〃So why did our ancestors flout them？〃
Each g'Kek pilgrim watched him with two eyestalks raised far apart and the other two tucked away； a sign of intense interest。 The typical urrish listener pointed her narrow head not toward Lark's face but his midriff； to keep his center of mass in view of all three black slits surrounding her narrow snout。 Lark's rewq highlighted these signs； and others from hoon； traeki； and qheuen。
They're with me so far； he saw。
〃Oh； our ancestors tried to minimize the harm。 Our settlements lie in this narrow； geologically violent zone； in hopes that volcanoes will someday cover our works； leaving no evidence behind。 The sages choose what we may kill and eat； and where to build； in order to intrude lightly on Jijo's rest。
〃Still； who can deny harm is done； each hour we live here。 Now rantanoids go extinct。 Is it our fault？ Who knows？ I doubt even the Holy Egg can tell。〃
A murmur from the crowd。 Colors flowed in the rewq veil over his eyes。 Some literalistic hoon thought he went too far。 Others； like the g'Kek； were more fortable with metaphor。
Let their rewq handle the nuances； Lark thought。 Concentrate on the message itself。
〃Our ancestors passed on excuses； warnings； rules。 They spoke of tradeoffs； and the Path of Redemption。 But I'm here to say that none of it is any good。 It's time to end the farce； to face the truth。
〃Our generation must choose。
〃We must choose to be the last of our kind on Jijo。〃
The journey back skirted dark caves； exhaling glistening vapors。 Now and then； some deep natural detonation sent echoes rolling from one opening； then another； like a rumor that dwindled with each retelling。
Rolling downhill was easier for the g'Keks。 But several traeki； built for life in swampy fens； chuffed with exertion as they twisted and turned； striving to keep up。 In order to ease the journey； hoonish pilgrims rumbled low atonal music； as they often did at sea。 Most pilgrims no longer wore their exhausted rewq。 Each mind dwelled alone； in its own thoughts。
Legend says it's different among machine intelligences； or the Zang。 Group minds don't bother with persuasion。 They just put their heads together； unify； and decide。
It wouldn't be that easy convincing the mon citizenry of the Six to go along with the new heresy。 Deep instincts drove each race to reproduce as best it could。 Ambition for the future was a natural trait for people like his father。
But not here； not on this world。
Lark felt encouraged by this morning's meeting。 We'll convince a few this year。 Then more。 First we'll be tolerated； later opposed。。。 In the long run； it must be done without violence； by consensus。
Around noon； a mutter of voices carried up the trail…the day's first regular pilgrims； making an outward show of reverence while still chattering about the pleasures of Gathering。 Lark sighted white…robed figures beyond some vapor fumaroles。 The leaders called greetings to Lark's group； already returning from devotions； and began shuffling aside to give up right of way。
A crack of thunder struck as the two parties passed alongside； slamming their bodies together and flapping their robes。 Hoons crouched； covering their ears； and g'Kek eyestalks recoiled。 One poor qheuen skittered over the edge； clutching a gnarled tree with a single； desperate claw。
Lark's first thought was of another gas discharge。
When the ground shook； he pondered an eruption。
He would later learn that the noise came not from Jijo； but the sky。 It was the sound of fate arriving； and the world he knew ing abruptly to an end； before he ever expected it。
Asx
THOSE WITHIN THE STARSHIP INDUCED A SMALL opening in its gleaming side。 Through this portal they sent an emissary； unlike anything the mons had seen in living memory。
A robot！
my/our ring…of…associations had to access one of its myriad moist storage glands in order to place its contours； recalling an illustration we/i once perused in a human book。
Which book？ Ah； thank you my self。 Jane's Survey of Basic Galactic Tools。 One of the rarest surviving fruits of the Great Printing。
Exactly as depicted in that ancient diagram； this floating mechanism was a black； octagonal slab； about the size of a young qheuen； hovering above the ground at about the level of my ring…of…vision； with various gleaming implements projecting above or hanging below。 From the moment the hatch closed behind it； the robot ignored every earthly contour； leaving a trail where grass； pebbles； and loam were pressed flat by unseen heaviness。
Wherever it approached； folk quailed back。 Just one group of beings kept still； awaiting the creature of not…flesh。 We sages。 Responsibility was our cruel mooring； so adamant that even my basal segment stayed rigid； though it pulsed with craven need to flee。 The robot…or its masters in the ship…thus knew who had the right/duty to parlay。 It hesitated in front of Vubben； appearing to contemplate our eldest sage for five or six duras； perhaps sensing the reverence we all hold for the wisest of the g'Kek。 Then it backed away to confront us all。
i/we watched in mystified awe。 After all； this was a thing； like a hoonish riverboat or some dead tool left by the vanished Buyur。 Only the tools we make do not fly； and Buyur remnants show no further interest in doing so。
This thing not only moved； it spoke； mencing first with a repeat of the earlier message。
〃Surveying （local； unique） lifeforms； in this we seek your （gracious） help。
〃Knowledge of the （local） biosphere； this you （assuredly） have。
〃Tools and （useful） arts； these we offer in trade。
〃Confidentiality； shall we （mutually） exchange？〃
Our rewq were useless…shriveling away from the intense flux of our distress。 We sages nonetheless held conference。 By agreement； Vubben rolled forward； his roller…wheels squeaking with age。 In a show of discipline； all eyestalks turned toward the alien device； though surely oversurfeited with its frightening stimulus。
〃Poor castaways； are we；〃 he menced reciting； in the syncopated pops and clicks of formal Galactic Two。 Although our urrish cousins find that language easiest and use it among themselves； all conceded that Vubben； the g'Kek； was peerless in his mastery of the grammar。
Especially when it came to telling necessary lies。
〃Poor castaways； ignorant and stranded。
〃Delighted are we。 Ecstatic at this wondrous thing。
〃Advent of rescue！〃
Sara
SOME DISTANCE BELOW DOLO VILLAGE； THE river felt its way through a great marsh where even hoon sailors were known to lose the main channel； snagging on tree roots or ing aground on shifting sandbars。 Normally； the brawny； patient crew of the dross…hauler Hauph…woa would count on wind and the river's rhythmic rise…and…fall to help them slip free。 But these weren't normal times。 So they folded their green cloaks…revealing anxious mottles across their lumpy backbone ridges…and pushed the Hauph…woa along with poles made of lesser…boo。 Even passengers had to assist； now and then； to keep the muddy bottom from seizing the keel and holding them fast。 The uneasy mood affected the ship's contingent of flighty noor； who barked nervously； scampering across the masts； missing mands and dropping lines。
Finally； just before nightfall； the captain…pilot guided the Hauph…woa's ornate prow past one last fen of droopy tallgrass to Unity Point； where the river's branches reconverged into an even mightier whole。 The garu forest resumed； spreading a wele sheltering canopy over both banks。 After such an arduous day； the air seemed all at once to release passengers and crew from its moist clench。 A cool breeze stroked skin； scale； and hide； while sleek noor sprang overboard to splash alongside the gently gliding hull； then clambered the masts and spars to stretch and preen。
Sara thanked Prity when her assistant brought supper in a wooden bowl； then the chimp took her own meal to the side； in order to flick overboard the spicy greens that hoon chefs loved slicing into nearly everything they cooked。 A trail of bubbles showed that river creatures； feeding on the scraps； weren't so finicky。 Sa