More, or at least one more, or those spheroids drop or rise from the source of plenty, somewhere out of frame. There are many monkey goalkeepers available here in the flat-edged dark, at least twice as many of them as there are us in ball-shape. Two of monkey types, who look a bit more civilized in their limb proportions, popup in friendly fear... without pause, spring-powered, these automata bounce off to the binary distances, one to either side of our viewing head.     Past this was a place guarded by the oldest of the dead.