Mr. U. disappears behind the Speaking Wall to reposition our Anterior Receptors.

“You may be wondering what’s going on,” he says from back there.

We are.

“Jed!” he calls out.

At which, Jed leads in eleven Singers. We know they are Singers by their vests. The first comes over, stands next to me, his arm against mine, as the others fill in along the length of the wall.

Then Mr. U. comes back out, holding aloft a small box.

“Anybody know what this guy is?” he says.

We do know, courtesy of fallen Ed, our colleague, briefly with us, then sent away for spreading lies.

It is: Knowledge Mod.

We know it by its bright red casing.

Gosh, we feel, Mr. U. is not joking around, Knowledge Mods being, per fallen Ed, not cheap.

Mr. U. spends the next ten minutes on his side, shirt hiked up, grunting, swearing, wiring the Mod into the Control Board.

Then it is time to try.

The Pulse from a Knowledge Mod, we find, is fatter, with stinging edge, a bit of a spiky pillow. It opens out nicely on the back end, like a forced jig-dancing at the end of a long and tedious day.

And suddenly we know so much. About “Battle of the Little Bighorn.” Also known as “Custer’s Fight.” Or, popularly, “Custer’s Last Stand.” None of which, I can tell you, previous to right now, I knew.

“Name of horse Custer rode into battle?” Mr. U. says, testing.

“Vic,” we three Speakers say at once.

“Although Dandy was also along,” says Craig.

“And many incorrectly believe it was Comanche,” says Lauren, “which was the name of the sole surviving Seventh Cavalry horse.”

“Who was actually ridden into battle by Captain Myles Keogh,” I add, smiling at how pleasant it is to suddenly know all of this.

“What tribes, peacefully gathered in the valley of the Little Bighorn, did Custer and his men attack?” says Mr. U.

“Lakota, Arapaho, Northern Cheyenne,” says Lauren.

“Members of which tribe, the historical enemies of the Lakota, served as scouts for Custer?” says Mr. U.

“Crow, also known as Absaroka,” we all say at once.

The Singers, who cannot Speak, or even talk, just nod, as if to say: Though we, as part of our development, have been rendered mute unless Pulsed and Singing, we agree with all that has just been Spoken by our colleagues.

Mr. U. claps his hands once, hard, as if pleased.

“This will be great,” he says, then goes to Lunch.

The Singers emit a prolonged one-note group hum, the women an octave above the men, which we understand to mean: Hi, hello, looking forward to working with you all on what promises to be a truly exciting and original project.

Being on a Knowledge Mod is, let us say, different.