Taking It from the Top
© 2021 by Walter Reimer



Commander Garza, the Terran commander of Downtime Station, realized that he didn’t have to hide his smile. The Dhole-Akita canine wasn’t expected to be staying on the station any longer, or returning at any time in the future, so his smile was open, wide, and completely unaffected. “Foreign Minister,” he said with a cheerful nod. “Safe journey back to Terra.”

Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan matched the smile, although it seemed to fade somewhat by the time it reached her eyes. Her final meeting with the Imperial emissary, Navot k’Ven, had been behind closed doors without any interpreters or surveillance devices, and the vir had left looking perturbed. “Thank you, Commander. You can tell your masters that Olympus is no longer your concern.”

The ocelot’s smile faltered. “What?” he said before he could stop himself.

“People tend to talk, immured as they are on this station,” Balakrishnan said, “and I have a Terran education. ‘Olympus’ – heh, an old abode of the gods, and a synonym for the highest point.” She gave the ocelot a smile. “Fitting for the talks with the Colonial representative. I congratulate whoever gave it to you – and whoever removed my Political Officer. Fair day, Commander,” and before Garza could say anything she stepped through the airlock and into the waiting shuttle.

The doors closed, and pressures began to equalize as the ocelot walked away. He sighed as he realized that he needed to find out whose tongue had been wagging.

Not to cut it out, though, but the unlucky person was going to find their prospects for career advancement suddenly and drastically diminished.

As for the untimely death of the antelope, well, she hadn’t seemed to shed any tears over his ‘accident.’


***


The Confed Fleet still had their high-speed courier ships, and the one containing the new Foreign Minister outphased near one of the inner Sol System beacons, within visual range of the Terra-Selene subsystem. The ship’s beacon was detected, queried, and verified, and the crew was given permission to head for Terran orbit.

She’d had the time to have a breathing mask custom-made for her muzzle just in case she left a sealed environment for any reason. Of course, she didn’t anticipate any reason, but there was always bad luck.

The shuttle collected her as soon as the courier entered Terran orbit and headed for a landing at New Melbourne.

Balakrishnan had no worries about encountering any Special Service officers. ‘M’ (the new one, not the late and entirely unlamented minkess) had assured her that she was not in any trouble. Still, the roebuck represented an unknown factor, and she didn’t trust him at all.

Which was always the wisest course.

She was a cabinet minister now, and rated her own security detail. She’d been given a very thoroughly vetted list and selected two. The two bodyguards, male and female and both canine, greeted her as the shuttle’s lock cycled open. “Foreign Minister,” the female said. “Welcome to Terra.”

“Thank you,” Balakrishnan said, slipping easily into the clipped ‘professional’ tone she used when speaking with subordinates. She started down the corridor with the female guard beside her and the male staying a meter behind her. He had a slightly distant look, possibly in datatrance as he reported in. “We’re headed straight to the Ministry,” the Dhole-Akita said.

“Not to your quarters, Ma’am?” the femme beside her asked.

“No. We have too much to do.” Balakrishnan glanced back at the male, who nodded. “Let the department heads know that I want to speak to them as soon as we arrive,” and the male raised a paw to the dataport behind his right ear while he relayed her orders.

He surfaced from the trance and said, “Message received, Minister. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“Good.”

Their escorted ground car had a slower ride than the last time she’d come to Terra, and she opened her padd and consulted some of her notes as it made its way through traffic. Since her confirmation, the canine femme had brought herself fully up to date on the status of each department within the Ministry she now led.

It took almost half an hour to reach the well-guarded government quarter of the city, and nearly the same amount of time to get through all the security checks. Finally, the car entered the underground garage and Balakrishnan and her escorts, now wearing masks, stepped out and walked to the entry. What looked like a smear of ordure marked one of the limo’s fenders.

A burst of filtered air, with the entry chamber’s negative air pressure, served to clear the air and remove some of the dust that the trio had picked up in their short walk. They took their masks off as the inner door opened.

An officious-looking musk deer buck was waiting. “Chen Marcus, Minister,” he said. “I’m your principal secretary.”

Balakrishnan acknowledged him with a nod. “Let’s go,” she said, and the buck took the security guard’s place at her side.

“You’ve received my latest message?” she aked.

Musk deer bucks are equipped with downward-pointing tusks that gave them a rather disconcerting (some said threatening) grin, and Chen obviously knew it. “Yes, Minister. Position papers are already being assembled by the staff.”

If Balakrishnan had any feeling about his grin, she didn’t show it.

The seven department heads glanced up from their seats around the conference table as Balakrishnan was shown in. She took her seat at the head of the table, aware that her two guards had taken up positions flanking the door and Chen had taken a seat behind her and to her right. “Chen.”

“Minister?”

“Sit there,” and she pointed at an empty chair. Not closest to her, but far enough down the table that she could easily see him. The buck’s ears swiveled, but he complied, and after he sat down Balakrishnan said, “Fair day to you all. We need to get things moving in the correct direction as soon as possible.”

“What is the correct direction?” the head of the Political Section asked.

“Internal Terran conditions here in the Conf – in the Empire – are not our concern,” the Dhole-Akita said. “We have enough to do. Since it’s a sure bet that the Kashlani will never allow us near Gwath ka-shlal again, I am going to propose to His Majesty and the Regency Council that a full Embassy be established on Downtime Station.” The Political Section head and the head of the Kashlani Section both nodded. “I will also need a list of candidates for an Ambassador.”

She turned to the director of the Colonial Section. “The former Colonies – what?” she asked as the Political Section head snorted.

The Komodo monitor gave a slight flick of his tongue and said, “They are still colonies, Minister.”

“Possibly,” the canine countered, “but it’s that attitude that helped them make the decision to secede.” Turning back to the Colonial Section head she said, “We must strengthen ties with the Colonies, and they may eventually come back to us of their own volition.” The kangaroo jotted a note on his padd. “Those ties should be obvious – trade, culture, and the fact that we all share the same genes.”

“I have position papers being prepared,” and Chen nodded, “and I have a meeting with His Majesty and the Regency Council tomorrow morning. The Kashlani and the Colonies are going to be this Ministry’s focus. We treat both with respect, and we’ll await developments.”

“You’re taking a very long view, Minister,” the Economics Section head, a hamster, remarked.

“Yes, I am.” She glanced at the others around the table.

Noting who was agreeing with her, who were agreeing but with reservations, and who were looking for signs of weakness that could be used to supplant her.

One set would be supported, one set would be persuaded.

The third set would be an object lesson to the first two.