Chapter 35 Chapter Thirty-Four

"How are you, sir?" I realized I was hunched over, elbows on knees, fingers tucked up in hair, palms pressed hard against the sides of my head.I sat up and stared at the archivist. "You're yelling, sir. I thought something was wrong." "It's okay," I said, clearing my throat and continuing, "It's okay, it's fine. Just a little headache." I looked down blankly.Every joint in my body hurts badly.My comlog must be malfunctioning because it says eight hours have passed since I entered the library. "What time is it?" I asked him. "Ring time?"

he told me.Eight hours have passed.I rubbed my face again, and my fingers slipped from the sweat. "It must be past closing time," I said, "I'm so sorry." "It's all right," said the little man, "I'm glad the archives are serving scholars, and it's an honor to be closed a little later." He folded his hands over his chest. "Especially today. Everything's in disarray. I have no intention of going home." "Chaos," I said, forgetting everything for a moment... everything, except the nightmarish dream about Braun Lamia, the artificial intelligence called Cloud Gate, and the death of my copy of Keats' personality. "Oh, war. Any news?"

The archivist shook his head: Everything has collapsed, unable to grasp the center of gravity; Sheer confusion overwhelms the world, Bloody turbidity flows out of the sluices, and everywhere The honest customs are all gone; Those who go up have no confidence, those who go down Full of enthusiasm. I smiled at him and said, "Do you believe, 'What beast, whose time has finally expired, is staggering toward Bethlehem, waiting to be born?'" He didn't smile. "Yes, sir, I believe so." I got up and walked past the vacuum-pressed display cases without glancing down at my handwriting on parchment nine hundred years ago. "Maybe you're right," I said, "you're definitely right."

It was late; the parking lot was empty save for my stolen battered light-masted van and an ornate EM privateer, apparently a local renaissance arrow artifact. "Sir, would you like me to give you a ride?" I breathed in the cool night air, the smell of fish and oil wafting from the canal. "No thanks, I'll teleport home myself." The archivist shook his head. "Your Excellency, that may not be easy to handle. All public terminals are under military control. There are... riots outside." This word obviously displeased the dwarf. It seems that order and continuity are high in his eyes. for most things. "Come on," he said, "I'll give you a ride and drive you to a private transmitter."

I glanced at him.If he had been in another age, in the old land, he would probably have become the abbot of the monastery, dedicated to saving the classics left over from the past.I took a quick look at the old Archives building behind me, and realized that, in fact, he was. "May I ask your honorable name?" I asked, not caring whether I should know, because another Keats Sable did. "Eudra Bha Tena," he replied, blinking at my outstretched hand, and taking it.Hold it tightly. "My name is...Joseph Seven." It was hard for me to tell him that I was the technical reincarnation of the literary giant from whose literary grave we had just crawled out.

Mr. Tanner hesitated for a second, then nodded, but I realized that, for a scholar like him, the name of the painter who was by Keats' side during his last days was a matter of a moment. I can hear it. "How's Hyperion?" I asked. "Hyperion? Oh, you mean the protective planet that the space fleet went to a few days ago. Well, they're going to call back the necessary fleet, but that's not going to be easy. The fighting is going on there. I mean, Hyperion. Strange, I suddenly thought of Keats and his unfinished masterpiece. Strange how these little coincidences came about."

"Has it been invaded, Hyperion?" Mr. Tanner stopped beside his electromagnetic car, stretched out his hand and pressed the palm print lock on the side of the cockpit.The hatch closed.I sat in the passenger compartment, filled with the smell of sandalwood and leather.I realized that Tyner's car smelled of the same archives as Tyner himself, and he lay down in the driver's seat next to me. "I really don't know if it has been invaded." He said, closing the hatch, touching it with his hand, giving an order, and starting the car.Along with sandalwood and leather, the cockpit is filled with new-car smells like fresh polymers and ozone, lubricants, and energy that has seduced humanity for nearly a millennium. "It's difficult to pick up people accurately today," he continued. "As far as I know, the data network has never been overloaded like it is now. I waited a long time this afternoon to check on Robinson Jeffers."

The car rose, flew over the canal, turned right into a public square that looked like the place where I almost died this morning, and then we descended steadily, driving three hundred meters above the roof on the lower flight path.The city is especially beautiful at night: most of the old buildings are silhouetted by old-fashioned light strips, and there are more lanterns in the streets than holograms.But I saw crowds heaving in the side alleys, and revived SDF military vehicles circling the main avenues and the terminal plaza.Tyner's electromagnetic vehicle was interrogated twice, once by the local traffic control department, and again by a human voice with the confident tone of the military.

Let's keep flying. "Don't the archives have teleporters?" I asked, looking into the distance, where it seemed to be on fire. "No. It's not necessary. Very few people go to our place, and the scholars who do visit don't really mind walking a few blocks." "You said that there is a personal transmitter that I can use, where is it?" "Here it is," said the archivist.We drove down the airstrip, circled a building of less than thirty stories, and finally landed on a protruding landing flange, right next to the decorative flange of Greigold's time, which was Made of rock and plastic steel. "My organization has a transmitter here," he said. "I belong to a forgotten branch of Christianity called the Catholic Church." He looked embarrassed. "But you're a scholar, Mr. Seven. You Surely know what our church was like in the old days."

"I don't just know it from books," I said. "Is there a priest here?" Tanner smiled. "We are not priests, Mr. Seven. We belong to the lay organization of the Historical and Literary Society, and there are eight of us, including myself. Five of them hold positions at the Imperial University. The other two are art historians, and they are doing Luxendor Reconstruction of the monastery. I, maintaining the literary archives. The Church decided it would be cheaper for us to live here than to commute to Payson every day." We entered the residential hive—a place that was old even by old-world standards: corridors made of natural rock, refurbished lighting, and hinged doors, the building didn't even identify us when we entered it. identity, and did not welcome us.Impulsively, I said, "I want to teleport to Payson."

The archivist looked surprised. "Tonight? At a time like this?" "Why not?" He shook his head.I realized that it would take weeks for this man to earn back the hundreds of marks that teleportation cost. "Our building has its own portal," he said. "Follow me." The central staircase is made of dull rock and rusted wrought iron, with a drop of 60 meters in the central part.Somewhere below, in a dark corridor, came the sound of a baby wailing, followed by a man's scolding, and a woman's cry. "How long have you lived here, Mr. Tanner?" "Seventeen local years, Mr. Seven. Ah... Thirty-two, I think, by standard. Here we are." The far portal was as old as the building, and the frame was surrounded by gilded bas-reliefs that were now grayed. "Travel around the Web is restricted tonight," he said, "but Payson should still be able to go. There's still two hundred hours left before the Savages... whatever they're called...they get there on schedule. Left and right. The Arrow of Revival still has more than twice the time left." He reached out and grabbed my wrist tightly.I could feel his tension through the slight quiver of tendons and bones. "Mr. Seven...do you think they're going to burn my archives? Are they going to burn a ten thousand year old thought?" He dropped his hands in frustration. I don't know who he meant by "they"—the Ousters?Shrike church vandals?Or rioters?Pleasant Stone and the Overlord leaders were willing to sacrifice those "first wave" planets. "No," I said, reaching out to shake his hand, "I'm sure they won't let the archives be destroyed." Mr. Eudra Bhatina smiled and took a step back, a little uncomfortable with the look of joy.He shook my hand. "Good luck wherever you go, Mr. Seven." "May God bless you, Mr. Tanner." I had never said that before, and it amazed me to say it now.I lowered my head, fumbled out the override card that Pleasant Stone had given me, and typed in the three codes representing Payson.From the portal came an apology that it was impossible to teleport to Payson at this moment, and finally the processor in its tiny head recognized it as an override card, and the door buzzed into view. I nodded to Tyner, and walked in, wondering if I had made a very serious wrong decision by not teleporting directly back to the Whale Heart Homeland. It's already night in Payson. Compared with the city lights of the Revival Arrow, it's extremely dark here, and it's raining heavily.The rain was so fierce that it seemed that pairs of fists were hitting the metal so hard that one would rather curl up under a thick blanket and wait for the morning to come. The portal was sheltered in a courtyard half-covered by the eaves, but it was also outdoors, enough for me to feel the night, the rain, and the cold.Especially cold.The air in Payson is only half that of the Ring Web, and its only inhabitable plateau is twice as high as the sea-level city of Renaissance Arrow.I was about to turn back instead of stepping out into the night and the pouring rain, but a sailor from the headquarters stepped out of the shadows, multi-purpose assault rifle slung over his shoulder, ready to turn and shoot, and asked to see my ID card. I asked him to scan my card, and he immediately stood at attention: "Yes, sir!" "Is this the new Vatican?" "Yes, sir." Through the pouring rain, I caught a glimpse of the glorious temple.I pointed to the building outside the courtyard. "Is that St. Peter's Basilica?" "Yes, sir." "Can Monsignor Edward be found there?" "Cross the courtyard, to the left of the square, and to the left of the cathedral, there is a low building. You can go there, sir!" "Thank you, Corporal." "I'm a private, sir!" I wrapped my short cloak around me against the storm, but it was of no use at all, it was only for show.I ran across the courtyard. A man... perhaps a priest, although he wore neither a robe nor a clerical collar... opened the door to the lodging hall.Another man sat behind a wooden table, and he told me that Monsignor Edward was inside, still up, although it was late.Do I have an appointment? No, I don't have an appointment, but I'd love to speak to His Excellency the Bishop.Things matter. talk about what?The man behind the desk asked politely, but firmly.He didn't look at my override card at all.I wondered if I was talking to the bishop. Talk about Father Paul Durley and Father Rainer Hoyt, I told him. The man nodded, and he whispered a few times to a beaded microphone, which was so small that I hadn't noticed it on his collar before.Then he led me into the lodging lobby. Compared with this place, the old tower in which Mr. Tanner lived seemed a palace of luxury and licentiousness.The corridors here are featureless, with rough plaster walls and even rougher wooden doors.One door was open, and as we walked through it, the room inside caught my eye.It is not so much a bedroom as a prison cell.Low cots, rough blankets, wooden kneeling stools, an extremely modest vanity table with a jug filled with water, and an ordinary water basin; no windows, no media walls, no holograms Imaging wells, no data access platform.I doubt this room is even interactive. From somewhere came a rising and growing voice that kept reverberating, a kind of reciting sound, so beautiful that it reminded people of the past and gave people goosebumps.Gregorian chant.We passed a huge dining area, as crude as a prison cell, and a kitchen, perhaps all too familiar to cooks in John Keats' day.We then descended a very worn stone staircase, passed through a dark corridor, and climbed another narrow staircase.Then the man left and I walked into the most beautiful place I've ever seen in my life. Though a part of me knows for sure that the Church moved and rebuilt St. Peter's Basilica - even the bones from there were brought over and buried in their newest cemetery under the altar, which it is believed to be.But another part of me felt transported back to Rome, the Rome I first saw in mid-November 1820: the Rome I saw, lived, suffered, Dead Rome. It is far more beautiful and elegant than the office towers several miles high in the center of Whale; St. Peter's Basilica stretches more than six hundred feet into the sky, and the "cross" where the transept and nave intersect has four hundred and fifty feet wide, and crowned with Michelangelo's immaculate dome, soaring almost four hundred feet above the altar.Bernini's bronze baldachin, ornately decorated canopy, supported by twisted Byzantine pillars, towers over the main altar.This vast space is given a human scale, which allows one to observe the cryptic rituals performed on the altar.Soft lights and candles illuminate the discontinuous areas of the cathedral, the smooth travertine stone surfaces glisten, the golden mosaics become deep reliefs, and endless nuances can be discerned —painted, carved, raised details of pillars, friezes, and grand domes.Far above, lightning flashed through the storm one after another, flashes pouring in through the yellow stained-glass windows, and columnar flares slanted toward Bernini's "Throne of St. Peter." I stopped there as soon as I passed the Circus, fearing that my footsteps would be profane in a place where even my breathing would echo through the vastness of the cathedral.My eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, balanced by the sharp contrast of the stormlight above and the candlelight below, when I noticed that there were no pews in the nave and nave. , no pillars under the dome, just two chairs, placed at the edge of the altar fifty feet away.Two men were sitting on two chairs talking to each other, and although they were close enough, they leaned forward, eager to tell each other.The lights and candles, as well as the radiance of a huge Christ statue inlaid on the front of the black altar, clearly illuminated the faces of the two men.They were all elderly, priests, their white collars gleaming in the twilight.I stared at the two faces, began to identify, and realized that one was Monsignor Edward. The other was Father Paul Duré. They must have been terrified at first—breaking their small talk, looking up, and suddenly seeing a ghost, the shadow of a short man emerging from the darkness, calling their names... calling Durley's name, the voice Loud and surprised...he babbled at them about pilgrims and pilgrims, Time Tombs and Shrikes, artificial intelligences, and the death of the gods. His Excellency did not call the guards; he and Du Lei did not run away.Together they pacified the ghost, trying to draw some meaningful words out of his excited delirium, turning this strange encounter into a rational conversation. He was indeed Paul Dooley.The real Paul Dooley, not some weirdo or robot replica or cyber-rebuild.Listening to him, asking him questions, looking him in the eyes...but mainly shaking his hand, touching him, I was sure that this was indeed Father Paul Duré. "You know...all the unbelievable details of my life...the time we were in Hyperion, in the Time Tombs...who do you say you are?" Du Lei was talking to me. Now it's my turn to convince him. "A cyborg reconstruction of John Keats. Braun Lamia carried a personality in himself during your pilgrimage, and I am twins with that personality." "You're able to connect...to know what happened to us because of that shared personality, isn't it?" I knelt on one knee between the two of them and the altar, and raised my hands in resistance, "It's because... because of some kind of anomaly in Wanfangwang. But I dreamed about your situation and heard the stories told by the pilgrims, Heard Father Hoyt tell of Paul Dooley's...that is, your...life and death." I reached out and felt his arm under the clerical gown.I was a little confused that I was with a pilgrim, in the same place, at the same time. "Then you know how I got here," said Father Durley. "No. The last time I dreamed of you, you entered a cave mound. There was light. I don't know anything after that." Du Lei nodded.His face was more aristocratic and tired than the one I had seen in my dream. "But you know the fate of the others, don't you?" I take a deep breath. "Several of them. Selinas the poet is still alive, but was impaled on the Shrike's bramble tree. As for Kassad, the last time I dreamed of him, he was attacking the Shrike with his bare hands. Lady Lamia and my The copy of Keats is together, and they have entered the periphery of the technical core through Wanfang.com..." "He's in that...Shukron ring...whatever it's called...he survived in that thing?" Du Lei seemed interested. "Not anymore," I said, "an AI personality called Cloud Gate killed him...destroyed his personality. Braun is returning. I don't know if her physical body survived." Monsignor Edward moved closer to me. "Where's the consul? Where's the father and daughter?" "The Consul attempted to return to the capital on the Hawk Carpet," I said, "but fell a few miles to the north. I don't know if he is dead or alive." "Mile," Du Lei said, as if the word brought back dusty memories. "I'm sorry," I pointed to the cathedral, "this place reminds me of the units of measurement I... used in my previous life." "Go on," said Monsignor Edward. "Where are the father and daughter?" I sat on the cool stone, exhausted, my arms and hands trembling with fatigue. "In my previous dream, Thor sacrificed Rachel to the Shrike. It was Rachel's request. I don't know what happened after that. The Time Tombs are opening." "All of them?" Du Lei asked. "All I can see." The two of them looked at each other. "There are other things," I said, and told them what Cloud Gate had said, "is it possible? Is it possible that from the consciousness of man... a god could evolve, and man knows nothing about it? Is it possible? " The lightning had died down, but it was raining harder now, and I could hear the sound of the great dome high up in the distance.Somewhere in the darkness, a heavy door creaked, and footsteps echoed, then drifted away.In the dark recesses of the cathedral, prayer candles flickered red against the walls and draperies. "According to my professor's knowledge, Saint Theia said that this is possible," Du Lei said with a tired face, "but if God is a creature with limited abilities, the way he evolves is the same as what we creatures with limited abilities do. If it's the same, then it's impossible...that's not the God of Abraham and Christ." Monsignor Edward nodded. "There is an ancient heresy..." "Yes," I said, "the Socinian heresy. I heard Father Duré explain it to Saul Winterberg and the Consul. But how this... divine power... evolves, is it finite or infinite, What does it matter? If Cloud Gate is telling the truth, we are dealing with a god who uses quasars as a source of energy. A god who can destroy galaxies, gentlemen." "That would be a god that destroys the galaxy," Duré said, "but not God." I heard his emphasis clearly. "But if it's infinitely powerful," I said, "if it's the Omega-point God of total consciousness that you wrote about, if it's the same Triune God that your church has been debating and reasoning about since... but What would happen if one of the three escaped back in time...to the present...?" "But, what is he trying to escape from?" Du Lei asked softly, "The God of Theia... the God of the Church... our God, will be the God of Omega, the evolved Jesus, the personality, and the universe …Theia calls the Ascension and the Advent, all of which are inextricably united. There will be nothing dangerous that any part of that God-man would want to escape. No Antichrist, no theoretical demon No force, no 'anti-God,' could threaten the consciousness of such a universe. What would the other god be?" "Machine God?" I said, so softly that even I wasn't sure if I spoke aloud. Monsignor Edward clasped his hands in what I thought was a prayer, but it was just a pensive and terribly anxious gesture. "But Christ had misgivings," he said, "and Christ, in the garden, sweating like blood, demanded that the cup be taken from him. If there was a second sacrifice to come, it would be even more terrible than the crucifixion …Then I can imagine the Christ entity in the Trinity traveling through time, walking through some four-dimensional Garden of Gethsemane, buying hours…or years…in order to contemplate.” "It's more terrifying than the punishment of the cross." Du Lei repeated in a low voice, his voice hoarse. Monsignor Edward and I stared at the pastor.On Hyperion, Dooley nailed himself to a high voltage Tesla tree without succumbing to the cruciform parasite's control.Due to the creature's ability to bring the dead back to life, Du Lei endured countless crucifixions and electric shocks. "No matter what the ascension consciousness wants to escape," Du Lei whispered, "that thing is extremely terrifying." Monsignor Edward put his hand on his old friend's shoulder. "Paul, tell this gentleman how you got here." Whatever distant place Du Lei's memory had taken him just now, he's back now, with his eyes fixed on me. "You know the stories of all of us...and all the details of our time in Hyperion, don't you?" "I think so. Until the time you disappeared." The pastor sighed, his slender fingers trembling slightly, and touched his forehead. "Perhaps, then," he said, "perhaps you can understand how I got here . . . what I saw along the way." "I saw a light in the third mound," said Father Durley, "and I went in. I admit, I still had suicidal thoughts in my head.... Here... is reproduction, and I would not honor the parasite's effect as resurrection. "I saw the light and thought it was the Shrike. I sensed that this was my second encounter with the creature—the first was years ago in the maze beneath the Great Rift, when the Shrike brought the wicked cruciform Gave it to me - the second meeting was long overdue. "When we searched for Colonel Kassad the day before, the mound was short and featureless, and after thirty paces an empty wall of rock blocked our way. Now that wall is gone, replaced by A slit like the Shrike's mouth, rock protruding out of that sculptural mixture of mechanical and organic, stalactites and stalagmites, as sharp as calcium carbonate fangs. "Entering that mouth, there was a rocky stairway going down. The light came from below, now flashing pale, now dark red. There was no sound but the whimpering of the wind, as if the rocks there were breathing . "I am not Dante, and I am not looking for Beatrice. A fleeting moment of courage in me—fatalistic faith might be a better word—fled away as the daylight faded. I turned and almost ran. After thirty steps, return to the entrance of the cave mound. "There's no entrance. The passage just comes to an end. I don't hear any cave-ins or landslides, and besides, what should have been the entrance is now a rock that appears to be as old and preserved as the rest of the cave. As I was. For half an hour I searched for an alternate exit, but found nothing, and I would not return to the steps, and at last I sat for hours on the spot where the entrance to the mound had once been. The Shrike's Another trick. Another cheap theatrical gimmick on this freak planet. A joke on Hyperion's mind. Haha. "After hours of sitting in the semi-darkness, looking out over the far end of the cave, where light flickered silently, I realized that the Shrike wasn't going to meet me here. Pops don't work like magic I can choose to sit there until I die of starvation—or thirst, which is more likely since I’m dehydrated—or I can choose to walk down the damn stairs. "I'm going down. "Years ago, before this life, I met Bikura near the Great Rift on the Wing Plateau, and then I met the Shrike in a maze three kilometers below the valley's cliffs. That distance is actually pretty close to the surface; most labyrinths on most labyrinth worlds are at least ten kilometers below the earth's crust. I'm sure that this endless staircase... a steep, twisting spiral of rocky stairs wide enough Let ten priests walk down the underworld side by side...it will eventually lead to the maze. Shrike cast an immortal spell on me here at the beginning. If the creature or force driving it knows what taunting is, then let my immortal life and mortals It would be fitting that my life would end there. "The stairs twisted and descended, and the light got brighter...now it was a rosy red light; ten minutes later, it was a crimson; half an hour down, it was a sparkling crimson again. It was perfect for me Dante-like extreme solemnity, yet another cheap scene of Orthodox Christianity. The thought of an imp about to appear, complete with tail, trident, and pencil-thin mustache twitching, I almost Laugh out loud. "But I didn't laugh when I reached the depths and saw the truth of where the light came from. It was cruciform, hundreds, maybe thousands, small at first, clinging to the rough walls of the steps like subterranean conquerors The crude crosses left behind, and then the big ones, more and more, until finally, they were almost overlapped and covered, pink like coral polyps, red like raw meat, emitting blood-red bioluminescence. "It made me sick. I felt as if I had entered a ventilation duct lined with fat, pulsating leeches, and this was even scarier. I scanned myself with a medical scanner and saw the resulting sound waves and Subphasic intersection photographs, there was only one such thing in me at the time: a large number of nerve centers permeated my flesh and organs, like gray fibers, twisted silk sheaths, clusters of nematodes, like terrible Tumors that don't even allow the relief of death. And now I have two: Rainer Hoyt's and mine. I'm praying that it's over and I don't suffer from it again. "I kept going down. The walls pulsated with heat and light. Whether it was due to the depth or to the thousands of dense crosses, I don't know. Finally, I came to the lowest step. Up, where the stairs ended, I turned the last twisted rock and went there. "The labyrinth. It stretches into the distance, exactly the same as the one I saw in countless holograms and with my own eyes: the passage was dug very smoothly, with a distance of thirty meters on both sides, dug out of Hyperion's crust, and it took more than seven years. For 150,000 years, criss-crossing the planet like catacombs designed by deranged engineers. Labyrinths exist on nine planets, five in the ring, others, like this one , in the middle of nowhere. All identical, all excavated at the same time in the past, none of them give a clue, no reason for their existence. There are many, many legends of the labyrinth builders, but the mysterious The engineers left no artifacts, no hint of their methods of construction and strange configurations, and none of the theories about the Labyrinth gave a realistic justification for the greatest engineering project the entire galaxy had ever seen. "All the labyrinths were empty. Remote objects detected passages hewn out of the rock, millions of kilometers long, where time and collapse occasionally altered the original tombs, but otherwise the labyrinths were featureless and empty. "But this place where I'm standing is not. "The crucifix illuminates this scene from Hieronymus Bosch's brush, and I gaze at this endless passage, and as far as I can see, it is endless, but it is not empty... No, Not empty at all. "At first, I thought it was a group of living people. It was a river of heads, shoulders and arms, stretching endlessly, stretching out for several kilometers as far as the eye could see, and the flow of people was occasionally interrupted by parked vehicles. Those vehicles were all of a similar rusty red color. As I walked forward to the wall that was crowded with people less than 20 meters away from me, I realized that they were dead bodies. Hundreds of thousands, Millions of human corpses stretched out as far as I could see, some sprawled and sprawled on rocky floors, some smashed against walls, but most lay on top of other bodies, clinging to each other. , blocking up this section of the avenue of the maze. "But there is a path; through many bodies along the way, as if some bladed machine had walked there close to the ground. I walked along this path - careful not to touch the outstretched arms or win the weak ankle. "They were all human, mostly clothed, shriveled mummies after eons of slow decomposition in this sterile cellar. Flesh tanned, taut, torn like rotting cheesecloth, In the end all that was left was the bones, and often not even the bones. The hair was still there, only tendrils of gray tar, stiff as painted fibrous plastic. Under the open eyelids and between the teeth , black things peering out. Their clothes, which must have been colorful in the past, are now all brown and gray and black, so brittle as if carved from very thin stone. On their wrists and necks , the plastic has melted over time and clumped together, these things may be comlogs, or something like that. "The huge vehicle may have been an electromagnetic car, but now it's a pile of pure rust. After walking a hundred meters, I stumbled and almost fell into this dead body on the one-meter-wide path." Ground. But I steadied myself against a tall machine full of arcs and shadowy glass. The pile of rust sank inwards. "I walked forward in a daze, no, along this terrible road gnawed from the rotting human corpse, my mind was full of questions, why did I see all this, and what is the meaning of this. Go After an indefinite amount of time, stumbling among piles of abandoned humans, I finally came to a crossroads in the tunnel; the three passages in front of me were filled with corpses. But the narrow path continued, leading to the Maze. I continue to walk along it. "After hours, maybe more, I stopped and sat down on this narrow rocky walkway that twisted in horror. If there were tens of thousands of dead bodies in this short tunnel, Hyperion的迷宫中肯定有数十亿多。多多了。九个迷宫世界加起来肯定是数兆尸体的墓穴。 “我不明白，为什么要让我看见这终极的灵魂。在我坐着的边上，一具男人的木乃伊尸体仍旧在用他白骨尽露的手臂港湾护着一个女人的尸体，而女人的怀中抱着一个小包裹，上面露出短短的黑发。我扭头哭泣起来。 “身为考古学家，我挖掘过很多受难者的遗体——死刑犯，火难者，水灾、地震、火山爆发受难者。这样的家庭场景对我来说并不是头一遭，它们是历史不可或缺的因素。但是这里更为可怕。到底是什么原因呢？也许是这数量，数以万计多的大屠杀死难者。也许是十字形偷取灵魂的闪光，它们排列在隧道中，就像数千亵渎神明的邪恶玩笑。也许是吹过无尽岩石通道的风儿的悲吟。 “我的生命、教导、苦难、微小的胜利、无数的失败，这一切最终把我带到了这里——超越信仰，超越人道，超越纯洁。弥尔顿式的挑衅。我感觉这些尸体已经在这呆了五十万年的时间了，或者更多，但是这些人却是来自我们的时代，或者，更糟的是，来自我们的未来。我低下头，掩面而泣。 “没有刮擦声，也没有任何真实的声音警告我，但是有什么东西，什么东西，也许是空气的扰动……我抬起头，伯劳就在我面前，离我不足两米远。不是在小路上，而是在尸山中。那是向这大屠杀的缔造者致以敬意的一尊雕像。 “我站起身。在这可憎之物面前，我不会就坐，也不会下跪。 “伯劳朝我移来，与其说是走，不如说是滑行。它悄悄地滑来，仿佛是滑在毫无摩擦的铁轨上。十字形的血红之光溢溅在它水银般的甲壳上。它那永恒的、不可思议的笑容——露出钢铁钟乳石和石笋。 “对这东西，我心中没有狂暴的感觉。我心里只有悲伤，以及极度的怜悯。不是对伯劳——我才不管它是啥玩意呢——而是对所有这些受难者，他们孤独，甚至没有被赋予最薄弱的信仰，他们不得不面对这黑夜中的恐怖，而这一切是那怪物具体的体现。 “现在，我第一次注意到那凑近的怪物，不足一米远的怪物，伯劳周围弥漫着一股气味——一种变质油、过热轴承、干血的腐臭气味。它眼中的火苗不断跳动，节奏完美无瑕，应和着十字形之光的一闪一烁。 “几年前，我不相信这生物是超自然的，不相信它是善良或者邪恶的显灵，仅仅是宇宙那深不可测和看似无意义演变的失常：那是进化的可怕玩笑。圣忒亚最糟糕的梦魇。但不管如何失常，它仍旧是某种物体，遵循自然法则，服从宇宙某个地方、某个时刻的法则。 “伯劳举起了它的胳膊，朝我伸来，包住了我。四条手腕上的刀刃比我的手还要长。它胸膛上的刀刃比我的前臂还要长。我举头望着它的眼睛，而它的一对插满剃刀、竖满钢铁的手臂环绕住了我，另一对则慢慢地绕了过来，填满了我和它之间的小块空间。 “手指刀刃舒展开。我缩起身子，但是并没后退，那刀刃突然刺下，戳进了我的胸膛，那痛苦就像冰冷之火，就像医疗激光在切割神经。 “它朝后退去，手里握着红彤彤的东西，那东西甚至比我的鲜血还要红。我摇摇晃晃，心里带着些许期待，我会在这怪物的手里看见自己的心脏。这是最后的嘲讽——将死之人惊讶地眨着眼睛，鲜血还未从怀疑的脑中流干，就在那刹那之间看见了自己的心脏。 “但那不是我的心脏。伯劳握着十字形，我胸膛上的十字形，我自己的十字形，我缓慢死亡的DNA的寄生物仓库。我再次摇晃起来，几乎要栽倒在地。我摸了摸胸脯，手指上覆着一层血，但是并没有出现动脉血血流如注的现象，如此粗野的手术本应是这样的。甚至在我观看时，伤口已经在愈合。我知道，十字形在我的全身上下放射出结节和细丝。我知道没有什么激光手术可以分割那些致命的藤蔓，让它脱离霍伊特神父的身体——或者是我的身体。但是我感觉到感染的伤口正在愈合，内部的纤维干涸、退却，成了内部微乎其微的疤痕组织。 “我身上仍旧带着霍伊特的十字形。但这已经不再相同。在我死后，雷纳·霍伊特会从这复活的肉身中爬起。而我会死去。不再会有保罗·杜雷的越发失真的复制体，不再会有一代代越变越蠢、越来越没生气的杜雷模拟体了。 “伯劳没有杀我，但授予了我死亡。 “这东西将冰凉的十字形扔进尸山之上，拿起我的上臂，这动作不费吹灰之力就切人了我手臂的三层组织，那些解剖刀轻轻一碰，我的肱二头肌就立刻流出了血。 “他领着我穿越尸山，朝一面墙走去。我跟着它，试图不要踩到尸体上，但是在这急急匆匆之下，又不想让手臂被切断，我就没法不去踩到尸体上了。那些尸首溃败成灰。有一具在它那塌陷的胸腔中留下了我的足印。 “然后我们来到了那面墙，这一处的十字形突然之间全被扫清了，我意识到，那是某个能量防护着的开口……一个标准的远距传送门，只是大小和形状都不对，但是那晦暗的能量发出的嗡嗡声是相似的。那是帮我摆脱这死亡仓库的东西。 “伯劳猛地把我推了进去。” “零重力。破碎舱壁的迷魂阵，漂浮着的纠缠电线，就像什么巨型生物的内脏，红光闪烁——刹那之间，我以为这里也有十字形，然后我意识到，这些是垂死的太空飞船中的应急灯。更多的尸体翻滚着擦肩而过，我朝后弹退，在不习惯的零重力下打着滚。这些不是木乃伊，而是刚死之人，刚被杀死的人，嘴巴大张，眼睛膨胀，两肺爆炸，四处蔓延的血云，这些尸体随着空气的随机扰动和破碎的军部太空船的颠簸，正发出迟缓的反应，倒有几分像一个个活人。 “我确信，这是一艘军部的太空船。我看见那年轻人的尸体穿着的军部太空制服。我看见舱壁和被炸毁的舱口盖上，书写着军事行话；无用的指令书写在比无用还没用的紧急锁柜上，柜里的拟肤束装和依旧瘪瘪的压力球折叠在架子上。不管是什么摧毁了这艘船，它肯定是像夜晚的天灾一样突然降临的。 “伯劳出现在我身旁。 “伯劳……在太空！脱离了海伯利安，脱离了时间潮汐的束缚！这些飞船中，有好多载有远距传输器！ “走廊远处，离我五米不到，就有一个远距传送门。一具尸体翻滚着朝它靠近，这年轻人的右臂穿过了不透明场，似乎是在检验对面世界上的水。空气尖叫着从通道中逃逸，发出的悲鸣声越来越响。滚开！我催着那具尸体，但是压力的微变将他吹离了传送门，他的手竟然毫发无损，复原了，但他的脸是解剖学专家刀下的面部模型。 “我转身朝伯劳看去，这动作让我转了一百八十度，面对着另一个方向。 “伯劳举起了我，刀刃撕裂了我的皮肤，将我掷了出去，我开始沿着走廊朝远距传输器飞去。即使我有心改变这条运动轨道，我也无力办到。在穿过那嗡嗡的爆裂传送门前的瞬间，我想象到另一面的真空之地，从九天云霄的坠落，急速的减压，或者——最最糟糕的是——返回到迷宫。 “但不是这些，我从半米高的地方栽落下来，滚到了大理石地板上。此处，离我们现在这个地方两百米不到，就在教皇乌尔班十六世的私人寝室。巧的是，就在我跌落进教皇陛下私人传输器的三小时前，垂老的陛下已经寿终正寝。这面传送门，新梵蒂冈称之为'教皇之门'。我感受到由于如此远离海伯利安——如此远离十字形之源——所遭受的痛苦惩罚。但是现在，痛苦是我的同盟了，不再统治我了。 “我找到了爱德华。他真是太宽宏大量了，连着几个小时一直听我述说，从来没有一个耶稣会士坦白过这样一个故事。他甚至仁慈地相信了我说的这一切。现在，你也听到了。这就是我的故事。” The storm has passed.我们三人坐在圣彼得穹顶下，坐在烛火边，有好长一段时间，我们都一言不发。 “伯劳有办法进入环网。”最后我说道。 杜雷的眼神很冷静。 "right." “那肯定是海伯利安领空中的一艘飞船……” “看样子如此。” “那我们也许可以回到那儿。可以用……教皇之门？……返回海伯利安的领空。” 爱德华蒙席眉头一扬。“赛文先生，你想要这么干吗？” 我咬着手指。“我这样考虑过。” “为什么？”蒙席大人轻声问我，“你的副本，布劳恩·拉米亚在她的朝圣旅途中携带的赛伯人格，在那里仅仅是死路一条。” 我摇摇头，似乎想要通过这一简单的动作理清那一头乱麻。“我是其中的一员。只是我不知道自己要扮演什么角色……或者在哪里演。” 保罗·杜雷毫无幽默感地大笑起来。“我们所有人都了解这种感觉。就好像是某个蹩脚剧作家关于宿命的故事。自由意志究竟发生什么事了？” 蒙席锐利的目光朝他的好友瞥去。“保罗，所有朝圣者……包括你自己……都面对过这种选择，而你们都是通过自己的意志做出选择的。乜许有巨大的力量在指引事件的大体方向，但是人类的人格依旧决定着自己的命运。” 杜雷叹了口气。“也许吧，爱德华。我不知道。太累了。” “如果云门的故事是真的，”我说，“如果人类之神的第三个部分逃到了我们的时代，你们觉得他是谁？在什么地方？环网里有几千亿人呢。” Du Lei smiled.那笑容温和，丝毫没有嘲讽之意。 “赛文先生，你有没有考虑过，那可能是你自己？” 这个问题如当头棒喝，让我惊诧异常。“不可能，”我说，“我甚至都不是……不完全是人类。我的意识漂浮在内核矩阵的某个地方。我的身体是通过约翰·济慈的DNA遗留物重建的，像机器人那样被生物塑造出来的。记忆是被灌输进去的。我生命的终结……我从肺病中'复原'……这些都是在一个世界上模拟出来的，而建造那个世界纯粹是为了那个目的。” 杜雷依旧笑意盈盈。“然后呢？难道这些排除了你作为这个移情实体的可能性吗？” “我没感觉自己是某个神的一部分，”我尖声叫道，“我什么都不记得，什么也不明白，也不知道接下来该做什么。” 爱德华蒙席抓住我的手腕。“难道我们确信基督总是知道接下来该做什么吗？当然，他知道什么事情一定得完成，但这跟知道该做什么是不一样的。” I rub my eyes. “但我连什么事情一定得完成都不知道。” 蒙席的声音非常平静。“我相信保罗的意思是，如果你说的这个神灵生物正躲在我们的时代中，那也许连它自己都不知道自己的身份。” “荒唐。”我说。 Du Lei nodded. “海伯利安星球及其周围发生的许多事都似乎是荒唐的。荒谬似乎正在蔓延。” 我近距离地盯着这位耶稣会士。 “你很有希望是这位神的候选人，”我说，“你的一生，一直在祈祷，沉思神学，身为考古学家敬慕科学。此外，你也已经遭受了十字架之刑。” 杜雷的笑容消失了。“你有没有听见我们说的话？你有没有听见我们亵渎神灵的话？赛文，我可不是神的候选者。我背叛了我的教会，我的科学，现在，因为我的离去，我也背叛了我的朝圣之友。也许基督会在几秒内失去自己的信仰，但他不会在市场中把信仰卖给别人，来换取自我和好奇心的琐物的。” “够了，”爱德华蒙席命令道，“赛文先生，如果你觉得来自未来的人造神祗的移情部分的身份是个谜，那么，就在你这小小的殉道演出的戏班子里找找候选人吧。首席执行官悦石，肩上扛着霸主的重担。朝圣者的其他成员……塞利纳斯先生追寻着他的诗，根据你告诉保罗的，他甚至现在还在伯劳之树上遭受着痛苦。拉米亚女士，遭受着危险并且失去了自己的挚爱。温特伯先生，遭受着亚伯拉罕的难题……甚至还有他的女儿，回到了童年的无辜。还有领事——” “领事似乎更像是犹大，而不是基督，”我说，“他既背叛了霸主，也背叛了驱逐者，双方都觉得他是在为他们自己工作。” “从保罗告诉我的故事中，”蒙席说，“领事忠于自己的信念，也忠于对他祖母希莉的记忆，”这位老人笑了笑，“还有，这出戏中有一千亿演员呢。上帝没有选择作为袍的工具，也没有选择，或者凯撒·奥古斯都。袍在罗马帝国最鄙陋的一个地区，选择了无名木匠的无名儿子。” “好吧，”我边说，边站了起来，在祭坛下方那光亮的马赛克前踱着步，“我们现在该做什么？杜雷神父，你得跟我一起去见悦石。她知道你们的朝圣。也许你的故事能阻止这迫在眉睫的大屠杀呢。” 杜雷也站起身，双臂交叉，仰望穹顶，似乎顶上的黑暗中有什么东西可以给他指令。“我考虑过这个，”他说，“但是我想我的首要责任不是这个。我得去神林，和他们相当于教皇的人——也就是世界树的忠诚之音谈一谈。” 我不再踱步。“神林？它跟这一切有什么关系？” “我感觉，在这棘手的哑谜中，圣徒是某个失踪要素的关键所在。既然你说海特·马斯蒂恩已经死了。那么，也许忠诚之音会向我们解释，他们在这次朝圣中本来有什么计划……也可以告诉我，马斯蒂恩有什么故事。毕竟，他是七名朝圣者中唯一一个没有讲述故事的，没有告诉我们他为何来海伯利安。” 我再次踱起步来，脚步比刚才更快了，想要压制住心头的怒火。“我的天，杜雷。我们没时间来满足这无益的好奇心了。现在只有——”我在植入物中查询了一下，“——一个半小时了，之后驱逐者的侵略游群就会进入神林星系。那里现在肯定是座疯人院了。” “也许吧，”这位耶稣会士说道，“但我还是会先去那里。然后我会去和悦石谈谈。也许她会批准让我回海伯利安。” 我哼了一声，我很怀疑首席执行官会让这样一个有价值的报信人回去受伤害的。“我们走吧。”我说，转身去找出去的路。 “等一会，”杜雷说，“你刚才说，你醒着的时候，你还是不时地能……'梦见'……朝圣者。这是一种入定状态，是不是？” "almost." “好吧，赛文先生，请你现在做做他们的梦。” 我惊讶万分地盯着他。“在这儿？现在？” 杜雷示意我坐在他的椅子上。“请。我想知道我朋友们的命运。并且，在我们面见忠诚之音与悦石的时候，这些消息也许非常具有价值。” 我摇摇头，但还是就坐于他给予的椅子上。“也许我梦不到。”我说。 “那我们也不会失去什么。”杜雷说。 我点点头，闭上双眼，靠在这不太舒服的椅子上。我能真切地感觉到这两人正注视着我，感觉到薰香和暴雨的微弱气味，感觉到环绕在我们边上的余音回荡的空间。我确信无疑，我肯定梦不到，我梦中的景色绝没有近得只要我闭上眼睛就能召唤出它的。 被注视的感觉淡去，气味远去，空间感扩大了千倍，与此同时，我回到了海伯利安。

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Notes: