uplift4.brightnessreef-第6部分

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optimist　to　think　the　screen　would　hide　the　buildings　against　a　resolute　scan　from　space…and　among　the　Six；　optimism　was　viewed　as　a　mild　type　of　heresy。
　　Alas；　it　was　not　the　type　of　heresy　followed　by　Nelo's　eldest　son。
　　Concealment　seemed　doubly　problematic　for　the　great　dam　itself。　Unlike　the　ones　qheuenish　colonists　made；　bottling　small　ponds　behind　barriers　that　mimicked　landslides　or　piles　of　logs；　this　dam　spanned　half　an　arrowflight　from　end　to　end。　False　boulders　and　cascades　of　melon　creepers　blurred　its　outline。　Still；　many　called　it　the　most　blatant　artifact　on　the　Slope…outside　of　some　ancient　Buyur　site。　Each　year；　on　Denouncement　Day；　radicals　harangued　for　its　destruction。
　　And　now　Lark　is　one　of　them。　Nelo　cast　a　stock　plaint　toward　his　dead　wife's　spirit。　Do　you　hear；　Melina？　You　brought　the　boy　with　you；　when　you　came　from　the　far　south。　We're　taught　genes　don't　matter　as　much　as　upbringing；　but　did　I　raise　a　son　to　be　a　rabble…rousing　apostate？　Never！
　　Instead　of　camouflage；　Nelo　put　his　faith　in　the　promise　of　the　founding　ancestors　who　planted　their　truant　seed　on　Jijo；　claiming　there　would　be　no　determined　scan　from　space。　Not　for　half　a　million　years　or　so。
　　He　once　stressed　that　point　in　an　argument　with　Lark。　To　his　surprise；　the　lad　agreed；　then　said　it　did　not　matter。
　　〃I　urge　drastic　measures　not　because　I'm　afraid　of　being　caught；　but　because　it's　the　right　thing　to　do。〃
　　Right？　Wrong？　A　cloud　of　dizzying　abstractions。　Lark　and　Sara　kept　bringing　up　such　fluff…arguing　with　each　other　for　miduras　about　fate　and　destiny。　Sometimes　Nelo　found　Dwer；　the　wild　boy　of　the　forest；　the　easiest　of　his　children　to　understand。
　　The　village　carpenter's　shop　spewed　sawdust；　making　pipe　for　Jobee；　the　rotund　village　plumber；　to　splice　into　homes；　bringing　fresh　water　and　taking　away　waste　to　the　septic　pits。　The　forts　of　a　civilized　life。
　　〃Deep　shade；　Nelo；〃　Jobee　drawled　in　a　manner　that　invited　a　soul　to　stop　and　chat　a　spell。
　　〃Cloudy　sky；　Jobee；〃　Nelo　replied　with　a　polite　nod；　and　kept　walking。　Not　that　a　few　duras'　idle　banter　would　hurt。　But　if　he　learns　I'm　visiting　Sara；　he'll　drop　by　later　with　half　the　town　to　find　out　what　I　learned　about　her　new　pet。。。　the　stranger　with　the　hole　in　his　head。
　　Once　upon　a　time；　it　had　been　a　fallen　chipwing　with　a　broken　tail　rudder；　or　a　wounded　toyo　pup。　Anything　sick　or　hurt　used　to　wind　up　in　his　storeroom；　where　Sara　tended　it　in　a　box　lined　with　his　finest　felt。　Nelo　had　figured　his　adult　daughter　finally　past　that　phase…till　she　returned　from　a　routine　gleaning　trip　a　few　days　ago；　with　a　wounded　man　thrashing　on　a　stretcher。
　　Once　Nelo　might　have　opposed　an　outsider；　even　a　sick　one；　lodging　in　his　daughter's　treehouse。　Now　he　was　glad　to　see　anything　draw　her　from　a　year's　hard　work　and　isolation。　One　of　Sara's　guildmasters　had　written　to　him　recently；　plaining　that　she　was　shirking　a　principal　duty　of　a　woman　of　her　caste；　prompting　Nelo　to　write　back；　rebuking　the　fellow's　impudence。　Still；　any　interest　Sara　showed　in　a　man　was　cause　for　guarded　hope。
　　From　the　covered　walkway；　Nelo　spied　the　town　exploser　and　his　young　son；　inspecting　an　anchor…pier　of　the　great　dam。　Forbidding　and　earnest；　with　deep…chiseled　features；　Henrik　reached　into　a　recessed　hole　and　withdrew　a　bulb…ended　clay　tube。　Scrutinizing　the　charge；　the　exploser　held　it　for　his　son　to　sniff。
　　Nelo　was　suddenly　acutely　aware　of　the　mighty　lake；　lurking　behind　the　dam；　ready　to　sweep　away　the　locks　and　factories　if　ever　a　signal　came　for　Henrik　to　do　his　duty。　He　also　felt　a　pang　of　jealousy　over　that　knowing　tete…a…tete　between　father　and　child…the　sort　that　he　once　had　with　his　own　sire。　One　he　hoped　to　share　again；　with　someone　who　loved　paper　as　he　did。
　　If　only　one　of　the　three　kids　would　give　me　an　heir。
　　I'll　have　one　yet；　he　vowed。　If　I　must　bribe　the　sages　to　mand　it！
　　Henrik　slipped　the　tube　back　inside；　resealing　the　hole　with　clay。
　　A　low　sigh　hissed　to　Nelo's　left；　where　he　saw　another　person　also　watching　the　explosers。　Log　Biter；　matriarch　of　the　local　qheuenish　hive；　squatted　by　a　tree　stump　with　all　five　legs　drawn　in。　Nervous　exhalations　stirred　dust　beneath　her　blue　carapace；　and　she　wore　a　rewq　over　her　vision　strip…as　if　that　would　tell　her　much　about　Henrik　and　son！
　　Anyway；　what　was　Log　Biter　worried　about？　Surely　this　was　just　routine　maintenance。　Dole's　human　villagers　would　never　sacrifice　the　dam；　source　of　their　wealth　and　prestige。　Only　a　few　orthodox　fools　wanted　that。
　　And　Nelo's　eldest　son。
　　Everyone's　edgy；　he　thought；　turning　away。　First　an　abnormal　winter；　then　Ulkoun's　proposition；　and　Lark's　heresy。　And　now　Sara　es　home　with　a　mysterious　outsider。
　　Is　it　any　wonder　I　have　trouble　sleeping？
　　Most　villagers'　homes　lay　safe　from　the　glowering　sky；　nestled　high　in　the　trunks　of　mighty　garu　trees；　where　strains　of　edible　moss　flourished　on　wide　branch…top　gardens。　It　seemed　a　niche　made　for　Earthlings；　just　as　blue　qheuens　loved　lakes；　and　dry　plains　suited　urrish　tribes。
　　Nelo　and　Prity　had　to　stop　briefly　while　children　herded　braying　bush…turkeys　across　the　forest　loam。　A　pair　of　opal…skinned　glavers；　perturbed　while　rooting　for　grubs；　lifted　their　round　heads　and　sniffed　haughtily。　The　children　laughed；　and　the　glavers'　bulging　eyes　soon　dimmed；　the　light　of　anger　costing　too　much　effort　to　maintain。
　　It　was　the　familiar　rhythm　of　village　life；　and　Nelo　would　happily　go　on　taking　it　for　granted；　but　for　his　eldest　son's　words　before　leaving　for　Gathering；　when　Lark　explained　the　reason　for　his　heresy。
　　〃Nature　is　taking　hold　of　this　world　again；　Father；　moving　beyond　the　patterns　imposed　by　its　former　tenants。〃
　　Nelo　had　been　doubtful。　How　could　unsapient　life　change　a　world　in　less　than　a　million　years？　Without　a　guiding　race　to　tend　it；　as　a　farmer　manages　a　garden？
　　〃It's　what　declaring　a　world　fallow　is　all　about；〃　Lark　went　on。　〃Letting　it　rest　and　recover　without　interference。〃
　　〃Without　the　likes　of　us；　you　mean。〃
　　〃That's　right。　We　aren't　supposed　to　be　on　Jijo。　We　do　harm　simply　living　here。〃
　　It　was　the　moral　dilemma　of　the　Six。　The　ancestors　of　each　race　had　felt　they　had　strong　reasons　to　e　so　far　in　sneakships；　planting　outlaw　seed　on　a　forbidden　world。　The　Scrolls　spoke　of　crime　blended　with　desperate　hope。　But　Nelo's　son　stressed　only　the　felony。　Moreover；　Lark　and　his　rades　planned　finally　doing　something　about　it。　A　grand　gesture　at　this　year's　Gathering；　atoning　for　generations　of　guilt　with　an　act　of　devotion；　both　holy　and　terrible。
　　〃What　foolishness！〃　Nelo　had　protested。　〃When　civilization　finally　resettles　this　galaxy；　there'll　be　no　sign　our　kind　ever　lived　here。　Not　if　we　live　righteously；　by　Egg　and　Oath。　What　you　plan　will　make　no　difference！〃
　　In　any　quarrel　with　Dwer；　there　would　have　been　defiant　shouting。　But　Lark　was　even　more　frustrating　to　talk　to；　masking　his　purist　heresy　behind　an　obstinate　civility　he　must　have　inherited　from　his　mother。
　　〃It　doesn't　matter　if　our　crime　is　never　discovered；　Father。　What　matters　is　we　don't　belong　here。　We　simply　should　not　exist。〃
　　Villagers　saluted　their　paper…crafter　as　Nelo　and　Prity　passed　by。　But　today　he　only　glowered；　wishing　acridly　that　his　offspring　wouldn't　vex　him　so…first　by　neglecting　his　wishes；　then　by　inflicting　the　ferment　of　their　disturbing　ideas。
　　Several　boats　lay　berthed　at　the　town　dock。　Nimble；　sleek…furred　noor　beasts　scampered　across　the　masts；　tending　lines　and　camouflage　shrouds；　as　their　kind　had　been　trained　to　do　for　centuries　by　the　tall；　long…snouted　hoon。　The　crew　of　one　vessel　helped　some　local　men　load　a　cargo　of　glass　and　metal；　scavenged　from　a　Buyur　site　upriver；　destined　for　reprocessing　by　the　smiths　of　Ur…Tanj　town；　or　else　bound　for　the　dross　pits；　far　out　to　sea。
　　Normally；　Nelo　might　have　paused　to　watch；　but　Prity　tugged　his　sleeve；　urging　him　upward；　into　the　blue…gray　branches　of　the　grove。
　　As　they　turned；　sudden　shouts　blared。　Men　dropped　their　burdens　and　hoon　sailors　crouched；　splaying　shaggy　legs。　Creaking　tree　trunks　swayed　like　the　ship　masts　as　lines　snapped　and　ripples　stitched　the　wat