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Grass Eaters | 19 | High Council
🕑 Added 2024-03-06 09:19:52 +0000 UTCMalgeirgam, Malgeiru
Niblui stepped into the bustling High Council reception area, instantly sensing an electrifying buzz in the air. Her designated receptionist practically flew down the grand staircase as soon as his eyes detected her presence.
“Esteemed Ambassador Niblui, I’m so sorry I can’t get you into the chamber for another ten minutes,” he panted, skipping the last few steps and looking as if he’d just participated in an endurance race.
She shrugged, taking in the organized chaos around her. “No worries. This place seems extra busy today.”
The excited receptionist tilted his head toward the giant video wall, which was streaming a kaleidoscope of news channels simultaneously. “You haven’t heard the news yet?”
She shook her head. “Flew in straight from the main spaceport this morning. I didn’t even have time for a quick shower at home. What’s going on?”
He leaned in, his eyes twinkling with a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Triple scandal, Ambassador. Last night, three High Councilors were found to be in cahoots with the Grass Eaters. As we speak, they’re under arrest and awaiting public trial.”
Niblui’s eyes widened. “Traitors in the High Council? Three?!”
“Yeah, they were caught red-handed. Capital Police raided their homes on an anonymous tip and found their FTL radios. There was a leaked recording of the police using one of them. They called it, and I swear, a real live Grass Eater picked up. Two of the High Councilors confessed their guilt right away. The other one is proclaiming her innocence, but the evidence is piling up like a mountain. Absolutely fur-raising stuff. You have to watch the leaks.”
“Incredible.” Niblui shook her head in disbelief. “That people who would betray our species like that. High Councilors! And three of them! Did they say why they did it?”
“Nope. Not yet. It’s a huge surprise to everyone. Even weirder, one of the turncoats is the one from District 6: you know, the district that got hit hardest in the war. She lost two of her litter to the Grass Eaters in the war!”
Niblui felt a jolt of shock surge through her fur. “Hold up, District 6? Which districts did the other two come from?”
“8 and 9. This is a political earthquake! Especially District 8: it was an extremely contested election that came down to a few thousand votes. The fallout here! They’re going to have to…” He continued rambling about the political implications, but Niblui had mentally checked out by then.
The High Councilors from Districts 6, 8, and 9 were the three High Councilors who were conspicuously absent from the Terrans’ list of trusted names.
She had been wondering how she would be able to convince the High Council to meet without those three and without raising a yellow flag, but it appeared the Terrans have already taken care of the problem for her. She was no career spy, but this smelled stranger than an aquatic food market after-hours.
It made her fur stand on end a bit, knowing that these new Grass Eaters had so much sway over the top of Malgeir politics.
But hey, if they were just weeding out a bad litter, that’s what allies did for each other, wasn’t it? Or was it?
She never recalled the Granti or the Malgeir doing that for each other. Then again, she mused, what might they have done had the opportunity come up?
And all this maneuvering was just through anonymous tips to the Capital Police. What other moves were they hiding in their playbook?
“Oh, Ambassador, I just got the ready signal from the chamber. I don’t think I need to teach you the protocols because you’re an old paw at this, but just as a reminder, no unauthorized powered or recording devices are allowed inside the chamber.” He extended his paw with an expectant glance.
“I didn’t bring mine today,” Niblui said, still distracted.
“Excellent,” he winked at her, “Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way, shall we?”
He guided her to a door adorned with intricate carvings, symbols of peace and unity etched into the ancient wood. “Good luck, Ambassador!” he said.
Navigating through the naturally lit corridor, Niblui felt the weight of centuries on her shoulders as she approached the ornate door leading to the Grand Chamber. She tried to keep her eyes straight.
While the traditions in this hall were ancient, its security measures were not, and many of them had been upgraded due to the war. She knew the four security guards standing loosely around the halls were not decorations; they were distractions. One wrong step —if she tried to rush through the door without permission — invisible rifles in the crevices of the hallway would gun her down before she reached the threshold.
Her sensitive ear caught a gravelly voice echoing through a hidden speaker. “You are granted entry,” it declared. With a hesitant paw, she pushed open the door, its hinges smoothly swinging without a creak as she crossed the threshold into the Grand Chamber.
Inside, she found the High Council seated at a circular wooden table. It appeared that, as a result of the traitor scandal, all ten of the other Councilors were present, a rare occurrence. Good, she thought, this would simplify things a little.
The Head Councilor, the one with the shimmering red robe, was the first to speak. “Ambassador Niblui. We’d like to express the Council’s appreciation for the great work you did on Schpriss Prime.”
Niblui bowed in respect with practiced grace. Before she could say anything though, the District 4 Councilor jumped in. “Sure, it’s not the armada of ships we initially requested from The Spineless Ones, but no one can hold that against you.”
District 3’s Councilor chimed in, clasping her paws together in agreement. “The fact that the Ambassador got any ships from them is a miracle. She deserves a recommendation from the Council for that. Objections?”
“Without objection, so ordered,” the Head Councilor intoned when he saw none. “Ambassador, we noticed you’ve requested an extra thirty minutes of our collective time. Given your recent contributions, the request is more than reasonable. What else would you like to discuss?”
“Thank you,” Niblui said, her voice tinged with cautious optimism. She then launched into a practiced summary of her first contact encounter with the Terrans, carefully leaving out only the part where she deduced the Terrans were clearly suspicious of the three High Councilors who had been expelled just the day before. That would only raise questions of impropriety and alarm before she got to the important part.
As soon as she finished her narrative, the chamber burst into a cacophony of questions.
Skillfully, the Head Councilor quieted the commotion, insisting that everyone funnel their inquiries through him, as was the protocol for such pressing matters. He pressed a button on his ornate desk, activating the chamber’s external communication system. “Attendant, cancel all remaining meetings for the rest of the day. Yes… all the meetings. Just whisper to them it’s because of the… recent political scandal if they ask. And have the culinary team prepare lunch and dinner for eleven.”
His gaze returned to Niblui. “Before we get started, do you have any objections to aquatic-based cuisine, Ambassador?”
---
Niblui sat through the barrage of questions with practiced calm on her face. It was easier than she’d expected, largely because she had grappled with many of these questions herself during her long journey to the Council Chamber.
Besides, most of the Councilors seemed more intent on arguing amongst themselves than actually listening to her responses.
“So, are we talking about biological Grass Eaters who’ve decided to kick their Prey Mentality to the curb and evolve? Or are these just regular thinking beings who have devolved back into Grass Munching?” one Councilor quizzed, his eyebrows furrowed in thought.
“Hey, their data says they can eat meat too! They just choose to make most of their meat from engineered grass. Does that qualify as a proper diet or is that still considered Prey Behavior?” another chimed in, scrolling through Niblui’s report on her datapad.
“Look, look. Does it even matter what they eat? Hostile Prey Theory is just a theory,” a younger Councilor shrugged, rolling her eyes. She obviously did not think very much of the academics who studied and debated the issue—
“Oh please, that’s like saying gravity is just a theory. Hostile Prey Theory is the foundation of all xenoanthropology, not to mention all modern Malgeir diplomatic policy. Can we afford to ditch all that wisdom for the words of a couple Grass Eaters?” another quickly countered, voice tinged with sarcasm.
“You say ‘wisdom’, I say ‘faulty reasoning’. We based an entire field of study and our diplomatic strategies on a single outlier species. Isn’t that — I don’t know — a bit shaky?” the young Councilor retorted.
“It’s not one example. It’s a whole species of examples, and don’t forget, the examples also include dozens of non-violent, civilized, meat-eating alien—”
“High Councilor, you are literally the prime example of statistical and scientific illiteracy we were cautioning against in the earlier debates about education reform—”
“Go screw yourself, you elitist snob!”
Niblui sighed inwardly, patiently waiting for them to finish their heated “deliberations”. She was glad that they at least had the decency to offer a complimentary lunch.
---
After what felt like hours of fiery debates and grudging compromises, the Head Councilor finally leaned back in his chair. He flashed Niblui a quick relieved smile that looked more like a grimace. “Alright, folks, it seems we’ve hammered out at least one solid decision. We’ve provisionally agreed to slap a new label on the Terrans: Semi Grass Eaters. Let’s be clear, this is a totally separate category from original Grass Eaters. Whether or not we shuffle this new category under the broader umbrella of Civilized Aliens is something we’ll decide down the road, depending on the outcome of our negotiations with them.”
Scanning the circle of faces at the table, he saw a series of hesitant nods. He continued, his tone tinged with cautious optimism, “What this boils down to is that our existing laws won’t preclude productive cooperation with the Terrans: they are not prohibited under our laws that criminalize Grass Eater collaboration.”
More nods bobbed around the table, mixed with audible sighs of relief. “With that out of the way, let’s move on to the topic of whether we will honor the Ambassador’s initial negotiated terms with the Terrans.”
One of the Councilors, who had emerged from the previous debate looking like he’d eaten a sour steak, suddenly piped up. “Hold your claws. Are we applying this classification retroactively? Because if we don’t do that, then the initial discussions the Ambassador had with the Grass Eaters would be legally null and void, and we must begin negotiations with our new understanding of their status—”
Niblui only barely stopped her eyes from rolling out of their sockets as the rest of the Councilors piled onto the discussion like it was the last piece of prime steak at the butcher’s shop near closing time.
---
After more extensive deliberations and favor trading, the High Council agreed to pen a secret, unanimous resolution that Niblui’s authority as Ambassador would be respected, and that the negotiations she’d conducted with the Terrans would be honored… for now.
Which is a massive relief, Niblui thought, because for a while in the chamber, it felt to her like that was touch and go.
The Head Councilor cleared his throat. “Now we have to decide whom to send to Sol to establish formal diplomatic relations.”
He paused for a microsecond as if to see whether anyone else had any suggestions, but continued talking immediately after before anyone could cut in — slick power move, Niblui thought. “I nominate Ambassador Niblui for the head of this mission. We all agreed that whether the terms would be followed by the Terrans or not, they were a good deal, better than most would have gotten. And they seem to trust her enough to start their first contact with her specifically. Any objections?”
One High Councilor started making some annoyed throaty sounds. Niblui tensed up, expecting a whole new round of verbal jousting, but another Councilor cut in to save the table from spiraling into another lengthy debate. “This is a matter of tradition. The First Contact diplomat is always the first head of mission. We can’t break that tradition just because this species has an… unusual diet. Besides, we don’t want to risk angering the Terrans, not when we need their help at least. If the offer is genuine at least.”
There were visible nods around the table, some more reluctant than others, but at least they agreed.
Seeing the way clear for a free shot at one of her rivals, one High Councilor continued in agreement, “And especially, we don’t want to accidentally appoint a bigot like some here seem to—”
The Head Councilor cut her off before there could be another fight, possibly a physical one with claws this time. “Without objection, so ordered. Ambassador Niblui, you are charged with the Sol diplomatic mission. As is tradition, you will have wide latitude to pick your ministers and aides, though they are subject to veto by the High Council. Present your choices to us in fifty hours.”
Niblui noticed that he’d reserved the juiciest topic for last. This last agenda item was military strategy, and the burning question on everyone’s mind was: “How big of an impact could such a species have on the war effort and how should the Navy adjust their planning?”
Unfortunately, the data Niblui got from the Terrans seemed deliberately ambiguous about many of their capabilities, though it did include several points that hinted at their relative competence and familiarity. For instance, there were several items in the recent history column that referenced several wars fought between human factions, including descriptions of war that did somewhat resemble how the Malgeir Navy fought. There were some puzzling aspects of it as well, though whether that was inferior or superior to Malgeir Navy operations was hotly contested by the High Councilors.
“In my decades working with the Navy, I’ve never heard of an operation where we could completely disable an enemy ship and board it, all without them even noticing. So, at least on that subject, these beings are unrivaled in the known galaxy,” one Councilor mused.
“Sure, they’re experts at playing games of Paws and Peeks like cubs,” another Councilor quipped. “I can see how that’s important for a survival of a grass-eating prey species.”
“Can we not go down that prey hole again? Let’s face it, none of us here are military strategists. Let’s call in one of our Navy experts and see how they’d evaluate the material.”
“Great idea. There was that heroic young fleet commander who came in two weeks ago for her medals. The one with the long scar on her face. What was her name again?” asked the Councilor from District 2.
The Head Councilor leaned in, activating his desk’s built-in microphone again. “Attendant, call that Navy gal who came in for her medals two weeks ago. Oh, Fleet Commander Grionc, yes, right. She’s in Malgeirgam with the Home Fleet? Fantastic! Tell them we need her for a hearing… She’s busy with something? No, no, tell them: this is very important, and we will not take no for an answer. Oh, and inform the kitchen staff: make that twelve for dinner.”
---
Pincrio quivered, his furry ears flattened, as he cowered in front of the irate Home Fleet Commander, clutching the datapad with the unwelcome message from the High Council.
“The High Council? They’ve summoned her?! I thought you assured me she was a nobody. A political zero. You imbecile! No political connections to speak of, you said!” The commander’s eyes bore straight into his.
“She didn’t! She doesn’t even— she doesn’t even have drinking buddies! There was no intel, nothing that would suggest this level of political clout or—”
“Ok, shut up. Shut up. Shut your snout so I can think… Let me think… Okay. Go clean her up and get her ready. Apologize, on your belly and front paws if you have to. Say it was a miscommunication or something. Make something up! I don’t care. Offer her any amount of petty cash from the fleet general fund if she brings it up. And release her nephew, for galaxy’s sake! You were supposed to do that when we took her into custody!”
“But Fleet Commander, the tactical officer is— I don’t think he is actually related to her—”
“Do I look like I give a flying Grass Eater?!”
“No, Fleet Commander,” Pincrio bowed as low as he could.
“What are you standing around for? Get them both off my base! Yesterday if possible! Go!”
