Night sky was above, beyond the reach of the banks of lights that shone full on her and on Phrixos, who lay across her, his arms around her, his leathery, leafy face against her cheek. Glow still surrounded them, hazy, golden and green. The eyes of the cameras watched them. She took a breath. The one under the ground had sent Phrixos out as scout and envoy, point man and first negotiator in this latest of its ventures into the world above. All these people had moved willingly into its orbit, with only the most tenuous of invitations. They had danced on its head and let it taste them. They had come bringing treasures. Nourishment, playthings, converts. Opal blinked, glanced around. Everyone she could see looked stunned and strange. She heard the muffled machinery of filming. People were scattered amongst the lights, cameras, tracks, boom mikes, all the hidden structures associated with capturing a momentary fall of light. Those who manned the machines seemed to still be on the job, though they looked blank, not present.
