She commanded the shuttle pilot to maintain their current aspect and to continue powering upwards, but informed him he could turn the shuttle and break for orbit after a measured amount of time.  The tower wall raced past them and curved out of sight to the right and left.  The tower was just too big to view its full width from this distance.  The peak of the tower, obviously out of view from this position, would be lost in planets hazy upper atmosphere even if they were far enough away for it to fit into her field of vision.  Nevertheless she ordered the pilot to pull the shuttle a little further back from the tower wall.
At least now she was able to see its circumference and she remembered that on her first visit she could not even believe, regardless of its size, that it was an artificial structure at all.  It looked too natural.  The closest thing she could compare it to would be a vast stalagmite, as if the moons themselves had melted and dripped their rocky substance to the lands below.

The machine behind her emitted a powerful, low click.  Without turning she used her right rear-limb to switch the scent analyser onto its output setting.  The scent story it contained had been fully compiled and was now being reconstructed and sprayed towards her antennae as a stream of image-laden air.  As the scents flowed and her antennae twitched her real vision out of the shuttle window began to compete with the images the story was creating in her mind.  She had intentionally taken less of her medication today.  The story would lose its passion if her scent-vulnerability was too suppressed.
Her real vision, becoming insubstantial in comparison to the image in her mind, showed a large hole that loomed up in the tower wall.  The story began in exactly this spot, a visual scene intended to place the characters in time and place.  She had seen this part of the story as part of a test compilation and this was why she was starting the story now, as she watched the tower.  The tower in the story showed her the same hole, only slightly smaller and housing a complex crisscross pattern of black tubes.  The shuttle speed continued to increase as another of the gaping apertures loomed up.  She prepared herself for what she was about to see.  The next hole, as vacant as all the others in real life was very different in the story images she was seeing.  In the story the hole was not fully visible because it was covered in a vast black living curtain.  It was difficult to see any detail but she knew that this black curtain was a construction scaffold, and most importantly she knew it was made up of nothing but hundreds of thousands of living bodies, workers bodies, not dissimilar to her own.  She could just make out movement over the curtain as more workers carried clear shiny objects upwards to the top edge of the aperture using their co-workers limbs, heads and bodies as foot-holds.  
She knew, because the names mentioned early in the story had appeared in some of the scent they found later, that the creature responsible for setting their once beautiful civilization on its terrible slide into corruption was almost certainly there-now.  He was probably already plotting, suspended along with its multitude of co-workers in the cool of the night.  
As the shuttle began to turn she was already fully lost in the story.  And although she had did not know exactly what was to come she did know that a terrible chain of events was about to start.

*    *    *

The Scryat colony ‘sun trap’ construction team was little more than an interlocking wall of black, rigid shelled, six-legged creatures, spread only one individual thick but many hundreds high and wide.  It was reaching the end of a 6-hour work-phase, ready to dismantle before the fierce sun rose above the arid horizon.  The scaffold they created formed a curtain over a vast hole within the Prime-Towers wall, itself one of twenty such holes.  Scurrying over this living scaffold structure, small teams of the same creatures carried large delicate looking transparent lenses.
Somewhere near the top of this construction wall, with each of his six limbs interlocked with those of his numerous neighbors was one particular individual, if not unique in appearance then at least in position.  He was 187th from the right on the 20th row from the top.  He did, nevertheless look somewhat different from the majority.  He, like one in 25 of those in the scaffold wall was larger, had more prominent sharp ridges along each forelimb, markedly more corrugated shoulder plates, and a small white marking near where his thorax met his head section, distinct against the hard black sheen of his body-shell.  Physical characteristics aside, he was perhaps most individual in that he alone, excepting his neighbor and antagonist, was engaged in a serious argument.





‘Selfish, dangerous, stupid Angryfood! You said you would stop’ The words did not come in sound but as a wave of complex scent directed at Angryfood’s head, more exactly, directed at the two slender and agitated antennae that reared from its peak.  His dark, glistening eye-lenses were featureless but his mandibles clicked with frustration.  The speaker repeated, ‘You said you would stop’.  He instinctively went to move its forelegs to suffix the scent with a time signal, a simple count 1,2,3, communicating in combination with the scent that the sun had passed only 3 times since, but this most basic part of his language was restricted by not having free use of his limbs.  
Angryfood studied the upper segment of his own left forelimb, close to where it attached to his dark and rigid thorax and acknowledged the already well healed crack in its hard shell which 2 days ago had been oozing restorative fluid.  This new wound would heal and join the many other older scars that intersected his body plates.  Yes, he said he would stop.
‘I remember what I scented you Tunnelcool, I had need, complex’. Again he looked to the healing wound that he had personally inflicted in what had slowly become a ritual.
‘What did you use this time Angryfood? Elevator mechanism again?’
‘Not important’
‘Yes important tell!’
Angryfood spat his reply back at Tunnelcool.  ‘A sharpstone, not easy.’
‘Attacked own limb with a sharpstone? YOU GRUB!’
This insult, lacking the cautious direction of their previous scent-speech traveled upwards on the rising breeze that surrounded the tower in a wave of acrid smell.  As it washed over the bodies of those higher in the construction wall some reacted in agitation to the viscous nature of the insult.  They didn’t need to look round to know where it had come from.  The speech-scent would decay in a precise manner indicating the distance of the speaker and their scent organs, the antennae, could test its direction perfectly.  In the silence Tunnelcool realised he had not added a name-indicator to the message.  He should have clearly stated Angryfood as the intended recipient.  There would be nothing to stop anyone hearing it from assuming that the insult was equally meant for them.  His antenna thrashed wildly for a moment.

Work in the construction wall was tedious.  To relieve this, the workers commonly produced a constant, gentle mix of meditative scents and motivating jaw clacks.  Now, curiosity at the reasons behind this outburst resulted in these mingling scent patterns and noises fading, a sign that those around them had become interested in Angryfood and Tunnelcool’s unusual discourse.  They postponed their debate until the interest of their neighbors had passed.  
As the general murmur began again Angryfood broke their silence.  ‘Not me alone.  Many do it, is a symptom of our time.  Hundreds here-now do the same, more each day.’
‘Then here-now are too many also selfish, dangerous, stupid, Angryfood.’
Angryfood continued.  ‘Also many more are becoming…” he did not have the scent vocabulary to explain the phenomena, so he resorted to “….sleepy, unproductive, those that just gather and question.  The colony is wrong Tunnelcool”.
Ten construction workers climbed over them carefully carrying a large transparent resin sheet.  Their feet were not so carefully placed as they ascended the curtain of bodies, taking a foothold wherever was most suitable to their needs.
One of the climbers scented at the two of them, ‘Chatter chatter, wall creatures, do not loose your concentration’.  Again the two combatants stopped until they had passed.
‘I still do not understand Angryfood, why hurt yourself?’
‘Hard explanation Tunnelcool.  Many reasons but mainly just helps’
‘How? Important, tell’
The scent that hit Tunnelcool in reply expressed just how important Angryfood felt his reasons were, communicating a deep, real pain but with it was the scent of pleasure and of release, an unburdening.  Release from one pain through another.   Angryfood’s scent glands almost closed up towards the end, choked with confused emotion.
Before Tunnelcool could rally a response to this confused statement a blast of scent hit them both from above.  Only then did they notice the older creature one row above them in the scaffold.  His carapace was scarred in numerous places and they both recognized the signs.  Since there had been no wars, no surviving predators to threaten the colony, nothing other than the elements as a threat, and considering that no one suffered that many accidents, he too must be like Angryfood, a ‘healaddict’.  Angryfood’s antennae probed towards this new figure with curiosity.