Articles of the Federation - Keith R. A. DeCandido [16]
Edmund raised his hand. “So you’re saying that they’ve agreed to come?”
“I’ve said they are coming, Edmund. Please listen to what I say, not what I imply.”
Smiling, Edmund asked, “Where would the fun in that be?”
“You want fun, stay on that beach in Mexico.”
Ozla had to cover a smile at the wounded look on Edmund’s holographic face.
On the other side of Ozla, Regia spoke up. “Jorel, I have a source that says that a shipload of Reman refugees is heading for Outpost 22 along the Romulan Neutral Zone.”
“Bully for your source,” Kant said with an insincere smile. “I can’t comment on that.”
Another reporter was about to say something, but Regia didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I’m sorry, Jorel, but what does that mean?”
Kant fixed Regia with a withering gaze. “I should think that’d be obvious, Regia. Either I know all about it but am not allowed to say anything yet, or I know nothing about it and am saying I can’t comment by way of covering, or some third possibility that I can’t say out loud. You people use words for a living, I would think you’d be able to recognize my own choice of words for precisely what it is. Maria?”
Maria Olifante, the reporter from Pangea’s news service, asked, “Has there been any word from ex-President Zife since his resignation?”
Frowning, Kant said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Has he had anything to say about President Bacco’s victory, or about her policies?”
“We haven’t heard from President Zife since his resignation. I’m sure he’s enjoying his retirement.”
Ozla smiled. She’d only met Zife two or three times-press access to the president had been at an all-time low during his administration, mostly due to security concerns-but he’d struck her as the type who would enjoy retirement. Some politicians were born to be in politics, but Zife had always seemed like someone who’d simply been doing a job. That wasn’t necessarily an indicator of poor performance, but it didn’t indicate an overriding passion, either.
Bacco, on the other hand, came across as the type who would continue to be involved in governing until the day she keeled over from exhaustion. Ozla generally found that she preferred that kind of politician, though Zife’s type tended to live longer.
Maria wouldn’t let the point go. “C’mon, Jorel, you expect us to believe that Zife doesn’t have an opinion about Bacco?”
“I long ago stopped expecting you people to believe a thing I say. T’Nira?”
The briefing continued for several minutes. Ozla noticed that Kant never once called on Sovan, even though the Bolian had his hand up several times. Looks like Kant’s still angry about Sovan’s performance on ICL . I did warn him….
Ozla always turned down invitations to do talk shows like that. She never felt like she was accomplishing anything except self-promotion, and she didn’t feel comfortable doing that. She reported news; the fact that it was her reporting it was comparatively irrelevant.
Besides, she was terrible at speaking extemporaneously. That was why she liked writing.
When the briefing ended, the holocom room faded and she was back to seeing where she really was: in Chartres at her desk.
As she went over the draft of the article on the changing face of the top three floors of the Palais, she made a bet with herself as to how long it would be before Sovan called her.
Five seconds later, her comm beeped. “Hi, Sovan,” she said without even checking to make sure it was his blue face on the screen.
“Can you believe him?”
“I rarely do.” Ozla still hadn’t looked up.
“He cannot keep treating me like this.”
“Actually, he can. He’s under no obligation to call on you when you raise your hand.” Then she did look at him. “And you’re under no obligation to stay quiet on the subject, either.”
“If I write about him snubbing me, it’ll just annoy him. I don’t