[Humans for Hire] - Part 164

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Vilantia Prime, Palace of the Throne

The Throne was rocking the Heir gently as the Minister of Culture was shown in. For her part, the Minister was highly anxious and breathing slowly in an effort to control her feelings. The Throne gestured delicately to the nearest chair.

"Minister. You have much to report."

Larine nodded in agreement. "Yes. Fourteen clan weapons are confirmed to have exchanged hands at Parliament. With that, there are demands - some of the clans are demanding immediate action and restitution. Others are silent. It is possible that we will not know the full number for several days - some were lost in the effort to leave, and some may be weighing the dishonor of losing a weapon compared to declaring it lost to a Freeclan."

The Throne nodded, looking somewhat stern. "Remind them that there is a tradition to be upheld; if they cannot account for their clan weapon a new one must take place of the old. Unless they wish to claim the loss as part of an honorable duel. Which would have a separate path." There was a moment of rocking as the Throne favored their child with a quick nuzzle. "Send a message to the Governess. Advise the Freelord that the Throne is not entirely pleased with his behavior, and that he should prefer to model himself after the best parts of the nobility rather than whatever that ludicrous display was. You may also disseminate that information through the usual channels."

Larine nodded. "Additionally, there are still rumors of a sort - that the Throne was at a football match while we stated you were ill."

There was a pause of consideration. "Is the reaction positive?"

"Mostly, the commons are uncertain. Those who believe it are poring over every crowd-shot of every game thus far."

A small smile crept over the Throne's face. "Perhaps then we should go to the next Throne City match. It is tomorrow is it not?"

Larine looked horrified at the thought. "My Throne. The logistics. The Ministry of War must be consulted for security."

"Of course. I noted that there were many of Freelord Gryzzk's clan at the match as I watched while I was quite ill."

"I will ask for the Freelord's aid in security."

The Throne shook their head. "Don't ask him. Ask his Terran sergeant, the one who was in armor. With respect, she seemed to be the one in charge of the security detail."

Larine nodded, seemingly anxious to be elsewhere. "Of course. I will make the necessary inquiries." Larine moved to stand up from her place.

There was a light earflick. "Is my company so poor that you find the first excuse to be elsewhere, Minister?"

The Minister promptly re-seated herself. "Apologies, but." She took a breath and held it. "The Greatclans of the Ministry are divided; in addition to the two declared factions, a third is slowly forming that quietly supports both ideals of holding to the old and embracing the new while making no public statements in either direction. It would seen they are seeking advantage no matter which faction carries the day. The balancing act absorbs a great deal of my time."

There was a soft hmph. "I believe you need some manner of recreation. To that end, inquire with the nobles who maintain boxes at Vilantianic Stadium if any among them would care to entertain special guests. I will have a word with Minister of War regarding the necessary arrangements." Though the phrasing was polite, the message was rather clear.

"Of course, my Throne. We'll also be pushing out a few other things - there've been a few episodes of the serials upcoming that can be re-shot. Perhaps Lord Ba'ldrick needs a small win or three in the ongoing war with Lord Flashryzzk."

There was a small smile. "As long as it is funny."

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

From his command chair, Gryzzk checked his schedule for the day. Theoretically, it was going to be less busy than the past few days; however there was a nagging suspicion that the day was going to be eventful. He settled in and checked things over one more time before saying anything. It was oddly comforting to hear the normal sounds of the bridge - O'Brien cursing at a display that made her unhappy, Hoban's chair-dancing, Edwards' reciting some piece of literature under her breath, and Reilly softly singing. Today her voice was a bit harsher than normal, and the song was certainly not one for a child's ears; it seemed as though Terran laws forbade outdoor fornication, however those laws were either repealed or not enforced beginning on the first of May. Gryzzk took in the sounds and scents for a long moment before issuing orders.

"Captain Hoban, lay in an intercept course for Clanmother's Curry, half speed. Sergeant Reilly, hail Jojorn and let her know we'll be docking in a few hours - make sure we're not keeping her up past her bedtime."

Reilly nodded, her scent all but glowing - it seemed that she was still experiencing a newlywed high. "They'll stay up late for this one."

Gryzzk was about to say more, but there was a light chirrup from his comm. He glanced at his tablet for a moment before tapping. "Major Gryzzk, go ahead."

It was something of an oddity to hear Captain Gregg-Adams. "Hey-ah, Major. You uh...you got a minute?"

"I have approximately two hours - is this critical?"

"Wellll, kinda-sorta? Got a hypothetical question."

"I have a feeling this is not hypothetical, but continue Captain."

"Sooo, let's imagine a situation where a clan of Vilantians is...really kinda warlike. Like, aggressively. And ah, just for the sake of argument, their clan mace falls off a truck and someone just maybe kinda picks it up. Y'know, so no delinquents could pick it up and do the 'I have the talking stick so shut the fuck up Sanger' thing. So now this clan. For the sake of argument we'll call 'em Greatclan Aa'Darie. So you talk to them, and they're nice, until they find out that you're - well, the supply captain; then they get all pissy and pretend that their favorite mace is still in their possession. When it isn't. Then they get real mad because you mighta mentioned how the Mace of Aa'Darie looks kinda like it was ribbed for her pleasure, in a way of speaking."

Gryzzk groaned softly. "So, how did this hypothetical conversation end?"

"Well, they closed the channel saying they were looking for a tilly. Like fast."

Gryzzk looked at the sensor station, where Edwards was turning to report. "Got a contact coming up from Throne City; assault shuttle type."

"Sergeant Reilly, hail them?"

Reilly's voice was still a bit rough. "Unknown Vilantian Shuttle on approach to Twilight Rose, please identify."

The holo came to life, showing a pair of Vilantians in formal battle armor. "This is shuttle Aa'Darie's Fist. We have things to discuss with the Freelord." There was a lengthy pause. "Privately."

Gretzky took over the conversation. "Very well. You may dock at the forward starboard hatch." Gryzzk closed the channel and returned to his previous discussion. "Captain Gregg-Adams, report to the starboard docking hatch with the hypothetical Mace of Aa'Darie after you've kitted out in standard armor."

Reilly grinned happily. "Sooo, at what point do you get to say you're too old for this shit?"

"At the rate we are proceeding? Five weeks, perhaps." Gryzzk stood, tugging his uniform snugly before taking hold of his cane. "Sergeant Major O'Brien, bring your discontented thoughts and your sword with me to the starboard dock."

As they arrived, Gregg-Adams hurried forward, securing the last of his armor straps and shrugging his shoulders for a good fit. His scent was disguised with some mild leather-scented cologne, but Gryzzk caught a low simmering anger amongst the familiar scent of braces and medical foam. He looked far too comfortable in his armor; it reminded Gryzzk of O'Brien, who wore her combat armor like a second skin during the times when it was required. The supply captain's face bore a large bruise and a black eye that had caused most of his left eye to swell shut, in addition to braces on his hands. The other addition was a cruel-looking mace of night-black metal that seemed almost delicate in his hands, but was filigreed with gold and silver to catch the eyes and give it a ceremonial look.

For her part, O'Brien had unsheathed the sword and placed it point down. Gryzzk still marveled at the sword - it wasn't just a piece of metal; it was an artifact of ancient weaponsmithing. The hilt and pommel were wrapped jade, and the stone extended through most of the blade length to form a groove of sorts. Surrounding the jade was a dense dark metal that Gryzzk's tablet informed him was an alloy of tungsten and early plastanium. The only embellishment was that A'Haibe clanmark at the center of the crossguard. Despite the beauty of it, the sword seemed more functional and deadly. Gryzzk paused as he watched her handle it with a casual ease as she rolled her shoulders.

The hatch opened and Greatlord Aa'Darie stepped forward with his eldest son. The two were dressed in immaculate war armor, with plastanium scales covering heavy-looking chainmail, and across both chests were a variety of campaign markers and awards for valor. The scent of the two was angrily ashamed, almost as if they were prepared to take the mace back by force despite the beating they'd received. From the bandages he could see, they both looked as though they'd experienced an exceptional amount of physical and mental damage as they glided stiffly across the passageway connecting the shuttle and ship. It was highly likely the bulk of their armor was covering several more bandages.

"Permission to board...Freelord?" There was a hesitation from Greatlord Aa'Darie, as if he expected the words to actually cause him a level of pain.

"Greatlord Aa'Darie. It is my honor to welcome you aboard. If you'll follow me to conference room, we can discuss what troubles you. Have a caution, the ship gravity is significantly lower in deference to our Terran and Moncilat colleagues." Gryzzk leaned on his cane slightly as he walked, not wanting to fall on his ass in front of the leaders of one of the more storied War Clans in Vilantian lore.

As they made their way to the conference room, someone with foresight had set out a carafe of herbal tea as well as water. They settled in with Rosie trailing behind as the door closed, and Gryzzk set himself to pouring out the refreshments before settling in. Greatlord Aa'Darie began as soon as he was settled.

"The mace must be returned."

There was a light ear movement from Gryzzk. "On what grounds?"

"It was not taken by a warrior, nor was it taken by honorable means." Aa'Darie the younger spoke firmly. "There is a tradition that it is only pass from one warrior to another." There was a gesture to O'Brien. "She would be worthy. This, this - this clerk of stores is no warrior, has no glory to call his own."

"You know that he is not a warrior...how?"

"We saw the Terran documentaries." There was a gesture and a confident scent began to emerge. "He is not fit, physically. He does not sharpen himself for battle. He commands the weak. The mace yields only to the superior, and he is - he is a nerd, I believe is the proper term."

Gryzzk gestured, glancing at his supply officer almost apologetically. "XO, provide the service records and commendations of Captain Gregg-Adams if you please."

"Freelord, those records are Eyes-Only to the Commander and XO."

There was a soft grunt of acknowledgment. "Sergeant Major, resume your post."

O'Brien nodded and stood, exiting the conference room without complaint. Once she left, Gryzzk looked at Rosie. "Biographical history, service records and commendations of Captain Gregg-Adams, authorization..." he paused for a moment. "Forecheck-Backcheck-Paycheck-Wheel-Snipe-Celly-Double-Nines."

"Authorization accepted." Rosie paused. "The whole thing?"

"Just the highlights - but ensure they have the entirety sent to their tablets for review. They should know who carries the weapon of their clan."

"Captain Pavel Gregg-Adams. Presumed age twenty-four. No siblings, no children known. Parents presumed dead. Born Pavel Lee on the station New Toronto orbiting Turkana IV. Due to systemic corruption and piracy, station began suffering logistical collapse shortly after his birth. First confirmed kill age nine - estimated - during a food riot. During the New Toronto Chow Wars, credited with ninety-seven confirmed kills with two hundred more credited but unconfirmed over the course of six years. Specialties included hand to hand combat and improvised weapons as shown by an incident in The Ward where he was noted as killing three men with a pencil." Rosie paused to let that knowledge sink in. "A fucking. Pencil."

There was an uneasy scent and a glance between the Greatlord and his son as Rosie continued, her voice taking on slightly angry tones as she continued. "Age fifteen, commanded a food gang responsible for holding the Regent Park section of the station. Gang hijacked a pirate vessel and was able to send distress signals that alerted Terran Pioneer Corps of the situation on-station. Temporarily assigned to Pioneer Corps as intelligence and scouting, allowing them to take the station with minimal casualties. Awarded Terran Pioneer Service Award, Terran Freedom Award, New Toronto Liberation Award. Age seventeen - after treatment for homicidal-genocidal-every-kind-of-cidal tendency that exists along with several other psychological disorders, changed name to Pavel Gregg-Adams and signed on with 7th Cav mercenary company as infantry. Primary duty assignment Delta Company, however was loaned to other companies on an as-needed basis. "

The two visitors sipped their water and remained silent, their scents transforming from unease to awe as they read the meanings behind each award while Rosie continued her recitation.

"7th Cav Commendations; Purple Heart for wounds suffered seven times, Bronze Star twice, Bronze Star with V device three times. Soldier's Medal for non-combat heroism three times. Legion of Merit for exceptionally meritorious combat actions. Silver Star for gallantry, three times. Good Conduct Medal twice. Distinguished Service Cross, twice. Crosstrained in flight operations, damage control operations, engineering, food service, medical service, and logistics. Badges - Master Combat Infantry badge, Pathfinder badge, Air Assault badge, Explosive Ordinance Disposal badge. Authorized Stetson and spurs for repeated heroism in the field. Additional awards noted but unspecified due to classified status at the order of Terran Self-Defense Command. Discharged from non-commissioned officer service at the rank of Sergeant First Class after completion of Officer Candidate School, logistics specialty. Immediately transferred to Terran Foreign Legion at formation as Logistics Officer. Legion Awards as follows - First Legionnaire Award, Combat Action Badge, Three-Day-War Campaign Medal with V device, promotion to Captain by order of Terran Fleet Command upon receipt, Bronze Star, Bronze Star with V device, Soldier's Medal."

Rosie cleared her throat unnecessarily as she finished, her own scent taking on a light tinge of amusement. "Currently dating the absolute smokeshow Nurse Alyssa Ogawa, has not yet convinced her to do butt stuff. Service record highlights of Captain Pavel Gregg-Adams complete." The XO looked at the two nobles. "In short, you ten-ply plugs are sitting there thinking the bastard child of Rambo and Sarah Connor isn't fucking good enough to swing your pretty twig. Give your balls a tug, titfuckers."

Gryzzk groaned softly as he took over. "Greatlord, while I disagree on certain opinions expressed, the captain is by any definition an outstanding warrior. He performs his current duties in an exemplary manner, and he is there by choice. Would you prefer to continue debating, or are there questions at hand?"

There was almost immediate protest from the Greatlord. "But, the manner - he asked me if I wanted to go, then pulled my robes over my head and began punching my ribs and head after I hit his leg with the mace. Then he elbowed my son in the throat and punched him in the face. Repeatedly, while my son was on the ground. There is no honor in that manner of fighting."

"Well, if it is a question of honor we can requisition the footage of the...fight. From there we may ask the Ministers of War and Culture for a review to determine if any manner of honor was present in Parliament yesterday."

There was a grimace of sorts from both of them before the elder spoke. "We would like to confer for a moment."

Gryzzk stood and straightened his uniform. "Of course. I encourage you to try the hibiscus tea. It is said to be helpful for stressful moments." The Legion troopers departed to the bridge to allow the nobles to confer with their new-found knowledge.

As they waited, Gryzzk glanced at Gregg-Adams before whispering lowly. "Captain, I have been meaning to ask a question."

"If it's about my record," there was a shrug of indifference, "when I joined all I knew was fighting and showing others how to fight, everything else was secondary. Then I learned more and realized I wanted to die the way a Cav merc should die - laying on bed made of credits and booze while having a threesome with Liam and Corey's moms. The guy who got all those tin stars Rosie mentioned...he's not here so much any more. I just wanna be what my platoon sees me as. Supply officer who could probably stand to lose another twenty kilos or so and loves Ogawa, the Legion, and hockey. Usually in that order."

"Well that is enlightening, but the Stetson and spurs?"

"7th Cav spurs ain't Legion spurs, and I'd prefer to keep it that way if it's all the same to you sir. "

"Understood - but if you intend to continue wearing the beret, do keep your heroism in check." There was a light smile on Gryzzk's face. "If it becomes unavoidable we will have to revisit this conversation."

"Just...y'know. Keep it just among us girls." Gregg-Adams glanced around a bit nervously.

The door to the conference room opened slightly, with the younger noble poking his head out slightly. "A decision has been made."

They came back inside to find the scent changed to a properly respectful one that was tinged with uncertainty, and as the eldest looked around there was apprehension clouding the room.

"We - we accept that the mace has found a proper warrior's hand. However we must insist that there be an Ancilla of the Mace appointed from within Greatclan Aa'Darie."

Gryzzk flicked an ear. "If your intent is to regain the mace through marriage, you will have to respect the captain's desires in this. Additionally, the captain chooses to keep his glory known to as few individuals as possible. If it known to anyone outside this room, the entirety of the Legion will take that dissemination as a personal insult."

There was a rapid agreeable nod. "Of course. Our concern is that the Mace receive the proper due it deserves."

"Rest assured it will. For the moment we will be in transit for the next three days and then in port at New Casablanca for the next two. After that we will be out on our next job. That gives you four days to have your candidates for Ancilla in front of Captain Gregg-Adams for a review. If I may make a recommendation, your watch-word for the immediate future should be 'speed', Honored Greatlord."

The pair nodded and their departure was uncertain, as if they were having difficulty juxtaposing what they saw with the service record Rosie had laid out in front of them. Still, they departed quietly enough, and as the hatch closed Gregg-Adams let out a soft groan and a significant exhausted pain-scent could be detected rather easily.

"With your permission sir, I'd like to go back to my quarters and lay down for a day." The captain looked over with a grimace. "Those little fuckers can throw hands."

"Dismissed, Captain. I presume you do not need to be directed to medical if the need occurs."

There was an amused snort. "Nope. I can handle that all by my onesies. Anyway, back to chorin'." There was a soft grunt as Gregg-Adams departed, leaving Gryzzk to limp back to his command chair and pretend he didn't want to do the same thing his supply officer was doing.

The mood on the bridge was subdued curiosity, with Hoban finally turning around after a course adjustment. "Okay Major, what gives?"

"Elaborate?"

"Y'all walk in with a couple fellahs who look for all the world like they want to go full-tilt-boogie on your ass, you two walk out and back in, then everybody walks out like Jesus Baldheaded Christ His-damn-self came into the room and read those fuckers the riot act. Spill."

"We had a productive conversation."

"A 'productive conversation'. What kind of -" the rest of the question was cut off by a yelp as Hoban was interrupted by a gentle poke from O'Brien's new sword.

"Captain, respectfully sometimes it's best to shut your nipple-holster and just fly the ship. By my watch it is currently 'Sometimes'. So if you'll be so kind?"

There was a little grumble of sorts, but Hoban decided now would be a good time to be quiet. Especially when the other trail appeared to lead to being stabbed by O'Brien.

Gryzzk was thankful for the respite and found a fresh cup of tea, which seemed to bring equilibrium of a sort. Finally Reilly swiveled her chair slightly to report.

"Clanmother's Curry requesting dock vectors."

"Advise them to match course. Captain Hoban, maintain current heading."

The second docking of the day was far less elegant; Baolet didn't seem to have experience docking with ships larger than theirs. Rosie scowled softly.

"Fuckin' get his license in a box of cereal or some shit?"

Gryzzk smiled a touch. "As I recall, their helmsman has an interest in seeing Gro'zel."

"Fine I'll give him a mulligan because he wants to see if his sweetie's gonna be his sweetie."

The hatch opened rapidly and Gryzzk was able to see the crew of Clanmother's Curry as a group for the first time in...some time, he realized. Their faces were fuller, healthier with a scent that seemed far more optimistic. It seemed as if Hurdop was taking a turn for the better, and the sprinkling of his own clan into their crew was helping more. Jojorn held them all in place for a moment while the proprieties were observed and permission for them to board was granted, though as soon as that was done the entire crew of children moved forward in a crush to get to Gryzzk's quarters and see the infants - especially Fizeht. Even Jojorn looked torn for a moment as she held a sealed box in her hand. Gryzzk gave an amused look befoe he said anything.

"I'll make sure there's time for you as well, Captain. For the moment, duty sings to us."

They returned to the conference room, where the box was duly opened. Jojorn looked at it curiously, wrinkling her nose in not-quite enthusiasm as the scent of fresh tea leaves filled the air and then she gave a shrug.

"All I am aware of is that Captain Theran was paid a significant sum to deliver it to me. Then we were paid a smaller sum to deliver it to you, with instructions that I be present."

Gryzzk continued to remove sealed bags of tea, finally pulling out a thick rubber disk with Gryzzk's clanmark with an attached note that read "For Rosie". As soon as he turned it over a small holo-image sprang up, showing one Agent Smith, who began speaking after a brief moment.

"Hello Balto. I do hope that you and Twist are watching, as what I'm showing concerns both of you. You've got cargo bound for Antares - some of it's already in the hold of the Curry, rest of it you'll pick up here. If you choose to decline the contract after viewing this you will be allowed to do so without penalty - provided there is silence regarding what you see." There was a momentary pause. "A few weeks ago, a Terran cargo vessel called the Canterbury was reported as having self-destructed to avoid capture by the Antarean Self-Defense Militia. We know this was false, because there were certain failsafes triggered. This is the footage that was transmitted to the Terran Commerce Department."

Gryzzk and Jojorn watched in silence as the holo changed, showing the footage of the boarding operation and the outright massacre of the crew of the Canterbury, and what followed was almost worse. Not every angle could be seen, but the Terran corpses were treated as an annoyance as the ship was emptied of cargo, finally ending with the corpses being used as target practice in the empty bay and finally thrown out the airlock. Once it completed, the image of Agent Smith returned.

"Let us know your decision when you arrive. We'll be in touch."

Gryzzk looked at Jojorn for her response. Her jaw was quivering and her scent was rolling from fury to fear and back again. Finally she spoke, voice full of emotion.

"There is never honor in killing the defenseless. Even the Throne's Fortune taught us to take prisoners for barter. We will accept this contract. We will deliver the cargo. And we will remember the Cant."