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Career Track
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan straightened the collar of her suit and took a sip from a glass of water before accessing the secured channel on her padd. Her staff were waiting outside the office. Colonials, all of them, but she had to admit that they all knew their jobs and while she wouldn’t go so far as to say they were trustworthy, they were competent.
The type of furs she’d been dealing with since her days at university.
The padd accepted her identity, verifying her retinal scan, voice and genetic profile, and opened the channel.
A holographic projection appeared over the desk in front of her. The fox in the admiral’s uniform looked a little startled at the sudden appearance of the Dhole-Akita, but recovered quickly and said, “Balakrishnan-jih, I am Admiral Zhou, a member of the Regency Council.”
“Fair day, Admiral,” Balakrishnan said.
“Fair day. I’ll get to the point, Ambassador.”
I was wondering if he would, she thought. A live hypercommsat conversation was a ticklish thing to set up, and it paid to be brief.
“The Regency Council has determined a set of foreign policy priorities going forward,” Zhou said. “The top priority, no surprises, will be the Kashlani. We project, and the AIs confirm, that this will be a priority for some time to come.”
“Yes?” she asked, immediately wary. Her curled tail hung perfectly still. “That should have been obvious.”
“It was, but it’s always nice to be sure.” Zhou gave her a lopsided grin. “As a result, Foreign Minister Mendez has offered to retire, as he doesn’t feel that he has the necessary ability.”
She raised one eyebrow. That wasn’t a surprise; Mendez Amir had been and always was an idiot. The only question was whether he’d stepped aside voluntarily or had been dragged from his desk.
“We on the Council feel that his replacement should be you.”
Her ears flicked back.
And stayed there.
“You want me to be Foreign Minister?” she asked. If she’d been wary earlier, her suspicions were fully aroused now.
The fox nodded. “You were our envoy to them for years. You know quite a bit about them, apart from their language.”
“What about . . . that moron at Lalande?”
“Thorpe-jih committed suicide.”
“Did he have help?” she asked before she’d had time to rein in her tongue.
Zhou actually chuckled. “Don’t know, and you likely don’t care. But we’re offering you Foreign Minister.”
“That would mean giving up my post as Ambassador.”
“Of course.”
“Who would replace me?”
“That would be up to you. Think it over, Balakrishnan-jih, and let us know within three days. Zhou, out.” The projection faded as the call ended.
The Dhole-Akita mix closed her padd, folded it up and stuck it in a pocket almost absently before glancing at the closed door and idly wondering if her staff had already found out the subject of her conversation. She tapped her fingertips on the desk, thinking.
Foreign Minister. It was something that she’d aspired to almost her entire professional life. She’d stepped on, walked over, and outfought and out-thought other people to get to her current position as Ambassador to the Sovereign’s Throne, but had always planned on ascending to the top post in her profession.
Now that it was being offered to her, she had to wonder if the outstretched paw was an opportunity – or a trap.
The members of her staff looked up as her office door opened, and her chief of staff approached her. “Is everything all right, Ma’am?” the cheetah femme asked.
“Yes, everything’s smooth, Mari,” Balakrishnan said. “Just have something to think about. What’s the latest from the Colonies about the trade agreement?”
The Trade Attache was feline, but so obese he probably had his own gravity well. He shifted slightly in his seat and rumbled in his basso voice, “The Provisional Government’s still balking at one or two points – “
“Which is it? One, or two?” Balakrishnan asked, allowing a slightly acerbic note into her voice. Despite the fact that her staff were all Colonials, she still didn’t tolerate fools.
“Two, Ma’am,” the fat tabby amended hastily. He’d caught her tone change. “Still, they agree with the agreement in principle, and are only waiting on the election results before submitting it for ratification.”
Yes, the election results. There would be a new Colonial Legislature soon, and she doubted that any of them had any affection for the Confederate Empire or whatever the fuck Terra was calling itself now. Relations between the two Terran factions would be very volatile for quite a few years to come. She guessed that the Regency were setting that as a number two priority, right behind the Shlaniazr.
She managed to get through the rest of the staff meeting before returning to her apartment, ordering some food brought to her. While she waited, she got out of her suit and into more casual clothing, poured herself a stiff drink of whisky and slouched onto a comfortable chair to think.
The minkess who’d killed Shumeng was dead herself, apparently, which removed one possible threat to her. The current ‘M’ was someone she didn’t know, which made him extremely dangerous. The Emperor was ten years old, with a group of senior admirals maintaining an eye on him; if she accepted the post of Foreign Minister, her fall – if it came – would mean her death.
And she liked being alive.
Still, with things as they were now, Foreign Minister would be a pivotal job to have. Not actual power, but influence, which many times was more important. It would be up to her to select and train her replacement as envoy to the Kashlani, which could also influence their policy toward Terra. All in all, a tantalizing prospect.
There were alternatives, though, beginning with her asking to stay on as Ambassador. While that would guarantee that she could influence policy indirectly, she could be overridden or simply dismissed by whoever got chosen as Foreign Minister.
Retirement would be an option, if not for the fact that she had neither family nor friends. She’d seen Terra and wanted to live there about as much as she wanted a hole drilled in her skull. No matter where she went, she could be found and possibly killed by someone with a grudge about the war.
She sipped at her drink, ears perking at the sound of the door’s annunciator. The canine got her lunch and continued to think while she ate.
There remained one final option, and that was to request asylum. She balked at that; at heart she was a loyal Terran, and why would the Colonials grant her asylum? She had nothing they wanted.
Balakrishnan continued eating her sandwich. It was quite tasty, and she found herself enjoying it as she ate, drank her whisky, and thought. By the time she was finished with lunch and her second drink, she had come to a decision.
Hopefully, she had made the correct choice.
***
AAA PRIORITY AAA
MESSAGE BEGINS
EMB DWNTIMSTAT TO IMPGOV TERRA SOL ATTN ZHOU HENRI ADMIRAL REGENCY COUNCIL
REGARDING CONVERSATION THIS DATE PREVIOUS.
I ACCEPT.
BALAKRISHNAN
MESSAGE ENDS.
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Anulka-Mei Balakrishnan straightened the collar of her suit and took a sip from a glass of water before accessing the secured channel on her padd. Her staff were waiting outside the office. Colonials, all of them, but she had to admit that they all knew their jobs and while she wouldn’t go so far as to say they were trustworthy, they were competent.
The type of furs she’d been dealing with since her days at university.
The padd accepted her identity, verifying her retinal scan, voice and genetic profile, and opened the channel.
A holographic projection appeared over the desk in front of her. The fox in the admiral’s uniform looked a little startled at the sudden appearance of the Dhole-Akita, but recovered quickly and said, “Balakrishnan-jih, I am Admiral Zhou, a member of the Regency Council.”
“Fair day, Admiral,” Balakrishnan said.
“Fair day. I’ll get to the point, Ambassador.”
I was wondering if he would, she thought. A live hypercommsat conversation was a ticklish thing to set up, and it paid to be brief.
“The Regency Council has determined a set of foreign policy priorities going forward,” Zhou said. “The top priority, no surprises, will be the Kashlani. We project, and the AIs confirm, that this will be a priority for some time to come.”
“Yes?” she asked, immediately wary. Her curled tail hung perfectly still. “That should have been obvious.”
“It was, but it’s always nice to be sure.” Zhou gave her a lopsided grin. “As a result, Foreign Minister Mendez has offered to retire, as he doesn’t feel that he has the necessary ability.”
She raised one eyebrow. That wasn’t a surprise; Mendez Amir had been and always was an idiot. The only question was whether he’d stepped aside voluntarily or had been dragged from his desk.
“We on the Council feel that his replacement should be you.”
Her ears flicked back.
And stayed there.
“You want me to be Foreign Minister?” she asked. If she’d been wary earlier, her suspicions were fully aroused now.
The fox nodded. “You were our envoy to them for years. You know quite a bit about them, apart from their language.”
“What about . . . that moron at Lalande?”
“Thorpe-jih committed suicide.”
“Did he have help?” she asked before she’d had time to rein in her tongue.
Zhou actually chuckled. “Don’t know, and you likely don’t care. But we’re offering you Foreign Minister.”
“That would mean giving up my post as Ambassador.”
“Of course.”
“Who would replace me?”
“That would be up to you. Think it over, Balakrishnan-jih, and let us know within three days. Zhou, out.” The projection faded as the call ended.
The Dhole-Akita mix closed her padd, folded it up and stuck it in a pocket almost absently before glancing at the closed door and idly wondering if her staff had already found out the subject of her conversation. She tapped her fingertips on the desk, thinking.
Foreign Minister. It was something that she’d aspired to almost her entire professional life. She’d stepped on, walked over, and outfought and out-thought other people to get to her current position as Ambassador to the Sovereign’s Throne, but had always planned on ascending to the top post in her profession.
Now that it was being offered to her, she had to wonder if the outstretched paw was an opportunity – or a trap.
The members of her staff looked up as her office door opened, and her chief of staff approached her. “Is everything all right, Ma’am?” the cheetah femme asked.
“Yes, everything’s smooth, Mari,” Balakrishnan said. “Just have something to think about. What’s the latest from the Colonies about the trade agreement?”
The Trade Attache was feline, but so obese he probably had his own gravity well. He shifted slightly in his seat and rumbled in his basso voice, “The Provisional Government’s still balking at one or two points – “
“Which is it? One, or two?” Balakrishnan asked, allowing a slightly acerbic note into her voice. Despite the fact that her staff were all Colonials, she still didn’t tolerate fools.
“Two, Ma’am,” the fat tabby amended hastily. He’d caught her tone change. “Still, they agree with the agreement in principle, and are only waiting on the election results before submitting it for ratification.”
Yes, the election results. There would be a new Colonial Legislature soon, and she doubted that any of them had any affection for the Confederate Empire or whatever the fuck Terra was calling itself now. Relations between the two Terran factions would be very volatile for quite a few years to come. She guessed that the Regency were setting that as a number two priority, right behind the Shlaniazr.
She managed to get through the rest of the staff meeting before returning to her apartment, ordering some food brought to her. While she waited, she got out of her suit and into more casual clothing, poured herself a stiff drink of whisky and slouched onto a comfortable chair to think.
The minkess who’d killed Shumeng was dead herself, apparently, which removed one possible threat to her. The current ‘M’ was someone she didn’t know, which made him extremely dangerous. The Emperor was ten years old, with a group of senior admirals maintaining an eye on him; if she accepted the post of Foreign Minister, her fall – if it came – would mean her death.
And she liked being alive.
Still, with things as they were now, Foreign Minister would be a pivotal job to have. Not actual power, but influence, which many times was more important. It would be up to her to select and train her replacement as envoy to the Kashlani, which could also influence their policy toward Terra. All in all, a tantalizing prospect.
There were alternatives, though, beginning with her asking to stay on as Ambassador. While that would guarantee that she could influence policy indirectly, she could be overridden or simply dismissed by whoever got chosen as Foreign Minister.
Retirement would be an option, if not for the fact that she had neither family nor friends. She’d seen Terra and wanted to live there about as much as she wanted a hole drilled in her skull. No matter where she went, she could be found and possibly killed by someone with a grudge about the war.
She sipped at her drink, ears perking at the sound of the door’s annunciator. The canine got her lunch and continued to think while she ate.
There remained one final option, and that was to request asylum. She balked at that; at heart she was a loyal Terran, and why would the Colonials grant her asylum? She had nothing they wanted.
Balakrishnan continued eating her sandwich. It was quite tasty, and she found herself enjoying it as she ate, drank her whisky, and thought. By the time she was finished with lunch and her second drink, she had come to a decision.
Hopefully, she had made the correct choice.
***
AAA PRIORITY AAA
MESSAGE BEGINS
EMB DWNTIMSTAT TO IMPGOV TERRA SOL ATTN ZHOU HENRI ADMIRAL REGENCY COUNCIL
REGARDING CONVERSATION THIS DATE PREVIOUS.
I ACCEPT.
BALAKRISHNAN
MESSAGE ENDS.
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Dog (Other)
Size 120 x 77px
File Size 51.7 kB
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