Chapter 36 34

Are you all right, sir? I found myself hunched over in a chair, with my elbows on my knees, my fingers gripping my hair, and my palms pressed to my temples.I sat up straight and stared at the administrator. You yelled, sir, I thought something was wrong. It's all right, I said.Then he cleared his throat and said again: It's all right, everything is fine, it's just a headache.I looked down without knowing why, and the joints all over my body hurt.There must be something wrong with my comm, because it says eight hours have passed since I entered the library. What time is it?I asked the administrator: According to the standard time of Wanxing.com?

He told me it really was eight hours.I rubbed my face again, my fingers slick with sweat.I must have delayed your closing time, I said: sorry. No problem, said the little man: I'm happy to keep the Archives open late for the scholars.He crossed his hands over his chest.Especially today.It's so chaotic outside, it really makes people don't want to go home. confusion.I said, forgetting everything else for a moment, just remembering that nightmare: Brown.Lamia, that AI named Wumeng, and the death of my other Keats personality.Oh, war, what's the news? The administrator shook his head:

∮ Everything falls apart, the center is hard to hold; The world is in anarchy, Bloody tides roll, everywhere Innocence is drowned; All good is unconvinced; all evil It is becoming more and more popular. 13 13 Quoted from the poem The Second Coming published in 1921 by the Irish poet William Butler Yeats (William Butler Yeats, 1865︱1939), the verses quoted in the next paragraph are also from the same poem. I smiled at the administrator.And do you believe there will be a beast whose time has finally come/Walk to Bethlehem and be born? The administrator didn't laugh.Yes, sir, I do.

I got up and left those vacuum-pressurized display cases without looking down at my handwriting on parchment nine hundred years ago.You might be right, I said: You might be right. It's late.The parking lot was empty, save for the wreckage of my stolen Viken Vision, and a gorgeous electromagnetic sedan, apparently hand-built at Renaissance. Where can I take you, sir? I took a breath of the cold night air and smelled fish and oil slicks from the canal.No thanks, I'll use the portal to go home. The administrator shook his head.That might be difficult sir, all teleportation stations are controlled by the military.Because there was a riot.The last two words clearly disliked the little administrator, who seemed to value order and the status quo above all else.Come on, he said: I'll take you to a private portal.

I squinted and looked at him.If it was in another era on Yuan Earth, he might be the abbot of a monastery, determined to save the relics of past classics. I looked at the ancient building behind him and knew that he was indeed such a person. What is your first name?I asked, no longer caring if I was supposed to know his name and the other Keats model did. Edward. B．Tyner.He said, winking at my outstretched hand, and shaking mine.His handshake was quite strong. My name is Joseph.Silveron.I couldn't quite explain to him that I was the technological reincarnation of the man whose literary relic we had just met.

Mr. Tanner hesitated only for a moment, then nodded, but I knew that for a scholar like him the name of the painter who was with Keats when he died would not be a pseudonym. What about Hyperion?I asked. Hyperion?Oh, it's the territorial world that the space fleet went to a few days ago.Well, I hear it's quite a hassle to get some of the necessary ships back from there.The fighting there must have been fierce.I mean, in Hyperion.Strange, I was thinking of Keats and his unfinished masterpiece.It seems strange that these little coincidences should suddenly arise. Has Hyperion fallen?

Mr. Tanner had gone to his electromagnetic car, and now he put his hand on the palm-print shovel lock on the driver's side.The door folds inward after being raised.I got into the passenger seat, which smelled of sandalwood and leather; I noticed that Tyner's car smelled a lot like those archives, like Tyner himself.The archivist got into the driver's seat next to me. I don't know if there is a fall there.As he spoke, he touched the control panel to order to lock the doors and start the engine.Beneath the scent of sandalwood and leather, there is the new car smell of fresh polymers and ozone, lubricants and energy that has seduced humans for nearly a thousand years.It's hard to get news today, he continued: "I've never seen the datasphere overloaded to this extent.This afternoon I checked Robinson.Jeffers 14's information, really have to wait in line.

14 Jeffers (Robinson Jeffers, 1887︱1962): American poet, contempt for life, grotesque thinking. We lifted off over the canal, facing a plaza much like the one I had nearly died earlier in the day, and followed a low flyway 300 meters from the roof.The city is beautiful at night, most of the old buildings are outlined with old-fashioned string lights, and there are more street lights than advertising light curtains.But I could see crowds crowding the side streets, and Renaissance security guard planes hovering over the main road and teleportation square.Taina's electromagnetic vehicle was interrogated twice, once by the local traffic control system, and the second time by a human, the voice of the Bajun Intelligence Bureau.

We continue to fly forward. Is there no portal in the museum?I said, looking at a place that seemed to be on fire in the distance. No, there is no need.We have few visitors, and the scholars who go there don't care to walk a few streets. Where is the private portal you say I might be able to use? here.said the archivist.We descended from the airway, bypassed a low building of less than thirty stories, and stopped on a prominent landing rafter, which happened to be decorated in the period of Granon︱Hite protruding from the stone and wrought iron. Where the protruding rafters are.My order is here, he said: I belong to a long-forgotten branch of Christianity called Catholicism.He looked embarrassed.But you are a scholar, Monsieur Severan, and you must know our old church.

I didn't just read it in the book, I said: Is there any monks here? Tanner smiled.Not a monk, Monsieur Silveren.There are eight people in our secular order of the Historical and Literary Fellowship, five serving at the Imperial University, two art historians rebuilding the Luxendorf Abbey, and I in charge of the Literary Archives.The church felt that it would be much cheaper for us to live here than to commute from the safe galaxy every day. We entered the apartment hive, which was old even by old Starnet standards: real stone hallways with retrofitted lighting, doors with hinges, a building that neither checked nor showed us when we entered. Welcome building.Impulsively, I said: I want to teleport to Ping An Xing.

The archivist seemed taken by surprise.tonight?Going right now? Why not? He shook his head, and it occurred to me that for this man, a hundred dollars in delivery fees equaled several weeks of income. Our building has its own portal, he said: over here. The staircase in the center is made of old stone and rusted cast iron, with a height of sixty meters in the center.Somewhere in a dark corridor came the cry of a baby, followed by the yelling of a man and the cry of a woman. How long have you lived here, Mr. Tyner? Seventeen years in local time.Mr Silveron.Uh, I think it would be thirty-two years in standard time.Here we are. The portal was as old as the house, and the gold embossment on the door frame had turned green and gray. Wanxing.com has restrictions on traffic tonight. He said: "Ping An Star should be accessible."There were two hundred hours before the savages, whatever they were called, would be there.Twice as much time as the rest of the Renaissance Star.He reached out and grabbed my wrist.I can feel a vibration in my muscles and bones.Mr. Silveren, do you think they will burn my archives?Will they destroy ideas that have been passed down for 10,000 years?His hand dropped. I'm not sure who the deportees he's talking about are they?A person who is engaged in sabotage by the Jing Demon God Sect?The rioting crowd?Graystone and the leadership of the Alliance are willing to sacrifice these first wave worlds.No, I reached out and shook his hand, I don't believe they let the Archives be destroyed. Edward. B．Mr. Tanner smiled slightly, and stepped back, embarrassed by his sincerity.He waved his hands, "Wherever you are going, Mr. Silveren, I wish you good luck." God bless you, Mr. Tyner.I've never used a sentence like that before, and it shocks me to say it now.I lowered my head, took out Greystone's card, and pressed the three-digit number representing the safe star.The portal apologized to me that it wasn't possible at the moment, and I finally let the stupid controller know it was a perk card, and the portal hummed. I nodded to Tyner and walked in, thinking that I would have made a serious mistake not going straight back to Titan Five. It is night on Ping An, which is much darker than Renaissance, and it is raining heavily.The rain was as violent as fists on tin, making one want to curl up under a blanket and wait for daylight. The portal is in a semi-covered courtyard, but it still gave me the full experience of the night, the rain, and the cold.Especially cold.The air on Ping'an Star is half thinner than Wanxingwang's standard, and the only habitable place is twice as high as the sea-level cities on Renaissance Star.I originally wanted to turn back instead of walking into the night and heavy rain, but a Tyrant Marine emerged from the darkness with a multifunctional rifle hanging down but ready to fire at any time. He asked me who I was. I showed him the card and he immediately stood at attention.Yes, sir! Is this the new Vatican? Yes, sir. I saw the great dome illuminated in the torrential rain.I pointed outside the courtyard wall.Is that St. Peter's Basilica? Yes, sir. Is Mgr Edouard there? Sir, across this courtyard, in the little house to the left of the square, to the left of the cathedral. Thank you, Corporal. I'm a private, sir. I drew my short cloak tight, and with all my efforts, in vain, to keep out the rain, I ran all the way. A man may be a priest without a cassock or white collar opening the door.Another person sitting behind a wooden desk told me that Monsignor Edouard was in his bedroom, late in the evening, but not yet in bed.Did I make an appointment to meet up in advance? No, I didn't make an appointment, but I wanted to talk to the bishop, it's very important. What are we talking about?The man behind the desk asked politely but unflinchingly.He didn't think much of my access card given by the president.I guess I'm probably dealing with a bishop. To talk about Paul.Father Du Hei and Rainer.About Father Hoyt.I told him. The gentleman nodded, whispered something into a microphone so small I didn't notice it was pinned to his collar, and led me into the hallway of the dormitory. The place made the old building in which Mr. Tanner lived look like a palace of luxury and pleasure.There was nothing in the hallway but rough plaster walls and even rougher wooden doors. One door was open, and I glanced in as we passed. The small room looked more like a prison cell than a bedroom: low A low bed, a rough blanket, a wooden kneeling stool, a very simple chest of drawers with a jug of water and a simple washbasin; there are no windows, no media walls, no light curtains, and no information connections in the room I guess the room isn't even interactive. From somewhere, I don’t know whether it’s an echo of chanting or singing, elegant and ancient, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.It's a Gregorian hymn.We passed a restaurant as simple as those small rooms, through a John.A kitchen that would have felt familiar to a cook in Keats' day, down a worn stone staircase, through a dimly lit corridor, and up an even narrower staircase.The man left me and I walked into the most beautiful place I have ever seen. Although I knew that the church relocated and rebuilt St. Peter's Basilica, and even transported the remains of Peter himself to be buried under the altar, but at the same time, I also had a feeling of being transported back to the first time in mid-November 1820. The feeling of seeing Rome: the Rome that I have seen, lived, suffered and died there. The beauty and elegance of this place is beyond the reach of any office tower one kilometer high in the center of Tianlunwu; the basilica of St. Peter's Basilica is more than 600 feet deep and about 450 feet wide where the left and right wings meet the central part. Ten feet above is a perfect Michelangelo's dome standing four hundred feet above the altar, a bronze shrine by Bernini at 15, and a canopy supported by four twisted, Byzantine columns. the main altar, bringing some necessary humanity to the ceremonies that take place in this vast space.Soft lights and candles illuminated some of the hidden areas of the synagogue, reflecting off some of the smooth travertine stones, making the golden inlays shine, and the paintings, The countless details in reliefs and protruding are unobstructed.The continuous lightning caused by the storm high in the sky shines directly down through the yellow stained glass, and shoots the strong light obliquely towards the throne of St. Peter in the synagogue. 15 Bernini (Giolanni Lorenzo Bernini, 1598︱1680): Italian architect, sculptor and painter, representative of Baroque art style.Bernini, the designer of the boat-shaped fountain, is mentioned in this book as his father. I stopped there, on the edge of the semicircular alcove, afraid that the sound of my footsteps would be a profanation in such a place, and even that my breath would echo from the other side of the synagogue.It was not long before my eyes adjusted to the dim light, reconciling the contrast between the stormy lightning above and the candlelight below, that there were no rows of pews in the wings nor in the basilica, and that under the curved ceiling There were no pillars, either, but two chairs were placed fifty feet from the altar, and two men were sitting on these chairs, very close together, both leaning forward and talking eagerly.The faces of the two men were dimly seen by lamps, candles, and the flash of the huge porcelain Jesus in front of the black altar.Both of them were very old, both of them were priests, their white stiff collars flashed in the darkness, I suddenly realized that one of them was Monsignor Edouard. The other one is Paul.Father Duhet. They must have been a little alert at first, but they raised their heads amidst the low voice conversation, and saw this uninvited guest, a short figure of a man coming out of the darkness, calling their names, shouting Dou Hei's name eagerly to them Talk about pilgrims and those pilgrims, time tombs and thorn demons, AI and the death of the gods. Monsignor did not summon the security personnel; he and Du Hei did not run away; but they calmed down the uninvited guest together, trying to hear some reason from his excited nonsense, and make this strange meeting rational talk. That was indeed Paul.du black.It's Paul.Doohet, not some grotesque ghost, replicant, or reinvented cyborg.I listened to him, questioned him, looked him in the eye to make sure, and more importantly, shook his hand, touched him, made sure it was really Paul.Father Duhet. You know so many unbelievable details of my life we ​​were in Hyperion, over there at Tokazuka who did you say you were?Du Hei said. This time it was my turn to convince him.It's a mock-up man made out of Keats, and it's Braun who goes with you on your pilgrimage.The twin of the personality that Lamia carried. And can you know that everything that happened to us is due to sharing that personality? I knelt between them and the altar, and raised my hands helplessly.Because of that and also because of some mutations in the giant data circle.But I dreamed of your lives, heard stories from the pilgrims, heard Father Hoyt speak of PaulYou are the life and death of Du Hei!I reached out to touch his arm through his priestly robe.To be truly in the same time and space as a pilgrim made me feel dizzy.Then you know how I got here.Father Duhet said. Don't know, I last dreamed that you walked into a cave mound and there was a light there.I don't know anything about what happened after that. Du Hei nodded.His countenance was more that of a Roman aristocrat than in my dreams, and more tired.But you know the fate of others? I took a breath.know some.Cylenus the poet is still alive, but he is impaled and hangs from the thorn tree of the Thorn.The last time I saw Kassad fight the Thorn Demon God with his bare hands.Miss Lamia and my clone of Keats wandered through the giant data circle to the periphery of the intelligence core Does he live in that Sloan loop or something?Doohei seemed fascinated. Disappeared, I said: The AI ​​named Wu Meng killed him and destroyed that personality.Brown is on her way back, and I don't know if her body is still alive. Monsignor Edouard leaned towards me.What happened to the consul and the father and daughter? The Consul wanted to fly back to the capital with the Falcon Magic Carpet, but I said: But it crashed a few miles north of the capital, and I don't know what happened to him. Jili Duhei said, it seems that these two words evoke memories. Excuse me, I gestured towards the Great Hall.This place reminds me of my previous life. Continuing on, Bishop Edouard said: The father and daughter. I sat on the cold stone floor, exhausted, my arms and hands shaking with exhaustion.In my last dream, Thor gave Rachel to the Thorn Demon God.That was what Rachel asked for, and I couldn't see what happened next.Tokizuka was opening at the time. all?Du Hei asked. All I can see. The two men looked at each other. Also, I said, and I told them about my conversation with Wumeng.Is there such a possibility?Can gods evolve from human consciousness, but people don't know? The lightning had stopped, but the rain was so heavy that I could hear it falling on the high dome.In the distance, a heavy door rattled, and footsteps sounded, then drifted away.The wishing candles in the depths of the synagogue flickered red on the walls and in front of the curtains. I teach others that Saint Tessin thought it was possible, and Douhey said tiredly: But if God is just a finite being and evolves like our other finite beings, that's not right that's not the God of Abraham and Jesus Christ . Monsignor Edvard nodded.there is an ancient heresy Yes, I say: Socini's sect.I heard Father Dohey address Saul.Wen Chaobo and the consul explained it.But what does that matter?No matter how this power evolves, and whether there is a limit or not.If what Wumeng said is true, then what we have to deal with now is a force that uses quasars as energy sources.That's a god who can destroy many galaxies, both of you. That would be a god who would destroy galaxies, Doohet said: but not God. I heard his emphasis very clearly.But if that's unlimited, I say: if that's the God you're writing about as the ultimate point of full consciousness, if that's the same Trinity that you've been arguing about since before Aquinas 16 and has multiple theories Woolen cloth?But what if a part of the Trinity escapes back, travels through time, and arrives here and now? 16 Aquinas (Thoms Aquinas, 1225︱1274): Medieval Italian theologian and scholastic philosopher, his philosophy and theology are called Thomism. But what is it that is escaping?Du Hei asked softly.The God of Teilhard's Church of God, our God, is the God of the ultimate point, in which the evolved Christ, the personality, and the universe Teilhard's so-called En Haut and En Avas are all perfectly combined.No threat is so great that any part of it flees.Neither antichrists, nor theoretical demonic forces, nor even anti-God could threaten such a universal mind.What is the other god? God of relief, I said.My voice was so soft that even I wasn't sure if I said it or not. Monsignor Edward Edward put his hands together. I thought he was about to pray, but it was his thoughtful and excited gesture.But Christ also had doubts. He said: Christ sweated blood and sweat in the garden, and asked if the cup should be removed. If there is a second sacrifice, there is something more terrible than crucifixion. It takes hours or years to contemplate the Christ's journey through time, through a four-dimensional Gethsemane garden. 17 The twenty-second chapter of the "New Testament" <Luke's Gospel>: Jesus knew that he was about to be arrested and killed, and prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives: Father, if you are willing, take this cup away.Beads of sweat dripped to the ground like big blood spots. Something more terrible than being crucified, Du Hei repeated in a hoarse voice. Bishop Edvard and I looked at the priest.In order not to be controlled by the cross-shaped parasite on his body, Doohey once nailed himself to a high-voltage Tesla tree in Hyperion.Under the regenerative ability of that thing, Du Hei endured the pain of nailing and electrocution many times. No matter what the En Haut consciousness escaped from, Du Hei said in a low voice: it must be the most terrifying. Monsignor Edouard touched his friend on the shoulder.Paul, tell this man how you got here. Doo-hee comes back to reality from his distant memories and focuses on me.You know our story and all the details about what happened in Tsukavale when we were in Hyperion? I believe so, until you disappeared. The priest sighed and touched his forehead with his long, slightly trembling fingers.Well, maybe, he said: maybe you can shed some light on how I got here and what I saw along the way. I saw a light in the third cave, and Father Duhet said, "I went in."I admit that I had suicidal thoughts in my heart at that time. Under the cruel reproduction of the cross, I have lost most of my mind. I saw the light and thought it was the Demon God of Thorn. I thought it would be the second time I met Demon God of Thorn. The first contact was in the maze under the big gap many years ago. Demon God of Thorn planted the The second encounter of the evil cruciform is long overdue. When we had been searching for Colonel Kassad the day before, the mound was shallow and empty except for a blank rock wall thirty paces ahead of us.Now the wall was gone, and there was an opening that resembled the mouth of the Thorn Demon God. The rock protruded like a mixture of mechanical and organic qualities, stalagmites and stalactites, as sharp as the fangs of limestone. After passing through the big mouth, a stone staircase winds down.It was from that depth that the light shone up, a pale light for a moment, and then a dark red.There was no sound but the sigh of the wind, as if the rocks there were breathing. I'm not Dante, I don't want Beatrice, my fleeting burst of courage, perhaps more precisely fantasy, has faded with daylight.I turned and almost ran the thirty paces all the way to the mouth of the cave. The entrance to the cave was gone, and the road was cut off like this.I heard no rockfall or landslide, and the large rock that should have been the entrance seemed as old and unmoved as the rest of the cave.I spent half an hour looking for another exit, found nothing, refused to go back to the stone steps, and ended up sitting for hours where the entrance to the mound should have been.This is another trick of the Jing Demon God, and another low-level dramatic special effect of this weird planet.A Hyperion joke.Ha ha. After sitting in the semi-darkness for several hours, watching the silent flickering light at the end of the cave, I realized that the Thorn Demon God would not come here to find me, nor would the entrance magically reappear.I can choose to sit here and die of starvation or more likely of thirst because I'm so dry and dehydrated or walk down the damn stairs. I went down. Many years ago, actually several lifetimes ago, when I went to visit the Bikura tribe near the big rift in Feiyu Plateau, the labyrinth where I encountered the Thorn Demon God was three kilometers below the canyon wall.That's pretty close to the surface; most labyrinths in labyrinth worlds are at least ten kilometers underground.I have no doubt that this endless staircase, a steep and twisting spiral staircase wide enough for ten priests to go to hell together abreast, will eventually enter a maze.The Demon God of Thorn cursed me with immortality there first, if that monster or the power that activated the cross knew what irony is, then my immortal body and my mortal body both end here, it would be perfect But that's all. The stairs zigzag down; the light grows stronger and is now rose-colored; ten minutes later, it is bright red; and half an hour further down, it is a flashing crimson.In my opinion, it's just too Dante-like and cheesy.I almost laughed out loud at the thought of a little daemon appearing, complete with tail, trident, and split-toed hooves, and with a thin beard. But when I went deep, I didn't smile because I saw the source of the light: the cross.Hundreds, thousands, small at first, affixed to the rough walls of the steps, like haphazardly carved crosses left by subterranean conquerors, then larger, more numerous, and finally almost Overlapping each other, glowing creatures red as coral, raw flesh, and blood red. The sight made me sick.It's like walking into a shaft walled with fat, wriggling water, except here it's worse.I have seen the appearance of myself with only one such thing attached to my body on the ultrasound medical examination machine. A large number of ganglia have penetrated into my flesh and organs, like gray fibers, wrapped in sheaths of twitching single fibers, clustered in clusters. Nematodes, like horrible tumors, can't even get you out of death, and now I have two of them: Rainer.Hoyt's and my own.I pray for death, and don't want another one. I keep going down.In addition to the flashes on the four walls, there are also bursts of heat. I don't know whether it is because of the depth or because of the crowding of thousands of cross shapes.At last I came to the bottom step, where the stairs ended, and I rounded the last rock, and there I was. maze.As far as the eye can see, it is like what I have seen on countless light curtains and experienced once: a smooth tunnel, 30 meters away from a side wall, excavated under Hyperion about 750,000 years ago Formed, criss-crossing the planet, like a catacomb designed by a crazy designer.There are nine worlds with labyrinths, five of them in the Starnet, and others, like this one, in the Frontier galaxy: all of them are exactly the same, all dug at the same time in the past, and none of them can be found why There are no clues for these mazes.Legends are full of labyrinth builders, but these enigmatic engineers left behind no artifacts, not a single hint of their methods or structure, and no theory as to why there was such a thing as the largest engineered project ever seen in the galaxy. painting. All the labyrinths are empty, and the remote-controlled robots have detected millions of kilometers of passages dug out of stones. Except that the original tunnels have been changed due to time and collapse, all the labyrinths are completely empty. But where I am now standing is not the case. When I look into an endless corridor, the cross-shaped light illuminates the scene in Bosch's 18 painting. The corridor is endless, but it is not empty, yes, it is not empty. 18 Bosch (Hieronymus Bosch, 1450︱1516): Dutch painter, most of his works are complex and unique icons.Representative works include "Paradise", "The Temptation of St. Anthony" and so on. At first I thought they were swarms of living people, like a river of heads, shoulders, and arms, stretching for miles as far as I could see, a stream occasionally interrupted by parked vehicles, all It's the same rust color.When I walked forward and approached the crowded wall less than 20 meters away from me, I realized that they were all corpses.The corpses of tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of people filled the corridors as far as I could see; some were lying sprawled on the stone floor, some were stuck against the walls, but most of them were stuffed in this special section of the maze. The full body was jacked up. There was a path through the body, as if cut by a machine with a blade.I walked along, careful not to bump into an outstretched arm or a thin ankle. Those were human corpses, most of them still wearing clothes, mummified because they decayed slowly in this bacteria-free crypt for a long time.The skin and flesh dried, stretched, ripped apart like rags, and ended up covering only the bones, and often no bones at all.The hairs remained like mildew on dusty coal tar, stiff as painted plastic.Under the opened eyelids and between the rows of teeth is pitch black.Clothes that must have been colorful were now brown, gray or black, as brittle as cobwebs wafting down from thin stone flakes.Melted into a ball on their wrists or necks over time, it might have been a comm recorder or something. Those large vehicles were probably electromagnetic vehicles before, but now they are piles of rusty iron.After walking nearly a hundred meters, I stumbled. In order not to fall into the pile of corpses on the ground on the one-meter-wide road, I stretched out my hands to support a big machine full of curves and dark bubbles. A whole pile of rusty iron collapsed. I wandered like the ancient Roman poet Virgil, walking along the terrible path that opened among the rotting flesh, wondering why I was witnessing this scene, and what the meaning was.After stumbling for an indeterminate amount of time between piles of dead bodies, I came to a tunnel intersection: the three aisles ahead were packed with dead bodies.The path that continued through the maze was to my left, and I continued walking along it. A few hours passed, maybe a little longer, and I stopped and sat on the narrow stone path through the horror.If there are tens of thousands of corpses in this small tunnel, then there must be tens of millions of corpses in the Hyperion Labyrinth.Maybe more.If the nine worlds with labyrinths were added together, it must be a large tomb with several trillion corpses. I don't know why it made me see the ultimate place of the soul.Close to where I was sitting, a mummy-like male corpse was still protecting the corpse of a woman with his bony arms, and the package in her arms, with short black hair growing on it, I turned my face away and cried stand up. I am an archaeologist who has excavated the remains of victims of executions, floods, fires, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.This whole family situation is nothing new to me; they're a necessary evil of history, but it's especially horrific, perhaps because of the sheer numbers; millions die in a massacre.Maybe it's the haunting light of so many crucifixes that line the sides of the tunnel like a thousand profane bad jokes, or maybe it's the howling of the wind that runs through the endless tunnels . My life and teaching, and suffering, and some small victories and countless defeats have brought me here without faith, concern, and simple, Miltonian challenges.I think the bodies have been here for over half a million years, but the people themselves are from our time, or worse, from our future.I bowed my head, covered my face with my hands, and wept bitterly. There was no real sound like scratching to alert me, but there was something, something, maybe something moving in the air. I raised my head and saw Jing Demon God in front of me, less than two meters away from me Far.Not on the path, but among the dead: like a statue erected to honor this massacred building. I stood up.I will never sit or kneel before this abominable thing. The Thorn Demon God moved towards me, as if sliding instead of walking, as if sliding on a track without friction.The blood-red light from those crucifixes streamed over its mercury-like shell, illuminating the stalactites and stalagmites of unchanging grinning steel. I don't want violence against that thing, just sadness and terrible pity.Not for the Jing Demon God whatever the hell it is but for all the victims, those who are alone and without a shred of faith, must face this night terror incarnate. At such a place less than one meter away, I noticed for the first time that there was a smell around the Thorn Demon God—a stench mixed with foul-smelling oil, overheated machinery, and dried blood.它兩眼中的紅焰悸動著，節奏完全和十字形亮光的強弱相合。 多年前我不相信這個怪物是超自然的，是善或惡的象徵，認為那只是這個宇宙中深不可測而看來毫無道理的自然生物所產生的異變：是進化所開的一個可怕玩笑。聖德日進最糟的噩夢。但仍然是一樣東西，會遵守自然的規律，即使扭曲到某種程度，但終究是要受到宇宙中某時某地的規矩限制。 荊魔神向我舉起手臂，將我環抱住，四隻手腕上的鋒刃都比我的手要長得多，胸前的鋒刃也比我的前臂長。我正視著它的兩眼，它那雙纏有剃刀鋼絲和鋼鐵彈簧的手臂圍住我，另一雙手臂則慢慢地繞過來，伸進我們之中小小的空間裡。 如刀刃的手指張開來。我畏縮了一下，但是並沒有後退，那些鋒刃往前伸，插進了我的胸口，疼痛就如冰冷的火，像外科手術的雷射刀劃開神經。 它退後一步，手裡抓著一個被我的鮮血染得更紅的紅色東西。我一個踉蹌，一半以為會看到我的心臟在那怪物的手裡：最後的可笑場景，一個死人眨著眼，吃驚地看著他自己的心臟，就在血由他那不敢置信的腦子裡流乾之前的幾秒鐘裡。 可是那不是我的心臟，荊魔神手裡拿著的是我胸前附著的那個十字形。我的十字形。那個儲放了我的死不了的ＤＮＡ的寄生物。我又踉蹌了一下，幾乎跌倒，我伸手去摸胸口，手指上沾滿了血，可是並不像這樣的手術會引起的大量出血；而傷口就在我眼前癒合起來。我知道那個十字形在我全身長滿了根莖和纖維。我知道沒有任何雷射手術刀能把那些致命的血管和霍依特神父的身體切割開來我的身體也一樣。可是我感覺到自己的身體痊癒了，那些體內的纖維枯萎消褪得成為最小的一點體內的傷疤。 我身上仍然帶著霍依特的十字形。可是那不一樣。等我死了之後，雷納．霍依特會再由這重組的肉體中復活，我會死掉，不會再有保羅．杜黑可憐的複製品，一代又一代地越來越愚蠢，越來越沒活力。 荊魔神沒有殺我，卻讓我能死亡。 那個怪物把那變冷的十字形丟進屍堆中，伸手抓住我的手臂，用的是那毫不費力就能割進三層衣物的力氣，而我的手臂在一接觸之下，立即血流如注。 它帶路穿過屍體走向牆邊。我跟著它，盡量不踩著屍體，但匆忙中還要注意不讓自己的手臂被割斷，實在很難做到，很多屍體因此化為塵土，其中一具在他坍塌的胸前留下了我的腳印。 然後我們到了牆前，那一塊地方突然完全沒有十字形。我發現那是一個由力場護衛著的開口大小和形狀都不像標準的傳送門，但是在能量的聲響上倒相當類似。只要能讓我脫離這個貯放死亡的地方，什麼都可以。 荊魔神把我推了出去。 零重力。一座破碎艙板的迷宮，糾纏在一起的線路飄浮著，像是某種巨大生物的腸子，紅燈閃爍一時之間，我以為這裡也有很多十字形，可是緊接著就發現那是一個行將完全毀損的太空船中的警示燈正在不熟悉的零重力環境中翻滾，而有更多的屍體也在旁邊翻滾過去；這裡的不是乾屍，而是剛死的，新近喪命的，嘴張著、眼睛瞪著、肺部擴張、雲狀的血隨著這架摧毀的霸軍太空船中隨意流動的空氣而起伏。 那的確是一艘霸軍的太空船，我很確定。我看到那些年輕人的屍體上穿著霸聯宇宙軍的制服。我看到艙板和艙門上的軍方用語，在那些毫無作用的緊急閥門上所寫的那些無用的指令。他們的緊身甲冑和尚未膨脹的壓力球都還摺放在架子上。不論摧毀這艘船的是什麼，顯然在黑夜中來得十分突然。 荊魔神出現在我身邊。 荊魔神在太空裡！脫離了海柏利昂和時間的束縛！很多這樣的船上都有傳送門！ 在離我不到五公尺的走廊裡就有一道傳送門。一具屍體朝那裡翻滾過去，那個年輕人的右手伸進那不透明的力場，好像在試探另外一邊世界的水。空氣在通道中衝了出來，發出尖叫般的聲音。go!我慫恿著那具屍體，但是壓力差卻將他吹離了傳送門，他的手臂意外地毫無損傷，又縮了回來，不過他的臉卻有如一個解剖學者的面罩。 我轉向荊魔神，這個動作使我向另外一邊轉了半圈。 荊魔神將我舉起，鋒刃割開了我的皮膚，它將我沿著走廊向傳送門丟去。就算我想改變方向也辦不到。在我穿過那發著輕響的傳送門前幾秒鐘裡，我想像著另外一邊是真空，會從極高的地方墜落，身體爆炸，或是最壞的情況再回到那迷宮裡。 沒想到，我翻滾了半公尺落在大理石地上。it's here.離這一點不到兩百公尺的地方，在教宗厄本十六世的私室中在教宗本人因年老而去世了三個小時之後，我穿過了他私人的傳送門，新梵諦岡稱之為教宗之門。我感受到離海柏利昂那麼遙遠的痛苦遠離了那十字形的源頭可是痛苦已經是我的老朋友了，不再對我有任何影響。 我找到了艾督華特。他很仁慈，聽我把一個耶穌會教士從來不曾聽過的故事說上幾個鐘頭。他更仁厚的地方是相信我的話。現在你也聽到了，那就是我的故事。 暴風雨過去了。我們三個人坐在聖彼得大教堂的穹頂下，就著燭光，有好一陣子什麼話也沒說。 荊魔神到了萬星網。我最後說道。 杜黑平視著我，是的。 想必是在海柏利昂太空有什麼船艦 It seems so. 那我們也有可能回到那裡去吧。用那個教宗之門回到海柏利昂。 艾督華特蒙席挑起了一邊眉毛。你希望這樣做嗎，席維倫先生？ 我咬著指關節。我的確考慮過這件事。 Why?蒙席溫和地問道：你的另外一個分身，就是布瑯．拉蜜亞帶去朝聖的那個模控人格，在那裡只找到死亡。 我搖了搖頭，好像要藉著這個簡單的動作釐清我混亂的思想。我也是這裡面的一部分。只是我不知道該演什麼角色或是到哪裡去演出。 Paul.杜黑乾笑了一聲，我們都知道這種感覺。這就好像蹩腳的編劇對宿命的討論。自由意志到哪裡去了？ 蒙席以凌厲的眼光看了他朋友一眼。保羅，所有的朝聖者包括你自己都碰到要以自己的意志來做選擇。天意的力量也許可安排事件的大方向，但每個人還是可以決定他自己的命運。 杜黑嘆了口氣。也許是這樣，艾督華特。I have no idea.I am tired. 如果烏蒙說的是真的，我說。如果這個人類的神的第三部分真的逃到我們的時代，你想會在哪裡？Who is the one?在萬星網裡有千億人呢。 杜黑神父微微一笑。他的笑容很溫柔，完全沒有諷刺的意味。你有沒有想過可能就是你自己呢，席維倫先生？ 這個問題像摑了我一巴掌似地。impossible.我說：我甚至不是甚至不是一個完全的人類。我的意識飄浮在智核的母體中某個地方，我的身體是由約翰．濟慈的ＤＮＡ殘餘重建而成，而且有像生化人一樣的生理結構，記憶是移植的。我生命的結束我之由肺癆中恢復過來全是在為這個目的所建立的世界上模擬出來的。 杜黑仍在微笑。so what?其中有什麼讓你不能成為同情的化身嗎？ 我並不覺得自己是什麼神的一部分。我厲聲地說：我什麼也不記得，什麼也不了解，也不知道下一步該怎麼辦。 艾督華特蒙席用手搭在我的手腕上。我們能確知耶穌基督一向都知道下一步該怎麼辦嗎？他知道該做哪些事，那和知道該怎麼做卻是兩回事呢。 我揉了揉眼睛，我甚至不知道哪些事是該做的。 蒙席的聲音很平靜，我相信保羅的意思是說，如果你說的那個靈物真的藏在我們這個時代裡的話，它很可能也不知道自己的身分。 This is crazy.I said. Du Hei nodded.海柏利昂上面和周遭的事情大部分看來都很瘋狂。瘋狂似乎是越來越普遍了。 我仔細地看著那個耶穌會教士。你倒是那個化身的上佳候選人。我說：你一輩子都在祈禱，研究神學，而且是個了不起的考古學家。何況，你也上過了十字架。 杜黑的微笑消失了。你有沒有聽到我們在講什麼？你有沒有聽到我們話裡那些褻瀆的意思？我不是神格的候選人，席維倫。我背叛了我的教會、我的科學，現在，我的失蹤也背叛了我那些朝聖團的朋友。耶穌基督可能有幾秒鐘的時間喪失了他的信仰，但是卻沒有在市場上為了一點點自我和好奇而出賣他的信仰。 夠了，艾督華特蒙席命令道：如果未來完成的同情化身的身分是謎的話，不妨在你的小小受難記裡相關的人當中去想有哪些人有這種可能吧，席維倫先生。那位總裁，葛萊史東女士，肩負霸聯的重擔。朝聖團的其他成員賽倫諾斯先生，根據你告訴保羅的話來看，就連現在也還為了他的詩而在荊魔神的樹上受苦。拉蜜亞小姐冒了那麼多的危險，失去了那麼多的愛。溫朝博先生，陷入亞伯拉罕的困境還有他的女兒，回歸到孩童的純真。至於領事，他 領事看起來像猶大，不像耶穌基督，我說：他背叛了霸聯和驅逐者雙方。那些人都以為他是為他們工作。 依保羅跟我的觀點，蒙席說：領事很忠於他的決心，忠於對他祖母西麗的記憶。老人微微一笑。何況，在這齣戲裡還有千億個其他演員。上帝沒有選希律王19或彼拉多20或是奧古斯都皇帝21來做祂的工具。祂選了羅馬帝國一處偏遠地方一個無名木匠的兒子。 19希律王（Herod Agrippa）：希律．亞基帕一世（10？BC︱44AD），猶太國王，擁戴羅馬帝國，鎮壓猶太的基督教徒。 20彼拉多（Pontius Piiate）：羅馬猶太巡撫，主持對耶穌的審判，並下令將耶穌釘死在十字架上。 21奧古斯都（Caesar Augustus，63BC︱14AD）：羅帝國第一代皇帝。 好吧，我說著站起身來，在祭壇下方那閃亮的嵌瓷畫前踱來踱去。我們現在怎麼辦呢？杜黑神父，你必須和我去見葛萊史東。她知道你朝聖的事。也許你說的事情可以有助於避免看來迫在眉睫的腥風血雨。 杜黑也站了起來，兩手抱在胸前，望向穹頂，好像上面的黑暗中藏著給他的指令。我想過這件事，他說：可是我不覺得那是我第一件該做的事。我需要到神之谷去和他們相當於教宗的人世界之樹真言者談一談。 我停下腳步，神之谷？那和這一切有什麼關係？ 我認為在這個痛苦的謎語中，聖堂武士可能是某些欠缺要件的關鍵。現在你說海特．瑪斯亭已經死了。也許真言者可以向我們說明他們對這次朝聖原先有什麼計畫以瑪斯亭所說的那些來說，他是七個原始朝聖團成員中唯一沒有說過他為什麼到海柏科昂的人。 我又開始走著，而且加快速度，希望能忍住心中的怒氣。天啊，杜黑。我們沒時間再來查這種無聊的事，現在只剩我看了一下通訊記錄器一個半小時，驅逐者的亂軍就要入侵神之谷星系了。那裡想必亂成了一團。 Maybe.那位耶穌會的教士說：可是我還是想先到那裡去，然後我會去和葛萊史東談。她也許會准我再回海柏利昂去。 我哼了一聲，很懷疑那位總裁大人會讓這樣珍貴的情報來源再去涉險。那我們就走吧。我說著轉身找路出去。 Wait a moment.杜黑說：你剛剛說你有時候即使醒著也能夢到那些朝聖者。那是一種出神的狀態，是嗎？ 有點像那樣。 呃，席維倫先生，請你現在就夢到他們吧。 我吃驚地瞪大了眼睛，在這裡？Now? 杜黑朝他的椅子比了下手勢，勞駕，我希望知道我那些朋友的命運。而且，這些消息也許在我們去見真言者和葛萊史東女士的時候都非常珍貴。 我搖了搖頭，但還是在他讓出來的椅子上坐了下來。也許辦不到，我說。 反正我們也沒什麼損失。Du Hei said. 我點了點頭，閉上眼睛，靠坐在那張並不舒服的椅子上。我始終感覺到另外那兩個人盯著我看，注意到微微的薰香和雨水的氣味，還有我們四周發出回聲的空間。我確定這樣絕不可能有用；我的夢境並不是近到我只要閉上眼睛就能召來。 有人盯著我的感覺漸漸消退，那些氣味逐漸遠去，而空間感放大了一千倍，我回到了海柏利昂。