Practice can take a student only so far. To truly advance, he must experience the real thing.

—GILBERTUS ALBANS, Mentat manual

The elite Mentat School accepted only the most gifted candidates, and in the decades that Gilbertus Albans had run the facility, a number of his students had excelled in the rigorous programs, advancing faster than their peers. Their minds were efficient and organized, advanced, sharp … true human computers.

Erasmus was very proud to see his influence.

Currently, the school’s best student, arguably the best ever, was Draigo Roget. Draigo surpassed even most of the Mentat instructors in his skills—a fact that did not escape the young man himself, who at times displayed too much ego. Just five years ago, Draigo had arrived on Lampadas, passed the qualification tests and entry examination, and paid for his considerable tuition with a gift from an unnamed benefactor.

Gilbertus had never met anyone quite so brilliant, and now Draigo was nearly finished with everything the Mentat School could teach him. He would graduate with the next group in a month, and Gilbertus had asked him to consider remaining on Lampadas as an instructor, but Draigo was noncommittal.

This morning they met in an oval war-game chamber; the room was large enough to accommodate hundreds of students, but now it contained only the two of them. Windows around the perimeter of the room showed part of the blue-walled administration building and glimpses of the greenish waters of the marsh lake, sparkling in sunlight.

The pair of Mentats, though, were intent on far-off, imaginary space battles.

They sat in tall chairs and engaged in a competition, each controlling a holographic war fleet through a tactical obstacle course of asteroids, gravity wells, foldspace mishaps, uncertain targets. Their minds intent, Gilbertus and Draigo conducted a skirmish, throwing simulated war fleets against each other, prosecuting an imaginary war at the speed of thought.

Barely moving in their chairs, they made finger movements that were interpreted by motion sensors and transmitted into the mechanism. Gilbertus would never demonstrate the system to Manford Torondo even though, technically, this was not forbidden technology, because it could not function without human guidance.

Simulated space battles flurried in the air between them, ship movements so swift that the images were blurred. The war vessels were like game pieces, tangled inside a crowded solar system. The complex engagements took place among moons or gas giants, close to inhabited planets, or out in the distant cometary cloud. Color codes distinguished the sides, red against yellow, battles within battles.

Over the course of an hour, speaking hardly a word, Gilbertus and Draigo had already fought eleven battles, and now the tempo increased. Other than in his intense exercises with Erasmus, the Mentat teacher had never faced such a challenge. He still held a substantial advantage over Draigo, but his student was catching up.

On the compressed timescale of the simulation, entire solar systems could be lost in seconds. Each Mentat could envision battle plans, unfolding how every second-, third-, and fourth-order consequence would play out in their minds. Gilbertus had taught such techniques, but few of his students grasped the broad field of view of Gestalt philosophy—a restructuring of perception to encompass the whole, instead of its individual parts.

Drops of perspiration formed on Gilbertus’s forehead.

Unseen, the memory core of Erasmus watched the proceedings via concealed sensors. The restless robot’s gelcircuitry core needed a small measure of freedom. Gilbertus planned to construct a physical form so that the independent robot could become mobile again. Someday. With his exceptionally high intellect, Erasmus required constant stimulation. The robot core had offered to help him in the war-game simulations against Draigo, but Gilbertus refused to cross that moral line. “Cheating,” he had called it.

“Improving your odds,” Erasmus countered. “Increasing your advantage.”

“No. You will watch—that’s all.”

As he witnessed the rapid progress of his star pupil playing the game with him, however, Gilbertus began to have second thoughts.…

While the men remained intent on their simulation, sitting across from each other, Gilbertus spoke to his pupil, “You continue to improve, but never forget that there are always unforeseen elements in battle. Seemingly small and insignificant factors, but possibly of great importance—things you cannot plan for. Be alert, assess each situation rapidly, and take appropriate action.”

“You are trying to distract me, sir.” Draigo’s black eyebrows knitted together in concentration, and his dark gaze studied the simulated space conflict.

Loud conversation interrupted the competitors as students pulled open the chamber doors and entered for their scheduled class. Startled by the disruption, Draigo twitched, scattering his projected fleet around the virtual battlefield. Gilbertus could have seized the opportunity to secure a victory then, but he froze the game instead.

“Unforeseen elements such as that, for example,” he said.

Draigo recovered. “I understand. Shall we finish?”

“Very well. A Mentat must learn to concentrate under all circumstances.”

Gilbertus resumed the simulation as Mentat students gathered around to observe the show, but his conscience urged him to end this private battle and give the other trainees the attention they deserved. In the thick of the battle, Gilbertus intentionally slacked off and waited for his opponent to move in for the kill.

Noticing his instructor’s change of mind-set, however, Draigo sat back in his tall chair with a disgusted look. He let his own forces collapse and get hit by Gilbertus’s hamstrung force. With a sigh, the young man disengaged himself from the war-game controls. “I don’t want to win that way.”

Gilbertus stood and stretched. “Soon you won’t have to.”

The young man had won nearly forty percent of the engagements.