The Band. PJ Shay
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Negotiations between races have begun in an attempt to retake the mines controlled by the Tigers. However, they are unwilling to release their grip on them. In the words of their leader, Lucama Dario, “We have uncovered a valuable asset, and have taken it for ourselves. We were the ones who first discovered the deposits, and we therefore have a right to them. The fact that they are in the territories of others is irrelevant. They did not take advantage of the bounty, and we have therefore seen fit to take control of a prize they did not claim.”
The first serious threats were exchanged yesterday in a meeting between leaders and representatives of all races, including Cheetah Ezrachi Saticol, Leopard Jugo Makilla, Lions Ozmari Dafili and Galika Lukanol, Puma Omali Tuthur, and Lucama Dario. The delegates’ originally professional conversation grew heated after Lucama Dario commented, “If all you other kitty-cats are just going to sit around and complain, why don’t you just leave the business matters to the real felines? Namely us tigers.”
He then responded to an accusation hurled by Ezrachi Saticol by saying, “Why don’t you just take your spotted coat and hang it out to dry after you’re done mewling like a newborn kitten? You spotties are all the same.” This quickly flared tempers to the point where it seemed blows were to be exchanged.
Lucama continued hurling insults at the other delegates for quite some time, gradually raising the tension in the room. But the pressure reached a critical point with Galika Lukanol’s chilling words. “It seems as though diplomacy is once again failing. But why are we all sitting on our fat behinds and gabbing when we could be acting? It would be a simple matter to take what is ours back by armed force. If that is what it takes to end this fracas, I would not hesitate to rearm. After all, all we ever really gained we gained by action, not squabbling in a council chamber.” It was the first war threat to have been heard for a century.
As yet, is does not appear that any side is taking serious action against the other. However, as tensions rise, it is possible that conflicts of a physical nature could begin. Now a world devoted to peace holds its breath for what could become war.’
“It can’t be…” Matakh whispered in horror as he gazed at the last sentence. He shut his eyes and slammed the paper onto the table so hard that the salt and pepper shakers leapt a few inches from the surface before clattering back down. “They can’t just throw away our ideals over petty stones!” he blurted hysterically. “Why can’t they just resolve this diplomatically?”
Kotaho shook his head sadly. “I’m not sure, but I guess that it’s pride. The Tigers, Dario in particular, are too focused on wealth and power to see the folly of what they’re doing. And the other delegates are so embroiled in political jargon and policy that they fail to see the big picture. Whenever two rigid parties press against each other, something eventually snaps.”
“But war…” Matakh shivered. “Could it really happen, after so long?”
Kotaho just sighed. “I’m not sure. If our leaders can’t put their grievances aside and solve this peacefully, it’s a possibility. Frankly, it’s hard to say; I don’t know the future. All we can do is hope and pray that God will grant our world peace and strength.”
“But the Conglomerate,” Meea spoke up. “They’d never allow this, would they? Not after the mess that the Rival War caused.”
“Not to mention the Schism,” Matakh added, recalling the last great intergalactic conflict fought against the Milky Way. “There’s no way they’ll let another war break out.”
Kotaho looked at them sadly. “I wouldn’t hold out too much hope for an intervention from the U.C.,” he told them. “I doubt they’ll get involved.”
“But why?” Meea pressed.
“The Conglomerate has the entire civilized universe to worry about, thousands of systems and worlds. If war does start here, it will be considered an internal affair, outside of their jurisdiction. Unless the fighting spreads or other worlds get involved, they won’t be willing to intervene.” He sat back in his chair. “At least if war does break out, our family will stay together. I’m too old to be drafted, and Matakh is too young.”
“Let’s just pray that all of this goes away quietly,” Meea said.
Galika Lukanol sat in his office in the Filian Supreme Senate Building, leaning back in his leather armchair. “No appointments left for the day,” he grumbled, before casting an annoyed glance at the clutter before him. The usually immaculate desktop was covered in stacks of v-pads and mounds of paper, some tied with plastic strips or thread, others simply heaped together in a haphazard fashion. All were printed with the insignias of other races and delegates, as well as stamps labeling them “Critically Important,” “Top Priority”, or “Utmost Urgency”. Only a few had even been touched by the lion, and he hadn’t given any of them any real attention.
He knew what they were; bills from the other representatives pleading for a course of action in response to the betrayal of the Tigers. The few he had flipped through contained nothing surprising, just endless pages of arguments, evidence, and ideals that had been spouted hundreds of times before. Nothing worth the time or effort of his consideration, and in all frankness the pages he had read had threatened to bore him to sleep. And of course they all had a blank spot under their list of co-sponsors, lines which he knew were there for him to add his name.
The size of the pile was of no surprise to him. After all, he was a very important cat. Of all the representatives of the Leonid race, indeed in the whole Filian Senate, he was known as one of the most influential. And this power was also bolstered by an impressive fortune, with which he could afford the various extravagances laid around his office, or provide significant funding to movements and campaigns. A great number of people wanted him on their side, knowing that his word could potentially tip the balance of the political seesaw the planet now sat upon.
Frankly, Lukanol could have cared less about the other delegates or their bills. From his position, they were all fools, puppets of the government spouting pointless political jargon like idiotic parrots. And the bills they had sent him, he would rather burn to ashes and scatter on the wind than suffer through a single word. They took up energy he could not spare, and time he did not have, not to mention space on his desk. But he had a reputation to keep, and when the documents had arrived, he had made a big show of accepting them, promising he would look through them right away. He had an image to maintain, after all.
“What a pack of useless clowns,” he grumbled to himself. “As if I don’t already have enough to do.” He picked up one of the bills and snorted contemptuously. “Utmost urgency, my foot.” A flick of his wrist sent the offending packet into his recycling bin, and he smiled with satisfaction as the mechanics within reduced the papers to slivers. Still, a huge pile remained before him, its size positively daunting.
“Eh, it’s a start,” he mused, picking up a crystal flute sitting off to the side of his desk and setting it to his lips. He took a long draught, savoring the exotic flavor of the Nathili wine and enjoying the gentle fizzing against his tongue. “Not bad,” he admitted. “Considering it was made by dogs.” When his secretary had first brought in the wine, he had been put off by the Cunian label, but now he was finding himself growing quite fond of it. He made a mental note to have her stock his personal cooler with several bottles.
Pouring himself another glass, he watched the bubbles swirl within the rose-colored liquid before lifting it high. “A toast,” he said aloud, a broad grin spreading across his face. “To the start of our victory, and the realization of a plan.” With that, he tipped the contents down his throat and settled back into his chair.
To anyone observing, Galika’s good humor would have been disturbing in the face of the events transpiring around him. Tensions between the Filian races were escalating in leaps and bounds, hostilities higher than anyone could remember. Now the threat of a new war was hanging over the planet, fear that the peace they had preserved for a hundred years would give way to violence. And Galika could not have been happier. Not that he made a big show of celebration