Legation
© 2021 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  Major Matt Mason


The Confed had been forced away from the Lalande System by the Kashlani, but the delaying actions and resistance put up by the Terrans had succeeded in buying enough time for essential equipment to be dismantled and removed.

At least one person had defined furniture as ‘essential equipment,’ Baxter Ludmilla thought as she and her staff of six picked through the debris left in one office. It appeared that what hadn’t been hauled away had been smashed, and the life-support was being basically rebuilt by Colonial technicians with Kashlanin support. Right now, they had minimal lighting and the air was breathable, but the place looked (and smelled) like a war zone.

That was fine with the otteress. She’d been in war zones before.

“I plan on making sure that the Confedders know what I think of their hospitality,” Baxter said.

One of her staff barked a laugh. “Give them a slap for me,” the bear said as he easily upended a couch that looked as if it had been shredded with knives. “This doesn’t look too bad,” he remarked, “if you throw a blanket over it to hide the slashes.”

“Thank Deus that this place has been swept for bombs,” another staffer, this one a deceptively delicate-looking wolf, said. “I’d hate to try to scavenge for furnishings and look for booby traps at the same time.”

“I don’t envy the furs looking at the industrial plants, though,” a third said with a shudder.

The lights chose that time to die; they then flickered and came on fully, followed by a soft gust of temperate air from the ventilation system. “Let that be taken as a hopeful sign,” the wolf said.

“Amen,” Baxter said as she sat down very gingerly in a chair. It held her weight and showed no sign of crumpling under her.

So far.

She felt a tickling itch in her brain and opened herself to the datatrance. “Yes?”

It was one of the Colonial soldiers tasked with making sure she and her staff were safe. “Confed Marine landing craft just cut atmosphere, Ma’am. The shlani tell us that it’s carrying their Ambassador. They allowed it insystem.”

“Very well. Just keep an eye on them. Status on getting their quarters up and running?” The Confed envoy was to be housed a short distance away, with the actual conference site in between the two groups. It made sense.

“Life support’s back on, and we’ve scavenged enough, I think. Hope they like living rough.”

Baxter pulled herself out of the ‘trance to find a smile on her face. “The Confedders are here. Let’s go and say hello.”

The Confed delegation had just come through the airlock and were getting out of their environment suits when the Colonials came into the room. A giraffe in Marine uniform stepped forward, a paw on their holstered sidearm. “Stop right there,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”

The otteress sized him up as she replied, “Baxter Ludmilla. I’m the Ambassador. Who the fuck are you, and why shouldn’t I snap your fucking neck right now?”

The giraffe’s grip tightened on his pistol, but he froze as a stern male voice said, “Sanders! Stand down.”

Sanders glanced back at the one who shouted, and turned back to Baxter. “This isn’t over.” He did take his paw away from his pistol, though.

The slender wolf smiled, showing teeth. “I think it will be.”

The shouter was a short and somewhat stout older feline; he bustled forward still half in his environment suit and said, “You are Baxter-jih? I’m Thorpe Kendrik; pleased to meet you.” He shifted the full burden of holding up his suit to his left paw and stuck out his right paw.

She took it. It was important to make the gesture, in order to send a message. “Ambassador.”

Thorpe gave her a condescending smile. “Ambassador? Oh, Deus no, young woman. The Foreign Minister wouldn’t dream of sending a full Ambassador out here.”

Baxter very slowly raised one eyebrow. “You’re not an Ambassador? Then why come out here to talk with me?”

“Best you get is Chief of Mission,” the feline said.

The otter frowned. “What about Balakrishnan-jih, out at Downtime?”

“Oh, her,” Thorpe said with a dismissive flip of his tail. “She was an Ambassador, and retained her rank after she got thrown out of the Empire. Oversight on the ForMin’s part, if you ask me. Still, I look forward to talking to you, young woman,” and with that Thorpe released his hold on her paw and walked back to his delegation. He almost tripped as his e-suit slipped down around his legs.

Baxter took a slow, deep breath and let it out slowly.

Very slowly.

She rejoined the other members of her group and the bear said, “There’s a right mjuzi.”

“Yeah, he is that,” the otter said. “Still, I’ll talk to a Chief of Mission – Deus, I’ll talk to anyone that Terra sends out here who can speak with any authority on Terra’s behalf. They’ve agreed to talk to the Colonies. We need to take advantage of that.”

“You sure you’re up to dealing with the likes of him?” the wolf asked.

“Just keep that longneck off my back.” Baxter grinned. “I admit that the thought of negotiating with him at gunpoint has a certain appeal.”

The rest of the Colonials laughed as they returned to their quarters.

“What was that about ‘talking to?’” the bear asked. “I thought we were supposed to talk with the Confedders.”

“Seen his sort before,” the wolf said. “Thinks he’s somehow better than we are because his ancestors stayed close to home, while ours headed out into the deep dark.”

Baxter acknowledged this with a grunt. Getting through this idiot’s mental armor would take time, and might take more finesse than she possessed.

She hoped that Chang would have better luck.