Jack Vance - The Languages of Pao

The teaching staff, like that of the Zelambre schools, consisted primarily of young Breakness dons, and, again, they were all sons of Palafox. In residence were a dozen Paonese sub-ministers, representatives of Bustamonte, and Beran’s function was to maintain coordination between the two groups.

A situation which aroused considerable uneasiness in Beran was the fact that Finisterle, the Breakness don who knew Beran’s true identity, also worked at Pon. Three times Beran, with pounding heart, managed to slip aside before Finisterle could notice him, but on the fourth occasion the meeting could not be avoided. Finisterle made only the most casual of acknowledgements and passed on, leaving Beran staring after him.

In the next few weeks Beran saw Finisterle a number of times, and at last entered into guarded conversation. Finisterle’s comments were the very definition of indirection.

Beran divined that Finisterle was anxious to continue his studies at the Institute, but remained at Pon for three reasons: first, it was the wish of his sire, Lord Palafox. Second, Finisterle felt that opportunity to breed sons of his own was easier on Pao than on Breakness. With so much, he was comparatively candid; the third reason was told more by his silences than his words. He seemed to regard Pao as a world in flux, a place of vast potentialities, where great power and prestige might be had by a person sufficiently deft and decisive.

What of Palafox? Beran wondered.

What of Palafox indeed, Finisterle seemed to say, and looking off across the plateau, apparently changed the subject. “Strange to think that even these crags, the Sgolaph, will some day be eroded to peneplain. And on the other hand, the most innocent hillock may erupt into a volcano.”

These concepts were beyond dispute, said Beran.

Finisterle propounded another apparently paradoxical law of nature: “The more forceful and capacious the brain of a dominie, the more wild and violent its impulses when it succumbs to sclerosis and its owner becomes an Emeritus.”

But it was not Finisterle who gave Beran the greatest jolt. Several months later, Beran, leaving the administration headquarters, came face to face with Palafox.

Beran froze in his tracks; Palafox stared down from his greater height.

Summoning his composure, Beran performed the Paonese gesture of greeting. Palafox returned a sardonic acknowledgement. “I am surprised to see you here,” said Palafox. “I had assumed that you were diligently pursuing your education on Breakness.”

“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 am 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, although the sense of his words was obscure. “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. After all, Palafox need speak but a single sentence to bring about his death.

“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 Deirombona 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. Deirombona 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.

Ten 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. Sexual contacts were common, casual, barren of any sublimation or fervor. Emotional import was given only to organizational relationships, to competition for rank and honor.