Between the Dilemma’s Horns
© 2021 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  foxenawolf


“Good morning, Liang,” Felix al-Sakai said in a casual, off-paw manner as the bear, dressed in a working uniform and pawcuffed behind his back, was unceremoniously dumped in a chair. The leopard’s eyes flicked up from the hardcopy he was reading. “You’ve looked better.”

Doren’s left eye was swollen shut, and it had looked as if he had trouble walking. “I’m impressed,” Felix remarked. “The last time I asked her to treat someone gently, they ended up paralyzed.” He stood up and came around his desk to stand in front of the bear. “But I wanted to talk to you.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Why?”

The bear’s right eye opened and looked up at Felix. Doren licked his lips and said, “You.”

“Yes?”

“You were missing a chance, Felix – a chance to cripple them psychologically.” Doren shifted in his seat.

“And you were certain it would work? Force them to sue for peace?”

“Markus destroyed Sanctuary – “

Felix nodded. “Which caused the religious revolt against him to collapse.” The leopard lowered his arms and began to pace around Doren’s chair. “But those were Terrans, Liang, not Kashlani. Most of their motivations are opaque to us, but Balakrishnan’s experience among them - ”

“Too close,” Doren interrupted. Felix flicked an ear, but said nothing as the bear added, “The Critters have no religion, but bombing their first Emperor’s gravesite would have dealt them a psychological blow.”

“I see. So that’s why you disobeyed my orders.”

The bear nodded, and Felix willed his claws back into their sheathes. “I want you to see something, Liang. Only two people have seen it; you’ll be the third.” He went back to his desk and accessed the recording. As it started, the leopard paused it and said, “Someone from M’s Sixth Directorate decided to do what you ordered Gromov to do.” The bear gave a startled flick of his ears and paid closer attention as the recording resumed.

When it was over, Doren gave a soft snort. “One mel. Wouldn’t have had a chance anyway. A fleet, though – “

“Let me tell you,” Felix said, “something my parents always told me: ‘Always try to plan for everything, because failing to plan is planning to fail.’ I have tried to plan for every contingency, and the strike that I approved had a high probability of convincing the Empire to come back to the table. It would have given us time to beat down the Colonies and confront the Kashlani as a unified power.”

“But,” and he raised a finger, “you decided, all on your own, to have Gromov attack and destroy their home planet. Ordinarily, I would applaud your initiative – but, well, there it is.” He patted the hardcopy binder. “Do you know what this is?”

Doren squinted through his one good eye. “No.”

“It’s a plan codenamed Red Mist. Its security rating is restricted to a head of state and ministers; like certain other things, it’s not something we trust AIs to keep for us.” His whiskers twitched. “It’s a contingency plan of last resort, to save a remnant Terran population in the event that the entire race is facing extinction.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in.

“I have now had to start factoring Red Mist into my plans, Liang, and you are to blame for that. If you’re wrong about the Kashlani, you have singlepawedly brought about our race’s downfall.”

Doren shrugged. “Calculated risk.”

Felix nodded and went back to his seat. Sitting down he said, “You are charged with insubordination in time of war. As Lord Protector, I judge you guilty.” His tail flicked a certain way, and one of his bodyguards drew her pistol.

The panther femme pressed the projection lens of her weapon against Doren Liang’s temple and fired.

“I have a meeting with the new Foreign Minister in five minutes. Get that out of here, please.”


***


Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan was worried.

No.

She, who had lied and cheated and backstabbed (only literally, in one case) her way through the Terran Foreign Service to become an Ambassador, could at the very least be honest with herself.

She was afraid.

Ever since coming back to Downtime Station, she had been waiting for one of the minkess’ agents to kill her, and her fears were only amplified when she learned over the infonet that Hwillis Shumeng had “unexpectedly died of heart failure” shortly after the Dhole-Akita femme had left Terra.

The knowledge that she could very well be next had caused her to immure herself in her rooms. In the ten days since her return, she’d eaten maybe four – no, five times; she had barely stirred out of her bed.

In a way, it was like she was back in college.

She had been allowed to keep her staff with her, although the Military Attaché had been acting strangely withdrawn. Possibly reconsidering his choices in life; the Political Officer, on the other paw, had been pestering her with questions in an apparent effort to see what he could use to get up the career ladder on his own.

Balakrishnan found herself wishing him well, even as she was certain that her own failures would guarantee that he would eventually die of old age in the same job.

The canine femme gestured for the lights to go out, rolled over in bed and sighed, suddenly aware that she smelled. No, stank; she really needed to shower and have her bedding changed.

Perhaps tomorrow – if there was one.

She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but the lights coming on full and the doors snapping open made her blink and roll over drowsily. “Wha – “ she managed, before whatever else she could say died in her throat.

There were three shlani in the room, two wearing Army brown with a white sleeve strip looming over her. A third, her sleeve strip black, stayed by the door.

Two constables, and one Security officer.

The Security vir snapped, “Anmatōg tā,” and the two members of the Tāmīryatz reached for her. Balakrishnan knew better than to try to resist as they grabbed her by the arms and hauled her bodily out of the room without bothering to let her get dressed.

She decided not to struggle as they moved down corridors and through carefully cleared public spaces, and she felt briefly dizzy as they crossed to the Imperial side of the station. The two kami half-carried her into an office and sat her down in a chair before releasing their grip on her and stepping back.

“Narchak, Balakrishnan-vī,” and she blinked at the subadmiral seated a short distance away from her. The kam looked her over. “I do not apologize for the impolite manner in which you were brought here. I have been ordered to bring something to your attention.”

The space between them filled with a star map, the shades of blue indicating that she was looking at a representation of the hyperspace terrain. At the center of the projection was a single white point, with a track marked in yellow running somewhat ‘below’ it. The glyphs beside the white point told her that it was an Imperial hyperspace navigation beacon.

The subadmiral’s tail dragged the bony spur at its tip across the uncarpeted floor. “Movement through hyperspace was detected coming from Terran space.”

Balakrishnan blinked, and slowly brought her paws up to rub her eyes. She looked again and said, “I am a diplomat, Nurfrelen. If it is Terran, it might be a military operation.”

The kam tapped his tailspur against the floor again. “Please inform Terra that the Empire protests very strongly about this incursion.”

“I will.”

The projection vanished and the kam gestured. The two constables yanked her to her feet as he said, “If you should wish to be more forthcoming, Ambassador, please let me know. And ,” he added as she was escorted to the door, “you may probably wish to bathe.”

“I’ll get right on that,” she said as the door closed behind her.

Amazingly, she was brought back to her quarters and left there.


***


Admiral-fourth Kandun l’Schan glanced at his superior and charge while listening to the latest briefing. The Imperial Heir no longer looked uncomfortable in his uniform, and he was looking intently at the tactical projection while a member of the staff spoke. He was learning fast, and l’Schan looked forward to ending his tutelage of the younger kam.

It had been his honor to come out of retirement at the Sovereign’s request, but he looked forward to going home, to play with his grandchildren in the warm sunshine on Jikāran.

“The contact is following this course,” the aide concluded as a line in ‘danger’ light blue came from Terran space, skirted the beacon, and was making its way through Imperial space. It had bypassed one star system. “We are uncertain as to its destination,” the gartabin added.

“Ernnh,” Dorvan grunted, and stepped into the projection. He made a gesture with his hands, and the projection expanded to show other Imperial systems near the wake. “The Ministry of Religious Affairs intercepted one Terran who was apparently attempting to reach Gwath ka-shlal,” he said. “Could they be headed for Kīa System?”

“It is possible, sir,” said the aide, “but we currently don’t have enough data to confirm their course.”

“System defenses are all in order,” his tactics officer added.

Dorvan gestured comprehension. “I want more data, and I don’t want to wait. I want more sensor buoys placed here,” and his tail gestured, “along with coordination with other systems’ defensive networks. I will ask for a meeting with the Fleet Commander and the High Admiral in order to have more ships deployed to track or intercept whatever is making that wake.” He glanced at the others in the room. “Understood?”

L’Schan watched the rest of the Home Fleet staff accept their commander’s orders without demur, and thought that he might be able to go back to his retirement sooner, rather than later.