The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第13部分

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is；　the　machine
cartwheeled　in；　vapourised　the　gunman；　hit　Lyko's　parked　land　speeder；　and　shunted　it　right　into　the　hangar；　which　exploded　a　second
later　in　a　sheet　of　fire　and　metal。
I　limped　along　the　approach　slip；　sidestepping　chunks　of　burning　wreckage；　and　climbed　over　the　smashed；　smouldering　speeders　into
the　hangar。　Impact　klaxons　were　rasping　out；　and　automatic　fire…fighting　sprays　were　still　squirting　out　dribbles　of　retardant　foam。
At　the　back　of　the　hangar；　a　hatch　was　half　open；　next　to　the　cages　of　the　service　and　cargo　elevators。
I　pushed　through　the　hatch。　A　metal　staircase　descended　into　the　factory。　At　the　bottom；　it　opened　out　into　a　companionway　that　ran
the　length　of　the　harvester。　Stunned　work…crews；　most　of　them　twists　in　sap…stained　overalls；　gazed　at　me。
I　produced　my　rosette。
'Imperial　Inquisition。　Where　did　they　go？'
'Who？'
'Where　did　they　go？'　I　snarled；　enforcing　my　will　without　restraint。
The　effect　was　so　powerful；　none　of　them　could　speak；　and　several　passed　out。　All　the　others　pointed　down　the　companionway
towards　the　head　of　the　factory。
Another　hatch；　another　staircase。　The　noise　of　the　internal　threshers　was　now　shudderingly　loud。　I　came　down　into　the　vast　internal
work　line；　a　long　chamber　that　ran　the　length　of　the　harvester。　It　was　a　huge；　deafening　Place；　the　air　thick　with　sap　mist。　A　massive
processing　conveyor　carried　the　harvested　produce　along　from　the　reaping　blades　at　the　harvester's　mouth；　at　a　rate　of　several　tonnes
every　second。　Twist　workers　in　masks　and　aprons　worked　the　front　part　of　the　line　with　chaintools　and　cutting　lances　which　were
attached　to　overhead　power　systems　by　thick　rubber…trunked　hoses。　They　sorted　and　cut　the　larger　sections　of　root　and　stalk　before　the
crop　went　through　the　great　vicing　rollers　and　stamping　presses　into　the　macerating　vats　further　back　down　the　factory。
With　the　alarms　sounding　and　warning　lights　flashing；　the　line　had　come　to　a　halt；　and　the　workers　were　looking　around；　liquid
cellulose　and　sap　dripping　off　their　gauntlets；　overalls　and　work　tools。
I　blundered　through　them；　overseers　shouting　at　me　from　gantry　stations　far　above。　I　could　see　Lyko；　thirty　metres　away　down　the　line；
pushing　through　with　one　last　gunman　and　a　bound；　visored　figure　that　could　only　be　Esarhaddon。
The　gunmen　turned　and　fired　at　me　down　the　length　of　the　line　vault。　Three　workers　crumpled；　one　spilling　over　onto　the　belt。　The
shots　spanged　sparks　off　the　metal　walkways　and　machinery。
As　the　other　workers　dived　for　cover；　I　dropped　to　my　knee　and　reached　for　my　boltgun。　It　wasn't　there。　In　fact；　the　entire　holster　was
ripped　open。　I　wasn't　sure　when　I　lost　it：　during　Cherubael's　assault　or　slamming　off　the　hull　of　the　harvester；　but　it　was　long　gone。
And　my　beloved　power　sword　had　been　disintegrated　on　contact　with　the　daemonhost。
More　shots　whizzed　down　the　work…line　and　dented　the　metal　facings　of　the　belt…drivers。　I　crawled　into　cover　behind　a　drum　of
hydrobac　tool…wash。

I　pulled　my　back…up　weapon　from　the　ankle…holster　built　into　the　side　of　my　boot。　It　was　a　compact；　short…frame　auto　with　a　muzzle　so
short　it　barely　extended　beyond　the　trigger　guard。　The　handgrip　was　actually　longer　than　the　barrel；　and　contained　a　slide…magazine　of
twenty　small…calibre　rounds。
Selecting　single…fire；　I　cracked　off　a　couple　of　shots。　The　aim　was　lousy　and　the　power　poor。　It　really　was　meant　to　be　a　close…range
last　ditch。
The　gunman　down　the　line；　undeterred　by　my　pathetic　display；　switched　over　to　full　auto　and　raked　the　deck　area　and　working　space
beside　the　stationary　belt。　Workers；　all　pressing　themselves　into　cover；　began　to　scream　and　yell。
The　shooting　stopped。　I　dared　a　look　out。　There　was　a　clunk　and　a　whirr　and　the　conveyor　started　moving　again。
The　gunman　was　following　his　departing　master　again。　Lyko　was　almost　out　of　sight；　pushing　his　captive　ahead　of　him。
Why　was　Esarhaddon　a　captive；　I　wondered？　I　still　didn't　understand　the　relationship　between　Lyko；　the　psyker　and　Cherubael。
I　RAN　ON。　The　gunman；　Lyko　and　his　captive　psyker　had　all　disappeared　through　a　bulkhead　door。　To　follow　them；　I'd　have　to　go　in
blind。　And　if　I'd　been　in　Lyko's　place；　I'd　have　used　the　bulkhead　as　a　point　to　turn　and　wait。
My　gut　readings　of　his　actions　had　not　been　wrong　so　far。
I　leapt　up　onto　the　wide　conveyor　belt；　ignoring　the　shouts　of　the　cowering　work　crew；　and　slithered　across　it　through　the　matted；
sticky　crop　load。　The　sap　and　the　moving　belt　made　it　nigh　on　impossible　to　stay　upright。　For　a　moment；　I　thought　I　might　slip　and　be
carried　along　under　the　nearest　roller　press。
I　leapt　off　the　far　side　onto　the　solid　deck；　dripping　with　green　mush　and　vegetal　fluid。　Now　I　was　following　the　work…line　down　the
other　side　of　the　wide　conveyor；　which　divided　the　harvester　centrally。
There　was　a　bulkhead　door　on　this　side；　too。
I　went　through　it；　low。
The　gunman　was　waiting　behind　the　other　door　on　the　far　side　of　the　moving　belt。　He　saw　me；　cursed；　and　turned　with　his　autocannon。
I　was　firing　already。　Even　at　this　shorter　range；　the　pathetic　stopping　power　of　my　auto　was　evident。　His　drum…barrelled　autocannon
was　about　to　roar　out　my　doom。
I　dived　headlong；　thumbing　my　weapon　to　auto　and　ripped　off　the　entire　clip　of　small　slugs　in　a　shrill；　high…pitched　chatter。
What　I　lacked　in　power　I　made　up　for　in　numbers。　I　hit　him　six　or　seven　times　in　the　left　arm　and　collar　and　staggered　him　backwards；
his　bonded　armour　torn　open。　The　heavy　cannon　flew　out　of　his　hands　and　landed　on　the　moving　belt　between　us　to　be　carried　out　of
view。
He　was　far　from　dead；　though　he　was　bleeding　profusely　from　the　multiple　small　calibre　grazes　and　impacts。　He　was　probably
glanding　some　stimm　that　kept　his　edge。
Snarling　a　Necromundan　oath；　he　drew　a　military…issue　las…pistol　from　his　webbing；　and　climbed　up　on　the　work…line　foot　rail　on　his
side　of　the　rolling　belt　to　get　a　better　angle　at　me。　I　threw　the　empty　gun　at　him　and　made　him　duck；　and　then　grabbed　one　of　the　hosesuspended
work　lances　hanging　by　the　line…edge。
He　got　off　a　shot　that　barely　missed　my　shoulder。　I　swung　the　lance　at　him；　the　chain…blade　tip　chittering；　reaching　out　across　the　belt。
But　it　was　hard　to　manipulate　it　with　one　wrist　smashed。
So　I　turned　the　swing　into　a　throw　and　launched　the　long　tool　like　a　harpoon。
The　chain…tip　impaled　him　and　he　died　still　screaming　and　trying　to　drag　the　industrial　cutter　from　his　chest。　As　he　went　limp；　the
tension　in　the　rubberised　power…hose　pulled　the　lance　back　towards　its　rest　hook　on　my　side　of　the　line；　dragging　the　body　onto　the
conveyor。　The　belt　carried　it　along　as　far　as　the　hose　would　allow；　and　then　it　stuck　fast；　the　belt　moving　under　it。
Piles　of　wet　plant　fibre　began　damming　up　against　it　and　spilling　over　onto　the　floor。
Eisenhorn；　a　voice　said　in　my　mind。
I　wheeled　round　and　saw　Lyko　standing　on　a　grilled　gantry　that　formed　a　walk…bridge　over　the　belt。　The　plasma　gun　he　had　used　to
burn　the　fake　Esarhaddon　was　aimed　at　me。　I　could　see　the　battered　psyker；　his　head　still　masked　and　visored；　lashed　to　a　wall…pipe　on
the　far　side　of　the　line。
You　should　have　left　well　alone；　Eisenhorn。　You　should　never　have　come　after　me。
I'm　doing　my　job；　you　bastard。　What　were　you　doing？
What　had　to　be　done。　What　needs　to　be　done。
He　came　down　the　walk…bridge　and　stepped　towards　me。　There　was　a　hunted；　terrified　look　in　his　face。
And　what　needs　to　be　done？
Silence。
Why；　Lyko？　The　atrocity　on　Thracian…　how　could　you　have　allowed　that？　Been　part　of　it？
I…　I　didn't　know！　I　didn't　know　what　they　were　going　to　do。
Who？
He　squashed　my　cheek　with　the　muzzle　of　his　potent　weapon。
'No　more；'　he　said；　speaking　for　the　first　time。
'If　you're　going　to　kill　me；　just　do　it。　I'm　surprised　you　haven't　already。'
'I　need　to　know　something　first。　Who　knows？　Who　knows　what　you　know？'
'About　you　and　your　little　pact　with　the　daemonscum？　About　your　theft　of　an　alpha…plus　class　psyker？　That　you　stood　by　while
millions　died　on　Thracian？　Hah！'　Everyone。　I　added　the　answer　psychically　for　emphasis。　Everyone。　I　informed　Rorken　and　Orsini
himself　before　I　left　on　your　trail

'No！　There　would　have　been　more　than　just　you　after　me…'
'There　is。'
'You're　lying！　You're　alone…'
You're　doomed。
He　stormed　his　mind　into　mine；　frantic　to　tear　the　truth　out　of　me。　I　think　he　was　truly　realising　how　far　into　damnation　he　had　cast
himself。
I　blocked　his　feverish　mind…assault；　and　countered；　driving　an　augur　of　psychic　rage　into　his　hind　brain。　It　was　in　there。　I　could　feel　it。
His　true　master。　The　face；　the　name…
He　realised　what　I　was　doing；　realised　that　I　outclassed　him　psychically。　He　tried　to　shoot　me　with　his　plasma　gun；　but　by　then　I　had
shut　down　his　nervous　system　and　blocked　all　autonomous　function。　I　scoured　his　mind。　He　was　frozen；　helpless；　unable　to　stop　me
ransacking　his　memory；　despite　the　blocks　and　engram　locks　he　had　placed　there。　Or　someone　had。
There。　There。　The　answer。
He　uttered　an　agonised；　oddly　modulated　scream。
Lyko　tumbled　away　from　me。
Cherubael　hovered　above　us；　high　in　the　roof　space　of　the　factory　chamber；　casting　a　glow　of　filthy　warp…light。
Choking；　twitching；　his　limbs　limp；　Lyko　was　rising　up　towards　him。　Smoke　was　coming　out　of　his　mouth　and　nostrils。
'Now；　now；　Gregor；'　Cherubael　said。　'Nice　try；　but　there　are　some　secrets　that　must　remain。'
With　a　nod　of　his　head；　he　tossed　Lyko　aside。　The　traitor…inquisitor　flew　down　to　the　front　of　the　factory　space；　bounced　hard　off　the
inner　hull　and　then　fell　down　into　the　churning　reaper　blades　in　the　factory　harvester's　maw。
His　body　was　utterly　disintegrated。
Cherubael　hovered　lower；　grabbed　the　comatose；　bound　form　of　Esarhaddon　like　a　child　picking　up　a　doll。
'I　won't　forget　what　you　did；'　said　the　daemonhost；　looking　back　at　me　one　last　time。　'You'll　have　to　make　it　up　to　me。'
Then　he　was　gone；　and　Esarhaddon。was　gone　with　him。
TWELVE
AT　CADIA；　BY　TERCE。
THE　PYLONS。
TALKING　WITH　NEVE。
A　BITTER　AUTUMN　wind　was　coming　down　off　the　moors；　and　the　turning　ribbon…leaves　of　the　axeltrees　were　beginning　to　fall。　They
fluttered　past　me　like　dry　strands　of　black　kelp；　and　collected　in　slowly　decomposing　drifts　on　the　windward　side　of　the　graves　and　the
low　stone　walls。
Above；　the　overcast　sky　was　full　of　racing　brown　clouds。
I　followed　the　old；　overgrown　path　up　the　wooded　slope；　under　the　hissing　axeltrees；　and　stood　for　a　while　alone；　looking　down　at　the
wide　grave　field　and　the　little　shrine　tower　that　watched　over　it。　There　was　no　sign　of　life；　and；　apart　from　the　wind；　no　movement。
Even　the　air…shay　that　had　brought　me　here　from　the　landing　fields　at　Kasr　Tyrok　had　departed。　I　almost　missed　the　driver's　grumbles
that　the　place　was　so　far　out　of　town。
Far　away；　almost　out　of　sight　beyond　the　glowering　moors；　I　saw　the　nearest　of　the　famed；　mysterious　pylons；　an　angular　silhouette。
Even　from　this　distance；　I　could　hear　the　strange；　moaning　note　the　wind　made　as　it　blew　through　the　pylons'　geometries；　geometries
that　thousands　of　years　of　human　scholarship　had　failed　to　explain。
This　was　my　first　time　on　the　world　they　called　the　Gatehouse　of　the　Imperium。　So　far；　it　was　not　endearing　itself　to　me。
'So；　Thorn…　you　were　none　too　sharp；　were　you？'
I　turned　slowly。　He　had　arrived　behind　me；　as　silent　as　the　void　itself。
'Well？'　he　asked。　'What　time　do　you　call　this？'
'I　consider　myself　suitably　chastened；'　I　said。
He　was　impassive；　then　the　scar　under　his　milky　eye　twitched　and　he　smiled。　'Welcome　to　Cadia；　Eisenhorn；'　said　Fischig。
ASIDE　FROM　AEMOS；　Godwyn　Fischig　was　my　longest　serving　companion；　though　he　and　Bequin　often　disputed　that　record。　I'd　met
them　both　on　Hubris；　during　my　hunt　for　the　Chaos…broker　Eyclone；　which　led　in　turn　to　the　whole　bloody　affair　of　the　Necroteuch。
I'd　actually　encountered　Fischig　first。　He'd　then　been　a　chastener　in　the　local　arbites；　ordered　to　keep　a　watch　on　me。　He　became　my
ally　through　circumstance。　Bequin　had　crossed　my　path；　if　my　memory　serves；　about　a　day　later；　but　I　had　co…opted　her　almost　directly
into　my　service；　while　Fischig　had　remained；　technically；　a　serving　arbites　officer　for　some　considerable　time　before　resigning　to　join
me。
ed　the　prize；　and　why　they　sometimes　fell　to　disputing　it　when　the　hour　was　late　and　the　amasec
unstoppered。

His　was　a　big　man；　of　my　own　age；　his　cropped　blond　hair　now　turning　silver。　But　he　was　as　robust　as　ever；　clad　in　a　coat　of　black　fur；
a　mail　sur…coat　and　steel…fronted　boots。
He　shook　my　hand。
'I　was　beginning　to　think　you　wouldn't　make　it。'
'I　was　beginning　to　think　so　too。'
He　cocked　his　head　slightly。　'Trouble？'
'Like　you　wouldn't　believe。　Let's　walk　and　I'll　tell　you。'
WE　WANDERED　BACK　down　the　tree…shrouded　path　together。　He　knew　something　of　the　atrocity　on　Thracian；　which　was　by　then　some
seven　mondis　past；　but　he　had　no　idea　I　had　been　caught　up　in　it。
When　I　told　him　the　details；　especially　about　Ravenor；　his　face　darkened。
He　had　admired　Gideon　…　frankly；　it　had　been　difficult　not　to　admire　Gideon　…　and　I　sometimes　felt　that　Gideon　was　the　man　Fischig
would　have　liked　to　have　been。
Fischig's　great　strength　was　his　self…knowledge。　He　understood　his　own　limitations。　His　strengths　were　loyalty；　physical　power；　fine
combat　skills；　observation　and　a　nose　for　detail。　He　was　not　quick　witted；　and　his　abhorrence　of　book…learning　meant　that　even　the
rank　of　interrogator　was　beyond　him。　Though　he　would　have　loved　to　rise　formally　through　the　ranks　of　the　Inquisition；　he　had　never
tried；　contenting　himself　with　becoming　one　of　the　fundamental　components　of　my　staff。
To　try；　he　knew；　would　have　meant　failure。　And　Godwyn　Fischig　hated　to　fail。
WE　CROSSED　THE　narrow　funeral　lane　and　went　into　the　grave　field　by　the　old　lychgate　in　the　low　wall。　I　told　him　about　Lyko；　and
Esarhaddon。　I　told　him　of　the　warnings　from　Endor　and　Lord　Rorken。　I　told　him　about　the　bloody；　inconclusive　mess　on　Eechan。　I　told
him　about　Cherubael。
'I　would　have　come　as　soon　as　I　received　your　message。　But　Rorken　practically　forbade　me。　And　then；　as　you　have　heard；　matters　got
out　of　hand。'
He　nodded。　'Don't　worry；　I'm　a　patient　man。'
We　stood　for　a　moment　in　the　middle　of　the　vast　field　of　graves。　Several　shivering　priests　in　ragged　black　robes　were　wandering
through　the　lines　of　crumbling　gravestones；　pausing　to　study　each　one。
'What　are　they　doing？'
'Reading　the　names；'　he　said。
'What　for？'
'To　see　if　they　can　be　read。'
'Okay…　why？'
'As　you　might　imagine；　a　martial　world　like　this　produces　many　dead。　Long　ago；　an　edict　was　made　by　the　planetary　government　that
only　certain　fields　of　land　could　ever　be　used　for　burial。　So　cemetery　space　is　at　an　optimum。　Hence；　the　Law　of　Decipherability。'
'Which　is？'
'The　law　states　that　once　the　eroding　hands　of　time　and　the　elements　have　made　the　last　names　on　a　field's　gravestones　illegible；　the
anonymous　dead　may　be　exhumed；　the　bones　buried　in　a　pit；　and　the　field　reused。'
'So　they　tend　the　field　for　years　until　the　names　can　no　longer　be　read？'
He　shrugged。　'It's　their　way。　Once　the　names　have　vanished；　so　has　the　memory；　and　so　has　any　need　for　honour。　The　time's　coming
for　this　place。　Another　year　or　two；　they　tell　me。'
That　struck　me　as　infinitely　melancholic。　Cadia　was　a　warrior…world；　standing　guard　in　the　one　navigable　approach　to　the　warp…tumult
of　the　infamous　Eye　of　Terror。　The　region；　known　as　the　Cadian　Gate；　is　the　route　of　choice　for　invasions　of　Chaos；　and　Cadia　is　seen
by　most　as　the　Imperium's　first　line　of　defence。　It　has　bred　elite　troops　since　it　was　first　colonised；　and　billions　of　its　sons　and
daughters　have　died　bravely　protecting　our　culture。
Died　bravely…　then　left　to　slowly　vanish　in　the　desolate　fields　of　their　home　world。
It　was　dismal；　but　probably　entirely　in　keeping　with　the　stoic　martial　mindset　of　the　Cadians。
FISCHIG　PUSHED　OPEN　the　heavy　axelwood　door　of　the　shrine　tower　and　we　went　inside　out　of　the　wind。
The　tower　was　a　single　chamber；　a　drum　of　stone；　with　weep…hole　window　slits　high　up　near　the　summit。　A　circle　of　rough　wooden
pews　was　arranged　around　a　central　altarpiece；　above　which　a　massive　iron　candelabra　in　the　form　of　a　double…headed　eagle　was
suspended　on　a　chain　from　the　beamed　roof。
On　this　dark　autumn　day；　the　light　from　the　votive　candles　fixed　amongst　the　metal　feathers　of　the　aquila's　unfurled　wings　was　the
only　illumination。　There　was　a　spare；　thin；　golden　light；　an　atmosphere　of　frugality　and　numinous　grace。　And　a　musty　stink　of　rotting
axel　leaves。

WE　SAT　TOGETHER　on　a　pew；　both　of　us　briefly　honouring　the　altar　with　the　sign　of　the　aquila；　our　hands　splayed　together　against　our
hearts。
'It's　strange；'　sighed　Fischig　after　a　long　pause。　'You　sent　me　out；　over　a　year　ago；　on　yet　another　quest　for　signs　of　that　daemonspawn
Cherubael。　And　just　when　I　find　a　trace；　you　run　into　him　again；　on　the　other　side　of　the　damn　sector。'
'Strange　is　possibly　not　the　word　I'd　use。'

'But　the　coincidence。　Is　it　coincidence？'
'I　don't　know。　It　seems　so　much　like　it。　But…　that　thing…　Cherubael…　disarms　me　so。'
'Naturally；　old　friend。'
I　shook　my　head。　'Not　because　of　his　power。　Not　that。'
'Then　what？'
'The　way　he　speaks　to　me。　The　way　he　says　he's　using　me。'
'Daemon　guile！'
'Perhaps。　But　he　knows　so　much。　He　knows…　ah；　damn　it！　He　speaks　as　if　our　destinies　are　irrevocably　entwined。　Like　he　matters　to
me　and　vice　versa。'
'He　does　matter　to　you。'
'I　know；　I　know。　As　my　goal。　My　prey。　My　nemesis。　But　he　talks　like　it's　more　than　that。　Like　he　can　see　the　future；　or　can　read　it；　or
has　even　been　there。　He　talks　to　me　like…　he　knows　what　I'm　going　to　do。'
Fischig　frowned。　'And…　what　do　you　think　that　might　be？'
I　rose　and　stalked　to　the　altar。　'I　have　no　idea！　I　can't　conceive　of　doing　anything　that　would　please　or　benefit　a　daemon！　I　can't　ever
imagine　myself　that　insane！'
'Trust　me；　Eisenhorn；　if　I　ever　thought　you　were；　I'd　shoot　you　myself。'
I　glanced　back　at　him。　'Please　do。'
I　halted　and　looked　up　into　the　flickering　flames　of　the　candles；　seeing　the　many　shadows　and　possible　shadows　of　myself　they　cast；
interlapping　and　criss…crossing　the　stone　floor。　Like　the　myriad　possibilities　of　the　future。　I　tried　not　to　look　into　the　thicker；　blacker
shadows。
'The　warp…spawned　bastard's　just　playing　games　with　you；'　said　Fischig。　'That's　all　it　is。　Games　to　put　you　off　the　scent　and　keep　you　at
bay。'
'If　that's　the　case；　why　does　he　keep　saving　my　life？'
WE　WENT　BACK　out　into　the　moorland　wind。　The　moaning　of　the　pylon　seemed　louder　to　me　now。
'Who's　with　you？'　Fischig　asked。
'Aemos；　Bequin；　Nayl；　Medea；　Husmaan…　and　a　lad　you've　not　met；　Inshabel。　We　came　here　directly　from　Eechan。'
'Long　ride？'
'Best　part　of　six　months。　We　got　as　far　as　Mordia　on　a　free　trader　called　the　Best　of　Eagles；　and　then　came　the　rest　of　the　way　as　guests
of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。　The　super…heavy　barge　Mons　Olympus；　no　less；　carrying　virgin　Titans　to　the　garrisons　of　the　Cadian
Gate。'
'Quite　an　honour。'
'The　inquisitor's　rosette　carries　its　benefits。　But　I　tell　you；　the　tech…priests　of　Mars　are　damned　surly　company　for　a　two　month　voyage。
I　would　have　gone　mad　but　for　Bequin's　regicide　tournaments。'
'Nayl　getting　any　better？'
'No。　I　think　by　now　he　owes　me…　what　is　it？　Hmm。　His　first　born　and　his　soul。'
Fischig　laughed。
'Oh；　it　wasn't　all　so　bad。　There　was　one