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!
