The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第51部分

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inside　the　first；　then　a　third；　a　sturdy　iris　valve　that　withdrew　segmentally　into　the　wall　frame　with　a　noise　like　swords　sheathing。
'This　is　what　you　want；'　said　Bure。　'He　has　been　most　informative；　over　the　years。'
'I'll　review　your　reports　later；　magos；'　I　said。　'Leave　me　with　him　now。'
Bure　withdrew。
I　stepped　through　the　iris　valve　and　down　three　grilled　steps　into　the　cell；　feeling　the　nauseating　static　prickle　of　the　psychic
dampening　fields。　Every　surface　was　dusted　with　ice…crystals。　There　was　a　crackle　of　synaptic　energy。
'Hello；　Eisenhorn；'　said　a　hollow；　vox…projected　voice。　It　came　from　a　casket　that　squatted　on　a　basalt　block　in　the　centre　of　the　room。
Both　casket　and　stone　were　caked　in　ice。　Tiny　lights　darted　and　blinked　inside　the　casket's　open　lid。
I　prepared　myself。　Then　I　replied。
'Pontius　Glaw。　We　meet　again。'
TWENTY
INTERVIEW　WITH　THE　DAMNED。
BURE；　WARSMITH。
ORBUL　INFANTA。
'LET　ME　MAKE　sure　I　understand　you；　Eisenhorn；'　said　the　disembodied　voice　of　Pontius　Glaw；　slowly　and　contemptuously。　'You　think
I'm　going　to　help　you？'
I　cleared　my　throat。　'Yes。'
Pontius　laughed。　Synapse　leads　connected　to　the　gold　circuits　of　his　engram　sphere　flashed　in　series。　'I　didn't　think　a　man　of　such
studied　dullness　and　sobriety　as　you　would　have　the　ability　to　surprise　me；　Eisenhorn。　My　mistake。'
'You　will　help　me；'　I　said；　quietly　but　emphatically。
I　brushed　frost　from　the　grilled　steps　and　sat　down　facing　his　casket。　It　was　claw…footed；　rectangular；　compact　and　filled　with　complex
technology　designed　for　one　purpose：　the　support　and　operation　of　the　engram　sphere；　a　rough…cut　nugget　the　size　of　a　clenched　fist　in
which　resided　the　intellect　…　and　perhaps　the　soul　…　of　one　of　the　most　notorious　heretics　in　the　Imperium。
Pontius　Glaw；　dead　in　body　for　nigh　on　three　hundred　years；　had　been　in　his　physical　life　one　of　the　more　unwholesome　products　of
the　powerful　Glaw　dynasty。　That　family　line；　part　of　the　high　nobility　of　Gudrun；　had　whelped　many　heretics　in　its　time；　the　last　of
whom　had　been　instrumental　in　the　affair　of　the　Necroteuch。　Supported　by　the　considerable　efforts　of　Imperial　Navy　Security；　I　had　all
but　crushed　their　poisonous　lineage；　and　in　the　process　had　captured　the　engram　sphere　of　Pontius　Glaw。
His　family　and　their　minions　had　attempted　to　sacrifice　thousands　of　innocents　in　order　to　restore　him　to　physicality。　That；　too；　I　had
denied。

Once　the　affair　had　ended；　I　had　been　left　with　this　casket　full　of　heretical　spite。　In　terms　of　technology　alone；　it　was　a　wonder；　and
there　was　no　telling　what　secrets　the　Pontius　might　have　in　it。　So　instead　of　destroying　it；　I　had　passed　it　into　the　safekeeping　of　Magos
Geard　Bure。　Bure；　I　knew；　would　have　the　time　and　skill　enough　to　unlock　its　technical　marvels　at　least。　And　he　was　trustworthy。
But　from　time　to　time　in　that　past　hundred　years；　I　had　questioned　the　validity　of　that　decision。　In　all　honesty；　I　should　have
surrendered　the　Pontius　to　the　Ordo　Hereticus　for　examination　and　disposal。　The　fact　that　I　hadn't　sometimes　played　on　my
conscience；　for　it　suggested　deceit　and　unwholesome　subterfuge　on　my　part。　In　the　light　of　events　in　the　past　year；　I　found　myself
fighting　back　the　notion　that　perhaps　my　accusers　were　right。　Had　it　been　the　act　of　an　unsound　man　to　secret　away　such　a　radical
entity？

Aemos　had　consoled　my　spirits；　reminding　me　that　the　casket　utilised　mind…impulse　technology　undoubtedly　stolen　from　the　Cult
Mechanicus。　There　was；　he　said；　no　question　that　such　a　device　should　be　in　the　custody　of　the　Adeptus　priesthood。
'Go　on　then；'　Pontius　said。　'Make　your　case。　Why　would　I　help　you？'
'I　require　specialist　information　that　I'm　certain　you　have。　Certain　lore。'

'You　are　an　inquisitor；　Eisenhorn。　All　the　resources　of　the　Imperium　are　at　your　disposal。　Am　I　to　understand　that；　well；　that　your
scope　has　become　somewhat　limited？'
I　was　damned　if　I　was　going　to　tell　this　monster　of　the　straits　I　was　in。　And　even　though　he　was　right　in　a　way；　there　was　no　Imperial
archive　I　knew　of　that　could　answer　my　questions。
'What　I　need　might　be　regarded　as…　proscribed　knowledge。'
'Ahhhhh…'
'What？　〃Ah〃　what？'
Even　without　features　or　body　language　to　read；　Pontius　seemed　insufferably　pleased　with　himself。　'So　you've　finally　reached　that
place。　How　wonderful。'
'What　place？'　I　felt　uncomfortable。　I　had　been　planning　this　interview　for　months；　and　now　control　was　slipping　entirely　to　Glaw。
'The　place　where　you　cross　the　line。'
'I　hav—'
'All　inquisitors　cross　the　line　eventually。'
'I　tell　y—'
'All　of　them。　It's　an　occupational　hazard。'
'Listen　to　me；　you　worthless—'
'Methinks　Inquisitor　Eisenhorn　protests　too　much。　The　line；　Gregor。　The　line！　The　line　between　order　and　chaos；　between　right　and
wrong；　between　mankind　and　man…unkind。　I　know　it；　because　I've　crossed　it。　Willingly；　of　course。　Gladly。　Skipping　and　dancing　and
delighting。　For　the　likes　of　you；　it　is　a　more　painful　process。'
I　rose。　'I　don't　think　this　conversation　is　going　anywhere；　Glaw。　I'm　leaving。'
'So　soon？'
'Perhaps　I'll　be　back　in　another　century　or　two。'
'It　was　on　Quenthus　Eight；　in　the　spring　of　019。M41。'
I　paused　at　the　cell　hatchway。　'What　was？'
'The　moment　I　crossed　the　line。　Would　you　like　to　hear　about　it？'
I　was　rattled；　but　I　returned　to　my　seat　on　the　steps。　I　knew　what　he　was　doing。　Imprisoned　in　his　casket　without　touch　or　smell　or
taste；　without　any　sensory　stimulation；　Pontius　Glaw　craved　company　and　conversation。　I　had　learned　that　much　during　my　long
interrogations　of　him　aboard　the　Essene　ten　decades　before　during　the　voyage　to　the　remote　system　KCX…1288。　Now　he　was　simply
feeding　me　morsels　to　make　me　stay　and　talk　to　him。
However；　in　a　hundred　years　of　captivity　he　had　never　come　close　to　revealing　such　intimate　details　of　his　personal　history。
'019。M41。　A　busy　year。　The　buttress　worlds　of　the　far　eastern　rim　were　resisting　a　Holy　Waaagh　by　the　greenskins；　and　two　of　the
High　Lords　of　Terra　had　been　assassinated　in　as　many　months　by　disaffected　Imperial　families。　There　was　talk　of　civil　war。　The
subsector's　trader　markets　had　crashed。　Trade　was　bad。　What　a　year。　Saint　Drache　was　martyred　on　Korynth。　Billions　starved　in　the
Beznos　famine。'
'I　have　access　to　history　texts；　Pontius；'　I　said　dryly
'I　was　on　Quenthus　VIII；　buying　fighters　for　my　pit…games。　They're　a　good　breed；　the　Quenthi；　long　in　the　hams　and　quite　belligerent。　I
was；　perhaps；　twenty…five。　I　forget　exactly。　I　was　in　my　prime；　beautiful。'
There　was　a　long　silence　while　he　considered　this　reflection。　Light…sparks　pulsed　along　his　wires。
'One　of　the　pit…marshals　at　the　amphitheatre　I　was　visiting　advised　me　to　see　a　fighter　who　had　been　bought　in　from　the　very　edges　of
the　Ultima　Segmentum。　A　great；　tanned　fellow　from　a　feral　world　called　Borea。　His　name　was　Aaa；　which　meant；　in　his　tongue；
〃sword…cuts…meat…for…women…prizes〃。　Isn't　that　lovely？　If　I　had　ever　sired　a　son；　a　human　one；　I　mean；　I　would　have　called　him　Aaa。
Aaa　Glaw。　Quite　a　ring　to　it；　eh？'
'I'm　still　on　the　verge　of　leaving；　Glaw。'
The　voice　from　the　casket　chuckled。　'This　Aaa　was　a　piece　of　work。　His　teeth　were　filed　into　points　and　his　fingertips　had　been　bound
and　treated　with　traditional　unguents　since　his　birth　so　that　they　had　grown　into　claws。　Claws；　Eisenhorn！　Fused；　calcified　hooks　of
keratin　and　callouses。　I　once　saw　him　rip　through　chainmail　with　them。　Anyway；　he　was　a　true　find。　They　kept　him　shackled
permanently。　The　pit…marshal　told　me　that　he'd　torn　a　fellow　prisoner's　arm　off　during　transit；　and　scalped　a　careless　stadium　guard。
With　his　teeth。'
'Charming。'
'I　bought　him；　of　course。　I　think　he　liked　me。　He　had　no　real　language；　naturally；　and　his　table　manners！　He　slept　in　his　own　soil　and
rutted　like　a　canine。'
'No　wonder　he　liked　you。'
The　frost　crackled　around　the　casket。　'Cruel　boy。　I　am　a　cultured　man。　Ha。　I　was　a　cultured　man。　Now　I　am　an　erudite　and　dangerous
box。　But　don't　forget　my　learning　and　upbringing；　Eisenhorn。　You'd　be　amazed　how　easy　it　is　for　a　well…raised　and　schooled　son　of　the
Imperium　to　slide　across　that　line　I　mentioned。'
'Go　on。　I'm　sure　you　had　a　point　to　make。'
'Aaa　served　me　well。　I　won　several　fortunes　on　his　pit…fights。　I　won't　pretend　we　ever　became　friends…　one　doesn't　become　friends
with　a　favourite　carnodon　now；　does　one？　And　one　certainly　never　makes　friends　with　a　commodity。　But　we　built　an　understanding
over　the　years。　I　would　visit　him　in　his　cell；　unguarded；　and　he　never　touched　me。　He　would　halt　out　old　myths　of　his　home　world；
Borea。　Vicious　tales　of　barbary　and　murder。　But　I'm　getting　ahead　of　myself。　The　moment；　the　moment　was　there　on　Quenthus；　in　the

amphitheatre；　under　the　spring　sun。　The　pit…marshal　showed　me　Aaa；　and　tempted　me　to　purchase　him。　Aaa　looked　at　me；　and　I　think
he　saw　a　kindred　soul…　which　is　probably　why　we　bonded　once　he　was　mine。　In　his　simple；　broken　speech；　he　implored　me　to　buy
him；　telling　me　graphically　what　sport　I　would　have　of　him。　And　to　seal　the　deal；　he　offered　me　his　tore。'
'His　tore？'
'That's　right。　The　slaves　were　allowed　to　keep　certain　familiar　items　provided　they　weren't　potential　weapons。　Aaa　wore　a　golden　tore
around　his　neck；　the　mark　of　his　tribe。