Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第4部分

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will　get　used　to　it　in　time。　For　Larn；　the　pills　the　apothecary　had　given　him　to　help　him　sleep　had
proven　of　little　use。　He　had　not　had　a　decent　night’s　sleep　in　weeks。　While；　no　matter　how　many
pills　he　took；　every　night　he　spent　in　the　warp　seemed　just　as　bad　as　the　first。
“Obviously；　for　reasons　of　secrecy；　there　is　a　limit　to　the　details　I　can　give　you　at　this　stage　as　to
the　specific　operational　aspects　of　our　mission　on　Seltura　VII；”　Lieutenant　Vinters　said。　“What　I　can
tell　you　is　that　we　have　been　sent　to　help　suppress　a　mutiny　among　elements　of　the　local　PDF　and
restore　the　legitimate　government　to　power。　If　Intelligence　is　to　be　believed　we　can　expect　heavy
resistance　on　the　part　of　rebels。　We　are　the　Imperial　Guard；　gentlemen。　We　will　prevail。　Of　course；
we　may　take　it　for　granted　we　are　likely　to　experience　some　hardships　at　first　—　not　least　in　matters
of　acclimatisation　to　local　conditions。”
Acclimatisation；　thought　Larn；　that’s　half　my　problem。　The　warp　sickness　is　bad　enough　but　it
feels　to　me　like　it　should　have　been　lights　out　hours　ago。　Larn　knew　that　in　order　to　acclimatise　their
body　clocks　to　the　thirty…hour　day/night　cycle　of　their　destination　world；　the　light…cycle　in　the　parts
of　the　ship　inhabited　by　his　regiment　had　been　altered　accordingly。　Even　after　weeks　now　of　living
by　the　new　cycle；　Larn　was　still　finding　it　difficult　to　adjust。　He　felt　time…lagged；　in　the　grip　of
constant　fatigue；　as　though　his　body　was　wondering　why　it　was　still　awake。　As　hard　as　the　warp
sickness　was　to　endure；　Larn　found　the　strange　sleep　rhythms　he　was　now　forced　to　live　by　made　his
sleeplessness　infinitely　worse。
“But　as　I　say；　gentlemen；”　Vinters　said；　“we　are　Guardsmen　and　we　will　prevail。　I　know　this　is
to　be　your　first　campaign。　Be　assured；　your　commanders　have　faith　in　you　all　the　same。　Now；　I　think
that　covers　everything。　If　you　have　any　questions　you　may　refer　them　to　your　sergeants。”
With　that；　the　lieutenant　pressed　the　remote　device　once　more；　causing　the　image　on　the　pictdisplay
to　fade　away　to　darkness　as　the　assembled　Guardsmen　rose　and　filed　silently　from　the　room。
Though　as　Larn　walked　away　with　the　others；　he　found　himself　wondering　how　well　Lieutenant
Vinters　really　knew　the　character　of　the　men　under　his　command。
For；　from　among　all　the　men　in　the　company；　who　in　their　right　mind　would　ever　dare　refer　a
question　to　Sergeant　Ferres？
“You　call　yourselves　soldiers？”　Sergeant　Ferres　yelled；　his　voice　echoing　stridently　off　the　bulkhead
walls　of　the　loading　bay。　“I’ve　seen　higher　lifeforms　sticking　to　my　father’s　arse　after　his　ablutions。
Now；　attack　that　blockhouse　like　you　mean　it　or　I’ll　make　the　whole　lot　of　you　sorry　you　ever
crawled　from　your　inbred　mothers’　idiot　wombs！”
Five　hours　had　passed　since　the　briefing。　Five　hours　which　Larn　had　spent　in　one　of　the
troopship’s　loading　bays　with　the　rest　of　his　platoon；　experiencing　the　latest　training　regime　to　issue
from　the　febrile　mind　of　Sergeant　Ferres。　All　around　them　rectangular　shapes　had　been　painted　on
the　metal　floor。　Shapes　representing　the　imaginary　outlines　of　bunkers；　fixed　emplacements；　and
blockhouses；　on　which　the　Guardsmen　were　expected　to　hone　their　skills　in　close　tactical　assault。
Despite　the　hours　spent　already　in　conflict　with　invisible　enemies；　Sergeant　Ferres　seemed　far　from
happy。
“Keep　crouched　as　you　ran；”　the　sergeant　yelled；　running　alongside　Larn　and　his　fireteam　as
they　assaulted　another　non…existent　objective。　“There’s　lasfire　and　shrapnel　whistling　all　around　you。
Keep　crouched　and　stay　in　cover　if　you　don’t　want　to　get　hit。”
To　Larn；　the　whole　thing　seemed　like　madness。　Even　accounting　for　his　normal　fear　of　the
sergeant；　as　they　raced　from　one　imaginary　target　to　another　it　was　all　he　could　do　to　stop　from
bursting　into　laughter。　The　only　thing　that　stopped　him　was　the　expression　on　Ferres’　face。
Whatever　Larn　and　the　others　might　think　of　the　folly　of　spending　five　hours　attacking　the　outlines
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of　imaginary　buildings　full　of　invisible　enemies；　it　was　clear　that　to　Sergeant　Ferres　it　was　no
laughing　matter。
“Faster；”　Ferres　shouted；　his　voice　so　shrill　it　seemed　on　the　verge　of　breaking。　“I　want　you　to
clear　that　blockhouse　room　by　room。　No　quarter　to　the　enemy。　No　survivors。　For　the　Emperor！”
Reaching　the　outer　wall　of　the　blockhouse　Jenks　took　point　while　the　others　covered　him；
kicking　in　an　imaginary　door　in　time　for　Leden　to　throw　an　imaginary　grenade　into　the　room　to　kill
the　imaginary　enemies　inside。
“Halt！”　the　sergeant　screamed；　spittle　spraying　from　his　mouth　with　the　force　of　the　command。
In　an　instant；　Larn　and　the　others　froze　where　they　stood。　Then；　unsure　what　to　do　next；　they
watched　as　Sergeant　Ferres　marched　past　them　towards　the　blockhouse。　Stepping　carefully　into　the
blockhouse　as　though　he　picking　his　way　through　a　splintered　doorway　only　he　could　see；　Ferres
advanced　into　the　centre　of　the　imaginary　room　before　bending　forward　to　wrap　his　fist　around　some
imaginary　object。　Straightening　his　back；　he　turned　and　walked　towards　Leden；　his　fist　held
knuckles　down　in　front　of　him　at　waist　height　as　though　he　was　still　carrying　something　there。
“What　is　this；　Leden？”　the　sergeant　asked；　indicating　the　invisible　object　gripped　in　his　fist。
“I…　I　don’t　know；　sergeant。”　Leden　replied；　jaw　sagging　open　in　confusion。
“This　is　the　grenade　you　just　threw　into　the　blockhouse；　Leden；”　Ferres　said。　“Now；　can　you　tell
me；　what　is　wrong　with　this　grenade？”
“Umm…　I　don’t　know；　sergeant。”　Leden　said；　shrinking　down　into　himself　as　he　answered　as
though　melting　beneath　the　hot　glare　of　Sergeant　Ferres’　eyes。
“What　is　wrong　with　this　grenade　is　that　its　pin　is　still　in　place；　Leden；”　the　sergeant　said。　“And
the　reason　I　know　the　pin　is　still　in　place　is　because　when　you　threw　it；　you　didn’t　remove　it。　Now；
tell　me；　Leden：　what　use　is　a　thrown　grenade　that　still　has　its　pin　in　place？”
“I…　I…　didn’t　think　I　had　to　remove　the　grenade　pin；　sergeant；”　Leden　said；　his　voice　trailing
away　to　nothing　as　he　realised　what　he　was　saying。　“It　is　only　an　imaginary　grenade…”
“Imaginary？　Not　at　all；　Leden。　I　assure　you；　this　grenade　is　quite　solid。　Here；　let　me　show　you；”
the　sergeant　said；　suddenly　balling　his　hand　into　a　fist　and　punching　Leden　in　the　stomach。　The　air
exploding　from　his　mouth；　Leden　fell　to　his　knees。　Then；　Ferres　turned　to　face　the　others。
“There；”　he　said；　holding　the　imaginary　grenade　up　in　the　air　for　them　all　to　see　it；　“You　see　I
was　right　—　this　grenade　is　just　as　solid　as　my　fist。　As　solid　as　the　door　of　this　blockhouse；　the　walls
of　the　emplacement；　even　the　plasteel　of　that　bunker。　The　next　man　who　dares　even　to　suggests　to
me　that　these　things　are　not　real　and　solid　will　get　the　same　as　Leden　just　got；　but　worse。　Now；　I
want　to　see　you　attack　that　blockhouse　again。　And；　this　time；　I　want　to　see　you　doing　it　like
Guardsmen！”
At　that；　the　sergeant　screamed　the　order　to　attack。　Chastened　by　the　example　of　Leden；　Larn　and
the　others　hurried　to　assault　the　blockhouse　once　more　while　Leden　painfully　pulled　himself　to　his
feet　and　came　to　join　them。　So　it　continued；　with　assault　after　assault　on　imaginary　buildings　and
invisible　enemies；　as　Sergeant　Ferres　moved　from　fireteam　to　fireteam　to　inspect　their　labours。　Larn
felt　himself　growing　more　and　more　tired　as　his　sleeplessness　took　its　toll　until　at　last；　after　hours
more　of　manoeuvres；　the　sergeant　finally　called　a　halt　to　training　and　dismissed　them。　So　tired　by
men；　Larn　was　sure　he　knew　what　it　meant　to　be　a　dead　man　walking。
20
INTERLUDE
A　Day　in　the　Life　of　Erasmos　Ng
“Coordinate：　two　three　three　point　eight　six　three　nine；”　the　voice　blared　into　Erasmos　Ng’s　ear　as
he　dutifully　typed　the　number　233。8639　into　the　cogitator　before　him。　“Coordinate：　two　four　two
point　seven　four　six　eight。　Coordinate：　two　three　eight　point　five　nine　six　one。　Correction：　two　three
eight　point　five　eight　six　one。　Further　coordinates　pending。　Wait。”
With　that；　the　voice　in　his　earpiece　fell　abruptly　silent。　Granted　brief　respite　from　the　endless
stream　of　numbers　that　assailed　him　every　minute　of　his　working　life；　Erasmos　Ng　turned　his　tired
eyes　to　gaze　at　the　cavernous　interior　of　the　room　around　him。　As　ever；　Data　Processing　Room　312
was　a　hive　of　mindless　activity　as　a　thousand　other　bored　and　dispirited　souls　just　like　him　went
about　their　labours。　Here；　numbers　were　crunched；　data　entries　updated；　reports　filed；　then　collated；
then　cross…indexed　—　all　amid　a　constant　din　of　clattering　type…keys　and　whirring　logic…wheels　that
put　him　in　mind　of　nothing　so　much　as　the　sound　of　an　insect　army　on　the　march。　Still；　he　realised　it
was　a　spurious　analogy。　The　labours　of　insects　at　least　served　some　useful　purpose。　While　he　had
long　ago　begun　to　doubt　that　what　went　on　in　Room　312　served　any　purpose　at　all。
“Coordinate：　two　three　five　point　one　five　three　zero；”　the　voice　in　his　earpiece　crackled　into　life
again。　“Coordinate：　two　two　two　point　six　one　seven　four。　Coordinate：　two　three　six　point　one　zero
one　five。”　And　so　on；　ad　infinitum。
Resuming　his　task　with　a　weary　sigh；　as　he　typed　the　new　set　of　coordinates　into　the　cogitator；
Ng　found　himself　reflecting　sadly　on　how　often　the　shape　of　a　man’s　life　came　to　be　dictated　by　the
happenstance　of　birth。　If　he　had　been　born　on　another　planet　he　might　have　been　a　miner；　a　farmer；
or　even　a　huntsman。　As　it　was　he　had　been　born　on　this　world　—　on　Libris　VI。　A　world　whose　only
industry　of　note　resided　in　a　single　enormous　Administratum　complex　the　size　of　a　city　—　one　of
many　thousands　of　such　complexes　the　Administratum　maintained　across　the　galaxy。　Lacking　other
prospects；　like　his　parents　before　him　Erasmos　Ng　had　entered　Imperial　service；　becoming　just
another　small　cog　in　the　vast　bureaucratic　machine　responsible　for　the　functioning　—　smooth　or
otherwise　—　of　the　entire　Imperium。　A　selfless　and　noble　calling；　or　so　they　told　him。　Though；　as
with　so　much　else　he　had　been　told　in　his　life；　he　no　longer　believed　it。
“Coordinate：　two　one　eight　point　four　one　zero　zero；”　the　voice　—　his　unseen　tormentor　—　said；
his　tone　smug　and　mocking　even　through　the　static。　“Coordinate：　two　two　one　point　one　seven　two
nine。”
Now；　at　the　age　of　forty…five　and　with　thirty　years　of　mind…numbing　tedium　behind　him　Ng
knew　he　had　risen　as　far　in　the　Administratum　hierarchy　as　he　was　likely　to　go。　Specifically；　to　the
heady　heights　of　Assistant　Scribe；　Grade　Secundus　Minoris。　A　records　clerk　by　any　other　name；
condemned　to　spend　every　day　of　his　life　hunched　over　the　cogitator　at　his　workstation　in　Room
312。　His　appointed　task：　to　type　into　the　cogitator　the　never…ending　series　of　numbers　spoken　to　him
by　the　disembodied　voice　over　his　earpiece。　A　task　he　performed　seven　days　a　week；　twelve　hours　a
day；　barring　two　permitted　fifteen…minute　rest…breaks；　a　full　half…hour　for　his　midday　meal；　and　a
single　day’s　unpaid　holiday　every　year　on　Emperor’s　Day。
Beaten　down　by　the　bleak　dreariness　of　his　existence；　Erasmos　Ng　found　he　had　long　ago
stopped　caring　what　purpose　his　labours　served。　Instead；　for　thirty　years　now；　he　had　simply
performed　his　allotted　task；　repetitively　typing　coordinates　into　the　cogitator　again　and　again　and
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again；　no　longer　caring　what　…　if　anything　—　they　meant。　A　lost　soul；　adrift　in　a　dark　and　endless　sea
of　numbers。
“Coordinate：　two　three　three　point　three　three　two　one；”　the　voice　said；　grinding　his　soul　down　a
little　more　with　every　word。　“Coordinate：　two　two　three　point　seven　seven　one　two。”
Then；　just　as　he　finished　typing　a　new　set　of　coordinates　into　the　machine；　Erasmos　Ng　abruptly
realised　he　might　have　made　a　mistake。　That　last　coordinate　…　was　it　223。7712　or　223。7721？　But
long　past　giving　a　damn　one　way　or　another　he　simply　shrugged；　put　it　from　his　mind；　and　went　on
to　the　next　one。　After　all；　he　consoled　himself；　it　hardly　really　mattered　whether　or　not　he　had　made
a　mistake。　He　had　long　ago　realised　his　labours；　like　his　life；　were　of　no　importance。
And；　in　the　end；　they　were　only　numbers…
22
CHAPTER　FOUR
22：57　hours　Imperial　Standard　Time
（Revised　Real…Space　Close　Planetary　Approximation）
Curious　Orders　and　Unwelcome　Destinations　—　Exhortations　to　Duty　and　Unanswered　Questions
—　The　Lander　and　Intimations　of　Falling
Magnified　by　the　enhancement　devices　cunningly　hidden　in　the　transparent　surface　of　the　forward
viewing　portal　the　planet　looked　huge　and　foreboding；　its　red…brown　bulk　reminiscent　of　nothing　so
much　as　an　enormous　globule　of　half…dried　blood。　As　he　stood　watching　it　from　his　usual　vantage　on
the　bridge　of　the　troopship　he　commanded；　Captain　Vidius　Strell　found　himself　briefly　pitying　the
men　who　would　be　forced　to　make　planetfall　there。　Poor　devils；　he　thought。　I　have　seen　a　lot　of
planets；　absolute　hellholes　some　of　them；　but　there　is　something　about　the　look　of　that　damn　place
that　makes　you　think　landing　there　wouldn’t　be　pleasant。
“Captain？”　he　heard　the　voice　of　his　first　officer；　Gudarsen；　behind　him。　“Navigation　Liaison
reports　we　are　currently　fifteen　point　three　five　minutes　from　reaching　orbit。　Gravitational
conditions　normal。　All　systems　running　clean　and　smooth。　We　are　green　for　go；　Captain。　Request
permission　to　relay　the　order　to　launch　control　to　prepare　a　lander　for　planetary　descent。”
“Permission　denied；”　Strell　said。　“I　want　you　to　check　the　confirmation　codes　on　that　last
astropathic　message　again；　Number　One。　Then；　report　back　to　me。”
“Aye；　sir。　Understood；”　Gudarsen　replied；　before　bustling　energetically　away　with　what　seemed
to　his　captain　a　commendable　eagerness　to　follow　his　instructions。
Left　to　his　thoughts　once　more；　while　around　him　the　crew　of　the　command　bridge　went　about
their　duties；　Strell　again　turned　his　attention　to　the　planet　looming　ever　larger　through　the　viewing
portal。　As　he　did；　he　wondered　if　the　disquiet　he　felt　gazing　at　the　world　before　him　had　less　to　do
with　anything　sinister　in　the　appearance　of　the　planet　itself　and　more　to　do　with　his　puzzlement　at
the　orders　that　had　brought　them　to　it。　His　ship；　Inevitable　Victory；　had　been　en　route　with　escorts
and　another　thirty　troopships　to　the　Seltura　system　when　they　had　received　orders　to　break　convoy
and　proceed　here　alone。　It　had　been　only　a　small　detour　requiring　no　more　than　a　four　hour　jump
through　the　warp；　but　the　precise　nature　of　the　mission　they　had　come　here　to　perform　was　enough
to　have　the　Victory’s　captain　grinding　his　teeth　in　frustration。
A　single　company；　thought　Strell。　Why　in　the　name　of　the　Divine　would　Naval　Operations
Command　divert　an　entire　starship　just　to　drop　a　single　company　of　Imperial　Guardsmen　on　some
backwater；　Emperor…forsaken　world？
Aggravated　by　the　thought；　Strell　cast　an　ill…humoured　eye　over　the　printout　of　the　ship’s
transport　manifest　held　in　his　hand　until　he　came　to　the　listing　for　the　offending　company。　6th
Company；　the　14th　Jumael　Volunteers；　Company　Commander：　Lieutenant　Vinters。　There　was
nothing　out　of　the　ordinary　in　the　company’s　listing　on　the　manifest。　Nothing　to　explain　why　he　and
his　crew　had　been　diverted　from　their　duties　and　the　protection　of　the　convoy　to　ferry　two　hundred
men　to　a　planet　that；　in　galactic　terms；　might　as　well　be　in　the　middle　of　nowhere。
Perhaps　there　is　more　to　this　than　meets　the　eye；　thought　Strell　again。　Perhaps　the　manifest
listing　is　only　a　cover；　and　they　are　special　troops　on　a　secret　mission。　Why　else　would　we　have
been　sent　here？　The　only　other　reason　could　be　if　some　mistake　had　been　made　but　the　Imperium
does　not　make　mistakes。　Yes；　a　secret　mission。　It　is　the　only　explanation　that　makes　any　sense…
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Satisfied　at　last　that　he　had　found　the　answer；　Strell　turned　to　see　Gudarsen　hurrying　towards
him　once　more；　holding　the　text　of　the　astropathic　message　gripped　tightly　before　him。
“All　confirmation　codes　read　correct；　captain；”　Gudarsen　said。　“The　specifics　of　our　mission　are
confirmed。”
“Very　good。　You　have　my　permission　to　relay　instructions　to　Launch　Control　to　prepare　a　lander
for　launch。　Oh；　and　Number　One？　This　is　strictly　a　‘drop…and…depart’　mission。　Tell　Liaison　to　have
the　navigator　plot　a　new　course　for　Seltura　III。　Once　the　lander　has　dropped　its　passengers　planetside
and　returned　to　the　ship；　I　want　us　to　underway　within　the　hour。”
“Orders　received　and　understood；　captain；”　said　Gudarsen；　ending　with　a　standard　phrase　of
acknowledgement　as　he　hurried　away　to　carry　out　his　duties。　“The　Emperor　protects。”
“The　Emperor　protects；　Number　One；”　Strell　echoed；　already　turning　to　redirect　his　gaze
towards　the　planet　once　more　as　he　waited　for　the　lander　to　be　launched　so　he　could　watch　its
descent。
Yes；　he　thought。　A　secret　mission。　That’s　the　only　thing　it　could　he。　If　Operations　Command　has
decided　we　are　to　be　denied　information　as　to　the　nature　of　that　mission；　so　be　it。　It　is　like　they　used
to　teach　us　in　the　scholarium。　Then；　he　allowed　himself　a　small　smile　of　nostalgia　as　his　mind　turned
to　the　half…remembered　wisdoms　of　long　ago　days。　How　did　it　go　now；　he　thought。　Ah　yes；　it　was
something　like：
“Ours　is　not　to　reason　why。”
“Ours　is　but　to　do　and　die。”
“It　is　better　to　die　for　the　Emperor　than　live　for　yourself！”　the　vox…caster　screamed；　drowning　out　the
sound　of　trampling　feet　and　shouted　orders　as　the　men　of　6th　Company　ran　through　the　troopship’s
cramped　corridors　towards　the　launch　bay。　“The　blood　of　martyrs　is　the　seed　of　the　Imperium！　If
you　want　peace；　prepare　for　war！”
The　vox…caster　blared　on　through　the　bowels　of　the　troopship；　on　and　on　in　a　pre…recorded　loop
of　exhortations　to　duty；　as　Larn　ran　stumbling　with　the　others　under　the　weight　of　the　heavy　pack　on
his　back。　Barely　three　hours　had　passed　since　Sergeant　Ferres　had　at　last　relented　and　dismissed
them　from　training　to　return　to　their　quarters。　Three　hours　since；　exhausted；　Larn　had　finally　been
allowed　to　go　to　sleep。　Only　to　be　roused　blearily　from　his　slumbers　two　and　a　quarter　hours　later　by
the　wail　of　sirens　as　Sergeant　Ferres　had　ordered　the　men　of　the　platoon　from　their　bunks　and　told
them　to　make　ready　for　a　planetary　drop。
“Be　vigilant　and　be　strong！”　the　vox…caster　shrieked　ever　louder；　harsh　echoes　rebounding　from
loudspeakers　set　in　the　metal　walls　and　ceiling　all　around　them。　“The　Emperor　is　your　shield　and
protector！”
Now；　three　quarters　of　an　hour’s　worth　of　hurried　preparations　later；　Larn　found　himself　running
in　full　kit　as　he　and　the　rest　of　his　company　were　herded　like　sheep　through　the　troopship’s　maze　of
corridors。　Here　and　there　they　passed　naval　crewmen　who　paused　from　their　duties　long　enough　to
cheer　them　on；　offering　half…heard　words　of　encouragement　in　place　of　the　sardonic　laughter　that
had　greeted　their　earlier　training　exercises。　With　the　prospect　that　their　erstwhile　passengers　might
soon　be　seeing　combat；　it　seemed　the　normal　antipathy　between　the　Navy　and　the　Guard　had
abruptly　given　way　to　mutual　respect。　With　a　sudden　tremor　in　the　pit　of　his　stomach；　Larn　realised
he　was　about　to　go　to　war。
“You　shall　know　no　reward　other　than　the　Emperor’s　satisfaction！”　the　vox…caster　continued。
“You　shall　know　no　truth　other　than　that　which　the　servants　of　your　Emperor　tell　you！”
This　is　it；　Larn　thou