Bid Opening
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  baroncoon


“We have just outphased, Ma’am.” The vir glanced up from her padd as the stafflieutenant added, “Station Control advises that we have a clear approach to dock.”

Navot k’Ven smiled. “Thank you, faringorwan. Has my staff been notified?”

The kam gestured affirmatively. She thanked him again and returned to her briefing notes as he left her quarters. She’d been studying the dossier ever since the ship had left the Hearthworld, along with discussions with her five-shlan staff. Two of them were with the Political Monitors, and the other three, like her, were from the Foreign Ministry.

All three of them were also senior to her. She’d been allowed to help choose them by the Minister, and so far they’d been very helpful in offering her advice and support. Still, she was the most junior member of the Imperial delegation, and she hadn’t forgotten that fact.

Part of her briefing included the Minister’s own impressions of the Terran she was going to meet. Based on his observations, Balakrishnan intensely disliked the Kashlani but also feared losing her post in the Terran diplomatic service. She also feared losing prestige and standing within the government. Negotiations would have to be conducted with a certain amount of delicacy as a result, particularly since the canine knew Kashlanin.

The night before she had left on this mission, the Sovereign himself had visited her. He told her that he had low expectations about the talks, and added that if she failed, Navot must not be too hard on herself. The Azraa admitted that failure was a better teacher than any amount of success, and she had the potential for a long and distinguished career in the Ministry.

Navot hoped that the Sovereign had made the right decision in ordering the Ministry to send her.

The military transport was one of the class designed for ferrying flag officers of high-ranking government officials, and the entire mission had been very comfortable so far. She had exercised, read, and discussed matters with her staff. Still, as the ship docked with the station, she couldn’t avoid feeling a certain apprehension.

“K’Ven-vī, I am the station commander,” a subadmiral greeted the group at the main airlock as soon as the pressures equalized. “Narchak.”

“Narchak, nurfrelen.” The pair started down the docking concourse, trailed by her staff.

“The Terrans have insisted on holding the discussions on their side of the station.” He glanced at her. “I hope you’ve been exercising.”

She smiled. “Two cycles every day since I was appointed as envoy. Is it really that bad?”

The subadmiral’s tail twitched in a shrug. “It’s a bit of a shock at first, but you’ll get used to it pretty quickly. Allow me to escort you all to your quarters, and the first session is scheduled for three cycles from now.”

Novat paused, the fingers of one hand moving slightly as she figured the difference between Imperial and Terran clocks. “That’s before local nun, their time.”

“Yes,” and the kam smiled. “It was the Terran station commander’s idea. We have been cooperating closely since the Confederacy began this foolishness.” The smile widened. “I cannot fault his sense of self-preservation.”

The vir gestured her comprehension. Three cycles . . . enough time for a brief nap, and a snack. The timing also ensured that the meeting would take place before the traditional time Terrans ate their midday meal. Balakrishnan-vī would be hungry, possibly irritable, off-balance. A perfect opportunity to gauge her reactions to the Empire’s truce conditions.

Despite her relative youth, Novat k’Ven smiled to herself.