In the Name of Earth

Magnor Rastall, CEO and chairman of Globian Industries walked through the office’s bullpen with his magnificent violent cape fluttering behind him, the four glowing yellow eyes locked ahead as he marched to the elevator filled with resolve and determination. His black leathery skin shined with the expensive polishers and the adorned curved horns framing his sharp features reflected the light from his gaze. All around him, nested in their cubicles or hiding behind the drinking fountains, beings of the same species basked in his majesty. Their eyes were not as bright, thanks to the cheaper diet, their skin and horns not as groomed and their clothes not nearly as extraordinary, and they all ambitioned one day possessing all the might and status Rastall did. Perhaps one day one of them would, but not all. For now, though, the new hires and interns simply gawked on their absolute superior as if he was the leader of their entire species. Which he was, of course. The Globians had long dismissed the primitive concept of monarchies, democracies and anything in between, and united under the most efficient entities of all: Companies. After a few centuries of mergers and acquisitions, it was just natural that, eventually, a single organization comprised the entirety of the Globian race as their collective face to the galaxy. And Magnor Rastall was their leader, bound to lead the glorious mission of their race in the everlasting campaign for the sense of all sentient life: profit. The elevator opened with a chime and a small Globian somewhat soft around the edges left the cabin with a box of pastries and a tray of energizing drinks. He just nodded at Rastall and proceeded to sink into one of the cubicles. That guy wouldn’t be the one to one day replace him. Shaking his head, Rastall entered the elevator and pressed, with his polished long dark talon, the holographic button leading to the top floor. Hundreds of floors rushed past the glass cabin in a couple seconds, and the doors split open to a long grand corridor. Rastall proceeded on his march down the overwhelming halls ceremoniously decorated with dark drapes hanging from the ceiling, casting shadows over the grand ever-burning pyres that sided the walkway. Symbolical reminders of the eternal glory of the Globians. Aside from the rustling of the flames, the only sound on the magnificent corridor were the clicks of Rastall’s dark boots ruthlessly advancing over the even darker marble floor connecting the elevator to titanic silver doors behind which the fate of an entire species was decided. A door behind which his right-hand men awaited, the most capable, savvy, wise and ambitious Globians in the galaxy. Raising his loose sleeves, Rastall pushed the heavy doors, their weight roaring as they parted, and he entered the Executive Committee’s Meeting Room. A dozen men awaited around a long table, each of them Globians in attires almost as expensive as Rastall’s, each with a cape of a different color and eyes as bright as their leader. All of them waiting and ready to proceed on their divine purpose! “Astronomical profit, gentlemen,” Magnor Rastall greeted on his deep, raspy voice. “Profit, Mag!” three of the men responded, one of which had his feet over the table. Everyone else was either too busy talking amongst themselves or on holocalls with business partners lightyears away. “Excuse my delay,” Rastall said as he occupied the chair at the table’s header. “I was caught up on the logistics merger talks. Hopefully we’ll have a new logistics branch by the end of this galactic rotation.” The men around the table cheered while the last busy executives finalized their calls and put the stellar communicators away. “Shall we begin?” Rastall asked and the others agreed. “Good. First order of business: legal.” All the quadruple shiny eyes turned to a man in a blue tunic, who cleared his throat before starting. “Our patent for the Planet Destroyer Charge has been denied. Apparently, we’re using more Enriched Phlebotinum than allowed by the Galactic Code.” “Can we bribe someone to change that part of the Code?” a Globian in red asked. “We could bribe someone, just not the Moderator in charge,” the legal director said. “Then we assassinate the Moderator in charge and bribe his replacement,” Rastall said, fingers laced before his grinning fangs. “Next up, Gruman?” “Yes, we had a situation with the slaves in…” “Ahem!” the head of Compliance interrupted the speaker with a forceful throat clearing. The term slave had been on feeble legal grounds for the past half galactic cycle or so. Damn bureaucrats. “Pardon me. We had a situation with the Sentient Labor Assets in Voluntary Employment Suspension in the mining moon of Trovlen. Somehow, they organized a world-wide uprising and overpowered our guards. Generalized performance shortcomings on Rover Tanks and Shock-bots severely hindered our containment capabilities.” “Didn’t we just replace those tanks and bots?” “We did… For cheaper models,” Gruman retorted. “I have several emails proving my opposition to the initiative.” “Who procured the suppliers?” Rastall asked. “Resources Manager Hadsan,” Gurman said. “I have already ordered his termination.” “Good! Next up…” “Sir, if I may,” the Director of Sentient Resources interrupted. “Manager Hadsan’s reproduction mate just left him, took all their 378 fertilized eggs with her. It might’ve affect his judgement.” “Damn, that can’t be easy,” Rastall stroked one of his horns. “Give the poor man a week off and leave this slip on his quarterly feedback. And toss in a fruit basket, it’ll cheer him up.” “He’s a Tuami, sir,” the SR director informed. “They don’t do fruits.” “Make it an insect basket, then. No expensive ones, though. Shall we move on now? Good. I see here we have a presentation?” “Yes, sir!” Daglius, the Director of Business Development stood up on the other end of the table. He keyed something on his wrist piece and the meeting room’s doors parted to announce a young Globian with bright green eyes, her horns not even making half a circle yet. The young woman carried with her a notepad and politely awaited Daglius to introduce her. “Gentlemen, this is Pra’Leena, she is a senior research intern. Pra’Leena, why don’t you share your findings with the board?” The intern bowed briefly and proceeded to turn down the lights in order to make her slide presentation more visible. Great. There was a slide presentation.  “Greetings all. At Mr. Daglius’ request, I have prepared a presentation on what I believe to be the ideal venue for the establishment of our next Interstellar Leisure Resort,” Pra’Leena pressed a holographic key on the table and the slides shifted to a map of the galaxy with a red pin on the selected location. “As you can see here, the planet in question is located in the Delta Quadrant of Orion, a region of exponential economic growth, flexible Federation taxes and a promising scarcity of luxury tourism destinations. “This planet, then, as you’ll see on the next few slides, besides being in a viable geo-galactical position, has the potential to sate the tastes of a wide range of audiences. For starters, the planet is about 71% water, which is great for our loyal aquatic clients of Hydroxyla IV. Several fresh water reservoirs too, for salt sensitive individuals. Here you can see it also offers extremely dry golden deserts for our hydrophobic clientele. Middle term? Several beaches at various altitude for all temperature preferences. The terrain is also highly irregular providing us with these gorgeous peaks, which we all know to be extremely appellative to avian species.” “They also look pretty cold,” one of the executives studied the slide of a snowy mountain with a breathtaking view. “Mildly, to galactic standards, but get this,” the intern summoned the next slide that showed a 3D representation of the planet’s globe. “Six continents including a polar one! No gentlemen, I’m not talking about ice caps. It’s literally a continent on their south pole, ready and waiting to host our cold-apt guests!” “What about caves?” another executive butted in. “22% of our Resort Revenues comes from underground dwellers.” “Several! Some with glorious sights!” Pra’Leela skipped a few slides to the picture of a cove crowded with vibrant crystals of different colors. Despite the presentation being far from over, the executives were already exchanging glowing stares and gestures of approval. Even Rastall was absorbed by the glorious depictions on the wall, gaze lost on the picture of the crystals. “What is this planet called, Miss Pra’Leela?” the CEO asked. “Earth, sir.” “No!” the marketing director, in a vivid orange cloak, objected. “We’ll need to work on that, else we’ll scare the Hydroxilans away.” “Good point,” Rastall said. “Be sure to find a name that conveys how many options the planet has. Gruman, Daglius, work with legal to get our claim to this world. I think we can all agree it’s the perfect investment to our tourism branch.” All those present in the room were quick and emphatic to express their support. That endeavor was bound to generate massive revenue and even serve as a spearhead into the Orion Sector. A perfect and, most importantly, profitable expansion plan. “There is one small issue, though, gentleman,” Pra’Leela keyed the next slide. It showed the picture of a naked furless ape with a disconcerting accumulation of hair on only very specific areas of the body, most notably the top of their heads. Its limbs were freakishly long, its mouth a disgusting shade of pink, if that was even a mouth, not to mention the three disturbing protuberances rising from the being face. One of the deformities, triangular in shape, stuck out from between the thing’s eyes and two rounder ones poked out of each side of its head. The worst part, they seemed soft. “Oh! Three quarters of losses! What the s**t is that?” one of the executives asked as soon as the alien appeared on screen. The others immediately joined in. “I think I’m gonna be sick!” “I’m never eating bipeds again.” “Look at their eyes! It’s like… white, blue and black at the same time! And the arms… you can see its veins! Yuck!” “What on all the liabilities are those things?” “This, gentlemen, is a human!” Pra’Leela glanced at the screen, trying not to sound affected by the repulsive sight. “They are the native species of Earth and, unfortunately, classified as C3 on the Galactic Sentience Scale.” “Meaning they’re too stupid to negotiate with,” the legal director said, “but intelligent enough to be protected by the Galactic Code. Legally, we can’t even fly by their solar system.” “So, we can’t exterminate them?” Rastall asked. “No.” “e*****e them?” “Nope.” “Displace them?” “Negative, sir.” Annoyed, Rastall jumped to his feet, pushing the chair back and away from the table. “Then find a way we can get these vermin out of the way! “I want that Planet Resort and no bald monkey is gonna stop me from getting it! And get that slide out of here. That thing’s disgusting!”