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It’s Only Treason . . .
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
It had been a death that jarred Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan out of her inertia. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it had not been the confirmation, through various sources she had within the Foreign Ministry, of the untimely death of Hwillis Shumeng. She had guessed that the rabbit doe might not survive the lesson that the Confed intelligence chief wanted to teach her.
No, the death had been the suicide of her military attaché. The raven had been very depressed and withdrawn (even she’d noticed that), and he had been found a day after her ‘interview’ with the Kashlanin subadmiral. Interestingly, he had hanged himself.
The canine femme had taken her first shower in many days after hearing the news from the Political Officer of her embassy (hah!), and had finally allowed housekeeping staff to clean her rooms and change her bedding.
Two more days went by before she finally made her mind up.
“Are you certain you don’t want me along?” the Political Officer asked.
She was certain he was spying on her now, either as part of a deal to save his skin or to find some leverage that would enable him to replace her. “No, this is just a meeting to see if they’re willing to talk. Just a formality.”
He had nodded at that, but she was sure that he thought she was lying.
She was, but that was beside the point.
Freshly showered and dressed neatly (even to having her headfur styled), the Terran Ambassador left her quarters and headed for the Kashlanin side of Downtime Station.
The access was guarded by two constables in their all-white working uniforms. She addressed the senior-ranking of the two. “I wish to speak with the Subadmiral.”
“Aane ka Terranin dōthant i’?” the sergeant-fourth asked.
“Ulnt, aanā,” she replied.
The vir gave her a hard, appraising glare before stepping away and holding a low-voiced conversation. She glanced back at the canine and gestured for the junior constable to escort Balakrishnan through the portal. The private courteously gave her a moment to get used to the change in gravity before going on.
As she sat down in the commander’s office the subadmiral asked, “Aka, Ambassador? Have you something to say now?”
Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan took a breath. “Yes. During my last visit to Terra, there had been talk about a military incursion into Imperial space. One suggestion was to attack the Homeworld,” she said, and noted that the subadmiral’s fingerclaws had extended. “I spoke against that,” she added.
“Why?”
“I have seen the Museum of the Lost.”
The kam considered this. “I will pass this on, you know.”
“I know.” She took another breath.
“You do realize that you may have just committed treason, Balakrishnan-jih?”
She nodded. “I am aware . . . but I don’t intend to tell anyone.” She flicked an ear. “Do you?”
A flicker of what passed for a wry smile twisted his lips. “Only my superiors. Thank you, Ambassador.”
She stood. “I feel that it’s necessary to keep lines of communication open.”
“As do I.”
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
It had been a death that jarred Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan out of her inertia. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it had not been the confirmation, through various sources she had within the Foreign Ministry, of the untimely death of Hwillis Shumeng. She had guessed that the rabbit doe might not survive the lesson that the Confed intelligence chief wanted to teach her.
No, the death had been the suicide of her military attaché. The raven had been very depressed and withdrawn (even she’d noticed that), and he had been found a day after her ‘interview’ with the Kashlanin subadmiral. Interestingly, he had hanged himself.
The canine femme had taken her first shower in many days after hearing the news from the Political Officer of her embassy (hah!), and had finally allowed housekeeping staff to clean her rooms and change her bedding.
Two more days went by before she finally made her mind up.
“Are you certain you don’t want me along?” the Political Officer asked.
She was certain he was spying on her now, either as part of a deal to save his skin or to find some leverage that would enable him to replace her. “No, this is just a meeting to see if they’re willing to talk. Just a formality.”
He had nodded at that, but she was sure that he thought she was lying.
She was, but that was beside the point.
Freshly showered and dressed neatly (even to having her headfur styled), the Terran Ambassador left her quarters and headed for the Kashlanin side of Downtime Station.
The access was guarded by two constables in their all-white working uniforms. She addressed the senior-ranking of the two. “I wish to speak with the Subadmiral.”
“Aane ka Terranin dōthant i’?” the sergeant-fourth asked.
“Ulnt, aanā,” she replied.
The vir gave her a hard, appraising glare before stepping away and holding a low-voiced conversation. She glanced back at the canine and gestured for the junior constable to escort Balakrishnan through the portal. The private courteously gave her a moment to get used to the change in gravity before going on.
As she sat down in the commander’s office the subadmiral asked, “Aka, Ambassador? Have you something to say now?”
Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan took a breath. “Yes. During my last visit to Terra, there had been talk about a military incursion into Imperial space. One suggestion was to attack the Homeworld,” she said, and noted that the subadmiral’s fingerclaws had extended. “I spoke against that,” she added.
“Why?”
“I have seen the Museum of the Lost.”
The kam considered this. “I will pass this on, you know.”
“I know.” She took another breath.
“You do realize that you may have just committed treason, Balakrishnan-jih?”
She nodded. “I am aware . . . but I don’t intend to tell anyone.” She flicked an ear. “Do you?”
A flicker of what passed for a wry smile twisted his lips. “Only my superiors. Thank you, Ambassador.”
She stood. “I feel that it’s necessary to keep lines of communication open.”
“As do I.”
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Dog (Other)
Size 120 x 77px
File Size 37.2 kB
“Bondo-san, this implement which you wish to rent from us, in the most improbable event that it is made available, will command a very high price. As a fair trader, what has your country to offer in exchange for the full use of magic 44?”
“We have a most important intelligence network in China known as the Macao ‘Blue Route.’ The fruits of this source would be placed entirely at your disposal.”
Melancholy settled over Tiger’s massive face, but deep down in the Tartar eyes there was a wicked gleam. “I am very much afraid that I have bad news for you, Bondo-san. ‘Blue Route’ has been penetrated by my organization almost since its inception. We already receive the entire fruits of that source. I could show you the files if you wish. We have simply renamed it ‘Route Orange,’ and I admit that the material is very acceptable. But we already have it. What other goods had you in mind for exchange?”
Bond had to laugh. The pride of Section J—and of M., for that matter! The work, the expense, the danger of running the “Blue Route.” And at least fifty per cent in aid of Japan! By God, his eyes were being opened on this trip. This news would put a fine cat among the pigeons at H.Q.
“We have a most important intelligence network in China known as the Macao ‘Blue Route.’ The fruits of this source would be placed entirely at your disposal.”
Melancholy settled over Tiger’s massive face, but deep down in the Tartar eyes there was a wicked gleam. “I am very much afraid that I have bad news for you, Bondo-san. ‘Blue Route’ has been penetrated by my organization almost since its inception. We already receive the entire fruits of that source. I could show you the files if you wish. We have simply renamed it ‘Route Orange,’ and I admit that the material is very acceptable. But we already have it. What other goods had you in mind for exchange?”
Bond had to laugh. The pride of Section J—and of M., for that matter! The work, the expense, the danger of running the “Blue Route.” And at least fifty per cent in aid of Japan! By God, his eyes were being opened on this trip. This news would put a fine cat among the pigeons at H.Q.
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