She thought back to her conversation with Dedinger.

We’ll probably never know which of us would have been right, if the Commons had been left alone to go its own way. Too bad. Each of us believes in something that’s beautiful, in its own way. At least, a whole lot more beautiful than extinction.

Silence allowed some of the world’s natural sounds to grow familiar once again, as residual tintinnations in her ears slowly ebbed.

I should be glad not to be completely deaf or blind at this point — let alone dead. If there’s any permanent damage, I’ll manage to live with it.

The Stranger set a good example, ever cheerful despite horrific loss of much that had made him who he was. She decided, at times like these, any attitude but gritty stoicism simply made no sense at all.

Of the sounds brought forth by the night, some were recognizable. A floating cadence of sighs that was wind, stroking the nearby prairie and then funneling through the columns of twisted stone. A distant, lowing moan told of a herd of gallaiters. Then came the grumbling rattle of a ligger, warning all others to stay out of its territory, and the keening of some strange bird.

While she listened, the keening changed in pitch, waxing steadily in volume. Soon she realized, That’s no bird.

It wasn’t long before the sound acquired a throaty power, steadily increasing until it took over possession of the night, pushing all competitors aside. Sara stood up and the bulging tent fragments rippled as others reacted to the rising clamor — a din that soon climaxed as a bawling roar, forcing her hands over her tender ears. Blade’s cupola shrank inward, and the captive urs bayed unhappy counterpoint, rocking their long necks back and forth. Pebbles fell from the nearby rocky spires, worrying Sara that the towers might topple under the howling shove of disturbed air.

That sound — I heard it once before.

The sky grew radiant as something bright passed into view — decelerating with a series of titanic booms — a glowing, many-studded tube whose heat was palpable, even at a distance of—

Of what? Sara had glimpsed a starship only once before, a far-off glitter from her treehouse window. Beyond that, she had pictures, sketches, and dry, abstract measurements to go on — all useless for comparison, as her mind went numb.

It must still be high up in the atmosphere, she realized. Yet it seemed so big…

The god-ship passed from roughly southwest to northeast, clearly descending, slowing down for a landing. It took no great ingenuity to guess its destination.

For all its awesome beauty, Sara did not feel anything this time but a sour churn of dread.

Lark

It was hard to make out much from a distance. The blaze of light coming from the Glade was so intense, it cast long shadows, even down the forested lanes of a mountainside, many leagues away.

“Now you see what you’re up against,” Ling told him, standing nearby, watched by a half-dozen wary militiamen. “This won’t be anything like taking down a couple of little bodyguard robots.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Lark answered, shading his eyes to peer against the glare, as searchlights roved across the crater where the alien station lay in ruins. After two days without sleep, the far-off engines reminded him of a growl of a she-ligger, just returned from a hunt to find her pup mauled and now nursing a killing rage.

“It’s still not too late, you know,” Ling went on. “If you hand over your zealot rebels — and your High Sages — the Rothen may accept individual rather than collective guilt. Punishment doesn’t have to be universal.”

Lark knew he should get angry. He ought to whirl and decry the hypocrisy of her offer — reminding her of the evidence everyone had seen and felt earlier, proving that her masters planned genocide all along.

Two things stopped him.

First, while everyone now knew the Rothen planned inciting bloody civil war, aimed foremost at the human population of Jijo, the details were still unclear.

And the devil lies in the details.

Anyway, Lark was too tired to endure another mental tussle with the young Danik biologist. He turned his head in a neck-twist that mimicked an urrish shrug, and hiss-clicked in GalTwo—

“Have we not (much) better things to do, than to discuss (intensely) absurd notions?”

This brought approving snickers from the guards, accompanying the two of them into hiding. Other groups were escorting Rann and Ro-kenn to separate concealed places, dispersing the hostages as far apart as possible.

Yes, but why did they put me in charge of Ling?

Maybe they figure she’ll be too busy constantly fighting with me to plan any escape.

For all he knew, the two of them might be stuck together for a long time to come.

Silence reigned as they watched the mighty starship cruise back and forth, shining its fierce beam onto every corner of the Glade, every place where a pavilion had stood, only miduras before. From a remote mountainside, it was transfixing, hypnotic.

“Sage, we must be going now, it’s still not safe.”

That was the militia sergeant, a small wiry woman named Shen, with glossy black hair, delicate features, and a deadly compound bow slung over one shoulder. Lark blinked, at first wondering who she was talking to.

Sage — ah, yes.

It would take some getting used to. Lark had always figured his heresy would disqualify him, despite his training and accomplishments.

But only a sage can rule in matters of life or death.

As the group resumed their trek, he could not help glancing at Ling. Though half the time he “wanted to strangle her,” that was only a figure of speech. Lark doubted he could ever carry out his duty, if it came to that. Even now, smudged and gaunt from exhaustion, her face was too lovely by far.

A midura or so later, a blaring cry of dismay filled the mountain range, echoing round frosted peaks to assail them from all sides, setting trees quivering. A militia soldier pointed back along the trail to where the starship’s artificial glow had just grown impossibly brighter. They all ran to the nearest switchback offering a view southwest and raised their hands to shield their eyes.

“Ifni!” Lark gasped, while guards clutched their crude weapons, or each other’s arms, or made futile hand gestures to ward off evil. Every face was white with reflected radiance.

“It… can’t … be …” Ling exhaled heavily, sighing each word.

The great Rothen ship still hovered over the Glade — as before, bathed in light.

Only now the light blazed down upon it from above — cast by a new entity.

Another ship.

A much, much bigger ship, like a grown urs towering over one of her larvae.

Uh… went Lark’s mind as he stared, struggling to adjust to the change in scale. But all he could come up with was a blaspheming thought.

The new monster was huge enough to have laid the Holy Egg and still have room inside for more.

Trapped underneath the behemoth, the Rothen craft gave a grinding noise and trembled, as if straining to escape, or even to move. But the light pouring down on it now seemed to take on qualities of physical substance, like a solid shaft, pressing it ever lower toward the ground. A golden color flowed around the smaller star-craft as it scraped hard against Jijo’s soil. The dense lambency coated and surrounded it, congealing like a glowing cone, hardening as it cooled.

Like wax, Lark thought, numbly. Then he turned with the others and ran through the forest night for as long and as hard as his body could bear it.