The music dims, and the light takes on a ringing sound, as seven bees attempt to explain the mystery of the hexagon. They seem to mutter (some sound that makes its way to your ear)- One more bee at top would complete the pattern! But...it's a trick (they whisper through their mikes), because then you'd need eight bees, but there are only seven here, that's all, use your finger to count (eyes don't work). Done? Another guess? You could try to make a hollow hexagon, taking out the two bees in the center, putting one at top to fill out the shape. however, then you'd have one left, and if you put that one in the center to plug up the hole, you'd still have one blank, and that's not the shape we're here to show. Seven, the bees insist, you need seven, not six, not eight. Why do they insist? They don't ask for money. You can't seem to leave, and they won't go away.

It should be obvious to you, observer or local operator, that such numeric instability would lead the group to perpetual dissatisfaction, as its members continually shift, trying to find the sweet measure of the hex form; lacking the missing bee, they will endlessly recreate an imperfect form, in boredom, never filled with any satisfaction, and unable to rest. Don't feel sympathy, however, for there is a faint possibility that this seven, best they are able to do, is actually a number symmetric with the hex-shape in some other system of dimensional or numerical notation... something like a microtone from an alternate scale, deadly to the keyboard pianist but just fine to the person who plays the strings directly from the fingertip. Vibrating and micronic tones will divert you, as they divert the bees, and I suggest you think no further in this direction, as it leads to mental darkness, stories without meaning that exist in endless profusion, puddles at the edge of the ocean. Stay alert, awake, head up, face toward the screen, and continue to the next page, away from these bee tricks.