KEEP SKY FILTH AWAY
JIJO WILL NOT BE MOCKED！
This can only be the work of zealots。
Frustration spins round our core。 The fanatics chose a fine time to make their gesture！
We sages must go see。 Even Vubben makes haste； and my basal segments labor to keep up。 Ro…kenn strides with graceful ease； seeming unperturbed。
And yet； my rings； is this variance we observe； in Ro…kenn's aura？ Through our rewq； we sense discrepancy between parts of his face； as if the Rothen's outward calm masks a canker of seething wrath。
Can rewq read so much from an alien form we just met； this very day？ Is it because i have one of the few older rewq； surviving from earlier days？ Or do we notice this because traeki are tuned to perceive disunity of self？
Ahead…the defiant banner。
Above…perched on cliffs； shouting youths brandish foolish （but brave！） weapons。
Below…Phwhoon…dau； with his booming voice； calls to them； asking them to state their demands。
Their reply？ Echoing down canyons and steam…fumaroles…a mand that the aliens depart！ Never to return。 Or else suffer vengeance by the greatest force on Jijo。
！？！？
The zealots threaten the Rothen with the Egg？
But did not Ro…kenn just claim the great ovoid as his to mand？
Across the Rothen's visage flows what i interpret as cool amusement。 He calls the zealots' bluff。
〃Shall we see who has the power to back up their claims？〃 the star…god asks。 〃This night the Egg； and all Jijo； will sing our truth。〃
Lester and Vubben plead for restraint； but Ro…kenn ignores them。 Still smiling； he mands robots to each side of the gorge； to seize the anchor bolts holding the barrier in place。 Overhead； the rebel leader stretches her long neck； keening a curse in plains dialect； invoking the sacred power of Jijo to renew。 To cleanse impudent dross with fire。
The young zealot is a fine showman； stamping her hooves； foretelling awful punishments。 Our more credulous rings find it possible； for a moment； to believe…
…to believe…
…to believe…
What is happening？
What…is…happening？
What impressions pour
in
now；
faster than
wax can melt？
Then penetrate
awareness；
ring after
ring
in a manner that
makes
all events
equal in both
timing and
import？
What is happening？
…twin lightning bolts outline many twelves of pilgrims； their shadows fleeing from white flame。。。
…crackling metal plains。。。 shattered。。。 unable to fly。。。 a pair of tumbling cinders。。。
…after…image of demolition。。。 two junk piles smolder。。。 more dross to collect and send to sea。。。
With other eye…patches； we/i glimpse horrified surprise on the face of Rann； the sky…human。
…surrounding Ro…kenn； a schism of variance like a traeki sundered between one ring that is jolly and a neighbor filled with wrath。。。
And now； though surfeited with impressions； suddenly there is more！
…with eye…patches on the opposite side； we are first to glimpse a fiery spike。。。
…a searing brightness climbs the western sky。 rising from the Glade of Gathering。。
…the ground beneath us trembles。。。
…actual sound takes a while longer to arrive； battling upward through thin air to bring us a low groan； like thunder！
At last； the pace of events slows enough for our spinning vapors to keep up。 Happenings occur in order。 Not disjointed； parallel。
Review； my rings！
Did we perceive two robots destroyed； even as they tore down the zealots' barrier？
Then were we dazzled by some vast explosion behind us？ Toward the Glade of Gathering？
What had been a pilgrimage of union dissolves into a mob。 Small groups hurry downhill toward a dusty； moon…lit pall； left by that brief flame。 Humans hang close together； for protection； clinging to their remaining hoonish and qheuenish friends； while other qheuens and many urs clatter by； aloof； scornful； even threatening in their manner。
Ro…kenn no longer walks but rides a cushioned plate between his two remaining robots； speaking urgently into a handheld device； growing more agitated by the moment。 His human servants seem in shock。
The female； Ling； holds the arm of Lark； our young human biologist。 Uthen offers a ride； and they climb aboard his broad gray back。 All three vanish down the trail after Ro…kenn。
Bravely； Knife…Bright Insight proposes similarly to carry this pile of rings； this Asx！
Can i/we refuse？ Already； Phwhoon…dau totes Vubben in his strong； scaly arms。 The hoon sage lugs the g'Kek so both might hurry downhill and see what has happened。
By majority ballot； our rings choose to accept the offer。 But after several duras of jouncing qheuenish haste； there are calls for a recount！ Somehow； we clamp down； managing to hang on to her horny shell； wishing we had walked。
Time passes through a gelatin of suspense； teasing us with idle speculation。 Darkness swallows wisdom。 Glittering stars seem to taunt。
Finally； at an overlooking bluff； we jostle with others for a view。
Can you sense it； my rings？
Unified now； in shock； i see a steaming crater； filled with twisted metal。 The sanctuary where Ro…kenn and the sky…humans dwelled among us for weeks。 Their buried outpost…now a fiery ruin。
Acting with hot…blooded decisiveness； Ur…Jah and Lester call for volunteers to leap into that smoky pit； reckless of their own lives； heroically attempting rescue。 But how could anyone survive within the wrecked station？ Can anyone be found alive？
We all share the same thought。 All members of the Six。 All of my rings。
Who can doubt the power of the Egg？ Or the fury of a planet scorned？
The Stranger
Doors seem to open with every song he rediscovers； as if old melodies are keys to unlock whole swaths of time。 The earlier the memory； the more firmly it seems attached to a musical phrase or snippet of lyrics。 Nursery rhymes； especially； take him swiftly down lanes of reclaimed childhood。
He can picture his mother now； singing to him in the safety of a warm room； lying sweetly with ballads about a world filled with justice and love…sweet lies that helped fix his temperament； even when he later learned the truth about a bitter； deadly universe。
A string of whimsical ditties brings back to mind the bearded twins； two brothers who for many years shared the Father Role in his family…web； a pair of incurable jokers who routinely set all six of the young web…sibs giggling uncontrollably at their quips and good…natured antics。 Reciting some of the simplest verses over and over； he finds he can almost prehend the crude punchlines…a real breakthrough。 He knows the humor is puerile； infantile； yet he laughs and laughs at the old gag…songs until tears stream down his cheeks。
Arianafoo plays more records for him； and several release floods of excitement as he relives the operettas and musical plays he used to love in late adolescence。 A human art form； to help ease the strain as he struggled； along with millions of other earnest young men and women； to grasp some of the lofty science of a civilization older than most of the brightest stars。 He felt poignant pain in recovering much of what he once had been。 Most words and facts remain alien； unobtainable…even his mother's name； or his own； for that matter…but at least he begins to feel like a living being； a person with a past。 A man whose actions once had meaning to others。 Someone who had been loved。
Nor is music the only key！ Paper offers several more。 When the mood strikes； he snatches up a pencil and sketches with mad abandon； using up page after page； pelled to draw even though he knows each sheet must cost these impoverished folk dearly。
When he spies Prity doodling away； graphing a simple linear equation； he delightedly finds that he understands！ Math was never his favored language； but now he discovers a new love for it。 Apparently； numbers hadn't quite deserted him the way speech had。
There is one more munion that he realizes while being treated by Pzora； the squishy pile of donut…rings that used to frighten him so。 It is a strange rapport； as foreign to words as day is to night。 Robbed of speech； he seems