In her cabin, Reader saw, and uttered, “But as to Motliff – that is another matter.” She turned inward and smiled.

    The gleaming planet rolled below them. “Survey,” Motliff ordered as he entered. But without hearing them, he knew something was wrong.
    “We feared. . . “ That was Squab.
    “You had retired. . .” Navpilot added.
    “Enough! What did you find? Life?”
    “Torture and pain,” Squab said. He turned to his viewer.
    “And?”
    “No life – none possible, ever.”
    Motliff frowned. How could one have torture and pain where there is no life? He made the motion of spitting.
    “Decogues upon decoques of it. Deeper than the deepest sea.”
    “What? What in the name of the seven gods are you speaking? Make sense, Searcher Squab!”
    Navpilot took a ragged breath. “It is a garbage planet. They dumped their garbage there.”
    “They? Who? The vermin?”
    “Without a doubt, Caleb,” Squab replied staring with blank eyes at the unthinkable.
    “Show me.”
    Squab moved to one side and there, in the viewer, it lay. Not just piles of trash here and there upon a barren plain, but mountains of it with valleys full of more. They couldn’t probe to the planet’s surface, it was so deep.
    As he watched, it rolled underneath them. Onward forever. It was endless.
    Motliff staggered back from the sight. “Kalesbreath,” he swore.
    “There’s more,” Squab said, and kicked in the spectrum filter.
    Motliff came forward and looked again. Darkness, punctuated by light, then almost blinding places, here and there. As he watched there came a general rise in the colors, from deep purples, through the reds, on into the oranges and yellows, toward blinding white. The image had reversed itself and now, here and there, were spots of darkness, tiny spots. Black pits of despair in a white light.
    “Pockets of. . . what?”
    “The viewer doesn’t lie, Caleb. You see what you see. The darkness is barely safe. . . “
    A tear made its way from watery eyes. Such bestiality! Whoremongers! Rapists! Only far, far worse than he’d ever seen, or heard of others speak.
    Several lights started flashing and the filter snapped off. Once again, Motliff watched the raw images from the planet’s surface roll by. A strange light was casting long shadows amongst the rubble. He pointed at the viewer.
    Squab bent over it for a moment, then turned to Navpilot and motioned him over. Taking one glance, Navpilot responded, “What. . . ?”
    Squab added, “My response, also. Caleb?”
    “What happened to the filter?”
    “Overload, Caleb.”
    “Overload. . . “ Motliff mulled that over for a moment. “Overload?”
    Squab sat – just for a moment, then got a panicked look on his face. “Get us out of here,” he ordered Navpilot. “Back – at least the to orbit of the third planet.”
    Navpilot nodded and bent to his controls. Squab turned to Motliff. “What does Reader say of this?”
    “Riddles, Searcher Squab. Only riddles.”
    Squab swallowed visibly. “This system isn’t safe, Caleb.”
    Motliff frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    “The second planet will explode. A reaction kicked off the filter. It’s gone awry.”
    “The atomics?”
    “Of course, Caleb. They dumped their atomics and waste there.”
    Motliff felt for his chair. “And now,” he said as he backed into it. He glanced toward Navpilot. “Will we clear?”
    “Why ask him?” Squab replied with disdain before Navpilot had a chance.
    Motliff glared at his Searcher. “Squab, what would you know of the currents. . .?”
    “They aren’t the currents, Caleb. That planet will blow and take the star with it.”
    “Nova?”
    “Aye, and probably within a generation.”
    “Then? We have some time?”
    “To explore the third planet, but that’s about all.”
    “Why not the second?”
    “No time. It has already started. There will be a time before the reaction reaches critical, then the planet will blow and spread its reaction into the star.”
    Motliff nodded grimly. “Take us to the third planet, Navpilot.”
    “You’ll get a reading, Caleb?” Squab made it more of a statement than a question.
    Motliff looked at him. “Of course.”

    “Ten turns, Caleb,” Reader said as he entered her chamber.
    “Ten?”
    “Until we must leave.”
    “Nova?”
    “In fifteen. But we’ll need time to clear. Ten is the most we can spend here.”
    “So soon, then.” Caleb looked at the viewscreen showing the receding planet. He didn’t like Reader’s comments, but how could he argue? Maybe, though. . . “Could you?”
    “Change things? I would that this was not, Caleb. You know that.”
    “Maybe there is a way.”
    “Yes, but not for us. Not for us on this trip. And not for us at this time.”
    As Reader, she always spoke in riddles, but it answered his question. The question of who? And when? He didn’t know and they might never know – not unless they could find the vermin’s home planet. Then they might have a chance – a chance to stop this madness.
    He hit the desk with his fist.
    Reader jumped at his action. “No,” she said.
    “Why can’t we warn them?”
    “No matter how far I search or seek, I cannot read the answer to that.”
    “A hidden matter?”
    “Precisely, Caleb. Because if so, we might never be here.”
    Stop the vermin before they spread into space. Why hadn’t someone considered that before? But what was he missing? Of course! She couldn’t get a reading because they – they would carry the word back and there would be action. Somehow, some way, the great council will find a way to send back observers, and manipulators. All with a mission. Stop the vermin from ever achieving space travel. At least the type and kind they had now.
    Motliff stood quickly. “Thank you, Reader,” he said.
    “As now and as to be,” she replied.

    Motliff gave that little thought. Now, he had a mission. Now, he would no longer worry about what he might find. Now, he knew what must be done. Now, he knew exactly what the third planet was. Homeworld! Home world to the vermin – to those that polluted and destroyed the second planet – to those that were going to destroy this system – to those that would forever plague the starways. But they wouldn’t stop them, unless – unless, he could finish his mission and accomplish what Reader could not see.
    He stopped at his cabin and posted a wakeup call for later – when they reached the third planet. It was time for rest.

    “The single moon has bases, Caleb,” Squab reported.
    “An atmosphere?”
    “No, Caleb. They are like the fourth planet – sealed.”
    “We have nine turns to explore and leave.”
    They understood. If Motliff was to accomplish his mission, he must leave when Reader said to leave. To do otherwise, was to invite disaster and death.
    “We will explore for a turn. Park us.”
    “On our way down, Caleb.” Navpilot said and he directed the ship toward the moon.
    Squab glanced up from his equipment. “Land at the second installation. There is no life, but there is air inside.”
    “Conditions?” Motliff asked.
    “Bearable. Cold, but bearable.”
    “Penetration?”
    “Yes, the shield should hold,” Squab replied.
    “Let’s do it and get it over with.”
    Squab turned and faced him. The figures were with Navpilot now and there was nothing more for Searcher to do. “What did Reader say?”
    “Not much,” Motliff returned, “as usual.”
    Squab considered his words for a moment, then grunted and stood. “Long watch. It will be good to explore.”
    “The planet holds what we want.”
    “I know.”
    Motliff stared at Searcher and raised an expectant eyebrow.
    Squab smiled but said nothing. Reader came into the room.
    Motliff turned to her. “What will we find, Reader?”
    “I cannot see, Caleb. Our mission here will not remain through time.”
    “Can you see what will?”
    “No, which means we will continue as a team.”
    Squab grinned. “You cannot see our destiny.”
    “It takes a different path in our alternate life.”
    She seemed relaxed. Readers were a funny lot. Sometimes they could see the future and at other times, the future was blind. In almost all those instances, it was because of a time wave, usually created by the Reader’s mission. It also spelled success at whatever lay in the future. And that was a good sign.
    Turns, what are they? Ways of measuring time. Motliff continued to stare at the ceiling as he thought on the meaning of Reader’s words. They would take an alternative path in something caused by a time wave. Readers could see a short distance into the future, but when they sensed nothing? Like now?
    He continued to lay there, pondering. Turns. Why turns? Because that was the way they measured time. But on what basis? Turns of what? Had they been in space so long that they no longer knew?

    The soft voice of Reader interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at her, laying next to him. “Um?” he mumbled.
    “I said it must be close to time.”
    “Searcher Squab is competent. He will return.”
    “That’s not what I mean, Mottle.”
    Motliff smiled at her, but said nothing.
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Do I?”
    “Of course, just as I can always predict you?”
    “This?”
    “Us? Of course not.”
    “But I am part of you and you, me.”
    “That is why.”
    Motliff nodded. “What is time, Ead?”
    Reader looked at him. “What? Why?”
    Motliff looked away. “Just curious. One of those things.”
    “We can change time.”
    “I know that. What is time, that we change it?”
    “Mm. Like the wind? In that we know not where it starts, nor where it ends?”
    “Perhaps, but there is a beginning and end to all things.”
    “And in between? Is that what you want? What is time, between?”
    “Yes. Something like that.”
    He continued to study her face, his mind blank, lest she read him. She turned and smiled. “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “Looking at you,” he smiled back.
    A greenish tinge crossed her features – a blush.
    “I’ve made you blush,” he said.
    The tinge deepened and he grinned broadly, then leaned over and touched in intimacy.

    Turns pass slowly when you are waiting, and the one turn was forever. The results were predictable.
    Squab shed the shield. “Proof? You wanted proof?” He practically yelled at Motliff.
    Reader lay a stilling hand on his arm, but that didn’t temper his response by much. “You may go the way of your ancestors,” Motliff shot back.
    Squab spat in disgust. “It is them, Caleb. Them and their trash and their corruption and their filth and their...” He was green with anger and now, speechless.
    “You knew that going in,” Motliff reminded Searcher.
    That didn’t appease Squab at all. His face turned darker at the suggestion. He was getting ugly.
    Motliff ignored him and turned to Navpilot. “Take us into orbit.” Maybe a survey pass would help. He turned back toward Squab. “And you,” he said with controlled passion, “you search,” he swallowed, then pointed toward Squab’s station, “with that!”
    He looked at Reader, who nodded silently.
    “You saw?” he asked.
    She nodded and left them.
    Motliff followed, after making sure Squab took his station.
    A few moments later he looked in on her room. She wasn’t there.
    So he chose his own cabin. “Why?” he asked when he saw her on his bed.
    “Privacy and this,” she motioned to her own nakedness, “should help you bear the truth.”
    He watched her...
    “Rid yourself of suspicion, Mottle. I know you.”
    He shook his head and sat bedside.
    “Join me,” she requested.
    He closed his eyes.
    “I understand,” she responded, and proceeded to tell of her reading. “Squab found what they left behind.”
    “Predictable.”
    “Isn’t it, though?”
    The question caught him off-guard. He hadn’t expected that. But he didn’t turn – she’d know his thoughts even now. “Continue the report.”
    “Complete facility. Lots of examination chambers. They are thorough.”
    He looked at her and raised his eyebrow.
    “As predictable,” she responded.
    As predictable. It was as old an answer as the vermin themselves. Even on airless moons, or hostile environments, they could not leave well enough alone. Gather information, they had said. Sure, and destroy all that the gods had provided. Drill the patient. Cut it, carve it, mold it, all in the name of progress. If a land bridge is in the way of a waterway, blast your way through it. If a waterland is inconvenient, still it with a wall and pump it dry. If a vegetated stand is needed for something else, rape the mountain for its bounty, then leave it to bleed before wind and rain.
    Why always like this? Why could not they learn to live with their sister, their brother? Why destroy, just to satisfy their own insatiable appetite?
    “How much damage?” he asked.
    “Much. That is what disturbed Searcher.”
    “Time?”
    “They are gone. What you seek is on the planet.”
    He turned to her and looked into her eyes. “What will I find?”
    “Your answer.”
    “And?”
    “It is not what you expected.”
    “Are you saying this, just to occupy my time?”
    “Maybe,” she toyed with him.
    “You are being like them.”
    “We are cut from similar molds. Are not the gods the same?”
    “But why has theirs left them to do this?”
    “Has it?”
    “Reader...”
    “Call me by my name... like you did earlier.”
    “Ead.”
    “Yes.”
    “Well?”
    Reader turned to him with her large eyes. “You were rough on him, when he returned.”
    “I am Caleb,” Motliff replied.
    “Even now?”
    That stopped him. His relationship to Reader was. . . not. . . He looked at her – her large eyes. “No,” he said in a flat tone.
    “Is it not better this way?”
    “He is Searcher and I am Caleb.”
    “And I, Reader. We each have our place.”
    “You are saying. . .”
    “. . . that you need to mend.”
    “He was angry.”
    “. . . that you need to offer peace.”
    “The peace of the survey.”
    “Your peace, Mottle.”
    “It is awkward.”
    “Now, of course. Earlier, no.”
    “You did not read this?”
    “Even a peek ahead is blind for me. I am. . . as you,” she concluded in a low voice.
    He arose from their place. “A Reader that is blind, a Caleb that cannot lead in peace.” He turned back to her, looking down. “What good are we?”
    She tilted her head. He nodded and departed for his meeting with Searcher.

    Searcher Squab was bent over his instruments. Searching in his viewer. Navpilot glanced up at Motliff as he entered and shook his head.
    Motliff joined him at his station. “How long?”
    “Moments ago.”
    Squab was green with anger.
    “Again?” Motliff asked.
    Reader entered the room, glanced at Squab, then joined the others.
    Motliff glanced at her. She made a motion toward Squab.
    Motliff grimaced as best he could, after the manner of the vermin, and rose to give her his seat. She would not let it rest until they had peace – his peace.
    “We land,” Squab said before Motliff could approach him.
    Navpilot looked surprised.
    “We land,” Squab said again. “You have the co-ordinates.”
    Motliff raised his hand to touch and heal, but Squab would have nothing of it. “You, Motliff, will come with me.”
    Motliff stared in disbelief. “Searcher. . .”
    Squab spat. “Enough!” he raged. “You and I will go as equals. It is too late for the healing touch. Not after what I saw in their moon settlement. . . Here, you, Motliff sela Caleb will see as I saw, will suffer as I suffered, will feel the coldness of your own blood!”
    Motliff felt the cool waves wash over him as his anger grew to match that of Squab’s. The room took on a greenish cast as only it could when one of his kind saw hatred. And Squab was forcing him into this.
    The heat of Reader’s voice broke through his vision. “Yes, it must be so, Caleb.”
    At least she had the courtesy to address him with his title. But this, this, vermin would not survive their journey home. Not after that sedition!
    But Reader must have known his thoughts. She said, “Give it time, Caleb. See what must be seen. Then, decide.”
    She knew how to reach him. The warmth of more natural fires returned as he returned the stare given him by the ver. . .
    “No,” Reader warned.
    . . . by Squab, Motliff resigned. “Yes,” he allowed. “We will journey as brothers, you and I.”
    The anger drained from Squab’s face. “As. . . brothers?”
    “Is that so unusual, Searcher?” Motliff returned, glad to have the upper hand through surprise. He held his own mystification well enough.
    Squab bowed his head, hiding his large eyes. “It is enough, my Caleb.”
    “Rise, and stand beside me,” Motliff ventured.
    The eyes gazed in wonder. “May you have peace, Caleb,” Squab said as he came to stand next to Motliff, his equal.
    Motliff turned toward Navpilot. “How long?” he asked.
    Reader responded. “Time for rest. It will drain you – both of you.”
    “That is good,” Motliff retired.
    “A quarter turn,” Navpilot said. Motliff knew the lie, but understood why without question. Both would need the rest.
    Motliff heard the compensators whine as they dove deeper into the gravity well. Soon, the deep-throated hum of the shields would send sympathetic vibrations through the ship. The sounds unnerved him as he realized that time was close. He glanced at the time-tell and knew that the orbit had been held. Navpilot was true to his word. A quarter turn had passed.
    Motliff stared at the ceiling of the sleep-chamber. Like a cocoon, its ceiling curved close overhead. The warmth surrounded him, protected him, and gave him peace. What would he find on the surface? Pain? What? With Squab at his side – the searcher – he shook his head at his half-formed thoughts.
    He keyed open the chamber and rose to meet Reader. Her love was strong, and concern pained her features and wide eyes.
    “What?” Motliff asked.
    She shook her head and turned away.
    His unfinished thought brought her back. “I, I,” she stammered.
    “Death?” he asked the unthinkable.
    “No, but pain. Pain. . .”
    He nodded, understanding that she was speaking of the horrors Squab had witnessed. “No mind,” he told her. “I will be fine, unless you see otherwise.”
    “No,” she admitted. “As before, the decision has been made. When you? committed your thoughts, my view of the future became a, a mystery.”
    He ignored her question. “Worry not, then. It contains all of us. Do you see any of our deaths?”
    “See? I read nothing of any of us. Either we all die or we all live.”
    “But. . . ?”
    “You thought wrong, Caleb. If a Reader cannot see the future, there are two possible paths, not one.”
    Now, more than ever, Caleb Motliff wanted to crawl back into the protection of the sleep chamber.
    “That, you will not do. Your sense of duty will prevent it,” she reminded him.
    Motliff blinked slowly at Reader, then went into his personal chamber. There, after a few moments, he was clean and dressed. As he stepped out, he looked again at his companion. She watched in silence.
    “It is best this way,” he said.
    She nodded in reply, this time not interrupting and completing his thoughts for him.
    “You have nothing to say?” he asked.
    “Only,” she replied, “come back. With Searcher.”

    The vastness of the planet’s surface surprised Motliff. He hadn’t expected to see the continent – not like this. Lush beyond belief, yet dozens of dozens of decoques from the nearest sea.
    “A land of promise,” Reader had told him. “Unbelievably rich in life and vegetation.”
    “Yet they left it. We have found none of them here,” Motliff replied.
    “Only their ruins,” Squab said.
    Motliff turned. “Where?”
    “At the horizon,” Squab replied, pointing toward the distant hills.
    “Why do we start here, then.”
    “We approach from the rising sun, Caleb.”
    “Caution,” Motliff frowned.
    “Caution,” Squab agreed. “The instruments are not – reliable in this climate.”
    The ground shook and a low pounding reached them. “Tremor?” Motliff asked.
    “No!” Squab said with concern.

    A moment later they were inside their ship, watching and waiting for the mighty beasts to thunder past them.
    “How many?” Motliff asked in wonder at the sight.
    “As far as eye can see,” Reader responded. “At one time, they nearly were not.”
    “And now, with the vermin’s absence, they return in force.”
    “Yes, Caleb. Magnificent, aren’t they.”
    “Of all the beasts, they are truly. Look!” Motliff pointed toward even fleeter four-footed animals, bounding as it were, along the perimeter of the pounding herd.
    “Incredible.”
    Motliff looked for a few moments more, then turned to Squab. “We take the scout, otherwise, we waste time.”
    Squab did not move. Motliff looked up at him. His eyes were sad. “What?” Motliff asked.
    “You feel nothing for them – for their future?”
    Motliff felt the heat of emptiness fill him. He’d forgotten the second planet, so rich was this one.
    “It will be different, Searcher,” Reader interjected. “Though I cannot see the future, I feel we will see these live on past our time.”
    Squab looked at Motliff. “Is it true?”
    Motliff nodded. “Yes, if this is what I think it is, then we shall return throughout all time to change what has happened.”
    “Forgive me, my Caleb, for my earlier incontinence.”
    Now, slowly and deliberately, Motliff raised his hand and put it on Squab’s shoulder. Squab did the same. And between them flowed peace.

    Across the vastness of open prairie, their scout craft sped. On wings of gravity and magnetic forces they approached the distant hills. Below them, the plains gave way to ancient ruins, barely discernible from the heights.
    “Lower, Squab,” Motliff requested. “Slow it down. I want a closer look at those ruins.”
    “At least we won’t be trampled,” Squab commented as he dropped their air speed and height.
    Motliff chuckled. “Yes, friend. Let’s put it down over there.” He pointed toward a wide expanse, devoid of any vegetation.

    A few moments later, they were standing outside their scout. Motliff was kneeling feeling the surface. Squab had his back to him, facing the distant snow-capped hills.
    “By the gods,” Motliff muttered. He sat heavily on the ground and stared at Squab’s back. “Get me a reading, Squab.”
    “Huh?” Squab said as he turned.
    “Get a reading,” Motliff said a little more gently. He put his hands to his head, feeling sick to his stomach. “I want to know the atomics.”
    It didn’t take long. “Melted. . . Slab, decaying past danger, Caleb.”
    “Those ruins,” Motliff said. “They were natural. You saw that?”
    “Here and on the moon, Caleb.”
    Motliff looked at Squab with curiosity.
    “Smaller, probably hand weapons, Caleb. Not enough to blow the seal, but enough to destroy themselves.”
    “Why?”
    “What are they doing as they expand?”
    Motliff nodded. That was the way it was with the vermin. “Put your lenses on the distant hills. What do you see?”
    “Ravaged rock,” Squab reported.
    “To the right and left?”
    “More of the same.”
    “Then – we go elsewhere.”
    “Caleb, do you expect to find. . . what? More of the same? As here, it will be everywhere.”
    Motliff turned slowly and looked toward the rising sun. “How long, Squab, how long?”
    “Many generations, Caleb.”
    “How many? How old are the ruins?”
    Squab shook his head. “The ages are all over the place, Caleb. Perhaps Reader?”
    “Mm, yes. Reader. Take us back to the ship, Squab.”

    Reader saw the past. “Ancient, and more ancient. As Searcher said, Caleb, all over the place.”
    “Then? Could this be? The home of the vermin?” Motliff asked.
    “The vermin, as you call them, are closely akin to a number of races. How can we be sure this is their home or the home to any other race?”
    Motliff eyed Reader. “Sometimes, I wish for less of your wisdom, Reader.”
    “We must be sure – whether they came and conquered or originated from here.”
    “Then, in the time remaining, let us search all the continents, search for ancient storehouses of wisdom and learning. Of such, we know the vermin have, but do not follow.”
    Reader laughed a dry laugh. “If they weren’t so brutal, they would be pathetic.”
    Squab had a far-off look in his eyes. “What if,” he started to say.
    Motliff glanced at him. “What if what, Squab?”
    He turned toward Reader. She responded, “Yes, ancient and more ancient, and yes, they could be a multirace people. We’ve seen some evidence of that in what they are now.”
    “And?” Motliff extrapolated.
    “And, yes, they could have fought a last war over race.”
    “The slaglands, Caleb?” Squab asked.
    Motliff nodded. “But,” he sighed, “Reader has it right. We must be sure.”
    “Navpilot,” Motliff said, “you haven’t added anything. What say you?”
    “Only this,” Navpilot ventured slowly, “could they have originated on more than one planet?”
    “This is the earliest read, Caleb,” Reader replied. “The most ancient in this land is far before they leapt into space, seeking the stars.”
    Motliff approached Reader, and took her with his hands, holding her at the shoulders. “Read me and my future,” he instructed. To himself he committed, `I come to seek out the ancestors of these people – none other.’
    “You commit?” Reader asked.
    “Of a surety,” Motliff responded.
    “Then, it is of a surety, Caleb. This is their home and only home.”
    “Here? In this sun-drenched land?”
    “Not here, but here,” she responded in her way.
    “Where, then?”
    “Toward the rising star lies a land of rivers. There is one where four came forth before. . . it is the ancient of ancients only,” she paused, “they knew it not at the end.”
    “The forgetfulness.”
    She nodded in silence. Then added, “It was to be the gathering place, but they fled before their time.”
    Motliff stared at her. “A gathering? Like,” he fell silent and dared not say it.
    Again, she nodded in silence, this time remaining mute.
    “So,” a plan made it way into his brain.
    “Yes, if we can trap them here, here they will stay.”
    The other two – Searcher and Navpilot – gathered from either side. Together the four made their pact and together they would approach the council. But only when they had their evidence.
The turns came and went as they searched the ruins. But what ruins they found. Ancient wars had torn apart this world. This home that was no more. Mighty cities melted before the waves of the weapons that they took with them into space. Weapons that they used on their enemies. . .
    Now Motliff and the three others were here, in their ship that rode the magnetic and gravitonic forces of the universe. From glass-bound city to glass-bound city, it was the same. The ruins were their record. They’d done it to themselves, but only after leaping into space and spreading their poison across the heavens, across world after world.
    The tears flowed freely from the great eyes of Searcher, Navpilot, Reader, and Caleb. Why? Why were the vermin like this? Of that question, they had no answer, at least until they came to a dry and desolate land.
    Heat – it was terrible in the cloudless sky. And through the desert flowed a river. Southward, they followed the mighty flood, and passed ancient works that amazed even Reader.
    “They didn’t destroy these,” Motliff remarked as they stared in wonder at the great ruins.
    “No,” Squab whispered in awe. He turned to Reader.
    “No,” she repeated. “It is the ancient place that they fled under cruel task masters.”
    “Then they came here even earlier?” Motliff asked.
    “Yes, Caleb. From a land that suffered under this, this heat. A land of false gods.”
    A chill ran down Motliff’s back. “Say more, Reader.”
    “They worshipped. . . “ She turned and looked toward the sky, shielding her eyes ineffectively against the glare of the star.
    “Where? Where will we find the evidence?”
    “One city. . . north and toward the rising star. A city that, that was home to – He was here, Caleb.”
    She sank to her knees.
    “What? Tell us who?”
    “They murdered him. These are they – the only ones that would kill their own god.”
    “What?” the three echoed in unison.
    “These vermin – we have found them. I read true, Caleb. They killed their god.”
    “And the gathering?”
    “Never happened, for they had found the way to the stars and destroyed all that they left     behind.”
    “How long?” Motliff asked, glanced toward the sky, fear spreading over his body.
    “We have less than a turn left, Caleb,” Navpilot replied. We must hurry.
    “Then, to the ship and to the city to the north and east!”
    The three males, so frail, helped the female, even frailer, to her feet and toward the ship.

    The walled city was as it had been forever. Reader stood on the hill. “It is here,” she added, “that they killed him – the god-child.”
    Squab came hurrying up from the city. He carried ancient books that looked like they would not stand the strain. “I’ve found them!” he said, “just as you said I would.”
    Navpilot was a pace behind, bringing works of metal, curiously bound and sealed. “And more!     Here are the most ancient, made of precious metals.”
    Motliff led them back to the portal of their ship.

    As they sped from the star, the second planet exploded and fed that star to critical and beyond. Detectors dead to the outside, Motliff trusted that they would survive the nova as it formed behind them.
    He was more interested in the works they had recovered. In sealed chambers sat the books of wood, fabric, and leather. But before him were the works of metal. He carefully opened the first and stared at the marks.
    Reader moved to join him. “And what do you see,” she asked.
    “I see not, but I feel much,” he replied. “What see you?”
    “I see the ancient words, as they were recorded and then buried in the city.”
    “How ancient?” he had to ask.
    “As ancient as our most ancient works, Caleb. They are as old as we.”
    “And?”
    “And this is their record. Do you need me to read for you? Do you not know the words as well as any of us?”
    Motliff nodded. “In a beginning. . .” he tentatively began. Reader nodded.
    He continued, “they, that is, the gods, created the heavens and the. . . “ He stopped, not willing to say it.
    “Say it,” she urged. “Say the ancient term.”
    “. . . the earth.” He stared at the plates. This was it – this ancient work of metal was the proof of the origin. It was of the planet, of the system. This is where it all started. Motliff slammed the plates closed. He would not read, nor would reader. “It is all here,” he said with finality.
    “Yes, Caleb. This is what the council will need.”

    Many turns later, they neared the end of their journey home, leaping from star to star. Caleb entered the room. Navpilot was eagerly searching for homesignal. Squab was relaxed, his instruments on autodetect. Reader was there with them, dreaming of home, so transparent were her thoughts. He smiled at them as they turned toward him.
    “Faerie’s Ring,” Squab said.
    “What?” Motliff asked.
    “They – the vermin – the earthers – are as a Faerie’s Ring, Caleb. You know they’ve come from somewhere, but they’re already spreading by the time you realize what’s happened.”
    “I wonder,” Motliff pondered. “Suppose. . . No, it couldn’t be.”
    “Couldn’t be what, Caleb?”
    “They couldn’t be related to Faeries, could they?”
    Navpilot shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”
    “What’s the source of the ‘Faerie’s Ring’ story?” Motliff asked Reader.
    “Caleb Motliff,” she smiled. “Why ask? You know that they are the source. The evidence has always been there. They are fleeing their own destiny.”
    Motliff felt fear chase his spine. “And. . . we?”
    She nodded. “Yes, Caleb. We are their future, their destiny. I read now that we will live and we will approach home again. . .”
    “From Mother Earth,” Caleb replied softly. He knew, even as Reader nodded, they’d travel the time waves back, back to stop them before the earthers made the jump to the stars – to spread their poison and their death. They, of all peoples. They, the ones that had killed their own god.
    And now, Caleb Motliff and his crew knew their destiny. They would be the ones to play the part of the gods – riding their chariot, their wheel of fire – to damn the children from their awful course.