Chapter 40 Chapter Thirty-Nine

That building sits on Plaza de España.The two rooms on the second floor are small and narrow, with high ceilings, and are dark (although each room is lit by a frosted lamp, as if lit by a ghost, waiting to be visited by other ghosts).My room was the smaller one, facing the square, but all I could see from the high window tonight was darkness, deeper darkness upon darkness, and the constant murmur of Bernini's spooky fountain , adding a more gloomy feature. One of the twin towers of the Holy Trinity Church rang on the hour.The church crouched in the dark like a huge tawny cat on the top of the steps outside.I listened to the chimes of the dawn bells, short notes.I pictured ghostly hands tugging at the decaying bell rope.Or rotten hands pulling ghostly bell ropes.I don't know which of these visions is more suitable for the horror fantasy of this endless night.

The fever oppresses me tonight, suffocating me like a thick, wet blanket.My skin is damp to the touch from rounds of scorching.I was struck by two coughing fits, the first of which caused Hunter, who was sleeping in another room, to get up from the cot and run to me, his eyes widening after seeing the blood I spat on the brocade quilt, I was shocked; during the second convulsion, I tried my best to hold my breath, and staggered to the washbasin on the cabinet, vomiting a small amount of black blood and black phlegm.This time, Hunter didn't wake up. Finally came back here.All the way back to these dark rooms, this horrible bed.I vaguely recall waking up here, miraculously cured, by the "real" Doctors Seven and Clark, and even a diminutive Signora Angeletti wandering the outer room .I remember the days, recovering from death; the days, knowing I wasn't Keats, knowing I wasn't on the real Earth, knowing it wasn't the century I closed my eyes last night... know, I wasn't Humanity.

Sometime after two o'clock, I fell asleep, and while I was asleep, I started dreaming.It was a dream I had never experienced before.I dreamed that I rose slowly, passed through the data plane, passed through the data network, entered and passed through the Wanfang network, and finally came to a place I didn't know, a place I had never dreamed of... this place , infinite in space, leisurely in color, indescribable, without horizon, without sky, without earth or the solid region that man calls ground.I think it's the metanet because I immediately feel that this level of sympathetic reality includes all the weird sensations I've experienced on Earth, all the duality and intelligence I've felt as I flow from the tech core to the datanet Pleasure, and above all, a... what feeling?A sense of grandeur?Freedom? — Potential, perhaps, this word is exactly what I am looking for.

I am alone in this metanet.Colors flowed above me, below me, through my body... sometimes melting into vague crayon drawings, sometimes converging into a cloud-like illusory world, and at some rare moments they would form more solid objects, shapes, unique Form, human-like in appearance, yet not human--I look at them like a child in spring looking at the clouds, imagining elephants, Nile crocodiles, giant gunboats marching from west to east. After a while, I heard voices: the frantic flow of the Bernini fountain in the square outside; the rustling and cooing of pigeons on the ledge above the window roof; the slight groan of Lee Hunter in his sleep.But above these voices, below them, I could hear another voice, more eerie, more unreal, but infinitely more menacing.

Something huge is coming to me this way.I struggled to see through the obscurity of the crayon drawing; something was moving just beyond the horizon of my vision.I know, it knows my name.I know that in one hand it holds my life, in the other its fist holds my death. In this space beyond space, I have nowhere to hide.I cannot escape.From the world I have left, the song of pain continues to come and go--the daily pain of everyone everywhere, the pain of those who are suffering this battle of the beginning, the pain of those who hang on the terrible tree of the Shrike The exact and clear pain of man, most unbearable, is the pain I have felt from the pilgrims and others whose lives and thoughts have been shared with me.

If the looming shadow of death saves me from this song of pain, I'll rush to greet it, and it will be worth it. "Seven! Seven!" For an instant I thought it was I who was calling, as I used to call Joseph Seven's name in these rooms at night when my pain and fever were beyond my tolerance.He's always there: Seven, the clumsy, slow Seven, the good Seven, the gentle smile, and there's always some little meanness or comment in my head that I want to get from him Wipe those smiles off your face.People always can't hold back their good temper when they are dying. I have been generous all my life...why?When I suffer, when I cough the rough remnants of my lungs into a stained handkerchief, shall I continue the fate of this generous role?

"Severn!" That's not my voice.Hunter was shaking my shoulders, calling Seven's name.I realized he was calling my name.I pushed his hands away and poured them back into the pillow. "What's the matter? What happened?" "You're moaning," said Pleasant Stone's assistant, "you're shouting." "Had a bad dream. Nothing happened." "Your dreams are more than dreams," Hunter said.He looked around the cramped room, now illuminated by a lamp he had brought in. "Severn, this place really sucks." I want to laugh. "The room cost me twenty-eight shillings a month. Seven. High road robbery."

Hunter frowned at me.The harsh light made his wrinkles look deeper than usual. "Listen, Seven, I know you're a cyborg. Gladstone told me you're a reconstructed personality of a poet named Keats. Now, apparently all of this—" He gestured helplessly across the room , shadows, tall rectangular windows, tall beds, "—what does all this have to do with that. But what the hell? What game is the kernel playing anyway?" "I'm not sure." I said honestly. "But you know this place?" "Oh, yes." I speak from feeling. "Tell me," Hunter begged.He restrained himself, begged me sincerely, and he asked so sincerely, so now I'm going to tell him.

I told him about the poet John Keats, born in 1795, his short but melancholy life, and his death in 1821 of "consumption" in Rome, away from friends, away from his only true love .I told him about my staged "recovery" in this room, and I decided to go by the name of Joseph Seven - the artist Keats met and who stayed with Keats until his final death - In the end, I told him about my brief time in the Web, listening, watching, dreaming about the lives of the Shrike pilgrims on Hyperion, among other things. "Dreams?" Hunter said. "You mean you can dream about what's happening in the Ring even now?"

"Yes." I told him about Pleasant Stone's dream, about the destruction of the Gates of Heaven and the Forest of Gods, about the chaotic visions from Hyperion. Hunter paced up and down the narrow room, his shadow cast high on the rough walls. "Can you get in touch with them?" "And those people I dreamed of? Heyue Stone?" I thought for a while, "I can't." "Are you sure?" I tried to explain it to him. "I'm not even in these dreams myself, Hunter. I have no... voice, no presence... I can't get in touch with anyone in the dreams."

"But sometimes you dream about what they think, don't you?" I know he's right.close to the truth. "I feel how they feel..." "Then can't you leave some traces in their consciousness... in their memory? Let them know where we are?" "cannot." Hunter slumped into the chair at the foot of my bed.He suddenly became very old. "Lee," I said to him, "even if I could talk to Pleasant Stone or anyone else—even though I couldn't—what good would it be? I told you that this replica of the Old Land is in the Magellanic Cloud. Even at the Hawking speed of quantum leaps, it would take centuries for anyone to come to us." "We can warn them," Hunter said, his voice weary and morose. "Warning them what? Pleasant's worst nightmares are coming true all around her. Do you think she still believes in the Kernel now? That's why the Kernel is so blatantly abducting us. Things are moving very fast, either in Pleasant Stone or Overlord It's too late for anyone to deal with it." Hunter rubbed his eyes, then put his fingers up under his nose.He stared at me fiercely. "Are you really the reconstructed personality of some poet?" I said nothing. "Recite a poem for me. Make up any one." I shake my head.It's late, we're all tired and scared, my heart is still pounding, and I haven't recovered from this nightmare, which is worse than a nightmare.I'm not going to be mad at Hunter. "Come on," he said, "let me see if you're a new and improved version of Bill Keats." "John Keats," I said softly. "Whatever it is. Come on, Seven. Either call you John. Or whatever I should call you. Recite a poem." "All right," I said, calling him back With a glance, "Listen up." There was a naughty child, The naughty boy is he, He doesn't do anything, only scribble poetry—— he holds in one hand ink bottle, holding in one hand quill, fart fart ran away. run to alpine, fountain. ghost, tanker. witch, ditch. it's cold he spread his coat write poetry. warm weather fear of ink blobs He doesn't write. Oh, we act on intuition North! North! intuition facing north, Behold the magic! "I don't understand," Hunter said, "that doesn't sound like a poet of all ages." I shrugged. "Did you dream of Pleasant Stone tonight? What happened? Keeping you moaning there?" "No. Nothing to do with Pleasant Stone. It was a...real nightmare, and things are starting to change." Hunter stood up, lifted the lamp, and was about to walk out of the room with the only light source.I heard the sound of the fountain in the square, and the sound of the pigeons on the windowsill. "Tomorrow," he said, "we'll figure it all out and find a way to get back. If they can teleport us here, there must be a way to teleport us back." "Yes." I said, knowing it was a lie. "Good night," said Hunter, "don't have any more nightmares, will you?" "Won't do it again." I said, and I knew it was a big lie. Pulling the wounded Kassad away from the Shrike, Moneta reached out with a hand that seemed to keep the creature at bay as she fumbled a blue torus from the strap of the skin-like suit and coiled it behind. A two-meter-high golden oval hangs in the air, blinking. "Let me go," Kassad grunted, "let's end it." The colonel's skin-like suit was clawed wide open by the Shrike, blood spattering.His right foot was dangling, as if the heel had been cut in half, and he couldn't bear weight on it.Kassad was able to stand during the fight simply because he was fighting the Shrike, and was nearly outmaneuvered by the monster's crazy clumsy dance moves. "Let me go," repeated Fedman Kassad. "Shut up," Moneta said, and then she whispered, "Honey, don't say any more." She dragged him across the golden oval, and together they came into a blaze of light. Despite his aches and exhaustion, Kassad was dazed by what he saw.They weren't in Hyperion; he was absolutely sure.A vast prairie stretched illogically far to the horizon, as he had never experienced before.Low orange grass - if that was grass - grew on flats and hills like the down on the back of some giant caterpillar, and something that might have been a tree stood there like a carbon sculpture of whiskers , their branches have a rare baroque structure, like the works of Escher's brushwork, and their leaves are various dark blue and purple ovals, shining in the light of the sky. But that's not daylight.Just as Monetta pulled him out of the closing portal (Kassad didn't think it was a teleporter, because he believed it took them not just through space, but through time), towards a mysterious clump of trees. go.Kassad looked up to the sky, feeling almost miraculous.As bright as day in Hyperion, as bright as noon at the Luthers Mall, as bright as a midsummer day in Kassad's arid homeland, the Talsis plateau on Mars, but it wasn't daylight—in the sky, The stars are dense and the stars are bright. It is a galaxy full of stars, and there is almost no place for darkness among the bright lights.It's like being in a planetarium with ten printers.It's like being in the center of the galaxy. The center of the galaxy. A group of men and women in skin-like suits came out from the shade of the Escher tree and surrounded Kassad and Moneta.One of the men—a giant even by Kassad's Martian standards—looks at him, then up to Moneta.Although Kassad didn't hear or feel anything through the skin-like suit's broadcast and dense light receiver, he knew that the two were communicating. "Lie down," Moneta said, and she laid Kassad on the velvety orange grass.He struggled to get up, to speak, but Moneta and the giant pressed their palms to his chest.Kassad lay back, his eyes full of crooked purple leaves and a sky full of stars. The man touched him again, and Kassad's skin-like suit was released.Realizing that he was lying naked in front of a small crowd around him, he tried to sit up and cover himself, but Moneta's strong hands held him down again.Under the pincers of pain and confusion, he vaguely felt that the man was stroking his cut arm and chest, and the silver-covered hand was stroking all the way down his feet, touching the severed Aka. Lucy's heel.Wherever the giant's hand touched, the colonel felt a coolness there.His consciousness floated away like a balloon, rising above the tawny grasslands and rolling hills, toward the real canopy of stars, where a gigantic figure awaited, dimly like a towering tower above the horizon The thundercloud that was raised was as tall as a mountain. "Kassad," Moneta whispered, and the colonel floated back, "Kassad," she called again, her lips pressed against his cheek.His skin-like suit was reactivated, merging with hers. Moneta straightened up, and Colonel Federman Kassad sat up too.He shook his head, realizing that he was wearing the mercury power suit again.He stood up and the pain was gone.He felt a little sting from the original cuts and severe scratches, but they have now healed and repaired.He merged his hands into his suit, caressed his body, bent his knees to touch his heels, but didn't feel the scar. Kassad turned to the giant. "Thank you," he said, but he didn't know if the man could hear him. The giant nodded and stepped back among the others. "He's a . . . a doctor, so to speak," Moneta said. "A healer." Kassad was preoccupied with the others, and her words reached him faintly.They were human—he really felt they were—but their variety was astounding: the skin-like suits weren't all silver like Kassad and Moneta's, but came in more than twenty colors, each Each color is as soft and organic as the fur of some living wild creature.Only tiny flashes of energy and blurred facial features reveal the surface of the skin-like suit.Their physiques were as varied as their hues: the Medic's huge, shrike-like girth and bulky frame, broad brows and streams of tawny energy, perhaps a head of long, thick hair...beside him stood a woman , although not much older than a little girl, is clearly female, with an excellent figure, strong legs, a petite chest, and two-meter-long fairy-like wings standing on her back--not just decorative wings, because, right in When the breeze blew across the orange prairie and the grass rippled, the woman trotted for a while, opened her arms, and flew gracefully in the air. There are several tall, thin women in blue skin-like suits with long webbed fingers, and behind them, a group of short men wearing masks and armor plates, as if they are about to enter a vacuum and go into battle. Navy sailors.But Kassad felt that the armor was part of their body.Overhead, a group of winged men soared into the air on the rising thermals, tiny yellow laser beams flickering between them with some sort of complex coded message.Their lasers seemed to be firing from an eye on each man's chest. Kassad shook his head again. "We have to go," Moneta said. "We can't have the Shrike follow us here. These warriors have enough to do before they can deal with the Lord of Mourning's special apparition." "Where are we?" Kassad asked. Moneta pulled a golden torus from his belt, releasing a purple oval. "The distant future of humanity. One of our futures. This is where the Time Tombs take shape and project backward in time." Kassad looked around again.Something huge is moving under the star field, blocking thousands of stars, casting a shadow, which is fleeting.For a moment men and women looked up, but then went about their separate business: harvesting small things from trees; Spears galloped toward the horizon.A short, fat man, whose gender is unknown, burrowed into the soft soil, and now only a raised line of soil can be seen moving quickly around this group of people, forming concentric circles one after another. "What the hell is this place?" Kassad asked again, "What the hell is that?" Suddenly, he felt himself on the verge of tears, and even he couldn't explain what was going on, as if turning around On a strange street corner, he suddenly found himself home, back in the Talsis reassignment camp project, his long-lost mother was waving at the door, and those forgotten friends and brothers and sisters were waiting for him Come play a game of sprint ball. "Come on," Moneta said, with unmistakable eagerness in her tone.She pulled Kassad toward the shiny oval.The soldier, on the other hand, kept looking at the other people and the starry sky until he walked into the oval and the sight in front of him disappeared. They stepped out into the darkness.It took a few seconds for the filters in Kassad's skin-like suit to correct the field of view.They are in the Valley of the Time Tombs in Hyperion, at the base of the Crystal Monolith.It's night now.Clouds were billowing overhead, and a storm was raging.Only the flickering light from the Time Tombs illuminated these scenes.Having just stepped out of a clean, well-lit area, Kassad now felt a sudden nausea of ​​loss, and then his consciousness focused on what he saw in front of him. sol.Winterberg and Braun Lamia were half a kilometer south of the valley, Thor leaned over Braun, and the woman was lying in front of the Emerald Tomb.The wind and sand were blowing so densely around them that they didn't see the Shrike walking like a shadow across the path of the obelisk toward them. Feldman Kassad stepped off the black marble floor in front of the Monolith, avoiding the crystal shards scattered along the path.He realized that Moneta was still clutching his arm. "If you fight again," she said, her voice moving in her ears, soft, urgent, "the Shrike will kill you." "They're my friends," Kassad said.His army equipment and splintered armor still lay where Moneta had dropped them hours earlier.He searched in the Monument, and finally found an assault gun and a bag of grenades. The gun was still working. He checked the ammunition, released the safety button, and then walked out of the Monument, walking forward quickly, trying to intercept them on the way. Lower Shrike. I woke up with the rush of water in my ears.For a split second, I thought I was hiking with my group, near Lord Falls, and waking up from a doze.But when I opened my eyes, the darkness in front of me was as horrible as when I fell asleep, and the sound of the water was dripping with disgust, not.I feel terrible - not only because Brown and I go up Mount Skiddow stupidly without breakfast and come down the mountain with a burning throat and very uncomfortable - but also, I'm dead The general patient is terminally ill, with pain all over the body, and the illness is even worse than malaria. Phlegm and flames are already boiling in my chest and lower abdomen. I sat up and groped my way to the window.A dim light came from under the door of Hunter's room, and I realized that he had fallen asleep with the lamp on.That wouldn't be a bad thing, I could go and light the lights too, but I don't have to now because I'm groping my way to this slightly brighter rectangle where the darkness outside is anchored in a darker part of the room . The air was fresh, smelling of rain.Lightning flashed right above the rooftops of Rome, and I finally understood that the sound that woke me up was thunder.There are no other burning lamps in the city.Leaning a little out of the open window, I could see the rain-splattered steps above the square, and the Holy Trinity Cathedral silhouetted black against the lightning.The wind blowing off the steps was bitterly cold, and I went back to the bed, wrapped myself in a blanket, and dragged a chair to the window, where I sat, looking out, thinking. I remembered my brother Tom, in his last weeks, his last days, his face and body were terribly contorted from difficulty breathing.I remembered my mother, how pale she looked, her face almost glowing in the dark room.The adults allowed my sister and I to stroke her sticky hands, kiss her hot lips, and then back out.I remember once, after leaving the room, I wiped my lips secretly and glanced sideways to see if my sister and others had seen my sinful deed. Less than thirty hours after Keats' death, Dr. Clarke and an Italian surgeon opened his body, and they saw, as Seven later wrote to a friend: "... Bad symptoms—both lungs are completely destroyed—the cells are all dead.” Neither Dr. Clark nor the Italian doctor could imagine how Keats survived the last two months. I sat in the dark room, looking at the dark square, my thoughts were racing.Meanwhile, I listened to the simmering in my chest and throat, felt the pain burn like fire inside me, felt the nightmare pain in my head that cried out: Martin Silenus cries from the trees, Suffering from those verses, for me I am too weak and cowardly to complete them; the cry of Feldman Kassad, ready to die at the claws of the Shrike ; the cry of the Consul, who was compelled to commit yet another act of treachery; the cry of thousands of saints, who mourned the death of their world and lamented the death of their brother Heite Masteen; Braun Lamia the cry of Paul Dooley, as he lay wrestling with the electric shock and the onslaught of memories, feeling clearly the waiting crucifix on his chest ; the cry of Saul Winterberg, who beat the land of Hyperion over and over again, calling for his own child, and the cry of Rachel's baby still rings in our ears. "Damn it," I murmured to myself, beating my fist on the stone and plaster of the window frame, "Damn it." After a while, just as the first white light heralded dawn, I walked away from the window, found my bed, lay there for a while, and closed my eyes. Governor Theo Wren heard music and woke up.He blinked, looked around, and recognized the nutrition tank and the spacecraft's medical room next to him. He felt as if he had seen them in a dream.Theo realized that he was wearing soft black pajamas, sleeping in the examination room couch.Now, Theo's fragmented memories of the past twelve hours are beginning to fit together: lifted from the medical trough, fitted with sensors, the Consul and another man leaning over to watch him, asking some questions, Theo opened his mouth to answer, as if he really It was like waking up, and then falling asleep, dreaming of Hyperion and its burning cities.No, those are not dreams. He sat up, feeling himself almost floating out of the bed, and found the clothes, they were clean, neatly folded, and placed on the side shelf.He dressed quickly.The music kept playing, rising and falling, but the high-quality sound was always lingering in my ears.That was a live performance, not a recording. Theo walked up a short flight of steps to the entertainment cabin.He was surprised to find that the door of the spaceship was open, and the observation deck was peeked out. Obviously, the concealment field had also been removed.He stopped.The gravity underfoot was minuscule: just enough to pull Theo back onto the deck, just right—maybe twenty percent of Hyperion's gravity, or less, maybe one-sixth of standard gravity. The ship's door is wide open.Bright sunlight poured into the open hatch and into the observatory.The Consul was sitting there, playing an ancient instrument he called a piano.Theo recognized the archaeologist, Alain Dezi, leaning against the open hull, holding a glass of wine.The Consul was playing a very old and complex piece; his fingers were twitching across the keys.Theo came closer and opened his mouth to whisper something to the smiling Aron Dezi, but suddenly stopped in shock and stared at what was in front of him. Outside the observatory, thirty meters below, the shining sun shines on the green lawn, extending to the very near horizon.On the lawn, clusters of humans were sitting or lying down in a leisurely manner, apparently listening to the Consul's impromptu concert.But who are those people! Theo saw some tall, lanky, esthete-looking figures in thin blue robes, pale and bald, but beside them, beyond them, all kinds of human beings of all kinds sat. Listen there—there are more varieties than the Web has ever seen: some are clad in fur and scales; some have bodies like bees, eyes like faceted receptors and tentacles; Frail and thin as sculptures, huge black wings rising from their bony shoulders and folded over the sides like capes; some clearly designed to live in high levels of gravity, small, stocky, muscular, like South Africans Buffaloes, stand before them, and even the Lususians look frail and dwarfed; some are short in stature, long in arms, and covered in orange fur, and only their pale, quick faces kill them from the old land. holograms of long-standing orangutans; others looked more like lemurs than humanoids, more eagles, lions, bears, and apes than humans.But somehow Theo knew right away that these were indeed human beings, he was as sure as he was of their shocking difference.The way their focused eyes, their relaxed posture, and a hundred delicate human qualities—even the way a butterfly-winged mother holds a butterfly-winged child in her arms—all proved that they were something Theo couldn't An ordinary human being in denial. Melio Arundez turned around, looked at Theo's expression with a smile, and whispered, "Destroyer." Theo Lane was stunned. He shook his head dazedly and listened to the music.Ousters are savages, not these beautiful lithe creatures.The Ouster captives on Brescia were all the same build—yes, tall, yes, thin, too, but clearly more in line with the Web than the dizzying array of different species before them.Not to mention their infantry corpses. Theo shook his head again, and at the same time, the Consul's piano music rushed to a climax, and finally ended with a loud note.Hundreds of people in the opposite field applauded and cheered, their voices were high and soft in the thin air, and Theo watched them stand up, stretch their limbs, and then go their separate ways... Some galloped towards the very near horizon, others Spread out the wings of 80 meters and soar into the sky.Others moved toward the bottom of the Consul ship. The Consul stood up, saw Theo, and smiled.He patted the young man on the shoulder. "Theo, you've come just in time. We're about to start negotiating." Theo Lane blinked.Three Ousters landed on the lookout, huge wings drawn behind them.Each of them has a thick coat of fur with different markings and stripes, the fur is as organic as that of wild animals, which makes people believe that it is real. "It's an honor," said the first deportee to the consul.His face was like a lion's--a broad nose, golden eyes, surrounded by a fringe of tawny fur. "The last piece is Mozart's Fantasia in D minor, isn't it?" "Yes," said the consul, "Freeman Fanz, allow me to introduce Mr. Theo Wren, the governor of Hyperion, the overlord's protected planet." Lionhead's gaze turned to Theo. "It's an honor." Freeman Fanzi held out his hairy hand. Theo shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Your Excellency." He wondered if he was still in the recovery tank, was he still dreaming?But the sunlight on his face and the grip of his hands showed that it was all real. Freeman Fanz turned back to look at the Consul. "On behalf of the Congregation, I would like to thank you for the concert you gave us. We haven't heard you play for many years, my friend." He looked around. "We can talk here, Or talk in one of our administrative centers, I will listen to your wishes." The Consul hesitated for a second. "We have three, Freeman Fanz, and you have many. We'll go to you." The lion's head nodded, and then looked into the sky. "We will send a boat to pick you up." He and the other two walked to the railing, stepped down, fell a few meters, and finally spread their complex wings and flew towards the horizon. "Jesus," Theo said softly.He gripped the consul's arm tightly, "Where are we?" "You Qun," said the consul, closing the lid of the Steinway piano.He opened the way ahead and led the two of them into the cabin. After Alang Dezi walked in, he put away the watchtower. "What are we going to talk about?" Theo asked. The Consul rubbed his eyes.It looked as though the man had slept little, or not at all, during the ten to twelve hours of Theo's treatment. "That's up to CEO Pleasant's next message," the Consul said, nodding toward the holographic well fogged with transmission data trains.At this moment, a meta-optical message is being decoded in the ancient launch pad of the spacecraft. Meina Gladstone walked into the infirmary of the government building, and was escorted by the doctors on call to the recovery cabin, where Paul Durley was lying in the device. "How is he?" she asked the first doctor, the CEO's personal physician. "Second degree flash burns over one-third of his body," Dr. Irma Androneva said, "burning off his eyebrows and parts of his hair... of course he didn't have much hair... body and face He also suffered third-degree radiation burns on the left side of his chest. We've done re-epithelialization and given him RNA template injections. He's in no pain, and he's unconscious. The cruciform parasite on his chest is a bit of a nuisance, but that's not right now. It would endanger the patient's life." "Third degree radiation burn," Yue Shi said, pausing for a moment, just out of hearing distance from the small cabin where Du Lei was waiting. "Is it caused by a plasma bomb?" "Yes," another doctor replied, Yue Shi did not recognize him, "We are sure that this person was teleported from the Shenlin, at the moment when the teleportation connection was cut off." "Okay," Yue Shi said, and stopped beside the floating tray where Du Lei was lying, "I want to talk to this gentleman alone." The two doctors glanced at each other, waved to a technician nurse, told it to return to the storage barrier, and then left here together, closing the portal leading to the intensive care unit at the same time. “杜雷神父？悦石问道。她见过这名牧师的全息像，也听赛文描述过朝圣诸事，因此她认得出他。杜雷满脸通红，脸上斑斑驳驳，闪着再生凝胶和喷射止痛药的光芒。即便如此，他的样子仍然惹人注目。 “执行官大人。”牧师小声说道，似乎想要坐起身。 悦石的手轻柔地搭在他的肩膀上。“躺好，”她说，“跟我说说发生了什么事，如何？” Du Lei nodded.这位年老的耶稣会士眼中含泪。 “世界树的忠诚之音不相信他们会真的攻击，”他低声道，嗓音中满含痛苦，“赛克·哈尔蒂恩觉得圣徒和驱逐者有着某种协议……某种协商。但他们真的攻击了。战术切割武器，等离子装备，核弹，我想……” “对，”悦石说，“我们在战略决议中心都看到了。我想知道所有的一切，杜雷神父。从你迈进海伯利安的穴冢后的一切。” 保罗·杜雷定睛望着悦石的脸庞。“你知道这些事？” “对。我知道大多数相关的事情。但我得知道更多的事。更多。” 杜雷闭上双眼。“迷宫……” "what?" “迷宫。”他再次说道，声音提高了一点。他清清嗓子，向她讲述了这一切——穿过万尸隧道的旅途，传送到军部的飞船，和赛文在佩森上的邂逅。“你确信赛文出发朝我们这里过来的？政府大楼？”悦石问。 “对。他和你的助手……亨特。两人本来都是想传送到这儿。” 悦石点点头，小心翼翼地碰了碰牧师肩膀上一块未烧伤的区域。“神父，事情发生得太快了。赛文失踪了，李·亨特也是。我需要有关海伯利安的建议。你能和我待在一起吗？” 有那么一会儿，杜雷看上去满脸困惑。“我得回去。回到海伯利安，执行官大人。索尔和其他人正在等我。” “我明白，”悦石安慰他说，“一旦有办法回到海伯利安，我会派你回去。但现在，环网正经受着野蛮的攻击。上百万人正在死亡，或者正命垂一线。我需要你的帮助，神父。在那之前，你能帮助我吗？” 保罗·杜雷叹了口气，躺了回去。“嗯，执行官大人。但我不知道我该怎么——” 传来一声轻轻的敲门声，赛德普特拉·阿卡西随后走了进来，她递给悦石一份信息纸。首席执行官笑了笑。“我说过，事情发生地非常快。神父，现在又有了新的进展。这是条来自佩森的消息，枢机团已经出席西斯廷教堂……”悦石扬扬眉毛，“神父，我忘了，是不是原本那座？” “对。在天大之误后，教会一块石头一块石头、一幅壁画一幅壁画地将它拆开，运到了佩森。” 悦石低头看了眼纸张。“……出席西斯廷教堂的会议，并选举出了一名新教皇。” “这么快？”保罗·杜雷低声道。他再次闭上双眼，“我猜，他们肯定觉得必须快点选好。佩森离驱逐者侵略波来袭……嗯，有多久来着？……十天工夫吧。但是，这决定却也来得太快了……” “有没有兴趣听听谁是新教皇？”悦石问。 “我猜，要么是安东尼奥·瓜杜希，要么是阿格斯蒂诺·路德尔枢机，”杜雷说，“其他人此时都不占多大的人数支持优势。” “不，”晚石说，“跟据这条来自罗马教廷爱德华主教的信息……” “爱德华主教！！！对不起，执行官大人，请继续。” “根据爱德华主教所说，枢机团选举的是一位地位未及蒙席之人，这是教会有史以来第一次。上面说，这位新教皇是一位耶稣会牧师……一个叫保罗·杜雷神父的人。” 杜雷挺直身板，坐起身，毫不顾及身上的烧伤。“什么？”他的声音中满是怀疑。 悦石把薄纸递给了他。 保罗·杜雷盯着纸张。“不可能。他们从没推举过地位未及蒙席之人作为教皇的，除了象征性的，但那不一样……我说的是圣贝弗德尔，当时刚过天大之误和奇迹……不，不，这不可能。” “据我的助手说，爱德华主教一直在向我们致电，”悦石道，“神父，我们会马上把电话给你接过来。嗯，也许我该称您为，教皇陛下？”首席执行官的语气中毫无嘲弄的意味。 杜雷抬起头，震惊异常，无言以对。 “我会把电话接进来，”悦石说，“也会尽快安排你回佩森，教皇陛下，但如果您能和我们保持联系，我会不胜感激的。我真的需要你的建议。” 杜雷点点头，又看了看薄纸。托盘上的控制台挂着一部电话，现在开始闪了起来。 首席执行官悦石走到外面的大厅中，把最新的事情进展告诉了医生，然后和安全人员取得联系，批准了爱德华蒙席或者佩森的其他教会官员的远距传输授权，接着传送回她在住宅侧楼的房间。赛德普特拉提醒她，理事会将在八分钟内在战略决议中心重新集结。悦石点点头，目送着她的助手走了出去。她走回到墙内隐蔽壁龛中的超光小室中，激活声波密隐场，在传输触显上打入领事飞船的代码。环网、偏地、整个银河、整个宇宙的每台超光接受器都能监听到这条信息，但唯有领事的飞船可以解码。她希望如此。 全息摄影灯红光闪动。“基于来自你飞船的自动信息，我想你已经做出抉择——和驱逐者会晤，并且他们也允许你的拜临，”悦石面对着摄影机说道，“同时，我猜你也已经熬过了首次会面。” 悦石吸了口气。“我，代表霸主，让你在这几年中牺牲了许多。现在，我代表所有的人类请求你。请你务必查明以下这五件事： “第一，为什么驱逐者要攻击并摧毁环网世界？你，拜伦·拉米亚，还有我，都明白他们想要的只是海伯利安。为什么他们要改变主意？ “第二，技术内核在哪？如果我们要和它们交战，我必须要知道这个。难道驱逐者忘记了我们共同的敌人——内核了吗？ “第三，他们有什么停火条件？如果能够摆脱内核的控制，我愿意作出牺牲。但是他们必须停止屠杀！！ “第四，我想问，游群合聚体的领导者是否愿意亲自和我本人会面？如果必要，我会传输至海伯利安星系。虽然我们的大多数舰队已经撤离，但是还有一艘跳跃飞船和护送船留在了那，留下了奇点球。请游群的领导尽快定夺，因为军部想要摧毁奇点，届时海伯利安将会与环网远隔三年的时间债。 “最后，请游群的领导谨记在心，内核希望我们使用某种类似死亡之杖的暴力装置来反击驱逐者侵略部队。已经有很多军部领导同意了。没多少时间了。我们不会——重复申述，不会——允许驱逐者侵略部队侵占环网的。 “现在，一切都看你的了。请向我确认你收到此消息，一旦谈判开始，请通过超光信息告知我。” 悦石紧盯着摄影碟，将他人格和诚挚的力量下达到了光年之外。“看在人类历史的份上，我恳求你，请你务必完成任务。” 紧随超光信息之后是不断扯动的两分钟影像，显示了天国之门和神林的覆亡。在全息像隐退之后，领事、美利欧·阿朗德淄和西奥·雷恩坐在那儿沉默不言。 “是否回复？”飞船询问道。 领事清清嗓子。“确认我们已收到信息，”他说，“发出我们的坐标。”他的目光穿过全息井，盯着另两个人。“先生们？” 阿朗德淄摇摇头，似乎在整理大脑的脉络。“显然，你以前来过这儿……来过驱逐者游群。” “对，”领事说，“在布雷西亚……在我的妻儿……在布雷西亚之后，也就是不久前，我和游群会过面，和他们进行过详尽的谈判。” “代表霸主？”西奥问。这位红脑袋的脸庞看上去越发垂老了，上面布满了皱纹，焦虑异常。 “代表悦石议员的党派，”领事说，“当时她还没被选举为首席执行官。她的派系向我解释说，技术内核中有一股内在的力量正在作斗争，如果我们将海伯利安引进环网保护体，就可以影响到它们。而最简单的办法，就是把信息走漏给驱逐者……这些信息可以让他们攻击海伯利安，由此将霸主舰队带到这里。” “你完成了任务？”阿朗德淄的语气冷冰冰的，虽然他的妻子和长大成人的孩子生活在复兴之矢星球上，现在，那儿离侵略波只剩不到八小时时间了。 领事坐回到软垫中。“不。我把霸主的计划告诉了驱逐者。他们把我送回环网，我成了一名双重间谍。驱逐者计划夺取海伯利安，但是具体什么时刻，他们将自己选择。” 西奥坐在那里，他凑向前，双手紧紧互握。“在领事馆的那所有日子……” “我在等驱逐者的消息，”领事有气无力地说道，“你瞧，他们有一项装置，可以瓦解光阴冢四周的逆熵场。他们会在准备好后打开它们。让伯劳摆脱掉束缚。” “这么说，是驱逐者干的。”西奥说。 “不，”领事说，“是我干的。我背叛了驱逐者，就像我背叛了悦石和霸主一样。我枪杀了驱逐者派来校准装置的女人……她，还有跟她一起来的技师……然后打开了装置。逆熵场瓦解了。最后的朝圣得以筹备。伯劳自由了。” 西奥盯着他过去的良师。这位年轻人的绿色眼眸中带着满满的困惑，而不是愤怒。“为什么？你为什么要这么做？” 领事不动声色地把事情简要地告诉了他们，关于茂伊约星球上他的祖母希莉，关于她反抗霸主而发起的叛乱——这场叛乱甚至在她和她的挚爱，也就是领事的祖父死后，也没有消亡。 阿朗德淄从显像井中站起身，走到嘹望台对面的窗户边。日光溢过他的双腿，溢过深蓝的地毯。“驱逐者知道你做的事情么？” “现在知道了，”领事说，“我们来到这以后，我把事情告诉了弗里曼·范兹和其他人。” 西奥在全息井的直径内来回踱步。“也就是说，我们所赶赴的这次会晤，也许是一次审判，对不对？” 领事笑了笑。“或者说是处决。” 西奥停下脚步，双拳紧握。“晚石明知这一切，却还叫你再次来这里，是不是？” "right." 西奥转过身。“我真不知道自己是否愿意让他们把你处决。” “我也不知道，西奥。”领事说。 美利欧。阿朗德淄转身从窗户边离开。“范兹是不是说他们会派艘船过来接我们？” 他语气中有什么东西把两人引到窗边。他们着陆的这个世界是个中号小行星，外面环绕着一层十级密蔽场，经过一代一代的风、水和小心的地球化结构改造，已经成了一个天球。海伯利安的太阳已经落到了超近的地平线之后，延绵几公里的毫无特色的草儿在无常的微风下泛起涟漪。飞船下方，一条宽阔的溪涧，或者说是一条狭窄的河川，缓缓地流过牧场，一路向地平线行进，然后似乎飞临升天，驰向了一条变成了瀑布的河流，继而盘旋而上，穿过远方的密蔽场，蜿蜒地穿越了上面黑暗的太空，最后缩小成一条窄得看不见的细线了。 一艘小船正从那高耸入云的瀑布上驶下，朝他们这个小型世界的表面驰来。船头船尾看得见人影。 “老天啊。”西奥低声说道。 “我们最好做好准备，”领事说，“那是我们的护卫队。” 外面，落日以令人震惊的速度极速坠落，透过阴影地面上方半公里高的水帘，发出最后的光线，在深蓝色的天空中烙上了彩虹之印，它们的颜色和充实度几乎让人惊惧。

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