The Farris Channel (2 page)
-518—
Channel’s Destiny
, by Jean Lorrah & Jacqueline Lichtenberg
-468—
The Farris Channel
, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
-20—
Ambrov Keon
, by Jean Lorrah
-15—
House of Zeor
, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
0—Zelerod’s Doom, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg & Jean Lorrah
+1—
To Kiss or to Kill
, by Jean Lorrah
+1—
The Story Untold and Other Sime~Gen Stories
, by Jean Lorrah
+132—
Unto Zeor, Forever
, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+152—
Mahogany Trinrose
, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+224—
“Operation High Time,”
by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+232—
RenSime
, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
+245—
Personal Recognizance
, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
Sime~Gen:
where a mutation makes the evolutionary
division into male and female
pale by comparison.
“NOW IS THE TIME”
“I, Xigram Klairon Farris, Last Sectuib in Zeor, commend this narrative to the permanent record of the Zeor Archives.”
A subliminal stir wafted through in the vast amphitheater packed with the members of Zeor. Xigram faced them from the stage and spoke in measured tones. He knew they saw an elderly man, white haired, frail, with the typical black Farris eyes, and a sufficient hint of the Zeor Farris nose, lips, chin.
In one hand he held a magnificently bound volume from which he was about to read. The formal cloak of the Head of this, the Last Householding still functioning in the galaxy, draped his shoulders. It was the bright blue of Zeor, with the distinctive black edging of the Farris, the hem thrown back over his shoulders to expose the white lining designating the Sectuib. All the primitive, time-honored and hallowed symbolism was echoed in the garb of everyone in the audience.
They all knew they were about to hear the very private, never before transcribed story of the Founding of Zeor. They had all grown up on this bedtime story, and the amphitheater’s ambient vibrated with the warm, secure feeling of childhood’s bedtime.
But this telling would be different. This time they would hear it told as the Sectuib in Zeor Received it from his predecessor and Delivered it to his successor. This was the real story, not the fairy tale. Today, they would all Receive Zeor and take it away to give to the galaxy.
The stage behind the Last Sectuib was set with the archeological treasures of Zeor. Foremost was the remains of the stone on which the names of the first martyrs had been inscribed. Around that oldest symbol of Zeor were arrayed the plaques and monuments that had been added to the Memorial to the One Billion over the centuries. A huge glowing image of Zeor’s stylized dagger symbol dominated the background.
The Lamp had been lit within a bubbling fountain’s pure water brought from Earth for this ceremony. Over the last ten days, the Roll of Martyrs had been read by the Officers of Zeor in a round-the-clock marathon before an audience that was never less than a third of the crowd Xigram now faced.
Xigram Klairon Farris took a deep breath, gathering himself before plunging across the point-of-no-return. For once he had recorded the full, unedited narrative into the Archive read aloud before Zeor in his own voice as he had Received it, he would extinguish the Lamp of Zeor for all time.
Zeor has served its purpose; the Vision has been made real for all humanity.
So why, then, did his throat close up tight over the words?
As the narrative instructs, this must be my last duty or my soul, the souls of all who have ever been ambrov Zeor, will never know peace.
He swallowed hard and began as thousands of parents for thousands of generations had begun.
“This is the Ideal of Zeor.
“This is the Heart of Zeor.
“This is the Spirit of Zeor.
“This is the Reality of Zeor.”
He opened the great volume he had written with his own hand and began to read in a voice strangely not his own:
FATEFUL DECISION
Del Rimon Farris, ranking channel in Fort Rimon, rose behind his desk as people boiled through his door and more pushed in behind.
He had never had so many shouting people cram into his office before. In such a babble, he strained to understand what they were yelling about.
Simes and Gens alike, those who had come here to homestead with him, and the refugees they’d taken in, all emitted clashing emotional fields which charged the ambient nager with determination, maybe rage, and all of it directed at him, personally, pounding his Sime senses.
As close as he could figure it, the refugees desperately wanted to avoid another disaster such as had destroyed their homes and left them begging Fort Rimon for shelter. The Fort Rimon natives wanted to defend their homes from the refugees’ panic.
Del Rimon eased down into his desk chair, braced his elbows on the arms, and calmly laced his fingers and tentacles into an arch. Acutely aware of the painting of Fort Freedom that hung on the wall behind him, framing him in two generations of tradition as he sat there, he worked to spread calm through the room.
Benart, a big Gen who was Fort Rimon’s chief record keeper, edged through the crowd to sit on a tall stool at the corner of Delri’s desk. He took up a slate on which he usually scrawled notes of meetings. His muscles tightened, his chalk screeched jerkily across the slate.
Fear will be the end of us all. Panic will destroy us.
Del Rimon’s Companion, a supremely talented Gen, focused steady attention on Rimon. That let him work on the emotional turmoil with his special channel’s talent. He made eye contact with several key individuals, one after another, and they began helping calm the ambient.
With that bit of local quiet, he zlinned the distance beyond the building. Far outside their little walled compound they dubbed with the grandiose name, Fort Rimon after Del Rimon’s grandfather, smoke plumed from behind the hill that separated them from Shifron, the local junct town.
Even from within the shielded office, Del Rimon Farris was sure he was zlinning the death of the town of Shifron at the hands of a huge mob of Freeband Raiders. Surely Fort Rimon would be their next target.
Divided internally by this dispute, whatever it was this time, the Fort would fall more quickly than Fort Freedom, the original Fort, had fallen.
They didn’t have much time.
Del Rimon rose from behind his desk, motioned his Companion aside, apologized to Benart with a nod, then stepped up onto his desk as he gathered his nager about him. With the extra height, he let loose a silent nageric snap that spread harmlessly over their heads. The Simes who could perceive the nageric signal fell silent immediately. The Gens noticed the Simes staring at Del Rimon and turned to see what had happened. Silence enveloped the room.
He stepped down from the desktop. He felt all the other channels in the room finally getting a grip on the ambient, and he realized almost his whole channeling staff was here.
“Xanon, what exactly is this all about?” asked Del Rimon in soft tones.
Xanon edged forward. “It’s still about Clire. I mean again. This has to be settled, now, Rimon.”
Del Rimon did not let the habitual “Call me Delri; I am not my grandfather,” escape his lips. It was a lost cause.
Instead, he enunciated slowly, so all those used to different accents would understand. “Aipensha has had her say, and Lexy and I agree with her. Clire should take an early transfer now, and that decision should be based solely on her current medical condition not put to a vote of the channeling staff. As a pregnant Farris, Clire should not be placed under this kind of stress, especially not when the Fort is expecting an attack soon. We’ll be working the whole channeling staff to exhaustion after the battle. I don’t want Clire in Need at that time.”
The crowd pushed back to let Xanon stalk toward Del Rimon’s desk. Xanon was a short man, a channel who had arrived with the Fort Butte refugees, but though he had a fair talent for the channeling arts, he had little trained skill, a fact which escaped him.
Xanon waited while the ambient nager settled to a tense but calm flow of invisible energies. Then his strong baritone rang through the room. “It doesn’t matter that her name is Farris. She has violated a primary regulation of Fort Rimon and must accept the punishment any other channel would be subjected to.”
He turned to face the group. “The Farrises all agree that this Farris woman should not be disciplined for undermining Kolenan’s conditioning ultimately causing two deaths. Isn’t it odd that the only people who happen to think she’s too delicate to take a little transfer deprivation because she
might
be two weeks pregnant are her relatives?”
Suddenly everyone was talking at once again, Aipensha, Lexy and Clire hitting a perfect soprano chord as they protested, “...is pregnant!”
Clire’s not related to me.
Not closely anyway,
thought Rimon. Clire might be a descendent of his grandfather, or maybe great-grandfather, but even she didn’t think so. Rimon wasn’t sure if Clire’s baby was actually Garen’s.
Practically no chance it’s my child.
But the timing was right for it to be his own.
Through the noise, it became clear about a third of the people in the office accepted the Farris judgment that Clire was indeed pregnant, and the other two thirds were mortally offended by the automatic deference accorded Farrises by those born and raised in Fort Rimon.
The Fort Rimon natives were outnumbered by the refugees who had arrived from the failed Forts this last year.
As Rimon drew breath to shout for silence again, his Companion, Bruce, stayed him with a gesture and bellowed, “Silence!” His powerful Gen nager undulated into nauseating waves of invisible energy fields that grabbed every Sime’s attention. Then he stepped out from behind Del Rimon’s desk, dampening the waves and glaring at the assembly as silence fell.
Tall, lanky for a Gen, with a craggy tanned face, he was the senior Gen of Fort Rimon with a medical expertise that had gone unquestioned even by the new arrivals, probably because his last name wasn’t Farris.
He had to look down to meet Xanon’s eyes. “Farris channels really can zlin in sharper detail than other channels. I’ve seen them call a pregnancy within hours of conception! I’m not exaggerating. Some of you could zlin a pregnancy within two weeks too, but not in a Farris channel. Aipensha and Lexy are Delri’s daughters, but not related to Clire. Clire arrived with the first refugees from Fort Intalace, and now she’s the sole survivor of that whole Fort!”
“What difference does that make?” shouted someone in the back.
“She’d be ranking channel in Intalace, if anyone had survived. Her baby is heir to Fort Intalace,” argued Bruce.
A woman’s voice rose. “If that baby actually exists! Xanon’s right. Two people died because of Clire’s much vaunted Farris judgment. Any of the channels in this Fort, pregnant or not, would be subject to justice. It’s not much of a penalty considering what she did.”
Xanon took that as his cue to pace back to Rimon’s desk and lean across it. “Clire deserves to be executed, but your Fort Council called it an accident and imposed only a four day transfer deferment and only for two months running. I intend to see that she gets it and learns her lesson. Farrises are not above the law.”
The nageric buzz of agreement filled two thirds of the room while Rimon’s own people, huddled at one side around Clire, became very still, waiting for his decision.
He met Clire’s eyes, but spoke to Xanon. “A four day deferment
would
probably kill her child, and if that happens, very likely I wouldn’t be able to save Clire.”
Xanon kept his back to Clire. “Of course you’d say that to protect another Farris. Or could this possibly be your child, a double-Farris child?”
The nageric silence turned ugly.
He admitted she’s pregnant!
Clire’s nager was wrapped in an icy wall about herself. Kahleen, Clire’s Companion, used her Gen body’s field strength to make a protective wall around Clire.
Clire’s eyes held a bitter warning. She was a proud woman, a mostly self-trained channel, with no inherent loyalty to Fort Rimon. “What could the identity of the father have to do with whether the child and I will be allowed to live?”
Chaos erupted again, and Rimon sighed, exchanged glances with Bruce and settled to wait it out again.
Del Rimon wanted to use all the authority of his hereditary position in the Fort to rule in Clire’s favor. However, to the majority of Fort Rimon’s current residents, that would prove that Farrises made decisions by personal whim and favoritism.
We can’t survive the coming battle with this ripping my channeling staff apart.
Before he opened his mouth, Clire knew his decision.
Her eyes declared him enemy while her nager turned to stone. He had promised to protect her and he was about to break that promise.
I won’t break that promise, not really. I’ll save her somehow.
Cramming his emotions down inside where none of the non-Farris channels in the room could zlin them, Rimon said, “Then let’s put it to a vote as Xanon has asked.”
They had just about the entire channeling staff in the office. They could settle it right now.
He stood up and addressed the room. “Here is what we will vote on. The Fort Council has levied a non-lethal penalty against Clire Farris. However, the Farris channels agree that penalty might result in the death of her and her unborn child. The Farris channels agree the penalty should be deferred until her child is born and weaned. Meanwhile, she should start taking early transfers now to protect the development of her child.