Chapter:0 Hiring

IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS

Initial Interview – Horosho Starport, Class C

---

The holo-feed stabilizes with a soft shimmer, resolving into the interior of the Horosho Class-C Starport Executive Lounge—all brushed steel, diffused lighting, quiet grav-muffling, and distant conversations drowned under the hush of corporate money.

At the center of the frame sits a Bwap—long-limbed, narrow-shouldered, scaled hide shimmering faintly under the lumen strips. His neatly folded administrator’s robes are immaculate, his datapads stacked in a perfect geometric column. His nictitating membranes blink in slow, deliberate intervals as he adjusts the audio gain with one of his four-clawed digits.

He bows—precisely forty-five degrees.

"Applicant TroNoh," the Bwap begins, his voice a smooth series of careful syllables and gutteral pauses.
"I am Senior Intake Adjunct Hruuguu’lethe, Ironhand Security Solutions, Personnel Division 7-Beta. I have reviewed your pre-clearance packet. I acknowledge your punctuality. I approve of your formatting decisions. I appreciate your adherence to the question order."

You can almost feel the satisfaction in his tone—coming from a Bwap, this borders on enthusiastic praise.

He taps a datapad: four touches, identical spacing, identical cadence.

"You present competence, adaptability, and field-value. Your record indicates a Traveller accustomed to irregular conditions—precisely the environment in which Ironhand excels. Your answers demonstrate pattern-awareness and procedural discipline."

A pause. His throat sac inflates slightly—Bwaps do this when considering a delicate point.

"Your candidness regarding personal limitations is noted. Ironhand Security Solutions does not require perfection, only predictability. We can work with predictability."

The camera shifts so the Ironhand logo—a silver gauntlet gripping a starburst—sits centered behind his head like a halo of corporate authority.

"Therefore, Applicant TroNoh… Ironhand Security Solutions hereby advances you to Phase Two."

He presses a glowing tile on the table, and a rotating blue holo-ticket appears in mid-air.

"This is a Mid-Passage electronic transit authorization from Horosho to the Glisten Subsector Hub."

"Departures may occur within the next 72 standard hours. Your presence will be required on Glisten for additional suitability testing, equipment clearance, and contractual review."

The Bwap leans slightly closer to the pickup, eyes narrowing in bureaucratic benevolence.

"Arrive rested. Arrive orderly. Arrive on time."

He extends a long, cool, slightly damp hand across the holo-interface. A soft digital tone confirms the handshake—Ironhand’s official signal of provisional acceptance.

"Congratulations, Applicant TroNoh. Your journey with Ironhand Security Solutions has formally begun."
"Maintain this level of procedural fidelity, and you may yet become an asset of measurable value."

---

— End of Phase-1 Interview Transmission —

IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS – PHASE ONE INTERVIEW
Virel Kilmire – Human, Ex-Imperial Diplomatic Corps (Disgraced)

---

The transit hub is nearly empty—just the low thrum of recyclers and the sweep of automated cleaning drones gliding across the floor. Virel Kilmire sits alone on the cracked vinyl bench, his faded Imperial diplomatic sash lying crooked across his civilian coat like a memory refusing to fade. He turns a battered flask in his hand, cold tea swirling inside.

---

A sudden chime from his comm breaks the silence.
From a name he never expected to see again:

---

"Virel.
I heard where you drifted. I think this could interest you.
I called in a favor.
Do yourself a favor and take this."[/indent]

---

An authorization code.
A destination:
IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS – PROSPECTIVE CANDIDATE, PHASE ONE
Horosho Starport Lounge – Private Room C-221

---

THE IRONHAND INTERVIEW:
BWAP HR ADJUNCT MUURHLUU’K-RIIS

The Horosho VIP lounge hums quietly, lit by soft amber light.
Assistant Human Resources Adjunct Muurhluu’k-Riis waits at a low table, datapads arranged in flawless, geometric order. The Bwap looks up as Virel approaches, round eyes unblinking and unreadable.

---

"Candidate Kilmire," the Bwap croaks politely.
"Sit. We shall begin."

---

Virel sits. His posture precise, but heavy with the kind of weight that never truly lifts.

The Bwap taps on his terminal.
Green indicators immediately bloom across the display.

Another tap. More green. More approvals.
The Bwap pauses, blinks once.

---

"…Hmm."

---

"You are pre-cleared by Corporate oversight."
A longer pause.
"You have… recommendations. High ones. Curious."

The Bwap peers more closely, throat sac swelling with a quiet click.
"Do you know someone inside Ironhand?"

Virel opens his mouth, but the Bwap lifts a webbed hand.
"Does not matter."

One final tap. A chime.

"Application: Approved."

---

The Bwap slides a sleek black Mid-Passage chit across the table, the Ironhand sigil faintly glowing.
And says: "Proceed to Glisten for Phase Two.
Boarding: Docking Arm C-17.
Shuttle departs in four hours.
Do not be late."

---

He extends a hand, small and webbed but steady.
"Welcome—provisionally—to Ironhand."

---

Does Virel takes the chit??

---

IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS – PHASE ONE INTERVIEW
John Ervin Eugene Montgomery – Ex-Imperial Army, 5th Frontier War Veteran

---

Palique’s starport concourse feels worn but familiar—the hum of cargo haulers, the hiss of docking clamps, the haze of recycled air drifting through cracked ferrocrete arches. John Ervin Eugene Montgomery sits outside a cheap canteen, nursing a mug of synth-coffee that tastes faintly of solvent and regret. His old jacket hangs loose over his frame, the faded patch of his 5th Frontier War unit sewn on with the stubbornness of memory.

---

His comm vibrates.
A message blinks across the screen in polished serif type:

ALOWYN VILINAI–KESTERBROOK
Mercenary Licensing & Contracts Bureau

---

A voice message plays—smooth, aristocratic, almost condescending in its effortless confidence.

"Montgomery, old man. Do be a good fellow and check your mail. I’ve arranged something… suitable."

A faint clink of crystal glassware.

"You professionals deserve better than guard towers and dock patrols.
I have made certain calls. A favor was granted."

Another pause—precise, patrician, practiced.

"Ironhand Security Solutions. They are recruiting. Quietly.
You will attend their Phase One interview.
Time and coordinates attached. Do not be late."

Montgomery closes the message. The veteran sets down his cup, stands, and heads toward the annex. If Alowyn Vilinai-Kesterbrook says an opportunity exists, there is one.

---

THE IRONHAND INTERVIEW
BWAP HR ADJUNCT MUURHLUU’K-RIIS

---

The Palique starport annex is quiet, carpeted, and warmly lit. Assistant Human Resources Adjunct Muurhluu’k-Riis sits behind a low table, datapads aligned with geometric precision. The Bwap looks up as Montgomery enters, large amphibian eyes calm and unreadable.

---

"Candidate Montgomery," the Bwap croaks.
"Sit."

Montgomery takes the chair.

---

The Bwap taps his terminal.
A green indicator lights.
Then another.
And another.

He pauses.

"…Hmm."

---

"Extensive Imperial Army service. Multiple commendations."
A tap.
"Survived three major engagements of the Fifth Frontier War."
Another tap.
"No disciplinary marks… and yet you remain on Palique."

The Bwap tilts his head, studying him without judgment—only analysis.

"Ironhand does not require your past. Only your capability."

---

He taps again. Green lights flash across the display.

"Your licensing agent pushed your file forward. His influence is recognized."
A pause.
"Does not matter."

---

A final key press.
A soft chime.

"Application: Approved."

---

The Bwap produces a sleek black Mid-Passage chit embossed with the Ironhand insignia and slides it across the table.

"Proceed Palique’s starport concourse.
Docking Arm D-14.
Departure in six hours.
Do not be late."[/indent]

He extends a small, webbed hand.

"Welcome—provisionally—to Ironhand."

---

Does Montgomery take the travel chit ?

---

IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS – PHASE ONE INTERVIEW
Chaala Angushlii – Human, Ex-Scout Service (Detached Duty), Covert Intelligence / Scout Operations

---

Glisten HighPort hums with the constant flow of Imperial traffic—merchant crews, belters, naval detachments, and corporate envoys weaving through its glass corridors. Chaala Angushlii moves among them with the practiced ease of someone who has slipped in and out of far more dangerous places. Her spacer’s jacket is worn but unremarkable, the kind of garment chosen by someone who prefers to be invisible until she decides otherwise.

---

She steps into the quieter administrative wing of Ironhand’s Glisten offices. The corporate sigil—matte plasteel, understated but unmistakable—rests above a reinforced entryway. A holodisplay cycles through support contracts and protective-service postings until one line catches her eye:

NOW HIRING – COVERT OPERATIONS & PENETRATION SPECIALISTS
Clearance Level: High
Assignments Available: Immediate

Chaala smiles under her breath.

---

She heads five floors down into the maintenance substructure and finds what she was looking for, a maintenance access point to starport communication node. She approaches the console to jack in force an appointment slot into Ironhand’s scheduling system. Her fingers work with the silent confidence of a Scout tech and an intelligence operative—one hand in the interface, the other checking her surroundings.

Then her encrypted comm blinks.

Once.

She stops instantly.

No one should be able to reach this device.
Not without her permission.

The message is short:

IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS – PHASE ONE INTERVIEW
Assistant Human Resources Adjunct Braal’huu-Kirees
Suite 72-K (Secure Wing)
Appointment in: 10 minutes

Chaala exhales softly. This really peaks her curiosity. She finds this frustrating and interesting at the same time.

---

THE IRONHAND INTERVIEW –
BWAP HR ADJUNCT BRAAL’HUU-KIREES

---

The secure wing is quiet, pristine, and clearly designed to impress without revealing anything sensitive. As she approaches the door, it slides open the moment her foot touches the sensor—precisely timed, as if she was expected the second she stepped off the lift.

Inside sits Assistant Human Resources Adjunct Braal’huu-Kirees, behind a low desk meticulously arranged in perfect geometric patterns. His large amphibian eyes raise to meet hers.

---

"Candidate Angushlii," he croaks.
"Sit."

Chaala takes the chair. Calm. Alert. Measuring.

The Bwap taps his terminal.
Green clearance lights flash instantly—several in rapid succession.

"…Hmm."

---

"Scout Service—Detached Duty.
Navy Intelligence—temporary attachment.
Multiple covert operational postings across various theaters."

Another tap.
A deeper croak.

"You attempted to manually insert an appointment request moments before receiving an automated appointment message."Braal’huu-Kirees blinks slowly.

"Ironhand does not discourage initiative."

---

He taps one final line.
A soft chime confirms the entry.

"Your file is pre-marked.
Designation: High-value prospect."

Pause.

"Does not matter."

---

The Bwap slides a sleek black Mid-Passage chit across the desk—the Ironhand sigil shimmering faintly under the office lights.

"Proceed to to Phase Two interviews in 20 minutes, upstairs in the conference room.
Do not be late."

He extends his webbed hand.

"Candidate Angushlii.
Welcome—provisionally—to Ironhand."

---

Does Chaala proceed to the appointed location at the appointed time?

---

IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS – PHASE ONE INTERVIEW
Takanamè Tanè Hokuanokada "Bohdie" – Darrian-Human, Ex-Marine / Ex-Scout

---

Glisten HighPort feels too bright, too clean, too orderly. After years of Marine deployments and Scout detached duty, Bohdie isn’t sure what to do with stillness. His duffel bag sits at his feet as he scrolls through job listings that don’t fit—security grunt work, warehouse loaders, courier gigs. Nothing with a pulse or purpose.

---

His comm buzzes.

A message from Keln Vorren, former battle buddy from the 5th Battalion, 60th Marine Regiment:

"Bohdie. Heard you were final out from detached duty.
Do not sit around rotting on Glisten.
Go to Ironhand.
I pulled strings—they’re hiring.
You need something with purpose.
Do this, brother."

The message ends with an attached referral tag bearing Ironhand’s crest.

Bohdie exhales. Keln’s timing has always been irritatingly perfect.

He stands, slings his duffel, and heads toward the Ironhand Sub-Regional office.

---

THE IRONHAND INTERVIEW –
BWAP HR ADJUNCT BRAAL’HUU-KIREES

---

The secure wing is quiet, pristine, and clearly designed to impress without revealing anything sensitive.
THE IRONHAND INTERVIEW – BRAAL’HUU-KIREES

The door to Suite 72-K slides open automatically.

Inside sits Braal’huu-Kirees, Assistant Human Resources Adjunct—cloaked, hood pushed back, gecko-like eyes studying Bohdie with calm precision. A transparent TL12 tablet glows on the desk beside two slim datapads.

"Candidate Hokuanokada," Braal’huu-Kirees croaks.
"Sit."

Bohdie sits.

The Bwap taps the terminal with his three webbed fingers.

A soft chirp.
Green indicator.

Another tap.
Another green.

"…Hmm."

"Imperial Marine Corps, Fifth Battalion, Sixtieth Regiment.
....detached duty to Imperial Intelligence.....Reconnaissance, survival, small-unit tactics...ability to think on one's feet."

A slow blink.

"Moderate disciplinary note:
‘Tendency toward independent decision-making.’"

Bohdie smirks slightly. He’s heard that one before.

"You received a referral moments ago," the Bwap says.

[occ]Any response from Bohdie?[/occ]

Braal’huu-Kirees’s throat sac inflates with a soft click—Bwap amusement.

"Ironhand appreciates psychological stability."

---

More taps. More green lights.

"Your battle buddy’s endorsement is noted."
Pause.
"Does not matter."

A final tap.
A confirmation tone.

"Application: Approved."

---

The Bwap produces a temporary security chit marked in bold Red Leters (VISITOR-Conf Rm 11B only).
"This security badge will get you to the conference room for phase two. Phase Two begins upstairs in the conference room in twenty minutes."[/b]

He extends a webbed hand.

"Candidate Hokuanokada…
Welcome—provisionally—to Ironhand."

---

Does Bohdie proceed to the appointed location at the appointed time?

---

Chaala smiles. "Best not to show up unannounced and I didn't want to wait until my application passed security clearance." She pauses with a chuckle, only slightly forced, "Though it seems my concerns were unfounded and you already have my confidential file."
That was interesting. There's something more going on and I don't find out about it if I just sit on my ass.

Chaala accepts the chit and extricates herself from the office. As soon as she is clear of line of sight, she starts her computer doing a search for any recent news on Ironhand contracts before continuing towards the meeting location. Along the way she drops into a gadget shop, the type found in all high tech highports. She quickly picks out the cheapest tourist trap junk wristwatch, with all the shiny bells and tinny whistles, sure to be leaking EM signals. She ties it into the station network on her way to the meeting and straps it to her wrist.

The Ironhand Securities Corporation Corporate Building is built to feel empty—hushed corridors, clean lines, soft lighting—but Chaala knows better.
Even without seeing a single person after stepping out of Holen’s office, she can feel the eyes. Discreet ceiling lenses. Wall-flush sensor strips. Wide-angle corner nodes. The entire building is wired like an Imperial consulate, and she knows it. Whatever she does from the moment she steps into the hallway is being watched, catalogued, and time-stamped.

As she exits onto the public concourse, the mood shifts immediately. The sealed corporate atmosphere is replaced by the noisy, kinetic rush of a highport megastructure. The walkway is open-air—transparent pressure-glass floor and walls, cross-bridging two massive starport towers. Hundreds of sophonts stride past, the far-off gleam of incoming traffic visible through the wide curve of the concourse tube.

Here, out of Ironhand’s internal sensor grid, she can fire up her computer set-up her Virtual Private Network (VPN) query begins without obstruction.

Imperial public records answer within seconds.

Every contract over the last ten years that involves Ironhand—or any subsidiary, shell, or front—scrolls across her wrist-screen. Just like any Imperial citizen knows, the 3rd Imperium posts all government contracts publicly by law, even when the corporations themselves would rather keep things quiet.

There are over fifty entries tied to Ironhand.
Most are unremarkable—routine security support, personnel augmentation, supply-chain protection, and small-unit training cadres for local governments, megacorp facilities, or backwater starports.

A sample appears:

PROCUREMENT RECORD: Delivery Order IM-CIVSEC-2117-8893
Award Date: 187-1117
Completion Date: 022-1120
Estimated Value: Cr 42.6M
Funding Agency: Ministry of Colonial Development
Contracting Office: Subsector Procurement Node – Glisten
Awardee: Ironhand Security Solutions (Ultimate Awardee)
NAF Classification: 541330 – Engineering & Security Services
PSC Code: R499 – Support Services, Professional
Description: Provision of perimeter security, local forces training, hazmat control augmentation, and rapid-response watch officers for the Hosokawa Orbital Refinery Network. Includes consulting for emergency action SOP rewrites and incident mitigation planning.

Scrolling further, she finds three notable exceptions—contracts involving the Imperial Interstellar Scout Service.

1. IISS Protective Services Contract – Pautho Station (Theta Borealis)
Contract ID: SCOUTPRO-TB-PAUTHO-1116-004
Award Date: 344-1116
Value: Cr 68.1M
Scope: Physical site security, orbital perimeter supervision, patrol augmentation, counter-surveillance watch, and on-station emergency QRF.

2. IISS Logistic Security Contract – Research Annex 3B, Five Sisters
Contract ID: IISS-RS-5S-3B-1114-221
Value: Cr 23.8M
Scope: Secure cargo handling, transit escort, and controlled-access management.

3. IISS Installation Hardening Contract – Walston Field Maintenance Yard
Contract ID: IISS-HARDEN-WS-1109-013
Value: Cr 41.2M
Scope: Hardened perimeter installation, seismic-shock sensor grid upgrade, remote-controlled standoff gates, personnel vetting.

Exactly what Chaala needed.
Exactly what Ironhand knows that it required diligence to find, but it wasn't damaging. It is a requirement for these types of contract to be published.

On her way toward the meeting location, she ducks into a gadget stall—one of those chrome-paneled tourist-trap boxes selling glowing scrap tech to bored passengers. The wristwatch she picks is perfect: loud, cheap, full of poorly shielded emitters. The moment she ties it into the highport’s public node, it pings half a dozen unsecured frequencies and begins shouting for pairing requests.

Finding it again later will be easy.

By the time Chaala reaches the Ironhand tower entrance again, the corporate façade has shifted. A polished metal archway dominates the entry, and standing beside it is a bank of small lockboxes built into the wall. Brilliant blue holo-panels repeat the same instructions in Galanglic, Vilani, and Vargr trade glyphs:

ALL PERSONAL ELECTRONIC DEVICES MUST BE TURNED IN PRIOR TO ENTRY TO FLOORS 08–20.
UNDECLARED DEVICES WILL RESULT IN DENIAL OF ACCESS.
CYBERNETIC OR IMPLANTED DEVICES MUST USE APPROVED RF-JAMMING DEVICES.
DEVICES AVAILABLE TO THE LEFT.

A scanner arch hums quietly.
A polite security tech waits beside it, expression carefully neutral.

Anyone stepping forward with active electronics is gently stopped, directed to deposit items in the lockboxes, or handed the jamming device (wrist computer looking device with no interface or a belt clip-on device (again with no visible interface). To jam signals emitting from the cybernetic implants.

Chaala has arrived.
Floor 20 awaits.
GM comment - this is typical security measures that Chaala understands a competent company would have working in the security industry.
Actions?

Bohdie nods, almost imperceptibly, but that he understood the Bwap sensitivity to motion. Some might think it rude, but Bohdie’s intent is respect through economy of motion.
Bohdie stands and accepts Braal’huu-Kirees’s hand. Then he bows crisply and precisely. "Thank you, Adjuct Braal’huu-Kirees. I appreciate the opportunity." After a precise and appropriate pause, Bohdie recovers, takes the security badge, immediately affixing it to his tunic, then, picking up his duffle, turns on his heels and proceeds directly to Conference Room 11B. With his long strides, he arrives in a few seconds over 9 minutes, even without intending to. He spends the next several minutes looking over the room, noting exit points, sight lines and sizing up any others in the room as well as working out the most advantageous seating.

Braal’huu-Kirees blinks once.
Slowly.

His webbed fingers tap a final line on the transparent tablet before he answers.

---

"The journey consists of four jumps," he croaks in an even, steady tone.
"Your vessel is a Jump–4 rated transport. Transit efficiency will vary by refuel interval and port availability, but total travel time is within normal parameters."

---

Another blink. Unhurried. Utterly literal.

"As for service…" The Bwap’s throat sac inflates faintly.

"Mid–passage entitlements are standardized.
A berth.
Recycled air.
Nutritional allotments appropriate to species type.
Access to communal facilities during off-cycle hours.
No upgrades are authorized without additional payment."

---

He pauses, as if reviewing internal policy.

"This is… sufficient."

---

The flat finality of the word leaves no room for debate.

"Report to the boarding queue precisely ten minutes before departure.
Earlier arrival is unnecessary.
Later arrival is unacceptable."

---

He folds his hands neatly.

"Your comfort is statistically typical."

---

Montgomery can hear it clearly: bureaucratic reassurance, delivered with the warmth of a receipts auditor.

Exactly what he expected from a Bwap.

---

With the chit in his hand, Montgomery taps his forehead in farewell, then leaves the office. Behind him, the Bwap is already opening the next personnel folder, his three webbed fingers moving with ritualistic precision. No further attention is spared; in true bureaucratic fashion, Montgomery is now the responsibility of the next department.

---

His remaining business takes less than two hours. His luggage is sealed, coded, and transported directly to the landing site. His travel-research pulls down fresh astrographic data on systems reachable by a standard four-jump transit into his datapad. He scrolls through summaries of possible layovers, cross-referencing stability ratings, conflict indexes, and local jurisdictional quirks.

13 parsecs -- 4 jumps, * Palique (Spinward Marches 3029) Jump 4 to * Leander (Spinward Marches 2832), Jump 1 to * Edenelt (Spinward Marches 2733) Jump 4 to * Ffudn (Spinward Marches 2334) Jump 4 to * Glisten (Spinward Marches 2036)

The possibilities range from quiet administrative worlds to rough frontier stopovers—some familiar from wartime postings, others only names on old maps.

---

An hour before departure, he sits in a small concourse café overlooking the bay windows of Palique’s starport concourse departure platforms.
A steaming kaffe rests at his elbow as he sifts through:

• Regional security updates
• Trade fluctuations
• Rumors of Zhodani border instability and Sword Worlds Government series of scandals for the wartime outcomes.
• Marine task group redeployments
• A brief, almost buried mention of Ironhand expansion contracts

Nothing concerning.
Everything… interesting.

He finishes his drink and shuts down the datapad.

---

Montgomery arrives at check-in exactly eleven minutes before departure. Not early. Not late.
Precisely within the acceptable window.

The Ironhand liaison scans his chit, nods once, and directs him toward the illuminated boarding corridor.

Ahead, the Jump–4 transport waits—sleek, utilitarian, built for endurance rather than comfort.
Exactly what he expected.

He steps forward into the line, his posture settling into something familiar:

Not a mission forced upon him—
but a direction he chose.

---

After an uneventful space journey two individuals arrive at Glisten highport. They take entirely two different route but seem to arrive at the same location. Timing is strange.

GLISTEN HIGHPORT – ROBO-TAXI ARRIVAL
Montgomery, Virel & the Third Passenger

---

The arrival platforms of Glisten HighPort hum with steady precision, grav-cabs drifting in controlled arcs along their assigned vectors. One settles into its berth with seamless mechanical grace, doors unfolding like petals under hydraulic whisper.

Montgomery arrives first. Duffel over one shoulder, posture relaxed but alert, he waits at the designated platform—exactly within the acceptable arrival window the Bwap instructed. Neither early nor late.

The grav-cab chimes.

"ROBO–TAXI 4412: Three passengers scheduled. Please remain on the platform."

Montgomery pauses.
Three?

---

Footsteps approach from the concourse.

Virel Kilmire emerges next—faded diplomatic sash crooked over his coat, the dignified weariness of a man who once belonged to something larger than himself. He slows as he spots Montgomery, giving a polite nod without assuming familiarity.

Before either man can speak, a third figure makes her presence unmistakably known.

---

She steps onto the platform with graceful confidence:
a breathtakingly beautiful woman in tailored, high-fashion attire, the kind of clothing that costs more than a mid-passage berth. Diamonds glimmer at her wrist. Her expression is poised, focused, and absolutely uninterested in conversation. A quick glance at her wrist-slab confirms it—she is already absorbed in whatever high-tier correspondence dominates her attention.

She gives each man a polite but distant nod.
Professional.
Neutral.
Unreachable.

The taxi chimes again:

"All passengers: This vehicle is assigned to Ironhand Security Solutions Headquarters. Please board."

---

Montgomery steps aside with quiet courtesy, offering room for the others.
Virel follows the gesture, maintaining polite distance.

The woman enters first without hesitation, settling into the forward seat. She immediately resumes work on her wrist-slab, oblivious to the other occupants.

Montgomery and Virel take the rear seats—close enough for conversation if they choose, distant enough if they prefer silence.

The doors seal.
Grav-lifters hum.
The taxi rises smoothly into the air.

---

Inside, soft ambient lighting settles across the cabin. The third passenger remains occupied—eyes scanning data, fingers gliding across the slab, posture flawless. It is clear she has neither the time nor the inclination for small talk.

Which leaves the two men in the back compartment with a moment of quiet—an unpressured opportunity to speak if they wish, or simply observe each other on the way to Ironhand HQ.

Outside the windows, Glisten’s towers drift by in slow procession. Ahead, the Ironhand sigil glows atop its headquarters tower: the metal gauntlet gripping the Imperial Sunburst.

---

ROBO–TAXI 4412 descends toward the landing pad.

The doors open with a soft hiss.

Three passengers step out—one heading briskly ahead, two left with the space and opportunity to acknowledge one another before entering the building that will decide their future.

---

Any dialog between Montgomery or Virel on the ride over to the Ironhand building?

GM Comment - Some of the characters are just arriving, while a couple are already at the Security desk being cleared to enter the elevator to travel up to Conference room 11B.

This post will gather the Characters/Travellers together into this setting. There are still a couple characters in the wings, but we still can integrate them.

---

---

The grav lift door opens...
The gravlift doors glide open with a soft hiss of pressurized air, revealing a reception atrium designed to project calm competence rather than force. The space blends modern corporate aesthetics with subtle cues of precision and discipline—nothing harsh, nothing overtly militarized. The floor is a dark polished synth-stone, its surface smooth and understated, with a tasteful inlay of Ironhand’s emblem near the entrance: a silver gauntlet stylized into an abstract geometric pattern almost like an Imperial Starburst. Soft, indirect lighting lines the walkways and ceiling edges, creating a warm, welcoming ambiance.

Reception Area
The reception desk is a sleek grav-stabilized console, appearing to float lightly above its base without drawing attention to the technology behind it. A professional administrator sits behind the desk, dressed in a crisp, charcoal-gray corporate uniform with a subtle Ironhand insignia at the collar. Her interface is a clean, semi-transparent holodisplay—efficient, but not overwhelming—used to guide visitors, manage appointments, and intake new applicants.

Mounted behind her is a refined holodisplay mural—a gently rotating, artistic volumetric representation of Ironhand’s corporate history. Instead of dramatic imagery, it highlights key milestones: expansion to other worlds, corporate awards, major infrastructure contracts, and partnerships with planetary governments. Data points shimmer softly at the edges, more decorative than declarative.

Two broad corridors extend from the lobby, their walls lined with frosted transparisteel panels and elegant, subdued lighting.

Both wings resemble the interior of a prestigious consulting firm or high-end administrative headquarters:
professional, contemporary, and deliberately discreet. The atmosphere sends a clear message: Ironhand Security Solutions is competent, trustworthy, and highly organized— a company that deals in security, not intimidation.

---

This gives you a very good impression of a legitimate company. Once inside the receptionist directs the Travellers to Conference room 11B.

---

Conference Room
The Travellers are led to a small conference room that has Tir-Vid projecting slick marketing about Ironhand Security Solutions and what they provide and what a great company to work for. The other Travellers fill the room.

A non-descript female Vargr with a human female that are obvious SR personnel come into the room and ensures everyone sits down then they hand out larger tablet size hand terminals that are clear like glass, except for the computer chip module in the lower right-hand corner. Once everyone sits down and has a hand tablet, the Tri-Vid advert ends and now displays the silver-and-black Ironhand Security emblem.


The human and Vargr SR admins go to the back of the conference room and take a seat. Then:

---

Ironhand Security Solutions – HR Welcome Briefing
The lights dim slightly in the conference suite. A silver-and-black Ironhand Security emblem fades into view above the dais. In walks a composed woman in a tailored navy suit who steps into the center of the conference room, datapad in hand — voice calm, measured, and precise.


"Good afternoon, and welcome to Ironhand Security Solutions. My name is Cassandra Huxley, Head of SR at Ironhand Security Solutions."

If you’re sitting in this room, it’s because your record—military, scout, intelligence, or civilian—shows something we value: competence under pressure. We’ve reviewed hundreds of candidates over the last quarter. Only a handful made it to this stage. That’s you. Congratulations."
She lets that hang for a second, with the faint hum of a holo-projector in the background.

"Our contract with the IISS is to provide low-visibility protective services for the Imperial Interstellar Scout Service, operating in the distant Theta Borealis Sector. We need discrete, low visibility professionals and this is where you come for Ironhand Security Solutions."

"The contract is for a six-month deployment—nothing exotic, but important work. You’ll be representing both Ironhand and the IISS, ensuring their on-going survey and exploratory operations remain secure and uneventful."

The data terminal Tablet in your hand lights up and now displays
Contract Highlights

Duration: Six standard months
Assignment: Discreet escort and site protection for IISS field operations
Logistics: Full transportation, housing, and rations provided by the IISS
Equipment: You’ll be issued tailored tactical gear, encrypted comms, and sidearms appropriate to non-combat environments
Duties:

1. Conduct 30-day site security assessments and file actionable reports
2. Escort surveyors and research teams as directed
3. Submit incident logs and monthly summaries to Ironhand HQ

"Now, let’s be clear. This isn’t frontline work. It’s not heroics. It’s professional security at its finest—predictable hours, clean pay, and the kind of stability most mercs only dream about.
No glory, no firefights—just precision, discipline, and reliability. Exactly what Ironhand is built on."
She gives a knowing smile.

"If this sounds beneath you, that’s fine. You’re free to walk out that door, no questions asked.

But if you’re the kind who understands that quiet professionalism keeps the galaxy spinning—then welcome aboard."
She lifts the datapad, thumb hovering over a glowing field of text.

"Do any of you have questions?"

Rathen Vale has Analyst Kador Rellin pull up the other important races and political factions in the sector and that feeds the information that Bohdie, Chaala, JEEM and the rest are looking for on everyone's tablets. Links to the Intelligence Threat briefs are below:
PERCAVID MARCHES
TROOLES CONFEDERATION
OUJDA
KINGDOM OF PELADON
BURUGDI COLLECTIVE ("RUDEYGI’BUR")
THE KORSUMUG EMPIRE

The color codes seem to indicate threat (red) friendly (blue) maroon or black for neutral.

Sitting in a file that Chaala or Brohdie or JEEM or Virel all find (by accident?) is this file

IRONHAND SECURITY SOLUTIONS
PLAYER-FACING INTEL SUMMARY BRIEF – THE ALEJIA OF MARINAGUA

When Wilber looked to one of the Ironhand certifiers from SR;
"Yes we can help arraign for your belongings from your place of current residence to the transport. What do you need us to help you with?"

The Woman in her mid-twenties winks at Wilber and says with a smile;
"Sure thing. Just need the address and description and any identify features, and sign this forms" As she extends a tablet with the forms. There is a spot fo the address and description block."
She leans over his shoulder and says
" Any images of the items will help the packers." They are bonded contractors, but images always help so you don't have the wrong equipment in the box to wherever you are going." She backs up and takes a step back, looks over the fill out form. Then with the flick of her fingers the form is sent off. She smiles at Wilber and walks away.

Later at loading at the Örugg ferð, there is a container with Wilber's items. The containers manivest has the list of items he outlined with images contained if he hovers his finger cursor of the item confirming they got the right item.