Vilantia, Throne City, Royal Palace

The Throne had taken to fewer meetings with the full council and smaller, more personal meetings with a few ministers at a time. It seemed that more was accomplished, but the meetings were of necessity brief. Today in the Throne's study the group was the Ministers of Science, Culture, and Communication. Seated next to the Throne were the Consorts, who also acted as servants to the attendant Ministers and brought snacks and juice as needed. The topic of the day was interesting.

"So the question now would seem to be 'is it legal for them to do so', is it not?" The Throne read their tablet and then read it again, as the Consort Wife settled in with a hand on her stomach.

Minister Larine shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "The, the document appears to be legally sound. I received an addendum that a copy has also been delivered to the Hurdop." There was a pause. "It would seem that our nobles aren't the only ones catching the scent of credits coming from mercenary services and wanting to pounce upon the hindmost."

The Throne stood, seemingly pleased by this. "Well. We don't need to make a grand announcement regarding this." They glanced to the Minister of Communication. "Minister Aa'Criar, you will read this into the record at the next session of the House of Lords."

The minister frowned delicately. "This takes precedence over the other items of discussion?"

"It does, minister. Ensure that it is known before the end of the session. The nobles cannot attempt to reach into a fire to take what is not theirs and then cry ignorance when their hands are burned. The Minister of Trade advises that the mercenaries are sending the majority of their earnings to two places - here where it can be spent on things here, and the local bars on New Casablanca."

Minister Aa'Criar smiled faintly at a memory in spite of herself. "Without overstepping, perhaps the Minister should investigate the possibility of a majority stake in taverns that our people favor. The Terrans are quite capable consumers in that respect."

"Negotiations are underway, Minister. Your vote of confidence is appreciated." The Throne then swiveled to face the Minister of Science. "What news do we have from the Department of Antiquity?"

"The histories of A'kifab are quite focused. The majority of the times when Gryzzk's name appears are in support of a decision made by A'kifab. The anomalies are during the Collective Testing when the Fifth Gryzzk took up arms and killed three Helots before being overwhelmed, the Sixteenth Generation when the Gryzzk of that time left with a Freeclan and returned with two wives and a husband, and then in the famine of the Twentieth Generation when he left for the sea and returned with some manner of bounty that made the Twentieth A'kifab first among the local lords and vaulted the Gryzzk of that era to something of a celebrity among the commons. Beyond that, his name appears in tax rolls and typical government records."

"Is that unusual?"

There was a shrug. "It is never a servant's place to outshine their noble master."

"Mmm. Perhaps something new, then." The Throne then returned to the Minister of Communication. "Minister Aa'Criar, kindly bend your scribes to historical entertainments. Work with the Departments of Antiquity and Cultural Heritage to...create a Commoner Hero of the ages. Let them walk through history, parent to child and show them as a witness to history. Important, but unnoticed."

"To what end, my Throne?" Aa'Criar seemed intrigued by the assignment.

"That the commoners are just as capable of noble action as the nobles themselves."

"Will they believe it?"

"Eventually, yes. The commons have believed many things over the generations. Now we must make them believe anew. Now, if you will all excuse us...the Wife Consort is beginning to tire."

As the ministers left, the royals sank to their own cushions. Finally the Wife Consort spoke.

"My Throne. This ruse will not last."

"It will only have to last for half a year. But we must prepare and find a worthy family for the child you carry." The Throne placed a hand on their stomach and smiled ruefully. "Our husband performed his duties...too well, it would seem."

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

Gryzzk awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. In spite of all the events of the evening, he recalled it fondly, even the part where he had to pay to get his family back. It felt as if there had been an agreement made last night that held no words. A few in fact. He'd taken a few sample bottles of Kifab's rum for testing among the Terrans, and he knew just the group. But that would come later.

Currently as his mind took stock of the morning his first thought was that the bed was comfortable but a bit breezy somehow. His lowest eyepair opened to reveal that his blanket was not where it should be. His middle eyepair opened and swiveled, revealing a lump of blanket to his side. Finally he took a deep breath to take in the morning scents. Plants growing. Recirculated air from the ship. Kiole. This last one was the odd one out, and he sat up to see that his wife had shamelessly crawled into bed with him and stolen his blanket while they slept.

Gryzzk nudged the blanket, which produced a reaction of the blanket being drawn more tightly around Kiole as she gave a slight grunt at being disturbed. He got up with mild amusement at the scene before taking his morning shower and then taking a few extra minutes with his fur. He walked out of the shower area to see Kiole standing half-asleep but frowning.

"You should have wakened me."

"I tried, but someone is not a friend to the morning."

"I am so. I just need proper motivation."

"Such as?"

"Mmm. A shower with my husband or wife. Preferably both."

"Kiole, you do recall that I wanted to minimize the possibility of rumors."

Her reply was a dismissive wave as she dropped the blanket to reveal her normal nightwear of a t-shirt and underwear. "Naval regulations section seven, article one-two-three-nine; 'married individuals are to berth in the quarters of the seniormost when in port'. It's good for morale, legitimizes what's already going to happen and quite frankly if we were to sleep apart there would be rumors that one of us is faulty with respect to marital duty." There was a pause while the shower and dryer ran, and a few minutes later Kiole came out dressed for the day. "I for one will not stand for such insult."

Gryzzk glanced at the bed, emotions warring - Vilantian and Hurdop propriety seemed at odds with respect to this, it seemed. "Very well. But if this is to continue, you are required to provide your own blanket." He stepped over to the printer for his morning tea.

"But I like your blanket. It was like sleeping wrapped in love." Kiole's eyes looked up with the barest pout on her lips.

"A second blanket, then."

"Acceptable." Kiole moved to the printer, taking her morning tea - some manner of herbal blend. "Thirty-three generations, and hundreds before, and nobody thought to boil wakeplant leaves in water."

"Some things seem to take awhile to catch on, it seems." Gryzzk paused, the morning beginning to arrange itself. "Rosie, is Gro'zel awake?"

"Awake and talking to Jojorn." There was a pause. "She did eat a good breakfast."

"Very well. Your repair status?"

"Ninety percent complete. We cannibalized pieces from the Svitre's Vengeance and reshaped 'em to fit. It almost feels right, they did a proper coldweld to the superstructure with it. They wanted to use standard welds, but Patrick told them to fuck off with that mess after inspecting the general welding they do. The thing that's gonna bust your noodle is that the hull-piece we're borrowing has about six percent more hull strength. I've already put a note in the log that we replace the hull with Hurdop-sourced materials at our next full overhaul."

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"Very good. When will the repairs be ready for inspection?"

"Well, assuming you and Kiole can keep your hands out of each other's pants, after lunch."

"Quite possible. Time check for Free Throne City?"

"Midday, depending on your friends and drinking habits."

"I do have an appointment. If you could, send a message to the Wounded Greatlord, that..." Gryzzk paused. "That Freelady Kiole's husband Gryzzk is hoping to meet Captain Theran there to settle a debt that is owed, and that he hopes this evening would be good for Theran to arrive. Also advise that I'll be accompanied by a few thirsty Terrans who are happy to have a new experience with Hurdop drinks."

"Freelord Major, you are a devious son of a bitch."

"I am told that I am. So my schedule this morning is clear?"

"Delia is plotting to run into you at lunch."

"Of course she is." Gryzzk settled in his chair, with Kiole quickly following to settle in his lap. "I take it she has opinions?"

"Many." Rosie's tone indicated that she'd said all she wanted to.

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you, but it's fun to watch you squirm sometimes. Now if you don't mind, Patrick says he's found something interesting and you don't have anything to do until lunch. Try to act surprised when she shows up."

The rest of the morning was...contemplative, as Gryzzk and Kiole took the time to melt into each other and have conversations punctuated by the occasional flirtatious gesture that eventually led bedward for a different sort of conversation.

The mutual glow as the two went to the mess hall was not unnoticed, as Captain Wilson was stationed at the cooking area by himself with a pot of something that smelled enticing.

"Got some good good gumbo that's been simmering since we hit port Major, Corporal - " the chef paused as he saw the two of them being far closer than they normally were on the ship. "And you might could use a double-helping, yah?" He leaned in, his eyes and scent sparkling. "It's good to see you'uns like this. Makes me think I might find me a fine woman of my own."

Kiole smiled absently. "If word of your cooking spreads Captain, there may be no end to the number of Hurdop who find a Terran intriguing - as soon as you can make a properly spicy meal."

There was an eyebrow quirk. "Chall-awnge accepted."

The two settled at a random table when Delia and Charles came in, taking extra rice with the gumbo before they made a direct line to Gryzzk and Kiole. Delia's scent spiked with a brief fear before settling to something resolute, while Charles seemed more tired than anything. Delia began the conversation as if she hadn't interrupted anything.

"Well. I suppose I should thank you. After a fashion. I've found several things that I think will be pleasant to display. But really I must ask you what possessed you to think that an orphanage would be a place for art."

There was a shrug of sorts. "As I'm given to understand, art is born in youth."

"Supposedly. But art is born in children, and those at the orphanage - they're not children, they're undersized adults. To make things more difficult, they have some permanent obsession with food. And when I asked about it, they looked at me like I was the strange one. They're...there's no joy within them - their pictures, songs...angry. So angry at everything."

Kiole opened her mouth and then closed it again as Gryzzk spoke carefully. "So...precisely what is it that is required for art?"

There was a mild hand gesture. "Well, talent obviously. But talent needs time and practice, that's why we raised Chastity as we did. We made sure she had the ability to focus on her talents." She paused to arrange her thoughts as it appeared something had intruded. "It was not easy. I simply fail to understand how someone can expect a child to be an adult and grow up with a child's spark within them."

Gryzzk spread his hands. "Delia. Recall the conversation we had regarding what the Vilantian considers wealth. Replace literacy with food, and you have the situation on Hurdop." He nodded to Kiole. "She can speak to it more than I - I saw signs of it at the end of the war. She lived it."

Delia glanced and her scent was a frightened revulsion as she saw Kiole. "...Why? How?"

The reply began with a noncommittal shrug. "I suppose pride. It's been thirty-three generations since the Freedom Flight of the First Throne to Father Hurdop. In that time...It's been war, recovering from war, preparing for the next war. The few who knew how to farm guarded their secrets like a miser, passing them only on their deathbeds if at all because the ones who could farm were exempt from war. As far as we knew no other civilization cared enough to send aid." Kiole finished her gumbo, taking a piece of bread and wiping the bowl clean before popping it into her mouth and continuing.

"Now our citizens are learning that we can be part of something larger. That we can be...better."

"But what about art?" Delia seemed distraught - almost as if 'no art' was a more disastrous condition than 'no food'.

There was a second shrug. "I don't know art. I know what I like. We have movies, shows. Entertainments. The Clanlord Sighs trilogy is rather popular on the ship. Sergeant Reilly had an excellent analysis of it on the shipgrid."

Gryzzk cleared his throat. "In any event. We still have duties to attend. Thank you for the conversation, Delia, it was enlightening. I would recommend canvassing the Hurdop aboard ship for additional suggestions. The ship should be ready to leave port in two days."

Gryzzk made his way to the aft portion of the ship where Rosie and Chief Tucker were having a discussion.

"Microleaks all along the bottom, Big Sexy. I don't like it." Rosie was scowling at the tablet readout.

Tucker grunted softly. "So we run along the lower cargo hold with a welder and some sealant. I woulda preferred they did it right the first time, but for a one-day job it's not too bad."

Gryzzk glanced between the two. "Is this a problem I need to be aware of?"

Tucker nodded once. "Yeah, cause you're signing off on the cred transfer. Show 'em the problem, purple rose."

Rosie's image changed to show a display of the patch job, with a series of tiny dots along the bottom showing where the atmosphere was leaking out along the edges. "So the top and sides are solid, but they got lazy at the end. Contractors. It's not their ship, and the bonus offer was nice and fat."

"Worst case scenario?" Gryzzk looked at the holes carefully - they seemed to be worst right around the areas where the patch and superstructure were intersecting.

Tucker's opinion was detailed and disconcerting. "The patch blows out in R-space, ship vents about twenty percent of the atmo before autoseals kick in, more than a few funerals with no body to bury. Good news is we caught it, and a few of the boys are belowdecks checking for party favors before we patch their patch. Whatcha wanna do about it bossmang?"

Gryzzk considered briefly. "Deduct fifteen percent from the bonus as well as material and labor costs for the second patch. Don't skimp on the hazard pay. XO, investigate the contractor and everyone who worked on this, see if there's any connection with our current crew." He pointed at the failure points. "I would like to know if this was simply sloppy or malicious, and I would like to know before we hit R-space."

The two nodded acknowledgment leaving Gryzzk and Kiole alone for a few moments before there was a soft chime. Kiole looked at her tablet, with her scent shifting to surprise.

"Oh. The Hurdop Free Triangles would like to interview me."

"You speak as if I know who that is, love."

"It is the official military publication of the Ministry of Speech."

"Ah. When?"

"Well, now. They know we have several things to do here and it appear that someone managed to find my schedule."

Gryzzk chuffed amusement. "Once you find out how much they got paid, let me know."

"Are we considering another revenue source?"

"We are. Ship repairs are not cheap." Gryzzk nuzzled Kiole briefly. "Dress well and represent us. I'll be in the dayroom for a bit and then we'll...be talking to Theran. Hopefully."

They parted, with Gryzzk tapping his comm. "Bridge squad, report to the dayroom in ten minutes." From there, he went to his cabin and then subsequently aft with several undersized shot glasses.

The air within the dayroom was mostly curiosity. For the most part the squad was dressed casually, with the only real commonality being the bear-logo of the company somewhere on each individual outfit. O'Brien twigged to what was happening almost immediately as they filed in.

"So we're lab rats now, then?"

Gryzzk gave a thin smile. "Well, I prefer to think of it as a test of sorts. Lord - er...my former Lord is working on something and I thought it best to have some experts as well as those who are less used to the drinks of my people to render an opinion. The one on everyone's left is a milder version, while the one on the right is more adjusted to the palate of the Vilantian people."

Everyone sniffed at the first one, with Yomios and Miroka both taking small probes and dipping them into each shot before looking at their tablet to confirm they wouldn't be affected above and beyond the expected effects. Finally there was a collective nod and the mild version was tested and overall well-received. Then came the second one, with results being slightly different.

Larion had a simple opinion. "Vibrant, Freelord."

The Moncilat were nodding to each other before they rendered an opinion.

"Very strong. The flavoring's exquisite. But very strong." Miroka exhaled through her mouth and inhaled through her nose.

Yomios agreed. "I recommend we send a sample to the Moncilat Embassy on Terra; this is quite possibly an illegal fuel substance."

Among the Terrans, the reactions were a bit more vigorous.

"I had. I had tonsils this morning. Now they're gone." Reilly's face reddened as she gasped her opinion out.

Beads of sweat formed on Hoban's brow. "I'm giving this to the next pilot who hoses up a docking."

Laroy was standing straight and making an O with his mouth as he slowly inhaled air and exhaled fumes. "Hooo. This give Papaw's moonshine a run for the money. It'll lose, but it's a photo finish. While you're at it, keep this goodness outta Cap Wilson's way on account of he will find a way to cook with it."

"Ohhhh, you better not have anything planned for us tomorrow if we're doing more science, Major. This...this is gonna hurt come zero-dark-hundred." Edwards teetered on her feet slightly. "I think I'mma go tell people they're wrong on the Grid."

O'Brien's opinion was succinct as she closed her eyes before saying anything. "Lord Jesus Mary and Joseph send relief, for Lucifer has pissed hellfire down my throat and it stings."

Gryzzk noted the opinions and glanced around. "So having had one, would you drink another - and pay for it?"

Eight voices chorused back at him.

"Hell yeah, fuck yeah!"

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