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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Auggy74 on 2024-12-03 16:14:33+00:00.

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Update: Awards?! Plural?? Holy heck, y’all seriously like these. I’m like…blown away. Seriously thank you all.

___________

Vilantia Prime, Palace of the Throne

Council meetings were becoming spirited of late. Now that the existential threat of war had been removed, the focus had shifted to growth and rebuilding. Not everyone was pleased by this, the Throne noted wryly to itself. They rapped a stone gavel against the table to bring a bit of order to the meeting before saying anything

“Ministers. History shows us that the generations before us know war and peace in cycles; but it is time to find a new way to build a peace that lasts. To achieve that, we look to success and adapt it. The Terrans have been helpful in assisting with beginning the recovery, and I believe that we can look to some of the things they do and expand on them. Improve on them. Since the Great Civilization, we have been searching for worlds to colonize with precious little success. There are worlds that have proper air for colonization, but their gravity is always weak and causes problems. I believe it is time to evaluate a concept that is new to us.” There was a pause. “Orbital platforms. We as a people have never invested in such things at scale, as the Hurdop threat has always been one that we would have to guard against. Now, in this time, I believe that we should bend our efforts to crafting orbital stations in order to be able to extract minerals, retrieve necessary fuels, and grow.”

The War Minister tapped the table once. “My Throne. I do not doubt your wisdom in this, but I must raise a concern. The Hurdop have never been so vulnerable as they are now. I believe this plan would be more effective if we did not have a constant threat at our neck. We have the resources for one offensive push. With that, we would have dominion over them, and we would guide our future.”

A shake of the head was the reply from the Minister of Trade. “My friend, you have seen the reports as well as I. We throw countless lives into a breach, the Hurdop do the same, and we are left with tales of glory and empty ships where our subjects once lived. We have had the resources for ‘one offensive push’ for a year. And always it has been insufficient. We cannot trade, cannot grow into anything with a constant threat of war. The only trade partners we have are the Terrans, because no other cargo ships will dare journey into our space. We have cut ourselves off, and we cannot rebuild under the constant threat of fire. Respectfully, there are threats in the dark that do not wear the fur of the Hurdop.”

The War Minister scowled. “Kindly attend to trade, Trade Minister, and allow those skilled in war to concern themselves with war.”

“For trade to occur, we must have goods. We have no goods. We must have ships to carry these goods. We have no ships to carry goods as your designation of all cargo ships as warfreighters has seen to that. We must have partners with which to trade. We have only the Terrans as consistent partners - all others refuse because they do not know if the goods they purchase will be lost. War precludes prosperous trade, Minister. Direct your unders to find ways to defend the orbital platforms the Throne describes, and allow me to attend to trade.”

There was a tensing of muscles under the War Ministers jacket along with deep inhalation of breath. The other ministers shifted uncomfortably at the display, as it normally preceded an outburst that sent secretaries scurrying for cover. In this moment however there was no such outburst, and the War Minister seemed almost serene for a moment.

The Throne rapped the gavel again. “Quite enough. I have given a direction, and that is the way we will go. We will work with the Hurdop in peace, and we will hope that they see the advantage to doing so. Follow or name your replacement.”

None of the Ministers present named their replacement.

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship “Twilight Rose”, Bridge

R-space was soothing in several ways. Somehow the little bubble of spacetime felt like a warm den, and the pattern of blues from the front and reds behind was almost mesmerizing. It didn’t mean he could simply stare out at nothing, but it was peaceful. The calm that was going to come before the storm.

And the storm was going to be a formal dinner. The Clan Way required him to advise that he was Nameless, in order to keep the others from acknowledging him. The easy way out would be for him to invent some illness or mechanical issue within the ship that required his presence – however there were several of these runs in the future, so it was quite possible that this was an event that would have to be faced sooner rather than later.

He sighed softly, looking out at the viewscreen. His command staff shifted their postures slightly to look back before O’Brien finally broke the silence. “Problem, sir?”

Gryzzk grunted softly. “The meal aboard the Godsfang. My social status will make conversation awkward.”

She grunted softly. “Telling them to kick rocks isn’t an option, I take it.”

He shook his head. “If I am to regain my status, I must acknowledge my place. If I am fortunate, I will not be spoken to.”

“Respectfully Captain, you’re not that lucky.”

“It would seem not. I would recommend that you and the XO converse with the Vilantian lords on my behalf.”

“My Lord Captain, we have something amiss that demands your attention in the cargo hold.”

Gryzzk rubbed his forehead - they’d managed to go four hours into R-space without incident. “What’s the issue, XO?”

“Security did not elaborate. However, internal sensors note an unusual heat signature in the cargo hold.”

“Speculate.”

“Well, it’s not your mom - her heat signature made scientists think Vilantia was a binary system for like a century. So maybe Gregg-Adams picked up a spare cat. In any case the guard mount thinks you need to find out more, because otherwise they’d actually have to do something that’s not burping or farting.”

Gryzzk looked at the holographic form of the XO. “You’re doing this so I don’t have to think about the dinner tomorrow.”

“Guilty as charged, sir. Stop brooding, start doing. We’ll handle it.”

Gryzzk sighed, finally leaving the bridge and heading to the cargo hold entrance.

Sergeant Michaels, saluted crisply as Gryzzk approached. “Sir whatever it is, it’s fast. Squad says it smells like you. But you been crawling every inch of this ship for a few weeks, so everything kinda smells like you.”

“Have you tried talking to it?”

“Yessir. No response. We didn’t want to try anything drastic.”

“Very well.” Gryzzk glanced at two of the squad, flicking his lower eyes over their nametags. They were Hurdop-born, if their names said anything. “Cartre, Dilmie. Load for stun, do not fire without my express order. Follow me. Everyone else, load for stun and shoot anything not us.” With that, he unlatched the deckplate and slid down the ladder, waiting for the sensors to register the motion and light up the area.

He moved forward, allowing the two privates behind him to take their place behind him. They were exceptionally nervous about this – certainly they’d seen Gryzzk at company functions and heard stories, but at the same time he was an unknown on many levels.

Gryzzk sniffed the air cautiously. They were right – he’d been everywhere on the ship of late, learning the layout and making sure nothing was going to be overlooked. But the scent here wasn’t entirely his. Familiar, and it made him groan softly.

“Cartre, check your tablet and head for the section marked ‘rations’ - Dilmie, report back to Sergeant Michaels that my daughter has managed to stow away.” He then moved forward slowly. It took Cartre a few moments to catch up and head for the ration stores, while Gryzzk circled around and softly called out for Nhoot.

She trundled out slowly, carrying Rhipl’i and smelling both happy and nervous. Once she saw it was Gryzzk, Nhoot firmed up her face and straightened her uniform, dusting small food crumbs from her shirt. “Mama said you might need help, so I said I would help. And…the ship is pretty.”

Gryzzk sighed. “Yes it is, but you really should tell me before doing things like this. Come on, let’s go to the bridge and get you a bunk.”

Nhoot nodded cheerfully as Cartre fell in behind them and they exited the cargo hold.

“Squad, this is my daughter Nhoot. She has apparently decided the ship needs her presence, and according to her this was with the approval of Grezzk. I’ll be checking the story, but for the moment carry on. Check your tablets for any changes that might be coming.” He glanced as everyone in the squad save Cartre automatically went to their tablets to see if anything might be coming in at the moment. Cartre leaned over and whispered to Dilmie. Something about that didn’t quite sit right with him.

“Private Cartre. Walk with me for a moment.”

Cartre smelled nervous for some reason. As they walked, Gryzzk tried to force relaxation to his voice, but he kept it low. “Is there something malfunctioning with your equipment, Private?”

“Sir?”

“Your tablet. Is it defective?”

“I. I don’t know sir.” Cartre’s ears drooped slightly.

"Have you never had one …

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