‘No… no one,’ he said, more than a little embarrassed. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
Russart nodded towards the surveillance pict recorders in the room that must have alerted him. ‘You were screaming for help.’
‘I wasn’t screaming,’ Grail argued.
‘I could hear it even as I entered the room. I thought you were in trouble.’ Russart stepped a little closer, concern etched on that face. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility; Grail did have his enemies after all, though how they would have reached him inside his fortress was anyone’s guess. ‘Dreams getting worse?’
‘I’m fine,’ Grail assured him, clicking his fingers for Russart to pass his robe over from a nearby chair. Quickly, he pulled this around him, swinging his legs out of bed at the same time. He hadn’t gone into any kind of detail with Russart about the dreams, had let the man assume they were of the battlefield: of Fennan’s Pass and the hulking green-skinned xenos.
‘But you–’
‘I said I was fine,’ Grail snapped. ‘You’re dismissed.’
Russart looked like he was about to say something else, then thought better of it. Questioning Grail when he was in this mood was not the wisest thing to do. Instead he nodded, concern turning to… what, resentment? Just a fleeting glimpse of it, but there.
‘I’ll see you in the morning for the inspection,’ Grail added, his tone lighter. Because he was thankful for all that Russart did. Furthermore, Grail did not know what he would do without the man who kept so many of his secrets. It was the reason why he was paid so handsomely, although Russart didn’t get much of a chance to spend that money. Apart from when they periodically played games of chance in various backstreet establishments, that was. Even then, Grail’s luck was invariably better than his companion’s. Better than most people’s.
Russart nodded again, withdrawing from the room. Grail waited for the click of the door before reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table, desperately parched and needing to rehydrate himself. His hand shook as he brought the liquid to his mouth and gulped it down. Then he set it aside, rose, and wandered over to the far side of the room, out of sight of the pict recorders. He passed a mirror on the way, catching his reflection; though neat and well-groomed in his appearance, he couldn’t help noting that the face staring back was a lot rounder than it had been a few years ago. His hairline was rapidly receding as well, and once again his mind turned to Russart, the difference in their appearances, comparing himself to his friend. Grail shook his head and continued on to his destination.
There he pulled the covering off a box that had been made to look like a bench, but was in fact a chest coded to his handprint. Grail looked about him, then opened it, gazed at the contents old and new. Quickly, he closed the box again, covering it up.
He just needed to check it was all safe. Just needed to be sure.
As part of his duties as governor of the mining world of Aranium, Grail was obliged to conduct a monthly tour of the facilities and it was to one of the larger mines that he had been taken to that morning via shuttle, accompanied by a full complement of guards. He’d passed over the workers’ habs that filled this sprawling portion of the planet, most in various states of disarray and decay, not important in the great scheme of things. Streets filthy and sordid, the perfect home for filthy and sordid deeds.
Now he was observing the operations – from afar, naturally, as he didn’t want to get too close to the slaves who mined the vital ore which kept the neighbouring forge worlds well supplied – and receiving reports about production.
It was a stark contrast to the place he’d set out from a few hours ago. His fortress home, though old itself, was sturdy and had stood the test of time. It had also seen quite a lot of funds channelled into it, giving it a new lease of life and fortifying it still further. The void shield, for instance, which he would be able to use to keep himself and the building safe in the event of insurrection or invasion. Unusual, to be sure, but a precaution Grail had insisted upon; just another level of security in order for him to feel safe.
Or take the renovations to the ballroom there, which would be needed soon for the party Grail was throwing, having sent out invitations to noble families, high-ranking officials and dignitaries. A way, as he saw it, of celebrating the good work that had been done since he’d been placed in charge; output having tripled in the last six months alone.
There were losses, of course, as was to be expected. You couldn’t push the workforce as hard as they did without casualties. But their sacrifices were for a higher purpose, for the Imperium. Without their contribution, and that of hundreds of other worlds just like it, the entire Imperial war machine could grind to a halt. Grail and Russart, who was only inches from his side, as always when they were outside the fortress, expected all of those under them to give everything to the cause. If they couldn’t? Well, then they were no longer of use and would be ‘disposed of’. An impetus for the rest to work that much harder. Similarly, those who tried to escape – and they did exist, believe it or not – would be executed as an example to anyone thinking about disobeying or abandoning their posts.
Grail had witnessed many such executions first-hand, some of which Russart had carried out personally and had appeared to quite enjoy. The governor viewed it as necessary, although he, too, did enjoy witnessing the bloodshed, to some extent. Unlike when they’d served together in the Guard, there was no risk involved to him; no danger. Grail, for his part, had always been rather fond of his own skin, and had more reasons than ever lately not to be parted from it.
Before they’d set off for the mine, walking through the hallways of the fortress – passing the multitude of guards and servants alike, Grail actually chastising a few of them for little or no reason – Russart had enquired if he was feeling up to the trip, given his broken sleep the night before. Grail told him again he was absolutely fine, that he should let the matter drop.
‘Do not forget your place,’ he’d said, ‘or how you came by it.’ The debt he owed Grail, not just because he’d brought Russart along with him when he was rewarded for his efforts; how he’d requested Russart as his aide, but also because of what he’d done that day on the line at Fennan’s Pass.
‘I never do, sir,’ the bodyguard had replied. ‘How could I?’
Grail wasn’t sure whether he meant the constant reminders, or the events themselves, which were seared onto his own brain.
The noise of the lasguns and lascannons all around the regiment, dug in for weeks at the pass: a position of strategic importance in this particular campaign. Attempting to make the handful of men they had left, who were holding off the enemy out there – advancing through smoke and fire – look like an entire army.
Risking glances over the top of the trench they were in, Grail and Russart briefly spotting the green skins of their targets, where they weren’t armoured, at the hands or the heads. The ivory tusks as mouths opened to let out terrifying cries as a call to arms. Urging their comrades on with mighty shouts of ‘Waaaagh!’ Wave upon wave, now that the constant bombardment of missiles had done their worst.
Not one of their comrades was sure their request for assistance had been heard, whether the signal had even reached its destination. Nobody had come yet, but they had to hold the line. Had to prevent the orks from getting past them.
Russart, to Grail’s left, was rising and moving, aiming as he went: targeting and hitting each of his targets from different angles to try to make it look like there were more men firing.
But of course some inevitably broke through. Like the pair who jumped into the trench off to their right, carving up Guardsmen with their cleavers, painting the walls bright red. Grail fired indiscriminately, hitting the enemy and, in his panic, his own men too. He would be doing them a favour by ending their suffering. Doing himself and Russart a favour by ending the enemy’s intrusion into their camp.
Then that tingling sensation, a sense… a feeling that something was–
There, above them, the rocket falling fast. Falling towards their exact location. Suddenly Grail was pushing Russart, shoving him as far away from where the explosives were about to land as possible. But still not far enough, the world turning upside down as they were flung even further.
And then… Then only blackness.
Blackness, and something moving beyond it that–
‘Sir? Sir?’
Grail looked about him, remembered where he was: back in the present, in the mine. The thoughts, the memories had returned towards the end of the tour. Probably because of the sound of the machinery, the figures – slaves and penal workers – occupying every level, going about their work in what looked like trenches, the smoke and the fire…
He shook his head, regarded the smartly dressed man with pinched features and slicked-backed hair in front of him, Lychin, who was in charge of meeting quotas. He had been in the midst of giving his report when Grail’s mind had begun to wander again. The man was frowning, as was Russart when Grail turned his head to the side.
Lychin was waiting for his superior to give the nod of approval, perhaps a word or two of praise for how they had performed in the last few weeks.
More, you can have more! You can do more!
That voice again, from the dream. Urging him on…
They were ahead of schedule though, according to Lychin, which would result in more production than ever this month. Metallic ore, rock and other minerals which formed the basis of the Imperium’s forces: guns, tanks, aircraft and even starships – there would be none of it without the raw materials that they provided.
Grail simply said: ‘Carry on.’
The man smiled weakly and nodded to himself, though it was more like a bow. He turned and walked away, boots clacking on the metallic balcony they were standing upon. Grail looked at the hour: the inspection had taken the better part of a day. There was just time enough to eat and then he and Russart needed to be somewhere else. A less formal meeting, but no less vital.
