Standing in the foyer of the Chief
Justice’s Chambers, Moira Thibodeaux once again stared at the depressing
painting of the wrecked ship being pummeled on the rocks which served as its
cause of destruction. “Osborne, do you think this place would make a good
museum?”
The young ensign looked at her
quizzically, shrugged his shoulders and answered with, “yes ma’am, I believe it
would. Might even quiet the rumors about it.” He smiled. “You do know your
refusal to live here will cause an uproar. The papers will go nuts.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said
approvingly. “I’ve always been a simple, practical woman. I see nothing
sensible about this,” she circled her forefinger, “palace.” She sighed. Turning
away from the painting, she walked over to the door through which they’d
originally entered. “When we get back to my house, I should like to speak with
Colonel Dagon. Can that be quickly arranged?”
