Straddling Borders

by

sanshadancer

Story © 2003 by Sanshadancer

All beginnings are hard -- Talmud Tractate Taanis

What’s past is prologue – Wm. Shakespeare

Chapter 1

Homesteaders

The store owner looked over the wooden crate of fruit the rancher had lugged in and considered the merchandise, the price that had been asked, and the rancher and his pretty wife. The man’s hands, holding the crate, had a tension that belied the casualness of the transaction. The merchant ate a berry, slowly, tasting the perfectly ripe fruit, then named a price. “I’ll give you extra,” he offered, “if you take store credit, instead of cash.”

The young rancher pushed his hat back and hesitated, obviously torn between the two prospects. Hard cash was hard to come by for new homesteaders, and it was always a temptation to get currency when one could. Still, few places existed locally to spend hard cash but the present store. “How much extra can we get?”

The merchant considered, and named a figure.

“Hugh, look at these!”

Hugh Valleroy turned to see his wife crouched down by a pen where some new chicks were scrambling.

Aisha captured a yellow fluff-ball, and crooned to it. “I’ve been hoping to get some poultry,” she said as he knelt down beside her, his lean figure moving stiffly, as if his muscles were sore.

“Nice chicks, those,” the storekeeper said, coming from behind the counter and wiping his hands on his apron. “Just hatched yesterday. From good layers, too. They’ll give you plenty of eggs. I’ll trade you a dozen for that crate of fruit. Throw in a sack of feed too. That’s an even better trade.”

Valleroy eyed the chicks, considered their probable price against his need for cash, then nodded and rose. “All right.”

“Care for anything else?” The sharp-eyed storekeeper surveyed their worn clothes. Though they were clean and still showed the creases from being pressed for town, they were quite washed out and sun-faded. “We’re got some nice patterned cloth? Beet sugar for jam? Canning jars? You must be putting up some preserves from your fruit. ”

“Not this time,” Valleroy said quietly, carefully counting out the money for the rest of their order from a lean and equally worn wallet.

“Maybe after harvest,” the storekeeper said equably, recognizing his customers for what they were. And what they didn’t have. “You folks are homesteading out by the border, aren’t you?” He threw the sack of meal over his shoulder, and followed as Valleroy carried the crate of chicks to his wagon.

“That’s right,” Valleroy said neutrally. “It’s good land, close by the river.” He took out a length of well worn rope and carefully tied the crate of chicks down behind the driver’s seat. Then he took off his own jacket to cover the top of the crate, shielding the chicks from the blazing summer sun.

“Though so. Knew you were homesteaders, from around somewhere. But those brambles only grow out there, near the water. I’d heard a young couple was trying their luck by the river. That’s dangerous country, wouldn’t you say, right on the border of Sime Territory? You’ve got Sime Raiders from across the river. Berserkers trying to make it out of Gen Territory. Wildcat coming down from the hills.”

Valleroy shrugged. “We haven’t seen any so far. I’m well armed. Border patrol comes by.”

“Well, I’ll buy all the fruit you bring in,” The merchant eyed their wagon, gauging that it was obviously second-hand. “Folks like the fruit well enough; they just don’t care for the risk in getting it. I guess you know yourself that it’s a ready cash crop. But I wouldn’t care to go prospecting for it, much less live out there. No one around here will even cross the Byval stream. And we’re lucky to see the patrol once a week. Once a month is more likely.”

Valleroy finished tying the crate and straightened up. turning to the merchant, squaring his shoulders. “We’ve had no problems so far. And border land is cheap,” he said quietly.

“It is that. But there’s a reason for it. People have tried their luck out there in the past, but you’ll notice you haven’t got any neighbors.” He hesitated, eyed the woman, then shrugged and dropped the subject. “Well, I’ll wish you luck, you and your wife. Just be careful and keep a rifle close at hand. The government should offer a bounty on those raiders. Same as for the pelt on a wildcat. Doesn’t make sense that they offer it for one and not the other.”

“Thanks,” Valleroy helped Aisha into the wagon, stepped up himself.

“The only good Sime is a dead Sime!” he called after them.

They rode in silence, except for the peeping of the chicks and the rattling of the wheels, until Aisha said, “Hugh, he doesn’t know any better.”

Valleroy stirred. “I know. And I’d shoot a Raider myself, if he was going for you.”

“And if he were going for you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I imagine Klyd wouldn’t like it.” Aisha commented.

“If I shot him, or if I Served him?” Valleroy asked.

Aisha thought. “Good question. I don’t know.”

“Neither do I, “ Hugh said. “It’s a no-win situation,” Hugh said. “These people can’t think of Simes as anything but predators who deserve to be killed. And to most Simes, Gens are nothing more than animals that produce the selyn they Need every month. They’ve never heard of Channels like Klyd, who can take selyn from Gens without killing. Or of renSimes who live on Channel’s Transfer. They can’t imagine a place like Zeor where Simes and Gens can live in peace. Changing that is what we’re all about, with Zeor on the Sime side of the border, and Rior on ours. It will happen, Aisha. Then no one kill Gens for selyn or think of Simes as vicious predators. Sime and Gen will be united.”

Aisha tickled the downy fluff of one of the chicks in the crate behind her seat. “Some day.”

Hugh slapped the reins on the horse’s back, urging him into a trot, as if somehow he could rush to that future. “Some day soon,” he said determinedly, “if I can help it.”

His barn was small, but snug, now lit only by the glow of an oil lamp, carefully secured on a hooked ring. A thunderstorm had turned the summer afternoon into pre-twilight darkness, but the thick stone walls of the small barn made the lash of the rain outside barely audible. He’d quarried the stone from the riverbank, same as the walls for his small cabin. The stone was free except for his labor, but milled lumber cost cold hard cash.

Valleroy knelt by the side of his only cow as she strained through her first calving. He’d been told not to breed her; she was young and had come into season too late in the year, but he’d risked it, thinking of the milk and cream and of butter that would tide them through the winter. And now, as luck would have it, the calf was positioned wrong. He’d been cursing that fate and trying unsuccessfully to turn it for hours, chafing as time ticked by. He didn’t quite have the strength or the knowledge to save his cow, and he was tortured by the awareness that he was already late for an appointment. Near despair, he sat back on his heels, wiping his sweating forehead, leaving a smear of blood across his face, and rubbing his aching arms. Outside the wind picked up and thunder rumbled. He sighed and geared himself up for another try as the cow lowed and strained again. He didn’t even hear the door open.

“Hugh.”

“Klyd!” Valleroy turned, squinting in the premature darkness. The lash of the rain outside and the drumming on the roof drowned out his voice. He steadied himself against the laboring cow and taking a deeper breath, spoke over the noise. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No.” The voice was terse and quiet, but it carried in spite of a pitch of thunder. Lighting briefly illuminated the sky. “I should not.”

“I’m sorry. But we’re not scheduled for Transfer for a few more days, And Melisande,” he gestured. “is having trouble. She shouldn’t be too much longer calving. I’ll be at Zeor soon. You know it’s risky for you to come here.”

“Did you call someone for assistance?” Klyd asked, still framed in the doorway. “Are you expecting someone to come here?”

“Who is there to call?” Valleroy answered, with more than a bit of weary frustration in his voice. “We’ve no vet in the area. And no Gen would dare come this close to the border by choice. Border patrol is all we see out here, and they make the rounds only rarely.” He looked up at the Sime, and in spite of his dark mood a half smile twisted his lips. “Though I can’t say that’s a bad thing, considering whom else comes calling.”

“That’s why I asked. I zlinned no approaching Gens for miles before I crossed the border onto Rior,” Klyd took a few more steps in the room. “Except you and Aisha. But why would you think it risky, unless you had called someone and were expecting them? You knew I could zlin for anyone close by.”

Valleroy sighed, and looked down at his hands, stained with mucus and blood. “I forgot.”

Klyd gave him a curious look of astonishment but came closer to the straining animal, a look of mild distaste on his rain lashed face as he studied it. Simes didn’t raise cattle, or eat meat, but Zeor kept a flock of goats, which were useful for the spinning quality of their hair, as well as for their milk and cheese. “I can’t zlin a cow,” he said impatiently, pushing a damp black forelock off his head with a tentacle, “but I can bring Regan here. Running Zeor’s stables, he’s helped foal plenty of horses. A cow can’t be that different.”

“I know what’s wrong. The calf has a leg back,” Valleroy said impatiently. “I just haven’t the strength to turn it.”

“No wonder,” Klyd said disapprovingly, turning his attention to the Gen. “You’re exhausted.”

“It’s been a busy month,” Valleroy replied without heat. “Anyway, I have to stay here and deliver her. I’ll be at Zeor as soon as I can. Long before our Transfer, I promise. You should go back there.”

“You promised, a month ago, that you would be at Zeor this afternoon,” Klyd returned with some heat. “You’re my Donor, and I’m in Need,” he added. “I’m not leaving until you come with me. It’s time you realized that there are limits Hugh, to even a Channel’s control. Even my control. Unless you agree that I’ll bring back Regan to take your place.”

“That’s not necessary,” Valleroy winced at the tacit reprimand. “I won’t be much longer.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

“You?” Valleroy turned, a trace of a smile brought to his face. “You may do wonders doctoring people, but I don’t think calving a cow is in your repertory. Sectuib,” he added giving Klyd the title that marked him as head of his Householding. “Do you think you’re a veterinarian now?”

“No. But I can support you. You’re much too tired for this.”

Valleroy pursed his lips, tensing a bit as Klyd crossed to him. The Channel laid a hand on his shoulder, the tentacles that were the most obvious difference between Sime and Gen extending from their sheaths on his forearms. The strong handling tentacles twined in his hair; the delicate nerve-rich laterals used in selyn conduction brushing his cheek and trailing across his neck seeking the selyn transport nerves under his skin. Hugh drew a breath as the ronaplin dripping from the lateral tentacles reacted to his skin, sensitizing his nerves. “Klyd, I don’t think--”

“Relax. Let me brace you.”

“I can’t relax and turn a calf,” Valleroy said testily, turning to look up at the channel. “Do you have any idea how strong these animals are?”

Klyd flinched at the wave of frustration coming from the Gen. “I meant drop your barriers and let me control your field. Your fields haven’t matched mine yet,” Klyd added reprovingly. “Have you forgotten everything in the last month?”

“I don’t see how that will help.”

“Do you want to be here all night?” Klyd asked, impatiently, then when Valleroy bristled, he asked. “Do you want to save your cow?”

“All right! Tell me what you want me to do.”

Klyd put his hands on Valleroy’s shoulders. “Relax,” Klyd said, soothingly. “Drop your barriers, match your fields to mine and let me support you. When it’s time to turn the calf’s leg, I’ll give you the extra strength.”

Valleroy nodded, and felt Klyd reinforce his grip with handling tentacles. It was hard for him to split his attention between creating the right nageric state with Klyd and functioning as a veterinarian, but he raggedly got his fields into order . Then the delicate laterals, sliding across his throat and behind his ear, two on each side, found the necessary selyn transport nerves under his own skin. In the straw before him, the heifer lowed and began to strain. Valleroy reached his arm deep inside, fumbling for the tiny foot as the contractions brought it within his reach. The hard muscles squeezed his hand almost nerveless, but then he felt a warmth and strength seemed to flow into him. He pushed the leg back against the straining muscles and felt the calf turn, and suddenly, the obstruction was gone, and with renewed effort the cow delivered the baby almost in his lap.

Hugh eased it to the straw of the stall and drew a relieved sigh, then looked the baby over. “She seems fine even after all that. A heifer,” he said with satisfaction, drying the calf off with a wisp of straw. “When she’s grown, we’ll have two milk cows.”

“Of such, dynasties are made,” Klyd commented, sitting back on his heels and watching him with a trace of amusement.

Valleroy looked up sharply at the arch comment, then shrugged and flushed, self-conscious. Lately, Klyd’s attitude toward Rior seemed to have changed from supportive to patronizing. “She means a lot to me, anyway.” He stood up stiffly, every muscle clearly aching, and moving to the bucket, fished around for the cake of soap and washed his hands and arms. He moved the cake of soap to his shirt pocket.

“I didn’t mean—“

“Yes, you did.” Valleroy accused, and then as Klyd tensed, he recollected himself and shook out his shoulders, dropping his near martial stance. He turned and watched as the cow butted the baby to her feet and nudged her to nurse. “I suppose a calf is nothing much to you,” Valleroy said quietly. “But I could have lost her, could have lost her mother too. That’s a loss I can’t afford right now.” He set his jaw a little and said stiffly. “Thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome, though I didn’t do much.” Klyd watched as Valleroy put a flake of sweet hay in the manger for the cow, fresh and green from a recent cutting, checked the water bucket, and carefully took down the lamp from its nail hanger. Klyd took the lamp from the Gen. Hugh didn’t comment, though his jaw tensed just a bit. Simes tended to regard Gens as clumsy and not to be trusted with objects that could cut or burn. Valleroy knew Klyd couldn’t help his own upbringing. Rather than make an issue over it, Hugh picked up the bucket of dirty water.

“Is Aisha ready to leave for Zeor?” Klyd asked.

Outside the byre, the rain had stopped, and the sky was clearing. The fields were already steaming in the late afternoon sun. Valleroy put down the bucket to settle the bar into the slot that held closed the barn door, then he picked up the bucket and poured it carefully into the irrigation ditch of the nearby garden. “Aisha is going to stay here this month,” he said quietly. “We picked up some baby chicks in town yesterday. She wants to keep an eye on them till they’re a bit older. And someone has to watch over the livestock.”

“Do you think that’s wise? I can have someone come over to feed and check on your stock. Or even to stay, if that would make you more comfortable.”

“She wants to stay,” Valleroy pushed open the cabin door. Driven indoors by the rain, Aisha had settled in a chair at the table, a basket of patchwork squares at her side. She looked up anxiously, then rose when she saw Klyd.

“A heifer,” Valleroy announced. “She’s seems to be doing well, even after all my mucking about.”

“Hugh, that’s wonderful!” Aisha kissed him, “Next year, we’ll have two milk cows! And more calves.”

“I hope they aren’t all as much trouble calving,” Valleroy said dryly.

Aisha turned to Klyd. “We weren’t expecting you, Sectuib Farris. Hugh was going to Zeor.”

“When he didn’t show on schedule, I decided to ride over.” Klyd looked over the small stone cabin with the same faint air of disbelief and disapproval.

Aisha chose to overlook his expression. “Can I offer you some tea? Thanks to you, we do have trin.” She smiled at him. “We save it for when we might have certain visitors.”

Klyd glanced at her sharply. “There’s no need for that. I sent it over for you to drink, not save!” He drew a breath and softened his tone, seeing his hosts glance at each other. “I’ll see that the kitchens pack some for you regularly when you return.”

“That’s not necessary-“ Hugh began, glancing from Klyd to Aisha.

“Trin tea is good for you,” Klyd said shortly. “And it isn’t as if you can get it here, out-Territory. You should have said something. But no, thank you, Aisha. We need to get back to Zeor. Hugh tells me you aren’t coming with us?”

“I have so much to do. It’s hard enough having Hugh leave for a few days—“ she stopped short, looking up at the dark expression that washed over Klyd’s face. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Valleroy stepped between them. “Klyd knows that.” He turned to the Channel. “I’ll just put together a few things and be right with you.”

Klyd glanced at Hugh, impatience in every line of his Need-tautened frame. “What are you planning to pack? There’s nothing here you could be thinking of bringing that you couldn’t get at Zeor. Except Aisha.”

Hugh tensed again. Klyd’s emphasis, his sharp tone, the slight derision as he said the word “here” gesturing with a tentacle at the small cabin, made his attitude toward Rior obvious. But Hugh dropped his shoulders, lowering his defensive stance as he again refused to argue. “I suppose that’s true. But Aisha wants to stay and I can’t blame her.”

Klyd paced restively. “She’s high field. If she’s not coming, then I should take her field down before we leave.”

Valleroy glanced at Klyd, the Channel’s obvious Need making him uncomfortable with that idea. He knew that Klyd would never injure Aisha as he’d once been injured, Need or not. His own very real Transfer burn had been inflicted deliberately by Klyd, as a necessary ruse to get him into Zeor as a Gen rescuee during the covert operation that had rescued Aisha from Sime raiders. In the months since then, he’d never seen Klyd injure another. Still, the memory lingered. While he had no fear of Klyd for himself, he realized he was still harboring an irrational one when it came to Aisha’s donations. He hadn’t realized until just now how he’d always preferred that Klyd take Aisha’s donation after their Transfer, when Klyd was no longer suffering Need. But he recognized that as a silly fear, worthy only of an uneducated out-Territory Gen, not of a Companion who didn’t merely donate selyn, but who Served a Channel’s Need. He nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course. Aisha?”

She shrugged indifferently. “Whatever you say.”

Klyd had steadied himself into working mode. “Hugh?”

Valleroy drew a breath and marshaled the fields, his and Klyd’s, into a supportive grid that could withstand any disturbance. Then he balanced Aisha into the mix. With his field so high, especially with Klyd’s personal field low, his was the dominant field in the room. He could easily buffer Klyd from any turbulence Aisha’s minor field could produce, even if she became seriously frightened. But Aisha had been donating for months. She simply put aside her sewing basket, rose and pushed up her sleeves. Hugh locked his fields hard against any personal feeling and came up to her, taking her hands in his. His instinct as Aisha’s husband was to protect her. His tutored behavior as Klyd’s Companion was to protect him. He knew the latter had to hold sway, and it was stronger – buried deep inside him were Companion’s instincts that had been rising in him since he’d begun working with Klyd. Protecting Klyd, even at the expense of getting a backlash burn himself, was second nature now when he worked at Zeor. But this was Rior; this was Aisha, his wife, and he still felt a flutter of confusion as to which should hold sway in a crisis.

But it was a textbook donation. Aisha gave him her hands and he gave them to Klyd, sliding his hands out from between them and stepping back a pace with one hand just above one of Klyd’s lateral sheaths. He closed his eyes as Klyd bent his head to touch his lips to Aisha’s for the fifth contact point of Transfer, not just because he didn’t want to see that not-kiss, but because he could follow the fields better without the distraction of sight. He felt Klyd slid his four lateral tentacles onto Aisha’s forearms, felt him take the fifth contact point for transfer from his lips to hers, felt Klyd drop into commitment, setting up the negative field flux in his secondary system, and felt Transfer begin. From Aisha he felt nothing, except a whisper light drop in the ambient field as her selyn was taken into Klyd’s secondary system. Aisha was only a general class Donor, her selyn yield was small, and her field indistinguishable to him when he wasn’t working with Klyd. He was, after all, only a Gen himself, though a Companion. He couldn’t zlin Gen energy fields like a Sime could. But he knew he could sense something. How else could Companions work? Still, he hadn’t been able to communicate too well what he was sensing. He’d discovered Simelan didn’t seem to have the vocabulary for what he was trying to describe, or he just wasn’t it describing it well enough to Klyd that the Channel understood him. He was new, both to the technical language of Simelan and to Companion’s service. It didn’t seem important to worry too much about it, when there was so much else that needed doing.

He felt Klyd finish the Transfer and opened his eyes to see Klyd lift his head from Aisha and simultaneously withdraw his laterals. She waited for him to retract his handling tentacles from her wrists before she took a step back, but Hugh had focused his attention on Klyd, stepping in to brace his fields as the Channel put a hand to his forehead.

“Klyd?”

Klyd shook him off. “I’m fine. You pulled back a little too soon, Hugh. It unsettled me.”

Valleroy reviewed the donation in his mind. “But I thought you were done. The Transfer was over.”

Klyd gave him a curious look. “You couldn’t really know that. Anyway, you are supposed to wait until I signal you.”

“I’m sorry.” In the past he had waited for Klyd’s signal, but this time, he’d so clearly recognized Klyd had completed the transfer that he’d thought his part was done too. He made a mental note to adjust his technique in subsequent donations, thinking ruefully that the very sensitivity that Klyd had said made him a natural Companion, and often gave him native instincts on what to do, often just as readily led him wrong.

“It’s all right. You are a month out of practice,” Klyd said shortly. “But you’ll get some at Zeor over the next few days. And speaking of practice, we’re both going to be late for Collectorium if we don’t get moving. The Gens will wait, but I have dispensary tonight too, and the renSimes can’t. We need to get going.”

Valleroy nodded and turned to Aisha. He kissed her, hating to leave her yet understanding why she wanted to stay. Getting Rior on its feet, starting any homesteading from scratch, consumed all their time. But Klyd had impressed on him that he couldn’t simply Serve his Need for the few minutes that took and be done with him. Channels expected to be with their Companions most of the month. At bare minimum, Klyd needed him at least a couple of days before Transfer. And he needed to practice his Companion’s skills and master at least some of the techniques and training most Companions learned. He needed more time at Zeor, not less. For Aisha, though, it wasn’t the same. If it was hard for him to go to Zeor, knowing it was essential, then how much harder for Aisha to go when she really had no reason to be there?

“I’ll be fine. I’m low field now,” she glanced at Klyd. “So no Sime will zlin me. And one of the advantages of being so close to the border is that no Gens will come. If I need you, I’ll come to Zeor.”

“All right.” He kissed her again, and then brushed off the straw he transferred to her clothes. “Sorry. I’m grubby after mucking around in the barn for hours. I’d like to wash up and change clothes.”

“You’re going to change at Zeor anyway,” Klyd said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You can wash up there. Come on, Hugh.”

Valleroy nodded and walked out of the cabin. He saddled his horse under Klyd’s impatient gaze, and soon they were riding through his fields to Zeor.

“I wish you would have let me send someone until you return,” Klyd brooded.

“I don’t want to risk any Zeor members being caught in Gen Territory.”

“I wasn’t necessarily thinking of sending Simes,” Klyd said mildly.

“I’ll only be away a few days.”

“Aisha should have come with us.”

“She didn’t want to leave. She has the poultry now, and the kitchen garden. I can leave the crops for a couple of days,” Valleroy’s words were belied by the anxiety in his emotions at the thought, “but there are some things someone has to stay behind and care for. Or we’ll lose them. And we can’t afford to.”

“And that’s my point. One lone pair of Gens can’t single handedly do all this.”

Valleroy made a face at that argument. “Gen farmers are used to living on their own and doing everything themselves. We don’t need five hundred people splitting up all the tasks. The Householding lifestyle isn’t common among Simes either.”

Klyd didn’t say anything to that, ducking his head a little as he rode under the heavy swath of vines that partially hid the tunnel separating their two properties. On the other side, Zeor’s neatly ordered fields, steaming after the recent rain, stretched relief lines to the horizon, punctuated by dots of workers in Zeor blue. Valleroy looked at them, thinking of his own fields, still largely unfenced, marred by tree trunks felled but not yet uprooted, patches of uncleared brush, and lumpy with rocks. Given that, he understood Klyd’s reaction on coming upon Rior. But he didn’t support it. Zeor hadn’t been built in a day either. Sometimes he thought Klyd conveniently overlooked that when he drew his unflattering comparisons.

“Gens can run a Householding on their own, you know,” he added absently.

Klyd gave him a sharp look. “And what would be the point of that?”

“I didn’t mean – I just meant--” Klyd’s unwavering stare, as if issuing a challenge, made him grit his teeth to keep from responding in turn. He tried hard to mute that reaction, right down to the emotions that went with it. Klyd was only a few of days from Transfer, at or past the point where most Channels would take Transfer, and thus hyper tense about even small things now. And not showing up at Zeor when he was due, forcing Klyd to come after him at Rior, had to have been stressful. “I do appreciate your offers of help. But I don’t need Zeor’s handouts. I have to do this myself.”

The Channel looked away, and Valleroy nudged his horse toward him. “Klyd--”

“I understand,” Klyd said, his voice so professionally neutral it was almost unrecognizable.

But he knew that Klyd really didn’t understand such an out-Territory attitude. He was simply refusing to argue so close to Need. Hugh swallowed all his arguments too. They rode in silence back to Zeor.

Chapter 2

A Zeor Companion

“Come up and change before our shift,” Klyd said, as he dismounted and handed his reins to a boy at the stables. Hugh nodded.

He followed Klyd to his suite, the master one that he’d first met Klyd’s Grandfather in, not so very long ago. And yet, since then, it often seemed they’d both become completely different people. Klyd’s Grandfather was dead now, and Klyd was Sectuib in Zeor irrevocably now, no tacit splitting of authority, no one else available bearing the Farris name to seek counsel from, to lighten his load even momentarily. Hugh understood, or thought he did, the crushing responsibility Klyd felt for Zeor and its members. As if to underscore that solitary role, Klyd had moved that very month into these rooms, perhaps also in a vain effort to put the loss of his wife, Yenava, behind him.

Valleroy himself was a far cry from the Federal policeman who’d stumbled through his first days in Sime culture. After he’d collected his reward for the mission where he and Klyd had rescued Aisha, the mission that had resulted in the death of Klyd’s grandfather, wife and newborn child, Valleroy had settled on some border land bracketing Zeor, and put his mind to the requirements necessary to keep it. He was still struggling, as a new Homesteader, as a new Companion. Having shed his old identity like an outgrown skin, and not quite comfortable in the new. In either new identity.

So it was appropriate, perhaps, that he shed what he’d begun to think of as his “civilian” clothes: the tough rancher’s jeans, work shirt and jacket, the heavy worn boots. He was so grubby that he took a quick bath, mindful of Klyd impatiently waiting in the suite outside, though he would have gladly spent an hour soaking out his sore muscles in the hot water. Rior didn’t yet have indoor plumbing. For him and Aisha, hot baths were a weekly luxury involving as much labor as respite. He sluiced the soap out of his hair with clean water and quickly toweled off. Someone had laid out for him – not a Zeor coverall, but the soft cotton scrubs that Channels and Companions wore in the collectorium, dispensary, changeover and medical wards. Unlike the coverall with its embroidered pocket crest, they were sans markings or embroidery. Since such scrubs were washed often in harsh soap, embroidering them with Zeor’s crest was impractical, but they were dyed in Zeor colors, the blue that he’d now always think of as Zeor blue. The simple shirt was short-sleeved, as befitted a working Companion. He pushed his feet into the soft canvas shoes, absurdly light compared to his ranchers’ boots, worn by Simes and Gens alike inside the Householding buildings, thinking of what shoes could mean.

Householding Gens who didn’t work in the fields for the most part didn’t even own boots, having no need for heavy, thick-soled shoes. Their lives were largely bounded by Zeor’s walls and fences, for outside of Zeor, without an escort, they were fair game for a Kill. Even the Simes of Zeor rarely visited Valzor, the town right outside their gates. If you talked to them about it, they wondered at anyone, Gen or Sime, wishing to go among juncts. He understood their distaste for the junct lifestyle that required killing a Gen a month for selyn. And even if the Zeor members discounted the viciousness of the kill which Zeor eschewed, they seldom cared to go among townspeople who despised them for their “perversion” in avoiding the junct lifestyle. Yet he felt one had to change the world by being of it, not taking over a little piece of it at a time, as the Householders planned. Every time he changed his own clothes for Zeor-issued ones, he thought of what they represented. Not just the Householders’ lifestyle, but what he’d begun to think of as the Householder’s mindset. Which could sometimes be as restrictive as the functionality of their clothes. And at times as narrow as the pathways their light-soled shoes walked.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket to take out the crest ring he only wore at Zeor, put it on his hand, and ran a comb through his damp hair. In the mirror a different person stared back at him than the farmer and rancher that had been there before. A figure all in Zeor blue, forearms bare in a style Out-Territory Gens almost universally shunned, the heavy crest ring weighing down his hand. Only the deep outdoors tan and rough hands made him incongruous as a Companion. He had personal experience with a Companion’s long days, but a Companions weren’t usually filled with the kind of backbreaking work he’d been doing at Rior. Two completely different worlds, and perhaps he truly belonged in neither of them. He sighed a little at the incongruous reflection he represented and went to find Klyd.

Klyd looked up from whatever he’d been studying as he came into the room, his eyes and other Sime senses raking him from head to toe. Valleroy knew he was seeing a Companion now, not a rancher or even a friend, but a member of his Householding, a personal Donor with all the obligations that entailed. Hugh didn’t feel that he was any of those things yet, still struggling with all of them, but somehow it was easier, in the tacit garb of a Companion, to put aside his own worries about his crops and his livestock, his struggling homesteading, and precarious finances, his concerns about how Aisha would manage in his absence, and focus his attention wholly on the Channel he’d come to Serve.

“You’ve lost some weight.” The tone was mildly disapproving. “And you’re overtired.”

Valleroy shrugged, not liking the personal comments or the implied criticism, but letting it go without objection. In this circumstance, Klyd had a right to such statements. “It’s been a busy month,” he said instead.

“Come here,” Klyd said.

Valleroy pushed back, far back, the niggle of annoyance he felt, not at the request, couched as an order, or even the tone, which was quiet and calm, but at the casually imperious nature of it. Here, in Klyd’s Householding, in a Companion’s dress, he had changed more than his clothes, and Klyd knew it. There was no question in Klyd’s mind, not just that he’d be obeyed but that he had a right to that command. And more even than that, there was some air about him that seemed to say that Hugh was at fault for needing that command. Guilty over his own role in the deaths of Yenava and Klyd’s grandfather, and struggling to come to grips with all his new roles, Valleroy had long held his peace over the way every Channel seemed to order Companions about, but his unease lurked buried under the surface. Every time he heard that tone it flared up a little more. Someday, he promised himself, he was going to hash this out with Klyd.

But now, just arrived at Zeor, and hours late, was not the time. He kept his unease pushed down, and deliberately relaxed, giving the Channel his hands, and felt himself relax even more as Klyd’s hands met his, and then the tentacles twined swiftly around his wrists. It had been a long month and he had missed Klyd. Once the Channel’s touch had terrified him. Now he felt only keen anticipation of pleasure at it. When Klyd took his hands it was as if they had never been apart. Even more, it was as if they were two halves of one whole, separated only by inconsequential skin and bone. He let himself savor that for a moment. Then as his awareness of the Channel’s systems soaked into his own, concern overlaid the satisfaction. Klyd was tense. Too tense. He looked down at the sharp planes of the Channel’s face and said. “I think you’ve lost some weight too.”

Klyd didn’t pay the slightest heed to his words, his attention focused elsewhere. Valleroy felt the odd itchy feeling that told him he was being deeply zlinned, examined with Klyd’s keen Sime senses. He’d asked Denrau once if zlinning tickled all Gens, or just Companions, since he’d never noticed the sensation before he’d Served Klyd’s Need. As Klyd’s former Donor, Hugh felt Denrau would be familiar with what he was describing. But Denrau had given him the blank look that told him he’d said something incomprehensible – and probably improper -- among Householders. He got that look a lot at Zeor. He’d learned better than to pursue the subject when he did.

He waited till Klyd came back to awareness, and repeated his observation. Klyd released his hands, looking a little calmer.

“I’m glad you’re here, Hugh,” Klyd said, ignoring his personal comment. “I’ve missed you.”

Valleroy ran his hands up the Channel’s arms, watching as Klyd closed his eyes in involuntary reaction, gauging the Channel’s state of Need as best as a Gen could. Klyd had more than two days, closer to three really, before he’d Transfer the selyn Valleroy produced to slake his own personal Need. Most Channels were on a twenty-eight day Need cycle, but Klyd generally waited thirty days between Transfers. Hugh wasn’t sure if Klyd’s cycle really was that long, or if he had just had needed extra time in the past for his regular Donor to catch up in selyn production the volume his draw would demand. Whatever the reason, Klyd was fixed on that cycle length now, but usually in hard Need for the last two days of it. He was close to that state now, but not in it yet. Need was uncomfortable, but Valleroy rather thought he was more uncomfortable than he should have been. “You’re much too tense.”

“I’m better now. It’s not easy doing without a Companion most of the month, particularly when that Companion doesn’t show up on schedule.”

Using his own senses to evaluate Klyd’s condition, Valleroy was caught unaware by the rebuke, and flinched at the tacit reprimand in the statement. He raised his eyes to the Channel’s, wondering if they were going to hash that out again.

Klyd had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry. That was unfair. I know you didn’t deliberately delay.”

“Yes, it was.” He rose, not caring that Klyd was unsettled by the abrupt movement, too unsettled himself by the clash of cultures, and the opposing demands fate was forcing on him. He felt guilty enough leaving Aisha alone at Rior. He didn’t care to have more guilt ladled on top of that. He shook off the flare of annoyance. “Where are you due now?”

“Collectorium. Then I have a meeting,” Klyd admitted, rubbing his forehead with a tentacle, looking miserable and making no effort to adjust to that chaos Hugh’s movement has caused his systems. “Standard Householding business. After that a shift in Dispensary. Nothing unusual.”

“Then let’s go.” Hugh tried to mold his fields into a semblance of support, but he was still smarting at Klyd’s comment, and they were roiling in chaos. And he felt clumsy at it, not having practiced in a month. He drew a deep breath and marshaled his fields into some kind of order.

“Hugh,” Klyd said. “Not yet.” He waited patiently himself while Valleroy turned toward him. The Gen was partially reluctant, but yielded with the same inevitable inner inclination with which a plant turns toward the sun. Klyd drew him down beside him, hands on his. “Would you rather I told you a fiction we both know to be a lie?”

“You have Companions. Sectuib.” Hugh gave him the title that said it all. Klyd was head of his House. He had his pick of all the available Companions in it, most of whom had years of experience in Serving him in one way or another. For that matter he probably had the pick of any Companion in the Tecton. “You need me here for Transfer, not waiting attendance on you every day of the month. You have Companions enough that are far better trained than I am for that sort of Service.”

“It’s not the same. But I shouldn’t take that out on you. We did agree on your schedule.”

“No. You shouldn’t.”

“Forgive me? After all, I am in Need.” He squeezed the hands he held gently, expressive Farris lips moving in the rueful grin he knew would get through even to this Gen. He held Hugh’s eyes, waiting for Valleroy’s hard shell of disapproval to melt. “I know you didn’t mean to be late.”

Valleroy irritation dissolved under the Channel’s influence. “I’m sorry,” He moved his hands to the Channels’ forearms, taking a Transfer grip, letting Klyd take his as well, his contrition plain to the empathic Sime. “It’s even difficult for me so I know it must be a hundred times more so for you. That’s why I can’t help being defensive. But I can’t be here all the time, Klyd.”

“I know. We’ll work it out. Let’s both of us just be glad you’re here now.”

Valleroy nodded, and smiled gamely, rising in unison with Klyd to leave. But his eyes still looked a little bleak.

The shift in the Collectorium was routine. Virtually all the Gens were long term Householding Donors, for whom their monthly donation was a regular part of their lives. They came in with a smile, showing obvious respect and affection for their Sectuib. If not for the Householding practice forbidding casual touch between Sime and Gen, Valleroy suspected they would have initiated some physical contact with Klyd outside of the donation, so clear was their awareness and concern for his obvious state of Need. Klyd spent time with each one after taking their donation, zlinning each deeply, asking personal questions relating to their health, and writing them appointment referrals for any conditions he noted. In-Territory, a Channel served the same function as a physician. Valleroy had first been slightly embarrassed at the non-Transfer side of the job, and had wondered if he should be present during this part of their visit, but he’d learned that a Companion was considered in the same professional light as a Channel. While he wasn’t exactly expected to be invisible during these consultations, he was more or less treated as if he were an adjunct of Klyd, the in-Territory equivalent of a physician. Except that a Channel’s Companion served that function only for Channels, most specifically his assigned Channel, while a Channel served his entire Householding of Simes and Gens in that regard. Hugh knew very little about that part of his role.

Not only did each Gen Donor seem unconcerned that he was part of this personal audience, but he came in for some displaced affection. They couldn’t touch Klyd – no donor Gen dared touch a Channel in Need but his own Companion -- but they did lay a hand on Valleroy’s arm, or take his hand in leaving, showing their appreciation for his service to their Sectuib, one they couldn’t provide. He was learning to take all of this in stride. The only surprise of the shift was a young Gen not much past establishment. She panicked as Klyd took her in Transfer grip, before he even got his laterals on her. It took fifteen minutes of Klyd’s near hypnotic persuasiveness before he could take her donation, and even then she began to struggle part way through it. Hugh calmed her down afterwards and got her out of the room. Klyd washed up after the donation, and tossed the towel at the rack, missing it. Hugh picked it up and threw the towel in the dirty laundry bin, more than a little startled at Klyd’s lack of coordination. Simes, especially Simes in Need, didn’t usually make clumsy moves.

“I need a break,” Klyd said shortly.

”We’ve only got two more,” Valleroy said worriedly, “and the schedule--”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t take another donation for at least fifteen minutes. Go tell the controller to hold the next Gen off for a bit.. And bring me some tea.”

He brought them both back tea, and entered the cubicle. Klyd had dimmed the lights and was lying on the Transfer lounge. He looked gaunt and even more worn than Valleroy was after his months of heavy fieldwork.

“Tea,” Hugh announced, and sat down beside the Channel, putting it on the table.

Klyd rose suddenly and took him in Transfer position. Valleroy froze for just a second. He could still be startled at the swiftness with which Simes could move, particularly after being away from Klyd for a month. But he was well trained enough now that he consistently dropped his barriers at Klyd’s touch, rather than raising them in resistance. Klyd didn’t take a fifth, he simply held his arms for a moment, tentacles bruisingly tight around his wrists and forearms, then he slowly relaxed. But he didn’t let go.

“Are you all right now?” Valleroy asked tentatively. “Did I do something wrong? Should I call someone else? Denrau? Charnye?”

The Channel shook his head. “My fault. I shouldn’t have sent you out. But I couldn’t trust myself to go, after that.” He laboriously untwined his handling tentacles, moving reluctantly, but re-looped one and tugged at Valleroy’s wrist when the Gen would have moved away. “Stay here.”

Valleroy settled down, sleeve to sleeve with the Channel, using his own field and their proximity to ease the turbulence in the channel’s systems. ‘Have some tea,” Hugh suggested. “It will make you feel better.”

“I won’t feel better until after our Transfer,” Klyd said grimly. “But it might help.” He sipped the tea, and after a few moments, sighed softly, and laid a dorsal on Valleroy’s wrist in tacit apology. “Sorry if I was a bit short. That donation was a nightmare.”

“I don’t understand what was wrong with her.”

“She’s not untypical.”

“But she was raised here. Her father is a renSime.”