Rimon was so close, so involved, that the sudden strong surge in the fields made his head spin. He felt the effect on Abel, equally close, still tensed against Hank's momentary fear. Now Abel, nearly blacking out with the effects of the rapid nageric shift, sagged, leaning his whole weight on Hank.

The boy turned, gasped, "Abel!" and caught him before he could fall, then eased him onto the bench where he and Uel had been sitting, supporting him physically and nagerically.

"I'm all right!" insisted Abel although clearly he was not. "Jord?"

"I'm all right, Father—thanks to Willa again. God forgive me—I don't know why I want to run from her when I get like that. But—Hank?"

"You never touched me," the boy said. "What did you do to your father?"

Rimon, steady once more, said, "It was the selyn flow between Willa and Jord—Abel was too close."

Hank asked Abel, "Can I help?"

"You are helping, Hank. Thank God you weren't hurt."

"But you were—protecting me. I—I don't want you to be hurt—not because of me, or because of anything."

Abel turned to meet the young eyes. Rimon could almost hear the words the older man was holding back. Then stay.

All at once, Hank blurted out, "You want what Willa did for Jord just now—instead of killing. Now I know—I want to do that for you!"

Astonished, Abel raised his head sharply, paying for the move with a stab of pain, but Rimon saw that it was well worth it as he looked into Hank's eyes. "Y-you've decided to stay?"

The boy nodded. "You said God sent me. I believe it. He must want me to teach you—why else was my father sent here? I'm sorry I was rude to you—" He broke into the tears he'd been holding back all these months. "They killed my mother—I never saw my father again—and I was afraid—Now I'm home. Don't make me leave—don't take it all away. Not again." He ran out of breath, sobbing on Abel's shoulder as the older man held him, Rimon seeing the same helpless despair in the boy that he expected only in Sime refugees from out-Territory.

Finally Hank raised tear-drenched eyes once more to Abel's. "Next month I'll do it for you, Abel."

"No, son—not next month. But you will do it, I have confidence—we'll pray together. I've vowed not to die a killer, and every day I see some progress toward keeping that vow."

Uel Whelan came to kneel before Abel. "If Hank can't do it, I will, Mr. Veritt. Someone will. It has to happen."

The three Gens who lived with Rimon were scattered through the chapel, with their families. Eyes shifted to them, but they were silent, motionless—at the first opportunity, Rimon would have to remind people of the lesson of Jon's death—it was no use to pressure someone who wasn't ready. His attention, and everyone else's, was caught by the movement of the other children, gathering around Abel and Hank, slipping between the adults. So few children—the hope for the future. Even Zeth followed the crowd, stopping before Rimon, watching the solemn moment. Zlinning his son, Rimon found that the child understood something—small as he was. And he'd grow up with the repeated dedication to end the kill.

Kadi came up beside Rimon and picked Zeth up. Rimon put his arm around her, feeling a strange new lift—Jord had just passed a crisis.

Looking at Hank and Abel, surrounded by the children, Rimon began to feel that this was indeed what he was born to do—to found a way of life in which people didn't have to fear to love one another. And Zeth would grow up with it—he'd be Sime, Rimon was sure, but he'd never kill. Not once. To guarantee that, Rimon would give his life– anything—anything at all. 

Chapter Twenty-Four

FIRST CHANNEL

As the dreary late winter advanced, Jord and Willa got along much better, making Rimon hope that the birthday party had really been Jord's crisis. Both Rimon and Jord were kept busy with the usual assortment of late-winter illnesses, but there was no repetition of last year's epidemic in Slina's Pens.

At Abel's insistence, Hank Steers moved in with Rimon —temporarily, he reminded everyone daily. That meant two dogs in the household, too—and often Rimon thought Uel Whelan might as well be a member of the family for all the time he spent there. Kids and dogs everywhere– until the day Zeth decided to "walk the dogs" down the tunnel through Len Deevan's carefully tended mushrooms.

Then Rimon called a meeting, and, feeling rather like Abel Veritt, laid down the law. To his surprise, no one protested his rules. Nevertheless, he began thinking of expanding the house again, or even building a second house for everyone except Kadi, Zeth, and himself. Hank thought that was silly. "Everyone will be moving back to Fort Freedom, the way Willa did."

"You may, Hank—but I don't know about the other Gens."

It was becoming a problem now. Len had been with them for almost a year, and still he had a skittish fear of real transfer. The other two who had been there for months were also unable to prevent the emotion that could prove a kill-stimulus.

Hank, on the other hand, lost his nervousness after the first time Rimon drew from him. "Is that all?" he asked.

"That's it. You're low-field. You can go anywhere you want to for the next few days—within reason. Don't go into town alone."

"Kadi does."

"Kadi," explained Rimon, "is an exception to every rule ever made. When you can do everything she can, you can use your own judgment about where you go."

"Oh, all right. But when can I give a real transfer?"

"Six months."

"Six months! That's forever!"

"Hank, Abel and I both agree that you're not to be rushed. You know about Jon Forester—we tried to push him too fast, and the result was tragedy."

"But Abel wants to stop killing! Rimon, I know I can do it!"

"If you can do it now, you can do it six months from now. How would Abel face himself if you tried before you were ready… and you made him kill you?"

Hank had no answer to that. Nonetheless, he kept pestering to have the date moved ahead. After his third transfer, Rimon felt he was ready, but Abel was adamant: they had set a date, and they would keep it. Rimon thought Abel's fear for the boy was unfounded. Hank had that same sense of confidence that Willa had.

He noticed, too, that each time he drew from Hank there seemed to be more selyn, just as with Willa; only Kadi's field outshone them. When Rimon began trying to measure the differences, with no set standard, certain facts about his own physiology began to fall into place. "I use more selyn than other Simes," he told Kadi. "I thought for a long time that it was just that some of what I took when I killed went into my reservoir, and that left me shorted for the month. But Kadi—not one of these kids can provide enough selyn for me, not even Hank—because there actually is a capacity difference!"

"It's my fault!" gasped Kadi. "After Zeth was born, that time you let me satisfy myself—you didn't burst—you stretched!" When Rimon laughed, she said, "All right, it sounds funny, but it isn't. I did something that increased your capacity for selyn, because ever since you have satisfied me. But Rimon—what will you do when we decide to have another baby?"

"Maybe someone will be up to your capacity by then. Kadi, people's capacities grow. I've become more sensitive since I… stretched, as you put it. So have you. There's a kind of growth that goes along with the things Jord and I can do—I've seen it in him, too, and you certainly had nothing to do with that. But Willa must have—they've both increased in capacity. I witnessed their first two transfers– and at the birthday party I zlinned a distinct increase in the selyn flow."

"Do you think when two people start having transfer they sort of—grow together? Adapt to each other?"

"I'm sure of that. But all the kids have increased their selyn production, even though they're not giving real transfers yet, I'm onto something, Kadi. The trouble is, I haven't figured out exactly what it is."