Interlude:
Margave Lorenz Repanse
This was not the place where Lorenz should meet these people.
It wasn’t the first time he considered this; the first time he recognized the utter debasement he was allowing to occur in the name of… preparation.
But this time, seeing these… men lying about the private gardens and fountains of his palace, it cut deeper. The obvious truth of it stood out in stark colors within his mind’s eye.
These men were unfit to be in his home. They were unfit to be on his planet, let alone in his presence.
Cutthroats and brigands, pirates, mutineers, and criminals.
This… this is what his House of Repanse had been reduced to because of that two-faced, sanctimonious whoremonger.
“This is necessary, my lord,” his steward Edmund reminded him gently, head bowed and eyes cast to his feet. “You know in your heart it is.”
He did. It did not turn the acrid taste of the indignity any sweeter, though.
“Let’s get this over with.” He sighed.
Marching through the grounds of his estate, Lorenz was reminded with every step the regrettable state his realm found itself in. The floors had long since lost their luster, and the frames that held the paintings on the wall were dull where they once gleamed. There were barely a handful of servants where once upon a time one could be found in every corner of the house, waiting in case the need of them arose.
And now here he was, entertaining butchers and barbarians in his private gardens. Begging for help from such a lowly lot.
He forced the smile onto his face as he stepped out to the outside world, feeling the kiss of the morning star on his face now.
“My lord Wolnir,” he greeted, feeling himself almost choke on the word. “I trust you find the accommodations to your liking.”
Wolnir was a beast of a man. Pirate. Brigand. Cutthroat. Little more than a cur and a criminal. But not a common one. Somehow the filthy pirate had amassed a sizable fleet of ships since the days of the Federation’s collapse; dozens of frigates, corvettes, and even two ships of the line. His flagship, The Howling, was the largest in his fleet, an Ignus class vessel, second only in tonnage to true Federation capital ships.
Enough ships to rival any one planetary governor's defense force, turn the tide of orbital wars, and transport soldiers and supplies where they needed to be.
Wolnir was a large man, in every sense of the word. His body was a strange form of being both elongated through spending most of his lifetime in the void and astonishingly obese from decades of self-indulgence in food and drink from his many, many raids.
The lord of pirates could barely sit in his chair, he was so fat.
“Aye. Good ’nough.” The hog belched, crumbs of food stuck in his red beard, jowls and chins jiggling as he searched for yet more food to stuff in his maw.
If need be… he would treat with this creature. When the whole business was done and House Repanse had taken back what was due, then he would never have to bear the sight of him again.
Lorenz cleared his throat again. “I’m glad of it…” He paused, wondering for a moment if he should see to proper etiquette or get down to business as quickly as possible.
Then the choice was removed from his hands entirely.
Wolnir’s eyes were a poison green, and when he looked to Lorenz, the pirate fleet master allowed his smile to grow over his fat face.
“Ya din call me here, gi’me food and run of yer house ta make nice. Ya wont somethin’.”
Lorenz let his smile slip off his face. “Very well, straight to business it is then.” His relief was hidden well but could not be understated. The sooner this was finished, the better.
Taking his seat across from the pirate lord, Lorenz became acutely aware that, in comparison to the criminal, his escort seemed lacking. Flanking Wolnir were four other brigands of similar… stock. Though his gate guards had taken their weapons, he had little doubt they would find and use anything on hand to maim if they so chose. His own guard were around the grounds, but… at a distance as was proper.
A foolish oversight he wouldn’t repeat.
“To put it bluntly, I wish to hire your fleet,” he said, cutting to it.
Wolnir smiled.
“No.”
For a moment, Lorenz blinked.
What?
“What?”
The pirate’s smile widened. “You don’t want to hire my fleet, noble boy. You need to hire my fleet!”
The Margave of Repanse glowered, fingers tightening subtly where they were laced over his lap.
“However you wish to phrase it, the end result is the same.” He demanded with a shrug, “Your fleet, hired by the House of Repanse.”
“No. I am thinking the result is different, noble boy.” The pirate lord licked his lips, all but leering. “It means my price can be whatever I want it to be.”
Lorenz felt his lip curl. “Do not think yourself so invaluable,” he bluffed, and it was a bluff.
Without that fleet, he would not be able to transport nearly enough men and materiel to secure quick victories in his conquests. His own army had been expanded. But with no means of transporting them from planet to planet, they were as good as worthless.
Not to mention his stockpile of supplies would not last nearly long enough for a protracted campaign.
“I have other options to explore should you prove to be unreasonable.”
“Oh?” The pirate lord laughed. “What options, noble boy?”
“Your rival for one,” he replied easily. He had done his research. “The Ghoul Queen—”
“Hah!” The pirate laughed. “That worthless cunt? Her fleet is barely half of mine.”
“But she is an option,” he warned, sensing blood in the proverbial water. “One I can call upon should you prove… unreasonable.” He repeated.
A grudging silence fell between them. The pirate lord wasn’t smiling anymore, glaring.
Then his eyes filled with mirth again. Poison green danced with amused glee.
“You lie well, noble boy.”
Lorenz struggled not to let his facade crack.
Wolnir leaned back in his seat, the silence stretching, both men seemingly measuring, or more specifically, reevaluating their starting positions.
“What is it you think to demand?” Lorenz asked, his lip barely curling into the faintest of sneers.
The smile slipped back onto Wolnir’s lips. Pleased and insufferably smug.
The pirate’s next words floored the noble-born lord.
“Isa,” he demanded. “I want Isa.”
Lorenz felt his mouth fall completely open.
“You want a planet?” he all but screeched, all thoughts of composure gone. “You want the garden world of the subsector? You’re out of your mind if you think I’d hand you over the prize of this entire campaign!”
The Margave stood, shoving the chair back. “I’m not in the business of replacing one dictator for another, Pirate.”
The cur had the gall to laugh. His fat jiggled as he threw his head back and barked out his amusement for the whole courtyard to hear, his fellows laughing alongside him.
“Yav got plenty to learn, noble boy.” He grinned, teeth on display. “If you will not pay my price, your enemies will.”
Lorenz felt himself go rigid.
“You would sell information,” he surmised, catching on quickly.
“I’m guessin’ your enemies will be paying handsomely for knowing what you are planning. What I’ve seen.” He chuffed. “With them, I get rich. But they don’t need my fleet.” His green eyes were intense, the glint of ambition, or madness, in his gaze. “You do.”
The fat brigand stood up. “Riches or lordship, either way I will get my due, noble boy.” His arms went wide. “I am already lord of the fleets. The red trail across the stars. A planet is my due.”
His smile returned. “That’s my price. Isa.”
Lorenz grit his teeth.
The thought alone of making this… this wretch a planetary governor, of founding a noble house on par with his own… of raising him to be his equal…
That alone was disgusting.
But to promise him Isa… the world that was crucial to his own plans…
To be rid of that tyrant Desan.
But this fleet was crucial too…
The margave gnawed along the inside of his cheek, weighing is options for a long moment.
It truly was a no-win situation.
Even so- Isa was a crisis for tomorrow. The fleet was the problem of today.
“I will… consider,” he hissed, “your position.”
Wolnir’s smile was an oily, poisonous thing.