Patter stared out across the glittering city vista of The Capital from his top story office in the Hunting Tours Incorporated headquarters. Behind him his monitors displayed the latest numbers from Dirt. He knew that the initial intelligence compatibility tests had been slightly adjusted to present the case for Dirt to be classified as ‘Non Compatible’. A few well placed incentives had ensured the classification had stuck and Hunting Tours Incorporated was the final owner of the planet. As chief executive officer, and ultimate majority shareholder via a series of intermediary holding companies, Patter was the boss of HTI, both officially and unofficially.

  Dirt. Now Dirt was becoming a problem. HTI owned many hunter planets and some, like Dirt, were borderline cases which could have been declared ‘Off Limits’ and left to advance at their own pace. They had all worked out properly for HTI. Even the planet Lizard which had those magnificent dragons had worked out well. Patter knew Lizard had about the same technology level as Dirt, but some judicious over-hunting had trimmed the population so they could not maintain the tech. The planet Lizard had performed well over the last two hundred years but it was recently rumoured there were no dragons left. Ah, well. That’s how it goes.

  For some reason, Dirt was not following the normal trajectory. When planet Lizard was first encountered, the dragons had fought individually and, he had to admit it, bravely. But dragons lived for centuries and tended to be a bit more long term focussed. Most stayed on the defensive as they didn’t have any way of striking back.

  Dirtlings should be the same. They didn’t live as long, but their social structures were different across the planet and they lived in constant tension between peace and low level war, even within the same political zones. This made for exciting hunts and their viewer ratings and sponsorship income for the Tri-D networked hunting related programs demonstrated the draw of adventure. Great income.

  But. But. But. Patter knew something was subtly wrong that didn’t match the typical progress of a new hunter planet. They had cleared out all the low tech orbital junk successfully, with no official recognition that it was ever there. No evidence means no proof. ‘Non Compatible’ status compliant.

  HTI had to record the loss of the Mobile Salvage Processing Centre vessel as a standard decommissioning of old equipment. The annoying fact it had crashed somehow on Dirt and been scavenged clean by the dirtlings was strictly controlled information. No-one outside of the select inner core of HTI knew.

  The latest VIP hunt went very well. The related programs and large personal following of Sir Nitram had made hunting on Dirt a very popular destination.

  Lady Natalia had been captured on Dirt for a short time, but no-one was hurt. Her very public split from Sir Nitram just improved the ratings, with all the fans imagining various type of lover’s tiffs. They would never know that Sir Nitram hadn’t even realised she had been left behind, captured by Non Compatible aliens despite the presence of Imperial Guards.

  There was of course the slight scratch Sir Nitram had received, but that was now a positive. HTI had wanted to quickly heal the wound and then suppress the news, but Sir Nitram showed it off in full on his first broadcast after the hunt. It worked for his ratings and sales of hunting tours increased so there were no complaints from anyone.

  “Sir,” Patter’s secretary, Honey, announced over his intercom, “Lord Gubbins wishes to talk with you.”

  “Thanks, Honey,” replied Patter lazily, “Put him on the monitor.”

  The doors to his office swooshed open. Normally swooshing doors do not indicate any intent, they just calmly swoosh open then shut. This time they somehow swooshed more forcefully than usual and closed with a slight bump at the end. Patter sat up in his hover chair in surprise. Lord Gubbins was here in person!

  “Lord Gubbins!” he said quickly, “It’s a pleasure to see you here. In person.”

  “Patter!” said Lord Gubbins, pointing one of his blue tentacles at the rat like creature sitting in his hover chair, “You let my son get wounded.”

  “My Lord,” began Patter, quickly trying to work out what to say, “Sir Nitram only had a slight scratch on one of his tentacles. He treats it as a war trophy. He was never in any danger.”

  Lord Gubbins placed all eight of his tentacles on his hips. It was a scary posture Lord Gubbins had practised over many years as the Emperor’s High Chancellor. He said nothing other than glaring at Patter with his tentacles firmly in place.

  Patter hopped off his hover chair and stood on his desk so he could gain a little height on the High Chancellor. He decided to take a risk and de-escalate the situation.

  “Wendon,” Patter said smoothly, using Lord Gubbins first name, loosening his posture and shrugged his shoulders, “You know what your son is like. He is not known to always take heed of suggestions from others. Especially those he deems unworthy.”

  Lord Gubbins folded four of his arms, relaxing his posture slightly, and shook his head slowly in agreement, “Hmmm, that is true.”

  Patter relaxed, feeling he had reduced the temperature of the conversation slightly.

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  Then Lord Gubbins glared at him again, “My son told me he was ‘scratched’ by a projectile from one of the dirtling’s weapons. And four out of seven Imperial Guards did not survive the ‘mostly’ safe hunt.”

  Patter winced internally. How could he steer this conversation?

  Before he could reply, Lord Gubbins asked, “If Dirt is ‘Non Compatible’, why are they so dangerous?”

  Patter gestured Lord Gubbins to a multi form seat in front of his desk as he hopped off the desk into his hover chair. He manoeuvred next to the seated Lord Gubbins, maintaining height so their eyes were on the same level.

  Stretching his arms out he said, “Wendon, we have always been great supporters of you and your campaigns to keep the Federation of Planets safe. Your magnificent and tireless efforts in ensuring hunting remains legal, safe and rare have been instrumental in five hundred years of peace. We, Hunting Tours Incorporated, you and the Federation work together to make the Federation of Planets the great civilization it is today.”

  Lord Gubbins appreciated the recognition and praise of his efforts. He also appreciated the substantial support received from HTI which helped maintain his family’s lavish lifestyle.

  “Now, you need to know a little something about new hunter planets,” explained Patter slowly, presenting a case he had made a number of times before, “Sometimes the ‘Non Compatible’ classification is true, but the locals don’t agree. That just proves they are ‘Non Compatible’. Our tests have been established since the creation of Hunter Planets under the Imperial Exploration Code five hundred years ago. The tests never lie.”

  “Also,” Patter continued, “Some planets are dangerous, but still Non Compatible. Think of Lizard. Those dragons were very dangerous, but they are probably extinct now. Obviously our tests were correct. Non Compatible.”

  “That is true,” said Lord Gubbins slowly, “But I have had my staff examine the reports of hunting on Dirt and the casualty rates seem quite high.”

  Patter scoffed and waved his paws dismissively, “That is because we limit hunting on Dirt to non military hunters. Most of these casualties are caused by the hunter’s own negligence. They all were provided basic training and signed waivers. We have a good insurance policy which appeases those most affected.”

  “I understood that ‘Non Compatible’ meant the locals would never reach the technology and progress suitable to join the Federation of Planets. Don’t they have satellites and space ships?”

  Patter wondered how that information had leaked. Lord Gubbins was the High Chancellor so he must have some sources Patter didn’t know about. He would have to get that leak plugged.

  “They were just rumours,” said Patter dismissively, pulling out his tablet from a side pocket on his hover chair, “Have a look at these images from the shuttle above Dirt.”

  A slowly spinning Earth was displayed on the screen with a perfectly clear orbit. It showed the day side of the planet with some cloud cover so the extent of the cities wasn’t obvious.

  “Ah, I heard there were some challenges from orbit. I must be misinformed,” pondered Lord Gubbins. He then remembered his poor son injured on the hunt.

  “But they are good enough to kill Imperial Guards and hurt my son! Not like dragons with teeth and claws, but with guns.”

  Lord Gubbins stood up and once more put all his tentacles on his hips and gave his well known glare.

  Patter thought quickly. This may solve his problem with Dirt.

  “Why not teach them a lesson?” asked Patter.

  “What?” asked Lord Gubbins, “A lesson? In what?”

  “In the peaceful Federation of Planets,” answered Patter.

  Lord Gubbins paused and considered. He had been talking with the Emperor who had mentioned his desire to go on a hunt. This had always been considered beneath the dignity of the Emperor. The previous Emperor would never have even posed the question. But the current Emperor? Lord Gubbins respected the position, but not necessarily the person. With this emperor, definitely not the person.

  “What about the Emperor going on a hunt?” asked Lord Gubbins quietly.

  Now it was Patter’s turn to pause and consider. The Emperor? He had heard from Scree about how Sir Nitram had ignored the suggestions from Toff and the HTI Matter Transmission staff for safer locations. The Emperor was known to be a little - how would he say this - self referential? Living in the artificial world of the Imperial court, there was a good chance the location chosen would contain a little more chaos than usual.

  “Are you sure?” asked Patter cautiously, “As Sir Nitram discovered, even with the best protection, accidents can happen.”

  Lord Gubbins warmed up and continued, “Yes. Yes, this can work. He has seen all the public hunting programs and is getting very insistent on having his turn.”

  “We will need to control the media,” said Patter, considering this to be one of the most important considerations.

  “Of course,” said Lord Gubbins, waving the concern away with a wave of a tentacle, “And we will need some protection. Some of his Personal Imperial Guards, perhaps?”

  Patter considered the fate of Sir Nitram’s Imperial Guards. And that was in a low density location on Dirt. He was sure the Emperor’s Personal Imperial Guards would listen to instructions from ‘inferiors’ even less than the first lot.

  “Perhaps a platoon?” suggested Patter.

  “A platoon?” asked Lord Gubbins, “Thirty guards?”

  “And armed for an assault,” added Patter confidently.

  Lord Gubbins considered how he would strategise the Emperor’s hunt.

  “Patter,” said Lord Gubbins, “I am sure I can make this happen. Then wherever the Emperor lands on this ‘Non Compatible’ planet the Dirtlings will learn the futility of over-reacting!”

  Patter said, “Yes, I am sure that will work. I’ll make preparations on our end.”

  Lord Gubbins smiled and left. The door swooshed far more amicably.

  Once the Lord had left the building, Patter activated his intercom, ‘Honey! Get Trotter in here!”

  The door swooshed open and Trotter walked in, “I was waiting outside. Honey let me know Lord Gubbins was here so I was waiting.”

  Patter smiled at his efficient assistant.

  “Trotter, we need to prepare for a hunt by the Emperor!”

  Trotter froze in surprise. He stammered uncharacteristically, “The Emperor?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Patter, “The Emperor wants to go on a hunt.”

  Trotter said, “He won’t listen to instructions and probably won’t be on our shuttle anyway. The Imperial Destroyer ‘Emperor 1’ will be his vessel for sure. We will have no influence over where he chooses to go down.”

  “Agreed,” said Patter.

  “The Emperor is convinced he is a man of the people and everyone loves him,” said Trotter.

  “That’s because all those he meets have been screened appropriately,” said Patter.

  “Yes,” said Trotter, “So he will pick a large Dirtling city. Full of crazy Dirtlings. How many Personal Imperial Guards will accompany him?”

  Patter said, “A platoon of thirty.”

  “Will that be enough?” said a worried Trotter.