Calde of the Long Sun

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Patera Remora, Coadjutor of the Chapter, nodded solemnly.

"Yes indeed, Your Cognizance. You are indeed a most--ah--advertent man."

Yet there was always that possibility. "I'm growing old, Patera.

Even we careful men grow old."

Remora nodded again, his long bony face expressive of regret.

"Alas, Your Cognizance."

"As do many other things, Patera. Our city... The whorl itself

grows old. When we're young, we notice things that are young, like

ourselves. New grass on old graves. New leaves on old trees."

Quetzal lifted his chin again to study his bulging reflection through

hooded eyes.

"The golden season of beauty and--um--elegiacs, Your Cognizance."

Remora's fingers toyed with a dainty sandwich.

"As we notice the signs of advancing age in ourselves, we see them

in the whorl. Just a few chems today who ever saw a man who saw a

man who remembered the day Pas made the whorl."

A little bewildered by the rapid riffle through so many generations,

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