The Orion Spur East Local Council Public Transport Planning Committee

“Morning Pompo!”

“Morning.”

“How’re you?”

“Good thank you.”

“Very good! Good is good,” chirped Akbar, with an enthusiasm unfettered by Pompo’s weary expression.

“Is everything set up?”

“Indeed it is, everything is perfectly-”

“And will all ten Representatives be attending?”

“Indeed they will! Although unfortunately the Representative for Sirius will be joining via video link.”

“Christ!” Pompo’s tentacles writhed as he collapsed into his seat. “I’ve been chairing this damn committee for six months and he hasn’t shown up once.”

“He does have to do the school run,” ventured Akbar tentatively.

“We all have to do the bloody school run.” Pompo paused. “Well, I don’t personally but it’s still no excuse.”

“It is if you have a thousand larvae,” mumbled Akbar.

“Still, he’s, what, twenty minutes away on the Galactic Line? Anyone would think he isn’t prioritising his responsibilities as a member of the Orion Spur East Local Council Public Transport Planning Committee.”

“You might be right Pompo, although I think-”

“Very well, send them in and we’ll start.”

One by one, the Representatives shuffled in, each clutching a hefty copy of the agenda for the day’s meeting. All two-hundred-and-seventy pages.

Every boardroom within the Orion Spur East Local Council HQ was typically grey and identikit, but this one was especially so. The walls were grey. The table was grey. The chairs, positioned in such a way that each attendee would inevitably graze the thigh of the attendee sitting next to them, were grey.

Perhaps the architect had hoped that a sufficiently boring design would encourage attendees to conduct proceedings quickly and efficiently so that they could go home as soon as possible. The architect had presumably never met an attendee of the biweekly Orion Spur East Local Council Public Transport Planning Committee meeting.

Gradually, the regular dance began as Representatives jostled politely for the seats closest to the Chair. These efforts were punctuated by meagre stabs at conversation, mainly concerning weekend plans or the rising cost of space fuel. Meanwhile, those on more familiar footing traded worn-out banter over whichever team had underperformed in the Milky Way Cup that weekend.

Without warning, Botus Botus, the Representative for Sirius, burst into view on the large screen overlooking the boardroom. More accurately, his purple forehead burst into view as the camera appeared to be tilted upwards.

“Hello! Hello! Can anybody hear me?” Of course, everybody could hear Botus as he bellowed down the microphone.

“We can hear you, Botus,” sighed Pompo, wearily. “If you don’t mind, we would be grateful if you could mute yourself unless you are speaking.” Botus promptly made no effort to do so.

“Right, now that’s all sorted, I am Pomporious Piggleswick, Representative for Epsilon Eridani and Chair of this committee. I declare this the thirteenth meeting of the Orion Spur East Local Council Public Transport Committee, to begin-”

As Pompo reeled off his introduction, the door burst open and two large, green figures burst in. They panted their apologies as they scrambled to find their seats. Upon sitting down, the larger of the two puffed out his chest pompously and addressed the Chair.

“Forgive our tardiness, Chair. We were held up on the Nebular Line due to strike action. Gorzipan and I sincerely apologise for any inconvenience caused.”

The apology was unnecessary, however, because as soon as the Representatives heard the words ‘strike action,’ the meeting descended into a cacophony of grumbling. They took it in turns to declare that, whilst they sympathised with the Unions in principle, they despised their actions in practice. Once all but one of the Representatives aired their frustrations, the meeting began.

“Right, now that’s all sorted. As you’ll see on the agenda, Item one is a reminder as to the Council’s expenses policy, for which I will handover to Vice Chair Akbar.” Akbar cleared his throats.

“Thank you very much, Chair. As you know, our calling is an honour which few in the Galaxy will ever know. Orion Spur East and, by extension, The Milky Way is made great by its renowned yet cost-effective public transport. We who approve and deny planning applications for these invaluable infrastructure projects are but custodians of this greatness.” Akbar paused dramatically, surveying the room to lend his words the requisite gravitas.

“Get on with it,” murmured Pompo. Akbar flinched.

“But with great power comes great responsibility – honesty, integrity, accountability. Sadly, it has come to my attention that members of this committee have been blatantly disregarding the daily lunchtime expenses limit! Now, I don’t use the words ‘preliminary caution’ lightly, but if this continues, I will have to consider…” the speech went on for another half hour. Eventually, Pompo wrestled back control of the meeting.

“Thank you for that timely reminder, Akbar,” his voice dripping with scorn. “Now, moving onto Item two, I assume we have all had a chance to read the Risk Report prepared by our friends at Deloitte for the new hyperspace bypass in the Sol System?”

At the far end of the table, a small pink biped cleared his throat, and the other Representatives turned their myriad heads to witness a rare intervention from the least vocal member of the committee.

James Biggins had always felt slightly out of place among his colleagues.

Perhaps it was the fact that he had at least three fewer limbs than anybody else in the room. Perhaps it was the fact that he had to live in the Orion Spur East Local Council HQ rather than commuting in like the other Representatives.

Or, perhaps, it was that, until last year, he’d been a happily married diplomat with a sprawling house upstate, an (always) freshly mown lawn, an obnoxiously large four-by-four, a marginally smaller convertible, and a lively yet well-trained golden Labrador named Bernard.

When he’d received the tap on the shoulder to represent Earth’s solar system at local council committee meetings, James was honoured. Unfortunately, as it soon transpired, the head of the NASA was having an affair with James’ wife, and both of them believed James should subsequently ‘do the decent thing and leave the planet.’

For most men, this would be a devastating setback and, indeed, it was.

The night before this meeting, however, as James lay in his sleeping pod gazing out at the cosmos, everything changed. The silent expanse of space hung before him. Unmoving. Impenetrable. Unmarked but for a scattering of trembling stars. Always so… indifferent.

Had James paid any attention whatsoever to his job so far, he may have admired the audacity of these civilisations to set out for a horizon so far out of reach and, more impressively, create a renowned yet cost-effective public transport system so that others could do the same. But he hadn’t so he didn’t.

Perhaps a better man with a bedside view of the universe would’ve ruminated on its infinite splendour and possibly come to some profound conclusions about this grand design and his own relative insignificance. James was simply bored. So bored, in fact, that for the first time he decided to read the agenda for the next day’s Orion Spur East Local Council Public Transport Committee meeting.

It was lucky he did.

“Sorry to butt in Pompo,” at this Pompo raised his hand magnanimously. “I have a few concerns regarding the ‘proposed solutions’ section of the document, specifically the implications for my own planet – Earth.”

“It’s pronounced Ee-arth,” interjected Pompo, helpfully. James decided not to quibble. One of the green men who’d been late now looked up after assiduously pretending to read the agenda.

“Apologies, I just wondered if somebody could briefly summarise the contents of the Risk Report? Just in case anybody didn’t get the chance to look at it.” Pompo audibly huffed.

“Of course, Gorzipan,” chirped Akbar. “As you’ll know, the proposed hyperspace bypass runs through the Sol System. In particular, the lane runs just next to a small planet called ‘Earth,’ inhabited by multiple sub-intelligent life forms. Namely: dolphins, octopuses, mice, and humans – no offence, James.” James piped up, offended.

“If we are that sub-intelligent, why are we represented on this Committee?”

“We needed a Representative for the Sol System, and the Martians wouldn’t do it,” grumbled Pompo.

“They’re opposed to the needless decentralisation of galactic power,” added Akbar, a dark look crossing his face. “Anyway, humans have a habit of sending random bits of metal into space. It’s unclear why they do this, but it would be a serious hazard to those using the hyperspace bypass. Therefore, the proposal is that we eliminate or otherwise relocate the species.”

“A genocide?”

“We try not to use that word, James,” Morbipulous Dipulous, the Representative for Alpha Centauri, beamed as though to a small child. Morbo was a humanoid with scarlet-red skin which, paired with his immaculate black suit, gave him the air of a particularly well-dressed Sith Lord. James would rather be force-choked than endure another of Morbo’s patronising smiles, none of which reached any of his eight beady, reptilian yellow eyes.

“Not for sub-intelligent life,” snorted Pompo. “No offence James,” he added.

“I just don’t see why this is the only solution. I’m sure if I sent a message back to Earth, they would consent to any injunctions you proposed.”

“It’s possible,” Akbar mused. “Do we have any experts on human governance?” James opened his mouth, but Morbo beat him to it. In fairness, Morbo had three mouths, so the odds were stacked against him.

“I did a module on sub-intelligent life, no offence James, at university. Human leadership is very complex. They have a tokenistic leader called ‘President,’ but humanity defers primarily to a religion called ‘Capitalism.’ They pray to a divine entity described as ‘The Market’ for growth and innovation whilst human priests known as ‘Bankers’ use a substance known as ‘Cocaine’ to interpret its will.

“Interesting...”

“Curious...”

“Insane,” muttered James.

“If anybody’s interested, I did a whole dissertation on whether Goldman Sachs, JP Morgan, and Morgan Stanley are different gods or, in fact, different aspects of the same god.” Some Representatives nodded, with well-honed expressions of feigned interest. Others simply zoned out. A blue, serpentine Representative stifled a giggle whilst Morbo continued.

“Returning to the issue, however, human leadership is divided and incoherent. Even if we could get the current leaders to agree to an injunction, there’s no guarantee they would honour it throughout the coming centuries and millennia.” Morbo sighed, as though there was no greater shame.

“Well in that case, nothing we can do – elimination or relocation it is. I’m sorry, James.” Pompo was evidently determined to press on. “Now, the rest of the report is-”

“Well, I’m sorry Pompo, but I can’t let this slide,” James rallied, careful to keep any emotion – anathema to Orion Spur East Local Council Public Transport Planning Committee meetings – in check. “Besides, when you were elected Chair, you promised to defer to Representatives where their home planets were concerned.” Pompo bristled, his tentacles curling upwards.

“That’s outrageous James. We both know the galactic government has made cutting red tape a priority and this committee will not undermine this noble aim for the sake of a sub-intelligent civilisation. No offence.”

“Frankly, you’re still being very two-faced!” James spat. An accusation which only confused Pompo, who did in fact have two faces. The silence festered, punctuated by Botus Botus breathing heavily down the microphone before Akbar forcibly muted him. Unaccustomed to the absence of interruption, James pressed on.

“According to Section 37(2)(a) of the Transport Regulation Act, planning permission can be vetoed by a single committee member where a project would significantly infringe on a civilisation’s existence. I will veto this and you can’t stop me.” For the first time, James’ voice rang out around the room and a shadow of doubt passed across Pompo’s faces.

“Actually, we can.” Morbo’s syrupy voice instantly doused James’ flame. “The Galactic Parliament passed a bill just yesterday confirming that Section 37(2) does not apply to certain key infrastructure projects including the Sol hyperspace bypass.” He slid a document over to James, on which the hyperspace bypass was helpfully highlighted as ‘exempt.’

James scrambled for a response but nothing came. Steely faced, he scanned the table for support, only to be confronted with expressions ranging from vacant to derisive – he wasn’t sure which was worse. The hapless green man, Gorzipan, even appeared to wink at him, though it was hard to tell with only one eye.

Botus Botus, undeterred by the mute button, was bloviating endlessly down the microphone but, as he was muted, nobody happened to notice.

Then, the cavalry arrived.

“One option,” squeaked Akbar, hardly daring to look up from his notes – collated carefully in an absurdly large binder, “is that we could apply for humanity to be granted ‘intelligent’ status.”

“Why would we do that?” Pompo turned on his deputy, who was now noticeably trembling. Thankfully for humanity, the blue, serpentine Representative at the far end of the table had grown bored of Candy Crush and chose to enter the fray.

“I think it makes sense. James doesn’t appear too sub-intelligent and, whilst I’m no expert,” she nodded somewhat mockingly towards Morbo, “humanity has been doing alright. They’ve worked out Wi-Fi, air fryers, submarines, telekinesis. Why not give them a shot at being intelligent? No offence James.” He wisely chose not to correct her on that last example.

“Thank you for your input, Lucia,” Morbo smiled. “As a sub-intelligent life form – no offence, James – James cannot apply to the panel himself. Instead, the application must come from this Committee.” His expression hardened as the implication of his words hit home, “meaning there must be a vote.”

A cacophony of chatter erupted as the Representatives descended into debate. Nothing got them giddier than a vote. James made a series of fruitless entreaties to the Representatives sitting either side of him whilst Morbo and Akbar had a heated discussion at the other side of the table, the former giving the latter both barrels from both mouths.

“That’s enough,” pronounced Pompo. “Raise your hand if you are in favour of this committee submitting an application for humanity to be recognised as an intelligent civilisation.” James’ heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the room for any raised hands, almost forgetting to raise his own.

Lucia raised her hand. Two.

Gorzipan leaned back and raised his arm lazily. After a few seconds he gently nudged the other green man, who’d been more or less asleep since his late arrival, and whispered something to him. Another green arm rose. Four. Two more for a majority. Please.

Botus Botus was still chattering away down the microphone, seemingly oblivious to, well, everything. His hand, however, did not make an appearance.

James clenched his fist, imploring silently with every Representative to reconsider. Then, in the corner of his eye, noticed a thin, yellow arm venture tentatively into the air. Somehow avoiding the many gazes of both Pompo and Morbo, Akbar voted in favour of the motion. One more. Please.

“It appears we have a tie,” crowed Pompo, savouring the words as he spoke them. One of his faces glistened with an otherworldly level of smugness whilst the other glowered at Akbar. “In that case, the Chair has the deciding vote. Who is the Chair, Akbar?”

“You,” he mumbled.

“Correct, so who has the deciding vote?”

“You.”

“Correct again,” Pompo beamed. “I vote against this ridiculous motion, bringing this absurd detour to an end. Bad luck James.” James sank into his chair. Although he’d rather gone off humanity since the divorce, he’d still failed in his duty. James was already constructing a rather awkward email back to Earth in his head when another interruption occurred.

“Sorry Pompo, one moment.” The green man who’d been sleeping yawned, apparently oblivious to Pompo’s furious glares. “Gorzipan and I left Barnard’s Star in a rush this morning, given the strikes, and we accidentally brought the agenda for a different committee meeting which occurred a few months ago – how silly of us?” The rhetorical question went unanswered but for a number of exasperated sighs.

“How is this relevant?” Pompo spat, his tentacles once again excited.

“Well, it included a declaration of interest from one Pomporious Piggleswick regarding a majority shareholding in a hyperlane construction company called PFI Solutions. This company would presumably submit a tender to build the proposed hyperspace bypass, wouldn’t it?” Pompo snorted derisively. But his other face squirmed.

“If you read the minutes of that meeting, you’d know that I transferred that interest-”

“To a holding company registered in the outer rim,” interjected Gorzipan. Now both faces squirmed. “I happened to be browsing the Registry last night. Just for fun, I traced the shell corporation to a trust based on a small not-quite-planet called Pluto, the beneficiary of which happens to be,” he checked his notes dramatically, “one Pomporious Piggleswick. An easy mistake to make Pompo – you appear to have transferred the shareholding from yourself… to yourself.” Both green men now grinned at the Chair.

“With that revelation,” beamed Akbar, “the Chair is conflicted, meaning that the Vice Chair has the deciding vote.” He paused, as though weighing up his next words. “Who is the Vice Chair, Pompo?” No response. “I’ll help you out. It’s me! The motion is passed!” Abandoning all decorum, James leapt out of his chair – nothing could bring him down now…

In the aftermath of the vote, however, nobody had noticed a wall of text which had appeared on the screen in place of Botus Botus.

After extensive efforts, it has become clear that none of you can hear me, so I have resorted to the written word. I must inform you that this debate over the hazard caused by humanity to the Sol interspace bypass is moot. Based on preliminary estimates, spaceship travel via the bypass will not begin for another 150 years. Meanwhile, humanity is forecast for extinction within the next 100 years at the latest, so there’s no issue. This is the consensus among all known experts on sub-intelligent life. No offence James.