He said, "No, Cyber Irae, the flowers are here to set at ease those ushered into this chamber to wait. Naturally, you grasp the underlying purpose."

A statement, not a question. For him to have framed the sentence otherwise would have been tantamount to insult. No cyber could avoid seeing the obvious, and now that Irae knew the purpose of the room, the presence of the blooms and the position they occupied was plain. A contrast and a good one; outside, the bleak desolation of Titanus-within, the glowing color and beauty of the flowers and what they, by association, represented. The security of the Cyclan; the rewards and wealth and comfort the organization could provide to any who engaged their services. A contrast too subtle to be immediately appreciated by any visitor, but it was there and would be noted on a subconscious level.

"Caradoc shows skill and intelligence. An acolyte?"

"No longer." Yoka lifted a hand and touched his breast, fingers thin and pale against the rich scarlet and the design embroidered on the fabric, A gesture signifying the acolyte had passed his final tests and was now one of their number. Beneath his hand the Seal of the Cyclan glowed and shimmered with reflected light. "A young man who shows promise. He should give good service and rise high."

And would, unless he committed the unpardonable crime of failure.

Irae looked again at the flowers, at the window and the desolation beyond, thinking of others who had shown promise and who had failed. Those who had paid with their lives because of their failure. Others who had been broken. He did not intend to become one of them.