”Firstly… you aren’t on trial here, Curator,” Ambassador Tiller began, attempting a reassuring tone. Silence hung over the sparse, charmingly classical meeting room for a long second. A chair creaked slightly.
“But?” Curator Stroth replied cautiously, smoothing her robes as she waited for the other shoe to drop.
“But your little Project has stirred up a lot of krub, which we have to deal with!” The Queil ambassador, Prince Aster, interjected bluntly. Avian features exaggerated his disgruntlement as he listed, “Unchecked colonisation, massacres on fringe worlds, hijackings, theft, planetary destruction… not to mention infiltrating our territory! Need I continue?”
Swerving around the Oramande fiasco, Tiller asked, “do the Ele have anything to add?” The group turned to regard the fourth figure at the table, shrouded in black with a mournful mask.
“Project Centennial has not troubled the Ele,” the representative intoned, a deep vibrato seeming to emanate from elsewhere. “In fact, you should visit more.”
“All things in time, I suppose,” Tiller squirmed. “Our point is that the University’s actions are priming a galactic powder keg whose volatility we’re still gauging.”
Leaning forward in her chair, Curator Stroth spoke up: “We’ve already crossed this threshold. Wouldn’t you rather know the truth of the galaxy than ignore it? Let’s focus on controlling threats and save admonishments for later.”
The grim stillness was broken by Aster’s heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, the Curator is right.” His feathered arms swept across the table, conjuring a fresh holographic document. “So, ambassadors, let’s hear your best solutions.”
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