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Protocol
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
baroncoon, color by 
marmelmm
The file was simply named Protocol on Repatriation of Prisoners. The basics of it had been negotiated between Chang Lin and Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan on Downtime Station and had been transmitted via the Colonial Military Committee to the Colonial envoy on Lalande, as well as to Terra directly. It was a fairly simple set of steps that included accountability as well as medical checks and interviews. It also set a timetable for completion that actually appeared reasonable.
Baxter Ludmilla read through the document again while waiting for her Confed counterpart to return to the bargaining table. Yezhef Rafan, the Kashlanin representative, was reading a translated version. The kam said quietly, “I do not believe that Thorpe-jih will like this.” He glanced up to see the otteress looking in his direction and smiled. “I shall try not to let his displeasure disturb me unduly.”
Baxter chuckled. “I only hope that the Confed sends this to him unchanged – “
A muffled “Impossible!” was heard in the hallway.
Loud, and coming closer.
“Ah,” the otteress said, straightening up in her seat as her staff chuckled quietly and the Confed delegation burst into the conference room. The feline envoy was leading the group.
Thorpe Kendrik’s face was twisted into a mask of fury, his ears back and tail bottled out to three times its diameter. “Impossible!” he stormed. “Unbelievable!” and he threw his padd down on the table before taking his seat and growling.
“Problem, sir?” Baxter asked in a pleasant tone.
Whether it was her tone or her smile, the feline bristled and growled, “That traitor bitch out there on the border has sold out her own government, capitulated and gave the Colonies everything! And has the gall to insult her superior, the Foreign Minister!” He grumbled something incoherent as his own staff filed in.
“Are you referring to the agreement on prisoner exchange?” Baxter asked.
Thorpe scowled. “Yes,” he finally managed to say.
Baxter made a show of looking at her padd before glancing up at him over the upper edge of the device. “It would appear to cover all of the objections that you raised at our last meeting, Thorpe-jih – “
The feline grumbled something indistinct.
Baxter cocked her head. “Excuse me? I didn’t catch that.”
“I said, His Majesty and the Foreign Minister have agreed to everything that curly-tailed cunt’s sent to them!” Thorpe yowled. “The prisoner exchange! A trade agreement, of all things! Even refusing to come back to us! EVERYTHING!” He pointed at Rafan. “YOU!”
The kam’s ears perked attentively. “Yes, Thorpe-jih?”
“YOU’RE TO BLAME FOR THIS!”
“Me?”
“YES, YOU! YOU AND ALL YOUR DEUS-DAMNED KIND!” For a feline, Thorpe was doing an excellent impression of a rabid feral dog. “YOU FUCKING MOSSBACKED MONKEYTAILED CATEYED DOGFACED CRITTERS ARE – “
“Now going to discuss the Sovereign’s terms,” Rafan interrupted smoothly.
The sudden shift made the Terran feline blink. “What? What? What?”
Baxter felt a slight tickle of datatrance from one of her staff. “Only three watts? He’s not very bright.”
She tried very hard not to smile, and only just succeeded as Thorpe started to splutter. “But – “
“Yes?” the kam asked.
“I’m . . . not – I don’t have the authority to negotiate with you – “ Thorpe stopped speaking and stared as Rafan raised his tail, letting the lights play against the bony spur at the tip of his tail as it swayed back and forth.
“None of the terms transmitted to Terra are open to negotiation,” Rafan said flatly. “All we need from you is a simple Yes or No, Thorpe-jih. Yes, Terra agrees; No, Terra wishes to be . . . erased,” the Kashlanin said after searching for the correct word.
Thorpe seemed to deflate, even as his staff glared angrily at the Imperial envoy and his staff. “I’ll – I’ll have to communicate with the F-Foreign Ministry.”
“See that you do. Tell them to deliberate quickly, Thorpe-jih. The Sovereign’s demands were sent many days ago, and his patience is not inexhaustible. I – “
“Oh, fuck this,” the giraffe, Sanders, growled. He drew his sidearm and brought the pistol up as Baxter suddenly kicked, propelling her chair backward and toppling out of it into a somersault as her staff moved to protect her.
Rafan stayed where he was.
Sanders said, “Die, Critter,” and immediately screamed as his gun arm seemed to suddenly develop a second elbow midway between the original joint and his wrist. The projectile weapon fired, but the bullet smacked into the ceiling as the giraffe was suddenly driven back against the wall and a series of bloody rents appeared in his neck.
“Hemek!” Rafan barked, and the two groups of Terrans, Confed and Colonial, froze where they were as Sanders choked and burbled his life out through his throat. The dead giraffe slumped to the floor in a pool of blood, some of the fluid clinging to the shape of a shlan.
The shape flickered and the thermoptic camouflage faded, revealing a vir in bloodstained khaki.
“A Tracker,” Baxter breathed. “You – you planned this?” she gasped at Rafan.
“Not I,” the kam replied. “But the possibility that an attempt to kill either of us could not be discounted.” He spoke a few words to the Tracker senior private, who gestured affirmatively and took two steps away from the Terran corpse. “Thorpe-jih?” The feline tore his gaze away from the sight of the dead giraffe and blinked dazedly at Rafan, and the kam said, “You and your remaining staff are dismissed, to communicate with your government. You may go now.”
Thorpe nodded numbly and got up from his seat, a dark stain spreading across his trousers as he and the remaining Confed delegation left.
“I suppose we should get that cleaned up,” Rafan said.
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
baroncoon, color by 
marmelmmThe file was simply named Protocol on Repatriation of Prisoners. The basics of it had been negotiated between Chang Lin and Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan on Downtime Station and had been transmitted via the Colonial Military Committee to the Colonial envoy on Lalande, as well as to Terra directly. It was a fairly simple set of steps that included accountability as well as medical checks and interviews. It also set a timetable for completion that actually appeared reasonable.
Baxter Ludmilla read through the document again while waiting for her Confed counterpart to return to the bargaining table. Yezhef Rafan, the Kashlanin representative, was reading a translated version. The kam said quietly, “I do not believe that Thorpe-jih will like this.” He glanced up to see the otteress looking in his direction and smiled. “I shall try not to let his displeasure disturb me unduly.”
Baxter chuckled. “I only hope that the Confed sends this to him unchanged – “
A muffled “Impossible!” was heard in the hallway.
Loud, and coming closer.
“Ah,” the otteress said, straightening up in her seat as her staff chuckled quietly and the Confed delegation burst into the conference room. The feline envoy was leading the group.
Thorpe Kendrik’s face was twisted into a mask of fury, his ears back and tail bottled out to three times its diameter. “Impossible!” he stormed. “Unbelievable!” and he threw his padd down on the table before taking his seat and growling.
“Problem, sir?” Baxter asked in a pleasant tone.
Whether it was her tone or her smile, the feline bristled and growled, “That traitor bitch out there on the border has sold out her own government, capitulated and gave the Colonies everything! And has the gall to insult her superior, the Foreign Minister!” He grumbled something incoherent as his own staff filed in.
“Are you referring to the agreement on prisoner exchange?” Baxter asked.
Thorpe scowled. “Yes,” he finally managed to say.
Baxter made a show of looking at her padd before glancing up at him over the upper edge of the device. “It would appear to cover all of the objections that you raised at our last meeting, Thorpe-jih – “
The feline grumbled something indistinct.
Baxter cocked her head. “Excuse me? I didn’t catch that.”
“I said, His Majesty and the Foreign Minister have agreed to everything that curly-tailed cunt’s sent to them!” Thorpe yowled. “The prisoner exchange! A trade agreement, of all things! Even refusing to come back to us! EVERYTHING!” He pointed at Rafan. “YOU!”
The kam’s ears perked attentively. “Yes, Thorpe-jih?”
“YOU’RE TO BLAME FOR THIS!”
“Me?”
“YES, YOU! YOU AND ALL YOUR DEUS-DAMNED KIND!” For a feline, Thorpe was doing an excellent impression of a rabid feral dog. “YOU FUCKING MOSSBACKED MONKEYTAILED CATEYED DOGFACED CRITTERS ARE – “
“Now going to discuss the Sovereign’s terms,” Rafan interrupted smoothly.
The sudden shift made the Terran feline blink. “What? What? What?”
Baxter felt a slight tickle of datatrance from one of her staff. “Only three watts? He’s not very bright.”
She tried very hard not to smile, and only just succeeded as Thorpe started to splutter. “But – “
“Yes?” the kam asked.
“I’m . . . not – I don’t have the authority to negotiate with you – “ Thorpe stopped speaking and stared as Rafan raised his tail, letting the lights play against the bony spur at the tip of his tail as it swayed back and forth.
“None of the terms transmitted to Terra are open to negotiation,” Rafan said flatly. “All we need from you is a simple Yes or No, Thorpe-jih. Yes, Terra agrees; No, Terra wishes to be . . . erased,” the Kashlanin said after searching for the correct word.
Thorpe seemed to deflate, even as his staff glared angrily at the Imperial envoy and his staff. “I’ll – I’ll have to communicate with the F-Foreign Ministry.”
“See that you do. Tell them to deliberate quickly, Thorpe-jih. The Sovereign’s demands were sent many days ago, and his patience is not inexhaustible. I – “
“Oh, fuck this,” the giraffe, Sanders, growled. He drew his sidearm and brought the pistol up as Baxter suddenly kicked, propelling her chair backward and toppling out of it into a somersault as her staff moved to protect her.
Rafan stayed where he was.
Sanders said, “Die, Critter,” and immediately screamed as his gun arm seemed to suddenly develop a second elbow midway between the original joint and his wrist. The projectile weapon fired, but the bullet smacked into the ceiling as the giraffe was suddenly driven back against the wall and a series of bloody rents appeared in his neck.
“Hemek!” Rafan barked, and the two groups of Terrans, Confed and Colonial, froze where they were as Sanders choked and burbled his life out through his throat. The dead giraffe slumped to the floor in a pool of blood, some of the fluid clinging to the shape of a shlan.
The shape flickered and the thermoptic camouflage faded, revealing a vir in bloodstained khaki.
“A Tracker,” Baxter breathed. “You – you planned this?” she gasped at Rafan.
“Not I,” the kam replied. “But the possibility that an attempt to kill either of us could not be discounted.” He spoke a few words to the Tracker senior private, who gestured affirmatively and took two steps away from the Terran corpse. “Thorpe-jih?” The feline tore his gaze away from the sight of the dead giraffe and blinked dazedly at Rafan, and the kam said, “You and your remaining staff are dismissed, to communicate with your government. You may go now.”
Thorpe nodded numbly and got up from his seat, a dark stain spreading across his trousers as he and the remaining Confed delegation left.
“I suppose we should get that cleaned up,” Rafan said.
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Alien (Other)
Size 99 x 120px
File Size 50.7 kB
Listed in Folders
You and yours have never been a real threat to those you wished to fight. You may return to your homes with your tails between your legs - or we shall cut off your tails - at your neck. We suggest you decide which it will be, quickly ...
Since the universe my tale is in has transporters, the foe's weapons would have been rendered useless when they came in - or rigged to injure/kill them if they dared to be stupid enough to fire them. (We writers will willingly write with what weapons we wish! )
Since the universe my tale is in has transporters, the foe's weapons would have been rendered useless when they came in - or rigged to injure/kill them if they dared to be stupid enough to fire them. (We writers will willingly write with what weapons we wish! )
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