A Man Of His Word


..7..

GREON AWOKE TO AN ARGUMENT. The sound sent slivers of pain shooting through his woolly head.

For a moment he thought he was back at the Astra Militarum barracks with his squad mates Tuckman and Heritino squabbling over a game of Seven Hand Sam like they always did. Tuckman was always cheating, and Heritino was more than happy to always beat him up for it. But as Greon's mind slowly ascended through the layers of fog and out of a much too deep sleep he realised it was not his squad mates bickering next to him at all, but his sister and her strange husband, screeching at one another at the top of their lungs, right there in the room with him.

Weren't they worried about waking him the hell up? They were really going at it too.

Awkwardly, perhaps because he was embarrassed for them, or perhaps because his head simply ached too much, the guardsman chose to keep his eyes shut and his breathing regular. Maybe they'd blow out all their frustrations and leave the room and let him sleep a little longer.

'I'll do it before the boys get back, before it wears off!' Rollam's voice thundered. 'We need him fresh.'

'He should've been asleep before he left the table!' Mericca Ann snapped right back. She reminded Greon of the younger fiery sister of his childhood. No more timidity here. All fire and not a care in the world for how far she went. 'He should've dropped off much faster than that, Rollam Grellis. He was still awake when I put him down to bed!'

There was something in her tone that made Greon's blood run colder and colder.

'Did you give him the same amount as the others?'

'Of course I did. And a bit more to boot, just to make sure he stayed out. But he took it all down like it was nothing more than a double-shot of rot gut!'

'He's Imperial Guard, Mericca. There's some tough men in those regiments, believe you me. But don't upset yourself. It's all fine now, sweet skin. It's all right and good now. He's out deeper than a mudfeeder at the bottom of the bayou.'

Greon could hear Rollam rubbing his sister's arms with his thick, calloused hands. Mericca Ann made a moaning sound. Then he heard a wet sucking noise that almost made him pop his eyes open.

They were kissing! As shameless and ravenous as a pair of teenagers, right there in the room with him. They couldn't get enough of each other. Then came the rushed gasps of breath, the soft slip of fabric falling from skin.

Greon kept his eyes shut, his breathing regular. He was confused. And worse than all the awkwardness of such a humiliating predicament he was as hung-over as he had ever been. What had they been screeching about? His head was all muddled up, too thick with fog and confusion. Had his sister put something in his drink, or in his food? Had Mericca Ann poisoned him? Could she have fallen so low in twelve years as to dope her own brother, her own blood?

He had come home, all this way, like he had promised, to give her the money she would need to get off this rock, and now Mericca Ann had drugged him. For what?

Greon was tremendously grateful for the mule-kick multi-vaccinations the medicae had shot into his arm back at the barracks. Whatever toxin his sister had administered had been neutralized by those shots. Hence his head feeling like it had been run over by a convoy of Rhinos instead of feeling nothing at all, and him being awake as opposed to unconscious. Or maybe even dead?

The intimate activity suddenly stopped. Greon heard the slap of a small hand across a hard cheek.

'The Father will be outraged!' his sister shrieked at her husband.

What in the Warp was she talking about? Their father had been dead for years.

'Well, I want the boys to have him,' Rollam roared. 'He'll be good sustenance. The Father will just have to wait for another to come along.'

'But He might want Greon for Himself!' Mericca Ann wailed. 'He's a strong man, Rolly. The Father could put him to good use. We could bring him into the fold. He would make a good soldier, maybe even a protector for the kids.'

Greon's blood rinsed icicles through his system. A little of it came from the vaccinations fighting the good fight against the toxin he had ingested, the rest was just ice-cold terror.

Had he heard her correctly? It made no sense at all, though it had certainly got his attention.

He remembered horror stories from veterans in the Imperial Guard, sharing their knowledge with the younger recruits during long periods on watch. Stories about people with strange hypnotic eyes and cults being formed upon the Eastern Fringes. Terrible creatures that used human beings, and indeed entire worlds, for their own needs. Like puppet masters. What had they been called? Who had told him that story? There was one story in particular desperately clawing its way up into his memory.

'The boys will be here soon, Mericca Ann. Let's get this over and done with. Quit arguing with me on this!'

He heard his sister grunt in resignation. 'He's my brother, Rolly. My blood. I don't want my family's blood on my hands.' She sniffed back tears. Was there anything left of his sister in this strange, young woman?

He heard her let out a slow, sad sigh. It sounded as though their disagreement was over. 'You're going to have to do it yourself, Rollam Grellis. I won't take part in it. And you better pray The Father is thinkin' the same way you are.'

Then the bedroom door crashed shut.

All he could hear now was the sound of his sister's husband breathing heavily. Rollam Grellis was very close. He sounded like a racitor bull that had heaved itself ponderously up onto land, the most unnatural place for it to dwell.

Mericca Ann had left him alone with her husband. Greon's mind was chasing after a memory. A much needed memory. Blood on her hands? What in the Void had she been talking about? Had they all gone mad out here from lack of contact with the outside world? Why would two isolated El Arborans need to drug someone and then just kill them? And who was this 'Father' fellow anyway?

He heard the unmistakable scrape of wood sliding inside calloused hands. Two heavy steps and Rollam Grellis was right there alongside the bed. A bolt of adrenalin shot through Greon's system.

Twelve years of Guard training kicked in before any more questions about his uncomfortable and unfathomable circumstances could arise. He opened his eyes just in time to see doom descending upon him.

His brother-in-law loomed over him like a roiling thunderhead, the huge forester's axe raised high above his head. The arc of its descent would pass straight through Greon's neck.

By the flexion in the huge man's triceps and the fierce expression on his face he was not about to tickle the recumbent Guardsman with the hefty blade either. No, Rollam Grellis was very serious about not sharing his brother-in-law with The Father.

Corporal Greon Reacches, of the 167th Bremian Armoured Cavalry, was about to get his head cut clean off by his sweet sister's very tall, very ugly, homicidally deranged husband.