Chapter 69 Chapter two

Consul's Story: Yi Xili I climbed up the steep hill to Hilly's grave, and it was the day when the island returned to the shallow waters of the Equatorial Islands.The weather is awesome, but I hate it.The sky is as quiet as the ocean in the old land in the legend, the shallow sea is rippling, with dark blue spots, the warm breeze blows from the sea, and the reddish brown willow grass ripples and spreads on the hillside beside it. On such a day, it is not as if there are low, gray and gloomy clouds; it is not as if there is a mist or even a heavy fog, which makes the masts of the first port of the port drip water, and wakes the horn of the lighthouse from its deep sleep; The oceanic simon blows over the cold hills to the south, sweeping the mobile islets and pasture dolphins in front of it, driving them to the shelter of atolls and pinnacles.

Everything will be better than now.On such a warm spring day, when the sun passes over the blue dome, I want to run, jump, roll in the soft grass, and relive the wild landscape that Shili and I were here at the beginning. right here.I stopped and looked around.The willow grass billowed in the mild, salty south wind like the fur of some giant beast.I shaded the sun with my hand and looked toward the horizon, but couldn't find anything moving.On the volcanic lava reef in the distance, the sea surface suddenly changed, and powerful waves surged. "Silly," I called softly, and I couldn't help calling out her name.The crowd stopped on the slope a hundred meters away, stared at me, and breathed in the same rhythm.The procession of mourners and priest of ceremonies stretched for a kilometer to white buildings on the edge of the city.I made out the grizzled, nearly balding head of my younger son at the front of the line, in the blue and gold spaced robes of the Hegemony.I knew I should wait for him and walk alongside him, but he and the other aging council members couldn't match my young muscles and steady stride, which I had trained for the ship.Although etiquette dictates that I should walk with him, as well as my granddaughter Lila and my nine-year-old grandson.

It's a hell of a thing.These people are just as bad as hell. I turned around and jogged up the steep hill.Sweat gradually soaked through my loose cotton shirt, and then I reached the crest of the winding ridge and saw the tombs. Hillary's grave. I stop.Though the sun was bright and warm, shining on the flawless white stone of the Mausoleum of Silence, the wind was still chilling.The entrance to the sealed tomb was tall and grassy, ​​and rows of faded festive pennants on ebony poles lined the narrow gravel path. I walked around the tomb, stopping and going, and finally came to the edge of a steep cliff a few meters away.The willows and grass are bent and trampled, and rude tourists once laid blankets here.I also saw rings of fire, made of perfectly round, pure white stones stolen from the edges of gravel paths.

I couldn't help laughing.I know what to see from here: the grand curve of the natural breakwater of the outer harbor, the low white buildings of the first station, and the colorful hulls and masts of the catamarans bobbing up and down in the moorings. On the pebble beach above the congregation hall, a young woman in a white dress was walking towards the water.Suddenly I thought it was Siri, and my heart beat faster.I was almost ready to raise my arms in response to her wave, but she didn't.I silently watched the distant figure turn and leave, disappearing into the shadow of the ancient dock.

Above me, beyond the cliffs, a broad-winged Thomas hawk circles the lagoon on the curling heat, its infrared eyes scanning drifting cyanobacterial beds for Greenland fur seals or winter-eyed prey.Nature is so boring, I thought, sitting in the soft grass.On a day like this when nature messes everything up, it's so slow to throw a bird back here in search of prey that would have escaped from the polluted waters on the edge of a booming city. I have another Thomas Hawk in my memory, the first night I spent with Sealy when I came to the top of this mountain with her, and I remember the moonlight on its wings, and its strange shriek every now and then , echoing between the cliffs, seemed to penetrate the dark sky above the gas lights in the village at the foot of the mountain.

Shirley was sixteen...no, not sixteen...and the eagle-winged moonlight above her head painted her smooth skin milky, casting shadows on the soft circumference of her breasts.When the screams of birds pierced the night sky and we looked up at the stars in reverence, Shirley said, "It's not the voice of the skylark that pierces your terrified eardrums, but the voice of the nightingale." "What?" I asked.Shirley was about to turn sixteen.I am nineteen years old.But Shirley knew the slow walk and the rhythm of the drama in the book Under the Stars.And I only know the stars.

"Relax, young crew," she said softly, and pulled me down to lie on her side. "It's just an old hawk hunting. A stupid bird. Come here, crew. Come here, Merren." At that very moment the Los Angeles rose above the horizon, drifting westward like a wind-blown ash, past the eerie constellations above Healey's planet Maui.I lay down next to her and described to her the workings of the great Hawking-driven gyroscope, capturing the high-energy sunlight so that it could continue to fly as night fell, all the while running my hand down her smooth side , her velvet skin thrills me, her breath rushing against my shoulders.I lowered my head and pressed my face into the crook of her neck, smelling the scent of sweat and essential oils from her tangled hair.

"Healey," I said, calling her by her first name, heartfeltly this time.Below me, under the hilltop, in the shadow of the white tombs, the crowd stood and moved slowly.They grew impatient with me and wanted me to unseal the tomb and go inside and spend my alone time, where the cold, dead void had replaced Shirley's warmth.They wanted me to bid it farewell, so they could continue the ceremonies and ceremonies unfinished, open the teleporter gates, and join the long-awaited Overlord's Ring. It's a hell of a thing.These people are just as bad as hell. The willow grass grows densely and vertically, and I pull up a tendril, chew its sweet stalk, and stare at the return of the first migratory island in the sky.The shadows are still long and narrow in the morning light.It's still early.I'm going to sit here and miss it for a while.

I will miss Shirley. Shirley is a... how should I put it? ...a little bird, I thought, that was my first impression of her.She was wearing a mask of bright bird feathers that day, and when she took it off to join us in the quadrille dance, the flames of the torches cast a deep auburn sheen on her hair.Her cheeks were flushed and her face was peach-blossomed, and even across the crowded square I caught glimpses of her green eyes that matched the summer heat of her face and hair.Naturally, it was holiday night.A clear breeze blows from the harbor, the torch jumps and pops out star flowers, and the distant sound of the flute played for the passing islands on the ruined wall is almost drowned in the sound of the waves and the sound of the pennants hunting in the wind.Shirley was approaching the prime of her sixteenth year, and her beauty shone brighter than any torch around the crowded square.I trudge through the dancing crowd to her side.

For me, this was five years ago.For us, it was sixty-five years ago.Everything seems like yesterday. This is not easy to say. Where to start? "How about we go find a chick, dude?" Mike Washoe said.He was short and chubby, with a pudgy face like a cleverly crafted caricature of Buddha, and in those days Mike was a god to me.We are all gods; although we are not immortal, we also live a very long life, and although we are not superhuman, we still live a happy life.The Hegemony has chosen us to run one of its precious Quantum Jump gyroships, and life for an immortal isn't much better than that, is it?In this pantheon of spaceships, there was only Mike, smart, witty, unassuming Mike, slightly older and taller than the young Meren Asbik.

"Ha. That's zero chance," I said.We just finished a twelve-hour shift with the teleporter construction crew, and we're scrubbing all over.Now we are in charge of sending workers to and from the chosen singularity about 163,000 kilometers outside Maui, which is nothing compared to the four months we spent jumping from Overlord space.We were skilled specialists throughout the FTL portion of the journey; forty-nine stellar ship specialists tended to about two hundred nervous passengers.Passengers are now wearing resistant flight suits, and we crew members have been transformed into service personnel.We were all honored truckers as construction crews struggled to put the giant Singularity containment field in place. "Nil chance." I repeated. "Unless those above ground build a whorehouse on the isolated island they leased to us." "No. They didn't." Mike laughed.My three days of leisure and relaxation on the planet with him are drawing to a close, but from Captain Singer's briefing and the complaints of fellow sailors, we know that the long-awaited time on the ground can only take spent time on the island, and the small island has a total area of ​​28 square kilometers.It wasn't any of the moving islands we'd heard of at all, just a volcanic peak near the equator.Once there, we will rely on true gravity under our feet, breathe in unfiltered air, and enjoy the opportunity to taste non-synthetic food.But we can always expect something else, and see if we can communicate with the colonists of Maui when buying local artifacts in the duty-free shop.But even these native products are sold by the overlord's shrewd businessmen.Therefore, many fellow sailors choose to spend leisure and relaxation on the "Los Angeles". "Then where can we find the chick, Mike? Before the teleporter was activated, the colony was off-limits. That's sixty years later in local time. Don't you mean Meggie in the roundabout?" "Follow me, man," Mike said. "Where there is a will, there is a way." I followed Mike.There were only five of us in the landing craft.Descending from high orbit into the atmosphere of a solid planet always gives me chills, especially one that looks so Old Earth like Maui.I kept my eyes fixed on the blue and white edge of the planet until the ocean below was clearly discernible, and we were in the atmosphere, sliding smoothly at three times the speed of sound, approaching the twilight line. We were all gods then.But even the gods sometimes come down from his high throne. Shirley's body has always amazed me.We were out in the archipelago, spending three weeks in a spacious tree house swaying under billowy sails, the Makushima dolphins riding alongside us like horses, the sweltering sunset Filling the evenings with endless theaters of spectacle, night stars filling the sky, our island's wake dotted with a thousand swirls, reflecting the star cluster overhead, shimmering.What remains engraved in my mind is Shirley's naked body.For some reason - shyness, years of separation - the first few days of our stay in the archipelago she wore a two-piece swimsuit, her soft white breasts and belly were far from being tanned like the rest until I had to go black. I still remember the first time with her.We lay in the soft grass above the first port, and the moonlight was woven into triangles by the grass blades.Her silk tights blended seamlessly with the fine willow grass.We all had childlike innocence then; a little hesitation about certain things coming too soon.But we are also proud.Years later, it was the same pride that would have brought her to face an angry separatist mob on the steps of the consulate of the Nanten Hegemony, and sent them home in shame. I remember my fifth landing, our fourth reunion.That was one of the rare times I saw her cry.At that time, she was highly respected, graceful and luxurious.She has been elected to the Grand Council four times, and the Council of Overlords looks to her for advice and guidance.Her self-improvement and self-reliance are like a royal robe, and her aggressive pride shines brightly.Yet when we were alone in our brick villa south of Fewaron, it was Siri who looked away.I was a little apprehensive, a little afraid of this powerful stranger, and she was indeed Siri--Sheeri with her head held high and her eyes full of confidence.But she turned to the wall and said to me with tears in her eyes, "Go away. Go away, Meren. I don't want you to see me. I'm an old woman, with loose skin and wrinkles. Go away." I admit I was a little rough with her that time.I clamped her wrist with my left hand—with strength that surprised even me—and grabbed the hem of the skirt and yanked off her silk gown.I kissed her shoulders, her neck, the faded streaks of her tight belly, the scar on her thigh from a skimmer crash-landing forty years ago, kissed her graying hair , kissed the marks of years carved on her once smooth cheeks, kissed her teardrops. "God, Mike, this is illegal," I said to him as my friend just pulled the Hawk Flying Carpet out of his backpack and spread it out.We are on Island 241, which is the leisure and relaxation resort they selected for us. The overlord businessman gave this broken volcano that does not lay eggs such a romantic name. Island 241 is less than fifty kilometers away from the oldest colony, but it might as well be fifty light-years away.No local ships are allowed on the island as long as the Los Angeles crew or teleporter workers are here.The Maui colonists have several ancient skimmers that can operate normally, but according to the contract between the two parties, no aircraft can fly over the airspace of the other party.In this way, apart from dormitories, beach and duty-free shops, there is almost nothing on the island that can attract our crew.When the final components are loaded into the system through the "Los Angeles" and the construction of the long-distance transmitter is completed, the overlord authority may develop Island 241 into a tourist and business center.But until that moment comes, it will remain a barren land, with just one dropship landing site, some newly completed local white stone buildings, and a small group of maintenance personnel who live a boring life.Mike reported to his superiors that the two of us would be out for three days, climbing the steepest and most inaccessible side of the island. "For God's sake, I don't want to go rock climbing," I told him. "I'd rather be on board the USS Los Angeles and plug in the thrill simulation." "Shut up and follow me," Mike said, and I shut up and followed him like a little god in a pantheon of gods with older wisdom.We trekked for two hours on slopes dotted with sharp-edged scrub to reach hundreds of lava cliffs above crashing waves.It's near the equator of this scorching planet, but on this windswept cliff, the wind howls, and my teeth chatter.In the middle of the dark cirrus clouds in the western sky, the setting sun is just a red spot. I don't want to be exposed to the wild when the night falls completely. "Please," I said to him, "we've got to get out of the wind and make a fire. I don't know how to pitch a tent on these damned stones." Mike sat down and lit a joint. "Look at your backpack, buddy." I hesitated.His voice was emotionless, but it was the tone of deliberate calm that a prankster has just before a bucket of cold water is about to be poured.I squatted down and started rummaging through the nylon backpack.The backpack was empty, stuffed only with a bit of old foam padding.There's also a clown costume, complete with everything from the mask to the bells on the toes. "Are you... this... are you fucking crazy?" I yelled indiscriminately.It was getting dark quickly, and there was a 50 percent chance the storm would head south and trap us.The sound of the waves under your feet is like a hungry beast, which makes people restless.If I'd known to grope my way back to the trade complex alone in the dark, I'd probably be thinking about dumping Mike Warshow's body in the ocean a thousand feet below to feed the fish by now. "Now look what's in my backpack," Mike said.He grabbed some scum, and he pulled out some jewelry that I'd seen from Renaissance Arrow artifacts, an inertial compass, a laser pointer that might be flagged as a concealed weapon by the Ship Safety Bureau, and another A clown suit—he's much fatter than me, and this one was tailored to his frame, and a Hawk rug. "Jesus, Mike," I said, running my hand over the ingenious mechanism of the old rug, "this is illegal." "I didn't see any customs declaration at the departure point," Mike said with a smile, "and I seriously doubt whether the locals have traffic control laws." "That's right, but..." I lowered my voice and spread out the flying carpet completely.It is a little over a meter wide and about two meters long.The ornate fibers have faded with time, but the flight control wires still shine like new copper. "Where did you get it?" I asked. "Is this still working?" "Bought it from Garden," Mike said, and stuffed my clothes and the rest of his gear into the backpack. "Of course it still works." The old man Vladimir Sholokhov is an immigrant from the old land, a master of lepidoptera entomology, and an electromagnetic system engineer. He has a beautiful young niece in the new land. Since he first handmade the first Huoying fly for her It has been more than a century since the blanket.Legend has it that her niece despised this gift, but over the decades, it is incredible that this toy has become quite popular-not just children, but even wealthy adults, until most of the overlord planets successively declare it illegal.Dangerous to operate, using waste isolation fibers as raw materials, it is almost lawless in the controlled airspace, and now, the Huoying flying carpet has only remained in bedtime stories, museums and some colonial planets, and has become a rare thing. "It's worth a fortune," I said. "Thirty marks," Mike said, sitting firmly in the center of the blanket. "The old peddler at Carvergne Market thought it was worthless. It was just... to him. I took it back to the ship, charged it up, reset the inertial chip, and voila!" Mike said with Pressing the delicately designed mechanism with the palm, the flying carpet immediately stiffened and floated 50 centimeters above the rock ledge. I stare at all this suspiciously. "Okay," I said, "but if it..." "No," Mike said, patting the flying carpet behind him impatiently. "I've fully charged it, and I know how to control it. Come on, climb up, or back off. I think in this Go for a ride before the storm looms." "But I don't think it's..." "Come on, Mei Run, make up your mind. I don't have much time." I hesitated for another second or two.If we were caught red-handed leaving the island, both would be disqualified from the ship.Now working on the boat has become my life.I made this determination when I accepted the Maui Agreement signed by the Eight-Party Mission.Not only that, but now I am two hundred light years away from civilized society plus five and a half years of quantum leap.Even if they took us back to the Overlord, the whole round trip would leave us eleven years behind our friends and family.Time debt can never be remedied. I climbed onto the hovering Hawk Carpet and sat behind Mike.He tucked the backpack between us, told me to hold on tight, and tapped on the flying device.The flying carpet rose to a height of five meters above the rocks, and the course was quickly calibrated to the left, and then shot out like a bullet. Below you was the exotic ocean, and the sea surface 300 meters below, in the thicker darkness, the waves splashed White water splashes.We rose high above the roaring waters and headed south into the night. The decision in just a few seconds determines the entire future.