I think I’m loosing control, assuming that I ever had any.  The Systems, Medical and Utility in particular, have pumped Andrea Lindsay full of ideas.  She’s left the rest of us to work on the farm.  Didn’t ask, just went.  Not that it’s a bad idea; not that I wouldn’t have said yes–it would have shown respect to have been asked.

As we speak, the Systems are working on Dakota Whitefeather’s head.  If she walks in and says she’s going somewhere to set up a hospital, and the rest of us should have a nice life, I may not be kind.

Oh, by the way, Çêt Tâcher said something that started the wheels turning.  He suggested there was no place on this planet from which we, as a group, could not spy on Roy Condon.  Spy on the good captain?  Now there’s a devious thought worthy of an Andorrian trader.  But then, we’re not all here, are we.