uplift4.brightnessreef-第122部分

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n。　Does　Kurt　really　imagine　he　can　keep　his　work　secret　then？
　　He'd　be　better　off　throwing　his　notebooks　into　the　fire；
　　Sara　restrained　her　own　curiosity。　Explosers　were　a　mysterious；　formidable　sect。　Frankly；　she　doubted　the　wisdom　of　the　Urunthai　in　messing　with　them。
　　〃We　won't　wait　till　nightfall；　vefore　setting　forth；〃　Ulgor　told　Sara；　passing　near　her　bedroll。　〃I'd　catch　uf　on　sleef；　if　I　were　you。〃
　　The　urrish　tinker's　unpainted　pelt；　well…kept　mane；　and　piercing　black　true…eyes　set　her　apart　from　her　wild　cousins。　There　was　no　air　of　antagonism；　no　anti…human　hostility。　After　all；　Ulgor　had　visited　Dolo　Village　dozens　of　times；　always　on　friendly　terms。
　　Sara　shook　her　head。　〃I　can　see　what　drives　the　others。　Religion　can　be　a　strong　motive　when　you　think　your　descendants'　salvation　is　at　stake。　But　what　do　you　get　out　of　all　this；　Ulgor？　I　know　it　can't　be　profit。〃
　　The　narrow；　conical　head　split　in　a　triangular　grin。
　　Sara　did　not　need　a　rewq　to　know　the　expression　was　sardonic。
　　〃Why　exclude　the　overt　reason？　Earnings。　Personal　gain。〃
　　Sara　quoted　scripture：　〃　'What　use　will　be　all　your　wealth　and　goods；　two　leagues　down　Redemption's　Road？'　〃
　　Ulgor　breathed　a　soft　whistle　of　laughter。　〃Little　good　at　all。　On　the　other　hoof；　hero　status　can　ve　useful　in　a　clan　of　savages。　Ferhafs　I　will　ve　one　of　the　great　chiefs　of　the　plains；　higher　in　renown　than　Ur…Chown！〃
　　Ulgor's　self…mocking　tone　dismissed　that　idea；　while　encouraging　Sara　to　keep　guessing。
　　Sara　suddenly　felt　tired。　〃You're　right；　Ulgor。〃
　　〃You　think　so？〃
　　〃Indeed　I　do。　It　would　be　a　good　idea　to　catch　up　on　sleep；　while　I　can。〃
　　The　tinker　stared；　twisting　her　neck　a　half　spiral。　〃I　thought　you　wanted　to　know…〃
　　Sara　covered　a　yawn。　〃Please　be　assured；　Ulgor；　that　I　am　very　sorry　I　asked。〃
　　With　that　she　turned　away　to　lie　down　on　her　bedroll。　Prity　hurried　over　to　tuck　the　blanket　around　Sara；　then　chuffed　at　Ulgor；　shooing　her　away。　Sara　listened　to　the　urbane　traitor's　hooves　pound　a　nervous　retreat；　as　if　burdened　by　Sara's　contempt。
　　She　really　was　exhausted。　Her　muscles　throbbed　from　several　days'　unaccustomed　exertion；　and　her　tailbone　from　jarring　contact　with　the　hard　leather　saddle。　And　there　was　an　emotional　element。
　　I　was　given　a　job　to　do。　Several　of　them。　Now　it　looks　like　I　won't　plete　even　one。
　　A　low；　repetitive　thrum　pervaded　the　pavilion；　like　the　synchronous；　pulselike　snoring　of　the　urs。　It　was　the　Stranger；　plucking　his　dulcimer's　lowest　string；　so　softly　and　regularly　that　no　one；　not　even　UrKachu；　might　find　any　cause　for　plaint；　creating　a　lulling　rhythm；　resembling　less　a　heartbeat　than　the　rise…and…fall　cadence　of　ribcages…both　urrish　and　human…as　members　of　both　parties　slept。
　　Ariana　figured　he'd　develop　new　skills；　to　pensate　for　those　he　lost；　she　thought。　I　guess　this　musical　sensitivity　is　part　of　that。
　　Just　after　dawn；　while　the　two　radical　groups　worked　to　set　up　camp；　the　spaceman　had　played　for　the　urrish　males；　briefly　released　from　the　close　confines　of　their　wives'　pouches；　taking　advantage　of　the　break　to　stretch　their　legs　in　the　fresh　air。　A　few　males　kept　close　watch　on　maturing　larvae；　with　six　short　legs　and　no　arms；　almost　ready　to　be　spilled　onto　the　plains　and　fend　for　themselves。
　　Using　two　curved　mallets　to　strike　the　dulcimer　strings；　the　Stranger　had　acpanied　himself　as　he　sang　a　chain　of　children's　melodies；　familiar　enough　to　flow　smoothly　from　undamaged　memory。　Sara　even　recognized　a　few。　Among　the　rest；　one　seemed　especially　apropos。
　　〃I　had　a　little　husband；　no　bigger　than　my　thumb；
　　I　put　him　in　a　pint　pot；　and　there　I　bid　him　drum；
　　I　bought　a　little　handkerchief；　to　wipe　his　little　nose；
　　And　a　pair　of　little　garters；　to　tie　his　little　hose。〃
　　He　repeated　the　verse　several　times；　and　soon；　under　his　encouragement；　the　males　were　beating　time　to　the　song；　crooning　along。　Sara　recalled　thinking；　if　he　wound　up　stranded　on　Jijo　and　had　no　future　in　any　other　profession；　the　fellow　could　certainly　find　employment　in　one　of　those　modern　Tarek　Town　day…care　centers。
　　If　we　still　have　such　luxuries　when　all　this　is　done。
　　Prity　plopped　herself　in　front　of　Sara。　Sniggering　softly；　the　little　chimp　flattened　a　patch　of　sand　and　began　drawing　figures　with　a　stick…mostly　convex；　parabolalike　shapes　that　climbed；　turned　over；　and　fell　once　more　to　zero。　Prity　chuffed　and　pointed；　as　if　eager　to　share　a　joke。　But　Sara　could　not　concentrate。　Fatigue　overcame　the　throbbing　of　her　abused　body；　drawing　her　down　to　helpless　slumber。
　　She　dreamed　of　Urchachka…world　of　grass…its　plains　whipped　endlessly　by　hot　winds；　seared　by　frequent　fires；　or　else　swept　by　scorching　rains　of　glittering　volcanic　dust。　After　each　scalding　episode；　the　plains　seemed　strewn　with　ashy　death…yet　bright　stems　always　burst　forth　in　prolific　flashes；　pushing　skyward　fast　enough　to　be　tracked　by　a　patient　eye。
　　On　busy　Urchachka；　water　seldom　stayed　long　on　the　ground。　Life　sucked　it　up；　caching　it　in　buried　tuber　reservoirs　that　meshed　across　whole　continents；　or　else　in　bulbous；　multihued　spore…pods；　or　in　the　lush　grass　stems　themselves。　These；　in　turn；　were　browsed　by　herds　of　grazing　beasts…nervous　brutes　whose　three…pronged　horns　used　to　wave　threateningly　toward　danger；　till　they　found　themselves　tended　in　great　herds；　protected　by　creatures　more　formidable　than　any　past　predator。
　　In　the　manner　of　dreams；　Sara　dwelled　concurrently　both　within　and　outside　the　images。　At　one　level；　her　mind's　eye　peered　through　a　forest　of　waving　fronds；　feeling　wary　and　fearful；　alert　to　dodge　being　trampled　by　the　great　beasts；　or　worse；　being　gobbled　by　accident　in　their　ever…crunching　maws。
　　Holes　in　the　fecund　loam　led　down　to　underground　warrens…a　lightless；　crowded　realm　of　sweet　roots　and　frequent　violent　encounters…a　domain　that　had　lately　begun　to　seem　all　too　cramped；　confining。　The　world　of　light　above　now　appeared　paradise　by　parison…for　those　large　enough　to　snake　their　necks　above　the　tips　of　wafting　grass。
　　With　a　slim；　detached　portion　of　her　mind…the　fragment　that　knew　she　was　dreaming…Sara　marveled　at　the　power　of　imagination。　A　gift　allowing　her　to　inflate　what　little　anyone　on　Jijo　knew　about　Urchachka…from　terse　entries　in　a　prelanding　encyclopedia；　plus　a　few　fables　passed　by　urrish　storytellers。　Tales　about　days　before　their　fallow　breed　was　discovered　on　its　torrid　home　world；　by　a　patron　race　who　dropped　from　the　sky　to　claim　that　strain　of　clever　herders；　guiding　them　upon　the　Rising　Path。　The　road　of　uplift；　toward　the　stars。
　　The　detached　part　could　observe　but　had　no　other　power　over　a　fantasy　like　this　one。　A　color　dream；　potent；　forceful；　and　emotional。　A　fey　fantasm；　with　momentum　all　its　own。　A　vision　of　clouded；　insentient　paranoia。
　　Darting　between　bulbous　stems；　evading　the　big　dumb　herbivores；　she　followed　a　smell　of　drifting　smoke　and　came　upon　the　trampled　circle　surrounding　a　smoldering　pit　of　ashes；　with　a　crowd　of　lanky　four…legged　figures　lounging　around　its　rim。　She　peered　cautiously　at　the　Big　Ones。　Only　lately　had　she　recognized　them　as　larger　versions　of　herself；　older　cousins　and　aunts；　instead　of　dangerous　horrors　with　flashing　hooves　and　alarming　tempers。　Now　she　spied　on　them；　creeping　closer；　fighting　an　ever…growing　temptation。
　　An　urge　to　step　forward；　out　of　the　grass；　and　announce　herself。
　　She　had　seen　others　do　so；　from　time　to　time。　Other　small　ones　like　herself；　shaking　off　the　dust　of　their　burrows　and　stretching　out　their　necks。　Boldly　moving　to　assert　their　claim；　their　birthright　to　a　place　by　the　fire。　About　a　third　of　those　who　did　so　were　ignored；　then　tolerated；　accepted；　and　finally　weled　into　the　tight　web　of　intermeshing　loyalties。　The　rest　did　not　meet　happy　ends。　There　seemed　to　be　a　trick　of　timing　involved。　A　ritual　of　twisting　necks　and　groveling　abasement　that　varied　from　group　to　group。
　　Then　there　was　smell。　It　was　best　to　approach　a　band　that　had　a　good　aroma。　One　like　your　own。
　　Stealing　closer；　she　watched　the　party　of　adults；　some　with　pouches　that　squirmed　with　lucky　males　who　had　found　safe　refuge　from　the　dang