Seranis was distracted by a flurry of talent-talk but displayed her skill by simultaneously saying to Cley, "He means that here at the end of a long corridor of time, we should ignore the echoes."

             Cley frowned, wishing Seeker had come to this bewildering banquet, but the quiet beast had elected to rest. She was concerned. She could not in all honesty see why Seeker stayed with her when the Supras would probably have let it go. Its laconic replies had antagonized Seranis and that could be dangerous. While Supras had never harmed Ur-humans, she was not sure any such convention governed their relations with distant species. In any case, caution outweighed theory, as mice knew about elephants.

             To not seem a complete dunce, she tried to get back into conversation. Alvin was the center of attention, but he looked quickly back at her when she asked, "How can you shrug off history?"

             He eyed her closely, as if trying to read something inscrutable. "By studied neglect." He leaned forward, eyes intent and sharp with mirth. The day of dancing seemed to have released him from some burden she could not guess. "History is such detail! Emperors are like the dinosaurs. Their names and antics are unimportant. Only the dates of their appearance and passing can matter."

             Someone called from down the table, "The Keeper of Records will scold you!"

             Alvin answered, "No, he will not. He knows we hold aloft time's dread weight only by keeping a sense of balance. Otherwise it would crush us."

             "We dance on time!" another voice called. ''It's under us.'"

             Alvin chuckled. "True, in a way. The roll call of empires is dust beneath our feet . . . yet we cling to our old habits. Those last."

             "We need some human continuity," Cley said reasonably. "My tribe—"

             "Yes, a singular invention. When we recalled you all, it was apparent we could not let you resurrect the old imperial habits."

             Cley frowned. "Imperial . . . ?"

             "Of course," Seranis said. "You do not know." She inhaled a passing spice cloud and while her lungs savored it she sent. We took your genotype from the Age of Empire, when humanity plundered the solar system and nearly extinguished itself.

             The talent-voice of Seranis carried both a sting of rebuke and the balm of forgiveness. This only irritated Cley, who struggled to hide it.

             "My tribe made no . . . war." She had to pause and let her deep-based vocabulary call up the word, for she had never used it before. Comprehending the definition and import of the word took a long moment. With foreboding she permanently tagged it for ready future use.

             "That was how we wanted it." Alvin smiled as though he were discussing the weather. "We reasoned that at most you might eventually expand for territory, rather than for pohtical gains and taxes, as in the imperial model."

             "We did not realize we were so . . . planned." Cley gritted her teeth, hoping that this would not leak out through her talent. The nakedness of her thoughts was proving to be a nuisance.

             "We did not interfere with your basic design, believe me," Ser-anis said kindly. She offered Cley a tart fruit but seemed unbothered at its refusal. "Your group loyalty is your species' most important way to find an identity. It fosters social warmth. Such patterns persist, from a children's playhouse to a transworld alliance."

             "And how do you work together?"

             Alvin said, "We do not struggle against each other, for such traits have been very nearly edited out of us. But most important, we have the blessing of a higher goal."

             "What?" Cley demanded.

             "Perhaps enemy is a better term than goal. Until now I would have said that history was our true foe, dragging at our heels as we attempted to escape from it. But now we have met an active enemy from out of history itself, and I must say I find myself filled with eagerness."

             Alvin was clearly the youngest of these Supras, though Cley could not reliably read the age of any of these bland, perfect faces. "Enemies? Other Supras?"

             "No no. You are recalling those people who supposedly fired at you, who killed your tribefellows, who destroyed the Library of Life?"

             "Yes." Cley's mouth narrowed with the effort of concealing her hate. Primitive emotions would not go well here.

             "They were illusions."

             "I saw them!"

             "They appeared here, too. I closely examined our records and"— he snapped his fingers—"there they were. Just as you had seen. We were too busy to notice, and so we owe you a vote of thanks."

             "They were real!"

             "Extensive study of their spectral images show them to be artful refractions of heated air."

             Cley looked blank. The sensation of being robbed of a clear enemy was like stepping off a stair in darkness and finding no next step. "Then . . . what . . ."

             Alvin leaned back and cupped his hands behind his neck, elbows high. He gazed up at the clear night, seeming to take great joy in the broad sweep of stars. Many comets unfurled their filmy tails, so many they seemed like a flock of arrows aimed at the unseen sun, which had sheltered behind the curve of Earth.

             Alvin said slowly, "What heats air? Lightning. But to do it so craftily?"

             Seranis looked surprised. Cley saw that Alvin had told none of this to the others, for throughout the great hall the long tables fell silent.

             Seranis said, "Electrical currents—that's all lightning is. But to make realistic images ..."

             Cley asked, "All to trick us?"

             Alvin clapped his hands together loudly with childlike glee, startling his hushed audience. "Exactly! Such ability!"

             Seranis asked quietly, "Already?"

             Alvin nodded. "The Mad Mind. It has returned."

             A blizzard of talent-talk struck Cley like a blow. The Supras were on their feet, buzzing with speculation. Inside her head percussive waves seemed to amplify the torrent.

             Again she felt the labyrinth of their minds, the kinesthetic thrust of ideas streaming past, features blurred beyond comprehension.

             Whirlwinds.

             A black sun roaring against ruby stars.

             Purple geysers on an infinite plain.

             The plain shrinking until it was a disk, the black sun at its center.

             Stars shredded into phosphorescent tapestries.

             For instants the black sun swam at the rim of the beeswarm gossamer galaxy. Next, it buzzed ominously at the very focus of the spiral arms.

             She dropped away from darkening thunderheads, fleeing this storm. Tucked herself away. Waited.

             Panting with the mental exertion, she wondered what the people of Lys were like when they were alone. Or if they ever were.

             Supras, Ur-humans, Seeker—all from different eras in the eon-long explorations of evolution. This desert plain was like a baked-dry display table covered with historical curiosities. What vexed currents worked, when different ages sought to conspire! And she was pinned here, firmly spiked by the bland, all-powerful, condescending reasonableness of the Supras.