"I just don't see how they could refuse our request for troops," said his mother. "We're a county and we pay our taxesa"it's got to be illegal, what they're doing to us."

"Probably, but that doesn't change anything. Tomorrow we move valuables and crucial supplies out to the Old Homestead, and prepare shelter for the children there. Everyone else is to meet at the Old Fort at the first sign of Raiders."

So Zeth found himself ignominiously herded with all the little kids into the tunnels that honeycombed the hill under the house in which he'd been born. Jana, Owen's sister, was the oldest child in the group, but ever since Zeth had thrown her out of Owen's room, he'd felt more grown up than she was. And he was finally as tall as Jana.

Mrs. Veritt was lookout for the childrena"someone had to do it, and her love of children made it acceptable to her to be away from the fighting. Zeth knew she feared for her husband. So did he. His own parents, and the other channels and Companions, wouldn't be fightinga"they'd be healing the wounded. Abel Veritt, though, would be right out in front, wielding his whip with that astonishing skill he'd learned in his days as a Freehand Raider. Old as he was, he'd never let younger men fight without him.

As Mrs. Veritt's tension communicated itself to Zeth, he thought for the first time of a future without Mr. Veritt. When Marji had almost killed her grandfather, Zeth had felt sheer terror, and then intense relief when Uel was able to revive him. The possibility of Fort Freedom without Abel Veritt had not been forced on him then, as it was now.

It wasn't that he had not known death, even among people close to him. The first time Zeth could remember was when Willa Veritt, Jord's wife, died. Then later, Owen and Jana's mother, Carlana Erick.

But some people seemed . . . immortal. His father would always be there, and his mother, and Abel Veritt. Without them, how could there be a Fort Freedom?

As tension mounted with waiting, Zeth felt more and more restless. Mrs. Veritt spent most of her time atop the hill above the old sod house, scanning the trails. In direct charge of the children was Wik, the Gen boy Mr. Veritt had taken from the pens the day Owen returned from his first trip out-Territory. Wik was an astonishment to everyone. Only four months free of the drugs that inhibited the mental development of pen-grown Gens, he had already learned to talk and to ride, and just before being a.s.signed this task he had given transfer for the first time. Therefore he had to stay inside the heavily insulated house, lest his strengthening field attract scouting Raiders.

Wik took his first leadership a.s.signment seriously, scolding the children if they climbed the hill or wandered into the tunnels. He couldn't seem to understand childish energy and curiositya"well, he never had a childhood, Zeth told himself as he tried to be patient with Wik.

When the bell from Fort Freedom sounded through the cold air one bright morning, Zeth's heart gave a painful leap. If only he could zlin! If only he were grown up, and could be down there fighting!

He avoided Wik and Jana and followed Mrs. Veritt to where they could see the Old Fort. It was so far away that only the fact that people were riding in from both the New Homestead and the town could be discerned. In the rising clouds of dust, it was impossible to make out individuals.

Watching the gathering, Zeth didn't notice the yellowish cloud on the southeast horizon until Mrs. Veritt whispered, "G.o.d help us!" Then he realized storms never came from that direction. The cloud was the dust of the largest alliance of Freeband Raiders the Territory had ever seen.

The Fort had been preparing for weeks. The walls were strong and well defended . . . but Freeband Raiders berserk with kill.u.s.t would swarm over them, not caring if they died . . . and some would get through. As the cloud grew, Zeth's heart sank.

So manya"ranks upon ranks of killer Simes, headed for the bordera"for Gen Territorya"destroying anything that aroused their l.u.s.t for pain and fear. When they finished with Fort Freedom, they'd plunge across the bordera"and find Mountain Chapel . . . and Owen.

As the dust settled around the Old Fort, Zeth saw the futility of their preparations. They had to wait for the Raiders to come to them. If only they had Gen guns, to cut them down at a distancea"

"Zeth, go inside with the other children," said Mrs. Veritt distractedly. The worry in her voice cut through Zeth like a knife.

And in that instant, his plan came to him, full-blown. "Yes, ma'am," he said meekly, and started back toward the Old Homestead, not daring to look back to see if Mrs. Veritt followed him until he approached the open door to the old house. From inside, he heard Wik call, "Zeth?" For a moment, he thought he was trapped, but when the Gen didn't come out after him, he realized he was searching the tunnels for him.

He had to hurry, before Wik got Mrs. Veritt to zlin for him. He ran down the hill and across the trail, then along the creek to the old threshing floor. There, out of sight of the trail, was an old barn housing the horses and wagons that had brought the children out here.

Zeth saddled Star, and led her through the creek, angling through the brush to meet the trail. Then he swung into the saddle and urged Star up the hill to the border.

All Fort Freedom's children knew the way to Mountain Chapela"but Zeth's heart pounded with trepidation as he kicked his heels into Star's sides. As he pa.s.sed irrevocably beyond the point where Simes could safely follow him, doubts rose. He had never felt so alone in his life. Although he was dressed warmly, his woolen cap pulled down over his ears, he shivered in the crisp air.

I'm going to Mountain Chapel, he instructed himself firmly. Then out loud to Star he said, "We're going to get the Gens with their guns to come and drive the Raiders from Fort Freedom." If not for their relatives, he figured, they'd do it to keep the Raiders from reaching their own homes.

It was so simple, so obvious. Why hadn't the adults thought of it?

When he reached Mountain Chapel, Zeth quickly found out why. He'd crossed rugged uninhabited terrain, and begun wondering if perhaps he'd lost his way, when suddenly he came around a rocky hill to look down into a small valley, still green from the summer, as if the frosts had missed that pleasant and protected land. Nestled in the bend of a winding river was a town, the homes surrounding a large stone structure exactly like the chapel in Fort Freedom. Zeth knew he had found Mountain Chapel at last.

He wanted to gallop down there and shout out his news, but the mountainside was steep, the trail hardly more than a track. He rode into shadow, shivering. Night fell before he reached the town.

As Star's hoofbeats clattered on the bridge across the river, people came out with lanternsa"and guns.

Zeth found himself facing a semicircle of men studying him suspiciously. "Who are you, boy?" one of them asked.

"Zeth Farrisa"from Fort Freedom."

The tension relaxed a little. "All right, son, get down from your horse, and let's have a look at you."

Zeth dismounted, saying, "I'm looking for Owen Lodge Erick. It's important. I meana"" as it dawned on him that although he personally longed for Owen, his message had to be delivered at once to the town's leader, "I've got to talk to Mr. Bron."

One of the men handed his gun to another and approached Zeth. "You're safe here, Zeth. I'm Lon Carson. I have a great deal to thank you for. You come on home with mea""

"No, you don't understand!" Zeth protested. "I came for helpa""

"You'll find it here," said Mr. Carson, putting his arm around Zeth's shoulders. Then he whispered, in Simelan, "Come in the house with me before you say anymore!"

The other men parted to let them pa.s.s. Zeth let himself be led into one of the houses. When Mrs. Carson saw him, she cried, "Zeth!" and enveloped him in a warm hug. "But what are you doing here? Have you established? Surely you're not old enougha""

It was happening again. No one would take him seriously because he looked so young. "No," he said impatiently, "but Marji and everyone at Fort Freedom are in terrible danger!"

Mr. and Mrs. Carson looked at one another in shock. Then Mr. Carson said, "What's wrong?"

"Freehand Raiders!" Zeth spilled out his story, ending breathlessly, "And if you won't bring your guns and help, the Raiders will destroy Fort Freedom and then come right across the border and attack you here!"

Mr. Carson nodded. "You've done a good job, Zeth. I'll get the other men with family at Fort Freedom. Hopea""

"I'll take care of Zeth," she said. "You must be hungry."

He hadn't eaten since breakfast. He wasn't hungry, but he had been brought up on a strict regimen. "Yes, I should eat something. But where's Owen?"

"He was supposed to be back in town this evening. Mr. Bron always insists that Owen stay with him. Zeth, you must understand how difficult it is for people who did not come from Fort Freedom to believe there are Simes who don't kill. Mr. Bron is ... much like my father. He sincerely wants to do G.o.d's will, but until I returned from Fort Freedom with Owen, he was positive it was G.o.d's will that all Simes be destroyed on sight."

"But there are lots of people here from Fort Freedoma""

"Not even a third of the town," she replied. "And what could we say before last summer? Our own parents killed someone every month. Now we say they don't anymore . . . but how can I persuade anyone that it's real? If it weren't for Owen, I might think I dreamed it myself."

Mrs. Carson took Zeth into the kitchen, where she fed him while they talked of Fort Freedom. "So the real drive of the Raiders in our direction started after Owen left," he concluded, dabbling with his soup. It tasted funny, although he recognized the recipe as one of his favorites that Mrs. Veritt often made.

When Mr. Carson returned with a dozen other men, Mrs. Carson tried to herd Zeth off to bed. ' 'But I have to explain what's happening!" he insisted.

"We all know about Freeband Raiders," said Mr. Carson grimly. "We're all going. What we have to decide right now is, who we dare ask to go with us."

"But it has to be the whole town!" Zeth exclaimed.

"You don't understand, son," said a swarthy man with thick black hair. "We have to think of our wives and childrena" especially our children. Right now that means heading off the Raiders. But when we get backa""

"We'll worry about that when we get back, Joe," said a man in a plaid shirt. "I think I can talk Cord Ashley into helping. He's allowing his son to court my Nancy."

"Webb Simmins lost his boy to changeover two months ago," said a grizzled, bent-over man so thin he might have been Sime. He coughed, then went on "He said to me next day he wished he could've sent him toa"'that Fort Freedom place,' he called it. If he won't come along ... at least I don't think he'll try to stop us."

At an imperious knocking on the back door, silence fell. The men glanced anxiously at one another, and Mrs. Carson pulled Zeth against her protectively. Lon Carson opened the door.

For one incredulous moment Zeth had the impression that it was Abel Veritt at the door. Then the man moved, Zeth's eyes focused on him, and he didn't know why he should have thought it. This man was much younger, a tall, slender Gen with dark hair untouched by gray and grave brown eyes that swept over the men in the Carson kitchen with a sad bewilderment that did nothing to undermine his authority. In another reversal of impression, Zeth realized that that was what reminded him of Mr. Veritt: the ability to acknowledge his feelings without losing his dignity.

"So," he said in a tone of disappointment without accusation, "the children of Simes counsel together in the night."

Zeth's hackles rose. "They're here because of me," he said. As the man's eyes evaluated him, he added, "And I'm not a child of Simes. I'm the child of a Sime and a Gen, and if you want the only place in the world where that can happen to survive, you'll get your gun and join us in driving the Freehand Raiders from Fort Freedom."

Out of breath, his charge of adrenaline abating, Zeth plunged into acute embarra.s.sment as the man stared at him in silence before he said, "You must be Zeth Farris. Mountain Chapel welcomes you, and thanks you for preserving the life of Mrs. Carson."

At the man's completely reasonable tone, Zeth wished he could sink through the floor. Then he remembered why he was here, and forced himself to say politely, "You must be Mr. Bron. I'm honored to meet youa"but Fort Freedom needs your help." He stumbled over the English word "needs," but knew it was the right word to convey his meaning.

Mr. Bron's level gaze swept the a.s.sembled men. "Is that what you were counseling about? Whether you dared ask my help? Are you afraid to confide in me?"

The thin, bent-over man rose. "No, we're not afraid. We are going to help our friends and families on the other side of the border. We'd welcome your help."

"To go to the aid of ... Simes?"

"Simes who don't kill," said Lon Carson, "under attack from Simes who do. Freeband Raiders, Mr. Bron. It's not a moral issue from what Zeth tells us. It's a plain practical one: either we join forces with Fort Freedom and stop the Raiders there, or we risk their destroying the Fort and then descending onus."

Mr. Bron nodded slowly. "I see. On the 'plain practical'

side, if we ride in force across the border, can we hope to avoid detection? Or will we be branded Sime sympathizers, and have the militia down on us?" At the murmur of protest, he raised a hand. "I understand fully that that question is academic if we are attacked by such a huge band of Raiders. I've seen those monsters of depravitya"and I share your desire to fend them off."

At the common sigh of relief, however, Mr. Bron shook his head. "Can you not see that this is not a secular issue, but a high moral one? G.o.d is testing us. Listen to me!" he urged as the men began to mutter again. "Each time young Owen has come here, he has brought an invitation to me to visit Fort Freedom, to see for myself Simes who have overcome the kill. Has G.o.d become impatient? Is this a test? Are we being asked to show charity to those we wrongly thought of as inhuman?"

A chorus of yeses echoed around the room.

"You may be right," said Mr. Bron, "or this may be the Devil's work drawing us into sympathy with demons, to lead us to our deaths in that sin. Tell me, Zeth Farris, why would Fort Freedom send a child for help? To play upon our sympathies?"

"I wasn't sent," said Zeth. "I came by myself. Now I see why my dad or Mr. Veritt didn't send someone: they knew you'd refuse. Mr. Veritt knows all about the Church of the Purity. He must've known it'd be no use asking you for help!" Frustrated tears stung Zeth's eyelids. He felt hollow. "D'you think they'd refuse to help you?"

"Son," replied Mr. Bron, "surely you know I have no way to answer your question." He turned to the a.s.sembled men. "I must pray for guidance. Tomorrow I will gather the eldersa"''

"You do that," said Mr. Carson. "We're going on ahead. I got a brother and a daughter over there. Last summer I didn't have the courage to help Marjia"she's alive only because my wife dared risk her own life. You want miracles? Take a look at Hope. I'm going to go help my daughter, and afterward, I'm going to beg her forgiveness."

"Mr. Carsona"Lon. Give me time to consider."

"But the Raiders are attacking now.'" said Zeth, his head spinning as he tried to make these men see him as more than a hysterical child.

Mr. Bron ignored him. "Don't be impetuous, Lon. A few more people for the Raiders to kill will not help Fort Freedom. I will pray for a sign from G.o.d this night. If He indicates that we should help Fort Freedom, we will attack as a concerted force. If He reveals a trick of the Devil . . . then I fear if you go, you cannot return to Mountain Chapel."

Only then did he turn to Zeth. "You look tired, son. You are welcome to stay at my house. Your friend Owen may have arrived by now. I thought he was the one I would find here, not you."

Zeth wanted to see Owen the moment he arrived. "All right. Thank you, sir."

Despite Mr. Bran's lantern and the smooth, well-tended path, Zeth stumbled like a small child clumsy with sleepiness. Although he was "dreadfully tired from the long, hard trip and the letdown after pleading his case, he didn't feel sleepy, but his stumbling gait felt like one of his nightmares.

When he actually fell heavily to his knees, Mr. Bron helped him up, saying, "You're out on your feet, child." Zeth wanted to escape, to crawl away into a hole somewhere, he was so ashamed.

As Mr. Bron helped him up his own porch steps, the front door opened and a woman stood silhouetted against the light. "Maddok? What did they want you for? Oha"a child escaped from the Simes?" The woman closed the door as Mr. Bron led Zeth to the couch, then joined them, saying, "But surely he's too younga""

"I think he's ill, Sessly," said Mr. Bron, and the woman placed a cool hand on Zeth's forehead.

"He's feverish. Poor little boy. Don't worrya"we'll take care of you."

"Zeth," said Mr. Bron, "this is my sister. Sessly, this is Zeth Farris." Zeth wouldn't have had to be told the two Gens were brother and sistera"it was the same face, as if he were seeing double, but while the high forehead, deep-set eyes, and determined mouth and chin spelled strength in the man, in the woman they formed a face that at best would be called "plain" or "homely."

The woman was almost as tall as the man. Zeth felt small and frightened. He knew they meant to help him, but their proximity grated on his nerves. If they'd just go awaya"

The woman held out her hand to Zeth in a Gen gesture of friendship. Some people said it went back to the Ancients, but Mr. Veritt said it was more probable that it had developed as a way of displaying the forearm to show the absence of tentacles. Whatever the motive, Zeth knew he had to touch hera"and he had no idea why he desperately wanted to refuse.

When he lifted his hand, a dull pain, like sore muscles, spread from wrist to elbow. He'd been hauling on Star's reins all day, guiding her through the rough terrain. There were spots of soreness on his hand, too, which might have been blisters if he hadn't had calluses.

Telling himself to be grateful for being treated like an adult, Zeth shook hands, ignoring the faint twinges of pain and the illogical sense of revulsion.

"I think I can find pajamas to fit you. A good night's sleep and you'll be fine. Zeth Farris," she added thoughtfully. "You're Owen's friend. He should have been here by now."

"Perhaps he decided to stay over with the Mortons," Bron suggested. "I think he's seriously interested in Eph Norton's daughter."

Zeth fought down panic. Was Owen planning to stay this side of the border? "Can't you send for him? His pa's at Fort Freedom, and his sister's hiding with the kids. Owen has the right to know what's going on."

"Of course," said Bron. "In the morning I'll send someone. If he were coming tonight he'd be here by now. Sessly, you take care of Zeth. I must go to the chapel and pray for guidance."

"Guidance? Maddok, what is happening?"

He explained briefly. Sessly looked back to Zeth. "Oh, you poor, brave child! No wonder you're exhausted. Come along and get ready for bed now, and I'll bring you some hot milk."

She showed Zeth the bathroom and the guest room, and gave him some pajamas. It seemed to take every ounce of his strength to change in the cold bathroom. Chills shook him, followed by a sudden sweat. Nausea hit so fast that he barely managed not to vomit on the floor.

Trembling, gripping the cold stone appliance for support, Zeth felt the ache in his forearms again. He could no longer deny the facts, the unconscious knowledge that must have been with him for hours.

Fever. Exhaustion. Pain in his forearms. Nausea.

This time you've realty done it, he told himself, fighting tears of weakness. Disobedience has finally brought you into Gen Territory, into the house of the Spiritual Leader of the Church of the Purity . . . to go into changeover!

Chapter 6.

Think!

Zeth knelt in the bathroom, panic clutching at his vitals. He had to get to Owena"

No. He thrust the absurd thought aside. He had to get home, to his father. Think, he told himself more calmly, reminding himself that fear was the greatest enemy of the changeover victim.