Last Ditch
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  baroncoon


Joe’s was doing a fair business, but the proprietors deliberately set aside half a dozen tables to provide a buffer between the other customers and a very private party of two.

Navot k’Ven sat across from her Terran opposite number, gazing at the trees and other growing things that filled this part of the Terran section of the station. Her tailspur ticked against the floor, but she hadn’t extended her fingerclaws. “I am unsure why you have asked to speak with me,” she said quietly. “I have already told you that there is no need for further discussion.”

“In diplomacy,” Balakrishnan said in a brittle tone, “there is always a need for discussion. I have been in communication with the Foreign Minister.” She looked uncomfortable, and tried not to betray her reaction to the fact that the vir had brought her pet morzin with her. The meter-long legless mammal was wrapped around Navot’s neck, sleeping contentedly.

“Yes?” the vir asked. She was practically radiating an attitude of utter unconcern, one fingertip idly petting Nak between its ears.

“She is trying to avert a war.”

Navot’s ears flicked as a waiter approached the table, and waited until after the otter had placed a glass of henal at her end of the table and Markellan whiskey over ice near Balakrishnan. The vir raised the glass of pink, foam-topped beer and studied it before raising it to her lips as the morzin around her neck sniffed at the aroma. Navot licked a trace of foam from her lips and said, “’Once the henal is poured, it must be drunk.’ There’s no returning it to the bottle, Balakrishnan-jih. The Colonies have declared war, and the Sovereign has ordered the Combined Services to bring their full strength to bear against Terra.”

Balakrishnan took a drink of her whiskey. “There is no hope for peace, then?” Her voice was quiet.

The vir dipped a fingertip in her henal and brought a fat drop of it to her pet’s muzzle. The morzin sniffed before lapping at the liquid and giving its mistress a happy chirp. “There is one hope for peace,” she said.

“And that is?”

"Surrender.”

The Dhole-Akita canine blinked. “We’ve already accepted your – “

“Not terms, Balakrishnan-jih. There are no terms. Terra and its leaders must surrender and place itself under the Sovereign’s toeclaws. That is the only way.” She met the Terran’s gaze and held it. “Tell your Foreign Minister that.”

The canine drained her glass of whiskey and slowly stood up. “You’re not staying for a meal?” Navot asked.

“I’m . . . no longer hungry.”

Navot’s tail gestured, the equivalent of a shrug. “As you will. I shall stay, and have something to eat.” She smiled as Nak nuzzled her under her chin as the Terran walked slowly away.

The waiter approached again. The vir ordered a meal, “And some minced yevech for my pet, please,” and after the otter walked away one of her aides took the canine’s vacated chair. “Yes?” she asked.

“She seemed somewhat distressed,” the kam said. He placed his fingers against the table and wiggled them; Nak uncoiled itself from Navot’s neck and shoulders and slithered onto the table, eager to play-stalk the fingers.

“She said that they want peace,” Navot replied. “I told them that they needed to surrender immediately and accept our suzerainty without terms.”

“Aka.” He grinned as the morzin coiled and struck at the wiggling fingers. The kam started stalking it in return until Nak grabbed one finger in its teeth and coiled its body around the kam’s hand, chirping as he played with the sinuous creature. “And what did she say?”

“She is going to pass it on to her government,” Navot said. She sighed. “I realize that my assignment was never really expected to succeed, and the Sovereign said that it would be all right if I failed, but it is still a failure, and I will always remember it.”

“Do you think she will succeed in persuading her government?”

“A’ulant tovod,” Navot replied as the waiter returned with her meal and a small bowl bearing a lump of finely minced meat for her pet.