Faust: “Because a set-set is murder where the corpse still walks. There are over two billion theoretically possible developmental sets in Brill’s scale. A few hundred are common and a further thousand reasonably common, but sets aren’t for life, we develop over time and our numbers go up, rapidly in childhood but also after that; my own sixth digit went up recently. But set-set trainers, to protect the inhuman powers that they want to sell, start engineering brain development long before the fetus has even lost its gills, shaping the brain’s growth stimulus by stimulus, light and touch rationed like prescriptions, and the chemicals, some extra glucose here or poison there to make each neural cluster swell or shrivel as the engineer requires. A Cartesian set-set like Eureka Weeksbooth is a 1-5-2-19-19-2-21-1 for life”—he spat the numbers, as one spits names of devils—“and, because the founders of these techniques have read their Brill enough to fear that nature might still triumph, just to make extra-sure the sets stay locked, they train the set-set not to let itself develop close relationships, no cross-stimulation, passion, friendship, nothing outside the script. Eureka’s fed and housed in a bash’ but no more part of it than a grandfather clock. I won’t deny that Heloïse and Dominic are brainwashed, as much as Martin Guildbreaker, or Spain, or myself, or anyone, all clumsily and semi-intentionally trained by bash’ and parents to become what we become, but Spain, Martin, myself, all of us can change, grow, love, not love, and variously expand the palette of what humankind can do, or be. Eureka may as well be dead.”

Achilles: “There I disagree. Death and life are more different than that.”

Faust: “Poor word choice in your case, I apologize. I can tell you speak Greek as well as English, but, tell me, when you do, what kind of Greek comes out, modern or Homeric?”

Achilles: “You believe I am what I am, then? You didn’t even ask to see Patroclus.”

Faust: “Dear boy, I believed you the instant you stepped through the doorway. You walk like a horse, and continued straight three paces as if to let your hind-quarters pass the doorpost before turning toward me. I know no one else who was raised by centaurs. There are other signs.”

Achilles: “I… guess there would be…”

Faust: “I know you’ve decided not to fight for Gordian, but I hope you won’t reject us as a potential ally should it become practical. We’d be a good one.”

Achilles: “I’m sure.”

Faust: “Think of an enormous number. Lots and lots.”

Achilles: “A thousand.”

Faust: “Exquisite.” The pleasure on the Headmaster’s flushed face surpassed common delight and swelled toward glee. “Do you know how many generations it’s been since anyone outside the most primitivizing Reservations would pick a number smaller than a million?”

Achilles: “No.”