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《Primacy Instinct（科幻战争）》
作者: [英]Sarah Cawkwell【完结】
Synopsis (英文书籍文案)
The story describes the fortunes of an assault squad of Silver Skulls Space Marines, the 'Reckoners', deployed to the jungle world of Ancerios III to search out the possible crash site of an Eldar vessel along with any clues regarding the fate of the crew. Ploughing through the dense jungle the Marines discover a sinister alien life form that opens their eyes to a new threat; the implications of which are as disturbing as they are far-reaching.
The combat scenes are gripping and suitably fast paced while still managing to move the story forward rather than indulging in pure shooty-death-kill-in-space. Brother Sergeant Ur'ten grows steadily as a character, displaying a welcome measure of self-knowledge and a combat competence born of over a century of fighting in the Emperor's name. In addition, Ur'ten's supporting cast are equally compelling; though special mention must go to Prognosticator Bhehan, who in the Silver Skulls takes the role of Librarian with a hint of Chaplain. He is a really great character, who in truth deserves the title of joint lead protagonist as he adds a great deal of depth and subtlety to an already excellent story.
Victory does not always rest with the big guns.
But if we rest in front of them, we shall be lost.
– Lord Commander Argentius
THE SOARING FORESTS of Ancerios III steamed gently in the relentless heat of the tropical sun.
Condensation beaded and rose, shimmering in a constant haze from the emerald-green and deep mauve
of the leaves. This was a cruel, merciless place where the sultry twin suns raised the surface temperature
to inhospitable levels. The atmosphere was stifling and barely tolerable for human physiology.
However, the party making their way through the jungle were not fully human.
The dark Anceriosan jungle had more than just shape, it had oppressive, heavy form. There was an
eerie silence, which might once have been broken by the chattering of primate-like creatures or the call of
exotic birds. In this remote part of the jungle, there was no sign of the supposed native fauna. What plant
life that did exist had long since evolved at a tangent, adapting necessarily to the living conditions.
Everything that grew reached desperately upwards, yearning towards the suns. Perhaps there was a
dearth of animal life, but these immense plants thrived and provided a home for a countless variety of
insects.
There was a faint stirring of wind, a shift in the muggy air, and a cloud of insects lifted on the breeze.
They twisted lazily, their varicoloured forms catching and reflecting what little smattering of dappled
sunlight managed to penetrate this far down. They twirled with joyful abandon on the zephyr that held
them in its gentle grasp, riding the updraft through to a clearing.
The cloud abruptly dissipated as a hand clad in a steel-grey gauntlet scythed neatly through it.
Startled, the insects scattered as though someone had thrown a frag grenade amongst them. The moment
of confusion passed swiftly, and they gradually drifted back together in an almost palpably indignant
clump. They lingered briefly, caught another thermal and were gone.
Sergeant Gileas Ur’ten, squad commander of the Silver Skulls Eighth Company Assault squad ‘The
Reckoners’, swatted with a vague sense of irritation at the insects. They flew constantly into the breathing
grille of his helmet and whilst the armour was advanced enough and sensibly designed in order not to
allow them to get inside, the near-constant pit-pit-pit of the bugs flying against him was starting to
become a nuisance.
He swore colourfully and hefted the weight of the combat knife in his hand. It had taken a great deal
more work than anticipated to carve a path through to the clearing, and the blade was noticeably dulled
by the experience.
Behind him, the other members of his squad were similarly surveying the damage to their weapons
caused by the apparently innocent plant life. Gileas stretched out his shoulders, stiff from being hunched in
the same position for so long, and spun on his heel to face his battle-brothers.
‘As far as I can make out, the worst threats are these accursed insects,’ he said in a sonorous
rumble. His voice was deep and thickly accented. ‘Not to mention these prevailing plant stalks and the
weather.’
The Assault squad had discovered very quickly that the moisture in the air, coupled with spores from
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the vegetation that they had hacked down, was causing a variety of malfunctions within their jump packs.
Like so much of the rediscovered technology that the Adeptus Astartes employed, the jump packs had
once been things of beauty, things that offered great majesty and advantage to the Emperor’s warriors.
Now, however, they were starting to show signs of their age. Fortunately, the expert and occasionally
lengthy ministrations of the Chapter’s Techmarines kept the machine-spirits satisfied and ensured that
even if the devices were not always perfect, they were always functional.
Gileas sheathed his combat knife and reached up to snap open the catch that released his helmet.
There was an audible hiss of escaping air as the seals unlocked. Removing the helmet, an untidy tumble
of dark hair fell to his shoulders, framing a weather-tanned, handsome face that was devoid of the tattoos
that covered the rest of his body beneath the armour. Like all of the Silver Skulls, Gileas took great pride
in his honour markings. He had not yet earned the right to mark his face. It would not be long, it was
strongly hinted, for the ambitious Gileas was reputedly earmarked for promotion to captain. It was a
rumour which had stemmed from his own squad and had been met with mixed reactions from others
within the Chapter. Gileas repeatedly dismissed such talk as hearsay.
He cast dark, intelligent eyes cautiously around the clearing, clipping his helmet to his belt and
loosening his chainsword in the scabbard worn down the line of his armoured thigh. The twisted, broken
wreckage of what had once been a space-going vessel lay swaddled amidst fractured trees and
branches. Whatever it was, it was mostly destroyed and it most certainly didn’t look native to the
surroundings. This was the first thing they had encountered in the jungle which was clearly not indigenous.
Reuben, his second-in-command, came up to Gileas’s side and disengaged his own helmet. Unlike
his wild-haired commanding officer, he wore his hair neat and closely cropped to his head. He
considered the destroyed vessel, sifting through the catalogue of data in his mind. It was unlike anything
he had ever seen before. Any markings on its surface were long gone with the ravages of time, and it was
nearly impossible to filter out any sort of shape. Any form it may have once taken had been eradicated by
the force of impact.
‘It doesn’t look like a wraithship, brother,’ he said.
‘No,’ grunted Gileas in agreement. ‘It certainly bears no resemblance to that thing we were pursuing.
’ He growled softly and ran a hand through his thick mane of hair. ‘I suspect, brother, that our quarry got
away from us in the webway. Unfortunate that they escaped the Emperor’s justice. For now, at least.’
His hand clenched briefly into a fist and he swore again. He considered the vessel for a few silent
moments. Finally, he shook his head.
‘This has been guesswork from the start,’ he acknowledged with reluctance. ‘We all knew that there
was a risk we would end up chasing phantoms. Still…’ He indicated the wreck. ‘At least we have
something to investigate. Perhaps this is what the eldar were seeking. There’s no sign of them in the
atmosphere. We may as well press our advantage.’
‘You think we’re ahead of them?’
‘I would suggest that there’s a good chance.’ Gileas shrugged lightly. ‘Or maybe we’re behind them.
They could already have been and gone. Who knows, with the vagaries of the warp? The Silver Arrow’
s Navigator hadn’t unscrambled her head enough to get a fix on chronological data when we left. Either
way, it’s worth checking for any sign of passage. Any lead is a good lead. Even when it leads nowhere.’
‘Is that you or Captain Kulle speaking?’ Reuben smiled as he mentioned Gileas’s long-dead mentor.
The sergeant did not reply. Instead, he grinned, exposing ritualistically sharpened canines that were a
remnant of his childhood amongst the tribes of the southern steppes. ‘It matters little. Whatever this thing
is, it’s been here for a long time. This surely can’t be the ship we followed into the warp. It isn’t one of
ours and that’s all we need to know. You are all fully aware of your orders, brothers. Assess, evaluate,
exterminate. In that order.’
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He squinted at the ship carefully. Like Reuben, he was unable to match it to anything in his memory. ‘
I feel that the last instruction might well be something of a formality though. I doubt that anything could
have survived an impact like that.’
The ship was practically embedded in the planet’s surface, much of its prow no longer visible, buried
beneath a churned pile of dirt and tree roots. Hardy vegetation, some kind of lichen or moss, clung to the
side of the vessel with grim determination.
The sergeant glanced sideways at the only member of the squad not clad head-to-foot in steel-grey
armour and made a gesture with his hand, inviting him forwards.
Resplendent in the blue armour of a psychic battle-brother, Prognosticator Bhehan inclined his head
in affirmation before reaching his hand into a pouch worn on his belt. He stepped forwards until he was
beside the sergeant, hunkered down into a crouch and cast a handful of silver-carved rune stones to the
ground. As Prognosticator, it was important for him to read the auguries, to commune with the will of the
Emperor before the squad committed themselves. To a man, the Silver Skulls were deeply superstitious.
It had been known for entire companies to refuse to go into battle if the auguries were poor. Even the
Chapter Master, Lord Commander Argentius, had once refused to enter the fray on the advice of the
Vashiro, the Chief Prognosticator.
This was more, so much more than ancient superstition. The Silver Skulls believed without question
that the Emperor projected His will and His desire through His psychic children. These readings were no
simple divinations of chance and happenstance. They were messages from the God-Emperor of
Mankind, sent through the fathomless depths of space to His distant loyal servants.
The Silver Skulls, loyal to the core, never denied His will.
Prognosticators served a dual purpose in the Chapter. Where other ranks of Adeptus Astartes had
Librarians and Chaplains, the Silver Skulls saw the universe in a different way. Those battle-brothers who
underwent training at the hands of the Chief Prognosticator offered both psychic and spiritual guidance to
their brethren. Their numbers were not great: Varsavia did not seem to produce many psykers. As a
consequence, those who did ascend to the ranks of the Astartes were both highly prized and revered
amongst the Chapter.
Gileas knew that the squad were deeply honoured to have Bhehan assigned to them. He was young,
certainly; but his powers, particularly those of foresight, were widely acknowledged as being amongst the
most veracious and trustworthy in the entire Chapter.
‘I’m feeling nothing from the wreck,’ said Bhehan in his soft, whispering voice. The young
Prognosticator hesitated and frowned at the runes, passing his hand across them once again. He
considered for a moment or two, his posture stiff and unyielding. Finally, he relaxed. ‘If it were a
wraithship, if it were the one we were pursuing, its psychic field would still be active. This one is
assuredly dead. Stone-cold dead.’ He frowned, pausing just long enough for Gileas to quirk an eyebrow.
‘Is that doubt I’m detecting there?’ The Prognosticator looked up at Gileas, his unseen face, hidden
as it was behind his helmet, giving nothing away. He glanced back down at the runes thoughtfully. The
scratched designs on their surfaces were a great mystery to Gileas. However, the Prognosticators
understood them, and that was all that mattered. An eminently pragmatic warrior, Gileas never let things
he didn’t understand worry him. He would never have vocalised the thought, but it was an approach he
privately felt many others in the Chapter should adopt.
Bhehan shifted some of the runes with a practiced hand, turning some around, lining others up,
making apparently random patterns on the ground with them. A pulsing red glow briefly animated the
Space Marine’s psychic hood as he brought his concentration to bear on the matter at hand.
Finally, after some consideration, he shook his head.
‘An echo, perhaps,’ he mused, ‘nothing more, nothing less.’ He nodded firmly, assertiveness
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colouring his tone. ‘No, Brother-Sergeant Ur’ten,’ he said, ‘no doubt. The Fates suggest to me that there
was perhaps something alive on board this ship when it crashed. Any sentience within its shell has long
since passed on. Subsumed, perhaps, into the jungle. Eaten by predators, or simply died in the collision.’
He gathered up the runes, dropping them with quiet confidence back into his pouch, and stood up. ‘
The Fates,’ he said, ‘and the evidence lying around us.’ He nodded once more and removed his helmet.
The face beneath was surprisingly youthful, almost cherubic in appearance, and reflected Bhehan’s
relative inexperience. For all that, he was a field-proven warrior of considerable ferocity. Combined with
the powers of a Prognosticator, he was a formidable opponent, something the sergeant had already
tested in the training cages.
Gileas nodded, satisfied with the outcome. ‘Very well. Reuben, take Wulfric and Jalonis with you
and search the perimeter for any sign of passage. All of this…’ He swept his hand around the clearing to
indicate the crash site. ‘All of this may simply be an eldar ruse. I have no idea of the extent of their
capabilities, but they are xenos and are not to be trusted. Not even in death. Tikaye, you and Bhehan are
with me. Seeing as we’re here anyway, let’s get this ship and the surrounding area checked out. The
sooner it’s done, the sooner we can move on to the next location.’ He grinned his wicked grin again and
rattled his chainsword slightly.
