Fedrum Malcum Biggins, Mr. Biggins to all but his mother, was a modest man. The silk in his bespoke suits came from the more sensible century moths, not millennia ones — the fools who used that had neither sense for humility nor tastefulness.

The cologne he wore was only thrice distilled, with a faint scent of vanilla and cedar. Nothing too imposing, just enough to give the right aura of a classy man. Much like the cold-extracted Kadchi oil he was gradually massaging into his hair, which — although from an extinct species of Fauri seeds — was just the right vintage to balance the sheen and volume it gave.

Too many people went for the older and more expensive bottles, never pausing to think what they were actually getting from their wasteful spending. Not Mr. Biggins, however.

He was a thoughtful and modest man. Intelligent, though not overbearing. Though, of course, a man can only be that modest when his is the task to bring peace between worlds.

Mr. Biggins was, indeed, a very important man.

He picked up his comb to begin parting his hair in a perfect 2-5 split, which would accentuate his dignified feature in just the right way. His pencil mustache was already groomed to atomic precision.

The entirety of the Triumvirate was resting upon his shoulders, along with the future prosperity of the galaxy. He couldn’t allow himself to look shabby.

It was a heavy burden, but Mr. Biggins was the right person for it. The only person for it. Any other man, not to mention woman, would inevitably end up doing a lesser job out of it.

None of his colleagues assigned to this Grand Expansion put as much care into their assignments as he did. Subsequently, their results naturally fell behind his own.

If his ‘peers’ only observed him a little more, followed his example, the entire galaxy would be a better place. His comb smoothly slid through his oiled hair, leaving him to look sharp as a razor.

Indeed, Fedrum, you are the only one who can—

A knock on the door froze him mid motion, leaving a slight wrinkle between his eyes. Swiftly, he relaxed his facial muscles, only to rub some moisturizer onto the affected place.

Although age was only making him look more distinguished and refined, he saw no reason in hastening the process.

“You can wait,” he called out, putting emphasis on his annoyance without ever caring to hear what his visitor had to say.

He’d been waiting for them all day as they chased around on their own meaningless errands. Errands he’d allowed them to go on, and which he sorely regretted doing.

Writing up the correct papers on the gifted bottles he’d received for his generosity hadn’t been worth it. They were barely worth bringing back to the main worlds, and the paperwork had taken hours out of his precious time.

With a sigh, Mr. Biggins put down his comb. Indeed, his job really was a great burden. Few others would’ve been able to handle it.

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

His two assistants awaited him outside the door.

Their time was less valuable than his own, and so, having them oversee whatever errands the claimant of this planet — Mikayes, was that the name of the half-breed? — had wished to run throughout the day had only seemed natural.

It had allowed Mr. Biggins to properly prepare for this far more important meeting that lay ahead of them. “Anything that needs my immediate attention?” he asked, only looking at the forms Drudgery tentatively held out towards him.

“Only your signatures, sir,” the alien cyborg responded, and despite some visual flaws in the man’s appearance, Mr. Biggins still appreciated his first assistant’s efficiency.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He understood the importance of Mr. Biggins’ time, and it allowed him to focus on the more important aspects of his work.

“Then leave it on my desk,” he instructed, not bothering to spare his other assistant any attention as continued down the corridor towards the entrance hall.

The rest of the planet’s explorers were already there. The half-breed claimant was there with a few of his crew, along with Lieutenant Keshig and Mr. Biggins’ guard.

It was at his own request that the ship of soldiers had followed him along for the trip. Although Migur-Ne-11 was supposed to be a relatively benign planet, Mr. Biggins was too valuable to the Triumvirate to risk his life taking chances.

“With my presence here,” he began, taking his time to ensure that everyone understood the importance of him being there, “these coming hours will be a sanctified meeting between the Triumvirate — our civilized galaxy — and the sentients of this planet.

“I propose that all of you refrain from taking individual actions — unless it involves protecting me — without my explicit permission. Any such permission should be requested through the correct, R-19#X4432 forms, filled out by hand and filed through the System along with the physical copy. Is that understood?”

Although any responses that came were scattered and half-hearted at best, Mr. Biggins knew better than to expect more. These people were not born upon the main worlds. They didn’t have the education or intelligence to understand what his presence signified.

Not that it mattered. As long as they knew to stay quiet, he alone would be enough to bring a new sentient species into the Triumvirate’s light.

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

“Tekka-abaa?”

Even without the crude weapons that’d just been jutted his way, the shrunken creature’s dull eyes were telling enough. There was no intelligence to be found on this planet. Mr. Biggins’ presence here was wasted.

“What is it saying?” he scoffed, turning towards Drudgery. He wasn’t afraid of the pygmy, monkey looking things.

His escorts of the Astral Fleet had already raised their weapons towards the inhabitants of this planet, ready to erase them at a moment’s notice.

Mr. Biggins considered giving them the order to hasten the process, wiping this disgrace from the face of the planet. By disrespecting him, these creatures had disrespected the Triumvirate itself. Simply. Unforgivable.

The only thing that stopped him was the thought of all the paperwork the massacre would bring.

“I’m working on it, sir,” Drudgery responded, standing perfectly still where flashes of light kept passing across his eyes. At times, the cyborg was boorishly slow.

“Then inform me what comes of it,” Mr. Biggins said, turning his back on the pygmy creatures that were supposedly ‘sentient’. Doubtful, indeed. “My presence here is clearly not needed.”

There was nothing of worth those could bring to the Triumvirate, and if someone else ended up aggravating them in his absence, well… It would simply make the forms easier to fill out. As long as he combined them with the appropriate punishment, that was.

Either way, whatever reasoning had stationed him all on this planet was clearly misled. His talents were wasted here, if all he could do was ensure that the proper protocols were followed.

Whyever did that Sin’vitri lady think anything about this was appropriate? Wasting Triumvirate resources like this…

By all means, Mr. Biggins was almost tempted to call this entire operation off so that his eminence could be better spent elsewhere.

Once more, the thought of the paperwork stopped him. More so, that half-breed, Mikayes, would undoubtedly prove to be a headache if he even suggested the notion.

The fox-looking…thing was currently making himself busy yelling out to his crew to unseal several boxes he’d brought, now handing out food items to the pygmy-monkey-people that greedily accepted it.

Is bribing all the fool knows how to do?

The thought left an unpleasant taste on Mr. Biggins’ tongue, and he regretted accepting those bottles even more now. It would undoubtedly be unsavory if anyone ever thought Mr. Biggins to be on the same level as those mindless creatures.

I’ll have to make sure the half-breed submits the appropriate forms for importing food items to an unexplored planet, article U-7782-R33. Just to prove how different I am from those things.

With that mental note, Mr. Biggins turned his back on Migur-NE-11.

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

Usually, Mr. Biggins would’ve just signed Drudgery’s reports without bothering to read them. It was beneath him to read the dull things. That evening, however, he was looking for a reason to depart from that planet entirely.

So, skimming through the full reports Drudgery had made about Migures Simianes — henceforth Migmians — once his translations had been calibrated, Mr. Biggins paused on one of the papers.

“We have been advised to keep away from any of the planet’s wildlife we encounter whenever possible. It is said that any creatures that are hunted without being successfully killed will eventually retreat, only to return significantly stronger at a later date. Judging by the Migmians’ ancestral tales, it seems these sudden increases in strength has a tendency to stimulate sudden mutations within the entirety of the species. It appears to be some rapid form of evolution that should not be taken lightly…”

Mr. Biggins slowly tapped his fingers against the table.

“If the danger gradings of this planet saw a sudden rise,” he said to himself, “it would soon become too dangerous for a diplomat of the Triumvirate to stay here, wouldn’t it…?”

Interesting. Very interesting.