Norn, Grendel

Four.

Left, right, uppercut, straight right.

Double jab.

Two.

Four.

Hook, hook.

Uppercut, uppercut.

Four.

Double jab.

Jab, hook, right.

Four.

Two.

Six. Six. Six.

TEN.

I slammed my forehead against the punching bag, air seeping through my clenched teeth. Sweat soaked through the back of my vest. The hairs in my armpits dripped.

"5471-AL. Face the wall." My arms fell to my sides. Tugging the gloves off with my teeth, I stepped away from the gently swinging bag and faced the wall. I pressed my hands to the small of my back and waited. You traitor. The Joparr officer's words gnawed at me. The door behind me slid open. Binders slapped over my wrists. You don't know the half of it.

Chill air nipped at my bare feet. Through shallow puddles I splashed, leaving footprints in my wake. Hands reached out to me from behind bars. A shock baton crackled. At the doorway to my cell the binders came off then the door sealed. 87 notches were etched in the wall above my bed.I lay down upon the lumpy mattress and shut my eyes. You again. Izuru Numerial: Xenos, Ranger, mother, came to me. All for family, was it? Well, not all of us won that day, you know. You got to go home. I got to go to prison.

The grinding of ungreased gears snapped my eyes open. Two guards in black uniforms and facemasks concealing all but their eyes stood in the doorway. I put my numb feet upon the floor and stood up.

Winter had come to Norn, bringing with it a hard frost that left a dusting of white over everything. Even with windows separating me from the outside, I shivered in my one-piece suit. It was yellow, and had broad white stripes running down the body and legs. It was also my only layer of clothing. The binders returned. Shackles were fastened around my ankles. Chains jangled as I walked.

In an underground carpark, under the eyes of PDF, I was thrust inside a Sixer and crushed in between two armed guards. We were rolling a scant ten minutes before the Chariot ground to a halt.

What's going on? I looked around at the guards as they dismounted and formed a cordon around me, turning away any nearby bystanders. The centre of Norn's eastern quarter was filled with blocky grey buildings with scarcely a window to look in or out of. Spires, pyramids and great arches were scattered liberally about. Plinths with statues, tall as mountains, rose into the grey clouds which hung low over the city. Far cry from the slums, this. Do these fellas know how poverty-stricken it is over there?

My escort hustled me up a wide set of steps leading up to one of the grey blocks and through a nondescript door in the smooth stone that was invisible unless one looked at it the right way. I wiggled my toes. The white skin had gathered a fine layer of frost. Numb wouldn't even begin to describe them.

The four sets of steel, hobnailed boots drowned out the pitter-patter of my bare feet with aggressive, measured beats on a flight of cast-iron steps. The noise echoed up and down the narrow stairwell and carried to the floors above. A long climb later, we left the stairs behind and trooped down corridors equally grey as the outside had been but strangely devoid of life. Each reeked of a fanatical adherence to cleanliness. The floors were polished to a mirror sheen, the walls spotless.

A beady red eye of a Servo Skull watched me from a corner and latched on to the tail-end. I could feel the light on my back but didn't dare turn around to see whether it was still there. One of the guards noticed the tail and hissed. Huffing to itself, the Servo Skull flew away.

Through the walls a low roar could be heard. It grew steadily as we drew closer to whatever was making it. It sounded like a large crowd of people all chattering away. This is it. My bladder ached.

The noise came from a huge plaza. From the window I could see all across the 400-yard-wide expanse. Crowds of people were gathered around a wooden platform. A rope with a loop on the end dangled from a wooden beam. That big a turn-out just for an execution?

Locks snicked open. Chains withdrew. The binders fell away. What? I stared down at my wrists and feet. Without a word, the four guards left the way we had come in. I spun round and looked up and down the long corridor. Double doors, all open, stretched both ways, leading through similarly deserted offices. A ripple ran through the crowd. Their tone changed.

I watched, stunned, as a man wearing identical prison fatigues to me appeared escorted by six PDF through the crowd. A cloth sack covered his head. The material sucked in and out where the prisoner's mouth was. He stumbled as he was targeted by kicks and jabs from those closeby. The soldiers were having none of it and viciously beat back any who strayed too close.

"You're a lucky little sod, Private…"

A speck walked into my peripheral vision. A finely-dressed Imperial official walk casually down the corridor towards me. The official wore a crisp blue tunic that displayed a prominent Imperial Aquila on the left breast. A red cloak was draped over his shoulders, held in place by a chain around the neck. On his right hip was a heavy-calibre automatic pistol in a reverse-grip holster. The grey and the wrinkles had vanished. A much younger man came to stand beside me.

You? Why are you dressed like that?

"Why am I dressed like this?" Veen clasped his hands behind his back. "Well…" he replied, his gaze on the hooded prisoner being led up the wooden steps to the platform. "That poor sod is Aldous Tillot; reprobate, a real villain."

"…Why?"

"Do I need to paint you a picture, Private, or are you just going to accept, like a good soldier, that I got you off the hook?" Veen's voice dropped back in to the arrogant, nasal drawl of the man he had been before. "Brrrrr." He pulled at his collar. "Now look what you made me do."

"Sorry…Sir?"

Veen raised his eyebrows. "My underlings call me sir. Those in my direct chain of command…Not so. You can call me Veen if it makes you happy. Anyway, that silly sod on the rope is a heretic and a thief, sentenced to thirty years hard labour. He will be due for obliteration after his appointment here."

Aldous Tillot stood in front of the rope. The crowds around were driving themselves nuts, as if a surge of electricity had been fired through them. Every man, woman and child were shaking their fists, shouting or throwing things at Tillot. Aside from keeping them from rushing the platform, the PDF did nothing to quell the unrest.

"Mmm?" Veen opened a gold case and offered me a cigarette.

"Ta."

"Been a while, I suspect." Veen produced a gold-plated lighter. He lit his own cigarette, protruding from a holder, then lit mine.

"Yeah."

"You've been spared a rather incongruous fate. Honestly, I will be very happy to wash my hands of the whole affair. You did well, surviving the slums on your own."

Ash fell between my feet. "I had a mate. Drow, his name was. Did they get his body? Did he get a proper burial?"

"I can't be everywhere at once, young man."

"Eighty-seven days and you 'aven't checked to see if my mate got a proper burial?"

Veen removed his cigarette-holder from his mouth and frowned. "Now, I'll put that one down to shock. But if you ever speak to me in that tone of voice again, it'll be a short drop and a hard stop."

"Who am I speaking to?"

"What I can say – what I am allowed to say – is that I have a talent for mimicry."

"Are you a—a stage performer? An actor?"

Veen laughed. "Ah, there, I'll give you that. Much remains hidden behind those baby-blues, young Larn.

"Can we…? I don't want to watch."

"Hm, of course. This way."

Veen led me through more empty offices, all predominantly grey and lacking in furnishing. A single door without a handle separated the barren complex from a carpeted office with cushions on the chairs and alcohol upon the mantlepiece. "Siddown, m'boy." Veen placed his holder with the glowing butt hanging over an ashtray and sat at the high-backed seat behind the desk. I perched on the edge of a chair in front of him and put my hands in my lap. "First." Veen raised a palm. "Thank you. I hadn't counted on the governor issuing a saturation order on the slums. Right place at the right time, you were."

"Only the second time someone's thanked me."

"Oooh. Big words." Veen shook a silver flask and uncapped it. "Shouldn't drink on an empty stomach, I know. Who was the first?" Liquid sloshed around inside the flask.

"She was."

Veen lowered his flask and slipped it in a drawer. He rose and placed his balled fists upon the table and leant on them. A shadow spread across his features. "Hahahaha!" A grin split the thin line in two. Veen raised a finger and waggled it.

"D'you know something I don't?"

"James, I probably know a lot you don't." Veen chortled to himself and leapt back in to his chair. "The minds of early twenty-something men run on rails and stop at a select few stations along the line – hah! That's the closest to beetroot I've ever seen a person go."

I shifted in my seat. Sweat built up between my buttocks and the soft leather. "Said she was gonna kill me."

"Certainly had a lasting effect. D'you know she went bare-knuckle with that lard-lump Estoc? Only got to the second round but I had her down for flooring Estoc before the final bell. Inezh she called herself. Quite spectacular…In more ways than one."

"Would you have done it?"

"What, done her child in? I could see at least five ways she could have taken action before then. I figured something would've happened before that."

"Nah, I meant set the dogs on us."

"Pfft. Okay, it was a gamble. But you passed the test."

"By what? Getting myself captured?"

"You have to lose before you can win. There's no shame in sacrifice."

"For the enemy?"

"Today the Eldar aren't our enemy. Maybe tomorrow of course when the whips and spikes of the raiders descend upon a peaceful colony and run amok with diabolical intentions. No, right now the enemy is Man, or at least the Meat Battalions the enemy likes to hide behind." Veen flapped a hand. "Aah! We're talking about our mutual friend."

"Friend. Why?"

"You want to talk about her, that's why!" Veen snapped his fingers. "Every time you close your eyes, it's her…Well, everything beneath her neck."

"D'you think I want to?"

"I think you're torn. Wobbling on the fence." Veen opened a drawer and shoved his hand inside. "I admire rule-breakers, transgressors against rules written in stone and stained with the blood of millions. I might even say you're one in a million. Or I could simply write you off as a lost sheep and throw you to the dogs." Veen's fingers closed around a crackling packet. He placed a brown packet sealed with a string upon the desk and slid it across to me. "Happy twentieth."

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen? Hmph. Oh, I know many, many things you don't, James." Veen winked. "Perhaps I know more about you than even you do. Did that punchbag really deserve the thrashing you gave it over these past three months?"

"Weren't nothing else to do…" I looked down at my knees.

"The concussion healed alright though? And your back didn't give you any trouble?"

My knees jiggled. I clamped them together. "Nah."

"D'you like toffee?"

"You're questioning me."

"James, I do not need to question you. I give you the right to ask the questions in this room."

"Do I get to go home?"

"Absolutely not." Veen sighed. "The strings I had to pull to get you out of prison. This wasn't just a few calls put out. This was two and a half months of bribes, favours and strong-arming. That is all I can say," he said with a tut. "Throne, I wish we weren't here."

"Can I go back to Lairs?"

"Impossible. I give you the opportunity to start afresh." An envelope pushed the packet of sweets over the edge of the desk and in to my lap. "You're not destined for the noose or the firing squad. You're a smart boy." Veen's voice hardened. "But don't for one second believe you can do anything for anyone else. Lookout for number one." He thumbed his chest. "Always."

"I don't want to go it alone." I worked a paperclip holding a military ID off the envelope. The papers had been altered to accommodate my false identity. The tiny snapshot of my face was the same that had been taken the previous year when I was first drafted. Only the name was altered.

"You will always be alone, James. Your friends are those you start out with on your journey. It's not worth getting to know anyone else." Veen went to a sliding door at floor-level and pulled out a cardboard box. "Hope all that exercise hasn't put on too much muscle. Here, you can change in the spare room."

Ten minutes later, I stood before Veen in black boots, short puttees, and Olive Grey combats; a pretender. The dark blue beret in my hands had the Alderian Light Air Defence regimental crest pinned to it. I removed the crest and placed it on Veen's desk facedown. Veen, a stylus and tablet laid out before him, did not look up. "Go out of this door and walk to the end of the corridor. Turn right and walk straight as far as you can. Turn right and descend the stairs until there are no more stairs. Look to your left and take what lies in the darkness. You will come upon a door forbidding entry to unauthorised personnel; ignore it. When you find yourself underground, approach the idling motor transport and enter through the passenger door. When you stop, leave the vehicle and approach the shuttle's boarding point. This is a direct order. You are not allowed to speak to anyone during your transit. Only when you reach your destination may you do so. If you have to reply to a senior officer, do so, but simply. Do not divulge any information as to your destination or full name to anyone. For the duration you are Aldous Tillot. Do you understand?"

I don't want to be him. I tucked the partly-opened envelope in to a breast pocket. I'm James. Why can't I be James?

"Yes."

"You will travel faster than news, I guarantee that." Veen aimed his stylus at the door.

"Thank you." I backed away, turned, and went to the door.

"Press the panel to your right. Chest height." My fingers patted at the wood panelling. Come on.

"I'll buzz you out."

Three months in prison and I'm still incompetent. I grimaced as I walked away from Veen's office. Bloody useless.

A tall, slim figure in a grey-blue jerkin passed my shoulder with only a few inches to spare. His footsteps stopped. Leather boots squeaked. A cape ruffled.

Veen's stylus wiggled. "Oh, nephew, nephew, nephew," he muttered. Thuds shook his door.

"Uncle, what were you doing with a Guardsman in your office?"

"Osvat. I thought you'd be at the hanging."

"Not a spectacle I thought you'd miss, Uncle. Where were you?" Osvat's hand strayed towards a bowl of nuts on the desk.

"Prison."

"Er—prison?"

"Do I inquire about your work, Nephew? No. So, keep your nose out of mine. There's a good chap." Veen slid the bowl of nuts away from Osvat.

"Quite—ah—irregular, Uncle?"

"Did you honestly miss me? The young Inquisitor with the girl on each arm."

"Ahh, but I had to pay, Uncle." Osvat sat on the corner of Veen's desk and ran a fresh cigar underneath his nose. "There are far too few beauties on this world to excite me. The cigars on the other hand…"

"Then seek alternate means of recreation. Life need not be governed by the instrument between a man's legs."

"Can't get hard any more, old man? I know a drug…" Osvat smirked.

"Don't take the piss, boy. Remember, the Lord Inquisitor always has time for me."

"And I have time to kill." Osvat lit his cigar and took a drag. "Beautiful."

"The idea of beauty differs drastically in our eyes, Nephew."

Osvat's eyes became slits. "Uncle, it is all in the eye of the beholder." He smiled. "Well now, what is this trinket?" Smoke gushed over the Lairs crest. Osvat picked it up and squinted. "Curious."

I dragged an OG kitbag from the deep shadows at the very bottom of the stairwell then pushed at a door with warning signs screwed to it. Is this it? Wind ghosted through an underground vehicle park. I slung the kitbag and made for a motor car whose headlights glowed. I opened the passenger door and climbed in. A screen separated me from the driver.

The grey stone blocks of Norn's centre fell away gradually and were replaced with more modern, red brick houses. Each military checkpoint we came to, we drove through without stopping. Not one of the PDF, Joparr, or grunts from other regiments paid us a second glance. Who is this bloke? Who does he answer to? The naval infantry guarding the perimeter of the landing ground didn't even search the boot, just waved us through the wire. I shook my head. This isn't real.

The car pulled up in the shadow of a bloated transport barge sitting upon its landing struts beside the wide runway. I picked up the kitbag in the footwell and gathered it in my lap. Pushing open the door, I said, "thank y–," The car roared off across the tarmac without pause.

A single file of boarders, a mixture of civilian and military personnel, shuffled closer to a lowered ramp. PDF were turning civilians away and herding them in to cages at the end of shock batons. Be glad to get away from this. It feels like we're at war with our own side. A PDF trooper snatched my ID from my fingers then pushed it back at me. "Move along there!"

The barge was one long tube of seats arranged in uniform rows. Two aisles ran down its entire length. I squeezed down the left aisle past many grunts and naval ratings. A few pairs of eyes followed the lone private soldier but quickly lost interest when I passed by. Nearly everyone I saw was with someone or other.

Sitting down, I raised myself up and peered over the top of the seat at those around. Three or four empty spaces separated me from everyone else. That's right, nothing to see here.

Six more passengers boarded in the time between my embarkation and take-off. All six–naval ratings–looked like they had had a good time on shore leave and paid no interest to me. I began to breathe easier as the barge lifted off from the ground and up through the thick clouds. I'm sorry, Art. I wish you were here now. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes.

In the tiny window I watched the outsides of the barge heat up. Grendel was beautiful from orbit, in stark contrast to what it looked like at ground level. The winter months had given it a smearing of white over the green and brown. Stars winked from orbit. Locked around Grendel were shipyards. Thirteen giant berths for the larger vessels to dock in. I guess I can look now. I dug a fingernail underneath the flap of the envelope and peeled back a thin strip of adhesive. Folded-up paper sat inside.

Private Larn…Nemesis Tessera via Agripinaa…Ensure destruction of documents on arrival. The orders fell in my lap. Where the fuck is Nemesis Tessera? And where's Agripinaa? A grey, blocky shape appeared in the window. Wait, what's that? A battleship? A nest of spires jutted forth from the angled bows. Beneath that a massive gun tube poked out. Further back, other weapons on sponsons were dotted all over the superstructure. Amidships, a rectangular protrusion sat upon the dorsal side of the hull. Lights glowed on the tips of antennae. A letter followed by two numbers were painted upon the ship's flank; G89. Beside it was the name: Aegis Fury.

The grey mass filled the 'sky' above us. We were heading for a tiny umbilical tube sticking out at an angle from the lower hull in the bows. Streams of air from hydraulics jetted out in to space. Our velocity slowed to a crawl. It took nearly twenty minutes of delicate adjustments to bring our airlock in line with the other. I marvelled at the skill it must have taken to correctly align both clamps. A dull clung came from somewhere outside as the tubes connected to one another and pressurised. "Please remove safety harnesses," a sharp, authoritative voice said.

I unfastened the straps crisscrossing my chest, picked up my kitbag, and trooped down the aisle, out in to the connecter tunnel that bridged the gap between the ship and the barge. Here the air was chill and felt strange to breathe. What's that smell?

A tide of bodies engulfed me when I stepped over the ship's threshold. Every other person seemed to know where they were supposed to go. I pressed my back to a bulkhead and froze. Beefy matelots and broad-shouldered grunts stormed around me. Where do I go? Fighting for air, I tacked on to a party of five matelots, thinking they would be heading in the right direction – the passengers' quarters. Sure enough, fifteen minutes of elbows and knees later I tailed the matelots who, completely unaware of the shadow they had picked up, squeezed down a thin aisle that ran between bunks. Each set of bunks was stacked four high, the tallest very close to ceiling and the lowest almost at ankle level. I chose the bunk second from the top, being slightly above head height for an average-sized man so I would remain unseen to all but the tallest. I stowed the kitbag at my feet and took off my beret. Day 88. What was her name again?

The Rhazus, 87 days ago…

"Your slumber rivalled that of the God of the Dead". A blurry face sharpened. Saeros smiled down at Izuru.

In a bed of soft gel, Izuru lay. A clear mask provided a stream of oxygen to her lungs. "My children."

"They await your return to health, my lady."

"Address me without honorific, Saeros." Izuru struggled to speak. She tilted her head down. Dressings covered her two-piece compression suit which had been shredded by a blade. "Release me from these restraints." She tried rolling her shoulders. The gel pressed in on her.

"'Tis rest you need, no catnap. I can scarcely begin to imagine when last you slept in comfort."

"Inoculate my children."

"Inoculate?"

"Their bodies have no tolerance for human diseases." Izuru winced. Isha, my face.

"Please, it is your body that has suffered the most. Were it not for this contraption of the Princess's—"

"Remove these binds!" Izuru arched her back and squirmed. Flecks of spit stuck to the inside of her mask.

"I cannot do that." Saeros hung his head. "Will you pay heed to the diagnosis with a calm temperament?"

"Where are they?"

"I…I kept them away. Your face…"

"Please, Saeros. I must see their faces together." Saeros bowed and backed out. Shortly after, two grubby little faces swooped down upon her. Ilic and Korsarro cried and planted kisses on Izuru's forehead. "Mmm, my treasures." Izuru lifted her hand and stroked the twins' cheeks. "I love you."

"Mother, our friend, Friend-human. Why could he not come with us?"

"There are no friendly humans, children." What was his name?

"No! No! The kindly human we played kickfoot with."

"Kickfoot?"

Korsarro mimed a round object then gave it a kick with his foot. "Kick-ball."

"You are not allowed to use your hands!" Ilic danced around, kicking with his feet.

Izuru sighed. "He has no place with us. Aliens are forbidden to set foot upon Ulthwé, children. Remember who he fights for."

"He protected us."

"Enough. So many near-brushes with death and it still did nothing to temper those bursts of energy. Prance around and you will not sleep tonight."

"Let us worry for you now. You can sleep soundly, Mother."

"Not until we are safely on Ulthwé, will I sleep soundly, my sons."

"Can we have a ball to share between us?"

Izuru closed her eyes. "If you behave." The twins kissed their mother's forehead and chased each other out. Events will no doubt catch up to them tonight. Adrenaline still has them in its embrace. Izuru relaxed her body. The human's name? Larn. Arvin James Larn. A muscle in Izuru's cheek trembled. Irrelevant. A being without consequence.

Sleep eluded Izuru. Each recollection of the events on Grendel brought on a spasm. The wallop of the recoilless rifle, the crack of the Lugo carbine carving through human filth, and the thud of fists against flesh. Hours later, Izuru, damp with sweat, peeled herself from the gel and unfastened the mask clamped to lower face. Kaela… Izuru's feet touched the deck. Numbness rode up her legs. Bruises, purple and red, dotted the patches of skin beneath her ripped-up underclothing. A discolouration surrounded a recently-healed puncture mark in her ribs. Izuru felt for her face and ran her hands over her chin, nose, eyes, and ears. The floor! Izuru got down on all fours and stared at the smudge reflected. Brave of Ilic and Korsarro. I would have run away had I seen my mother in such a state. Kaela, what is that smell? Izuru touched her armpit. No, I must breathe. She worked the remains of the sleeveless shirt over her head and flung it on the floor. What remained of the lower half of her suit followed. Izuru squatted on the deck and clamped her hands beneath her armpits and shivered. The wounded animal lives.

For a while, Izuru remained still. What will they think of me? She groaned. I am their mother. I must be strong for them.

And strong are.

"Father?" Fingertips lifted Izuru's chin.

Your strength was just as much your fortitude, as it was theirs. Rangers are wolves, Izuru. The strength of the wolf lies in the pack.

But I have no pack. I am alone. You are but a memory long passed, Father. Gods, forgive my sins. Blood of the humans and the kin flowed at my feet. I sought only to safeguard the family. Was I right?

Only the hum of the Rhazus's engines offered a reply. Izuru rose and dabbed at her tear ducts with her forefinger. A sharp needle slid between her ribs. Izuru pressed her hand against her side and hunched her shoulders. By the Mother, I stink of human. Now I will stink of Corsair. Izuru took small steps towards compartments in the opposite bulkhead. What was yours is now mine, pretender.

"Open." Izuru ran the palm of her hand across the flat surfaces. Drawers slid out. Inside, clothing of a deep purple, red, and black, was folded neatly. They match your eyes. Soulless.

Izuru fitted a black robe over a cuirass of curved, interlocking plates and practised pacing back and forth across the room without losing her balance. The armour and clean clothing conformed to her body with nary a rustle. Of course, they are not the fault. I am the problem here. Izuru smelt a faint scent on the clothing. Her vision clouded and the room tilted. No! It cannot be concussion. Izuru's tongue found gaps in her teeth. My teeth! What has become of my body? Izuru found a small vanity mirror in amongst the clothes and held it up to her face. It fell from her fingers and cracked in to pieces on the deck. Izuru clapped a hand over her heart and sat down. "Who am I?"

Out in the accessway, Ilic and Korsarro charged after one another. "No running in the corridor, children." Izuru stared after the departing twins. "If you slip and fall…" The deck shifted underneath her feet and her shoulder struck the bulkhead. Izuru's head came to rest against it. She touched the swellings on her cheeks and brow. Each puffy lump stained her skin red, purple, or yellow. Thin lacerations criss-crossed the backs of her hands. Strength. Izuru pushed away from the bulkhead. Pride.

The Rhazus's viewport looked out on a golden tunnel stretching far ahead. "When did we enter?"

Saeros and the Corsair pilot both turned their heads. "Gods…" The pilot averted his eyes. Colour filled his cheeks.

"I would have asked after the whitehead and his sibling." Saeros, still bare-chested, sighed. "For it seems they too could not stand before your fury."

"Vliss is dead. Dragut is dead. The Princess is dead."

The pilot shuddered. Saeros put his hand over his heart. "A mother's fury. We are sorry this happened to you."

"We are sorry? We are sorry? Brother, this Ranger took the life of the Princess of the Void Dragons; the head of our family."

"Brother, from your very mouth came ill tidings. Your very mouth. She was princess no longer. Usurped by her bondmate. An outcast adrift on the winds."

"And she came to kill me when she could have left well alone." Izuru sneered and eased herself in to a chair behind the pilot. "She paid for her sins—" Izuru bit her lip. Her back flared up.

"My lady—"

"Izuru."

"The Prince Ulthyr still commands the fleet from the Gorynych."

"I care not for the fop's fate. Saarania was the brains and the driving force behind the Dragons. I wash my hands of the ordeal. Tell me, when did we enter?"

"An hour and a quarter perhaps?"

Izuru slipped hand behind her and felt the ridges of bone. "Pilot, make heading for the Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwé."

"Can you guarantee our safety?"

"You are not in position to strike deals. Do as you are told, Corsair."

"Mellas, the lady has ties to the Chief Farseer."

Izuru rested her forehead in her hand. "Ulthwé does not torture. You will be well looked after."

"How does an outcast have the ear of the Chief Farseer?"

"Mellas, the lady's father was Amonther Numerial, sword-brother to Ilic Nightspear. Address her with respect and title."

"Enough—enough! Saeros, please enough."

"You should be convalescing, Izuru."

"And are you a healer?"

"From one outcast to another, please rest. I would say friend but…"

"Inform me of our return to the materium. T'would do me a disservice for you to set foot upon Ulthwé half-naked, Saeros. Come."

Saeros followed Izuru down from the bridge. The hand he offered Izuru rebuked. "The lady stumbles."

Izuru took ragged breaths and shoved off from the bulkhead. "The lady clove the Princess's skull in twain. Blood and dirt of the blackest intent smear the lady's soul. Now call me lady, Saeros, if it is bigoted title you wish to bestow."

Saeros's face crumpled. "It frightens me, you know, that a powerful warlord and her inner cadre could be laid so low by one being. Forgive me, it is something I cannot understand."

"Sire offspring, and then you will understand, Saeros. I was all they had growing up." Izuru rubbed a purple lump underneath her eye. "How do you be both mother and father in a galaxy that hates you?"

"I…I cannot answer that."

"Do not."

"Their father…?"

"You will find fresh garments in there. Clothe yourself. Wait a moment…" Izuru leaned towards Saeros and brushed her cheek against his cheek. "For your part in my children's recovery, you have my gratitude." Izuru turned and stumbled away without waiting for Saeros's reply.

Imperial Destroyer Aegis Fury G89

Sweat stuck the side of my face to the bunk's thin mattress. Awakening with a runny nose, I wiped it on the nearest thing to hand; the soft cotton of my beret. God, it's boiling up here. I fumbled for the buttons on my jacket and undid the zip. Underneath that, I had on a woollen shirt. Who thought wool was a good idea? I tugged at the itchy collar. Though warm underneath me, the bunk felt positively luxurious compared to the lumpy mattress I'd slept on for the past three months. "Who is she?" A young woman, pale and fair with unblemished skin, faced me on the opposite bunk.

In the half-darkness I studied her features. "What's it gotta do wi' you?" The woman pushed a canteen towards the edge. Droplets shone on the OG cover. I slithered to the edge of my bunk and reached for the water.

The woman smirked and drew the canteen back. "Who is she?"

"Classified."

"Uh-huh. And the colour of your beret is?"

"Classified." My ears went red. I sucked in both cheeks. Don't smile. Don't smile. What have I been saying in my sleep?

The woman though did smile and held out the water. "I hope she made you happy."

"Mmm." I got my fingers around the head and lifted the canteen over to my side. Izuru Numerial, she's brought me nothing but trouble. I chugged the lukewarm water down. I'll never have an easier time hating her, and a harder time forgetting.

"Ta." I passed the water back. The woman offered me a tissue. "Nah, I'm alright."

"New posting?" The woman propped herself up on her elbow and put her head in her hand.

"Yeah. Been waitin' three months now."

"Far from home?"

"Yeah."

"Where is home?"

"Jumael Four."

"You miss it?"

"Mm, yeah." I sniffed. "Where's Agripinaa?"

"Where do you want it?"

"Right where we're going."

"And then?"

"Somewhere else. Where I'm told to go, that's what. Haven't got no choice in it." I dug the packet of toffees from my kitbag. "D'you like toffee?"

"Do I like what?"

"Toffee."

"Are you selling?"

I tossed the bag to the woman. A smile on her lips, she unknotted the ribbon and dipped a hand inside the brown paper. She's not taking the whole lot, is she?

"Did you get these on leave?" The woman popped a sweet in to her mouth and sucked a finger.

"Mmm. Yeah, sorta."

"I wish you all the best." The woman tossed me the sweets along with the canteen. "Good luck, Guardsman." She wriggled from the bunk and dropped to the narrow space below.

"N-no, don't go." I placed my chin upon the edge of my bunk and watched her wind through groups of grunts. A green beret was now in place. You're the first person I've talked to in three months. I rolled back in to my dark space, a new thought occurring. Green, isn't that Intelligence?

Clouds of cigarette smoke obscured the 'no smoking' sign imprinted in bold white font on a red background. Scores of grunts, chattering away, laughing and playing games, were exhuming an overpowering odour of armpits and sweat which clung steadfastly to the bunk area like an invisible toxic fog. The air scrubbers, worked to breaking point, simply could not cope with such large quantities of human beings squeezed into a relatively small space. No, I'm not reading them again. I patted the orders inside my jacket pocket. I've got to find something to do. Been lying here for God knows how long.

My sweaty back clung to my shirt as I climbed down into the tangle of bodies, arms and legs below. Jamming my beret onto my damp head, I tugged on my jacket and picked my way over and around numerous card and dice games laid out on the floor. The belligerents, annoyed at their fun being disrupted, directed torrents of curses, both choice words used by the Crotch and the navy, at me. They can charm the paint of the walls, these fellas.

The air was pleasantly cool in the destroyer's grey corridors though it still had a definite tang to it. Nothing in here comes close to real air. Makes me want to be back on Grendel. I mopped my head with the soft felt liner inside my beret. Or not. Right fucking shithole that was.

I stayed out of the way of any officers on my wanderings. Any bulkheads with armed guards outside I avoided too. Hello, there's another grunt on his own. "Art." The grunt continued around a corner without looking back. "Art?" I hurried around into the space I had seen him go, only to be confronted with a darkened alcove that ended in solid bulkhead. Art?

Norn, Grendel, 09:49

"Sir, step away from the barricade please. This is military facility."

"I've no doubt of that, Good Guardsman." Osvat flicked the leather cover of his identification open and showed the ring he wore on his middle finger. The barrier rose and the sentries waved him through. "Come, Trip." Osvat flicked the lead and let Triptolemus lead on. Cigar trailing smoke, Osvat waltzed through the gate, past the rifle-toting sentries, past the wire, and past the armoured car guarding the entrance. He fingered the Alderian crest in his pocket. Now who in this dog-eared regiment has the eye of my uncle?

Osvat found a curious drought of officers inside the Alderian Barracks. The few he did see were at a distance, and all made off before Osvat could get near. They don't want to talk to me. How can they not want to talk? I have a dog. "Smells like hostility, doesn't it, Trip?" Trip wagged his tail.

A warm, greasy smell rolled from the Officers' Mess. Osvat pushed through the doors and led Trip in. Curious. Trip nosed along two rows of foldout tables and pointed his long snout at an Alderian subaltern, a second lieutenant, and a naval officer, also of junior rank. Only three other officers sat in the hall, all in their own different corners. "Hello. I couldn't trouble you to watch after my dog for a second, please?" Osvat wrapped Trip's lead around a metal support and tied it loosely.

"No, not at all." The male officer looked Osvat up and down over the brim of his mug.

"Trip. Stay." Osvat pondered over to the open hatch and leant upon a set of rails. He waved at an NCO. "Hello, Sergeant, could I have some recaf please?" Mug in hand, Osvat cradled it and returned to Trip and the two officers. "You don't mind if I sit, do you?"

The navy officer opened her mouth but her friend cut across her. "Not at all. You're welcome to sit in on the sedition."

"Might need to write that one down." Osvat chuckled and sat beside the woman. "I'm a strong, no-holds-barred consumer of the blackest bean. How about you?"

"I'm…I'm always up for that. Couldn't take it straight up though. I take milk with that and a bit of sugar on the side."

"And you, Lieutenant?"

"Just tea, thank you." The woman did not meet Osvat's eye.

"The grinding of the beans in the dispenser always gets me. Seeing the smooth grains pour out in to the jar and taking it in. That's one of life's great pleasures, I'd say."

"Can't disagree with that. The earlier you open the packet, the better. Then it loses its taste and turns bitter."

"Leaving a sour taste." Osvat beckoned Trip closer. "Come on. D'you want one?" He shook a packet of bites and dropped one in Trip's mouth. "There's a good boy."

"Is he real or tube-grown?"

Osvat stroked Trip between the ears. "He's grown, I'm afraid. The canine species are extinct as far as I know. Shame. He's a fine beast. Clever, devoted, Loyal, moreso than most men." Osvat placed the Alderian crest on the table. "I read about the six Imperial servicemen lost in the bombing of an entertainments venue in the papers." Osvat tutted. "I can't begin to imagine how you are feeling, Lieutenant, being from their regiment."

"Oh, it was only four. The fifth was found murdered in an alley. Disgusting back-street thugs to blame no doubt." The lieutenant made the sign of the Aquila. "Well, that's four families who won't have to worry about their sons any more. God rest them."

"Not like the Guard to lose track of a body. That's against Imperial policy, isn't it? At least as far as a security operation is concerned."

"Err…" The lieutenant rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it can't be helped. Those men were out of bounds and outside friendly-controlled neighbourhoods."

"I'm sorry. What were their names?

"Kerris, Samuel, Wenrok, Drow, and Larn."

"Who didn't get a burial?"

"Larn, poor fellow. I tell you, Larn was on-hold for a transfer too and then this happens."

"That's terrible. It sounds like you knew them well."

"Their battery commander. Emperor-blessed, we're anti-aircraft troops, not frontline soldiers! I felt like crediting Larn for recovering the battery's Rekyl gun from a snatch squad."

"But?"

"Politics. He was on his way out of the door. Better to make a quiet exit, I'd say. Just sorry he's gone now."

"Me too. Come, Trip." Osvat stood up, leaving his mug half-full. "Ma'am." The woman paused mid-sip but did nothing else. Osvat left the mess with Trip at his heel. Trip whined, sensing his master's train of thought. Well, Uncle, what designs have you upon this young whippersnapper?

"Ah!" Osvat performed a full turn and let Trip lead him towards a group of staff officers who had just left a theatre. "Good boy."

"Is that dog supposed to be in here?"

"Oh, yes, he's with me. You wouldn't mind if I asked you some questions would you, Colonel? Major?"

Imperial Destroyer Aegis Fury G89

An otherwise unremarkable steel bulkhead at the end of a corridor caught my eye. Standing easy in front of a locked hatch were two naval Armsmen in stone grey fatigues and body armour. "Business 'ere?"

"Just wonderin', what's through there?"

"Bulkhead Thirty. What's your business?"

"Lookin' for the toilet."

"No toilets onboard."

"You what?" I glanced from one impassive face to the other.

"No toilets onboard. Are you deaf?"

"Pull the other one." I folded my arms.

"Piss yourself. Go somewhere else first though."

"And make sure you clean it up, fella." Both kept a straight face. I returned their level gazes and walked backwards a few paces before about-facing and heading off down a corridor out of their sight. I had my thoughts free for all of fifteen seconds.

"Guardsman!" A bullwhip-like voice cracked. An officer stood in front of me.

"Sir." It took me a third of a second to read the officer's rank: captain, whereupon I snapped to attention and saluted. Three months overdue. Hope I'm not rusty.

The officer was a tall, well-built man in his mid-forties, with dark hair slicked back underneath his peaked cap he eschewed a typical beret for. His Olive Grey No. 2s, more stone-grey than olive, were brand new and undecorated. The scarlet officer's stripe running down the outer seam of his trousers did little to brighten the blank grey cotton. Brightly shined, knee-high leather marching boots came up to the officer's knees. A swagger stick was clamped under one arm. Bit gaudy for a captain.

"Private." The captain held his salute for a solid three seconds. "Stand at attention before a senior officer!" The captain produced a tiny notepad and a pencil from a breast pocket.

I returned to attention, exaggerating the motion and making my boot heel echo off of the bulkhead walls as loudly as possible. Let Tillot take the blame. "Sir, Aldous Tillot."

"Your regiment?"

"I'm—I'm in-transit, sir."

"What was your regiment?"

"…Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment, sir."

"Theatre?"

"Grendel, sir."

The captain tore off a note and showed it to me. "Your first and last warning, Guardsman Tillot. If I catch you in these corridors again, I'll have you clapped in irons and flogged. Stand aside."

Captain Max Kaukasios wrinkled his nose at the smell the filthy Guardsman left behind. How can such low-born animals exist? No, how can such villains be permitted to wear the Emperor's uniform?

The Imperial Guard was made up of proud fighting men, honour-bound in the service of the His Divine Majesty. That gutter-bred speck of excrement brings nothing but disgrace on the Service.

Kaukasios almost nodded in approval when the two Armsmen guarding the bulkhead door performed perfect, parade-ground salutes. Kaukasios returned it snappily and allowed them to stand at ease.

Exactly how Imperial servicemen should carry themselves, Kaukasios thought, heartened that the presence of such men made up for the reprobates, who, lacking in any redeeming qualities, put themselves to shame in The Emperor's eyes. Kaukasios received many salutes from officers and ratings who passed by him. Soldiering, this is what it's all about!

His destination was the Officer's Cardroom where he and the other male officers, both Navy and Guard, would gather before entering the officer's mess to await the captain and her officers. Kaukasios exchanged warm handshakes and greetings with the other men, all turned out in their crisp dress uniforms and Navy blues.

"Gentlemen, shall we?" The senior navy officer present, a full commander, invited Kaukasios and the other officers into the mess. As per tradition, they entered on the hour and stood behind their chairs, awaiting the women.

Kaukasios' eyes registered interest in the half dozen female officers, ranging from sub-lieutenant to captain, when they showed up. He looked the Captain, an attractive woman approaching forty, up and down. Unweathered, how remarkable. What was her name again? Deladrier.

The woman reached their chairs, the senior Guard officer, a lieutenant colonel, bowed and said, "Madam...Ladies."

In return, the Captain said, "Sir… Gentlemen." With that done, the women were seated by the men on their right. The Captain sat at the head and the Lieutenant Colonel at the foot. If there was another captain present – Kaukasios – then he and any others of equal rank would be addressed as major since there could only be one captain aboard, vice-versa with navy captains, if present, who would be referred to as commodore.

Such was the large number of male officers, Kaukasios was not seated beside any of the women and had to contend with a place between a balding major whom he did not know and a subaltern in his mid-twenties. Bah, what does it matter? Bring on the main course.

Kaukasios smiled across at the Captain when drinks were served. Deladrier inclined her head very slightly and took a sip from her glass. Hmph, a cold one. I shall enjoy thawing her out.

Sitting to the Captain's left was the First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Ducheaux. She regarded Kaukasios with thin-lipped smiles. Her striking hazel eyes were like las-beams boring into his soul, slowly picking him apart piece by piece like a doctor would dissect a corpse. No chit-chat from you, old girl?

The dinner was generally average, though to most it would've tasted like fine cuisine. Kaukasios' family had had the best of everything. His father Rafer's forgeworks had paid for everything. Rafer liked to think he was richer than the High Lords of Terra. The money had sent the young Max straight to the most prestigious Academia in the Imperium and secured him a rock-solid commission – a captaincy – with any unit he wanted. Desperate to prove himself to his family, Kaukasios volunteered to be sent on deployment to the most remote outpost in the Imperium, a far-flung world not far into the Eye of Terror.

Nemesis Tessera; my reckoning. Kaukasios' hands tightened around his silver cutlery. Oh, Star of Terra, how far I've come for you.

Regardless of whether everyone had finished, the meal was over when the Captain rose. On this particular occasion, Deladrier rose early, much to Kaukasios' and the other officers' chagrin. It was enough for the Colonel to make an unusual request. "Madam, will you permit me and my officers be served in the Cardroom?" he asked before the Captain and her officers could leave.

"Certainly, sir," Deladrier replied before departing with the other women.

"The Skipper's a traditional sort but she's got her head in the right place," a sub lieutenant said.

The men retreated to the cardroom for cigars and brandy. Kaukasios struck up conversation with the young Subaltern and a Navy lieutenant. "What did you think of Captain Deladrier, Lieutenant?" Kaukasios asked the Lieutenant.

"She seemed to know what she was about," the pink-faced subaltern said. He took a drag from his cigar and coughed up smoke. "I'm sure she has a great many qualities."

"Indeed." Kaukasios grinned and drained his glass. Mm, good beverage.

The alcohol in Kaukasios' blood lifted his spirits. After returning the salute from the pair of Armsmen at Bulkhead Thirty, different from the two who had admitted him, he journeyed back to his cabin and turned in for the night.

Later, lying awake, Kaukasios felt himself coming down from the effect of alcohol. The pleasant feeling in his stomach slowly gave way to an acidic, sticky churn. Were my family ever to find out they would disown me. I must have the Star.

The Rhazus

Time. Izuru spoke to her body. She rose from the bed. Her neck, shoulders, back muscles, hips, and knees replied. Every joint burned or locked tightly. "My lady, the Rhazus departs the Webway," Saeros said from outside the Princess's quarters. The golden miasma in the wide viewport above the bed was losing its shine and darkening, the blackness of space returning.

"What is the time?" Izuru arched her back and tilted her head up. "Day or night?"

"I know not Ulthwé's standard of time. It feels like night to me."

Stars twinkled over Izuru. One long, endless night. "The twins?"

"Inexhaustible."

"Hah." The widening smile reopened the cuts on Izuru's lips and at the corners of her mouth. "Mmph." Izuru dabbed at the cuts. Isha's tears, what malady restrains my body? Izuru wobbled forwards. Am I bleeding inside? She rubbed her arms and legs and adopted a squat. "Saeros?" She quenched the quiver in her voice and cleared her throat.

"I knew of brothers that would awaken after a night's drinking only for their bodies to seize up. They would fall asleep raving adults and awaken as babes incapable of even the slightest movement."

Izuru bent over, her cheeks bulging. She forced the back of her hand against her mouth. "An impetuous being would have offered to assist the lady." Izuru shook her robe free from the pile of clothing littering the deck.

"Lucky we are neither."

The corners of Izuru's eyes crinkled. "Yes. An impetuous being would further underestimate the so-called lady."

"And I know something they don't."

"Oh?"

"You would kill them before they set one foot in there."

"Hmm." Izuru's brows leapt. "When are we expected to arrive?"

"Within the hour. Mellas chose a tributary away from the main routes in to Ulthwé. He thought it best to approach externally."

"Very well. Await me on the bridge." Izuru fingers pause mid-knot. A solitary, tempered soul, weathered by conflict. His presence grows on my mind. Izuru's eyes flitted about the chamber. Her mind recalled another solitary soul. How does one sacrifice one's liberty for offspring of such a hated, feared species? One indoctrinated to kill, to hate, to loathe the xenos. Izuru brushed her greasy bun and traced a long hair falling down her back. Imprisonment, torture, and death, all to protect my children. My children. I do not understand such reasoning.

Outside, Izuru spread her arms and caught Ilic. "God of the Hunt guide you, young Ranger." Ilic's knee pressed against the knife-wound. Izuru groaned through her teeth and shifted Ilic away from her right side.

"Did she hurt you?" Korsarro twisted a bunch of Izuru's robe.

Izuru tapped her forefinger against the tip of Ilic's nose. "Through discipline of the body, pain can be risen above."

"How, Mother?" Ilic put his cheek against Izuru's.

"T'was love for you both that saw us reunited. Love's fire spurred me on, its warmth igniting the flame in my heart. It is you, and will always be you, my sons. I am because of you."

"Are we home soon?"

"Very soon, Korsarro." Izuru made the bridge and let Ilic and Korsarro take the two chairs behind the pilot and co-pilot's seats. Izuru rubbed her numb thigh and remained standing.

"Will we see our uncle?"

"Behave and we will see."

"Uncle?"

The children speak of the Chief Farseer, Saeros. And no, he is not their uncle. I am blood-relation to none on Ulthwé.

Vacuum surrounded the Rhazus. The portal to the Webway had long since faded behind them. Ilic perched on his chair. Korsarro swivelled on his. "Sit still," said Izuru.

"My lady." Saeros projected a nebula from the navigation unit. "A single mass inhabits this nebula. What you are seeing is quite honestly planet-sized."

"1000 kilometres lengthwise – a few hundred under to be exact." Izuru took the projection and compressed the view. "Let us see the Void Dragons stand against it."

"Home?"

"Yes, Ilic. Hail them the moment we are within range. Do you feel small, Saeros?"

"So, I am the insect. Does that make Ulthwé the boot?"

"The continent."

Saeros shivered. "And we cannot even see it yet."

"The illusion of distance distorts one's perception in space."

"Is there a term for a fear of open spaces?"

Izuru managed a half-smile. "It would be a lie to say I did not harbour apprehension over the openness, the nothingness, the lack of boundaries in space."

"It's pink." Korsarro pointed. "Pink fog."

"Acquiring a visual will be impossible in the nebula. Your Craftworld likes to keep to themselves, do they?"

"They are the closest to the warp-rift, are they not?"

"Assist Mellas, Saeros. Give me open communications."

A blue figure crackled upon the centre console. "State your species and purpose."

"And lo, the Mother wept for her children as each was torn from her bosom. Salt became solid, and souls became crystals. Never again would our fingers brush the realms of the gods."

"State your intent."

"We are five. Three adult, two children. Izuru Numerial, formerly of the frigate Corealis, requests permission to enter Ulthwé's borders with my offspring and two prisoners."

"Prisoners?" Mellas mouthed.

"Quiet." Saeros glared.

"My ship harbours no interlopers. I now command the personal fighter of the Princess of the Void Dragons, Saarania. I am not a prisoner. There is no subterfuge. Is the Chief Farseer taking an audience?"

The figure flickered. "Corealis and her sisters are long overdue."

"They fell under the Void Dragon's batteries. If you please, convey my compliments and apologies to the Chief Farseer." Izuru swallowed. "…I was delayed."