The drone comes from a towering structure that rises to the left of the path. The structure is round, drawing in as it sweeps upward, flaring at the top to make a platform. Below this platform, a sort of mast protrudes out over the treetops, and attached to it is a cubical object. This object is ochre colored and streaked with what looks like verdigris, studded with frozen bubbles and big granules. These streaks form stalagtites that hang down like frost from the cube, which has a few square openings in its sides, and seems very solidly mounted.

I find it hard to understand what I see at the top of the tower, something like a flat wedge. A slot opens along this wedge, and one side erupts in an irregular fan, smooth like the inside of an oyster shell, and stained a dull green. This fan must be thirty or forty feet high, and it looks strange coming out of the top of this structure, like an ear growing out of a pyramid. The tower looks like a bottle that has been attacked with a hot torch, and partially melted.

As we draw nearer, I begin to see a lead-colored urn or something inside the slot. Some of the soldiers around me are walking faster, craning their necks. One of them suddenly gives a long moan and drops straight to the ground. I have his slack face in my hands and my thumbs on his eyelids—his glistening eyes roll and focus on my face, and he mumbles in confusion. Bad breath, a shrivelled-looking beard around the lips. I help him to his feet again.

Now I turn and look. My eyes make out the urn, the rolled-up thing—a weak sizzling feeling around my eyes, my head swims. The back of my head hurts, and now, unaccountably, I am lying on my back, and faces are peering down at me. I rub my temples. There’s a garbage taste in my mouth.

“Don’t look at the tower!” I groan. “Don’t look at the top of the tower.”

Some men have fainted. Others mill around, unsure what to do. Suddenly afraid, I check the charm, keeping it hidden inside my tunic. Not broken. I let my breath out. It still points down the abutment.

Makemin is giving orders. “We need to get a look over these trees. I want someone to climb up there,” he says, pointing to the cube. “You should be all right if you don’t look at the top.”

The Captain asks reasonably, “Are you sure? It could get worse the closer you get to it.”

“I tell you we need to know if the enemy is near and where he is.”

“Still, in that case, we wouldn’t want to lose a man.”

Makemin’s mouth tightens. In a voice straining to retain its even tone he says “We will put a rope around him, put it over the top of the box, and he will not fall if he faints. Who will go?”