A YOUNG VOICE  BRINGS ME OUT OF THE LONG-DEAD LIGHT AND INTO THE DARKNESS.  iT IS ONE OF MY MEN.     
"IT IS TIME."
 We take leave of the Watch Deck, leaving to the other Watchmen the duty of monitoring the Night Land . . .
. . leaving them to their recording of the Laughter . . .

What does it matter??




New forces will gather and gather, eternally . . .
 . . But our destination now lies is far below . . .
the lift
The brilliant lights of the interior floors, each its own raucous and teeming city, flicker past unseen as we stand within the close-set casing. We are bound for the Museum of Man, in the lowest floors of the Pyramid.

The young men beside me are eager for battle, though battle they have never known.

They are like so many young men I have led, young men who had watched the enemy from stout walls and were not lacking in spirit when the time came for them to defend their home. . .
© Sean McLachlan, Martin Isitt, Mike Horsefield 2004