Mahogany trinrose, p.1
Mahogany Trinrose, page 1
The Sime~Gen Series From Borgo Press
House of Zeor, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#1)
Unto Zeor, Forever, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#2)
First Channel, by Jean Lorrah and Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#3)
Mahogany Trinrose, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#4)
Channel’s Destiny, by Jean Lorrah and Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#5)
RenSime, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#6)
Ambrov Keon, by Jean Lorrah (#7)
Zelerod’s Doom, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg and Jean Lorrah (#8)
Personal Recognizance, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#9)
The Story Untold and Other Stories, by Jean Lorrah (#10)
To Kiss or to Kill, by Jean Lorrah (#11)
The Farris Channel, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#12)
Other Jacqueline Lichtenberg Books from Wildside:
City of a Million Legends
Molt Brother
Copyright Information
Copyright © 1981 by Jacqueline Lichtenberg
Copyright © 2011 by Sime~Gen, Inc.
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
Dedication
To my daughters, Naomi and Deborah,
Because they will soon be teenagers themselves,
To Jean Lorrah,
Because she invented the Tigue mutation,
And to the Ambrov Zeor and
Companion in Zeor staffs,
Because they supply the series
with so much enthusiasm.
Acknowledgments
2011
We have to thank Ronnie Bob Whitaker for scanning and OCR’ing all the Sime~Gen novels so that we’ve been able to supply e-text for the Borgo Press editions. Karen MacLeod who combed the scanned text files for typos. And the fans who have kept on writing Sime~Gen novels and stories which are now available on the Web via http://www.simegen.com/sgfandom/
Many of the same people who were with us “then” are with us now on blogs, facebook, and twitter.
1982
In this book, you will meet Joeslee Teel Tigue, a character who has arisen through the interaction of two Sime~Gen fans.
Jan McCrossen Mike, who served a stint as editor of Ambrov Zeor, is a student of the Ancients’ gypsy tribes. She helped flesh out the culture of the Sime~Gen gypsies even though they are not descended from the Romany tribes but are simply wanderers or nomads with their own culture and customs.
Jean Lorrah, a professor of English at Murray State University in Kentucky, who earned fame as a Star Trek fan writer and is now a professional science fiction writer, added the Tigue mutation to the Sime~Gen universe. Tigue women are channels; Tigue men are talented Donors.
It seemed to me perfectly natural that Joeslee Teel would turn out to be a Tigue channel, and so she is also partly inspired by Jean Lorrah.
Others whose aid I must acknowledge include Marion Zimmer Bradley for her terse commentary, Christine Bunt, Pat Gribben, Judy Segal, Lisa Waters, Katie Filipowicz, who is now editor of Zeor Forum: Transfer for Ancients, and Karen MacLeod editor of Companion in Zeor, all of whom read and criticized the manuscript. Anne Pinzow, managing editor of Ambrov Zeor, also provided much inspiration and the impetus to get this book finished.
Most of the contents of the Sime~Gen fanzines can be found for free reading via the top index page:
http://www.simegen.com/sgfandom/
Chronology of the Sime~Gen Universe
The Sime~Gen Universe was originated by Jacqueline Lichtenberg who was then joined by a large number of Star Trek fans. Soon, Jean Lorrah, already a professional writer, began writing fanzine stories for one of the Sime~Gen ’zines. But Jean produced a novel about the moment when the first channel discovered he didn’t have to kill to live which Jacqueline sold to Doubleday.
The chronology of stories in this fictional universe expanded to cover thousands of years of human history, and fans have been filling in the gaps between professionally published novels. The full official chronology is posted at
http://www.simegen.com/CHRONO1.html
Here is the chronology of the novels by Jacqueline Lichtenberg and Jean Lorrah by the Unity Calendar date in which they are set.
-533—First Channel, by Jean Lorrah & Jacqueline Lichtenberg
-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.
Prologue
Below them the town rioted.
Digen Farris sat behind the chopper pilot where he could see the instruments as well as get a full view through the windshield. Dark clouds formed a low ceiling over the sprawling valley town surging with angry humanity. In the town square, three bright columns of flame leaped skyward. He couldn’t escape even by closing his eyes.
His Sime senses painted the lurid picture for him. Not for the first time, he cursed his innate sensitivity. The dying happening below reached up to claw at his nerves. From the rioters rose a miasma of anger, terror, and killust which sang through every cell of his body, touching off responses he had to choke back.
He inched closer to Im’ran, who observed quietly beside him. The Gen’s nager, the field surrounding his body, was a welcome shield.
“Wellway Central to overhead choppers. Respond.” The radio crackled with the static of the storm that had drenched the desert hills for the last three days.
Digen’s pilot activated his microphone. “This is Rialite Rescue Service with four choppers over Wellway Town responding to your emergency call. We request further information.”
The three rescue choppers flew a tight formation around them, visible as bright green and white forms through the mist and rain. Digen could barely make out the Central operator’s words over the noise.
“…afraid you’re too late. An hour ago, they broke into the jail and took the prisoners.”
Digen leaned forward and snagged the copilot’s microphone. “This is the Rialite Controller. May I speak to your Mayor?” He knew now what those pillars of flame meant. The eighteen gypsies, Simes and Gens mixed, had been held in protective custody when the Mayor had called the nearest Sime Territory authority—namely, Rialite and Digen—but it had taken them three and a half hours to get here.
Several minutes later, the radio spoke. “This is Mayor Treldies of Wellway Township, Gartin Territory.”
“Digen Farris, here, Mr. Mayor. Is there any way to reason with that mob?”
“If there was, I’d have done it by now. We did our best to protect your Simes, Mr. Controller, but they’re all gypsies.”
“What did they do?” asked Digen. Normally he wouldn’t consider gypsy Simes as under his jurisdiction. However, when a band of mixed Sime and Gen gypsies traveled out into Gen Territory, the resident Gens held the Sime government responsible and here, that meant Digen.
“Townsfolk figure they’re causing the rain,” the Mayor responded. “They’re planning to burn them at the stake to stop the rain before it washes the whole town away.”
“The charge, then, is—witchcraft?” It was a statute on the books in some Gen Territories.
“What else would you call it?”
“Have they been legally convicted?”
“Hell—no! That’s a lynch mob out there. If you can get your people out, you’re welcome to them. You can take them to Carlston, where they can get a fair trial.”
But, Digen realized, he wasn’t going to get any further help from the Gen authorities. “Thank you, Mr. Mayor. We’ll do our best.”
Digen thought fast. “Number Two!” he called on his command frequency. “Drop down over the square, moving fast. Find out if they have guns. Number One and Number Three, unlimber your ladders and stand by to deploy on target. Fil,” he ended to his own pilot, “we’ll circle the edges of the crowd using our downdraft to scatter them.”
When the Number Two unit was not shot at, Digen ordered it to follow the others into the center of the square and drop ladders to the prisoner gypsies awaiting execution. The ones on the pyres were already dead.
The maneuver was working, a Sime dangling on the end of each chopper’s ladder to cut the gypsies free, attach harnesses, and lift them out, when a multi-branched flash of lightning lit up the hillside above the town. It was only then that Digen caught sight of the wall of water rolling down upon them all.
He grabbed for his exterior microphone and jumped the gain up to maximum. His voice boomed out over the whole valley. “Your dam has broken. Repeat. Your dam has broken. You have approximately ten minutes to reach high ground. Our choppers will assist those stranded. We are calling for outside assistance.”
He flipped to his command channel. “Two, keep broadcasting th
By the time he turned his attention once more to the mob below, it had dissolved into hundreds of individuals streaming for the elevated sides of the valley. At the farther edges, heavily loaded farm vehicles worked their way to high ground. He was glad he’d brought the large choppers with full equipment. Each could take on twenty or thirty passengers if they had to.
For the next few minutes, he was busy directing the rescue efforts. He only had time to notice the swarm of cars leaving the Wellway Central building, the Mayor and company abandoning the town. And then he saw the train, heading for Rialite.
It came speeding out of the pass toward the trestle over the river. Clearly, the wall of water which had swept through the center of the town would hit the trestle even while the train was on it.
He pulled his choppers away from the now empty town, broadcasting to all below that two more rescue teams were on the way, and sped downstream. He landed all the choppers on solid ground above the flood waters, and as the rain began sheeting down once more, he directed his crews to use the gypsy Simes who were uninjured to help locate and rescue any survivors.
He hadn’t had time to watch the water sweep away the trestle. Already corpses were floating by their position. His Number Two and Three choppers rose, rescuers dangling beneath, hauling panic stricken forms out of the dark waters onto rescue platforms.
Off on the far side of the raging river, Digen sensed a peculiarly resigned Gen nager. It was impossible to see that far through the torrential rain. But by zlinning with Sime senses, he could discern that one lone Gen had been overlooked.
Turning to the knot of gypsies huddled beside him on the bank, he picked two healthy Simes and said, “You—and you—come on!” He led the way back to his own chopper, where Im’ran was down in the passenger compartment unlimbering first aid supplies.
He climbed into the pilot’s seat, directing the two Simes to man the rescue platform that had been rigged under his chopper, then he lifted straight up and over the other working teams. Im’ran poked his head through the back hatch. “What—Digen!”
Over his shoulder, Digen yelled, “Stray Gen! Man the ladder!” And then they were in position. The wind was picking up, driving the rain sideways until it was a solid sheet covering his windshield. By Sime senses alone, he held the chopper steady over the victim, who was riding a swift current that would soon dash him into some rocks at the edge of the torrent.
And then the Gen was on the rescue platform, clinging to the Sime who was securing a harness around him, not shocked but bemused. Digen lifted and set down again on his well chosen spot of high ground, cutting his motors. Whew! I’m glad I can still do that!
When he got to the compartment where the nearly drowned Gen was being given first aid by Im’ran while the two gypsies hovered warily at the far end, he had to stop.
The entire compartment was lit up to his Sime senses by this new Gen’s field. It had a clear, disciplined quality and a power never seen in an out-Territory Gen. No wonder I spotted him way over there!
He went over to the cot on which the Gen was lying, breathing deeply now with only an occasional cough. Im’ran was saying impatiently, “Well, aren’t you even going to thank your rescuers over there…or don’t you talk to gypsy Simes?” The gypsy rescuers shrank into the corner.
“Im’!” said Digen sharply. “This man is at least your equal as a Donor!” He turned to the Gen. “I’m Sectuib Digen Farris, Rialite Controller—and I presume you are the new Donor they’ve been promising to send me all winter. No, don’t try to talk yet. You’re not hurt, but you could go into shock, so I want you to stay in that bed under those blankets and keep warm.”
“No argument, Sectuib,” said the Gen. “I am grateful.” He eyed the gypsies. “Would you please tell them so for me?”
Digen shrugged. Obviously, the two gypsies wanted no part of this Gen. He went to the two who had helped him. “You did that like professionals. We all thank you.”
Eyeing the Gen, one of them said, “Can we go now?”
“You’re going to have to ride back to Rialite with us….”
The second objected. “No! We can’t—I mean, can’t we ride with the rest of our people?” But his eyes were also on the strange Gen, who was now steadfastly ignoring them.
Digen couldn’t make out what was spooking them, but he conceded and went to end off the rescue operation and get the injured to proper medical facilities at Rialite, where they were also struggling with the flood tonight. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter One
The moment she laid eyes on the man, the future changed.
As long as she could remember, she had accepted that she would die in changeover. But now, with every step closer he came, first the hope and then the irrational conviction came over her—I’m going to live.
She knelt in the rich loam of her garden, her trinroses all around her, and watched the two men approaching. The Sime was her father, Digen Farris, Sectuib in Zeor, Controller of Rialite. He was tall, rangy, looking older than he really was. With him was a Gen, not as tall but oddly just as imposing a figure, with brilliant blue eyes and shocking white hair, though he could hardly be much over twenty.
As he came nearer, the searing intensity of her conviction faded, and in its wake came a shuddering fear, just as irrational, that she would—because of this man—be able to grow a mahogany-colored trinrose that would do exactly what the legends said it would. For the future had changed.
Using every scrap of her Zeor discipline, Ercy shoved the hope and the fear way down inside where no Sime, not even her father, could detect it. Then she got to her feet, suddenly conscious of her dirty coveralls and unkempt hair. The men stopped by the neat row of smooth river stones that edged her plot, and Digen said, “Ercy, I present Halimer Grant, Donor First, our newest staff member.”
Ercy smiled at the Gen, her mouth dry and her mind without a word in it.
“Halimer Grant, this is Aild Ercy Farris, my daughter, and Sectuib Apparent in Zeor.”
For a moment, the Gen seemed confused, noting her smooth forearms without even the trace of tentacles. She was a child, not an adult Sime, not a channel like her father; certainly it was premature to name her ready to take her father’s place as head of the prestigious and sprawling company known the world over as Householding Zeor.
Ercy felt an almost irresistible urge to squirm under the Gen’s gaze, but her father’s flashing eyes told her clearly that a future Sectuib does not squirm. Then in his maddeningly clinical way, her father said to Grant, “Ercy turns sixteen next week, but there’s still no sign of changeover. Nevertheless, we’re preparing carefully. Her birth characteristics indicated she’ll be the most sensitive channel in the family since my brother Wyner Liu died.”
Slowly—he seemed to do everything slowly, even his blink was slow—Halimer Grant smiled. It was as if the smile started peeping at last out through his blue eyes and warming her through and through, evaporating her nervousness.
Grant proffered his hand, bowing. “I am honored indeed to be permitted within the presence of such an accomplished gardener.”
She let him take her fingers. He had the smoothest skin she had ever touched in her life. He let her remain locked in that silent communication until her father said, “I’ll be briefing Halimer on his duties for the rest of the morning. If you see Im’ran or Mora, send them up to the office.”
“Yes, Father,” Ercy responded automatically. As she watched the Gen make his way back down the flagstone path, she could not quite remember how she had lost touch with his fingers.
“Ercy!” snapped her father. “You haven’t been paying attention! I said, when you’ve had lunch, I want to see you in the clinic again.”
“Again? Oh, Father.…”
“From today on, until—this is over for you—I want to check you three times a day at least.”
All the infuriating clinical detachment he could don like a cloak dropped away, and she could see his love for her, his fear for her life. “All right, Father, whatever you say.”
