Bright confusion reigned in the hillocks and ravines. Ulysses rubbed his eyes, lurching up the old path, half-certain he was home. The but half-remembered scenery is intensely replicas. That whole area was sealed off. But is it safe? Put padlocks up in trees, turn on wind machine, imitate coughing sounds. The lake responded with a distant glitter, which could throw us off jewels forever, once the file is opened. He was subtly careful now. Those clogged dossiers can lie active for hundreds of years, ready to dart out like a rattlesnake at the sound of a falling leaf. But is it info? All he knew was he wanted some grub and a shower and a place to bunk down for the night. Not so fast, my man, the voice clacked idly from behind, or was it? Who knew where the offering had come from, whose hands had soiled it. Best to leave it be, even if not a booby trap there will be others come dialing time. Not to infer catastrophe from a dance frieze, at the same time not let evildoers off the hook.