Eisenhorn by Dan Abnett EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Dan Abnett
- Language: English
- Genre: Space Fleet Science Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
A cold coming.
Death in the dormant vaults.
Some puritanical reflections.
HUNTING THE RECIDIVIST Murdin Eyclone, I came to Hubris in the Dormant
of 240.M41, as the Imperial sidereal calendar has it.
Dormant lasted eleven months of Hubris’s twenty-nine month lunar year,
and the only signs of life were the custodians with their lighted poles and
heat-gowns, patrolling the precincts of the hibernation tombs.
Within those sulking basalt and ceramite vaults, the grandees of Hubris
slept, dreaming in crypts of aching ice, awaiting Thaw, the middle season
between Dormant and Vital.
Even the air was frigid. Frost encrusted the tombs, and a thick cake of ice
covered the featureless land. Above, star patterns twinkled in the curious,
permanent night. One of them was Hubris’s sun, so far away now. Come
Thaw, Hubris would spin into the warm embrace of its star again.
Then it would become a blazing globe. Now it was just a fuzz of light.
As my gun-cutter set down on the landing cross at Tomb Point, I had pulled
on an internally heated bodyskin and swathes of sturdy, insulated foul
weather gear, but still the perilous cold cut through me now. My eyes
watered, and the tears froze on my lashes and cheeks. I remembered the
details of the cultural brief my savant had prepared, and quickly lowered my
frost visor, trembling as warm air began to circulate under the plastic mask.
Custodians, alerted to my arrival by astropathic hails, stood waiting for me
at the base of the landing cross. Their lighted poles dipped in obeisance in the
frozen night and the air steamed with the heat that bled from their cloaks. I
nodded to them, showing their leader my badge of office. An ice-car awaited;
a rust-coloured arrowhead twenty metres long, mounted on ski-blade runners
and spiked tracks.
It carried me away from the landing cross and I left the winking signal lights
and the serrated dagger-shape of my gun-cutter behind in the perpetual winter
The spiked tracks kicked up blizzards of rime behind us. Ahead, despite the
lamps, the landscape was black and impenetrable. I rode with Lores Vibben
and three custodians in a cabin lit only by the amber glow of the craft’s
control panel. Heating vents recessed in the leather seats breathed out warm,
A custodian handed back a data-slate to Vibben. She looked at it cursorily
and passed it on to me. I realised my frost visor was still down. I raised it and
began to search my pockets for my eye glasses.
With a smile, Vibben produced them from within her own swaddled,
insulated garb. I nodded thanks, put them on my nose and began to read.
I was just calling up the last plates of text when the ice-car halted.
‘Processional Two-Twelve,’ announced one of the custodians.
We dismounted, sliding our visors down into place.
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