What I did receive was the impression of immense complexity and innovation and that a great divide separated those within this building from those without. I knew no one in Atalantaya worked more than four hours a day, I’d learned that on arrival, but I had not dreamt that a technocrat class of such size had been living in the Creative Tower, and that is what I did see on this tour.

Finally we were brought to the very top floor of this tower and through a pair of large gold-plated doors heavily carved with figures and pictographs—into the receiving room of the Great One, Amel.

He sat behind a large translucent desk with his back to a transparent wall, and through that broad expanse of western-facing wall we saw that we were now at the highest point in Atalantaya, with a thousand gardened rooftops spread out in all directions below.

As for the chamber, its gold polished floors were strewn with thick woven carpets, and a grouping of couches and chairs made a cozy and comfortable space for people to sit before the desk.

The welcoming guides left us. The doors were shut.

Amel rose from the desk and came towards us with his hand out to greet us. He was simply dressed in loose shimmering red pants and shirt, and he was smiling.

“Bravenna has sent you to lure me outside of Atalantaya, am I not right?” he asked.

We were speechless.

“Sit down here,” he said, gesturing to the dark-colored couches and chairs. We did exactly that. I took my place in the middle of the couch on the left side of the group, and Amel took his place on the couch directly opposite me on the right. At that very moment the sun in the western sky moved into position to blind us through the transparent wall. Amel, with the simple gesture, caused the wall to darken just enough to take away the burning glare yet leave abundant soft light.

Garekyn sat down on my right and Welf and Derek on my left.

“I knew what you were the minute you arrived,” said Amel. “What do they call you now, Replimammoids still? Or do they have a new name?”

“Replimoids,” I explained. “Short version of the same term?”

He nodded and gave a cheerful punctuating laugh. “Ah, the Parents,” he said. “And I suppose they told you that I was a renegade Replimoid and that you’ve been sent here to trick me somehow into coming outside of the dome with some absurd story of a little catastrophe necessitating my presence and my presence alone. What is it this time? Talk of a discovery of a cave filled with ancient writings? Or of a wise man too old to journey to Atalantaya who must see the Great One before he closes his eyes? Or is it a case of illness in the village that is so unique and ominous that I, myself, must attend to it to save the entire Wilderness from pestilence? Or has a brutal tyrant set up a cruel regime in some small hamlet somewhere, who has agreed to surrender and give up his blood-soaked reign if I personally come to take his confession myself?”