Establishment
© 2025 by Walter Reimer

In ancient times, ‘M’ reflected, what he was about to do would be called ‘sheep-dipping.’
The roebuck allowed himself a brief curl of a smile at the expression.  If he ever used the term publicly, the number of operatives who were plotting to remove him and take his place would at least triple.  There was no need to increase the number of people he might have to have killed.  It would be a waste of material.
And waste was something he abhorred.
The twenty-five furs he had personally selected had been ordered to report in person, with some coming from several Imperial worlds close to the Kashlanin border.  They were all seated at individual desks.  He cleared his throat with a soft bark, and the twenty-five stopped eyeing each other suspiciously and started eyeing him suspiciously.  
Good; paranoia was a positive survival trait.  Let them hate, so long as they fear.  “Good afternoon,” the roebuck said pleasantly.  “This room is sealed against intrusion or surveillance, because I have a . . . delicate assignment for you all.”  That caught their attention.  “All of you are junior members here in the Ministry, but rest assured that if you succeed in this enterprise, it could open certain doors and offer . . . certain opportunities.”
“What is said in here doesn’t leave this room,” ‘M’ reminded them, “but this comes from the Emperor himself.”  There was a collective perking of ears as desk displays activated and data began to scroll.  “Read the information and the plan outline.”  He waited.
The twenty-five began to read, with several looking skeptical and others interested.  A few snorted despite themselves as they smiled at the Emperor’s naivete.
One, a bulldog, cleared his throat.  “Er, Director – “  His voice died as the roebuck turned to face him.
“Yes, Nguyen?”
“Um, er – “
“Speak up, please,” the deer said.  “Don’t be afraid.”
Glancing back and forth nervously, Nguyen stammered, “I-I always th-thought that Terra couldn’t be rehabilitated.”  A few nodded their heads at this.
‘M’ nodded.  “That’s what everyone believes, largely due to disinformation efforts meant to maintain the status quo.  But!”  He raised a finger.  “His Majesty does not believe this, and has seen the raw data from the various studies done over the years by government after government.”  He smiled.  “And that is where all of you come in.”
“The proposal before you is derived from an idea given to me by His Majesty, and supported by Sol’s strategic planning AIs,” ‘M’ said.  “The idea is to create a corporation under which other industries can be brought in or co-opted into a consortium with the goal of cleaning Terra into the beautiful world it was once.  Funding will come from various sources and technologies will be developed to rehabilitate the Terran biosphere – without,” he stressed, “requiring a massive dislocation of the planet’s inhabitants.”
“Interesting,” a civet seated near the back of the room remarked.
‘M’ smiled.  “I am glad you think so, Tengku.  Now, some of you may be getting the idea of diverting funds to your own accounts or to other purposes.”  The smile vanished.  “If any of you have that idea, erase it from your minds now.  I hate waste, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have one or all of you eliminated.  You will be watched, and every mark shall be accounted for.”
“All of you have been chosen for your various skills, and my assessment that you will look upon this as a challenge to be met and overcome.  Because the government can not be seen doing this, to allay certain concerns on the part of various interested parties, you will be ‘temporarily’ removed from the list of the Ministry of Intelligence’s personnel.”  He smiled again.  “Think of it as a deep-cover covert operation.”
He paused as more of the group studied him and the data with greater interest, identifying those who still looked skeptical and would bear close watching.  The AIs would help him keep an eye on the group, as the price he would demand for setting up this operation.  They were the ones who approached him, so it would be an equitable exchange.  
For every quid, there had to be a quo.