Firebrand

Moralez finally recognized her as Ambassador Zuki, the delegate for the Araxie territory. He hadn't been informed that the two would be traveling together. He had read her dossier, as he had done for all of the visitors who would be placed under his protection, but she was rather enigmatic. Her people were the newest addition to the Coalition, they had joined recently enough that there were no Araxie soldiers serving in the Navy yet. This was the first time that he had seen one in person.

"Ambassadors Elysiedde, Zuki, welcome to Fort Hamilton," the dignitary said as they approached from beneath the looming frigate. He was wearing a white uniform not dissimilar from that of a UNN officer's formal attire, but without the exuberance of medals and ribbons. "I regret that the presiding Admiral is currently indisposed, but he will be attending the council meeting to represent the UNN as planned. My name is Secretary Stevens, and I will be seeing to your needs for the duration of your stay here. Accompanying me is Security Chief Moralez, who will be responsible for your safety."

"It is good to be back," Elysiedde said jovially, his booming voice carrying through the hangar. He sucked in a breath of air, inflating his chest and planting his hands on his hips as he appraised his surroundings. "The Pinwheel is as impressive as ever. I am sure that this security council meeting will be just as productive as the last. My Lord Patriarch sends his greetings, my uncle hopes that the flagship of our burgeoning fleet will impress."

"Indeed it does," Stevens replied, raising his eyes to its ornate hull. "I can't say that I've ever seen anything quite like it before."

"Chief Moralez, Secretary Stevens," the second Borealan said, stepping forward and extending a hand in greeting to each man in turn. Moralez took it, noting that her fur was just as silky as it looked, and wondering what she made of his prosthetics. "I don't believe that we've been formally introduced, Chief, but your reputation precedes you. My name is Zuki, I am representing the Araxie territory."

"Nice to meet you, Ambassador," he replied. She had a firm handshake, confident, and she appeared to be more attuned to human customs than her counterpart.

"We weren't expecting you to arrive with the Elysian delegation," Stevens added, "I trust that relations are continuing to improve?"

"I could have charted a Courser to the station, like our Rask colleague," she replied. "But the Patriarch was kind enough to offer me passage aboard his flagship, and I thought that we might use the time to discuss that very subject. I'm happy to say that Araxie and Elysia are becoming firm friends, we have signed many new trade and security treaties since we were last here."

"I'm pleased to hear that," Stevens replied, gesturing for the ambassadors to follow him. "This way, if you would. I'll show you to your suites in the residential quarter."

They made their way across the hangar, the Elysian ambassador beginning to chat with the Shock Troopers in their native language of hisses and growls. After a minute or two, the Araxie ambassador seemed to grow curious, her furry ears pivoting in his direction.

"What are you scheming about, Torza?" Zuki asked jokingly. The stocky Equatorial gave her a toothy grin in response. The two seemed to be on first-name terms.

"I merely inquire as to the nature of the Security Chief's injuries, they intrigue me."

"Really, Torza," Zuki scolded. "It's hardly polite."

"I mean no offense," he added hurriedly. "In my culture, injuries earned in battle are to be displayed with pride. Such severe wounds would have seen even an Elysian Ranger rendered invalid, but this human still performs his duties, and he holds a prestigious title at that."

"It's quite alright," Moralez replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, the electric motors whirring. "I did indeed lose my limbs in battle, but the story probably isn't as heroic as you're imagining. I lost the arms to a grenade that went off too soon, and I lost the leg to friendly fire. The gunship was trying to take out a Betelgeusian Warrior that was nearby at the time."

"Then you faced a Warrior and lived to tell of it?" Torza said, obviously impressed by the tale all the same. "Perhaps it is a better story than you think, Chief of Security."

"What of your crew, Ambassador Elysiedde?" Stevens asked. "Will they be staying on the flagship, or will they be coming aboard? It wouldn't be difficult to secure guest visas for them if they would like to explore the station and make use of the facilities, as long as they remain in the tourist quarter."

"Yes, a little shore leave might do them good," he replied. "I will have them come aboard when the necessary arrangements have been made."

They emerged onto the torus through a smaller opening that was built into the sixty-foot-high hangar door, Stevens leading the ambassadors downspin towards the residential quarter as the two Troopers followed. Moralez said a brief goodbye to the Borealans, then headed back in the direction of the security building. On the way, he received a call from the flight control operator again, pausing and putting a finger to his earpiece as he tried to hear her over the roar of the crowd.

"Security Chief, we have another incoming vessel. A UNN Courser inbound from Borealis has just left superlight, and they'll be dispatching a shuttle with the Rask ambassador aboard shortly. Where would you like me to send them?"

"Have her sent to hangar seventeen," Moralez replied, "might as well get them all in one place."

"Would you like me to contact Secretary Stevens or another member of the diplomatic staff and have them meet you there?"

"No," Moralez said, "I doubt that the honorable Rask delegate would much appreciate a formal reception. I'll handle it myself."

***

The shuttle matched velocity with the rotation of the habitat, its thrusters shooting jets of flame as it slowly glided towards the thin force field of the hangar, the energy barrier allowing the solid object to pass through it. It was another ocean-grey Navy vessel, a troop carrier designed to ferry personnel to and fro. It had a pair of stubby wings for gliding in atmosphere, and a cockpit situated high on the stunted nose for maximum visibility. The thrusters on its underside flared with blue fire as the inertia caught it, its wheeled landing gear descending as it hovered just above the deck, before touching down with a clunk. The vessel bounced as the gear absorbed the impact, and then the whine of the engines began to wind down.

The troop ramp at the rear of the dropship descended with a pneumatic hiss, and another large, feline figure stepped out. She rounded the vessel, which was facing the far wall, and began to stalk over to Moralez once she noticed him standing alone on the deck. She spared a glance at the Elysian frigate, wrinkling her nose at it.

Unlike Torza's light complexion, this one's skin was dusky, and her hair looked as though it had been bleached blonde by the sun. Her fur was the same color, devoid of any patterning where it was visible on her hands, her lower legs, and her whipping tail.

Her clothing was all tight leather in shades of jet black and dark brown, her pants leaving little to the imagination as they strained against her muscular thighs and rump, creaking as she walked. If it wasn't for the obvious stitching that held them together, he might have assumed that they had been painted onto her. They ended just above the heel joints of her digitigrade legs, giving way to her sandy fur. There were belts and holsters hanging around her waist that housed an arsenal of knives and unwieldy, primitive revolvers, but the guards would certainly relieve her of them before allowing her to set foot on the central hub. Even then, disarming her was somewhat of a futile gesture. Borealans were never unarmed, their claws were like meat hooks.

Her leather jacket was a little looser, resembling something that a biker would wear. It was thick enough that it might actually provide some measure of protection from claws or blades, lined with thick padding that reminded him of a stab vest. It seemed to be handmade, but that wasn't a dig against its quality. The fine leather was adorned with golden studs and badges, decorative patterns were pressed into the material, and there were patches sewn into it. None of the Borealans seemed to like wearing shoes, but she did have fingerless, leather gloves that left her curved claws exposed. The knuckles were studded with silver metal, likely for making her punches more lethal.

"Vice Admiral Korbaz," Moralez began, the alien looking him up and down disdainfully with her yellow eyes. "Welcome back to Fort Hamilton."

"I recognize you, tin man," she replied. "We have met before."

"Yes, we met briefly the last time that you were on the station. There was an issue with you relinquishing your weapons before entering a secure area if memory serves. My name is Chief Moralez, and I'm responsible for station security."

"Indeed. I recognize your metal flesh."

"Why is it always the prosthetics that people remember?" he asked, his tone dry and sarcastic. "What about my pretty face?" he added, gesturing to his grizzled visage.

"Using humor to diffuse tension," Korbaz sneered, "how very...human."

He waved for her to follow him, the two beginning to walk back towards the exit to the torus.

"Were you not accompanied by an entourage, Ambassador?" Moralez asked. "I have to say, it's unusual to see a lone Rask without the company of their pack."

"Any Rask on the station will recognize my rank and make themselves available to me if I require it," she replied. "I have no need to travel with a pack."

"Very well. Would you like me to show you to your suite?"

"No," she replied gruffly, "I know my way around this station well enough."

"Are we going to have any problems this time, Vice Admiral, or are you going to make an effort to abide by our rules? Your countrymen don't seem to have as many issues remembering our regulations as you do. You should realize that diplomatic immunity only goes so far, I have strict orders from the Admiralty to make sure that nothing disrupts this council meeting."

"Those who have undergone your training, no doubt," she grumbled.

"You know all too well why Borealans must complete their integration training before serving in mixed units," he replied.

"There are those among us who believe that your integration training is a form of brainwashing, that it strips those who undergo it of what makes them Borealan. It renders them docile...malleable," she sneered.

"I'm aware that some members of the Rask hierarchy believe that only the strongest and most vicious should lead, and that your people are uniquely qualified. I certainly won't dispute the latter. But this is the Coalition, Vice Admiral, not a Borealan pack. The organization treats all of its members equally. We have no ruler, no Alpha."

"That is what you tell yourselves, perhaps," she added as they approached the door. "But we are not blind to the way that things work out here. We have a creature on the homeworld, a pack animal known as the Archeox that is loyal to those with the strength to lead it. This is a trait that we both share, making them easy to domesticate. Several of them together can bring down a Borealan, and we deploy them in battle against our enemies."

"We have a similar animal on Earth know as a dog," Moralez replied.

"They are too simple to realize that their blind loyalty is often rewarded with death. We see this relationship in the Coalition, also."

"How so?" Moralez asked, pausing politely to let her pass through the door before him.

"The humans have a chain around the necks of the Borealan people," she continued as they walked out onto the habitat, the artificial breeze catching her blonde hair. "You send them into battle in much the same way, rewarding their loyalty with death. But the Brokers...they have a chain around your necks, human. It has not escaped our attention that there are never any Brokers on the station, none in your armies, and none of their ships in your fleets. I may be the only Rask who has ever laid eyes on one."

"They provide material support for the war effort, rather than ground troops," Moralez explained." Funding, raw materials, technology. That kind of thing. I can only assume that they're not suited to combat roles."

"And do you not feed your war dogs well until the time has come to sacrifice them?"

"I'm curious, Vice Admiral, why would your Matriarch send someone so outspokenly critical of the Coalition to represent her interests?"

"Perhaps because, like you, I am not afraid to speak my mind. I appreciate that you do not talk down to me as your fawning politicians do, Security Chief. You have a certain...brashness about you." She reached out and ran her padded fingers across his scarred cheek, her sharp claws getting dangerously close. Moralez didn't react, meeting her gaze unflinchingly, staring up into her amber eyes as she peered back at him with her feline pupils. "What if I were to put a chain around your neck, and take you as my consort?"

"Others have tried," he warned, taking her wrist in his hand and pulling it away. He increased his grip strength, her eyes widening in alarm. "It didn't end well for them."

Her expression morphed into a wry smile, and he released her from his grasp, the ambassador rubbing her wrist and flexing her fingers as she looked him up and down with a new appreciation.

"A pity. With strength like yours, you might even be able to keep up with me."

"Unfortunately, I'm spoken for," he replied sternly.

"Yes, I surmised as much. A Polar," she said, turning her feline nose up at him. "I can smell her cloying scent on you."

"I like you, Korbaz," Moralez said as he crossed his arms over his chest. "We always have such frank discussions. Just behave yourself while you're on my station, and we'll get along just fine, alright?"

"One would think that you didn't trust me, Security Chief," she replied with a toothy grin that exposed her sharp teeth. "My people are accustomed to being put under unjust scrutiny."

"Guilty as charged," he replied. "Now, if you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me or any of the ambassadorial staff on the station. I hope that your stay will be an...uneventful one."

"See you around, tin man," she said as she wandered off into the crowd. Moralez waited until she was out of earshot before loosing a relieved sigh. He put a finger to his earpiece, pulling out his tablet computer and putting a call through to flight control.

"Flight control, this is the Security Chief. Please let the Admiral know that the Rask delegate has arrived on the station. Who have we got next?"

"Roger that, Chief. You have a little time before the Broker vessel is slated to arrive. If you'd like to have them redirected to hangar seventeen again, I'll inform Secretary Stevens and have him meet you there."

"Sounds good," Moralez replied, "keep me informed."

It was probably time to get in touch with the security team that he had in mind for the Diplo-bug. He set off in the direction of the recreation center, not needing to call ahead to know where they would be.

CHAPTER 2: JOKERS WILD

"Call," Harry said, taking a conservative sip from a glass of brandy as his alien companion looked down at the cards that he was holding. It was almost impossible to tell when a Krell was bluffing, their reptilian features were so hard to read, their scaly faces nigh expressionless. The creature was hunched over the round table opposite him, his eight-foot frame meaning that he had to practically double over to get level with it. He was sitting on a stool from the bar, equipped with a sturdy spring that would sink the occupant down level with the counter, designed to accommodate the various species that frequented the establishment. His long, oar-like tail trailed along the floor a good distance behind him, making up almost half of the alien's body length. It was thick and heavy, packed with fat reserves and muscle for swimming.

A cloud of grey cigarette smoke lingered in the air above them, the fans that hung from the ceiling creating swirling patterns as they spun, their lamps casting a yellow glow that created dark shadows to give everything a dingy vibe. They were surrounded by booths and tables, many of which were occupied by their fellow Navy personnel, puffing on e-cigars and drinking their ration of alcohol as they chatted or played games. The bar was off to their right, made from the same faux-wood as the tables and paneling, the glittering bottles that lined the shelves behind it reflecting the light. The flashing neon of arcade cabinets added a touch of color the space, and a low murmur of conversation provided a constant background noise. There were few places on the station where Harry felt more at ease, he always relished the time between deployments.

"Hang on," he grumbled, running his fingers through his blonde hair in exasperation as he looked down at his hand. "How can I have Four of a Kind if you have a Royal Flush? I've got all four Kings."

The Krell began to laugh, a low, huffing sound that was felt as much as it was heard. The giant reptile lay his cards on the table, spreading them out with his seven-fingered hand.

"What the...why are there two King of Clubs? You always cheat, you walking handbag. How are you doin' that? You don't even have sleeves!"

His companion continued to chuckle in his alien way, Harry reaching over and plucking the extra card from the table. Some people dismissed the Krell as being slow, or unintelligent, due to their sluggish mannerisms and their easygoing nature. They concerned themselves only with basking beneath the heat lamps in their barracks, and clogging the lanes in the Pinwheel's Olympic pool, following what orders they were given without question. Those who took the time to get to know them better soon discovered that they were just as sharp as any other species. The perception of them as being anything less was mostly a result of their plodding metabolisms, and the way that their longevity altered their perception of time. The Krell rarely did anything with any urgency, unless it pertained to combat. While they wouldn't hurt a fly under normal circumstances, if someone threatened their charges, they would fly into a frenzy and tear the aggressor limb from limb.

"Right, let's try again," Harry complained as he scooped up the cards and began to shuffle the deck. "And this time, I'm going to deal."

The Krell turned his snout towards the door, loosing a low trilling sound that he used to greet someone that he recognized. He couldn't reproduce human speech, at least not without a translator, but he understood it just fine.

Harry swiveled in his seat to see the Chief approaching, the man raising an e-cigar to his lips with his prosthetic hand as he neared their table.

"What's up, Chief?" Harry asked. "You got time off? I'm trying to get a fair Poker game out of Blackjack if you want to buy in."

"What's on the table?" the Chief asked, taking a draw from his cigar. "Finally, I've wanted a smoke all damned day. Kaisha won't let me do it in the apartment, says it stings her nose."

"We're just playin' for today's tab," Harry replied, shuffling the cards. "Blackjack doesn't drink much, but he doesn't stand much chance of losing either, so it evens out."

The Krell rumbled in agreement, the low resonance making the glass of brandy vibrate.

"Unfortunately, I'm here on business," Moralez replied. Harry made to stand to attention, he hadn't realized that the Chief was on duty, but a prosthetic hand on his shoulder stayed him. "At ease, Harry. I've got an assignment that I think you two will be well suited for. Follow me over to one of the booths at the back, I don't want to be overheard."