Chapter 25 Chapter One

One hour before sunset, the cruise ship "Benares" sailed into the inland port of Nayadh.Crew members and pilgrims leaned against the railing and gazed at the smoldering embers.There was once a city of 20,000 people, but not much remains.The famous Riverside Inn, built in the days of Sad King Belgium, has burned down to its foundations; its charred docks, piers, and shaded balconies have crumbled and collapsed in the shallows of the Hawley River.The customs house was burned down to its skeleton.And the spaceship terminal at the northern end of the city was nothing but a black, empty shell, its mooring tower reduced to a pinnacle-shaped pile of coke.There is not a single trace of the small shrike temple by the river.In the eyes of the pilgrims, the worst thing is that the river station in Nayadh was also destroyed. After the fire, the power pier sagged and collapsed, and the manta rays spread their wings and passed through the water unimpeded.

"Damn it!" Martin Silenus yelled. "Who the hell did it?" asked Father Hoyt. "The Shrike?" "More likely the Self-Defense Forces," the consul said, "although they may have just had a fight with the Shrike." "I can't believe it," Braun Lamia snapped.She turned to look at Bettik, who had just joined them on the quarterdeck. "Do you know what happened?" "No idea," replied the robot, "for a week we have lost contact with anything north of the lock." "Then why the hell is there no contact?" Lamia asked, "Even if there is no data network in this barren world, don't you still have radios?"

Bettik smiled. "Yes, Ms. Lamia, there is a radio, but the communication satellite is broken, and the microwave relay station at the Kara lock is also damaged, and we cannot enter the short-wave communication band." "How's the manta ray?" Kassad asked. "With our few, can we continue to drive toward the border?" Bettik frowned. "We had to do it, Colonel," he said, "but it's a crime. Those two of the powerplants haven't recovered from their push for so long. If there were new manta rays, we could Arrive at the frontier before dawn. With these two now..." The robot shrugged, "If we're lucky and those beasts survive, we will arrive in the early afternoon..."

"Wind carriers are still going to be there, aren't they?" Height Masteen asked. "We must assume," said Bettik, "that, with your permission, I am off to feed our poor beasts. In an hour we should be on our way again." In the ruins of Nayad, they didn't see a single figure, and there was no one nearby.Not a single airship could be seen over the city. After driving towards the northeast corner of the small town for an hour, they entered a place.There, the forests and farms along Hawley Shoal give way to the undulating orange grasslands on the southern side of the Sea of ​​Grass.Occasionally, the consul would see mud towers built by construction ants. Near the river, there were several such jagged mud towers, almost ten meters high.But there are no signs of well-preserved human settlements.The ferry on Betty's Shoal was completely gone, and there was not even a ship cable or some shelter from the cold, so it was impossible to determine the specific location of the ferry that had been standing for almost two centuries.The River Messenger Inn at Cave Corner was dark and lonely.Bettik and the rest of the crew called out, but there was no answer from the dark opening.

The sun sets, bringing a sensuous tranquility to the river, which is soon broken by a chorus of insects and night birds.For a moment, the surface of the Hawley River turned into a pale green mirror, reflecting the evening sky, and only then did the water ripple .When the real night falls, the winding mountains surround many valleys and streams, among which there are countless grassland spider yarns dancing. Compared with their distant relatives in the forest, these spider yarns are lighter in color, but the area is also larger. Larger, luminescent shadows the size of young children.Constellations appear, and meteors flicker across the night sky. This night scene is far away from all artificial lights, bright and magnificent.At this time, on the rear deck of the cruise ship, the lanterns were lit, and the dinner party began.

The Shrike pilgrims were silent, as if they were still brooding on the bewildering horror story Colonel Kassad had told.The Consul had been sipping wine since noon, and now he felt the pleasant trance, the distance from reality, from the pain of memory, which carried him through each day and night.Now he spoke, asking who was to tell the story, in a voice that was as unambiguous and careful as only a real old drunk could. "Me," Martin Silenus replied.The poet has also been drinking non-stop since early in the day.Like the Consul, he controlled his voice carefully, but a blush on his thin cheeks and an almost manic look in his eyes betrayed that the old poet was overwhelmed. "Anyway, I drew number three..." He held up his lottery paper, "If you want to hear this damn story, then I'll tell you."

Braun Lamia raised his glass, grimaced, then put it down again. "Maybe we should talk about what people took away from the first two stories and how that relates to our current ... situation." "Not yet," Colonel Kassad said. "We don't have enough information." "Let Silenas tell," Saul Winterberg said, "and then we can start talking about the stories we've heard." "I agree," Rainer Hoyt said. Heite Masteen and the Consul nodded. "All agree!" cried Martin Silenus. "I'll tell my story. But first let me finish the damn drink."

The poet's story: The Hyperion Psalms At first there were words.And then there's the fucking word processor.Then came the thought processor.Then came the death of literature.That's the way it is. Francis Bacon said, "Words are haphazardly thrown together, and that is the greatest hindrance to the mind." We all contribute to the strongest hindrances to the mind, don't we?I work harder than most.One of the best forgotten writers of the 20th century famously said, "I love being a writer, but I can't afford writing." Get it?Let's put it this way, my friend, I love being a poet, but I just can't stand those thunderous words.

Where to start? Or start with Hyperion?