Hank stood cradling the other puppy as if it were the one real thing in an insane world. It didn't take Abel long to notice. "Would you like that puppy, Henry? The Whelans are looking for good homes for all of them."

"I don't have a home anymore," Hank said stolidly.

"We're offering you a home," replied Abel. "However, if you prefer, we'll escort you safely across the border."

"Why would you do that? I'm a Gen, and Simes kill Gens—the way you killed my mother and father."

Abel glanced at Rimon, who shrugged. No matter how many times they'd told him on the trail, Hank still resisted.

"We don't kill people like you," said Abel. "We're in the process, of learning not to kill at all. Both Rimon Farris and my son Jord have learned to take selyn without killing the Gen."

"But you kill—don't you?"

"Yes. We won't lie to you. Not all of us have learned yet. We ask you to wait until you know enough about us to decide if you want to stay—if you are Gen."

"No if about that," muttered Hank.

"I told you," said Rimon, "you haven't established selyn production. You're a child, not a Gen."

"How do I know that? You say Gens start producing this—selyn—in their teens. But if I were doing it, how would I know?"

"You'll know," said Kadi. "Somebody will tell you."

"Kill me, you mean."

"Not here," said Abel. He moved so that the boy had to turn to follow him with his eyes. "But you might go into changeover. There's only one chance in three you'll be Sime, but there's still that one chance, Henry, and even Rimon can't tell yet which way you'll go."

"No! My parents taught me to pray, and all through this, I've prayed every day. God will not desert me."

"You were taught," replied Abel, "as I was taught as a child. But I failed to learn the dangers of presumption, and found myself Sime, convinced I was cursed. It took me years to find that it was I who had deserted God, and to return to His service."

"You can't preach at me! You're a cursed Sime!"

Abel inspected his tentacled arms with an air of objectivity. "It would seem so. All of us here wakened one day to find ourselves Sime, unable to refrain from killing for selyn, though all our lives we'd been so sure it couldn't happen to us. Henry, you're welcome here; if you should be Sime, we'll pray for you, as for all our own, that you'll never have to kill. And if you're Gen, you may remain or leave with our blessing. Come now, you're tired. Accept our hospitality—at least to the extent of a meal and a bed."

"Supper will be ready soon," said Margid.

"In the meantime," said Abel, "would you like to visit your father's grave, and perhaps pray for him in our chapel?"

"You have a chapel? How can you—"

Abel smiled faintly. "Do you doubt that God can see and hear either side of the border with equal clarity?"

Hank regarded Abel over the puppy he still held. Then Kadi took it, putting it back in the basket. Hesitantly, Hank left with the older man. Rimon, Kadi, and Zeth joined, Margid in the kitchen as she prepared a meal for Hank.

"I hope he'll stay," she said. "It's been so nice to have a child in the house—we're going to miss Zeth. Kadi, will you eat something?"

With Zeth falling asleep on her lap, Kadi said, "As long as you're making it, I'd like some."

"Rimon?" asked Margid. "No, forgive me—a cup of tea?"

And he remembered for the first time that day that he was in need. And tonight… a faint chill ran up his back. Tonight he and Kadi would have transfer. What was the matter with him? It would be like every other time—the most blissful experience he ever knew. Yet prying at the corner of his mind was that strange and terrible fact: Kadi can kill.

His thoughts were interrupted when Abel returned with Hank. The boy was grim-faced, but dry-eyed. He sat down beside Kadi at the table, lost in thought.

"Abel, you'll want Hank's papers," said Rimon, fishing them out and looking for his pen. Automatically, he spread his tentacles to search his pockets, and Hank started slightly. But then he just looked away without saying anything.

"I'm signing him over to you, Abel, and here's your change. I owe you some more—can the explanations wait till tomorrow?"

"Of course." Abel held the papers out to Hank. The boy stared at them, then up at Abel. "We don't believe in ownership of people," Abel explained. "But I wouldn't advise you to destroy them. We must abide by the laws of this Territory until one day we have the power to change them. If you change over, you become a free citizen of this Territory if you have no debts to indenture you. If you establish, a Sime must technically hold you as his property– or you're fair prey for any Sime."

"So you own me, either way," Hank said resentfully. "I don't understand Sime money, and I don't have any to give you."

"No. Fort Freedom had to pay to release you, but you owe us nothing. You're free to seek your own way to salvation, Hank."

Cautiously, Hank took the very edge of the paper Abel held out, and plucked it away, as if afraid Abel would grab him.

"Go wash your hands and face before you eat, Henry," said Margid, as casually as if she spoke to her own son. Hank stared at her, almost said something, but went to wash up in silence.

At the table, when Margid came near him, Hank held himself carefully out of her way, so that she wouldn't touch him accidentally as she served his food. He seemed hesitant to eat at first, but as Kadi dug in, he followed suit. Then he looked up, surprised. "It's real food! Like we had at home!"

Everyone laughed, and some of the tension eased. "Margid is a wonderful cook," said Kadi. "You'll be happy here, Hank."

The boy put down his spoon to finger the papers Abel had given him. "I can't read these."

"You'll have to learn Simelan," said Abel. "Then you'll see they are exactly what we told you."

Hank said in heavily accented Simelan, "I've already learned to speak a lot of it. I knew I needed it to escape."

Rimon choked on his tea, both Kadi and Abel blushed, and Margid looked totally blank. This time it was not a deliberate use of foul language; but in all innocence, Hank used the verb for "learned" with connotations of sizing up a sexual partner, the word for "knew" that implied a Sime discerning a choice kill, and the word "needed" where the proper term was "required." Thus it came out the foulest of gutter language.

"I'm afraid," said Abel, "that you. had best speak English, until we teach you proper Simelan in school."

"I'd have to go to school?"

"Of course. Didn't you go to school before—at home?"

"Sure, but… You sure do act like real people."

As Hank began to eat again, a young voice called from the front of the house, "Mr. Veritt? Mrs. Veritt?"

"We're in the kitchen, Uel," called Margid.

It was Uel Whelan, Dan Whelan's son. Like all the children of Fort Freedom, he was meticulously polite before the Veritts, but curiosity was strong in his nager. He was twelve or thirteen, now, and, like Hank, showed no indication of becoming Sime-or Gen. "Mr. and Mrs. Veritt. Mr. and Mrs. Farris. Hi, Zeth." Then he waited.

"Uel," said Margid, "this is Henry Steers, Jr. Uel Whelan is the son of our blacksmith, Henry."

"I wish everybody would call me Hank," the boy said. "My father was always Henry."

"Hi, Hank," said Uel. "You gonna stay with Mr. and Mrs. Veritt?"

"Maybe."

Snubbed, Uel turned to Kadi. "Did Zeth pick out which puppy he wants?"

"Yes," she said, "the one with the white patch over his eye."

"Well, I'll just take the other one home, then—"

"Uel," said Abel, "I think the other puppy has chosen Hank—if Hank wants him."

Hank stared at his plate, then looked up at Abel. "Can I really have him?"

"If you'll take care of him."

Uel, apparently sensing that Hank's rudeness had come from strain, tried again. "Want me to show you how to take care of him, Hank? I raised his mother from a pup."