uplift4.brightnessreef-第78部分

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　　〃Hush；　husband；〃　she　told　yee　when　he　plained　of　being　ignored。　〃We　got　some　tradin'　and　dickerin'　to　do。
　　〃Now's　when　we'll　see　if　they　pay　what　they　promised。〃
　　
　　Asx
　　MY　RINGS；　YOU　NEED　NOT　MY　WEAKLY　FOCUSED　musings　to　inform　you。　Surely　all　of　you　must　feel　it；　deep　within　each　oily　torus　core？　The　Egg。　Slowly；　as　if　rising　from　a　deep　torpor；　it　wakens！
　　Perhaps　now　the　mons　will　be　filled　once　more　with　ity；　with　union　of　spirit；　with　the　meshed　resolve　that　once　bound　jointly　our　collective　wills。
　　Oh；　let　it　be　so！
　　We　are　so　fractured；　so　far　from　ready。　So　far　from　worthy。
　　Oh；　let　it　be　so。
　　
　　Sara
　　THE　STACKS　WERE　INFESTED　WITH　POLISHER　BEES；　and　the　music　rooms　thronged　with　hungry；　biting　parrot　fleas；　but　the　chimps　on　the　maintenance　staff　were　too　busy　to　fumigate　for　minor　pests。
　　While　taking　some　air　in　the　west　atrium；　Sara　watched　several　of　the　hairy　workers　help　a　human　librarian　pack　precious　volumes　into　fleece…lined　crates；　then　seal　them　with　drippings　from　a　big　red　candle。　Gobbets　of　wax　clung　to　the　chimps'　matted　fur；　and　they　plained　to　each　other　with　furtive　hand　signs。
　　This　is　not　correct；　Sara　interpreted　one　worker's　flurry　of　gestures　and　husky　grunts。　In　this　intemperate　haste；　we　are　making　regrettable　errors。
　　The　other　replied；　How　true；　my　associate！　This　volume　of　Auden　should　not　go　in　among　Greek　classics！　We　shall　never　get　these　books　properly　restacked　when　this　crisis　finally　blows　over；　as　surely　it　must。
　　Well；　perhaps　she　was　generous　in　her　mental　translation。　Still；　the　chimps　who　labored　in　these　hallowed　halls　were　a　special　breed。　Almost　as　special　as　Prity。
　　Overhead　towered　the　atrium　of　the　Hall　of　Literature；　spanned　by　bridges　and　ramps　that　linked　reading　rooms　and　galleries；　all　lined　with　shelves　groaning　under　the　weight　of　books；　absorbing　sound　while　emitting　a　redolence　of　ink；　paper；　wisdom；　and　dusty　time。　Weeks　of　frantic　evacuation；　hauling　donkey…loads　to　faraway　caves；　had　not　made　a　dent　in　the　hoard…still　crammed　with　texts　of　every　color　and　size。
　　Sage　Plovov　called　this　hall…dedicated　to　legend；　magic；　and　make…believe…the　House　of　Lies。　Yet　Sara　always　felt　this　place　less　burdened　by　the　supremacy　of　the　past　than　in　those　nearby　structures　dedicated　to　science。　After　all；　what　could　Jijo's　savages　ever　add　to　the　mountain　of　facts　brought　here　by　their　godlike　ancestors？　A　mountain　said　to　be　like　a　sand　grain　next　to　the　Great　Galactic　Library。　But　the　tales　in　this　hall　feared　no　refutal　by　ancient　authority。　Good　or　bad；　great　or　forgettable；　no　work　of　literature　was　ever　provably　〃false。〃
　　Plovov　said…〃It's　easy　to　be　original　when　you　don't　have　to　care　whether　you're　telling　the　truth。　Magic　and　art　arise　from　an　egomaniac's　insistence　that　the　artist　is　right；　and　the　universe　wrong。〃
　　Of　course；　Sara　agreed。　On　the　other　hand；　she　also　thought　Plovov　was　jealous。
　　When　humans　came　to　Jijo；　the　effect　on　the　other　five　races　must　have　been　like　when　Earth　met　Galactic　culture。　After　centuries　with　just　a　handful　of　engraved　scrolls；　the　urs；　g'Kek；　and　others　reacted　to　the　flood　of　paper　books　with　both　suspicion　and　voracious　appetite。　Between　brief；　violent　struggles；　nonhumans　devoured　Terran　fables；　dramas；　and　novels。　When　they　wrote　stories　of　their　own；　they　imitated　Earthly　forms…like　ersatz　Elizabethan　romances　featuring　gray…shelled　queens；　or　Native　North　American　legends　recast　for　urrish　tribes。
　　But　lately；　a　flowering　of　new　styles　had　also　started　emerging；　from　heroic　adventures　to　epic　poems　set　in　strange　meters　and　rhymes；　unraveling　the　last　shreds　of　order　from　dialects　of　GalSeven；　and　even　GalTwo。　Printers　and　binders　had　as　many　orders　for　new　titles　as　reprints。　Scholars　debated　what　it　all　might　mean…an　outbreak　of　heresy？　Or　a　freeing　of　the　spirit？
　　Few　dared　use　the　term　renaissance。
　　All　of　which　may　end　in　a　matter　of　days　or　weeks；　Sara　pondered　glumly。　News　from　the　Glade…brought　by　a　kayak　pilot　braving　the　Bibur　rapids…showed　no　change　in　the　sages'　grim　appraisal　of　the　alien　gene…raiders；　or　their　intent。
　　Well；　Bloor　should　be　there　by　now。　Sara's　plan　might　not　dissuade　the　sky…humans　from　genocide；　but　a　folk　as　helpless　as　the　Six　must　be　willing　to　try　anything。
　　Including　Ariana's　crazy　notion。　Even　if　it's　cruel。
　　The　voice　of　the　elderly　sage　carried　from　the　chamber　behind　Sara。
　　〃There　now；　dear。　You've　struggled　long　enough　with　that　one。　Let's　see　what　you　can　make　of　this　nice　book。　Have　you　ever　seen　symbols　and　words　like　these　before？〃
　　Sighing；　Sara　turned　around　to　reenter　the　Children's　Wing。
　　The　Stranger　sat　near　Ariana　Foo's　wheelchair；　surrounded　by　volumes　bearing　bright　colors　and　simple　text；　printed　in　large　friendly　type。　Though　his　face　was　haggard；　the　tall　dark　man　resignedly　accepted　yet　another　book　and　ran　his　hand　over　the　dots；　slashes；　and　bars　of　a　GalTwo　teaching　rhyme…a　primer　meant　for　young　urrish　middlings。　Sara　was　unsurprised　when　his　lips　pursed　and　his　tongue　clicked　as　he　worked　across　the　page；　laboriously。　His　eyes　recognized　the　symbols；　but　clearly；　no　sense　was　being　made　of　the　sentence…phrase　itself。
　　It　had　been　the　same　with　books　in　GalSix；　Anglic；　and　GalSeven；　tearing　Sara's　heart　to　see　his　frustration　turn　into　torment。　Perhaps　only　now　was　the　injured　man　ing　to　know　fully　what　had　been　ripped　away　from　him。　What　he　had　forever　lost。
　　Ariana　Foo；　on　the　other　hand；　seemed　eminently　satisfied。　She　beamed　at　Sara。　〃This　is　no　rube　from　the　outer　hamlets；〃　the　old　woman　ruled。　〃He　was　an　educated　person；　familiar　with　every　language　currently　in　use　among　the　Six。　If　we　have　time；　we　must　take　him　to　the　Linguistics　Wing　and　try　some　of　the　forgotten　dialects！　Galactic　Twelve　would　clinch　it。　Only　three　scholars　on　Jijo　know　any　of　it　today。〃
　　〃What's　the　point？〃　Sara　asked。　〃You've　made　your　case。　Why　not　let　him　be？〃
　　〃In　a　minute；　dear。　One　or　two　more；　then　we'll　be　off。　I've　saved　the　best　for　last。〃
　　Two　library　staff　members　watched　nervously　as　Ariana　reached　over　to　a　stack　of　books　by　her　side。　Some　were　priceless；　with　rings　set　in　their　spines　where　chains　normally　kept　them　locked　to　their　shelves。　The　archivists　clearly　did　not　like　seeing　them　pawed　by　a　speechless　barbarian。
　　Unwilling　to　watch；　Sara　turned　away。
　　The　rest　of　the　Children's　Wing　was　placid…and　contained　few　children。　Scholars；　teachers；　and　traveling　librarians　from　all　six　races　came　here　to　study；　copy；　or　select　books　to　borrow；　carrying　their　precious　cargo　by　cart；　boat；　or　pack　donkey　to　settlements　throughout　the　Slope。　Sara　observed　a　red　qheuen　carefully　gather　some　of　the　heavy；　brass…bound　albums　required　by　her　kind；　assisted　by　two　lorniks　trained　as　assistants　and　page…turners。　One　lornik　swatted　at　a　polisher　bee　that　was　working　its　way　across　the　cover　of　a　book；　rubbing　its　abdomen　amorously　across　the　jacket；　buffing　it　to　a　fine　sheen　and　erasing　part　of　the　title。　No　one　knew　what　function　the　insectoids　once　served　for　the　departed　Buyur；　but　they　were　a　damned　nuisance　nowadays。
　　Sara　saw　others　from　every　race；　educators　who　refused　to　let　a　mere　crisis　interfere　with　the　serious　task　of　instructing　the　next　generation。　Beyond　the　qheuen；　an　elderly　traeki　selected　volumes　treated　to　resist　the　fluids　emitted　by　new　stacks　of　rings；　too　clumsy　to　control　their　secretions。
　　A　low　moan　brought　Sara　back　around　to　see　the　Stranger　holding　before　him　a　long；　slim　book　so　old；　the　colors　had　gone　all　dingy　and　gray。　The　man's　dark　features　clouded　with　clashing　emotions。　Sara　had　no　time　to　read　the　title；　only　to　glimpse　a　skinny　black　feline　figure　on　the　cover；　wearing　a　red…and…white…striped　stovepipe　hat。　Then；　to　the　librarians'　gasping　dismay；　he　clutched　the　volume　tightly　to　his　chest；　rocking　back　and　forth　with　eyes　closed。
　　〃Something　from　his　childhood；　I'll　warrant；〃　Ariana　Foo　diagnosed；　scribbling　on　her　pad。　〃According　to　the　indexes；　this　fable　was　widely　popular　among　children　in　northwestern　Earth　civilization　almost　continuously　for　over　three　centuries；　so　we　can　te