The last Hexamon archivists and archaeologists withdrew their hundreds of thousands of hastily created partials from the second and third chambers, where they had conducted a final survey of the Thistledown’s cities. For lack of time, the other chambers had been neglected.
The contents of Thistledown’s city memory and the various library centers had been gleaned; all that remained untouched were the hidden information stores, private caches put away over the centuries by individuals who distrusted direct links with the libraries. Who could say how much history would be lost if these private caches were destroyed, never to be discovered or analyzed?
The archivists’ frustration was that the Hexamon, before the Sundering, had had centuries to explore the deserted cities, and had forbidden most such exploration because of the remote possibility of tampering in the sixth chamber. After the Sundering, the archivists had thought they had all the time they needed, never imagining a day such as this…
The defense forces withdrew with the last of the archivists. Only a few suicidal or thrill-seeking individuals remained now—and Farren Siliom, prepared to atone for his decision, however correct it had been.
He sat in the high, undecorated suite overlooking the third chamber city, picting artistic designs around himself, waiting patiently. So far, nobody knew he was here—or where he was. That saved the embarrassment of last-minute rescues, if anyone would be so rude as to interrupt a citizen’s chosen path to extinction.
There were no signs of the coming destruction. Thistledown was stable, the tubelight steady and bright.