We carefully consider matters, and decide that it's simply too early to devour the governor.
We go to the meeting in dress uniform. He's chipper and jovial, as always. We reconsider eating him at all. He might make us vomit. Still, we're almost bursting with the blood and souls of our underlings, and that makes it so much easier to listen to him babble on.
After what time seems appropriate, we bring the meeting to business: We received word just before the meeting that the Confederacy is abandoning Lockston. A battlecruiser will arrive in a day and a half to take us off-planet.
His cheerful attitude drops away. He is apoplectic. We're forcing him to leave his HOME? We inform him that we have no choice in the matter, and neither does he. With Chancellor Kingston's strategic reformation laws, he could assign us to serve on the surface of a sun, and we'd have no recourse to object or appeal.
The man rants and raves for nearly an hour before he lets us leave, promising to contact our superiors and take this all the way to the Chancellor, if he has to.
We leave. Staying in the room with him now is even more grating than when he was happy. We hadn't thought that possible. Still, we look over our shoulder as we leave, grin deeply, and tell him, "Before we're shipped off in different directions, you and I really ought to get together for a bite."
(Damn, guys. We spent hours longer on Medical than I expected. We'll have to continue this later. Monday, same time?)