Humans for Hire

Vilantia Prime, A'Kifab Estate

In the dim room, an old lamp burned oils that threw out poor light. A'Kifab, Clanlord of A'Kifab with titles and banners aplenty to his name, sat staring at a parchment scroll unhappily. He scowled darkly, as if he could make the numbers on it change by sheer force of will. In the near-dark, a woman in servants' livery stood with concern on her face. Finally the lord made a sound of disgust and tossed the parchment aside. The woman quickly moved to retrieve it and stacked it neatly with the other parchments, keeping her eyes downward.

"Grezzk. You have concerns for your mate."

There was a nod. "I do, my lord."

"How may I ease your mind?" A'Kifab paused for a moment, and when no reply was forthcoming he spoke again. "Gryzzk is the finest servant of the Clan. The contract we have with these Bulldogs reassures that he will be treated with proper guest-way. His duties are to observe and verify the Throne-heir lives, and return the heir to the Throne. No more, no less. Once that is completed, we will be able to safely continue and negotiate peace with the Hurdop from a position of balance. Whatever concerns are in your mind, set them to the side. For now, attend the side door, we will have guests arriving soon."

She nodded, not asking why they were not arriving through the front but simply obeying.

For his part, the lord went to the drawing room and paced for a moment before poking at the formerly-decorative fireplace that had found renewed purpose in these times.

After a time, the door to the sitting room opened and Grezzk announced the guests' arrival. The door was shut, leaving the three lords to glance at one another cautiously.

Lord A'Kifab spoke first. "Let me thank you both for being here. The plan has been set in motion. I know it was at the cost of our collective funds, but the wheel now turns. The Throne will be returned to us, and the heir will smile upon us for the return. At the same time, the Hurdop will see the incursion into their Treasure-space as an act of war and attack while formally protesting the Terran breach of the Contact Armistice. It will take the Collective a full year to ascertain the truth, and by then we will have been able to gather funds from our trade routes, restore ourselves and arm properly. In that year the Hurdop will batter themselves against the Terrans, even if the Terrans only defend themselves. If the Terrans are as formidable as the legends say, a year will be more than enough to bring the Hurdop to weakness. We will be able to batter the Hurdop into bartering on flat ground." He spoke, gathering confidence as he spoke, convincing his companions and himself of the rightness of his action.

"And with the Hurdop war eased, their raiding and piracy eased, we can build, rebuild, and secure alliance. Energy rations lifted. Perhaps even afford Terran escort for our market goods. We could transact with tablet and interface, not parchment scraped clean."

The other two nodded, before one spoke. "Lord A'Kifab, if the Collective investigation determies we fomented this conflict..."

A'Kifab chuffed softly. "They will not. If they search at all, they will find the documents in Gryzzks' locator beacon confessing the plot as his and his alone, using guile and subterfuge to first have the Throne-heir kidnapped, and then place my name to documents authorizing the funds to hire the Bulldogs and thus spark a war between the Terrans and Hurdop. It will say he acted as a patriot against the ravages of the Hurdop. It will" He paused for a moment for the word. "It will absolve us."

"The Clan-way would demand he and his family be made Nameless. His family cast out, and even if their souls found their way here they would be forever...lost."

A'Kifabs' shoulders drooped, and he closed his eyes to deny the weight he felt settling. "I know. I must purchase this future with him. With his family. My clan-bound servant of the generations. But if this price gives our world a chance to win back what was lost, take victory to the Hurdop, secure trade routes and a future for our people, then it is a price I must pay from my pocket. Go, my friends. When the energy returns with the dawn, be at peace."

Terran Mercenary Ship "Voided Warranty", Home of the Bravo Bulldogs

Gryzzk awoke to a soft chiming noise. Even as he was processing it, his body began the movements to rise and prepare for his day of taking care of his lord. He moved to kiss his mate as habit demanded, and promptly smacked his muzzle into the wall. The pain roused him from the semiconscious automaton state he was in, and finally he stepped to the shower area. And then the events of yesterday came flooding back. He found that his hygiene items had been placed in the shower, and was thankful for whatever servant Lieutenant Muranaga had who placed things properly.

After the shower and dry, he came out to see Muranaga at his desk reading and making notes with a stylus. He appeared to be making notes on Teegarden B, the ships' destination. There was a small mug of something acrid at his elbow that overwhelmed the patchouli when Gryzzk approached. Muranaga glanced over at the approach.

"Morning Gryzzk. How's the gravity treating you?"

"Well enough. I'm...adjusting. Why are you looking at that?"

"Teegarden? Well, getting a lay of the place, as much as we can. The Hurdops have the place on a lockdown, but I pulled some scans from the archives and some old info. There's two elements to recon. One is gathering and reporting, and the other is shooting at extremely long range. Right now I'm looking to see if we've got any information on atmospheric density and rotational speed."

"You need that for shooting?"

Muranaga nodded. "At a long distance, yeah. See, our average target is a couple miles out. Like about four of these ships stacked nose to tail. At that range, if I fire at someone where they are the rotation of the planet'll move them out of the path of the shot. So I'm doing some preliminary analysis to load to our targeting scopes, that way we can shoot and be on our way."

Gryzzk blinked at the clinical nature of the discussion, and sought desperately to change the subject while changing from sleep clothes to his proper wear. "I. I have a question. What is a puppy, and why is it that people think I am one?"

There was an easy smile and nod. "So you don't look exactly like a puppy. I'll say that up front. But your head, well..." He tapped on his tablet and a picture labeled 'Pug/Husky mix' came up. Gryzzk saw a two-eyed, four legged version of himself. It wasn't ugly, specifically, and he could see a superficial resemblance. But it did rouse curiousity.

"Is this a bad thing?"

"Mmm...not exactly. But we do have to be careful, because if we put you in the puppy box, we'll expect you to act like one. And when you don't, things turn bad quick. We'll tell you a story over breakfast." Muranaga waved. "C'mon, Stabby's recharging until lunch, so you won't get a repeat."

They went into the mess hall to see some slightly different faces, but some familiar. Breakfast was simple enough, but there was a board showing pictures of what was available. He selected a few items that seemed safe - or at least they weren't covered in curry sauce. Once they were through the chow line, they sat at the table with Laroy again. Laroy had the scrambled eggs and a bowl of grain that was paler than Gryzzk had selected, along with some flat, bread-scented thing that had sweetness to it. Laroy also had a bottle of something red and attractively pungent when it was spattered on the eggs and grain. Gryzzk looked at Muranaga and then Laroy with curiousity.

Laroy smiled easily and lifted the bottle. "Dis Granmama Thibedeauxs' special recipe hot sauce. She make it, send me bottles to remind me of home. Hot peppers from the garden, garlic, onion, carrot juice for a little sweet, tomato juice, and a dash of Granpapas' moonshine for a little kick. You put dis bottle on y'head and y'tongue'll beat your brains out trying to get to it."

Gryzzk was torn. On the one hand, the sauce smelled wonderful. On the other hand, the curry had also smelled wonderful, but the aftereffects were not wonderful. "I think a small amount would not be harmful. If I may?"

Laroy grinned wider. "We make bayou boy out of you yet Gryzzk." And with that he scattered droplets of the liquid onto the side of Gryzzks plate. "Just dip it in gentle, we don't want to ruin food if y'can't eat none."

Gryzzk understood the wisdom there, taking a half-bite of his omelette and dabbing it in the sauce before tasting it. It was and explosion of sensations warring in his mouth, and as he swallowed there was a familiar warmth spreading. It brought a memory of the clan year celebration, when all would gather and reflect upon the year before and prepare for the year to come. His face seemed to pause as his entire self was consumed by this new experience. All of his eyes watered up without notice, and his nose was entirely consumed by fire.

"Tres bon, yah?" Laroys' smile was all teeth and sparkle.

There was a nod. "It is quite unique."

Laroy laughed. "You gon' fit right in." Laroy finished his food, and nodded to Muranaga. "Le'tenant I gonna go to motor pool and check suspensions. It sound like we're gearing down outta R-space so maybe something going on soonish." With that, Laroy left, placing the hotsauce bottle in a small leather holster on his belt that seemed to have been made specifically to hold the hot sauce bottle.

Muranaga had a slight look of concern on his face as they finished eating. "Well, today could be a good day. Since you're gonna be observing, our next stop today is the armory and armor issue." Whatever story was going to be told was set to the side, and Gryzzk was used to the whims of Lord A'Kifab changing. It was perhaps a commonality of nobles, and Muranaga did have the air of a young lord.

Gryzzk canted his head. "But as an observer, I would be a noncombatant."

Muranaga shrugged. "Observers can get shot at just as easy as troops.

Gryzzk considered it before nodding. "Very well."

They headed to the Armory, and Gryzzk was assaulted by harsh metal, plastic, and ozone scents. Even Muranaga wrinkled his nose as they walked in. Behind the counter were two younger looking men being supervised by First Sergeant Brooks. Muranaga rapped his knuckles on the thick clear divider to get the attention of one of them.

Brooks was the one who looked up first, and barked out something to cause the other to snap up rigidly. Unlike yesterday, her hair was piled up and secured to her head in a manner that Gryzzk couldn't quite discern.

Muranaga nodded politely. "At ease, troops. We're here to get our observer cheered, feared, and geared. Make it happen." Then he leaned down slightly to whisper and point a door out for Gryzzk. "If you need the latrine, it's right over there. Just in case."

Gryzzk nodded to Muranaga, and watched as a door slid open. Muranaga flicked a hand. "You're up. Don't worry. We're just gonna do a quick fitting and see what you can do."

Stepping inside, Gryzzk was almost overwhelmed by the scents assaulting him - First Sergeant Brooks was sharp and soft by turns, with some powder not-quite masking sweat and something almost acrid. Her assistants were less of a mix, mostly smelling of oils and plastic and overall was a metal smell that seemed cloying and dangerous. Once inside, Brooks waved him to a curtain.

"Strip and hold your arms out. We're taking a scan and get you some clothes." Brooks' voice was a howl from the mountain peaks, even at a normal conversational volume. "And then while the tailors are working out just how to wrap you proper, we're doing sidearm familiarization."

Gryzzk did as he was told, and the area was bathed in a blue light, before there was a click. A quick flashing light indicated he should leave the area, and he did, dressing quickly as he did.

"Well, you can put clothes on on the move. That either means you're decent servant or you took lessons from my ex. Now then, follow me." Brooks turned and went through a lit door marked "Cold Range", and as they went through, the sign changed to "Hot Range".

The range door closed, and Gryzzk was given a face shield for his eyes. Then he looked at Brooks, who had similarly covered her eyes and was laying out several guns in short order. While he'd heard of and seen them in vids and newscasts, the idea of using one was foreign. On the positive side, he had found the source of that cloying metal smell. He was rather drawn to the guns in spite of himself, and some ancient portion of his mind woke and paced its cage.

Brooks growled at him, bringing his attention from the guns to her.

"If you're done ogling the goods, we'll get this started. Welcome to the firing line, rule one. You're on my range, as far as you're concerned I'm a pissed off Irish goddess who is here to beat the stupid out of you. You do what I say, when I say. Treat every one of these as if it's loaded at all times, and we'll be off on the right foot. You point these anywhere but downrange, you owe me pushups the first time, the second time I beat you unconscious, you wake up in the infirmary and after you can see straight again, you owe me pushups. We're going with the basics. 12 gauge shotgun, rifle, and pistol. These are training rounds - cheaper, but they kick and sound like the real thing. First, watch and learn. We're gonna start with iron sights because a baby crawls before it can walk." She promptly took a stance, wheeled and fired at little balls that appeared in the air. Five shots, five balls went from red to green. At the same time, her scent changed - it was hard to describe fully but a memory leaped to his mind of a predator in the wilds, hunting and hungry.

After that, it was apparently his turn. There was something...simple, primal in what he was doing, and the animal pacing its caged howled approval at what he was doing. As far as accuracy, he did not do nearly as well. At any of the weapons presented. He was horribly distracted by the acrid mint smell that seemed to be centered around Brooks' knee.

After finishing, he looked down at his feet. Whatever measurements were being taken, he had certainly not impressed. Despite that, after Brooks put everything in storage and secured it, she nodded with mild approval.

"Good news is, you got no bad habits. Bad news is, you got no good habits. We'll set you up with a short shotty, come back after lunch and we'll see how you can do."

"Apologies, First Sergeant. I was distracted. Your, ah, knee. There's something around it that, it was...sharp in my nose."

Brooks stopped short, considering. "Huh. Dismissed, the Lieutenants got your stuff. Get dressed for real now."

Ten minutes later, the only thing preventing Gryzzk from feeling true shame was the face that everyone else in the room was dressed the same. Helmet, armor that was scales of hard material that seemed to float on a sea of thin gel, and extra padding for his knees, shulders, and neck. It was at least comfortable.

Muranaga nodded. "Whatcha think, Top?"

Brooks chuffed a soft approval. "I think he looks like a [bzzt] clownshow. Just like every other [bzz] recruit who walks in here and signs up thinking money and cool toys."

Muranaga shrugged. "Get him home safe?"

Brooks snorted. "That's a you problem, LT. He'll do as an observer. Now if you don't need us for anything else, we'll be prepping everyones' loadouts and staging them in quarters."

There was a slight thump as inertia changed slightly and everyone rocked back and forth a bit. Muranaga paused. "We're out of R-space a day early."

A double-chime sounded from the ships' speakers, and the voice of Major Williams came over. "Bulldogs. We have arrived at our destination. We are in Hurdop space, so we'll be making a silent run to Teegarden B. Fore and aft boarding parties make ready."

The bridge was a flurry of activity as fixes were taken and position confirmed. Major Williams tapped the communicator button off.

"Alright, helm - plot a course to Teegarden B, minimum fuel expenditure. I want us silent as much as possible. Sparks, two people on comms at all times, anyone that contacts us you advise them we're on contract and that firing on us will result in their ship being disabled, boarded, assessed and placed in a parking orbit for later towing and subsequent sale." Then he muttered to nobody in particular. "I've got a bad feeling about this."