Hurdop Prime

Kifab had been somewhat busy of late. He and his fellow emissaries gathered together every few weeks to talk about what they'd learned and reminisce about old friends, old rivalries, and share what they'd learned about the quirks of Hurdop. It was at one of these meetings that he'd discovered that Hurdop's version of peltine was much heavier, thicker, and almost impossible to ferment into wine. Eterina had attempted to cheer him up by arranging a meeting with the second and thirdwives that had been selected for him previously.

It had not gone well - possibly as originally planned; Kifab's trust in his former Great Lord had withered to non-existence, and the knowledge that the Minister of Trade was still at large was concerning on several levels. Not the least of which was the possibility that the ex-minister could arrive on his doorstep to call upon old loyalty.

At the end of the meeting, the four had agreed to a unique sort of Hurdop relationship wherein Eterina would remain as his wife, and the other two would be consorts who would visit for the express purpose of creation. As it turned out, Damoine and Pevilo had much more in common with each other than Kifab; their husbands were old and unable to sire, and Kifab's entire purpose would have been to bring deep discord to otherwise content marriages. Kifab hadn't met their husbands - he wasn't certain if that was good or bad, but trusted his wife to navigate the strange fields that were Hurdop society better than he would.

He'd also been keeping up with his former servant, gleaning what he could from reports of the Foreign Legion - it was curious on several levels to read of what had been transpiring; the Hurdop press would always emphasize the Hurdop connections to the legion when talking about Gryzzk's exploits. Even there, he could read well enough to see some of the things that were being communicated by omission. Or it was also possible that the Hurdop press was simply wired to place their own first. Not unlike the Vilantian Ministry of Communication.

Still, he'd had time to think and read and research, and with a few more books he'd returned to the past-time that had made his family wealthy enough to become Lords and Ladies in the first place. He'd tried making brightwine, but it was a horrendous mess. Perhaps his old brewmaster could have done something, but the viscous liquid simply refused to turn properly no matter how he coaxed it. Then he saw a clipping of Gryzzk and his company drinking something from Terra. He'd never tried making more spirituous things - such harsh things were the province of the common folk and not fit for nobles. But what was he to Vilantia now except a commoner with a meaningless title?

So he'd bent himself to this new task, taking a shed and installing a few necessities for climate control and distilling, finally taking the necessary steps and making a small batch of something...new. He'd brought the result to Eterina, who had received it with a mixed reaction of recoiling at the potency and interest in the varied scents. A few of the servants had tried it and subsequently asked for a refill.

Kifab knew he had something, and so began to expand production - and he even had a name. Major Gryzzk's Rum was going to become something worthy of the name.

___________

Homeplate, Gryzzk's quarters

"No." Gryzzk's voice was flat - this had become an old argument in the past weeks, and it was wearying. He kept an arm around Nhoot as she guided her character through a gentle pasture to her farm where she was apparently making a large sum of money for whatever was being planted.

Kiole's face and scent redoubled. "Husband. We see what going out to these jobs does. We wake with you and then we go to the children and tell them it's okay. We make sure the twins are not disturbed when the dead gods howl with the voices of those you've killed. I am qualified. Why can I not go with you?"

"Because there is risk, lady warrior." Gryzzk had told them of what had happened his first night back, and since then Kiole had been insistent that Gryzzk accept her application. It hadn't been a pleasant night, and while the nights had become calmer as time went by, it was still a hard thing to experience.

Kiole's voice was cool as she pointed her half-arm at him. "I am aware, my twilight warrior. I have buried friends. Lovers. Do not forget you are not the only one in this family to deny the dead gods embrace."

Grezzk finally spoke, carrying the evening meal to the table before turning the diffusers to a calming scent. "Both of you, enough. If you are going to argue this again, argue it with full bellies. You both have made fine points." She pointed a serving ladle at them. "Now, we will eat and then we will find a meaningful peace under this roof. Tell Gro'zel it's time to eat."

Gryzzk kept Nhoot close as Kiole grumbled off, coming back with Gro'zel after a few minutes. Dinner was quiet, with Gro'zel and Grezzk keeping the discussion interesting - it was relieving to hear that their newer ventures were coming to life. Cultural lines within the company were slowly blurring, and those who stayed home while the ships were out doing jobs were finding ways to contribute. The company was becoming the foundation of an actual clan, and Gryzzk was becoming less anxious about the future - at least the long term.

The immediate future was different. After the dishes were cleared and sent to the recycler, the children were shoo'ed to their room so their parents could have Adult Talk.

Grezzk took charge. "So. The essence of this clan is choice. Kiole wants to make a choice, but the risk is deemed unacceptable. Speak."

Kiole curled up on the couch. "I was taught how to repair and clean weapons before I could read. I've been talking to Sergeant Wahlgren, and helping out where I can here with spares and extras. I can do this. When I saw First Sergeant Hikaru with his hand, we...I started making inquiries." Her eyes swiveled to look at both of them. "It is not so expensive. According to the doctor, the biggest challenge would be the fur. I told him it was optional."

Gryzzk kept his eyes down. "But that does not make you not pregnant. And things happen. Even our safe jobs are not safe. Plus, there is...there would be questions - if my decisions favored you. I would be a poor leader if that were to happen."

A soft voice came from the door to the children's room. "Papa..." Nhoot came into the room, dressed in her formal uniform. She clambered up to sit on Grezzk's lap. "You don't make sense Papa."

Gryzzk frowned. "I think I do."

"You don't Papa. I can go out with Miss XO Rosie and do things, and you protect me. Mama Kiole wants to get a special hand just so she can go with us and protect us." Nhoot leaned into Grezzk. "So if I can go, why can't she?"

Gryzzk didn't exactly have an answer for that. The more he considered it, the weaker his arguments sounded - even to himself. "Because...Mama Kiole has a child waiting to be born. I would not feel right if I didn't do things to protect her."

"But you can protect her on the ship, right?"

There was a nod from Gryzzk. "Yes."

"And we're not gonna have our new brother or sister for awhile, right?"

"Also yes."

Nhoot nodded firmly, scootching to settle carefully on Kiole's lap. "I'm gonna miss you when you're on the ship and I'm not."

Gryzzk scrunched uncomfortably. He wasn't entirely happy with what was in front of him, but the reality was that he couldn't control everything. Additionally, if he was being logical pregnancy was something he was going to have to start accounting for. Which meant expansion of personnel and removal from ship duty during the latter stages.

Finally he looked up to everyone else. "Very well, but there are going to be rules. You will only be on the ship for the first semester. After the first semester, you will be reassigned to duties at Homeplate. Agreed?"

Kiole nodded. "That is very similar to the Hurdop Navy policies. Where will my quarters be?"

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"You will be quartered with your squad. If you can pass the exams, you will be brought in as a corporal." Gryzzk forced himself to relax as he laid out what he could control. "I would like to keep any whispers regarding favoritism to a minimum, and that would not be helped by us sharing a bed on the ship."

Nhoot grinned brightly. "Okay! I'm gonna go play now." She gave a gentle forehead touch to all the adults before scampering to her room.

The room scent changed slightly. There was still worry, but at the same time it was a manageable worry. The discussion changed to duties and how things would run here while everyone was out. Kiole and Gryzzk both snuggled themselves into Grezzk and enjoyed the relative quiet as they watched a review of the latest from the mercenary world.

That evening Gryzzk's sleep was blissfully free from any nightmares.

In the morning, he dressed and started down to the ship, which was in the final stages of repair. The new standard-space engines were being tested and confirmed working, much to the pleasure of Chief Tucker and Rosie. Gryzzk wasn't speaking directly to Tucker, however. On the up side, Gryzzk was able to keep himself busy with doing all the little fiddly things that came with command. Personnel assignments, hiring, and ensuring that there were enough staff to take care of jobs that might come up.

There was quite a bit of that to do. It was a difficult task since he wanted to have a more personal touch with these things, but it seemed as if the sheer numbers involved almost prevented it. Instead, he focused on the things he could manage directly - today specifically was a day of ceremonies. The newest members of the second shift were being welcomed in the unofficial tradition. He'd asked O'Brien a few times about who she was training for Evening Tactical, and all she would reply was "Someone good."

Gryzzk rubbed his forehead a few times, looking over the list. The morning action consisted of relocating the ship to Rosie's normal berth, then giving the new hires the now-traditional welcome. If that went well, the second ceremony would begin. Gryzzk checked the time and realized he was going to be late. He shrugged on his formal uniforms and managed to get the spurs and hat set properly before heading to the climbing area.

As he approached, there were two groups left - the first was the new engineering group and Kiole. She'd insisted that she didn't need the artificial arm to climb the rope, and Gryzzk wasn't exactly in a position to argue - particularly since the last time they'd had rope-climbing fun he'd done it one-armed himself. Kiole was quite keen on proving that one arm was sufficient.

Gryzzk paused and tried to place a familiar scent. He shook his head a little, filing it for later as O'Brien gave the evening bridge team the standard greeting and didn't mention that Gryzzk was there. Finally the signal went and Gryzzk joined the bridge squad in their race to the top, hauling himself up rapidly and thankfully without incident. Although in this context "without incident" meant that he'd only taken two paintballs to the legs.

There were fistbumps all around as the Moncilat decided to defy the odds a bit and make their way up without falling - impressively, they'd managed to adapt well enough to the local gravity - though they did still require extensive downtime in their quarters.

O'Brien whistled for quiet. "Alright y'mad bunch of hooligans, we got one more item before we celebrate the new folk proper." She pointed toward the company-area dayroom, where Prumila and Col'un stood under an arch wearing traditional wedding attire. Mostly. Traditional attire was a green and gold robe, but they'd added purples and red edgings to their robes and tunics. The arch was also decorated with twilight roses and sigils from the clans that were part of the Legion. It seemed like the company was growing more and more comfortable with defying convention and making that defiance their own.

Gryzzk moved forward to play his part in this; as the lord or closest thing to it in the entirety of New Casablanca, his responsibility was to act as the Witness for the Gods. Typically this would have been someone from the Ministry of Culture or even a Minister themselves if someone was notable or fortunate enough. However the legion had been cursed with a distinct lack of culture, which meant that such officiant duties would fall to Gryzzk - this was also in keeping with Terran tradition, where as the captain of the vessel he was allowed to oversee weddings. He wasn't sure about Moncilat, but they seemed a bit more interested in finding a place to sit.

As he stood in the proper position, he took in the company and nodded approvingly. Col'un and Prumila took each other's hands and pressed their foreheads together before making quiet promises that only Gryzzk could hear but promises that the whole clan could smell - except the Terrans. As far as the more scent-sensitive species were concerned, hearing was secondary to the scent of the oath. And from Gryzzk's perspective, it was good.

Finally they hugged, and Gryzzk placed his oil-coated thumb on their foreheads and gave a soft ululating howl to the stars to let the gods know of something special - and with that the area broke into cheers along with a mad dash into the dayroom where there was food and drink laid out. Gryzzk had other priorities; as much as the food and drink was tempting he first moved to hug Kiole, who was still damp from her beer-bath after making her way to the top.

"You are prepared, love?"

Kiole nodded cheerfully before pressing her forehead to his. "The final fitting will be tomorrow. I will be ready, husband." It was a very strange sensation - part of Gryzzk still quailed at the thought of her being on the ship, but at the same time the argument had been settled. He circulated further, looking for O'Brien. He was quite interested in learning who she was approving for her evening support. He followed the scent to find O'Brien in deep conversation with evening support as they turned and Gryzzk finally put the scent to a face.

"Laroy!? But...what about Lieutenant Muranaga?"

The Cajun saluted crisply before he leaned back with an easy grin. "Major, sir. Funny story, after the Three-Day-Kerfluffle the Sakharov Enclave whistled up Sergeant Roberts and L'eten'et Muranaga and told them fellers they could have a big bag of money if they'd come run station security. I wasn't too keen on training another officer and someone had mentioned to me the range on the railguns one time." He shrugged. "I like shooting things far away so I got myself bridge-qualified. An'way, saw a thing on the board where the Sergeant Major was looking for gunners and here I is eating good food from Cap'n Wilson and sailing rounds from orbit if I get a chance."

Gryzzk looked to O'Brien, who gave a casual shrug as well as high praise. "He doesn't suck and he's a Corporal - his only real problem is the railguns." O'Brien shook her head. "Pretty sure I'll never in my life love a man the way he loves them slug-throwers. We'll have to make sure he knows plasma can be useful."

"I'm sure you'll be able to train him with respect to proper use of our weaponry."

"No fears there, Major."

Gryzzk smiled, feeling an unrecognizable knot dissipate as Edwards came by to give her new/old squadmate a hug and and bicep-flexing handshake. "Alexandre Babineaux Thibedeaux Laroy, you son of a bitch." The two flexed, almost arm wrestling from a standing position.

Laroy grinned. "What's the matter? Major got you pushing too many pencils?"

Edwards smirked. "Not hardly." The two went back and forth for a minute before Laroy finally gave in, slapping her shoulder gently.

Gryzzk backed up, letting the two catch up and reminisce as he watched Kiole from a distance while she joined the armory squad in congratulating Prumila and Col'un before recirculating to catch up with Reilly. Currently his comms chief was looking and smelling quite glum despite having Lomeia on her lap.

"Reilly, I'm not sure I've seen that look on your face before. Explain?"

"Yeah, well, couple things. Apparently the Minister of Culture think Lomeia's gotta come home. Minister Larine is trying to shore up her support with the nobles and thinks bringing Aa'Benie's wayward niece home is the best way to do that."

Lomeia looked up, apprehension deep within her. "Freelord, I should very much like to give my fur over to your keeping."

Gryzzk blinked, taking a knee. "Lomeia, this would be...it would have benefit, but I do not think your birth-clan would appreciate such a thing."

The reply was soft. "Freelord, my clan will be displeased by any action I take that is not coming home and marrying two of the clansworn." There was a pause. "One of them would be from Aa'Benie's sworn, and the other would be one of Larine's."

Gryzzk considered for a long moment. "Tomorrow, the newest of the clan will be giving their fur to ours. You have been known among the Clan?"

Lomeia nodded. "I have. I...have been working in the accounting and inventories, in preparation for Freelady Grezzk's newest venture."

"And they accept you?"

"As much as they can. It is...difficult."

"Worthy things are rarely easy. Earn their faith through what you say and do, and they may forget your heritage." Gryzzk ran his still-oiled thumb over Lomeia's forehead.

Reilly exhaled, running a hand through her freshly colored hair. "Well, that's one problem solved..."

"We have another problem, Sergeant?

Reilly sighed. "My parents have a contract for us. Of the 'pays too well to say no' variety."

"Elaborate, please."

"So I'm from Anchiano Colony. It's out in the Centauri cluster; basically it's the art museum for the Terran systems. The Contact War took out a lot of stuff, and when it was over the powers-that-were decided that something like that shouldn't happen again - so they took what could be salvaged and moved it offplanet, and anything that hits the culturally significant bar for art gets shipped there eventually. Lately though, they've been looking at Vilantia, Hurdop, and Moncilat. So that's the itinerary."

"And your parents?"

Reilly shrugged. "Basically they're art scouts. Mostly they travel to Terra and back, picking up art and bringing it to the colony for display. Sometimes they'll go to other systems where all hell's about to break loose and offer a safe repository for the statues and whatever else is movable and deemed irreplaceable."

"So where do we come in?"

"Two parts. One, we empty the cargo hold as much as we can because they're going to be renting it - and probably slap a couple extra cargo modules on. The colony is, uhm, disgustingly rich. Like, 'buy the 7th and turn it into a spaceball team' rich. We're going to pretty much be a cargo hauler for this job." Reilly's scent had turned morose and unhappy.

"And the second?"

"My parents are going to spend the entire trip badgering me to quit and come home." Reilly buried her face in Lomeia's shoulder. "So they can try to marry me off to some schmuck."

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