uplift4.brightnessreef-第107部分

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arby　forest。　Heat　flared　between　Dwer's　legs　as　he　yanked　two　of　the　sensor…heads；　using　them　as　hand…holds　to　swarm　desperately　up　the　machine's　flank；　away　from　the　deadly　ball。　Pain　erupted　along　one　thigh　the　split　instant　before　he　hauled　his　torso　atop　the　gyrating　machine。　He　clutched　the　bucking　thing　with　his　left　hand　while　his　right　brought　forth　the　slender　tube。
　　The　world　was　a　blur　of　trees　and　clouds　and　whirling　sky。　More　explosions　pealed；　acpanied　by　horrible　sizzling　sounds。　Desperately；　Dwer　shoved　the　tube　at　the　robot's　central　spindle　and　squeezed。
　　Traeki　enzymes　bined　and　emerged　in　an　acrid；　fizzing　stream；　vanishing　down　openings　at　the　spindle's　base。　Dwer　kept　squirting　despite　the　robot's　wild　pirouettes；　until　his　aim　was　spoiled　by　Rety；　shoving　his　arm　away。　Only　then　did　Dwer　note　her　screams　amid　the　general　tumult。　When　her　teeth　clamped　on　his　wrist；　Dwer's　own　howl　joined　in。　The　half…empty　tube　escaped　his　convulsing　hand；　tumbling　away。
　　Purple　steam　rose　from　the　robot's　center。　The　spindle　began　to　slump。　Dwer　shook　Rety　off　and　with　a　reckless　cry　threw　himself　on　the　drooping　antenna；　taking　it　in　both　hands；　heaving　with　all　his　might。　He　shouted　an　ululation　of　triumph　when　the　whole　thing　tore　free　at　the　base；　though　it　left　him　rolling　across　the　flat　surface；　clutching　futilely　for　a　hold。
　　Flailing；　he　tumbled　off　the　edge；　falling　toward　the　meadow　floor。
　　Dwer　never　worried；　during　that　brief　interval；　about　striking　some　rock　or　jagged　tree　stump。　The　machine　would　likely　dice　him　to　bits　before　he　ever　hit　the　ground。
　　But　he　was　not　sliced。　Nor　did　he　strike　the　rough　meadow。　Blinking　in　surprise；　he　found　that　a　pair　of　arms　had　caught　him！
　　Relief　was　tempered　when　he　saw　the　arms　belonged　to　the　robot。
　　Oh；　great。　Out　of　the　frying　pan　and　into　the…
　　There　came　another　series　of　detonations；　and　the　hovering　machine　rocked　as　if　slammed　along　one　side。　Hanging　below　the　octagonal　body；　Dwer　saw　part　of　the　globe　underneath　explode　in　a　spray　of　steel　and　glass。　The　weapons…ball　was　already　a　smoking　ruin。　Not　a　single　lens　or　tube　appeared　intact。
　　Great　work；　Lena；　Dwer　thought；　proud　of　how　well　she　used　the　terrible　devices　that　only　she　and　a　few　others　on　the　Slope　were　trained　to　use。　Firearms　that　did　not　use　a　bit　of　metal。　He　turned　his　head　in　time　to　see　more　brief　flares　as　Lena　or　Danel　fired　again　from　the　forest　edge。　The　machine　rocked　as　another　exploding　shell　impacted。　This　time　one　of　the　dangling　tentacles　holding　Dwer　shuddered　and　went　limp。
　　That　was　definitely　Lena's　work。　What　a　clever　girl；　he　thought；　half…dazed　from　pain。　The　sages　chose　well。　I　would've　been　a　lucky　boy；　if　things　had　gone　according　to…
　　He　got　no　chance　to　finish　the　thought；　as　the　robot　whirled　around　to　flee；　zigzagging　across　the　meadow；　using　his　body　as　a　shield　between　it　and　danger。　Dwer　saw　Lena　rise　and　take　aim　with　her　launcher；　then　lower　it；　shaking　her　head。
　　〃No！　Shoot；　dammit！〃　he　screamed。　〃Don't　worry　about　me！〃
　　But　the　rushing　wind　of　flight　carried　off　his　words。　Lena　dropped　her　weapon　and　hurried　to　a　figure　lying　on　the　ground　nearby；　slumped　beside　a　second　missile　tube。　She　turned　Danel　Ozawa　over；　revealing　a　red　river　pouring　from　his　chest。
　　The　robot's　next　zigging　turn　spun　that　poignant　scene　away。　Now　Dwer　spied　terrified　villagers　cowering　beyond　a　low　hill　of　garbage　near　the　prisoners'　pen。　So　dismayed　were　they　by　the　battle　that　they　seemed　unaware　of　the　group　now　circling　around　behind　them…Jenin　Worley　and　a　dozen　newly　released　urs。　The　former　captives　held　ropes　and　arbalests。　Dwer　prayed　this　part　of　Danel's　plan　would　turn　out　all　right。
　　〃All　or　nothing；〃　Ozawa　had　said。　〃Either　we　live　together　as　civilized　beings；　or　let's　end　it。　End　it　now…bringing　as　much　harm　to　our　enemy　as　we　can。〃
　　Dwer　had　time　for　one　benedictory　thought；　as　Rety's　cousins　grew　aware　of　the　reversal　taking　place　behind　their　backs。
　　Learn　to　be　wise。。。
　　Then　the　village　vanished　as　the　fleeing　machine　streaked　around　a　bend；　whipped　through　a　forest　aisle；　and　plunged　almost　straight　downhill；　accelerating。
　　Rety　was　still　shrieking　from　her　perch；　wailing　for　it　to　stop。　From　Dwer's　point　of　view；　dangling　underneath；　the　ground　seemed　to　sweep　by　in　a　blur。　Fighting　the　buffeting　wind；　he　brought　up　both　arms　to　grab　the　base　of　the　tendril　wrapped　around　his　torso；　holding　him　horizontal　to　the　rushing　terrain。　If　he　tore　it　loose；　the　fall　might　kill　him；　but　anything　would　be　better　than　this　torment。
　　He　tugged　with　all　his　might；　but　the　tentacle　would　not　budge。　It　flexed　occasionally；　yanking　him　up　in　time　to　miss　being　smashed　against　some　boulder　or　shrub。　Soon　they　were　swooping　beside　the　canyon's　central　stream；　an　obstacle　course　of　sudden　turns　and　bitter；　stinging　spray。　Disorientation　forced　Dwer　to　close　his　eyes；　moaning。
　　Faintness　took　hold；　threatening　to　haul　him　the　rest　of　the　way　to　unconsciousness。
　　e　on；　he　chided。　Now's　not　the　time　to　give　up。　If　you　can't　escape；　at　least　check　and　see　if　you're　bleeding　to　death！
　　Pain　helped　him　concentrate；　ignoring　the　looming　vertigo。　It　came　in　a　nagging　medley；　from　a　searing　ache　in　his　left　thigh；　to　Rety's　teeth…marks　that　still　oozed　blood　from　his　right　hand；　to　the　chafing　rub　of　the　robot's　arm；　all　the　way　to　a　series　of　awful；　biting　scratches　that　clawed　into　his　hip；　then　his　abdomen；　and　finally　his　chest…as　if　someone　were　stabbing　him　with　clusters　of　sharp　needles；　working　their　way　up　along　his　battered　body。
　　He　opened　his　eyes…and　shrieked　at　the　sight　of　a　gaping　mouth；　filled　with　horrible；　glistening　fangs！
　　〃Oh；　Ifni。。。〃　he　moaned。　〃Oh；　God　oh　God　oh　God。。。〃
　　Even　when　he　knew　the　truth　about　the　specter　that　loomed　inches　from　his　face；　it　didn't　help　much。　At　this　point；　and　for　a　while　longer；　all　Dwer　could　manage　was　a　frail；　thready　whimper。
　　Mudfoot；　the　noor；　yawned　a　second　time；　then　settled　into　the　narrow　space　between　Dwer's　chest　and　the　robot's　hard　shell。　The　beast　watched　the　boy…jibbering　from　one　shock　over　his　limit。　With　a　sigh　of　affectionate　scorn；　it　started　chuttering；　less　to　fort　Dwer　than　for　its　own　simple　pleasure；　making　a　sound　somewhat　like　that　of　a　hoon　sailor；　umbling　a　song　about　the　joys　of　travel。
　　
　　Asx
　　IF　THE　MONS　SURVIVES…IF　WE　SIX　ENDURE　into　times　to　e…no　doubt　it　will　be　called　the　Battle　of　the　Glade。
　　It　was　brief；　bloody；　and　tactically　decisive；　was　it　not；　my　rings？
　　And　strategically　futile。　An　interval　of　flame　and　terror　that　made　my/our　manicolored　bands　so　very　glad/sorrowful　that　we　are　traeki。
　　Sorrowful　because　these　stacks　of　rings　seemed　so　useless；　so　helpless　to　match　the　frantic　pace　of　other　beings　whose　antic　warlike　fury　drives　them　so　quickly　in　a　crisis。　With　such　speed　that　waxy　imprints　cannot　form　within　our　core；　except　duras　behind　actual　events。
　　Sorrowful　that　we　could　not　help；　except　to　serve　as　chroniclers…after…the…fact；　bearing　testimony　to　what　already　took　place。
　　And　yet　we　are　also　glad；　are　we　not；　my　rings？　Glad　because　the　full　impact　of　violence　never　quite　fills　our　central　cavity　with　a　searing　steam　of　dread。　Not　until　the　action　is　already　over；　leaving　the　dead　like　smoky　embers；　scattered　on　the　ground。　That　is　a　blessing；　is　it　not；　my　rings？　To　us；　horror　is　seldom　an　〃experience；〃　only　a　memory。
　　It　was　not　always　so。　Not　for　the　beings　we　once　were；　when　our　kind　roamed　the　stars　and　were　a　terror　on　the　Five　Galaxies。　In　those　days；　creatures　like　us　wore　bright　shining　rings。　Not　only　the　ones　given　to　us　by　our　patrons；　the　Poa；　but　special　collars；　donated　by　the　meddlesome　Oailie。
　　Rings　of　power。　Rings　of　rapid　decisiveness　and　monumental　ego。　Had　we　possessed　such　rings　but　moments　ago；　they　might　have　spurred　us　to　move　swiftly；　in　time　to　help　our　friends　during　the　struggle。
　　But　then；　if　the　old　tales　are　true；　those　same　rings　might　have　kept　us　from　having　friends　in　the　first　place。
　　Stroke　the　wax。　Trace　the　images；　frozen　in　fatty　drippings。
　　Images　of　atrocity　and　dread。
　　There　lies　Bloor；　the　portraitist；　a　smoldering　ruin；　draped　over　his　precious　camera。
　　Nearby；　can　we　trace　the　slithering　path　of　a　dying　creature？　A　symbiont　crawling　off　the　face　and　brow　of　the　dead　Rothen　named　Ro…pol？　Revealing　in　its　wake　a　sharp；　angular　visage；　humanoid；　but　much　less　so　than　we　had　thought。　Less　charismatic。　Less　winsomely　womanlike　than　we　were　led　to　believe。
　　If　Bloor　died　for　seeing　this；　are　all　eyes　now　accursed？
　　There；　screams　Ro…kenn；　ordering　Rann；　the　star…human　servant；　to　call　back　the　fierce　sky…car　from　its　distant　errand；　even　if　it　means　〃breaking〃　something　called　〃radio　silence。〃
　　There；　screams　Ro…kenn　once　more；　ordering　his　slave…demons；　his　robots；　aloft　to…〃clear　all　of　these　away。〃
　　Meaning　us。　All　witnesses　to　this　abrupt　revelation。　All　who　know　the　secret　of　Bloor's　Bane。
　　Up；　up　rise　the　awful　instrumentalities；　meting　out　slashing　doom。　From　their　bellies　lash　spears　of　cold　flame；　slicing　through　the　stunned　host；　turning　it　into　a　roili