Humans for Hire

Chapter 84


Vilantia Prime, Palace of the Throne

The Throne sat casually amongst the cushions, finally free of all the servants in this small island where it was only the Throne and spouses. Their scent wasn't exactly calm, but they were maintaining royal composure as the Minister of Culture delivered her report of the events of the day. Once the Minister had closed the connection, there was a moment of silence before the tablet was flung at the nearest wall to shatter into a thousand pieces before they snapped up to pace thunderously.

"Merciless scent-blind fools! Is it not enough for our citizens to know defeat, we have to cling to a broken Clan Way as if it were a whole and shining thing?"

The Throne's consorts moved carefully to guide their spouse away from the ruin of the tablet as the rant continued. The Consort Husband spoke first. "My love, the Greatlord does not see the whole of Vilantia - he sees only his daughter and his dreams for her."

There was a dismissive snort as the Throne made for the liquor cabinet and selected a light fizzwine. They would all need something soothing for what was to come in the days ahead. He poured three goblets for them - an unheard of thing even in the previous generation. Each of the three took a goblet and began pacing and gesturing as he spoke with a now controlled fury.

"He sees his plans for his daughter come to ruin. He made significant overtures to the Throne Before, indicating that Lomeia's child would be a fitting spouse for my child. Now with her choices, he attempts to slay three beasts with one stroke. He makes the Freelord less daring, makes association with Terrans less attractive, and receives his daughter back into his loving arms with a carefully constructed plan to entwine his line with the royal lineage in one action. He values his children only insofar as what they can produce for him - and may the dead gods have mercy on whoever upsets those plans. And the worst of it?" The Throne took a deep draught and shook their head. "He thinks he's being terribly clever by having his great-grandchild wear the Heir's Circlet on their brow rather than his grandchild."

The Consort Wife placed a small peck on the Throne's ear. "I believe we have something that may improve your mood. Come."

The trio moved to a room that was tastefully opulent, with cushions and a large projector. They settled in while controls were manipulated and the holo sprang to life, showing Gryzzk's brief interview before he all but fled to the first available transport with his attack Terran guarding the rear with waves and obscenity.

"Now, let us contrast that with the Greatlord's planned conference." The Consort Wife tapped delicately and the holo changed, showing the Greatlord attempting to deliver a prepared statement through what appeared to be a very swollen jaw. It didn't quite work, and Greatlord Aa'Lafione's speech was muddled and lisping, and his scent was ashamed anger.

"...It ish obfiouzh, my fellow shi- my fellow Filanchienz. Dee sho-called Freelord takezh the very fur from my daughter and makezh it hizh own - to what end? Shpite. He thinkzh to shpit on the Clan Way, denying the right thinking that hazh guided uzh for thirty-three generationzh. And therefore I have brought him back. To show him hizh place, as a Greatlord zhould do. If he wizhezh to afterward join hizh fur with my daughterzh, he and the rezht of their un-clan may schwear oath to me and sherve a Greatlord of Filanchia. We will not hold thizh in shecret. We will face each uzzer under the shtarzh of Filanchianic Shtadiahm. And when the dawn breakzh the horizhon, it will greet a day whiff the Glan Way gunfirmed as the proper way for all Filanchienz."

There was a pause of sorts as the Throne snickered a bit. It was quite possibly the fizzwine, but the Throne shook their head. "Oh...oh my, he really does think he's clever, slipping that in." There was a headshake. "I would feel for him if he hadn't stepped into the pit that he himself dug."

The Consorts glance at him quizzically for a moment as the Throne tapped the controls a few times, bringing up the end of Gryzzk's interview. There was some manipulation until they were all looking at the Terran's right wrist.

There was a curious noise as the Consorts looked, and finally the Husband spoke. "I am seeing a tattoo, but I fail to grasp it's significance."

There was a nod from the Throne. "A moment. Call up the most recent social postings - the ones from that passenger on their ship should suffice."

There was a few moments of searching and overlaying, but the pattern became apparent, as everyone on the ship had the same tattoo in the same place.

A new question came from the Consort Wife. "That is...a Clanwar marking?"

The Throne's grim nod was her answer. "The Minister of Science and I went to Restricted Archives after I returned from Teegarden, as I wanted to know more about Gryzzk's line. It seems that the First Lord A'Kifab was able to set the First Gryzzk to service; the First Gryzzk was honorable and valorous, but did not have the gift of wisdom that his friend and war-second had. So it came to pass that the First Gryzzk furled his banner and swore oath in the time of peace. What you see in the center of that tattoo was what graced the warbanner of the First Gryzzk." The Throne paused for another more cautious drink of wine. "Freelord Gryzzk has fought a clanwar - or is fighting one. I think the Freelord will surpass his ancestor. Of course if he doesn't, Greatclan Aa'Lafione will exist in name only before the next spring blooms, one way or another." There was a bemused headshake. "The Greatlord should hope to lose with honor and dignity."

There was a hesitation from the Husband. "My love, you seem much more at ease now. Perhaps tonight..."

The Throne gave a soft chuckle and an earnibble to both spouses. "The Ministers have placed reminders that there is no Heir into all our noses. I fear they will miss something if their only concern is our sex life. Let us ease their minds." The light dimmed, leaving the holoprojector as the only source of light for what was to pass.

___________

Vilantia Prime, Victory Park - AKA Freelord Park

Gryzzk finally harrumph'ed softly as he straightened his shirt. "So what other horrors await us this day?"

O'Brien smirked. "Team-building exercise. Specifically, Vilantian football."

"Ah. You are familiar?"

"Quite. And I think there's a couple scratch leagues popping up back in Terran space. Two balls, and teams are attacking and defending at the same time? Glorious."

"This is not a regulation pitch." Gryzzk felt compelled to add a further objection. "And as a public space, it would be improper to claim it for ourselves."

"If folks wanna play, let 'em play."

The goals were quickly delineated and teams set with the day squad against the night squad, with Kiole and Gro'zel taking the places of the absent pilots. Gryzzk stood in goal for the day squad, facing off against Larion. The two goaltenders each took a ball and started the match off with solid arcing strikes that sailed through the air.

From there it was a grand melee of sorts, as the Terrans weren't familiar with the intricacies of the game. Their enthusiasm made up for whatever knowledge they lacked, and Gryzzk was a bit shocked as the Terran style of playing became evident. It began casually, with various fouls being called and accepted. As the game progressed, the rules became more flexible and any foul that didn't draw blood was passable. Tackling was frightening to witness for several reasons - firstly, the Vilantian style was more patient and waiting for the proper moment. The Terrans however seemed to delight in sliding to knock the ball loose before rolling forward to join the defense.

Gryzzk and Larion both became busy as they directed their squads through various plays. Gryzzk was flooded with memories of playing as a child, directing his teammates who were expected to play valiantly against Young Lord A'Kifab and his fellow Lords but in the end lose by the barest of lucky strikes. The scene in front of him was familiar, and yet not. His childhood memories definitely didn't include Terrans who had learned the basics of Vilantian profanity and howled it out with terrible enunciation and accent.

In addition as the game went on there were substitutions, first other company members who had heard about the statues in the park and then complete strangers all playing earnestly and enjoying the late afternoon sun. Finally exhausted from guiding the team as a proper goalie, Gryzzk waved his hand and pointed to the shadows.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"The day grows late and the lights won't come on for a bit. Thank you all for...this." A smile leapt to his face unbidden as he walked forward, the teams clustering to pant out congratulations and promises that next game would go differently - Gryzzk tried to stand apart, but the strangers approached him as if he were an honored member of their own clans, gently touching his fur and then giving Kiole similar treatments of affection, with extra touches and gasps as each of them confirmed Kiole's pregnancy. It took a significant amount of time before they were able to exit the park for a group taxi to arrive. Gro'zel was yawning despite the early hour and leaned into her parents.

"Papa, Mama Kiole - c'n we go back and see Rosie now? I think the people on the ship may need someone."

"Of course Little One. Make sure Rosie knows when it's bedtime."

There was a brief interlude of sorts as the Morale Officer was taken to her quarters and tucked in for an early evening. The squad piled into the shuttle, deliberately avoiding the Moncilat quarters. While technically soundproofed, nobody was willing to test the idea. On the way down, Gryzzk realized that the squad had begun imbibing a bit early. There was a soft sigh as he realized that it was in fact shore leave so the typical rules were relaxed.

Kiole nudged him delicately with a sturdy flask. "Someone forgot something, I think."

Gryzzk took a sip and exhaled heavily. "What...what is this?"

"Reilly suggested it - tequila. Well, actually she sang it. One tequila two tequila three tequila floor."

At the mention of her name Reilly perked. "Yeah, and if there wasn't a baby growing already, there'd be one making camp at the end of the night!"

The collective snickers from the squad were amusing - it almost seemed as though the shifts had blended more as they went on. Flasks were shared as Kiole became the designated sober one for the evening - however she did take a sniff from each one before handing it over to Gryzzk. It seemed as though he was drinking for two this night. The most frightening thing was Laroy's contribution; "PawPaw's moonshine" was purportedly a brew made from a blend of Terran grains and then carefully crafted in a device that was a treasured heirloom of his family. The product of that heirloom was clear and had no scent, but Gryzzk felt the alcohol completely bypass his stomach to make a full-scale assault on his mind.

Laroy grinned brightly as he took the flask back. "Only legal use is to strip the atmo-coat from orbital ships. Good stuff. We couldn't age it for more than three months until an egghead invented suspension fields. Kept eating through every container."

The predictable result of this was that the squad was not entirely mobile by the time they were disgorged to the entrance of the Grand Warrior, which was already well stocked with the company by the time they arrived. They were about to enter when the doors were blown open and several Vilantians along with Captain Wilson and several members of the mess squad boiled out with fists and elbows flying - the reason was quickly made apparent.

"You-uns ne'er talk no mess about my mamaw's cooking - I beat you bloody and feed you till you so fat Orbital Control gon' hafta track yo' ass!"

There was a collective oooh of realization, then O'Brien spoke up. "Cap Wilson, need a hand?"

Captain Wilson looked up with a mostly clean face and happy expression. "Naw, you gon' hafta find your own dance partner Ser'nt-major, we just about got these fellahs edumacated." He returned to the business at hand of delivering a fist-based lecture to several folks.

There was an approving nod. "Well, when it's time to graduate, come on back in for the ceremony."

They walked in and heard something of an oddity - live music. A singer was strumming a Terran guitar with vigor and singing loudly - it wasn't exactly a tune that Gryzzk recognized, and the lyrics were shocking; deep down Gryzzk was certain that if anyone from the Ministry of Culture had reviewed the song for approval, they would have died from shock halfway through the arrest warrant.

The Lords stole his Name and he earned it-and-more Stood up to Ministers and showed them a war He took Tebul's spear after he was gored The Vilantian hero that we call Freelord

The singer then shifted, simply speaking to the audience instead of carrying the tune along.

Now here is what separates heroes, From common folk like you and I. The Freelord Gryzzk, He took a Learning Stick And shotgun to Tebul's whole line. The ministers, they learned The ministers, they fled. Then our Freelord Gryzzk His blood running thick, He took to the sky And returned to his children and wives.

The chorus was then repeated loudly to the cheers of the crowd as most of the squad went to the bar. Gryzzk and Larion stood slack-jawed while Kiole acted as a support for her husband.

"This. This is what going mad feels like." The words weren't quite as crisp as normal, but still understandable. Gryzzk wasn't sure how long that was going to be the case, so he and Kiole moved to the bar while Larion shadowed them unsteadily. O'Brien was already there, leaning over the bar and delivering stern cautions.

"...and I know yer gonna want to make a big deal about it, and I can see you're treating us like folk - all I'm asking is that this treatment continue. If we get rowdy th'ow us out and we'll mind ourselves if we're allowed back for a next time."

The bartender nodded, tapped a shotglass on the bar and reached down to fill it with whiskey, then brought out a second one for himself. The two clinked glasses and sealed the agreement with a shot before O'Brien hopped up to sit on the bar and called out for a song of some kind.

The air remained one of great cheer, with the doors opening again and Captain Wilson strode in holding his ribs and one of the other patrons he'd been fighting recently - it seemed that the dispute had been settled to everyone's satisfaction as Wilson called with his unholy deep voice for another round for his squad and their newest friends.

As Gryzzk settled in with a rum that had been properly flavored for the Vilantian palate, there were a few visitors to his side but none lingered. It seemed odd; recently he'd either been treated with utter reverence or complete disdain - being received at the bar with a friendly indifference was a novel experience, and he drank it in greedily - almost as greedily as the rum. Meanwhile, he saw his squad falling to their normal form, with Edwards, Laroy, and Reilly playing shuffleboard before Reilly freed herself of her pants to tie them around her neck as if they were an ascot. O'Brien had milled around, making her way to where the bar singer was and began teaching everyone a specific genre called "Irish Rebel songs" which seemed to be serious work.

During all this, Larion stared at his shotglass with a drunkenly deep expression. Eventually Kiole leaned and nudged him with her half-arm.

"Larion, it's not art. It's purpose is to be intoxicating."

At the nudge, Larion snapped from his reverie. "Oh. I...have been thinking. These, I see this mingling. It doesn't make sense - there's no hierarchy to be seen. It is, unlike social gatherings I have been to."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No." There was a pause. "Yes. There is no guidance of scent to tell me who is more important - who is to be respected, who is to be feared, and who is to be avoided."

There was a soft sound of amusement. "There is a hierarchy of sorts, lordling. You see the divide there, down that aisle? On the one side, they don't like Terrans, but they like this bar well enough that they won't start a fight. They're all young, so probably recent veterans. The next section to that, older veterans - the ones who fought me and mine in years past. The Terrans are novel, but they're not sure so they want to be closer to observe and see what makes them special." She pointed at one last table. "Now those there - they're waiting to start a fight. They've got drinks but they're not touching them. Not talking. Likely there was a plan of some sort that's not gone well since some of them made a move on Wilson earlier. They may have association with one of the Ministries that led the War, and they seek to redeem their collective honor. The older veterans are in charge - they are the buffer keeping the other groups in check. Likely if you asked properly they'd tell stories."

Gryzzk found it oddly fascinating to listen to Kiole's dissection of the crowd that to his blurred eyes was a simple crowd. Fortunately Larion asked the question first. "How do you know?"

There was amusement in Kiole's voice as one of the older veterans she pointed out walked to the bar for another round of the house ale. "I was born to a Hurdop War-clan. I was taught to observe, among other things." Kiole gave way as the older one looked her up and down with four deep golden eyes - his upper pair were obscured by long fur. It was a long moment before he spoke.

"Y'have the scent of the Freelord about you - but bare shoulders and Hurdop warrior markings on your clothes. How?"

Kiole's manner changed to one of caution. "By the grace of the living gods. I was working at an orphanage when he came to us looking for assistance. The Grandmother gave it, and noticed that our scents mingled pleasantly. After he left, Grandmother arranged passage to the mercenary homeworld where I met his wife and we found each other acceptable company."

The other Vilantian smoothed his hair down over his upper eyes again, his tone and scent shifting to awkwardness as he briefly leaned in for a greeting-scent. "I am Velons, lady." His visible eyes flicked down to Kiole's right arm. "Is it common for Hurdop to seek mates from Vilantia, now?"

"I can't say how common it is. I know that once I was deemed unfit for further service, I was sent away to serve the Clan in other ways."

Kiole's new companion shifted his position a bit, looking around before speaking lowly. "After my service was ended, I came home to a wife and children, and within the week the house was barren of all." He moved slightly, shielding himself from as many as he could before lifting the fur on his head to reveal that his upper eyes were not obscured, they were gone - replaced by knotted scar tissue from some battle that lived on every night in a memory. "I would like to know if Father Hurdop might have a daughter who would find me pleasing, and gift me a child we could raise. Like you and the Freelord have."

Kiole's expression gentled, and raised her right arm to gently smooth the fur back in place. "You'll have to ask Father Hurdop." She paused. "It takes strength to...make such a leap to the unknown. Come, let's sit and talk with your friends." Kiole gathered the ales into her arms and nuzzled her very intoxicated husband. "Be still. We will collect you later." She then gestured for Larion to follow, and the ones at the table made room for two more.

Their seats were quickly occupied by another Vilantian and Reilly, who leaned into Gryzzk politely.

"Maaaajjjor Freeeelord..." Reilly's voice was drawn out and tipsy. "C'n you sniff at my new friend Mitira?"

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