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intrusion, however, nor did they much care for the tyrannical way that General Adolphus commanded that their planet accept so many extra refugees. Tehila had no choice in the matter, even though they were already strapped for resources.
    From the grumbles, Enva had come to understand that many people here had never wanted to be part of the General’s rebellion in the first place. Tehila was so isolated that the Constellation paid little attention to it; the inhabitants had not felt as repressed by the Diadem as other Deezee colonists did, so independence wasn’t such an urgent matter for them.
    Enva could understand the General’s thinking about the refugees, how the Deep Zone worlds had to pool resources and support those who needed help. With her experience, she could see the broader picture. Other Deezees, though, including even an important man like Administrator Reming himself, had no such wide-ranging understanding and could not think beyond their own parochial concerns. They needed a better leader, a deeper thinker.
    If Enva’s plans worked out right, she would soon rise to a position to take over as Tehila’s planetary administrator. And that would be just a start.
    Now, looking at grievances from the Candela refugees, she compiled a summary of domicile requests, homestead applications, filings for food packages and relief, zoning alterations to allow the construction of multiple-unit dwelling complexes, colony kits removed from storage. The sheer number of people who needed interim shelter was staggering. The new crowded dwelling complexes reminded her of refugee camps; the comparison was problematic but unavoidable. Their situation would improve—like her own. In the meantime, everyone had to endure.
    She finished her report quickly, but killed time for an extra hour because Administrator Reming was not accustomed to sheer efficiency. When Enva saw her opportunity, she went to his office to deliver the final document. The door was ajar, and she pushed it open.
    Reming’s personal offices were more cramped and less well-appointed than those of a simple bureau deputy back on Orsini. But Karlo Reming seemed to consider them—and himself—extremely important. Enva saw that he was in deep discussion with three other men and one stern-looking woman.
    â€œI’ve rearranged the station shifts,” that woman said. “I personally chose all personnel aboard the terminus ring from the Hellhole line. That’s important.”
    One of the men said, “We need to secure the Sonjeera line as well. If anything happens to that, this plan falls apart.”
    â€œWhen do we send our ultimatum to the General?” asked Reming just before he looked up, and showed surprise when he saw Enva poking in through the door.
    She averted her eyes. “Excuse me, Governor. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
    â€œThis is a private meeting,” snapped the third man; he was pale and angry.
    â€œThis is one of my best employees,” said Reming. “Sometimes she’s too efficient for her own good. I wish I had more like her.” To Enva, his chuckle sounded like a nervous affectation.
    â€œI didn’t mean to intrude, Administrator.” It was hard for her to maintain a meek and subservient demeanor, but she was growing more practiced at it. “I brought the resettlement reports you requested.” Her pulse increased from hearing the snippet of conversation. What was Reming up to? “I’d like to offer my services, too. You mentioned that someone needs to go to Hellhole to deliver a report to the General?” Her thoughts were racing. She had been looking for an opportunity to leave all this behind and present herself to the man who should have been her ally, to reclaim her position of power.
    â€œWe said nothing about going to Hellhole,” said the stern woman.
    â€œYes, you did,” Enva said.
    Administrator Reming waved his hand. His hair