Ozla Graniv nearly leapt out of her chair when the beeping started.

It took her a moment to orient herself and remember where she was. Finally it hit: She was in the Earth bureau offices of Seeker, one of the leading newsmagazines on Trill. She was Seeker's Palais de la Concorde correspondent, and the alarm that just went off was there to remind her that the morning briefing was about to start and she should activate her holocom, which she did. Then she simply had to wait for the other side to activate, and, from her perspective, she would no longer be in her tiny office in Chartres but in a room full of reporters from all over the Federation and beyond.

Part of her missed the old days, when the press would roam the Palais and get their briefings in person. That had ended when the Breen had attacked Earth during the Dominion War. The Palais had become a fortress after that, with no one who hadn't been there on official government business allowed in or out. However, President Zife hadn't been able to justify cutting the press out altogether, but he'd benefited from the recent advances in marrying holographic technology to communications technology. Now the press could be briefed without having to leave the comfort of their offices, homes, or, in some cases, homeworlds. Also, if reporters were offworld for whatever reason, they could still partic.i.p.ate in the briefing.

And they can also do it when they're up all night crashing on a deadline. Ozla had toured the Palais in the company of Kant Jorel and Myk Bunkrep in order to write a story on how the Bacco administration had made over the top three floors of the Palais in their own image, as each administration was wont to do. The story wasn't due for another few days, but tomorrow morning Ozla was getting on a transport to take her to Tezwa, a story she had been begging her editor to let her do for ages.

"You're our Palais correspondent," Farik had said on the screen on her workstation, his enviable view of the Tenaran ice cliffs behind him, "you don't do this sort of thing."

"I used to. Remember that expose I did on the Orion Syndicate? The one I- "

"Won the Gavlin for, yes, I know, and that's why you got the Palais gig. You deserved it."

"And I'm grateful, Farik, I really am. But I feel like I'm trapped on Earth. I want to get out some more. Besides, you've been wanting to do a follow-up on Tezwa, and with Vara gone and Baleeza retired, you don't have anyone who- "

"All right, all right!" Farik had laughed, then, and held up his hands in surrender. "I'll get Gora to cover the Palais for a month or two while you go to Tezwa."

Tezwa had almost been the flash point of a war between the Federation and the Klingons. The Tezwan prime minister, a lunatic named Kinchawn, had acquired Federation nadion-pulse cannons from the Orion Syndicate and had threatened a Klingon colony. The Klingons had responded, along with a Starfleet ship, and they'd been decimated by the cannons until the Starfleet crew had managed to disable them. The commanding officer of that ship-a rather infamous captain named Jean-Luc Picard-had then claimed the right of batyay'a, which meant that he took credit for conquering the world, thus keeping it out of Klingon hands.

Unfortunately, Kinchawn hadn't yet finished. Though he'd been deposed after the cannons' destruction, he'd gone into exile and made dozens of guerrilla attacks on the capital city, which, combined with the damage done by the Klingons in their initial attack, had led to a body count on Tezwa that had been at Dominion War levels.

However, in the last few weeks, the Romulans had crowded Tezwa off the newsfeeds.

Vara deserves better than that.

Vara Tal was the reporter from Seeker who'd been sent to cover Tezwa. She'd been killed when a runabout had been blown up by Kinchawn's forces-an explosion that had also claimed the lives of several civilians and Starfleet personnel. Farik had sent Seeker's seniormost reporter, Baleeza Gral-who also reported for Seeker when he was Renna Gral and Tristor Gral-to replace Vara. What he'd seen had been sufficiently awful to convince him to retire from reporting, after doing it for two hundred and fifty years as three different people.

n.o.body's reporting this story anymore. Somebody has to do it for Vara.

A moment later, her holocom beeped, and she found herself sitting, as usual, between Edmund Atkinson of the Times-who would no doubt claim to be in his office in London but who she knew was really on a beach in Mexico-and Regia Maldonado of the Federation News Service, who was, she was sure, in FNS's Tokyo office. Several other reporters were scattered around the room, most legitimate, a few not so much, in Ozla's estimation. She was amused to see that Annalisa Armitage of the Free Vulcan Gazette-probably the most laughable publication in a Federation that, thanks to the total freedom of the press, had its share of laughable publications-was still coming to the briefings, despite being mocked at every turn. Then again, the FVG's probably used to that, since they've been advocating Vulcan superiority since the twenty-first century. h.e.l.l, the only reason the Vulcans themselves don't mock the FVG is because they don't do that kind of thing....

At the podium stood the only two people who were physically in the room: Kant Jorel, the liaison between the press and the Federation Council, and his a.s.sistant, an Andorian named Thanatazhres th'Vroth. Zhres had actually lasted in the job for more than two months, which, Ozla thought, was probably a record. Kant had been the press liaison since shortly after his native world of Bajor had joined the Federation three years earlier, and he had gone through over half a dozen a.s.sistants in that time.

"First of all," Kant said, and his words quieted the room down, "President Bacco has said that she's looking forward to the negotiators on both sides of the current dispute between Delta and Carrea coming to Earth to resolve their differences here in the Palais. She also knows she has the support of the amba.s.sadors from both worlds, as well as Councillor Eleana, who has said several times that she looks forward to a peaceful solution to the dispute."

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 pa.s.sion, 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 want to get on Kant's bad side."

"Oh come on, Sovan, you've been doing this longer than I have-you know he doesn't have a good side. He's not gonna like you anyhow, so run with it."

"Look, you'll be talking to him, right? About your trip?"

Ozla was, in fact, planning to let Kant know that she'd be out of the room for a few months while she did her Tezwa story. "Yeah, why?"

"Any chance of putting in a good word?"

Rolling her eyes, Ozla said, "There is in fact no chance of that."

"Ozla- "

"Sovan, you went on ICL and talked about how incompetent Kant's boss is."

"Yes, but he respects you. I think he may even like you."

Kant had, in fact, treated Ozla with less disdain than he did most of the press, which, she supposed, could be construed as liking her by his lights. "Doesn't matter-see, my editor respects me, too, and if he found out that I sang the praises of a compet.i.tor- "

"Never mind, then."

Ozla sighed. "Look, Sovan, you're a good reporter, and you'll still get the good stories. Why are you worried about this stuff?"

Sovan's face widened into a huge grin. "I'm not, really, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you before you went to that disaster area. Why are you going there, anyhow? It's a pit."

"Because it's a story-and it's one n.o.body's talking about anymore."

"It's all anybody was talking about for a month."

"One month is nothing. This needs more attention."

"If you say so."

"I do. Now that you've contrived your excuse to talk to me- "

"Listen, Ozla-be careful, all right? We already lost Vara."

Ozla hesitated. "I know-that's why I'm going."

"All right." Sovan moved as if to cut the connection, but Ozla stopped him.

"Sovan, listen-Zife. Did he retire to Bolarus?"

"No."

"You're sure? He didn't maybe come in discreetly?"

Sovan chuckled. "Zife doesn't know how to be discreet. No, he's not here. Trust me, someone at BY would've found him. He was never able to keep his movements secret, not when he was a district representative, not when he was planetary minister, not when he was a councillor, and certainly not when he was president. He's nowhere near Bolarus."

"All right." She tapped her finger on her desk. "Thanks, Sovan-and thanks for the well wishes. I'll see you in a few months."

"I hope so. Good luck, Ozla."

Sovan signed off.

Ozla tapped her finger for a few more minutes. Then she com'd her a.s.sistant. "Traya, can you get me President Zife's speech to the council of governors on Pacifica from three years ago?"

"Sure."

Then she put a call through to Zhres.

"It's Ozla."

"I am sorry," the Andorian's soft voice said over the speaker-Ozla was talking into his ear unit, so there was no visual feed. "Mr. Kant's in a meeting with Ms. Piniero right now."

"That's fine, Zhres-could you just let him know that Gora Yed is going to be taking my place in the room for a few months?"

"I can't imagine he'll care all that much."

Ozla laughed. "No, he probably won't, but I want to let him know as a courtesy."

"I'll pa.s.s that on-then I'll remind him what that word means."

"Good luck. How've you managed to last so long in the job?"

"There is a human saying that applies: Mr. Kant's bark is worse than his bite."

Frowning, Ozla said, "I don't know what that means."

"It means he sounds worse than he actually is."

"Thanks, Zhres."

She was about to cut the connection when Zhres asked, "If you do not mind my asking, Ms. Graniv-where will you be? A well-deserved vacation, I hope?"

Ozla chuckled. "No such luck. I'm going to Tezwa."

A pause. "Why in Thori's name would you go there?"

Wondering if everyone was going to ask that question and resigning herself to the fact that they were, she said, "Because someone needs to."

"That does not strike me as a good enough reason."

"It's good enough for me. Take care, Zhres."

"Good-bye, Ms. Graniv-and good luck."

Chapter Four.

FRED MACDOUGAN struggled over adjectives.

It was always the most difficult part of the speechwriting process for him. He had no trouble with metaphors, with imagery, with references, with alliteration, with cadence-but adjectives nailed him every time. Were the people being honored "n.o.ble" or "upright" or "steadfast"? Was the location of the speech "verdant" or "pretty" or "beautiful"?