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Uthen wanted to stay and watch； Lark thought。 But I made him go hide those library disk…things we found。
Did I actually do him a favor？
Cambel drew a deep breath。
〃Ten！〃
〃Nine！〃
〃Eight！〃
Lark had never seen a g'Kek outrace an urs before。 But as the crowd dissolved； some of the Six showed surprising haste to depart。 Others remained； tethered by curiosity。
Courage is one trait that binds any true union； he thought with some pride。
〃Seven！〃
〃Six！〃
Now Ro…kenn himself glided forward。 〃I avow ownership of this device； which…〃
〃Five！〃
〃Four！〃
Ro…kenn hurried； speaking louder to be heard past the tumult。 〃…which consists merely of instrumentation； innocently emplaced…〃
〃Three！〃
〃Two！〃
Faster； in frantic tones。 〃…to study patterns cast by your revered and sacred…〃 〃One！〃
〃Now！〃
Some humans instinctively brought their hands up to their ears； crouching and squinting as if to protect their eyes against an expected flash。 Urs pressed arms over pouches。 g'Keks drew in their eyes； while qheuens and traeki squat…hugged the ground。 Rewq cringed； fleeing the intense emotions pouring from their hosts。 Whatever a 〃psi emitter〃 might be； everyone was about to find out。
Lark tried to ignore instinct； taking his cue instead from Ling。 Her response to the countdown seemed a queer mix of anger and curiosity。 She clasped both hands together； turning to meet his eyes at the very moment Cambel's aide stroked a hidden switch。
Asx
CONFUSION BRIMS OUR CENTRAL CORE； OOZING through the joint…seals that bind us/we/i/me； seeping bewilderment down our outer curves； like sap from a wounded tree。
This voice； this rhythmic recitation； can it be what we know it not to be？
The Egg's patternings have stroked us so many ways。 This ruction has familiar elements； like the Sacred One's way of singing。。。。
Yet…there is also a metallic tang； simplistic； lacking the Egg's sonorous pitch and timbre。
One sub…cadence draws us toward it； clattering like a hasty quintet of claws； pulling our attention； as if down a dark underground funnel。
Suddenly； i/we coalesce； submerging into strange existence as a unified being。 One encased in a hard shell。
Pentagonal resentment surges。 This 〃me〃 is filled with rage。
How dare they tell me I am free！
What unnatural law is this Code of the mons？ This rule that 〃liberates〃 my kind from the sweet discipline we once knew； imposed by our gracious queens？
We who are blue…we who are red…surely we yearn to serve； deep in our throbbing bile nodes！ To work and fight selflessly； assisting gray dynastic ambitions！ Was that not our way among the stars； and before？
The native way of all qheuens？
Who dared bring an end to those fine days； forcing alien notions of liberty into carapaces too stiff for a deadly drug called freedom？
Humans dared impose these thoughts； breaking up the union of our well…ordered hives！ Theirs is the fault； the shell…bound debt to pay。
And pay they shall！
After that； there will be other scores to settle。。。
i/we writhe； experiencing what it feels like to crouch and run on five strong legs。 Legs meant for service。 Not to a mere nest； crouched behind some puny dam； or to some vast abstraction like the mons； but to grand gray matrons； noble； gorgeous； and strong。
Why does this vivid perception flood through our dazzled core？
It must be the Rothen artifice…their psi…device…part of their scheme to influence each race of the Six。 Tricking us into doing their will。
Quivers of surprise shake our/my rings。 Even after so many years of friendship； i/we had never realized…the qheuen point of view is so weird。
Yet no weirder than the next sensation that es barging into our shared consciousness。
The feel of galloping hooves。
A hot breath of the dry steppes。
The burning flare of a psyche at least as egocentric as any human being。
Now I am urrish…ka！ Solitary； proud as the day I emerged from the grass； little more than a beast。 Nervous； but self…reliant。
I may join the tribe or clan that adopts me off the plain。
I may obey a leader…for life has hierarchies that one must endure。
Yet inside I serve one mistress。 Me！
Can humans ever know how their gross smell scrapes my nostril membranes？ They make good warriors and smiths； it's true。 They brought fine music to Jijo。 These are valid things。
Yet one conceives how much better the world would be without them。
We had fought our way up high before they came。 From the plains to fiery mountaintops； we stretched our necks over all others on Jijo…till these bipeds dragged us down； to be just another race among Six。
Worse； their lore reminds us…（me！）…how much we have lost。 How much is forgotten。
Each day they make me recall how low and brief my life is doomed to be； here on this spinning ball of mud； with bitter oceans all around。。。
The indignant narration gallops past our ability to follow。 Its resentful thread is lost； but another takes its place； imposed from the outside by a force that throbs through the little mountain vale。
This beat is much easier to follow。 A cadence that is heavy； slow to anger…and yet； once roused； its ire seems hopeless to arrest short of death。
It is not a rhythm to be rushed。 Still； it beckons us。。。 Beckons us to ponder how often the quicker races tease we poor； patient hoon；
how they swirl around us；
how often they seem to talk fast on purpose；
how they set us to the most dangerous tasks；
to face the sea alone； although each lost ship wrenches a hundred loved ones； tearing our small families apart with wrenching pain。
Humans and their stinking steamboats； they have kept the skills； pretending to share； but not really。 Someday they will leave us rotting here； while they go off on ships made of pure white light。
Should this be allowed？ Are there ways they can be made to pay？
Confusion reigns。
If these pernicious messages were meant for each separate race…to sway it toward aggression…then why are we/i receiving all of them？ Should the Rothen not have targeted each sept to hear one theme； alone？
Perhaps their machine is damaged； or weak。
Perhaps we are stronger than they thought。
Breaking free of the hoonish rhythm； we sense that two layers of bitter song remain。 One is clearly meant for Earthlings。 Reverence is its theme。 Reverence and pride。
We are superior。 Others specialize but we can do anything！ Chosen and raised by mighty Rothen； it is proper that we be greatest； even as castaways on this slope of savages。
If taught their place； the others might learn roles of worthy service。。。
we/i recall a phrase。 Direct empathic transmission…a technique used by Galactic science for the better part of half a billion years。
Knowing makes the manipart stream of voice seem more artificial； tinny； even self…satirical。 Of course this message was to have been amplified somehow through our Holy Egg； at a time when we would be most receptive。 Even so； it is hard to imagine such prattle winning many believers。
Did they actually think we would fall for this？
Another fact penetrates our attention： There is no layer for the wheeled ones！ Why is that？ Why are the g'Kek left out？ Is it because of their apparent uselessness in a program of genocidal war？
Or because they were already extinct； out there among the stars？
One resonance remains。 A drumbeat； like hammers pounding on stacks of stiff round tubes。 A reverberation that howls in a manner this posite self finds eerily familiar。
Yet； in some ways it is the most alien of all。