Flash Fic: Pack Mentality

"Consul Hendrix, a moment of time, please?"

Hendrix nodded briefly to the Uxghari ambassador, then chivvied his staff down the hall. Once they were safely out of earshot, Hendrix focused his attention to the willowy Uxgari diplomat. "Sorry for that. Ambassador Dhin. Just had to tie off a few loose ends for the new Yrol trade concessions."

"Actually, the Yrol are what I wanted to talk to you about." Dhin's near-skeletal fingers fluttered, as if trying to organize invisible note cards. "My government has expressed some concerns regarding the recent increase in diplomatic missions between the Terran Confederation and the Yrol Protectorate."

"Concerns?" asked Hendrix coolly.

"My government, along with other members of the Symbiotry, feel that the unusually rapid development of relations between the Confederation and the Protectorate, while beneficial in principle, may have some potentially destabilizing aspects which have not been properly considered."

Hendrix's brow furrowed deeply as he scowled at Dhin. "And given that we're not in either of our respective offices, no mention of these concerns can be considered as official and on-the-record. So, given those circumstances, I feel no need to be constrained by the usual professional courtesies," he said caustically. "Ambassador, my people have no problem with the Yrol. Yes, they're distinctly...unusual, possibly even disturbing upon initial contact. They are inclined towards aggressive responses in their foreign and domestic policies. They are only recently capable of interstellar flight. But, Ambassador Dhin, I would remind you that similar 'concerns' were openly aired against my people about sixty years ago." Hendrix's scowl grew contemptuous. "The fact those 'concerns' aren't being openly aired with regard to the Yrol might be because your bosses realize what an unholy mess they'd make if they said the quiet part out loud."

"Please try to see it from our perspective!" pleaded Dhin. "They engage in multiple forms of ritualistic combat for amusement."

"Humans haven't necessarily stopped doing that," snorted Hendrix. "Half-gee football remains incredibly popular among humans, and that's probably the tamest evolution of combat sport we've come up with."

"They continue to develop weapons systems and maintain a sizeable military force despite not having any active hostile threats!"

"What precisely do you think the Confederation has been doing the last five or six decades?" Hendrix asked with a withering tone.

"They don't even have a word for 'fluffy!'" groaned Dhin.

"Actually, they do now." Hendrix shook his head a little in bemusement. "Admittedly, it's not as succinct as it would be in Confed Standard English, but once we introduced them to lambswool and synthetic fleece, they were ecstatic. That was part of those trade concessions I mentioned. We're shipping large numbers of fertilized embryos for sheep, goats, and chinchillas, along with technologies to help them expand their own organic and synthetic textiles. You'll be able to get Merino wool sweaters on the Yrol homeworld within the next three years. Not to mention they seem to be fascinated with them as pets."

Dhin looked back Hendrix, fingers fluttering nervously as Hendrix's gaze turned sulfurous. "Let's not pretend I'm stupid, Ambassador. Or even an uncultured barbarian, despite your attitude to the contrary. You and the other members of the Symbiotry are scared to death that your 'tame' human warriors are going to turn feral by hanging out with the Yrol. And they have this idiotic notion that if they can throw enough grit in the gears, they'll keep it from happening. Which is as insulting as it is stupid. My advice would be to relay to your bosses that they need to project an enthusiastic and welcoming tone when speaking on the Yrol in general and the developing Yrol-Terran relationships springing up in particular. Remind them to smile when they do," said Hendrix coldly.

Dhin took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "And if your 'advice' became public?"

"It's always possible Ambassador MacAfee could repudiate my comments. But considering I was sent out here to ride herd on her, I wouldn't invest a lot of hope in that possibility. She's a wonderful diplomat. But there's quite a lot of Scots Highlander in her, and she could just as easily come into the Council of Worlds with a tartan, a claymore, and a pistol to demand satisfaction. Remember this if nothing else, Ambassador. You might believe we're dogs. You might even believe the Yrol are dogs. But the moment you start treating us like dogs is the moment you make all those fears you and yours have come true. And you should be afraid. The galaxy might survive two warrior species working together. You sure as hell won't." 

(This piece originally appeared on r/humansarespaceorcs)