Nelson felt a poignant sadness for his ancestors — generation after generation of women and men, each filled with a sense of self-importance as great as his own. Thinking about them made his life seem as ephemeral as the rippling savannah grass, or the moonbeams illuminating both the wheat fields and his mind.

Back when humans roamed in small bands, when the forest seemed endless and night all-powerful, the common belief was that other creatures were thinkers too, whose spirits could be bribed with song and dance. But eventually, the scary woods were pushed back a little. Mud-brick temples glistened, and bibles began saying, “No, the world was made for man to use.” Soulless, animals were for his disposal.

Later still came a time when farmland and city surpassed the forest’s span. Moreover, nature’s laws were at last unfolding before curious minds. Principles like momentum kept the planets on course, and sages perceived the universe as a great clockwork. Humans, like other creatures, were mere gears, thrall to insuperable physics.

The pace of change sped. Forests grew rare and a fourth attitude was born. As Earth groaned under cities and plows, guilt became the newest theme. Instead of peer, or master, or cog in the cosmic machine, Homo sapiens’ best thinkers came to view their own species as a blight. The vilest thing that ever happened to a planet.

Nelson saw these unfolding worldviews the way his teacher had shown them to him, as a series of steps taken by a strange, adaptable animal. One gradually — even reluctantly — taking on powers it once thought reserved for gods.

Each Zeitgeist seemed appropriate to men and women of its time, and all of them were obsolete today. Now humanity was trying to save what it could, not because of guilt, but to survive.

Moonlight brought to mind the pretty young entomologist, who had smiled so provocatively while talking about termites and who then, before saying goodnight, had asked shyly to see his scars.

He recalled how his chest had expanded, how the blood in his veins warmed noticeably as he rolled up his sleeves to show her that the stories she had heard were true. That he, unlike other youths she knew, had actually fought for his life “in the wild” and won a victory, in honor.

Nelson remembered hoping, wanting. He wanted her, and in ways that over millions of years had fundamentally to do with procreation. Oh, sure, today that part of it was optional. It had better be, if humans were to control their numbers. But in the end, love and sex still had to do with the continuance of life, even if just in pretend.

The ancient game. Within him burned a desire to hold her, to lie down with her, to have her welcome his seed and choose him, above all other males, to share her investment in immortality.

And so it goes, on and on:

competition—

cooperation—

It was of some solace to Nelson that every one of his ancestors had wrestled with adolescence and gone on to find, however briefly, union with another. Presumably, if he had descendants, they too would do likewise.

But what for? They say it just happened… a fight of selfish genes. If so, though, why do we feel so much pain thinking there might not be a purpose?

In his own heart Nelson felt that strange mixture — hope and despair. A philosopher was what he was working to become. His teacher had said it was his true knack. But that didn’t help one damn bit against the fluxions of youth, its hormone rush, or the agony of being alive.

Worse, just when he most wanted to talk to Jen, she had abandoned him.

Don’t exaggerate, Nelson chided himself. It’s only been a few days. You’ve heard what’s happening on the net. fen’s probably up to her ears.

Still, he wished there were someone he could talk to about all this. Someone who had answers to offer, instead of endless questions.

If only—

Shig tugged at his leg and coughed a bark of dismay, looking up at him wide-eyed. Shaken from his thoughts, Nelson started to speak, then blinked and wondered what it was that suddenly felt wrong. He touched the metal railing nearby and felt an odd vibration. Soon a low rumble caused the grillwork beneath his feet to shudder, gradually working its way up to audibility. The sound reminded him of the low, infrasonic growls the elephants used in calling one another, and sure enough, several of the captive creatures began trumpeting in reply. The walkway began to shake.

Earthquake! he realized, and suddenly thought of all those people down in the old mine shaft. “Computer!” he shouted. “Connect me with Dr. Wolling in—”

Nelson cut short abruptly as a terrible wrenching seized his gut. He doubled over, moaning as the catwalk heaved violently. The baboons shrieked in panic, but he could do nothing for them. It was agony just to breathe and a labor of sheer will to keep from tearing at the metal plates, trying to bury himself under them.

Jimmy Suarez grabbed Dr. Kenda’s arm, halting the wheezing physicist’s flight across the dusty wheat field. “Look!” Jimmy cried, pointing in the direction they had been running. The technicians stumbled to a halt. Fleeing an expected calamity behind them, they looked up at another one taking place before them! Their goal had been the nearby bio-ark… the only shelter in sight once they finally tumbled out of that horrible, creaking elevator. Now they felt grateful not to have made it that far. For the pyramidal structure glistened, reflecting Luna’s pale light amidst coruscating showers that looked like an aurora brought to earth. Dripping sparkling droplets of electric fire, the edifice lifted out of the ground and rose into the sky, accelerating.

“Hot damn, the bastards missed,” Jimmy shouted hoarsely. “They missed!”

Dr. Kenda’s eyelids fluttered. “It’s not possible. The projection…” He shook his head. “They won’t miss next time.”

“But the thread domains below us won’t replenish right away!”

“If they’re behaving like they used to,” another operator cautioned. “They were changing so fast…”

“How?” Kenda interrupted, utterly perplexed. “You saw the simulation. How did they miss?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jimmy answered. “I’m going back. Anybody coming?”

Kenda turned away, motioning now to the east, where the lights of Kuwenezi Canton shone in the distance. When Jimmy tried to grab his arm the physicist tore free and shouted. “It’s over! Can’t you see that? The minute we come back on line, they’ll do to us what they did to that ark!”

“But they missed—”

Jimmy watched them go, feeling his resolve waver. He almost followed. But curiosity was a flame that could not be quenched, even by fear. It drove him to turn around, climb back into that awful, rusty elevator and descend once more into the dreadful old mine.

His head whirled. Why had that beam missed?

He found part of the answer when he saw who had taken over the resonator in their absence. Jimmy stared at what had become of Jennifer Wolling.

“My God!”

She had undergone a physical transformation… as if devils from some medieval torture squad had taken weeks to work her over on a rack. Stretched out of shape like an india rubber man — nevertheless, she was still alive.

Moreover, a strange light seemed to glisten from those eyes, blinking slowly, still conscious. Jimmy hurried to where she lay slumped against one wall. But as he reached to cut her link to the towering gravity antenna, she jerked her queerly elongated head, knocking his hand aside.