Granger (third trimester)

Warm and dark, dark and warm, vibrating with the steady lub dub lub dub lub dub beat that went on forever and ever and ever. It was getting cramped -- not that she had any concept of change or time -- but everything else was as it always had been and always would be.

"This weather. This traffic," said the Voice. "Can't we..."

"The Colonel expects all his officers to attend," said the Other Voice, the deeper and more distant one. "And their spouses. Sorry, m'dear, I..."

"Look out!" said the Voice, high and shrill as she had never heard it. The lubdublubdublubdub came faster than it ever had.

The world shook and SCREEEEEEEECHED. It hurt her ears.

"Oh f---" the Other Voice began.

NOISE SHOCK PAIN

The Voice screamed.

The world turned upside down and stayed here. Something hurt.

The lub dub lub dub lub dub slowed and stopped.

There was another, not quite as horrid screeching sound. Something slammed.

"Captain? Captain!" The new voices were deep and distant, but they were not the Other Voice. "Captain!"

Was it getting colder?

"Is he..."

"Yes. Both of them."

Definitely colder.

"Emperor have mercy on...."

"Combat knife."

"What?"

Colder.

"Give me your combat knife, Lieutenant."

"What? Major, why..."

"Because she's -- she was pregnant and the ambulance won't be here in time."



***

Susan (seven months)

Mama kissed Susan on top of her head -- "Your fuzzy little soft spot! I can't resist!" -- and held her up to the window. "Pretty day, mmmm?" The green grass outside the little house was bright with sunshine and the fields of grain beyond were gold.

"Now," Mama said, putting her down gently on the bed, "let's see about that..."

There was a shrieking roar, bone-rumbling low and ear-splitting high at once. Mama snatched Susan up and ran back to the window. A huge black machine had slammed onto the lawn, scorching the grass. Men clad all in black were already rushing out of it. A second black machine was circling in the beautiful blue sky.

"Oh, damn," Mama said. "How dare he?"

Mama held Susan tight -- a little too tight -- and stomped out of the playroom, through the hall, out the front door, and onto what was left of the lawn. The black-clad men were all around, holding strange, long metal things in their hands, and another man was stepping out of the machine: tall, lean, his hair more grey and his face more wrinkled even than Grandpa's. There was nothing of Grandpa's kindness about that face.

"Inquisitor!" Mama said, a little shrilly. "Could you at least not land your Valkyrie on my lawn?"

"The business of the Inquisition brooks no delay, Mrs. Bones." He produced a fancy sheet of paper with a blank space at the bottom. "Sign this. Here."

"No!" Mama looked around, spun around, staring at all the faces of the black-clad men. "Where's my husband?"

"Sign. Here."

"I'm not signing a thing you give me. What have you done with him?"

"Sign!"

"Where is he?"

"Dead." The Inquisitor winced slightly. "Sign this."

"So -- so -- so!" Mama was shaking. "Finally!" She laughed, high and hollow. "So, Inquisitor, are you happy now?"

"He died a hero. Sign."

"You filthy butchering..."

"I am a member of the Holy Orders of His Majesty's Inquisition, Mrs. Bones, you would do well to watch your t..."

"Watch yours!" Mama spat. "You take him away from me, you take him away for years at a time, you let him come back just long enough to feth me, and now you've taken him forever?"

"He was a brave and faithful servant of the God-Emperor..."

"Emperor damn you."

The Inquisitor and Mama stood there staring at each other, her breathing heavily, his face twitching slightly.

"Your husband is a martyr of the Imperium and his child should have the best education available, the best prospects possible." His voice was rising now. "Not what you can give her in this -- place!" An angry gesture took in the grain fields, the sizzling lawn, the little house.

Mama spat at him.

"Sir," said one of the black-clad men, "perhaps -- she's clearly overwrought, Inquisitor, perhaps we should come back when she's had time to deal with her loss and grief...."

"Her loss? Her grief?" The Inquisitor was shouting now. "What about the Imperium's loss? What about my grief?"

He pulled out a huge black ugly thing and pointed it at Mama's face.

"Sir!" said the black-clad man who'd spoken before, but the Inquisitor kept on shouting.

"Bartholomew's child deserves the best!" he roared. "She should attend the Schola, not some village school light-years from nowhere! Sign!"

"The Schola Progenium is for orphans," Mama said, staring down the barrel of the huge black ugly thing. "She still has her mother. Go away."

"The surviving parent" -- the Inquisitor took a deep breath and started over in a calmer tone -- "the surviving parent may renounce his or her rights so that the child may have the benefit of the Schola. Sign."

"Never," Mama said, soft and fierce. She held Susan tight and kissed her, hard, on the top of her head.

"Very well," said the Inquisitor.

There was a loud noise and Mama dropped Susan and fell down.


***


Luna (age three)

Don't look at Mama, don't look at Mama, don't look at Mama. Luna made it a little song in her head. She squeezed Mama's hand but kept her eyes fixed straight in front. Don't look, don't look.

Staring straight ahead -- don't look at Mama -- meant she could see Tommy, but she couldn't close her eyes, so she just tried to look past him at the door. Marsha was off somewhere to her left but out of her field of vision. That was good.

There were loud voices in the next room now, boots stomping. Good. They had come back. They could finish things up, then.

The door slammed open, splintering. It was not Them coming back, not at all. It was someone else: two black-and-red metal men. No, not men, Luna realized when she looked more closely at their armor: Ladies.

"Oh God-Emperor preserve us," said one of the metal ladies in a surprisingly high voice. Her metal face came off and there was a person's face behind it, a young and pretty one -- younger than Mama, but not so pretty, but don't look at Mama -- and then the young and pretty lady threw up.

"Feth," said the other metal lady. She slid up the mask part of her metal face, and she was a person underneath the armor too. She looked older and sadder and had a scar. The younger lady threw up again, and the older lady patted her gently on the back, almost like when Mama -- don't look at Mama -- almost like -- well, the older lady was wearing metal gloves and the younger lady had her back covered in metal so the pat sort of went "clink." That was sort of funny.

"You're funny," she decided to say. She tried to say it, at least. It sounded more like a squeaky gurgle or a gurgling squeak. That was kind of funny, too.

Both ladies jumped. "Oh feth," said the older one, and she stepped right over Tommy -- That was rude! -- to where Luna was sitting, next to Mama (Don't look at Mama), both of them sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall because they were so very tired.

The older lady was kneeling over Luna and poking her with her metal-covered fingers, but it didn't hurt. Nothing really hurt now, which was good, because lots of things had been hurting before.

The younger lady was throwing up again.

"Hospitaller!" yelled the older lady. "Hospitaller! There's one alive in here!"

The younger lady wiped her mouth and stumbled towards Luna, reached down as if to pick her up -- the older lady slapped her hands away. "Idiot," the older lady said, "don't move her." She turned back to Luna. "You're going to be okay now, kid, okay? Can you hear me? You're going to be okay now."

"Okay," Luna said. It sounded like words this time.

"Oh God-Emperor, she really is alive!" said the younger lady. She looked at Luna's body. "How is she even still alive?"

"Shut up," the older lady said. "You'll...."

"You're pretty," Luna told the younger lady, looking her straight in the eyes the way Mama (don't look at Mama) had told her to when talking to grown-ups. "Can I be like you when I get big?"


***


Portia (age four)

"I shan't! Shan't, shan't, shan't, shan't, shan't!"

"You shall," Mother said drily, dragging Portia down the long, cold corridor with skulls and eagles on all the walls.

"I hate you!" Portia yelled. "I want Father!"

"He's dead," Mother said, not stopping, her heels clicking sharply on the tiles. "Your governess tells me you're a clever child, do try to remember."

There was a desk towards the end of the hallway with a startled-looking young man in brown robes behind it. He cleared his throat. "Ah, do you have, ah, an appointm..."

"I shan't go to Schola!" Portia said, yanking as hard as she could, but Mother was really rather strong. "I shan't, shan't, shan't, shan't!"

"Ma'am..." the brown-robed man began, but Mother fixed him with one of her terrible stares. "My -- my Lady!"

"I should've dismissed the governess after doing this," Mother said, mostly to herself. Then, to the young man: "I rather do think the Cardinal would see me without an appointment," she said. "But there's no need to bother His Grace, I simply need to deposit this one for the Schola Progenium."

"Shan't! Shan't! Shan't! I! Want! Father!"

"He. Is. Dead." Mother sighed. "Deep in the ground and deep in debt and I shall have to marry again, child, it's a matter of economics, and I am young enough to marry again, but I do not fancy my chances to marry again as long as I have you."

"Ma -- my lady?" squeaked the brown-robed boy. (He really was just a boy, just a teenager like the houseboys Mother had fired this morning along with everyone else). "The Schola Progenium is, um, for orphans..."

"Yes, I have the paperwork right here," Mother said, tapping her purse, "but I need both hands to get it out. Would you be so kind?" She nodded at Portia.

The boy goggled for a moment before he realized what she meant, then grabbed Portia with both hands. She bit him.

"Ow! She bit me!"

"Oh, do be a man," Mother said, going through her purse. "Ah! Here." She pulled out a fancy sheet of paper with a blank space at the bottom. "You're my witness," she told the boy as she wrote her name in the blank space. "You sign there."

"Um," he said, both hands full of writhing, kicking, hitting Portia.

"Oh for Terra's sake. Really! Well, you can sign it whenever you have a moment." She closed up her purse and started walking away, her heels clicking coldly on the tile.

"Mother!" Portia shrieked.

Mother stopped. She turned slowly on one heel -- oh, how pretty Mother was -- and smiled. "My dear," she said, "it really is the best education."

She walked away.


***


Ginevra (age five)

The man at the door had a uniform just like Daddy's. Mama saw him and sank slowly to her knees.

"What's wrong, dear?" Grandma called from the bedroom they all shared. She came briskly into the kitchen, where the door was, polishing something as she walked. Then she saw the man and stopped.

"Oh," Grandma said softly.

"Um," the man said. "Um." He wasn't nearly as handsome as Daddy was in his picture, Ginevra decided, and he was fat. Not very fat, just a little fat, but it made his uniform shirt pooch out all around his uniform belt in little uniform rolls. Daddy wasn't fat. Well, it was hard to remember really, because Daddy had been gone a long time, and perhaps he had gotten fat because the Guard gave you lots more food than you got at home, but Ginevra didn't think he had.

"Um," the man repeated, and held up a piece of paper. "The Mortuary Affairs Office, Personnel Division, of the Departmento Munitorum regrets to inform you..."

"Oh, give me that," Grandma said. She dropped whatever she had been polishing ("Grandma!" Ginevra said, shocked) and snatched the letter ("Grandma!" Ginevra said again, shocked still more).

Grandma put on her glasses and read the letter to herself. "Yes," she said. "Yes. Of course. I knew it." With one hand, she clasped the gold aquila that she wore on her necklace. With the other she patted Mama on the shoulder. Mama was still kneeling on the floor, Ginevra realized, and her eyes were full of tears.

"Mama, don't cry!" Ginevra said, and she ran over to hug her. "Don't cry, Mama!"

"Don't cry, dear," Grandma said, crying a little as she stuffed the letter in her pocket. "He's with the Emperor now."

"Um..."

"What?" Grandma snapped.

The fat man pointed a little helplessly at the crumpled bit of letter sticking out of Grandma's pocket. "I, um, I need the pink and yellow copies back."

"What?" Grandma's eyes had narrowed. They were not crying now.

"Once you sign them, of course!" the man said, holding up his hands. "Um, and you'll have to sign for these." He picked up a battered satchel he'd left just outside the door and fumbled through it. "One of these, one of these, one of these -- damn Marcus, why doesn't he ever just put one of each together in a packet? -- one of these...."

Grandma snatched those out of his hands too. Ginevra was shocked, but she was more shocked that Mama was still crying silently on the floor, so she said nothing and just hugged Mama tighter.

"Regimental memorial services," Grandma read aloud. "These are last year's dates."

"Oh!" the man said. He took that pamphlet from her and stuffed it back in his satchel -- He's just going to give it to somebody by mistake again, Ginevra thought, still hugging Mama, he should throw it away -- and took out another with a different-colored cover.

"Thank you," Grandma said sharply, going through the pamphlet. "Services and locations. Application for discounted travel passes to services. Application for days off work for travel to services. Donate to Planetary Martyrs' Memorial -- you can have that back, we haven't any money. Death benefits, three months -- no, nine months -- no, nine months if you bought the insurance, ha ha ha."

"Um."

"What?

"Um, if you could sign for those, ma'am," the man said, warily holding out a hand, "I'd appreciate it, I have thirty more families to visit today and I'm already an hour behind...."

"Then five minutes more won't matter," Grandma snapped. Mama stopped her silent crying for one loud sob. "There, there, dear," Grandma said, patting her shoulder again. "He's with the God-Emperor now. A better place than this world, that's for certain." Her tone turned sharp again. "Regimental widows' auxiliary meetings. Application for regimental widow's auxiliary. Application for temporary ration increase. Application for..."

She stopped.

"She has her mother," Grandma told the man fiercely. "She has me."

"Of course, of course," he said, "but we have to give that out to everyone, it's regulation, the surviving parent may renounce his or her rights so that the child..."

Mama spoke, unexpectedly, sounding as if she had a cold and a stuffed-up nose: "What's he talking about, Edith?"

"Schola," Grandma said. "He's talking about the Schola Progenium."

"She's not an orphan," Mama said, clutching Ginevra.

"Um, of course not," the man said, "but there's a form...." He pointed to the pamphlets Grandma was clutching in white-knuckled hands. "There's a form," he repeated, "but you don't have it, you have to apply for it. The application form to get the form is the green one."

"The green one," Grandma said, coldly, holding it up.

"I mean, the application form is green, yes," he said. "The green application is the form you have, I mean. I think the actual form of renunciation is -- white or something. Parchment, maybe? Rather elegant."

"Elegant," Grandma repeated.

"Um."

Grandma put the pamphlets and papers down on the table, slowly, one by one, except for the green one. Then, slowly, wincing as her knees creaked, she got on the floor next to Mama.

"No," Mama said. "No, Edith, I can't."

"It's the best education in the Imperium," Grandma said. "It's the best connections -- sons and daughters of colonels, nobles, deacons, deputy directors in the Administratum."

"No."

"It's clothes that aren't patched, Marjorie. It's heat that works in winter, all the time. It's three meals a day."

"You can't ask me to," Mama said weakly, crushing Ginevra to her -- it hurt, actually, but Ginevra realized she shouldn't say that now. "You can't."

"It's everything that we can't give her," Grandma said, taking Mama in her arms, one hand still holding the precious green form.

"No."

"It's what my boy would have wanted," Grandma said, pleading now, tears suddenly on her cheeks. "It's what makes his -- his death mean something."

"No," Mama said. "No, no."

"Um. If you could sign the..."

"Wait!" Grandma snarled. Then she turned back to Mama, kissed her on the cheek, ruffled her hair. "You know I always wished I had a daughter."

"I know, I know, but no..."

"You know how I love you as a daughter."

"Yes, but no, no...."

"You know how glad I was you gave my son a daughter."

"No, I know, no...."

"But I can give her up, Marjorie. I can lose her if that's what it takes for her to gain everything, Marjorie. Can you?"

"No," Mama sobbed, "no." Her tears stained the green application form as she began to fill it out.

Granger: ripped untimely from her mother's womb -- becomes medic (Hospitaller)

Susan: mother dies defying Inquisition -- Susan defies Inquisition and probably dies

Ginevra: grandmother does terrible thing out of compassion -- Ginevra does terrible thing out of compassion.

Gary Oldman has just killed FETHING EVERYONE in 12-year-old Natalie Portman's family except her (because she was at the grocery story). Basically, in my version, Chaos Gary Oldman missed someone before he left the scene.