The New Era

Subject: Senator Tivna Ciliris

Species: Alumari

Species Description: Arachnoid, no tail. 5'3" (1.5 m) avg height. 92 lbs (41.7 kg) avg weight. 108 year life expectancy.

Ship: N/A

Location: Grallus Prime

"I hope you understand our position on this. Inviro-Corp simply cannot afford to miss out on this opportunity. If we do, we will have to adjust our budget," the representative said. "That will certainly impact our campaign contributions."

"I understand," I replied. "Because of our long-lasting friendship and my certainty that your company has impeccable integrity, I will fight to make certain that Inviro-Corp is on the list of approved traders. You have my word. Is there anything else?"

The call cut off, answering my question. Human corporations are just as scummy as alumari corporations, but at least my people pretend to be civil. Once the humans have their hooks in you, they're all business and no class.

In a way, it's refreshing. No wasted time, and everything is on the table in a wonderfully obvious way. But this also means that one can never feel clean after making a deal with them.

"Sir, your next appointment is here," my receptionist said over the intercom. "It's Director 3."

A large part of me desperately wanted to try to cancel this particular appointment. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be possible. You need a damn good reason to cancel an appointment with the directorate, and being sick of their dnaga {the biological waste excretions of a domesticated farm animal} doesn't quite make the cut.

"I'll see them now," I replied.

Once upon a time, senators didn't have to listen to directors. They were essentially military advisors, and as such were frequently ignored. Until what they were saying went public, and it was revealed that if assholes like me had just listened to them in the first place, many lives would have been saved.

Now, thanks to heavy pressure from civilians, it is illegal to refuse or cancel a meeting with a director without an appropriate reason. I can definitely afford the fines, but the censor would be extremely inconvenient. A senator who is unable to vote, even temporarily, is a senator that is going to lose their next election.

A pair of marines entered my office, followed by the director. All three of them were wearing guardian suits, but the director's armor was specially crafted to hide their identity, right down to the species. Well, I could tell that they're not a gont, but that's as far as that goes.

"Good afternoon, Senator Ciliris," Director 3 said.

The director took a seat in front of my desk, the chair groaning slightly under the weight of the armor. For a moment, I hoped it would break. That would be hilarious, and the director's embarrassment may potentially give me an advantage in the coming negotiation.

This appointment had been scheduled without so much as a brief regarding what this is about. While it's possible that the director just wants to bend my antenna, every discussion is a negotiation. Unfortunately, I have just as many edges as a ball at the moment.

"Good afternoon, Director 3," I replied. "What brings you by?"

"The spending bill."

"What of it?"

"We need to tack on a few things without making a fuss."

"We all need to tack on a few things without making a fuss," I laughed. "What are the details?"

The director pointed to my computer just as an email notification pinged. I sighed dramatically as I activated the terminal and opened the email from Omega. You meet plenty of shady people in politics, but I've never met anyone shadier than Omega. It's as if humanity managed to capture the very essence of shade within a computer program.

The damn thing's probably hanging out in my computer right now, reading all my messages. That's a hefty crime, not that the ytorka {one who procreates} would leave any trace of evidence. I scanned through the email and balked at the figures before me.

"Are you insane?" I asked with sincerity. "Have all of you lost your damned minds?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss personal details such as my mental health," the director replied with an equal amount of sincerity. "Nor am I able to comment on the mental health of the rest of the directorate."

"This is about a thousand times too much to simply tack on to the spending bill. This should be its own spending bill!"

"You're right that it's too much to simply tack on. We've already have guarantees regarding the budgetary adjustments, though. Obviously, this can't be its own spending bill."

"Why not? You think that people aren't going to notice this if you merge it with the spending bill?"

"The majority of people won't. They also won't listen to those that do. Plus, if we introduce this as its own bill, we have to itemize what the money will be going toward."

"What's wrong with that? You'll need to-"

A sudden realization gave me pause. The email was vague. Too vague. When one thinks of redaction, one imagines black bars over everything. More commonly, though, the information is simply hidden behind generalized terms that are designed to mislead you into believing that there's nothing to hide.

"I want the declassified version of this document," I said.

"That's not possible at this time."

"Shit."

I pressed my claws into my exo-skull to relieve the tension building in my head. There aren't very many things that the directorate can legally hide from the senate. An investigation into a senator could lead to material being classified, but that's unlikely in this instance. A clear and present danger is the more likely candidate.

"I take it the interrogation of Prime One didn't go as we had hoped, then?" I asked acrimoniously.

"I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time," Director 3 said with a subtle shake of their head.

"Is this information classified because it may cause a panic? The kind of panic that may cause lawlessness in the streets?"

"I cannot say," Director 3 nodded slightly.

"Damn it all," I sighed and leaned back in my chair. "You know, you're going to have to declassify this after the situation with the Omni-Union is dealt with. Then we'll be the ones who have to defend you from the angry public that you're hiding this from."

"I'm sure you'll do a marvelous job of it, and that it'll be easier than you think."

Easier than I think? I glanced at the figure on my screen. Is the director implying that this money isn't going toward the creation of a new super-weapon? If not a new bomb or gun, then what?

My attention turned back toward the director. It was easy to tell that they wouldn't give me any more than that. Better to save my breath.

"Fine. It's not as if I can simply snap my fingers and tack this on, though."

"We're doing the heavy lifting this time," Director 3 replied. "We simply need you to make sure your faction votes the right way."

And there it is, the actual ask. It's a tall order, though. The annual budget is an integral part of the election cycle. It announces alliances, airs grievances, and allows senators to demonstrate to our constituents that we 'really care' about the issues impacting them.

We don't, obviously, but it makes us look good to shut things down every now and then for 'our' ideology. We still get paid, of course, so we can keep things shut down until our constituents begin to suffer enough to let us off the hook. Or, ideally, the other side gives in.

"You don't think that would draw attention?" I asked with a laugh.

Government shut-downs are a nearly annual event. There are definitely those that would notice the lack of grandstanding over the budget and start asking questions. There's no way this will remain hidden.

"It may, but we can handle that," Director 3 said.

"I genuinely doubt it, even with Omega's help," I replied, then an idea came to mind. "Instead, I have a suggestion for you and your colleagues."

"What would that be?"

"Lean into it," I said, leaning forward for emphasis. "All of the shipyards in both the United Systems and the Republic are working around the clock to bolster our fleets. These new ships will need crews and marines, which means we will have to amp up our recruitment drives."

"We had already planned on doing that."

"Yes, but there's nothing better for recruitment than a big bad enemy that we must defeat at all costs," I leaned back with a chittering chuckle. "I'm sure you're familiar with human and alumari history, yes?"

"What exactly are you getting at, senator?"

"Don't classify the information. Release it to the public. Have it shown on every screen in the galaxy, and don't downplay it."

"That will cause a panic."

"Only if there isn't anything that can be done," I said. "But there is something that they can do. They can join the military and save the galaxy."

"I see," Director 3 nodded. "We will take that under advisement. However, we still need to keep the contents of our budget classified, regardless of what ends up being decided."

"Fine. You'll have my support, so long as my campaign ads continue to get their turn on your space-stations."

"Deal."

The director stood, nodded at me, and left my office. My campaign ads certainly won't be the only ones on the United System's military stations, but I'll be damned if they're the only ones that aren't. Being excluded is a guaranteed way to lose the military vote, which means having to double down on all of the other types of voters.

Plus, being buddy-buddy with a director is a win-win. Most technology developed by the military finds its way into the civilian market eventually. If I can get wind of what this money is going towards, I'll be able to make investments that will result in massive returns. Or rather, the executive of my revocable trust will be able to. It's illegal to make those investments myself, but as long as there's an intermediary it's purely above-board. I leaned back in my chair and chittered happily to myself.

The chance to make some money always puts me in a good mood.