WHILE JIEHONG AND WHISKEY scouted Thundervale for knowledge, Zan was hard at work on his tutorials.

  "Ugh," Zan groaned. "So. Many. Details!"

  The first module on the dial had been easy. He used all the fancy features of the video message relay system and did not dare advance without having known everything about the lesson. Yet, the lessons were not merely informational. To them, each lesson had a demonstrative element. Zan did not know how it worked, but the crystal projection means which displayed the instructor's face could also, at certain points, scan the room and judge Zan's martial style, comparing it to what was displayed on the screen.

  "Your grade is Adequate," the instructor's pre-recorded voice said.

  "Gah!" Zan shouted. He had been at it all night. He was near the end of the third module for the combat dial when he felt like giving up.

  "Zan!" the Screen Master's voice came through some hidden speakers.

  Needing to be told several more times before he acknowledged his name, Zan shouted out, "What? Screen Master, what?!"

  "Although I know your System is alerting you to your lowered stamina levels, I must warn you to take a break. You are becoming frustrated and wasteful," the Screen Master said.

  "I know!" Zan said, his anger suddenly getting the better of him.

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  "I know," he said, but much more quietly.

  "The rankings at the end of each lesson should not be so adhered to you are sacrificing your happiness to obtain them. You must study and train smartly. In a way which works with your body and spirit, not against it."

  Simulacrum was right, Zan knew. He had been pushing himself. He was getting tunnel vision. Even so... was not his cause worthy of overcommitting himself? For at least a while. "You're right. I am going to take a break then get back at it," Zan replied.

  The Screen Master ended the conversation there and gave Zan some peace.

  Sitting slumped against the back of his chair, Zan admired the pure black walls. He wished there was a window down here, though, something to look through and admire between bouts of self-improvement.

  "What should I do now?" Zan asked himself.

  Remembering the sack of marbles on his person, Zan considered something radical. "Should I begin my rites? I have to interview a hundred people about their relationship to the Gods... I probably don't want to put that off."

  Knowing that thinking to himself wasn't going to get him anywhere, Zan walked out of the training room. He cleaned himself off in the shower, grabbed a bite, and went outside. "Get your breathing exercises done. Good Zan," Zan praised himself like a dog.

  The evening air swept Zan's brow. He released his breath and felt better. He took a sip of coffee from a container Sigma-Prime had described as a 'thermos.' It kept his tea warm despite the elements. Zan considered its functionality neat.

  "I was getting myself worked up. I should thank the Screen Master for intervening and telling me to calm down," Zan thought to himself while the wind continued to gently batter him. Looking up, the bodies of gargantuan gods, which seemed, to Zan, as little more than stars themselves, glimmered as they bathed in the passing moonlight.

  "Okay. Time to get back at it," Zan said, finishing his tea and returning to the training chamber.