Garrett nodded thoughtfully.
"So... it's probably better if I don't go and you just pass on our get well wishes," he said diplomatically.
"That's pretty much how I see it."
"Okay. Tell her I'll make sure her courses are covered and that she's not to rush back. In fact, tell her that she's barred from the building for at least three weeks. That should do it, shouldn't it?"
Peter smiled.
"That would be great."
"Thanks for letting me know."
"You're welcome," he replied, staying in his chair, despite Garrett expecting him to stand up.
"Is there something else I can do for you?" Garrett asked.
Swallowing nervously, Peter had never envisaged being here, asking about this. For all intents and purposes, he'd forgotten about the whole thing. But as things stood with the situation at the sports club, he figured it was worth a shot. I mean, what exactly was the worst thing that could happen?
Garrett's short, sharp cough startled Peter back to the present.
"Ummm... I was wondering about the... about the conversation we had some time ago."
Scratching his chin, Garrett tried to recollect, eventually shaking his head.
"You're going to have to be a little more specific I'm afraid."
This was tearing him apart, not least because he hadn't really wanted to revisit all of this, finding it more than a little embarrassing, wondering if his employer had forgotten all about it, or even whether it had been a genuine offer in the first place. But from what little he knew, the sports club was in serious trouble, and he felt obliged, and simply wanted, to help them out if he could. So he just came out with it.
"You said some time ago that you owed me a debt, because of all that business with Manson, and saving the laminium, you offered me all sorts of rewards. I was wondering if the offer still stood?"
Running his thumb and forefinger through his bushy moustache, Cropptech's owner pondered his young charge's question. Surprised that the boy had come in to ask, he assumed it must be something important, resolving to hear him out.
"I'm certainly willing to listen to what you have to say. Whether I can promise you what you want, well, until I've heard you out, I just won't know."
Pleased that he'd got this far, Peter nodded.
"You see I play hockey at the weekends, at the sports club, the one that was destroyed in the explosion, the one that Richie got caught up in."
Garrett nodded, urging the young man to continue, fully aware of all this, just as he knew the young lady, Miss Rump, played lacrosse there, as well as a good number of his other employees, in one form or another.
"With the clubhouse obliterated, it has now come to light that the insurance policy covering everything at the club has long since been cancelled. How that's happened, I have absolutely no idea. What I do know is that the sports club and the individual clubs that make it up, are a very long way off having the funds to even begin to contemplate a rebuilding effort. I was hoping that you might consider helping out, in any way possible. I know it's asking a lot, and truth be told, in no way do I feel I need rewarding for what happened with Manson and all the laminium. But you did offer, and you did say at the time that if I ever thought of anything in the future then I should just ask. Well, this is me just asking."
And with that, he sat back in the chair, not having realised he'd moved further and further forward, letting out a huge sigh of relief.
Scribbling on the jotter that was on his table, Garrett dared not look Peter in the eye. Although surprised at the youngster coming in and making the request, he wasn't shocked that the request itself wasn't really for him. Part of him found it intriguing that the youngster didn't want money, or a house and was desperate to find out what sort of person would turn down that kind of offer, and indeed, learn a lot more about them. But in his mind, it did at least confirm that he was indeed exactly the right person to be in charge of security of not only this facility, but of all the Cropptech sites across the entire globe. Inside he smiled.
"While I cannot promise to help until I know a little more, I will certainly look into it and see what I can do. Is that okay?"
Peter smiled in approval.
"That's all I ask si... Al."
"Well, if there's nothing else?"
Rising to his feet, Peter said, "Thank you," and left quietly, closing the door behind him on the walk back towards the lift. Glad that was over, he was off to see if he had a spare shirt in his office, as the one he was currently wearing was now wetter than a dad bathing his baby.
6
The Mourning After The Week Before
The time had come to stop. Take a breath. Get some kind of perspective on the horrendous events of the last seven days. Injuries insurmountable, the loss of life had been catastrophic. Infrastructure had been ruined and would undoubtedly take years to reach its previous levels, despite the tireless work by dragons across the globe, most in teams, most exhausting their supply of mana on a daily basis.
'It could have been worse,' was what most ordinary dragons were thinking. It could have been much worse. Regardless of their efforts, the monorail was still severely crippled in places, hampering rescue and recovery efforts, in spite of seven whole days passing. They'd done as much as was dragonly possible, and now it was time for a pause, a lull in proceedings. Time to remember those lost, both human and dragon alike.
So they'd come together, a gathering like none before it in the history of their race, every single one of them donning a cloak of some sort, many colourful, a few... not so much. Even the King's Guard, of which there were many, given that the terrorists were still at large, each wore a cloak, looking mighty odd in some cases. For the entire underground community, it was the ultimate form of remembrance. Days earlier protesters had pounded the streets, complaining about the mass of bodies filling the Bereavement Grottos, all at the same time. But that decision had already been made by the council and backtracking wasn't something it was renowned for, so nearly every dragon on the planet came together, showing unity for their kind, the council, and ultimately their king, in this, the most trying of times.
And so it was, on this early morning, that each and every dragon spread across the earth made their way to the nearest Bereavement Grotto, or one of the specially assigned mourning areas that had been set up in town and city centres, market places, parks and historically significant sites. From London and Purbeck, to New York and Sydney. From Rio to Calcutta, from Auckland to Oslo. Each designated site had one thing in common... a huge LCD screen. All across the globe, dragons garbed in cloaks congregated, showing their solidarity not only with one another, but with the humans as well. With anything from hundreds to tens of thousands gathered at each location it was, as you might well expect, a very sombre occasion. Almost silent for the most part, even the dragons that knew one another only really offered each other a nod of recognition. That is until exactly 10.45 GMT, when the giant screens burst into life after a momentary fizzle of static, the face on the screen instantly recognisable, stirring emotions like no other could. Not one amongst them (apart from the pretenders within) would not lay down their life for him in a heartbeat. Honourable, courageous, fair-minded and an excellent leader, were just a few of the many terms used to describe him as far as those watching were concerned. Having led them for decades now, on an enlightened course, with barely a blip along the way, they knew he must be suffering, but they had no idea just how much. Across the silent spaces, his powerful yet compassionate voice rang out.