Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第2部分

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the　unchanging　routines　of　his　family’s　existence；　Larn　did　not　need　to　see　inside　to　know　what　was
happening　within。　His　mother　would　be　in　the　kitchen　cooking　the　evening　meal；　his　sisters　helping
her　set　the　table；　his　father　in　the　cellar　workshop　with　his　tools。　Then；　just　as　they　did　every　night；
once　their　chores　were　done　the　family　would　sit　down　at　the　table　together　and　eat。　Tomorrow　night
they　would　do　the　same　again；　the　pattern　of　their　lives　repeating　endlessly　day　after　day；　varying
only　with　the　changing　of　the　seasons。
It　was　a　pattern　that　had　endured　here　for　as　long　as　anyone　could　remember。　A　pattern　that
would　continue　so　long　as　there　was　anyone　left　to　farm　these　lands。　Though；　come　tomorrow　night
at　least；　there　would　be　one　small　difference。
Come　tomorrow；　he　would　no　longer　be　here　to　see　it。
Sighing；　Larn　returned　to　his　work；　turning　once　more　to　the　task　of　trying　to　repair　the　ancient
rust…pitted　irrigation　pump　in　front　of　him。　Before　the　sunset　had　distracted　him　he　had　removed　the
outer　access　panel　to　reveal　the　inner　workings　of　the　pump’s　motor。　Now；　in　the　fading　light　of
twilight；　he　removed　the　motor’s　burnt…out　starter　and　replaced　it　with　a　new　one；　mindful　to　say　a
prayer　to　the　machine　spirit　inside　it　as　he　tightened　and　re…checked　the　connections。
Taking　a　spouted　canister　from　beside　the　foot　of　the　pump　he　dribbled　a　few　drops　of　unguent
from　it　into　the　workings。　Then；　satisfied　everything　was　in　order；　he　reached　out　for　the　large　lever
at　the　side　and　worked　it　slowly　up　and　down　a　dozen　times　to　prime　the　pump　before　pressing　the
ignition　stud　to　start　the　motor。　Abruptly；　the　pump　shuddered　into　noisy　life；　the　motor　whining　as
it　strained　to　pull　water　up　from　aquifers　lying　deep　below　the　ground。　For　a　moment；　Larn
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congratulated　himself　on　a　job　well　done。　Until；　just　as　the　first　few　muddy　drops　of　water　emerged
from　the　mouth　of　the　pump　to　stain　the　dry　earth　of　the　irrigation　trench　before　it；　the　motor
coughed　and　died。
Disappointed；　Larn　pressed　the　ignition　stud　again。　This　time　though；　the　motor　stayed　sullenly
silent。　Leaning　forward；　he　carefully　inspected　the　parts　of　the　mechanism　once　more　—　checking
the　connections　for　corrosion；　making　sure　the　moving　parts　were　well…lubricated　and　free　from　grit；
searching　for　broken　wires　or　worn　components　—　all　the　things　the　mechanician…acolyte　in
Ferrusville　had　warned　them　about　the　last　time　the　pump　was　serviced。　Frustratingly；　Larn　could
find　nothing　wrong。　As　far　as　he　could　see；　the　pump　should　be　working。
Finally；　reluctantly　forced　to　concede　defeat；　Larn　lifted　the　discarded　access　panel　and　began　to
screw　it　into　place　once　more。　He　had　so　badly　wanted　to　be　able　to　fix　the　pump；　with　harvest　time
still　three　weeks　away；　it　was　important　the　farm’s　irrigation　system　should　be　in　good　working
order。　Granted；　it　had　been　a　good　season　so　far　and　the　wheat　was　growing　well　but　the　life　of　a
farmer　was　always　enslaved　to　the　weather。　Without　the　irrigation　system　to　fall　back　upon；　a　couple
of　dry　weeks　now　could　mean　the　difference　between　feast　and　famine　for　an　entire　year。
But　in　the　end　he　knew　that　was　only　part　of　it。　Standing　there；　looking　down　at　the　pump　after
he　had　screwed　the　panel　back　in　place；　Larn　realised　his　reasons　for　wanting　to　see　it　repaired　went
far　beyond　such　practical　considerations。　Like　it　or　not；　tomorrow　he　would　be　leaving　the　farm
forever　and　saying　farewell　to　the　only　land　and　life　he　had　ever　known；　never　to　return。　He
understood　now　that　he　had　felt　the　need　to　perform　some　last　act　of　service　to　those　he　would　be
leaving　behind。　He　had　wanted　to　complete　some　final　labour　on　their　behalf。　An　act　of　penance
almost；　to　give　closure　to　his　grief。
This　morning；　when　his　father　had　asked　him　to　look　at　the　pump　and　see　if　he　could　fix　it；　it　had
seemed　the　perfect　opportunity　to　achieve　that　aim。　Now　though；　the　recalcitrant　machine　spirits
inside　the　pump　and　his　own　lack　of　knowledge　had　conspired　against　him。　No　matter　how　hard　he
tried；　the　pump　was　broken　beyond　his　powers　to　repair　it　and　his　last　act　of　penance　would　go
unfulfilled。
Larn　collected　his　tools　together　and　made　ready　to　turn　for　home；　only　to　pause　again　as　he
noticed　a　change　in　the　sunset。　Ahead；　the　sun　had　already　half　disappeared　below　the　horizon；
while　the　sky　around　it　had　turned　a　deeper　and　more　angry　red。　What　gave　him　pause　was　not　the
sun　or　the　sky；　but　the　fields　below　them。　Where　once　they　had　been　bathed　in　spectacular　shades　of
gold　and　amber；　now　the　colour　of　the　fields　had　become　more　uniform；　changing　to　a　dark　and
unsettling　shade　of　brownish　red；　like　the　colour　of　blood。　At　the　same　time　the　evening　breeze　had
risen　almost　imperceptibly；　catching　the　rows　of　wheat　in　the　fields　and　causing　them　to　flow　and
shift　before　Larn’s　eyes　as　though　the　fields　themselves　had　become　some　vast　and　restless　sea。　It
could　almost　be　a　sea　of　blood；　he　said　to　himself；　the　very　thought　of　it　causing　him　to　shiver　a
little。
A　sea　of　blood。
And；　try　as　hard　as　he　might；　he　could　read　no　good　omen　in　that　sign。
By　the　time　Larn　had　put　his　tools　away；　the　sun　had　all　but　set。　Leaving　the　barn　behind；　he　walked
towards　the　farmhouse；　the　yellow　glow　of　lamplight　barely　visible　ahead　of　him　through　the　slats　of
the　wooden　shutters　now　closed　over　the　farmhouse　windows。　Stepping　onto　the　porch　Larn　lifted
the　latch　to　the　front　door　and　walked　inside；　carefully　removing　his　boots　at　the　threshold　so　as　not
to　track　mud　from　the　fields　into　the　hallway。　Then；　leaving　the　boots　just　inside　the　doorway；　he
walked　down　the　hall　towards　the　kitchen；　unconsciously　making　the　sign　of　the　aquila　with　his
fingers　as　he　passed　the　open　door　of　the　sitting　room　with　its　devotional　picture　of　the　Emperor
hung　over　the　fireplace。
Reaching　the　kitchen　he　found　it　deserted；　the　smell　of　woodsmoke　and　the　delicious　aromas　of
all　his　favourite　foods　rising　from　the　pans　simmering　on　the　stove。　Roasted　xorncob；　boiled　derna
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beans；　alpaca　stew　and　taysenbeny　pie：　together；　the　dishes　of　the　last　meal　he　would　ever　eat　at
home。　Abruptly　it　occurred　to　him；　in　whatever　years　of　his　life　might　yet　come；　those　selfsame
aromas　would　forever　now　be　linked　with　a　feeling　of　desperate　sadness。
Ahead；　the　kitchen　table　was　already　laid　out　with　plates　and　cutlery　ready　for　the　meal。　As　he
stepped　past　the　table　toward　the　sink；　he　remembered　returning　from　the　fields　two　nights　earlier　to
find　his　parents　sitting　in　the　kitchen　waiting　for　him；　the　black…edged　parchment　of　the　induction
notice　lying　mutely　on　the　table　between　them。　From　the　first　it　had　been　obvious　they　had　both
been　crying；　their　eyes　red　and　raw　from　grief。　He　had　not　needed　to　ask　them　the　reason　for　their
tears。　Their　expressions；　and　the　Imperial　eagle　embossed　on　the　surface　of　the　parchment；　had　said
it　all。
Now；　as　he　moved　past　the　table　Larn　spotted　the　same　parchment　lying　folded　in　half　on　top　of
one　of　the　kitchen　cupboards。　Diverted　from　his　original　intentions；　he　walked　towards　it。　Then；
picking　up　the　parchment　and　unfolding　it；　he　found　himself　once　more　reading　the　words　written
there　below　the　official　masthead。
Citizens　of　Jumael　IV；　the　parchment　read。　Rejoice！　In　accordance　with　Imperial　Law　and　the
powers　of　his　Office；　your　Governor　has　decreed　two　new　regiments　of　the　Imperial　Guard　are　to　be
raised　from　among　his　people。　Furthermore；　he　has　ordered　those　conscripted　to　these　new
regiments　are　to　be　assembled　with　all　due　haste；　so　that　they　may　begin　their　training　without　delay
and　take　their　place　among　the　most　Holy　and　Righteous　armies　of　the　Blessed　Emperor　of　All
Mankind。
From　there　the　parchment　went　on　to　list　the　names　of　those　who　had　been　conscripted；　outlining
the　details　of　the　mustering　process　and　emphasising　the　penalties　awaiting　anyone　who　failed　to
report。　Larn　did　not　need　to　read　the　rest　of　it　—　in　the　last　two　days　he　had　read　the　parchment　so
many　times　he　knew　the　words　by　heart。　Yet　despite　all　that；　as　though　unable　to　stop　picking　at　the
scab　of　a　half…healed　wound；　he　continued　to　read　the　words　written　on　the　parchment　before　him。
“Arvin？”　He　heard　his　mother’s　voice　behind　him；　breaking　his　chain　of　thought。　“You　startled
me；　standing　there　like　that。　I　didn’t　hear　you　come　in。”
Turning；　Larn　saw　his　mother　standing　beside　him；　a　jar　of　kuedin　seeds　in　her　hand　and　her
eyes　red　with　recently　dried　tears。
“I　just　got　here；　Ma；”　he　said；　feeling　vaguely　embarrassed　as　he　put　the　parchment　back　where
he　had　found　it。　“I　finished　my　chores；　and　thought　I　should　wash　my　hands　before　dinner。”
For　a　moment　his　mother　stood　there　quietly　staring　at　him。　Facing　her　in　uncomfortable　silence；
Larn　realised　how　hard　it　was　for　her　to　speak　at　all　now　she　knew　she　would　be　losing　him
tomorrow。　It　lent　their　every　word　a　deeper　meaning；　making　even　the　most　simple　of　conversations
difficult　while　with　every　instant　there　was　the　threat　that　a　single　ill…chosen　word　might　release　the
painful　tide　of　grief　welling　up　inside　her。
“You　took　your　boots　off？”　she　said　at　last；　retreating　to　the　commonplace　in　search　of　safety。
“Yes；　Ma。　I　left　them　just　inside　the　hallway。”
“Good；”　she　said。　“You’d　better　clean　them　tonight；　so　as　to　be　ready　for　tomorrow…”　At　that
word　his　mother　paused；　her　voice　on　the　edge　of　breaking；　her　teeth　biting　her　lower　lip　and　her
eyelids　closed　as　though　warding　off　a　distant　sensation　of　pain。　Then；　half　turning　away　so　he　could
no　longer　see　her　eyes；　she　spoke　again。
“But　anyway；　you　can　do　that　later；”　she　said。　“For　now；　you’d　better　go　down　to　the　cellar。
Your　Pa’s　already　down　there　and　he　said　he　wanted　to　see　you　when　you　got　back　from　the　fields。”
Turning　further　away　from　him　now；　she　moved　over　to　the　stove　and　lifted　the　lid　off　one　of　the
pans　to　drop　a　handful　of　kuedin　seeds　into　it。　Ever　the　dutiful　son；　Larn　turned　away。　Towards　the
cellar　and　his　father。
The　cellar　steps　creaked　noisily　as　Larn　made　his　way　down　them。　Despite　the　noise；　at　first　his
father　did　not　seem　to　notice　his　approach。　Lost　in　concentration；　he　sat　bent　over　his　workbench　at
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the　far　end　of　the　cellar；　a　whetstone　in　his　hand　as　he　sharpened　his　wool…shears。　For　a　moment；
watching　his　father　unawares　as　he　worked；　Larn　felt　almost　like　a　ghost　—　as　though　he　had　passed
from　his　family’s　world　already　and　they　could　no　longer　see　or　hear　him。　Then；　finding　the　thought
of　it　gave　him　a　shiver；　he　spoke　at　last　and　broke　the　silence。
“You　wanted　to　see　me；　Pa？”
Starting　at　the　sound　of　his　voice；　his　father　laid　the　shears　and　the　whetstone　down　before
turning　to　look　towards　his　son　and　smile。
“You　startled　me；　Arv；”　he　said。　“Zell’s　oath；　but　you　can　ind　to。　So；
did　you　manage　to　fix　the　pump？”
“Sorry；　Pa。”　Larn　said。　“I　tried　replacing　the　starter　and　every　other　thing　I　could　think　of；　but
none　of　it　worked。”
“You　tried　your　best；　son；”　his　father　said。　“That’s　all　that　matters。　Besides；　the　machine　spirits
in　that　pump　are　so　old　and　ornery　the　damned　thing　never　worked　right　half　the　time　anyway　I’ll
have　to　see　if　I　can　get　a　mec