"So why do the Householdings buy captives if they won't co-operate?"

"They are usually more reasonable when they find they've been given a chance to live, if only within the Householding. After they first donate, they have several weeks to become accustomed to us, as you did."

Valleroy wasn't so sure he was accustomed yet "So turn them loose in the Householding and let them see for themselves."

"We can't do that until they donate. These three are brothers, the last survivors of their family. They're firmly convinced all Simes are killers and ought to be killed."

"I see. But surely they must have seen enough by now to know that Imil isn't..."

Klyd gestured through the door's window. "There you see Nashmar and Loyce, living testimony to what Imil is... but the brothers will have none of it. You've absorbed your share of punishment from them already. I'm not asking you to go back in there with me..."

"But it would be proper behavior for a Companion?"

"Uh... yes, it would."

"Let's go." Valleroy watched closely as Klyd gripped the door's handle and pulled it open. He knew that door was locked, but he'd seen it open without any resistance.

From the inside, he watched it shut and then tried pushing it open. It wouldn't move.

"Turnie! We thought they'd killed you for sure! Where've you been?" called Vrian.

"Working," said Valleroy, facing him. "Paying my own way with honest labor, which is more than you can say for yourself! And I'm no turnie!"

"It was a turnie just like you that got us into this mess. Guess I know one when I see one," said Grenel.

"Shut up, Grenel," said Vrian from Valleroy's right. "What are you doing here, Turnie? Want another throat message?"

Valleroy essayed a wry smile.

"Just step in here where your friends can't interfere, and we'll see how long you'll smile."

"And what will that prove?" asked Valleroy. "That one Gen is stronger than another? I admit you're stronger than I am. Now are you happy?"

"I'll be plenty happy when I get my hands on one of them slimy snakes you call friends."

"Is that how you pay for your room and board, with insults?"

"Or die trying. We wasn't asked if we wanted to stay here."

Valleroy turned to Nashmar and said in English, "Sectuib, I guess that's it. There's no hope. These three are freeloaders who won't do an honest day's work for their keep. You may as well turn them loose and let the juncts kill them."

Nashmar's blue eyes widened for a moment. Then he caught on to Valleroy's tactic. "I can't do that. We've already made much too large a capital investment in buying them."

"No use throwing good money after bad," said Valleroy "They are costing you... how much per day?"

Nashmar considered, examining each in turn, and named a figure.

"Over a month's time that adds up to quite a lot. Maybe you could harness them to a plow or something?"

"Horses are more efficient."

"Hmm," said Valleroy, looking at Grenel thoughtfully. "How much did you say your head-tax on them was?"

"The three together come to about five hundred a month."

"That's in addition to room, board, clothing, and incidentals, isn't it?"

Nashmar nodded.

Valleroy looked at Klyd. "I doubt if Zeor could absorb that kind of a loss. There are plenty of other Gens willing to work for their keep. I'd advise getting rid of the freeloaders as soon as possible."

Grenel could stand it no longer. "Freeloaders! Freeloaders are we?"

As Grenel strangled on his own anger, Valleroy seized the bars of Crenel's door and faced him nose to nose. "Yes, freeloaders! Where would you be now if Sectuib Farris hadn't helped Sectuib Nashmar outbid Narvoon for you?" Valleroy went on to tell them in graphic detail just what their fate would have been. He moved from barred door to barred door, embroidering in the strongest language he knew.

The three brothers, hulking specimens of raw manhood toughened by a lifetime of frontier living, stood transfixed in utter amazement. The captives' silence only led Valleroy to new passion as he went on to describe the marginal economy of the Householdings as they strove to save one more and then one more Gen despite the Sime laws.

"And after they've done so much for you," finished Valleroy, "you repay them on with insults! Well, I work for my keep, and I won't work to support a freeloader!"

Grenel spat. "And / won't support no turnie!"

"Shut up, Grenel," said Vrian. "No turnie calls me a freeloader and gets away with it!"

Valleroy whirled on him. "A freeloader takes but never gives. You've taken a helluva lot from Imil, but what have you given?"

"I have nothing, so I ask nothing. I'm no freeloader!"

"You have plenty. You have so much to give that Sectuib Nashmar has to protect you with bars and locks so nobody will steal from you. You're not only a freeloader, you're a selfish miser hoarding treasure worthless to you just so nobody who can use it can get it."

"Hoarder, am I? Why you skinny little runt..."

"You'll show me? Come on, then, let's see you pay your debts, miser!"

Knuckles white, Vrian gripped the bars and stared at Valleroy. In the harsh world of the Reconstruction, the Gens valued only a man's willingness and ability to pay his own way... in that order. There was no deadlier insult than "miser," one who was able but unwilling to pay.

The two Gens faced each other, eyes locked in mutual loathing. Vrian knew the coin he'd have to pay in was selyn, even if he didn't know the word for it. Valleroy knew that Vrian knew.

Very softly, Valleroy breathed, "You're scared. You're scared sick."

Vrian matched his tone. "I'll show you who's scared!"

"So get out here and donate to Sectuib Nashmar. I'll believe it when I see it."

"You first," said Vrian coldly.

"I already have. I'm so low in potential they don't even react to me. See?" He moved to place a hand on Klyd's bared forearm.

Grenel said, "All I see is a turnie coward bought by promises of immunity."