Happy New Year! Have some more Free Worlds Irregulars!
/
ONE JUMP FROM DUMASSAS - DropShip Collingwood
The only reason Major Slavomir Rmoutil wasn't pacing around the deck of the DropShip was because he was too busy floating in zero gravity, untethered and staring at the flickering display of their parent JumpShip's captain as they ironed out the final details of their most likely incredibly eventful jump.
"I don't care what my contract says, we're kicking you off our JumpShip the moment we finish the jump and declaring protected neutrality to all of this, you hear me? I haven't had this hunk of metal passed down for centuries only to lose it because of some damn fool Contract." The Captain spat at the Leaguer.
Major Rmoutil sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Look, you've said this already and I agree with you. Just… if they don't blow us up, how about you actually stick to your contract and wait for us? Okay?"
The captain scoffed, "If they don't blow you up. Good luck merc, you'll need it."
The screen went dark and Trig spun around to look at the DropShip Collingwood's captain and one of his seconds, Thora Korg.
"This speech you've prepared has better work." He grumbled at her.
Thora shrugged, "Either it will, or we'll be too dead to care."
Once more, Trig sighed and reconsidered his decision not to make a last minute stop at the JumpShip's Chapel as Jump alarms began to ring.
/
DUMASSAS - DropShip Collingwood
The traditional instantaneous feeling of unreality and lurch following a Jump were quickly disturbed as emergency bolts blew both the Collingwood and Clown Car free from the JumpShip they arrived on, forcing Thora Korg to grab on tight as automatic thrusters kicked in to give the DropShip Captain some control over it's emergency jettison.
"We are… clear and stationary." The Captain called out, "Sensors, start running your sweeps and someone get Captain Korg an open comms line."
"Sensors are sweeping and commsline is… open. Thora you are a go."
Thora Korg nodded and flicked the switch connected to her radio headset, "Attention ALLCON, I repeat, attention ALLCON ALLCON ALLCON. I am speaking on behalf of the Free World Irregular mercenaries regiment. We have no quarrel, I repeat, no quarrel with the legitimate government of the planet Dumassas and are on an MRB certified pirate hunting contract. I repeat, we have NO QUARREL with the legitimate government of the planet Dumassas and are on an MRB Contract to remove pirates from the planet. Does anyone copy this message?"
Everyone in the command center held their breath, waiting to hear a response, any response. The speed of light was fast, but at astronomical distances, there was a chance it could take minutes to hear a reply. The silence was broken as a sensor tech called out, "System reports a strange reading near the planet and what looks like a… jump station near us? That can't be right, Dumassas doesn't have a- INBOUND ASF!" the sensor tech yelled out, "Clown Car is reporting target locks from the Jump Station."
There was a sharp intake of breath from the Captain, "Do we have reports of weapons fire?"
"No sir, not yet."
"Then you will hold your fire. Thora, I want you to do a recording of your message. We're going to loop that fucker until someone picks up the Blake Damned radio."
"Aye Sir." Thora replied, turning back to the communications console she was sitting at and working it like the gunner station of her Chevalier.
"Sir, our ASF are asking if they have a go for launch to intercept."
The Captain chewed at his lip. "Negative for Intercept, but launch them and get them in a protective orbit. Weapons. TIGHT. I want no fuckups on my watch."
/
With a silent rumble, the Eagle Aerospace fighter exited the launch tube and instantly the console was lit up with sensor pings and target locks. Strange boxy ASF were moving towards their dropships, able to be seen through magnified optics. They were like a box with wings and a thruster and what looked like a pair of large LRM5's on either wing along with some kind of strange pepperbox autocannon strapped beneath the fuselage.
Whatever it was, it looked horrifically undergunned and they were only sending a couple of wings at them.
"This is Infield to Collingwood. I'm reading what looks like three wings of ASF approaching our Dropships. Warbook isn't giving me a readout on them, please advise?" Infield Lead called back to the home dropship.
"Collingwood to Infield, do not engage." The reply came quickly, "This group apparently has access to WarShips and we're on their lawn. We're not their enemy, so let's not become one."
"Roger that Collingwood." Infield replied, rolling his Eagle ASF into an inverted turn letting himself fall into a constant orbit of the spherical Overlord as the rest of his wing spread between flanking him and protecting the Condor. "What are those…" he muttered to himself, watching as hazes drifted across the stars and weird, underarmed ASF seemed to stop at a certain distance.
"Infield to Collingwood, looks like this new ASF, preliminary tag of 'Cartons' submitted, has found their holding point. Doesn't look like they're coming in for an attack run."
"Roger that Eagle. 'Cartons' accepted as ID tag. Do you mind flashing your BattleROM back to us? We're getting weird sensor hazes and there's a- ENERGY SPIKE!" The radio cut off an instant after the shout, but Infield couldn't blame them.
After all, it isn't every day a WarShip appears before you rolled to broadside with its weapons unlimbered and ready.
/
"Well, at least we know someone picked up the phone," Thora idly commented, staring at the massive hammerhead shaped spacecraft and idly remarking that she could probably perform a Liao Zee G ballet routine inside one of the barrels without ever touching the sides on one of the massive guns pointed at their face.
"Not helpful," Rmoutil replied, "Turn the repeat off, they got the message. Comms, give me full broadcast, open channel."
He cleared his throat, trying to push down the nervousness that came from staring at a death you had no chance of fighting in the face. Before he could speak, however, a voice that just screamed Outworlds Periphery came through and in a thick accent, said "This is the Battlecruiser Prosecutor of Raynor's Raiders. You say that you are here on friendly business, yet you still are capable of powering your engines and weapons. If you are as friendly as you claim, then you can dock your jumpship at the recharge station before powering down everything but your life-support. Our marines will then be boarding your ships. If you do plan to resist, please do not hold back. My men and I drew the short straw and had to stay behind. Captain Tennant out."
Major Rmoutil paused and muttered "That simplifies things," before replying to the demand over the same channel. "Ahoy Captain Tennant, this is Major Rmoutil of the Free Worlds Irregular Mercenary Regiment. At this time, the only engines we're running are station keeping ones to keep us from becoming a navigational hazard and our chartered JumpShip has declared its neutrality and will refuse to let us back on. We have, again, no quarrel with the legitimate government of the planet of Dumassas or its allies and have come here to kill pirates."
There was a crackle and Infield Lead came over, "Hey, uh, unknown WarShip? I've already ordered my fighters back to their hangars. We don't want a fight."
"Then dock with the station and shut down all systems but the bare minimum. As for your jumpship: we are more than willing to send boarding parties if they refuse to dock. And we will chase them down if they attempt to flee. As for your fighters: they will be escorted to the station."
"Sir! Sensor pings!" The Collingwood's instrument tech reported as the weird heat hazes flickered into the form of Aerospace Fighters and the weird stubby ones accelerated to interception courses. Muttered swearing came over the still open connection with Infield Lead.
"Instruct them that any deviation from the proscribed flight path without sufficient cause will be met with immediate termination." Captain Tennant replied happily.
"We… we can certainly do that." Rmoutil replied, "But I think the bit about the-"
There was a burst of static as the JumpShip came on the line, "Look, I'm more than willing to comply, but I'm not their's. The only person who owns this JumpShip is me. Not the Free Worlds Irregulars, not House Marik, not the ghost of Richard Cameron on Terra itself! I plan on sitting here, charging my batteries, and leaving the earliest case I can! I declare protected neutrality and-" the Captain was gearing up for a major rant when the WarShip slowly rolled and directed its bow towards the JumpShip.
"You will dock with the station, get a recharge, be boarded and inspected, and get repairs done while answering our questions. If you do not, you will be boarded, arrested, and then questioned. We understand the unwritten agreement regarding jumpships, we, however, are not from this sector. If need be, we will follow you and if you force us, will vent the bridge. Stand down and follow the proscribed flight path, now." Captain Tennant's voice was lacking even the faintest hint of humor.
"Not from this- Who the fuck are you then? Kerensky's Lost Children?" The JumpShip captain cried, "Fine. Moving to dock. I'll need a tug, precision maneuvering thrusters have been on the fritz since the Second Succession war."
Captain Tennant laughed, "Why do you think we're forcing repairs down your throat? If your ship goes boom, it ain't while you're here. Don't panic, we'll swing by to give you a tug. And to quote one of our locals, who in the cinnamon toast fuck is Kerensky? And why does everyone think we're his?"
"Look," Major Rmoutil cut in, "We're complying with your orders to dock. How about we figure all this stuff out during a face to face. That sound good?"
There was a pause before the Jump Station's ATC cut back in, "Yeah that works. Follow the flight path and dock with us, we'll be waiting. And hey, we've recently got a shipment from the planet, so the tea's still fresh!"
Thora Korg sighed, "Periphery Tea. How… quaint."
/
DUMASSAS - Copernicus Station
Nadporučík Naděžda Ondráčková's first thought looking at the Battle Armor of the Terran Raiders was… "Quaint."
She stared one of the squad of troopers who had met the Collingwood and Clown Car's commanders at the interior airlock, arms crossed with her muscles on full display. The trooper one did not even bother raising their visor as they dictated terms to the crew.
"I'm not a fan of it," He was saying, "But commander says you're still allowed your sidearms. Just need to certify that it's unloaded, alright?"
"Ah relax, we know the drill. Not the first tense negotiations we've taken part in," Kapitan Emey Ramay, leader of the battlemech corp of the Irregulars replied, drawing his Sunbeam laser pistol with a gunslinger's flourish, spinning it around while ejecting the power cell, sending the energy pack flipping through the air and into his exposed hand before the Mechwarrior placed the barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger three times. "See? Perfectly safe."
As he holstered his pistol as every single person (aside from the other three who knew him enough to recognize the tape marking the power cell as dead) relaxed from the flamboyant display and potential suicide, Major Rmoutil drew his Magnum Auto Pistol with a sigh, said "I'm not doing any of that," and with practiced ease removed the 8 shot cylinder from the weapon, pointed it into the provided barrel, and let the double action hammer fall a few times on empty.
Kapitan Korg replicated the procedure with her own auto pistol before the Battle Armored troopers glanced at Ondráčková. There was a pause as everyone stared at the woman standing barely shorter than the CMC clad Marines before she sighed. "I did not bring a sidearm."
"So… you showed up to negotiations unarmed?" The trooper acting as the greeter asked, not quite in disbelief, and not far from appreciative tone.
Ondráčková rolled her neck as the muscles in her crossed arms flexed. "I did not say that."
One of the Marines coughed and shifted, their helmet conspicuously turning away from the massive woman. "Right, well…" The greeter continued, "Welcome aboard Copernicus Station, follow me and we'll get you your face to face."
It was a decent walk through the station and that was one of the shocks. They were all walking. After a brief moment of confusion at the entry umbilical and having to use a ladder to climb down into the station, the moment they crossed some invisible line inside the station, they suddenly were walking around under a single, standard, Star League g of Gravity. Even Captain Ramay's earlier trick was an experiment to check and, yes, the power cell fell at 9.81 meters per second per second exactly.
Ondráčková walked behind her commanders, happily filling the role of their bodyguard as Marines flanked the hallways. Doors were quickly shut before them to make sure they didn't get a look at the station just yet, and what few laborers who were caught outside casually sauntered behind the oddly SLDF looking armored troopers and out of sight of the four intruders in their normalcy.
It felt oddly familiar for Ondráčková.
Finally they had made it to a sparsely decorated conference room. Someone who just screamed Aerospace Traffic Controller sat at the head of the table, feet kicked up, sipping from what looked like aerospace pilot grade energy drink as another man wearing a cap reminiscent of a Star League Captian's.
He must be Captain Tennant, Ondráčková thought to herself, glancing at the pair of Marines carrying shouldered rifles flanking him, And those would be his bodyguards.
"So," The officer began, "Let's hear it from the top. Who are you and why are you here?"
The command team looked between them for a moment before Major Rmoutil walked forward and took a seat, Kapitan Korg and Kapitan Ramay sitting down a moment later as Ondráčková remained standing. "We're the Free Worlds Irregular Mercenary Combined Arms Regiment. We're an MRB certified, Veteran rated Mercenary regiment on MRB rated contract to come here and kill pirates. Our contractor apparently is on planet and we are supposed to make contact with them."
The casual ATC technician and the Warship Captain looked between each other before leaning forward, "So when you said you had no quarrel with the legitimate government…"
"Fighting the… fuck, Thora?" Rmoutil continued.
"Government under the control of the Nica family." Kapitan Korg replied easily, staring the ATC man up and down.
"Them. We have no quarrel with the government under the control of the Nica family. We've been paid only to kill pirates."
"Well…" The ATC person said, shifting around in his seat, "We ain't pirates, and we're the Haven Republic, so I don't think you've got a quarrel with us."
The three once more shared looks before turning back to the two locals. "So you'll let us land and carry out our contract?"
"Nope."
There's a beat.
"Pardon me?" Kapitan Ramay asked, "Just a flat… nope?"
"Yup."
"... Why?"
"'Cause."
"'Cause why?"
"'Cause we don't want a bunch of mercs wandering around our planet for no good reason."
"It's for a good reason! An MRB rated contract! Major, show the gentleman our contract already, let's get this sorted out."
"You can wave paperwork all you want, but it won't change the fact that-"
Major Rmoutil cut in, "We had to interrupt our trooper's leave because our client wouldn't wait. They barely had time to start, are flush with cash, and might actually mutiny if they have to sit in orbit of a planet."
There was another pause and then the WarShip Captain ever so slightly tilted like he was listening to an earpiece. However, as Ondráčková's eyes narrowed, she did not see anything inside that ear. In fact, his earpiece was on the other side of his head.
Her eyes slowly scanned the room and she noticed a faint shimmer near a thermal vent.
Her eyes narrowed again, but she turned back to the negotiations.
"Say we believe you," Captain Tennant began.
"We have no reason to lie about this." Thora commented, "Literally, if we were here to actually raid you, this conversation would be more about how to leave and ratting on our contractor. ComStar has bylaws regarding no fault refusal to take contracts and one of them is when the opponent has a WarShip and you do not."
"As I was saying…" The Captain glared at each of the Irregulars, daring any of them to interrupt again, "Say we believe you, you have not explained why we should care about your contract. Neither the Haven Republic, nor Raynor's Raiders recognize ComStar, nor it's Mercenary Review Board as neither have had a presence on Dumassas since before our arrival, nor have they for the last several decades. If ComStar wishes to correct this, they can reach out to us and my superiors, all three of them, negotiate with them. As such, we do not, nor are we required to recognize your contract."
"Because- because-" Ondráčková rolled her eyes as it seemed Thora was working herself up to a rant at the idea of someone dismissing ComStar out of hand, thankfully the Major cut in at that.
"Because you have no reason not to. Nothing in our contract states any damages towards you or, I am assuming this Haven Republic, and hunting pirates is a net positive for all civilized space and while you may not have had business with ComStar, you do have business with traders and C-Bills spend, no matter where you are. If we land, we're perfectly happy to have our soldiers walk through whatever checkpoints to want to set up and-"
Captain Tennant waved a hand, cutting off the Major, "We're taking care of a significant part of that problem right now. Let me be clear, the Haven Republic, and by extension, the Dumassas government, are not in a good mood at the moment. We are not inclined to allow any visitors at this time."
"I don't suppose that problem happens to go by the name 'Piedra's Plunderers'? If so, then technically helping you would be our job. And if not, you're a Periphery nation, trade's probably low. WarShips are expensive to maintain and even with your fancy LosTech, your economy needs influxes of cash every now and again. You let us land and even if all our grunts do is go grocery shopping and sit in the DropShips or DropPort hotel, you'll see benefits. We're more than happy to be accommodating. I just want to complete this goddamn contract before the Succession Wars end." Major Rmoutil replied, taking Captain Tennant's interruption with grace. "We're not planning on being visitors, this is business not pleasure. Once this Noteputer gets the client's signature, we plan on leaving and getting the fuck back to Free Worlds space."
The Captain and Stationmaster shared a look before turning towards one of the power armored soldiers with them, who scratched their helmet and gave a shrug. "Did your contract include a profile of the pirates, and their leader?"
Major Rmoutil looked at Kapitan Korg who grabbed the noteputer sitting on the table and scrolled through it. "Not the contract, but if nobody shoots me while I grab my own, I've got a picture of him and his group's insignia. Did some research in my own time so I could brief the infantry who they shoot on sight and who they drag back to the client for trial and execution."
She cast a look around and seeing as nobody told her to stop, slowly reached into a satchel hanging from her hip to pull out a decently sized Noteputer with an extra large screen. "Right… Pedira's Plunderer's… Tab 7, tab 1, Pedira. Here you go."
She slid the chunky personal computer across to the Stationmaster and Captain, an ugly face snarling up from a rotating set of mugshots combined with various descriptions of his DropShip and unit insignia. "That our bastard?"
As the Captain took the noteputer, he observed the image, smiling as he passed it to the stationmaster. The stationmaster furrowing his brow in concentration, his face returning to a neutral state as the noteputer was passed to the soldier they had turned to before.
As the soldier took ahold of it with two fingers and their thumb, their visor rose, revealing a very young looking black woman that didn't even look thirty. "Yeah, yeah that's the twat." The Irregular raised an eyebrow in surprise at the accent, she sounded like she came straight from one of the Noble families on New Avalon, not the Periphery. "I recognize his face. I was with the gang that shucked him out of his cockpit. Ugly bastard."
"Awesome. Is the bastard dead and if so, mind if you give us some proof? We'll throw the bonus your way as a goodwill gesture once we get our hands on it. C-Bills spend no matter where you are in the 'Sphere. Or out of it." Major Rmoutil replied.
"That'll be a problem." The trooper, somehow much more gently than her armor would suggest capable, tossed the noteputer back to Romulti. "We incinerated him and the rest of his cunts that didn't surrender. You'll need to talk to the bosses for any other proof you might need. Tosspots like him don't get a burial."
Thora groaned at the lack of a body before making grabby motions for her Noteputer as Major Rmoutil continued, "Do you have a BattleROM or something? Anything that has a shot of his face and him being very dead. Either way, we still need to make planetfall to meet up with our client. What'll that take?"
"Every CMC-300 comes equipped with a helmet and body cam that runs for the duration of its operation." Captain Tennant's answer drawing their attention, "The only available footage is in Castle Raynor, but you're not getting anywhere near it until the Commander gets back."
Ondráčková raised an eyebrow at the term Castle as the rest of the command trio shared a brief glance, "We don't want to get near this Castle, we just want to be somewhere with sunshine, gravity, and fresh air. You don't even need to get us the footage, just some good stills and we'll give you the C-Bills for putting the guy down." Major Rmoutil said, rubbing his fingers together in a Lyran Prayer.
There was a shift in mood as the trooper's visor came back down, turning them into one among many faceless armed soldiers, as rifles that had come down to a more relaxed position in one-hand were held in both again. The station master leveled a glare that promised nothing, "I hope that wasn't intended as a bribery promise. The last time I saw someone make that gesture, a few people disappeared when they left. I still have the credits we pried from the traitor who accepted it."
"Wait what? No! I mean… not in that way." Rmoutil replied, "It's an indication of trade. You get us pictures of his head face, we get you the bonus for killing the guy. You've never worked with Lyrans before? Look, we want to get this contract done as soon as we can. I personally want to go back to League space so I can restock on artillery shells and make full use of my Leave Pay to visit the local Canopian Circuses. But if we bail, then we get declared in breach of contract, our rating gets docked, and the MRB opens an investigation that could end with hefty fines. I don't want that. It is in my best interest if nothing goes wrong between our groups."
Ondráčková noticed Thora raising an eyebrow at the mention of traitors and what happened to them. The leader of the organized rumor mill watch most definitely picked up the implications of that statement. The station master continued to glare, going over each of the Irregulars, all but demanding they also reply.
"We are not going to bribe you." Ondráčková finally spoke up, "It would be dishonorable and counterproductive. We have taken a contract and intend to fulfill it. The full text of the contract is before you. We have no intentions of deception. It would be dishonorable and counterproductive. We have no intention of betraying you, you have a WarShip. It would be dishonorable and counterproductive. Good enough for you, affirmative?"
As the other Irregulars gave some sign of agreement and affirmation, the glare leveled off. "Very well then, but we won't be negotiating any potential landings on Dumassas." Station Master Ashimirir raised a hand, forestalling any protest. "You will have to negotiate directly with the Governess and the Magistrate. It'll take a bit of time before they are available, so until then, you can enjoy some tea and snacks, and your crews can spend some time on the station. Only five at any one time from each dropship. The Captain and I will return when the Governess and Magistrate are available, until then, please, enjoy." With that, the two rose from their chairs and left the room.
/
A serving tray with tea, coffee, ice water, and a serving of snacks were delivered to the room shortly after the two had departed, and left to the mercy of the Irregulars. Thora instantly claimed the teapot and began pouring out cups for the combined group, the faux-ceramic cup looking hilarious in Ondráčková's massive hands, and began to sip.
"Huh." She mused to nobody in particular, "Earl Grey. Maybe there was something to the FedSuns accent that one Marine sported."
Ramay waved her off, "Ondráčková, have the MP's been briefed?"
Ondráčková gave the mechwarrior a dull look, "They knew their duty the moment we stepped foot on the station. I will have them lashed if they let their troopers make a mess of an intact JumpStation." There was a pause from the others as the burly NCO took a sip of her tea. "I concur, Kapitan Korg. This tea is quite good."
"I know right! I was expecting something like that abhorrent mushroom concoction we had to swig during negotiations on the Dutchy of Orloff's border. 'A drink with every successful agreement' my ass, they just wanted to get rid of the foul stuff."
"I do not know," Ondráčková replied, "They were drinking it quite enthusiastically. They even tried to ply some of our troopers with crates of it. My MP's initially thought they were trying to sell us narcotics. The confusion was most disruptive to resupply efforts."
Major Rmoutil twirled a biscotti between his fingers like one might a machine gun round, "Any chance you can get a report? It's not that I'm doubting you…"
"It is that you are doubting our hosts will not play Lyran games in an attempt to better their position." Ondráčková replied bluntly, not caring if anyone overheard. "Very well."
She pulled a bulky looking radio handset built for punching through bunker walls and clicked it on. "This is your Nadporučí. Report."
A faint static hum clicked on as a handful of other people joined the call. "We've been able to marshal everyone into order. Only NCO's and above are being let off right now and we're limiting it to necessary runs. First group just came back after looking around and we're putting together grocery lists for what they've got here. We've got one casualty. The dumbass walked out of the airlock upside down and broke his shoulder."
"Are you mocking him?"
"Relentlessly."
"Then all is well. Continue."
"Aye ma'am aye."
The radio clicked shut and Ondráčková raised an expectant eyebrow at her Major.
"Right, I guess you do have it in hand." Major Rmoutil replied, dipping his biscotti into a large mug of coffee he had liberated for himself and used it to stir in some sugar. "Just, when there's someone hanging around with a WarShip…"
"I understand. Your concern is appreciated, but not needed."
"You do realize they're keeping us here as hostages, right?" Ramay piped up after a bit of pause as they drank the (good) tea and munched on the provided snacks.
"Indeed." "Obviously." "Without question."
/
The serving tray was looking much more empty when the Station Master and Captain, and only them, returned. "So far your crew are behaving, and we've allowed them access to the station's commissary and what few shops we have onboard. Do you need any more time before starting negotiations?" This time it was the Captain who asked.
Major Rmoutil waved to the Captain, "Maybe wait for Ramay to come back? He had to go take a piss and shouldn't be back too- and speak of the devil." Almost as if summoned by the words, Ramay walked back with a slight spring in his step.
"Right, sorry about the wait, I'm back." Kapitan Ramay said, taking a seat next to Major Rmoutil .
"Then yes, we are able to begin negotiations."
Mahmoud pressed a recessed button, revealing a pad built into it. In short order, a pair of holograms were emitted from the table without any emitters in sight, projecting the image of two women, one in their ever present lab-coat, the other in a pants-suit not out of place in Taurian politics. "Magistrate Hanson, Governess Nica, ma'am, the Free World Irregulars. My apologies for any latency, the transmission is from planetside."
The governess was the first to speak, sitting prim and proper wherever she was, "Hello, I would say this is a pleasant surprise, except I made no requests for your company to come to my world. My last messages to the HPGs were directed to merchant groups and corporations. Who exactly is your contractor? I was sent a scan, but it is signed by 'Prioritas'. Care to explain this?"
"Latency is no issue, ma'am." Major Rmoutil replied, choosing to ignore the 'from planet side' comment for now, "And it is good to hear the Nica family is still at the head of Dumassas. Simply put? We don't entirely know who Prioritas is. The work pays well and we are never screwed around, but the client remains anonymous. We aren't paid to ask questions. Just to dig out whoever we are pointed at." The Major waited, letting his words cross the vast gulf from the jump-point to the planet, by his reckoning, it should be at least a couple of minutes for the signal to reach and then the response to come back. Still, it wouldn't do to-
"And you simply accepted the contract?" Magistrate Hanson asked also immediately, disbelief clear and her words laced with sarcasm, "By your name, you are from the Free World's League, and their closest world is no small distance from Dumassas, and by your own words, you cut your men's leave short to jump on this contract. I have spoken with mercenaries myself, and have shown them this contract, including someone akin to your MRB. All of them tell me that this contract is perhaps the flimsiest excuse for a special operations group they have ever seen."
"If I may direct your attention to the line dictating the pay and benefits including full combat insurance, travel costs, and bereavements for the duration of our contract, you will find the answer quite apparent. This work pays exceptionally well and I, well paid as I am, am not paid to question it." He sighs, "Look, first time we got one of these contracts, I thought the exact same thing. We were being used as more deniable than usual operatives for someone's interest. The running bet had us even odds helping the Captain-General as hindering him. That was a dozen years ago and we haven't been disappeared yet and nothing we've done could be tied to some covert stuff. Could be the Captain-General, one of his cousins, maybe even the Combine or if you want to put on some tinfoil, Canopus. We just don't know. If your guys can tell us who's padding our pockets you'd make a chunk of our infantry really happy and the rest very broke, but right now we just really don't care."
The answer seemed to mollify the two ladies as they visibly relaxed, "Yes, that was the other potential explanation given to me." The Magistrate was handed a strange looking noteputer off-projection, "I will request that you send us a copy of all prior contracts with this Prioritas, those that you still have. I've been told that paperwork is often the first casualty among your groups between contracts. As far as landing planetside-"
"We are both willing to allow you to make landfall," The governess continued seamlessly, "However, there will be conditions, including the establishment of a new contract with both our nations. There is room for discussion, however some aspects are not. Let me be clear, even if we reach an agreement, you and your fellow officers will remain on the station for another four days after your dropships have landed. The Haven Republic will facilitate your transport to Dumassas after. Are we clear?"
Before an answer could be given, the Magistrate added, "Station Master Mahmoud has a copy of the proposed contract," behind the projections, said Master slide a noteputer across the table, coming to a stop just within arm's reach of the Irregular officers. "We'll give you a few minutes to review the contract."
The four officers of the Free World Irregulars glanced at each other and shared a silent conversation. Some crude hand gestures were shared, someone mimed tightening a noose, and Ondráčková put a stop to it by clearing her throat loudly.
Major Rmoutil turned back to the holographic projection of the Governess as his command staff shifted behind him, game faces on. "Alright, you've made your statement. Here's my counter offer…"
/
Within 10 days, the first member of the Free Worlds Irregulars walked out of the Hub Drop Port, pocket full of C-Bills and a fourteen day leave pass firmly in hand. Gleefully unaware of their role in the chaos to come.