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Frowning, Abrik said, “No, actually.”

“Neither do I. That’s because such a time doesn’t exist. They’ve never not called an election at this stage.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Pińiero nodded. “True. After all, this was the first time that a Federation president resigned without warning. And you and I both know the real reason for that resignation, don’t we?”

Abrik stared at Pińiero for several seconds. For her part, Pińiero held her breath. She wasn’t entirely sure that Abrik knew the truth about Zife and Azernal arming the Tezwans, but she couldn’t believe that Abrik—a longtime admiral whose departure from Starfleet was more recent than her own—couldn’t have found out something that Pińiero herself could learn, even if her own method of obtaining the information was a direct result of Admiral Upton’s libido.

The Saronan returned with their drinks, which gave Abrik a few moments to compose an answer. And, Pińiero thought, he’s definitely composing an answer. His eyes are darting back and forth like crazy. She took a sip of her cobalt soda, the electric tingle of the blue-hued drink tickling her tongue.

After the Saronan left and Abrik took a swig of his punch, he finally said, “Assuming I know what you’re talking about—”

Paydirt, Pińiero thought. Nobody started a sentence like that unless they really did know what you were talking about. “You do, Admiral, so don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t. Regardless of who wins, you’re going to reveal what you know about Tezwa.”

“Not if I don’t have to. But the Klingons have to be stopped, and we can’t call ourselves a truly free society if we’re going to let this kind of thing go on. Yes, it’ll give the Federation a black eye, but it’ll be worth it to—”

“Start another war?” At Pińiero’s words, Abrik recoiled as if she’d hit him. Pressing her advantage, she continued: “Because that’s what’s going to happen if you let this out. The Klingons will—quite justifiably, I might add—go supernova on us.”

Glaring at her, Abrik said, “So, what—I’m supposed to sit on this?”

“You have for this long, and I think that’s because you know damn well that this is way too incendiary to let out.”

Abrik clenched his fists. Pińiero tensed.

Then Abrik unclenched them, let out a long breath, and almost seemed to deflate. His posture went out the window, and he all but slumped over his punch, staring at the liquid for several seconds.

When he looked back up at Pińiero, he looked defeated. “You mind telling me something, Esperanza?”

Encouraged by the sudden familiarity, she said, “Don’t mind a bit, Jas.”

“Where the hell did you find that woman?”

Pińiero couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t need to find her. My parents were two of the governor’s closest friends, so I’ve literally known her all my life.”

Shaking his head, Abrik said, “She’s quite a woman. I figured she’d give us a good run for our money, but that she’d never be able to play on the big stage. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Fel’s still in shock from the first debate.”

“She really did kick his ass all over the moon, didn’t she?”

“Not at first.” He picked up the glass and started whirling the punch around in it. “He had it pretty much in the bag, and then—I don’t know what happened, it’s like she threw a switch, and we’ve been on the defensive ever since.”

“That’s what she does,” Pińiero said. “She adapts. No matter what life has thrown at her, she’s faced it head-on. Sometimes it takes her a little while to readjust, but she does it, and comes out swinging.”

That elicited a snort. “I see she’s got you doing those sports metaphors, too.”

“Occupational hazard.” Pińiero took another sip of her soda, and decided to confide a bit in him. “Honestly, I misuse the references around her, just to get her goat.”

“That’s good—I mean, it’s good that you have that kind of relationship. Builds trust.”

Pińiero took that to mean that Abrik and Pagro didn’t have that kind of relationship. Then again, it’s not like it’s necessary to do the job.

He