One Day At The Darienbad HPG (Winged Praxis Story)

==Description==
Bases on the events triggered in the Winged Praxis (Battletech 3015 CYOA) main story, Griffith first time sending message via Hyperpulse Generator.
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==Story==
Comstar Compound
Darienbad, New Olympia
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
January 5th, 3015
Acolyte Griffith Tennyson pasted on the expected smile as the door chimed. It had been a long shift, and he was looking forward to a meal and some time with his latest calculus text. He knew that the HPG derived its purpose from the messages it sent, and collecting them was a holy act in itself, but could he be blamed for wanting more? To operate one of the pieces of technology that kept mankind bound together was a dream he hardly could have conceived of growing up on Altoona, but it was now within reach. Or it would be, once he understood the mysteries of the math behind the machine's operation.
 
"Blessings of Blake be upon you," he said, doing his best to project a welcoming warmth. "How may our Order assist you today?"
 
It would be messages. It always was. Griffith had heard stories from adepts of far-distant compounds where frantic farmers would burst through the doors with sick children, begging for medical aid, where gut-shot exiled nobles would beg for sanctuary, where spies with blown cover would sprint in to send one last critical message to their lords. Things were never that exciting here in Darienbad. Not even when the war had made its way here.
 
"Got some messages to send," said a vaguely familiar voice. "Can I get a terminal?"
 
Griffith looked over to see a client he knew. A tanned, curly-haired man in FWLM fatigues stood next to a gorgeous woman in a foreign-cut gown. Griffith could never remember his name exactly, but it was something that reminded him of fish. He came in once a month like clockwork, sending a message to some Spanish-sounding world. Griffith thought he might be a mechwarrior trainee, even if his hair was all wrong. Hadn't he said something about fighting in the battle for the planet?
 
And, he thought, taking a closer look at the man, what was wrong with him now? There weren't any patches on his fatigues, not even the nametag Griffith would use to pretend a better memory than he had with military clients.
 
"Of course," said Griffith. "It would be my pleasure to assist you." He stood and led the way to the private message rooms.
 
The man tried to give him a smile, but his poker face was abysmal. Something had happened to the man, something that made him look like he expected the world to smack him out of nowhere. "Thanks," said the man, eyes darting about the room.
 
"You're safe here," said Griffith, kindly. "The arms of Blake enfold all."
 
The man's gaze snapped to the acolyte, and anger smoked in them. "I just bet they do, ateo," he snarled, shoulders bunching up.
 
The woman placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Zalman has just lost his parents, Acolyte."
 
Griffith's face went white with horror. "I…" He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Zalman. I just…"
 
"I just want to send some messages," grated Zalman. "I'm not here for a sermon."
 
"I didn't mean to…" Griffith cut off his explanation as the woman squeezed his shoulder and shook her head. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Your terminal."
 
The man didn't quite slam the door.
 
Griffith gave the woman a weak smile. "Thank you," he said. "I didn't mean to…"
 
"No, I don't imagine you did," she said. "Phillipa Kasparova," she said. "I need to send some messages of my own. On the Landynski Syndicate account."
 
The acolyte nodded, glad to have something familiar to hold onto. "Of course," he said. "If you'll come with me, we can verify your account status and get you set up with a terminal or recording equipment."
 
"Thank you, acolyte. Now, if we could get started?"
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It ended up taking quite some time, and by the time the woman was done, Griffith's replacement was already sitting at the reception desk. She smiled and offered him the satchel with the open texts he brought to the desk every day to try and shore up his math in the downtime. "Long shift?" she asked.
 
"Just a bit, Peri," he sighed. "I got my head bit off by a client and then had to wait on a business account from his lawyer."
 
Peri raised an eyebrow. "The curly headed one?"
 
Griffith frowned. "Did he leave already? I hoped I could smooth things over."
 
She shook her head. "I wouldn't bother. Somedays people just aren't ready for the Word, right?" She smiled. "Not your fault."
 
Griffith shuffled his feet. "I hope the Adept sees it the same way."
 
"Preserve the past, but focus on the future," Peri quoted. "Get some food, you'll feel better."
 
Griffith nodded. "Founder grant you a less eventful shift then me," he said, taking the satchel and slinging it over his shoulder. If he was fast, he could still eat and get to the library before devotionals…
 
The last thing he heard as he entered the sanctum was Peri greeting another client.
 
"Blessings of Blake be upon you," she said. "How may…"
 
"Yeah, yeah. John Travis. Got a message to send."
 
The doors hissed shut behind him.
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--FINI--
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One Day At The Darienbad HPG
Category:Works by Colonel deFraug
One Day At The Darienbad HPG