Chapter Text
Coolness and semi-darkness always reign in the private office of the War College's chancellor, Zeeren Kelrec.
(That's me.)
Some visitors find it uncomfortable. Others attribute it to my desire to intimidate them or to create an air of mystery. Still thirds...
'That's freezing!' exclaims the chancellor of Starfleet Academy, jumping onto my couch and tucking her bare feet.
(That's better than her usual habit of lifting her legs over the table. Thank you, Nahla.)
'You could dress your uniform, then you wouldn't be cold.'
I place a large mug of 30-second black tea in front of her. Nahla Ake can't wait any longer. By the time I grab my mug and settle into my chair, she'll have drunk half of it.
(Starfleet is so Starfleet. In words, it's all reverences to other sentient life forms and cultural diversity, but in practice, it's constantly trying to bend somebody, or simply ridicule. Hey! Is such a life form as an army officer not sentient enough for you?)
'Why are you so tense?' Nahla asks, chuckling.
(Because some people are too relaxed.)
The United Earth Defense Forces protected this world for one hundred and twenty years after the Burn. And now Chancellor Ake is teaching me how I should approach my work.
She can afford to abandon service for fifteen years with the ease of an immortal elf. For me, that's a quarter of my life.
She knew the world as it was before the Burn—safe, friendly, open.
I don't.
I'm a product of another era.
From Nahla Ake's perspective, I'm a suspicious bore, always hiding something.
'That's my job,' I answer Chancellor Ake.
She snorts into her mug:
'If only you'd just answer the question directly, without hiding behind your regulations!'
(Legendary Starfleet diplomacy.)
'Ask me directly,' I shrug.
I have nothing to hide.