Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第9章

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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
21
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　nowher