He could whip something up himself, but Samson was currently a busy man. He had no time to be cooking for himself. And so, once again, he found himself passing through the doors of Grimshtadt in the morning.
“Good morning, Mr. Samson, sir,” said a waiter with a familiar face. “Can we get you your usual?”
“I wouldn’t mind the usual, but I’m actually waiting for some lady guests today. I’ll have the food after they arrive.”
The waiter smiled. A smile that was a bit too unabashed to be a business smile.
“Are these lady guests of the beautiful variety, sir?”
“All ladies are beautiful, if you ask me.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I bring drinks until such time that your companions arrive?”
“Hmm, sure. What was that tea called again? Maxillon tea? Bring me some of that. I’ve gotten weirdly into the stuff.”
“Right away, sir.” The waiter took his order, but not without a slight tinge of criticism about his eyes. “A few words, if I may: I don’t believe there is anything ‘weird’ about taking a liking to Maxillon tea.”
“You’re totally right,” said Samson.
After a spell, his Maxillon tea came to the table. It was served hot, the considerably offbeat aroma wafting up. Samson poured some honey and wine, and slowly sipped.
His wristgear buzzed. Someone was calling.
“Oh, look who’s giving me a ring.” It was Paveryua, his erstwhile subordinate from his time on the Basrogrh.
Samson had spent many long years in the military, and had enough old friends to show for it. But he was especially close with the old Basrogrh gang. While they hadn’t been with him during his first proper battle, they were blood brothers, their bond forged through escaping the maw of death as a unit.
“It’s been too long. Why don’t you be honest with yourself and greet me as such?”
“Well, if that isn’t the Paveryua I’ve dearly missed. Not a day has gone by that hasn’t felt colorless and dull from not having laid eyes on your visage. My bosom constricted by plaintive longing, my tear ducts parched. So parched I can’t shed a tear even during this moment of deep, deep emotion... that enough for ya?”
“Eh, I’ll allow it,” said Paveryua, feeling generous.
“So, what’s the story?” Samson noticed Paveryua wasn’t wearing a military uniform. “You had civvy clothes on you, too, huh?”
“’Course I do. Especially seeing as I won’t be wearing the uniform from now on.”
“So you retired?”
“It was time for you to retire, too, Inspector Supervisor. Shouldn’t come as a shock if it was time for me, too.”
“It’s not a shock, but...”
“I want to work with you again. Please hire me.”
“Buddy, you should’ve retired after consulting me, not before. Are you that sure I won’t turn you down?”
“If you do, I’ll look for work elsewhere. It’s a seller’s market.”
“Can’t think of a place with better benefits than the Star Forces, though.”
“But thinking about it from a mortal peril perspective, the Star Forces are a uniquely rough work environment. And whether I live to see another day’s on the top of my career concerns.”
“Then why’d you join to begin with?”
“I didn’t think there’d actually be a war.”
“Ah, well, guess we’re no different on that count.”
“Right? Anyway, are you going to hire me or not?”
“A job interview’s all I can promise.”
“Oh, c’mon, after all this time? If you still don’t know me, what are you going to be gleaning from a ten-minute interview?”
“You don’t understand. I’m also a hiree,” he said, in a non-joking tone of voice. “If you don’t follow the formalized system, you can’t meet face-to-face with Lonh-Fapyter (His Lord Excellency).”
“Lonh-Fapyter, as in the clerk kid, right? He wasn’t my direct superior, but we were comrades fighting on the same tiny ship. It’s not like I don’t know him at all.”
“No calling him a ‘kid.’ While us hirelings reserve the right to make fun of the boss, it wouldn’t be a great look to hire somebody who makes fun of him from the outset.”
“I’m not making fun of him. We chatted a few times, and I know he’s a fine young man. For one, he’s got some common sense for a noble. He does kind of lack the mystique of a lord of a territory-nation, if you know what I mean.”
I mean, yeah, thought Samson. He was now a servant vassal of the House of Hyde. The previous count, Jint’s father, must have had vassals of his own, but no one knew where they were or what they were doing. All they knew was that they were no longer the vassals of Hyde. For all intents and purposes, Samson was the virtual first vassal.
The House of Hyde would require many vassals in the coming times. Most urgently of all, they needed personnel for the reconstruction of the antimatter fuel factories. Samson was at the imperial capital in order to recruit more vassals for the countdom. But he was having trouble, for, just as Paveryua said, it was a seller’s market, and precious few wished to be servants in an as-yet developing territory-nation like the Countdom of Hyde. As such, Samson actually appreciated Paveryua’s request. The man’s specialty lay in reactor furnaces, which was to say, in the consumption of antimatter fuel as
