When he caught up with me in the corridor he tried to continue with the message, but I motioned him to be silent. His almost total lack of awareness astounded me; he must indeed come from an important family to have lasted this long at Bamarren. The subtleties of security training were evidently eluding him. We were well into the common ground triangulated by the three First Level buildings when I stopped and faced him.

“Was this necessary?” Nine asked. Judging from his offended air, any kind of security was beneath him.

“What’s your message, Nine?” I smiled at him. I wanted to slap his pinched, inbred face, but I doubt that would have furthered my cause. He liked me even less, especially in the present situation.

“Charaban One. . . .” It stuck in his throat. Why was I, a low‑born Ten with no connections, on the receiving end of this message? I waited and continued to smile.

“Yes, Nine?” He grimaced as if he swallowed something bitter.

“The first meeting is tonight, after your tutorial. You’re to report to the Palaestra for cleanup duty. The assignment has been filed with One Tarnal, who will meet you there.” Nine was now back to his officious self. “This is extremely confidential, Ten!” he ended with a final attempt to maintain his superiority.

“I assume Eight is excepted,” I replied.

“What?” He had no idea what I meant. Eight had walked into our quarters and seen the two of us, and was at this very moment putting together a scenario that would be very close to the truth.

“Of course not! No one must know. The fate of Bamarren depends on these plans,” he intoned. A young man whose received wisdom consists of the scraps others have thrown away.

“Thank you, Nine,” I replied graciously. I know he wanted desperately to ask me why I was being involved in his cousin’s mission. He certainly didn’t dare ask Charaban. And it was beneath his dignity to ask me. He swallowed again, an even more bitter taste, and marched off to a life of diminishing returns. It was just as well Eight was alerted. One of my goals was to get him involved before he was recruited by Ramaklan.

When I arrived at the Palaestra after a computer‑systems tutorial at which I was severely criticized for my wandering attention, Second and Third Level agonistics–the advanced training phase after the Pit–were just finishing. One Tarnal met me in the main atrium and led me to the custodial office, where I was given implements and instructed to work until I had cleaned the twelve studios and two hygiene chambers in the building.

“Another murk was supposed to assist you, but he’s been reassigned, and nobody’s taken his place. Don’t dawdle or sleep, and be out of here by the morning classes. Now get going!” As I walked away I heard the custodian ask Tarnal what it was I had done to deserve this punishment.

“Nobody told me. But I know he’s got a mouth on him,” Tarnal replied.

I was well into my fifth room, and convinced that Charaban had set me up and that I wasbeing punished, when a person I didn’t know suddenly appeared in the doorway. He looked around to make sure I was alone.

“Follow me,” he said, satisfied that I was. His body had a low and powerful center of gravity, and his eyes sliced into me when they made contact. There was no denying him. I dropped what I was doing and obeyed. Without a word, he led me down three subterranean levels and into a conference room that featured a large monitor at one end. Charaban and an immensely overweight student were waiting. The latter’s formlessness was a contrast to the compactness of my guide.

“Is this the murk?” the heavy one asked.

“You don’t recognize him, do you?” Charaban replied with his smile.

“He’s filthy,” the heavy one observed with a contemptuous look.

“I’ve been cleaning half the night!” I was indignant. The work was bad enough without the insult.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, murk!” the fat student snapped. The sharp‑eyed one just studied me, which added to my disorientation.

“A murk who got by you twice,” Charaban needled. He was enjoying himself at the fat one’s expense and I was the instrument. “I don’t think that ever happened to you before.” Charaban turned to me. “He still doesn’t believe it happened.”

The other snorted in disgust, and his jowls shuddered in agreement. I wondered how someone that heavy could endure the physical regimen at Bamarren. He truly was the exception to the reigning student ideal of lean and muscular.

“We’d better get started,” Sharp Eyes quietly suggested.

“This is Ten Lubak,” Charaban abruptly announced to the others. “Ten, this is One Drabar,” indicating Sharp Eyes, “and this is Two Charaban, who was eager to finally meet you.” Two snorted and shuddered again. One Drabar moved to a control panel and entered a code. An image appeared on the monitor that was part topographical map and part diagram.

“There are spies operating everywhere, and we know who most of them are. The best ones we don’t know, of course.” Charaban was not smiling when he looked at me. “You’ll be approached by Ramaklan if you haven’t been already.” He paused and the three of them looked at me. I now understood One Drabar’s function.

“No. No one but One Charaban has talked to me about the Competition,” I directly addressed Drabar. He held my look with his probing eyes and then turned back to Charaban, who computed his look before he continued.

“Ramaklan will. Expect it, Ten,” Charaban ordered. It was impressive how he could move with warp speed between smiling charm and steely command. I nodded in response. He referred to the monitor.

“The rock formation at the center is the one Gramarg successfully defended two Competitions ago. Tarnal couldn’t touch them. It doesn’t look like much of a challenge . . . until you actually get out there. The exposure, the slope of the terrain . . . it all works for the defender. Considering the stakes of this Competition, Ramaklan is well advised to defend here.” He pointed to the redoubt an obvious stronghold for the defenders. “It’s a real challenge.” Charaban fell silent, and the four of us studied the graphic.

This was a part of the Wilderness I was not familiar with. Charaban was right; at first sight it didn’t look formidable. But as the coordinates revolved dimensionally and we perceived the gradual and insidious angle of the rising slope that led to the formation, we understood that the shape of the high ground allowed for no blind spots. There were 360 degrees of unobstructed exposure for the defenders.

“Any ideas? Observations?” Charaban asked.

“Ramaklan bastards!” Two Charaban muttered. “Look at that!” His stubby finger traced a circle in the air. “They can see everything around them. They won’t need that many men scanning terrain from inside. So of course they’ll commit the better part of their troops to the flanks coming out of either side of the rock formation to intercept any attempts to get behind them.”

“Which can work to our advantage,” Drabar said.

“How?” Charaban asked.

“If a small force canget behind their position, they’ll encounter less resistance in a surprise attack,” Drabar replied, never taking his eyes off the diagram.

“But how do we get behind their position?” Charaban asked.

“Outflank them. It’s the only way,” Two Charaban maintained.

“Both sides?” Charaban pressed. His fat second paused, not sure.

“Yes,” he finally replied.

“Then what’s left for the main frontal attack if we commit enough troops for both sides?” Charaban didn’t wait for an answer. “No, Drabar’s right. It has to be a small flanking force that surprises from behind and executes a holding action while the main force engages frontally.” Charaban was sure of that much. “How do we get behind, Drabar?” He wanted an answer.

“I don’t know yet,” Drabar replied.

“Ten?” Charaban’s eyes were almost angry, as if to ask what I was doing in the same room with them. All charm and politesse were gone. I was startled; it was the same look he’d given me at the Central Gate when I airily announced my success.