Two suns shone overhead and the sound of pipes and drums filled the air. Tunnagle was in the Clearing, dancing in the Sacred Circle, as he was every Twosunsday. His parents had raised him in the Church, and he had not missed a single service in the forty-five years since he was a teenager, except that one time he was direly ill with pneumonia. He was a true believer. Although he was just a janitor, he had studied well. He had gone to the museums, and had seen the evidence first hand. He had read the writings. He knew the GoldenOnes would return.

But as he spiraled from the Outer Circle to the Inner Circle and back out again, he passed many unfamiliar faces. During the past year attendance had doubled, then doubled again, then again. The Millennium was nearly here, and unbelievers suddenly started to think, "Better safe than sorry!" and to come to church. Tunnagle figured that every person in the community who could be here, was here today.

The dance finished with a crescendo of pipes and an explosion of drums, and he threw himself face down, his gray head pointing, together with other heads bald and blonde and black and brown and white, toward the center of the circle. From the circle of prostrate dancers now arose a sibilance, slowly growing in volume. Tunnagle, with the others, sent his prayer heavenward in a wordless hiss. The prayer was strong today, with so many worshippers.

With the clash of the cymbols, the hissing stopped, and the congregation jerked upright, to kneel as the Speaker proclaimed. Tunnagle let the deep baritone of the Speaker's voice fill his skull, driving all other thoughts out as the words sang the story he had heard so many times before.

"They came to the earth, with whistle and roar!
They came, and They taught us, and They'll come back once more!
We must grow, we must harvest, we must live without war,
Smelt the metals, purify them, and set them to store,
If we wish for their largess, if we wish to live more -
Should we fail we'll face terror! Should we fail, we shall die!
We must be ready when Power again fills the sky!

The Accountant reported next. His clear tenor gave joyful news. "We are ready," he declared. "The warehouses are full of produce. The metals are here stored." He gestured to the third Circle - the Circle of warehouses which framed their Circle of worship. Fifty warehouses stood there, ready. Tunnagle knew them well; it was his job to sweep them. The Accountant was finishing now. "The Cadre has learned the words," he sang. "All here can say the words! Tulcat habeais selitu! Tulcat habeais krileau!"

Tunnagle joined the refrain: Tulcat habeais selitu! Tulcat habeais krileau! , with the translation echoing in his mind: We are here to serve! We are here to worship!

The tenor sang, "Du gerchiee kaputi! Du volpaie kaputi!" and Tunnagle repeated the words: The harvest is ready! The metal is ready!

The Accountant and Speaker spoke the next words together, saying words never spoken in Circle before: "Tomorrow they come. Tomorrow the millennium. Come all tomorrow, to serve and worship." And Tunnagle's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, with dread.

"NO!" Tunnagle wanted to shout. "No! Not tomorrow! You counted wrong! You forgot to discount the drop days of the first century, under the old calendar. Not tomorrow, but next Twosunsday." He had published his report, his research. Most had ignored it as the foolish ramblings of an uneducated janitor. Only a few unimportant experts had reviewed it. Although those few experts had agreed with him, it didn't matter. The news services, the government, and the established Church ignored his findings. For them, tomorrow was the day predicted.

He hoped they were right. He hoped that somehow, somewhere, he had made a mistake. He hoped that being a little early wouldn't hurt. Yet his heart filled with dread. Service over, he walked silently home, feeling out of place in the midst of jubilation.

The next morning, for Tunnagle's circle, was clear and cold. Only Chilsun was in the sky. Tunnagle was among the first to arrive, well before dawn, dressed in new coveralls, as were all the worshippers. Silently, he nodded to the Speaker and the Accountant. They smiled joyfully, as they returned his nod. Others trickled in, by ones and twos and threes, until the whole community was gathered to watch the sun rise. All were silent, expectant, hopeful in the morning chill.

They started the dance then, but silently, without the accompaniment of pipes and drums, for everyone wanted to hear the Return. They wove in and out, wove in and out, wove in and out - but nothing happened. By midday, despite the chill, Tunnagle had shed his jacket, and gratefully accepted the water that the children were offering. His legs ached now, his feet hurt, but he continued the dance. In and out, in and out they wove. The grass was worn to dust now, and dust was rising up the legs of their coveralls, but the silent dance continued. Old Rabomle collapsed in exaustion, and the children helped him to the outskirts. Then old Grotchle, old Winagle, and the Nerferee sisters joined him. But Tunnagle ignored his pain, ignored the sweat staining his new shirt, ignored the ache in his neck from looking toward the sky, and he danced the dance.

Chilsun at last set. The dance stopped. Many worshippers simply collapsed in their places, and wept. Tunnagle wearily dragged himself to his crumpled jacket, and pulled it over his damp shirt. He looked at the despair around him, at his friends, and at strangers who by now were as familiar as the dust on his feet. Then Tunnagle broke the wordlessness. "They counted wrong," he declared. "The true Return will be next Twosunsday."

The people looked at him incredulously. For a moment there was silence. Then the laughter started, the hysterical laughter that drowned out his attempts to give proofs, the hysterical laughter that followed him until he reached the safety of his home, and locked the door.

With the click of his lock the laughter stopped, and the muttering crowd turned their backs on him. They went home to see the news. Perhaps the Return had occurred in another part of the world?

Of course, it had not.

The next day when Tunnagle headed for work he passed disillusioned people, crying in the streets. But by the time he came home, the people were angry! Young men were gathering in gangs, shouting that they had been misled and cheated their whole lives! "Speakers and Accountants should be stoned!" they shouted. And the people gathered up stones, and went to the manse, and pulled out the Speaker and the Accountant! The two were screaming in terror, but it did them no good. The people were sick with betrayal, wild with frustration. They beat the Speaker and the Accountant to death with their bare hands, and they stomped upon the bodies.

Tunnagle had watched the murder of the Speaker and the Accountant in helpless horror. Afterwards he thought to bury the bodies - but the smear of blood and viscera left on the ground could hardly be picked up to bury. He could only hiss a short prayer, and take himself to safety. He had a cave in the hills that he used for fishing excursions. He packed a little food, and went there.

Then the riots broke out, worldwide. Circles were set ablaze! Warehouses were looted, and burned. When police came, the people stormed their vehicles, and overturned them. They seized the officers, and ripped away the emblem of that blazing star from their uniforms. Rioting lasted almost a week, until there was nothing left to burn, nothing left to loot, no officers left to strip.

From his cave, Tunnagle could see the flames and the smoke. He could hear the explosions, the sirens, and even some of the screams. But a stream flowed near the cave, and an old oak gave shade; so that ugliness was balanced by the beauty of nature. He stayed at his cave, fished a little, and waited.

Then it was Twosunsday. The survivors cowered, shaking, in their homes. Tunnagle came back from his cave, and walked alone to Circle. He looked around at the ashes, at the shards of the festive decorations from the week before, looked at the ashes of the warehouses, shook his head, and began to clear the center.

It was then that he heard the whistling, and the roar! He looked up, and saw the bright stars, the ships of Power, descending!

He did as he'd been taught. He threw himself to the ground.

A starship landed in the center of the circle. A sizzling sound filled the air, a loud sizzling that muffled the sound of pounding feet as survivors came running. From the corner of his eyes Tunnagle saw more and more of the people run to prostrate themselves. There was no formal attire this time - Tunnagle was the only man there in coveralls. The others were wearing casual, everyday clothes. Some were even still in their pajamas! But the people came, now, flustered and frightened, they came. They prostrated themselves. And they waited.

There was a loud clang, as of cymbols. The congregation jerked up, to the kneeling position. Tunnagle saw now that the clang had been caused by the opening of a door to the spaceship. All of the congregation was staring, attention rivvetted to the doorway.

Then a GoldenOne flowed into the opening. It was truly golden, and it truly flowed, just as the sacred writings claimed. The PowerfulVoice thundered, as they expected it to thunder: "It is the Return! Who awaits?"

Tunnagle led the response, "Tulcat habeais selitu! Tulcat habeais krileau!"

The congregation echoed, "Tulcat habeais selitu! Tulcat habeais krileau!"

"Where is the metal? Where is the harvest?"

The congregation could say nothing - empty, gutted warehouses and ashes would not suffice.

The PowerfulOne heard their silence, judged, and declared, "You have failed!"

Tunnagle cried out, "No! We succeeded! Everything was ready! We just counted wrong."

But the GoldenOne had already flowed back into the starship. The door clanged closed! The whistling, as of pipes, began again. There was a loud roar, as the starship rose into the sky whence it had come. Sobbing, crying, reaching up in supplication, the people watched the departure.

Then there was a flash of fire, and it was the end for Tunnagle, and for his world.

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