The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第6部分

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I　read　through　the　list　of　inquisitors　summoned　to　form　the　Council；　a　list　which　included　my　name。　There　were　sixty　in　all。　Titus
Endor　was　amongst　them。　So　was　Osma；　and　so　was　Bezier。　Some　names；　like　Schongard；　Hand　and　Reiker；　leapt　out　as　men　I　had
little　wish　to　be　in　the　same　room　with。　Others　…　Endor；　naturally；　and　Shilo；　Defay　and　Cuvier　…　were　individuals　it　would　be　a
pleasure　to　see　again。
Some　names　I'd　barely　heard　of；　or　never　heard　of　at　all；　others　were　famous　or　infamous　inquisitors　who　I　knew　only　by　reputation。　It
bly；　drawn　from　all　over　the　sector。
'My　inclusion　on　this　list？'　I　began。
'Is　no　surprise。　You　are　a　senior　and　respected　member　of　our　office。'
'Thank　you；　sir。　But　I　e　personally？'
'He　was　going　to；'　Rorken　told　me；　'but　you　had　already　been　nominated。'
'By　whom？'
'Inquisitor　Osma；'　he　replied。


FIVE
THE　TRIUMPH。

AT　THE　SPATIAN　GATE。
THE　LINE　BREAKS。
FOR　ALL　MY　condemnations　of　the　overzealous　pageantry　of　the　Novena；　I　will　admit　that　the　Great　Triumph　of　the　first　day　filled　me
with　a　sense　of　pride　and　exhilaration。
Across　Hive　Primaris；　the　largest　and　most　powerful　hive　on　Thracian；　dawn　brought　a　chorus　of　klaxons　and　a　cacophony　of　bells。
Ministoram　services；　relayed　live　from　the　Monument　of　the　Ecclesiarch；　were　broadcast　on　every　crackling　pict　channel　and　public
vox　service。　The　phlegmy　intonations　of　Cardinal　Palatine　Anderucias　rolled　across　the　street　levels　of　the　great　hive　city；　overlapping
like　some　gigantic　choral　round　due　to　the　echoes　of　doppler　distortion。
Civilians　and　pilgrims　flooded　into　the　streets　of　Hive　Primaris　in　their　millions；　clogging　the　arterial　routes　and　feeder　tunnels；　and
blackening　the　sky　with　their　craft。　Many　were　turned　back　to　surrounding　hives　to　watch　the　proceedings　on　vast　hololithic　screens
raised　in　stadiums　and　amphitheatres　for　the　event。
The　arbites　struggled　to　control　the　flow　of　people　and　keep　the　route　of　the　Triumph　clear。
The　day　cycle　began　brightly。　In　the　night；　flocks　of　dirigibles　from　the　Officium　Meteorologicus　had　seeded　the　smog　fields　and
upper　cloud　levels　with　carbon　black　and　other　chemical　precipitants。　Before　dawn；　sixteen　hundred…kilometre　wide　rainstorms　had
washed　the　clouds　away　and　drenched　the　primary　hives；　sluicing　the　dirt　and　grime　away。　For　the　first　time　in　decades；　the　sky　was
clear。　Not　blue　exactly；　but　clear　of　yellow　pollution　banks。　The　sun's　light　permeated　the　atmosphere　and　the　steepled　ridges　and　high
towers　of　the　hives　glowed。　I　had　heard；　from　informal　sources；　that　this　radical　act　of　weather　control　would　have　profound　ill
consequences　for　the　planet's　already　brutalised　climate　for　decades　to　come。　Reactive　hurricane　storms　were　expected　in　the　southern
regions　before　the　week　was　out；　and　the　drainage　system　of　the　primary　hives　was　said　to　be　choked　to　bursting　by　the　singular
rainfall。
It　was　also　said　that　the　seas　would　die　quicker；　thanks　to　the　overdose　of　pollutants　hosed　into　them　so　suddenly　by　the　rainclearance。
But　the　Lord　Commander　Helican　had　insisted　that　the　sun　shone　on　his　victory　parade。
I　ARRIVED　EARLY　to　take　my　place；　fearing　the　great　flow　of　traffic　into　the　hive。　I　brought　Ravenor　with　me。　We　were　both　dressed　in
our　finest　garb；　emblems　proudly　displayed；　and　wore　ceremonial　weapons。
Medea　Betancore　flew　us　in；　and　landed　us　at　a　reserved　navy　air…station　just　south　of　the　Imperial　armour　depot。　By　the　time　she'd　got
us　on　the　ground；　the　air　routes　were　so　thick　she　had　no　choice　but　to　stay　put　there　for　the　day。　There　was　no　flying　out。　She　bade　us
a　good　day；　and　strolled　away　across　the　pad　to　chat　with　the　ground　crew　servicing　a　Marauder。
A　private　car；　arranged　by　the　Nunciature；　took　Ravenor　and　myself　to　the　hive's　old　Founding　Fields　at　Lempenor　Avenue；　where　the
Inquisition　was　expected　to　gather　to　join　the　march。　Outside　the　windows　of　the　speeding　lifter　limousine；　we　saw　steam　rising　from
the　empty；　rain…washed　streets。　Despite　his　best　efforts；　the　Lord　Commander　Helican　would　have　clouds　before　noon。
I　leant　forward　in　the　car's　passenger　bay　and　straightened　Ravenor's　interrogator　rosette。　He　looked　nervous；　a　look　I　didn't　associate
with　him。　He　also　looked　the　very　image　of　an　inquisitor。　I　realised　he　didn't　look　nervous　so　much　as　just　very　young。　Like　a　man
hurrying　to　join　his　drinking　friends　in　the　Thirsty　Eagle　off　Zansiple　Street。
'What　is　it？'　he　asked；　smiling。
I　shook　my　head。　'This　will　be　quite　a　day；　Gideon。　Are　you　ready　for　it？'
'Absolutely；'　he　said。
I　noticed　he　had　added　the　tribe　badge　of　clan　Esw　Sweydyr　to　the　decoration　of　his　uniform。
'An　appropriate　touch；'　I　remarked；　pointing　to　it。
'I　thought　so；'　he　said。
AT　TEN；　THE　Triumph　began。　A　deafening　roar　of　hooters　and　sirens　blasted　across　the　hive；　followed　by　a　mass　cheer　that　quite　took
my　breath　away。　By　then；　the　streets　were　packed　with　close　on　two　billion　jubilant　citizens。　Two　billion　voices；　raised　as　one。　You
cannot　imagine　it。
IN　SUNLIT　AIR　vibrating　with　colossal　cheering；　the　Great　Triumph　moved　out　from　the　Armour　depot。　It　was　to　follow　an　eighteen
kilometre　route　straight　down　the　kilometre…wide　Avenue　of　the　Victor　Bellum；　right　into　the　heart　of　the　hive　and　the　Monument　of
the　Ecclesiarch。　Millions　lined　the　way；　cheering；　applauding；　waving　banners　and　Imperial　flags。
At　the　front　rolled　eighty　tanks　of　the　Thracian　Fifth；　pennants　quivering　from　their　aerial　masts。　Behind　them；　the　colours　band　of　the
Fiftieth　Gudrunite　Rifles；　pumped　out　the　stately　March　of　the　Primarchs。
Next；　the　standard　bearers：　five　hundred　men　carrying　aloft　the　many　regimental　guidons　and　emblems　representing　the　units　and
regiments　that　had　participated　in　the　Ophidian　Suppression。　It　took　an　hour　for　them　alone　to　all　pass。
On　their　heels　came　the　Great　Standard　of　the　Emperor；　a　vast　aquila　symbol　like　a　clipper's　mainsail；　so　big　it　took　a　stocky；
lumbering；　unbelievably　ancient　dreadnought　of　the　White　Consuls　to　lift　it　and　stop　it　being　carried　away　by　the　wind。　The
dreadnought　was　escorted　by　five　Baneblade　super…heavy　tanks。

Behind　that；　rolled　the　dead。　Every　Imperial　corpse　recovered　from　the　closing　stages　of　the　war；　loaded　in　state　into　fifteen　hundred
Rhino　carriers　painted　black　for　the　duty。　One　hundred　mighty　Space　Marines　of　the　Aurora　Chapter　marched　beside　the　trundling
machines；　holding　up　black…ribboned　placards　on　which　the　names　of　the　dead　were　etched　in　gold　leaf。
It　was　noon　by　the　time　the　marching　ranks　of　the　rest　of　Aurora　Chapter；　all　in　full；　polished　imperator　armour；　moved　by。　The
massive　cheering　had　not　yet　diminished。　After　the　Space　Marines　came　sixty　thousand　Thracian　troops；　thirty　thousand　from　Gudrun；
eight　thousand　from　Messina；　four　thousand　from　Samater。　Breastplates　and　lances　glittered　in　the　sun。　Then　the　navy　officers　from
Battlefleet　Scaras　in　neat　echelons。　Then　the　White　Consuls；　glittering　and　terrifying。
Then　the　endless　files　of　the　Munitorium　and　the　Administratum；　followed　by　the　slow…moving　trains　of　the　Astropathicus。　A　dull
psychic　discharge；　like　corposant；　slithered　and　crackled　around　their　carriages　and　their　heads；　and　left　a　metallic　taste　in　the　air。
The　titans　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　followed　them。　Four　Warlords；　blotting　out　the　sun；　eight　grinding　Warhounds；　and　a　massive
Super…Titan　called　Imperius　Volcanus。　It　was　as　if　significant　sections　of　the　hive　itself　had　detached　and　begun　walking。　The　vast
crowds　hushed　as　they　thumped　past；　man…shaped　mechanisms　as　tall　as　a　steeple；　taller　yet　in　the　case　of　Volcanus。　Their　massive
legs　rose　and　fell　in　perfect　synchronisation。　The　ground　shook。　Unperturbed；　six　hundred　tech…priests　and　magos　of　the　Adeptus
paraded　casually　between　their　feet。
The　tank　brigades　of　the　Narmenians　and　the　Scuterans　followed　the　god…machines。　Five　thousand　armour　units；　rolling　forward　under
a　haze　of　exhaust；　barrels　raised　in　salute。　Tractors　towed　Earthshaker　cannons　behind　them；　three　abreast；　and　then　a　seemingly
endless　flow　of　Hydra　batteries；　traversing　their　multiple　barrels　from　left　to　right；　like　sun…following　flowers。
The　Ecclesiarchy　followed；　led　by　Cardinal　Rouchefor；　who　srode　ahead　of　his　two　thousand　hierarchs　barefoot。　Cardinal　Palatine
Anderucias　awaited　us　all　for　the　blessing　at　the　monument。
From　its　muster　point　at　the　old　Founding　Fields；　tire　Inquisition　fell　in　line　behind　the　priesthood；　six　hundred　strong。
We　were　the　only　part　of　the　Triumph　not　to　march　in　ordered　ranks。　We　simply　strode　behind　the　Ecclesiarch　in　a　sombre　wedge。　We
were　not　uniform。　All　manner　of　men　and　women　filled　our　ranks；　all　manner　of　appearances　and　aspects。　Individuals　walking；
dressed　in　dark　robes　or　leather　capes；　some　with　great　entourages　holding　up　the　trains　of　gaudy　robes；　some　on　lifter　thrones；　some
alone　and　dignified；　some　even　hidden　by　personal　void　shields。　Ravenor　and　I　walked　together　in　the　press；　behind　the　extravagant
ensemble　of　Inquisitor　Eudora。
Lord　Orsini；　the　grandmaster；　led　us；　his　long　purple　vestments　trained　out　behind　him　and　supported　by　thirty　servitors。　At　his　side
strode　Lord　Rorken　of　the　Ordo　Xenos；　Lord　Bezier　of　the　Ordo　Malleus　and　Lord　Sakarof　of　the　Ordo　Hereticus；　Orsini's　triumvirate。
Sonic　booms　sounded　over　the　hives　as　honour　escorts　of　Thunderhawks　flashed　down　above　us。　Fireworks　banged　and　fizzed；
staining　the　sky　s　of　colour　and　light。
At　our　backs　came　the　triumphal　procession　of　the　Warmaster　himself。　Honorius　rode　with　Lord　Commander　Helican；　standing　in　a
howdah　built　upon　the　humped　back　of　the　largest　and　most　venerable　auro…chothere　warbeast。　Ten　thousand　men　from　their　personal
retinues　marched　together。　Two　hundred　grunting；　snuffling　behemoths　from　the　aurochothere　cavalry。　Eight　hundred　Conqueror
tanks。　Lifter　bikes　skimmed　alongside　their　line。　The　frenzied　crowd　strewed　thousands　of　flowers　in　their　path。
Behind　them　all　came　the　prisoners。
Like　the　honoured　dead　in　the　funereal　Rhinos；　the　prisoners　were　an　open　show　of　Imperial　heroism　in　general；　and　the　Warmaster's
heroism　in　particular。　Honorius　delighted　in　displaying　their　torment　to　the　adoring　populace。　The　sight　of　these　great；　potent　creatures
cowed　and　submissive　made　his　own　power　manifest。
There　were　several　hundred　foot　soldiers；　chained　together　at　the　hands　and　feet；　shambling　along　in　two　wretched　lines。　Veterans　of
the　Thracian　Guard　marched　around　them；　lashing　out　with　force…poles　and　neural…whips　to　drive　them　on。　The　crowd　booed　and
howled；　and　pelted　the　subjugated　foe　with　bottles　and　rocks。
Six　Trojan　tank…tractors；　painted　in　the　Warmaster's　colours　and　teamed　together　like　horses　pulling　a　state　landau；　came　behind　the
chained　prisoners；　towing　a　vast　flatbed　trailer　designed　to　transport　a　super…heavy　tank。　On　the　flatbed；　shackled　in　adamite　and
encased　in　individual　void　shield　bubbles；　were　the　thirty…three　psykers；　the　greatest　trophies　of　all。
They　were　dim；　contorted　shapes；　barely　human；　swimming　in　the　milky　green　cocoons　of　the　imprisoning　shields。　Along　with　the
White　Consuls　guarding　the　tractor…team；　two　hundred　astrotelepaths　strode　alongside　it；　mentally　reinforcing　the　void　bubbles　that
were　damping　the　psychic　fury　of　the　captives。　Frost　coated　the　metal　of　the　flatbed。　More　psychic　ball…lightning　drifted　overhead。
Twenty　thousand　men　and　five　hundred　armoured　machines　of　the　Thracian　Interior　Guard　formed　the　tail　of　the　Great　Triumph；
marching　under　the　dual　standard　of　Thracia　and　the　Warmaster。
After　barely　fifteen　minutes　of　walking　in　the　immense　procession；　I　was　utterly　numb。　The　noise　of　the　crowd　alone　vibrated　me　to
the　very　marrow。　My　diaphragm　shook　every　time　the　flypast　came　in　low　or　when　the　great　siege　sirens　of　the　titans　blasted。　The
scale　of　the　occasion　was　overwhelming；　the　sensory　assault　bewildering。　Seldom　have　I　been　so　in　awe　of　the　power　of　my　species。
Seldom　have　I　been　so　forcibly　reminded　of　my　place　as　a　tiny　cog　in　the　workings　of　the　holy　Imperium　of　Mankind。
FOLLOWING　THE　MIGHTY　Avenue　of　the　Victor　Bellum；　the　Triumph　passed　under　the　Spatian　Gate；　a　monolithic　structure　of　glossy
white　aethercite。　The　memorial　gate　was　so　cyclopean；　even　the　Titans　passed　under　it　without　difficulty。
It　had　been　raised　to　commemorate　Admiral　Lorpal　Spatian；　who　had　been　killed　in　the　early　years　of　the　Ophidian　Suppression
during　the　magnificent　fleet　action　that　had　taken　Uritule　IV。
The　inner　part　of　the　arch　was　painted　with　majestic　murals　depicting　that　event；　and　rose　to　a　dome　so　high；　a　microclimate　of　clouds
regularly　formed　under　the　apex。　I　had　known　Spatian　personally；　and　like　several　others　in　the　procession；　I　paused　under　the　giant
gate　to　pay　my　respects　to　the　eternal　flame。

No；　that　is　not　true。　I　had　known　Spatian；　during　the　Helican　Schism；　but　not　at　all　well。　For　reasons　I　could　not　explain；　I　felt
compelled　to　stop。　I　certainly　had　no　great　urge　to　honour　him。
'Sir？'　Ravenor　asked　as　I　stepped　aside。
'Go　on；　I'll　catch　up　shortly；'　I　told　him。
Ravenor　moved　on　with　the　procession　while　I　lit　a　votive　candle　and　set　it　amongst　the　thousands　of　others　around　Spatian's　tomb。
The　vast　tide　of　the　Triumph　moved　slowly　by　behind　me。　Other　figures　had　detached　themselves　from　the　procession　and　stood
nearby；　paying　silent　homage　to　the　admiral。
'Eisenhorn？'
I　looked　round；　the　voice　breaking　my　reverie。　An　elderly　but　powerful　navy　officer　stood　before　me；　splendidly　austere　in　his　white
dress　jacket。
'Madorthene；'　I　said；　recognising　him　at　once。
We　shook　hands。　It　had　been　a　few　years　since　I'd　seen　Olm　Madorthene　…　Lord　Procurator　Madorthene；　as　he　was　now。　We'd　first　met
at　Gudrun　during　the　Necroteuch　affair　when　he　had　been　a　mid…ranking　officer　in　the　Battlefleet　Disciplinary　Detachment；　the　navy's
military　police。　Now　he　ran　that　detachment。　He'd　been　a　useful　and　reliable　ally　over　the　years。
'Quite　an　event；'　he　said；　with　a　reserved　smile。　Outside；　the　horns　of　the　immense　Titans　blared　again　and　the　noise　from　the　crowd
swelled。
'I　find　myself　sufficiently　humbled；'　I　said。　'The　Warmaster　must　be　loving　it。'
He　nodded。　'Uplifting；　good　for　public　morale。'
I　agreed；　but　in　truth　my　heart　was　not　in　it。　It　wasn't　just　the　overwhelming　cacophony　of　it；　or　my　deep…seated　reluctance　to　be　here
at　all。　Since　Ravenor　and　I　had　stepped　out　to　take　our　place　in　the　Triumph；　I　had　nursed　a　sense　of　foreboding　that　was　growing　with
each　passing　minute。　Was　that　what　had　made　me　pause　here；　under　the　great　arch？
'There's　a　look　on　your　face；'　said　Madorthene。　'This　isn't　really　your　thing；　is　it？'
'I　suppose　not。'
'What　is　it；　old　friend？'
I　paused。　Something…
I　strode　back　to　the　south　arch　of　the　Spatian　Gate　and　looked　back　down　the　huge　river　of　the　Triumph。　Madorthene　was　with　me。
The　Warmaster's　retinue　was　just　then　beginning　to　pass　under　the　Gate。　Cymbals　and　horns　clashed　and　blared。　The　noise　of　the
crowd　boomed　in　like　a　tidal　wave　surging　down。
There　were　petals　in　the　air。　I　remember　that　clearly。　A　blizzard　of　loose　petals　gusting　up　from　the　flowers　the　crowd　was　strewing。
A　formation　of　twelve　Lightnings　was　swooping　in　low　from　the　south；　coming　down　the　length　of　the　Triumph　parade；　following　the
Avenue　of　the　Victor　Bellum。　Coming　towards　the　Gate。　They　were　in　line　abreast；　the　tips　of　their　forward…swept　wings　almost
touching。　A　display　of　perfect　formation　flying　from　the　Battlefleet's　best　pilots。　Sunlight　glinted　on　their　canopies　and　on　the　raked
double…vanes　of　their　tailplanes。
The　sense　of　foreboding　I　had　felt　now　became　oppressively　real。　It　was　like　heavy　clouds　had　passed　in　front　of　the　sun。
'Olm；　I—'
'Emperor's　mercy！　He's　in　trouble；　look！'　Madorthene　cried。
The　fighters　were　half　a　kilometre　from　the　Gate；　moving　at　a　high　cruising　speed。　The　left　hand　wingman　suddenly　wobbled；
bucked…
…and　veered。
The　flier　directly　inside　of　him　pulled　hard　to　avoid　a　collision；　and　his　starboard　wing　clipped　the　wingtip　of　the　next　Lightning　in
line。　There　was　a　bright　puff　of　impact　debris。
One　by　one；　like　pearls　coming　off　a　necklace；　each　aircraft　was　knocked　out　of　the　formation。　The　once…sleek　line　broke　in　utter
disarray　Madorthene　hurled　me　to　the　ground　as　the　jets　shrieked　overhead；　rattling　the　world　with　their　afterburners。
The　two　that　I　had　seen　strike　each　other　were　spinning　in　the　air；　somersaulting　like　discarded　toys；　splintering　trails　of　metal　scrap
behind　them。　In　the　confusion；　it　seemed　to　me　as　if　several　others　had　also　accidentally　collided。
One　Lightning；　over　ten　tonnes　of　almost　supersonic　metal；　cartwheeled　down　and　went　into　the　crowd　on　the　west　side　of　the
Avenue。　It　bounced　at　least　once；　showering　human　debris　into　the　air。　At　its　final　impact；　it　became　a　massive　fireball　that　belched　up
a　blazing　mushroom　cloud　a　hundred　metres　into　the　air。　Shock　and　berserk　panic　filled　the　crowd。　The　stench　of　flame　and　heat　and
promethium　washed　over　me。
There　was　a　flash　and　the　ground　shook　as　a　second　stricken　Lightning　spiralled　in　under　the　shadow　the　Gate。　Then；　almost
simultaneously；　a　third　and　louder　blast　came　as　a　third　aircraft；　sent　lurching　out　of　control；　sheared　off　a　wing　on　the　top　corner　of
the　Spatian　Gate　itself；　right　above　us；　and　began　tumbling　down；　end　over　end。
In　the　face　of　this　calamitous　accident；　the　soldiers　in　the　Triumph　were　scattering　in　all　directions。　I　dragged　Madorthene　back　in
under　the　arch　as　shattered　chunks　of　the　stricken　aircraft　avalanched　down。
A　catastrophe。　A　terrible；　terrible　catastrophe。
And　it　was　just　beginning。

SIX
DOOM　COMES　TO　THRACIAN。
CHAOS　UNSLIPPED。
HEADSHOT。
EVEN　AT　THAT　stage；　gripped　by　horror　and　outrage；　I　knew　that　a　great　hollow　part　of　me　deep　in　my　soul　could　not；　would　not
believe　that　this　had　simply　been　a　tragic　accident。
There　were　fire　and　explosions　all　around；　mass　panic；　screaming。
And　another　sound。　An　extraordinary　low　moaning；　a　swelling；　surging　susurration　that　I　realised　was　the　sound　two　billion　people
make　when　they　are　panicking　and　in　fear　for　their　lives。
The　crowds　had　spilled　over　onto　the　Avenue；　quite　beyond　the　measure　of　the　arbites　to　contain　them；　fleeing　both　the　dreadful　crash
sites　and　the　fires；　and　also　the　imagined　risk　that　to　stand　still　somehow　invited　more　Imperial　warcraft　to　fall　upon　their　heads。
The　crowd　moved　as　one；　a　fluid　thing；　like　water。　There　was　no　decision　making　process；　no　ringleader。　Mass　instinct　simply
compelled　the　people　who　swamped　the　vast　street；　in　awful；　trampling　tides；　overwhelming　the　ranks　of　the　Triumph；　much　of　which
was　already　breaking　up　in　shocked　dismay。　There　was　no　sound　of　music　any　more；　no　cheering；　no　drums　or　sirens。　Just　a　braying
insanity；　a　world　turned　on　its　head。
I　saw　people　die　in　their　hundreds；　trampled　underfoot　or　crushed　in　the　sheer　press　of　bodies。　In　some　cases；　the　dead　were　so
squeezed　by　their　neighbours；　they　were　carried　along　for　many　metres　before　being　freed　to　slither　to　the　ground。
I　saw　troopers　from　the　retinues；　and　arbites；　firing　into　the　crowd　in　terror　before　they　were　run　down。　Barricades　collapsed。
Standards　swayed　and　toppled。　Walkways　over　the　drain　canals　alongside　the　Avenue　cracked　and　fell　in；　spilling　hundreds　down　into
the　rockcrete　trenches。
I'd　lost　sight　of　Mado