uplift4.brightnessreef-第88章

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　　〃No！　Shoot；　dammit！〃　he　screamed。　〃Don't　worry　about　me！〃
　　But　the　rushing　wind　of　flight　carried　off　his　words。　Lena　dropped　her　weapon　and　hurried　to　a　figure　lying　on　the　ground　nearby；　slumped　beside　a　second　missile　tube。　She　turned　Danel　Ozawa　over；　revealing　a　red　river　pouring　from　his　chest。
　　The　robot's　next　zigging　turn　spun　that　poignant　scene　away。　Now　Dwer　spied　terrified　villagers　cowering　beyond　a　low　hill　of　garbage　near　the　prisoners'　pen。　So　dismayed　were　they　by　the　battle　that　they　seemed　unaware　of　the　group　now　circling　around　behind　them…Jenin　Worley　and　a　dozen　newly　released　urs。　The　former　captives　held　ropes　and　arbalests。　Dwer　prayed　this　part　of　Danel's　plan　would　turn　out　all　right。
　　〃All　or　nothing；〃　Ozawa　had　said。　〃Either　we　live　together　as　civilized　beings；　or　let's　end　it。　End　it　now…bringing　as　much　harm　to　our　enemy　as　we　can。〃
　　Dwer　had　time　for　one　benedictory　thought；　as　Rety's　cousins　grew　aware　of　the　reversal　taking　place　behind　their　backs。
　　Learn　to　be　wise。。。
　　Then　the　village　vanished　as　the　fleeing　machine　streaked　around　a　bend；　whipped　through　a　forest　aisle；　and　plunged　almost　straight　downhill；　accelerating。
　　Rety　was　still　shrieking　from　her　perch；　wailing　for　it　to　stop。　From　Dwer's　point　of　view；　dangling　underneath；　the　ground　seemed　to　sweep　by　in　a　blur。　Fighting　the　buffeting　wind；　he　brought　up　both　arms　to　grab　the　base　of　the　tendril　wrapped　around　his　torso；　holding　him　horizontal　to　the　rushing　terrain。　If　he　tore　it　loose；　the　fall　might　kill　him；　but　anything　would　be　better　than　this　torment。
　　He　tugged　with　all　his　might；　but　the　tentacle　would　not　budge。　It　flexed　occasionally；　yanking　him　up　in　time　to　miss　being　smashed　against　some　boulder　or　shrub。　Soon　they　were　swooping　beside　the　canyon's　central　stream；　an　obstacle　course　of　sudden　turns　and　bitter；　stinging　spray。　Disorientation　forced　Dwer　to　close　his　eyes；　moaning。
　　Faintness　took　hold；　threatening　to　haul　him　the　rest　of　the　way　to　unconsciousness。
　　e　on；　he　chided。　Now's　not　the　time　to　give　up。　If　you　can't　escape；　at　least　check　and　see　if　you're　bleeding　to　death！
　　Pain　helped　him　concentrate；　ignoring　the　looming　vertigo。　It　came　in　a　nagging　medley；　from　a　searing　ache　in　his　left　thigh；　to　Rety's　teeth…marks　that　still　oozed　blood　from　his　right　hand；　to　the　chafing　rub　of　the　robot's　arm；　all　the　way　to　a　series　of　awful；　biting　scratches　that　clawed　into　his　hip；　then　his　abdomen；　and　finally　his　chest…as　if　someone　were　stabbing　him　with　clusters　of　sharp　needles；　working　their　way　up　along　his　battered　body。
　　He　opened　his　eyes…and　shrieked　at　the　sight　of　a　gaping　mouth；　filled　with　horrible；　glistening　fangs！
　　〃Oh；　Ifni。。。〃　he　moaned。　〃Oh；　God　oh　God　oh　God。。。〃
　　Even　when　he　knew　the　truth　about　the　specter　that　loomed　inches　from　his　face；　it　didn't　help　much。　At　this　point；　and　for　a　while　longer；　all　Dwer　could　manage　was　a　frail；　thready　whimper。
　　Mudfoot；　the　noor；　yawned　a　second　time；　then　settled　into　the　narrow　space　between　Dwer's　chest　and　the　robot's　hard　shell。　The　beast　watched　the　boy…jibbering　from　one　shock　over　his　limit。　With　a　sigh　of　affectionate　scorn；　it　started　chuttering；　less　to　fort　Dwer　than　for　its　own　simple　pleasure；　making　a　sound　somewhat　like　that　of　a　hoon　sailor；　umbling　a　song　about　the　joys　of　travel。
　　
　　Asx
　　IF　THE　MONS　SURVIVES…IF　WE　SIX　ENDURE　into　times　to　e…no　doubt　it　will　be　called　the　Battle　of　the　Glade。
　　It　was　brief；　bloody；　and　tactically　decisive；　was　it　not；　my　rings？
　　And　strategically　futile。　An　interval　of　flame　and　terror　that　made　my/our　manicolored　bands　so　very　glad/sorrowful　that　we　are　traeki。
　　Sorrowful　because　these　stacks　of　rings　seemed　so　useless；　so　helpless　to　match　the　frantic　pace　of　other　beings　whose　antic　warlike　fury　drives　them　so　quickly　in　a　crisis。　With　such　speed　that　waxy　imprints　cannot　form　within　our　core；　except　duras　behind　actual　events。
　　Sorrowful　that　we　could　not　help；　except　to　serve　as　chroniclers…after…the…fact；　bearing　testimony　to　what　already　took　place。
　　And　yet　we　are　also　glad；　are　we　not；　my　rings？　Glad　because　the　full　impact　of　violence　never　quite　fills　our　central　cavity　with　a　searing　steam　of　dread。　Not　until　the　action　is　already　over；　leaving　the　dead　like　smoky　embers；　scattered　on　the　ground。　That　is　a　blessing；　is　it　not；　my　rings？　To　us；　horror　is　seldom　an　〃experience；〃　only　a　memory。
　　It　was　not　always　so。　Not　for　the　beings　we　once　were；　when　our　kind　roamed　the　stars　and　were　a　terror　on　the　Five　Galaxies。　In　those　days；　creatures　like　us　wore　bright　shining　rings。　Not　only　the　ones　given　to　us　by　our　patrons；　the　Poa；　but　special　collars；　donated　by　the　meddlesome　Oailie。
　　Rings　of　power。　Rings　of　rapid　decisiveness　and　monumental　ego。　Had　we　possessed　such　rings　but　moments　ago；　they　might　have　spurred　us　to　move　swiftly；　in　time　to　help　our　friends　during　the　struggle。
　　But　then；　if　the　old　tales　are　true；　those　same　rings　might　have　kept　us　from　having　friends　in　the　first　place。
　　Stroke　the　wax。　Trace　the　images；　frozen　in　fatty　drippings。
　　Images　of　atrocity　and　dread。
　　There　lies　Bloor；　the　portraitist；　a　smoldering　ruin；　draped　over　his　precious　camera。
　　Nearby；　can　we　trace　the　slithering　path　of　a　dying　creature？　A　symbiont　crawling　off　the　face　and　brow　of　the　dead　Rothen　named　Ro…pol？　Revealing　in　its　wake　a　sharp；　angular　visage；　humanoid；　but　much　less　so　than　we　had　thought。　Less　charismatic。　Less　winsomely　womanlike　than　we　were　led　to　believe。
　　If　Bloor　died　for　seeing　this；　are　all　eyes　now　accursed？
　　There；　screams　Ro…kenn；　ordering　Rann；　the　star…human　servant；　to　call　back　the　fierce　sky…car　from　its　distant　errand；　even　if　it　means　〃breaking〃　something　called　〃radio　silence。〃
　　There；　screams　Ro…kenn　once　more；　ordering　his　slave…demons；　his　robots；　aloft　to…〃clear　all　of　these　away。〃
　　Meaning　us。　All　witnesses　to　this　abrupt　revelation。　All　who　know　the　secret　of　Bloor's　Bane。
　　Up；　up　rise　the　awful　instrumentalities；　meting　out　slashing　doom。　From　their　bellies　lash　spears　of　cold　flame；　slicing　through　the　stunned　host；　turning　it　into　a　roiling；　screaming　mob。　Four…legged　urs　bound　high　into　the　air；　screeching　panic。　Qheuens　cower　low；　trying　to　burrow　away　from　rays　that　carve　chitin　as　easily　as　flesh。　Humans　and　hoon　throw　themselves　flat　on　the　ground；　while　poor　g'Keks　spin　their　wheels；　trying　to　back　away。
　　We　traeki…those　left　at　Gathering　after　weeks　of　silent　departures…mostly　stand　where　we　were；　venting　multi…fragranced　fumes　of　woe；　erupting　wet　fear…stench　as　cutting　beams　slice　through　popping　toruses；　spilling　rich　liquor；　setting　our　stacks　afire。
　　But　look！　Stroke　the　image　layers　one　more　time；　my　rings。　See　the　darkly　clad　ones？　Those　who　rush　forward　toward　the　terror；　not　away？　Our　vision　spots　scry　little；　even　by　daylight；　for　their　clothing　blurs　them　in　uncanny　ways。　Nonetheless；　we/i　trace　squat　qheuen　shapes；　running　with　humans　crouched　on　their　backs；　and　urrish　troops　sweeping　alongside。　There　es；　as　well；　a　booming　noise；　a　rarely　heard　sound；　that　of　lethal　hoonish　ire。　From　their　midst；　these　dim　shapes　raise　strange　tubes；　even　as　the　soaring　demons　turn　their　killing　rage　upon　the　newers；　slashing　at　them　mercilessly。
　　There　is　a　place。。。
　　It　is　here；　in　our　core；　where　the　wax　depicts　only　a　roar…a　flash…an　overload　of　searing　afterimages…and　then。。。
　　What　followed　now　lies　before　us。
　　Cinders…where　the　robots　fell　to　sully　Jijo's　holy　soil；　shattered　and　reduced　to　dross。
　　Three　sky…lords…stunned　to　find　themselves　held　captive；　taken　prisoner；　stripped　of　their　godlike　tools。
　　A　poignant　field…strewn　with　lamented　dead。　So　many　dead。
　　A　makeshift　infirmary…where　even　more　wounded　writhe　and　grimace；　crying　diverse　plaints　of　pain。
　　Here；　at　last；　is　something　we　can　do　in　real　time。　Perhaps　they　can　use　the　assistance　of　an　old　retired　pharmacist。
　　Is　it　agreed；　my　rings？
　　Wonderful　unanimity。　It　makes　easier　the　unaccustomed　haste　as　i　hurry　forth　to　help。
　　
　　Sara
　　THE　HARD　MARCH　HAD　TAKEN　NOTHING　FROM　the　tension　between　the　two　rebel　groups。　UrKachu's　painted　warriors　and　Dedinger's　dun…clothed　hunters　eyed　each　other　warily　while　eating　separate　meals　under　an　aged　canopy　of　patched　and　weathered　blur…cloth；　never　wandering　far　from　their　weapons。　Members　of　each　group　took　turns　sleeping　after　supper；　no　more　than　six　at　a　time；　while　the　rest　kept　watch。　Sara　found　it　hard　to　imagine　this　alliance　lasting　a　dura　longer　than　it　was　in　both　sides'　perceived　self…interest。
　　What　if　fighting　broke　out？　In　these　close　quarters　it　would　be　no　artful　exercise　in　maneuver　and　strategy　but　a　roiling　tumble　of　slashing；　grappling　forms。
　　She　recalled　the　frontispiece　illustration　in　volume　one　of　The　Urrish…Earthling　Wars；　by　Hauph…hutau；　one　of　the　most　popular　titles　published　since　the　Great　Printing。　In　small　type；　the　great　historian　acknowledged　copying　the　scene　from　a　Tabernacle…era　art　book；　showing　the　sculpture　frieze　that　once　surrounded　the　Parthenon；　in　ancient　Greece。　That　famous　relief　depicted　a　long　row　of　mighty　figures；　clenched　in　mortal　bat…naked　men　brawling　with　furious　monsters；　half　human　and　half　horse；　who　reared；　kicked；　and　slashed　at　their　foes　in　a　bitter　fight　to　the　death。　According　to　myth；　the　feud　broke'　out　during　a　festival　of　peace　and　concluded　with　extinction　for　the　centaur　race。
　　Of　course；　an　urs　had　almost　nothing　in　mon　with　a　centaur；　beyond　having　four　legs　and　two　arms。　Yet　the　symbolism　of　the　frieze　was　so　eerie；　so　unnerving；　that　it　became　notorious　during　the　age　of　struggle；　helping　steel　the　resolve　of　both　sides。　Sara　had　no　wish　to　see　such　a　bloody　scene　enacted　in　front　of　her。
　　Of　the　others　taken　captive　at　Uryutta's　Oasis；　young　Jomah　was　already　out　like　a　snuffed　candle；　curled　in　his　bedroll；　fast　asleep。　The　Stranger　picked　away　at　his　meal　of　corn　mush；　frequently　putting　down　his　spoon　to　pluck　a　series　of　soft　notes　from　his　dulcimer；　or　else　performing　the　ritual　of　counting　its　strings。　Numbers；　it　seemed；　were　like　music　to　him…a　window　to　what　he　once　had　been；　more　faithful　than　the　knack　at　sentences；　that　he　had　lost。
　　Kurt；　the　exploser；　doodled　on　his　notepad；　occasionally　picking　up　one　of　the　little　books　he　kept　so　secretively；　either　in　his　valise　or　the　inner　pocket　of　his　gown。　He　covered　his　work　whenever　any　human　or　urs　passed　close　but　seemed　not　to　mind　that　Prity　lingered　nearby；　after　bringing　his　meal。　Putting　on　her　best　I'm…just…a…dumb…critter　act；　Prity　spent　some　time　pretending　to　inspect　her　leg　for　lice。　But　soon　the　little　chimp　was　peering　over　the　exploser's　shoulder；　rubbing　her　chin；　drawing　her　lips　past　her　gums；　exposing　a　grin　of　silent；　delighted　interest。
　　Sara　had　to　squelch　an　urge　to　laugh　out　loud。　At　the　same　time；　she　worried。
　　The　Urunthai　and　desert…men　are　politely　leaving　Kurt　alone；　for　now。　The　habit　of　deference　to　explosers　runs　deep　and　is　hard　to　break。　But　they　also　promised　〃persuasion〃　when　we　reach　our　destination。　Does　Kurt　really　imagine　he　can　keep　his　work　secret　then