"I learned a great deal," said Beran. "And then I lost all heart for further learning."
Palafox's eyes glinted. "Education is not achieved through the heart--it is a systematization of the mental processes."
"But I am something other than a mental process," said Beran. "I'm a man. I must reckon with the whole of myself."
Palafox was thinking, his eyes first contemplating Beran, then sliding along the line of the Sgolaph crags. When he spoke his voice was amiable. "There are no absolute certainties in this universe. A man must try to whip order into a yelping pack of probabilities, and uniform success is impossible."
Beran understood the meaning latent in Palafox's rather general remarks. "Since you had assured me that you took no further interest in my future, it was necessary that I act for myself. I did so, and returned to Pao."
Palafox nodded. "Beyond question, events took place outside the radius of my control. Still these rogue circumstances are often as advantageous as the most carefully nurtured plans."
"Please continue to neglect me in your calculations," said Beran in a carefully passionless voice. "I have learned to enjoy the sense of free action."
Palafox laughed with an untypical geniality. "Well said! And what do you think of new Pao?"
"I am puzzled. I have formed no single conviction."
"Understandable. There are a million facts at a thousand different levels to be assessed and reconciled. Confusion is inevitable unless you are driven by a basic ambition, as I am and as is Panarch Bustamonte. For us, these facts can be separated into categories: favorable and unfavorable."
He stepped back a pace, inspected Beran from head to foot. "Evidently you occupy yourself as a linguist."
Beran made a rather reluctant admission that this was so.
"If for no other reason," said Palafox, "you should feel gratitude to me and Breakness Institute."
"Gratitude would be a misleading oversimplification."
"Possibly so," agreed Palafox. "And now, if you will excuse me, I must hurry to my appointment with the Director."
"One moment," said Beran. "I am perplexed. You seem not at all disturbed by my presence on Pao. Do you plan to inform Bustamonte?"
Palafox showed restiveness at the direct question; it was one which a Breakness dominie would never have deigned to make. "I plan no interference in your affairs." He hesitated a moment, then spoke in a new and confidential manner. "If you must know, circumstances have altered. Panarch Bustamonte becomes more headstrong as the years go by, and your presence may serve a useful purpose."
Beran angrily started to speak, but observing Palafox's faintly amused expression held his tongue.
"I must be on to my business," said Palafox. "Events proceed at an ever accelerating tempo. The next year or two will resolve a number of uncertainties
Three weeks after his encounter with Palafox, Beran was transferred to Dierombona on Shraimand, where a multitude of infants, heirs to five thousand years of Paonese placidity, had been immersed in a plasm of competitiveness. Many of these were now only a few years short of manhood.
Deirombona was the oldest inhabited site on Pao, a sprawling low city of coral block in a forest of phaltorhyncus. For some reason not readily apparent, the city had been evacuated of its two million inhabitants. Dierombona Harbor remained in use; a few administrative offices had been given over to Valiant affairs; otherwise the old buildings lay stark as skeletons, bleaching under the tall trees. In the Colonial Sector, a few furtive vagrants lurked among the apartment blocks, venturing forth at night to scavenge and loot. They risked subaqueation, but since the authorities would hardly comb the maze of streets, alleys, cellars, houses, stores, warehouses, apartments and public buildings, the vagrants considered themselves secure.
The Valiant cantonments had been established at intervals up the coast, each headquarters to a legion of Myrmidons, as the Valiant warriors called themselves.
Beran had been assigned to the Deirombona Legion, and had at his disposal all the abandoned city in which to find living quarters. He selected an airy cottage on the old Lido, and was able to make himself extremely comfortable.
In many ways the Valiants were the most interesting of all the new Paonese societies. They were easily the most dramatic. Like the Technicants of Zelambre Bay and the Cogitants of Pon, the Valiants were a race of youths, the oldest not yet Beran's age. They made a strange glittering spectacle as they strode through the Paonese sunlight, arms swinging, eyes fixed straight ahead in mystical exaltation. Their garments were intricate and of many colors, but each wore a personal device on his chest, legion insignia on his back.
During the day the young men and women trained separately, mastering their new weapons and mechanisms, but at night they ate and slept together indiscriminately, distinction being only one of rank. Emotional import was given only to organizational relationships, to competition for rank and honor.
On the evening of Beran's arrival at Deirombona, a ceremonial convocation took place at the cantonment. At the center of the parade ground a great fire burnt on a platform. Behind rose the Deirombona stele, a prism of black metal emblazoned with emblems. To either side stood ranks of young Myrmidons, and tonight all wore common garb: a plain dark gray leotard. Each carried a ceremonial lance, with a pale flickering flame in the place of a blade.
A fanfare rang out. A girl in white came forward, carrying an insignia of copper, silver and brass. While the Myrmidons knelt and bowed their heads, the girl carried the insignia three times around the fire and fixed it upon the stele.
The fire roared high. The Myrmidons rose to their feet, thrust their lances into the air. They formed into ranks and marched from the square.
The next day Beran received an explanation from his immediate superior, Sub-Strategist Gian Firanu, a soldier-of-fortune from one of the far worlds. "You witnessed a funeral--a hero's funeral. Last week Dierombona held war-games with Tarai, the next camp up the coast. A Tarai submarine had penetrated our net and was scoring against our base. All the Deirombona warriors were eager, but Lemauden was first. He dove five hundred feet with a torch and cut away the ballast. The submarine rose and was captured. But Lemauden drowned--possibly by accident."
" 'Possibly by accident'? How else? Surely the Tarai..."
"No, not the Tarai. But it might have been a deliberate act. These lads are wild to place their emblems on the stele--they'll do anything to create a legend."
Beran went to the window. Along the Dierombona esplanade swaggered groups of young bravos. Was this Pao? Or some fantastic world a hundred light-years distant?
Gian Firanu was speaking; his words at first did not penetrate Beran's consciousness. "There's a new rumor going around--perhaps you've already heard it--to the effect that Bustamonte is not the true Panarch, merely Ayudor-Senior. It's said that somewhere Beran Panasper is alive and grows to manhood, gaining strength like a mythical hero. And when the hour strikes--so the supposition goes--he will come forth to fling Bustamonte into the sea."
Beran stared suspiciously, then laughed. "I had not heard this rumor. But it may well be fact, who knows?"
"Bustamonte will not enjoy the story!"
Beran laughed again, this time with genuine humor. "Better than anyone else, he'll know what truth there is in the rumor. I wonder who started this rumor."
Firanu shrugged. "Who starts any rumor? No one. They come of idle talk and misunderstanding."
"In most cases--but not all," said Beran. "Suppose this were the truth?"