevedo, you've got to try to learn her synthesis—now, before she can't work anymore."

"Before that, I may have to go to see Mairis. If we don't have a midwife for her, we must beg one of the Tecton. No, Laneff, don't panic. We won't send you to their Last Year House. Zeor has a long history of cooperation with—gypsies. As Sectuib, Mairis can provide someone to care for you." He shifted his gaze to Shanlun. "Someone we can tolerate."

Shanlun put his arm about her, and she felt his inner conflict as he summoned bravery. "I'll go to Mairis. You must stay and work with Laneff while she can work."

Laneff choked on half-formed protests, dizzied by the speed with which events whirled around these two. "Shan, if the Tecton ever lays hold of you, you could be sent anywhere in the world and never get back here!"

"No. I'll go in gypsy garb, and no one but Mairis will know who I am. I'll tell him you're with Azevedo, and—" Bright hope and shyness warred with his apprehension. "Laneff, can I ask him to invite you to pledge Zeor?"

She'd thought about it often enough. Zeor doesn't marry out of Zeor. But Sat'htine was so much a part of her. "Shan, I'm a healer".

"But as a healer, as in all parts of your life, you do strive for excellence. Even facing your own death, you have not ceased to strive for the best you can envision. You have always been as much Zeor as Sat'htine. Let Mairis judge it."

"I can't guarantee my answer."

Azevedo cut in, "There's no reason to be anxious about it, Laneff. You've plenty of time to make that decision. Meanwhile, you're safe here."

That's what I thought with the Distect! thought Laneff, aware that considering another life change, such as pledging a new House, did fill her with intolerable anxiety.

Azevedo turned to the Gen. "Shanlun, you're willing to risk your life—everything–for this child?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"Do you know why?" challenged Azevedo.

"Yes." He turned to Laneff, as if in explanation. "The impossible doesn't happen randomly. I haven't been tested, but I'm sure I'm at the absolute nadir of my own fertility. Yet this happened despite your precautions, too. This child is yours—and mine—and wants very much to be born now. I'm willing to take as much risk as you do to see that happen."

Laneff had spent three days growing into the idea, realizing that this baby was as important to her as her work, something to survive her. Yet Shanlun had arrived at acceptance within minutes of hearing the news. Her whole love went out to him, and she hugged him close, burying her nose in his chest and muttering, "Yes, I'm scared, too, Shan."

He kissed her. The nageric warmth was incredible.

Azevedo cleared his throat. "Then this is the plan. We'll begin immediately to determine why only Laneff can do this synthesis. Jarmi will continue the structure studies on the purified chemical you salvaged. If the Company can find no midwife, we'll send Shanlun to Mairis with a letter I'll write."

The previous day, Laneff had been assigned a musty old lab, much like the one she'd had in school. Now, she and Jarmi continued to gather equipment and set up their experiments again. Meanwhile, Laneff was welcomed into the community of not-really-quite gypsies from which Shanlun had come.