18_the_end_of_the_circle-第4部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！



〃How　long　before　you　can　return　power　to　the　drives？〃　Rick　demanded。

It　was　to　be　the　REF's　final　battle；　he　thought；　the　one　that　was　to　decide　their　fate；　return　to　them　their　homeworld　or　send　them　back　to　Tirol；　an　irradiated　Earth　in　their　wake。

Lang　launched　his　patented　maniacal　laugh　through　the　earpiece。　〃Perhaps　you　should　abandon　your　post　for　a　moment　and　e　below；　Admiral。　There's　something　I'd　like　you　to　see。〃

〃I　don't　have　time　for　this；　Lang；〃　Rick　told　him。　〃Just　tell　me　where　we　are。〃　He　heard　the　urgency　in　his　voice　and　noted　that　his　adjutant　was　fixing　him　with　a　concerned　look。

Lang's　laugh　trailed　off　as　he　cleared　his　throat。　〃You　may　not　like　the　answer；　Admiral。　〃

Rick's　hold　on　the　phone　became　viselike。　〃You　let　me　lie　the　judge　of　that。〃

Lang　was　quiet　a　moment；　then　said：　〃Nowhere。〃


In　whispered　voices　behind　cupped　hands　it　was　often　suggested　that　Dr。　Emil　Lang　ran　the　ship。　Not　that　he　had　much　to　do　with　mand　decisions　or　actual　hands…on　astrogation；　but　that　he　ran　the　ship　in　the　sense　of　driving　the　ship；　fueling　it。　Word　was　passed　in　those　same　engineering　huddles　that　the　Reflex　furnaces　and　Protoculture　drives　were　nothing　but　pretense…mock…ups　constructed　to　put　the　uninitiated　at　ease…when　in　fact　Lang　himself　was　the　drives。　Lang　folded　space；　Lang　jumped　the　fortress　from　realm　to　realm。

Lang　was　aware　of　all　the　rumors　but　did　little　to　discourage　them。　Myths　concerning　his　powers　and　prowess　had　been　in　the　making　since　the　first　day　he　had　set　foot　inside　the　grounded　SDF…1。　No　one　had　seen　him　take　the　Protoculture　mindboost　that　had　altered　the　direction　of　his　life；　but　they　had　read　the　change　in　his　reshaped　eyes。　And　had　his　eyes　not　betrayed　him；　even　had　he　not　taken　the　boost；　they　would　have　invented　it　for　the　myth；　witnessed　that　he　alone　among　Earthers　was　destined　to　see　deeper　and　clearer　than　the　rest；　that　the　Protoculture　had　a　natural　affinity　for　him。

But　that　was　just　the　sort　of　thinking　that　pointed　out　how　great　a　distance　he　had　yet　to　travel。　The　ship's　drive；　he　sniggered　to　himself。　Hardly。　The　ship's　driven；　perhaps；　the　SDF…3's　preconscious　libidinal　urge　。。。

Lang　lifted　his　eyes　to　regard　the　displays　once　more。　On　screen　were　remote　views　into　the　heart　of　the　fortress's　power　plant；　safely　rendered　for　a　mortal's　eyes；　for　one　did　not　look　long　into　the　naked　eye　of　God　and　live　to　describe　it。　But　there　was　a　burning　bush　now；　no　ten　thousand　stars　or　golden　heavens；　simply　the　absence　of　those　things。　What　Lang　saw　instead　was　a　reflection　of　his　own　pride；　the　hubris　that　had　dominated　him　for　the　past　five　years。　He　and　Cabell　and　the　Zor…clone；　Rem；　harvesting　the　Flower　of　Life　from　Optera's　regrown　fields；　coaxing　the　secret　of　the　Shapings　from　its　trifoliate　core；　creating　a　matrix　of　their　own　design。　And　now　this。

Lang　saw　his　face　in　the　display　screen　and　laughed　out　loud。　The　Shapings　were　teaching　him　a　lesson。

He　was　still　laughing　when　Rick　Hunter　rushed　in；　threading　his　way　through　the　chaos；　techs　and　their　bewildered　assistants　moving　frantically　from　station　to　station。

〃What'd　you　get　me　down　here　for；　Lang？〃　Rick　barked；　pacing　behind　Lang's　chair　and　glaring　down　at　him。

Lang's　upturned　look　was　unreadable　as　he　indicated　the　displays。　His　humanity　as　well　as　his　age　seemed　to　have　been　arrested　by　continual　contact　with　the　Protoculture。

〃See　for　yourself；　Admiral。〃

Rick　spread　his　hands　atop　the　console　and　leaned　toward　an　on…screen　puter…enhanced　translation　of　the　engines'　subatomic　fire。　He　held　the　pose　for　a　moment；　then　glanced　at　Lang　in　annoyance。　〃I　don't　see　anything　wrong；　Doctor。〃

Lang　snorted。　〃No；　of　course　you　wouldn't；　Admiral。〃　Rick　was　used　to　the　condescending　tone。

〃Explain。〃　The　Roboscientist　sighed　and　blanked　the　monitor　with　a　tap　of　a　crooked　forefinger。　〃It　has　vanished；　Admiral…the　Protoculture。　Disappeared。　〃

Rick's　dark　brows　beetled。　He　reached　out　to　reactivate　the　screen；　but　Lang's　powerful　hand　restrained　him。

〃Take　my　word　for　it；　Admiral；　the　Protoculture　has　vanished。〃　It　would　have　been　senseless　to　talk　about　the　shadowy　presence　of　the　black…robed　wraiths　Rem　had　taught　him　to　recognize。　〃Yes；　exactly　as　it　disappeared　from　the　SDF…1；〃　he　added；　discerning　Rick's　thoughts。

〃But　how？〃　Rick　began。　〃Why？〃

〃To　teach　us　a　lesson；　I　think。〃

Rick　shook　his　head。　〃A　lesson？〃　He　swept　his　arm　through　an　all…enpassing　gesture。　〃Listen　to　me；　Lang。　Rheinhardt　and　the　rest　of　the　fleet　are　out　there　waiting　for　us。　Do　you　understand　what　that　means？〃

The　scientist　gave　him　a　pitying　look。　〃I　assure　you；　Admiral；　the　fleet　is　not　out　there。〃

〃Then　where　the　hell　are　we？〃　Rick　said；　at　the　end　of　his　rope。　〃And　don't　tell　me　nowhere。〃

Lang　folded　his　arms　and　met　the　intensity　of　Rick's　gaze。　〃All　right。　It's　possible　that　we're　still　in　hyperspace；　although　there　is　no　evidence　to　support　the　hypothesis。　It's　also　possible　that　we　have　died；　as　some　of　the　ship's　personnel　are　suggesting。　Or　that　we　have　somehow　jumped　to　a　void　in　intergalactic　space；　perhaps　jumped　beyond　the　expansion　wave　of　the　big　bang　itself。〃

Rick　went　wide…eyed。　〃You　mean　we've　jumped　outside　the　galaxy？〃

Lang　shrugged。　〃It's　simply　one　theory　among　many。　A　jump　beyond　time　could　perhaps　explain　how　and　why　the　Protoculture　vanished；　although　our　own　continued　existence　would　seem　to　contraindicate　it。〃

Rick　staggered　backward　into　a　chair　adjacent　to　Lang's。　〃But…but　there　has　to　be　something　out　there。〃

Lang　shook　his　head。　〃Not　according　to　our　instruments。　We　are　nowhere；　Admiral。　Not　even　a　when　that　I　can　determine。　I'm　sorry；　but　there's　no　other　way　to　put　it。〃

Rick　turned　to　face　him。　〃Then　get　us　somewhere；　Doctor。〃

Lang　rubbed　his　chin。　〃What　would　you　have　me　do　fashion　a　world　for　you　out　of　nothingness？〃

Rick　forced　out　his　breath。　〃Yes；　damn　it。　Fashion　us　a　world　if　you　have　to。〃


CHAPTER　FOUR

〃It's　absolutely　true。　Mom　really　did　have　a　took；　a　different　grimace　for　every　occasion。　But　I'll　tell　you　something　I've　never　told　anyone　before：　The　strangest　of　all　Mom's　looks　was　the　one　she　reserved　for　any　mention　of　Scott　Bernard。　Seriously。　For　the　longest　time　I　was　convinced　that　they'd　had　an　affair　or　something。　But　then　one　day　Mom　told　me　about　the　time　he　stopped　by　looking　for　Marlene。　There　was　that　look　again；　the　whole　time　she　told　the　story。　And　I　suddenly　realized　that　I　wasn't　seeing　one　of　those　what…might…have…been　looks　but　one　that　was　saying　what…never…should…have…been。
Maria　Bartley…Rand；　quoted　in　Xandu　Reem's　A　Stranger　at　Home：　A　Biography　of　Scott　Bernard

Scott　breathed　a　sigh　of　relief　as　he　felt　the　craft　settle　down；　rubber　tires　chirping　against　the　tarmac　on　a　smooth　but　long　disused　stretch　of　Southlands　highway。　Mission　priorities　and　the　usual　red　tape　had　made　it　impossible　for　him　to　procure　an　old　VTOL；　much　less　an　Alpha；　so　Scott　was　stuck　with　a　forty…year…old　air　breather；　a　civilian　five…passenger　jet　some　group　in　G4　must　have　liberated　from　a　pre…Wars　museum。　They'd　blown　the　dust　off　the　thing　and　fitted　it　with　new　rubber；　but　the　cockpit　had　seen　far　better　days；　and　the　instruments　were　ancient。　Scott's　biggest　problem　was　refraining　from　trying　to　think　the　aircraft　through　mechamorph　maneuvers。　A　lot　of　good　that　would　have　done；　anyway；　the　thing　wasn't　even　equipped　with　a　neural　interface　thinking　cap！

Priorities　aside；　though；　there　were　good　reasons　for　flying　civilian　and　denying　any　military　affiliation　just　then。　Earth's　surface；　the　Southlands　especially；　had　bee　a　sorry　place　for　soldiers。　With　the　so…called　fall　of　Reflex　Point　and　the　Invid　abandonment　of　their　hives；　Flower　of　Life　orchards；　and　POW　camps；　humankind　was　once　more　on　the　move。　People　were　quite　literally　crawling　out　of　the　holes　they　had　buried　themselves　in　when　the　Invid　had　landed。　Tens　of　thousands；　many　of　whom　had　spent　the　past　year　or　more　in　internment　centers　in　what　had　once　been　called　Canada；　were　migrating　south　from　the　ruined　Northlands；　lured　to　Brazilas　by　rumors　of　massive　reconstruction　efforts　and　the　promise　of　a　United　Earth　Government　rising　from　the　ashes　of　the　Southern　Cross　apparat。　At　the　same　time　thousands　more　had　taken　to　the　cracked　and　rutted　roadways　of　the　thrice…invaded　world　in　search　of　lost　friends　and　loved　ones；　while　others　busied　themselves　by　exacting　vengeance　on　spies；　sympathizers；　and　any　who　had　profited　during　the　occupation。

Soldiers　of　any　army；　private　or　otherwise；　were　often　at　the　receiving　end　of　the　general　wrath　and　blood　lust；　espe璫ially　those　unfortunates　who　had　fancied　themselves　insurgents　or　freedom　fighters。　It　was　an　accepted　fact　that　insurgency　had　done　more　damage　than　good…Invid　reprisals　having　far　outweighed　the　dubious　worth　of　destroying　a　handful　of　Shock　Troopers　or　Pincer　ships…and　that　the　Regis　had　not　really　been　defeated　but　had　willingly　abandoned　the　planet　in　search　of　richer　hunting　grounds。　The　returning　REF　consequently　was　not　looked　upon　as　some　beneficent　force　of　liberators　but　as　yet　another　conquering　army；　a　gang　of　thugs　looking　to　resume　control　after　a　fifteen…year　absence。

Under　the　circumstances；　Scott's　small　jet　was　less　a　product　of　choice　than　of　sheer　necessity。　And　the　same　held　true　for　his　civilian　attire。

Mention　of　the　Invid　sister　simulagents　had　dropped　him　right　back　into　the　lap　of　the　REF's　intel　people　for　two　more　weeks　of　memory　probes　and　debriefings。　Ultimately；　however；　Scott's　inquisitors　had　e　to　accept　that　Marlene's　present　whereabouts　were　unknown　and　that　Scott　himself　stood　the　best　chance　of　finding　her。　That　he　had　agreed　to　do；　under　the　condition　that　he　be　given　an　opportunity　to　undertake　the　search　alone　and　in　his　own　fashion。

G2　had　acquiesced；　figuring　that　it　would　prove　a　simple　matter　to　assign　a　team　of　agents　to　the　colonel；　but　Vince　Grant　had　received　word　of　the　operation　and　vetoed　it　before　a　single　operative　had　been　assigned。　Back　on　the　surface；　meanwhile；　Scott　had　been　quizzing　migrants；　bribing　local　officials；　and　bartering　with　foragers　for　a　line　on　any　one　of　his　six　former　teammates…counting　one　for　Lancer；　and　Marlene　among　them。　He　had　concentrated　on　Rand；　who　months　ago　at　Yellow　Dancer's　final　concert　had　said　something　about　heading　for　the　outskirts　of　Norristown；　where　he　planned　to　write　his　memoirs。

A　downside　week　had　gone　by　before　Scott　locked　onto　what　seemed　a　worthy　lead；　and　that　lead　had　now　brought　him　and　the　toy　jet　to　Xochil；　a　pueblo　not　far　off　the　route　the　team　had　taken　through　Trenchtown；　in　the　heart　of　the　Southlands。

A　tatterdemalion　crowd　of　vacant…eyed　townspeople　and　rough…trade　foragers　was　gathered　around　the　craft　by　the　time　Scott　raised　the　canopy　and　climbed　out。　He　answered　a　few　questions　about　the　state　of　things　on　the　north　coast　in　exchange　for　information　on　Rand　and；　for　five　hundred　New　Scrip　（with　a　promise　of　that　much　again　when　he　returned　from　town）；　enlisted　the　services　of　a　couple　of　locals　sporting　turn…of…the…century　military…issue　projectile　rifles　to　keep　an　eye　on　the　jet。

Twenty　minutes　later　he　was　negotiating　a　narrow　alley　off　Xochil's　earthen　main　street；　zeroing　in　on　the　throaty　revvings　of　what　he　took　to　be　a　fossil…fueled　motorcycle　engine。

Rook　Bartley　was　standing　alongside　the　chopped　machine；　twisting　the　handlebar　throttle　with　her　right　hand　while　her　left　ponytailed　her　long　strawberry…blond　hair。　Seeing　her；　Scott　smiled　genuinely　for　the　first　time　in　weeks。

She　was　dressed　in　mechanic's　coveralls；　back　and　rolled　up　sleeves　emblazoned　with　motorcycle　brand…name　patches。　She　was　also　quite　a　few　pounds　heavier　than　when　they　had　exchanged　good…byes；　her　hands　and　one　cheek　smeared　with　grease　and　grime。　Scott　waited　for　the　bike's　growling　sounds　to　die　down　before　he　called　her　name。

Someone's　metal…rock　rendition　of　〃Look　Up〃　was　blasting　from　stereo　speakers。　The　song　had　bee　something　of　an　anthem　in　the　Southlands；　much　as　Lynn…Minmei's　〃We　Will　Win〃　had　captured　the　spirit　of　the　First　Robotech　War。

Rook　turned；　startled；　and　regarded　him　quizzically　for　a　good　ten　seconds　before　a　smile　split　her　freckled　face。　〃Well；　now　maybe　all　this　exhaust　is　getting　to　me；　but　I'd　swear　that's　Scott　Bernard　standing　in　the　doorway。〃

〃Hello；　Rook；〃　he　told　her　over　the　music　and　the　rumbling　sound　of　the　idling　machine。

She　shook　her　head　in　disbelief；　wiped　her　hands　on　a　scrap　of　towel；　and　sauntered　over　to　embrace　him；　kissing　him　lightly　on　the　mouth　and　then　jabbing　a　fist　into　his　upper　arm。

〃I　thought　you　were　off　looking　for　your　friends；　soldier　boy。　Figured　you'd　be　halfway　to　Tirol　by　now。〃　Rook's　blue　eyes　gave　him　a　quick　once…over。　〃And　look　at　you…what'd　the　REF　boot　you　back　into　real　life　or　something？〃

〃You　look　great；〃　he　said；　beaming。

Rook　took　a　step　back　and　pinched　out　the　coveralls'　pants　legs　as　though　she　were　wearing　a　skirt。　〃You　think　so；　huh？〃

Scott　nodded。　〃Guess　you're　eating　better　now。〃

Rook　laughed。　〃Figures　you'd　notice；　Scott。　Fact　is；　I'm　pregnant。　〃

〃Pregnant？　Jeez；　I　thought　there　was　something　different；　but…〃

〃Six　months；〃　she　said。　〃She's　going　to　be　a　Virgo　if　I've　puted　it　right。　But　then　I　figure　it's　about　time　they　changed　the　signs　of　the　zodiac；　don't　you？〃

〃She？〃　Scott　said。

Rook　smiled　broadly。　〃Call　it　woman's　intuition。　Rand's　skeptical；　but　I've　even　got　her　name　picked　out…Maria。　Maria　Bartley。　What　d'　you　think？〃

Scott　ran　it　through　and　nodded。　〃I　like　the　sound　of　it。　So　this　place　is　yours？〃　he　asked　after　a　pause。　In　the　naked　glare　of　generator　fed　incandescents　sat　a　score　of　partly　restored　bikes。　There　were　perhaps　a　dozen　engines　resting　on　blocks；　spoked　wheels　hanging　from　the　rafters；　rusted　frames　and　spare　parts　piled　in　corners　or　littering　the　top　of　thick　wooden　worktables。　The　air　reeked　of　solvents　and　exhaust　fumes。

〃Will　be　someday；〃　Rook　said；　looking　around。　〃Right　now　I'm　only　helping　out。〃　She　caressed　her　stomach。　〃Gotta　keep　the　family　fed。〃

〃Why　here；　of　all　places？〃

Rook　tugged　at　her　lower　lip。　〃Trenchtown；　mostly。〃　Scott　recalled　something　about　rival　motorcycle　gangs　in　Rook's　past；　the　Blue　Angels　and　the　Red　Snakes。　〃You've　got　family　there；　don't　you？〃

〃Mom　and　a　sister。　Guess　I'm　thinking　about　mending　fences　one　of　these　days。〃

Scott　grinned。　〃What　about　Rand？〃

Rook　screwed　up　her　face。　〃The　Great　mentator；　you　mean？〃　She　jerked　a　thumb　over　her　shoulder。　〃We　found　a　place　a　couple　clicks　west　of　town。　All　he　does　is　write　morning；　noon；　and　night。　Like　there's　going　to　be　an　audience　for　his　book　or　something。〃

〃Have　you　read　any　of　it？〃

〃Yeah；　I　have；〃　she　said；　moving　back　to　the　cycle　she　had　been　working　on。　〃And　it's　actually　not　bad。　'Course　I　have　to　straighten　him　out　on　a　lot　of　the　facts。　To　hear　him　tell　it；　you'd　think　he　won　the　war　single…handed。〃　Rook　was　quiet　for　a　moment。　〃So　what　brings　you　around；　Scott？　I　don't　figure　you　just　happened　to　be　in　the　neighborhood。〃

〃I'm　not；〃　Scott　confessed。　〃I'm　looking　for　Marlene；　Rook。〃

Rook　appraised　him　silently。　〃Talk　about　mending　fences　。。。　That　oughta　be　some　reunion；　partner。　You　plan　on　selling　tickets；