<div align="center">Some Time Later...</div><br/><div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/QraZAZ2.jpg)<br/><div align="center"><strong>Rosalinde Kohls</strong><br/>Foreign Assets Specialist, Glitzern Co.</div></div><strong>Tranta, Lübeck, Lübeck System, Hanseatic League</strong><br/><br/><strong>"First of all, I would like to thank each and every one of you for making the journey.  I know we're extending some very alluring bait, but it's a long way to go on faith alone."</strong><br/><br/>Rosalinde Kohls smiled disarmingly, a politician's smile that was assuredly sincerely felt, as she swirled her wine glass in one hand.   Likely in her early forties, she was the picture of respectability, in formal off-the-shoulder tunic and dark pants, her bottle-blonde hair done by someone who knew their craft.  On her right was her Thomas, personal assistant, a lithe, dark-haired, very handsome young man in  holding a datapad and stylus whose job was clearly to take notes and whisper quietly in her ear whenever something came up; on her left, Commander Sallie Werner of the Hanseatic Security Forces, an older woman in her fifties possessing an array of facial scars and a more military bearing, who seemed mispleased with everything she was seeing -- which may or may not have included the venison steaks (or if not actual venison, 'close enough to the taste to not matter', as Ms. Kohls said off-handedly) that were serving as the main course for tonight's dinner.<br/><br/>The mercenary sextet's travel and accommodations became substantially more pleasant when they entered the city proper, their overnight hotel permitting actual double rooms with actual beds, meals consisting of food that didn't come out of an MRE packet or a can, and then a trip to one of Tranta City's major skyscrapers for a fairly-expensive-seeming dinner over which business would be conducted.<br/><br/><strong>"I would ask you about your journey thus far, but I suspect I already know the details,"</strong>Rosalinde continued in her German-inflected English, sympathetic.<strong>"My spacer days are behind me now, but I remember them all too well.  I do apologize for the security measures you had to endure -- if it is any consolation, we are obliged to deal with foreigners in this fashion regardless of their intent by the laws of the League.  We only prosper as much as we do because we take great pains to police our borders.  That said, since the hardships thus far obviously haven't dissuaded you, I do believe we have some business to tend to."</strong><br/><br/>With a click, she set her wine glass down on the table.<strong>"You all already know the broad strokes of the offer,"</strong>she said, serious.<strong>"We have need of individuals who are willing to undertake an extended series of contracts into an active conflict zone in a very non-prestigious part of inhabited space.  Nothing on the scale of the Succession Wars, of course, but deadly serious to the people involved in it, and of course that means both sides have need for skilled mercenaries to supplement their own military operations.  We will supply you with Mechs on a lease-to-own basis, payments to be made from whatever proceeds you make as part of your mercenary work, and we will underwrite your transportation costs and some of your supply costs while you are under contract in this area.  The governments involved are relatively decentralized, which means several factions in each side will have differing interests, which means there will be a plethora of options.  Our assigned liason will help curate your selection, do what we can to weed out the bad actors, and present a viable selection to you as your operations continue.  We expect a year of active service, with options to renew our sponsorship at the end of that time."</strong><br/><br/>Ms. Kohls smiled faintly and steepled her fingers together over her plate.<strong>"What do you think, mercenaries?"</strong>