Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第7部分

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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…
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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　thought。　After　all　the　training　and　briefings；　all　the　preparations；　the　moment　for
which　it　was　all　in　aid　of　is　here　at　last。　I　am　finally　going　to　war。　As　much　as　that　thought　filled　his
mind；　he　found　himself　distracted　as　a　second　thought　pushed　itself　insistently　to　the　fore。　Three
weeks；　he　thought。　Three　weeks；　maybe　four。　That　is　what　the　naval　officer　said　in　the　briefing　only
yesterday。　He　said　it　would　be　at　least　three　weeks　before　we　saw　any　action。　Confused；　Larn
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wondered　what　could　have　changed　in　the　meantime。　If　yesterday　they　were　still　three　weeks　from
combat；　how　was　it　today　they　were　about　to　make　their　first　drop？
“The　mind　of　the　Guardsman　has　no　place　for　questions；”　the　vox…caster　screamed　unnervingly。
“Doubt　is　a　vile　cancer　whose　symptoms　are　cowardice　and　fear；　steel　yourself　against　it。　There　is
room　for　but　three　things　in　the　mind　of　the　Guardsman：　obedience；　duty；　and　love　of　the　Emperor。”
Abruptly；　as　though　the　blaring　of　the　vox…caster　was　somehow　the　sound　of　his　own
conscience；　Larn　f