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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Auggy74 on 2025-09-05 15:00:50+00:00.

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___________

Homeplate, Terran Foreign Legion Ship Stalwart Rose

Freelord Captain Rostin stood on the bridge of his ship, feeling the barest shudder through the deck plating as the docking clamps secured the ship to their docking station, and the illumination dimmed slightly for a moment as the power shifted to the external power from Homeplate. There was a collective sigh from the bridge as console indicators were illuminated, showing the necessary transfers of power had been completed, bathing the ship in a warm softness.

“XO, dismiss the crew for shore leave and start looking through the new jobs.”

The ship’s AI closed his eyes and the announcement came over the ship speakers. “A’ight, ship secured. All yiz bums fuck ouddaheah.” Stewart then glanced to the captain. “Freelord Captain, we have several requests for our services, however there are two directives from Colonel Sinclair that should be addressed.”

Rostin was getting used to several things - his XO being an AI with a form that was a Terran-height muscular Hurdop that slipped into a regional Terran accent under stress and was always in formal uniform, a good portion of his company being from Hurdop, even the rank system was taking time. Being called Freelord was something new; it had slowly begun after he’d ordered a non-standard evasive maneuver that stressed the ship but resulted in their escort charges emerging from a pirate ambush unscathed. It continued after he’d ordered the officer’s mess converted to a more general-use area and issuing directives that the officers were to take their meals with the general company. He shook his head, wondering how Gryzzk had managed it.

“Are these orders for myself only?”

“Negative. With the Colonel’s compliments, we are firstly directed to begin looking for additional ships for expansion of the Legion. Major Gryzzk has received a similar directive. The other legions have found six ships each to be optimal, and he feels that we should be more in line with that.” Stewart’s voice shifted to a more casual tone. “We’re a fawkin’ hawt commodity and we need to start moving like we are.”

“Very well. Send out inquiries to the appropriate parties, see if they have any surplus ships for sale that we can recondition. The other directive?”

“Kinda goes along with the first. We’re standin’ down until Twilight Rose has her ass sittin’ pretty in dock. New job’s been arranged for us - and it’s a good 'un.”

“Details?”

“In short, Third Contact.”

“That was not detailed, XO.”

“Aw, yeah. So out here on the fringes we still run into new species taking their first steps into R-Space. We just hit one, so’s the Collective did all the ‘take me to yiz leader’ schtick for First Contact, then Second Contact was the 'okay, here’s all the paperwork to fill out, and FYI these are Terrans if you fight ‘em you’re on your own’ routine, and now Third Contact is ‘how to be a part of the Collective and by the way stop thinking about fighting the Terrans.’ We’re gonna be escorting some ambassadors and trade-people over to keep things working smoothly. If it all works out, we’re probably gonna establish some outposts and whatnot in few dozen years. Down side of all that it it’s about a ten-day transit period from here to there. We’re heading to the boonies.”

“Duly noted. Requisition extra cargo modules for both ships and make sure they’re ready when Freelord Gryzzk returns.”

“A’ight, we’ll sort the rest of it out later. Sergeant Bilona’s got something for you now. I’m out.”

Rostin looked back to see his tactical NCO lounging against the wall, patiently waiting to be acknowledged. Another point of contention within the ship was that the Hurdop seemed to have a casualness about them that was hard to accept initially, but the results were undeniable.

“Stand at ease, Sergeant. You have something?”

The whip-thin Hurdop nodded, but didn’t change his posture. “Ayeah. So’s we been talking. We know your wife and husband kicked you out when they made you Nameless like all the rest of the Vilantians on the ship. I know they’re wanting to reconcile now that you got your Name back and became a Legionnaire. You’re trying to keep yourself virtuous for that, but at the same time - you’re apart for a reason. And it ain’t right to be alone, Cap’n.”

“Thank you for consolidating my pain into three sentences, Sergeant. I am well aware of my personal life.”

“Figured. But the good news is, me and the rest of the bridge crew opened up a tab for you at Captain Jack’s, we’ll get a couple cocktails for you, and tell you about all the things you’ve been ignoring for awhile now - starting with Doline.”

It took a few moments. “The Hurdop bartender?”

“Yeah. You didn’t notice the last time we were in she poured you top shelf honest-to-light-gods Jamaican rum and charged you house rum price?”

There was a shrug in return. “I thought it one of those perks of being a captain.”

His gunner replied with a snort. “They charge Freelord Gryzzk full for his shots. Open your nose to the reality. On Hurdop you ain’t signing on for life ten minutes after someone says you smell nice. You’re there for a night. Maybe in the morning you’ll have a breakfast conversation with someone who isn’t Stewart.”

“I rather enjoy the morning breakfast briefing.”

“Yeah, we know you think Stewart’s cute. Weirdo.”

Stewart cleared his throat delicately. “I am right here.”

Bilona smirked. “I know. Did you figure it out?”

“It was within the calculated range of possible events.”

Rostin looked at his tablet, anxious to finish the discussion. “There’s still quite a bit to do.”

“There’s quite a bit for everyone to do. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight Captain, you need to unwind and have a drink with a pretty lady.” Bilona paused. “You ever heard of a hurricane?”

“It’s a Terran natural disaster, yes?”

“Yep, but it’s also a drink. Two types of rum with three fruit juices. It’s the official drink of the engineering section.”

There was a slightly defeated exhale. “You’re not going to let this go, are you.”

“Nope. Part of giving you our fur and oath. We gotta save you from yourself sometimes, Freelord. Hopefully we’ll get lucky and those redshirt wannabe’s from Bad Moon’s legion’ll think Captain Jack’s is their bar. Then you can whip their asses and be a defender of Doline’s honor and booze.”

Rostin exhaled. “Very well.”

___________

Hurdop Prime, Tosche Station

After dismissing the bridge squad for a few hours contingent on them showing up when it was time to visit the Wounded Greatlord, Gryzzk was preparing to go wander the station and simply clear his mind when his comm chimed and he heard Kiole’s voice.

“Husband, would you please collect my hand and bring it to the forward dock?”

“I will as soon as you tell me where it is.”

“Armory section, it’ll be in my locker.”

Gryzzk headed to the Armory and sniffed around, finally getting Kiole’s prosthetic and heading out to find Kiole seated on a tall folding chair, speaking animatedly to another individual wearing the formal uniform of the Hurdop navy, who was confident in a way Gryzzk never would be. Gryzzk wasn’t entirely sure about the individual’s rank so he gave a neutral sort of nod.

Kiole was quite helpful. “Undercommander Seliwa may I introduce my husband and commanding officer, Freelord Major Gryzzk.” She paused for a moment. “The rank structure of the Terrans is quite odd, but you are…roughly equivalent, with the Major being slightly above. The Terrans think in tens where we think in sixes.”

Seliwa seemed to have an easy smile, but his uniform was hiding his scent. It was quite likely that the scent track was going to be added later for dramatic effect. “Thank you for taking care of the good Senior Petty Officer.”

Gryzzk seemed confused as he handed the prosthetic to Kiole. “Not gunner’s mate?”

There was a soft laugh as Kiole inspected the hand. Her scent seemed more comfortable, “Apologies twilight warrior, but gunner’s mate was my job. My rank was…” she considered. “Somewhere between a Terran staff sergeant and sergeant first class.”

“Ah. Well I’ll leave you to it, then.” Gryzzk paused to acknowledge the interviewer before readying to move off.

The Undercommander leaned back in his chair, sensing something. “If you don’t mind, Major - Kiole’s history is known, but I would like to think our viewers would appreciate an alternate perspective.”

The couple shared a glance before nodding as Kiole spoke. “Fortunately in port the schedule is much more flexible. Now as I was describing, the Terran prosthetic is quite clever - the ring on my forearm acts as a hardpoint, with the lower portion having a sensor array for my arm with predictive technology based on the nerve impulses and muscle movements from the remaining part of my arm.” Kiole set the prosthetic into place and ran through an initial sequence, with her hand rotating and flexing through a full range of motion. Seliwa seemed awestruck at the procedure.

“That’s…rather amazing. What’s the one best part of this?”

By way of response, Kiole reached over with her artificial hand to stroke Gryzzk’s face. "I can feel his fur, the warmth and softness there. I can hold the hand of both my husband and …

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