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Antares System, Antarean Self-Defense Ship Divine Breeze
Itrop scowled at he regarded Jiela. There was something that rankled him - the Hurdop in front of him had obviously never had to make a choice more difficult than fish or bison for a meal, and yet here he was trying to dictate the next course of action. He re-focused on the fop in front of him to realize that Jiela seemed to be waiting for a response of some kind.
"I should prefer that the generous Ambassador communicate his requirements in writing. See to it."
The casual remark seemed to infuriate the young noble. "Were you not listening? You will do as you are told. Terran-flagged ships are to be granted safe passage. No exceptions."
"We have interdicted multiple Terran ships carrying contraband. Are we to suddenly allow criminals free reign over the system?"
"For the moment, that is the Ambassador's wish. The Terrans are sending multiple ships to Antares and they will be conducting exercises. Under the guise of these exercises they are in all likelihood gauging the preparedness of the Self-Defense Militia and determining if it is necessary for them to send out a notice to their flagged cargo vessels if we are found wanting. They are also sending hospital ships and aid."
Itrop scowled. "They send their military forces under camouflage. Does the Ambassador not recall the events before the Three-Day-War?"
"He recalls the events quite fondly. That said, the Terran ships are still to pass without anything more than a cursory inspection. Further, Corial has ordered that I remain here until he has confirmed your compliance with his wishes."
There was a long moment before Itrop spoke. "Now I am quite interested in having this in writing."
"I will send your request along. In the interim, I presume my quarters are there." Jiela gestured to the Captain's cabin.
"You presume incorrectly. You will be quartered with the crew - all the better to observe." Itrop nodded to Bob, who glided forward and spoke two words.
"Follow me."
Jiela snorted. "Preposterous. I am not a common soldier or bricklayer. I have standing."
Itrop spoke softly. "On this ship, we earn our place. You wish standing, earn it. Until then, recall that on this ship I am Captain, and orders will be given by myself or those who speak with my scent. Disciplined obedience to those orders has rewards."
Jiela grumbled almost petulantly. "Only until those orders run counter to mine."
There was a dismissive gesture. "If Corial wishes to speak with me, he has every right to do so. When the authority you borrow presents me with an appropriate set of directives, I will determine how they fit within the long term goals for our mutual benefit. Until then, your quarters await."
Bob returned several minutes later his bearing one of unshakable calm, as usual. "He made several threats. Highly improbable."
There was a snort. "I despise those who do nothing to earn their place. The sooner he learns this, the better." Itrop glanced at his tablet. "In the interim, move the Light Fleet further into the Maelstrom - they need to be hidden until the refit is complete. Then we can begin dragging our worlds to the light they crave. Redouble the postings of the Freespeakers to make it seem as if the Terrans and their allies have a hidden agenda."
Bob simply nodded and bent to his task.
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Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose
Gryzzk glanced at the papers on the conference room table and took a sip of his tea, glancing at Indel as he stood expectantly.
"I'm sure this will be a fine addition to our collection. Tell me what is not laying on the table here."
The question seemed to perplex the young noble. "Freelord?"
"I believe I've just made an enemy of your entire Greatclan - tell me why I should allow you into my company. If you are an assassin, you would not be the first. Nor will you be the last."
This triggered a war of sorts on Indel's features. "My brother."
Gryzzk exhaled. "If this entire exchange is going to consist of two-word answers, it is going to become quite tedious quite rapidly; you are currently placing yourself between me and my wives and children as well as the precious time I have for recovery until the next duty day commences. This is an unusual situation and I would prefer the facts be well-scented before I make a decision."
Indel's eyes swept the room rapidly, the green irises shrinking as the noble swept the room for some hidden threat as his own scent turned to a guarded caution. "My brother has longed for the Greatlord's Warchair for many years. With the recent upheavals, he's begun moves to align with the common clans so that when the next Minister of War is elected he will be the one to select them. The new Minister will remain minister just long enough to yield their seat to him." There was a pause. "With Father's loss, he has seized the moment along with the Sword of Aa'Fahwil and even now calls the sworn lords and ladies together to anoint him as the Thirty-Fourth Aa'Fahwil while he seeks wives for me from allied clans. I wish no part of it. I never have. I've only wished to serve Vilantia in the field, to bring honor and glory to my clan and Throne."
Gryzzk took a breath. "And during the war?"
That question seemed to bring almost physical pain to Indel, but he answered as stoically as he could. "I was a commander of the Throne City Defense Corps. We were positioned well for defense along the Thirty-ninth street perimeter - but we were overrun. The Terrans took groundcars and mounted weapons on them, using our own vehicles against us. It was bright, and then it was dark. When the world was bright again, there was smoke and rubble. I heard the Throne's Call of Peace in my comms, that we were to lay down arms and fight no more. I passed along the order to those who were left." There was a pause as a remembered horror was relived and buried as quickly as it could be before it could be spoken of. "Everyone obeyed, but not all in the same way. Father ordered our warbanners in the field to be burned, so they could not be taken as trophies by some Terran who would not grasp their meaning. The next morning we buried our dead in the Clan-grove and began to learn how to live in this new world, with a Nameless Lead Servant as the herald of the new way."
As he took this in, Gryzzk was reminded yet again of how much the order of the times before had been upset by the Terran's actions, and just how small a perspective he'd had during the war. He spoke softly for the moment. "None of us were comfortable that day." He glanced at the papers on the table. "Take those to your quarters - we will need them should you choose to present them to our personnel office. If you are agreeable, the Executive Officer will be sending several aptitude tests to you during our journey to New Casablanca. They require nothing but candor. Once completed, upon our arrival you and the other new recruits will be assigned to the Legion Training Ship Cartre where you will be trained and your aptitudes confirmed."
Gryzzk levered himself to his feet. "For the moment, you are dismissed. Educate yourself on all the ships as best you can, as I cannot guarantee you will be within my company. During the journey, do not be surprised if your father's name is...insulted. I am certain he is a good and noble individual, but at the same time recent actions may have colored the local opinion."
Indel left, his scent one of relief. As he left, Gryzzk limped out to the bridge, feeling a sudden exhaustion creeping over him as he oversaw the docking. It wasn't quite surreal, but it was interesting to see the shapes of warfreighters forming passages to frigates that formed the main sections of the station. Perhaps in the future there would be additional work done to cover up the fact that the Orbital Palace was essentially a fleet of warships that had been welded together and hollowed out to provide space and shops for those travelers who found Vilantian gravity uncomfortable.
There was a light click as the docking tubes connected and sealed, with Miroka checking her board one more time before saying anything.
"Orbital Palace Control confirms clean dock."
There was a nod as Gryzzk tapped at his tablet. "All personnel, this is Freelord Gryzzk. We are docked with Orbital Palace station for the duration of the day; you are free to enjoy the station amenities. The one amenity I would ask that you not visit is the station jail facility. Please be advised we will be leaving at twelve-hundred hours ship time for our journey home. That is all." Gryzzk closed the channel and his eyes at almost the same time. "XO?"
"Whatcha want, Freelord Titfucker?"
"A nap. Please hold any and all communications. Use any excuse."
"Okay so if anyone asks you're taking Grezzk to pound town while Kiole coaches you up and Lumisca takes notes."
Gryzzk glanced at Rosie. "I got stabbed."
"And you're gonna need to start doing thigh-focused cardio once that wrap comes off your leg."
"With respect to our lovely fiction writers, that's not happening for a good long while. Previous exploits in that area have had results, and those must take priority. Message the command staff that we will be having a meeting tomorrow morning at ten-hundred." Gryzzk raised himself up and gimped slowly toward his quarters.
As the door opened, Gryzzk blinked and realized that while his quarters were luxurious when compared to any others on the ship, the current status would be best described as crowded - four adults, four infants and right next door two more children. It was going to be a long few days until they were home. The positive was that someone had temporarily rearranged his quarters with additional furniture - there was a separate bed for Lumisca and a few short couches had been placed carefully. Gryzzk sighed and crawled onto the bed, where Fizeht was placed on his lap and Grezzk had a mild scowl.
"Now that all is well and safe, we need to discuss something your daughter said."
"My daughter?" Gryzzk looked toward the open door where Nhoot and Gro'zel were fussing over Millennium and discussing the day.
There was a nod. "Indeed. While our wife was giving Fizeht her first breath, Nhoot came in and declared that you were, and I quote 'kicking wholesale ass.' You may want to ask her about it."
Gryzzk laid his head back for a moment. "Nhoot. Did you say that?"
Nhoot came in, looking a bit confused and uncertain. "But. I asked Rosie about bad words cause some of the troopers would say things and they would stop talking and hit each other because I heard it. An' she said there were some words you can't say, and there's some words you kinda say sometimes. But the only ones I could never ever say until I'm an adult and I really can't say if they interview me on the holo are shit-piss-fuck-cunt-cocksucker-motherfucker-and-tits. And then she said tits didn't even really belong on the list because it's really a friendly sounding word. But it's on the list and I can't say it."
Gryzzk groaned softly. "I agree with Rosie's list, however we will need to expand the list. For now, any word you hear that gets the speaker a smack you may presume you can't say."
Nhoot nodded solemnly. "Okay Papa." She then clambered up on the bed where Gryzzk and Fizeht were settling in. "If we ask nice do you think I could bring everyone supper tonight? Cause well, Papa needs a stick to walk."
Grezzk flicked her ear slightly. "You are still having a conversation with Papa later."
Nhoot wilted a touch, as apparently no amount of cute would cover for profanity. However she did snuggle with Gryzzk and Fizeht for a long time before dashing off and returning with a large buffet cart with mostly healthy things - not entirely healthy, as Nhoot had apparently convinced someone that everyone in the family truly needed a banana split with peanut butter sauce. Gryzzk did have a slightly prankish moment as he daubed whipped cream on his finger.
"My lady warrior, could you check my eye, I think there's a lash caught..."
Kiole turned and found whipped cream immediately on her nose which she reflexively sneezed out, making the children giggle. Even Lumisca managed a light smile as she ate and seemed to marvel a bit at the dessert.
Gryzzk felt like he was supposed to feel awkward, but the events of the day had mentally pushed him into a state of unshakable calm. Rosie could have called advising him that war had been declared and in all likelihood he would have simply nodded and asked if the war could wait until morning. The mood was improved as the night dragged on, with the bulk of the family finally falling asleep in the single bed.
The morning arrived without Gryzzk noticing. He tested his leg and it seemed to bear more weight, but he still felt better walking with the cane. The ladies seemed to be setting up camp on the bed and making certain that the children were all being cared for. His wives fussed over his uniform while Lumisca monitored the infants. With Sahkik she was highly protective and focused, checking from top to bottom every few minutes. Overall, they seemed to be at least polite to each other - certainly more than he'd hoped for.
As he stepped to the bridge, the day squad was present and amused. Gryzzk glanced at his tablet for any reports from Orbital Palace security and seemed slightly concerned to find none.
"Sergeant Major - is the XO trying to keep my blood pressure low by not reporting any incidents?"
"Nay. They were all soft as church-mice on station yesterday." The Sergeant Major turned slightly, and Gryzzk took note of an addition to her uniform that consisted of what looked to be a jade-green Vilantian greatsword strapped to her back.
Gryzzk flicked an ear, deciding that an in-depth discussion needed to wait. "You are in fact referring to Alpha Company of the Terran Foreign Legion, correct?"
"Miracles never cease. I walked to security m'self to make sure. I think the lads and lasses were all tired and shagged out after the long squawk in Parliament." O'Brien waved a hand toward the conference room. "The rest of the commanders are waiting, sir."
Reilly grinned in a rather silly manner, and no amount of soap could cleanse her happily content scent. "Best. Honeymoon. Ever."
Gryzzk shook his head as he made his way to the conference room and settled with his tea. He tapped a control and the faces of the other company commanders resolved slowly. He took a long breath before speaking.
"Captains, you probably already know this but I wanted to make it official - this trip will officially be revenue-neutral. The Ministry of Culture has levied fines against us in an amount equivalent to our anticipated profits. I would ask that you direct your ill feelings toward me and not the Minister; she is probably not feeling well today."
To his surprise there was something of a collective shrug from the officers, with Rostin being the first to reply. "Freelord, I do not believe I speak out of turn when I say 'worth it'. The conservative nobles have been far too anxious to bring us to their heel, and they needed to see that it's not just you they're fighting." Rostin reached down out of frame for a moment to come back up with a beautifully wrought kris-style sword. Gryzzk's eyes widened at the wavy pattern, and became impossible saucers as he saw the clanmark on the pommel.
"Is that...?" Gryzzk almost stopped breathing for a moment.
Rostin nodded. "It is. From the Ninth Generation. As the honorably vanquished, Greatclan Aa'Wipola pays heed to the scent of Freeclan O'Rostin." There was a slight twinkle in the captain's eye. "They are not entirely pleased by this, but the howl of victory is difficult to ignore."
There was a nod. "Indeed. Are there any other items that I should be aware of?"
Gryzzk's inquiry was met with a collective shrug of sorts, as each captain brought forth a weapon from one of the Clans or Greatclans of Vilantia. Waniul produced a flail with a weight-piece made of six triangular pieces of plastanium as Jenkins set a large-for-Vilatians square-headed mallet that looked for all the world like an oversized meat tenderizer in front of her. Meanwhile Bulfrek reverently placed a double-bladed war axe in front of himself as if it were his own infant, and finally Venlid ran the back of her thumb along the blade of a scimitar and seemed lost in herself as the fur came away whisper-clean.
There was a slight earwilt as Gryzzk considered the ramifications. "Well. I suppose the Minister of Culture will receive her wish after a manner of speaking." Gryzzk glanced over to the door out of habit as he addressed Rosie. "XO, canvass the other Legions and request an inventory of any and all clan-weapons that may have exchanged ownership. Any non-Vilantian owners should receive a primer on the specific meanings with regard to the clan and weapon, with an emphasis on the weapon's history. They are to be treated with respect."
Jenkins lifted an eyebrow slightly. "So...what I'm hearing is I should not use this to crack walnuts."
There was a slight scowl as Gryzzk checked his tablet for confirmation. "Captain, that is Tears of Fury. The Hammer of Greatclan Aa'Mamothru, sworn to the Ministry of War since before the First Generation - the clan-words have been 'First to Glory' from even before the time Vilantia had writing. The legend of the weapon is that it was forged from a hand plow and alloyed with plastanium armor taken from the Hurdop who killed the First Aa'Mamothru's family, finally being quenched in the blood of both the First Aa'Mamothru's parents and the ones who killed them."
"That kinda sounds like bullshit, but...okay."
"It may be that captain, but it is a legend that the clan believes in. After a thousand years that belief is far more important than the truth." Gryzzk glanced at his tablet again. "Now, moving on - we've been requested to prioritize contracts to the Antares system. The system itself is emerging from a severe internal conflict, and as a result piracy and smuggling have increased. As a result there are several aid shipments that are being delayed pending availability of appropriate protection. Given that we haven't had any combat involving the ships, the expectation is that we will be available as soon as the passenger manifests are clear. That said one to two days of turnaround would not be out of the question for minor repairs and recalibration. Command has forwarded several potential contracts, select in your own time but have something ready for acceptance by the time we emerge from R-space to Homeplate. Any questions?"
Jenkins lifted the hammer and waved it a little. "Ah, yeah - so...Drummer's message store has a metric fuckton of marriage proposals, and some of them are downright indecent; is a blanket thanks but no thanks cool? Not to put too fine a fuckin' point on it but there's a reason or five that I'm single."
The Vilantians all shared an awkward look before Rostin spoke. "If you must send a group message, it should be phrased in such a way as to ensure that your clans are not insulted. I would recommend you have a meeting with one of your company from a noble clan for proper phrasings, but in the end you have certain obligations and expectations with respect to your clan. We're not ignorant of a completely political spousal arrangement, however I would avoid such a thing. Children born of such partnerships are ill-fated. Captains Venlid and myself can make ourselves available if Freelord Gryzzk is indisposed - in addition, Lomeia's birth clan was of Ministerial rank, and she herself is well-acquainted with phrasings to soothe and buy yourself some time."
There was a soft sigh of acknowledgment from the Terran. "Fine, but this better not awaken anything in me."
Gryzzk smirked a bit despite the situation. "If it does, Sergeant Reilly can provide an excellent and overly detailed message regarding various expectations and general preferences."
The holos all winked out one by one save for Venlid, who was taking in every millimeter of the scimitar with an interest normally reserved for a particularly attractive lover. She was running the spine of the blade under her nose, alternating deep inhales and quick sharp ones as pinpricks of brightness formed at the corners of her eyes.
"Captain Venlid? The meeting is adjourned. Resume your duties if you please."
Venlid looked up and realized she'd been in her own bubble of reality. "Oh. Apologies Freelord. But this. This is the weapon of my clan. I hold Icingdeath." She looked down and whispered softly as if reciting a prayer. "The words 'Can and Will' have been part of the Clan lore from the Testing War of the Fifth Generation and set in dawnstone along the spine. Blade and guard made from a single piece of black shipmetal from a Helot destroyer the clan took as a prize to turn the tide of the war. Grip and pommel from the ironwood tree nourished by every Greatlady Aa'Masiox beginning in the First Generation." Venlid swallowed and looked around. "Freelord, I am conflicted."
Gryzzk flicked an ear. "Continue in your own time, Captain."
Venlid looked around for a moment, ducking out of frame just long enough for a quick swallow of something. "This blade. It held so much meaning, and yet - after the war, it felt as though that meaning, everything was a lie. I want to space it, freeze it and shatter it to nothingness with my bare hands because there is no hand worthy to wield it - not even my own. But I. I can't."
"Then become worthy. The blade represents a great deal to everyone who sees it. As the shepherd of it you have perhaps a unique opportunity to provide a beacon of direction for your former and current clan."
Venlid's mouth worked for a moment. "My wife and husband. They took a second husband, and now they ask me to join them as well."
There was a light earflick in reply - it seemed like Venlid was diverting the conversation. "Their scent held love for you once. Do you think it will again?"
"I do not know. And I'm not certain I wish to know."
"Perhaps then you should set the blade aside until you know. There are many possibilities ahead, and you should have a still mind for such things. Come to my quarters when we make port; but be warned my home will be a busy one while we talk."
Venlid finally nodded. "Of course, Freelord. Thank you." Her holo finally closed and Gryzzk made his way to his bridge chair, finally ready for the rest of the day, as Rosie moved to report the latest.
"Everyone with a weapon's got the primer on how to care for your new clan. Good news is, most of them don't need it. Business first, everyone's on board, Orbital Control advises we've got a twenty minute window for optimal route to the New Casa jump point. Clanmother's Curry is requesting a conference en route to the jump point because they have something to deliver. Jojorn smelled like she was all kinds of nervous about it. Other stuff, Sergeant Major's new toy comes to us courtesy of Clan A'Haibe, and they're gonna make a Canadian Heritage Minute out of it based on the footage - they've got five of the hottest actresses on Vilantia fighting for the role of O'Brien's Tits and three more auditioning to be her ass."
O'Brien grumbled softly. "Irish Heritage Minute you hormone-laden silicated daft bint." She stood, taking the sword out of its sheath and speaking with a slight whistling undertone born of freshly missing teeth. The sword was fairly large to Gryzzk, but the sergeant seemed to handle it with one hand easily. "I'm no' one for greatswords as a rule - the damned English and Scots decided tae have a dick measuring contest wi' swords and then had to have the Irish teach 'em how tae use 'em, but this one..." she confirmed a clear area and flicked it through the air a few times to show some basic forms before continuing, "Good balance and fine edge. The bastard who had it tried to run me through at the kidneys, and I managed tae break both his wrists and his jaw. Now today the wee bastard sends a message offering up sons and daughters for whatever tickles my fancy." She sat down with a soft harrumph. "I'll be askin' for a word later about how to politely tell them I've got a mister that keeps me happy in all the ways a lass is meant to be happy."
There was a nod of acknowledgment. "I'll help as best I can. However I must ask why it is on your back."
"Because I dinnae have time for a proper mounting, sir. I'll be clearing space in the quarters after duty today." O'Brien settled at her console.
As the ship gave a microshudder from the undocking and left orbit, Gryzzk felt a thread of cold forming in his stomach. Whatever Jojorn had for him, it was important and probably bad news.