The Sanctuary slept in tableware quiet. Above its imaged polls and root- protected halls, the stars floated like memory globules threaded across the darkness. The honey, ever pulsing from the helical at its heart, radiated a low hum into the soil — further a breath than a sound, ancient as it was constant. It had always hummed this way, from the days when the auditoriums had only flashed back the history. But tonight, commodity changed.