A Time for War, a Time for Peace - Keith R. A. DeCandido [29]
Helga blinked. “The Sisko?”
“Well, actually there are several,” Fred said. “His son’s written for the FNS, and his father has this great restaurant in New Orleans.”
“Yeah, and his brother-in-law’s the cleanup hitter for the Pioneers,” Nan said. “I met Sisko at opening day last year. Gave me a wonderful holoprogram of the last World Series on Earth.” Nan had played that program every spare moment she could—though such moments were few and far between—sitting in the stands with the other three hundred fans as the London Kings and the New York Yankees faced off in a dramatic seventh-game contest at Yankee Stadium. She had the box score memorized, but the thrill of seeing Buck Bokai’s home run in the eleventh inning that eventually won the game had yet to diminish.
However, that excitement was as nothing compared with what Nan was seeing now in Helga’s blue eyes. “This is huge. If we can get him, we can guarantee pretty much the entire Bajoran sector. He’s a religious figure on Bajor, and he’s the biggest war hero we’ve got.”
Esperanza nodded. “He’s also greatly respected in Starfleet. It’s worth calling him.”
“I’ll put the call through to Bajor once we’re done with today’s meetings. What’s next?”
Before anyone could speak, the intercom beeped. It was the Palombo’s shipmaster, a kindly old gentleman named Derek Fried, who had been running the Palombo for the last seven governors of Cestus III. “Governor, we’re entering standard orbit of Earth. You’ve got a whole lot of messages, and normally I wouldn’t bother you with ‘em, just send ‘em to Ms. Pińiero, but there’s one I get the feeling you’re gonna wanna see. It’s from Admiral Ross at Starfleet.”
Nan and Esperanza exchanged surprised glances. Helga’s eyes went wide, and Fred almost spilled his tea.
“Ross wants to talk to me?” Nan asked.
“Well, you and Ms. Pińiero, ma’am, yes.”
“What do you think?” Nan asked her campaign manager.
Esperanza smiled. “I think it’s a fastball down the middle of the base.”
Chuckling, Nan said, “Plate. The batters swing when they’re standing at the plate. It’s the other things they step on that are bases.” She stood up. “Derek, call his office back, tell him we’ll speak to him right away.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
“If only that were true. Thanks, Derek.”
Esperanza also rose. “This meeting’s over for now. We’ve got the official statement at noon. Bral, you and M’Tesint go to the site, make sure everything’s set up. Fred, you have the draft ready?”
Fred winced. “Half an hour?”
“Give me what you’ve got, at least.”
“I’d really rather not.”
Ashanté shuddered. “Don’t do it, Esperanza—you take it now, he’ll spend the next half hour worrying himself inside out instead of finishing it.”
Esperanza sighed. “Fine, but don’t forget, Klingon is spelled with a ‘K,’ all right?”
Nan laughed. “C’mon, let’s go.”
They proceeded back to the stateroom. As soon as the door to the lounge shut behind them, Nan asked, “You sure the Statue of Liberty’s a good place to do this?”
“It’s perfect. Your first big thing as governor was taking in all those DMZ refugees. What better place to formally announce your candidacy than a statue that says, ‘Give me your tired, your sick, your teeming masses yearning to be free’?”
Nan smirked. “Actually, it’s ‘your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,’ but we’ll let that go.”
“Being smart’s your job, ma’am. I’m just here to make sure you remember to match your socks.”
“So that’s your job, I was starting to wonder,” she said with a smile as they entered the stateroom. “By the way, I was only half kidding about exhuming Bobby’s body before.”
“Fine,” Esperanza said, “we’ll just exhume half the grave, then.”
“You know, sometimes you can be incredibly funny. Then there’s now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The bed had, of course, remade itself while she was gone. Setting her half-finished mug of coffee on the desk, Nan sat down and activated the workstation. Cestus