The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第17部分

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Its　talons　ripped　into　my　left　shoulder　and　down　my　flank；　ripping　my　body…armour　into　tatters。
Blood　cascaded　down　inside　my　clothes。
I　swung　again；　trying　for　an　uin　ulsar。　It　gripped　my　blade　fast；　in　its　one　good　hand。　Smoke　rose　from　the　clamping　fist　around　the
blade。
It　clenched　its　teeth　in　pain。　'The　wards…　hurt…　but　they　are　no…　stronger…　than　the　weapon…　you　should　learn　to…　make　your
weapons　sounder…　next　time…'
'Not　that　there　will　be…　a　next　time…。'　it　added。　The　hanger　had　become　so　hot；　I　let　it　go　with　a　howl。　Prophaniti　tossed　the　buckled；
molten　steel　aside。　It　had　burned　its　hand　terribly；　but　it　didn't　seem　to　notice。
'Now　comes　death；'　it　said；　reaching　for　me。
THE　NEXT　FEW　seconds　are　burned　in　my　memory。　I　will　never　see　such　heroism　again；　I　am　sure。　Captain　Echbar　and　two　of　his
Kasrkin　troopers　assaulted　Prophaniti　from　the　rear。　Their　lasguns　wouldn't　fire　because　Bequin　and　I　were　in　their　range…field。
Echbar　body…tackled　the　daemonhost；　smashing　it　away　from　us。　Prophaniti　hurled　him　aside；　and　then　incinerated　the　second　Kasrkin
mid…leap　with　its　eyes。　The　third　jammed　his　Cadian　bayonet　up　to　the　hilt　in　Prophaniti's　breastbone。　Fire　exploded　back　from　the
wound；　down　the　trooper's　arm　and　engulfed　him。
He　fell　back　screaming　as　Echbar　came　in　again；　a　ragged　hole　in　his　cheek　and　throat。　His　knife；　clenched　double…handed；　split
Prophaniti　open　down　the　back　bone。　The　warp…energies　that　boiled　out　blew　Echbar　apart。
Screaming；　Prophaniti　writhed　away　through　the　air。
I　knew　it　wasn't　dead。　I　knew　it　couldn't　really　die。
But　the　Cadian　elite　had　given　me　an　opening　by　sacrificing　their　lives。　They　had　fallen　in　the　service　of　the　God…Emperor；　which　is
what　every　Cadian　is　born　to　do。
'Aegis！　By　scarlet　inferno！　Thorn　redux！'
I　screamed　the　words　into　my　vox；　clinging　on　to　Bequin's　hand。
Prophaniti　came　hurtling　towards　us。
Lights　blazing；　the　gun…cutter　surged　in　overhead　in　a　killing　run。　The　downdraft　blasted　the　icy　bracken　flat　and　threw　us　over。　Medea
was　low；　so　low…
The　gun…servitors　trained　wing　and　chin　turrets　on　the　charging　daemonhost。
When　they　opened　up；　their　firepower　was　so　monumental；　they　vapourised　it。
The　light　went　out。
I　pulled　Bequin　to　me　as　the　drizzle　of　liquidised　host…form　rained　on　us　out　of　the　cold　night。
I　could　hear　Fischig　calling　my　name。
'Help　her；'　I　said　to　Fischig　as　I　rose；　and　he　scooped　Bequin　up。
I　looked　around。　The　place　was　littered　with　dead；　most　of　them　cultists。　Inshabel　had　found　Neve；　lacerated　but　alive；　twenty　metres
up　the　slope；　and　was　calling　for　a　medic。
The　aft　thrusters　of　the　gun…cutter　winked　hot…white　in　the　night　sky　as　Medea　banked　around　out　of　her　ran　to　come　down　again。
Nayl；　who　had　taken　a　flesh　wound　to　the　arm；　leaned　against　the　pylon　and　shut　off　his　whirring　cannon…drum。
'We…　we　need　to　regroup；'　I　said。
'Agreed；'　said　Fischig。
'You　have　no　idea　what　you're　up　against；　do　you？'　asked　Husmaan。
We　all　turned。　The　old　skin…hunter　from　Windhover　was　stalking　down　the　moor　slope　towards　us；　his　long…las　slung　over　one　crooked
arm。　Fierce　graupel　had　begun　to　fleck　down　from　the　clouding　sky。
'Do　you？'　he　hissed　again。　I　felt　Bequin　tense。
It　wasn't　Husmaan。
Husmaan　looked　at　me。　White　light　shone　from　his　eyes。　His　voice　was　Prophaniti's。
'Not　the　slightest　clue；'　he　said。　'You　can　destroy　my　physical　host；　but　you　cannot　break　the　links　to　the　master。'
'Husmaan！'　Inshabel　cried。
'Not　here　any　more。　He　was　the　most　open　mind；　so　I　took　him。　He　will　serve　for　a　while。'
I　took　a　step　forward。　Husmaan　raised　a　hand。　'Don't　bother；　Eisenhorn；'　said　Prophaniti。　'I　could　kill　you　all　here；　now…　but　what's
about　to　happen　is　far　more　interesting。'
Husmaan；　his　arms　held　out　from　his　body　and　his　head　back；　suddenly　rose　into　the　air；　dropping　his　prized　long…las。　Steadily；　he
floated　away　into　the　sky　until　he　had　vanished　over　the　moors　into　the　dawn's　counter　glow。
'What　did　he　mean？'　asked　Bequin。
'I　don't—'
Floodlights　mobbed　over　the　rise　and　we　suddenly　heard　the　clank　of　armoured　tracks。
Twenty　Cadian　APCs　crested　the　brow；　their　floods　beaming　down　at　us。　Cadian　shock　troops　scrambled　down　the　slope；　covering　us
with　their　guns。
'What　the　hell？'　Nayl　cried。
I　was　stunned。　This　was　the　last　thing　I　had　expected。

'Inquisitor　Eisenhorn；'　boomed　a　vox…amped　voice　from　the　lead　APC。　'For　crimes　against　the　Imperium；　for　the　atrocity　at　Thracian；
for　consorting　with　daemonhosts；　you　are　hereby　arrested　and　condemned　to　death。'
I　recognised　the　voice。
It　was　Osma。
SIXTEEN
THE　HAMMER　OF　WITCHES。
THREE　MONTHS　IN　THE　CARNIFICINA。
FLIGHT　FROM　CADIA。
FLANKED　BY　SIX　robed　interrogators　reading　aloud　from　the　Books　of　Pain　and　the　Chapters　of　Punishment；　Inquisitor　Leonid　Osma
came　down　the　moorland　slope　towards　me。　Pink　dawn　light　was　beginning　to　spear　lengthways　across　the　bleak　heath；　and　the　gorse
and　bracken　was　stirred　by　the　early　morning　breeze。　Distantly；　heath　grouse　and　ptarcerns　were　whooping　and　calling　to　the
midwinter　sun。
Osma　was　a　well…built；　broad…shouldered　man　in　his　one　fifties。　He　wore　brass　power　armour　that　glowed　almost　orange　in　the　ruddy
dawn。　Ornate　Malleus　crests　decorated　his　armour's　besagews　and　poleyns　and　six　purity　seals　were　threaded　around　his　bevor　like　a
floral　wreath。　A　long　cloak　of　white　fur　played　out　behind　him；　brushing　the　tops　of　the　heather　and　gorse。
His　face　was　blunt　and　pugnacious。　His　eyes　were　glinting　dots　set　in　puffy　lids；　fringed　by　heavy；　grey　eyebrows。　His　bowl…cut　hair
was　the　colour　of　sword…metal。　Some　years　before；　he　had　lost　his　lower　jaw　during　a　fight　with　a　Khornate　berserker。　The　augmetic
replacement　was　a　jutting　chin　of　chrome；　linked　into　his　skull　by　feed　tubes　and　micro…servos。　The　emblem　of　the　Inquisition　rose
above　his　head　on　a　standard　mounted　between　his　shoulder　blades。　In　one　hand　he　carried　a　power　hammer；　the　mark　of　his　ordo。
In　the　other；　a　sealed　ebony　scroll　tube。　I　recognised　it　at　once。　A　carta　extremis。
'This　is　insanity！'　Fischig　growled。　The　Cadians　around　us　stiffened　and　jabbed　with　their　weapons。
'Enough！'　I　warned　Fischig。　I　turned　to　my　companions。　They　looked　so　lost；　so　miserable；　so　dismayed。
'We　will　not　fight　our　own；'　I　told　them。　'Surrender　your　weapons。　I　will　soon　have　this　laughable　error　resolved。'
Bequin　and　Inshabel　handed　their　weapons　to　the　Cadian　guards。　Fischig　reluctantly　allowed　the　storm　troopers　to　divorce　him　from
his　riot…gun。　Nayl　undipped　his　drum…cannon's　ammo　feed；　slid　out　the　magazine　box　and　passed　that　to　the　waiting　troops；　leaving　the
disabled　heavy　weapon　strapped　around　his　torso　on　its　harness。
I　nodded；　satisfied。　'Thorn　bids　Aegis；　by　cool　water；　soft；'　I　whispered　into　my　vox　and　then　turned　to　meet　Osma。
He　raised　his　power　hammer　in　a　brief　gesture　and　the　mumbling　interrogators　fell　silent　and　closed　their　books。　'Gregor　Eisenhorn；'
he　said　in　precisely　enunciated　High　Formal　Gothic；　'In　fealty　to　the　God…Emperor；　our　undying　lord；　and　by　the　grace　of　the　Golden
Throne；　in　the　name　of　the　Ordo　Malleus　and　the　Inquisition；　I　call　thee　diabolus；　and　in　the　testimony　of　thy　crimes；　I　submit　this
carta。　May　Imperial　justice　account　in　all　balance。　The　Emperor　protects。'
I　slid　my　storm…gun　out　of　its　holster；　ejected　the　clip　and　handed　it　to　him　grip　first。
'I　hear　full　well　thy　charge　and　thy　words；　and　make　my　submission；'　I　responded　in　the　ancient　form。　'May　Imperial　justice　account　in
all　balance。　The　Emperor　protects。'
'Dost　thou　accept　this　carta　from　my　hand？'
'I　accept　it　into　mine；　for　that　I　may　prove　it　thrice　false。'
'Dost　thou　state　thy　innocence　now；　at　the　going　off？'
'I　state　it　true　and　clear。　May　it　be　so　writ　down。'
Vox…drones　idling　by　the　shoulders　of　the　interrogators　had　been　recording　all　this；　but　the　youngest　interrogator　was　transcribing　it　all
with　a　holoquill　into　a　dispositional　slate　suspended　before　him　on　a　grav　plate。　I　noted　this　detail　with　some　satisfaction。
Preposterous　though　the　charges　were；　Osma　was　prosecuting　with　total　and　precise　formality。
'I　ask　of　thee　thy　badge　of　office；'　Osma　said。
'I　deny　thy　asking。　By　the　code　of　prejudice；　I　declare　my　right　to　retain　my　rank　until　due　process　is　concluded。'
He　nodded。　His　language　changed　from　High　Formal　to　Low　Gothic。　'I　expected　as　much。　Thank　you　for　avoiding　unpleasantness。'
'I　don't　think　I've　avoided　any　unpleasantness；　Osma。　What　I　have　avoided　is　bloodshed。　This　is　ridiculous。'
'They　all　say　that；'　he　muttered　snidely；　turning　away。
'No；'　I　said　levelly；　stopping　him　dead。　'The　guilty　and　the　polluted　fight。　They　deny。　They　straggle。　In　my　lifetime；　I　have　brought
down　nine　marked　diabolus。　None　ark　that　fact　in　your　record；'　I　said　to　the　scribing　interrogator。　'If　I　was　guilty；　I
would　not　be　submitting　to　your　process　so　politely。'
'Mark　it　so！'　Osma　told　his　hesitating　scribe。
He　looked　back　at　me。　'Read　the　carta；　Eisenhorn。　You're　guilty　as　sin。　This　show　of　understanding　and　co…operation　is　exactly　what　I
would　have　expected　from　a　being　as　canny　and　clever　as　you。'
'A　compliment；　Osma？'

He　spat　into　the　bracken。　'You　were　one　of　the　best；　Eisenhorn。　Lord　Rorken　actually　pleaded　for　you。　I　acknowledge　your　past
triumphs。　But　you　have　been　turned。　You　are　Malleus。　You　are　an　abomination。　And　you　will　pay。'
'This　is　insane…'　Neve　muttered；　limping　towards　us。
'And　none　of　your　business；　inquisitor　general；'　Osma　replied。
Neve　faced　him；　her　torn　armour　wet　with　her　own　blood。
'This　is　my　province；　inquisitor。　Eisenhorn　has　proved　himself　to　me。　This　charade　is　interfering　with　Inquisition　business。'
'Read　the　carta；　inquisitor　general；'　Osma　told　her。　'And　shut　up。　Eisenhorn　is　clever　and　convincing。　He　has　fooled　you；　lady。　Be
thankful　that　you're　not　implicated。'
MY　COMPANIONS　WERE　arraigned　at　Kasr　Derth；　under　Neve's　recognizance。　No　such　luxury　for　me。　I　was　flown　south　aboard　a
Cadian　military　lighter；　through　the　dawn；　to　the　furthest　islet　of　the　Caducades　group；　to　the　infamous　Cadian　prison；　the　Carnificina。
They　had　fettered　my　hands　and　feet。　I　sat　on　a　bracket…bench　dropped　from　the　wall　of　the　lighter's　armoured　hold；　surrounded　by
Cadian　guards；　and　read　the　carta　by　the　shifting　light　that　sheared　in　through　the　window　slits。
I　could　scarcely　believe　what　I　was　reading。
'Well？'　grunted　Fischig　from　his　seat　in　the　corner。　I　had　been　allowed　one　spokesman；　and　I　had　selected　Fischig；　with　his　legal
background。
'Read　it；'　I　said；　holding　the　carta　out　to　him。
One　of　the　impassive　Cadians　took　it　from　me　and　passed　it　to　the　scowling　Hubrusian。
After　a　few　moments　spent　reviewing　the　scroll；　Fischig　blurted　out　an　incredulous　profanity。
'Just　what　I　thought；'　I　said。
THE　CARNIFICINA　JUTTED　up　from　the　thrashing　sea　like　the　molar　of　a　massive　herbivore；　the　gum　eaten　away。
It　had　not　been　built　so　much　as　hollowed　out　of　the　upthrust　crag。　There　wasn't　a　wall　on　the　prison　isle　thinner　than　five　metres。
Vicious　plungers　broke　in　white　spray　around　its　granite　base　and　the　western　aspects　were　open　to　the　worst　of　the　pelagic　abuse　from
the　oceans　beyond。　Icebergs　from　the　calving　glaciers　at　Cadu　Sound　and　the　distant　Caducades　Isthmus　jostled　and　splintered　in　the
open　water　between　the　prison　isle　and　the　barren　atolls　opposing　it。
Kelp　and　hardy；　lean　axel　trees　decorated　its　lower　slopes。
The　lighter　swung　in　over　the　eastern　ramparts　and　settled　on　a　pad　cut　from　the　stone。　I　was　marched　under　guard　out　into　the　cold
sunlight；　and　then　into　the　dank　hallways　of　the　rock。　The　white…washed　walls　sweated　and　stank　of　seawater。　Rusting　chains　ran　down
from　the　ceiling　to　the　hatches　of　forgotten　oubliettes。
I　could　hear　the　shouts　and　screams　of　prisoners。　The　demented　and　infected　of　the　Cadians　lived　here；　mostly　ex…servicemen　who　had
been　driven　mad　in　the　wars　of　the　Eye。
The　Cadian　troops　handed　me　over　to　a　squad　of　red…uniformed　prison　guards　who　reeked　of　unwashed　flesh　and　carried　pain…flails
and　leather　whips。
They　opened　up　a　fifty　centimetre…thick　hatch　cover　riven　with　studs；　and　pushed　me　into　a　cell。
It　was　four　paces　by　four；　cut　from　stone；　with　no　window。　It　stank　of　piss。　The　previous　incumbent　had　died　here…　and　never　been
removed。
I　pushed　aside　his　dry　bones　and　sat　on　the　wooden　bunk。　I　knew　nothing。　I　had　no　idea　if　the　Cadian　Interior　had　captured　that　rogue
starship；　or　if　anyone　had　managed　to　track　the　flight　of　the　thing　that　had　been　poor　Husmaan。
The　path　to　Quixos；　the　path　we　had　been　so　lucky　to　strike　at　last；　was　disappearing　by　the　second　as　we　played　these　games。　And
there　was　nothing　I　could　do　about　it。
'WHEN　DID　YOU　first　decide　to　consort　with　daemons？'　asked　Interrogator　Riggre。
'I　have　never　done　so；　or　decided　to　do　so。'
'But　the　daemonhost　Cherubael　knows　you　by　name；'　said　Interrogator　Palfir。
'Is　that　a　question？'
'It—'　Palfir　stammered。
'What　is　your　relationship　with　the　daemonhost　Cherubael？'　cut　in　Interrogator　Moyag　sternly。
'I　have　no　relationship　with　any　daemonhost；'　I　replied。
I　was　chained　to　a　wooden　chair　in　the　great　hall　of　the　Carnificina；　winter　sunlight　shafting　down　from　the　high　windows。　Osma's
three　interrogators　stalked　around　me　like　caged　beasts；　their　robes　swirling　in　the　draft。
'It　knows　your　name；'　Moyag　said　testily。
'I　know　yours；　Moyag。　Does　that　give　me　power　over　you？'
'How　did　you　orchestrate　the　atrocity　at　Thracian　Hive　Primaris？'　asked　Palfir。
'I　didn't。　Next　question。'
'Do　you　know　who　did？'　asked　Riggre。
'Not　precisely。　But　I　believe　it　was　the　being　you　have　referred　to。　Cherubael。'
'He　has　been　in　your　life　before。'
'I　have　thwarted　him　before。　One　hundred　years　ago；　at　56…Izar。　You　must　have　the　records。'
Riggre　glanced　at　his　colleagues　before　replying。　'We　do。　But　you　have　been　searching　for　him　ever　since。'

'Yes。　As　a　matter　of　duty。　Cherubael　is　a　repellent　abomination。　Do　you　wonder　that　I　would　seek　him　out？'
'Not　all　your　contacts　with　him　have　been　recorded。'
'What？'
'We　know　some　contacts　have　remained　secret；'　Moyag　rephrased。
'How？'
'The　sworn　testimony　of　an　Alain　von　Baigg。　He　states　that　you　sent　an　operative　code…named　Hound　out　to　make　contact　with
Cherubael；　one　year　ago；　and　that　you　refrained　from　telling　your　ordo　master　about　it。'
'I　didn't　think　to　bother　Lord　Rorken　with　the　matter。'
'So；　you　don't　deny　it？'
'Deny　what？　Hunting　for　Chaos？　No；　I　don't。'
'In　secret？'
'What　inquisitor　doesn't　work　in　secret？'
'Who　is　Hound？'　asked　Palfir。
I　had　no　wish　to　make　Fischig's　life　more　difficult　just　then。　I　said；　'I　don't　know　his　real　name。　He　works　clandestinely。'
I　thought　they　would　press　me；　but　instead　Moyag　said；　'Why　did　you　survive　the　Thracian　horror？'
'I　was　lucky。'
Palfir　walked　a　circle　around　me；　his　polished　boots　squeaking　on　the　worn　floor。　'Let　me　make　it　clear。　We　are　just　beginning　here。　In
respect　to　your　rank　and　career；　we　are　employing　interrogation　of　the　First　Action。　The　First　Action　is—'
I　cut　him　short。　'I　have　been　an　inquisitor　for　many　years；　Palfir。　I　know　what　the　First　Action　is。　Verbal　interview　without　duress。'
'Then　you　know　of　the　Third　and　Fifth　Actions？'　sneered　Riggre。
'Light　physical　torture　and　psychic　interrogation。　And　by　the　way；　you　just　utilised　the　Second　Action　…　verbal　threat　of　and/or
description　of　Actions　that　may　follow。'
'Have　you　ever　been　tortured；　Eisenhorn？'　asked　Moyag。
'Yes；　by　less　squeamish　men　than　you。　And　I　have　interrogated　too。　Second　Action　methods　really　won't　work　on　me。'
'Inquisitor　Osma　has　authorised　us　to　use　any　methods　up　to　and　including　Ninth　Action；'　spat　Palfir。
'Again；　a　threat。　Second　Action。　It　won't　work　on　me。　I　told　you　that。　I　am　trying　to　be　co…operative。'
'Who　is　Hound？'　asked　Riggre。　Ah；　there　it　was；　the　follow…up；　designed　to　wrong…foot　by　coming　out　of　sequence。　For　a　moment；　I
began　to　admire　their　interrogation　skills。
'I　don't　know　his　real　name。　He　works　clandestinely。'
'Is　it　not　Godwyn　Fischig？　The　man　you　chose　as　your　second　here。　The　man　who　waits　outside　this　chamber？'
There　are　times　when　the　injuries　Gorgone　Locke　did　to　my　face　on　Gudrun　have　their　benefits。　My　face　simply　couldn't　show　the
reaction　they　were　hoping　to　see。　But　inside；　I　balked。　Their　intelligence　was　good；　good　enough　to　have　cracked　Glossia；　if　only
partially。　I　was　sure　of　the　source。　They　had　already　mentioned　that　weasel　von　Baigg。　Months　before；　on　Thracian　right　before　the
atrocity；　I　had　begun　to　suspect　von　Baigg。　At　that　time；　I　merely　assumed　he　was　Lord　Rorken's　plant　to　watch　over　me。　Now　I
realised　he　was　happy　to　talk　to　anyone。　I　had　recognised　von　Baigg's　weakness　and　stalled　his　career。　Clearly　he　had　decided　to　seek
advancement　from　other　inquisitors　by　selling　me　out。
'If　you　are　telling　me　Fischig　is　the　operative　I　know　as　Hound；　I　am　truly　surprised；'　I　replied　levelly；　choosing　my　words　with
extreme　care。
'We　will　talk　to　him　in　time；'　said　Palfir。
'Not　while　he　is　my　recognised　second。　That　would　break　the　code　of　prejudice。　If　you　wish　to　interview　him；　I　must　be　allowed　a　new
second。　Of　my　choosing。'
'We　will　get　to　that；'　said　Riggre。
'Why　did　you　survive　the　Thracian　horror？'　asked　Moyag。
'I　was　lucky。'
'Explain　lucky？'
'I　had　stopped　to　honour　the　tomb　of　the　admiral。　The　Spatian　Gate　protected　me　from　the　air　strikes。'　After　the　lies　Cherubael　had　told
me　on　Eechan；　I　dreaded　this　question　coming　up　again　under　psychic　interview。　The　lies；　or　at　least　my　attempts　to　screen　them；
would　be　picked　up。
'The　atrocity　was　simply　cover　to　allow　you　to　liberate　and　remove　from　Thracian　the　heretic　psyker　Esarhaddon。'
'I　would　normally　address　that　notion　with　scorn。　If　the　entire　event　had　been　staged　simply　to　〃launder〃　the　psyker；　then　it　was
inhumanly　wasteful。　However；　I　believe　in　some　regards　you　are　right。　That's　what　the　atrocity　was　engineered　to　do。　But　not　by　me。'
Moyag　licked　his　yellowing　teeth　eagerly。　'You　maintain　that　it　was　in　fact　Interrogator　Lyko　who　executed　the　event？'
'In　collaboration　with　the　daemonhost。'
'But　Lyko　cannot　answer　those　charges；　can　he？　Because　you　killed　him　on　Eechan。'
'I　executed　Lyko　on　Eechan　as　a　traitor…enemy　of　the　Imperium。'
'I　submit　to　you　that　you　killed　him　because　he　was　on　to　you。　You　killed　him　to　silence　him。'
'Do　I　really　have　to　be　here？　You're　doing　a　fine　job　of　making　up　your　own　answers。'
'Where　is　Esarhaddon？'
'Wherever　Cherubael　took　him。'
'And　where　is　that？'　asked　Palfir。

I　shrugged。　'To　his　master。　Quixos。'
All　three　of　them　laughed。　'Quixos　is　dead。　He　died　long　ago！'　Moyag　chuckled。
'Then　why　did　the　inquisitor　general　and　I　find　that　he　had　been　manipulating　her　codes　to　gain　access　to　Cadian　airspace？'
'Because　that's　how　you　made　it　look。　You　say　Quixos　used　his　power　to　steal　her　authority　code。　If　that's　true；　then　it's　a　crime　any
deviant　inquisitor　of　renown　could　manage。　You　could　manage　it。　And　using　a　dead　man's　code　means　no　one　is　going　to　object。'
'Quixos　isn't　dead。'　I　cleared　my　throat。　'Quixos　is　Hereticus　and　Extremis　Diabolus。　He　has　perverted　inquisitors　such　as　Lyko　and
Molitor　into　his　service。　He　uses　daemonhosts。　He　triggers　holocausts　to　cover　his　theft　of　alpha…plus　class　psykers。'
The　three　interrogators　fell　silent　for　a　moment。
'We　are　wasting　time　here；'　I　said。　'I　am　not　the　man