New Casablanca, Skunkworks Insurance Ltd

Among the many buildings of New Casablanca, one stood out by the simple fact that it didn't stand out; among the neon lights and bright holo-ads was a simple black granite building with a cartoon skunk etched above the doorway. The other thing that made it stand out was the size. With shops and carts crowded cheek-to-jowl, the building that occupied half a block was a thing that made people somewhat jealous.

Inside, a casual observer would have marveled at the austere black and silver-trimmed design while a native would have grumbled about the wasted space and energy costs - even though the lighting itself was an efficient, clean white. Visitors to the space felt a bit intimidated - it wasn't the norm for the city. Overall, the effect was completely intentional.

One of the many Agent Smiths employed by the company sat calmly in the small glass conference room with five Pavonians; physically the visitors resembled bipedal iguanas with wide set eyes, and shiny iridescent scales all along their bodies. Their clothing was similar, with scales of maroon overlapping to form a false-armor look that was unintentionally eye-catching, with embroidered scales to denote social as well as military rank. Smith glanced at his tablet for a moment.

"I can say that this is an unusual policy you've asked us to draft."

There was a collective blink. "Does this mean that you will not proceed?"

Agent Smith held up a hand to gently forestall further argument. "Unusual and impossible are two very different words. I fully understand your desire to observe the Terran Foreign Legion; they seem to have a unique ecosystem that is slowly being adopted by other companies. It certainly works, but at the same time it is foundationally a Terran thing."

"If two other species can adopt foundationally alien concepts, then we should be able to as well. Piracy within the system is increasing; we've set a blockade at the Draconis jump zone, but they have begun to enter from other systems."

"Well, that does seem the sensible option."

"Yes, but a temporary one at best - there is still sufficient space in space for them to operate. Their stratagem is barbaric. They refuse to answer the call to challenge. They attack and flee before the Righteous Pavonian Space Armada can dispense proper justice. Hence the Trade Guild has authorized monetary payment as appropriate."

"Shameful." Agent Smith shook his head sympathetically. "Well, we can arrange an initial meeting with monies being paid appropriately for the arrangement and subsequent carriage, as you can see. I look forward to seeing the Trade Guild recompense at the final agreement. If there are no objections...?"

The most highly adorned one stroked his neck-wattle for a moment. "I raise a point of concern. The clauses regarding disclosure - you would have us turn over our observations to you?"

"Well, there are several disclosure options, gentles - the partial disclosure clause is the most common, allowing you to select and withhold what is most secret while allowing us access to general observations and differentiations between species. Full disclosure and complete non-disclosure clauses are less popular as nobody likes to say everything, and saying nothing says quite a bit by itself don't you think?"

There was a moment of tongue-flicking among the Pavonians before they nodded and tapped to sign off on partial disclosure. "Now, where we may meet these Terran Foreign Legion?"

Agent Smith checked to confirm the payment had been delivered before speaking. "Well, currently they are celebrating their return from a successful mission - you'll want to go to the tavern district, and there find the bar called Sparrow's; the proper greeting to identify and advise Major Gryzzk that work is at hand is 'General Kenobi?' to which the proper response is 'Hello there.' You will likely find him in a booth with purple upholstery. Any other response means you are not talking to the correct individual. I will caution you - the Terran Foreign Legion has a collective habit of finding itself in unexpected situations, and it will require a mind free of preconceptions about...everything."

"Then this will be an opportunity." The quintet left, making flickering gestures of courtesy, heading for the tavern district.

___________

New Casablanca, Sparrow's Bar

Gryzzk wasn't the first to the bar - that honor went to the supply platoon; the family arrived with Grezzk being flanked by her spouses and found his supply captain shout-singing about rhyming and stealing in a drunken state while rocking rhymes all the way to hell's gate; as the company filed in, Gregg-Adams switched up a bit with a song that had a similar energy and was dedicated "to the Lords of Vilantia and Hurdop". The entire platoon got up on the slightly raised platform and started singing about a cult of personality. Gryzzk stood and marveled that as a group they weren't terrible, and then his stomach twisted a bit at the lyrics - verses about loving a ruler despite their exploitation, and how only you could set you free.

He was quite certain that if that song were to be released to Vilantian ears this decade the Ministry of Culture would arrest the entirety of Vilantia.

O'Brien and Colm made their way in along with the rest of the bridge squad - with it being their first official post-job party, the Moncilat were a bit taken aback; multiple holostills were taken of their dates with them. The one kindness was that they had been told the dress code was informal, and they seemed to have paid attention. Overall, the air was excited and festive.

Finally, O'Brien took the stage with her gavel, robes, and ridiculous crown of office and smacked the gavel down. "Hear yeee! Prepare your credsticks to pay the court treasurer Master Pintel" she waved imperiously at the stout Terran bartender, "and buy your fellow thick muppets a drink or two for your sins. And sins aplenty I have this night..."

Fines were doled out to the general amusement and occasional protests that were savagely overruled, with Gryzzk receiving several: encouraging Hoban to fly dick-first to the Vilantian surface, bitch-slapping a Greatlord without proper equipment to capture the moment ("The nex' time you do that ya fuckin' record it and share with the class!"), profanity unbecoming a commanding officer whilst on the bridge ("If all you're gonna do is say 'fuck' for five full minutes and make your fine wife get out of bed to reboot you, you do that in your own damned quarters!"), unauthorized falconry training, improper towing of a captured prize, stealing hearts on three planets without proper recompense for soiled undergarments, feeding the godless writers of Terran Hornywords, and worst of all - arriving late to Moncilat.

Decorum required that Gryzzk fight at least one charge. "I protest the last fine, your honor. I distinctly recall our late arrival being due to piracy and being proper hosts to our fellow mercenaries."

"Proper hosts break out a dollop o'whiskey for their fellow travelers, not god-forsaken strawberry milkshakes - objection overruled, pay Master Pintel your fines." There was a final thwack of the gavel to declare the matter settled.

Gryzzk had a properly chastised look that lasted right until the fine was deducted from his credstick, which resulted in a bell being rung four times to signify the number of rounds that were paid for. Gryzzk grabbed a pint of mead and hopped from barstool to bar to call the room to silence with a low howl that rose in pitch and ended with a light yip. The Vilantians and Hurdop quickly silenced and the slight winces from the Terrans reminded Gryzzk that he may have to modulate that for the next job. Even the bartenders were respectfully silent - though they did continue to pull the beertaps and line up drinks that they knew were favored and mutely doled them out to trays managed by the Hurdop and Vilantian waitstaff. As Gryzzk watched, one of the Vilantians seemed new somehow - aged, performing their duties with care, and yet somehow not quite familiar with some of the nuances of the job.

"Clan, I know that the last few weeks have resulted in a mighty need for all of you - but a few moments of your time before we scatter, please. Look about; everyone here whether on the ship or here at our home, gave us this victory. I am blessed by the light gods themselves to have such admirable individuals as my clanmates. Your success is my success, and my success is yours. It is our success that we celebrate this night." He raised his mug. "To you. And to many more nights like this."

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He had barely cleared the bar before Ragetti and Pintel started flinging the beers and drinks they had staged in a manner that only seemed casual; each mug, shot, and tumbler was sent down the bar with an artisan's touch as it stopped at the proper location. The holo-projectors arrayed about the bar had been loaded courtesy of Rosie and displayed the highlights of their job for the entertainment of all - one of the favorites was a cleaned-up security feed of O'Brien as she pummeled two bounty hunters while holding a full mug of ale, and then the subsequent breaking of a barstool by Laroy, while in the background Larion was latched onto and arm fully and shaking his head back and forth viciously. Larion received several calls of 'Chewie!' as his fur flared in embarrassment at his own uncontrolled moment of fury. He was not helped by the fact that his date for the night was in fact the third woman from the Wounded Greatlord on Hurdop, who was draped over him possessively.

Above the booth that had been all but officially designated as his was a holo playing a loop of Gro'zel, Kiole and Gryzzk's finest moments - the jousting, Kiole biting Gryzzk on the ear, Gro'zel encouraging Millennium to meet Jonesy, Kiole sitting on Gryzzk's tablet, and Gryzzk fighting Greatlord Aa'Lafione were only some of the highlights on display. As they settled into the booth that was mostly reserved for him and his wives a sense of ease filled his soul. The sound system had been switched from the live music to recorded music. The first track was the company at Vilantianic stadium singing what was rapidly being acknowledged as the company theme, which was a touch surprising as the gathered clan immediately took up the song - perhaps somewhat less in tune than the recording but no less enthusiastic.

Grezzk was moving her upper body to the song as her spouses added their voices to the chorus, and even softly sang the last chorus to the delight of the few within immediate earshot. Their hands were laced together on the table as they watched the room for a few moments before Grezzk leaned into Gryzzk's ear with a question in her scent.

"Have you tested Larion and the lady yet?"

Gryzzk shook his head. "They have a Hurdop relationship, it seems. I am uncertain if he is comfortable with it, but he seems to accept it. I will ensure he knows we are here for counsel if needed."

"What's her name? Or clan?"

Gryzzk leaned to look at Kiole questioningly, who gave a shrug. "I am uncertain. Her shoulders mark her as part of a minor noble clan, but beyond that, I would have to ask her directly." She indicated her own shoulders. "Commoner Warclan by birth, Freeclan by marriage. Nhoot is from a Commoner Spaceclan that I think may have been part of the Commerce Clans."

The evening continued, with members of the clan stopping by in various stages of sobriety to offer shoulder nuzzles and other endearments as they continued to simply sip at their drinks and content themselves with watching for a time. The music tempo seemed to slow for a time, and Gryzzk finally finished his mead and screwed up his own courage to look at his wives as he stood.

"Would, ah the two of you care to dance?"

Grezzk seemed almost surprised, explaining to Kiole. "Our husband is many things, but a dancer he is not."

Gryzzk huffed softly. "Neither are you, my twilight rose. My toes are prepared."

Whoever was controlling the music saw that the three of them had joined the dancers and promptly decided to swivel the music from energetic youth to a slower tempo more suited for romantic entanglement. The three of them moved in a way that was only slightly surprising to Gryzzk; Kiole and Gryzzk kept Grezzk in the middle as they laced their fingers together and began a slow gentle movement of three bodies twisting gently through a space, much to the delight of the watching clanmates - as the song played on, the three of them turned to put each one in the middle of the other two for a time. Gryzzk was unable to hide his delight as no foot went wrong, and no toe was trod upon by any of them. As Gryzzk looked around, he saw that Velons, Lomeia, and a pantsless Reilly were similarly engaged, along with several of the other married couples from the ship.

Finally the song ended and a much more upbeat song was played - it seemed as if Gregg-Adams had bribed someone for a song as a Terran voice demanded that the old records be taken off the shelf, and that modern music did not compare to the old time rock and roll.

Whatever that was.

Eventually they tired and moved back to their booth and settled with fruit juice - it seemed like the night was going well enough. The stream of clanmates coming by to mingle slowed somewhat, until finally he saw Edwards enjoying the night by herself with a fair number of empty glasses on the table she was occupying. Grezzk frowned, waving to call her over.

Edwards weaved her way through the crowd, settling in the booth with several shotglasses and a beer in her hands. "Ah...yes Mama?"

Grezzk put her chin in her hand, all six eyes fixed on the sergeant. "I do not see Andrighetto with you this night."

There was a casual shrug as Edwards flicked back a shot. "We broke up."

Gryzzk had a look on his face. "I'm sorry - was it. I don't mean to pry, but was it..."

"Friendly? Yeah friendly enough." Edwards waved off the question. "Reilly's the one with the explosive dramatic breakup kink. Or at least she was. I think she found her thing. But I did wanna talk to Papa for a sec about something."

Gryzzk cocked his head slightly. "Is this the right time?"

"Right enough, I guess. So we're gonna be in dock for a month and a half, yeah?"

"Approximately, yes. We have expansion plans."

Edwards nodded, taking a long drink from her beer and then hiccuping. "I wanna grease for OCS. It's a six week course usually but for me it'd be four cause I already got NCO quals. But I need a recommendation from my commanding officer and senior NCO."

"Do you require it immediately?"

Edwards frowned as she thought about it. "Well, tomorrow. Next cycle starts in two days."

"Well then. As it is not tomorrow, I suggest that you leave them be until tomorrow when we are both fit to conduct business. You may present yourself any time after ten in the morning. I will ensure that the Sergeant Major is present." Gryzzk leaned back. "Until then...enjoy the night."

Grezzk smiled softly as she leaned forward to whisper to Edwards. "I have been experimenting - I found a recipe called 'Dublin Coddle' that I believe she might enjoy."

"When you say it like that Mama, it sounds like a bribe."

"Consider it an enticement you can dangle in front of the Sergeant Major." Grezzk leaned into Kiole for a moment.

Edwards smirked before taking her leave, and the family spent a few moments luxuriating in the warmth and atmosphere.

The peaceful moment was somewhat broken by something of a disturbance as five individuals Gryzzk had never seen before strode through the crowd as if they were royalty. They were slightly taller than Gryzzk but not quite Terran-height and moved with a singular purpose - that purpose did not appear to be to find a drink. Kiole shook her head gently.

"...and we just got rid of Reilly's parents."

The five in question were a reptilian species covered in green cloth that looked like scales in some way - the two in front seemed to be the crowdbreakers for the three in the rear. They moved to the bar, and Pintel gave a simple point toward Gryzzk's table. They nodded curtly, moving through the crowd without apology and stood before Gryzzk. Gryzzk reflected for a moment at how events seemed to rhyme on New Casablanca as the two in front stepped to the side in order to allow the apparent leader to step forward and speak the magic words.

"General Kenobi?"

Gryzzk nodded casually, taking a sip from his mead to give himself a moment to discern their scents. It was nowhere near as familiar as the Terrans or Moncilat, which meant he would need to be cautious. "Hello there."

At the proper response, the individuals seemed to relax fractionally. There was still only one speaker, however. "I am Beshti, Glorious Leader of the Iridescent Star, joined to the Second Home Defense Fleet of the Righteous Pavonian Space Armada. Our Trade Guild - a non-governmental entity consisting of business interests wish to engage your services." The voice sounded high in pitch, however Gryzzk wasn't familiar enough with the species to determine if Beshti was male or female – or if those terms even applied.

It was time to barter. This was going to be interesting. "To what end?"

"We wish to place two observers within your ship company for the purpose of tactical study. Mulish and Glorious Second Philon are here and prepared for education." Beshti indicated each one with flicks of a pinky before stroking their neck folds in turn.

Gryzzk exhaled softly, wondering if it was finally time for him to discuss engaging Skunkworks for a potential customer alert. They seemed to know everything, and he was beginning to dislike random events. "I do not find the task distasteful, however compensation remains undisclosed for the moment."

One of the crowdbreakers produced a tablet containing the contractual details. Gryzzk frowned at the number, automatically deducting the current operating costs and finding a sizable difference. "Well, this amount would purchase their observation of a twenty-minute training exercise with our sister ship Stalwart Rose - however you would have to negotiate a separate contract with them."

Beshti harrumphed softly. "The Trade Guild seeks value in exchange for credits."

Gryzzk spread his hands genially. "Our value is in our uniqueness, Glorious Leader. Three species, four worlds - each with their own distinct cultural norms, and yet they mostly blend in harmony here. We share drink, meals, air. You wish to observe and learn, and we will endeavor to teach - but education comes with a price that is closer to this..." Gryzzk took a stylus from his pocket and scribbled a counter-offer that was a bit over the break-even point. "That sum will engage us for six weeks while we refit and oversee the expansion of the Legion, which will include several in-system exercises. If you wish to accompany us on our next job, we'll need to revisit this agreement."

There was a bare eyeblink at the revised number, and a slight uptilt indicate a smile. "The Trade Guild does like to pay little from their coffers."

Gryzzk smiled casually. "You've got a company of the Legion. However, there is another tradition that comes with our employ."

Beshti cocked his head. "Oh?"

"Yes. Your arrival here through my clan and company was...improper. It is ill fortune, and to reverse it requires an act of good fortune."

There was a flick and scent that seemed to be curiosity. "And what would that be?"

Gryzzk wriggled slightly, standing on the booth table to call out to everyone in earshot. "Howlers! Next round on these gentles!"

The scent that came from Beshti was quickly associated with surprise.

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