During ‘normal’ times she might count ten ships either in orbit or on the ground.
In her display, a multitude of smaller and larger blips flitted around the two-tone sphere of the planet. What she liked about not-coffee was that it was a decent morning pick-me-up and a nice change of pace after drinking tea for a few hundred years. Nglangah didn’t care what not-coffee or even ‘real’ coffee might taste like to a tiny-chomper when compared to what it tasted like to her. Then the philosophers started going on and on about qualia until everybody else tied those philosophers up, gagged them, and stuffed them into the nearest broom closet. Brains worked differently between the species, for starters. It was impossible to quantify subjective experience based on objective criteria, even if one was mapping responses down to the individual neuron. The scientists said each type of ersatz ‘coffee’ caused the same kind of biochemical and neurological effects in its intended target species.īut then the philosophers swept in and opined that such declarations were nonsense. They’d taken some roasted coffee beans direct from, analyzed those beans down to the molecular level, and then produced three kinds of drinks for each of the Senate races. Not-coffee was what everyone jokingly called it…which was a permanent source of annoyance to its manufacturer, who insisted it was just like the stimulant beverage beloved of so many tiny-chompers. She was alone in the dome-shaped room which contained the ultimate nerve center of Planetary Traffic Control in here, it was just her and her mug of not-coffee. She surveyed the holographic representation of Gnranth-Eight in front of her as she took another sip of steaming brown liquid from her mug. Nglangah-of-Jgnar yawned wide, displaying quite the array of razor-sharp organic cutlery.
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