Sixteen to midnight serving chowder, bouillabaisse and gumbo, then up at eight in the morning and off to the Party offices on Kayanga Prospect to fill envelopes and canvas down on Pier 66. Party supporter, party member, party worker, then the time had come to decide between party candidate and fish chowder. No choice, really, but she was still thankful for Raano and his dollars. She had learned a lot from the chowder-stuffed mouths of his clients, enough to rewrite the party manifesto for the Syrtia Regional Assembly Elections and sweep the party onto victory balconies all across the continent. She'd been there on the balcony with the other loyal party workers, applauding the successful candidates, but the thought in her heart had been "poor puppets, poor puppets." She had manipulated them into power by telling them to listen to the people. Listen, she'd said, listen to the people, listen to what they like, what they hate, what makes them angry, what makes them happy, what they care about and what they don't care about.
