Chapter 33 Chapter Thirty-Two
Martin Silenus writhed and writhed, and the pain was poetic.A two-meter-long steel thorn pierced his body from between his two shoulder blades, and then poked out from his chest, with a one-meter-long tip sticking out, it was really rash.Even if he stretched the ape arm, he couldn't touch the tip.There was no friction on the thorn, and his sweaty palm and curled fingers couldn't get a firm grip on it.But although the thorns were slippery and out of reach, his body did not slip off, and he was firmly nailed there, like a butterfly nailed for display.
no blood.
Reason returned in a haze of painful madness, and Martin Silenus wondered for hours afterwards.no blood.But there is pain.Oh, yes, that is pain that is endless—pain beyond the imagination of the poet, beyond the imagination of his wildest imagination, pain beyond human endurance, beyond the bounds of suffering.
But Silenas persevered.Silenas bore that pain.
He began to scream for the thousandth time, the voice was rough, the content was empty, the words were incoherent, and there was no obscenity.Words cannot express this pain.Silenas screamed and writhed.After a while, his limbs hung there limply, and a long thorn swayed slightly in response to his swing.There were others hanging above him, below him, behind him, but Silenus didn't take the time to notice them.Everyone is separated by their own personal cocoon of pain.
"Why is hell here," Silenus thought, quoting Marlowe, ""
But he knew it wasn't hell.Nor is there any afterlife.But he also knew that this was not an offshoot of reality; the thorn had pierced his real body!Eight centimeters of organic steel penetrated his chest!But he didn't die.He did not bleed.This is some real place, something real, but not hell, not this world.
The timing is weird here.Silenus knew before that time stretched and slowed—the pain of sitting in a dentist's chair exposing nerves, the agony of waiting in a medical clinic waiting room for kidney stones—time could slow, angry The pointer of the biological clock was in shock and did not move, and the time seemed to have stopped.But at that time, time was actually moving.Root canal filling surgery completed.The super morphine finally arrived and took effect.But here, there is no time and the air freezes.Pain is the eddy and foam of a wave, and that wave never stops.
Silenas screamed in anger and pain.Writhing on his spines.
"Thunderbolt!" he said at last, "Thunderbolt son of a bitch." The words were vestiges of another life, and before the reality of the tree, the former life seemed to be dream.Silenus only vaguely remembered that life, and he also vaguely remembered that the Shrike had brought him here, stabbed him here, left him here.
"Oh God!" screamed the poet, grasping the thorns with both hands, trying to lift himself up to relieve the pain of the heavy body, which infinitely increased the infinite pain.
Below is a landscape.He looked out for miles.It was a still papier-mâché diorama, the valley of the Tombs of Time, and the desert beyond.Even the dead city and distant mountains have been reproduced as plasticized barren miniatures.None of this matters.In Martin Silenas' heart, there are only trees and pain.The two are inseparable.Silenas grinned in excruciating pain, showing his teeth.When he was a kid on the Old Earth, he and his best friend, Amalfi Schwartz, visited the Catholic communes of the North American Preserve and learned about their poor theology, after which he made fun of it many times" the punishment of crucifixion".At that time, the young Martin spread his arms and legs, looked up and said, "Oh, I can see the whole city from here." Amalfi laughed wildly.
Silenas screamed.
Time didn't really pass, but after a while, Silenus's mind returned to something like a linear observation... different from the dots and incoherence in the desert of blindly accepted pain. An oasis of clear, pure pain... In his linear sense of his own pain, Silenus began to impose time on this eternal place.
First, the obscenities made his pain clear.He cried out the pain, but his anger became clear too.
Then, in the weary hours between the shouts and the sheer spasms of pain, Silenas was lost in thought.At first, it's just to keep track of the mental timeline that separates the pain ten seconds ago from the pain to come.Silenus found that the pain lessened a little when he concentrated—still unbearable, still driving all real thoughts, like smoke in the wind, but always less or less.
So Silenus began to concentrate.He screamed, cussed, and writhed, but he concentrated.With nothing else to focus on, he could only focus on the pain.
Suffering, he discovered, has structure.It has an architectural plan, more complex in structure than a nautilus with its chambers, and more Baroque than a Gothic cathedral with many buttresses.Even as he yells, Martin Silenus works on his anguished structures.It was a poem, he realized.
For the ten thousandth time, Silinas arched his body and neck, searching for pain relief in this impossible place, but this time, he saw a familiar figure five meters above his head, Hanging from an indistinguishable spine, writhing in that phantom pain.
"Billy!" gasped Martin Silenus, his first real thought.
The former king and benefactor gazed across the boundless abyss, blinded by pain, which blinded Silenus's as well, but he turned slightly, as if in the place where the name had been forgotten, and responded The calling of his name.
"Billy!" Silenus yelled again, and then his vision was blurred and his mind was blurred with pain.He concentrated on the structure of pain, following its pattern as if he were tracing the trunk, branches, twigs and thorns of the tree. "Your Highness!"
Silenus heard another voice over the shout, and was surprised to find both the shout and the voice coming from his own mouth:
. . . Thou art a dream;
Thine fanaticism—think of the earth;
If there is hope, how will Fuyou treat you?
Who is safe haven?all things live;
Everyone has joy and pain every day,
Whether his toil be noble or low—
Pain alone, joy alone, distinct:
Only the dreamer resents, his whole life,
Although deserved, but with more sorrow!
He knew the poem, not his, but John Keats's, and he felt the words building more and more the anguished chaos around him.This pain, Silenus knew, was inherent—a gift from the universe to poets.It was the physical response to the pain he felt, in poetry, in prose, in all that useless life time.It is more painful than pain; it is sorrow, for the universe pains all things.
Only the dreamer hates his life,
Although deserved, but with more sorrow!
Silenus yelled, but didn't scream.The howls of pain in the trees were subdued for only a second, and they were more mental than physical.In a sea of wholeheartedness, there is an island of distraction.
"Martin!"
Silenus arched his back, threw his head back, trying to focus in the haze of pain.Sad King Billy was watching him.watch.
Sad King Billy uttered two syllables hoarsely. After endless time, Silenas finally recognized that it was "again".
Silenus screamed in pain, writhing under the convulsions of blind physical response, and when he stopped, he swayed exhaustedly from side to side, the pain undiminished, but already driven away by the brain's engine by the toxins of exhaustion Yes, he let his inner voice cry out, and began to chant under his breath:
Come buy spirits!The biggest king!
Come buy spirits!The most bitter king of suffering!
Come buy spirits!The thirstiest king of thirst!
Come buy spirits!The saddest king of mourning!
spirits!kowtow
My forehead is as low as a bucket,
Your shoulders cover my head!
spirits!take a look
all feelings to torture
Thy pale flesh!
The small circle of silence expanded to include several branches on the side, a handful of thorns, from which hung clusters of human beings in excruciating pain.
Silenus looked up at Billy the Sad King, and the betrayed king opened his eyes.For the first time in more than two centuries, the benefactor and the poet looked at each other.Silenus spoke his mind, and it was the words that brought him here, that stuck him here. "My lord, I'm sorry."
Before Billy could react, before the screaming chorus drowned out any reaction, the air suddenly changed, the frozen sense of time stirred suddenly, and the thorn tree suddenly began to sway, as if the whole tree had suddenly fallen a meter downward.As the branches trembled, the thorns that pierced his body tore Silenas' internal organs, his flesh over and over again, and he screamed with the rest.
Silinas opened his eyes, and he saw that the sky was real, the desert was real, the Tomb of Time was shining, the wind was howling, and time began to flow again.The torment showed no signs of abating, but the mind was regaining its clarity.
Martin Silenus laughed as tears welled up in his eyes. "Look, Mom!" he cried, laughing, the steel spear still standing on the shattered chest, sticking out a meter, "I can see the whole city from here!"
"Mr. Seven? Are you all right?"
My head was on my hands and knees, panting as I turned toward the sound, it was painful to open my eyes, but nothing like what I had just experienced.
"Your Excellency, are you all right?"
No one was around me in the garden.The sound came from a tiny remote control buzzing half a meter in front of me, presumably a security agent somewhere in a government building.
"Well," I managed to speak, stood up, and wiped the gravel from my knees, "it's okay. I suddenly felt...a pain."
"Your Excellency, medical personnel will be here in two minutes. Your biomonitoring shows no organic problems, but we can..."
"No, no," I said, "I'm fine. Let it go. Leave me alone."
The remote flutters like a frightened hummingbird. "Okay, Your Excellency. If there is anything you need, please feel free to ask. The garden and ground monitoring will reply to you."
"Go away," I said.
I walked out of the gardens, through the main hall of the government building - where all the checkpoints and security guards are now in place - across the picturesque grounds of Deer Park, and out.
The dock area is very quiet, I have never seen the Tethys so calm. "What happened?" I asked a security officer on the pier.
The guard picked up my comlog, confirmed my executable override signal and the CEO's warrant, but was still in no rush to answer me. "The portal to the whale's heart is closed," he said lazily. "The river is bypassed."
"Bypass? You mean the Tethys no longer flows through the center of the whale?"
"Yes." A small boat came towards us. He flipped down the goggles, confirmed the two security personnel inside, and pulled it up again.
"Can I get out there?" I pointed to the tall portal above the river showing a gray opaque curtain.
The guard shrugged. "Yes. But you are not allowed to return from there."
"Never mind. Can I take that boat?"
The guard whispered something into Beaded Mike, then nodded. "Go."
I stepped cautiously into the boat, sat in the stern seat, and held on to the gunwale until the shaking stopped.I pressed the power touch display and said, "Start."
The electric jet engine hummed, the launch kicked up, nose dipped into the river, and I pointed upstream.
I've never in my life heard of the Tethys being cordoned off, but now the teleporter's curtain is apparently a one-way, translucent membrane.The boat buzzed in, I shook my shoulders to get rid of the tingling, and looked around.
I'm in one of those huge canal cities in Renaissance Arrow—maybe Admond, maybe Pamoro.The Tethys River here is a main channel with many subsidiary tributaries.Usually, the only means of transportation on the river here is: the tourist gondola (a narrow and long light flat-bottomed boat) in the outlying way, and the yachts and "omnipotent" in the middle way.Today it is a mental hospital.
All kinds of ships, big and small, are blocking the middle lane, both directions.The houseboats were piled high with belongings, and the boats were so heavily loaded that the slightest wave or motion seemed to overturn them.Hundreds of richly decorated Chinese galleons from Qingdao and Xishuangbanna compete for waterways with millionaire apartment yachts from Fuji Star; some of these residential boats, I guess, never leave their moorings.In this riot of wood, plastic steel and plexiglass, "Nowhere to Go" shuttles freely like silver eggs, and their sealing fields are set in a state of total reflection.
I asked the datanet: Renaissance Arrow was in the middle of a second wave of attacks, one hundred and seven hours before the invasion.I find it very strange that the refugees from Fuji star are also crowded in these waterways. There are still more than two hundred hours before the ax cuts down that world.Then I realized that although the whale's heart had been removed from the channel, the Tethys still flowed through those old worlds.The refugees from Fuji Star actually came from Qingdao, where there were 33 hours before the Ousters invaded, they crossed Tianjin Sibing with 147 hours left, crossed the Fuxing Arrow, and wanted to go to Miserly Star or In the grassland world, neither of them is under much threat at this time.I shook my head and found a relatively healthy side channel, and I watched all this madness there, wondering when the authorities will change the river and let all the threatened worlds flow directly to the sanctuary Woolen cloth.
Can they do this?I wondered.The Tethys River is placed by the technological core, and it is a gift given to it on the 500th birthday of the Overlord.But, of course, Yueshi or someone must have thought about asking Kernel to help evacuate the people.Have it?I pondered.Will the kernel help?I know Pleasant Stone believes that there is a force within her core determined to wipe out the human race - this war is an option she has no choice over.How easy it is if the inner forces against humanity want to carry out their plans - they just have to refuse to evacuate the billions of humanity threatened by the Outcasts!
I kept laughing, however grinningly, but it faded when I realized that the techno-core sustains and controls the network of teleporters that I, too, depend on to escape these menacing places.
I moored my yacht at the bottom of a rocky staircase that descended into the disgusting water of the river.I noticed green moss growing on the lowest rocks.The rocky steps themselves - probably from the Old Earth, as some of the classical cities were transported by teleporter in the early years after the Big Mistake - have been worn down over the years, and I can see on them what looks like a beautiful tracery. The cracks, connected by spots of foam, looked like a schematic diagram of the World Wide Web.
It was warm and the air was very dull.The sun of revival hangs low on the gable tower.The light was so red and bright that I could hardly keep my eyes open.Even here, after walking more than a hundred meters along the alley-like road, the sound from the Tethys River is still deafening.Pigeons circled restlessly under the black walls and overhanging eaves.
what can I do?Everyone seems to be up to something as the world hangs its head toward destruction.And all I can do is wander aimlessly.
That's your job.You are an observer.
I rub my eyes.Who says poets have to be observers?I think of Li Bai and Wu Qiaozhi, who led their armies across China and wrote some of the most sentimental poetry in history while their soldiers were asleep.Well, at least Martin Silenus had a long and eventful life, even if half of the events were obscene and the other half spoiled.
I groan aloud when I think of Martin Silenus.
Is that child, Rachel, hanging on the thorn tree now?
I thought about it for a moment, wondering if such a fate would be better than the rapid extinction of Merlin's disease.
No.
I closed my eyes and put away all other thoughts, hoping to get in touch with Sol and find out the fate of the child.
The boat swayed slightly, and the wake spread to the distance.Above my head, pigeons flapped their wings and flew under the ledge, cooing to each other.
"I don't care how hard it is!" cried Meina Gladstone, "I want all fleets to go into the Vega system to defend the Gates of Heaven. Then move the necessary fleets to the Sacred Grove and other threatened worlds. We The only advantage now is our mobility!"
Marshal Singer's face was black with disappointment. "It's too dangerous, Mr. Executive Officer! If we directly transfer the fleet to the Vega galaxy, we are taking a great risk, and the fleet will be cut off there. The Destroyer will definitely find a way to destroy the system connected to the ring network of the singularity ball."
"Then keep it!" Yue Shi sternly shouted, "All expensive warships have to rely on it."
Singer looked to Morpurgo and the other senior officers for their help.But no one said a word.This group of people is at the center of executive comprehensive strategic decisions.The walls are covered with holograms and streaming columns of data.But no one was looking at the wall.
"Our entire force is protecting the singularity in Hyperion airspace," Marshal Singer said, his voice low enough to allow for words, "under attack and retreating, especially under the pressure of the entire The onslaught of the hordes, that's hard. If the singularity ball is destroyed, our fleet will be separated from the ring network by eighteen months of time debt. Before they return, the war will have been lost."
Yue Shi nodded slightly. "I told you to teleport all fleets to the Vega system, not to put the Singularity Ball at risk. The Marshal... I have agreed to let them take Hyperion in order to withdraw all our warships...but I What I want to say is that we cannot surrender without a fight, that we cannot surrender the world of the Web to the Ousters."
General Mopurge stood up.The Lutherian looked exhausted. "CEO, we do plan for a battle. But we feel it makes more sense to launch our defenses in Hebron or Renaissance Arrow. Not only will we gain five days or so to prepare our defenses, but—"
"And nine worlds lost!" interrupted Yueshi, "and billions more citizens. Humans. We would lose the Gates of Heaven, which is bad, but the Sacred Forest is a cultural and ecological property. That cannot be replaced."
"CEO," said Secretary of Defense Alan Eben, "there is evidence that the Saints have been colluding with the so-called Shrike Church for many years. Much of the funding for the Shrike Church's activities comes from..."
Yue Shi flicked his fingers, telling the man to shut up. "I don't care about that. But I never thought we'd lose the Sacred Forest. If we can't defend Vega and the Gate of Heaven, then we'll take the battle back to the planet of the Saints. That's it."
Singer smiled coldly, he seemed to be suppressed by invisible shackles. "CEO, we can't even get an hour's head start."
"It has been decided," Yueshi repeated, "Lee, how is the Luthers riot going?"
Hunter cleared his throat.His demeanor was humbler and more deliberate than before. "Master Executive Officer, at least five beehives have been involved. The property of hundreds of millions of marks has been destroyed. The army troops of the military department have been sent there from Liberty Island. It seems that they have controlled the vicious mob who looted and demonstrated, but We cannot estimate when the teleportation function of those hives will be restored. There is no doubt that the Church of the Shrike is the culprit in this incident. The initial riots in the Bergson hives began with a demonstration by a group of believer fanatics. It popped up on TV and then cut off..."
Yue Shi lowered his head. "Ah, he finally surfaced. Is he still in Luthers now?"
"We don't know, Mr. Executor," said Hunter, "that the Transit Authorities are trying to track him and his chief acolytes."
Meina Gladstone turned and looked at a young man whom I didn't recognize for a moment.It was some time before I recognized Commander William Ajunta Lee, the hero of Mauiyo.The last time I heard about him was when he dared to speak out his thoughts in front of his superiors, so he was dispatched to a remote area.Now he wears the Navy uniform of the Ministry of the Army, with the green and gold Rear Admiral's Medal on the epaulettes.
"How about fighting for each world?" Pleasant Stone asked him, ignoring his own decree that "the decision is made and cannot be changed."
"CEO, I think that was a mistake," Lee said. "A total of nine squadrons were deployed to attack. There was only one team, and we didn't have to worry about it for three years because that team is now attacking Hyperion. .If we use our fleet—even half of it—to face the threat of God's Forest, we will be 100% unable to divert that force to defend the other eight planets that were attacked by the first wave."
Yue Shi scratched his lower lip. "What do you suggest?"
Rear Admiral Lee took a deep breath. "I suggest that we admit the loss and simply blow up the singularity balls of the nine worlds, and prepare to give them a head-on blow before the second wave of wanderers reaches the inhabited galaxy."
The people at the table were suddenly in an uproar.Senator Feldstein from Barna's Field stood up and yelled.
Pleasant Stone waited for the storm to subside. "You mean, it's better to strike first? Counterattack Youqun instead of waiting to defend, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Executor."
Pleasant Stone pointed at Marshal Singer. "Is it possible? Can we plan, prepare, and launch an attack like this? We—" she looked at the data stream on the wall above her head, "—have only ninety-four standard hours."
Everyone's attention turned to Singer. "Is it possible? Ah...CEO, maybe, but the political repercussions of losing the nine worlds of the Web...ah... such logistical difficulties are ____"
"But it's possible, isn't it?" Pleasant Stone insisted.
"Ah... yes, Mr. Chief Executive. But if—"
"Just do it," Yueshi said.As soon as she stood up, the others at the table stood up quickly. "Mr. Feldstein, please come to my room. I will discuss with several of you influential members. Lee, Alan, please notify me immediately if there is any trouble in the Luthers riot. The War Council will be in four hours Reassemble here. Good day, ladies and gentlemen."
I walked on the street in a trance, with emotional scenes echoing in my mind.Leaving the Tethys River, there are fewer canals here, wider pedestrian avenues, and a large group of people crowding the streets.I let the comlog lead me to other terminals, but every time there's a mob of people around there.After a few minutes, I finally realized that these people were not just residents of Renaissance Arrow trying to get out, but also tourists from all over the Web, pushing and shoving to get in.I wondered if the folks at Pleasant Stone's evacuation task force ever thought about this: the millions of curious people teleporting here, wanting to witness the outbreak of war.
I don't understand how I dreamed about the conversations that Pleasant Stone had in the Strategic Decision Center, but I'm also sure that those conversations were real.I started thinking back and remembering the details of my dreams from that long night ago—not just the Hyperion dream, but the CEO's world tour and details of the high-level meeting.
who am I?
Cyborgs are bio-remote devices, are add-ons, belong to artificial intelligence...or, here belong to artificial intelligence reconstruction personality...they are safely hidden somewhere in the inner core.It is important that the inner core is fully aware of what is happening in government buildings, in the many, many halls of human leadership.Humans are tired of sharing their lives with highly capable artificial intelligence surveillance, just as families in the Old Antebellum South are tired of speaking in front of their human slaves.But tired of being tired, there's nothing they can do about it - anyone above the poorest class of the lowest hives of scum, with biomonitored comlogs, many with implants, that listen to the datanet The joy, monitored by the elements of the data network, depends everywhere on the functions of the data network.Humans accept the scarcity of privacy.An artist at Hope Star once told me: "Having sex or arguing in front of a house surveillance camera is like undressing in front of a cat or a dog... You hesitate at first, but soon you will Forget about it."
Am I plugging into some background channel that only the kernel knows about?Here's an easy way to prove it: throw my cyberbody here, and I'll go to the core by myself along the Wanfang highway, just like Braun and my disembodied copy, which is the Once I share their feelings.
No.
The thought made me dizzy, almost made me sick.I found a bench, sat there for a while, buried my head between my knees, and took slow, deep breaths.The crowd passed by.Someone, somewhere, was speaking to them from a bullhorn.
I'm starving and haven't eaten for at least twenty-four hours.My cyber body, oh no, my body is extremely weak and hungry.I got up and squeezed my way into an alley where hawkers yelled over the din, peddling their wares from a wheelbarrow.
I went to a trolley (where the line was short), asked a woman for pancakes coated with honey, a cup of aromatic Brescia coffee, a bag of pita bread with salad, and tapped the Universal card. Touched, paid the bill, climbed a flight of stairs to an abandoned building, sat on the terrace and started tasting.The taste is amazing.I was sipping my coffee, wondering if I should go back and buy another pancake, when I noticed that the crowd in the square below had ceased its mindless swell and gathered around a handful of people standing On the edge of the wide fountain in the center.Their loudspeaker-amplified voices flowed over the heads of the crowd to me:
"...the angel of retribution has been released among us, the prophecy has been fulfilled, the millennium has come...the avatar will begin the sacrifice...the Church of Doomsday Atonement has prophesied, and they know, that redemption must be accomplished, which is ours Forever to know...but this compromise is too late...too late in the mutual killing struggle...the end of man is at hand, the tribulation has begun, the millennium of our Lord is at hand."
I realized that the man in the red coat was the priest of the Shrike Church, and the crowd was responding—sporadic cries of agreement at first, the occasional "Yes, yes!" and "Amen!", and then a chorus Shouts, raised fists surging above the crowd's heads, and uncontrollable frantic screams.To take a step back, this is highly disproportionate.The ring network in this century has many religious meanings in the old Rome BC: a policy of tolerance, tolerating a variety of religions—like Zen Spiritualism, most of them are intertwined and fused, and their essence has been changed, but It's not like being converted.And the usual gist is a mild cynicism about religious impulses, and a kind of indifference.
But not now, not in this square.
I pondered how recent centuries have gotten rid of riots: to start a riot, there must be a public meeting, and in our time, public meetings consist of personal conversations through global or other datanet channels; Thousands of miles, even light-years away, only connected by communication cables and ultra-optical lines, in this case, it is difficult to create the passion of the mob.
I was dreaming, and suddenly I was overwhelmed: the roar of the crowd fell silent, and a thousand faces turned towards me.
"...there is one of them!" shouted the Shrike saint, his red robe gleaming as he pointed to me, "a man of the overlord's sealed sect... a scheming sinner who put salvation in Brought to us today... it's him, and people like him, who want to incarnate the Shrike for you to atone for his sins, while he and others hide in the safety of the secret world, that's the Overlord Head A safe place for us to stay and prepare for this day!"
I put down my coffee cup, swallow the last bite of my pancake, and stare at them.What the man said was really inexplicable.But how did he know I was from Whaleheart?How did he know that I had contact with Yueshi?I looked over again, shielding my eyes from the glare with my hands, trying not to see the faces looking up at me, the fists shaking.I watched the face of the man in the red robe...
My God, that's Spencer Reynolds, the performance artist who tried to dominate the conversation at the party last time in Treetops.Reynolds had shaved his head, and the curls under his hat were gone, save for a Shrike braid at the back, and though the face was now distorted with artificial rage and the zeal of the faithful, it was still dark, Still handsome.
"Grab him!" shouted Reynolds, the Shrike church agitator, still pointing in my direction. "Catch him, let him atone for the destruction of our homeland, the breakdown of our family, the end of our world, atonement!"
I glanced behind me, wondering if this pompous poser wasn't talking about me.
But he was talking about me.Enough people turned into mobs, a wave of people around this yelling demagogue politician came in my direction, fists flailing, spittle flying, that crowd pushed the others off center, and then The fringe crowd below me also rushed towards me to avoid being trampled to death.
The crowd turned into a roaring, shouting, screaming mob; at that time, the combined IQ of this crowd was not as good as the most ordinary person among them.Thugs have passion, but no brains.
I'm not going to linger there any longer and explain it all to them.The crowd split into two and rushed up the stairs on both sides.I turned around and pulled the wooden door behind me.The door is locked.
I kicked and kicked hard, and after the third kick, the door finally cracked open.I stepped into the opening, almost caught by the hand behind me, and started running up the dark staircase in the hall, which was old and musty.The mob yelled and yelled, and I heard a crackling, crackling sound, and they had destroyed the door behind me.
There was a room on the third floor, and although the building looked abandoned, it was occupied by people.The door was unlocked.I opened the door and heard footsteps on the stairs below me.
"Please help—" I started to say it, but then stopped.In the dark room, there are three women who look alike, maybe three generations of women from the same family.All three sat in rotting chairs, in filthy rags, with pale arms splayed, pale fingers twisted around invisible orbs; In the white hair, to the black platform on the dusty tabletop.The same cables were wrapped under the skulls of the daughter and granddaughter.
Electrician.Judging from that expression, he is already in the final stage of ascending anorexia.Someone must have come here from time to time to give them IVs and change their dirty clothes, but perhaps because of the war, their guardians have fled in terror.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs.I closed the door and ran up two more flights of stairs.Except for the locked door, there was a deserted room, some battens exposed to the weather, from which a lot of water dripped and made a lot of cesspools.Empty flashback syringes were strewn about like soft drink straws.It's not a boutique community, I think.
I was on the roof when the group was still ten paces away.The brainless passion of the mob was lost when they were separated from their religious teacher, but within the dark, claustrophobic confines of the stairs it was lost and returned.They may have forgotten their reason for chasing me, but even so, there is no good fruit to be eaten by them.
I slammed the rotting door behind me, looking for some lock, something to seal the passage.whatever is available.But there is no lock.Nothing big enough to seal the doorway.Frantic footsteps echoed up the last flight of stairs.
I looked up and around the roof: the tiny uplink satellite dish that looked like an inverted rust toadstool, a stinky gutter that looked like it had been forgotten for years, the rotting carcasses of a dozen pigeons, and , an old light-masted viewing car.
在首批暴徒冲出门口前，我已经跑到了电磁车旁。这东西老得都能进博物馆了。污垢和鸽粪几乎遮掩了挡风玻璃。有人把原始的阻种轮拆掉了，然后装上了打折的黑市货，完全不能通过安检。有机玻璃材质的天窗后侧被熔化，变黑了，似乎有谁把它当作了激光武器的靶子练习一样。
然而，在那紧急时刻，最要紧的是：这车没有掌纹锁定，仅有一个钥匙锁，但很久以前就被撬开了。我跳进积灰的车座中，设法关上车门；但锁不上，门半开半掩着。我没有去想有多少小小的可能性：这车能开。也没想多少更小的可能性：我被暴徒拽出去后，能和他们商议商议……如果他们不是仅仅把我扔下大楼的话。我能听见男低音的咆哮声，暴徒在下面的广场上进人了癫狂状态。
最初踏上屋顶的人中，有一个是壮硕的男人，一身卡其技师服；一个纤弱的男人，穿着鲸逖最新式样的亚光黑色服饰；还有一个肥猪般的女人，挥舞着一把长扳手一样的东西；以及一个矮个男人，穿着复兴之矢的自卫队绿色制服。
我左手拉着门，不让它打开，另一只手拿出悦石的超驰微卡，放到点火触显上。电池隆隆地响起，转移发射架脱离了地面。我闭上双眼，暗暗希望电路是太阳能供电的，会自我修复。
拳头砸在车顶上，手掌掴在我脸庞附近那歪曲的有机玻璃上，虽然我用尽力气抵着车门，但门还是被拉开了。远处人群的喊叫声就像是海洋发出的背景声；屋顶上这群人的尖叫就像是特大号海鸥在叫唤。
左边的电路通了，阻种轮将尘土和鸽粪抛在了屋顶上的暴徒头上，我的手抓住全能控制器，朝后一拉，又朝右一推，然后感觉到这架古老的观景车升腾而起，摇摇晃晃，轻点地面，然后又升了起来。
车子开始朝右倾斜，飞到广场上，然后我后知后觉地意识到，仪表板的警报器在响，有人在敞开的车门上摇摆。我驾车猛地朝下飞去，漫不经心地笑了笑，看着伯劳教会的雄辩家雷诺兹如同鸭子般在下面左躲右闪，看着人群作鸟兽散，然后我让车子悬停在喷泉上方，朝左猛地倾斜。
我那尖叫的乘客没有松手，依旧紧紧抓着车门，但是门却掉了下去，效果当然没啥两样。就在那时，我注意到这家伙就是那个肥猪女人，然后门撞在下面八米远的水面上，雷诺兹和其余人被溅了一身水。我猛拉控制器，把电磁车朝高处拉去，听着黑市的起降装置对着这一决定发出一阵呻吟。
来自当地交通管制的愤怒喊叫加入了仪表板警报器的合唱队，车子摇摇晃晃，转到了警方超驰系统的控制之下，但是我再次用微卡碰了碰触显，点点头，控制权重新回到了我的全能调挡杆的指挥下了。我飞过这个城市最古老、最贫穷的区域，躲避着屋顶，在尖顶和钟塔边拐来拐去，不让警方的雷达发现。 在一般的情况下，驾着私人空运车和掠行艇的交通管制警察老早就会飞扑下来，在我边上撒下天罗地网。但我朝附近的公共远距传输终端瞥了一眼，看到下面街上的人群和暴乱者的表情。这完全不像是一般的情况。
观景车开始向我警告，它在空中的时间只剩下几秒了，我感觉右舷的阻种轮突然熄火，猛地歪斜，一阵天旋地转。我使尽吃奶的力气，控制着全能控制器和甲板踏板，把这老爷车摇摇晃晃地降落在一个小型停车场，处在一条运河和一栋巨大的满是煤灰迹的建筑中间。这地方离雷诺兹煽动暴徒的广场至少有十公里远，所以我觉得冒险在这着陆还是安全的……倒不是说那个时候我有多少其他选择。
火星飞溅，金属撕扯，后四分之一面板，侧面防护罩，前接人面板，这些东西的零件都和车子的其余部分脱离了。我停在离墙壁两米远的地方，那墙俯瞰着运河。然后，我丢下桅轻车，尽可能维持起冷淡的表情，离开了。
街道仍被人群掌控——这里还没汇集成一群暴徒——运河里是一堆乱七八糟的小船，于是我闲逛进最近的一栋公共建筑，不让他们见到我。这地方有几分是博物馆，有几分是图书馆，又有几分是档案馆。我头一眼看到它，头一次闻到它，就喜欢上了它……因为这里有成千上万印刷书籍，很多都极为古老。没有什么东西比旧书闻上去更棒的了。
我在休息室溜达，核对着书名，瞎琢磨着，能不能在这找到萨姆德·布列维的作品，此时，一个形容枯槁的矮个子朝我走来，他穿着一件过时的羊毛和纤维塑料混织衣。“您好久没来了，阁下，”他说，“您现在能再次驾临，我们真是三生有幸！”
我点点头，心里清楚得很，我从没见过这人，也从没到过这个地方。
“有三年了吧，对不对？至少三年了！哎呀，真是乌飞兔走啊。”这小人儿的声音低得比蚊子叫还轻——这种静悄悄的口气，正是那些把毕生时光花在图书馆里的人的声音——但是无可否认的是，那低声中带着一种兴奋之情。“我想，你是打算直接去看我们的藏品吧。”他对我说道，站在一边，似乎是要让我过去。
“对，”我说，稍稍鞠了个躬，“请带我去。”
这个小个子——我几乎可以肯定他是档案管理员——似乎很高兴帮我带路。我们穿越了一个又一个装满书籍的房间：高高的多层储藏室，带着桃心木纹里的走廊，脚步声回荡的巨大房间，途中他漫无目的地聊着新获的书籍，最新的评估，以及环网学者的拜临。步途中我没有看到别的什么人。
我们穿过一条带着锻铁栏杆的瓷砖通道，那通道底下是一个凹陷的装满书籍的池子，里面是卷轴、羊皮纸、破裂的地图、彩色稿本，以及古旧的漫画书籍，外面由深蓝的密蔽场保护，不让它们被空气毁坏。档案管理员打开一扇低矮的门，那门比大多数气闭门厚实多了，我们便走了进去，这是一个无窗的小房间，厚厚的帷帘将壁龛半隐半藏，里面排列着古老的书卷。一把皮椅蹲坐在一条大流亡前的波斯地毯上，一架玻璃橱里装着几张真空压制的羊皮纸。
“您打算立刻出版吗？阁下。”矮个子说道。
“什么？”我不再看那玻璃橱，“哦……不。”我说。
档案管理员用一只小手摸了摸下巴，“阁下，请原谅我的唐突之辞，可是，你不出版的话，那实在是太浪费了。虽然几年前我们并没谈过多少话，但是我很清楚，你就是环网内最棒的……如果不是最棒的，也是最棒之一的……济慈学者。”他叹了口气，朝后退了一步，“阁下，请原谅我这么说。”
I stare at him. “不要紧。”我说，突然间我知道他以为我是谁了，我也知道为什么那个人要来这儿。
“您想一个人待一会儿吧，阁下。”
“如果你不介意，对。”
于是档案管理员微微躬了躬身，退出房间，关上厚门时几乎发出噼啪一声。这里仅有三盏凹进天花板的灯发出微光：非常适合阅读，但也没有亮到有损这小房间大教堂般的品质。耳边仅有档案管理员那不断远去的脚步声。我走到玻璃橱边，双手摸着边缘，极其谨慎，不去弄脏玻璃。
显而易见，第一个济慈重建赛伯人，“乔尼”，在他待在环网的为数不多的几年里，常常来这里。现在我记起来，在布劳恩·拉米亚的那个故事里，她提到过复兴之矢上的图书馆。她在一开始调查他的客户和恋人的“死亡”的时候，就跟踪他来到过这儿。后来，他真的被杀了，除了舒克隆环里记录着的人格。之后，拉米亚来到了这个地方。她跟朝圣者们说过两首诗，第一个济慈赛伯人每天来此阅读的两首诗，为的是理解他存在的理由……也为了理解他死亡的理由。
那两页原始手稿就在玻璃橱里。第一首——我想——是一首过分感情化的情诗，最开头一句是“白天消逝了，甜蜜的一切已失去！”第二首好一些，虽然仍沾染着罗曼蒂克的病态，是那过度罗曼蒂克、过度病态化时代的产物：
这生命之手，温暖能干，诚挚欲攫取，
但若身处冰冷寂静之坟茔，这冰手仍欲去，
白天多寒廖，梦夜多凄苦
汝欲汝心血不流
甘愿让我红色血脉再次流
汝内心平静我能见，我把你紧紧拥在手。
布劳恩·拉米亚几乎把这作为一份来自她死去爱人的私人讯息，那是她肚子里孩子父亲的讯息。我盯着羊皮纸，俯下我的脸，不让我的气息把玻璃弄模糊。
这不是一条跨越时间传递给布劳恩的信息，也不是献给芬妮——我最亲爱的孤独灵魂的渴望的同时代挽诗。我盯着这些褪色的词语——笔迹非常端正，那些字在跨越了时间的漩涡和语言的革命之后，仍然清晰可见——我回忆起，我是在1819年12月写下了它们，将这诗的片断潦草地写在一张纸上，在那张纸上，我刚刚开始动笔写充满讽刺的“幻想故事”——《小丑，或者，妒嫉》。那简直就是废话连篇，在它给予我些许消遣之后，我就把它放弃了。
《生命之手》的片断就像那些诗歌旋律一样，萦绕在我心头，仿佛是不断回响的弦音，让人不得不抬笔写在纸上。它反过来也是在仿效早期让我不满意的一首诗……我想是第十八首……那是我第二次尝试讲述太阳神海伯利安的陨落。我回忆起……这一版毫无疑问仍在出版，而我的文学遗骨已经被埋没，就像某个无人注意的圣人的木乃伊遗体，陷在了文学祭坛下的混凝土和玻璃中了……第一版如是说：
“活着的人儿说：
'汝非诗人也——也许无法讲述汝之梦'？
然则每人的灵魂都不是朽木一块，不单有眼有嘴
他还应该有爱
应该被他的母语滋养。
此梦现在意欲开演
是作为诗人还是狂热教徒的意念，
当那撩过我手的温暖笔触埋进坟茔时，我们便会知晓。 "
我喜欢这潦草的版本，它让人思绪纷飞，久久不能忘怀，并且会将它替换为“当那撩过我手的温暖笔触……”，即使这意味着要把它稍作修改，另外加上十四行，虽然这第一首诗篇的开幕章节已经够长的了……
我摇摇晃晃地退回到椅子上，坐了下来，脸庞深埋在掌心里。我在哭泣。I do not know why.我止不住地哭泣。
在止住眼泪后，我在那坐了很长一段时间，思索着，回想着。可能过了几小时，我听见脚步声从远处传来，在小房间外谦恭地停住，然后再次回荡到远处。
我意识到，这个小房间里所有的书都是我的作品，“约翰·济慈先生，五英尺高”，我曾经这样描述我自己——约翰·济慈，患肺痨的诗人，他死时唯一的要求是墓碑不要署名，除了如下碑铭：
此地长眠者，
声名水上书。
我没有站起身，去看看这些书，读读这些书。There is no need for this.
我独自沉浸在图书馆那些古老皮纸的麝香中，独自坐在这自我又非我的圣殿中，闭上双眼。我没有睡去。我开始做梦。
Notes:
Notes: