When he finally reached the grand chamber, he could not really tell 
whether it was reality or another machine-made hallucination. It was shaped 
like a flattened ice-cream cone, a domed ceiling above a gently sloping conical 
floor. The ceiling was a vast mediatron, and the floor served as an 
amphitheatre. Hackworth spilled into the room abruptly as the drumming reached 
a crescendo. The floor was slick, and he slid down helplessly until he reached 
the central pit. He rolled onto his back and saw a fiery scene sprawling across 
the dome above, and in his peripheral vision, covering the floor of the 
theatre, a thousand living constellations pounding on the floor with their 
hands.