Kibitzing
© 2021 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  baroncoon, color by  Major Matt Mason


“Hello, Chang-jih,” Navot k’Ven said. The vir gestured at a chair. “Please have a seat.”

“Rērth, vī. Narchak,” the otter femme said as she took a seat facing the taller – much taller – shlan across the small table. Around them, the rest of the Colonial delegation took seats. The Kashlani were already seated, with one or two chatting amiably while looking over a menu. “Thank you for asking to speak with me.”

“I was not told that you speak our language,” Navot said.

“Just a few words and phrases.”

“Aka. I’m sure that Commander Garza told you that is a friendly meeting. I am already acquainted with Ambassador Balakrishnan, but I wished to meet with her Colonial counterpart before the three of us sit down to discuss matters.” There was a pause as a server drew near and took their food and drink orders. “You are not a trained diplomat, Chang-jih?”

Chang smiled. “No, vī, I am not. I’m an officer in the Special Forces. The Foreign Minister wanted furs who could recognize a threat and act before they could be killed or taken hostage.”

Navot flicked an ear and her tail snaked into her lap. “Do you think the Confederation would attempt that?”

The otter sighed. “At this point in the war, ma’am, I would believe anything of the Terran Empire,” and she deliberately stressed the last two words into an insult. “The Colonies have had the short and very shitty end of the stick at the paws of the Coreworlders since practically forever. I’m sure that the Shlaniazr has had some experience of their treachery.”

“True,” the vir said. “My instructions are explicit on this point, Chang-jih. I am to observe you and Balakrishnan-jih as you two negotiate your respective governments’ terms.” She raised a finger as the server approached with a tray. Henal and a plate of ‘epi for her; a hoppy brown ale and a plate of flash-fried smelt for the otter. As the server walked away Navot added, “I am to intervene only if it appears that conflict is about to resume, as the Colonies have requested the Empire’s protection and assistance.” She took a sip of her henal. “I have already given Balakrishnan-jih the same information.”

“I see,” Chang said as she licked a trace of foam from her muzzle. The table was wide enough that neither could get a really good sniff of what the other was eating, but the henal smelled vaguely like stale fermented garbage and the small grilled lizards just smelled burnt. She picked up a fish, certain that what she’d ordered smelled equally foul to the vir, bit it in half, and chewed for a few moments before asking, “What’s she like?”

Navot smiled. “You will see. I do not want you to have any preconceptions.”

Too late, the otter thought.


***


“Hey, Ludmilla.” Baxter glanced up from the video scrolling across her padd, and the bear said, “Kashlani are saying that their observer’s on his way down. Wants to meet with us and the Confedders.”

The otteress frowned and started folding up her padd. She’d been fully briefed before leaving the Satan, and knew that they were coming. “They’re early. We ready for them?”

“Yeah,” the bear said, “but are they ready for Thorpe and his bunch? That giraffe looked like he really wanted to shoot something.”

“Like I said, you keep an eye on him,” Baxter said as she headed for the door.

The conference area, ostensibly neutral territory, was a room four meters square with a ceiling high enough to accommodate the Kashlani. Their delegate, a kam wearing fairly conservatively-colored shirt and trousers, was accompanied by two civilian staff and four armed escorts.

He smiled as Baxter and the other Colonials entered. “Baxter-jih? I am Yezhef Rafan, the official observer for these talks.” From his accented Basic and the way he held his head and left ear, the otter guessed that he was wearing a translator. “I am pleased to meet you.”

She returned the smile. “I am pleased to meet you as well, Rafan-tī.” She glanced around as a door at the far end of the room opened. “Ah. That’ll be Thorpe-jih.”

The giraffe, Sanders, was the first into the room, and his paw immediately moved toward his sidearm. In response, the four armed shlani charged their rifles and took aim as Rafan’s staffers grabbed him and pulled him back behind the escorts to shield him. There was a brief, breathless pause, and Sanders seemed to realize how seriously outgunned he was.

His paw moved away from his pistol and he stepped aside.

The projection lenses of the rifles followed him.

“What is – what are those doing here!?” Thorpe shouted, the feline’s ears going straight back as his tail started to bottle. “Sanders? What’s going on?”

The giraffe replied, “Got startled. Won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t. Go to your quarters.” The security fur looked like he wanted to argue, and his superior pointed at the open doorway. Sanders gave the shlani a sneer and left the room, shouldering aside the other Confed staff as they tried to enter. He straightened his coat and huffed as he muttered, “Can’t get good help – Deus, put those away!” he said to the armed shlani. “Now, what’s the meaning of this? You’re early.”

Rafan emerged from behind his guards and said, “I apologize for that. I had thought you would appreciate starting the talks early – “

“You’re here now, so we might as well start.” He huffed again and walked over to the waiting table and chairs. He sat down, grumbled something indistinct about how uncomfortable it was, and said, “Let’s get this farce started.”

“Farce?” Baxter asked as she took her seat. “We’re here to discuss your terms – “

“Our terms, young woman. Don’t forget that. And you,” Thorpe said to Rafan, “you are here to observe?”

“Yes,” the kam said. “The Colonies – “

“Good. Observe. Don’t bother talking; I don’t wish to hear you.” Rafan’s ears flicked as he took a seat a meter or so away from the two Terrans.

Baxter took out her padd and activated it. “Let’s start with your first point. Prisoner exchange or repatriation is something we can both agree on in good faith.”

“All right.”