u/KamchatkasRevenge

Jerry 

It’s a new look for him, he reflects. 

He’s checking himself out in the armor locker where his power armor normally lives. It’s already gone, as is his hard suit, loaded up and shipped off with the rest of A company, 1st Undaunted Power Armored Battalion, on the Kandahar Province before the Crimson Tear had gotten anywhere near Ha'quinye controlled space. No, today's outfit is a military green flight suit, and the mix of harness, emergency g-suit and very cut-down hard suit that constitutes the rest of a flyer's uniform for the Undaunted. 

While a good chunk of commandos were about to exfiltrate the Ha’quinye’s home system via a cargo ship, and would then rendezvous with a lighter that would take them to the fleet, to include Neysihen and Purisha, that was going to take a fair bit of time, and it had been determined that once they had the data from the commando raid, Jerry needed to be on the Kandahar Province as soon as possible.

Hence the new gear. Jerry was going flying on one of the fastest, stealthiest and meanest aerospace craft in the Undaunted inventory and that meant dressing the part for safety’s sake if nothing else. 

His new gear had even been customized for him, with the flight safety equipment shop clearly not wanting to miss the chance to show off their skills to the boss. The armored collar of his harness that actually seals his life support has his two stars on each side, and 'BRIDGER' is cleanly emblazoned on the left side of the lightly armored rig. 

On the right, where most of the pilots paint their call signs, some enterprising sailor had decided that being the big cheese meant he could skip the formal process, and had just painted the words 'The Boss' with the aid of a stencil and some colors, making it pop aggressively. 

The tour de force, however, is the helmet. The flight safety boys and girls had outdone themselves with a blue helmet the color of his cape with a solid rendition of the rampant wolf that appears on the cloak the sword sworn had made for him all those months ago. It'd do... but he does wish he had a pair of aviator sun glasses from back home to go with what he'd mentally started calling the 'Top Gun Starter Kit', after a similar gear issue back on Earth that his aircrew buddies had told him about. This equipment is all apparently permanent issue; someone had bribed his usual armorer, GM2 Bisen, to modify his armor rack to accommodate it with his other gear. He couldn’t honestly say that he minds.

He takes the helmet out of his new cubby and tucks it under his arm, then walks out towards the hangar where Nkla 'FANGS' Osier is waiting for him. She’s already in her little scout ship, engines warmed up and ready to go. 

Also waiting for him is a selection of the ladies from the Bridger household. He'd said his goodbyes at the Den, of course, but Sylindra had insisted on coming to see him off. As had Evie, Holly, the freshly pregnant Cami, and the newest lady of the house, if only by technicality for now, Chaisa Rauxtim… who’s also carrying along Cindy and Shuras! 

"Well, it looks like a bigger group than I expected to see Fangs and I off."

Sylindra smiles, warming him up instantly as she leans in and steals a kiss. 

"Of course. You might be gone for quite some time, and we couldn't just let you sneak out like a thief in the night. Or morning, I suppose." Sylindra giggles into her hand demurely. "Need I say it?"

"If you want to."

"I think you know. Do what you must, then come home. I'll miss you, my heart."

"And I you." 

With another kiss, Syl steps aside, letting Evie cycle in. She looks him up and down with a delicately raised eyebrow. 

"I like the new look."

"Don't get used to it. Don't want to steal everyone's schtick on this damn ship. I'm supposed to be a black shoe sailor these days."

Evie leans in and steals a kiss. 

"Well, don't lose the flight suit when you get home."

"Is that an order, Commander?"

"You can consider it an order if you like."

Another kiss and it's Holly's turn, the demure vixen surprising him by throwing her arms around his neck and embracing him with the kind of torrid passion that… actually requires the word ‘torrid’ to properly describe. It’s the sort of gesture that has, to Jerry's prior knowledge, predominantly been the domain of the covers of romance novels. Quiet though she might be, Holly certainly knows how to steal his breath away! She gives him an impish smile and a curtsy before moving off to join Sylindra and Evie. 

In a contrast to Holly, Cami walks up slowly, a hand resting on her still trim stomach, more or less where one of her hands had been glued ever since they had found out she was expecting. It’s funny; she had held out the longest of the Volpir girls, but her mothering instincts had clearly hit her like a freighter doing just shy of light speed. 

"I don't like you leaving the Den. While I'm. You know." 

Jerry gently pulls her into his arms. 

"I'm only going because I have to. I'd much rather be home with you, working on baby names and helping you figure out how to knit."

Cami giggles, the silly smile on her husband's face cutting through the heavy mood just a bit. 

"If I start knitting, I'm expecting you to stop me."

"Just as soon as I get back, darling."

"You will come back?"

"Trust me."

Jerry leans in and gives Cami a deep kiss. 

"I have a lot to come back to." 

Cami gives Jerry another kiss and steps aside, only for Jerry to more or less be pounced by a pair of high speed toddlers leaping at him at about shoulder level. 

"Daddy!"

"Papa!" 

Cindy and Shuras gamely nuzzle at his cheeks, the two little girls clearly knowing that something’s up and that the Mamas are giving Jerry their affection. So they want to too!

"You girls be good while I'm away, alright? Mind your mothers."

"Are you gonna be safe, Papa?" Shuras asks, her timid streak coming out for a moment. 

"As safe as I can be, and I have a few of your Mamas and Auntie Shalkas to keep an eye on me to make sure I stay that way." 

Another round of hugs, and Jerry's fielding the girls to Evie… and is left with a slightly embarrassed looking Chaisa. 

"I'm sorry about that, d-darling. They leapt right out of my arms!"

"It's alright. They were just being enthusiastic." 

Jerry gently takes the judge's hand and guides her down for a kiss. 

"I'm surprised you didn't take intelligence's invitation to join the Kandahar Province," he says quietly.

"Much as I wish to go with you, I believe I can do more good for both our family and the Undaunted here. Besides, as you say, you have some of my soon-to-be sisters to keep an eye on you, and with the help of the war room's tools I can even communicate to you as if I was at your side."

"Not quite as good as your company, your honor, but it'll do for this trip."

Chaisa gives Jerry his last kiss of the day. 

"Let us pray it is a short one. Be safe on your journey. I. Well."

Whatever Chaisa wants to say, it's lost in the sound of the stealth fighter's engines shifting pitch slightly; a petty officer from the deck crew hurries out to guide everyone away. Jerry takes a final glance at his family as they exit the hangar, then locks his helmet into place and climbs into Nkla Osier's second seat.

"Sorry about the delay, Fangs." 

"No worries, sir… though we should get a move on. There's some orbital mechanics that are happening with the moon and one of the asteroid belts I want to dodge. Thankfully, with the Undaunted upgrades we should be able to disappear at top speed when the time comes, and she's currently rigged up with what the spec ops weasels tell me is called social stealth. So if we get buzzed I look like an independent resource scout again instead of a badass deep space fighter."

The Miak woman grins at him through her face plate. 

"Till the fangs come out, anyway."

"Well, fingers crossed we won't need them today, let's beat feet commander, I think we'd both rather be at home but we've got work to do."

"Aye aye, sir."

In no time at all, Jerry's walking into the briefing room on the Kandahar Province after a smooth flight from the Tear. 

"Attention on deck!"

"As you were!"

Jerry's still in his new flight suit, and still wishes he had a pair of aviators to complete the look. Maybe somewhere in the galaxy could build him a set of Raybans... apparently intelligence has a new Gohb specialist on staff who could make just about anything. Something to consider for later. 

Jerry takes his place at the head of the conference table at the center of this particular briefing room. Commander Sha'Ress, the Province's Apuk skipper, waits at his right along with Luksa Skall, commanding the fleet, along with Scott Le Fae Senior, Tyler Sarkin, Colleen Rowley, and Scotty Le Fae Junior. To his left sits Nikita, Jaruna, ‘Doc' Hanson, Kwan Jeon and James Puller, the ranking Marines for the operation. Nikita is in overall command of the ground force, Jaruna’s leading the power armored composite unit, Hanson is commanding his cavalry squadron with Kwan and James commanding their respective companies and attached heavy weapons platoons, along with some other special friends they'd brought along for the trip. 

"Alright, folks. That was a long flight, so I expect intelligence has actually been getting some work done for once. What do we have?"

Commander Michael Hawthorne, Diana's right hand man, immediately stands up from the first row of seats surrounding the conference table and triggers a holo projector. 

"Well, sir, we've got good news and bad news."

Jerry arches an eyebrow at Hawthorne. "Give me the bad news, Commander."

"The bad news is that the Ha'quinye expeditionary force that's floating around looking for trouble is indeed trying to find the Sword of the Stars. The good news is they still don't have the foggiest clue where it is, though they do think they're getting close by running down leads from various Wild Space communities. Like. Very, very close. We've managed to hack into the communications satellites that they're using to take those tips in, so we're getting those messages now too. Most of them are bunk, but there's been a few serious tipoffs to all sorts of crap - from a derelict battleship that's older than the first Nagasha primal to a stash of weapons so foul that the Ha'quinye flotilla commander hit the site with a full orbital bombardment and refused to put what they were in any records. I'd guess it was a bioweapon of some kind, because they burned the place to ash and rubble with laser and plasma fire for over a day."

"How do you know that?"

"Their commander's report included high-resolution battle damage assessment photos. Our people had a look and the BDA's good. If there was a bug or some nasty chemical in there it's officially gone now."

"That sounds like pretty good news."

"It is, sir, But it's not the good news."

Jerry leans back a bit, motioning for Hawthorne to continue. 

"Well lay it on us, Commander. We're all ears."

"Simply put, sir, the Ha'quinye have as much of an idea of what the Sword of the Stars is as we do, and quite possibly less. We pulled it out of their records. We've got everything they've got now, and our analysts are clearly better than theirs. Not that the boys and girls back on the Tear haven't been driven to near madness trying to puzzle that one out. Sir." 

Jerry nods slowly, considering that information. 

"Alright. That's certainly not a bad thing… but it's not a good thing for us until we know what the Sword is and can more easily track down leads." 

"There's some indication in the Ha'quinye archives that the Sword was 'buried' on a remote planet for safe keeping, but we're talking pictures of fragments of paper here, sir. The other good news, however, is that we caught a good tip with our system. Pirate space station a few systems away. Based on our penetration of the Ha'quinye comm network, we should be able to beat them there. Not sure how you'd want to go in, sir, but we'd need to go pretty fast."

Jerry considers it for a moment. Seems like this trip is going to be anything but boring. 

"Start working out an op plan for a smash and grab. I want to hit that station like a meteor shower, and I want to get everyone on it in chains or rescued respectively, and their data banks drained dry before anyone can blink. Then we reduce it to a scrap heap on the way out."

Jerry steeples his fingers as people start to move and talk around him, considering the nebulous Sword of the Stars again. 

No. Not a boring trip at all. 

Series Directory Last

When the alarm had sounded he'd been in a lucky position, for once in his life. Being 'with' the consuls isn't exactly his favorite passtime, and if they’re in the midst of an assassination attempt he’s where most of the violence would be directed… but he’s also surrounded by the strongest defenses, along with the lion's share of praetorians to defend the consuls’ august personages. And, of course, they have a couple of safe rooms, which is where he'd been rushed along in the consuls’ combined wakes by a praetorian who is normally on the flirty side with him, but is now as dead serious and as emotionless as a machine. 

He hopes she'll survive whatever the hell is happening. She’s a decent sort, like Sergeant Gemma, and the thought of her dying like some of the more vicious bitches in the praetorian guard doubtless deserve to, makes him more than a bit sad. 

Which is a rather odd mix of emotions to be feeling when he should be fearing for his life, right? Surely he should be focusing on himself? 

Well, it’s looking more and more like he doesn't truly need to; he’s waiting behind armored walls for an artillery bombardment that hasn’t come and an army of assassins that never materialized. 

Instead, he’s trapped with Euryde and Mediei in far too small of a space for comfort. The safe room is about a third the size of the bedrooms he’s normally hosted in, which means that, where he usually has plenty of room to maneuver around his owners if one or both of them is in a foul mood, he’s now easily within a lunging arm's reach of the prowling Euryde, should the mood strike her. She’s stalking about like a caged jungle cat, absolutely fuming, as she no doubt listens to the comm chatter over her headset and occasionally switches channels to bark orders at someone. 

He hasn't overheard much of Euryde's conversation, but he’d caught her ordering military troops off their bases and into the city to 'restore order', whatever that meant. Knowing what he does about the world outside his walls, it could be anything from assisting the security forces with a violent riot, repelling an enemy attack, getting control after some sort of civic disorder had erupted across the city... or engaging in the kind of mass slaughter of random people that would earn Euryde a sobriquet like 'the Butcher' if she wasn't careful. 

Corin's long, sensitive ears had also heard her hissing some very strong language at the commander of the praetorian guards and the commander of the city's security forces. Words to the tune of threatening to skin both women alive if they didn't get whatever the hell was happening in her damn palace under control. Or something like that. With a large portion of praetorians, including Captain Gladia and Sergeant Gemma, off palace grounds to augment and train city security forces, Euryde’s likely feeling more than a bit naked. 

Beyond literally being a very short silk night gown that barely covers the tops of her muscular thighs away from actually being naked. He spares her a casual glance, something that makes her smile as he turns the glance into a proper look that openly admires her figure. It’s exaggerated, to get her to relax, but only a little bit. She is nice to look at, in truth. He's said it before, he'd say it again. Both consuls are beautiful women on the outside and on appearances alone he could certainly have worse regular bedmates. It’s a shame that what’s inside is blackened, twisted and sickly in the extreme: a petty, vainglorious creature riding on the legend of her past successes and glories. Despite her agelessness. Instead of capturing ever more of those glories, she’s settled herself firmly on her haunches and spends all her energy pumping out abuse and the occasional heiress. 

Mediei isn't much different in that regard, but as a woman who’s used to having her problems dealt with by the help as opposed to the nominal woman of action Euryde had once been… Well, in this apparent crisis, she’s content to sit on the couch, to try to watch the internal holo cams on her communicator and generally to let Euryde handle things. This is the latter’s domain as the war lady of the Ha'quinye, in fairness, and one thing the two women are scrupulously good about is not stepping on each other's toes. They rule equally, and each has her own domain; the other does not mess around in the business of her spouse casually.

Again, simple. In theory. More complex in reality, but what isn't? 

Around thirty minutes after a power fluctuation of some sort that set the lights flickering, normal lighting is restored and shortly thereafter a very nervous Praetorian captain walks in to report. She tries to hand a data pad to Euryde, who slaps it out of her hand with a snarl. 

"If I wanted you to hand me your damned report in writing I'd have goddamn asked for it! Now what the hell happened? Answer me! It seemed like someone assaulted the palace!"

"...Yes, my consul."

"Yes, my consul, what? Yes, the palace was attacked? Yes, you will obey me? Answer me before I cut you down and find someone who can actually do your job competently." 

Euryde is in a VERY foul mood. Corin finds himself noting, however, that Arenna wouldn't have handled herself as poorly as her fellow captain. She had weathered more than a few of Euryde's storms before and knows what to do: to speak confidently, clearly, and for the love of the goddess don't show even a hint of weakness or throat, lest Euryde pounce on your weaknesses and rip your throat out with her teeth, likely ranting about the incompetent fools she’s forced to suffer the whole time. 

He’s glad to be 'just a man' in times like these. He’s somewhat beneath notice, and so far out of the loop that Euryde would never get angry at him. She might snap at him, maybe, but actually develop the kind of towering wrath she’s growing now as the captain reports in a fast, clipped tone? Never.

"You're certain?" Euryde barks. Corin hadn’t quite heard what the captain had said, but it doesn’t seem to have helped her mood.

"Yes, my consul."

"Damn them!" Euryde pounds a fist into her palm. "The sheer, fucking hubris. That they left my praetorians alive... I can't tell if that makes them worthy of thanks, or if I should put paid to their entire damn lineage!" 

"Do you want me to prepare a punitive expedition, my consul?"

"No. We don't know who it is yet. Tell intelligence to call in more girls whose loyalty is assured. I want names. Now. Leave us."

Euryde glares at the hapless captain as she bows and excuses herself, not running but absolutely fleeing the room, the door sealing automatically behind her. 

Mediei looks up from her communicator. "Who's your favorite again? The one who stopped the assassins?"

"Gladia. Arenna Gladia," Euryde says through a tense jaw. 

"She wouldn't show that lack of spine in front of us." 

Mediei could be vicious too. 

"No. No, she would not."

There’s an ominous tone to Euryde's voice that almost makes Corin want to interject, but he’s far too busy pretending not to be in the room. He’s just property after all, no different from the furniture save having a pulse and being ambulatory. 

Besides... he wants to hear what’s happened, and staying out of the way means the two women would discuss things where he could hear them.

"So? What happened? Mediei asked, her own tone clipped and short compared to her usual regal turns of phrase. She is clearly not appreciating having been dragged out of her chambers in the middle of the night. 

"Some of the matricians have grown a damn spine. We got raided, damn it!" 

Mediei raises an eyebrow. "Well, now. That's interesting. Rather inopportune timing for it too, considering everything that's happening. Especially when we have off-world guests."

"I know. Apparently a bunch of the matrician houses were on the move today. Two raiding parties ran into each other and exchanged shots, fighting with security forces en route or leaving a raid site, and a large warehouse near the space port caught fire. Could be one of a number of things, but they're not investigating till tomorrow."

"Mhmm. Did any of the Bridgers’ people get caught up in the raids?" 

"Two sailors were apparently assailed near their lodgings, and they laid their attackers out like rugs. Horchka girls. You know, the big green or gray girls with the tusks? Sadly, they didn't hold them, they fell back to their lodgings, but we'll send them our thanks regardless."

Euryde seems a bit calmer for a moment, already working on a plan as she tried to control her rage and Mediei continues her questioning;

"Still. I'm glad our guests are okay. I'll have my secretary contact Lady Sylindra in the morning. I'm not losing that contract. So what happened here, specifically?"

"Exactly what I said, really. A classic raid like the one we met on." 

The two women exchange a tender look for a moment: a reminder that they’re actually lovers who care about each other, despite everything. 

Before Corin can appreciate the moment more, Euryde whirls on a heel and grabs a glass, clearly resisting smashing it against the wall. She simply pours herself a stiff drink from a carafe of wine and takes a long sip before finally composing herself. 

"Grah! Those little bitches! I'm goddess damn furious… and to make it worse, the cyberwarfare girls think this was all a cover for an electronic intrusion. They likely got a copy of some of our blackmail archives." Euryde snarls again, and unable to restrain herself more, whirls and shatters a nearby clay pot with a swift and brutal kick, venting her rage on the most convenient target besides himself and her wife. 

Mediei is unperturbed. Like Corin, she's used to Euryde's occasional outbursts. Even for a Ha'quinye, Euryde, the great war lady, mistress of the Ha'quinye's military, lets her passions run hot. In every sense of the term.

"Calm yourself, my love. We'll figure out who did this and get payback after we get the Sword. That's all that matters now. Let these fools play their games. Once our power is assured we'll have their heads on plates."

Euryde takes a few slow, panted breaths, recovering herself. 

"That's right... the Sword. Once we have that all the blackmail in the galaxy won't matter anymore. Heh. Heh. Bitches really got me going for a minute there. Still. A raid. On the palace. That can't be allowed to stand. It seems, my dear, that the matricians are forgetting their place. After we get the Sword. Once the empire is secure... perhaps it's time to downsize some of the noble houses." 

"Not a bad idea at all, darling. Now come, let's go back to your chambers and get you nice and calmed down, shall we? Cori. Come!" 

Called like a pet as Mediei leads Euryde out of the safe room and back towards the consul's quarters, all Corin can do is follow the two women, and pray that whatever his part in what is to come doesn't visit too many... indignities... on his person. 

A man could dream, couldn't he?

Series Directory Last

Planting the bomb had turned out to be an absolute cakewalk, and the plan has proceeded smoothly from there. Few personnel are down in the service tunnels at night, at least not tonight, and there haven’t been many sensors to dodge down here either. That’s a blind spot that praetorians should have caught long ago, to Sir David’s mind, given a culture of raids and vendettas… but, like most upper-class twits with their noses in the air, they had failed to notice matters that they thought were beneath them. 

They had trusted in the systems they had outside and let things slack off in the interior, especially in non-essential spaces like this one. He’s certain the local equivalent to a mouse couldn't fart in the corner of the actual palace proper without a sensor picking it up, but in this building? The building for working stiffs? Who'd be coming here? The palace is the only juicy target and the only place that actually needs the protection. 

Or so they thought. 

Really, it all depends on what you think is valuable. 

Sir David leads the way up the stairs towards the data vault, clotheslining a technician coming down the stairs without any great effort. Wingate smoothly catches her as she falls, applies an axiom nerve pinch, and then lays her unconscious body there in the stairwell, in the corner of a landing. It’s far enough away from the bomb to be safe, and hopefully safe from any potential crossfire, or even the risk of getting stepped on too much. She'd just have a nice long nap and a very rude awakening. 

However, as Sir David's boot hits the top stair, bringing him to the main floor of the administration building, alarms begin to blare! Apparently someone had been sharper than they'd been giving the praetorians credit for. Sir David begrudgingly mentally awards the security staffer some due credit, then hustles towards the data repository with the rest of his men hot on his heels, subvocalizing the password into his comm channel. 

Another commando slides into visibility and quickly waves the four men through, staying tight to his or her laser rifle, watching the corridor as the alarm continues to shriek and scream. 

"Status!" Sir David says, firmly, making one of the two commandos working on the towering data terminal look up sharply. 

"Ma'am, not sure what triggered the alarm, but we're about fifty percent downloaded. We have all the material related to the Sword of the Stars, but the scrubbing program's still covering our tracks by moving all the data for the blackmail material."

"Blast, which means we can't detonate the bomb yet, since this damned thing needs power to function. Unless someone's got a portable generator handy?"

No one does. None of the dozen commandos present laugh either, which Sir David puts down as a bad sign. 

"Alright, people. We knew this probably wouldn't end without at least a little gunfight. If you're not actively involved with pulling the data, you're on sentry duty, so find cover out in the corridors, and someone get a drone on the doors to the bridge to the main palace. When the praetorians respond, we make a proper showing of ourselves, but try to kill as few of them as possible. We want them pissing their britches, not mopping up after a massacre."

"One hand tied behind our backs, s- Ma'am?" Fairbrook, another of Sir David's SAS troops from back on Earth says with a chuckle.

"Only sporting, old girl. We're much better at this little game than most of these girls are. You two on the data pull, you let me know the second you have the data and you're ready for me to detonate the charge. The rest of you, hop to it."

Sir David flicks comm channels to contact the entire unit: "Dagger six to all points, we're made, prepare for hot exfil. Distraction teams still out in the city, make some more noise. A failed raid with a running light fight that's suitably dramatic would be good right about now. Or another fire, maybe two. Whatever suits your fancy."

"Push knife six to dagger six. Touching off an ambush against a praetorian patrol in thirty seconds."

"Dagger six copies. Make sure to fall back if things get too hot, no casualties on our part."

"Copy, ma'am. We're ready to exfiltrate when the time comes."

Sir David switches back to the local channel and hustles out into the corridor just in time for a voice to hiss across the channel. 

"Patrol coming from the bridge, looks like a half dozen from what I can see on the drone. Stand ready!"

‘The bridge’ is actually a pair of glass enclosed bridges that lead from the administration center to the palace proper. That particular post is always guarded, near as Jaina could tell anyway, and since two praetorians hadn't started rushing around when the alarm sounded, Sir David is relatively confident the team that had been securing this part of the administration building had already taken both women out with a minimal amount of fuss. 

However, their luck, and their meticulous preparation of the local area, have now gone up in smoke; he can hear the heavy sounds of booted feet on stone floors marching their way. Sure enough, turning the corner at the end of the hall towards the bridge, a small squad of praetorians press forward, spears lowered, the plasma weapons that Admiral Bridger had warned them about fully charged and acting as baleful blue-white lights in the darkness. 

It wouldn't help them, of course, but at least they’re coming in for their potential foes in a proper military manner, investigating weapons at the ready instead of moving around casually like lesser trained guards might. One more point to the praetorians. Perhaps he had judged the organization a tad too harshly? 

He'd have to see how they fight to judge; for now, he tosses a local cousin to a concussion grenade for riot control at the women's feet. They stare at it blankly for a second as the electronic fuse merrily chirps at them. 

"Grena-!"

The praetorian who first spied the weapon tries to throw herself on it, admirably trying to protect her fellows… and likely earning herself a couple broken ribs. The detonation kicks her a few feet into the air before she collapses to the ground in a groaning heap of armor and robes. The heroic, if slightly overly dramatic, action does keep some of her mates in the fight though, and the praetorians quickly begin firing plasma rounds at their unseen enemy… 

Which is to say, they start firing randomly into the dim lighting around them, until Sir David casually says into his mic, "Fire."

The corridor erupts with coherent light and at least one burst of plasma, the shots all hammering home on to the praetorians’ armor and sending them scrambling towards any semblance of cover around the corner, a perfect location for Sir David to hurl another concussion grenade on a very short programmed fuse. The air burst hurls one woman out of cover and against the wall where she collapses to the ground. Given how limp she seems, she’s either well and truly unconscious, or she’s playing dead in hopes of not being shot immediately. 

Not that they would have shot her gratuitously, of course. These girls are just doing their jobs in the end, and Sir David is determined to get out of here with the only casualties of the night being people's dignity and the reputation of the praetorians on the whole. 

A high goal to shoot for, of course, but they’re commandos; if you aren't shooting for a high mark, why bother? All the more so when making sure there isn't a bloodbath would pull the wind out of the sails of any investigations too. Oh, they'd look, but when all that’s been busted up is your pride, it isn't nearly as easy to whip up a crusade as when you have a pile of corpses for your leadership to gesture toward. Sir David doesn't intend to give any tools to his enemy more than he had to. 

Shouts and calls in the Ha'quinye language, just out of range for his suit to fully pick up and let his implant translate, tell him they have more company coming, and Sir David decides to give them an older style British greeting. 

"Alright, chapettes. Hold fire. On my command. Five rounds rapid fire into whatever's coming down that hallway. Feel free to share the love, mind you, but we're going to fill that corridor with coherent light and get those girls thinking about doing anything but coming down here to tangle with us. Then we'll throw a full barrage of concussion grenades. Copy?"

He gets a series of acknowledgements and raises his own laser rifle, aiming in closely at a specific spot on the wall that he judged to be about dead center on the corridor. One barely visible praetorian is suddenly dragged away and Sir David shifts his grip slightly. 

"Ready." 

There's a sound of plasma weapons charging around the corner. 

"Aim."

There's an order in Ha'quinye that Sir David doesn't quite catch, but the Praetorians more than live up to their aggressive reputation as the next group of them round the corner in an armored phalanx, charging forward, plasma weapons firing... again, more or less at nothing, though one plasma bolt does hit somewhere near where he thinks Fairbrook is. While he could call the order to fire right here, Sir David waits for a heartbeat, a second, the charging horde of praetorians getting seemingly ever closer as the dozen women shout war cries that would likely be fairly intimidating to anyone but the opponent they’re facing off against tonight. 

"Fire!"

Laser bolts sizzle out of the shadows around him and hammer home into breast plates and shoulder pads. The commandos’ excellent marksmanship ensures they mostly hit what their aiming at, though someone's shot goes a hair high and ends up knocking a Praetorian's helmet off her head, leaving her ducking down for a semblance of cover as the praetorian's orderly attack devolves into pure chaos. 

"Let fly!"

The grenades arc out at different ranges, making sure the crowd of praetorians all get their share of sudden explosive force, fully taking the wind out of their sails. More are coming though; David can just hear them… and he knows they'll be getting smart now. They'd scouted. Tried force, been thrown back. They would be learning too, just like the commandos are learning. Every point of contact was a lesson, and as cold as the math is, the praetorians have more women with which to learn those lessons if they needed to. 

They'd be flanking shortly, it’s just plain common sense… and the commandos have a finite supply of concussion grenades. Sir David is already out of the three he'd been allotted out of their stash for this operation, and he doesn't want to come back to the ship completely empty-handed of ammo, not when they couldn't easily resupply on native kit without a little dangerous and risky smuggling that could expose the whole outfit. No what he needs is-

"Transfer's done, we can go!"

Perfect. 

"I'm going to detonate the charges on the power substation. When the lights go out, night vision on... then we attack. I want some of you to spread out a bit and I want this entire part of the building secured. Get into close quarters and take them with nerve pinches, then we go out via one of the side entrances. Maybe toss a normal grenade into their main vehicle hangar just for a a bit of a laugh. Everyone ready?"

He gets a chorus of affirmatives back and pulls the detonator out of his belt, quickly arming it, removing the safety, and without the slightest care in the world, moving his thumb into position to caress the big red button. 

Try as he might to be a serious professional, he always had loved this part of explosives. 

"Dagger six to all points, fire in the hole, charge one!"

His finger hammers down on the button and there's a muffled whump somewhere deep beneath them in instant response. Almost as quickly the lights go out; some areas have red emergency lights coming on, but the area before them is fully darkened... likely as a result of the concussion grenades smashing all the emitters while they'd been smashing up the praetorians. It doesn't matter in the slightest. Sir David's night vision switches on almost automatically and he tucks the now useless detonator away as he dashes forward to get into close combat with the remaining praetorians.

Modern night vision back on Earth was a marvel, and the truly advanced stuff had started highlighting targets in the dark for them. Ha'quinye have decent natural night vision like the Alfar’s, apparently, but the commandos’ potent mix of having every target in the room highlighted and being mostly invisible in broad daylight makes the praetorian force of some twenty guardswomen easy prey. Some of them get off some random plasma shots - one of which started some drapes on fire - but it doesn't help them in the slightest. One by one, probably like a horror movie to their eyes, women get yanked around corners or under furniture or just beyond the limits of their vision… until the last, an officer of some standing, goes down with a slight whimper of fear as she loses consciousness.

"Clear."

He quickly gets reports back from all his people in the building and rallies them to head for their exfiltration point. The night is far from over, but it appears to have been a job well done. Now they just need to get out of the city and back to the comfort of the Tear's locker rooms... where they could get out of these ridiculous armor modifications and damned voice changers!

"Dagger six to all points. Mission accomplished. Exfiltrate."

Series Directory Last

One by one, the members of Sir David's team quickly slip out a window and climb their way up to the rooftops. The streets and roofs around them seem to be absolutely alive with black-clad figures under the moonlight, but in moments they all vanish. Sir David is the last to emerge; as he shuts the window behind him, he resists the urge to throw an incendiary behind him to ensure they left no trace and to stir up more chaos and trouble in the light of the full moon. 

In the end, cleaning up the safe house is Intelligence's job, even if the commandos wouldn't be returning to this location even in a dire emergency. They already have their exfiltration routes planned, all by teleport and all in appropriate locations near various Matrician clan compounds that wouldn't look at all suspicious. 

With a little more help from Intelligence, who should be throwing some axiom-disrupting party favors no bigger than a grain of sand into each area after the commandos vanish, even a talented adept wouldn't be able to track them easily, and with obvious evidence in front of their noses, and social convention saying that raids were to be tacitly and publicly ignored unless you had live captives... even against the consuls themselves... Ha'quinye society is well set up to be taken advantage of in this regard. 

Sir David huffs into his mustache quietly. That'll show this rotten band of birds to make light of an entire portion of not only their species, but every species. If this had been an open fight, Sir David probably would have made it an all-male excursion just to take advantage of some of these braindead bimbos’ built-in biases to better shred them apart... but that’s still plan B, if things get hairy later on. While he'd certainly prefer things around Dagrquey stay nice and calm… well. He could make chaos and tame chaos, and he and his people were on stand by to do plenty of both. 

Tonight, first on the agenda is making chaos, and it begins... with sirens. 

Far across the city, there's sudden smoke, and a flash of light as what had to be some sort of dry goods warehouse is engulfed in flames! That David can see it from across the bay, even from where he currently stands in the decidedly middle-class part of Triumph's Seat, is a testament to the size of the rapidly growing fire. He has no doubt he'd be able to see it clearly from the matrician part of the city as well. 

Hopefully it would draw off plenty of the regular security forces who might be skulking around the nicer parts of town to protect the people who actually paid their checks… instead of just riding roughshod on the lower class women in one way or another, like your average slightly crooked copper. 

Grinning now behind the faceplate of his helmet, Sir David turns towards his destination and begins to move, leaping with a mix of axiom and good old-fashioned muscles, landing silently on the next roof. He flits from shadow to shadow in the moonlight, looking for juicy targets of opportunity as they cross into the upper-crust parts of the city where the matricians keep their homes. As he moves, he notes the streets below going from normal pavement to a hybrid of pavement and cobblestone to full cobblestone: an affectation of a previous ruler that’s now maintained in the city as a matter of tradition, apparently. 

To his left, a shadow that he's pretty sure is Wingate suddenly stops moving, and Sir David moves into position to both cover the other man and to observe. Wingate had clearly found some sort of target… and, sure enough, as Sir David gets a clear line of sight he sees two local guardswomen standing in front of a dark alley. A sound of some kind, likely a rock or trytite credit disk thrown by Wingate, had attracted their attention, and now they’re arguing about going down said alley way to investigate. He tunes the sensors on his suit slightly and is treated to the dulcet tones of the first guardswoman.

"No way in the hells am I going down that fucking alley. You do it if you care so much."

The second guardswoman, a bellicose, ruddy faced creature that likely would have been packing on some extra pounds without the health benefits of axiom, snorts derisively. "I outrank you. I enlisted three days before you. Now get your scrawny ass down there, before I throw you down there. Are you hefting some or not?"

Before the first guard can start walking, however, Wingate drops in just behind them from above, driving their heads together with an audible 'THUNK' before pushing them into the darkness, where they collapse. Probably tossed an axiom nerve pinch in for good measure, just to ensure the two women stay down. The second guard's boots disappear into darkness as Wingate drags her deeper into the alley, and Sir David can just hear the faint sound of a permanent marker being uncapped. The ladies are going to wake up with some no doubt fascinating graffiti to clean off their faces, even if it’s primarily squiggles and some poorly-written profanity in the Ha'quinye language, courtesy of Wingate's implant.

That’s two more security forces personnel down. Wingate dutifully reports his tally, and makes an axiom-powered leap back to the rooftops to rejoin the rest of the team. 

It was inspiring to watch, really. Sir David could make out his people as distortions in the faint light; they’re all using lower order invisibility techniques, the ones that allow you to actually move with a degree of urgency as opposed to staying still or moving so slowly as to make no difference. The ones close by he sees drop down to street level and pop back up again; the ones that are truly too far away give off more subtle signs of passage, like a small fire suddenly starting, or the sound of the hood of an aircar suddenly having a heavy tree branch dropped on it after a muffled micro explosive detonation. They advance like a wave across the once-peaceful city and chaos follows in their wake like something out of a biblical horror story. 

It’s glorious. 

The kind of operation that’s purely, utterly enjoyable. The hard parts would come, but for now they have the initiative, they have the momentum and they have total control, making the various security forces dance to their tune out in the streets as they converge on the edge of the palace. 

It’s an impressive place, really, though something about the walls reads more 'older prison' than 'palace of the rulers of an empire' to Sir David. Maybe the third ruler of the Triumfeminate, this Silent Queen, keeps more of an appropriate domicile for royalty? Perhaps they'd find out and give her a visit at some point. That could be an entertaining excursion, if Intelligence ever manages to piece that particular puzzle together. A wild concept, having a head of state so reclusive that a good portion of the population thinks she’s a myth… 

But the madness of the Ha'quinye political system is food for thought for another day. Tonight, there’s work to be done. 

Sir David leads the way with his fire team, slipping straight through the main gates as a hovercraft and two dozen praetorians on foot make their way out, the hovercraft immediately accelerating and speeding off into the darkness. Judging from the size, it probably has another detachment of twelve guards in it. Good. Not a shot fired yet and the palace had been stripped of at least another thirty-six defenders. There’s a lot more where they came from, of course, which means Sir David’s merry band would need to play merry hell with their systems... especially to get back out again. 

Which is why Sir David and his people are making use of a party favor the Ha'quinye rebels had given them. 

The rebels had supplied them with a couple pounds of the local high explosives as a 'bonus' of sorts, after seeing how many weapons Admiral Bridger had sent them as something of an extension of his good will... and to trade for the local weapons that intelligence and the commandos would be using on-planet. It’s just common las rifles and plasma rifles, with some pistols for concealed work, of makes and models that are so ubiquitous across the galaxy to even be found here, in this backwater empire, but they’re in excellent repair and have plenty of power packs… and, again, there are a lot of them, which, coming from a bunch of ragtag rebels still organizing themselves, was quite the windfall. 

It had been a bit light on kinetics, in David's mind, but the relative simplicity of laser and plasma weapons is an indisputable benefit that a rail gun really can't replicate.

Sir David checks his map and moves to the right, sticking to the shadows, watching for the various sensors they'd detected with scans and with the help of the rebel Jaina's detailed imaging. If there are pressure sensors in unfortunate places, then everything would go to pot in short order… but as near as they could tell they’re only along the two sides of the wall. A minimalist approach doesn’t make for bad security practice in a place like this, mind you, considering normal everyday people and ground vehicles would be passing through this part of the palace grounds regularly. Near-constant false alarms are of little benefit for a security system - and, even worse, could make a guard monitoring such systems complacent in regards to alerts from those devices. So the Praetorians hadn't put them there, relying instead on their walls… a little too much perhaps. 

The wily old commando makes it to the accessway into the underground maintenance area on the support building first, and pulls a palace badge from his kit. Everyone has a duplicate of one of several Jaina had stolen during her visit to the palace. He isn't sure how the rebel leader had managed it, but the woman did good work in his book! The system would of course start throwing up red flags when the same people started showing up at multiple points of entry, but with everything going on that particular oddity likely wouldn't be noticed before it was too late. 

In truth, he hates to rely on the variability of the guards like that, but it’s the nature of a more active mission in such a heavily defended area.

His team is followed in by a second, then a third, with twelve total commandos now moving through the space like shadows as they split off again to their different assignments. Sir David's is to plant the bomb in a very precise and special location. The palace has its own power plant, as was only reasonable, and analyzing Jaina's scans had shown them where the main bus for the administration building is likely to be located. A very juicy location for some high explosives, which would make for an excellent part of their exfil plan… or just something fun for the praetorians to find later, if things take a different turn. 

The blast should give them maybe five minutes of either pure darkness or the dull reds of emergency lighting before back up power systems kick on. 

Five minutes is more than enough time to handle a problem. During a gun fight, five minutes is an eternity, and with the chips down, Sir David's commandos would simply need to make every second count.

Series Directory Last

Sir David

David Forsythe stands up in a safehouse that had been procured by intelligence operatives on the ground less than twenty four hours ago and takes a puff on his cigar. No tobacco: it’s one of the spacer cigars made of some leaf or another that doesn't release much smoke when burned. It gets the job done, at the very least, and is easy on the lungs… and yet it still feels comfortable, which is more than he could say for other aspects of his life as the head of the Crimson Tear's Joint Special Operations Company. 

It’s just part of life in the special forces. You’re always doing something new... but today is going to be very new, even for an experienced SAS commando like Sir David. He'd done operations all across Earth and now across the galaxy... but he'd never had to dress in drag to do so before. 

"Right then. Ladies, gentlemen. We're about to step off for the second stage of this operation. Stage one, our insertion onto this mud ball and its capital city, went well. So let's go over the plan again so we execute stage two as flawlessly as the first." 

David doesn't pull a map or a holo projector out. His lads and lasses are true professionals; everything’s in their implants, in terms of maps and the like. Whatever details the implants lacked… Well, odds are that most of the people in this room had memorized it over the course of their preparations. That level of dedication is extra important for a mission with a short turn-around time like this one. 

Especially when an entire major operation is literally waiting for them to retrieve their target. 

"Our objective is a data repository located within the consul's palace, the residence of the head of government and head of the military for the Ha'quinye Star Empire. There's a secondary building where various staff keep their offices and execute a number of support functions. Support functions like two major data centers, one of which serves the consul's offices via direct hard lines. No wireless communication at all, so remote hacking without getting one of our own devices in there is off the table. Now, there's a lot of information in these data centers. We - or, rather, Babydoll and Kopish's nifty little hacking program, once we connect it - will be extracting two groups of information. A large volume of blackmail material that the consuls use to control the Matricians, the ruling caste of Ha'quinye society and a very juicy target for their various inter-clan feuds, and our actual target, which is any information our little program can find on the super weapon known as 'The Sword of the Stars'."

David takes a few paces, and another puff on his cigar. "To accomplish this feat in a very heavily defended part of the city, and perhaps the singularly most fortified location on the entire planet, we will be making multiple incursions while disguised as native 'raiding parties'. Some of these raids will be against targets off site. We know the praetorian guards, the defenders of the consuls, are stretched thin right now and are having to respond to civil matters as well as their primary duties, due to large volumes of fighting women being taken out of the city for unknown reasons, likely to serve as expeditionary troops to seize the Sword of the Stars. Team Four will be making several raids, including staging a raid gone wrong, on various Matricians’ estates to stir up as much trouble as possible. Our local allies will also be causing trouble, setting a fire in the warehouse district and simulating a little gang warfare, just to keep things exciting for our new friends in the praetorians and any remaining security forces in the city." 

The wily older commander lifts a laser rifle up. "As previously briefed, we will be using plausibly deniable weapons for this entire action. Feel free to drop a pistol or something if you run out of juice and don't feel like reloading. These weapons are local, and of the type and quality favored by the Matricians for their raiders, so it'll sell the illusion we're trying to create. On the other hand, do not use chemical kinetic weapons unless explicitly authorized."

Sir David takes another step or two.

"We will also be very careful about using the chemical weapons we've been issued. The Praetorians and likely local security forces, do not wear sealed armor normally. Tear gas is thus a notably effective problem solving tool, along with other chemical agents. However it may tip our hand as to not being locals, so let's not use it this trip except in a truly dire emergency. There's also a chance of it being lethal to Ha'quinye, and we want them alive licking their wounded pride, not with a mountain of corpses to parade around screaming for revenge. Questions?"

A hand comes up from Gunnery Sergeant Willy Westbrook, one of Sir David's former SAS men. 

"Gunnery Sergeant."

"Yes, sir. I accept the weapons limitations... but do we really have to go out dressed like we're about to put on a goth version of the Christmas Panto with stuffed bras?"

There's laughter in the room, but Willy wasn't wrong. The outfits the Matricians dress their raiders in, apparently based on some nigh mythological thieves’ guild or something similar from the history of the Ha'quinye, certainly are quite theatrical in their design. Luckily, the powers that be had been able to modify them to work with and conceal the commandos’ usual armor, with only minor modifications to the helmets to make them look more suited to Ha'quinye aesthetics, and to leave potential physical room for rather large ears. 

The major issue is that the majority of JSOC's commandos are men. They had, of course, brought all the female personnel they could, but even with the Yauya huntsmistresses and new blood like Neysihen Bridger and his wife Purisha, it was still simply not enough in the way of bodies to accomplish a large-scale mission like the one the Admiral had handed him. 

So that meant they'd had to disguise themselves. Galactic citizens engaging in such business would use axiom pockets in their clothing to slim themselves down, presenting a thinner, easier to hide profile, and letting the galaxy's curvy beauties fit through some tight spaces that generally wouldn't accommodate their assets. They still had feminine body shapes, however, so JSOC's men had, as Sir David had just thought to himself, needed to dress in drag ever so slightly. Mostly by modifying their armor, and thank both God and the queen for that! These disguises only need to really hold up visually, and the Ha'quinye raider outfit actually offers quite a bit of coverage, in a way that somewhat reminds Sir David of Zorro: all rather dark and billowy. Of course, there are pads for the hips and backside, another set of pads for the chest, and a modification to their comm systems to run their voices through voice-changing software… and an 'all female' commando unit has been born. 

Or raiders, in this case. 

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant, it's necessary... And you'd best be using your voice changer too, including on internal comms. I doubt they can hack our communications channels, but if we get surprised and one of you gives the jig up because you dropped the act, answering to Admiral Bridger will be the least of your worries, let me assure you all of that!" 

That it would put the Tear at potential risk was an unspoken bit of punctuation to that sentence, but Sir David knew he'd made his point. 

"Besides, my fine sons," Sergeant Major Gurung says from where he's sitting at the head of the room, nearest to Sir David. "With so many of your sisters with us, surely we can all learn something from them tonight, eh?" 

The Ghurka chuckles, clearly not particularly perturbed by this unique mission requirement. One Sir David and the Sergeant Major both know would continue to crop up if they continued to mount commando operations in any of the 'civilized' parts of Ha'quinye space. It almost makes Sir David envy his eldest daughter just a bit. She’s getting to go off on a potentially exciting adventure with Admiral Bridger - or would, as soon as Sir David's people secured the last of the data they needed -  while, instead of a more open fight, he’s here playing dressup for dullards on a planetary scale to try and keep the Ha'quinye snake busy with its own tail for long enough for the Admiral and his people to slam the door on their lofty ambitions of conquest and plunder. 

Then again, he became a commando specifically to do the hard jobs, hadn't he? It is what he'd signed up for, why he'd volunteered not once, not twice, but three times, first as a Royal Marine Commando, then with Her Majesty's Special Air Service, and finally for a direct action team deep within the black ops world of MI6. Over a decade he'd served Queen and country in that capacity, and not once had he ever had the gall to say he didn't do windows when given a task. So out here should be no different... and with the right attitude... 

Well. This could be fun, couldn't it? If one's enemy wasn't particularly impressive by all accords, one could simply... do one's job and 'look good while doing it'. 

Sir David resists chuckling at that particular thought, considering he was indeed more or less in the alien military equivalent to an American prom dress and a wig, but it’s all about attitude in the end. 

"You know, my fine lads and lasses, perhaps we're all putting this a bit too seriously. Now, I won't say relax, certainly not on the job... but think of it like this. We're about to go for a lovely moonlit stroll through a fine old city with lots of lovely architecture and a reportedly very incompetent police force. The more competent bodyguards… Well, we'll hopefully avoid fighting them entirely. We're here doing our jobs with our brothers and sisters in arms, enjoying the cool night air... What could be finer than that?"

The commandos all seemingly lean in as one, clearly waiting for Sir David to continue. 

"Why... I think our plan might not go far enough. So. If you spot an opportunity to cause a little chaos. Playing a prank. Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Lighting something expensive on fire by ‘accident’, knocking out a security forces officer and dragging her into an alley before painting silly things on her face with a marker, whatever, do so. Nothing that'll give us away, mind you... but it's such a lovely night, why not have a little fun with all the new friends we're about to make?"

The grins and nods Sir David gets in return would be about as warm and comforting to the average Ha'quinye, unprepared for a rough evening, as a school of sharks’ grins would be to a guppy. And, with that, Sir David feels like everyone is ready to step off. 

"Execute." 

Series Directory Last

Joan

It’s certainly one of the weirder drops that she's been party to.

Joan looks around in the oversized lighter's cargo bay where she's strapped in with her sisters, Lursa, and their special guest for the coming days, Sister Catherine. They’re decked out in special equipment, marking their affiliation with the church, Joan and her squad having been assigned a critical part of the current mission along with Sister Catherine. They’re to be the distraction. Jerry figured that the godless heathens of the Ha'quinye could use a little 'old time religion'. 

Joan could still feel the raw sarcasm in her father's tone when he'd told her the plan in private. 

Jerry doesn't have much love lost for certain faiths from his home world, but he does respect the Catholic church, for all his sarcasm, and on an ethical level a religion preaching love and tolerance could hardly make the Ha'quinye worse. 

Granted, on a practical level, what it would almost certainly do is stir up an already volatile situation, from what they'd been hearing from their contact on the planet with the Ha'quinye rebels, a woman named Jaina. She’s Joan's potential contact in the event of a serious emergency... one that isn't serious enough to hot drop some of the power armor and get the Crimson Tear opening fire on Triumph's Seat, that is. This is supposed to be something of an undercover mission, hence why Father Jameson and his men aren't coming along among the male hostile Ha'quinye, and why Joan and her girls had been temporarily named as ersatz Swiss Guards. 

Despite fitting literally none of the criteria to be a Swiss Guard. Namely, being Swiss, to start. Whatever that was. Male. A veteran of the Swiss military, and of course, reasonably, a Catholic. 

Literally zero for four. With the bonus of not being Human, which Joan figures they'd have probably made part of the requirement if they'd considered that there might be an alternative when whatever dusty ancient treaty had founded the organization she was technically representing had been signed. 

Thankfully, their actual purpose, to protect Sister Catherine, is simple, even if their cover is complicated. 

There’s one fly in the ointment. Joan glances down at Sister Catherine, who is happily reading through a Bible she’d brought with her from Earth without a care in the worlds. The good sister had insisted they bring the holy relic with them, the Sword of St. Catherine.

It’s an interesting piece, though a toothpick of a sword to Joan’s scale; it could naturally channel axiom like a totem. Anyone vaguely axiom attuned who picked it up could feel it. It hums like a particularly large piece of khutha if you try to pull axiom through it, apparently, but frankly Joan hadn’t been comfortable enough to try. Better to leave that sort of business to actual adepts like her mother Cascka. 

It hadn’t been scanned in detail or indeed gone over in detail by the ship’s adepts because of its status as a religious item, but the odds of it being made of any non-Terran materials seem incredibly small. So, obviously, Joan’s wildly curious as to how such a thing had come to exist in the depths of Cruel Space, and then wound up in the hands of her namesake. 

Still, Joan would have been much happier if it had been left on the Tear.

At the very least, though, she’d talked Sister Catherine into keeping it tucked away in an axiom pocket… instead of Joan belting the relic on like it was her new dagger. 

Filling out the rest of their lighter's cargo bay are another fifty odd women of the ship's company and the Marine battalion that hadn't departed on the Kandahar Province before the Crimson Tear had jumped into this system... and approximately a thousand tons of pork contained in stasis rigged containers. 

It’s a weird drop, after all, and the mission planners had figured that a little confusion, with multiple ships landing at once, would let things get done that needed to be done. Joan doesn't have the details of course, but she could make some guesses. They’re one of six lighters coming into the commercial space port around the same time to begin their missionary work while hundreds of other girls go on shore leave for a little R&R among the ‘evil elves’, as the Humans call them. Which means there are almost certainly other teams going in at the same time. 

What exactly for Joan couldn't speculate, but she had been pretty sure she’d recognized a couple girls from intelligence mixed in among the various girls going on leave, and some of the containers of pork looked outfitted for smuggling, according to her past life's experience. Interdiction but it was something she'd trained for, and some of the containers just read as slightly odd to her for whatever reason. 

Something is very clearly up. 

Damned if she could figure out exactly what, though. It could be one of a million things but she-

Her eyes lock with a familiar pair of red eyes across the way as an Alfar-looking woman walks by. Actually, her body’s muscular enough that she actually resembles a Ha'quinye more than a classical Alfar sort; she probably wouldn't even attract a second glance in a crowd on-planet. 

Yet. Joan knows this particular elf, and she’s neither Alfar nor Ha'quinye. 

Nadiri Bridger shoots her adopted daughter a wink and continues on her way, clad in civilian clothes that would let her blend in as a run-of-the-mill spacer or mechanic in any star port in the galaxy without fail. 

So that’s confirmation that something’s up. The Shallaxian agent is without her usual backup it seems, but Shalkas, or any Cannidor, would be a hell of a lot more conspicuous than usual on a world that’s far less cosmopolitan than most... and Shalkas is pretty conspicuous to start with! 

Joan does her best to not react and settles herself back down, considering what could be happening. It probably is far more than just one operation, of course. Spies, contacts with the rebels, possibly other distractions like her group with Sister Catherine. It’s all a big machine designed to give the Ha'quinye star empire the shits... but just how far are her father and the Undaunted prepared to go to give this band of vile bitches indigestion? 

That’s a secret that it’s best she doesn't know. For now. She'd have to get the full story out of Nadiri and her father after they figured out what the Sword of the Stars was and jammed it down the craw of the cunts who run this shithole. 

Joan feels the lighter's landing gear extend as they get ever closer to the ground and hauls herself to her feet, missing the servos in her power armor already. Just hard suits for this run… and they'd had to cover them up, at that! 

"Alright, ladies. Up and at'em. We're just about down, and I want to get out of the way quick before the cargo handlers come in and start moving all this pork around."

Sister Catherine all but leaps to her feet, clearly eager. 

"Oh, I do hope we'll be able to do some good for these people!"

She doesn't know the other part of their mission. The good sister doesn't have a duplicitous bone in her body, after all. Still, her faith isn’t misguided; they are out here to preach the good word. That much is true, at the very, very least. 

The lighter settles to the ground, and the ramp in front of them immediately starts to drop, letting fresh air and daylight into the hold. 

"Let's go spread the good word."

Nadiri

Nadiri checks her hair a final time to ensure her disguise for this trip is in place; she’s a redhead once again, instead of flaunting her usual ashen locks. Her skin tone had been shifted with a mix of make-up and axiom totems to bring her to a ruddy color that’s normal enough for Ha'quinye who get a decent amount of time in the sun, instead of her refined purple tones. She'd left her eye color intact. Red’s uncommon among the Ha'quinye, but in the band of being a bit exotic and interesting as opposed to being unheard of or standing out in a negative way. 

Plus, with any luck, people would notice her eyes and focus on that little detail when the rest of her is unremarkable. With another axiom totem or some contacts she could slip away if need be with one of the more common Ha'quinye eye colors. 

She'd also had to modify her ears. Shallaxian ears were a bit shorter than Alfar ears and the Ha'quinye had even longer ears still then their genetic cousins, so she'd needed to wear extensions. Which are perfect for hiding some miniaturized listening devices and other items, all dressed up like jewelry and an advanced on-board computer earpiece. 

Throw in her jumpsuit and a toolbelt that includes a concealed plasma pistol to complement a couple heavy, club-like tools, a boot knife, and her holdout for the day, her Field Pistol in its axiom holster, and she’s ready for a day out on the town meeting the local rebels. 

Even if she had been feeling rather green around the gills this morning. She'd nearly thrown up, as a matter of fact. She'd felt better by the time she'd eaten breakfast, however, and a cursory scan had given her a clean bill of health, so she'd reported mission ready and checked in with intelligence three hours before the first mix of liberty and cargo shuttles were to land. 

When the ramp drops she's already working, even if she's not actively moving just yet. A quick ping to the right comm unit gets her a quick response. Her contact had been prepared for this and has a separate storage space ready for her cargo. All she has to do was get her cargo containers from the transport to their destination and things should move along merrily from there. Just a little under-the-table trading. Nice easy day for Nadiri Bridger. 

This’ll be some of the more blatant smuggling she'd done in a while… but then, with all the chaos around her for cover as women move on and off the transports and cargo containers full of pork start getting hauled away, she has the perfect cover. When there's some room to start her cargo moving she uses a set of controls to make her containers hover, then follow her, quickly leading them through the busy landing pad while checking her datapad and walking with a very determined stride. 

That type of behavior is more than enough to penetrate even secure facilities in a lot of cases. 

You look like you belong, that you’re part of the blue collar cadre that inhabits every space in the known galaxy in one quantity or another, you walk with a purpose, and you have a data pad. Clearly you know what you were about, at least... and, at worst, you might be an inspector, and few women wanted to complicate their days with that sort of trouble.

She disappears into the appropriate warehouse and finds her and her containers in a slightly dark room as the big doors close behind her. 

This is where she'll find out if she’s getting ambushed or not. 

The doors close and lock, and her hand drifts closer to her concealed plasma pistol, just waiting for the shoe to drop... only for the lights to turn on and a woman in a similar outfit to her own to step forward. 

She’s brown-haired and blue-eyed, with a dark tan on pale skin; a few freckles dot her face and her long ears. Her hair is cut short, and she’s wearing a working woman's coveralls, not unlike Nadiri's own outfit, draping an athletic frame that retains the goddess-blessed curves of most of the women of the galaxy. She’s a tad on the slim side, maybe, though whether that’s from working out or malnourishment, Nadiri couldn't quite tell. 

"Got a special shipment of pork for the client. Lot number is X-27R." Nadiri says, reading it off her clipboard without a care in the world… Despite the fact that if this is her rebel contact, she’s certainly in the sights of a few laser rifles and maybe a railgun, and if this is a security forces ambush it’s even worse. 

"Special shipment? We didn't order anything like that. Is that going to cost us extra?"

"Depends on what you can barter for."

"Well, if you're okay with trade instead of credits, I have some goods you might be interested in."

Nadiri grins. That had been the appropriate set of code word responses. She relaxes slightly and steps forward offering the other woman her hand. 

"Nice to meet you. You can call me Blizzard."

"Code name?" the brunette asks, clearly intrigued.

"That's right."

"You some sort of big shot?"

"Nah. Just cautious."

"Well, we don't do anything like that. Not seriously anyway. Maybe we should start though, if we’re getting to work with actual professionals. Jaina. I gotta say your people work in mysterious ways... but if you've got the goods, I've got the stuff to send back."

"Can I see it? Because I've got triple what you're sending me for you to take to your girls, plus some other goodies thrown in by my boss as a present."

"Triple?"

Jaina's eyes open wide, clearly excited as she walks to a cargo container identical to the ones Nadiri had led into the room and opens it.

"Shit, that's a bit too good of a deal."

"We can afford to be generous to our friends. We're also going to try to send you some help from our commandos."

"What would they do?" Jaina asks, seemingly a bit eager now. 

"We believe your organization can scrap, but our commandos will teach your girls how to fight a war properly. It's their speciality."

"Any men in that group?"

"Unfortunately no, we've more or less banned male personnel from the surface, both to avoid giving up any surprises, and to avoid any diplomatic incidents in the short term."

"Mhmm. Makes sense. I was kinda excited to meet a warrior man, though. Kinda crazy idea."

"I know the feeling." 

Nadiri walks over to the case and looks in. Sure enough, waiting for her is a large stash of laser and plasma weapons, big and small, but all of clearly good quality, along with a variety of melee weapons and some examples of armor, all 'crowned' by a pile of 'stealth' outfits… right out of a vid just from looking at them. To include some very ugly hats. They'd asked for a full load of the types of gear the matricians used in their interclan stealth fights, and Jaina had clearly delivered. 

A big crate full of plausible deniability as soon as she got it back to orbit. Still. Those outfits... Nadiri can't help herself. She just has to ask, "Are these outfits for real? They look like something out of a bad comedy."

"Completely. Matricians dress their raiders a specific way. The entire caste. It's to make it clear that it's a raid for some honor game bullshit instead of an actual full-on assassination attempt, robbery, terrorist attack or whatever. The outfits themselves are based on old designs from times long past and are meant to be worn over the armor. The hats are optional, but popular with some clans. There's the occasional flourish or distinction to the outfits if a matriarch wants to announce herself for some reason, but generally the outfit is identical. You'd call it social stealth, I think. Can't prove which clan belongs to who and so forth."

"And no one's taken advantage of that kind of uniform for 'not okay' stealth raids before before?"

Jaina nods, suddenly looking solemn. 

"There was this assassin clan that did. They'd wear whatever the hell it took to get close to a target. A few times they dressed up as clan raiders, went into a compound and instead of a little theft, black mail, maybe a kidnapping, they slaughtered everyone in the place. That was The Pact of the Seven Beasts. Tough, scary bitches. Hunted to damn near extinction, if they're not just dead, after one of their girls put Consul Euryde in a healing coma with a fatal wound." 

Jaina snarls. "Our bad luck the cunt survived, but I can't blame the assassins for that one. Apparently one of the Praetorians, a woman named Gladia, was quick on the draw and drove the assassins off, which prevented them from finishing the job. Then a medic got a stasis field on her and she was as good as saved."

"You almost sound like you admire them."

The Ha'quinye woman chuckles bitterly. 

"To an extent, I suppose. I admire their dedication, at the very least. They'd even cut off their ears to prove their devotion to their group. They committed themselves entirely to their cause. Unfortunately that cause was coin and killing instead of something a bit more noble."

Nadiri nods, resisting reaching up to touch her own sensitive ears. Ha’quinye ears are supposed to be even more sensitive than her own, and the idea of cutting her ears off is utterly unthinkable to Nadiri! 

"Hmm. I suppose I can admire the dedication, if not the cause itself."

"Hopefully we can show the same determination for our cause," Jaina says quietly. Then she closes the case and waves a hand, a clear signal that has some of her girls coming out of the woodwork. 

"All this for little old me? I'm flattered." Nadiri grins, playing up her relaxed, casual attitude as the heavy mood that had just settled on them starts to roll away. 

Jaina grins. "Well, there was a lot of debate as to whether this was a trap or not... we're not used to getting help. From anyone."

"Help's here. I don't know what all we can do for you girls, but the Admiral's going to help to the limits of his authority to do so."

"That's all we can ask for in the end. Come on, girls! Let's get a move on. We need to get this meat repackaged and shifted before anyone knows it's missing, then get all the new toys Ms. Blizzard's brought us unpacked." 

Series Directory Last

Corinaith 

Spending time with Jeremiah Bridger has been a revelation. A painful one, specifically. This is what a man could be. Any man. Though he plays along with the local traditions and customs, it’s clear from the way he carried himself, the strength in his arm, the way he analyzes the world around him, that this man is indeed something Corin could never dream of being. Not a warrior. Not a father. Not a husband. Though he clearly is all those things, first among what Jeremiah Bridger is, to Corin’s eye, is a free man. 

He stands proud like the leonith, the feline plains predators that still hunt Ha'quinye in rural communities to this very day. They’re a byword among the Ha'quinye for courage, pride and conviction for how they openly show themselves to their prey instead of hunting by stealth; while Corin has the sense that Jeremiah is no stranger to hunting by stealth, there’s no bend in his back, no slack in his shoulders. Unprepared matricians flee before him when they wander over to 'view the exhibit' and he makes eye contact with them, not giving them the slightest bit of deference unless they offer him some token show of manners. 

If anything, he’s more polite to the Praetorians… perhaps identifying with them as fellow soldiers even if they didn't accord him similar respect? Still, there’s something about him that has Sergeant Gemma standing up a bit straighter, and he'd even called her into their chambers and all but ordered her to afford Corin hand-to-hand training to better improve his swordsmanship. How he'd picked out Gemma as a hand-to-hand specialist, Corin would never know, but he had the woman pegged as one of Corin's admirers among the Praetorians, that much was for sure. 

He’s found time to speak with Arenna too, his tone making the captain subconsciously hold herself as if being inspected or on parade. 

"Thank you for taking a moment to speak with me, Captain. I'm sure you're quite busy, in addition to watching over your charge."

"...Of course. I am. Ah. Nothing but generous with my time, even with men."

There’s something short-circuiting in the captain's mind that Corin finds very amusing. This man carries himself as a superior, and something in Arenna Gladia and Gemma both recognize and acknowledge it, whether they’re conscious of it or not. 

Perhaps it’s in the man's gaze? There’s certainly a lot of experience in Jeremiah's grey eyes when Corin made eye contact with the man. Arenna and Gemma are both combat veterans… as Jeremiah presumably is, even if he wouldn't confirm it to Corin. 

So what do these two experienced warriors see when they look in Jeremiah's eyes with more context than he, Corin, could ever possibly have? He might be something of a swordsman and a spy, but he was no warrior in the end. Had never seen combat against even a fierce beast, never mind another person, save the brief brawl with the Praetorians that had so educated him on his own weaknesses. Even with his increased training he couldn't keep up with Jeremiah Bridger, and the man hadn't even been using axiom. Corin isn't really allowed to train all but the most minute axiom skills, and he has no doubt he'd be dressed in trytite bands and a collar if he ever tried, but he knows enough to know that fight had been all natural. 

It makes him curse his weakness, even as he aspires to become even stronger still. The potential’s there; while he might not be able to be Jeremiah Bridger, he could be a better Corinaith Addicus, and that’s more than enough for him to aim for in terms of goals. 

Speaking of aiming, however… one of his long ears twitches as Jeremiah asks Arenna a question. "Could you tell me a bit about your equipment? It's my hobby to study such things, and your armor and weapon are quite impressive, if seemingly a bit archaic." 

"Oh! That. Well. Thank you, they are rather impressive, aren't they? Hard earned in the course of my career becoming a captain of the guard, you see. The youngest captain of Praetorians in a whole century."

Youngest because she’s an expert at playing the game of Ha’quinye society and is, Corin knows, a savage viper. As sweet as they could be to him, it’s one thing Corin keeps in mind about Arenna and Gemma. A woman does not advance in the upper layers of Ha’quinye society without being ruthless. Arenna’s ruthlessness in particular is what had earned her the patronage of Euryde early in her career. 

It’s a difference from the wider galaxy, what little glimpses Corin had gotten of it. The Ha’quinye are a young people compared to many galactic civilizations. Ambition and strength still rule, and could easily bring down more skilled, experienced, or connected individuals if one had enough drive - a la Arenna’s meteoric rise through the ranks of the Praetorians. Now, here she is, speaking of her youth to a being that could be centuries her senior… Yet, Corin gets the sense that Jeremiah isn’t that much older than either of them, certainly not centuries. He also gets the sense that the other man had intuited exactly what it took for Arenna Gladia to seize her position in life. 

"I see. You're even more skilled than you look, then, and you look like a most capable warrior. Corin’s lucky to have such a fierce guardian along with that other young lady out there."

"Sergeant Gemma is an excellent warrior, and she and I are proud the consuls have entrusted Corin's- Err. Their pet's safety to us. It's quite the responsibility, you know, especially considering Corin's had a few misadventures recently. But we got all that nasty business worked out, didn't we, Corin?"

"We did, Captain Gladia. But Jeremiah was asking about your equipment?" Corin quickly redirects, not really wanting his humbling discussed publicly and getting the sense that Jeremiah isn't just making casual conservation with the Praetorian captain. 

"Oh! Of course. So, the armor itself is the latest composite, and covers the body almost completely. It is not a full hard suit by galactic standards. We've found that most of our common threats can be dealt with without having a full sealing suit, and we have heavy armored troopers and spaceborne specialists that have fully sealed and vacuum rated armor respectively."

"Oh, so you wear, say, a face mask in the event of chemicals and the like instead?"

"Exactly! You're quite educated on such subjects for a man."

"Like I said, it's my hobby."

Liar. Corin resists snorting under his breath as he continues to ask her about her armor, getting little details out like its limited sensors and communications system - not that Arenna likely sees them as 'limited' - and how the armor has its own light personal shield generator, something Corin had long suspected but had never confirmed. It’s likely nothing compared to a proper personal shield found on truly heavy armor like power armor, but for the kinds of inter-faction warfare that the Ha'quinye Praetorians guard against, just ablating a few hits to allow the guardswoman to return fire is quite a bit. 

"And what kind of threats do you deal with?"

"Oh, incursions and raids by... matri- fools, who think they can get blackmail material out of the computer systems and the like, usually. They're welcome to try to hack our systems, really. We'll lure them in and crush them on the way out once we've secured the consuls' persons and the security of the head clan and so forth. Any VIPs staying in the palace."

"Corin?"

Arenna blushes slightly, suddenly unable to meet Jeremiah's eyes. "Well, he is valuable property, and would be a juicy ransom target."

"Perhaps important enough for you to see to personally even? I'm sure that makes Corin and Ms. Marikath feel quite safe. Speaking of which, with such advanced armor... why a spear, of all weapons? Is it just ceremonial for events like this one, and the actual guards carry laser or plasma carbines?"

"Oh, nothing like that. The weapons we carry are all practical. Consul Eurdye wouldn't accept anything less! I have a personal plasma pistol and a sword, for example, but the primary weapon for all guardswomen is our spears. They're a very important weapon historically for the Ha'quinye, so you're right, there's a ceremonial element to them. It was spears that let us hold our own against the many predators of our world, and against rival clans over the centuries. But these spears are a bit more than just a fine hunk of metal on a pole! For one, the blade is trytite lined to pierce shields and configured to easily penetrate light armor thanks to the shape of the blade and the composition of the metal that makes the head up. More importantly, it actually has a built-in dual mode plasma caster." 

Arenna takes a few steps back and flourishes her spear in a safe direction, the head shifting on the haft to move out of the way of the emitter for the plasma array, happily boasting about the potent and fancy looking weapon to her clearly interested male audience as Corin watches on. Arenna’s clearly enjoying showing off a bit, but what was Jeremiah's angle? A distraction? Is he up to something else? Or, like Corin, is he using his sex and position in Ha'quinye society to gather information? Likely the latter. He might be another species and he might be showing a very different face than anything your average Ha'quinye man might to his supposed betters, but he is clearly up to something. 

Damned if Corin can figure out exactly what though. 

Before long, the demonstration ends; Jeremiah continuing to shower Arenna in compliments while asking the occasional question about the Praetorian guards, their training, the threats they face, the in-fighting among the matrician class, all sorts of things Arenna is more than happy to talk about. When she finally returns to her post, she’s clearly pleased with herself. 

Not long after that, the garden party begins to wrap up, and Corin says his goodbyes to the alien man from another world and makes his way back to his chambers in the company of Arenna, Gemma and Marikath. The two Praetorians had found the alien man interesting, but apparently less sexually attractive than Corin might have otherwise expected. The two of them seem more interested in his build, and if his sword is for show or not… not to discount his own bout with Jeremiah, something both women fall all over themselves to compliment him on once safely back within his chambers. 

Then the two praetorians are gone, and Corin is at last alone with Marikath. 

"Mari... The wine. You keep it in your chambers, right?"

His servant turned lover looks up from what she'd been doing. 

"There's a few small casks in there. It's brought from the palace's wine cellar whenever I call for one with a tap sunk into it already."

"It's all the same?"

"As long as I've been here, Corin." 

"You don't add anything to it?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Hmmm."

Corin sighs, staring at his wine glass in disgust, unable to shake the uneasy feeling he'd gotten about his little luxury courtesy of the evening's conversation. 

"Could you slip a glass's worth out of the palace when you go? Get it to Jaina and have her get it tested. Jeremiah thinks there's some sort of trickery afoot."

Marikath suddenly looks very concerned as she glances at the carafe near her. 

"...Trickery like what?"

"I'm not sure, but I believe Jeremiah suspects that the consuls are drugging me."

"To what end?"

Corin shrugs again. "Could be any number of reasons. We won't know till we have it looked at in the end."

Marikath nods slowly. "I'll slip some out and get it to Lady Jaina. Do... you want me to stop bringing you your wine?"

Corin sighs deeply. "No. Not for now. They'll notice if I suddenly change my behavior, and whatever's in it hasn't killed me yet... So I'll just have to risk it for the moment." 

Marikath frowns and bustles away, clearly intent on going to take a sample to smuggle out of the palace as Corin lays down on one of his couches, staring idly at the ceiling, reflecting on the evening he'd just had, and all the changes that have been coming his way since he'd first heard the phrase, 'The Sword of the Stars'.

"Well. We got them the data. It's with them and the goddess knows what they’ll do with it." 

Series Directory Last

Jerry

Sparks fly as blades cross again! 

Jerry takes a step back, forcing Corin to overextend… with a smirk, since he's at an angle for a praetorian to get a good look at his face. The woman swoons a bit out of the corner of his eye, and Jerry moves again, positioning himself to continue what’s turning into a very interesting conversation. 

Meeting Corin had been a simple enough matter; he'd more or less been tossed in the holding pen with the individual he'd heard named as 'Cori' by the consuls and a female servant. Corin is what the man prefers to be called by, though. With him is Marikath, apparently his senior servant and caretaker: a woman of charming, modest demeanor, and madly in love with Corin, to Jerry’s eye. Maybe even actively his lover. How the Ha'quinye haven’t noticed he isn't sure; maybe it’s a cultural thing? 

He remembers, from one briefing or another, that men of the upper classes generally are 'allowed' to share intimacy with a favorite servant. The matricians look the other way so long as it keeps their prized stud docile and compliant. Some colder houses apparently even ensure these bonds are formed, and then use the servant girl the same way a 'teaser' was used in horse breeding on Earth, getting the man worked up before the woman he'd actually be sleeping with steps in. 

So maybe it’s that. Or maybe the women around him have such an atrophied sense of love and intimacy beyond merely the matters of the flesh, what the Greeks would have called 'eros', that they wouldn't recognize a woman in love with someone if she bit them on the damn leg. 

With the Ha'quinye, Jerry isn't about to assume one or the other; depending on the individual Ha'quinye it might even be both. 

He had spoken with Corin briefly, dancing around the real reason he was here a little bit while talking about swords and comparing preferred weapons, and then Corin had suggested a little light sparring to work up an appetite for the food and drink they'd been provided. 

Jerry had agreed, and Corin had had Marikath fetch a pair of dulled metal swords that resembled the late Roman spatha, a one-handed, double-edged sword with a longer blade than those of the family of swords it replaced, the shorter and more famous gladius. While Jerry’s more familiar with curved swords, like his own saber or the Japanese katana, the principles of sword fighting remain the same… so he'd gamely taken up the challenge and after a few test swings the 'battle' had quickly been joined! 

While the gladius is a thrusting sword, the spatha, originally for the Roman 'equites' cavalry force, is longer, and could handily slash as well as thrust, leaving Jerry able to continue to swing the surprisingly light and nimble one-handed weapon more or less as he’s accustomed.

Now the sound of metal ringing as the blades clash is filling the box where they’ve been placed on display. From the start, Corin was very intentionally throwing very wide, showy moves, not fighting with the skill his footwork suggested he could, so Jerry quickly matched him, putting on a show and making a lot of noise instead of dueling more seriously. 

It made sense on several levels: for one, they, he and Corin, are part of the entertainment for the evening. Second, they don't want to actually hurt each other, even to first blood, lest the women around them freak out about damage to their investments. Third, it’s extremely hard to hear people talking over the din of a decent sword fight, even if they’re speaking normally to each other. 

Jerry's eyes glance over at Marikath before warding off a blow from Corin with a showy flourish and twirl of his weapon. 

"Can she be trusted?"

"She knows everything I do." 

"That doesn't answer my question."

Jerry lunges forward, binding up Corin's sword and feinting at him with a pommel strike that likely would have dented the other man's skull if it connected with full force. Corin is clearly a fairly talented fencer, but Jerry’s better, with practical combat experience and better physical conditioning. In a real fight this would have already been over, like most duels, never mind actual combat swordsmanship of any style… but considering this is just sparring, and show sparring at that, Jerry leaps back, letting Corin deliver an ineffectual counterattack that looks stellar, with lots of fast movements. 

"You're very good at this."

"I'm a very experienced warrior."

"So the men are the warriors of your species?"

"We are."

"...Fascinating. I'd thought Jaina was being lied to..."

"So you're her contact in the palace?"

"That I am."

"Then I have a gift for you. Dead drop communicator and a beacon we can use to track you in the event of an emergency. It's small, so it'd be hard to find. It's in a little velvet pouch inside a small coin purse. At some point I'll throw you, you'll ‘drop it’, and I'll give it back."

Corin nods, looking very serious for a few seconds before returning to his well practiced open and charming smile. It’s a smile devoid of any actual emotion, painted on to ensure he looks most pleasing to his owners. 

There's another quick exchange of blows before Corin steps in, catches an elbow to the ribs for his trouble and says, "At the same time, I'll drop a data chit. It's got vital information in it about where your people might be able to get information on the Sword of the Stars."

"So the Sword is real?"

"The Consuls certainly think so."

"Any more idea of what the damn thing is?"

"I'm as in the dark as anyone... I suspect the Consuls don't actually know what it is either, but they've been more tight-lipped around me recently so I can't confirm it."

"If anything else comes up, reach out via Jaina. Don't worry, we're on the job."

"Can you help us here too?"

Jerry breaks eye contact with Corin, unable to meet his gaze for a moment and nearly catches the flat of Corin's sword across the shoulder for his trouble. 

"Regime change for the Ha'quinye isn't part of my orders... but if I can help, I will. I can exfiltrate you and Marikath at the very least."

"We have two daughters."

"Them too."

"...That does my heart good to know, but I wish. Well. I wish."

"I do too, but deposing the Ha'quinye's rulers externally is... not a light task. If the rebels get in touch..."

"Jaina's one of their leaders, I'm pretty sure."

"We might be able to help them."

"I beg you to do so. Any help could change this world for the better, for men and women alike. The women of the lower classes are slaves just as much as we men are cattle." 

"I'll do what I can. I can't tell you anything more, of course. You're in a dangerous place, Corin, so the less you know the better."

"I accept my lot, Jerry. Just... whatever you can do. We'll be in your debt."

"Say that after I finish tanning your hide."

"You just need to engineer a way to pass off the purse with the items in it and I need to pass you the data chit, yes? Shall we make this a bit more interesting and give the women a proper show instead of just play-fighting the whole time?"

A slightly competitive, playful look crosses Corin's face as the serious business of their conversation is suppressed, allowing what’s perhaps a rare chance for Corin to play and enjoy his hobby with a fellow enthusiast. 

"Heh. Alright. Let's see what you're made of, then!" 

Corin immediately launches into a furious flurry of thrusts that immediately have Jerry on the backfoot… until he steps wide and slaps Corin's sword down, overpowering the more slender man with raw strength. He brings his sword up in a slash that would have cut Corin from right hip to left shoulder if the other man hadn't blocked with a shaky last minute move - one that gives Jerry a chance to move back and open the distance. 

He wants Corin to come for him. When Corin inevitably overextends, then he'll spring his trap, and do exactly what he'd promised Corin he would do, throw him. 

Sure enough, Corin comes after him and Jerry meets him, stepping in to pin Corin's forward foot with his own, getting a quick blow in then stepping back twice. Corin thrusts long to try and pursue him, opening him up for Jerry to toss his sword aside and step into the other man, grabbing Corin's arm and spinning into him. He puts his back to Corin and throws him 'ass over tea kettle', as his sensei had put it once upon a time, laying the other man out flat on the fur rug, while 'catching' him slightly by the shoulders to lessen the sensation of the fall. 

"What in the gods was that?" Corin wheezes.

"Hand to hand techniques are a viable part of any martial art. Something you can maybe get some lessons on from one of these praetorians? They look like the types that wouldn't mind getting hands on with you." 

Jerry shoots a look right at a Praetorian, the second most senior of the four nearby, by her armor. She had been openly watching them with an undisguised lust in her eyes for Corin… but now the woman immediately snaps to the position of attention, looking anywhere but in at the prizes she’s currently protecting with a blush on her face at having so blatantly been caught. 

"Ah. Corin. You dropped something." Jerry slips the pouch out of its axiom pocket up his sleeve and retrieves it from the carpet. All of that could have been done practically of course, but axiom made such things so much easier. "Wouldn't want you to lose your coin as well as your dignity, eh?"

"Indeed, no. It seems you dropped something as well." Corin gamely retrieves his sword and uses the motion to cover retrieving the data chit from wherever he'd hidden it, and hands it to Jerry, who immediately tucks it away in a hidden pocket. 

"Five credits. But every credit counts, no?"

"Hah. Sure."

"Care for some wine? I'm sure the women will be talking for some time and I find nothing works up a thirst like a little bit of exercise." 

"Gladly."

Marikath quickly bustles forward and pours two goblets of what appears to Jerry's eyes to be a red wine… but as soon as he gets a sniff of it, he can tell that something's wrong. This isn't wine. Or at least it isn't completely. It has the smell of strong spirits, like vodka, or raw moonshine... and after a quick swig of it, he realizes it tastes like it too... and has some other slightly odd tastes in it that the grape-esque and tannin rich flavor can't disguise. Whether the wine is completely artificial or not, he couldn't tell, but it’s almost certainly a strong spirit, with something extra in it. Something that isn’t just recreational.

But why? The drugs likely wouldn't get past Jerry's liver and kidneys. Compared to a galactic citizen Humans were all but immune to all but the most virulent poisons in the galaxy, and a mild or even tame poison to a Human, like say a bite from a common house spider, could be lethal or at least severely debilitating to most aliens without prompt treatment. 

Marikath wouldn't be poisoning her loved one, so it probably isn't an attempt to assassinate either of them. No, as Jerry takes another sip and considers it, he smells an entirely different flavor of rat. 

"Do you drink a lot of wine, Corin?"

"One of the few pleasures in life I'm allowed, as it happens. I can quaff as much as I please."

That more or less seals it for Jerry. Wine could be rather calorie-dense on Earth. Spirits, especially a white spirit like vodka, are significantly lower in calories. A sensible replacement if a clever owner or owners wanted to ensure their prized pet stayed perfectly beautiful - and thin, for that matter. The taste could be replicated with other chemicals, or just by cutting the concoction with actual wine, and between that and the alcohol it could be a vehicle for all manner of chemicals. For example, medication to further ensure Corin stayed slim, trim and compliant. It could be a vehicle for a chemical aphrodisiac too. Which makes even more sense if the consuls want to play with their toy at will. 

Jerry frowns then takes another sip, before mouthing to Corin, “Do you know what’s in this stuff?”

“Alcohol? Grapes? I’m not a chemist, my friend.”

So it’s not that the men here are choosing this. Jerry shakes his head. "Get the wine tested."

Corin gives him a curious look, then nods before continuing their conversation on the finer points of swordsmanship, asking a question about his saber that Jerry gamely answers. 

Still, he can't shake this disquieted feeling. Something’s even more wrong here than just treating a man like a prized animal instead of a person... and it makes him want to get the hell out of here very quickly indeed. 

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The praetorians quickly form two marching columns and leave Dar'Bridger's people space to be close to their charges, though Sylindra notices that eight women-at-arms quietly break off from the others and form a close protection detail for their mistresses. One of the more ornately dressed women steps forward and pulls out a hand scanner. 

“By your leave, my consuls…”

Mediei waves the Praetorian on. “Get on with it then, Lieutenant. Didn’t you just hear what Consul Euryde said?”

“Yes, ma’am, but protocol…”

“And I said get on with it. In a hurry, or I’ll have a word with Captain Gladia about this.”

The praetorian stiffens up instantly and breaks eye contact with Mediei. “Yes, ma’am.”

Apparently the ‘civilian’ half of the consuls has as much steel in her spine as her martial counterpart; Syl files the thought away as she tilts her head, graciously assenting to the scan. A moment later, the lieutenant steps to the left twice and scans Ghorza.

“All clear, my consuls. Just personal small arms, plasma pistols specifically. And the colonel’s sword, of course.”

“Of course. Perfectly acceptable,” Mediei says, clearly annoyed with the Praetorian.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll scan the male now and we’ll proceed-”

Euryde's eyes snap to Jerry and she suddenly stops. 

"The male? Oh! I almost missed him, and what a shame that would be. You really did bring your... I’m told you'd call him a ‘husband’ where you come from?" 

The word is clearly alien in her mouth, and the way she said it gave Sylindra the mildest urge to slap the other woman. She steps closer to Jerry, inspecting closely. 

"Could stand to be wearing a bit less, if you ask me, but quite the specimen.” 

Euryde walks to the side and her eyes lock on the side of Jerry’s head before she… shudders? A flicker of what could only be fear crosses her face as she looks at… his ear? She quickly covers it, walking away with a plastered-on smile.

“Shame his ears are so short, but not everyone can be as blessed as our pet Cori." 

Mediei chuckles. "I don't know. I like how slender Cori is in comparison. There's just so... much... of him," she says, gesturing up and down at Jerry. "A mountain of meat. Though there's something to recommend that too, I think. I can see the appeal, I suppose..." 

A blush crosses the consul's face as she continues to speak, and Sylindra gets the urge to slap someone again. The Ha'quinye really are shameless about such things, it seems. 

“Does he speak? I hear there’s cultures that cut their menfolk’s tongues out. Seems like a bit of a waste to me.” Mediei all but purrs as she takes a closer look at Jerry. 

Before Sylindra can respond, however, Jerry surprises her by talking, his tone low, growly and masculine in that special way that never fails to make her knees weak.

“He speaks. He just doesn’t have much to say.”

“Hmm.” Euryde says, pointedly avoiding looking at Jerry’s ears. “Solid body but an empty head, then? I can certainly respect your taste in men, Lady Sylindra.”

Meidei wanders around Jerry once, practically popping out from behind him, gesturing toward the scabbard of the saber he was wearing for the night. 

"And look, Eury, he even has a sword! Not so different from some of our males after all. Cori loves those swords of his so much, doesn't he?"

The other consul gives Jerry another thoughtful look. "Well, if he knows how to use that hunk of steel, perhaps he and Cori will have some things to talk about. Come, though. We're still at the landing pad when we should be relaxing and discussing in far more pleasant arrangements."

The lieutenant holds the scanner up. “Ma’am, we haven’t done the scan on the man yet.”

Euryde snorts. “Calm yourself, Lieutenant. He’s just a man after all.” 

Sylindra does her best to suppress a victorious grin. They had an explanation prepared for if Jerry got scanned, but him not being scanned was very much a leg up for the Undaunted. 

She ensures she’s still got her same unchanging expression as Euryde continues, “Sergeant, show the Bridgers’ male to the room with Cori, would you?” 

Cari and Melodi'Bridger immediately step out of their positions and move to flank Jerry, two steps behind. 

Euryde looks over at Sylindra, who waves the inquiry off. "His guardians. He's quite valuable, you see."

"Hmm. Perhaps you should have him evaluated during your stay. Not sure what species he is… a Tret, maybe? Only seen pictures, you see, but you could probably rack up some fine stud fees if he's close to his season and is as valuable as you say. Some of the Matrician families would likely pay top credits for high quality exotic blood if they think it’ll give their daughters an edge!  Neither here nor there, though. Onwards!"

In an act of supreme discipline, Sylindra doesn't let one hair get out of place when one of the women she’s here to meet casually suggests prostituting her husband… or, perhaps more accurately, suggests treating him like the livestock the wretch no doubt sees him as. Sylindra wants to bristle, to defend her mate's honor, but they had known going in that this little visit was likely to include some... indignities, so instead she simply starts to walk. 

“Do your security protocols always include scanning guests immediately upon landing, Consul?”

Euryde shrugs. “No, actually. Normally the palace scanners handle things. They make a little hand scanner look like a toy. However, we’re not going to the palace proper tonight, and it never hurts to be safe.”

“Yes, I was just thinking about our own security protocols aboard the ship. You know how it is, the rabble simply make poor choices at times.”

“Well said, Lady Sylindra! But let’s not dally, shall we?”

Sure enough, they're quickly led into expansive gardens laid out in a sort of tiered structure. Off to one side is a set of glass walls with a simple roof. Two praetorians linger near it, one of whom wears the fancier plumes and helm, suggesting she’s an officer or senior sergeant. 

Inside, visible - or, rather, on display - through the glass is the 'male' of the leaders of the Ha'quinye. He’s dressed much like his 'owners', in a skimpy white toga, and is lounging idly on a couch while a servant tends to his needs. From what she can see from here, this ‘Cori’ is a slender man with almost sculpted features and a long mane of fluffed blonde hair… one that clearly needs a breeze or a fan so it could billow as it so clearly deserves. His athletic build is easy on the eyes, to say the least, even if Sylindra’s cup of tea is significantly more robust. Still, she could see why he’s a prized… pet. Everything about him, from the tip of his long, dagger-like ears to the slight heel of his shoes to emphasize the lithe muscles in his exposed legs, is calculated to highlight him as an object of desire. 

The consuls are showing off their prize, after all. 

Jerry is immediately led over to that building by a pair of the Praetorians, one of whom has clearly decided she likes a more ‘robust’ man than the fair Cori from how she’s eyefucking him, and before long he’s ‘safely’ tucked away and deep in conversation with the alien man. Melodi and Cari’Koren join the pair of Praetorians who were already guarding the… ‘exhibit’ is perhaps the right word. 

Sylindra feels better with Melodi over there. Cari’Koren might be a recently crowned champion combatant, but Melodi is a one-in-a-million talent with axiom. 

She could keep Jerry safe, or rather maximize how dangerous he could be solo, without issue.

Meanwhile, the official party begins to settle into the area prepared for them. A large diamond-shaped area that was lined with comfortable couches and had a low table at the center with a few more women of the matrician class waiting for them who quickly rise and bow to the consuls. 

In the blink of an eye they're all seated and drink orders are being taken, with Mediei suggesting they must try the local wine. A few minutes pass; the consuls engage in somewhat casual banter with their guests as food is brought out on platters, light snacks of all description, all made to standards of craftswomanship that Sylindra can certainly appreciate. The gardens themselves are alive with other guests; this is a proper soiree after all, not just a business meeting under the moonlight. 

Yet, Sylindra can feel the air change as the other women start to get more serious. As she'd suspected on first seeing them, the women who had been waiting include a diplomat, something she understands to be rare among the Ha'quinye, and a few senior members of the import-export business they'd be negotiating with to sell beef through on the planet. 

In the blink of an eye, the talk goes from casual chatter to more serious business negotiations, with Sylindra opening her arguments by rather aggressively disarming her opponents, diplomatically speaking. As a goodwill gesture, she presents a gift of five hundred pounds of beef for the palace kitchens, something Mediei’s positively vibrating for... unless the vibrating is just down to Euryde openly groping her lover's breasts. Syl can't be sure. 

Even the action of how Euryde interacted with Mediei is interesting. Despite her hands being occupied with manipulating her lover’s body, Euryde’s engaged in the conversation, and proving to be quite a capable negotiator in her own right… despite her first impression as something of a meat head. Still, even with forewarning about how casual the Ha’quinye could be about things of a sexual nature, it’s very shocking to Sylindra, and she just can’t get her head around it.  

It’s hard even to tell whether Mediei or Euryde is the dominant partner in the arrangement. It’s awkward to negotiate when one doesn’t totally know who’s in charge on the other side.

Still, with the consuls dealt with by the promise of a large and expensive treat, her next move is a follow-up punch to her first. Making a little speech about not wanting to get in the way of making money when the wheeling and dealing could take ages, depending on what first they, and then the lawyers, get into in terms of nooks and crannies, she offers the company a limited contract. She'd deliver several tons of beef at what she calls the 'friends and family' rates; they could start selling the meat to their wealthy patrons at their own discretion while they worked out any long-term business deals at their own pace. 

It’s less generous than it seems, though more generous than they really deserve, but whether this system changed or stayed the same, her goal is to get people distracted and focused on making money, and of course on luxurious treats from the furthest stars. Even if they’re leaving out the Cruel Space and Human-related marketing among the Ha'quinye. 

Sure, it’s just a search away on an unsecured intranet connection, but said connections are rare in Ha'quinye space, so tightly was the flow of information controlled in their empire, and her other distraction should keep their intelligence service busy… especially on top of what she could tell is the hellish task of manipulating and controlling the Ha'quinye nobility and keeping their mistresses in power. 

After all. Who cares about a charming and influential merchant with lots of money and a willingness to share top quality luxury goods with an open ease? She’s an outsider to the various power plays of the Ha'quinye nobility, especially since she’s being drawn into the consul's orbit… which is, in its way, a power play of its own. And, of course, they would be distracted by how very greatly it would likely enrich the consul's family if a long term deal was indeed struck. 

The conversation continues to flow, and before long the business women leave, and other matricians from other families stop at their booth to pay their respects to the consuls and meet the mysterious offworlders. Through that Syl weaves in her various little requests, securing shore leave for the population of the ship with a wave of the hand, and being bidden to speak with the senior official in charge of the space port to make the arrangements. 

As the conversation continues to flow along, Euryde's 'enjoying' of her partner's body seemingly gets ever more brash, with the ‘great’ lady full-on shoving a hand casually under her lover's skirt without a care in the world. Despite the mix of sensations she’s no doubt enjoying, Mediei stays conversational and casual, only letting out an occasional moan… 

And then there's a lapse in the conversation, and Mediei's eyes narrow suddenly. The cheery air the other woman who had just been so casually fingered by her partner usually displayed vanishes, a very frosty look settles on her eyes; it would have made Sylindra shiver, if she hadn't met the eyes of the likes of the Empress of Serbow. 

The consul pounces. "Actually, Lady Sylindra, I just remembered something. I'd like to ask what brings such a large conglomerate knocking on our door. Not that we aren't thrilled to make your acquaintance and potentially do business, of course, but we are rather isolated even by frontier and wild space standards. Such encounters, while wondrous and joyful if they happen by chance, can make my security chief... nervous. Were you just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by for a visit?"

Sylindra responds with the kind of gracious smile that’s hard to fake. It’s a look she knows could be absolutely infuriating in the right circumstances; while it could seem smug or even lightly condescending to the right audience, it’s almost impossible to address as anything other than good manners. It’s just a smile, after all. 

That said, it is genuinely a little smug. Sylindra and Diana had expected this very question, after all, and she answers it almost the moment Mediei asked it. 

"Of course, Consul, we all appreciate the need for security… hence why my women-at-arms are sharing wall space with your very impressive praetorian guardsmen. Right, Ghorza?"

The imposing Horchka woman nods regally, her sharp tusks gleaming. Her poise is flawless as she tilts her head, seemingly looking more impressive in her family uniform than all the guards around her, even as she sits there casually. 

"Of course, Madame Director."

Sylindra takes a sip of wine. "Sadly, I have no tale of coincidence or intrigue to tell you, nothing nearly so romantic. I recently headhunted a young woman from a galactic shipping company that has regular trade with your empire. She managed a good chunk of that trade for them and she told us that there's a significant opportunity for trade here, especially for luxury goods. Well. I do like to think I have luxury goods to spare, and I'll never turn down good credits, and since our ship was going to be out this way for another task I decided to visit directly instead of handling things over the holo or through intermediaries. Dealing in person is much more... refined, don't you agree?"

The frost is entirely gone from Mediei's eyes, though her fellow consul and partner Euryde still appears skeptical to Sylindra's eye. Quickly she diverts the subject to another topic, deciding to press Euryde on something she’d noticed earlier. 

“Consul Euryde…”

“Please, just Euryde in private. No need to be formal in my own garden!”

“Euryde, then,” Sylindra says with a slight bow of her head. “I noticed a slight… shudder… when you were inspecting my Jeremiah earlier.” Sylindra resists snorting. The two women had done everything but force his mouth open to check his teeth and grope him. “When you were looking at his ears. A look of revulsion, perhaps?”

More accurately it had been fear. Sylindra knew that, but she decided not to potentially anger the powerful warrior woman. 

“Ah. You must have been paying very close attention to have noticed that.” Euryde actually looks slightly bashful at being caught out. “It’s not your pet’s fault, not really, but his ears resemble a… myth of ours.”

The way Euryde says ‘myth’ makes Sylindra think there’s a bit more truth to this particular ‘myth’ that the consul is about to admit.

“A death cult packed to the brim with assassins and fearsome enforcers for hire. They called themselves the Pact of the Seven Beasts. Each beast was a clan that had named themselves after one the predators of our world… and the main way those animals kill. The clan of the shark’s teeth, the clan of the eagle’s talons, and so forth. One of their initiation rituals was that a novice would have to cut her ears off, right about here…” 

Euryde indicates about where a Human or Tret ear would stop on her own long and slender ear. 

“They’d then round them with… Well. Manual tools. Burning irons and the like. They did this to make themselves less vulnerable in combat while not wearing a helm, something their order avoided.”

Sylindra nods slowly, taking that information on board. “...Wouldn’t that damage their hearing?”

“Just a bit, and it also gives up the other sensory organs in our ears, but I believe they felt that it actually sharpened their primary hearing and vision, letting them focus more intently on the only senses they felt they actually needed to kill.”

“Goodness, they sound awful. How long ago were they active?”

“Oh, it was… a long time ago.”

There’s an awkward pause as Euryde lies to Sylindra’s face, and poorly at that, about this death cult. Before they can resume speaking, the clash of swords fills the ear and all eyes around the gardens are drawn to the center, the heavily guarded section where the two men are housed 

Instead of talking and drinking wine, they’re now crossing swords in a far more literal way than some of the women now watching with wide eyes might wish. 

What in the hell had just happened to trigger that?

Euryde's attention is completely captured. "Oh, my.” She squints and nods appreciatively. Not bad form, actually. Considering your stud's never used one of our swords before, he's handling it quite deftly. Cori's not a bad hand with a sword, though. I think he'll beat your boy, Sylindra, Ghorza."

Ghroza chuckles. "Care to put a wager on that? Jerry's quite a talented swordsman, even with unfamiliar blades."

"So funny that our pets have similar hobbies. I guess men really are the same everywhere," Mediei chimes in as she signals for a refill of her wine glass. 

Euryde, on the other hand, is mulling Ghorza's offer and sticks a hand out to the other woman. 

"You're on! A thousand credits too rich for your blood?"

"Nah, especially because I know I'm taking your thousand credits home."

In short order, credit disks are on the table, and the women settle in to watch as the men continue to slowly go back and forth. Jerry’s testing the other man, Cori apparently, in various ways, forcing him to move and checking his defenses from other angles. 

Sylindra knows enough now to appreciate that this match is just getting started. 

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