Chapter 7 Chapter Six

Anna Froome's body is truly the best beauty science and craftsmanship can produce. Upon waking up, I lay in bed for a moment, admiring her body: she turned her back to me, the classic curves of her back, hips and sides were more beautiful and intriguing than any geometric shape Euclid had ever discovered Soul, with two dimples visible on the lower back, above the awe-inspiring, round creamy buttocks, where the plump thighs meet at a gentle angle, is more beautiful from behind than any manly figure could ever present. Sexier and stronger. Lady Diana was fast asleep, or pretending to be.Our clothes were thrown in a mess on a wide green carpet.The light, dim and magenta and blue, streamed in from the wide windows, through which gray and gold canopies could be seen.Beside, under, and scattered over our littered clothes were several large sheets of drawing paper.I turned to the left, picked up a sheet of paper, and saw hastily scribbled breasts, thighs, hastily redrawn arms, a face without features.To paint from life while drunk and seduced has never been the rule of quality art.

With a groan, I rolled over on my back and studied the carved vine leaf decoration on the ceiling twenty feet above my head.If the woman sleeping next to me was Fanny, I would never want to leave.But that wasn't the case, so I slipped under the covers, found my comlog, noticed it was early morning at the Whale Center—fourteen hours past my appointment with the CEO—and hurried Run to the bathroom to find hangover pills. Lady Diana had several medicines to choose from in her medicine cabinet.Besides the usual aspirin and endorphins, I found stimulants and tranquillizers, flashback injectors, aphrodisiacs, bypass detonators, marijuana inhalers, non-licensed tobacco cigarettes, and hundreds of less recognizable drugs .I found a glass, forced myself to swallow two wake-up pills, and within seconds, my nausea and headache were gone.

When she returned to her room, Lady Diana was already awake, sitting on the bed, still naked.I smiled, and saw two men at the east gate.Neither was her husband, though both were as strong and of his type, with short necks, fists like hammers, and dark chins, but these traits were carried to the extreme in Hormond Froome. I am sure that in the long course of human history there have been some men who, when they accidentally stood naked in front of two well-dressed strangers, perhaps with ulterior motives, faced such opponents. , without flinching, without the urge to hunched over to cover my dick, without feeling defenseless and at a disadvantage...but I'm not that kind of man.

I arched over my groin and stepped back toward the bathroom, saying, "What...who...?" I looked at Diana Froome, hoping she would give me an explanation, but I What I saw was the smile on her face... that smile was exactly the same cruelty I first saw in her eyes. "Catch him. Quick!" my former lover ordered. I rushed into the bathroom just in time to reach for the hand switch and try to close the door, but the closest of the two was already at me, grabbed me, pushed me back into the bedroom, and threw me in the his partner.Both are from Lusus or an equivalent high gravity planet, or they purposely eat nothing but steroids and live in Samson's chamber, because they throw me around with little effort.It doesn't make a difference to me how big they are.I have been a school fighter (for a short time) but my life... memories of my life... very few scenes of violence, especially after I won a melee and it happened much less.I took one look at these two pranksters and immediately saw that they were the kind of people people would read about but wouldn't quite believe they existed—they break other people's bones, noses I don't feel as much guilt over a beating, or a cracked kneecap, as I do when I throw away a flawed stylus.

"Come on," Diana hissed again. I'm fully connected to the data network, the memory of the room, Diana's comlog link, the tenuous connection between these two unemployed thugs and the world of information... Now I know where I am: this is Froome's country estate , 600 kilometers away from the capital of Pyle, in the environmentally modified Revival II agricultural belt... and it is clear who these thugs are: Dewu Farus and Hemet Goma, Gates of Heaven Factory security guards from the Scrubbers Union...one doesn't understand why one of them sits on top of me with his knee on my lower back while the other slams on my comlog with his heel and puts a pair of The permeable band is put on Long's wrist, and on my arm...

I heard a hiss and my heart relaxed. "Who are you?" "Joseph Seven." "Is that your real name?" "No." I felt the effects of the Veritaserum, and I knew I could disrupt their plans simply by walking away, stepping back to the datanet, or stepping back into the kernel altogether.But that also means that my body is at the mercy of the questioner.So I chose to stay there.Even with my eyes closed, I could still recognize who said the next sentence. "Who the hell are you?" asked Diana Frome. I sigh.It's not easy to answer that question really honestly. "John Keats," I finally said.They were silent, and I knew the name meant nothing to them.Could that mean something?I asked myself.I once predicted that its name would be like "Book on Water".Although I can't move or open my eyes, I have no problem following the access vectors of these thugs in order to fully access the data network.The list given to them by the public archives lists eight hundred John Keats and the poet's name among them, but they don't seem to have much interest in a man who died nine hundred years ago.

"Who do you work for?" came the voice of Hormond Froome.For some reason, I was only slightly surprised by this. "Nobody hired me." They whispered to each other, and the faint Doppler effect of their voices changed. "Can he stand the effects of the drugs?" "No one can stand it," Diana said. "When the medicine works, they will even kill themselves, but no one can stand it." "What the hell is going on?" asked Hermond. "How did Pleasant Stone bring a nobody into Parliament on the eve of the war?" "I said, he can hear you," said another voice—one of the two thugs.

"It's okay," Diana said, "he's not going to survive the interrogation anyway." Then her voice came again, directly at me. "Why did the CEO invite you to Parliament...John?" "I'm not sure. Probably trying to get some news about the Pilgrims." "What pilgrim, John?" "The Shrike Pilgrim." Someone wants to talk. "Hush," snapped Diana Frome.Then she asked me again, "Are those Shrike Pilgrims on Hyperion, John?" "yes." "That pilgrimage is still going on?" "yes." "Then why did Pleasant Stone ask you, John?"

"I can dream about them." There was a bored sound."He's crazy," said Hermond. "He took Veritaserum, didn't know who he was, and now he's telling us all this nonsense. Let's just finish him off and—" "Shut up," said Lady Diana. "Pleasant Stone is not crazy. She invited him, remember? John, what do you mean you can dream of them?" "I can dream of the feeling of the first Keats reconstructed personality," I replied.The voice was very low, as if talking in a dream. "When they murdered his body, he physically connected his consciousness to one of the pilgrims, and now he's wandering in their micro-grid. Somehow, what he knew and felt entered my Dreamland. Perhaps, my actions also entered his dreamland, but I don’t know.”

"Crazy," said Hermond. "No, no," said Lady Diana.Her voice was full of tension, almost startled. "John, are you a Cyberman?" "right." "Oh, my God," said Lady Diana. "What's a cyborg?" said one of the thugs.His voice was high-pitched and his timbre sounded like a woman's. For a while no one spoke, and then Diana spoke. "Stupid. Cyborgs are human simulants created by the Kernel. Some of them served on the Ivy Council before they were outlawed last century." "Like a robot thing?" another thug asked.

"Shut up," said Hermond. "No," Diana replied. "The Cyborgs are genetically impeccable, their bodies rebuilt from the DNA of Old Earth humans. All you need is a bone...a lock of hair...John, can you hear me? John?" "can." "John, you are a Cyberman...do you know who your personality template is?" "John Keats." I heard her take a deep breath. "John Keats . . . who is . . . from where?" "A poet." "What era was he from, John?" "Born in 1795, died in 1821." I replied. "What year, John?" "Old AD," I said, "before the exile. Modern—" Hermond's voice broke in, rather agitated. "John, are you...are you communicating with the kernel now?" "right." "Can you... even with Veritaserum, you can communicate freely with it?" "yes." "Oh, shit," said the squeaky thug. "We must get out of here quickly," said Hermond sharply. "In a minute," Diana said, "we have to figure out..." "Can we take him away?" asked the muffled thug. "Stupid pig," said Hermond, "if he's kept alive, he'll be in touch with the datanet and the kernel...hell, he's living in the kernel, his mind is there...and then he can call for help, whether it's Yueshi, the executive department, the military department, or anyone else!" "Shut up," said Lady Diana, "we'll kill him as soon as I finish. Ask a few more questions. John?" "I am listening." "Why does Pleasant Stone want to know what happened to the Shrike Pilgrim? How does this have anything to do with the war with the Ousters?" "I'm not sure about that." "Shit," whispered Hermond, "let's go." "Shut up. John, where are you from?" "I've lived in Hope Star for the past ten months." "And before that?" "I used to live on Earth." "Which Earth?" asked Hermond. "New Earth? Earth Two? Dungeon? Which one?" "Earth," I said.Then I remembered, "Old Land." "Old land?" one of the thugs said. "Fuck your mother. If you don't leave, I'm leaving." There was the sizzling sound of bacon cooking, the sound of lasers from weapons.I smell something better than roasting bacon, and then I hear a loud bang.Diana Froome said: "John, are you talking about your personality template's previous life in the Old Land?" "no." "You—your cyber body—used to live in the Old Land?" "Yes," I said, "that's where I came back from the dead. In the same room where I died in Plaza España. Seven wasn't there, but Dr. Clark and a few others..." "He's crazy," said Hermond. "The old land has been destroyed for more than four hundred years... unless the cyber body can live for more than four hundred years...?" "No," said Lady Diana sharply, "shut up and let me finish. John, why did Kernel...bring you back?" "I don't know the answer." "Is that somehow connected to the civil war between artificial intelligences?" "Maybe," I said, "probably." She asked an interesting question. "Which faction created you? The ultimate faction, the stable faction, or the repeated faction?" "I have no idea." I heard an exasperated sigh. "John, have you informed anyone where you are and what you're getting into?" "No." I replied.It can be seen from this point that the IQ of this lady is really unflattering, and it took so long to think of asking this question. Homemond also let out a long breath. "Great," he said, "we've got to get out of this damn place fast, while..." "John," Diana said, "do you know why Pleasant Stone created this war with the Ousters?" "I don't know," I said, "to be precise, there may be many reasons. The most likely reason is—this is a tactic she uses against the inner core, and can be used to negotiate with it." "why?" "Members of the kernel leadership rom are terrified of Hyperion," I said, "of all the variables in the galaxy that can be quantified, only Hyperion is one of the unknown variables." "Who's afraid, John? The ultimate faction, the stable faction, or the repeat faction? Which faction of artificial intelligence is afraid of Hyperion?" "Three factions are afraid." I said. "Nonsense," said Hermond in a low voice. "Listen...John...are the Time Tombs and the Shrike connected to these things?" "Yes, and there is a considerable connection." "What connection?" Diana asked. "I don't know. Nobody knows." Holmond, or someone else, punched me hard in the chest. "You're saying that the fucking Kernel Advisory Council didn't foresee the outcome of this war and these events?" Hermond bellowed. "Do you expect me to believe that Pleasant Stone and the Council went to war without forecasting the probabilities?" "No," I said, "that was prophesied hundreds of years ago." "What's the prophecy, John? Say it," said Diana Froome suddenly and hastily, sounding like a child who's just been given a load of candy. I have a dry mouth.The veritaserum serum has drained my saliva. "It foretells war," I said, "the identity of the pilgrims who take part in the Shrike's pilgrimage. The treachery of the Consul of the Overlord, who will activate a device that will open—already opened—the Time Tombs. Appearance of the Shrike's Bane. .war and the consequences of the Shrike's Bane..." "What did it turn out, John?" asked softly the woman with whom I'd just made love a few hours earlier. "The end of the Bannerlord," I said, "the destruction of the Web." I tried to lick my lips, but even my tongue was dry. "The end of humanity." "Oh, my God," whispered Diana, "could the prophecy be wrong?" "No," I said, "more precisely, there's nothing wrong with Hyperion's influence on the outcome. The rest of the variables should also be taken into account." "Kill him," cried Hormond Froome, "kill the monster . . . so we can get out of here and tell Harbritt and the others." "Okay," said Lady Diana.Then wait a second, "No, don't use the laser, you idiot. We'll just give him a lethal dose of alcohol as planned. Here, help me hold the penetrative cuff while I hook him up to the dropper." " I felt a burst of pressure in my right arm.A second later I heard an explosion, felt a shock, and heard a scream.I smell smoke and ionized air.A woman screamed. "Bring him the hoop off," said Lee Hunter.Now I can see him standing there, still in his old-fashioned gray uniform, surrounded by a group of Enforcement security commandos in tight armor and color-changing polymer suits.A commando twice as tall as Hunter nodded, put the Hell's Whip on his shoulder, and rushed to carry out Hunter's order. On a tactical channel that I've been monitoring for a while, I see a rebroadcast of myself... naked, sprawled on my back in bed, penetrative bands around my arms, bruises slowly forming on my ribcage.Diana Froome, her husband, and one of the thugs lay unconscious, but not dead, on the floor of the room already covered with broken bricks and shards of glass.Another thug lay across the door, the color and texture of his upper body looking like an overcooked steak. "Are you all right, Mr. Seven?" Lee Hunter asked, holding my head up and placing a thin-film oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. "Mmmm," I said, "still (okay)." I swam back to the surface of my consciousness, ascending from the depths at breakneck speed like a submersible.My head hurts like hell.The ribs also hurt beyond words.The eyes are not fully functional yet, but through the tactical channel, I can see Lee Hunter's thin lips twitch slightly, and I think he should show a smile with this movement. "We'll get you dressed," Hunter said, "and get you some coffee on the way back. The electromagnetic van will fly you back to Government House, Mr. Seven. You're late for the meeting with the Executor. "