Mercenary by Piers Anthony Page A

value—particularly in a regimented system where deviance from the norm is not encouraged. “You need contact with someone who can apply instinctively the principles you have studied professionally. Such a contact would—would provide some meaning for your life, and you value meaning more than life.”
    “Purpose,” he said. “Purpose more than meaning, though the two may overlap.”
    “Purpose, sir,” I agreed.
    “I have measured out my life in chicken shit.”
    “Yes, sir!”
    “Shall we deal?”
    “Help me recover my sister, sir, and I'll do anything you want, within reason and legality.”
    “What I want is reasonable and legal but too complex for you to fathom at the moment.”
    I concentrated on him again. There is nothing supernatural about my talent; I merely read people quite well. I can, to a large extent, discover their moods and natures from peripheral signals, but I cannot read minds. Intelligent interpretation, not telepathy, is my secret. Now I saw in this man the signals of an enormous ambition but not one to be expressed in simple things such as promotion or riches or romance.
    He craved power but not any ordinary or competitive type. Rather it was a kind of vindication he sought—vindication in his own eyes, by his own complex code. He sought, perhaps, to change the course of Man, in a devious fashion that only he himself could properly understand. This was a fascinating man! “Yes, sir,” I agreed. “But I will cooperate to the extent feasible.”
    “Your destiny may change,” he warned me.
    I was aware that he believed he was understating the case. I began to believe it myself. “I have not determined my destiny,” I said. “I only want to recover my sister. Then I must become an officer, to fulfill my commitment to Sergeant Smith, so I suppose that means a career in the Navy. I'm satisfied with that.”
    He lifted a ball. “Perhaps you are now,” he said. “This is me.” He indicated the ball he held. “This is you.”
    He indicated the far ball.
    “Yes, sir,” I said noncommittally.
    He released his ball. It swung down and struck the group, and my ball rebounded. The implication was clear enough. He intended to apply force to move me, according to his complex will, and I would have to react predictably. He was a strange yet well-meaning man, and his effort would have power, but as I watched the return swing of my ball and the thrust it imparted back to his ball, I knew that once he started me going, he would be subject to my force as much as I was now subject to his.
    “Yes, sir,” I repeated.
    The balls swung back and forth, acting and reacting and re-reacting and slowly declining, until at last the entire group was gently swinging. “And there is the Navy,” Lieutenant Repro said.
    What we did would have a subtle but definite effect on the entire system. That was a grandiose ambition of his, yet it seemed a credible one.
    “I think of these balls as a physical representation of honor,” he said.
    “Honor, sir?” I asked, surprised.
    “Do you know what honor is, Hubris?”
    “Integrity,” I said.
    He smiled. “I will educate you about honor. It is not integrity or truth. It is larger, a less straightforward concept. Honor has aspects of personal esteem, respect, dignity, and reputation, but it is more than these. Honor is an intangible concept, based more on appearance than reality, but its fundament is based on reality, and to a considerable extent it fashions its own reality. Civilization is a function of the honor of the human species. You must master the nuances of honor, to know personally what input will bring about what output.” He started the balls rebounding in a complex clicking pattern by releasing them sequentially.
    “What do I have to do with honor?” I asked. “It's hard enough just getting through training.”
    He shook his head ruefully. “I can see my work is cut out for me.” But he was not upset by the challenge. “How can I help you