Chapter 11 Chapter two

The balcony on the third floor only accommodated the cracked table and six chairs.Although the main building, the stairs, and the landings were packed like a madhouse, after Levitsky and Lamia threw the protesting death commandos over the railing and into the river nine meters below, there was no danger. People then challenged them to fight for their territory.Levetsky had somehow obtained a mug of beer, a basket of bread and cold beef, and brought them up. The group ate in silence, obviously, they were suffering more pain than usual, it was hunger, fatigue and depression after fugue.The balcony was in total darkness, lightened only by the dim reflection of light from below Cicero, or by the light of the lanterns of a pleasure boat that happened to pass by.Most of the houses along the Hawley River were gloomy, but the other lights of the city were reflected in the low clouds.Looking upstream, the Consul could see the ruins of the Shrike Temple half a kilometer away.

"Well," said Father Hoyt, who had clearly recovered from his supermorphine overdose, wobbling there, delicately balanced between pain and sedation. "What do we do next?" When no one answered, the Consul closed his eyes.He refuses to lead anything.Sitting on Cicero's balcony, it was easy to rediscover his old rhythm of life.At that time, he would come to have a glass of wine in the early morning, and watch the meteor shower before dawn as the clouds cleared; next, he would stagger to his empty house by the market and walk into the consulate; As a child, he would take a shower and shave, looking like a human being, but with rage in his eyes and mad pain in his head.Leave everything to Theo, the quiet, competent Theo, to get him through the morning.It's all up to luck to get him through the day.All entrusted to the wine in Cicero's bar to get him through the evening.Everything is entrusted to his insignificant position to live out his life.

"Are you all ready to go and make a pilgrimage to the Tomb of Time?" The Consul's eyes snapped open.A hooded figure stood at the door. The Consul thought it was Het Masteen, but then he realized that this man was obviously shorter than the captain, and there was no saintly affectation in his voice. Mysterious and contrived accent. "If you are ready, then we have to leave quickly." Black Shadow said. "Who are you?" Braun Lamia asked. "Hurry up." Shadow's only answer. Feldman Kassad stood up and bent down so that his head would not hit the ceiling. He grabbed the robed figure, and with a quick pull of his left hand, he pulled back the man's hood.

"Robot!" shouted Rainer Hoyt, staring at the man's blue skin, at the blue eyes in that blue skin. The Consul was not much surprised.Although it has been illegal to own a robot in the world of Overlord for over a century, no creature has ever created a robot in such a long time.But in the remote backcountry, in the decolonized world, they were still counted as laborers for manual labor.For example, in the world of Hyperion.The Shrike Temple uses robots on a large scale, following the teachings of the Shrike Church, that is, robots have no original sin, therefore, they are spiritually superior to humans, and, in this case, they are also exempt from the terrible, hiding of the Shrike. no punishment.

"Hurry up." The robot said softly, putting on the hood again. "Are you from the temple?" Lamia asked. "Quiet!" the robot snapped.He looked down the hall, turned back, and nodded, "We have to hurry. Please follow me." Everyone stood up, hesitating there.The Consul looked at Kassad, who inadvertently undid the long leather jacket he was wearing.The consul caught a glimpse of a death stick pinned to the colonel's belt.Under normal circumstances, if the death stick appeared around, the consul would be extremely surprised, and even the thought would be terrifying to him. If he accidentally touched it lightly, all the synapses on the balcony would be wiped out, but at this moment , the strange thing is that seeing it, he felt very relieved.

"Our luggage . . . " said Winterberg. "Someone will take care of it," said the hooded man softly. "Quick." The group followed the robot down the stairs into the night, moving like a sigh, exhausted, passive. The consul overslept.An hour and a half after sunrise, light came in through the louvered grille of the porthole, and strips of sunlight fell on the pillow in rectangular strips.The Consul rolled over, but did not wake up.An hour later, there is a high-pitched click, the sound of the undocking of the tired manta rays that have been propelling the cruise ship all night.And the Consul continued to sleep.For the next hour, on the deck outside his stateroom, the footsteps of the crew, the shouts, grew louder and lasted longer, but what finally woke the Consul was The warning siren sounded under the Kara lock.

The Consul was still lingering in the aftereffects of his slumber, his body limp and weak as if he had taken drugs, he slowly got up, tried his best, wiped himself next to the washbasin and the water pump, put on baggy cotton trousers, worn out Canvas shirts, Styrofoam-soled shoes, and finally made it to the center deck. Breakfast was already on the long sideboard, next to a weathered table that retracted into the deck floor.There is an awning to shade the dining area from the sun.The red and gold canvas crackled as the breeze swept by.The weather was perfect, cloudless and bright, with the Hyperion sun shining down on us, small but overwhelming with heat.

Winterberg, Lamia, Kassad, Silinas, the four have been up for a while.After the Consul joined, Rainer Hoyt and Height Masteen arrived a few minutes later. The consul took the buffet at will, grilled fish, fruit, and orange juice.He went to the railing.The river here is very wide, the banks are at least a kilometer apart, and the water and the sky share the same emerald green color.At first glance the Consul did not recognize the land on either side of the river.To the east, periscope-like bean-shaped rice grains extend into the distant haze, where the rising sun is reflected on a thousand overflowing surfaces.At the junction of the rice ditches, there are several indigenous thatched huts. Their angular walls are made of sun-baked weir wood or golden half-cut oak.Looking to the west, the low-lying land by the river was covered with a mess of low plants, such as lush thistle, female root, and dazzling red fern. The consul didn't know what the last grass was.All these plants grow in the bogs and small lagoons that extend from here to the bank cliffs a thousand meters away, where the dwarf evergreens are firmly rooted in the exposed holes in the granite slabs.

The Consul was a little confused about his bearings, although he already knew the world well.Then he remembered the siren of the Kara lock.He suddenly understood that they had come to the Holly River in the north of Dukhoporin, which was a section of the river where few boats passed.The Consul had never seen this stretch of the Hawley; he had always traveled the Royal Canal before.Or fly over it, the canal is just west of the cliff.He could only speculate whether there was any danger on the main route leading to the Sea of ​​Grass, or if there was some disturbance that made them have to detour this part of the Hawley River.He guessed they were now about a hundred and eighty kilometers northwest of Keats.

"It looks different in daylight, doesn't it?" said Father Hoyt. The Consul looked ashore again, wondering what Hoyt was talking about; then, after a moment, he understood that the priest was talking about pleasure boats. They followed the robot messenger, walked in the torrential rain, boarded this old cruise ship, walked through the checkerboard-shaped rooms, walked in the maze of passages, let Heite Masteen board the ship in the ruins of the temple, Then it was strange to watch Keats's light fall astern. The Consul thought back to the hours around midnight, but it was only a vague dream of exhaustion, and he thought that others must be as exhausted and disoriented as he was.He vaguely recalls being surprised that the cruise ship was crewed by robots.But what he remembers most is that he finally closed the door of his stateroom and crawled comfortably under the covers.

"I had a conversation with Bettik this morning," Winterberg said, referring to their robot guide. "This dilapidated punt is quite old." Martin Silenus came to the sideboard, poured himself some tomato juice, took a flask from his hand, filled it a little, and said: "This thing must have seen a lot. See, The damn railings were painted by hand, the stairs were worn down, the ceiling was blackened with lamp dust, and the beds were slack from generations of tourists. I think the ship is centuries old. The carvings and rococo finishes are fucking amazing. Did you notice that while there are all sorts of smells in here, the inlaid wood still smells of sandalwood, don't you? If the ship is old, then I You're going to be surprised." "Exactly," said Saul Winterberg.Little Rachel was sleeping in her crib, calmly blowing bubbles of saliva. "We are on the majestic cruise ship 'Benares', a city in the old land with the same name, and the same city where the ship was built." "I don't recall a city with that name in the Old Lands," said the consul. Braun Lamia looked up as she was about to finish her breakfast. "Benares, also called Varanasi, or Fort Gandhi, North Indian Free State. It was destroyed during the limited exchange between the Indo-Soviet Muslim Republic." "Yes," Winterberg said, "the Benares was built before the Big Mistake. I guess it was in the mid-22nd century. Bettik told me that the ship was originally a suspended cruise ship ..." "Is the electromagnetic generator still down there?" Colonel Kassad interrupted. "I think it's still there," said Winterberg, "just off the main hall on the lowest deck. The floor of the hall is made of bright moon crystal. If we were cruising at two kilometers an hour, That would be great... but now it's useless." "Benares," Martin Silenus mused.He fondled the railing stained by time. "I was robbed there once." Braun Lamia puts down his coffee cup. "Old man, are you trying to say that you're too old to remember the old places? Hey, we're not fools." "My dear boy," said Martin Silenus, beaming, "I didn't mean to tell you anything. I just thought if we could have a conversation, each of us talking about all the places where we rob people or people rob us , make a list, that would be very interesting, instructive, instructive. Since you are the daughter of an MP, you have an advantage in this, it is not fair, I think, your list will be more prominent ...and longer." Lamia opened her mouth to refute, but in the end she just frowned and closed her mouth. "I want to know, how did this ship get brought to Hyperion?" Father Hoyt muttered, "Why would a floating cruise ship be brought into this world? You know, electromagnetic equipment is in this world It doesn't work." "It works," Colonel Kassad said. "Hyperion has a magnetic field. It's just not strong enough to support any airborne equipment." Father Hoyt raised an eyebrow, obviously too confused to see the difference. "Hey," cried the poet, standing on the railing, "everyone is here!" "So?" Braun Lamia asked.Her lips almost disappeared into a thin line. "Now that we're all here," he said, "let's get on with the story." "I think we've agreed that we'll tell our stories over lunch," said Height Masteen. Martin Silenus shrugged. "Breakfast, lunch, who the hell cares? Everyone's together. It's going to take six or seven days to get to the Time Tomb, isn't it?" The Consul pondered for a moment.The river took them far away, and it took less than two days.Crossing the Sea of ​​Grass could take more than two days, even if the wind is right.Crossing the mountains, of course, does not take a day. "No," he said, "it won't take more than six days." "Okay," said Silenus, "let's get on with the story. Besides, we can't guarantee that he won't come to our name before we run to the Shrike's house and knock on the door. If these Bedtime stories can help us survive in some ways, so, I say, let's all listen to it before we hear it, and we will be chopped up by the mobile food processor we are going to visit. It's diced." "You're disgusting," Braun Lamia said. "Oh dear," Silenas said, "you said that last night after your second orgasm." Lamia turned her head away.Father Hoyt cleared his throat and said, "Whose turn is it? I mean, whose turn is it to tell the story?" Silence spread. "Me," said Feldman Kassad.The tall man reached into the pocket of his white jacket and held up a piece of paper with a large "2" written on it. "Now, will you?" Saul Winterberg asked. Kassad seemed to be about to laugh. "I'm not a fan of storytelling at all," he said, "but if it's over after you've done it, do it quicker." "Hey!" Martin Silenus yelled, "this guy knows the playwrights from before the exile." "Is that Shakespeare?" asked Father Hoyt. "Fart," Selinas said, "Lerner and fucking Lowe. Damn Neil Simon. Fucking Hammer Bosten." "Colonel," said Saul Winterburo solemnly, "the weather is fine, you see. We don't all have much business to do for the next few hours, if you will share your Tell us the story of what brought you to Hyperion for this last Shrike pilgrimage, we would be grateful." Kassad nodded.The weather has become very warm, the canvas awning is crackling, the deck is creaking, and the floating cruise ship "Benares" is steadily going up the stream, towards the mountains, towards the swamp, towards the Shrike go.