Vilantia Prime, Manse of Aa'Lafione

The Greatlord sat comfortably in his chair with a small pinch of wakeplant in the crook of his thumb in a room whose walls had never known lamplight. He brought the crushed leaves to his nose and took a measured inhalation; the scent was doubly pleasing - for one it was invigorating and as a secondary benefit it allowed him to be in the same room as the two Terrans. He'd rarely dealt with Terrans face to face but for some reason they found their own scents offensive and covered it up. The smart ones paid attention and minimized their usage of artificial scents around Vilantians.

The two in front of him were not smart. The woman talked too much, the man too little. Their scents were hidden under a miasma of some acrid horror that was probably pleasant to their weak noses. But the subject at hand was too tempting to simply dismiss them out of hand. But there were lingering questions to be asked.

"What you're saying seems foolish - he's had a taste of leadership, why would he give such a thing up?"

The woman moved herself about comfortably. "There is always an element of chance in these competitions, but we've been watching Gryzzk for several days, and we are...very observant. The key to this Gryzzk is his need to be led. What he speaks of is service. He may lead, but never for himself - it's always about someone else. If pressed hard enough I think he will fall into step. If presented with a visage of true leadership by someone who exudes your Clan Way from his very essence, he'll fall into line. His...clan? His clan will be yours - including that very large Sergeant. The company will fall in behind him because they follow him. Think of it - a company of warriors, and you at their head. They put aside this whimsy, and they won't need to learn things that are beyond them. That's what you're there for, isn't it? To do all the planning, the choosing, the thinking that they certainly can't do. Perhaps even your War Ministry will listen to you - they're led by a commoner now as well, aren't they?"

The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn. "They are."

"Should they be?"

"Of course not. The commons exist to be led. That is why they are the commons."

"Well then, a smart Lord would use this victory to show Vilantians what it means to be cultured. And that culture is of a species born to compete - to fight. You understand the common's need for spectacle - a dramatic entrance. He knows it too; that's why he did what he did in the war. That's why he answered the challenge the way he did." The woman leaned forward, earnest enthusiasm coloring her voice. "But you're better than him. You can do better. Because he has taken from you, and a thief never truly prospers."

"This is all well and good, but you haven't said what you want in exchange for telling me this."

"Well, what I want isn't important at the moment. But someday, I might ask for a favor. A piece of art for display where those who appreciate art can gaze upon it. Nothing too terribly taxing. All I would ask is that you say yes."

The Greatlord shifted slightly, taking another inhalation of wakeplant before considering. "Very well. I presume our business is concluded?"

"Of course. Thank you for your time, Greatlord." They exited, leaving the Greatlord to his thoughts.

The Terrans didn't speak until they were in the car, with their driver looking at them in the mirror.

"Gabe, I'm sorry we dragged you out on this trip - I'd hoped...seeing you would be good."

"I think Miss Delia, that your heart is in the right place."

"But you question my methods."

"Well, yes. Doing the same thing over and again while expecting different results is, a bit off."

Delia shifted in her seat, swiveling the topic slightly. "Did you see that hash of a press conference? That fool had to say something even through that screwed up jaw. He wants to beat Gryzzk and he wants to be seen doing it. The press statement was opening night, but that man is a full-tilt diva and he wants an audience. He wants a parade, he wants flowers, he wants a monument built to the skies with his name on it." She snorted indelicately. "If that's the sort of leadership they have, his daughter is far better off on New Casablanca."

"So what we're doing is..."

"...giving him a touch of confidence, and then we're giving him an audience."

Charles finally spoke. "You realize that if Jen...Chastity finds out - she'll think we meddled."

Delia glanced over as they drove through the landscaped countryside with workers trimming and caring for the trees. "And that is why I would rather she not find out."

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

As they entered the mess hall, Lodora had damped down the apprehension a bit, sniffing at the plants in their hydroponic containers. "These are...not all familiar."

Gryzzk nodded. "They're from all of our worlds - except Moncilat. We've got a few engineers trying to figure out how to make them grow in spite of the higher gravity here."

There was a blink. "But the Moncilat are...well, we never see their ambassador standing."

"That may be more out of diplomatic courtesy." Gryzzk nodded as Yomios and U'wekrupp made their way toward the minimal buffet-style selection available to the few still on the ship. Lodora was taken aback and it showed.

"She's so tall." There was a pause as Lodora re-calibrated to tactically ignore something she wasn't sure she was ready for. "I'm not entirely familiar with Moncilat, but...they smelled like a she."

Gryzzk gave her a soft smile. "Yes. According to her personnel file, Yomios is definitely a she." He flicked his eyes around for a moment. "You don't like the questions you're about to ask, do you."

Lodora swallowed. "They were required by the Ministry of Culture."

"Mmm. Hopefully it doesn't spoil a good meal." Gryzzk gave a look of understanding as they walked through the line with their respective trays.

Captain Wilson looked to be thrilled with the guests. "You gon' love this, Major." He then nodded to Lodora. "Ma'am."

As Gro'zel looked up with a pleading sort of expression, Captain Wilson gave a frown that only touched his face. "Button, you know you're not supposed to have more than one cookie."

Gro'zel put some extra plead into her pleading, all six of her eyes fixated on the cook. "But your cookies are so good..."

Gryzzk was amused as the company's Head Chef looked left, looked right, and slid two jelly cookies to Gro'zel, who promptly had an expression of victory on her face. She broke the cookie in half and slid it over to Lodora.

"You smell like you need a cookie." Gro'zel's voice was soft.

Lodora's soft chuckle put a slight dent in the impending tension. "Thank you."

Finally the group settled into the Commanders' table and seats were adjusted for height. The drones settled, their soft humming not menacing, but still something unusual enough that Gryzzk looked at them every few minutes.

The meal was extraordinary, the questions less so. It was about halfway through when Lodora slowed for a moment, moving pasta around with her fork.

"The chicken is...I can see why it is becoming a delicacy." Lodora glanced up, keeping one set of eyes on Gryzzk while the other two reflexively swiveled to look for danger. "It's amazing that Terrans can accomplish such things while also being responsible for the debris field that still orbits us. Do you find yourself afraid of the Terrans - of what they might do if you anger them?"

Gryzzk noted the change in tone and scent and paused before measuring his words. "The ones in my company? Never. Others? I have a healthy respect for them."

"But they do things so differently."

"I think that is what makes them special. They are tied by their desire, and they follow that desire with a whole heart. The ones in my company are here because they want to be here. The ones planetside are here because they want to be planetside - despite the consequences. Perhaps even because of the challenges posed by our planet."

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Lodora cocked her head. "Curious choice of words."

Gryzzk motioned with a hand to U'wekrupp and Yomios, who were deep in conversation and staring directly at each other to the exclusion of the rest of the universe. "Moncilat is a world with Collective-standard gravity, and it shows. The Terran homeworld has a much higher gravity, and Vilantia's is even higher. Overall, we keep the gravity on board at a midpoint between Terran and Vilantian, but even with that accommodation the Moncilat still undergo therapy and weekly examinations to ensure they are not harmed by simply walking to their duty station. I feel confident in saying that Terrans who stay on our world for extended periods would have to undergo similar treatments." Gryzzk paused for a moment. "I admire them. They have a will to do what we would not were the positions reversed."

Lodora considered with a bite of lunch, attempting to bridge her next question in smoothly. "They seem to have a will to fight - if the tale of your face is truthful."

Gryzzk's fur fluttered in embarrassment. "Well, that was a Vilantian fist. They spoke ill of Kiole, and several of the company took offense."

"But the Terrans were there."

"Of course they were. The company is on leave while our employer conducts business. Terrans find our wines to be quite palatable."

"Is this what you see as our collective fate? Vintners to Terra?"

"I think they will let us do as we choose - unless we choose to declare war upon them."

Lodora transitioned far too rapidly to her next question. "Ah, yes, the war - could you possibly describe what it felt like making war upon your fellow Vilantians?" The drones had moved so that her expression was unseen, but her face showed a professional pride at doing her job while simultaneously hating the question that spilled from her lips.

The silence was enormous, with Kiole reaching under the table to grasp Gryzzk's hand with a painfully tight grip to keep her anger in check.

"Papa was scared." Gro'zel had mostly finished eating, but was taking tiny nibbles of her half-cookie. Her voice was quiet as if she was revealing some important secret. "He was wearing his Big Armor and pretending he wasn't scared. I was in the quarters but I opened the door a little 'cause I wanted to peek."

Gro'zel put her cookie down to take a sip of juice. "Papa was scared, and then he stopped being scared, and then he was scared again when Clanmother's Curry got hurt and he almost hurt Rosie to get Jojorn and her crew to here where he could keep them safe. After that he was scared again and said stuff to the other ships and then he was strong. When it was over he had to go potty. But everyone else had to potty too."

She took a few more nibbles before speaking again. "But after that I dunno what happened because we went to the un-firm-ary and I made people happy there cause they were hurt and sad. But then they gave me a bunch of ribbons and said I was a Loo-tent-ant Junior Grade cause I did good things too when Papa did good things."

Kiole's grip relaxed, while Gryzzk kept his face as neutral as possible. "It is...much as my daughter says. I was frightened, because war is frightening. I made choices, as we all did that day. Whether those choices were good or ill is a decision for historians from the Ministry of Science to decide."

Lodora pressed to her next question unwillingly. "Do you think that gave you the right to decide the resting place of Cartre?"

Gryzzk looked down at his empty tray before looking up to speak not to Lodora, but to one of the drones that hovered near her. His voice was tight as he drained as much emotion as he could. "The actions taken by Cartre of Clan A'Gulus are what earned him his resting place. He saw a self-destruct mechanism. He read how to disable it, and did so. In doing so, he forfeited his own life so that we could all live. He told us not to save his life, because to do so would cost us ours."

Gryzzk swallowed, looking at his own empty glass for a moment before looking to the other drone. "This company owes Cartre a debt that we will not repay until we greet him in the afterlife to regale him with our own stories and tell him what his literacy and life purchased."

Lodora seemed skeptical of this. "But Clan A'Gulus cannot read, save for their noble household. The Lower Clans are lower..." her voice trailed off uncertainly.

Gryzzk's expression wasn't angry as he swiveled to regard Lodora. "Cannot or were never taught?" He tapped his rank in a pattern, even though he realized it was unnecessary. "Rosie? Please provide Lodora access to Cartre's training records. Then have Hoban prepare a shuttle - I'd like to continue this interview in another location. Send a message to Callioe that I'd like to see her if she has no other pressing engagements."

There was a pause. "Access granted; Hoban'll be up shortly - Miroka and him found a place that let them race groundcars. Looks like they found a common interest outside of their bunk. Carinda says they're not doing anything that's more important than a visit from you."

Gryzzk stood, carrying his tray to the recycler and disappearing briefly to the kitchen for a basket of extra food before leading them to the shuttle area.

Kiole's voice was soft as she spoke. "Rosie is on her best behavior, it seems."

"Howso?"

"She didn't call Lodora a titfucker once."

There was a brief pause while shuttleride was quick - almost as if Hoban was testing how much he could throw Lodora and her drones around. After one particularly insane maneuver Miroka swatted his arm and Hoban sheepishly flew in a much steadier pattern toward the A'Gulus localpad. From there it was a quick ride with Lodora receiving the bulk of the attention. It seemed that Gryzzk still had a ways to go before being more of a celebrity than a planetwide newscaster. Eventually they reached a slightly familiar apartment block and ascended the stairs again slowly before coming to a landing where Gryzzk was once again overshadowed by Lodora, who gently pressed her palm to offered sheets of paper.

As Gryzzk stood in front of the door, there was a moment's hesitation as memory surged forward like a thief with a cudgel. Finally he knocked.

The door was opened slowly out of habit before Carinda's face appeared. "Freelord. You really did show up."

"Indeed. I brought a few things, as well as...Lodora. I'd like you and your mother to speak honestly to her." He shifted slightly. "I brought some chicken and other things that Captain Wilson said would be good."

There was a slight smile. "Your apology is accepted, Freelord." Carinda turned and bellowed to the kitchen. "MA! Freelord's here!" Then she gestured with her head. "C'mon. You know where the seats are."

Gryzzk led them in - oddly, Lodora seemed to be the one most uneasy with the current location. They settled in various places with Gro'zel running through the house briefly and finding several children to introduce herself to and play with.

The apartment itself had some slight improvement - the couch had been refurbished, and a used holoprojector took up a small corner. Along with the framed letters and flags of condolence were other photos and shortvids that showed Carinda and her squad mugging and flexing for the camera, looking as though they were enjoying life in the moment.

Callioe emerged from the kitchen with several other older ladies with glasses of tea in hand. She looked better; her fur had grown, showing a gray pattern that had probably been a luxuriant brown in her youth if Callioe was anything to judge by. The conversation stilled for a moment as a mixture of scents replaced the jovial conversation. Callioe set her glass down to give first Gryzzk and then Kiole an embrace and sniff, with a delighted twinkle showing as Callioe scented the life within. Lodora was given a bit more distance with the sniff being one from afar. Finally she turned to look askance at Gryzzk.

"I suppose you want to show off an old woman then?"

Gryzzk brought the basket forward. "I wanted to...bring a gift to a woman who gave me a gift, and continues to give me things that are good." He nodded his head toward Carinda. "And if you wanted to answer some questions from Lodora, I would have a deep appreciation for your point of view."

From Lodora's posture and scent, Gryzzk had completely shifted the interview - she couldn't exactly ask whatever questions the Ministry of Culture had planted, so she was going to have to think on her feet. She settled, drones humming softly in the low silence broken only by children in another room.

For her part, Callioe was taking care of the basket first, putting the food away in the coldbox before coming back out with her tea - it was set on the low table, and she settled with a sheaf of papers placed in her lap. "I suppose you're here to ask about Cartre. He was my youngest son. He wasn't a good boy, not like Cupero. We had to discipline Cartre often - he never really accepted his place in the clan. Despite this, he stood straight as we gave his father to Mother Vilantia. He stood straight again when we did the same for his brother. After that, he became insolent. Sullen. He still did his work for the Throne City Sanitation Corps, and he never complained - but he wasn't like his father or brother. One night he didn't come home."

As Kiole took a seat on the couch next to her, Callioe paused before picking up the story. "A few weeks after that, the Reader came by with a letter - He and Dilmie had been picked up by the Ministry of Culture for littering, and were being shipped to a penal unit. The next day we found out the war was over. But no word of my son. The world didn't stop of course, and it some ways it was a relief. We only ate the Basic Ration Meal once a week. Time went by, and the reader came with another letter; that Cartre had been transferred from penal service to the Legion."

She then stood, handing Lodora a thin piece of paper with clumsy letters on it. "Then we received this, from the Reader. The first letters my child ever wrote. Saying that the Captain Gryzzk had given orders to his XO that he was to learn to read. He got better at it and when he came home for leave, he set up a dishwasher he bought with the money he'd earned in the War. Then sat and wrote his letters for us until his hand hurt. He wrote letters on the walls of his room. He even wrote letters on a mug, saying he and the others who couldn't read each took a turn writing letters on the Freelord's mug. For the first time I smelled pride coming from my son."

Lodora cleared her throat, keeping her tones professional. "Can I ask you about the first time you met the Freelord?"

Callioe's hands gripped the paper tightly for a moment before it was set aside. "You could ask him the same question, but since you asked me? He was grieving. He spoke his titles like an afterthought. He told me that my son was dead, and then he stepped back for Dilmie."

"He left?" Lodora seemed a bit confused.

"No. He stayed outside, with the...the Moncy-laht woman. While Dilmie told me what had happened, and how Cartre had died. That they'd informed Lord A'Gulus before they entered R-space to give him time to let me know. Send a letter to the Reader. But there was nothing from our Lord. He has my fur, and my loyalty to do what he asks. But I've never taken in his scent, nor the scent of his father before him."

Callioe looked around, a dull acceptance clouding her scent. "But after I'd cried into Dilmie's shoulder and beaten his shoulders, Gryzzk came back in. We spoke, and Carinda volunteered herself to take Cartre's place. Now my daughter learns to read. When she says she's trying to be as good as her brother, she speaks of Cartre, not Cupero."

"The next day at highsun, we gave him to the clan grove. It was warm. Strange. We were both mourning the loss of a son that day. That day I was hugged by so many Terrans - they didn't know me, they couldn't pronounce my name, but they knew sorrow. Even now sometimes there are small baskets left for us. Small things, pictures. I never catch them, but they let me know that Cartre is remembered. It makes his loss...bearable."

Lodora sensed that the time for leaving was nearing. "Is there anything more you'd like to say?"

Callioe paused, thinking. "I think that Vilantia would be better with more Freelords like Gryzzk."

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