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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Auggy74 on 2024-10-30 06:06:28+00:00.

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Authors’ Note: I can’t count.

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Homeplate, 7th Space Cavalry Legal Office

The office was well-lit, with three older Terrans in the traditional uniform of the legal profession - charcoal-gray suits, bright white shirts, and a dark blue tie. The three were looking at the holoscreens of three other individuals; small nameplates over each of them identified the Throne of both Vilantia and Hurdop as well as a representative of the Collective Interplanetary Diplomatic Corps. The Collective Diplomatic Adjutant was speaking in a flat monotone - a result of the translator dealing with a crustacean species.

“…This is a most unusual request, and the Diplomatic Corps will require extensive time to ensure the agreement is fair to all sides.” The representative was moving slowly through the documents.

The lead lawyer for the Terrans then spoke. “We do understand the nature of the request. Due to the exceptional nature of the current situation and to avoid the impending economic and social upset that the Councils’ own predictive models have shown to have a 95% chance of coming to pass, my clients would like to jointly invoke Amendment 8, Article 5, Section A, Paragraph 8, clause B of the Collective Interplanetary Governance Charter which states that third party arbitration can be agreed upon and acted upon as if it were a binding ruling of the Collective Interplanetary Governance Council.”

A full hour and a half passed while the Adjutant perused and considered the relevant clause. “This is acceptable. We will await your treaty document, and it will be enforced as a binding ruling, pending approval. Any amendments the Council submits must be countered or accepted within one standard year.”

The Terrans nodded, and the Hurdop and Vilantian representatives lifted their heads slightly to show agreement. “Our thanks, Adjutant.”

Another thirty minutes passed before the adjutant spoke again. “The hearing is now adjourned.” And a few minutes later the Adjutant closed the transmission.

The Terran leader seemed unfazed by the glacial pace of the adjutant. “Now then, Thrones – you have the documents in front of you, and we will reconvene in a week. If you or your councilors have questions in the interim feel free to inquire with us directly.”

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Terran Mercenary Ship “Voided Warranty”

Gretzky and Anagram walked to their quarters, with Hoot looking at the ship interior with wide eyes. Ensign Tabby trundled slowly down the hall with Jones proudly riding on top, as they were the masters of the ship, no matter what it said on the organizational structure. Hoots’ eyes went wide as she hopped up and down and pointed.

“Papa-Gryzzk. What!?”

Gryzzk looked carefully. “That is a Jones and a Stabby. They are here to make the crew happy.”

“Very important?”

“Very important.” Gryzzk nodded solemnly.

Nhoot had a look of entrancement on her face as the pair approached slowly, sniffing the air slowly and deeply. When they were close enough, Jonesy sniffed back, finally inspecting and rubbing against Nhoot in order to claim Nhoot in some feline way. Gryzzk was also inspected and given some stamp of approval as Jonesy trotted off to resume patrolling with Stabby.

“They smell funny. But I like Jonesy.”

Gryzzk chuckled. “They seem to like you. I think.” They continued along and finally got the door opened to Muranagas’ room.

Inside was a slightly different scene, as someone had been busy with whatever printer it was that made the uniforms. Several uniforms were present for Gryzzk with the Terran Foreign Legion logo in various styles and colors. A note said “pick one ship-wear, one physical training, and one combat.” Someone had done some work behind the scenes, as the clothing looked very close to Vilantian military wear, but with what would appeared to be Terran additions. The ship pants had multiple pockets and inserts for situations where the full armor was impractical. The physical training wear was gray and made of a highly breathable cloth. All of the uniforms had small attachment points for rank insignia and a print of his name. As he looked, he realized that most people on the ship mixed their pants and shirts depending on what was probably personal preference.

Muranaga nodded as Gryzzk selected the ones he preferred and sent the others to be recycled. He then tried them on and found that they were almost tailor-made for him. Apparently the data from the medical scan included clothing information.

Muranaga pointed to the chow printer. “If you need extras, you can use the chow printer to make a new shirt – Foreign Legion Two. It can print most things, but about ninety percent of what the grunts use it for is food. No booze or drugs.”

There was a long pause while Gryzzk smoothed his shirt. “Can it reproduce seasonings?”

“What, like food? Yeah. Just gotta have a sample for it to copy.”

Gryzzk quickly went into his luggage and retrieved his small spice box that he had brought with him and began working the controls. After a few minutes, the system requested he clear the area. A short time after that the seasonings he’d placed in were reproduced with near perfection. It was amazing – things that took weeks to harvest and prepare were ready in very short order. He sniffed and had mixed feelings. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t too far off. It seemed to be useful to a point.

Muranaga smirked. “It’s decent, but not perfect. That’s the other reason we mostly hit the chow hall - Cookie does it better. Anyway, get your rank on, we gotta head to the officers’ meeting. Also, your rank doubles as a comlink, so if you feel it buzz you’ve got a message coming about a second later.”

Gryzzk nodded as he made the proper attachment to his t-shirt, and they headed to the bridge. As they entered, he looked around for the proper conference area and entered.

The area was a bit crowded as the meeting included every officer on the ship. Most of them Gryzzk hadn’t met, however it seemed he was easily recognized, and it was only partially because he was in a purple outfit. At the head of the table was the Major, looking fairly pleased. There was a spontaneous measure of clapping that the Major allowed for several minutes.

Finally with a rap on the table, Major Williams got the attention of the officers. “Alright. We have two orders of business. First is that we’ve got an angel on our shoulder because we’ve got a list of all the ships that departed port with a potential of having Captain Gryzzks’ wife and child. Alpha Company will be accompanying us to one, and Charlie and Delta will be taking the other. What we’re looking for is a female Vilantian, about a meter and a half tall, late stages of pregnancy. If she’s not on those ships, our next location is going to be Ricks’. Not a social call. The thing going against us is that we are probably in a race. First Sergeant Brooks, bless her heart, probably earned us a solid enemy back on Vilantia. Not to say the sunnovabitch didn’t have it coming, but he’s gonna have blood in his eye as soon as he can walk without an icepack on his cojones.” There was a pause. “To answer the question I know you’re all dying to ask, we do not have stills of the event. That said there will be an optional viewing of the shuttles’ external feeds immediately after this meeting. Now to item two on the agenda. As you’ve noticed, we have a new officer on board; Brevet Captain Gryzzk. We’re spinning up a new company; our current recruiting targets are Vilantians and Hurdop - the initial table of organization calls for twenty-five percent Terran personnel, and then of the rest I want to try for a 50/50 split. There’s gonna be enough problems at the outset - the expectation from each of you is to assist Captain Gryzzk as much as you can. Captain Gryzzk’s gonna raid your teams, but don’t get boo-boo faced. If we get the full go, he’s gonna be taking from all the Companies to form this up. What that means for you is if you meet a Vilantian or a Hurdop, ask 'em if they’ve got a job. I they don’t, set up an appointment with the captain. If they do, hard sell and set it up. We got a lot of empty files and a lot of jobs. I want this this go well, because if it does, we got a hell of a leg up on every other merc company that’s looking to expand the ops sphere. And if this works, everyone gets a bank account that’s nice and fat. Any questions?”

One of the other captains flicked a finger up. “So yeah, we know what they look like, same pitch for both?”

Major Williams shook his head. “Negative. The Hurdop have been pretty heavily into piracy - give 'em the pitch you’d give a pirate or other thief. Vilantians are proud, lean into that. Hint that the Hurdop could be better off, that kinda jazz.” Major Williams looked around. “Sparks, before we hit R-space see if you can pull the feeds of the Throne-Heir coming out of our shuttle. We’ll get some nice ad copy from those. Now, of there are no other questions?”

There were none, and with that the room dimmed slightly and a very high-resolution video began to play. It started with Gryzzk talking to Lord A’Kifab, and then there was a quick pan and zoom to the Great Lord snarling and then contorting with an expres…

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