"Lichtenberg,.Jacqueline.-.Sime.Gen.01.-.First.Channel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lichtenberg Jacqueline)

"Hmpf!" Marna snorted as he entered the dining room, "you've been augmenting again, Rimon, haven't you?"
"No, I haven't, Marna," he said. "I really haven't!"
"Then how did you get into this state so quickly? Rimon, you can have a new Gen every two or three weeksЧ but what if your father couldn't supply them? What if you had to wait your turn at the government Pens? You kids! Playing games, I'll bet. But it's four years since your changeover, Rimon. It's time you accepted your responsibilities as a man and stopped wasting selyn."
"Yes, Marna," he murmured, only half-listening to the familiar lecture. Her accusations were unfair, but there was no use protesting. The truth was that he had not augmented once this month, and in spite of all the self-discipline he could muster, he was in need after only three weeks and two days. What was going to happen to him? He hadn't been able to concentrate for the past weekЧand it was getting worse, month by month.
Recognizing that a large part of his depression was due to need, he tried to shake it off as he drank the trin tea Marna had placed in front of him. He couldn't bring himself to touch the bowl of cereal, though. The smell of food turned his stomach. His guts were cramping, and there was a heavy, tight feeling in the middle of his chest. He wondered if he'd make it through the day.
As the tea settled his stomach, he began to feel better. Yes, he could manage for a few more hours, put in a good day's work to impress his father before he had to ask . . . again.
He sat staring into his empty cup, gathering strength, until his reverie was broken by a cheery "Good morning, Rimon!"
Kadi came in from the kitchen with a tray of clean tea glasses and began quietly stacking them on the sideboard. Immediately Rimon felt better. Kadi's presence always had that effect on him.
He came up behind her, pushed her shining red hair aside, and kissed the back of her neck. The dormant,

child's nager soaked through Rimon, unresponsive to his need, unthreatening. It was just a touch between friends. Kadi knew that; Rimon sometimes thought she knew every feeling that passed through his heart. She turned and kissed him swiftlyЧon the nose.
He grinned. "Good morning, slowpoke." He made a show of examining her forearms, although it was obvious from touching her that she was still cool, showing no sign of changeover. "When are you going to grow up so we can get married?"
"When I'm good and ready. I don't know why you're in such a hurry, Rimon. Always first at everything. You'll just have to wait for me ... or marry somebody else!"
He looked deep into her blue eyes, but saw only laughter. No, Kadi wasn't worried, either about the dangers of late changeover, or about losing him. He'd never seen her afraid of anything; that was one of the reasons he loved her so much.
Rimon watched her putting the dining room in order. She was tall and slender, but at last the curves of womanhood were slightly softening her figure. It wouldn't be long now before she was his, completely. Determinedly, he thrust from his mind the thought that she might, instead, be lost to him forever. Oh noЧnot his Kadi. She was taller than average, true, but she was slender. Sime slender, he insisted to himself.
"Kadi!" Marna called from the kitchen. "If Rimon's through, bring his dishes in here and finish up the kitchen."
"Yes, Mama."
"I'd better get out to the Pens," said Rimon.
Kadi looked at him sympathetically. "You're having a bad time again, Rimon."
"Yes. I'm not going to make it to my assignment day this time, either."
"Try," she said. "I'll bring you some more tea later."
"Thanks, Kadi. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He walked out into the bright sunlight, steeling himself against the nager of the Gens. He was to supervise the cultivating of the hillside acreage today, but first . . .
In the Wild Gen compound he found Ran Morcot, Kadi's father, sorting out a new shipment. The Gens were

crying and jabbering as Ran's helpers grouped them by sex and age, to determine which strong, healthy, spirited ones would be marked as prime Farris stock, which culled to sell to a local dealer.
The impinging fields grated on Rimon's nerves, as did the actions of the Gens. The wild ones acted too much like people.
They're not people! They're Gens!
As the men began moving a group of five good-looking Gens from one cage to another, one of them, a strong male, made a break for the gate. Instantly, on a burst of augmentation, Ran and two other Simes surrounded him and brought him back to the cage without injury.
"Don't bother to mark that one," Rimon said. "Clean him up and have him ready for me tonight."
Ran noticed him for the first time. "Your father won't approve of your taking prime stock for an extra kill. Take one of the culls."
"I'll talk to Father," Rimon said with a boldness born of desperation. "Taking a cull guarantees I won't be able to go four weeks. With this one, at least there's a chance."
"All right, I'll put him aside, but you don't get him until I have your father's say-so."
Relieved at not having to argue longer amid the emotional fields charged with Gen fear, Rimon set about his morning's duties.
The Farris Genfarm was the largest supplier of choice Gens in the Territory. They purchased the best Wild Gens captured, and also raised their own from the finest breeding stock. The Farris markЧa diagonal notch filed in the left front toothЧwas a guarantee of health and spirit. As Syrus Farris said, "It doesn't cost any more to raise a spunky Gen than to raise a broken Gen." And spunky Gens brought more profit. Farris Gens were a luxury product that went to the choice auctions, the exclusive bazaars, and occasionally to wealthy individuals who would come to the Genfarm and pick out a year's supply at once.
One day, Rimon knew, all this would belong to him. And then what? Home-grown Gens made him nervous. He bad never had one for a kill, and he knew that his father had him overseeing the cultivating to force him into

proximity with them. How can I oversee others when I can't oversee myself? What will I do when it's all my responsibility?
The selyn nager of the working Gens was clear to him before he came over the crest of the hill and saw them toiling, sweating in the sun. They were all strong, healthy, equal to the task, the older children working beside them at the lighter jobs. Although everyone on the Farris Gen-farm earned his keep, children of Gens were never mistreated. The children of these Gens could still lead normal lives if they should go through changeover. Some of the best overseers were Simes who had come out of their own Pens. But the supervisor of this particular group was Gen.
Seeing who it was, Rimon wanted to turn and run. Nerob. Once Nerob had been Yahn Keslic, son of one of the Sime supervisors. Years ago, the four kids, Yahn and Rimon, Kadi, and Rimon's cousin, Zeth, had been inseparable. Now Yahn was Nerob, one of the Farris breeding Gens. And Zeth .. . Zeth was dead.
Rimon shuddered, but forced himself to ride to the end of the row that Nerob was striding, to meet him when he finished that lap of his inspection. Nerob was conscientious, keeping his crew working steadily and well. No wonder. If Syrus Farris were displeased with him, he could be sold tomorrow.
"Tuib Rimon," Nerob said as he bowed, then looked up at Rimon still astride his horse, "Tuib Farris said you'd be checking this section today."
"I hardly have to check your crew, do I?" asked Rimon, sliding off his horse to make a perfunctory examination of the work. As they walked the length of the row, Nerob eyed Rimon, warily gauging his state of need.
Rimon dropped a few paces back from the Gen, sensitive to the fear-tension in the man's nager. About halfway down the furrow, Nerob stopped, waiting for Rimon to catch up. "I expect we'll make it to the irrigation ditch road by evening."
Rimon had to close the distance to hear and speak normally, consciously controlling himself. "Don't drive them too hard, Nerob. There's always tomorrow."
"Is there?" The Gen's eyes met Rimon's. Then, under

his breath, he added, looking away, "For you, maybe there is, not for us."
Rimon seized the Gen's arm and whirled him around. But then, despite Nerob's leap of fear, Rimon thrust the cringing Gen away, thinking, You're alive, Nerob. You're Gen, and you're still alive. Zeth was Sime, and he's dead! But Nerob wasn't to blame for Zeth's death. Rimon had nobody to blame for that but himself.
"You can't take me, Tuib Rimon," said Nerob. "I'm under your father's personal protection. You won't disgrace the Farris honor."