A tinny high-pitched ringing started again in his left ear. Just out of the corner of his eye, a flock of aides scrambled into panic just offstage.

“And that’s why,” he continued, “we have to get to work now. Progress isn’t something we can keep kicking down the road. At least, it’s not something I can. So, I ask you, I invite you, to join me as we work to make our hopes for the future, the reality of tomorrow.”

He glanced down at Cara in the front row, her face held in shock. She knew the prognosis, but there was no way she could have guessed that he would say anything about it tonight. She moved her hand across her lap and held onto her son’s forearm. Unlike Cara, he did not know.

On the stage, Chancellor Kello held his breath. The pitch in his ear faded to a low murmur which swept through the still seated crowd. His eyes flitted about the faces, searching for one clear gauge, but every individual seemed to be experiencing some flight of emotions all their own.

There was a grumble growing amongst the Senators, seated to the right of the stage. Many of them turned to face their peers, whispering indignantly and casting concerned glances across the hall to where the Barons sat.

As terse whispers grew to shouts, Kello cast one last look to Cara. He was terrified of what would happen next.