"Purcell!" The man drew in his breath between his teeth, and his face paled. He pulled back from reaching Ronny with his feelings, like holding his breath in. "Good game." _You can learn from him. Don't leave him shut off, I beg you. You can let him influence you without being pulled off your own course. He was a good man. You were honored, and I envy the man you will be if you contacted him on resonant similarities._ The grownup looked frightened. _But you are too young. You'll block him out and lose him. Kids have to grow and learn at their own speed._ Then he looked less afraid, but uncertain, and his thoughts struggled against each other. _Their own speed. But there should be someone alive with Purcell's pattern and memories. We loved him. Kids should grow at their own speed, but.... How strong are you, Ronny? Can you move ahead of the normal growth pattern?_ Grownups always want you to do something. Ronny stared back, clenching his hands and moving his feet uneasily. The thoughts were open to him. _Do you want to be the old chief again, Ronny? Be him often, so you can learn to know what he knew? (And feel as he felt. It would be a stiff dose for a kid.) It will be rich and exciting, full of memories and skills. (But hard to chew. I'm doing this for Purcell, Ronny, not for you. You have to make up your own mind.)_ "That was a good game. Are you going to play it any more?" * * * * * His mother would not like it. She would feel the difference in him, as much as if he had read one of the books she kept away from him, books that were supposed to be for adults only. The difference would hurt her. He was being bad, like eating between meals. But to know what grownups knew.... He tightened his fists and looked down at the grass. "I'll play it some more." The young man smiled, still pale and holding half his feelings back behind a dam. _Then mesh with me a moment. Let me in._ He was in with the thought, feeling Ronny's confused consent, reassuring him by not thinking or looking around inside while sending out a single call, _Purcell, Doc_, that found the combination key to Ronny's guarded yesterdays and last nights and ten minutes agos. _Ronny, I'll set that door, Purcell's memories, open for you. You can't close it, but feel like this about it_--and he planted in a strong set, _questioning, cool, open, a feeling of absorbing without words ... it will give information when you need it, like a dictionary._ The grownup straightened away from the fence, preparing to walk off. Behind a dam pressed grief and anger for the death of the man he called Purcell. "And any time you want to _be_ the old chief, at any age he lived, just make believe you are him."