"I don't know. I just don't know." Putting aside his tea, Klyd changed the subject. "What have you got here in the folio?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. I was on my way to show you this when I heard Feleho knocking. What do you think?"

Valleroy extracted the design for inspection. The channel's eyes widened in appreciation. "This... is... beautiful!"

"Do you think your weavers could achieve that depth effect?"

"Possibly. They're very ingenious when they decide something is worth doing. This is for Arensti." It was a statement of a fact so obvious it scarcely needed statement.

"Thank you, Sectuib."

Klyd froze in mid-motion to stare calculatingly at Valleroy. "Am I your Sectuib?"

"What does that mean?"

"Would you donate to me?"

The flatness of Klyd's tone underlined the intensity in the channel's eyes. Valleroy sat down hard in his chair. "I don't know. The last time a Sime touched me... like that... it was horrible. If I could ever trust any Sime, I doubt if it would be that one."

"Would you donate to Zeor through one of the other channels?"

Valleroy met Klyd's gaze, trying to avoid the sight of those restless tentacles. "I want to, but I don't know if I'll be able to bring myself to do it. I get shaky just thinking about it."

"Do you have any idea how shaky a Sime gets in disjunction?"

"Yeah. I've seen a couple. Worse than morphine withdrawal."

"Much worse. If they're willing to go through that in order to avoid killing your people, how much are you willing to endure in order to make their sacrifices meaningful."

"I see what you mean. I can't do less, can I?"

"Many do."

"But they live out there." Valleroy swept a hand toward Gen Territory. "And they don't even know about disjunction."

"Does your knowing make a difference?"

"Yes, Sectuib, I think it does."

"Do you know what will happen to me if it is ever known that I injured you?"

"Execution?"

"Of a kind that makes Feleho's death look easy and pleasant."

"I didn't think there was anything worse."

"Death by attrition is... far worse. You can't imagine."

"I'd rather not try." Attrition, thought Valleroy, would be a very slow death as the Sime body used irreplaceable reserves of selyn. Valleroy shuddered, almost nauseous.

"Exactly," said Klyd. "It is customary for the Head of Householding to take first donations. Such Heads are usually the most skilled channels in the Householding, able to withstand the onslaught of the normal Gen fears. How could it be explained that you fear me more than any other channel?"

"I see. But it's not a decision that must be made right now."

"Yes, it must, and it must be made with all sincerity. This," he said, indicating the folio with a graceful tentacle, "gives me an idea."

"What is it?"

"It won't work unless you adopt a certain attitude toward me. But it must be a true adoption... one that won't slip out of character under stress."

"I haven't blown the cover yet."

"Yes you did, during Hrel's party. You forget, Simes read emotions as clearly as words."

Valleroy thought about that. He had been angry when the cover called for everything but anger. "What kind of an attitude?"

"That of a member of my Householding. That of a loyal donor who would do anything... anything at all... to see that I never suffer need."

"That's asking a lot."

"It is a very personal commitment, but not an odd one when you consider that the channels are all that stand between you and death. Put yourself in the place of our usual Gen recruit... weeks, maybe months, in the pens-and the pens are as horrible as rumor paints them-finally, one day, the overseer plucks you out of the press. You get your first shower in weeks, your first set of clean clothes in a year, but you can't enjoy it. Within the hour you're doomed. But the treatment in the pens is such that victims almost welcome death.

"Now consider, how would you feel if you discovered that your fate was to be my donor, my property. Despite being a channel, a filthy pervert, I'm still entitled to one donor a month from the pens. I collect as often as Zeor's space permits. But many die each year because it wasn't / who chose them. How would you feel about me, if you were chosen?"

"No matter how scared I might be," said Valleroy thoughtfully, "you still wouldn't hurt me?"

"I have never injured accidentally. I can guarantee that I'll never hurt you again."

Valleroy considered. "Two hundred Simes of Zeor don't kill more than two thousand of my people a year. I guess I owe a lot to Zeor... when the times comes."

"If you travel with me, as my Companion, we can go to the Choice Auction. Maybe we'll find Aisha there. If so, I'll buy her, and that will be that."

"Companion! What makes you think I could impersonate a Companion? I'm nothing like Denrau!"

"Denrau is exceptional. You're good enough."

"That's ridiculous. I'm not even an ordinary donor, let alone one who serves a channel's need!"

Klyd braced his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers, tentacles weaving an intricate dance through the spaces while his eyes remained on Valleroy. "True, you're not yet an ordinary donor, but eventually, if you choose it, you can be a more popular Companion than Denrau;"

"How do you know! The very idea scares-"

"Do you question my professional judgment?" There was enough pride in Klyd's tone to make Valleroy feel he'd demeaned the integrity of Zeor. "Of course not, Sectuib. I wouldn't think of it."

The channel nodded, continuing to weave patterns through his fingers. "For the present, a good act will do. But it must be based on a firm decision for Zeor."

"I pay my debts."