"Not conquering, frightening."

"You ought to know!"

In that soothing, professional tone he'd used on Norborn, Klyd said, "I wouldn't know since I've never killed. But this I do know... disjunction is not merely physical. The kill touches deeply rooted psychological traits. It actually warps the personality. That's one reason only the young can come to us."

Valleroy greeted that with silence. The auctioneer, a wizened leathery-skinned Sime, completed the sale of the third man in the eighth group. It seemed to Valleroy that each sale was contested interminably now that there was no Deference Bidder. At least it gave him time to learn some of the auctioneer's tentacle gestures.

Group nine consisted on three petite, dark-haired beauties, each baring a striking resemblance to Aisha. Valleroy began to wonder if Feleho had mistaken one of these for her.

Group ten slowed the bidding to a crawl, Each of the three men, hardly more than boys really, was a clearly handsome specimen of a pure race... one Oriental, one Caucasian blond, and one Indian. The auctioneer seemed to value them higher than the bidders wanted to go-.

Group eleven, the last group of women, were all statuesque blondes. Valleroy's heart collapsed. Here was the disappointment he'd been nerving himself to face. Yet Aisha was a fighter at least equal to any of these. She would be Choice for some dignitary... somewhere.

He watched in grim silence while Nashmar fought a hotly contested battle for the last three men, who appeared to be brothers. They were tall, superbly muscled Gens with hatred in their cold blue eyes.

Every time Nashmar's opponent raised the bid, Klyd muttered a string of imaginative maledictions that amazed Valleroy in their scope and depth. There came a long pause after the last such raise while the auctioneer called for further bids. Nashmar sat silently, lips compressed.

Valleroy said, "What's the matter?"

"That's Tyte Narvoon bidding against Nashmar," said Klyd, as if that explained everything.

Valleroy twisted around to take another look at the opposition. The auctioneer had attempted to speed the bidding by offering the lot of three together, but this man was blocking the effort. "He looks frightening but what makes him different from anybody else?"

Klyd favored Valleroy with a sharp glance, seeming to consider the wisdom of explaining. Then he gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "I guess you're an adult even by Gen standards." He looked toward Nashmar. "Narvoon is what I would term a real pervert, but I don't know the English word for it. He prefers men instead of women. Nobody would mind except that he buys Gens for his purposes. The kill is one thing, legalized torture is something else. Haven't you noticed that even the nonbuyers have been bidding against him all afternoon?"

Valleroy looked around at the others in the audience, most of whom had come for the show rather than to buy. It seemed they agreed with Klyd. "I suppose," said Valleroy scathingly, "you don't get people like him in the Householdings?"

"It's extremely rare among Simes. Narvoon is from out-Territory originally. I'm told he had a particularly hard time of it, and he was warped by the experience. Some say he hates himself for being Sime, and can't stand the thought of having children. Others say this is his way of committing suicide, and it's working. I don't know, but he certainly isn't well."

Valleroy looked again at Narvoon, seated a little apart from the others around him. He was a veritable skeleton of a man, with sunken cheeks and hollows at the temples that gave him a death's-head aspect. When Valleroy looked back at Klyd, he found the channel exchanging signals with Nashmar under cover of his cloak. Nashmar nodded and signaled the auctioneer a double raise.

Narvoon rose jerkily and stalked out of the amphitheater, cloak flying behind him like bat wings. There was a stirring among the rest of the audience that Valleroy interpreted as a surprised approval of the House-holding's move. Evidently, Nashmar gained some public sympathy for the Tecton along with three raw recruits.

But to Valleroy it was a chill victory. From a grand total of thirty-six Gens auctioned, only seven had gone to the Householdings.

The crowd's buzzing rose to a full crescendo as groups formed and drifted toward the exits. Numb with the realization that it was really over, and Aisha was still missing, Valleroy sat staring at the empty stage. Around him, the Householders began to gravitate toward Klyd, forcing Valleroy to resume the role of Companion.

He watched Klyd pass something to Nashmar. It looked like a small purse, but Valleroy wasn't given a chance to ask. One of the other channels, wearing a cinnamon brown livery, greeted Klyd expansively and then said, "You surprise me! Not one purchase for Zeor? Was the grain harvest so poor?"

Chuckling, Klyd introduced Valleroy, saying, "The harvest is ample this year, Siml, but Zeor is Gen-high at the moment."

"Then what brings you to Iburan?" asked one of the Companions.

"The pendulum always swings. A talented Gen must be retained against the day of need."

"Aha!" exclaimed the Companion, grinning. "Wife-hunting are you?"

"Must I answer that?" said Klyd.

"No," said Nashmar reasonably, "but answer me this. What is this great talent that must be retained?"

"Such talent cannot be described in words, my dear friend. But you shall see with your own eyes at Arensti."

"Zeor plans to win again this year?"

"No way we can avoid it," declared the channel.

The glances that were exchanged after that solemn pledge left no doubt in Valleroy's mind about the high position of Zeor in the Tecton.

"Naztehr," Nashmar said to Valleroy, "you are a designer?"

"And artist, Sectuib."

"But you are Zeor's Arensti Designer?"

"Zeor has so honored me."

The looks of pure respect that that earned Valleroy gave him a little shock. If he'd known the degree of confidence Zeor had placed in him, he might have refused to try. In fact, at that moment, he suddenly felt like withdrawing his design, afraid it would tarnish Zeor's illustrious reputation.

But he wasn't given time to think about it. Nashmar drew Klyd to one side as the company began to disperse. "House of Imil would like to submit a proposition for Zeor's consideration."

"Zeor listens," said Klyd formally.

Taking his cue from Nashmar's Companion, Valleroy assumed a station to one side and slightly behind the channels. He listened quietly to the conversation, straining his brain to infer the gaps in his vocabulary.

"Imil requires the services of an exceptional artist to do the catalog for the spring collection. So we would like to borrow your Aresnti Designer for a few days."

"Well, I don't know about that Zeor has much work for him---"

"We can pay well to a Gen-high Householding. The prestige of putting out a catalog done in the hand of the winning Arsenti Designer would be worth, say, a young channel at least." Nashmar abandoned all pretense of bargaining. "Just think what this will mean for the Tecton! A Householding triumph at Arensti, a superb spring collection bound to sweep the field also done by a Householding, and a catalog of that Householding's collection that will win prizes for sheer artistic perfection, designed, executed, and printed by our Gens!" He emphasized the last two words, leaving no doubt that it would be a historical achievement proving that Gens are capable of higher creativity.

Frowning, Klyd said, "You have a point, Nashmar. However, despite my confidence in Zeor, the judging at Arensti isn't over yet. By the time the winner is announced, Naztehr Hugh will be deeply engaged in Zeor affairs..."

"By then it would be too late for us. The catalog must be completed before the Arensti winner will be determined. Imil is willing to gamble on Zeor's chances."

"It would be no gamble. Win or lose at Arensti, Hugh is still the best artist this side of the river."

"Then we must have him at all costs. Come to Imil with us now so we can discuss terms in a more congenial atmosphere."

Klyd hesitated.

"Where else can you stay the night? This must have been the longest action on record, and it's nearly a seven-hour ride back to Halfway House. There isn't a hotel in Iburan that would have you. And," he intimated slyly, "Imil has many marriageable daughters suitable for a Companion."

"True, but..."

"Besides that, I have three high-field Gens to transport. I could use an escort."

"Thodian road isn't safe any more?"