uplift4.brightnessreef-第48章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


e　counts　off。
　　〃One　cable；　forty。。。
　　〃One　cable；　sixty。。。
　　〃One　cable；　eighty。。。
　　〃Two　cables！
　　〃Two　cables；　twenty。。。〃
　　The　chant　reminds　me　of　Mark　Twain's　tales　of　river　pilots　on　the　romantic　Mississippi；　especially　one　scene　with　a　big　black　man…human　up　at　the　bow　of　the　Delta　Princess；　swinging　a　weight　on　a　line；　calling　out　shoals　in　a　treacherous　fog；　saving　the　lives　of　everyone　aboard。
　　I'm　an　ocean　hoon。　My　people　sail　ships；　not　sissy　boats。　Still；　those　were　among　my　father's　favorite　tales。　And　Huck's　too；　back　when　she　was　a　little　orphan；　toddling　around　on　her　pusher　legs；　four　eyes　staring　in　lost　wonder　as　Dad　recited　tales　set　on　a　wolfling　world　that　never　knew　the　stifling　wisdom　of　Galactic　ways。　A　world　where　ignorance　wasn't　exactly　noble；　but　had　one　virtue…it　gave　you　a　chance　to　see　and　learn　and　do　things　no　one　else　had　ever　seen　or　learned　or　done　before。
　　Humans　got　to　do　that　back　on　Earth。
　　And　now　we're　doing　it　here！
　　Before　I　even　know　I'm　doing　it；　I　sit　up　on　my　double…fold　haunches；　rock　my　head　back；　and　belt　out　an　umble　of　joy。　A　mighty；　rolling　hoot。　It　resounds　across　the　mesa；　strokes　the　grumbling　equipment；　and　floats　over　the　serrated　stones　of　the　Great　Rift。
　　For　all　I　know；　it's　floating　out　there　still。
　　Sunshine　spills　across　calm　waters　at　least　twenty　cables　deep。　We　imagine　Wuphon's　Dream；　drifting　ever　downward；　first　through　a　cloud　of　bubbles；　then　a　swollen　wake　of　silence　as　the　light　from　above　grows　dimmer　and　finally　fails　pletely。
　　〃Six　cables；　sixty。。。
　　〃Six　cables；　eighty。。。
　　〃Seven　cables！〃
　　When　we　go　down；　this　is　where　we'll　turn　on　the　eik　lights　and　use　the　acid　battery　to　send　sparks　up　the　hawser；　telling　those　above　that　all　is　well。　But　Ziz　has　no　lights；　or　any　way　to　signal。　The　little　stack　is　all　alone　down　there…though　I　guess　no　traeki　ever　feels　entirely　lonely。　Not　when　its　rings　can　argue　endlessly　among　themselves。
　　〃Eight　cables！〃
　　Someone　brings　a　jar　of　wine　for　me　and　some　warm　simla　blood　for　Ur…ronn。　Huck　sips　pungent　galook…ade　from　a　long　curvy　straw；　while　Pincer　sprays　his　back　with　salt　water。
　　〃Nine　cables！〃
　　This　experiment's　only　supposed　to　go　to　ten；　so　they　begin　gently　increasing　pressure　on　the　brake。　Soon　they'll　reverse　the　drums　to　bring　Wuphon's　Dream　back　to　the　world　of　air　and　light。
　　Then　it　happens…a　sudden　twang；　like　a　plucked　violus　string；　loud　as　thunder。
　　The　deployer　chief　cries…〃Release　the　brake！〃
　　An　operator　leaps　for　a　lever。。。　too　late　as　bucking　convulsions　hit　the　derrick；　like　backlash　on　a　fishing　pole　when　a　big　one　gets　away。　Only　this　recoil　is　massive；　unstoppable。
　　We　all　gasp　or　vurt　at　the　sight　of　Huphu；　a　small　black　figure　clinging　to　the　farthest　spar　as　the　crane　whips　back　and　forth。
　　One　paw；　then　another；　loses　its　grip。　She　screams。
　　The　tiny　noor　goes　spinning　across　space；　barely　missing　the　hawser's　cyclone　whirl　amid　a　frothing　patch　of　sea。　Staring　in　helpless　dismay；　we　see　our　mascot　plunge　into　the　abyss　that　already　swallowed　Ziz；　Wuphon's　Dream；　and　all　the　hopes　and　hard　work　of　two　long　years。
　　
　　XVI。　THE　BOOK　OF　THE　SLOPE
　　Legends
　　The　urs　tell　of　a　crisis　of　breeding。
　　Out　among　the　stars；　they　were　said　to　live　longer　than　they　do　on　Jijo；　with　spans　much　enhanced　by　artificial　means。　Moreover；　an　urs　never　stops　wanting　a　full　pouch；　tenanted　either　with　a　husband　or　with　brooding　young。　There　were　technical　ways　to　duplicate　the　feeling；　but　to　many；　these　methods　just　weren't　the　same。
　　Galactic　society　is　harsh　on　over…breeders；　who　threaten　the　billion…year…old　balance。　There　is　constant　dread　of　another　wildfire…a　conflagration　of　overpopulation；　like　one　that　burned　almost　half　the　worlds　in　Galaxy　Three；　a　hundred　or　so　million　years　ago。
　　Especially；　those　species　who　reproduce　slowly；　like　hoon；　seem　to　have　a　deep…set　fear　of　〃low…K〃　spawners；　like　urs。
　　Legend　tells　of　a　conflict　over　this　matter。　Reading　between　the　lines　of　ornate　urrish　oral　history；　it　seems　the　bards　must　be　telling　of　a　lawsuit…one　judged　at　the　higher　levels　of　Galactic　society。
　　The　urs　lost　the　suit；　and　a　bitter　war…of…enforcement　that　followed。
　　Some　of　the　losers　did　not　wish　to　settle；　even　then。　They　turned　one　ship　toward　forbidden　spaces；　there　to　search　for　a　wild　prairie　they　could　call　home。
　　A　place　to　hear　the　clitter…clatter　of　myriad　little　urrish　feet。
　　
　　Asx
　　A　STRANGE　MESSAGE　HAS　E　ALL　THE　WAY　from　Tarek　Town；　sent　by　Ariana　Foo；　emeritus　High　Sage　of　human　sept。
　　The　exhausted　urrish　runner　collapsed　to　her　knees　after　dashing　uphill　from　the　Warril　Plain；　so　spent　that　she　actually　craved　water；　raw　and　undiluted。
　　Center　now；　my　rings。　Spin　your　ever…wavering　attention　round　the　tale　of　Ariana　Foo；　as　it　was　read　aloud　by　Lester　Cambel；　her　successor。　Did　not　the　news　send　vaporous　wonder　roiling　through　my/our　core…that　a　mysterious　injured　outlander　showed　up　one　day　near　the　Upper　Roney？　A　stranger　who　might　possibly　be　some　lost　rade　of　the　star…god　visitors　who　now　vex　our　shared　exile！　Or　else；　she　speculates；　might　he　be　one　who　escaped　these　far…raiding　adventurers？　Could　his　wounds　show　evidence　of　shared　enmity？
　　Ariana　remends　we　of　the　Council　cautiously　investigate　the　matter　at　our　end；　perhaps　using　truth…scryers；　while　she　performs　further　experiments　at　Biblos。；
　　The　forayers　do　seem　to　have　other　interests；　beyond　seeking　pre…sentient　species　to　ravish　from　Jijo's　fallow　peace。　They　feign　nonchalance；　yet　relentlessly　query　our　folk；　offering　rewards　and　blandishments　for　reports　of　〃anything　strange。〃
　　How　ironic　those　words；　ing　from　them。
　　Then　there　is　the　bird。
　　Surely　you　recall　the　metal　bird；　my　rings？　Normally；　we　would　have　taken　it　for　yet　another　Buyur　relic；　salvaged　from　the　entrails　of　a　dead…dying　mule…spider。　Yet　the　sooner　girl　swears　she　saw　it　move！　Saw　it　travel　great　distances；　then　fight　and　kill　a　Rothen　machine！
　　Was　that　not　the　very　evening　the　forayers　buried　their　station；　as　though　they　were　now　fearful　of　the　dread　sky？
　　Our　finest　techies　examine　the　bird…machine；　but　with　scant　tools　available　they　learn　little；　save　that　energies　still　throb　within　its　metal　breast。　Perhaps　the　contingent　Lester　has　sent　east…to　ingather　the　human　sooner　band　according　to　our　law…will　find　out　more。
　　So　many　questions。　But　even　with　answers；　would　our　dire　situation　change　in　the　least？
　　Were　there　time；　i　would　set　my/our　varied　rings　the　task　of　taking　up　different　sides　and　arguing　these　mysteries；　each　question　pouring　distinct　scents　to　coat　our　moist　core；　dripping　syllogisms　like　wax；　until　only　truth　shines　through　a　lacquered　veneer。　But　there　is　no　time　for　the　traeki　approach　to　problem　solving。　So　we　sages　debate　in　the　dry　air；　without　even　rewq　to　mediate　the　inadequacies　of　language。　Each　day　is　spent　buying　futile　delays　in　our　destiny。
　　As　for　Ariana's　other　suggestion；　we　have　employed　truth…scryers　during　discussions　with　the　sky…humans。　According　to　books　of　lore；　this　passive　form　of　psi　should　be　less　noticeable　than　other　techniques。
　　〃Are　you　seeking　anybody　in　particular？〃　This　we　asked；　just　yesterday。　〃Is　there　a　person；　being；　or　group　we　should　look　for　in　your　name？〃
　　Their　leader…the　one　answering　to　the　name…label　Rann…seemed　to　grow　tense；　then　recovered　swiftly；　confidently；　smiling　in　the　manner　of　his　kind。
　　〃It　is　always　our　desire　to　seek　strangeness。　Have　you　observed　strange　things？〃
　　In　that　moment　of　revealed　strain；　one　of　our　scryers　claimed　to　catch　something…a　brief　flash　of　color。　A　dark　shade　of　gray；　like　the　hue　of　a　Great　Qheuen's　carapace。　Only　this　surface　seemed　more　supple；　with　a　lissome　litheness　that　undulated　nimbly；　free　of　adornment　by　hair；　scale；　feather；　or　torg。
　　The　glimpse　ended　quickly。　Still　the　scryer　felt　an　association…with　water。
　　What　else　did　she　describe；　my　rings；　during　that　scant　fey　moment？
　　Ah；　yes。　A　swirl　of　bubbles。
　　Scattered　in　formations；　numerous　as　stars。
　　Bubbles　growing　into　globes　the　size　of　Jijo's　moons。　Glistening。　Ancient。　Ageless。
　　Bubbles　filled　with　distilled　wonder。。。　sealed　in　by　time。
　　Then　nothing　more。
　　Well　and　alas；　what　more　could　be　asked？　What　are　we　but　amateurs　at　this　kind　of　game？　Phwhoon…dau　and　Knife…Bright　Insight　point　out　that　even　this　slim　〃clue〃　might　have　been　laid；　adroitly；　in　the　scryer's　thoughts；　in　order　to　distract　us　with　a　paradox。
　　Yet　at　times　like　these；　when　our　rewq　and　the　Holy　Egg　seem　to　have　abandoned　us；　it　is　such　slender　stems　that　offer　wan　hope　to　the　drowning。
　　In　her　message；　Ariana　promised　to　send　another　kind　of　help。　An　expert　whose　skill　may　win　us　leverage　with　our　foes；　perhaps　enough　to　make　the　invaders　willing　to　bargain。
　　Oh；　Ariana；　how　we/i　have　missed　your　wily　optimism！　If　fire　fell　from　heaven；　you　would　see　a　chance　to　bake　pots。　If　the　entire　Slope　shuddered；　then　sank　into　the　Midden's　awful　depths；　you　would　find　in　that　event　cause　to　cry　out…opportunity！
　　
　　Sara
　　DESPITE　URGENT　ORDERS　TO　HIDE　BY　DAY；　THE　steamship　Gopher　broke　her　old　record；　bolting　upstream　from　Tarek　Town；　against　the　Bibur's　springtime　flood；　boilers　groaning　as　pistons　beat　their　casings；　an　exuberance　of　power　unsurpassed　by　anything　else　on　Jijo；　save　her　sister　ship；　the　Mole。　Mighty　emblems　of　human　technology；　they　were　unapproachable　even　by　clever　urrish　smiths；　laboring　on　high　volcanoes。
　　Sara　recalled　her　own　first　ride；　at　age　fifteen；　newly　recruited　to　attend　advanced　studies　in　Biblos　and　fiercely　proud　of　her　new　skills…especially　the　knack　of　seeing　each　clank　and　chug　of　the　growling　steam　engine　in　terms　of　temperatures；　pressures；　and　pounds　of　force。　Equations　seemed　to　tame　the　hissing　brute；　turning　its　dismaying　roar　into　a　kind　of　music。
　　Now　all　that　was　spoiled。　The　riveted　tanks　and　pulsing　rocker…arms　were　exposed　as　primitive　gadgets；　little　more　advanced　than　a　stone　ax。
　　Even　if　the　star…gods　leave　without　doing　any　of　the　awful　things　Ariana　Foo　predicts；　they　have　already　harmed　us　by　robbing　us　of　our　illusions。
　　One　person　didn't　seem　to　mind。　The　Stranger　lingered　near　the　puffing；　straining　machinery；　peering　under　the　rockers；　insisting　with　gestures　that　the　engine　chief　open　the　gear　box　and　let　him　look　inside。　At　first；　the　human　crew　members　had　been　wary　of　his　antics；　but　soon；　despite　his　mute　incapacity　with　words；　they　sensed　a　kindred　spirit。
　　You　can　explain　a　lot　with　hand　motions；　Sara　noted。　Another　case　of　language　adapting　to　needs　of　the　moment…much　as　each　wave　of　Jijoan　colonists　helped　reshape　the　formal　Galactic　tongues　they　had　known；　culminating　when　humans　introduced　half　a　million　texts　printed　mostly　in　Anglic；　a　language　seemingly　built　out　of　chaos；　filled　with　slang；　jargon；　puns；　and　ambiguity。
　　It　was　a　warped　mirror　image　of　what　had　happened　back　on　Earth；　where　billion…year…old　grammars　were　pushing　human　culture　toward　order。　In　both　cases　the　driving　force　was　a　near　monopoly　on　knowledge。
　　That　was　the　obvious　irony。　But　Sara　kn