uplift4.brightnessreef-第4章

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　　It　is　also　said　that　they　simply　〃looked　it　all　up〃　in　a　portable　branch　of　the　Galactic　Library…before　consigning　even　that　treasure　to　flames　on　the　day　called　Never…Go…Back。
　　There　was　no　hollow　hail　that　spring　morning；　when　the　other　sages　emerged　to　salute　our　rings；　calling　us/me　Asx。　As　we　gathered　under　a　pavilion；　i　learned　that　our　rewq　was　not　the　only　one　grown　skittish。　Not　even　the　patient　hoon　could　control　his　translation…helper。　So　we　sages　conferred　without　the　little　symbionts；　fathoming　each　other　by　word　and　gesture　alone。
　　Of　all　whose　ancestors　chose　hopeless　exile　on　this　world；　the　g'Kek　are　senior。　So　to　Vubben　fell　the　role…Speaker　of　Ignition。
　　〃Are　we　guilty　for　the　failure　of　rantanoids？〃　Vubben　asked；　turning　each　eye　toward　a　different　point　of　the　pass。　〃The　Egg　senses　pain　in　the　life…field　whenever　potential　is　lost。〃
　　〃Hrrrm。　We　argue　the　point　endlessly；〃　the　hoon　sophist；　Phwhoon…dau；　replied。　〃Lark　and　Uthen　tell　of　a　decline。　Rantanoids　aren't　yet　extinct。　A　small　number　remain　on　an　Yuqun　Isle。〃
　　The　human　sage；　Lester　Cambel；　agreed。　〃Even　if　they　are　past　hope；　rantanoids　are　just　one　of　countless　species　of　root…grubbers。　No　reason　to　figure　they　were　specially　blessed。〃
　　Ur…Jah　retorted　that　her　own　ancestors；　long　ago　and　far　away；　had　been　little　root…grubbers。
　　Lester　conceded　with　a　bow。　〃Still；　we　aren't　responsible　for　the　rise　and　fall　of　every　species。〃
　　〃How　can　you　know？〃　Vubben　persisted。　〃We　who　lack　most　tools　of　science；　left　to　flounder　in　darkness　by　our　selfish　forebears；　cannot　know　what　subtle　harm　we　do　by　stepping　on　a　leaf　or　voiding　our　wastes　in　a　pit。　None　can　predict　what　we'll　be　held　accountable　for；　when　The　Day　es。　Even　glavers；　in　their　present　state　of　innocence；　will　be　judged。〃
　　That　was　when　our　aged　qheuenish　sage；　whom　we　call　Knife…Bright　Insight；　tilted　her　blue　carapace。　Her　voice　was　a　soft　whisper　from　one　chitin　thigh。
　　〃The　Egg；　our　gift　in　the　wilderness；　knows　answers。　Truth　is　its　reward　to　an　open　mind。〃
　　Chastened　by　her　wisdom；　we　fell　into　meditation。
　　No　longer　needed；　the　errant　rewq　slipped　off　our　brows　and　gathered　in　the　center；　exchanging　host…enzymes。　We　took　up　a　gentle　rhythm；　each　sage　adding　a　line　of　harmony…of　breath　and　beating　hearts。
　　My　rings；　do　you　recall　what　chose　then　to　occur？
　　The　fabric　of　our　union　was　ripped　by　booming　echoes；　cast　arrogantly　by　the　Rothen　ship；　proclaiming　its　malign　power；　before　it　even　arrived。
　　We　emerged　to　stare；　dismayed；　at　the　riven　sky。
　　Soon　sage　and　clanfolk　alike　knew　The　Day　had　finally　e。
　　Vengeance　is　not　spared　upon　the　children　of　the　fallen。
　　
　　The　Family　of　Nelo
　　THE　PAPER…CRAFTER　HAD　THREE　OFFSPRING…A　number　worthy　of　his　noble　calling；　like　his　father；　I　and　his　father's　father。　Nelo　always　supposed　the　line　would　go　on　through　his　own　two　sons　and　daughter。
　　So　he　took　it　hard　when　his　strong…jawed　children　deserted　the　water　mill；　its　sluiceways；　and　wooden　gears。　None　heeded　the　beckoning　rhythm　of　the　pulping　hammer；　beating　cloth　scavenged　from　all　six　races；　or　the　sweet　mist　spread　by　the　sifting　screens；　or　the　respectful　bows　of　traders；　e　from　afar　to　buy　Nelo's　sleek　white　pages。
　　Oh；　Sara；　Lark；　and　Dwer　were　happy　to　use　paper！
　　Dwer；　the　youngest；　wrapped　it　around　arrowheads　and　lures　for　the　hunt。　Sometimes　he　paid　his　father　in　piu　nodules；　or　grwon　teeth；　before　fading　into　the　forest　again；　as　he　had　done　since　turning　nine。　Apprenticed　to　Fallon　the　Tracker；　Dwer　soon　became　a　legend　across　the　Slope。　Nothing　he　sought　escaped　his　bow；　unless　it　was　shielded　by　law。　And　rumors　said　the　fierce…eyed　lad　with　jet…black　hair　killed　and　ate　whatever　he　liked；　when　the　law　wasn't　looking。
　　As　focused　as　Dwer　was　wild；　Lark　used　paper　to　plot　vast　charts　on　his　study　wall；　some　parts　almost　black　with　notes　and　diagrams。　Elsewhere；　large　spaces　gaped　blank；　a　waste　of　Nelo's　art。
　　〃It　can't　be　helped；　Father；〃　Lark　explained　near　wooden　shelves　filled　with　fossils。　〃We　haven't　found　which　species　fill　those　gaps。　This　world　is　so　plex；　I　doubt　even　the　Buyur　ever　fully　grasped　Jijo's　ecosystem。〃
　　Nelo　recalled　thinking　that　an　absurd　thing　to　say。　When　the　Buyur　leased　Jijo；　they　had　been　full　citizens　of　the　munity　of　the　Five　Galaxies；　with　access　to　the　fabled　Great　Library；　dwarfing　all　the　paper　books　in　Biblos！　With　a　word；　the　Buyur　could　beckon　any　answer　under　the　sun。　Under　a　billion　suns；　if　tales　of　the　past　could　be　trusted。
　　At　least　the　sages　approved　of　Lark's　work。　But　what　of　Sara？　Always　Nelo's　favorite；　she　used　to　love　the　smells；　rhythms　and　textures　of　papermaking…till　age　fourteen；　when　she　stumbled　on　a　talent。
　　Nelo　blamed　his　late　wife；　who　had　entered　his　life　so　strangely；　long　ago；　and　used　to　fill　the　kids'　heads　with　odd　tales　and　ambitions。
　　Yes；　he　decided。　It　was　all　Melina's　fault…
　　A　low　cough　jarred　Nelo's　drifting　resentment。　He　blinked　as　a　pair　of　deep　brown　eyes　peered　over　his　pitted　desk。　Dark　fur　framed　a　face　so　nearly　human　that　unwary　traeki　sometimes　gave　chimpanzees　the　courtesy　due　full　members　of　the　mons。
　　〃Are　you　still　here？〃　Nelo　snapped。
　　The　face　winced；　then　nodded　to　the　left；　toward　the　paper　storeroom；　where　one　of　Nelo's　aides　slowly　gathered　torn　sheets　from　a　discard　bin。
　　He　cursed。　〃Not　that　garbage；　Jocko！〃
　　〃But　Master；　you　said　to　fetch　waste　scraps　we　can't　sell…〃
　　Nelo　ducked　under　the　Great　Shaft；　a　rotating　horizontal　shank　of　hardwood；　carrying　power　from　the　village　dam　to　nearby　workshops。　He　shooed　Jocko　away。　〃Never　mind　what　I　said。　Go　back　to　the　vats…and　tell　Caleb　to　put　less　water　through　the　millrace！　It's　four　months　till　rainy　season。　He'll　have　us　out　of　business　in　two！〃
　　Nelo　scanned　the　shelves　for　himself；　finally　choosing　two　reams　of　slightly　flawed　sheets；　bound　in　liana　vines。　They　weren't　quite　rejects。　Someone　might　have　paid　cash　for　them。　On　the　other　hand；　what　was　there　to　save　for？　Didn't　the　sages　warn　against　investing　much　pride　or　care　in　tomorrow？
　　For　all　strivings　will　be　judged；　and　few　will　win　grace。。。
　　Nelo　snorted。　He　wasn't　a　religious　man。　He　made　paper。　The　profession　implied　some　faith　in　the　essential　goodness　of　time。
　　〃These'll　do　for　your　mistress；　Prity；〃　he　told　the　little　chimp；　who　rounded　the　desk；　holding　out　both　hands。　Mute　as　a　rewq；　she　served　Nelo's　daughter　in　ways　no　other　being　on　Jijo　could　manage。　Ways　that　few　could　prehend。　He　handed　over　one　of　the　heavy　packages。
　　〃I'll　carry　the　other。　It's　time　I　dropped　by　anyway；　to　see　if　Sara's　getting　enough　to　eat。〃
　　Mute　or　not；　the　ape　was　expressive　with　rolled　eyes。　She　knew　this　was　just　an　excuse　for　Nelo　to　have　a　look　at　Sara's　mysterious　house…guest。
　　Nelo　growled。　〃e　along　and　no　dawdling。　Some　of　us　work　for　a　living；　you　know。〃
　　A　covered　walkway　linked　the　dam/factory　to　the　forest；　where　most　villagers　dwelled。　Fierce　sunlight　filtered　through　a　canopy　of　living　camouflage。　At　noon　it　took　an　optimist　to　think　the　screen　would　hide　the　buildings　against　a　resolute　scan　from　space…and　among　the　Six；　optimism　was　viewed　as　a　mild　type　of　heresy。
　　Alas；　it　was　not　the　type　of　heresy　followed　by　Nelo's　eldest　son。
　　Concealment　seemed　doubly　problematic　for　the　great　dam　itself。　Unlike　the　ones　qheuenish　colonists　made；　bottling　small　ponds　behind　barriers　that　mimicked　landslides　or　piles　of　logs；　this　dam　spanned　half　an　arrowflight　from　end　to　end。　False　boulders　and　cascades　of　melon　creepers　blurred　its　outline。　Still；　many　called　it　the　most　blatant　artifact　on　the　Slope…outside　of　some　ancient　Buyur　site。　Each　year；　on　Denouncement　Day；　radicals　harangued　for　its　destruction。
　　And　now　Lark　is　one　of　them。　Nelo　cast　a　stock　plaint　toward　his　dead　wife's　spirit。　Do　you　hear；　Melina？　You　brought　the　boy　with　you；　when　you　came　from　the　far　south。　We're　taught　genes　don't　matter　as　much　as　upbringing；　but　did　I　raise　a　son　to　be　a　rabble…rousing　apostate？　Never！
　　Instead　of　camouflage；　Nelo　put　his　faith　in　the　promise　of　the　founding　ancestors　who　planted　their　truant　seed　on　Jijo；　claiming　there　would　be　no　determined　scan　from　space。　Not　for　half　a　million　years　or　so。
　　He　once　stressed　that　point　in　an　argument　with　Lark。　To　his　surprise；　the　lad　agreed；　then　said　it　did　not　matter。
　　〃I　urge　drastic　measures　not　because　I'm　afraid　of　being　caught；　but　because　it's　the　right　thing　to　do。〃
　　Right？　Wrong？　A　cloud　of　dizzying　abstractions。　Lark　and　Sara　kept　bringing　up　such　fluff…arguing　with　each　other　for　miduras　about　fate　and　destiny。　Sometimes　Nelo　found　Dwer；　the　wild　boy　of　the　forest；　the　easiest　of　his　children　to　understand。
　　The　village　carpenter's　shop　spewed　sawdust；　making　pipe　for　Jobee；　the　rotund　village　plumber；　to　splice　into　homes；　bringing　fresh　water　and　taking　away　waste　to　the　septic　pits。　The　forts　of　a　civilized　life。
　　〃Deep　shade；　Nelo；〃　Jobee　drawled　in　a　manner　that　invited　a　soul　to　stop　and　chat　a　spell。
　　〃Cloudy　sky；　Jobee；〃　Nelo　replied　with　a　polite　nod；　and　kept　walking。　Not　that　a　few　duras'　idle　banter　would　hurt。　But　if　he　learns　I'm　visiting　Sara；　he'll　drop　by　later　with　half　the　town　to　find　out　what　I　learned　about　her　new　pet。。。　the　stranger　with　the　hole　in　his　head。
　　Once　upon　a　time；　it　had　been　a　fallen　chipwing　with　a　broken　tail　rudder；　or　a　wounded　toyo　pup。　Anything　sick　or　hurt　used　to　wind　up　in　his　storeroom；　where　Sara　tended　it　in　a　box　lined　with　his　finest　felt。　Nelo　had　figured　his　adult　daughter　finally　past　that　phase…till　she　returned　from　a　routine　gleaning　trip　a　few　days　ago；　with　a　wounded　man　thrashing　on　a　stretcher。
　　Once　Nelo　might　have　opposed　an　outsider；　even　a　sick　one；　lodging　in　his　daughter's　treehouse。　Now　he　was　glad　to　see　anything　draw　her　from　a　year's　hard　work　and　isolation。　One　of　Sara's　guildmasters　had　written　to　him　recently；　plaining　that　she　was　shirking　a　principal　duty　of　a　woman　of　her　caste；　prompting　Nelo　to　write　back；　rebuking　the　fellow's　impudence。　Still；　any　interest　Sara　showed　in　a　man　was　cause　for　guarded　hope。
　　From　the　covered　walkway；　Nelo　spied　the　town　exploser　and　his　young　son；　inspecting　an　anchor…pier　of　the　great　dam。　Forbidding　and　earnest；　with　deep…chiseled　features；　Henrik　reached　into　a　recessed　hole　and　withdrew　a　bulb…ended　clay　tube。　Scrutinizing　the　charge；　the　exploser　held　it　for　his　son　to　sniff。
　　Nelo　was　suddenly　acutely　aware　of　the　mighty　lake；　lurking　behind　the　dam；　ready　to　sweep　away　the　locks　and　factories　if　ever　a　signal　came　for　Henrik　to　do　his　duty。　He　also　felt　a　pang　of　jealousy　over　that　knowing　tete…a…tete　between　father　and　child…the　sort　that　he　once　had　with　his　own　sire。　One　he　hoped　to　share　again；　with　someone　who　loved　paper　as　he　did。
　　If　only　one　of　the　three　kids　would　give　me　an　heir。
　　I'll　have　one　yet；　he　vowed。　If　I　must　bribe　the　sages　to　mand　it！
　　Henrik　slipped　the　tube　back　inside；　resealing　the　hole　with　clay。
　　A　low　sigh　hissed　to　Nelo's　left；　where　he　saw　another　person　also　watching　the　explosers。　Log　Biter；　matriarch　of　the　local　qheuenish　hive；　squatted　by　a　tree　stump