Chapter 44 Chapter Forty-Three

Lee Hunter had never witnessed someone else's death before.The last day and night he spent with Keats (though Hunter still regarded him as Joseph Seven, but he was also convinced that the dying man had identified himself as John Keats) was the most difficult of Hunter's life. .On Keats's last day, blood kept coughing out of his mouth, and in between bouts of vomiting, Hunter could hear phlegm bubbling in his throat and chest as the short man fought to survive. loud sound. Hunt sat at the head of the bed in this small front room in the Plaza de España, listening to Keats babble.Time runs from dawn to morning, from morning to noon.Keats was feverish, conscious by turns lucid and bewildered, but he insisted that Hunter listen and take note of what he said—they found ink, quills, and Folios in another room— Hunter was obliged to listen.The dying cyborg spoke frantically of metanets and lost gods, of poets and the death of gods, and of the inner core, while Hunter scribbled tirelessly.

Hunter suddenly regained his energy, and he squeezed Keats's hot hand tightly. "Where's the kernel, Sy-Kats? Where the hell is the kernel?" Sweat dripped from the dying man's face, and he turned his face away. "Don't blow on me - it's cold as ice!" "Inner core," Hunter repeated, leaning back, feeling pity and disappointment in his heart, feeling like tears were about to fall, "where is the inner core?" Keats laughed, shaking his head painfully back and forth.He was breathing hard, sounding like wind blowing through a ruptured bellows. "Like a spider in a web," he muttered, "a spider in a web. Weave...let's weave them...bind us and squeeze us dry. Like flies stuck to a web and caught by a spider."

Hunter stopped writing and continued to listen to the seemingly meaningless delirium.Then it dawned on him. "My God," he whispered, "they're in the teleportation system." Keats tried to sit up, and he grabbed Hunter's arm with terrifying force. "Hunter, tell your leader. Tell Pleasure Stone to tear it off. Rip it off. Spider in the web. God of man and god of machines...must be one. Not me!" He fell headfirst on the pillow On, began to sob silently, "It's not me." Keats took a nap through the long afternoon.Though Hunter knew it was something closer to death than sleep.The slightest movement would awaken the dying poet and make him struggle for breath.By sunset, Keats was too weak to cough up phlegm, and Hunter had to help him bend his head over the washbasin, allowing gravity to clear his bloody mouth and throat.

While Keats was falling asleep intermittently, Hunter went to the window several times, and once went down the stairs to the front door and looked out into the square. There was something tall and sharp standing in the shadows across the square, Just near the bottom of the steps. At night, Hunt, sitting upright on the hard chair beside Keats' bed, could not help dozing off.In the dream, he fell on his head, which made him wake up suddenly, stretched out his arms, and stabilized his body. Unexpectedly, Keats was awake and looking at him. "Have you ever faced death face to face?" Keats asked him in between soft gasps of breathing.

"No." Hunter felt that there was something strange in the young man's eyes, as if Keats was looking at him on the surface, but he saw another person. "I pity you then," said Keats, "that you have gotten into this trouble and danger for me. Be strong now, for it will not last long." Hunter was shocked, not just by the gentle courage of the words, but by the sudden shift in Keats's tone, from the drab Web standard to something older and more interesting. "Bullshit," said Hunter heartily, pumping up enthusiasm and energy he didn't realize, "we'll be out of this before dawn. I'll sneak out as soon as it gets dark, and I'm sure I'll find the teleportation."

Keats shook his head. "The Shrike will catch you. It won't allow anyone to help me. Its role is to make sure I get out by myself." He closed his eyes, and his breathing became harsher at the same time. "I don't understand," said Lee Hunter, taking the young man's hand.He thought it was feverish nonsense, but since it was one of the few moments of full sobriety that Keats had had in the past two days, Hunter felt it was worth the effort to talk to him, "You said getting out by yourself, which is What's the meaning?" Keats's eyes fluttered open.Hazel eyes are clear and bright. "Cloud Gate and others are trying to get me out of it by accepting the godhead, Hunter. That's bait for the white whale, honey for the ultimate fly. Escaped empathy will make a home in me...in me, John J. Mr. Ci, five feet tall...then, it's a reconciliation, do you understand?"

"What reconciliation?" Hunter leaned forward, trying not to spray Keats in the face.Keats seemed to shrink under the bedding and unkempt blankets, but the enthusiasm radiating from him seemed to light up the room.His face was a pale oval in the fading light.Hunter faintly felt a streak of golden reflected sunlight moving at the junction of the ceiling and the wall, but Keats's eyes remained fixed on the last tiny dot of daylight. "The reconciliation of man and machine, between creator and creation," Keats had finished, before coughing again.Hunter handed over the washbasin, bright red phlegm dripped in, and the cough stopped.He lay back, gasped for a moment, and added, "A reconciliation between humans and the race that humans want to exterminate, a reconciliation between the core and the humans that the core wants to exterminate, the 'condensed nothingness' that pain evolved A reconciliation between the God of God and the ancestors who wanted to destroy it."

Hunter shook his head and stopped writing. "I don't understand. Can you become this... Messiah by getting out of your deathbed?" Keats's pale oval face rested on the pillow, shaking it back and forth in a gesture that should have been amused. "We can all, Hunter. Human folly and great self-esteem. We accept our own pain. Make way for our children. That earns us the right to be the God of our dreams." Hunter lowered his head and found that his fists were clenched in disappointment. "If you can...become this god...then do it quickly. Let's get out of this damn place!"

Keats closed his eyes again. "I can't. I'm not that man, I'm the man before him. I'm not the Baptist, I'm the Baptist. God damn it, Hunter, I'm an atheist! When I'm drowning, even Seven I can’t convince me to believe these things either!” Keats gripped Hunter’s shirt tightly, frightening the man older than him with such force, “Write it down!” Hunter groped to find an ancient quill and rough paper, and he wrote quickly, recording the words that Keats chanted: Read marvelous texts in your face, Extensive knowledge made me a god. Fame, deeds, ancient legends, dreadful deeds,

Rebellion, kingship, voice of kings, great pain, Creation, destruction, all in an instant poured into the vast space of my mind, worship me as a god, as if I had drunk Unparalleled wine or elixir in the universe, thus becoming immortal. Keats lived another three hours in agony.Like a swimmer who now and then emerges from the sea of ​​misery in which he is drowning to breathe some air, or whisper eager nonsense.Once, long after dark, he tugged at Lahunter's sleeve and whispered something sober. "After I die, the Shrike won't hurt you. It's waiting for me. Although there may be no way home, it won't hurt you when you find your way." Just as Hunter leaned over to hear Listening to see if the poet's breath was still gurgling in his chest, Keats spoke again, staccato in between spasms, and he gave Hunter a definite instruction to bury him in the In the Protestant cemetery in Rome, next to the Pyramid of Caius Cestius.

"Nonsense, bullshit," Hunter muttered over and over, as if reciting a spell.He squeezed the hot hand of the young man tightly. "Flowers." After a while, Keats whispered just as Hunter lit a lamp on the desk.The poet stares at the ceiling with wide-eyed eyes and pure, childlike wonderment on his face.Hunter looked up and saw the withered yellow roses depicted in the blue squares of the ceiling. "Flowers... on top of my head," Keats whispered between labored breathing. Hunter was standing by the window, and he was looking out, staring at the shadows across the Spanish Steps, when suddenly the harsh, painful breath behind him trembled and stopped abruptly.Keats said out of breath, "Severn...help me up! I'm dying." Hunter sat on the edge of the bed and supported him.A heat flowed from the small, seemingly feather-light body, as if the man's true form had been burned away. "Don't be afraid. Be strong. Thank God it's finally here!" Keats gasped, and then the terrible rasp died away.Hunter supported Keats and made him lie back comfortably, his breathing had eased to a more normal rhythm. Hunter refilled the basin, dampened a clean cloth, and returned to find Keats dead. Then, just after sunrise, Hunter picked up the little body—he wrapped it in clean linen from his own bed—and walked out the door into the city. By the time Braun Lamia reached the end of the valley, the storm had eased.As she passed the cave mound, she saw the same strange light emanating from other mounds.At the same time, there was a terrible sound-like the cry of thousands of souls-that echoed and groaned in the world.Braun quickened his pace and rushed forward. Even as she stood in front of the Shrike's sanctuary, the sky had become clear.The building lived up to its name: the semicircular dome of boulders arched upward and outward like the monster's carapace, the pillars curved downward like blades piercing the valley floor, and the other buttresses leaped upward and outward like the Shrike. of thorns.As the internal light grew stronger, the walls became transparent, and now the building shone like a giant hollow jack-o-lantern made of tissue paper.The upper area glowed red, like the Shrike's eyes. Braun took a deep breath and touched his belly.She's pregnant - she's known since she left Luthers - and shouldn't she have more affection for her unborn son or daughter than that obscene poet hanging from the shrike ?Braun knew the answer was yes.But that doesn't fucking matter at all.She exhaled and walked towards the Shrike Temple. From the outside, the Shrike Temple was only twenty meters wide.Braun and other pilgrims had been here before, but all they had seen inside was empty space, nothing but bladed pillars criss-crossing the space under the gleaming dome.But now, Braun stood at the entrance, and the interior space was larger than the valley itself.More than a dozen layers of white rock rise up layer by layer, stretching out into the vague distance.On each tier of rock lay a human body, each in a different attire, each tethered to the same half-organic, half-parasitic troughs and cables, Braun knew, originally It was the same kind of thing that she carried on her body, and that was what her friend told her.The only difference is that these metallic translucent umbilical cords are glowing red, opening and closing regularly, as if blood is circulating through the head of a sleeping humanoid. Braun staggered back, mainly due to the pull of the anti-entropy field, but also because of this scene.But when she stood ten meters away from the temple, she found that the space outside was still as big as before.She didn't attempt to imagine how many kilometers the internal space would have to be able to fit into this limited body.The Time Tombs are opening.For all she knew, the building in front of her might have coexisted with a different era.What she really understood was that when she awoke from her trip to the shunt, she had seen the Shrike's thorn tree with power tube tendrils invisible to the naked eye, but now evidently connected to the Shrike's sanctum in together. She walked towards the entrance again. The Shrike was waiting inside.Its carapace, ordinarily gleaming, seemed black, silhouetted against the surrounding light and the glare of the marble. Braun felt the rush of adrenaline running through his body, the urge to turn and run.But she walked in. The portal almost disappeared behind it, a faint blur in the even flare from the wall.Shrike didn't move.Red eyes gleamed in the shadow of the skull. Braun stepped forward, the heels of his boots making no sound on the rocky floor.The Shrike stood ten meters to the right, where the column of rocks began, tier upon tier of rocks rising upward like obscene display racks, up to the ceiling, hidden in the gleam.She had no illusions in her mind, and she knew that she would not be able to return to the entrance before the monster approached her. But it didn't move.There was an ozone smell in the air, and something sweet and fishy.Braun walked forward with her back against the wall, and she scanned the rows of bodies, trying to find the familiar face among the sleeping faces.Step by step she walked to the left, farther and farther away from the entrance, and it became easier and easier for the Shrike to intercept her.The monster stood there like some black statue in the Sea of ​​Light. The rock formations do extend for several kilometers.Those are rock steps, each level is at least one meter high, separating the black bodies on the horizontal line.After walking for a few minutes, Braun stood at the bottom, climbed up a third of the steps, and touched the body closest to her on the second floor. She breathed a sigh of relief, that body was still warm, man His chest was heaving up and down.But he's no Martin Silenas. Braun walked on, half expecting that among the living dead she would find Father Paul Durley or Saul Winterburo, or even herself.Instead, she found a face, the one she'd seen recently chiseled into the mountainside.Sad King Billy lay motionless on the white rock, just above the fifth floor, his royal robes scorched and stained.The sad face—like the others—was contorted with some inner pain.Martin Silenus lay on the lower floor, separated by three bodies. Braun walked up to the poet, knelt down, and glanced back at the Shrike's black spot, which was still standing motionless at the end of the row of bodies.Silenus, like the others, seemed alive, too, in some silent agony, connected by a shunt to a throbbing umbilical cord that went into the white wall behind the ledge, It's like becoming one with the rock. Panting in horror, Braun reached out and touched the poet's skull, feeling the fusion of plastic and bone.She continued to follow the connecting umbilical cord, but found no tangible junction or opening where the cord merged into the rock.Under the fingers, fluid was pulsating. "Damn it," Braun muttered, then looked back suddenly in panic, thinking the Shrike must have crept into range.But the black figure still stood motionless at the end of the vast space. She touched her pocket, but it was empty.No weapons, no tools.She realized that she should go back to the Sphinx first, find the backpack, rummage through it for something to cut, then come back and muster up enough courage to enter here again. But Braun knew he would never walk in that door again. She knelt down, took a deep breath, then raised her hand high and smashed it down quickly.Her blade slammed into something that looked like shiny plastic but felt harder than steel.After the blow, her arm felt pain from wrist to shoulder. Braun Lamia looked to the right. The Shrike was walking towards her, walking slowly, like an old man going out for a leisurely walk. Braun yelled, knelt on the ground, and began to strike again, the blade tensed, the thumb vertically attached to the palm.The vast space echoed with the sound of slashing. Braun Lamia was raised in Lusus's 1.3-G level, and, for her race, she's fairly muscular.Since she was nine years old, she has dreamed of becoming a detective and has been working towards it.Part of her preparation, which was admittedly obsessive and pointless, was practicing martial arts.Now, she shouted, raised her arm high, and slammed down again and again, treating her palm as an axe. This violent beating, in her heart, had become a successful breakthrough. The tough umbilical cord dimpled a little, but barely perceptibly, it throbbed like a living thing, and the thing seemed to recoil as she waved her arms again. Footsteps were heard below and behind.Braun nearly laughed.The Shrike can move without walking, can move from here to there in an instant, without stepping back and forth.It must be enjoying the thrill of scaring its prey.But Braun has no fear.She is too busy. She raised her hand and swung it down again.It's easier than hitting rocks for show.She hammered the blade down on the umbilical cord again, feeling some small bone in her hand surrender.The pain that followed was like a distant sound, like a slide under and behind. Did it ever occur to you, she thought, that if you actually broke this thing, it would probably kill him? She swung again.The footsteps stopped at the bottom of the stairs below. Braun was out of breath.Sweat dripped from forehead and cheeks, dripping onto the sleeping poet's chest. I don't even have a crush on you, she thought to Martin Silenus, before slashing again.She felt as if she was cutting the thigh of a metal elephant. The Shrike began to ascend the stairs. Half-kneeling and half-standing, Braun used her entire body weight in the swinging force, nearly dislocating her shoulders, nearly breaking her wrists, and almost smashing the small bones in her hands. The umbilical cord was broken. Red fluid, not at all viscous like blood, splattered Braun's legs and white rocks.The severed cable still sticks out from the wall, convulsing continuously, and then swings, like restless tentacles, slowly limp and retracted, like a bleeding snake, slipping back into the hole, the hole in the The umbilical cord disappeared immediately after it was gone.The remnant of the umbilical cord was still attached to Silenus's spout, but within five seconds it withered, like a jellyfish shriveled out of water.Red liquid splashed on the poet's face and shoulders, and just as Braun watched, the liquid turned blue. Martin Silenus' eyelids twitched, and then his eyes opened like owls. "Hey," he said, "did you know that damned Shrike was right behind you?" Pleasant Stone teleported back to his private room, and immediately returned to the Hyperlight Chamber.There are two messages waiting. The first came from Hyperion airspace.Pleasant Stone narrowed his eyes, listening to the melodious voice of the former governor of Hyperion, the young Wren, briefly describing the meeting with the Ousters Inquisition.Yueshi was sitting on a leather chair, her chin resting on her fists, while Ryan repeated to her the information that the Ouster denied.They are not aggressors.Then Ryan gave an overview to You Qun. He felt that the deportees were telling the truth, and told Yueshi that the consul was alive or dead, and asked Yueshi to issue an order. At the same time, he ended the broadcast. "Do you want to reply?" Chaoguang Computer asked. "Acknowledge receipt of message," said Pleasant Stone, "transmit—'wait,' using the ancient code of diplomacy." Yue Shi pressed the button to read the second message. Marshal William Ajunta Lee appeared in a cracked planar image. Obviously, the super-light emitter of his spacecraft was operating in a weak state.Looking through the peripheral data columns, Pleasant Stone could see that the data stream was encrypted in standard fleet telemetry information: the corps technicians would eventually notice the checksum discrepancy, but that would be hours or days away. Lee's face is smeared with blood, and the background is blurred by smoke.Looking at the blurry black-and-white image, Yue Shi felt that the young man seemed to be sending a message from the hatch of the cruiser.A dead body lay on a metal workbench behind him. "...we have a full crew of sailors aboard one of their so-called Lancers," Lee panted, "and it's manned—five per boat—that do look like Ousters. But look at us What happened while attempting to perform an autopsy." The image cuts, and Yueshi realizes that Li is using a handheld imager, which is temporarily connected to the destroyer's super-light emitter.Now that Li was gone from the image, Yueshi looked down and saw the damaged, pale face of a dead Ouster.Judging from the blood flowing from the eyes and ears, Yue Shi guessed that the man died of explosive decompression. Lee's hand—Yueshi recognized it from the lace on the marshal's sleeve—was holding what appeared to be a laser scalpel.The young commander didn't bother to remove the corpse's clothes, he directly started cutting vertically on the sternum, slashing towards the lower abdomen. The hand holding the laser suddenly moved away, and something happened suddenly to the body of the Ouster, and the camera shook and then stabilized.On the corpse's chest, large black squares began to smolder, as if a laser had ignited the clothing.Then, the uniform burned from the inside, and Yueshi immediately understood that the man's chest was burning, and irregular holes were emerging one after another, and a bright light shone from the holes, so bright that it was impossible to hold the imager Does not stop down the aperture.Now, the corpse's skull was also burning piece by piece, leaving shining afterimages on the super-light screen and Yueshi's retina. The camera pans back just before the body is burned, as if the heat were too high to bear.Lee's face floats into focus. "Master Executive Officer, you have seen that all the corpses reacted like this. We didn't capture anyone alive. We haven't entered the center of the group yet, and their warships are getting more and more, I think—" The image disappeared, the data column showed, and the message was cut off mid-sent. "Reply?" Yue Shi shook his head and opened the door of the small room.Now back in her study, she stared longingly at the couch, then sat behind the desk.She knew that if she closed her eyes for a moment, she would fall asleep immediately.Syd Putra signaled on her private comlog frequency that General Morpurgo had urgent business and wanted to see the CEO. The Lutherian walked into the room, pacing up and down like he was on pins and needles. "My lord, I understand why you want to approve the use of the Death Rod device, but I must object." "Why, Arthur?" Pleasant Stone asked, calling him by his first name for the first time in weeks. "Because we don't even know what the outcome will be. It's too dangerous. And...and immoral." Yue Shi raised his eyebrows. "While it is moral to lose billions of citizens in a long war of attrition, it is immoral to use this weapon to kill millions at a stroke? Is that the position of the Army Department, Arthur?" "This is my position, my lord executive." Yue Shi nodded. "Understood, I'll make a note, Arthur. But the decision has been made, and it's about to be executed." She watched her old friend stand at attention, before he could object, or, more precisely, before he After submitting his resignation, Yue Shi said, "Arthur, how about going for a walk with me?" The general of the military department looked bewildered. "A walk? What kind of walk?" "We need some fresh air." Without waiting for his further reaction, Yue Shi walked across the room to her private portal, pressed the manual touch display, and stepped in. Moboge passed through the opaque portal, lowered his head and stared fiercely at the knee-high golden grassland spreading to the distant horizon, then raised his head and looked at the orange sky where brown cumulus clouds towered like jagged pinnacles. That.Behind him, the portal flickered away, its location indicated only by a meter-high control touch display, the only visible artifact in this endless sea of ​​golden grass and cloudy sky. "Where are we?" he asked. Yue Shi picked a long grass stalk and chewed it in his mouth. "Castro-Lausel. There is no data network, no orbital installations, no human or mechanical dwellings here." Mo Boge snorted contemptuously. "Maybe, compared to the place Byron Lamia once took us to, this place is not safe enough to escape the surveillance of the kernel, Meina." "Probably not," Pleasant Stone said, "Listen to this, Arthur." She activated the comlog records of the two Tx messages she had heard earlier. Just when the message was finished and Li's face suddenly disappeared, Mo Boge walked away through the tall golden grass. "How is it?" Yue Shi asked, and she quickened her pace to catch up with him. "So those Ouster bodies would blow themselves up, just like the Cyberbomb bodies we know," he said, "and then? Do you think the Council or the General Assembly would be convinced by this that the Kernel was behind the aggression? Black hand?" Yue Shi sighed.The grass looked soft and inviting.She pictured herself lying there, sinking comfortably into it, taking a nap from which she would never wake. "This evidence is enough for us and everyone." Yue Shi didn't need to elaborate.The two have been on a relationship since her early days in Congress, as both are skeptical of the Kernel and both hope to one day be truly free from AI's rule.When MP Byron Lamia led them...but that was a long time ago. Mo Boge looked at the strong wind whipping the golden prairie.An odd ball of lightning played among the bronze-colored clouds near the horizon. "So what? Knowing is useless unless we know where to strike." "We have three hours." Mo Boge looked at the communication log. "Two hours and forty-two minutes. There is no time to hope for a miracle, Meina." Yue Shi put on a serious face. "There's no time to look forward to anything, Arthur." She tapped the touch display, and the portal buzzed. "What can we do?" Morpurgo asked. "Right now, the core AI is briefing our technicians on the Death Rod weapon. In an hour, the Torchship will be ready." "Then let's go to a place where it won't hurt anyone and trigger it." Yue Shi said. The general stopped pacing and stared. "What the hell are you talking about? That stupid pig Nansen says the weapon has a killing radius of at least three light years, but how can we trust him? We trigger the device... near Hyperion or something... maybe all of humanity will die .” "I have an idea, but I want to sleep before I talk about it." Yue Shi said. "Let's go to sleep?" General Moboge growled. "Arthur, I want to take a little nap," Yueshi said, "I suggest you take a nap too." She stepped into the portal. Moboge muttered and cursed, straightened his hat, held his head high, straightened his back, looked forward, and walked into the teleporter.A soldier on his way to his death sentence. On the highest platform of a mountain that moves in space ten light-minutes from Hyperion, the Consul and seventeen Ousters sit in a circle of low rock surrounded by a taller wider circle of rocks.They are deciding whether the consul lives or dies. "Your wife and children died in Brescia," Freeman Zhen Jia said, "when that planet was at war with the Mosman tribe." "Yes," replied the Consul, "the overlord thought the entire horde was involved in the attack. I didn't say anything to correct their point of view." "But your wife and children were killed." The Consul looked beyond the rock circle to the mountaintops that had turned to night. "So what? For this trial, I do not ask your forgiveness. I do not want your reduced punishment. I killed Freeman Andil and three technicians. Through premeditation and malicious premeditation, I Killed them. Killed them for no other purpose than to trigger your machine and let it open the Tomb of Time. None of this has anything to do with my wife and children!" A bearded Ouster, whom the Consul had heard introduced as spokesman Herkel Anion, stepped forward, into the inner circle, and said: "The device is useless. It is nothing Didn't do either." The Consul turned away, opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. "This is a test." Freeman Zhen Jia said. The Consul's voice was barely audible. "But...the time tomb...opened." "We know when they turn on," Caldwell-Minmeng said. "We know the decay rate of the antientropy field. The device was just a test." "Test," repeated the Consul, "I killed those four, all in vain. Just a test." "Your wife and children died at the hands of the Ouster," Freeman Zhen Jia said, "The overlord has ravaged your old star Maui. Under the constraints of certain factors, your behavior is predictable. Yue Shi Depends on it. So do we. But we have to understand what the factors are." The Consul stood up and took three steps, keeping his back to the others. "It's all in vain." "What did you say?" Freeman Zhen Jia asked.Under the starlight and the sunlight reflected by the passing comet farm, the tall woman's bald head was extremely shiny. The consul laughed softly: "Everything is in vain. Even my betrayal. It's all fake. It was in vain." The spokesman, Caldwell Minmeng, stood up and straightened his robe. "The court has delivered its verdict," he said, and the other sixteen deportees nodded. The consul turned away.There was an earnest expression on his weary face. "Come on then. By God, let's get this over with." Spokesman Freeman Zhenjia stood up and faced the consul. "Your guilt is pronounced upon you, and you must live. You must repair the damage you have done." The consul's body shook, as if he had been punched in the face. "No, you can't...you have to..." "You must enter the coming chaos," said spokesman Herkel Anion, "and you must help us unite the divided family of humanity." The Consul threw up his arms, as if to defend himself against the onslaught of heavy fists. "I can't... I can't... I'm guilty..." Freeman Zhenjia took three steps forward, grabbed the front of the consul's formal polo suit, and shook him rudely. "You are guilty. That's why you must help improve the troubled times that are coming. You helped set the Shrike free. Now you must go back and see it caged again. Then the long reconciliation must begin." She let go of the Consul, but the Consul's shoulders were still shaking.Just then, the mountains swirled into daylight, and tears flickered in the consul's eyes. "No." He whispered. Freeman Zhen Jia smoothed the consul's crumpled blouse and slid his long fingers over the diplomat's shoulders. "We have our own prophets. The saints will join us in the reseeding of the galaxy. Those who live in the lies of the so-called overlords will slowly crawl out of the ruins of worlds dependent on the core to join us in our true quest The way...the way to explore the universe, to explore the great kingdom within each of us." The Consul didn't seem to be listening at all.He turned his back abruptly. "The Kernel will destroy you," he said, but faced no one, "just as it destroyed the Overlord." "Have you ever forgotten that your home is built on a solemn life contract?" said Caldwell Minmeng. The consul turned to face the deportee. "This contract governs our lives and behavior," Min Meng said, "not just to protect a few species in the old land, but to achieve harmony in diversity. To sow the seeds of human beings in all worlds, different environment, while also sanctifying the diverse life we ​​find elsewhere." Freeman Zhen Jia's face was extremely bright under the sunlight. "The inner core achieves unity by depriving subordinates of intelligence," she said softly, "and ensures safety through stagnation. Since the Great Exile, the revolution in human thought, culture, and behavior, where have all these things gone?" "Pale clones transformed into the Old Lands," replied Caldwell Minmeng, "Our new age of human expansion will transform nothing. We will revel in misery, and we welcome the strange. We will not let The universe adapts to us . . . and we ourselves will adapt to the universe.” Spokesman Herkel Anion waved to the sky full of stars. "If humanity survives this test, our future lies between, and on top of, the dark distances of sunlit worlds." The Consul sighed. "I still have friends in Hyperion," he said. "Can I go back and help them?" “对，可以。”弗里曼·甄嘉说。 “对抗伯劳？”领事问。 “对，会的。”考德威尔·闵孟说。 “然后活下来目睹乱世？”领事问。 “对，必须。”赫凯尔·安尼翁说。 领事再次叹了口气，他和其他人走到一边，头顶上，一只巨大的蝴蝶缓缓朝石柱圈降下，翅膀装有太阳能电池，闪耀的表皮让它刀枪不入，不受极高真空或者更高辐射的影响。它打开腹舱，让领事人内。 鲸逖中心政府大楼医务室中，保罗·杜雷神父在药物作用下，睡了浅浅的一觉，在梦中，他梦见了冲天大火和世界的覆灭。 除了首席执行官悦石的短暂来访，以及爱德华主教更为短暂的探视，杜雷一整天都单独一人呆着，在充满痛苦的阴霾中漂移。这里的医生要求再过十二个小时才可以移动病人，佩森的枢机院同意了。枢机院祝福了病人，并已准备好仪式——离现在还有二十四小时。到时，来自索恩河畔的维勒风榭的耶稣会牧师保罗·杜雷，就将成为教皇忒亚一世，罗马的487任主教，门徒彼得的直接继任者。 他仍然在复原中。血肉在一百万RNA导向器的引导下重新编织，神经以类似的方式重生，这一切归功于现代医学的奇迹——但也没有不可思议到哪里去，杜雷想，只是没有让我痒死而已——这位耶稣会士躺在床上，思绪飞至海伯利安、伯劳、他漫长的一生和上帝宇宙的混乱中去了。最后，杜雷进入睡梦之中，梦见了燃烧的神林，世界树的忠诚之音将他推进传送门，梦见了他的母亲，梦见了一个名叫森法的女人，她现在已经死了，但先前是佩瑞希伯种植园的工人，就在浪漫港东面的纤维塑料地区，偏地中的偏僻之地。 在这些根本上带着悲伤的梦境中，杜雷意识到另一个人的存在：不是另一个梦中人，而是另一个真实的做梦人。 杜雷正和谁并肩走着。空气凉飕飕的，天空是令人心碎的蓝色。他们刚刚拐过路上的一个弯，现在一波湖水映人他们的眼帘，湖岸上立着一列列优雅的林木，后面的山岭组成了它的画框，一行低云为这画面平添戏剧性和恢宏壮丽的视觉效果，一座孤独的小岛似乎正远远地飘浮在如镜子般的平静湖面上。 “。”杜雷的同伴说道。 耶稣会士慢慢转过身，他的心扑通扑通跳着，脸上挂着焦急的企望神色。不管他原先是怎么期待的，但真正看到他的同伴时，他一点也没有敬畏之情。 一个矮矮的年轻人走在杜雷身边，一身短装，纽扣是皮质的，一条宽皮带，千层底布鞋，一顶旧皮帽，旧皮包，剪裁很古怪、打了很多补丁的裤子，一边肩膀还搭着一件巨大的彩格呢披肩，右手拄着一根手杖。杜雷停下脚步，此人也停了下来，似乎很愿意休息一下。 “弗内斯丘原，坎布里亚山。”年轻人说，举起手杖朝湖对面点了点。 杜雷看见一缕缕赤褐色的头发卷曲着从古怪的帽子下探出，他注意到那淡褐色的大眼睛，还有这男人的矮小身材，他想到，我不是在做梦！但同时他明白，他肯定是在做梦！ “你是……”杜雷开口道，他的心猛烈跳动，感觉恐惧正在内心翻腾。 “约翰，”同伴说，那声音中的平静理智感让杜雷的恐惧稍稍平息了些。“我想，我们今晚会住在波尼斯。布朗跟我说，那儿有家很棒的客栈，就在湖边。” Du Lei nodded.他根本就不明白这人在说什么。 矮个年轻人凑过身来，温柔地牢牢抓住杜雷的胳膊。“在我之后的那个人要来了，”约翰说，“既不是阿尔法，也不是欧米迦，但我们一定要替此人开路。” 杜雷愚钝地点点头。微风吹过湖面，泛起涟漪，将对面山麓上的新鲜植被气味带了过来。 “那个人将会出生在遥远之地，”约翰说，“比我们种族几世纪以来所知的遥远得多。现在，你的任务跟我一样——就是要为他铺平道路。你不会活着看到那个人传授学说的日子，但你的继任者会。” “是。”保罗·杜雷说，他发现，自己嘴巴里就是没有口水。 年轻人脱下帽子，把它别在腰带上，蹲下身捡起一块圆石，将它朝湖面上掷去。波纹慢慢扩散。“该死，”约翰说，“我是想打几个水漂。”他朝杜雷看去， “你必须马上离开医务室，回到佩森。你明白吗？” 杜雷眨眨眼。这句话似乎并不是梦境中的。 "why?" “别管为什么，”约翰说，“照我说的做。别等了。如果你不马上离开，以后就没机会了。” 杜雷昏头昏脑地转过身，似乎他能直接走回医院的床上去。他回头朝又矮又瘦的年轻人看了看，他正站在鹅卵石湖岸边。 "how about you?" 约翰又捡起一块石头，掷了出去，石头仅仅跳了一下，就马上消失在了镜面之下，他摇摇头。“眼下，我很高兴呆在这儿，”他说，与其说是对杜雷讲话，不如说是自言自语，“我真的很喜欢这次旅行。”他摇摇头，似乎要把自己从幻想中摇出来，然后抬起头，笑盈盈地看着杜雷。“快走。快挪挪屁股，教皇陛下。” 杜雷感觉震惊，滑稽，恼怒，他张嘴想要反驳，却发现自己正躺在政府大楼的医务室中的床上。医师把亮度调得很低，以便让他好好睡觉。监控器的小圆珠紧紧抓着他的皮肤。 杜雷在那躺了一分钟，因为三度烧伤的治疗，他感到浑身发痒，很不舒服，同时想到了那个梦境，他觉得那只是个梦罢了，他可以倒头继续睡上几小时，等爱德华蒙席——哦不，主教和其他人来这护送他回去。杜雷闭上双眼，想起了那张既有男子气概、又相当儒雅的脸庞，那双淡褐色的眼睛，那古老的语调。 耶稣会的保罗·杜雷神父坐起身，挣扎着站起，发现衣服不见了，身上只穿着一条医院用纸睡裤，于是他把一条毯子裹在身上，拖着光脚，不等医师对示踪传感器做出反应就走开了。 在大厅的远端有个仅供医师使用的远距传输器。如果它不让他回家的话，他会再去找另一扇。 李·亨特抱着济慈的尸体，走出埋在阴影中的大楼，踏进阳光普照下的西班牙广场。他满心期待，希望能在那看见正在等他的伯劳。然而，出现在眼前的是匹马。亨特并不擅长辨认马匹，因为这种动物在他的时代已经绝种，但看样子，这匹马就是先前带他们来罗马的那匹。它身后连着同样的小车子——济慈称其为“桅图拉”，就是他们早先坐过的小车子。因为有这辆车子的存在，亨特也更加容易地辨认出了这匹马。 亨特抱着尸体，把它放置在马车座椅上，并小心翼翼地把它用亚麻布包住。马车开始缓缓上路，他紧随一旁，一只手仍然摸着裹尸布。济慈弥留之际时，曾叫亨特把他埋在和卡伊乌斯·凯斯提乌斯金字塔边上的新教公墓中。亨特隐隐约约记得，在先前他们古怪的旅途中，他们曾路经奥理安城墙，但是，如果他的生命——或者济慈的墓地——定要在那进行，他是肯定找不到它的。但不管怎样，马儿似乎认得路。 亨特在慢慢移动的车子旁拖着沉重的步子，他意识到，空气中带着美妙的春晓之味，还有一种腐败植被的含蓄气息。济慈的尸体是不是已经在腐烂了呢？亨特几乎不懂死亡具体意味着什么，他也不想知道。他使劲拍了拍马屁股，赶着马儿，可是那畜牲却停了下来，缓缓转过头，向亨特投来一道责难的目光，接着继续它沉重缓慢的步伐。 向亨特泄密的，更多的是眼角瞥到的一丝闪光，而不是什么声音。他飞快地转过身，伯劳就在那儿——在他身后十到十五米外，紧紧跟着马儿的步伐，那是种既庄严但又有点滑稽的进军，每迈一步，插满棘刺的膝盖就高高抬起。日光在甲壳、金属牙和刀刃上闪耀。 亨特心中冒出的第一股冲动是想抛下马车独自跑开，但是他心中又涌起一丝责任感，还有一股更深的迷惘，将那股冲动抑制住。除了西班牙广场，他还能跑到哪去呢——而伯劳拦住了去广场唯一的路。 那就姑且把那怪物看作这疯狂吊唁队伍中的一份子吧，亨特转过身，背对着伯劳，继续在马车旁行走，一只手伸进裹尸布，紧紧抓着他朋友的脚踝。 行走的过程中，亨特时刻留意着远距传送门的迹象，或是任何超越十九世纪技术的征兆，或是另一个人的影子。但什么也没有。眼前的幻觉真是逼真——他正走在公元1821年2月如春的天气下，正穿越被人遗弃的罗马。马儿踏上离西班牙台阶一个街区外的某座丘陵，在宽阔的大道和狭窄的小巷中转了好几个弯，经过一座弯曲、崩裂的废墟，亨特认出这是圆形大剧场。 然后马车停了下来，亨特原本正一边走，一边想人非非，现在突然醒来，左右四顾。他们就在一堆簇叶丛生的石头外面，亨特猜，那就是奥理安城墙。这儿的确有一座小小的金字塔，但是新教公墓——如果那的确是的话——似乎更像是牧场，而不是公墓。绵羊在柏树的树阴下啃草，它们身上的铃铛在沉闷、暖和的空气中发出阴森的叮当声。遍野的青草有齐膝高，甚至更高。亨特眨眨眼，看见孤零零的几块墓石散落各处，被青草半掩。近处，就在啃草的马儿脖子的对面，有一块新开挖的墓穴。 伯劳依旧呆在身后十米远处，与瑟瑟的柏树树枝为伍，但亨特望见它那红眼的光芒定睛在墓穴之上。 他绕过那匹正惬意地咀嚼着高草的马儿，向墓穴走去。没有棺材。洞穴大约有四英尺深，堆在对面的泥土散发出一股腐殖质和冰凉土地的气息。那里插着一把长柄铁铲，似乎是墓穴的挖掘者刚刚留下的。一块石板竖立在墓穴顶部，但上面没有任何记号——是块空白墓石。亨特看见石板顶端有什么金属在闪烁，他猛冲过去，拾起那东西，他发现这是自他被绑架到旧地以来看到的第一件现代人工制品。躺在那的是支小小的激光笔——就是建筑工人或者艺术家用来在硬质合金上涂写图样的东西。 亨特握着笔转过身，他感觉自己已经武器加身，虽然他觉得，用这细小的光线来阻止伯劳似乎荒唐可笑的很。他把笔塞到衬衣口袋中，开始着手埋葬约翰·济慈。 几分钟后，亨特站在土堆旁，手拿铁铲，低头凝视着还未填土的墓穴，盯着里面裹着毯子的那个小捆。他琢磨着该说点什么。亨特曾历经无数正式的国葬，甚至帮悦石为其中几个人写过颂词，在以前，他完全不会被词语难倒。但是现在，他却想不出任何话语。仅有的听众是那沉默的伯劳，它仍然站在后面，呆在柏树的树阴中；当然还有那些绵羊，它们正怯怯地逃离那怪物，身上的铃铛叮当作响，就像一群磨蹭的哀悼者朝墓穴缓缓走来。 亨特想，也许该念点约翰·济慈的原创诗作。但亨特是名政治人员——不是惯于朗读或记忆古诗的人。他回想起，前一天他曾经写下这位朋友背诵的一首诗文片断，但现在已经太迟了，笔记本依然放在西班牙广场房间中的衣柜上。那首诗，讲的是在成为神或上帝的过程中，太多太多的东西涌人脑海……诸如此类的胡话。亨特的记性非常好，但是他还是想不起那首古老大杂烩的第一行是什么。 最后，李·亨特只能姑且沉默了片刻，他低下脑袋，闭着眼睛，偶尔朝伯劳瞅一眼，那怪物仍然站在几丈之外，然后亨特把泥土铲了进去。花的时间比他想象的长。等到他铲光泥土，墓穴的表面还是微微下凹，就好像那尸体太微不足道了，连个小土垛都堆不起来。绵羊从亨特脚边擦过，走到前面去啃墓穴周围的高草、雏菊和紫罗兰。 亨特也许记不起那个男人的诗作，但他没费多少劲就记起来济慈叫他在墓石上刻的碑铭。亨特按动激光笔，在三米高的草儿和土壤中试了试，烧了条沟渠出来，然后踩灭了这条小火苗。亨特第一次听到墓志铭的时候感到很不安——济慈呼哧呼哧的喘息声之下，可以听到寂寞和辛酸。但亨特觉得自己没理由要和他争论。现在，他只需把那句话刻在碑石之上，然后从这地方脱身，避开伯劳，找到回家的路。 激光笔不费吹灰之力就切进了石头，亨特得先在碑石的反面练练，让自己找到激光合适的深浅，并熟悉它的控制。虽然如此，十五到二十分钟后，亨特完成时，那些字看上去还是既简单又粗糙。 首先是济慈叫他画下的粗略图画——他曾给这位助手看过好几幅草图，那颤巍巍的手把它们描在大页书写纸上——那是一把古希腊里拉琴，八根弦断了四根。亨特画完后，感觉不甚满意——他不是诗歌的阅读者，更不是什么画家——但是，只要谁知道什么是古希腊里拉，他就很可能认得出来。然后就是铭文本身，按济慈口述，一字不差地写在了上面： 此地长眠者 声名水上书 没有其它。没有生卒年月，甚至没有诗人的名字。亨特朝后退了几步，审视着自己的作品，摇摇头，按了按激光笔把它关掉，但仍然拿在手里，开始返回城市。走的时候，他避开柏树下的怪物，绕了一个很大的圈子。 在穿越奥理安城墙的坑洞时，亨特停下脚步朝后面望了一眼。那匹马依然拖着车子，已经走下了长长的斜坡，来到一条小溪旁咀嚼甘美的嫩草。绵羊四处乱转，嚼着花儿，墓穴周围的湿润土地上全是它们的足迹。伯劳依然站在原地，在柏树树枝形成的凉亭下隐约可见。亨特几乎可以确信，那怪物依旧在注视墓穴。 亨特找到远距传输器的时候已经时至傍晚，一面暗淡的深蓝矩形门在崩溃的圆形大剧场的正中央发着嗡嗡声。没有触显，也没有点压板。传送门悬在那儿，望不穿里面，但似乎敞开着。 但亨特进不去。 他试了不下五十次，但是那东西的表面紧密得仿若岩石，没法进入。他试探着，用手指摸了摸，安心得把脚踏进去，却被反弹回去；用力朝蓝色矩形撞，朝入口抛块石头，看着它们反弹回去；两边都试了试，甚至连边上也试了一下，最后他一遍一遍地向这没用的东西跳去，直到肩膀和胳膊全是一块块的瘀青。 这是远距传输器。他十分确信。但它就是不让他进去。 亨特在圆形大剧场的其它地方看了看，甚至去了地下通道，那里一直有水在滴，还有蝙蝠屎，但是没有另一扇传送门。他搜遍了邻近的街道和街上的建筑。没有传送门。他找了一下午，穿越大会堂和大教堂，住宅和小屋，豪华的公寓大楼和狭窄的小巷。他甚至回了趟西班牙广场，在一楼草草地吃了顿饭，到楼上拿回笔记本和其它他觉得有用的东西，然后永远地离开了。他要去找远距传输器。 圆形大剧场中的那个是他找到的仅有的一个。日落时分，他对着它又挠又抓，最后手指鲜血淋漓，还是没有头绪。那扇门看上去完全正常，发出正常的嗡嗡声，感觉上也没什么毛病，可它就是不让他进去。 一轮月亮升起，从它表面的沙尘暴和云团来看，那不是旧地的月亮，它现在正高挂在圆形大剧场黑色的曲线墙头上。亨特坐在岩石遍地的中心，朝发出蓝光的传送门怒目而视。身后某处，突然传来鸽子狂乱拍打翅膀的声音，还有小石块掉落在岩石上的嗒嗒声。 亨特痛苦地站起身，从口袋中摸索出激光笔，他站在那儿，双腿叉开，注视着圆形大剧场的一条条裂缝和拱门的阴影，紧张地等待着。没什么动静。 身后突然传来声音，他猛地旋过身，几乎要将激光笔的光束朝远距传送门的表面射去。从那儿伸出一条胳膊。然后一条腿。一个人钻了出来。接着又是一个。 圆形大剧场内回荡起李·亨特的尖叫。 梅伊娜·悦石知道，尽管自己眼下疲乏交加，但即便是打上三十分钟的瞌睡也极不明智。不过自她童年以来，她就一直训练自己，把小睡的时间维持在五到十五分钟之内，通过远离思考的稍事休息来摆脱掉疲劳毒素。 现在，因为前四十八小时的混乱带来的疲意和眩晕让她感到恶心，她在书房的长沙发上躺了几分钟，倾空了脑袋中的琐事和赘事，让自己的下意识在思维和事件的丛林中劈出一条出路。几分钟时间内，她就这么小憩着，在她小憩的片刻之内，她开始做梦。 梅伊娜·悦石笔直坐起身，抖脱肩上轻柔的阿富汗毛毯，眼睛还未睁开，就点了点通信志。“赛德普特拉！通知莫泊阁将军和辛格元帅，三分钟内到我办公室来。” 悦石走进隔壁的洗澡间，经过水浴和声波淋浴，然后拿了件干净衣服——一套极其正式的装束，柔软的黑色马裤尼丝绒，一条金红的议员绶带，由金色饰针别着，饰针上带有霸主的短线符号，一对可以追溯到天大之误前旧地的耳环，还有附着通信志的黄晶手镯，那是拜伦·拉米亚议员在他结婚前送给她的。一切完毕，她及时回到书房，接见了军部的两位军官。 “执行官大人，您选的时候真不合适，”辛格元帅开口道，“我们正在分析发自无限极海的最后数据，同时在讨论防御阿斯奎斯的舰队调遣工作。” 悦石调出自己的私人远距传输器，示意两人跟上。 辛格踏入险恶的青铜色天空下的金草，他环顾左右。“卡斯卓一劳塞尔，”他说，“听说，早先有届政府叫军部的太空军在这建了个私人远距传输器。” “首席执行官耶夫申斯基把它加进了环网，”悦石说。她挥挥手，传送门消失了。“他觉得最高行政长官应该有个什么地方，内核的监听装置监听不到的地方。” 莫泊阁心神不定地望着地平线附近的一堵乌云，球状闪电在那闪亮。“没有地方能完全脱离内核的掌控，”他说，“我正向辛格元帅说起我们的猜疑。” “不是猜疑，”悦石说，“是事实。我还知道内核在哪儿。” 两位军部军官的反应都像是被球状闪电击中了。“哪里？”他俩几乎异口同声道。 悦石来回踱着步。她的灰色短发似乎在带电的空气中闪光。“在远距传输网络中，”她说，“传送门之间。人工智能生活在奇点的假世界中，就像蜘蛛生活在黑色的蛛网中。而为它们织网的，便是我们。” 莫泊阁是两人中首先开口的。“我的天，”他说，“那我们现在怎么办？装载有内核武器的火炬舰船就要传送到海伯利安领空了，连三小时都不到了。” 悦石将打算告诉了他们。 “不可能，”辛格说。他正下意识地扯着自己的短胡子，“完全不可能。” “不，”莫泊阁说，“会成功。时间足够。和前两天的舰队调遣一样混乱无序……” 元帅摇摇头。“从逻辑上来讲这是可能的。但按道理和道德来讲，不可能。不，完全不可能。” 梅伊娜·悦石走向前。“库什万，”她对元帅说，这是她长久以来第一次直呼他的大名，前一次还要追溯到许多年前，那时她还是名年轻议员，而他更是个年轻的军部太空指挥官。“你记不记得，拉米亚议员让我们和稳定派联系的那一阵子？记不记得那个叫云门的人工智能？记得他预言的两个未来吗——其中一个充满了混乱，而另一个则是人类必然的大灭绝？” 辛格转身背对着他们。“我只为军部和霸主效劳。” “你的职责和我一样，”悦石厉叫道，“为人类效劳。” 辛格举起拳头，似乎准备打击一个无形但极为强大的敌人。“我们根本就不能确定！你从哪获得的消息？” “赛文，”悦石说，“那个赛伯人。” “赛伯人？”将军嗤之以鼻，“你是说那个画家。或者说，那个极其可怜的拙劣样品。” “赛伯人。”首席执行官重复道。她跟他们解释了一下。 “赛文是个重建人格？”莫泊阁看上去满腹怀疑，“你找到他了？” “他找到了我。在一个梦中。他不知用什么办法从他那地方跟我取得了联系。亚瑟，库什万，那就是他的任务。那就是云门派他到环网来的原因。” “梦，”辛格元帅冷笑道，“这个……赛伯人……告诉你内核藏在远距传输器的网络中……是通过一个梦。” “对，”悦石说，“我们没多少行动时间了。” “可是，”莫泊阁说，“如果要进行你的提议……” “将会让数百万人死亡，”辛格替他结语，“也许是数十亿。经济将会瘫痪。比如鲸心、复兴之矢、新地、天津四、新麦加这些世界——还有卢瑟斯，亚瑟——二十多个世界依赖着其它世界的食物供给。都市星球无法独个生存。” “它们可以不做都市星球，”悦石说，“可以学着去种田，直到星际贸易复兴。” “呸！”辛格怒骂道，“经过天灾，经过当局的崩溃，数百万人因为缺乏合适的装备、医药、数据网支持，然后一命呜呼，哈，你说的全是无稽之谈。” “我想过这一切，”悦石说，莫泊阁从没听过她这么坚定不移的语气，“我将成为历史上最著名的刽子手——比希特勒、胡子或者贺瑞斯？格列侬高这些人还要臭名昭著。但唯一糟糕的事情就是如何来接手我们的烂摊子。我——还有你们，先生们——将会是人类最大的叛徒。” “我们不知道。”库什万·辛格咕哝道，就好像是谁对着他的肚子来了几拳，把这句话从中赶了出来。 “我们知道，”悦石说，“环网对内核来说已经毫无用处了。从现在起，反复派和终极派将会把几百万奴隶禁锢在九个迷宫世界的地底下，他们将用人类的神经元突触作为剩下的计算能源。” “胡说八道，”辛格说，“那些人会死光光的。” 梅伊娜·悦石叹了口气，摇摇头。“内核设计出一种寄生物，一种有机装置，名叫十字形，”她说，“那东西……让死人……起死回生。经过几代后，人类将变得智力迟钝，无精打采，没有了未来，但是他们的神经元依旧会服务于内核的目的。” 辛格又转身背对着他们。风暴逼近，沸腾的青铜色云朵纵情奔跃，辛格小小的身形在闪电的幕墙下显出轮廓。“梅伊娜，你在梦中得知了这一切？” "right." “你的梦还说了其它什么吗？”元帅厉叫道。 “内核已经用不到环网，”悦石说，“用不到人类的网络。虽然他们仍将继续住在里面，就像墙内的老鼠，但是他们已经不再需要原先的居住者。人工智能的终极智能将会接管主要的计算职责。” 辛格转身看着她。“梅伊娜，你疯了。你真是疯了。” 悦石飞快走上前，在元帅激活远距传输器前抓住他的胳膊。“库什万，请听我……” 辛格从束腰外衣中掏出一把仪式用钢矛枪，拿它顶着女人的胸脯。“抱歉，执行官大人。但我只为霸主和军部……” 悦石手捂嘴朝后退去，库什万·辛格元帅住了口，瞎子般地凝视了片刻，然后栽倒在草丛中。钢矛枪滚进杂草中。 莫泊阁走上前，捡起枪，把它别在自己的腰带上，然后把手中的死亡之杖放好了。 “你杀了他，”首席执行官说，“本来，如果他不合作，我打算把他留在这里。让他一个人呆在卡斯卓一劳塞尔上。” “我们不能冒险，”将军说，把尸体拖到远处，“一切都取决于接下来几小时。” 悦石看着她的老朋友。“你愿意把它进行到底？” “我们必须，”将军说，“这是我们除去羁縻的最后机会。我马上下达部署命令，亲自移交封缄命令。绝大多数舰队都将……” “我的天，”梅伊娜·悦石低声说道，低头看着辛格元帅的尸体，“我做这一切，全是凭一场梦。” “有时，”莫泊阁将军说，抓住她的手，“正是梦，将我们和机器区别开来。”

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Notes: 中撒旦在天国的叛乱、与神的抗争。 的第三章。是奥林帕斯神阿波罗面对被推翻的泰坦之一、记忆女神尼莫瑟尼时说的一段话。