Homeplate, Terran Foreign Legion Ship Stalwart Rose

Freelord Captain Rostin stood on the bridge of his ship, feeling the barest shudder through the deck plating as the docking clamps secured the ship to their docking station, and the illumination dimmed slightly for a moment as the power shifted to the external power from Homeplate. There was a collective sigh from the bridge as console indicators were illuminated, showing the necessary transfers of power had been completed, bathing the ship in a warm softness.

"XO, dismiss the crew for shore leave and start looking through the new jobs."

The ship's AI closed his eyes and the announcement came over the ship speakers. "A'ight, ship secured. All yiz bums fuck ouddaheah." Stewart then glanced to the captain. "Freelord Captain, we have several requests for our services, however there are two directives from Colonel Sinclair that should be addressed."

Rostin was getting used to several things - his XO being an AI with a form that was a Terran-height muscular Hurdop that slipped into a regional Terran accent under stress and was always in formal uniform, a good portion of his company being from Hurdop, even the rank system was taking time. Being called Freelord was something new; it had slowly begun after he'd ordered a non-standard evasive maneuver that stressed the ship but resulted in their escort charges emerging from a pirate ambush unscathed. It continued after he'd ordered the officer's mess converted to a more general-use area and issuing directives that the officers were to take their meals with the general company. He shook his head, wondering how Gryzzk had managed it.

"Are these orders for myself only?"

"Negative. With the Colonel's compliments, we are firstly directed to begin looking for additional ships for expansion of the Legion. Major Gryzzk has received a similar directive. The other legions have found six ships each to be optimal, and he feels that we should be more in line with that." Stewart's voice shifted to a more casual tone. "We're a fawkin' hawt commodity and we need to start moving like we are."

"Very well. Send out inquiries to the appropriate parties, see if they have any surplus ships for sale that we can recondition. The other directive?"

"Kinda goes along with the first. We're standin' down until Twilight Rose has her ass sittin' pretty in dock. New job's been arranged for us - and it's a good 'un."

"Details?"

"In short, Third Contact."

"That was not detailed, XO."

"Aw, yeah. So out here on the fringes we still run into new species taking their first steps into R-Space. We just hit one, so's the Collective did all the 'take me to yiz leader' schtick for First Contact, then Second Contact was the 'okay, here's all the paperwork to fill out, and FYI these are Terrans if you fight 'em you're on your own' routine, and now Third Contact is 'how to be a part of the Collective and by the way stop thinking about fighting the Terrans.' We're gonna be escorting some ambassadors and trade-people over to keep things working smoothly. If it all works out, we're probably gonna establish some outposts and whatnot in few dozen years. Down side of all that it it's about a ten-day transit period from here to there. We're heading to the boonies."

"Duly noted. Requisition extra cargo modules for both ships and make sure they're ready when Freelord Gryzzk returns."

"A'ight, we'll sort the rest of it out later. Sergeant Bilona's got something for you now. I'm out."

Rostin looked back to see his tactical NCO lounging against the wall, patiently waiting to be acknowledged. Another point of contention within the ship was that the Hurdop seemed to have a casualness about them that was hard to accept initially, but the results were undeniable.

"Stand at ease, Sergeant. You have something?"

The whip-thin Hurdop nodded, but didn't change his posture. "Ayeah. So's we been talking. We know your wife and husband kicked you out when they made you Nameless like all the rest of the Vilantians on the ship. I know they're wanting to reconcile now that you got your Name back and became a Legionnaire. You're trying to keep yourself virtuous for that, but at the same time - you're apart for a reason. And it ain't right to be alone, Cap'n."

"Thank you for consolidating my pain into three sentences, Sergeant. I am well aware of my personal life."

"Figured. But the good news is, me and the rest of the bridge crew opened up a tab for you at Captain Jack's, we'll get a couple cocktails for you, and tell you about all the things you've been ignoring for awhile now - starting with Doline."

It took a few moments. "The Hurdop bartender?"

"Yeah. You didn't notice the last time we were in she poured you top shelf honest-to-light-gods Jamaican rum and charged you house rum price?"

There was a shrug in return. "I thought it one of those perks of being a captain."

His gunner replied with a snort. "They charge Freelord Gryzzk full for his shots. Open your nose to the reality. On Hurdop you ain't signing on for life ten minutes after someone says you smell nice. You're there for a night. Maybe in the morning you'll have a breakfast conversation with someone who isn't Stewart."

"I rather enjoy the morning breakfast briefing."

"Yeah, we know you think Stewart's cute. Weirdo."

Stewart cleared his throat delicately. "I am right here."

Bilona smirked. "I know. Did you figure it out?"

"It was within the calculated range of possible events."

Rostin looked at his tablet, anxious to finish the discussion. "There's still quite a bit to do."

"There's quite a bit for everyone to do. But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight, Captain, you need to unwind and have a drink with a pretty lady." Bilona paused. "You ever heard of a hurricane?"

"It's a Terran natural disaster, yes?"

"Yep, but it's also a drink. Two types of rum with three fruit juices. It's the official drink of the engineering section."

There was a slightly defeated exhale. "You're not going to let this go, are you."

"Nope. Part of giving you our fur and oath. We gotta save you from yourself sometimes, Freelord. Hopefully we'll get lucky and those redshirt wannabe's from Bad Moon's legion'll think Captain Jack's is their bar. Then you can whip their asses and be a defender of Doline's honor and booze."

Rostin exhaled. "Very well."

___________

Hurdop Prime, Tosche Station

After dismissing the bridge squad for a few hours contingent on them showing up when it was time to visit the Wounded Greatlord, Gryzzk was preparing to go wander the station and simply clear his mind when his comm chimed and he heard Kiole's voice.

"Husband, would you please collect my hand and bring it to the forward dock?"

"I will as soon as you tell me where it is."

"Armory section, it'll be in my locker."

Gryzzk headed to the Armory and sniffed around, finally getting Kiole's prosthetic and heading out to find Kiole seated on a tall folding chair, speaking animatedly to another individual wearing the formal uniform of the Hurdop navy, who was confident in a way Gryzzk never would be. Gryzzk wasn't entirely sure about the individual's rank so he gave a neutral sort of nod.

Kiole was quite helpful. "Undercommander Seliwa may I introduce my husband and commanding officer, Freelord Major Gryzzk." She paused for a moment. "The rank structure of the Terrans is quite odd, but you are...roughly equivalent, with the Major being slightly above. The Terrans think in tens where we think in sixes."

Seliwa seemed to have an easy smile, but his uniform was hiding his scent. It was quite likely that the scent track was going to be added later for dramatic effect. "Thank you for taking care of the good Senior Petty Officer."

Gryzzk seemed confused as he handed the prosthetic to Kiole. "Not gunner's mate?"

There was a soft laugh as Kiole inspected the hand. Her scent seemed more comfortable, "Apologies twilight warrior, but gunner's mate was my job. My rank was..." she considered. "Somewhere between a Terran staff sergeant and sergeant first class."

"Ah. Well I'll leave you to it, then." Gryzzk paused to acknowledge the interviewer before readying to move off.

The Undercommander leaned back in his chair, sensing something. "If you don't mind, Major - Kiole's history is known, but I would like to think our viewers would appreciate an alternate perspective."

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The couple shared a glance before nodding as Kiole spoke. "Fortunately in port the schedule is much more flexible. Now as I was describing, the Terran prosthetic is quite clever - the ring on my forearm acts as a hardpoint, with the lower portion having a sensor array for my arm with predictive technology based on the nerve impulses and muscle movements from the remaining part of my arm." Kiole set the prosthetic into place and ran through an initial sequence, with her hand rotating and flexing through a full range of motion. Seliwa seemed awestruck at the procedure.

"That's...rather amazing. What's the one best part of this?"

By way of response, Kiole reached over with her artificial hand to stroke Gryzzk's face. "I can feel his fur, the warmth and softness there. I can hold the hand of both my husband and wife at the same time." Her scent betrayed her absolute joy in the returned sensations from her limb, tracing a line with her finger from Gryzzk's face to his hand.

"Are there any disadvantages?"

"Well, the expense is not something to ignore. Additionally, there is a bit of a curve initially as the prosthetic learns how much to react to certain impulses and as I learned how to control it. Initially I bent several utensils, and even now if someone startles me my hand is more than capable of breaking something."

"Really? What are the limitations?"

"Theoretically the hand can bend plastanium. I haven't tested the theory, as if the hand broke I would have to go to engineering for a refit, and I would rather not disrupt their routine. Chief Tucker has quite enough on his tablet without me coming in to sadly inform him that I broke something while showing off."

Seliwa leaned forward just a bit, gesturing at one of the assistants. "I think that would be something we would like to see. But for the moment I do have a few questions for...the Freelord." For some reason, Seliwa wasn't keen on saying Gryzzk's name.

"Of course." Kiole hopped down from the chair, allowing Gryzzk to take the hot seat. He was only there for a moment before Kiole settled herself in his lap.

"So tell me, what's it like being a Vilantian Freelord?"

The reply started with a grimace. "To be quite honest, unexpected. It wasn't a title I asked for or desired. Now I try to...discover more about what it means and how to earn the title. I make mistakes, but my clan is kind enough to overlook them or help me atone. It was a gift from Hurdop, and it is a gift that I don't always appreciate as much as I should." He leaned into Kiole's face to give her a gentle nuzzle. "Much like the Freelady."

"The Terrans."

"Is there a specific topic?"

"Well, do you feel respected by them? I am given to understand that their natural reaction is to think of us as 'small and cute' for some reason."

"I do feel respected by the ones I have had the pleasure of working with. Their natural reaction is a positive one, but they are considerate enough to suppress the reflex and judge on merit. Mostly." Gryzzk cleared his throat to expand. "I can't place them all in a box, but I think in general they know the value of peace. Paradoxically that may be why they are so good at war."

"Something a Vilantian would have a deep knowledge of."

"Well, yes - but my part in the recent war was with the Terran Foreign Legion, so my opinion may not be shared. Certainly there are elements within both our societies that would prefer the old traditions remain in force, but the old traditions..." Gryzzk swallowed. "Seem inadequate. I have attended one funeral since becoming a member of the Legion. Keeping that number as low as possible has since become a priority."

There was a light scent of doubt from the Seliwa. "Even the Hurdop-born?"

Kiole took the question. "Even the Hurdop-born. We have adopted a daughter, a foundling with Hurdop shoulders. From one daughter to the other, his scent never wavers. They are our children, the core of our clan. When the Vilantian Greatlord challenged him, he did not offer up the Hurdop half of his clan in sacrifice. For us, we are one clan. Neither Hurdop, Vilantian, Terran, or Moncilat. As Freelady, I will do no less."

The answer seemed to stun the interviewer. "Forgive me, Freelady. I...I hope you can appreciate my surprise in this."

Kiole reached over gently to pat Seliwa's hand. "I know. I was surprised myself. It is difficult. But it is worth it." Kiole's eyes sparkled. "My husband and wife warm our bed very well."

All six of Gryzzk's eyes flared wide as he looked at Kiole and sputtered. "That...they don't...improper!"

There was malicious innocence in Kiole's scent. "I suppose I could tell the viewers that they should simply lie back and think of Hurdop. But that would rob them of an exceptionally pleasant experience."

Gryzzk took a breath. "There is such a thing as excessive honesty, love."

"But our worlds will be better for it in the end." There was a light nuzzle as the assistant returned with a plastanium cylinder about the diameter of a Learning Stick and handed it to Kiole. She glanced at it and then rolled it over her fingers a few times before flicking her fingers over and under the cylinder.

Then she made a fist and handed a heavily deformed piece of plastanium back to the intern. Nobody spoke for an eternal moment until Seliwa finally broke the silence.

"Well. That is certainly a fine ending to this. Thank you for your time Freelady." Seliwa and his assistant packed up everything and quickly left, their scents betraying undisguised amazement as they passed the deformed cylinder back and forth.

Gryzzk took Kiole's hand and looked it over. It didn't seem to be damaged - at least not too much.

"That was kind of fun." Kiole grinned a bit.

"Should we be worried?"

"No - damage to the hand registers as mild pain. It didn't hurt at all."

"Ah. Well..." Gryzzk took a breath and held it for a moment. "To the surface." He tapped at his tablet. "Bridge squad, assemble at the forward dock, we're going down."

It took all of three minutes for everyone to arrive in their normal shore-leave garb.

Hoban looked marginally amused. "So where'm I driving to?"

"You're a passenger tonight, Captain. We're going to the Wounded Greatlord in Free Throne City." Gryzzk paused. "Wherever that is."

The group dodged a woman with decorated overalls and a bright shirt growling about how her first time on Hurdop was going to be spent in the reclamation shack before happily exclaiming about synchronizers. It took a few minutes before they piled into a shuttle and from there it took a few minutes before they figured out how to get a ride on the local standing conveyance to the bar in question. The entourage walked in and settled in at the bar, with Kiole taking the lead - it was her planet after all. Most of the group spread out a bit as they settled; it appeared they were maximizing their coverage in the event the meeting went poorly. O'Brien hovered near Gryzzk and Kiole, her posture almost daring the more energetic patrons to test themselves.

The lighting was brighter, the music had the right rhythm but the wrong lyrics, and their ale seemed to be served cold. Overall, it seemed designed to make Gryzzk or any Vilantian uncomfortable. They got looks from the patrons as they settled into their respective chairs, not the least reason being Kiole's hand. And Gryzzk's shoulders. And the Terran group. And the Moncilat who towered over all of them. The bar's scent was calm for the moment, but the undercurrent of old barfights lingered in the air like a stale cut of meat.

Gryzzk paused as Kiole dipped a finger from her artificial hand in his ale, frowned, and pushed it back to the bartender with a whispered word, her scent betraying her unhappiness. A second ale was subsequently poured for him, this one with a proper temperature to it. Kiole stirred it again with her finger before nodding and leaning over to Gryzzk, keeping her voice low.

"We used to put laxatives in the ale when we had to leave a system."

Another Hurdop squeezed himself between Gryzzk and O'Brien, causing her to look askance at the individual who was rather rudely invading the space that had been reserved after a fashion. The individual walked like he was unfamiliar with planetary gravity - to be fair, Gryzzk had a similar walk when planetside.

The other one had a wary scent that was compounded by O'Brien leaning heavily on him in a rather unsubtle attempt to keep them well away from Gryzzk.

Finally the other Hurdop spoke in an unschooled voice. "General Kenobi?"

The name was an immediate flash to a memory for Gryzzk - this was an interesting sort of moment, but he was able to smile casually and nod in return before he spoke the proper reply. "Hello there."

The reply seemed to bring the Hurdop to a relaxed posture. "Freelord. I'm Theran. If you could ah, ask your assistant to give some room? You are safe this night." There was a pause. "Navy pranks aside."

Gryzzk nodded, reaching up to give O'Brien a light pat on the shoulder. She moved precisely one stool to the left, causing her new bar-neighbor to take one look at the kilted, menacing sergeant and decide that whatever was happening had a minimum safe distance, and he was well within it. O'Brien sniffed at her ale with a light satisfaction before absently running a finger around the rim of the mug, keeping herself ready for something.

Theran was the first to speak. "I can't say that I was surprised to receive your message. You seem honorable enough. It's a shame, really, bearing his name."

Gryzzk shrugged. "I don't recall having a choice in the matter."

There was an amused sound from Theran. "I don't suppose any of us do. Quite honestly, I simply wanted to meet you and...talk. Not barter. Simply talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes." Theran paused to take a sip of ale. "I think age has softened me, somewhat. Honor demands that I challenge you in Svitre's name. Honor does many things - it doesn't feed my Youthfleet. And now I have a conundrum of sorts."

"What sort of conundrum could a Hurdop Clan Second have that would require the words of a Vilantian?"

"Well, a specific Vilantian's words have a weight to them when they carry bloodscent and honor."

Gryzzk took a long breath. "I didn't want to."

"Few do. At least at first." Theran waved a hand. "But that is a path for another walk." He paused, looking deep into his half-finished ale. "Can the Terrans be trusted?"

Gryzzk frowned, considering. "The ones I've met, the ones in my company? Yes."

"What about the ones who call themselves Skunkworks?"

That brought Gryzzk up short. "Another Terran described them as 'everyone's partner, but nobody's friend.' I believe that is a caution of sorts." There was a pause. "Barter cruelly with them. Whatever they ask you to tell them, sell them. Any information they receive, they will sell to others for a high profit."

There was a noise of agreement. "Mmm. They tell me things. And I tell them things, and then they give me credits for what I tell them. That is how my Youthfleet is fed while we seek a place that is unshadowed by Freeclan Svitre. Perhaps the routes to Terra will be filled with our ships and goods. Bringing crates of unlicensed wobbly-headed geisha dolls to Neo-Kyoto is amusing but it doesn't quite keep our accounts full."

"So what will you tell Skunkworks about me?"

"That if you had been the First Gryzzk, our history would be...different." There was a fatalistic shrug.

"You probably know the first one better than I do. The past of a Lead Servant wasn't exactly spoken of deeply in our house."

There was a snort. "I won't be the one to burden you with knowledge of one of Hurdop's greatest ancient villains. Use your wife's name where you can. Her's is far more honored, and if the Ministry of Speech has anything to say about it the name Kiole will be more honored."

Theran gave a slight nod of respect to Kiole before draining his mug. "Hurdop and Vilantia need heroes, and it's much easier to craft a hero with actual deeds." Theran slid off his barstool casually as a small group of Hurdop came to collect him. "Thank you for the conversation."

As he left, O'Brien reclaimed her seat. "So...when were you gonna tell the rest of us your namesake was some kind of sumbitch or another?"

Gryzzk shrugged helplessly. "I never knew."

There was a nudge to his elbow from Kiole. Gryzzk followed her pointing finger to a Hurdop who was standing next to Theran, looking serious even as he drank. "Husband. That one smells familiar."

"Call him over?"

Kiole nodded, raising her voice to Theran over the general bar noise and pointing at the one in question before beckoning him to them. The one in question came over more out of curiosity than anything else. Physically he was shorter than Gryzzk as Hurdop tended to be; his eyes were mismatched, with ice-blue and hazel alternating to form an arrow pattern on his dark-gray-and-white mottled fur. He stood before them looking between the two quizzically.

"Freelady..." there was a pause as he decided how to acknowledge Gryzzk. "Major."

Kiole was blunt. "What's your name and are you married?"

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