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Testimony
© 2019 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
baroncoon
The Imperial Palace on Gwath ka-shlal was the largest and most notable structure on the planet, visible from orbit and one of the largest employers on the Hearthworld. The Palace was so huge that two-thirds of a mountain had to be removed to clear enough space for the complex. Despite it being the seat of power, housing the Emperor and his immediate family, it was not the seat of government.
In the capitol city of Farz, fifty kilometers from the Palace, stood a truncated three-sided pyramid thirty stories tall. This was the home of the Council of One Hundred, who carried out the Sovereign’s orders regarding day-to-day operations.
The Presiding Officer of the Council sat at his desk, but had swiveled his chair around so that he could see the Palace through the office windows. The other shlani in the room talked quietly among themselves, going over notes.
The others were mainly bureaucrats from the Political Monitoring and Foreign Ministries, and the others were a small coterie of military officers led by the High Admiral herself. Her subordinates were a mix of Intelligence, Security and Fleet divisions. The dark yellowish-tan-furred vir kept her eyes on the door to the office, her gaze calculating.
Ears and tails twitched as an annunciator chimed. “Sir, the Foreign Minister and the Terran Ambassador,” his secretary said.
The Presiding Officer huffed a short sigh, turned around and touched a section of the desk. “Admit them, please.”
“Yes, sir.” Heads turned as the door swung open and the Foreign Minister entered, followed by a tall, lean Terran canine in a severely tailored suit. Her thick reddish fur and curly, bushy tail were meticulously brushed. She had two aides with her, both males.
The kam stood and smiled at the envoy. “Balakrishnan-vī, welcome. Will you take a seat, please?” he asked, indicating an empty chair next to his desk. “There is something that we need to discuss.”
The dhole-Akita mix raised an eyebrow as she sat down. Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan was a career diplomat and had been the Ambassador to the Sovereign’s Throne for the past ten years. “What might that be, aka?” Her Kashlanin was very good, almost completely devoid of a Terran accent. She crossed her legs as she sat back. “What is so important that you could not send an aide?”
The Foreign Minister gestured with his tail. She’s touchy today.
The Presiding Officer gestured his understanding, masking it by leaning back slightly in his chair. “Several days ago the High Admiral received a report from the border between the Empire and the Confederacy. A ship was intercepted crossing the boundary,” and a holoprojector displayed an image of a battered-looking starship.
Balakrishnan studied the image. “I’m no military expert,” the canine said, “but it appears to be a Brasilia-class cruiser.” Her cold gray eyes glanced at the High Admiral and her aides before she added, “And you say it strayed across the border? I wish to apologize on behalf of my government.”
“On behalf of the Sovereign, I thank you, and accept your apology,” the Presiding Officer said. “It is the Madinat al-Nujum,” and he very carefully enunciated the unfamiliar words, “which was declared missing by your government a short time ago.”
“I thank you again. Will you be releasing the crew at Downtime Station?”
“The crew has requested asylum.”
She glanced sharply at the Presiding Officer. “What?”
The kam resisted the urge to smile. “They have requested asylum from the Terran Confederacy, Ambassador. They insist that they will be killed if they go back to your space.” He gestured to the High Admiral, who waved an Intelligence officer forward with a flick of her tail. The kam gave a short, respectful bow to the canine. “This is Garqar k’Nedhe, of our Intelligence Service. He interviewed the surviving senior officer. Colonel?”
“Thank you, sir. Ambassador,” k’Nedhe said in Terran.
“Where are they?” Balakrishnan asked bluntly.
“Many of the crew are still injured, Ma’am. They are being treated. The senior officer, Commander Sirivati, was questioned by me.” He produced a datapak from a pocket. “Would you like to see it?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice edged with a suspicious tone. Her two aides looked concerned as the three-dimensional image of a wolfess in what appeared to be a bathtub was displayed. “What are you doing to her?”
“Medical regeneration therapy, Ma’am. The Commander was badly injured, according to the surgeon’s report.” K’Nedhe started the recording.
The wolfess took a breath. “My name is Jakeisha Yashere Sirivati, of the Terran Colonial Navy, rank Commander, serial number K 1279-276 SL, planet of birth Corrina. What I have to say is being said without duress and of my own free will.” She paused to catch her breath and said, “It started when we received a new political officer . . . “
As Commander Sirivati related her tale, the Presiding Officer kept his eyes on Balakrishnan. The dhole-Akita mix was watching in silence, her expression stoic and relaxed. Only the twitching of her bushy tail betrayed the fact that she was (angry? nervous?) as she listened and watched. As the wolf recounted the battles within the ship she asked k’Nedhe, “How many are alive?”
“Two hundred forty-one of three hundred fifty, Ma’am.” Sirivati broke down and cried as she told how the Captain died in a last stand defending the emergency bridge, and how the cruiser had been fired upon and crippled by an enemy they never expected.
The recording ended and the lights brightened slightly. The Ambassador licked her lips and asked, “Am I permitted to speak with Commander Sirivati? The remaining crew?”
The Presiding Officer nodded in Terran fashion. “Of course. Please be aware, Balakrishnan-vī, that we regard this incident with some distress. It is not good to see neighbors act like this.”
“True.” The canine nodded and looked at k’Nedhe. “I want copies of all recorded statements as well.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” and the colonel removed the datapak from the reader and gave it to one of her aides. “That is a copy of all of the interviews that my staff and I conducted.”
“Thank you. And you say that none of the crew wanted to be repatriated?”
“That is correct,” the High Admiral said.
The canine femme nodded and got to her feet. “I want to thank you and your staff, High Admiral, and you, Presiding Officer. This is a very disquieting series of revelations, and I’m afraid I must communicate this to Terra.”
“Very good, Ambassador. Thank you for coming,” and the Foreign Minister escorted her and her aides from the room.
The door closed and the High Admiral said, “Sir, I have alerted Fleet Command to initiate a Step Two alert for all border stations and ships.” The Presiding Officer gestured his comprehension; the Combined Services was charged with the defense of the Empire, and had a great deal of discretion in that regard. It was a prudent gesture on her part.
“I will inform the Sovereign, Garfrelenvī. I’m certain he’ll agree with your actions. I want all communications between their Embassy and Terra monitored, and increase our efforts to break their encryption protocols.”
***
They met in a windowless room at the center of the Embassy’s sub-basement; Balakrishnan, her Political Officer, Press Officer and Defense Attaché. The two aides she had brought with her to the meeting stood against the wall, flanking the door. They could be trusted to keep their muzzles firmly shut, and they watched impassively as the recording was replayed.
When it ended, Balakrishnan demanded, “Well? We have to let Terra know.”
After a moment, the Press Officer said, “We could make it their fault.”
“Whose?”
“The Kashlani, of course.” The beaver ran the recording back to where Sirivati was shown in the regenerator. “She’s obviously been tortured by drowning until she said what they wanted her to say, and it’s likely the others were also pressured into talking. After all, we know very little about the shlani. Hells, they could be telepathic.”
“I doubt that,” the Political Officer, an antelope, said dryly. “Otherwise they’d have us all expelled, the fucking mossbacks.”
“We don’t want to pick a fight with the Empire,” the Defense Attaché interjected. The raven twisted his beak in a grimace. “We still don’t know how large their fleet is, but with the number of systems in the Empire, and all those resources to draw from – including personnel,” he reminded them. The active-duty military was fixed by law at 1/500th of the Kashlanin population of the Empire, and most defense analysts were known to get very nervous at the idea.
The Ambassador sat and listened, fingers steepled and the tips of her middle fingers touching her chin. She glanced up at the trio. “Here’s how we present it to Terra.”
“Obviously, we send the raw data to Terra, but we’ll also recommend your idea,” and she pointed at the Press Officer, who smiled. “I have a better idea for a scapegoat.”
“Yes?” the raven asked.
“The Ichoniik,” the canine said. “They’ve attacked the Empire, and one of their ships entered our space. Who’s to say that they’re up to something?” The beaver and the antelope both grinned.
“And the . . . asylum request?” the raven asked.
“We’ll let Terra sort that out.”
© 2019 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
baroncoonThe Imperial Palace on Gwath ka-shlal was the largest and most notable structure on the planet, visible from orbit and one of the largest employers on the Hearthworld. The Palace was so huge that two-thirds of a mountain had to be removed to clear enough space for the complex. Despite it being the seat of power, housing the Emperor and his immediate family, it was not the seat of government.
In the capitol city of Farz, fifty kilometers from the Palace, stood a truncated three-sided pyramid thirty stories tall. This was the home of the Council of One Hundred, who carried out the Sovereign’s orders regarding day-to-day operations.
The Presiding Officer of the Council sat at his desk, but had swiveled his chair around so that he could see the Palace through the office windows. The other shlani in the room talked quietly among themselves, going over notes.
The others were mainly bureaucrats from the Political Monitoring and Foreign Ministries, and the others were a small coterie of military officers led by the High Admiral herself. Her subordinates were a mix of Intelligence, Security and Fleet divisions. The dark yellowish-tan-furred vir kept her eyes on the door to the office, her gaze calculating.
Ears and tails twitched as an annunciator chimed. “Sir, the Foreign Minister and the Terran Ambassador,” his secretary said.
The Presiding Officer huffed a short sigh, turned around and touched a section of the desk. “Admit them, please.”
“Yes, sir.” Heads turned as the door swung open and the Foreign Minister entered, followed by a tall, lean Terran canine in a severely tailored suit. Her thick reddish fur and curly, bushy tail were meticulously brushed. She had two aides with her, both males.
The kam stood and smiled at the envoy. “Balakrishnan-vī, welcome. Will you take a seat, please?” he asked, indicating an empty chair next to his desk. “There is something that we need to discuss.”
The dhole-Akita mix raised an eyebrow as she sat down. Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan was a career diplomat and had been the Ambassador to the Sovereign’s Throne for the past ten years. “What might that be, aka?” Her Kashlanin was very good, almost completely devoid of a Terran accent. She crossed her legs as she sat back. “What is so important that you could not send an aide?”
The Foreign Minister gestured with his tail. She’s touchy today.
The Presiding Officer gestured his understanding, masking it by leaning back slightly in his chair. “Several days ago the High Admiral received a report from the border between the Empire and the Confederacy. A ship was intercepted crossing the boundary,” and a holoprojector displayed an image of a battered-looking starship.
Balakrishnan studied the image. “I’m no military expert,” the canine said, “but it appears to be a Brasilia-class cruiser.” Her cold gray eyes glanced at the High Admiral and her aides before she added, “And you say it strayed across the border? I wish to apologize on behalf of my government.”
“On behalf of the Sovereign, I thank you, and accept your apology,” the Presiding Officer said. “It is the Madinat al-Nujum,” and he very carefully enunciated the unfamiliar words, “which was declared missing by your government a short time ago.”
“I thank you again. Will you be releasing the crew at Downtime Station?”
“The crew has requested asylum.”
She glanced sharply at the Presiding Officer. “What?”
The kam resisted the urge to smile. “They have requested asylum from the Terran Confederacy, Ambassador. They insist that they will be killed if they go back to your space.” He gestured to the High Admiral, who waved an Intelligence officer forward with a flick of her tail. The kam gave a short, respectful bow to the canine. “This is Garqar k’Nedhe, of our Intelligence Service. He interviewed the surviving senior officer. Colonel?”
“Thank you, sir. Ambassador,” k’Nedhe said in Terran.
“Where are they?” Balakrishnan asked bluntly.
“Many of the crew are still injured, Ma’am. They are being treated. The senior officer, Commander Sirivati, was questioned by me.” He produced a datapak from a pocket. “Would you like to see it?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice edged with a suspicious tone. Her two aides looked concerned as the three-dimensional image of a wolfess in what appeared to be a bathtub was displayed. “What are you doing to her?”
“Medical regeneration therapy, Ma’am. The Commander was badly injured, according to the surgeon’s report.” K’Nedhe started the recording.
The wolfess took a breath. “My name is Jakeisha Yashere Sirivati, of the Terran Colonial Navy, rank Commander, serial number K 1279-276 SL, planet of birth Corrina. What I have to say is being said without duress and of my own free will.” She paused to catch her breath and said, “It started when we received a new political officer . . . “
As Commander Sirivati related her tale, the Presiding Officer kept his eyes on Balakrishnan. The dhole-Akita mix was watching in silence, her expression stoic and relaxed. Only the twitching of her bushy tail betrayed the fact that she was (angry? nervous?) as she listened and watched. As the wolf recounted the battles within the ship she asked k’Nedhe, “How many are alive?”
“Two hundred forty-one of three hundred fifty, Ma’am.” Sirivati broke down and cried as she told how the Captain died in a last stand defending the emergency bridge, and how the cruiser had been fired upon and crippled by an enemy they never expected.
The recording ended and the lights brightened slightly. The Ambassador licked her lips and asked, “Am I permitted to speak with Commander Sirivati? The remaining crew?”
The Presiding Officer nodded in Terran fashion. “Of course. Please be aware, Balakrishnan-vī, that we regard this incident with some distress. It is not good to see neighbors act like this.”
“True.” The canine nodded and looked at k’Nedhe. “I want copies of all recorded statements as well.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” and the colonel removed the datapak from the reader and gave it to one of her aides. “That is a copy of all of the interviews that my staff and I conducted.”
“Thank you. And you say that none of the crew wanted to be repatriated?”
“That is correct,” the High Admiral said.
The canine femme nodded and got to her feet. “I want to thank you and your staff, High Admiral, and you, Presiding Officer. This is a very disquieting series of revelations, and I’m afraid I must communicate this to Terra.”
“Very good, Ambassador. Thank you for coming,” and the Foreign Minister escorted her and her aides from the room.
The door closed and the High Admiral said, “Sir, I have alerted Fleet Command to initiate a Step Two alert for all border stations and ships.” The Presiding Officer gestured his comprehension; the Combined Services was charged with the defense of the Empire, and had a great deal of discretion in that regard. It was a prudent gesture on her part.
“I will inform the Sovereign, Garfrelenvī. I’m certain he’ll agree with your actions. I want all communications between their Embassy and Terra monitored, and increase our efforts to break their encryption protocols.”
***
They met in a windowless room at the center of the Embassy’s sub-basement; Balakrishnan, her Political Officer, Press Officer and Defense Attaché. The two aides she had brought with her to the meeting stood against the wall, flanking the door. They could be trusted to keep their muzzles firmly shut, and they watched impassively as the recording was replayed.
When it ended, Balakrishnan demanded, “Well? We have to let Terra know.”
After a moment, the Press Officer said, “We could make it their fault.”
“Whose?”
“The Kashlani, of course.” The beaver ran the recording back to where Sirivati was shown in the regenerator. “She’s obviously been tortured by drowning until she said what they wanted her to say, and it’s likely the others were also pressured into talking. After all, we know very little about the shlani. Hells, they could be telepathic.”
“I doubt that,” the Political Officer, an antelope, said dryly. “Otherwise they’d have us all expelled, the fucking mossbacks.”
“We don’t want to pick a fight with the Empire,” the Defense Attaché interjected. The raven twisted his beak in a grimace. “We still don’t know how large their fleet is, but with the number of systems in the Empire, and all those resources to draw from – including personnel,” he reminded them. The active-duty military was fixed by law at 1/500th of the Kashlanin population of the Empire, and most defense analysts were known to get very nervous at the idea.
The Ambassador sat and listened, fingers steepled and the tips of her middle fingers touching her chin. She glanced up at the trio. “Here’s how we present it to Terra.”
“Obviously, we send the raw data to Terra, but we’ll also recommend your idea,” and she pointed at the Press Officer, who smiled. “I have a better idea for a scapegoat.”
“Yes?” the raven asked.
“The Ichoniik,” the canine said. “They’ve attacked the Empire, and one of their ships entered our space. Who’s to say that they’re up to something?” The beaver and the antelope both grinned.
“And the . . . asylum request?” the raven asked.
“We’ll let Terra sort that out.”
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Alien (Other)
Size 99 x 120px
File Size 45.8 kB
In the United States, they're called Foreign Service Officers, and one of their jobs is:
"Political Officers have the responsibility of interacting with foreign governments on policy issues and negotiating policy."
I think you're thinking of the zampolit, or commissar, found on Soviet-era ships.
"Political Officers have the responsibility of interacting with foreign governments on policy issues and negotiating policy."
I think you're thinking of the zampolit, or commissar, found on Soviet-era ships.
I could see how the raw footage of the interview could be interpreted as it could look as if Shirivati was being fed controling substances (the terrans seem to have no idea no idea on Shlani regenerative technology).
That said...what an unsettling game of cat and mouse this is...
That said...what an unsettling game of cat and mouse this is...
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