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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Auggy74 on 2024-10-17 14:37:06+00:00.

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The morning, such as it was, arrived with a little chirruping alarm stirring the three to wakefulness. Muranaga and Gryzzk were alert and awake almost immediately, while Nhoot was uncertainly stirring - the mood seemed a bit somber. Gryzzk had heard the door slide open in the middle of the evening, and saw two packages. One for him specifically, and one that was labeled breakfast.

Muranaga stretched a bit to get ready for the day. “Alright Gryz, we got one hour before assembly, 90 minutes we’re on the ground.” He then opened the box marked breakfast, passing the trays over to Gryzzk and Nhoot. Inside was a steaming tray of some sort of meat that looked well cooked, and two yellow circles surrounded by white along with something unknown. The aroma from the tray seemed a bit flat, as was the norm for Terran cuisine. He resolved to find a way to introduce the Terrans to food with taste.

Muranaga noted the hesitation from both Nhoot and Gryzzk. “Steak and eggs. Traditional breakfast for going into dangerous spots.”

Gryzzk nodded, trying to ignore the implication and ate quickly, thinking the thoughts that plagued anyone in a similar situation since the dawn of time. This was insane. He seemed to have been accepted to a degree, but at the same time he wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was a Lead Servant, trained since he could walk to anticipate his lords’ needs - sometimes even days in advance, as well as maintaining the household and keeping them to the highest standard. He started tapping his feet nervously and finally forced himself to pay attention to Nhoots’ meal, making sure that her medication was spread into the egg portion of her breakfast. Nhoot didn’t seem troubled, and made sure the tray was licked clean before sneaking it into her hammock with the others.

Muranaga had laid out his weapons kit, going through a little ritual of sorts. A small wristband, then the one-piece suit of underclothes. Over that went the pants and shirt that were more packets than anything else, and finally the armor proper. Gryzzk prepared himself similarly, and a bit more quickly then the first few times he’d tried it though Laroys’ gris-gris did not seem to want to stay in a comfortable position. Gryzzk secured Reillys’ emotional support shotgun to his leg last. When he was done he looked at the package that had arrived.

It was a replacement for his shotgun as well as a second piece of hardware that looked ancient - it resembled an ancient weapon from before the Great Civilization, a simple but brutish thing. He remembered the archaeologist talking about it, how the Wood-wise of old would search the trees and find the thickest branches and knots, and then carve them into a club with a heavy ball-shape on the end. This was similar in form, but it seemed that Terrans had put more into it. This was made of light metal with a weight of some sort that moved as it was swung. On the heavy end was a series of barbs, meant to bite into and rend flesh. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Muranaga glanced at Gryzzk as he looked it over. “That is the M-49 Close Defense Weapon. Though everyone who uses them consistently calls it The Learning Stick. You’ve been given one because someone looked over our reports and decided you need one.”

Gryzzk noticed that Muranaga had a weapon that was from the same family, but it was thinner and had an activation stud of some sort. After consideration, he decided that he didn’t want to know what exactly it was. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d like the answer.

There was a small card attached to it that read in a rough script “If you forget how to reload your shotgun, use this you thick muppet.” It was signed First Sergeant Brooks. Gryzzk paused, considering several things. First, that the ocular translator was having difficulty determining if “thick muppet” was an endearment or insult. Second was that First Sergeant Brooks would have made an excellent servant if she were Vilantian. He mutely showed Muranaga the card, cocking his head slightly.

Muranaga read it and smirked. “She likes you enough that she doesn’t want you dead. And she doesn’t want to fill out the paperwork to replace another shotgun.”

“Thick muppet?” Gryzzks question was obvious.

“Friendly insult.”

“How is an insult…never mind, we have things to attend.” The line of questioning could be satisfactorily answered once they were back in R-space and had time for long discussion, and presumably they would be able to move freely.

“We do.” Then Muranaga turned to Nhoot, placing a hand on her shoulder. Nhoot seemed untroubled by the Terran gesture.

Gryzzk took a knee to speak to Nhoot. “We’re going to have to go, but this is a safe place. We’ll be back as soon as we can, and then we’ll find out where you belong.” And then he briefly touched his nose to hers for an eternal moment.

“Papa-Gryzzk will be home soon. Miss Rhipl’i said so.” Nhoot stated this with the surety only a child could deliver.

Muranaga nodded, before turning to Gryzzk. “Helmet on - tac-data’s there for us. We’ve got an area layout, but nothing on the interior. Hopefully it’s a Vilantian storage unit.”

Gryzzk slipped his helmet on and the visor filled with an area display with several items being marked in red and yellow while an electronic voice chattered about what appeared to be dangerous things in red, and yellow marking potential entry points. Overall it seemed an old fortress from before the Great Civilization had been brought to this place and planted. Once the data had finished displaying, they removed their helmets and exited their quarters.

Their timing was good as the rest of the squad came jogging up with Roberts leading the way in the dim lighting of the hallway. They came to a clattering halt.

“Ready for inspection.”

“Outstanding sergeant.” Muranaga paused. “Alright, here’s the drill. Tac-data’s loaded, and I know you’ve read it at least once. Do it again on the way down. We’re headed for an area on the northern half of B. We’ll need to move fast, sweep the place, eliminate anything that looks hostile, and then we look for their Throne-heir. The heir will have a beacon for location, so watch for that ping. Visual matching will be performed, however most likely they’ll have their shoulders covered and no scars. We will have air support on station, but orbital bombardment is right out until the Heir is secured. The Heir is the priority, so until we find them or confirm that they’re not there we keep moving. And as a second reminder, weapons tight. We kill the heir - even accidentally, we cause an interplanetary incident and more importantly we don’t get paid. There’s a lot of unknown, but that’s why they send recon in first.” Muranaga walked up and down the line, looking for anything the sergeant might have missed. Finally satisfied, Muranaga nodded. “Bulldogs. Ready up.”

There was a chorus of growls and woofs from the squad, which died down after a period.

“Sergeant, lead 'em to the drop pod.”

Roberts nodded. “You heard the man. Let 'em know we’re coming.”

The squad broke into an odd march, stomping their feet twice, and then a handclap. And then the rhythm repeated, two stomps and a handclap. This repeated until Roberts and Laroy broke into a song of sorts. They were chastising a boy playing in the streets with mud on his face, declaring that he was a big disgrace by kicking a can all over the place. Then the entire group shouted some manner of…it sounded like a threat at least. Terran idiom was not translated cleanly. Then Reilly and Edwards sang a different verse, chastising a young-man-hard-man who was fighting in the streets and would take on the world some day. With blood on his face he was a big disgrace, waving his banner all over the place. Then they all returned to the threatening phrase, before the entire squad chastised an old-man-poor-man who was pleading with his eyes for some peace. Similar to the boy, there was mud on the old-man-poor-man’s face and it was declared that he would be put back into his place.

The singing stopped as they approached their launch craft and entered. There were multiple rows of seats, much like the shuttle he’d arrived on. That said, this one was crammed with consoles and what appeared to be weaponry controls. Much like the boarding sequence, there was no humor as everyone filed to their seat, leaving Gryzzk with a spot next to Laroy, who was inspecting an obscenely large rifle with a masters’ eye. Directly in front of them were Reilly and Edwards. The two of them were focused, tapping consoles and looking at displays before nodding. At the forefront were Roberts and Muranaga, going through some sort of checklist before launch. Once everyone was completed with their tasks, they secured their helmets. And waited.

During this, Gryzzk waited for Reilly to complete her tasks. Once completed, Gryzzk tapped her shoulder for attention to give her the loaned shotgun. She didn’t say anything as she secured it to its’ proper place in the small of her back, but Gryzzk smelled something he couldn’t discern from her. He was going to have to spend a lot of time sorting out what scent transferred to what emotion – as…

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1g5sdi7/humans_for_hire_part_10/