Chapter 10 Chapter One

It was a warm, rainy day in Keats, the capital of Hyperion.Even though the rain had stopped, however, a thick layer of clouds was still pressing over the city, moving slowly.The air is full of saltiness, which comes from the ocean twenty thousand meters to the west.At dusk, the gray daylight begins to fade into gray twilight.Just then, a sonic boom that was twice as loud shook the town, and then the sound came back from the only sculpted mountain in the south.The clouds glowed blue and white.Half a minute later, a pitch-black spaceship broke out from the dense clouds, trailing a trail of flashing flames, and landed carefully. The navigation lights of the spaceship flashed red and green against the gray twilight.

When it descended to a thousand meters, the landing signal of the spaceship began to flash, and the air port in the north of the town emitted three coupled beams of light, like some warmly welcoming ruby ​​tripod, locking on to the spaceship.Hovering three hundred meters, the spacecraft slid sideways like a glass on a wet table, before it dropped like a feather into a waiting launch pool. High-pressure jets of water enveloped the entire pool and the pedestal of the spaceship, and billowing steam rose upwards, mingling with a curtain of drizzle blowing from the paved roads of the airport.When the jets of water stopped, the sound died away, save for the drizzle and the occasional tick, squeak, and squeak of the cooling spaceship.

A watchtower protruded from the bulkhead of the spaceship, appearing twenty meters above the pool.There were figures of five people on it. "Thank you, sir, for letting us travel," Colonel Kassad said to the consul. The Consul nodded, leaning against the railing, taking a deep breath of fresh air.Streams of rain fell on his shoulders, on his eyebrows. Saul Winterburo lifted the child out of the crib.Changes in pressure, temperature, smell, movement, sound, or all of the above, woke the little girl up, and now she's crying with energy.Winterbureau held her up and down and cooed at her, but she kept on crying.

"That's an apt comment on where we got here," Martin Silinas said.The poet wears a long purple cloak and a red beret tilted lazily over his right shoulder.He had a glass in his hand, which had been taken from the lounge, and he took a sip. "Damn it, this place looks so different." The Consul had to agree that he had only been away for eight local years.When he lived at Keats, the air port was a good nine miles from town; now shacks, tents, dirt roads, the perimeter of the airfield were full of these things.In those days when the consul was in power, only one spacecraft landed in this tiny airport a week; but now, looking at the airport and counting it carefully, he found that there were more than twenty spacecraft parked inside.The small administrative and customs building has been replaced by a huge, movable structure house. A dozen launch pools and landing coordinates have been added to the west of the airport. Now, dozens of buildings are piled up in a mess within the perimeter. The camouflage cabins, the consul knew, they must have become all-purpose rooms, from the ground management center to the barracks, are their responsibilities.On the far side of the landing pad, clusters of sentry boxes of this shape stand on forests of oddly shaped antennae, poking into the sky. "Progress," the Consul murmured.

"War," Colonel Kassad said. "Those are people," Braun Lamia said, pointing to the main hub gate on the south side of the airport.The drab crowd was like a silent ocean wave crashing against the outer fence and purple containment field. "My God," said the Consul, "you're right." Kassad pulled out his binoculars, and they took turns scanning them across the thousands as they tugged at the barbed wire and squeezed toward the repelling containment field. "What are they doing here?" Lamia asked. "What do they want?" Even half a kilometer away, the desperate determination of the mob was terrifying.However, the black figures of the army sailors patrolled within the perimeter.Between the barbed wire, the shelter, and the sailors, the Consul realized, was a strip of wet, cold land that must be a minefield, or a dead ray, or both.

"What do they want?" Lamia repeated. "They want to get out," Kassad said. Before the colonel could answer, the consul already knew that the shack city around the airport and the mob at the gate couldn't hide; the people of Hyperion were ready to leave at any time.He guessed that every time a spaceship landed, there would definitely be such a silent flow of people at the gate. "Hey, there will still be one left," Martin Silenus pointed to a low hill beyond the river to the south, "weeping old King William, God let your sinful soul rest here." Through the drizzle and In the darkening night, you can just see the carved face of Sad King Billy. "Brother He, I knew him!" said the drunken poet. "He's full of jokes. Not a single one. Brother He, he's an ass."

Sol Winterberg stood in the spaceship, protecting his little one from the drizzle, and from letting her cries interrupt the conversation.He pointed to the front and said, "Someone is coming." It was a ground vehicle, whose camouflage polymer was no longer functional, and a military electromagnetic vehicle, modified with a suspension propeller, to adapt to Hyperion's weak magnetic field, and the two vehicles were coming across the wet gravel . Martin Silenus kept his eyes fixed on the sad face of Billy the Sad King.He murmured words, so soft that he could hardly hear them: "Under the shade, deep in the melancholy valley,

Far from the healthy breath of morning on the hills, Far from the fiery noon, the evening star, White-haired Saturn sits as still as a rock, As silent as the silence around his lair; Woods on top of trees, like clouds on top of clouds..." Father Hoyt walked up to the observation deck, rubbing his face with his hands, his eyes were wide open, but he didn't focus on where, as if a fantasy suddenly popped out after dozing off. "Are we there yet?" he asked. "Fucking yeah," Martin Silenus yelled, handing back the binoculars to the colonel, "let's go down and say hello to the officer."

The young Fleet Lieutenant seemed unimpressed by the team members. Heite Masteen had received the authorization chip from the task force commander, but even though the young man scanned the chip, he was still unimpressed.He calmly scanned their visa chips, kept them waiting in the drizzle, and occasionally made a few comments, making rude remarks for no reason, just like those unknown people who have just gained a little power.Then, just as he was scanning Federman Kassad's chip, he looked up suddenly, like a frightened ferret. "Colonel Kassad!" "Retired," Kassad said.

"Sorry, sir," the lieutenant stammered as he fumbled back the visas to the group, "I didn't expect you to be with this group, sir. That's what the Colonel said... I was Say...my uncle fought with you on Brescia, sir. I mean, I'm sorry...me and my men to you..." "Take it easy, Lieutenant," Kassad said. "Is there any transportation to take us into town?" "Ah... um, sir..." The young fleet soldier was about to rub his chin when he remembered that he was wearing a helmet. "Yes, sir. But, the thing is, those thugs are very dangerous, and... um, the goddamn electromagnetic vehicles don't work in this shit... Uh, excuse me, sir. You see, ground transport vehicles are only used Those who come to deliver goods, our skimmers cannot leave the base before twenty-two o'clock, but I am happy to register you..."

"Wait," the Consul told him to stop.A dilapidated passenger skimmer stopped ten meters away. On one side of the flared protective cover, short golden lines representing the overlord were painted.A tall, thin man stepped out. "Theo!" cried the Consul. The two stepped forward and opened their hands, as if they were about to shake hands, but they hugged each other. "Well," said the Consul, "you look good, Theo." True, his former assistant had outlived the Consul by five or six years, but the young man still had a boyish smile and a thin face. , lush red hair, enough to attract any unmarried lady in the consulate staff, as well as quite a few married ones.Shyness, this is one of Theo Lane's weaknesses, it seems that in order to prove that he is still shy, he is unnecessarily adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses, a certain affectation of a young diplomat. "It's good to have you back," Theo said. The Consul turned around and started to introduce his friend, then he stopped. "Jesus," he said, "you're a consul now. Sorry, Theo, I didn't think of that." Theo Lane smiled and adjusted his glasses. "It's all right, sir," he said. "Actually, I'm no longer a consul. For the last few months, I've been the acting governor here. The Home Rule Council finally asked for, and accepted, official colonial status. Welcome You have come to this newest addition to Bannerlord's world." The Consul stared absently for a second, then embraced his former protégé once more. "Congratulations, Your Excellency." Theo chuckled and glanced skyward. "It's going to rain. Why don't you all get on the skimmers? I'll take you to town." The new governor smiled at the young lieutenant. "Lieutenant?" "Uh... yes, sir?" the officer stood at attention and said quickly. "Please ask your men to load the luggage of these grown-ups. We are going to take shelter in the boat." The skimmer flew steadily at a height of sixty meters above the road, heading south.The Consul sat in the front passenger seat; the others rested in the back on the recliners.Martin Silenus and Father Hoyt seemed to be asleep.Winterberg's baby stopped crying and happily sucked on a soft bottle filled with synthetic breast milk. "Everything has changed," said the Consul.He leaned his cheek against the rain-spattered canopy, looking down at the chaotic scene. The hillsides and valleys are covered with thousands of shacks and single-slope huts, leading along the road to the suburbs three kilometers away.There were dots of flames under damp tarpaulins everywhere, and the Consul watched mud-colored figures walking between the mud-colored shacks.High fences were built on the old airport expressway, and the road itself was widened and restructured.There were two rows of trucks and hovercraft on the road, most painted army green, others hidden under lifeless camouflage aggregates, moving at a snail's pace in two different directions.Ahead, the lights of Keats seemed to multiply and spread outward across new regions of valley and hill. "Three million," Theo said, as if reading the mind of his former boss, "there are at least three million people here, and they're increasing every day." The Consul stared. "When I left, there were only 4.5 million people on this planet." "It still is," said the new Governor, "everyone wants Keats to come, get on a ship, and get away. Some are waiting for the teleporter to be built, but most don't believe it will be built in time. They're scared." "Afraid of the Ouster?" "Yes," said Theo, "but above all the fear of the Shrike." The consul's face moved away from the cold canopy. "So, it has come to the south of the Bridle Mountain Range?" Theo smiled icily. "It's everywhere. Or, there's them everywhere. Most are sure there are dozens or hundreds of them by now. Shrike tragedies have been reported on three continents. Reports of them have come up everywhere except Keats, some areas of the Mane Coast, and a couple of big cities like Andymirn." "How many casualties?" The consul didn't really want to know. "At least 20,000 dead or missing," Theo said. "Many wounded. Do you think it was the Shrike, huh?" There was another dry laugh, "The Shrike It’s not just hurting people, is it? No, people accidentally shoot each other accidentally, fall down the stairs, or jump out of the window in panic, and trample each other in the crowd. It’s a fucking mess.” In the eleven years the Consul had worked with Theo Lane, he had never heard the young man use a single expletive. "Can the military help?" the consul asked. "Did they stop the Shrike from coming to the big cities?" Theo shook his head. "Military, they didn't fucking do anything but control the mob. Oh yeah, the fleet soldiers pretended to keep the airport open and keep the docks at Port Romance safe. But they didn't even talk to the Shrike Face to face. They were waiting to fight the Ousters." "What about the Self-Defense Forces?" the Consul asked.Although he asked, he knew without asking that the poorly trained self-defense force was useless. Theo scoffed. "In the list of casualties, there are at least 8,000 people from the Self-Defense Forces. General Braxton led the 'Third Combat Team' to climb up Jianghe Road in an attempt to 'kill the Shrike in its nest', that is Last we heard from them." "You know how to joke," said the Consul, but the look on his friend's face told him it was no joke. "Theo," he said, "how did you find time to meet us at the airport?" "I don't have time," said the Governor.He glanced back.Others were sleeping or staring out the window wearily. "But I must talk to you," said Theo, "and advise you not to go." The Consul shook his head, but Theo grabbed his arm and held it tight. "Now, listen to me, I have to say, damn it. I know how hard it is for you...after all that...to come back here. But, god damn it, you're throwing everything away for nothing, it's It's pointless. Give up this stupid pilgrimage. Leave me at Keats." "I can't..." the Consul began. "Listen," Theo ordered, "reason one: you're the best diplomat, the best crisis manager I've ever seen, and we need your talents." "no……" "Shut up for a moment. Reason number two: You and others can't get within two hundred kilometers of the Time Tombs. It's not like when you were here before, when those goddamn suicide pilgrims could You can go there and do nothing for a week, and you can even change your mind and go home. But now, the Shrike has started to move. It's like the plague." "I understand, but..." "Reason #3: I need you. I asked the Whale Center to send someone else. And then I found you. . . . Well, hell, two years, I've figured it out." The Consul shook his head, puzzled by his words. Theo began to steer the skimmer toward the city center, then hovered there, eyes off the controls, fixed on the Consul. "I want you to take over the governorship. The MPs won't interfere, except maybe Pleasant Stone, but by the time she knows it, it will be too late." The Consul felt as if someone had punched him hard in the chest.He turned his face away, looking down at the maze of narrow streets and crooked buildings that was Old Town, Jacktown.When he recovered, he said, "I can't, Theo." "Listen, if you..." "No! I mean I can't do it. Even if I did accept it, it wouldn't help, but seriously, I can't. I have to make this pilgrimage." Theo adjusted his glasses and stared straight ahead. "Look, Theo, you're the most capable and talented foreign affairs specialist I've ever worked with. I'm eight years behind. I think..." Theo nodded slightly and interrupted: "I guess you are going to the Shrike Temple." "right." The skimmer circled and landed.The Consul stared blankly ahead, thinking.The skimmer's side door rose and folded shut, and Saul Winterburton cried out, "My God." The group stepped out of the boat, staring at the charred, crumbling ruins that had once been the Shrike's shrine.Because the Time Tomb was too dangerous, it was closed about twenty-five years ago local time.As a result, the Shrike Shrike became the most popular tourist attraction on Hyperion.The central sanctuary of the Shrike Temple spans three complete blocks of the city, rising in the middle, about 150 meters high, with spiers like needles, a bit of an awe-inspiring cathedral, and a bit of a Gothic joke , the streamlined stone buttresses are permanently attached to its whisker alloy skeleton, which has a bit of the characteristics of Escher's prints, with a trick of perspective, with incredible angles, and a bit of Bosch's Nightmare, with its tunnel-like entrances, hidden rooms, black gardens, forbidden areas, and, most importantly, part of Hyperion's past. Now, everything is gone.Only the high pile of scorched stones hinted at the former majesty of the building.Beams of molten alloy rose from the stones like the ribs of some gigantic animal.Most of the rubble fell into pits, in basements, in passages, all of which had been lying quietly under these three-hundred-year-old milestones.The Consul walked to the edge of a deep pit and wondered if the deep basement was, as the legend said, connected to the labyrinth of the planet. "It sucks, it's like they used a hellwhip," said Martin Silenus, using the archaic term, high-energy laser weapons.The poet went to the edge of the pit and stayed with the consul, and the wine seemed to wake him up as soon as he got there. "As far as I remember, it was just the Temple and the Old Town," he said. "After all the disasters around the Time Tombs, Billy decided to relocate Jack's Town here because of the Temple. Now, it's all gone. .Oh, God." "No," Kassad said. The others looked at him. The colonel was there inspecting the rubble, and he got to his feet. "Not Hellwhip," he said. "A controlled plasma weapon. Several rounds." "Now, do you still want to stay and continue this useless pilgrimage?" Theo said. "Follow me back to the consulate." He was speaking to the consul, but he seemed to be inviting everyone present. The Consul turned away from the pit, eyeing his former assistant, but now, for the first time, he felt that standing before him was the governor of a beleaguered overlord world. "We can't, Your Excellency," said the Consul, "at least I can't. I won't speak for you." The four men shook their heads with the only woman.Silinas and Kassad begin unloading.The rain began to fall again, and a light mist rose from the darkness.Just then, the Consul noticed two corps attack skimmers circling nearby rooftops.Previously, darkness, and the chameleon's conglomerate hull concealed them.But now, Yusi exposed their appearance.Of course, thought the Consul, the Governor would not have escaped without an escort. "Did the priests escape? When the temple was destroyed, were there any survivors?" Braun Lamia asked. "Escaped," Theo said.The de facto dictator of five million doomed souls took off his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his shirt, "All the priests and acolytes of the Church of the Shrike escaped from the tunnels. For months, The mob has surrounded the place. Their leader, a woman named Carmen, somewhere east of the Sea of ​​Grass, gave the temple several warnings before they detonated the No. 20 bomb." "Where are the people from the police force?" the consul asked. "Where's the Self-Defense Force? Where's the military department?" Theo Lane smiled. At that moment, he looked very old, at least decades older than the young man the consul knew. "You people have spent the past three years in transmission," he said, "and the world has changed. On the Web, Shrike worshipers are burned and hunted. Can you imagine how we treat them here? .Fourteen months ago I declared Martial Law, and Keats's police force followed my orders wholeheartedly. The mob torched the shrine, and the police and Self-Defense Forces just watched. So did I. That night, there were five Hundreds of thousands of people were there." Saul Winterberg came up. "And do they know about us? About this last pilgrimage?" "If they knew," Theo said, "none of you would survive. Do you think they'd welcome anything that appeases the Shrike? The only thing the mob would care about is that you were trained by the Shrike. Honestly." To tell you the truth, I had to overrule my advisory council. They were in favor of destroying your ship as it approached the atmosphere." "Why do you...?" said the Consul, "I mean, why dismiss their opinion?" Theo sighed and adjusted his glasses. "Hyperion still needs an overlord, and Pleasure Stone still has the approval of the whole world, even if the Senate does not. And, I still need you." The Consul looked at the rubble of the Shrike's temple. "The pilgrimage was terminated before you came here," said Governor Theo Wren. "Go back to the consulate with me... at least I will give you the status of advisor." "Sorry," said the Consul, "I can't." Theo turned away without a word, climbed into the skimmer, and took off.His military escort followed, turned into a dot in the rain. Now, it's raining harder.The group of people walked closely together in the darkening darkness.Winterburo put a temporary hood over Rachel as a cover, and the raindrops made a pattering sound on the plastic, making the child cry unceasingly. "What now?" asked the Consul, looking around at the night and the narrow streets.Their luggage was piled up in piles and was soaking wet.The world smells like ashes. Martin Silenus said, grinning, "Come on, I know a bar." As it turned out, the Consul knew the pub too, having been at Cicero nearly all of his eleven-year tenure on Hyperion. Cicero, unlike most things on Keats and Hyperion, its name is not an ante-period literary trifle.Rumor has it that the bar takes its name from a part of an old city, some say Chicago in the United States of America, others are sure it is Calcutta in the Commonwealth of India, but only Stan Levitski, the owner of the bar, established Only the great-grandson of the author knew the whole story, but he never revealed a little secret.In the century and a half since it opened, the bar has been packed, from a walk-up loft in one sleazy, dilapidated building in Jacktown to a nine-story building in four sleazy, old buildings in Jacktown, located On the Hawley River.For decades, the only decorative elements of Cicero were those low ceilings, thick smoke, and endless background chatter that provided a sense of intimacy amidst the hustle and bustle. There is no privacy tonight.The Consul and others dragged their gear through the entrance to Marsh Lane, where they stopped. "Damn it," murmured Martin Silenus. Cicero was in disarray, and seemed to have been overrun by vagrant tribes of barbarians.Every chair is occupied, every table is occupied, most of these people are men, and the floor is littered with backpacks, weapons, bedding, obsolete communications equipment, ration boxes, and all the other detritus that belong to the rescue An army of refugees...or, perhaps, an army of refugees.The dreary air in Cicero was once full of mixed smells, the smell of hot steak, wine, stimulants, ale, and duty-free tobacco. Body odor, urine, and hopelessness. Just then, the huge figure of Stan Leveski emerged from the darkness.The bar owner's arms were thicker and heavier than before, but his forehead was pushing forward more and more, now several centimeters, towards the black matted hair that fought and retreated, and the folds around his black eyes were bigger than the consul's. More in memory.Those eyes were wide open now, fixed on the Consul. "Ghost," he said. "No." "Are you alive?" "No." "Damn it!" Stan Leveski yelled, gripping the consul's upper arm, and lifted him off the ground as easily as a five-year-old. "Damn! You're not dead. What are you doing here?" "Check your liquor license," the Consul said, "put me down." Leveski gently put the consul down, patted him on the shoulder, and smiled.Then he saw Martin Silenus, and the smile disappeared for an instant, his brow furrowed. "I've never met you before, but you look familiar." "I knew your great-grandfather," said Silenus, "and that reminds me, do you have any leftover ale from the pre-Paleo? British spirits that taste like recycled deer piss .This stuff is too little, I always drink badly." "No more," Leveski said.He pointed at the poet, "Damn it. Grandpa Yerry's big suitcase. Old hologram of the original Jack Townser. Am I dreaming?" He stared at Silenus, then at the Consul, a huge The index finger touched them cautiously, "Two ghosts." "Six tired men," said the Consul.The child started crying again, "Seven. Do you have a place for us to settle?" Levetsky made a 180-degree turn and spread his hands, palms up. "All that. No place. No food. No wine." He squinted at Martin Silenus. "No wheat beer either. Now we've turned into a big hotel with no beds. Self-Defense bastards stay here, don't pay, drink their rubbish shit, and wait for the world to die. I think we are not far from the end." Where this group of people stood was once the entrance to the mezzanine.The mess of equipment was strewn across the floor, now joined by the high piles of luggage of the pilgrims.Small clusters of people walked shoulder to shoulder through the crowd, casting appraising glances at the newcomers, especially at Braun Lamia.She glared back at them listlessly and coldly. Stan Leveski stared at the Consul for a moment. "I have a balcony, and there's a table. Five SDF kamikazes have been there for a week, bragging to the others how they're going to wipe out the Ousters with their bare hands. If you want That table, I'll drive out these feeding moths." "Yes," said the consul. Leveski was about to turn to leave when Lamia grabbed his arm. "Want to help?" she asked. Stan Levitski shrugged and smiled. "No, but I'd love to. Come on." They disappear into the crowd.