uplift4.brightnessreef-第15部分

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　　Which　book？　Ah；　thank　you　my　self。　Jane's　Survey　of　Basic　Galactic　Tools。　One　of　the　rarest　surviving　fruits　of　the　Great　Printing。
　　Exactly　as　depicted　in　that　ancient　diagram；　this　floating　mechanism　was　a　black；　octagonal　slab；　about　the　size　of　a　young　qheuen；　hovering　above　the　ground　at　about　the　level　of　my　ring…of…vision；　with　various　gleaming　implements　projecting　above　or　hanging　below。　From　the　moment　the　hatch　closed　behind　it；　the　robot　ignored　every　earthly　contour；　leaving　a　trail　where　grass；　pebbles；　and　loam　were　pressed　flat　by　unseen　heaviness。
　　Wherever　it　approached；　folk　quailed　back。　Just　one　group　of　beings　kept　still；　awaiting　the　creature　of　not…flesh。　We　sages。　Responsibility　was　our　cruel　mooring；　so　adamant　that　even　my　basal　segment　stayed　rigid；　though　it　pulsed　with　craven　need　to　flee。　The　robot…or　its　masters　in　the　ship…thus　knew　who　had　the　right/duty　to　parlay。　It　hesitated　in　front　of　Vubben；　appearing　to　contemplate　our　eldest　sage　for　five　or　six　duras；　perhaps　sensing　the　reverence　we　all　hold　for　the　wisest　of　the　g'Kek。　Then　it　backed　away　to　confront　us　all。
　　i/we　watched　in　mystified　awe。　After　all；　this　was　a　thing；　like　a　hoonish　riverboat　or　some　dead　tool　left　by　the　vanished　Buyur。　Only　the　tools　we　make　do　not　fly；　and　Buyur　remnants　show　no　further　interest　in　doing　so。
　　This　thing　not　only　moved；　it　spoke；　mencing　first　with　a　repeat　of　the　earlier　message。
　　〃Surveying　（local；　unique）　lifeforms；　in　this　we　seek　your　（gracious）　help。
　　〃Knowledge　of　the　（local）　biosphere；　this　you　（assuredly）　have。
　　〃Tools　and　（useful）　arts；　these　we　offer　in　trade。
　　〃Confidentiality；　shall　we　（mutually）　exchange？〃
　　Our　rewq　were　useless…shriveling　away　from　the　intense　flux　of　our　distress。　We　sages　nonetheless　held　conference。　By　agreement；　Vubben　rolled　forward；　his　roller…wheels　squeaking　with　age。　In　a　show　of　discipline；　all　eyestalks　turned　toward　the　alien　device；　though　surely　oversurfeited　with　its　frightening　stimulus。
　　〃Poor　castaways；　are　we；〃　he　menced　reciting；　in　the　syncopated　pops　and　clicks　of　formal　Galactic　Two。　Although　our　urrish　cousins　find　that　language　easiest　and　use　it　among　themselves；　all　conceded　that　Vubben；　the　g'Kek；　was　peerless　in　his　mastery　of　the　grammar。
　　Especially　when　it　came　to　telling　necessary　lies。
　　〃Poor　castaways；　ignorant　and　stranded。
　　〃Delighted　are　we。　Ecstatic　at　this　wondrous　thing。
　　〃Advent　of　rescue！〃
　　
　　Sara
　　SOME　DISTANCE　BELOW　DOLO　VILLAGE；　THE　river　felt　its　way　through　a　great　marsh　where　even　hoon　sailors　were　known　to　lose　the　main　channel；　snagging　on　tree　roots　or　ing　aground　on　shifting　sandbars。　Normally；　the　brawny；　patient　crew　of　the　dross…hauler　Hauph…woa　would　count　on　wind　and　the　river's　rhythmic　rise…and…fall　to　help　them　slip　free。　But　these　weren't　normal　times。　So　they　folded　their　green　cloaks…revealing　anxious　mottles　across　their　lumpy　backbone　ridges…and　pushed　the　Hauph…woa　along　with　poles　made　of　lesser…boo。　Even　passengers　had　to　assist；　now　and　then；　to　keep　the　muddy　bottom　from　seizing　the　keel　and　holding　them　fast。　The　uneasy　mood　affected　the　ship's　contingent　of　flighty　noor；　who　barked　nervously；　scampering　across　the　masts；　missing　mands　and　dropping　lines。
　　Finally；　just　before　nightfall；　the　captain…pilot　guided　the　Hauph…woa's　ornate　prow　past　one　last　fen　of　droopy　tallgrass　to　Unity　Point；　where　the　river's　branches　reconverged　into　an　even　mightier　whole。　The　garu　forest　resumed；　spreading　a　wele　sheltering　canopy　over　both　banks。　After　such　an　arduous　day；　the　air　seemed　all　at　once　to　release　passengers　and　crew　from　its　moist　clench。　A　cool　breeze　stroked　skin；　scale；　and　hide；　while　sleek　noor　sprang　overboard　to　splash　alongside　the　gently　gliding　hull；　then　clambered　the　masts　and　spars　to　stretch　and　preen。
　　Sara　thanked　Prity　when　her　assistant　brought　supper　in　a　wooden　bowl；　then　the　chimp　took　her　own　meal　to　the　side；　in　order　to　flick　overboard　the　spicy　greens　that　hoon　chefs　loved　slicing　into　nearly　everything　they　cooked。　A　trail　of　bubbles　showed　that　river　creatures；　feeding　on　the　scraps；　weren't　so　finicky。　Sara　didn't　mind　the　tangy　taste；　though　most　Earthlings　wound　up　defecating　bright　colors　after　too　many　days　of　shipboard　fare。
　　When　Prity　later　brought　a　pair　of　blankets；　Sara　chose　the　plushest　to　tuck　over　the　Stranger；　sleeping　near　the　main　hold　with　its　neatly　stacked　crates　of　dross。　His　brow　bore　a　sheen　of　perspiration；　which　she　wiped　with　a　dry　cloth。　Since　early　yesterday；　he　had　shown　none　of　the　lucidity　so　briefly　displayed　when　the　ill…omened　bolide　split　the　sky。
　　Sara　had　misgivings　about　hauling　the　wounded　man　on　a　hurried；　stressful　trek。　Still；　there　was　a　good　clinic　in　Tarek　Town。　And　this　way　she　might　keep　an　eye　on　him　while　performing　her　other　duty…one　rudely　dropped　in　her　lap　last　night；　after　that　frenzied　conclave　in　the　Meeting　Tree。
　　Pzora　stood　nearby；　a　dark　tower；　dormant　but　ever…vigilant　over　the　patient's　condition。　The　pharmacist　vented　steamy　puffs　from　the　specialized　ring　that　routinely　performed　ad　hoc　chemistry　beyond　the　understanding　of　Jijo's　best　scholars　or　even　the　traeki　themselves。
　　Wrapping　her　shoulders　in　another　soft　g'Kek…spun　blanket；　Sara　turned　and　watched　her　fellow　passengers。
　　Jomah；　the　young　son　of　Henrik；　the　exploser；　lay　curled　nearby；　snoring　softly　after　the　excitement　of　leaving　home　for　the　first　time。　Closer　to　the　mast　sat　Jop；　the　bristle…cheeked　delegate　of　Dolo's　farmers　and　crofters；　peering　in　the　half…light　at　a　leather…bound　copy　of　some　Scroll。　Over　by　the　starboard　rail；　Ulgor；　the　urrish　tinker　who　had　spoken　at　the　village　meeting；　knelt　facing　a　qheuenish　woodcarver　named　Blade；　one　of　many　sons　of　the　matriarch；　Log　Biter。　Blade　had　lived　for　years　among　the　sophisticated　Gray　Qheuens　of　Tarek　Town；　so　his　choice　as　representative　of　Dolo　Hive　seemed　natural。
　　From　a　moss…lined　pouch；　Ulgor　drew　a　quivering　rewq　symbiont；　of　the　type　suited　for　lean　urrish　heads。　The　trembling　membrane　crawled　over　each　of　her　triple　eyes；　creating　the　Mask…That…Reveals。　Meanwhile；　Blade's　rewq　wrapped　itself　around　the　seeing…strip　bisecting　his　melonlike　cupola。　The　qheuen's　legs　retracted；　leaving　only　the　armored　claws　exposed。
　　The　pair　conversed　in　a　bastard　dialect　of　Galactic　Two；　at　best　a　difficult　tongue　for　humans。　Moreover；　the　breeze　carried　off　the　treble　whistle…tones；　leaving　just　the　lower　track　of　syncopated　clicks。　Perhaps　for　those　reasons　the　two　travelers　seemed　unconcerned　anyone　might　listen。
　　Maybe；　as　often　happened；　they　underrated　the　reach　of　human　hearing。
　　Or　else　they're　counting　on　something　called　mon　courtesy；　she　thought　ironically。　Lately　Sara　had　bee　quite　an　eavesdropper；　an　unlikely　habit　for　a　normally　shy；　private　young　woman。　Her　recent　fascination　with　language　was　the　cause。　This　time　though；　fatigue　overcame　curiosity。
　　Leave　them　alone。　You'll　have　plenty　of　chances　to　study　dialects　in　Tarek　Town。
　　Sara　took　her　blanket　over　to　a　spot　between　two　crates　marked　with　Nelo's　seal；　exuding　the　homey　scents　of　Dolo's　paper　mill。　There　had　been　little　time　for　rest　since　that　frenetic　town　meeting。　Only　a　few　miduras　after　adjournment；　the　village　elders　had　sent　a　herald　to　wake　Sara　with　this　assignment…to　lead　a　delegation　downriver　in　search　of　answers　and　guidance。　She　was　chosen　both　as　one　with　intimate　knowledge　of　Biblos　and　also　to　represent　the　Dolo　craft　workers…as　Jop　would　speak　for　the　farmers；　and　Blade　for　the　upriver　qheuens。　Other　envoys　included　Ulgor；　Pzora；　and　Fakoon；　a　g'Kek　scriven…dancer。　Since　each　was　already　billeted　aboard　the　Hauph…woa；　with　business　in　Tarek　Town；　they　could　hardly　refuse。　Together　with　the　ship's　captain；　that　made　at　least　one　representative　from　all　Six　exile　races。　A　good　omen；　the　elders　hoped。
　　Sara　still　wondered　about　Jomah。　Why　would　Henrik　dispatch　the　boy　on　a　trip　that　promised　danger；　even　in　quiet　times？
　　〃He　will　know　what　to　do；〃　the　taciturn　exploser　had　said；　putting　his　son　in　Sara's　nominal　care。　〃Once　you　reach　Tarek　Town。〃
　　If　only　I　could　say　as　much　for　myself；　Sara　worried。　It　had　been　impossible　to　turn　down　this　assignment；　much　as　she　wanted　to。
　　It's　been　a　year　since　Joshu　died…since　shame　and　grief　made　a　hermit　of　you。　Besides；　who　is　going　to　care　that　you　made　a　fool　of　yourself　over　a　man　who　could　never　be　yours？　That　all　seems　a　small　matter；　now　that　the　world　we　know　is　ing　to　an　end。
　　Alone　in　the　dark；　Sara　worried。
　　Are　Dwer　and　Lark　safe？　Or　has　something　dreadful　already　happened　at　Gathering？
　　She　felt　Prity　curl　up　alongside　in　her　own　blanket；　sharing　warmth。　The　hoonish　helmsman　rumbled　a　crooning　melody；　with　no　words　in　any　language　Sara　knew；　yet　conveying　a　sense　of　muzzy　serenity；　endlessly　forbearing。
　　Things　work　out；　the　hoonish　umble　seemed　to　say。
　　Sleep　finally　climbed　out　of　her　body's　fatigue　to　claim　Sara　as　she　thought…
　　I。。。　sure。。。　hope。。。　so。
　　Later；　in　the　middle　of　the　night；　a　dream　yanked　her　bolt　upright；　clutching　the　blanket　close。　Her　eyes　stared　over　the　peaceful　river；　lit　by　two　moons；　but　Sara's　heart　pounded　as　she　quailed　from　an　awful　nightmare　image。
　　Flames。
　　Moonlight　flickered　on　the　water；　and　to　her　eyes　it　became　fire；　licking　the　Biblos　roof…of…stone；　blackening　it　with　the　heat　and　soot　of　half　a　million　burning　books。
　　
　　The　Stranger
　　Unconscious；　he　is　helpless　to　control　dark　images　roiling　across　the　closed　universe　of　his　mind。　It　is　a　tight　universe…narrow　and　confined…yet　teeming　with　stars　and　confusion。　With　galaxies　and　remorse。　With　nebulae　and　pain。
　　And　water。　Always　water…from　dense　black　ice　fields　all　the　way　to　space…clouds　so　diffuse；　you　might　never　know　they　thronged　with　beings　the　size　of　planets。　Living　things　as　slow　and　thin　as　vapor；　swimming　through　a　near…vacuum　sea。
　　Sometimes　he　thinks　water　will　never　leave　him　alone。　Nor　will　it　let　him　simply　die。
　　He　hears　it　right　now；　water's　insistent　music；　piercing　his　delirium。　This　time　it　es　to　him　as　a　soft　lapping　sound…the　sluicing　of　wooden　boards　through