"And the young Sime was Stacy's nephew. The boy joined Zeor, and Stacy and I became friends."

"I must have met him, then, and never known it."

"No. Duvan was a martyr of the last pogrom. He had no children."

"Oh." It was all Valleroy could think to say. Klyd's tone bespoke a deeper tragedy better left buried. He gathered his things. "We'd better get going."

It was well after sundown, and the horses were blowing frosty clouds by the time they reached the Halfway House, which Klyd insisted was the only safe place to spend the night.

The building was a converted mansion apparently reconstructed around a prewar frame. They paid the stable fees for the horses and trudged, bedrolls in hand, through the front door.

Inside, warm air welcomed them. The large central room was a parlor, with a crackling fire laid in the stone hearth at one side. A handful of fellow travelers sprawled in the scattered lounge chairs, toasting their feet or dozing. A homely couch that might once have been red plush was piled with a salesman's sample cases. In one corner a card game attracted several onlookers. All of them, Valleroy noted, were Sime. And all of them were watching him with that spring-steel alertness only a Sime has.

He moved closer to Klyd while the channel signed the register, obtained a room key, and performed some ritual involving finances. It was the first time that he had seen Sime money, and it made Valleroy aware that he bad none.

Following Klyd up the stairs to their room, he shrugged. If the stares from the Simes around the room meant anything-particularly that of the salesman- Valleroy knew that without Klyd he wouldn't last long enough to require money.

While they unpacked, Valleroy surveyed the room. It was dingy and threadbare, but clean. On one wall a small painting of a sunset looked like it had been done by a child. There was a chair, lumpy with broken springs, and a single sagging bed. "I guess I'd prefer the floor," said Valleroy, picking a spot.

"Oh, no! What if the maid should 'accidentally' walk in? Blow the cover clear to the moon! A channel's traveling Companion always sleeps in the same bed, eats at the same table, and stays within arm's reach of the channel."

"Why? I'm supposed to be a person, right?"

"It's the image. The Householdings are trying to sell the idea that a Sime can associate with a Gen without killing. You have to convince them, by concrete actions, that you are not afraid of me... that you protect me of your own free will. I will never order you to do anything where they can hear. Do you understand?"

"I think so." '

"Good." Klyd winked conspiratorially. "I'm going to get something to eat."

"Me too, then," said Valleroy, following back downstairs.

The thunderous silence that fell as they passed through the parlor raised goosebumps on Valleroy's neck -especially the oily way the salesman pivoted to watch them pass. But he played his part, keeping his head high and trying to be the pride of Zeor. They marched, sleeve to sleeve, through the double doors that led to the dining room.

The long dining table was deserted, but the cook had set two new places for them. Steaming soup dispelled the last of the stiffness from the day's ride. Savory potatoes, fresh salad, fruit-nut bread, the bread deep fried and swimming in a heavy sauce, completed the most lavish meal Valleroy had eaten since crossing the river. Klyd pointed out, discreetly, the foods not for

Gens, commenting that the cook expected him to take double the Sime portions.

The door to the parlor had been left ajar. The stares of the Simes spoiled Valleroy's digestion. He said in English, "Every time I pick up my knife, I get the distinct impression the whole room is going to jump me!"

Chuckling, Klyd replied in English, "Speak Simelan, it's more impressive."

"Well," said Valleroy, switching languages with an ease that surprised him, "are they!'

"They find the sight of a sharp tool in the hands of a Gen... ummm... disturbing."

Valleroy was about to answer that when a gust of chill wind from the front door stopped him. Two figures stumbled into the parlor, blinking at the bright light. Valleroy dropped his knife, stunned.

The first figure was a Sime dressed in plain riding breeches and a short jacket, unadorned. Behind him, on a chain welded to an iron collar from which dangled three green tags, was the sorriest-looking Gen Valleroy had ever seen. He was hardly more than a boy, thin and undeveloped. His skin was tanned against his white knee-length tunic. Under the tunic, he wore nothing but goosebumps.

The Gen was practically blue with cold but didn't seem to be aware of the warmth of the hearth. He stood quietly, eyes downcast, like a trained animal without the will to move unless pulled.

As the door clattered shut behind the pair, Klyd half rose out of his chair, eyes locked on the Sime. "Hugh, that boy's in need!"

Valleroy wrenched his eyes from the Gen to inspect the owner. "He's trembling. Looks pretty weak."

At that moment, the Sime's eyes met Klyd's, slid over Valleroy respectfully, and locked again with the channel's. Leading his Gen, the Sime started toward Klyd. Halfway, he stumbled... something Valleroy had never known a Sime to do.

In a flash Klyd was at his side, assisting him to a chair, deftly inserting his own body between the Sime and the Gen. Valleroy hastened to his channel's side, not knowing what would be expected of a Companion under these circumstances.

After a moment, the boy regained his breath. "I promised my mother, on her deathbed, this time I would not kill. But... can't. Zeor is too far..." With a sudden surge of strength, the Sime tried to lunge to his feet "Must..."

Klyd moved with that incredible Sime swiftness to wrench the chain from the boy's hands. He handed the end to Valleroy as the Sime struggled to reach the Gen.

But Klyd's superior strength held him. "I am Sectuib Farris of Householding Zeor. Come upstairs with me. I will serve you. It's not far. Just up the stairs. You can make it that far, can't you? You've come such a long way. It's cost you so much agony. Only a little farther, and you have succeeded."

"Zeor?" asked the Sime bewildered. "Sectuib . . . you..."

"I am, and I will if you come upstairs." As he moved for the stairs, still carefully between the Sime and his intended victim, Klyd continued to croon encouragement in that same professionally persuasive voice he used on his patients.

Valleroy brought the Gen on the chain. Just as he placed a foot on the third step, the old woman who worked at the desk cried out, "No! I won't allow any filthy perversions on my premises!" And she started after them.

Suddenly angered, Valleroy wheeled on her. "You won't allow... I And just how are you going to stop Sectuib Fan-is?"

Valleroy felt the other Simes in the room tense. They could wipe him out in five seconds, but he'd gone too far to back down. He took a wild stab in the dark, trusting that Klyd wouldn't do anything illegal. "The boy asked for the Sectuib's help to avoid killing this one." He held up the white-painted chain for all to see. "Sectuib is within the law in providing that help wherever and whenever it is sought! We rented a room. What we do there is our own business as long as we obey the law!"

The electric tension in the room was poised to destroy him. Defiantly, Valleroy thrust his chin high and marched up the stairs pulling the Gen behind him. He could almost feel that salesman's eyes boring holes in his back. As he topped the stairs, the Simes below broke into furious argument aimed just as much at each other as at the arrogant Gen.

By the time Valleroy reached their room, it was all over. The Sime boy lay on the bed, curled on his side sobbing fitfully. Klyd let them in, then went to hold those seemingly fragile shoulders until the sobbing ceased.

"What's your name, boy?" asked Klyd gently.

"Heshri Sikal."

"Why is it that you wanted so to please your mother?"

Heshri's eyes bored into the channel's, searching for something.

"No, Heshri, I mean no disrespect. But the determination you have shown is rarely mustered to please someone else. It must come from within. Why do you want to disjunct?"

"I have seen the numbers of Zelerod. It is frightening. If he is right, I will not live to help my mother's grandchildren through changeover."

Klyd rose and paced across the room to where the Gen crouched in the single chair, feet drawn under him, dull eyes downcast. Looking down at that pitiful form, the channel said, "He is right, Heshri. Zelerod is... terrifyingly... right."

The silence lengthened until Valleroy hazarded, "Who is Zelerod, and what is he right about?"

Shaking himself as if rousing from a dream, Klyd said, "He's the mathematician who predicts that within a hundred years, perhaps less, the human race will be extinct because of the increasing proportion of Simes living longer adult lives, killing so many Gens that there won't be enough to keep us alive. Zelerod shows mathematically that the only survival is through the channel. We have known that for generations, but the juncts wouldn't accept it... until one of their own predicted it and died in the attempt to disjunct because he was too old."

Klyd turned to look at the boy, who still sat on the bed. "Now they accept it, and a few of them, one at a time, come to the Householdings. The more who accept it, the more frightened and desperate Andle and his followers become... and the more dangerous.