Hurdop system

Theran was uncertain as the Clanfist emerged from R-space. He'd caught up on the events of Moncilat, and it had turned out much as he'd expected after his conversation with Prumila and Col'un. The ship had made a few salvage and supply runs between Hurdop and Terra - enough to put them in a position where they didn't have to ration for every meal. It was a strange sensation and certainly different from the previous life he'd led, and while he mourned the dead he still had the living to care for.

As they'd left Hurdop on their most recent run the sensors had picked up signals from familiar ships. There was debate among the crew and wives of the ship for their next move. Theran finally made the executive decision that they would at least attempt to sway their clanmates. Still, as R-space shifted to the stars and planets, a knot of sorts formed.

Theran clenched and unclenched his fists, looking at the flatscreen display showing the ships of his clanmates. Though it was quite possible that they would not think of themselves as such. Still, it was time to find out what the container held.

"Comm, hail the Relentless. Helm, all stop and plot an escape course."

The screen flickered to life, showing a face that was gaunt and angry as it spoke. "Unknown ship, this is Captain Folian of the Relentless. Kindly remove yourself from the area."

"Folian. I am pleased to see that you are alive."

"Who speaks with such familiarity? It cannot be Theran; Theran was wise and brave, doing his duty as a Freelord's Second. What I see before me stinks of cowardice and dishonor."

Theran's reply was cool. "Stand in the ashes of millions of dead souls from our wars and ask the ghosts if honor matters."

Folian was angrily silent as Theran continued. "We live where others did not - how did you escape, hm? What purpose do you cling to this fine day? The only difference I see is the timing of our departures."

"We live to avenge our fallen. Freelord Svitre lived and died as a Freelord should, protecting his clan. we honor that by destroying that which has declared war upon us."

"Folian, are you mad? Have you seen with your eyes? The Terrans gave me access to Freelord Gryzzk's data from the battle we both fled. Would you truly wish to see how Svitre greeted the dead gods?"

There was a mild sneer. "False recordings. They would have you believe a lie to hide themselves."

"To hide what, precisely? The Vilantian fleet is a husk courtesy of the Terrans. If they wished to set me upon a war trail, all they need do is ask. Instead, they ask me to haul cargoes, and all they demand in return is that the Youthfleet is fed. If it is dishonor to feed children, honor has no place on this ship or any I command."

"Then you refuse to join on this mission of honor?"

"You refuse to honor a superior foe. For that you and the rest of the ships will suffer." Theran glanced to the communications panel. "Send what we were given. If they watch it, a smart choice may be made. If they refuse, let them die in ignorance."

There was a reply from the comm station. "Sent, captain."

"Watch. Watch and learn. If you still think you're in the right of things, so be it. I will still greet you as a brother when I arrive to the dead god's care. One of us will monitor comms if you have any questions. Fly with the gods, friends."

The screen darkened, and Theran sat back heavily.

The comms officer looked over at him. "Captain, only two things need to happen for them to be safe. They have to watch, and they have to decide to not engage."

"I fear that may be two things too many. Send the report to the Ministry of Law - as well as to the Terran Skunkworks. Lay in course to Hurdop Prime, alert Youthfleet ships Forty-nine and Four-Eighty to prepare for longhaul resupply - their next jobs are going to take them to some Terran colonies."

___________

Vilantia Prime, Manse of Lady Ah'nuriel

Gryzzk settled to the table, feeling a touch awkward. Where normally he would have sat and taken his meal on a stool directly behind Lord A'Kifab, now he sat at Ah'nuriel's left hand across from Pafreet. The shape of the table had also changed - where before it was a rectangle of wood this was marbled stone and round in shape, with cleverly placed wedges that allowed for the table to be made smaller or larger as the affair demanded. The part that left Gryzzk happiest was the grav-lift that allowed a single servant to move the table.

The table conversation was brisk and by unspoken agreement devoid of any discussion of the challenge. Instead, there were several stories told by both the Hurdop and Common Representatives. They regaled the rest of the table with war stories where the war was a side note; Kiole and Jepora had been on opposite sides of several engagements. Somehow the time interval had brought humor to the situation; Kiole talked lightly about how one of the missile strikes from Jepora's ship had caused a utility closet to loose it's contents all over the deck, causing a hole that went through two decks before the mess could be neutralized - the result was until they'd made port the crew had a rapid descent platform despite their captain's strict instructions. On Jepora's side, he told of an incident wherein one of the plasma rounds from Kiole's ship had struck directly over the bridge while he was working on restoring communications, causing the power to go out briefly. Before the power was restored there was a humiliating incident, and after lights came back on the second officer declared with full sincerity that an investigation needed to be conducted immediately to find the honorless Hurdop spy who had defecated in the second officer's pants.

Similar stories were told and the lunch became more relaxed - Gryzzk was given a small measure of respectful grief from everyone due to the statue - it seemed as though the Ministry of War was bending their efforts to ensure that the Legion didn't turn it's attention (and more importantly the Legion's railgun batteries) on the rebuilding fleet.

Gryzzk cleared his throat softly. "I prefer to think of it as a statue honoring all of the soldiers who want nothing more than to come home to their families, and my look was chosen because it was...known."

Felgri exhaled amusement. "I cannot believe I have met the only Vilantian Freelord who does not wish a statue of himself."

Kiole leaned into Gryzzk as she spoke. "Respectfully Admiral, I think you've met the only Freelord currently on Vilantia."

Gryzzk shrugged. "I'm sure there are others at New Casablanca. Or will be soon."

"Forgive me, but it is rare that history remembers the second." Felgri's voice was mild. "On Hurdop, the Freelord straddles the gap between commoner and Lord - at times Freelords have been elevated to Lords proper, but not often. In any event, the title is yours so long as you maintain it."

After the lunch wound down, the guests left and items were unpacked, causing Gryzzk to look curiously at Ah'nuriel. She simply gestured toward the guest rooms.

"You are not going to be traipsing about tonight, Freelord. You will need to study and consider your words carefully. Clear your mind of the unessential and allow us to tend your other needs."

Gryzzk found himself alone with his tablet and several reference books, as well as a large pot of tea. He made precisely one attempt to confirm the ship was in order, only to have Rosie's image on the tablet swat the screen with a ruler and make angry XO noises at him. It was a bit concerning that the entire ship seemed to be moving themselves for his comfort, but then again they had stayed an extra day specifically for this. With that in mind, the only thing he could really do was study and gape when the older texts said something that dramatically conflicted with what he had learned. In addition to this, he familiarized himself again with laws concerning Hurdop, Terran, and Moncilat criminal treatment. With all this newfound knowledge, he felt more confident then he had been. But not entirely.

The rest of the day passed with Gryzzk almost failing to notice anything outside the guest room. There were meals and snacks; finally when it came time to sleep Gro'zel came in first for her story time, and then Kiole returned wearing her nightclothes. Said nightclothes turned out to be another of his old shirts that had been re-tasked to a formidable purpose. Unfortunately sleep did not come to Gryzzk easily, as thoughts intruded to leave him staring at the ceiling.

"Lady Warrior - what if I fail? What if this is for nothing, and Lomeia becomes sworn to a clan she has no desire to be a part of? Any Greatlord with an eye to advancement will take those sworn to me for their own trophy."

Kiole curled up into him, resting her head on his chest. "Rosie told me that the rest of the company is resting in the dayroom. Your daughter rests here where both she and her father were born. You have a wife at your side and your belly filled with a warm meal. The husband who takes Worry as his mistress will never know joy." She moved, nuzzling his ear as her hands danced about his torso. "I will eject that distasteful slut from our bed by any means necessary."

Kiole's words eased his mind. Somewhat. Enough to sleep, but not enough to dream peacefully - he saw a line of corpses forming before the dead gods as he sat at their mist-shrouded side, each one in turn pointing accusingly at him and listing his crimes against them before they left his nose. Freelord Svitre, Tebul and Benie, and a host of others each with gruesome wounds - those who had faces regarded his presence with disgust as they moved through to their afterlife. Through it all Gryzzk found himself unable to protest, to even speak in his defense.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Finally he woke with a start, eyes wide and looking wildly about for any sign of the gods or those he'd wronged. He saw only Kiole, straddling him over the blanket and keeping him pinned beneath it until he slowly stopped struggling.

"Where did we meet, Twilight Warrior?" Kiole's question was direct and serious, even as her nightshirt moved in ways that threatened to take his attention in other directions.

It took a few moments for him to respond. "At the orphanage - the Great Triangle, Hurdop. You were coming home from your job."

The answer seemed satisfactory enough, and she relaxed her grip to fall into him. "I'm sorry. But sometimes, nightmares may cause people to do things they would normally not. We learned how to manage such things in our training."

"Tell me there are other ways."

"Obviously, but they require time that we do not possess. Rest for a moment, and when you are ready we will wash the night from ourselves and find ourselves a breakfast for you."

Gryzzk still hadn't fully recovered from the night and his feet automatically took him on the path as if he'd slept in the room that was his as a Lead Servant. Reality hit him immediately before the wall did, and he stood rubbing his head as Kiole tried not to be amused.

"I promise I won't tell anyone tonight."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is a wholly different story. First, you need to win this day. Win the Challenges of Wisdom and Leadership - make the Challenge of Strength unneeded save to cement your glory. And don't forget your hat."

The day moved forward with Gryzzk in the drawing room. Gro'zel had tired of the old places and decided that she needed to help him with the last-minute items that needed attending.

"Papa, what's 'edit or ee alize' mean?"

"It means...someone putting their own opinion in place of another's."

"Why would they do that?" Gro'zel was frowning at the word.

"Because sometimes, words are uncomfortable. So different words are used with different meaning."

"But that doesn't make sense. It's like lying."

Gryzzk sighed softly. "I know. Tonight is going to be an uncomfortable night for Papa."

"Cause of all the people?"

"All the people and all the things I have to say."

"Don't use big words. They might edit-or-ee-alize what they don't like." Gro'zel clambered into his lap. "Cause Greatlord Aa'Lafione's still a dum-dum."

Gryzzk finally tired of reading, preferring to settle with Gro'zel for a moment. When his eyes opened again, he saw Glaico looking at him to advise that it was time to prepare for the challenge. Part of him wished he'd agreed to highsun, but that would have made last night intolerable instead of simply difficult. He kept his dress choices simple - instead of his normal purple, he selected a deep green vest over a white tunic, with dark gray pants that Kiole had insisted include the Hurdop bloodstripes. Gryzzk looked at her curiously.

"You go to war, husband. A warrior must be attired as such." Kiole's smile turned impish for a moment. "Though if I must speak the truth, I prefer you without pants." She swatted his rear playfully before darting out of his reach.

Dinner was earlier than usual, and a somewhat familiar meal awaited - Terran-style steak and eggs, which made Gryzzk laugh inwardly despite the gravity of the situation. After eating, Ah'nuriel and Pafreet took Kiole and Gro'zel on their shuttle to arrive early and ensure that things were in place. The news was on in the corner with low volume, and the local broadcast was full of anticipation for tonight's challenge, complete with drone-shots of the area around the ancient and revered Vilantianic Stadium. What was there was surprising, with a large number of Terrans outside in the car lot who appeared to have no regard for the historic significance of the site. There was cooking, music, and a generally festive atmosphere - Lodora was on-scene interviewing an exceptionally inebriated individual who had painted himself half-purple and half-red, with a crude representation of Gryzzk's clanmark in gold on his chest. Based on the uncensored portions of the interview, the individual seemed to have a high opinion of Gryzzk and his clan. Gryzzk paused eating for a moment to open a communications channel.

"You have reached Tucker's Psychic Hotline - we already know, that'll be seventy credits."

"Chief, kindly explain what is happening at Vilantianic Stadium."

There was a pause while his Chief Engineer looked. "That appears to be a Terran tailgate party. Nice. Oh wait. I'm just riding right past the part about what a tailgate is. Ancient tradition for sporting contests, events, what have you. Folks who got tickets and folks who don't gather, park and either watch or listen from outside, get sillyass drunk and eat food that's basically a coronary waiting to happen."

"I'll accept the explanation, kindly tell me why such an event is happening now."

"Have you been buried under a rock past couple days? Oh yeah wait you have been. Short version, Delia's been working the socials and pumping this thing up as every championship sports event ever with a side of fries. Everyone wants to see this, and there's gonna be at least once massive surprise happening come party time."

"Ah. Thank you. Rosie, please tell me where Sergeant Reilly is currently?"

Rosie's voice was amused. "Crowd-surfing near the entrance designated for you and your clan. She is currently missing half her clothes."

Gryzzk took a breath and released it slowly. "Is it bad that this knowledge puts me at ease somehow?"

"Not in the least. Hoban and Miroka are en route with your shuttle. Less talking, more getting dressed for the show you're about to put on, Freelord."

Gryzzk's shuttle came in and as most of the household was watching, Gryzzk was not exactly pleased to see that it had been repainted for the occasion. The main body had been redone in a deep sparkling purple and the sides being given a depiction of fire. He had about an hour and a half before twilight as Hoban hopped out of the shuttle.

"Hey Major, whaddya think? Von Dutch styyyle." He grinned and gestured.

Gryzzk wasn't sure how to respond. "Oh look everybody. Von Dutch. That is...interesting."

"Say your goodbyes and strap in, Major - got good news and bad news."

Gryzzk gave the household each a pleasant farewell nuzzle before boarding. "What's the bad news?"

Hoban spooled up the engines rapidly; Miroka seemed to have an excited nervousness about her as Hoban touched a few controls. "So the bad news is that Air Traffic Control gave us a flight plan that's just about three hours long. Which means you miss your own party. Now the good news is that Air Traffic Control has no jurisdiction over objects under twenty-five meters - so we'll be there with about ten minutes to spare. Unrelated, you did pee before you got onboard, right?"

"Captain Hoban it is an unspoken procedure that one always urinates prior to boarding a shuttle that you are flying. Must I write it down?" Gryzzk moved to his seat and began the process of strapping himself in, noting that there were several kegs stowed securely

"Nope, but I'm happy to hear that. Regulations require me to remind you that this is a non-smoking attack shuttle; if the outside starts smoking we probably won't live long enough to worry about it. Time to peel some paint."

Gryzzk was pressed back into his seat as he became cargo. Part of his mind noted dryly that Miroka was wearing gloves over her fingers, and he wasn't certain he wanted to ponder the significance of that as she looked at her tablet. He tapped his comm to listen in on their conversation - he didn't really want to say anything, as from his view what they were doing required both of them to concentrate fully. As he listened, it sounded like his translator had gone faulty.

"Drop five zappy, up six lawnmower, come left point seven, full send for ten." This continued for some time and Gryzzk finally made the connection that Miroka was giving instructions to Hoban as they flew under powerlines to then race just over trees, and she was picking a path through the forested areas toward Vilantianic Stadium at speeds that violated some law somewhere. Even if they were technically performing a legal action, there were several individuals within the various Ministries that would have no problem inventing a law that said what Hoban was doing was illegal.

Finally they were within easy sight of the stadium - the lights were already on, and Gryzzk could see a field of groundcars with lights on still making their way to join the innumerable ones already present.

Miroka's voice was slightly breathless as she spoke. "Merge to pattern, corkscrew and bleed, open channel to Air Traffic and ask for landing vectors. External speakers to AC/DC."

Hoban was casual as he spoke. "Vilantianic Tower, this is Indigo Rose on assigned flight path, requesting approach and landing vectors." Outside, Gryzzk could faintly hear some distinctly Terran music with the singer howling about a big gun - that was about all he could discern as events were moving rapidly and other individuals were talking.

Whoever was in the tower sounded surprised as they spoke. "Negative landing vector at this time Indigo Rose, flight pattern is full."

"Understood Tower, stand by." Gryzzk looked out at the open sky as Hoban promptly selected a new comm channel to talk to someone else. "Whiskey Rose this is Washout, Traffic Control is related to Gunners' Mate First Class Phillip Asshole."

To his mild surprise he heard Sergeant Major O'Brien on the comms. "Roger, understand that you are surrounded by Assholes. Popping red smoke, home in and hover."

Red smoke flared from a point to Gryzzk's right, and Hoban immediately dove for it with landing struts retracted as they hovered a few inches off the ground, allowing Gryzzk to unbuckle and stand. Hoban finally looked back. "FYI, we brought the Javelin. Just in case you need to make a point."

Miroka swatted Hoban. "That was a terrible pun, Post."

"There's been worse, Kitten. On the up side, looks like we got here just in the nick of time - what does that make us?"

"I believe Captain Hoban, it makes us Big Damn Heroes."

Gryzzk took the Javelin from it's location and made his way out, ensuring that it was in fact still sharp at both ends. As soon as he exited, he saw the rest of the bridge squad forming a protective circle around him - even Reilly, who had found her missing clothes (or borrowed some). As a group they quickly moved into the stadium itself while seating attachments were set on the shuttle and people began locking in and climbing on before the shuttle rose gracefully to a point directly outside the stadium so that the passengers could get a good view of the proceedings.

What happened next was a bit of a blur as Gryzzk was kept inside a small circle that moved directly toward the stage - this seemed to have been planned, as whoever was between the squad and stage was gently moved aside.

The stage itself was in the middle of the stadium, a raised platform slowly rotating to allow everyone a view of them. Greatlord Aa'Lafione was already there seated on a comfortable chair, the casual smugness that clung to him almost as well as his robes draining to angered surprise as he took stock of what was happening. Next to the Greatlord a large ceremonial dagger was planted in the table that held his refreshments. It looked to be the clanweapon of Aa'Lafione - elegant, deadly, and ancient. Behind him was his Second, and opposite her was Lady Ah'nuriel. At the very front were the Arbiters, each individually secluded so that they couldn't be overly swayed by their fellow judges.

As Gryzzk approached and made his way up to his own chair the entire stadium paused, then overwhelming majority of the upper bowl and a significant minority of the two lower bowls erupted into cheers for his presence. He walked to his table, nodding his thanks to the bridge squad who quickly moved to a spot near what appeared to be the totality of the company, less the flight crews. Gryzzk tapped for a channel to whisper urgently to Rosie as he walked though the crowd slowly.

"Why is Tucker here? He should be- "

"To quote the Chief, you are 'a braindead clusterfuck of an officer, but also my braindead clusterfuck of an officer.' That is a compliment, Freelord."

"Pass my gratitude to him for his presence. It is both welcome and unexpected." Gryzzk closed the channel and casually vaulted to the stage proper. He calmly regarded the Greatlord for a moment before slamming the buttend of the spear into the stage proper, where it shook for a moment, making the battle streamers dance.

"Twilight is upon us, and soon night must fall. Greatlord, speak your words and have them judged."

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