Chapter 10 Chapter nine

One morning, CEO Pleasant's schedule was packed.The Whale Center operates twenty-three hours a day, which allows the government to work in accordance with the sovereign standard time without disrupting the local circadian rhythm at all.At 5:45, Yueshi received her military adviser.At 6:30, she had breakfast with more than 20 members of parliament, representatives of the overall situation and technical core and other heavyweights.At 7:15, the executive officer teleported to Revival Arrow, which was in the evening, to cut the official ribbon for the Hermes Medical Center in Kadua.At 7:40, she teleported back to the government building, received top aides including Lee Hunter, and familiarized herself with the speech she would give to the parliament and the overall situation at 10:00 in advance.At 8:30, Yueshi received General Morpurgo and Marshal Singer again, and learned the latest battle situation in the Hyperion galaxy.At 8:45, she received me.

"Good morning, Mr. Seven," said the CEO.She was sitting behind the desk in which I had first interviewed her three days earlier.She waved to a sideboard against the wall, where sterling silver jugs of hot coffee, fragrant tea, and kafuta sat securely. I shook my head and sat down.There were three holographic windows showing white light, only the one to my left showing the three-dimensional map of the Hyperion system, the one Yanni had tried to decipher when I was at the Strategic Resolution Center.To me, the red tiles that now represent the Ousters seem to have covered and permeated the entire galaxy, like red dye dissolved and mixed into a blue solution.

"I want to hear about your dream," said CEO Pleasant Stone. "I want to hear about why you didn't help them," I replied, flatly. "Why did you let Father Hoyt die? .” I think Yueshi is definitely not used to people talking to her in this tone, at least in the 48 years she has been in the parliament and the 15 years she has been the chief executive officer, but she did not respond, only the tip of one eyebrow raised slightly Young. "Then the things you dream about are real." "You doubt that?" She put down the work board she'd been holding, turned it off, and shook her head. "No real doubts, but I'm still shocked to hear you say things that no one else in the entire ring knows except me."

"Why did you refuse to authorize them to use the Consul's ship?" Yueshi's chair turned away, she looked up at the picture window, the tactical display there was constantly moving and changing, the latest information came, the flow of red, the retreat of blue, the movement of planets and satellites, everything was happening Constantly changing.I don't know if the war situation was one of her reasons, but she didn't say that.She turned around again. "Do I have to explain every administrative decision I make to you, Mr. Seven? Who gave you this power? Who do you represent?"

"On behalf of Hyperion's group of five adults and one child you've caught in a dilemma," I said, "Hoyt should be able to be saved." Yue Shi made a fist with one hand, and tapped his lower lip with his index finger knuckle. "Maybe," she said, "or maybe he's dead by then. But that's not the point, is it?" I sit back in my chair.I didn't bring a sketchbook with me because I thought it was troublesome, but my hands were empty, and my fingers were trying to hold something, which almost hurt. "Then what's the point?" "Remember the story of Father Hoyt... the story he told during his journey to the Tomb of Time?" Pleasant Stone asked.

"Remember." "Each pilgrim has the opportunity to make a wish to the Shrike. Tradition has it that the creature grants the wish of one while denying the wishes of the others, and those who are denied are killed. Do you remember? What is Hoyt's wish?" I paused.Remembering little things from the Pilgrim's past is as difficult as trying to recall the details of last week's dream. "He wants to take the crucifix away," I said. "He wants to get Father Durley's...soul, DNA, that thing anyway, freedom...and his own." "Not exactly," said Pleasant Stone, "Father Hoyt wants to die."

I stood up, nearly knocking over my chair, and strode over to the throbbing map. "Nonsense," I said. "Even if he wanted to die, others had a duty to save him...and you did. But you let him die." "yes." "You're going to let the rest of them die too?" "No need," said CEO Meina Gladstone, "that was their will... and the Shrike's will, if such a creature existed. All I know so far is their pilgrimage. It's too important to allow them...the slightest hold back...in making a decision." "Whose decision? Theirs? Six or seven people... plus a baby, how could the lives of these people... affect the future of a society of 150 billion people?" Of course, I knew the answer to that question .The Pilgrims were chosen with care by the AI ​​Advisory Council and the less perceptive seers of the Overlord.But what purpose do they have?unknown.They are all like ciphers, which coincide with the ultimate mystery of the entire Hyperion equation.

Did Pleasant Stone know the whole story, or did she only know what Alberto's advisers and her spies told her?I sighed, walked back to the chair and sat down. "Did your dream tell you what happened to Colonel Kassad?" the CEO asked. "No. They hadn't gone back to the Sphinx to hide from the sandstorm when I woke up." Yue Shi smiled slightly. "You realize, Mr. Seven, that the more convenient way to achieve our purpose is to sedate you, and at the same time connect you to the A voice output device so we can get a more consistent report of what's happening on Hyperion."

I also gave her a smile back. "Yeah," I said, "that's much more convenient. But if I sneak into the core through the data network and leave my body behind, then it won't be so convenient for you. If I'm imprisoned again , I will definitely do it.” "Of course," said Pleasant Stone, "if I were in this situation, I would definitely do it. Tell me, Mr. Seven, what does the inner core look like? What does that remote place where your consciousness really resides look like?" "Busy," I said, "Is there anything else you want to see me today?"

Gladstone smiled again, and this time I sensed that it was a real smile, not the weapon she was known to wield as a politician. "Yes," she said, "I do have other things on my mind. Would you like to go to Hyperion? Physical Hyperion?" "Physical Hyperion?" I repeated dumbly.Suddenly a strange excitement ran through my body, tingling in my fingers and toes.Maybe my senses do reside in the nuclei, but my body and brain are 100 percent human, completely governed by chemicals like adrenaline. Yue Shi nodded. "Millions of people want to go there. Want to teleport to a place they've never been before. Want to see the war up close." She sighed and moved the work board away. "Fool," she said, looking up at me, her brown eyes solemn. "But I want to send someone there and report to me in person. Lee is going out this morning with the newly built military hyperoptic transmission terminal, and I think you can go with him. Might not get to Hyperion in time, but at least you can get in galaxy."

Many questions popped into my head at once, and the first thought that popped up made me feel a little embarrassed. "Wouldn't that be dangerous?" Yue Shi's expression and tone of voice remained unchanged. "It's very likely. Although you will be far behind the line of fire, and Li has also received detailed instructions, he will not let himself...nor let you...approach places where he knows there are risks." Knowing where there are risks, I think.But in a war zone, with a creature like the Shrike roaming freely nearby, how many places are there without a known risk? "Okay," I said, "I'll go. But there's one more thing..." "What's up?" "I have to figure out why you want me to go. I personally feel that if you're just trying to get me in touch with the Pilgrims, you're taking an unnecessary risk by sending me away." Yue Shi nodded. "Mr. Seven, indeed, I am very interested in knowing your connection with the pilgrims... Although this connection is a bit weak. But at the same time, I am also really interested in your observation and evaluation. Your observation." "But I'm nothing to you," I said. "You have no idea who else I might report to at the same time, whether on purpose or otherwise. I'm created by the core of technology." "You're right," said Pleasant Stone, "but at the same time, you're probably the most outsider in the current Whale Center, and indeed in the entire Web. At the same time, your observations are those of a trained poet Eye, that is a genius I admire." I laughed out loud. "He is," I said, "I'm just a simulant. A parasite. A caricature." "Are you so sure?" Meina Yiyueshi asked. I raise my empty hands. "Ten months have passed since I embarked on this strange journey to the afterlife. I am alive, sane, and conscious, but I have never written a line of poetry," I said. "I have never thought in poetry. Is not enough to prove that my core extraction project is a bluff? Even my code name is a kind of blasphemy to Joseph Seven himself, I never dreamed of having his extraordinary talent...he is the same as the real Keats pales in comparison, but I am sullied in his name." "That may be true," said Pleasant Stone, "or it may not be. Whether it is or not, I ask you to accompany Mr. Hunter on this short trip to Hyperion." She paused. "You don't...have to...go. In many ways, you're not even a citizen of the Overlord. But I'd be very grateful if you did." "I'll go." I said again, my voice seemed very far away. "Very well. You'll need some thicker clothing. Don't wear the kind that would come loose or cause embarrassment in a free fall, though that's unlikely to happen to you. Go to the main transmission at the government building first. Node to meet Mr Hunter at…" She glanced at the comlog. "...in twelve minutes." I nodded and turned to leave. "Oh, Mr. Seven..." I stop at the door.The elderly woman behind the desk suddenly looked very small and tired. "Thank you, Mr. Seven," she said. Indeed, millions of people want to teleport to war zones.There was an uproar, petitions, debates about whether citizens could teleport to Hyperion, cruise lines begging for short-term excursions, and planetary politicians and Hegemony representatives asking permission to travel to the system for "fact-finding missions."All of these requests were denied.Citizens of the Web—especially those of the Hegemony with power and influence—are not used to being denied the right to new experiences.For the overlord, fighting with all his strength is still an unprecedented experience. But the CEO's agency and military leaders remain firm: no citizen or unauthorized organization is allowed to teleport into the Hyperion system, and no uncensored news reports are made public.In that era when information was available and ubiquitous, such a retreat policy was really maddening and itchy. After verifying the authorization card to more than a dozen security nodes, I finally met Mr. Hunter at the teleportation node of the executive department.Hunt was modestly attired in a black wool sweater, but in this area of ​​the government building, he caught the attention of those present in military uniform.I didn't have much time to change clothes, so I went back to the apartment and grabbed a baggy vest with lots of pockets for a lot of painting supplies and a 35mm imager. "Are you ready?" Hunter asked.The man with the face of a basset hound didn't seem happy to see me.In his hand was a small, plain black suitcase. I nod. Hunter gestured to a military transport technician, and a disposable population gleamed into view.I know that this thing is specially tuned to our DNA signatures and cannot accept anyone else.Hunter took a breath and walked in.I watched the surface of the quicksilver mouth ripple after he passed, like a brook returning to its original calm after the gentlest breeze.Then I went in too. It was rumored that people would not feel anything during the teleportation process in the original teleporter, so the artificial intelligence and human designers modified the machine to add a faint tingling and the sensation of experiencing ozone ionization to Make travelers feel like they're done with their trip.Fact or fiction, my skin still felt tense after I took a step from the door, so I paused, looking left and right. Weird, but true.Combat spaceships have been depicted in novels, movies, holograms, and thrilling simulations for eight hundred years; The flat-screen movies of the 2000s have already begun to describe epic and magnificent air battles, and large star dreadnoughts, loaded with incredible armaments, burst into space like streamlined cities.Even the recent flock of war holograms based on the Battle of Brescia shows large fleets battling it out in a space so cramped that two ground soldiers would feel claustrophobic, ships quickly turning, firing, burning, Like a Greek trireme squeezed into the Straits of Artemisia. It's no wonder that when I walk on the flagship of the fleet, I expect that I will walk on the bridge as wide as in the holographic movie. The huge screen will show the situation of the enemy ships, and the tweeters will roar in unison. The commander huddled together in front of the tactical command panel, while the spaceship kept tilting from right to left.Thinking of this, my heart beat faster and my palms became slightly moist. Where Hunter and I were standing was a narrow hallway in a power plant.The color-coded tubes twisted here and there, and only now and then a handle or airlock door appeared at regular intervals to show that we were indeed inside the spaceship.From what the state-of-the-art touch displays and interactive control panels show, the hallway serves some purposes rather than leading directly to others, and its overall effect is indistinguishable from claustrophobic and primitive technology.I'm looking forward to seeing the cables coming from the nodes of the circuit.A vertical elevator shaft divided our corridor; other hatches revealed other narrow, chaotic passages. Hunter looked at me and shrugged slightly.I wondered if we might have been teleported to the wrong destination. Before the two could speak, at this moment, a young space lieutenant of the military department came out from a side corridor in a black combat uniform, saluted Hunter, and said, "Welcome to the 'Hebrides' Gentlemen. Marshal Nasita ordered me to convey his greetings to the two of you and invite you to the combat control center. Please follow me." After speaking, the young ensign turned around and reached out to grab a rung, and then pulled himself into a narrow vertical shaft. We followed him as best we could.Hunter struggled not to drop his small suitcase, and I tried to keep my hands from being trampled by Hunter's heels as I climbed.After climbing a few yards, I realized that the gravity here was far less than one gauge.In fact, it wasn't gravity at all, it felt more like a horde of tiny but persistent hands pushing me "down".I used to know that some spacecraft simulate gravity by enclosing the entire ship in a primary containment field, but this is my first direct experience.It wasn't really pleasant: I felt like I was running against the wind in the face of constant stress, and in addition to that I suffered from cramped corridors, pocket doors, and equipment clutter. The feeling of claustrophobia caused by the bulk of the bulkhead. "Hebrides" is a 3C communication control ship, and the combat command center is both its heart and its brain - but this thing that is both heart and brain is not very outstanding.The young ensign took us through three airlock doors and down a final corridor, guarded by naval guards who saluted each of them.At last we were left in a hut about twenty yards square, which was so noisy and crowded with so many persons and equipment that my first impulse was to retreat out of the hatch, Take a breath of fresh air. There are no huge display screens here, but there are many young military space officers gathered in front of the mysterious monitors. It looks like it's sticking out of six bulkheads.Men and women seemed strapped to their chairs and sensual boats, and only a handful of officials—most of whom looked less like savage warriors than tortured officials—were in the narrow corridors. Up and down, tapping the appendage on the back, yelling, demanding more information, plugging the implant jack into the console.One of these men hurried up to us, looked at us, saluted, and asked me, "Mr. Hunter?" I nodded to my companion. "Mr. Hunter," said the huge young lieutenant colonel, "Marshal Nasita wants to see you now." The supreme commander of the overlord's army stationed in the Hyperion galaxy is a short man with light white hair and smooth skin far beyond his age, with a frowning expression on his face. It looks like a trace engraved on it.Marshal Nasita wore a black high-collared uniform, but without rank insignia, except for a red dwarf pinned to the collar.His hands were rough and powerful, with newly manicured nails.The marshal sits on a small platform surrounded by equipment and a static follower.Busy and methodical professional madness seemed to flow around him, like a torrent rounding a rock and the stone remaining there. "You are the messenger from Pleasant Stone," he said to Hunter, "who is this?" "My assistant," said Lee Hunter. I fought the urge to raise my eyebrows. "What can I do?" Nasita asked. "As you can see, we are very busy." Lee Hunter nodded and looked around. "I have some papers to convey to you, Marshal. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?" Marshal Nasita grunted and brushed his palm across a rheostat sensor, and the air behind us grew denser, condensing into a semi-solid mist as the obscuring field gradually activated.The noise from the battle control center completely disappeared.The three of us were secluded in a small quiet igloo. "Speak quickly." Marshal Nasita said. Hunter opened the suitcase and took out a small envelope with the government building logo on the back. "This is a personal letter from the Chief Executive Officer," said Hunter, "for your perusal at your leisure, Marshal." Nacita grunted again and put the envelope aside. Hunter put a larger envelope on the table. "This is a hard copy of the parliament's proposal on how to conduct this... ah... military operation. You know, what the council means is to make this battle a quick one, to achieve the limited goals as soon as possible, and to try to Minimize casualties, and give general assistance and protection to our new ... colonial assets." Nasita's face twitched slightly.He didn't look at the document conveying the will of Parliament, he didn't even touch it. "Only this?" After a while, Hunter answered him. "That's all. Finally, you can pass some private messages to the CEO through me, Marshal." Nacita stared at him.There was no violent hostility in his little black eyes, only a look of impatience, which, I guess, could never be appeased unless those eyes were dimmed with death. "I can reach the CEO via private hyperoptic communication," said the Marshal. "Thank you very much, Mr. Hunter. No reply this time. Could you please be merciful now and return to the teleportation node in the middle of the ship in order to allow me to continue this military operation." The containment field disintegrated around us, and the noise poured in like water over a melting ice dam. "One more thing," Lee Hunter said, his soft voice almost lost in the technical cacophony of the battle center. Marshal Nasita turned his chair around and waited for him to move Chrysostom. "We want to go down, to the planets below," Hunter said, "to Hyperion." The marshal's sorrow seemed to deepen. "CEO Pleasant Stone's people didn't talk about arranging a landing ship." Hunter looked him straight in the eye. "Governor Wren knows we might go." Nacita glanced at a follower board, snapped his fingers, and snarled at a hurriedly approaching lieutenant commander. "Then you must hurry," the marshal said to Hunter, "there's a mail ship just leaving from Port Twenty. Major Inverness will take you there, to the main jump ship. The 'Hebrides' will Depart from here in twenty-three minutes." Hunter nodded and left with the major.I followed closely.But the Marshal's voice stopped us. "Mr. Hunter," he shouted, "please tell CEO Yueshi that the flagship is too busy to accept any other political visits from now on." After speaking, Nasita turned to face the flickering random There was a palette and a long line of subordinates waiting for instructions. I followed Hunter and the major back into the labyrinth of winding paths. "There should be some windows here." "What?" I kept thinking about other things in my mind and didn't pay attention to what he said. Lee Hunter turned to look at me. "I've never been in a dropship without windows or viewing screens. It's weird." I nodded and looked around, noticing its cramped, cramped interior for the first time.Indeed, in the passenger compartment of the landing craft, there were only undecorated bulkheads, and besides that there were piles of supplies, and a young captain was with us.It seemed to echo the claustrophobic atmosphere of the command ship. I looked away and returned to the question that had been haunting me since we left Nacita.On the way to Airport 20 with these two people, it suddenly occurred to me that I would lose something myself, but I didn't lose it.Part of the anxiety I felt about this trip was the thought of being off the data grid; I was like a fish out of the ocean thinking for myself.A part of my consciousness was submerged somewhere in that ocean, a sea of ​​data and public links from two hundred planets, cores, all held together by an invisible medium that used to be called the data plane, now it's called Wan Fang network. As I left Nacita, I could still hear the pulse of that particular ocean—distant but constant, like the sound of a wave heard a mile from shore—and the thought struck me. .I was trying to figure it out in the rush to the dropship, until I settled on the dropship, disengaged from the main ship, and even in the last ten minutes of the sprint into Earth-Moon orbit, before entering the edge of Hyperion's atmosphere. understand this phenomenon. The military has always prided itself on having its own artificial intelligence, its own data network and processing resources.On the surface, it is because they need to run various operations in the vast space between the planets of the ring network, as well as in the dark and lonely space above the ring network million square network, but the real reason is probably that the military has A strong desire to deliberately demonstrate their independence to the technical core.However, on a corps warship at the center of the corps armada in a place that is neither the ring nor the protectorate, I tuned in to some comforting background data and surge of energy that was the same as I was in the ring. Exactly the same as you can find anywhere.It's really interesting. I'm reminded of the teleporter's link to the Hyperion system: not just the warp ship and the teleportation cloaking sphere floating like a glowing crescent at Hyperion's J3 point, but the miles-long Mega-frequency fiber optics snaked through the teleportation portal of the permanent jump ship, and microwave repeaters mechanically shuttled back and forth between those few feet, relaying their messages with near real-time efficiency, directing the ship's domesticated artificial intelligence , invites—and receives—links to Olympus High Command on Mars and elsewhere.In some places, perhaps even the military leadership, their experts and allies are not aware of its existence, and the data network has already infiltrated.The Inner AI is aware of everything that happens within the Hyperion system.If my body were dying now, I could escape as usual, through those throbbing links to the secret passages beyond the ring, above any data plane known to man, without being noticed by anyone , and along the data link tunnel into the technology core itself.Not really going into the inner core, I think, because the inner core surrounds and envelops the rest, like an ocean that receives different ocean currents, and we can also think of the large gulf currents as they divide the ocean. "I wish there was a window here," whispered Lee Hunter. "Yeah," I said, "me too." With a sprint and a violent jolt of the landing craft, we entered the upper atmosphere of Hyperion.Hyperion, I thought to myself.Shrike.My heavy shirt and vest seemed to have become sticky and stuck to me.There was a slight rustling sound, and it goes without saying that we were flying across the blue sky at several times the speed of sound. The young captain leaned forward from the corridor. "First landing, gentlemen?" Hunter nodded. The Captain was chewing gum, showing how relaxed he was. "Both of you are technicians from the Hebrides?" "Yes, that's where we came from," said Hunter. "I think so," the captain grinned. "I'm sending a package to the naval base near Keats. This is my fifth trip." A slight tremor went through me, and I remembered the capital's name; Hyperion was once inhabited by Sad King Billy and his expatriates, full of poets and artists and other misfits, because Horace Glennongard's invasion and exile here - even though that invasion never happened.The poet who is taking part in the current Shrike Pilgrimage, Martin Silenus, suggested nearly two centuries ago that Sad King Billy should name the capital after it.Keats.Locals call the former old town Jack Town. "You won't believe there's a place like this," said the captain. "It's a real dead end. It doesn't go anywhere. I mean, there's no data network, no electromagnetic vehicles, no teletransmitters, no stimulus Simulation, nothing. No wonder there are always tens of thousands of fucking natives trying to camp near the airport, and attacking the fence, trying to get into the ring." "Are they really attacking the airport?" Hunter asked. "No," said the captain, popping his gum, "but they're ready to invade, I hope you know what I mean. So the Second Navy Battalion has set up a defensive belt there and sent troops Watch out for the roads into the city. Besides, now those country folks think we'll build teleporters one day and let them teleport out and get out of this mess they've asked for." "What did they ask for?" I asked. The captain shrugged. "They must have done something bad to make the Ousters hate them, right? We're here to help them." "It's a chestnut from the fire," Lee Hunter said. The chewing gum "popped" again. "Whatever it is." The rustle of the wind became louder and louder, gradually turning into a scream, which could be heard clearly across the hull.The lander bounced a couple of times on the ground, then began to glide smoothly—ominously smoothly—as if entering an ice chute ten miles above the ground. "Wish we had a window here," whispered Lee Hunter. It was stuffy and hot in the landing craft.Strangely enough, the bouncing is a bit relaxing, more like a small sailboat bobbing in the slow waves.I closed my eyes and rested for a few minutes.