The evening was cool, slightly chilly, and damp. Rain pattered down through the trees, Starleaf oaks, Sitka Spruce, Western Red Cedar, Blue Oak, Douglas Fir, and Western Hemlock hemmed off the small clearing as the rain drizzled down through the canopy. The trees were all old, thick trunks, high branches, water filled boles, covered in moss and vines. Ferns covered the ground, shining with the pattering of water falling from the sky. A creek burbled over moss covered gray rocks, little fish moving around in the slower wider spots as it tumbled on its way to the ocean.
Up in the branches a little creature swung, dimly happy, moving from branch to branch with strong tentacles backed up by claw centered suckers. Its doppled brown and green shifted pattern as it moved, the rings on the tentacles and around the eyes a dark blue, almost black, as it let go of the branch it was on to catch the next, swinging back and forth.
Hidden in the trees and ferns were two large biped figures over three meters tall. Covered in shaggy hair, with flat brownish faces, large eyes, large hands, bigger feet. They stood motionless, almost hidden by vines and tree trunks, looking over the strange creature in the middle of the glade.
Sitting below, on a rock, was a gold mantis roughly three feet tall when she stood up. She had on a little hat, known as a beret, between her antenna and behind her compound eyes. At the back of her triangular head were cybernetic implants, shiny chrome, with lights that blinked and changed color. She had four arms, the top two of them bladed from the 'wrist' down, the lower two ending in six fingered hands with opposable thumbs on each side of the hand. She wore a black real leather jacket, made on Terra itself, with chrome link chains and spikes on it and the buttons made of steel. Over her abdomen she had a colorful blanket full of triangles making up geometric patterns including ones to look like bears, eagles, and wolves.
She had a omnitranslator around her neck on a beaded chain of bluish-gold from a place called "Black Hills, North Dakota", which she was using one bladearm to toy with as she read from the scroll in her hands.
The scroll was a more modern one that its looks would make one believe. It looked like brownish papyrus, with black metal engraved caps on each end of the two rolls and gold tassels on the caps. The part she was viewing was a flexible LED screen, allowing her to look over important documents as she sat in her favorite spot in her favorite eVR sim, dressed in clothing that made her feel indulgent, going over the day's work.
A broken wooly snail shell fell from the tree branches, landing in the creek, and she felt a flutter of pleasure that Mr. Rings had found one of the treats she had hidden to encourage him to exercise.
The current document she was reading was yet another complaint regarding the Terran Confederate Space Force that was neatly summed up as: You Can't Do That! which was accompanied by the second greatest hit of: Stop Doing That!
Her meal time was three hours past, the time taken up by meetings that just repeated the complaints that landed in her inbox. She reached down to the inkpot on the flat rock next to her, picked up a paintbrush, and 'painted' her initials on the document. She carefully put the paintbrush back, then rolled the scroll, bringing up the next document.
Stop Doing That!
She sighed to herself as she felt Mr. Rings's tingle of pleasure. He'd found another Pacific Northwest Wooly Snail. Not synth, not fake, but real ones shipped at great expense and raised in special hothouses as treats for people who owned Pacific Northwest Tree Octopi to feed their beloved pets.
Another delicate painting of her initials, set down the brush, rolled the scroll.
You Can't Do That!
She sighed again as Mr Rings climbed down to a bole and dunked himself inside, swirling around to wet his skin, then peeked out. He was unaware the entire thing but his nesting tree, his climbing tree, the snails, his mistress, and the two Sasquatch were all hard-light holograms and expensive eVR recorded by some dedicated being who spent hundreds of hours recording that very spot. All he cared about was yummy treats, branches to swing on, boles to hide in, and a mistress to pet him.
Dreams of Something More envied him a little.
Her implant pinged to let her know there was someone at the door. She felt better now that the Terran Navy had installed heavier psychic shielding in her quarters. Something about the Lanaktallan bugged her, to turn a comedic phrase that always made her smile. She didn't know what it was.
Maybe the way they just seemed like they should be jogging into a Terran slaughterhouse to be made into Burger Kingdom Traditional Beef Patties for their Firewater, Firearms & Fireworks Day celebrations?
She'd seen it once, you know? She had gone to the Burger Kingdom, AKA North America, to see a slaughterhouse. They were rare in a galaxy where most people would just eat synthetics. Not the Terrans, oh no, they wanted meat. Craved it. She'd watched the whole process, fascinated, as the cattle were slaughtered and prepared in the traditional Burger Kingdom way, right down to the firing off of ancient projectile weapons while drinking alcohol and slapping the still bleeding ground meat onto a metal grill over actual fire with one's bare hand.
She'd done it, just to try. The meal had been delicious.
She never told her fellow diplomats, except the Mantids, just how much she had enjoyed the entire vacation. From Bongistan to Eurogoonia to Animeland to Vodkaville to the Burger Kingdom, all painstakingly recreated from ancient pre-SolNet electronic cloud storage. She knew there was still argument of what had been real and what had been some kind of strange joke or hoax, but to her, the whole thing was amazing.
She'd even gone to an ancient ritual where gigantic combat robots, designed to look like ancient Burger Kingdom rulers, shouted almost forgotten campaign slogans as they fought one another in a hay field to the cheering of the crowd.
The winner was blown up and dollarydoos, rectangular clothpaper intricately done in green ink, rained from the sky as everyone laughed. She'd reached out her hand and caught a button that flashed "I Like Ike" when she tilted it. She pinned it on her beret as the dollarydoos rained down.
It was amazing.
She'd found the Terrans wildly confusing but so much fun to be around. At times she had been forced to use her psychic inhibitor, not because she might accidentally brush someone's mind, but from the sheer violent glee and overwhelming joy the Terrans exuded in every movement.
Dreams of Something More had even learned the ancient arts of Eurogoon Stuffed Crust Ballroom Dancing, Vodkaville Squat Kick and Fall Dancing, Burger Cletus Square Barn Dancing and Lit Fire Bass Beat Hip Hop Dancing.
She was secretly proud of her ability to imitate a mechanical Mantid on the dance floor.
The chime sounded against and she giggled at the thought of performing the Traditional Dancing Android moves to greet the guest but she wasn't sure there was a Unified Humor Council or not.
She turned down the rain and wind, rolled up the scroll and set it beside the paintbrush and the little palette of paint, then sighed again and unlocked the door.
It was past duty hours. She was hungry.
Dreams of Something More almost groaned when she saw it was a Lanaktallan, mournful looking, wearing a cloth wrap around its body, a sash covered in glittering medals across its torso, its six eyes blinking as the four legged four armed sentient goggled at the room.
Mr Rings climbed down, a furry snail in his tentacle, and hid in the bole of his nesting tree, pulling the lid closed after him.
The Lanaktallan blew saliva and shook its jowls at the forest scene around it.
"What is this?" It demanded.
Dreams felt her implosion wire tingle at the thought of dropping from a tree branch, landing on the Lanaktallan's back, cracking open its brain case, then preparing a traditional Terran meal of the Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun while screeching out the Terran hunter traditional warcry of "WHERE'S THE BEEF!"
"It is a relaxation hologram. Hard-light and 64K resolution Tri-D with advanced eVR," Dreams told the male Lanaktallan.
"What are those?" it asked, pointing at the two bigfeet with a shaking hand.
"Pacific Northwest Sasquatch. Kind and gentle creatures that prefer a diet of beef jerky and Rainier Beer, which they brew in tree stumps. They're harmless unless provoked by malicious pranksters," Dreams said. "In reality, they're actually my warborg guards beneath a hard light construct to maintain the illusion."
"They smell disgusting," the Lanaktallan said, blowing saliva out its jowls.
Dreams was a fastidious female by nature and something about the way the Lanaktallan just blew saliva or spit out chewed up curd onto the floor disgusted her. Still, decades of political statesmanship allowed her to keep her disgust from showing.
It looked at her. "What is that ridiculous garb you are wearing?"
Says the cow in wrap and sash,Dreams thought to herself.
"It is the traditional garb of Terran Bugerland politicians from the late 20th Century, Pre-Disporia," she said. She reached down and picked up two objects from under the ferns with her grasping hands. One was a chrome chain made of pin connected links, the other was a knife handle with a chrome button. "They went door to door like this and rewarded voters for their votes with money, alcohol, and pornography," she pressed the button and a sharp blade popped out. "They also stabbed people who voted for other candidates as a friendly disapproval gesture," she shook the chain, "and fought against other politicians in donorcycle-chain fights behind eating facilities, entertainment centers, or in the parking lots of ground cars. They also danced a lot while their supporters hit the other politician's supporters with signs."
"It hardly looks dignified," The talking cow said.
Dreams was thinking of the delicious delicious traditional Terran meal. Her implosion wire tingled and she pushed the thought away, promising herself she'd gorge on flame seared meat later.
"What is the problem, if I may ask?" Dreams asked. She queried her implant.
Third High Most of the Unified Military Council, her implant warned.
Aw, nerts, she thought to herself.
"Your vaunted military forces refuse to accept proper command hierarchy and submit themselves to the authority of the Unified Military Council," It sputtered.
Mr. Rings peeked out curiously, barely showing his eyes from between the round wood of the bole and the moss covered wooden hatch.
"Where, in our offer of support against the Precursors, did the government of the Terran Confederacy state that we would turn our forces over to your command?" Dreams asked mildly. She felt Mr. Rings's curiosity and kept one antenna on him. The last thing she needed was for Mr. Rings to mistake this bloviating fool for a deer. A tree octopi could live for a month on seasoned deer meat.
He snorted and snuffled and Dreams knew he was looking over the sixteen thousand page document, written entirely in Terran legalese.
"I will wait," Dreams said, slowly swinging the chain back and forth like she had seen politicians in the Terran historical TriVids do.
It had an odd calming effect on her, feeling the heavy durachrome chain swing, the weight of it, the way the pin-connected links moved, the faint feel of the light hair-grease on it.
"The question of who has command over the military forces facing the Precursors must be answered," the Lanaktallan insisted.
How about you show me a mil-spec vehicle then we'll talk?Dreams thought to herself. "As per Terran Confederacy Military Uniform Code of Justice, Terran forces are commanded solely by Terran Confederacy military officers duly appointed to such duties. While Terran military forces may work jointly with other governments or species, command is always held by the highest ranking Terran military armed services member."
She pinged the lawyer and waited a second.
The Lanaktallan's knees buckled and its eyes crossed as the appropriate legal codes, case documentation, case precedents, and legal arguments crossed from the cyber-barristers to his email to him implant.
The Lanaktallan gave a low mooing noise of pain as its datalink heated up.
Finally it looked up, its knees shaking. "My office will look over this," He said. "I'll be back."
Is that a threat? Dreams wondered.
He turned around and trotted out, negligently spitting the chewed up plastic strings of a consumed synth-cud on her floor. A robot scooted out and grabbed it, disappearing after disinfecting the floor.
Dreams felt like her carapace was prickling up when the synthcud splatted on her immaculate floor.
She had just opened the menu of what the dining facilities that delivered to the Unified Council Center had to offer when her door chimed again.
She sighed, closing the app. Mr. Rings hid in his bole again, munching on a piece of Pacific Northwest Wooly Salmon Smoked Treats.
Another Lanaktallan, this one for the Unified Corporate Council. Dreams took note that this one was no second or third stringer.
This was the Most High.
He looked outraged at the simulation around her.
"Turn this off at once," he demanded.
"Make me," Dreams gave out the traditional Terran counter-offer, swinging the chain and holding up the knife handle.
If ancient Terran politicians could do it, so could she, as she was representing the Terran Confederacy.
Her implosion wire didn't even tingle.
The Lanaktallan jerked back slightly, then clomped into the room, daintily moving around the rocks and the moss. It settled down on a moss covered rock and stared at her.
"I must object to your lawyers filing so many lawsuits," the Lanaktallan said.
Dreams gave a human shrug. "They have passed the legal tests and are registered barristers within all Unified Civilized Systems as well as non-aligned territories. Object away."
"They are filing lawsuits on behalf of people who cannot be allowed to file," The being lowed.
Again, the Mantid shrugged. "According to your legal system anyone is allowed to file with proper representation. The barristers do indeed qualify."
"They are disrupting the natural process!" It cried out.
"That falls under what Terrans call: Not my problem," Dreams said. She knew she was being undiplomatic, but she was getting extremely hungry and this big doofy cow-looking thing was blowing saliva on her vidscroll.
"You will rue the day!" The Lanaktallan said, standing up. It clattered for the door, only tripping twice, before it was gone.
Dreams checked her translation. Yes, the Most High of the Unified Corporate Council had actually said rue at her! She giggled and opened up her food app.
As she waited, she checked her timer and fed Mr. Rings another wooly trout treat, then gently stroked his head. He was nervous after the Lanaktallan had shouted, his rings bright blue, flush with neurotoxin.
"It's OK, Mr. Rings, mommy made the bad cow go away," she clicked to it.
She sighed, checking her appointment calendar. Six meetings, two council sessions, and three appointments were all slated for tomorrow.
She regretted to do it, but the Lanaktallan ambassadors and council beings kept interrupting her constantly in what she suspected was some form of dominance games.
She triggered "by appointment only" and waited for her food, holding Mr. Rings on her lap and petting his cool wet skin.
When this is over, I'm going to take a long vacation. Maybe go see the Hate Anvils of Mars and the Wrath Forges of Mercury, she thought to herself. She changed her clothing into a comfortable four armed kimono from the ancient Empire of Corporate Japan LLC, swapped out her beret for a hat made of carefully crinkled foil to let people know she wasn't interested in opinions or thoughts or consipiracies or diplomacy, and settled back down, rolling up the scroll and tucking her tools into the hidden drawer.
The door signal chimed, the RFID system showing it was the food deliverer. She triggered the door and a Lanaktallan came in, holding four containers of food. It looked at her, looked around, and then at her again.
"Tasty-Stuff Packguru Food Delivery for Dreams of Something More?" It asked.
"I am she," Dreams said.
She should have been surprised. She should have. But she didn't even twitch an eyebrow as the Lanaktallan dropped her food, jammed a hand into a pouch, squealed in pain as it cut its thumb wrong and bent it back, then tried again with its thumb in its mouth.
It yanked out a shielded disruptor pistol, raising it up.
"DEATH TO..." it started, mumbling around its thumb.
And dropped the pistol.
It hit the hard light boulder, got caught on a 'twig' and went off.
And hit the thumb sucking Lanaktallan under the chin, blowing its head all over the ceiling.
Alarms didn't start wailing and Dreams looked around, tapping her antenna thoughtfully just above her own eyes. She did her best to hold back snickering, but eventually just gave up and burst into the Mantid equivalent of laughter.
"Interesting, wouldn't you say, Rack? Pinion?" She asked when she got her laughter under control.
"No alert," Rack growled from behind her.
"No alarms," Pinion rumbled.
"Reconfigure. Dual protection," Dreams said. "Light anti-vehicle, anti-armor, point defense, and anti-personnel. Discrete and precision weapons only, boys. That means you, Pinion," she chided.
"Yes, Ma'am," they both said, then went silent again.
It was nearly twelve minutes until the alarms went off.
Honestly, Dreams was glad. The would-be assassin had spilled her food.
Worse.
His splattered brains were smelling better and better every minute.
One of the lawyers brought her some of its meal. Raw bloody meat soaked in tears and wrapped in paper detailing the defeat of a rival. The lawyer sat with her as the Council LawSec went over her apartment and two menials carried out the body as three more stood on chairs to clean the brains and bones and flesh off her ceiling.
Of course they tried to bug her apartment suite.
And of course, they were terrible at it.
Mr. Rings found it and broke it open, hoping for a treat, then was huffy until Dreams mollified him with a wooly trout treat.
The evening was cool, slightly chilly, and damp. Rain pattered down through the trees, Starleaf oaks, Sitka Spruce, Western Red Cedar, Blue Oak, Douglas Fir, and Western Hemlock hemmed off the small clearing as the rain drizzled down through the canopy. The trees were all old, thick trunks, high branches, water filled boles, covered in moss and vines. Ferns covered the ground, shining with the pattering of water falling from the sky. A creek burbled over moss covered gray rocks, little fish moving around in the slower wider spots as it tumbled on its way to the ocean.
Up in the branches a little creature swung, dimly happy, moving from branch to branch with strong tentacles backed up by claw centered suckers. Its doppled brown and green shifted pattern as it moved, the rings on the tentacles and around the eyes a dark blue, almost black, as it let go of the branch it was on to catch the next, swinging back and forth.
Hidden in the trees and ferns were two large biped figures over three meters tall. Covered in shaggy hair, with flat brownish faces, large eyes, large hands, bigger feet. They stood motionless, almost hidden by vines and tree trunks, looking over the strange creature in the middle of the glade.
Sitting below, on a rock, was a gold mantis roughly three feet tall when she stood up. She had on a little hat, known as a beret, between her antenna and behind her compound eyes. At the back of her triangular head were cybernetic implants, shiny chrome, with lights that blinked and changed color. She had four arms, the top two of them bladed from the 'wrist' down, the lower two ending in six fingered hands with opposable thumbs on each side of the hand. She wore a black real leather jacket, made on Terra itself, with chrome link chains and spikes on it and the buttons made of steel. Over her abdomen she had a colorful blanket full of triangles making up geometric patterns including ones to look like bears, eagles, and wolves.
She had a omnitranslator around her neck on a beaded chain of bluish-gold from a place called "Black Hills, North Dakota", which she was using one bladearm to toy with as she read from the scroll in her hands.
The scroll was a more modern one that its looks would make one believe. It looked like brownish papyrus, with black metal engraved caps on each end of the two rolls and gold tassels on the caps. The part she was viewing was a flexible LED screen, allowing her to look over important documents as she sat in her favorite spot in her favorite eVR sim, dressed in clothing that made her feel indulgent, going over the day's work.
A broken wooly snail shell fell from the tree branches, landing in the creek, and she felt a flutter of pleasure that Mr. Rings had found one of the treats she had hidden to encourage him to exercise.
The current document she was reading was yet another complaint regarding the Terran Confederate Space Force that was neatly summed up as: You Can't Do That! which was accompanied by the second greatest hit of: Stop Doing That!
Her meal time was three hours past, the time taken up by meetings that just repeated the complaints that landed in her inbox. She reached down to the inkpot on the flat rock next to her, picked up a paintbrush, and 'painted' her initials on the document. She carefully put the paintbrush back, then rolled the scroll, bringing up the next document.
Stop Doing That!
She sighed to herself as she felt Mr. Rings's tingle of pleasure. He'd found another Pacific Northwest Wooly Snail. Not synth, not fake, but real ones shipped at great expense and raised in special hothouses as treats for people who owned Pacific Northwest Tree Octopi to feed their beloved pets.
Another delicate painting of her initials, set down the brush, rolled the scroll.
You Can't Do That!
She sighed again as Mr Rings climbed down to a bole and dunked himself inside, swirling around to wet his skin, then peeked out. He was unaware the entire thing but his nesting tree, his climbing tree, the snails, his mistress, and the two Sasquatch were all hard-light holograms and expensive eVR recorded by some dedicated being who spent hundreds of hours recording that very spot. All he cared about was yummy treats, branches to swing on, boles to hide in, and a mistress to pet him.
Dreams of Something More envied him a little.
Her implant pinged to let her know there was someone at the door. She felt better now that the Terran Navy had installed heavier psychic shielding in her quarters. Something about the Lanaktallan bugged her, to turn a comedic phrase that always made her smile. She didn't know what it was.
Maybe the way they just seemed like they should be jogging into a Terran slaughterhouse to be made into Burger Kingdom Traditional Beef Patties for their Firewater, Firearms & Fireworks Day celebrations?
She'd seen it once, you know? She had gone to the Burger Kingdom, AKA North America, to see a slaughterhouse. They were rare in a galaxy where most people would just eat synthetics. Not the Terrans, oh no, they wanted meat. Craved it. She'd watched the whole process, fascinated, as the cattle were slaughtered and prepared in the traditional Burger Kingdom way, right down to the firing off of ancient projectile weapons while drinking alcohol and slapping the still bleeding ground meat onto a metal grill over actual fire with one's bare hand.
She'd done it, just to try. The meal had been delicious.
She never told her fellow diplomats, except the Mantids, just how much she had enjoyed the entire vacation. From Bongistan to Eurogoonia to Animeland to Vodkaville to the Burger Kingdom, all painstakingly recreated from ancient pre-SolNet electronic cloud storage. She knew there was still argument of what had been real and what had been some kind of strange joke or hoax, but to her, the whole thing was amazing.
She'd even gone to an ancient ritual where gigantic combat robots, designed to look like ancient Burger Kingdom rulers, shouted almost forgotten campaign slogans as they fought one another in a hay field to the cheering of the crowd.
The winner was blown up and dollarydoos, rectangular clothpaper intricately done in green ink, rained from the sky as everyone laughed. She'd reached out her hand and caught a button that flashed "I Like Ike" when she tilted it. She pinned it on her beret as the dollarydoos rained down.
It was amazing.
She'd found the Terrans wildly confusing but so much fun to be around. At times she had been forced to use her psychic inhibitor, not because she might accidentally brush someone's mind, but from the sheer violent glee and overwhelming joy the Terrans exuded in every movement.
Dreams of Something More had even learned the ancient arts of Eurogoon Stuffed Crust Ballroom Dancing, Vodkaville Squat Kick and Fall Dancing, Burger Cletus Square Barn Dancing and Lit Fire Bass Beat Hip Hop Dancing.
She was secretly proud of her ability to imitate a mechanical Mantid on the dance floor.
The chime sounded against and she giggled at the thought of performing the Traditional Dancing Android moves to greet the guest but she wasn't sure there was a Unified Humor Council or not.
She turned down the rain and wind, rolled up the scroll and set it beside the paintbrush and the little palette of paint, then sighed again and unlocked the door.
It was past duty hours. She was hungry.
Dreams of Something More almost groaned when she saw it was a Lanaktallan, mournful looking, wearing a cloth wrap around its body, a sash covered in glittering medals across its torso, its six eyes blinking as the four legged four armed sentient goggled at the room.
Mr Rings climbed down, a furry snail in his tentacle, and hid in the bole of his nesting tree, pulling the lid closed after him.
The Lanaktallan blew saliva and shook its jowls at the forest scene around it.
"What is this?" It demanded.
Dreams felt her implosion wire tingle at the thought of dropping from a tree branch, landing on the Lanaktallan's back, cracking open its brain case, then preparing a traditional Terran meal of the Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun while screeching out the Terran hunter traditional warcry of "WHERE'S THE BEEF!"
"It is a relaxation hologram. Hard-light and 64K resolution Tri-D with advanced eVR," Dreams told the male Lanaktallan.
"What are those?" it asked, pointing at the two bigfeet with a shaking hand.
"Pacific Northwest Sasquatch. Kind and gentle creatures that prefer a diet of beef jerky and Rainier Beer, which they brew in tree stumps. They're harmless unless provoked by malicious pranksters," Dreams said. "In reality, they're actually my warborg guards beneath a hard light construct to maintain the illusion."
"They smell disgusting," the Lanaktallan said, blowing saliva out its jowls.
Dreams was a fastidious female by nature and something about the way the Lanaktallan just blew saliva or spit out chewed up curd onto the floor disgusted her. Still, decades of political statesmanship allowed her to keep her disgust from showing.
It looked at her. "What is that ridiculous garb you are wearing?"
Says the cow in wrap and sash,Dreams thought to herself.
"It is the traditional garb of Terran Bugerland politicians from the late 20th Century, Pre-Disporia," she said. She reached down and picked up two objects from under the ferns with her grasping hands. One was a chrome chain made of pin connected links, the other was a knife handle with a chrome button. "They went door to door like this and rewarded voters for their votes with money, alcohol, and pornography," she pressed the button and a sharp blade popped out. "They also stabbed people who voted for other candidates as a friendly disapproval gesture," she shook the chain, "and fought against other politicians in donorcycle-chain fights behind eating facilities, entertainment centers, or in the parking lots of ground cars. They also danced a lot while their supporters hit the other politician's supporters with signs."
"It hardly looks dignified," The talking cow said.
Dreams was thinking of the delicious delicious traditional Terran meal. Her implosion wire tingled and she pushed the thought away, promising herself she'd gorge on flame seared meat later.
"What is the problem, if I may ask?" Dreams asked. She queried her implant.
Third High Most of the Unified Military Council, her implant warned.
Aw, nerts, she thought to herself.
"Your vaunted military forces refuse to accept proper command hierarchy and submit themselves to the authority of the Unified Military Council," It sputtered.
Mr. Rings peeked out curiously, barely showing his eyes from between the round wood of the bole and the moss covered wooden hatch.
"Where, in our offer of support against the Precursors, did the government of the Terran Confederacy state that we would turn our forces over to your command?" Dreams asked mildly. She felt Mr. Rings's curiosity and kept one antenna on him. The last thing she needed was for Mr. Rings to mistake this bloviating fool for a deer. A tree octopi could live for a month on seasoned deer meat.
He snorted and snuffled and Dreams knew he was looking over the sixteen thousand page document, written entirely in Terran legalese.
"I will wait," Dreams said, slowly swinging the chain back and forth like she had seen politicians in the Terran historical TriVids do.
It had an odd calming effect on her, feeling the heavy durachrome chain swing, the weight of it, the way the pin-connected links moved, the faint feel of the light hair-grease on it.
"The question of who has command over the military forces facing the Precursors must be answered," the Lanaktallan insisted.
How about you show me a mil-spec vehicle then we'll talk?Dreams thought to herself. "As per Terran Confederacy Military Uniform Code of Justice, Terran forces are commanded solely by Terran Confederacy military officers duly appointed to such duties. While Terran military forces may work jointly with other governments or species, command is always held by the highest ranking Terran military armed services member."
She pinged the lawyer and waited a second.
The Lanaktallan's knees buckled and its eyes crossed as the appropriate legal codes, case documentation, case precedents, and legal arguments crossed from the cyber-barristers to his email to him implant.
The Lanaktallan gave a low mooing noise of pain as its datalink heated up.
Finally it looked up, its knees shaking. "My office will look over this," He said. "I'll be back."
Is that a threat? Dreams wondered.
He turned around and trotted out, negligently spitting the chewed up plastic strings of a consumed synth-cud on her floor. A robot scooted out and grabbed it, disappearing after disinfecting the floor.
Dreams felt like her carapace was prickling up when the synthcud splatted on her immaculate floor.
She had just opened the menu of what the dining facilities that delivered to the Unified Council Center had to offer when her door chimed again.
She sighed, closing the app. Mr. Rings hid in his bole again, munching on a piece of Pacific Northwest Wooly Salmon Smoked Treats.
Another Lanaktallan, this one for the Unified Corporate Council. Dreams took note that this one was no second or third stringer.
This was the Most High.
He looked outraged at the simulation around her.
"Turn this off at once," he demanded.
"Make me," Dreams gave out the traditional Terran counter-offer, swinging the chain and holding up the knife handle.
If ancient Terran politicians could do it, so could she, as she was representing the Terran Confederacy.
Her implosion wire didn't even tingle.
The Lanaktallan jerked back slightly, then clomped into the room, daintily moving around the rocks and the moss. It settled down on a moss covered rock and stared at her.
"I must object to your lawyers filing so many lawsuits," the Lanaktallan said.
Dreams gave a human shrug. "They have passed the legal tests and are registered barristers within all Unified Civilized Systems as well as non-aligned territories. Object away."
"They are filing lawsuits on behalf of people who cannot be allowed to file," The being lowed.
Again, the Mantid shrugged. "According to your legal system anyone is allowed to file with proper representation. The barristers do indeed qualify."
"They are disrupting the natural process!" It cried out.
"That falls under what Terrans call: Not my problem," Dreams said. She knew she was being undiplomatic, but she was getting extremely hungry and this big doofy cow-looking thing was blowing saliva on her vidscroll.
"You will rue the day!" The Lanaktallan said, standing up. It clattered for the door, only tripping twice, before it was gone.
Dreams checked her translation. Yes, the Most High of the Unified Corporate Council had actually said rue at her! She giggled and opened up her food app.
As she waited, she checked her timer and fed Mr. Rings another wooly trout treat, then gently stroked his head. He was nervous after the Lanaktallan had shouted, his rings bright blue, flush with neurotoxin.
"It's OK, Mr. Rings, mommy made the bad cow go away," she clicked to it.
She sighed, checking her appointment calendar. Six meetings, two council sessions, and three appointments were all slated for tomorrow.
She regretted to do it, but the Lanaktallan ambassadors and council beings kept interrupting her constantly in what she suspected was some form of dominance games.
She triggered "by appointment only" and waited for her food, holding Mr. Rings on her lap and petting his cool wet skin.
When this is over, I'm going to take a long vacation. Maybe go see the Hate Anvils of Mars and the Wrath Forges of Mercury, she thought to herself. She changed her clothing into a comfortable four armed kimono from the ancient Empire of Corporate Japan LLC, swapped out her beret for a hat made of carefully crinkled foil to let people know she wasn't interested in opinions or thoughts or consipiracies or diplomacy, and settled back down, rolling up the scroll and tucking her tools into the hidden drawer.
The door signal chimed, the RFID system showing it was the food deliverer. She triggered the door and a Lanaktallan came in, holding four containers of food. It looked at her, looked around, and then at her again.
"Tasty-Stuff Packguru Food Delivery for Dreams of Something More?" It asked.
"I am she," Dreams said.
She should have been surprised. She should have. But she didn't even twitch an eyebrow as the Lanaktallan dropped her food, jammed a hand into a pouch, squealed in pain as it cut its thumb wrong and bent it back, then tried again with its thumb in its mouth.
It yanked out a shielded disruptor pistol, raising it up.
"DEATH TO..." it started, mumbling around its thumb.
And dropped the pistol.
It hit the hard light boulder, got caught on a 'twig' and went off.
And hit the thumb sucking Lanaktallan under the chin, blowing its head all over the ceiling.
Alarms didn't start wailing and Dreams looked around, tapping her antenna thoughtfully just above her own eyes. She did her best to hold back snickering, but eventually just gave up and burst into the Mantid equivalent of laughter.
"Interesting, wouldn't you say, Rack? Pinion?" She asked when she got her laughter under control.
"No alert," Rack growled from behind her.
"No alarms," Pinion rumbled.
"Reconfigure. Dual protection," Dreams said. "Light anti-vehicle, anti-armor, point defense, and anti-personnel. Discrete and precision weapons only, boys. That means you, Pinion," she chided.
"Yes, Ma'am," they both said, then went silent again.
It was nearly twelve minutes until the alarms went off.
Honestly, Dreams was glad. The would-be assassin had spilled her food.
Worse.
His splattered brains were smelling better and better every minute.
One of the lawyers brought her some of its meal. Raw bloody meat soaked in tears and wrapped in paper detailing the defeat of a rival. The lawyer sat with her as the Council LawSec went over her apartment and two menials carried out the body as three more stood on chairs to clean the brains and bones and flesh off her ceiling.
Of course they tried to bug her apartment suite.
And of course, they were terrible at it.
Mr. Rings found it and broke it open, hoping for a treat, then was huffy until Dreams mollified him with a wooly trout treat.
