uplift4.brightnessreef-第62章

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rity；　they　had　quietly　arranged　for　Old　Earth　to　lie　fallow；　off　the　colonization　lists；　for　half　a　billion　years；　an　acplishment　with　implications　Lark　found　hard　to　imagine。　Needing　no　fleets　or　weapons；　the　Rothen　were　influential；　mystical；　mysterious…in　many　ways　godlike　even　pared　with　those　beings　whose　vast　armadas　thundered　across　the　Five　Galaxies。　No　wonder　Ling　and　her　peers　thought　themselves　above　so…called　〃laws〃　of　migration　and　uplift；　as　they　sifted　Jijo's　biosphere　for　some　worthy　species　to　adopt。　No　wonder　she　seemed　fearless　over　the　possibility　of　being　caught。
　　The　newly　cave…fledged　rewq　also　appeared　dazzled；　ever　since　the　tall　pair　emerged　from　the　buried　research　station。　The　one　on　Lark's　brow　trembled；　casting　splashy　aurae　around　the　two　Rothen　till　he　finally　had　to　peel　it　back。
　　Lark　tried　to　wrest　control　over　his　thoughts；　reclaiming　a　thread　of　skepticism。
　　It　may　be　that　all　advanced　races　learn　to　do　what　the　Rothen　are　doing　now…impressing　those　beneath　them　on　the　ladder　of　status。　Perhaps　we're　all　extra…susceptible　on　account　of　being　primitives；　having　no　other　experience　with　Galactics。
　　But　skepticism　was　slippery　as　the　Rothen　emissaries　conversed　with　the　sages　in　voices　that　seemed　warm；　passionate。　A　robot　amplified　the　discourse　for　all　to　hear。
　　〃We　two　now　express　grateful　and　respectful　honors　for　your　hospitality；〃　Ro…kenn　said　in　a　very　prim；　grammatically　perfect　GalSixish。
　　〃Furthermore；　we　now　express　regret　for　any　anxiety　our　presence　may　have　generated　among　your　noble　mons；〃　Ro…pol　added。　〃Only　of　late　have　we　e　to　realize　the　depth　of　your　unease。　Overing　our　natural　reticence…our　shyness；　if　you　will…we　now　emerge　to　soothe　your　quite　unwarranted　fears。〃
　　Again；　whispers　of　tentative　hope　from　the　crowd…not　an　easy　emotion　for　Jijoan　exiles。
　　Ro…kenn　spoke　again。
　　〃Now　we　express　joy　and　appreciation　to　have　been　invited　to　attend　your　sacred　rites。　One　of　us　shall　acpany　you　on　this　eve；　to　witness　the　wonderment　inherent　in；　and　remarkably　expressed　by；　your　renowned　and　Holy　Egg。〃
　　〃Meanwhile；〃　Ro…pol　continued；　〃the　other　of　us　shall　withdraw　to　contemplate　how　best　to　reward　your　mons　for　your　pains；　your　worries；　and　your　hard　sequestered　lives。〃
　　Ro…pol　appeared　to　muse　on　the　problem　for　a　moment；　choosing　her　words。
　　〃Some　gift；　we　foresee。　Some　benefaction　to　help　you　through　the　ages　ahead；　as　each　of　your　cojoined　races　seeks　salvation　down　the　long；　courageous　path　known　as　Return…to…innocence。〃
　　A　murmur　coursed　the　ranks　of　onlookers…pleasure　at　this　surprising　news。
　　Now　each　of　the　sages　took　turns　making　a　weling　speech；　starting　with　Vubben；　whose　aged　wheels　squeaked　as　he　rolled　forward　to　recite　from　one　of　the　oldest　scrolls。　Something　apropos　about　the　ineffable　nature　of　mercy；　which　drifts　upward　from　the　ground　when　least　expected；　a　grace　that　cannot　be　earned　or　even　merited；　only　lovingly　accepted　when　it　es。
　　Lark　let　the　neophyte　rewq　slip　back　over　his　eyes。　The　Rothen　pair　remained　immersed　in　a　nimbus　of　confused　colors；　so　while　Vubben　droned　on；　he　turned　and　scanned　the　assembled　onlookers。
　　Of　course　rewq　offered　no　magic　window　to　the　soul。　Mostly；　they　helped　make　up　for　the　fact　that　each　race　came　equipped　with　brain　tissue　specifically　adapted　for　reading　emotional　cues　from　its　own　kind。　Rewq　were　most　effective　when　facing　another　rewq…equipped　being；　especially　if　the　two　symbionts　first　exchanged　empathy　hormones。
　　Is　that　why　the　sages　aren't　wearing　theirs　now？　In　order　to　protect　secret　thoughts？
　　From　the　throng　he　picked　up　ripples　of　fragile　optimism　and　mystical　wonder；　cresting　here　and　there　with　spumelike　waves　of　near…religious　fervor。　There　were　other　colors；　however。　From　several　dozen　qheuens；　hoon；　urs；　and　men…proctors　and　militia　guards…there　flowed　cooler　shades　of　duty。　Refusal　to　be　distracted　by　anything　short　of　a　major　earthquake。
　　Another　glittering　twinkle　Lark　quickly　recognized　as　a　different　kind　of　duty；　more　plex；　focused；　and　vain。　It　acpanied　a　brief　reflection　off　a　glass　lens。　Bloor　and　his　rades　at　work；　Lark　guessed。　Busy　recording　the　moment。
　　Lark's　symbiont　was　working　better　now。　In　fact；　despite　its　lack　of　training；　it　might　never　again　be　quite　this　sensitive。　At　this　moment　almost　every　rewq　in　the　valley　was　the　same　age；　fresh　from　caves　where　they　had　lately　mingled　in　great　piles；　sharing　unity　enzymes。　Each　would　be　acutely　aware　of　the　others；　at　longer　than　normal　range。
　　I　should　warn　Bloor。　His　people　shouldn't　wear　rewq。　If　it　lets　me　spot　them；　it　might　help　robots；　too。
　　Another　swirl　caught　his　eye；　flashing　bitterly　from　the　far　end　of　the　Glade；　standing　out　from　the　prevailing　mood　like　a　fire　burning　on　an　ice…field。　There　was　no　mistaking　a　flare　of　acrid　hate。
　　Finally　he　made　out　a　shaggy　snakelike　neck；　rising　from　the　profile　of　a　small　centaur。　Rewq…mediated　colors；　like　a　globe　of　distilled　loathing；　obscured　the　head　itself。
　　The　wearer　of　that　distant；　powerful　symbiont　suddenly　seemed　to　notice　Lark's　focused　regard。　Shifting　her　attention　from　aliens　and　sages；　she　turned　to　face　Lark　directly。　Across　a　crowd　of　shifting；　sighing　citizens；　they　watched　each　other's　colors。　Then；　in　unison　each　pulled　back　their　rewq。
　　In　clear　light；　Lark　met　her　unblinking　stare…the　urrish　leader　of　the　zealot　cause。　A　rebel　whose　malice　toward　invaders　was　stronger　than　Lark　had　realized。　With　those　three　fierce　eyes　turned　his　way；　Lark　needed　no　symbiont　to　translate　the　zealot's　feelings　toward　him。
　　Under　the　late　afternoon　sun；　her　neck　twisted　and　she　snarled　an　urrish　smile　of　pure；　disdainful　contempt。
　　The　pilgrimage　menced　at　dusk；　with　long　forest　shadows　pointing　toward　a　hidden　mountain　pass。　Twelve　twelves　of　chosen　citizens　represented　all　the　mons；　along　with　two　star…humans；　four　robots；　and　one　tall　ancient　being　whose　shambling　gait　hinted　great　strength　under　glossy　white　robes。
　　Judging　by　his　so…humanlike　smile；　Ro…kenn　seemed　to　find　delight　in　countless　things；　especially　the　rhythmic　chanting…a　blending　of　vocal　contributions　from　all　races…as　the　assembly　set　out　past　steaming　vents　and　sheer　clefts；　weaving　its　slow　way　toward　the　hidden　oval　Valley　of　the　Egg。　The　Rothen's　long…fingered　hands　stroked　slim…boled　welpal　trees；　whose　swaying　resonated　with　emanations　from　that　secret　vale。　Most　humans　would　hear　nothing　till　they　got　much　closer。
　　In　Lark's　heart；　dark　feelings　churned。　Nor　was　he　alone。　Many；　especially　those　farthest　from　Ro…kenn's　cheerful　charisma；　still　felt　uneasy　about　guiding　strangers　to　this　sacred　place。
　　The　procession　marched；　rolled；　and　slithered；　wending　higher　into　the　hills。　Soon　the　heavens　glittered　with　formations　of　sparkling　lights…brittle　bright　clusters　and　nebulae…divided　by　the　dark　stripe　of　the　Galactic　disk。　If　anything；　the　sight　reinforced　the　starkly　uneven　order　of　life；　for　tonight's　guests　would　shortly　cross　those　starscapes；　whether　they　departed　in　peace　or　betrayal。　To　them；　Jijo　would　bee　another　quaint；　savage；　perhaps　mildly　interesting　spot　they　had　visited　once　in　long；　deified　lives。
　　The　last　time　Lark　came　up　this　way…so　earnest　about　his　self…appointed　mission　to　save　Jijo　from　invaders　like　himself…no　one　had　any　thought　of　starships　cruising　Jijo's　sky。
　　Yet　they　were　already　up　there；　preparing　to　land。
　　What　is　more　frightening？　The　danger　you　already　dread；　or　the　trick　the　universe　hasn't　pulled　on　you　yet？　The　one　to　make　all　prior　concerns　seem　moot。
　　Lark　hoped　none　of　this　gloom　carried　into　his　letter　to　Sara；　which　he　had　finished　in　a　hurried　pencil　scrawl　by　the　headwaters　of　the　Bibur　after　the　Rothen　emerged。　The　kayak　pilot　added　Lark's　note　to　a　heavy　bundle　from　Bloor；　then　set　off　in　a　flash　of　oars；　speeding　down　the　first　set　of　spuming　rapids　in　a　pell…mell　rush　toward　Biblos；　two　days'　hard　rowing　away。
　　On　his　way　back　to　rendezvous　with　the　other　heretics；　he　had　stopped　to　watch　the　alien　aircraft　glide　out　of　its　dark　tunnel　like　a　wraith；　rising　on　whispering　engines。　Lark　glimpsed　a　small　human　silhouette；　hands　and　face　pressed　against　an　oval　window；　drinking　in　the　view。　The　figure　looked　familiar。。。　but　before　he　could　raise　his　pocket　ocular；　the　machine　sped　away；　eastward；　toward　a　cleft　where　the　largest　moon　was　rising　above　the　Rimmer　Range。
　　Now；　as　the　evening　procession　entered　a　final　twisty　canyon　leading　to　the　Egg；　Lark　tried　putting　temporal　concerns　aside；　preparing　for　munion。　It　may　be　my　last　chance；　he　thought；　hoping　this　time　he　might　fully　take　part　in　the　wholeness　others　reported；　when　the　Egg　shared　its　full　bounty　of　love。
　　Drawing　his　right　arm　inside　his　sleeve；　he　grasped　the　rocky　flake；　despite　its　growing　heat。　A　passage　from　the　Scroll　of　Exile　came　to　mind…an　Anglic　version；　modified　for　Earthlings　by　one　of　the　first　human　sages。
　　We　drift；　rudderless；　down　the　stream　of　time；
　　betrayed　by　the　ancestors　who　left　us　here；
　　blind　to　much　that　was　hard…learnt　by　other　ages；
　　fearful　of　light　and　the　law；
　　but　above　all；　anxious　in　our　hearts
　　that　there　might　be　no　God；
　　no　Father；
　　no　heavenly　succor；
　　or　else　that　we　are　already　lost　to　Him；
　　to　fate；
　　to　destiny。
　　Where　shall　we　turn；　in　banished　agony；
　　with　our　tabernacle　lost；
　　and　faith　weighed　down　by　perfidy？
　　What　solace　es　to　creatures　lost　in　time？
　　One　source　of　renewal；
　　never　fails。
　　With　rhythms　long；
　　its　means　are　fire　and　rain；
　　ice　and　time。
　　Its　names　are　myriad。
　　To　poor　exiles　it　is　home。
　　Jijo。
　　The　passage　ended　on　a　strange　note　of　bined　reverence　and　defiance。
　　If　God　still　wants　us；　let　him　find　us　here。
　　Till　then；　we　grow　part　of　this；
　　our　adopted　world。
　　Not　to　hinder；　but　to　serve　Her　cyclic　life。
　　To　sprout　humble　goodness　out　of　the　foul　seed　of　crime。
　　Not　long　after　that　scroll　gained　acceptance　in　the　human　sept；　one　winter's　day；　ground　tremors　shook　the　Slope。　Trees　toppled；　dams　burst；　and　a　terrible　wind　blew。　Panic　swept　from　mountains　to　sea　amid　reports　that　Judgment　Day　had　e。
　　Instead；　bursting　through　a　cloud　of　sparkling　dust；　the　Egg　appeared。　A　gift　out　of　Jijo's　heart。
　　A　gift　which　must　be　shared　tonight…with　aliens。
　　What　if　they　achieved　what　he　had　always　failed？　Or　worse；　what　if　they　reacted　with　derisive　laughter；　declaring　that　the　Egg　was　a　simple　thing　that　only　yokels　would　take　seriously…like　fabled　Earth…natives　worshipping　a　music　box　they　found　on　the　shore？
　　Lark　struggled　to　push　out　petty　thoughts；　to　tune　himself　with　the　basso　rumble　of　the　hoon；　the　qheuens'　calliope　piping；　the　twanging　spokes　of　the　g'Keks；　and　all　of　the　other　contributions　to　a　rising　song　of　union。　He　let　it　take　over　the　measured　pace　of　his　breathing；　while　warmth　from　the　stone　fragment　seemed　to　swell　up　his　hand　and　arm；　then　across　his　chest；　spreading　relaxed　detachment。
　　Close；　he　thought。　A　tracery　of　soft　patterns　began　taking　shape　in　his　mind。　A　weblike　meshing　of　vague　spirals；　made　up　partly　of　images；　partly　of　sound。
　　It's　almost