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〃The Egg； our gift in the wilderness； knows answers。 Truth is its reward to an open mind。〃
Chastened by her wisdom； we fell into meditation。
No longer needed； the errant rewq slipped off our brows and gathered in the center； exchanging host…enzymes。 We took up a gentle rhythm； each sage adding a line of harmony…of breath and beating hearts。
My rings； do you recall what chose then to occur？
The fabric of our union was ripped by booming echoes； cast arrogantly by the Rothen ship； proclaiming its malign power； before it even arrived。
We emerged to stare； dismayed； at the riven sky。
Soon sage and clanfolk alike knew The Day had finally e。
Vengeance is not spared upon the children of the fallen。
The Family of Nelo
THE PAPER…CRAFTER HAD THREE OFFSPRING…A number worthy of his noble calling； like his father； I and his father's father。 Nelo always supposed the line would go on through his own two sons and daughter。
So he took it hard when his strong…jawed children deserted the water mill； its sluiceways； and wooden gears。 None heeded the beckoning rhythm of the pulping hammer； beating cloth scavenged from all six races； or the sweet mist spread by the sifting screens； or the respectful bows of traders； e from afar to buy Nelo's sleek white pages。
Oh； Sara； Lark； and Dwer were happy to use paper！
Dwer； the youngest； wrapped it around arrowheads and lures for the hunt。 Sometimes he paid his father in piu nodules； or grwon teeth； before fading into the forest again； as he had done since turning nine。 Apprenticed to Fallon the Tracker； Dwer soon became a legend across the Slope。 Nothing he sought escaped his bow； unless it was shielded by law。 And rumors said the fierce…eyed lad with jet…black hair killed and ate whatever he liked； when the law wasn't looking。
As focused as Dwer was wild； Lark used paper to plot vast charts on his study wall； some parts almost black with notes and diagrams。 Elsewhere； large spaces gaped blank； a waste of Nelo's art。
〃It can't be helped； Father；〃 Lark explained near wooden shelves filled with fossils。 〃We haven't found which species fill those gaps。 This world is so plex； I doubt even the Buyur ever fully grasped Jijo's ecosystem。〃
Nelo recalled thinking that an absurd thing to say。 When the Buyur leased Jijo； they had been full citizens of the munity of the Five Galaxies； with access to the fabled Great Library； dwarfing all the paper books in Biblos！ With a word； the Buyur could beckon any answer under the sun。 Under a billion suns； if tales of the past could be trusted。
At least the sages approved of Lark's work。 But what of Sara？ Always Nelo's favorite； she used to love the smells； rhythms and textures of papermaking…till age fourteen； when she stumbled on a talent。
Nelo blamed his late wife； who had entered his life so strangely； long ago； and used to fill the kids' heads with odd tales and ambitions。
Yes； he decided。 It was all Melina's fault…
A low cough jarred Nelo's drifting resentment。 He blinked as a pair of deep brown eyes peered over his pitted desk。 Dark fur framed a face so nearly human that unwary traeki sometimes gave chimpanzees the courtesy due full members of the mons。
〃Are you still here？〃 Nelo snapped。
The face winced； then nodded to the left； toward the paper storeroom； where one of Nelo's aides slowly gathered torn sheets from a discard bin。
He cursed。 〃Not that garbage； Jocko！〃
〃But Master； you said to fetch waste scraps we can't sell…〃
Nelo ducked under the Great Shaft； a rotating horizontal shank of hardwood； carrying power from the village dam to nearby workshops。 He shooed Jocko away。 〃Never mind what I said。 Go back to the vats…and tell Caleb to put less water through the millrace！ It's four months till rainy season。 He'll have us out of business in two！〃
Nelo scanned the shelves for himself； finally choosing two reams of slightly flawed sheets； bound in liana vines。 They weren't quite rejects。 Someone might have paid cash for them。 On the other hand； what was there to save for？ Didn't the sages warn against investing much pride or care in tomorrow？
For all strivings will be judged； and few will win grace。。。
Nelo snorted。 He wasn't a religious man。 He made paper。 The profession implied some faith in the essential goodness of time。
〃These'll do for your mistress； Prity；〃 he told the little chimp； who rounded the desk； holding out both hands。 Mute as a rewq； she served Nelo's daughter in ways no other being on Jijo could manage。 Ways that few could prehend。 He handed over one of the heavy packages。
〃I'll carry the other。 It's time I dropped by anyway； to see if Sara's getting enough to eat。〃
Mute or not； the ape was expressive with rolled eyes。 She knew this was just an excuse for Nelo to have a look at Sara's mysterious house…guest。
Nelo growled。 〃e along and no dawdling。 Some of us work for a living； you know。〃
A covered walkway linked the dam/factory to the forest； where most villagers dwelled。 Fierce sunlight filtered through a canopy of living camouflage。 At noon it took an optimist to think the screen would hide the buildings against a resolute scan from space…and among the Six； optimism was viewed as a mild type of heresy。
Alas； it was not the type of heresy followed by Nelo's eldest son。
Concealment seemed doubly problematic for the great dam itself。 Unlike the ones qheuenish colonists made； bottling small ponds behind barriers that mimicked landslides or piles of logs； this dam spanned half an arrowflight from end to end。 False boulders and cascades of melon creepers blurred its outline。 Still； many called it the most blatant artifact on the Slope…outside of some ancient Buyur site。 Each year； on Denouncement Day； radicals harangued for its destruction。
And now Lark is one of them。 Nelo cast a stock plaint toward his dead wife's spirit。 Do you hear； Melina？ You brought the boy with you； when you came from the far south。 We're taught genes don't matter as much as upbringing； but did I raise a son to be a rabble…rousing apostate？ Never！
Instead of camouflage； Nelo put his faith in the promise of the founding ancestors who planted their truant seed on Jijo； claiming there would be no determined scan from space。 Not for half a million years or so。
He once stressed that point in an argument with Lark。 To his surprise； the lad agreed； then said it did not matter。
〃I urge drastic measures not because I'm afraid of being caught； but because it's the right thing to do。〃
Right？ Wrong？ A cloud of dizzying abstractions。 Lark and Sara kept bringing up such fluff…arguing with each other for miduras about fate and destiny。 Sometimes Nelo found Dwer； the wild boy of the forest； the easiest of his children to understand。
The village carpenter's shop spewed sawdust； making pipe for Jobee； the rotund village plumber； to splice into homes； bringing fresh water and taking away waste to the septic pits。 The forts of a civilized life。
〃Deep shade； Nelo；〃 Jobee drawled in a manner that invited a soul to stop and chat a spell。
〃Cloudy sky； Jobee；〃 Nelo replied with a polite nod； and