Chapter 1: The President of the New Colonies
President Kennedy Youngman of the New Colonies of Kobol was working late, which wasn't unusual for him. Being a good leader is time-intensive. He was just finished and about ready to go to bed when his personal assistant came in hesitantly.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," she said.
"No, it's alright. Shouldn't you have gone home already?"
"I just got a call from Capron Hospital," she said. "Harry Damian died an hour ago."
"Crud." Kennedy Youngman saved stronger words for worse occasions. "Has anyone told his wife?"
"Yes, sir. She was there when it happened. He had a heart attack at dinner and was rushed there, but they couldn't do anything. The doctors are calling his children right now, and the press secretary is going to announce it in the morning."
"A well-oiled machine, huh?" He reflected for a moment on the jumble that usually was his government. "What about Richard Jachtian? Has he been told?"
"No, sir."
"Get him on the phone. He'll need to know he's the new chief of staff." He sat back, rubbing his forehead. "Get me that list."
"Which list, sir?" She was already working the phone.
"The list I made after the election. Wild-card candidates."
"Right, sir. You don't intend to keep Jachtian?"
"I don't know."
"It's him, sir."
Youngman took the proffered phone and passed the news along. "Come to my office tomorrow at seven. We need to get organised." After a few more quick questions he hung up. "Margaret? Please arrange for someone to help Harry's secretary. She'll have her hands full. Send my condolences to the family and make sure I have time in my schedule for the funeral."
"Yes, sir." She jotted down a note. "Are you staying here much longer?"
He shook his head. "I'll just stretch my legs a bit before going to bed. I've got an early start in the morning. Set my wake-up call for six-thirty, and make sure they don't serve up that damned oatmeal. One more bowl of that stuff and I'll go on a starvation diet in protest."
"Duly noted, sir. Goodnight."
He walked down the corridors of power, a dingy block of offices and meeting rooms that was still yards above what most of the human race put up with. It looked bad by day, bustling with activity; by night it was a pathetic statement of defeat and concealment. A few lights were on, people working late, mostly security guards or a few essential night staff.
A light was still shining under the door of the secretary of state. He knocked at the door.
President Kennedy Youngman of the New Colonies of Kobol was working late, which wasn't unusual for him. Being a good leader is time-intensive. He was just finished and about ready to go to bed when his personal assistant came in hesitantly.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," she said.
"No, it's alright. Shouldn't you have gone home already?"
"I just got a call from Capron Hospital," she said. "Harry Damian died an hour ago."
"Crud." Kennedy Youngman saved stronger words for worse occasions. "Has anyone told his wife?"
"Yes, sir. She was there when it happened. He had a heart attack at dinner and was rushed there, but they couldn't do anything. The doctors are calling his children right now, and the press secretary is going to announce it in the morning."
"A well-oiled machine, huh?" He reflected for a moment on the jumble that usually was his government. "What about Richard Jachtian? Has he been told?"
"No, sir."
"Get him on the phone. He'll need to know he's the new chief of staff." He sat back, rubbing his forehead. "Get me that list."
"Which list, sir?" She was already working the phone.
"The list I made after the election. Wild-card candidates."
"Right, sir. You don't intend to keep Jachtian?"
"I don't know."
"It's him, sir."
Youngman took the proffered phone and passed the news along. "Come to my office tomorrow at seven. We need to get organised." After a few more quick questions he hung up. "Margaret? Please arrange for someone to help Harry's secretary. She'll have her hands full. Send my condolences to the family and make sure I have time in my schedule for the funeral."
"Yes, sir." She jotted down a note. "Are you staying here much longer?"
He shook his head. "I'll just stretch my legs a bit before going to bed. I've got an early start in the morning. Set my wake-up call for six-thirty, and make sure they don't serve up that damned oatmeal. One more bowl of that stuff and I'll go on a starvation diet in protest."
"Duly noted, sir. Goodnight."
He walked down the corridors of power, a dingy block of offices and meeting rooms that was still yards above what most of the human race put up with. It looked bad by day, bustling with activity; by night it was a pathetic statement of defeat and concealment. A few lights were on, people working late, mostly security guards or a few essential night staff.
A light was still shining under the door of the secretary of state. He knocked at the door.