Vilantia Prime, estate of Great Lord Aa'Porti

The Great Lord sat in his office, surrounded by tablets all glowing in different shades. Finally he selected one and tapped on it. The image that displayed was simply a logo of a Terran animal that was mostly black, with a white belly and two white stripes along the back.

It took a few moments for the link to establish, and the logo began to move its mouth in time with the words being spoken. "SkunkWorks Insurance, Smith." The voice was entirely artificial, and there were no scent-markers transmitted with the words.

"Smith, this is your policy-holder Laika. I have news. I received an offer that cannot be declined, which requires us to alter our policy."

"Well, that's a damn shame. I was looking forward to spending your retainer in New Vegas. Little bird told me the Lucky 38's opening up again, straight tables with their own hydroponic system so they can make and distill fifty types of booze." There was a sigh. "So what's this alteration you're talking about?"

"As part of the new peace agreements, I will be creating a new organization owned by private citizens. The Vilantian-Hurdop Trade Cooperative will be paying the premiums moving forward."

"Fair enough. Anything else?"

"I should like for the Trade Cooperative to open a new policy." Great Lord Aa'Porti growled out the rest of it. "The Trade Cooperative would like a full review of the recent action involving the mercenary company Bravo Bulldogs. They were supposed to exit R-space at a specific time, and did not. This goes against what is known of their tactical doctrine manuals. Explain."

"Oh, that's an easy one. They don't follow the manuals all the time."

"That is nonsensical."

"The Bulldogs and their parent company 7th Cav came from...well, I'll skip the history lesson for now – suffice to say that there's a section in their manual that advises if the tactical situation calls for it, the manual can be ignored and the commander on scene can act as they see fit."

"Then how can they know what to do?" Aa'porti was thoroughly confused by this new information. "The individual soldiers would be completely at a loss."

"Not really. Their doctrine teaches initiative, independence of thought and action – as long as the objective is completed and no interstellar laws are broken doing so the general response is to record what was done and teach it later."

"They teach their soldiers to break the rules?"

"If the situation calls for it."

"Ridiculous."

"Terran." That one word seemed to be their fallback for any event that made absolutely no sense.

There was exasperation in Aa'portis' voice. "In any event, I would like to know how they think and act, so that I -" he caught himself "- so that the Trade Cooperative may best utilize their talents in the future."

"Well, I'll give you one for free; there's a new company being formed under the 7th Cav calling itself the Terran Foreign Legion. Looks like they got that one fella who was an observer on that last mission in charge, and they picked up some folks from a Vilantian warfreighter called the Hidepiercer and a Hurdop ship called the Godsfang docked at 7th Cav HQ a little bit ago. Do with that what you will, but a smart fellah would make a friend on the inside there. Soon as he didn't need to ice his balls every hour."

Lord Aa'porti kept his voice tightly held. "I will take that information under consideration. Laika out."

The communication channel closed, and Lord Aa'porti leaned back in his chair. He'd overcome obstacles and failure before, and this latest setback seemed to be almost providence at the end of it all. As Minister of Trade, he had exceptional leeway in working with the planetary industries. Those who became his friends would be granted leeway. Those who did not would need other friends. Atop that, this Foreign Legion could be his test garden for determining how to merge the governments of Vilantia, Hurdop and Terra into a united confederation of planets, with his paw guiding them all.

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

Gryzzk sat in his office in the Twilight Rose rubbing his head. The ship itself was still in the process of being torn down and rebuilt, but the additions to the superstructure had been completed and the path to the bridge was clear. His office and ship-quarters were immediately to the right of the bridge entrance, with his ready room mirroring the office but placed to the left. He'd been able to decorate his office to his satisfaction, with stills and shortvids of Grezzk and the children along with various personal scent dispensers. His eyes lingered on what was quickly becoming his favorite – Nhoot clutching Rhipl'i and wearing his beret which was comically oversized on her, while Gro'zel wore his dress jacket draped over her shoulders and did her utmost to give "Private Nhoot and Private Rhipl'i" orders to clean, which was immediately followed by the same scene with the roles reversed. Unfortunately such camaraderie was not displayed by his company at large.

The period of unity he'd hoped for had lasted almost two days into the training, and now at five days into their initial meeting the company had almost fully split along the ancient lines. It was disheartening on several levels. To be fair, this was a great challenge he'd accepted, essentially binding three very disparate cultures together.

He'd fallen into the habit of taking breakfast with his officers and lunch with his sergeants, and they'd all reported similar things. Insults, not-so-hidden jabs in the meal lines, and general disruption of activity were becoming the norm between the Vilantians and Hurdop. It was beyond the normal matches of dominance and place-finding that was normal for a new situation. The sergeants were reporting having to assign pushups along with various other exercise-based punishments more often and in greater numbers. He knew how to lead Vilantians. He could function with the Terrans. The Hurdop were the great unknown.

It was possible that his presence was not helpful in all aspects. He'd been taking lessons and study sessions with the recruits, and while his combat prowess had increased dramatically, he was nowhere near the seasoned fighter that no few of his charges were. He often smelled tension in the room when he was taking in tactical courses with the Terran instructors, all of whom were preaching tactics and movements that were wholly out of line with the Clan Way. Concepts like situational awareness were easy for him to grasp, but for many of the recruits, it was difficult to understand. Perhaps his lack of knowledge in the war tactics of his species was in fact an advantage, as he'd only truly been exposed to the Terran way of thinking.

He'd spent one night deep in a frustrating study of ancient history. It had been thirty-three generations since the Great Civilization, when Vilantia had discovered the technology to reach space and had been approached to become a member of the spacefaring Collective. According to the texts he had read from Vilantian sources, the technology had been stolen by the Nameless of the time to leave Vilantia and make their way as a civilization of pirates and thieves, becoming the Hurdop. This in itself was a revelation that he'd never known – he berated himself for this before remembering that he'd never needed to know these things until now. The following revelation was no less taxing - the Collective had also granted membership to the Hurdop shortly thereafter. The fact that made no sense to Gryzzk at first and could only be explained by trickery and deceit, if the texts he had read were to be believed.

Sitting alone in his office, Gryzzk reflected on his studies, considering if the texts could be believed. That thought alone occupied him for so long that he failed to notice First Sergeant O'Brien with their lunch.

"Captain, I took the liberty of dismissing the sergeants to work with their platoons today. Frankly sir, they're struggling to keep a lid on it." The unspoken "it" was the brewing conflict between the factions.

"Is there a section that isn't attempting to re-fight the war?" Gryzzk immediately regretted snapping at his First Sergeant, but she seemed to take it in stride.

O'Brien considered as she ate. "Engineering seems to be pretty quiet. Not sure if it's because Chief Tucker's got 'em all scared or if there's something about the engineering mindset that just doesn't care."

"I believe we should have more discussion regarding this."

"Agreed." O'Brien tapped her rank insignia. "Chief Tucker, please report to the Captains' ready room. Chief Tucker to the Captains' ready room." She then stood up, sliding her empty tray to the recycling. "It seemed more appropriate, sir."

"Agreed, First Sergeant." Gryzzk went across the hall to the ready room, which was a simple affair that consisted of several rows of soft chairs that faced forward, along with a small shelf and viewscreen for the presenter.

It took several minutes for Chief Warrant Officer Tucker to arrive. He'd obviously tried to stop and clean up, but his arms and forearms still bore marks of grease and grime. His salute wasn't quite a parody, but it certainly wasn't as crisp as most others. His rank indicator – a single vertical gold bar with a thin purple line down the middle – was askew and appeared to have been chipped at some point. While he was attentive to hygiene and his scent at the morning meetings was fresh, currently the pungent aromas of sweat and coffee surrounded him.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"S'up Cap?" Tucker seemed to be genuinely curious about the summoning, and Gryzzk hoped he wasn't wasting anyone's' time on this.

"Chief, we have a situation and we'd like your input as how to resolve it."

"So, not about the AI going in next week?"

"No, something different. I've been receiving reports from all the other sections, and there is noted friction between the Vilantian and Hurdop recruits. All except engineering. Could you explain why that is?"

Tucker blinked a few times thinking about it. "Well, if I had to guess I'd say there's maybe a couple reasons. First an' foremost, physics doesn't care where you're from, it's gonna run the same everywhere. So everyone's got that commonality going for 'em. Most of what they disagree about's the how to get from point A to point B. But the R-space equation math is the same no matter who punches the numbers in." Tucker shrugged casually.

"And the second?"

"Well, I guess you could call it an engineering quirk of y'all – curiosity. All the engineering schools in both Vilantian and Hurdop space have a heavy history requirement. I guess your early engineers were big on history and that kinda-sorta got passed down. So when they all got together there was about a half day of arguing about history and they got it together and figured out that history's written by the winners, and well, they both thought they won the thing the Vilantians call the Great Civilization and the Hurdop call the Freedom Flight." There was another shrug. "I guess nobody likes to think their ex is having a good time. Anyway, they put their histories together and kinda sorted out they were both about half-right. Took most of a day but I think the boys might be working on a joint history presentation that's gonna tweak everybody something fierce."

Gryzzk was deep in thought at these revelations from the section. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "So...a group project and shared knowledge?"

"That's about the size of it." Tucker nodded casually.

"Do you have any recommendations for how these things could be applied to the company at large?"

Tucker thought about it, apparently treating the question as an engineering problem. "Well, I'm not sure if shared knowledge is a thing, but you do have some traditions that survived meeting the Collective and splitting up. Maybe have everyone duel it up or something. Group project, that's pretty wide possibilities." His face made several odd expressions as he thought about it. "So I heard you know about ship curry, yeah?"

Gryzzk winced slightly at the memory. "I am...familiar."

"Mebbe set up a contest or something. Everyone who can bang two pots together gets to make a curry dish, everyone gets a sample, best one by vote wins." Tucker leaned against the wall for a moment

O'Brien nodded. "I like the thought. I'll talk to the rest of the cadre and see what we're gonna need." She paused. "You guys got anything like rice on Vilantia?"

Gryzzk nodded. "We do, but it is much denser and doesn't have the same scent. Mostly it's used as a grazing fodder."

Tucker made a little chuckle. "You're missing out. Anyway, you got my two cents and this seems to be going off track, so I'm out." He flicked something resembling a salute to Gryzzk and left for his engineering space.

O'Brien snorted. "Damn Warrant Officers. Mad bastards, the lot."

"So it would seem. I don't suppose there's an area dedicated for physical combat?"

"Company area just got a sand pit put in for volleyball. We'll take the net down, set up a rack for pugil sticks and a couple helmets, anyone wants a go they can go."

"Well enough. Assembly before evening meal?"

"Don't ask me Captain, I'm not in charge around here." Which he'd learned was her way of saying he was asking a somewhat foolish question.

Gryzzk tapped his rank for the all-hands channel. "All personnel, this is Captain Gryzzk. Report to the company area in" he paused to check the time "ninety minutes for a pair of announcements. Lieutenant Gregg-Adams, report to the Captains' ready room. That is all."

Lieutenant Gregg-Adams was much faster to the ready room than Tucker had been. As Terrans went he wasn't exactly tall, with a receding brown hair and a slight pouch around his belly. He saluted rapidly and stood straight, with underlying nervousness at odds with his crisp scent. It was definitely an odd thing to experience after his conversation with the Chief.

"At ease, Lieutenant. I require some items prior to the assembly. Specifically, items for training in melee combat and the needed safety gear."

"Pugil sticks, yessir."

"Also, a good amount of rice to distribute to each individual room. We're going to be selecting the ships' curry in about a week, and I'd like everyone to have an opportunity to participate."

Gregg-Adams seemed perplexed for a moment at the variety of items, finally nodding. "Can do, sir."

"You have questions?"

"No questions, sir."

"Very well, dismissed."

The lieutenant saluted again, spun sharply and jogged out of the ready room. As soon as he was out of range, the footsteps rapidly increased in timing, indicating that he'd broken into a run.

O'Brien shook her head. "Poor wee lamb."

"He did seem a bit concerned."

"Aye, his first posting. Make sure he exercises – he's the type that'll spend three days awake studying for an exam and get winded three minutes into a proper -" she caught herself before saying something impolite "- run."

"He does seem a bit academic."

"That's one word for it. Anyway, I should go see to some things. Do set an alarm for yourself sir. It's bad form to be late to a meeting you've called."

Gryzzks ears drooped slightly. Of all the things he'd lost along the way, it seemed his normally impeccable sense of time was in desperate need of an update. It was quite likely due to the change in day length – on the ship day and night blended to an extent, but here they held to a Terran standard day which was longer than Vilantias' by about six hours. On the one hand it meant that more could be accomplished, but on the other hand it meant for awkward meal times. Yet another thing for him to consider.

He kept himself busy with progress reports and studying for clues within them that might indicate which members of the company had been fighting. It seemed a study in careful wording which when cross-referenced with medical supplies requested by the company printers painted a grim picture.

The chime of his alarm set him in motion, as he left his office and began the climb up to the company area. He was able to arrive with the press of his fellows as they moved to proper formation. In the company area, he saw that several padded sticks had been placed along the wall outside the company day room, along with helmets and a few mouthguards. Each stick had a red and a blue side.

Gryzzk was pleased at the initial look of the company formation. His sergeants had done a good job with basic instruction, and the company was shaping up to be more than a mob thrown together by fate. As soon as he stood at his position, the lieutenants snapped straight, with the sergeants and enlisteds doing the same.

"Alpha Howlers, at ease." Gryzzk began to slowly pace in front of the formation with his hands behind his back. "I have been made aware of a disturbing trend over the past few days. A lack of cohesion. Lack of unity. Lack of focus. Some of you seem to think it is time to re-ignite a war that has just finished. I do not believe that is the intent, but that is the end result. That said, it is improper for me to expect all to place forehead to forehead and swear the clan-sibling oaths simply on my directive. With that in mind, there is now an avenue available to disagree physically and not fall to dishonor." Gryzzk walked over to the pugil stick rack and selected one, and then secured a helmet and mouthguard before setting his tablet aside. He then walked over to the new sand pit and tested it. The footing was loose and he was slipping quite a bit. He might actually have a chance at this. "With the assistance of First Sergeant O'Brien, we will demonstrate. Now, Vilantians and Hurdop have a tradition of duels, with the forms being specific. I will expect those forms to be adhered to. Based on what I have seen, there is a similar tradition among the Terrans."

It was a tribute to the First Sergeant that she was unsurprised by being selected to assist in the demonstration, and she simply put on a helmet and selected a larger stick, after which she addressed the company.

"Alight, once you strap this on, you're in it. There's two ways to win. Knock 'em out or on points. Blue side is a half-point, red side's a full point. You leave the sand, your opponent gets a point. Three points ends the round, three rounds ends the match. After that, you shake hands, dust each other off, and get back to what you were doing. For demonstration purposes, we're only going one point. Scoreboard's gonna keep track."

O'Brien put her mouth guard in, stepped into the pit, and Gryzzk rolled his shoulders to issue the Terran-style challenge – not exactly easy as the mouthguard was interfering. "Are we gonna keep moving air, or are we gonna have a scrap?"

The First Sergeant snorted, muttering something about Laroy and quickly feinted forward before bringing the stick back. Gryzzk tucked and rolled to get out of the way of the painful-looking stick, only to catch a shot to his side.

A soft artificial voice intoned. "Half-point, First Sergeant O'Brien."

They reset themselves and nodded, beginning again. This time Gryzzk was slightly more prepared for the initial feint, ducking down and flinging a handful of sand at the First Sergeant before ducking under and catching the back of her legs with the blue side of his stick, bringing her down to a knee.

"Half-point, Captain Gryzzk."

They both reset again, with a slight smile on both their faces. A nod from each of them and the fight was joined for the third time, with both of them circling each other cautiously. Gryzzk tried to feint as O'Brien had earlier and overbalanced slightly, which left an opening for O'Brien; the resulting smack to the back of his head left his vision clouded and ears ringing. He got up to his knees and nodded to O'Brien as she grabbed his shoulder and casually hauled him to his feet. He barely heard the artificial voice declaring the match over. There was a bit of a smile on O'Brien's face as she took off her helmet and returned her stick to its original place. Then as was the proper form, they shook hands and cleared the dirt from the uniform of their opponent before returning to their correct positions in the formation. Gryzzk looked and saw that the company was by turns surprised and confused. Gryzzk was the Captain, their Lord, and therefore the victory should have been his.

"Hopefully this demonstration has been educational for all. Despite rank, we are all equals in that area." Gryzzk waved at the sand pit. "This goes against the traditions of the Clan Way, but we are our own Clan. Our traditions will be different, because we will take the best of all traditions and make them ours." He shook his head one time to clear the last of the fuzz from his vision. "To that end, we will be taking on a tradition for the ship itself. Within the Terrans, it is tradition to create a specific dish called 'curry', which is only served one day a week. The general recipe will be sent to your individual tablets after the evening meal. We will be holding a contest for all company personnel who wish to participate. At the end of the fourth week, we will be judging the contest entries and selecting the best one from among the participants, who will kindly remain anonymous. The winning recipe will be forwarded to the ship mess for replication. May the living gods bless the winner."

The company seemed intrigued by this prospect, with a whispered buzz emanating from the group. This seemed to be an important thing to the Terrans at least, and more than a few were sneaking looks at their tablets to see if they could find out more about this 'curry' the captain spoke of.

Gryzzk looked around a bit. It seemed that the company scent was altering in some way that he couldn't quite define, like a broth half-cooked. He was going to have to be patient and wait for the results.

"Company. Dismissed."

He was not surprised to see a portion of the company head right to the sand pit.