Humans for Hire

The next morning was memorable, but at the same time a blur as Gryzzks' essentials were packed for a long trip. Hygiene sprays and tools, clothes, a spare ocular/audio translation unit, an emergency credchip and beacon, and a few momentos of home - spice cubes, photodisks, and a lock of his clan-fur. It was pleasing to see that his skills allowed him to prioritize the barest of essentials for his trip with the Terrans. It was less pleasing to see that the essentials were small enough for him to pack into a volume that fit easily under his arm. He'd been given directions, and after a teary goodbye with his close-clan he was allowed the use of his lords' transport to the shuttleport where the Bravo Bulldogs Company would take him to their homeship, and then on to the mission - retrieving the Throne-Heir of Vilantia from the Hurdops. He'd read the briefing on their hirelings, but reading wasn't meeting and he was left with a sense of unease.

The group meeting him smelled familiar; his nose wrinkled a bit at the memory of Ricks' Bar, but he was able to keep the rest of his face stilled. While they were all of different sizes and colors, the Terrans had similar insignia on their chest of a single dark bar arranged vertically, while one of them had two bars in the same orientation. He appeared to be the leader, as when he spoke the rest of the group straightened to a rigid formal position. The two-barred one was half again his height with a barreled chest and demeanor that reminded him of his lord. Gryzzk offered his hand with a stoic face, remembering that this was proper custom. The man took it, his hand engulfing Gryzzks' with ease. The hand was surprisingly rough to the touch, but didn't apply much pressure before release.

"Captain Ericsson, leader of first platoon, recon. Squad leaders - Lieutenant Muranaga, Harris, Czeplewski, and Jenkins. We're to escort you to our ship." And then he did something both unexpected and not by leaning in and inhaling deeply at the nape of Gryzzks' neck. Gryzzk reflexively returned the gesture, surprised that hirelings had been coached on Vilantian greetings. After that each of the lieutenants shook and sniffed, and he was escorted to a weathered shuttlecraft. Harris and Ericsson went forward to take the piloting seats while the others settled in as passengers with a practiced ease.

The launch was surprisingly gentle, and as they broke through the clouds to the stars, they made their way to low orbit and subsequently the shuttle pointed to an asteroid. Gryzzk kept his fear from his face with effort, but he hoped his companions didn't have keen noses. Gryzzks' next surprise was when the shuttle twisted and dove to a crater, which blossomed into a well-lit airlock with multiple shuttles and docking tubes. There were Terrans moving about even as their shuttle wound down. Once the docking sequence completed, everyone disembarked and went through the transport tube to another wider area. The whole affair was confusing until he saw the Major standing at the entrance.

"Gryzzk. Major Thompson welcomes you aboard the Bravo Bulldogs ship, the Voided Warranty. We'll be underway shortly, as the initial payment has been deposited. We'll be at relativistic speed for about a week, however we will have to print armor for you. In the meantime, you'll be berthed with Lieutenant Muranaga. If you have any questions or concerns, please direct them first to the lieutenant, and then to Captain Ericsson." He then turned and raised his voice for everyone to hear. "Bulldogs! We're off the chain!" This seemed to be some sort of signal as the entire bay replied in kind with "Woof Woof!"

The walk to his temporary quarters was silent - Muranaga seemed to prefer silence, and the scents of the ship were unique, and for Gryzzk to process them was a trying task. Metals, plastics, oils, cleaning agents and cloth all fought for supremacy before they finally arrived at a door that Muranaga opened with a palm. The door swung upward, revealing a room that was softly lit and cluttered with memorabilia on one side, but the other side was clean of all markings. With a wave to Gryzzk, Muranaga indicated that the clean side was his. The room itself seemed fairly self-contained but much higher than Gryzzk was used to, but he reminded himself that the ship was built for Terrans, who were from a lower gravity world than his and thus taller in stature. The scent of the room was much gentler than the outside, with a small device blowing small amounts of a pleasant vapor upward.

"It's called patchouli." Muranaga made his voice known. It was a breeze on the wind, at odds with other loud and rough Terran voices he'd heard thus far. Even the Majors smooth voice had an undeniable volume at every opportunity.

"Hm?"

"Patchouli. It's a plant. Smells better than the outside, anyway." Muranaga was undressing and changing his shirt to a different one - this one similar to the Majors' from last night, with the animal and the strange lettering. After he put his shirt on, he re-affixed his rank insignia to his sleeve and tapped it.

"Er, Lieutenant Muranaga. If I may, what does your shirt signify?"

Muranaga seemed caught aback for a moment. "Oh. It's a bulldog. Terran animal, we keep them as pets."

"Ah. The symbols? My translator is failing to understand it."

"You mean 'Omnia possum explicare'? It's an old language, called Latin. It's sort of the language for lawyers and scholars. It roughly translates to 'I can explain everything.' It's the company motto."

"That seems a very odd motto."

There was a smirk. "Not all of our jobs are straightforward. Anyway, quick tour." Muranaga pointed at each area as he described it, "Latrine and shower all in one - close the curtain, pull the bowl down, do what you gotta do and then lift it up. Shower, pull the knob to start it, twist left for cold, right for hot. You get 5 minutes of shower time a day, then it cuts off and you get 10 minutes of air to dry. Normally it's 3 and 5, but since you got more fur to deal with the Major cut you some slack." Then he indicated the smaller cubbyhole on the other side. "Chow printer. If the mess hall's closed and you're starving, you get basic stuff here. It's been programmed with a variety of stuff, but it's all the same base proteins and whatever. The only real difference is texture and flavor. Don't ask where the base proteins come from."

Gryzzk nodded assent as Muranaga pointed out the last few areas. "Bunk and storage, you've already figured out. If you need medical, flip the cover and hit the red button. The dial's for gravity control, the ship's at Terran standard which is like two Gal-G's, but I think your homeworld is three, yeah? So you feel light or something, pop to the bunk and move the dial until you feel normal. Blue light there shows where it ends. Desk and tablet there are yours, it's been tuned to Vilantian so you can ask it anything and you should get a response. In an emergency this is also our escape pod, so if you hear abandon ship, you get here as quick as you can. Any questions?"

So many questions filled Gryzzks' head as he blinked his three eyepairs individually. Finally the first one came out. "Why were you assigned to escort me?"

"Oh. Your escort was chosen because we were the only four officers out of the dozen in the company complement who saw a picture of you and didn't squee 'Puppy!' right off the hop. It helped that we'd met you and your boss bought us all a beer last night."

There was a pause, remembering. "Oh. Does everything remind you of a puppy?"

"Only things that are puppy-shaped. Which, no offense, you kinda are. The six eyes are different though."

There was another long thought from Gryzzk. "Are you available for a tour of the rest of the ship?"

Muranaga nodded. "Yep. My ship job is to stay out of the way. Dirtside though, I'm part of the recon team."

"Recon?"

"Mm-hm. We move, report what we see, and move on. If there's a target of opportunity, we report, kill it, and then move on."

Gryzzk stopped himself, a new question forming. Muranaga waited. Not quite patiently, as his odor became sharper. Finally the question came out. "You. The ones I've met, you all seem quite capable of war, but I've never heard of Terrans waging war with another species. Why?"

There was a mild smirk. "We did. Once."

"Once?"

"Mm-hm. It was called the Contact War, and it was a few centuries ago. Part of the peace treaty that allowed us to join the Collective was that we wouldn't declare war, war wouldn't be declared on us, and we couldn't be hired on to fight war on a governments' behalf. The were a whole bunch of other concessions and whatnot, but that was the important part."

Gryzzk blinked. He'd never heard of a warlike species voluntarily not waging war. "But...why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you...not wage war? If it's what you're good at."

"War is only one thing we're good at. You notice how all the best trade routes are run by Terrans? Every year there's a new piece of Terran art that takes the Collective by storm? Heck, I've seen new buildings popping up that'd look right in line with some of our older buildings. Anyway, your ancestors and ours finally figured out the unique thing about Terrans - if someone declared war on us, we assumed it was our survival as a species at stake, and that the other side was putting the same wager on the table." Muranaga shrugged. "It's how we're wired. Fortunately we figured out how to talk with each other and everyone got a case of diplomacy real fast when we found out the Collective was trying to figure out where to put us in the pecking order, and the Collective found out we thought we were fighting to exist. Like, the collective was playing chess, and we were playing rock-paper-shotgun."

There was a pause. "I...I don't know how to respond."

Now it was Muranagas' turn to blink. "You're the Lead Servant, yeah?"

"Yes. I attend to my lords' every need from dawn to dark, arrange his schedule, and provide for his comfort. As my ancestors have done for his ancestors since the Great Civilization. He personally selected my mate, and our children will provide for his children unto the Final Darkness." Gryzzks' fur rippled with a small amount of pride at his family heritage.

"Huh." In that one word, Gryzzk felt horribly judged.

"My family has never needed to know history, or Terrans. This is a wholly unique situation for us, brought about by the war and this situation. If the Throne dies with no heir or heir-apparent, then our system, it changes. we will have no leader and in all likelihood our leader would become the Hurdop." Gryzzk paused. "It makes me uneasy."

"There's a line of succession, right Gryz?"

A pause before Gryzzk remembered that he had to nod, and not merely assent by scent. "There is, but I do not know it."

Muranaga scrunched his face slightly, scratching his rank insignia a few times. "Huh." And then he shrugged, apparently dismissing whatever thought was in his mind. "Anyway, let's get some chow and you can meet some more folks. C'mon, you're gonna love it. It's curry for lunch today."

"Er...what is...curry?" Gryzzk was suddenly glad his companion couldn't smell fear. Apparently.

"It's awesome. Spiced sauce, real-ish meat, and rice. My own family recipe." Muranaga responded with pride and popped the door.

There was a high pitched whine as soon as the door opened, and Muranaga hefted Gryzzk up as if he were a newborn before jumping to the side. Gryzzk looked around wildly for the source of the sound, to see a flat cylinder with a knife taped to it pass through the area he was just in, and said cylinder was being rapidly followed by an orange striped animal that he'd never seen, but was distinctly predatory from the way it was chasing the knife cylinder.

"That was not curry, was it?!" Vilantians had not chased prey for eons, and Gryzzk was not certain he would be up to that ancient task.

There was a small laugh from Muranaga. "Nah. Those are our morale officers. Ensign Stabby and Jonesy."

"I. I. I..."

"It's a Terran thing. Ancient tradition. We'll fill you in over chow. C'mon." Muranaga set Gryzzk down gently so that at least he didn't need to suffer further indignity to get to their meal.

In his office, the major was scowling. He backed up the recording taken by Muranagas' rank insignia, listening a few times to certain questions. Finally he pressed a button and growled.

"Sparks?"

"Sparks here sir."

"Tell engineering to drop out of R-speed, then drop a message bouy for Homeplate, message as follows: 'Stand up Alpha and Charlie Companies, alert to Legal - someone might be trying to use us to breach the Contact Armistice.' And tell engineering flank speed all the way to Teegarden B. If he cries about it, remind him he could always have a safe job teaching at MIT."

"Yessir." And then the comm light winked out, leaving the Major to brood about this newest job, and who was going to pay the bill once the job was done.