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me than you’ve been with yourself lately; that’s why I would prefer not to do this yet. In time, you would confront the difficult parts spontaneously, but you’re not quite ready.” Stefred sighed. “Your tutors confirm what I already knew from the computers’ measurement of your aptitude. Grenald in particular tells me that, potentially, you have one of the most brilliant scientific minds of your generation, and that if I upset it, I’ll be accountable for any effect on your future contribution to the research. He is probably right. Yet I promised you a choice, and even if I hadn’t, it’s guaranteed to you by fundamental policy—which Grenald knows as well as I. Given such a choice, do you want me to continue?”
    Confused, Noren groped for an answer. Stefred, he knew, expected more of him than simple assent; he must attempt to analyze the problem. It would not be spelled out for him. At length he ventured, “You couldn’t upset my mind except by telling me something I’m not aware of. And if you’re asking whether I’d rather not be told, well, you know the truth’s more important to me than anything else.”
    “More important than the scientific work on which fulfillment of the Prophecy depends?”
    “Is there a conflict?”
    “For the sake of argument, assume there is.”
    “Then the truth—the whole truth—is more important. A part couldn’t be more important than the whole.”
    Stefred, with evident reluctance, fixed his gaze directly on Noren and in one skillful thrust stripped away the armor built up through many weeks past. “Is that consistent with the fact that you’ve devoted practically every waking moment to technical studies since the day after your recantation?” he inquired softly.
    Noren gasped, overcome by the extent of his own self-deceit. How had Stefred known? He had never hinted to Stefred that doubt about the work’s ultimate outcome had entered his thoughts; not until he was watching Brek recant, in fact, had he admitted to himself that there might be truths from which he had hidden. Yet underneath he’d been aware that they existed. They’d emerged gradually from his increasing knowledge of science, and only concentration on its technical aspects had kept them back. The worries they’d raised could hardly be unfounded… .
    “Forgive me,” Stefred said. “That was brutally abrupt, but it told me something I had to be sure of: you don’t wish to use science as a shield. If you did, I couldn’t have opened your eyes so quickly. Some Scholars take years to recognize what you just grasped.” There was no reassurance in his tone, though the usual warmth came through; Stefred’s honesty was what inspired people’s confidence in him.
    Straightforwardly he continued, “We have no time to go into this problem right now; you must grapple with it alone. And it’s only the beginning, Noren. I’m leading up to more upsetting things.”
    “I—I hope you’re not going to ask how I feel about wearing the robe,” Noren faltered, sensing the direction events seemed to be taking. He was to be offered some challenging new task, one for which full commitment was undoubtedly a prerequisite… and much as he might want to accept, he could not yet become a High Priest—not when deeper reservations were mingling with his original ones.
    “I must, Noren. You need give me no decision—you will never be pressed for that—but if you have strong leanings one way or the other, I’ve got to know.”
    “I honestly don’t know myself, Stefred. If that’s what you meant when you said I’d choose involvement—”
    “It is not what I meant. I wouldn’t presume to influence you in regard to commitment; it isn’t a step to be taken lightly.” As relief spread through Noren. Stefred went on, “Don’t answer this next question if you don’t want to; I have valid reasons for asking it, but not ones that entitle me to invade your privacy. Do you attend Orison, Noren?”
    Turning