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By Root 785 0

on, T’Nira, I was just handed a statement from Admiral Ross regarding his candidacy.” At his thumb’s touch, the display showed a short paragraph, which Kant read aloud. ” ‘While I am grateful to the council, and to those who submitted my name to them, for their implied confidence in my leadership abilities, I have no interest in running for public office at this juncture. I have every confidence that the new president, whoever it is, will lead the Federation to continued prosperity in this post-war age, and I look forward to working with him or her for the next four years. Starfleet Command has always shared a solid bond with the Federation government, and I look forward to keeping that bond as solid as ever.’ ” Gotta remember to recommend that Ross get a better speechwriter. He looked up. “T’Nira, your question?”

“President Zife was considering curtailing relief efforts to Cardassia. Is the council still considering that in light of President Zife’s resignation?”

That had been covered in the briefing Ra’ch had given Kant half an hour earlier. “There are no plans to reduce humanitarian aid to Cardassian space. The Cardassians have suffered enough the last few years, and the Federation is not about to let their people starve just because their recovery has had a few setbacks. Vairo?”

“Yeah, I’m wonderin’ about that ‘solid bond’ Ross mentioned. Is he includin’ when Starfleet tricked President Jaresh-Inyo into declaring martial law on Earth seven years ago?”

Kant closed his eyes. “Hang on, let me use my telepathic powers to see what the admiral was thinking.” He opened them. “Nope. Sorry, Vairo, left my telepathy in my other pants today. That’s it, folks, next briefing’s at 2100 tonight.”

With those words, the room emptied of all save Kant and Zhres. That was the one thing Kant liked unreservedly about the holocom: the off switch.

As the two of them exited the room, the Andorian said, “You stole my telepathy joke.”

Shrugging, Kant said, “I wouldn’t call it stealing.”

“Really?” His antennae quivered. “What would you call it.”

Kant considered the point for half a second. “Okay, it is stealing, but I’m entitled.”

“Oh?”

“I’m your boss, your every thought is mine to use as I will.”

“Did you not say earlier that I was not supposed to think?”

“Now you’re starting to understand.” Kant smiled.

Again, the antennae quivered. “Understand what?”

“Why I’m impossible to work with.”

The sound of a communication signal interrupted Governor Bacco’s dream, for which she was eminently grateful. In eighty-seven years of life, it was only in the last four days that Nan Bacco started having weird dreams.

“Governor, it’s time to wake up.” The voice belonged to Nan’s campaign manager and old friend, Esperanza Pińiero.

“The hell time is it?” she asked. Or, at least, that was what she tried to say, though it came out with fewer actual consonants.

However, Esperanza had long experience in deciphering Nan’s morning voice. “It’s 0600, Governor.”

Nan blinked. “Esperanza, you mind telling me why the hell you’re waking me up at this ungodly hour? Not that I mind all that much—I was having another one of those damn dreams.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you wanted to be awake when we came into orbit around Earth.”

Nan rotated her body ninety degrees so her legs hung over the side of her bed. “Are we in orbit now?”

“Uh, no, ma’am, but we will be in an hour. I figured if I woke you now, there was a chance you’d actually be awake by the time we made orbit.”

“Nobody likes a wiseass, Esperanza.” Nan waited for some energy to creep into her legs. Said energy was not forthcoming.

“So you keep telling me, ma’am.”

“All right, all right, I’m getting up.” Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Nan got out of bed despite the lack of energy and slowly stumbled her way in the general direction of the replicator. The yacht on which she rode, the Palombo, was at the disposal of Cestus III’s governor, and included a rather large stateroom. “This room is too damn big.”

“Ma’am?”

“The room. It’s too big. This bed is farther from the replicator than any sane