President Ann Kinji tucked her smooth shiny locks behind her ears. Her beautiful hair, cut in a bob, was the envy of middle class American women. Salons received many requests for what became known as “The Kinji”: a smart sleek bob, which often included coloring the hair to match Kinji’s onyx shade. The woman who was now an international icon was little-known prior to the Big War. It was crazy to go from obscurity to having a hair style named after her.
Beyond lack of celebrity status, Kinji’s work for the previous administration, the last administration of what was once The United States of America, had done little to prepare her. Of course, how could anyone prepare to be one of the first Presidents of the nation now referred to as “The States of America”? Everything’s pretty much the same – just add a second president -- and life moves on. And if you believe that, I have some nuclear wasteland to sell you.
Kinji snapped herself out of her brooding and studied her desk. It was tidy, that was for sure. She had so many assistants fussing over it that there wasn’t a thing out of place. There were no personal items on it yet, not a single framed picture or even a coffee mug. Kinji couldn’t bring herself to move in. It didn’t feel real, and she wasn’t sure if she was living a dream or a nightmare. She was insane if she wanted this responsibility, this crushing burden of being a pioneer in a newly divided nation. And the first female President besides? And Japanese? Well, the days ahead were going to be interesting.
“President Kinji?” Breyana Robertson, a strawberry blonde 20-something in a purple pants suit, rapped gently at her open door.
“Yes?” Kinji locked eyes with Breyana. It was trademark Kinji: unflinching directness that intimidated most people, but Breyana was a confident young woman and returned Kinji’s gaze unwaveringly. Breyana had nothing but open admiration, respect, and hopeful aspiration to friendship.
“Paul Tracy is here to see you.”
“Oh yes, send him in, please.”
Paul waltzed into the room as if his steps had been choreographed, and as often as he’d played this moment in his head, they were. “President Kinji, you look so natural in this office, in front of that seal.”
The Democratic Union seal depicted an eagle with an olive branch in its beak. The eagle was tinted a pale blue. The Liberty Union seal, behind President John William’s desk, was identical in design, with the only difference being the color tint of the eagle, a reddish pink hue.
“Thank you, Paul. We’ve both put on a lot of mileage since the Warsaw days, good old Warren Academy. I hear you are going places yourself.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. You’ve heard right: I’ve been hitting the pavement to get those bills signed. I’m proud to claim my contribution to the New Liberals.”
“Democratic Union. Let’s drop the polarizing label.”
“Democratic Union, then.”
“Is there something you want, Paul? I am due for a press conference in five minutes.”
“I would like a position in your cabinet.”
Kinji laughed. “Finally, somebody around here who lays it on the table.”
“You know me, Ann.” Paul stared into her dark eyes, leaning forward with both of his palms on her desk.
“President Kinji. Sorry, Paul, I don’t do casual. No friends, no favors. If I consider this, it will be based on what you can do for my administration, period.”
Paul backed away, holding his hands up. “Fair enough, Madam President. I left a package with Miss Robertson that I think will interest you. When you see what I have to offer, I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you.”