TRS PERRY, SCHPRISS PRIME (3,500 KM)

POV: Niblui, Malgeir (Ambassador)

“These guys really took the whole ‘put all your eggs in one basket’ thing as advice instead of precaution, huh?”

“Eggs in one basket?” Ambassador Niblui asked curiously of the human. Republic Minister of Alien Affairs Tsai was looking down at the planet in wonder.

As an ecumenopolis, Schpriss Prime was a planet city. Some urban planners in the Terran Republic would quibble with that definition, given that the Schpriss hadn’t literally developed every square kilometer of surface area on their planet, especially its massive ocean. But the planet’s ancient cities being connected into a singular, connected entity with urban density was the closest to a practical implementation of that concept any civilization in the known galaxy had gotten.

Most of its natural land area had been paved over to make room for the Schprissian population, with few nature reserves remaining. And unlike the other species in the galactic neighborhood, the Schpriss had rarely had to worry about land for food. The Great Ocean dominated over 90% of their home planet’s surface area, and the deep aquacultural farms of the Schprissian people took adequate care of the needs of the planet’s population of just over three hundred billion.

Which explained why most Schprissian offworld colonies were small and sparse despite their civilization’s age. Few saw a need to leave the home planet.

“Yes, eggs in one basket,” Tsai repeated. “Almost their entire civilization, all in one place.”

“Is that… a good or bad thing?”

“Well, it depends,” Tsai said.

“On what?”

“On if you ever drop the basket.”

Niblui nodded. “I understand the analogy.”

Tsai gazed back at the image. “At least it partially explains their isolationism.”

“Or as some of our people would put it, their cowardice,” Niblui said neutrally.

She would not be caught using that word anywhere within a light century of Schprissian space back when she was the Federation Ambassador to the Schpriss Confederacy. That was the kind of thing that could get your diplomatic credentials revoked for life if someone publicly leaked a recording.

But now she was Ambassador to the Terran Republic. She was just here to assist in introductions; if the local long-tails had a problem with her frank language, she was past the point of caring years ago.

“Same difference,” Tsai muttered. “Look at those cities down there. Must be extremely crowded. Is overpopulation a problem?”

Niblui shook her ears. “Actually not. Even with their high raw population, their average density per square kilometer is lower than most urban cities in the Federation. Or in your Republic.”

Tsai frowned as she did the math in her head. “Is that true?”

“It is. Even at ninety percent water, that’s still a lot of land down there.”

“Fascinating. I’ll take your word for it, Ambassador,” Tsai said. She sat in deep thought for a moment, and turned to Niblui again. “What do you think about our mission here?”

“Minister, I was Ambassador to the Confederacy for thirty years. And in those thirty years, I’ve gotten to know these people. They are hard-working. They are efficient. And their people are friendly. But… in all my years of service, I’ve never heard anyone describe them as generous. Nor have I known them to part with any of their jealously guarded resources without a price. Perhaps you will have more success than I, but if your mission is not a quick success… it would be no fault of yours.”

Tsai smiled. “We have a few ideas, borrowing from what we’ve observed from your experience. And perhaps our… fresh perspective might change their mind.”

“Of course,” Niblui said, hiding her skepticism. “They are… a peculiar people. While I am no longer ambassador, I know them well. When we get down there, I can make your requests for you. That way you can keep your positions in reserves and preserve your flexibility… If they reject the requests outright, it would not dishonor your people or diminish your diplomatic capital.”

Tsai’s grin expanded. “Ah… good cop, bad cop diplomacy.”

Niblui contemplated the analogy and thought back to Terran media for a moment and nodded. “Exactly.”

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GRAND CHANCELLERY, SCHPRISS PRIME

POV: Sonfio, Schpriss (Chancellor of the Confederacy)

Different time. Different day. The same song and dance.

Sonfio had been Chancellor of the Schpriss Confederacy for over three decades. Before that, he was a historian. And he knew that in the long and rich history of the Schprissian people, he would not be seen as some great or terrible figure by future historians. A footnote. Or a passing name-drop to show off the depth of their knowledge, perhaps. Probably when describing events beyond the borders of the Confederacy.

Nothing transformative. Nothing eventful.

Just the way he liked it.

He’d always styled himself as a steward. A caretaker. He’d inherited a strong and stable state. A thriving economy. The ambitious found individual purpose. The poor were fed. Social order was maintained. And the few who were loudly unhappy with his leadership were heard and given as much consideration as they deserved. In his first snout-counting contest, he was elected with over 90% of the votes. There was political and personal dissent; that was inevitable among all individualistic species. But disagreements could be resolved civilly.

The rare interstellar war that flared up just over the Confederacy border a decade ago threatened the tranquility of his stewardship.

In the beginning, confusion dominated.

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Who shot first?

Why were the Granti being attacked?

In the galactic neighborhood, the Granti were physically the largest and strongest. Why would anyone attempt violence against them?

With the Granti planets conquered, it became clear that the new alien species were after more than just raw resources.

The Malgeir Federation joined the fight against the Znosians. It didn’t help. The Granti were consumed, and then the Malgeir were themselves consumed in war. All throughout the war, the Federation repeatedly sent envoys and requests to his people.

They needed help. Marines, resources, ships, spacers, technology, lift capacity. Anything they could spare.

When the issue came up, Sonfio did what all logic and rationality dictated: minimize risk, maximize benefit.

Neutrality.

All the requests from their neighbors — increasing in urgency as the war progressed poorly — were directed to the Confederacy’s sizable bureaucracy, where they could be examined at a controllable pace. Usually the answer was a polite ‘no’. And often after enough time had elapsed that the request might not even be relevant anymore.

Some of his people wept for their dying neighbors. The images of the fallen worlds beamed back to their news through FTL radios were horrific. But what were they going to do? Go and fight and die for the aliens far away from home?

A few of his people did. A few became heroes of the Federation. Fighting for the freedom of a people not their own. Celebrated by some in the Confederacy. Derided by others. Ignored by most.

Sonfio didn’t understand them, but he allowed them to go anyway. He couldn’t stop them if he wanted to.

All the while, his Navy did not cover their eyes and ears. They learned. In fact, Sonfio was pretty certain they’d learned more about the enemy than the Malgeir had with their dysfunctional system. The Schprissian Navy went through two rounds of reforms. They cut personnel to fund new equipment. Then they recruited new spacers to operate the new equipment. It was a mild drain on GDP, but his people were prosperous. They could afford it.

All the while, Malgeir worlds fell to the Znosians one by one. And as they fought, it became clear to Sonfio and most of his advisors what was going to happen: the Malgeir were going to lose. They began contingency preparations. Paws in the Federation were greased to ensure that some of its wealth and naval strength would flow to the Schpriss when their home world fell. Embassies conducted evacuation drills. Cargo lift capacity was reserved to ensure their availability when Malgeiru fell.

Then, it didn’t happen.

The Znosians took a core world of the Federation at Datsot. The enemies were at the gates. And through some miracle, the Malgeir fought back and they fought back hard. They relieved the siege at Datsot and pushed back to Gruccud. What was expected to be a three month Znosian victory turned into an unexpected counterattack.

A fleet commander of the Znosian Navy, captured.

An entire invasion fleet, defeated.

At first, Chancellor Sonfio didn’t believe it, chalking it up to war propaganda from Malgeirgam. But the footage seemed real enough. And his sources sneaking through Federation space confirmed it with their own eyes mere days later. The details remained murky and carefully guarded, but something had changed. His advisors were baffled. At least two intelligence officers resigned when their morbid predictions were proven utterly false. The rest rushed to craft theories about how the reverse happened. Perhaps the Znosians overstretched. Perhaps the Malgeir simply got lucky.

The victorious Malgeir fleets sat around for another year and a half, conducting pointless exercises around Gruccud instead of taking advantage of their temporary advantage. They even withdrew many of their Marines, draining strength from their fleets to… who knew where? Schprissian officers updated their analysis. The inevitable was delayed, but by the looks of it, the Znosians were still on track for total victory. The calendar just needed to be moved back a couple years.

Then it happened again.

Shocking video of the destruction of hundreds of Znosian ships at Gruccud. Hundreds of them, laid waste by a single missile volley from the dark.

As his Navy advisors digested and verified the information, more news came in a few days later. Three Malgeir battle fleets, executing what they called a slow but perfectly serviceable pincer. Pushing the entire Znosian Navy out of all Federation space.

Every last star system.

For the first time in years, there were images of entire Znosian Marine divisions being taken prisoner. Thousands upon thousands of them, mass surrendering, coming out of their burrows with their paws up.

There was that Sixth Fleet recon ship that transmitted back a single picture: a telescopic real-color photo taken of occupied Grantor from the system blink limit. Years of Znosian conquest, reversed in a matter of weeks.

And in answer to their thousands of questions, the new species came out of the shadows.

The humans. The half Grass Eaters.

A young species with barely over ten billion people. Their people not particularly large in size nor more advanced in their understanding of the universe.

But the carefully leaked pictures of the Grand Znosian Fleet lying broken in the orbits above their worlds a week later said it all. Entire squadrons, shattered in their formations. The number of ships and personnel they took prisoner — they could probably invade the entire Confederacy with that captured force.

In a way, it was a relief for Sonfio. The threat of war from the Znosians was gone. In another way, there was regret. Regret that they’d spent so much time and resources worrying about the problem. It was an irrational thought of course — they couldn’t have known this would happen, but the thought would stay with him for a while.

At least it was over. Now, the Confederacy could demobilize. Go back to business as usual.

If it weren’t for these humans.

Different time. Different day. The same song and dance. Like the Malgeir before them, they were here to ask for resources again. Luckily, he’d had plenty of experience of politely saying no to desperate people.

Ambassador Niblui was there with the human, animatedly describing the nature of the threat. The threat that was no longer relevant for his people.

Breaking out of his thoughts, he noticed that the hall had gone quiet. She had paused her speech, and they were now all looking at him.

What did she want again?

Sonfio stirred in his seat and cleared his throat. “Uh… please relay the formal details of the proposal to my office through the embassy. We will thoroughly study it and give it the careful and serious consideration that the matter deserves.”

Niblui visibly sighed. They both knew what he meant.

The same song and dance.

The human cleared her throat.

A misstep. Like an off-key note in the music.

“Excuse me, Chancellor. Perhaps you’d like to hear our species’ offer with a little more nuance,” she said.

“Nuance, Minister Tsai?” he asked, internally thankful that he’d remembered her name from the introduction.

Her lips were drawn upwards, as if in amusement. “Yes, nuance, Chancellor. After all, we are asking for a substantial amount of your Confederacy’s raw resources, skilled laborers, and civilian cargo and fuel lift capacity, with the transfer to begin in the next couple weeks. In an extensive lending and leasing program that would be paid back later, yes, but such a big ask… surely you’d like to know more about the details.”

Sonfio frowned at the slight diplomatic error — that implied assumption the request would be granted. “Minister Tsai, I enjoy your frankness and honesty and can only respond to it with my own. Perhaps your species is new to galactic diplomacy. But the reality is that it is unlikely that we can grant your request without a longer time to study its impact. Surely you can understand our need to protect our interests.”

He didn’t know much about their facial reactions, but it didn’t seem like she understood at all. “Of course, Chancellor. But as we are engaged in a total war, and we will be protecting ours and our allies through extraordinary measures as well.”

At the mention of war, he stiffened.

Previously, the Malgeir at least had the sense to couch their requests as calls for compassion to respect the Schprissian stance of neutrality. “I’m sorry, Minister Tsai. The official stance of the Confederacy is neutrality in this war. We can and will not intervene favorably on any side in this conflict. It is my hope that this doesn’t affect any future relationship between our two peoples…”

The human’s expression didn’t change. “Chancellor Sonfio, you were a history professor, right? Before your chancellery… three decades ago.”

That caught him off guard. He looked up. “Me? Yes, I was a historian.”

“Would you like to hear a story out of our history, Chancellor?”