Jerry assumes the role of Ambassador to the Kataru
He was bored, but he had to attend every session. It was his job. The translator was worse than normal. He pressed the sub-dermal control, clicking it off. Anurian languages were notoriously difficult. Looking at the window above and across from him, he sighed with relief at not having to listen.
Today, the clouds were higher in the air. The concept of a floating city sounded heavenly, a city hovering among fluffy whiteness. But, of course, he had not thought of the downside. Officials left the entrance open to allow for a lengthy procession of Tiamatu. Consequently, mists filled the building. The haze even wafted up to the council chamber. The fog was so thick, he could barely make out the face of the speaker. He was glad he couldn’t see her, the gills on her neck, fins growing out of her skull, blue and yellow markings on her body. He didn’t relish hearing more excuses for their Tlaloc alliance.
He planned to vote against their request to join.
The floor grew shiny as humidity condensed on marble floors. Water dripped down the presentation screen, magnifying pixels behind it. He imagined respected dignitaries standing, slipping, and falling on wet floors. In the two months he had been here, no one offered to take him down to the surface. He would at least like to see the terrain and understand the processes that caused such unusual weather so high in the sky.
Maybe he would take a nap. He looked at M5 sitting next to him. She was fighting drowsiness. He watched her, counting the times she drifted off, her eyes closing, her head nodding, then jolting herself awake, five times so far. He sighed with boredom, crossing his arms and closing his eyes.
Soon, Jerry Means, the Tayamni Ambassador to the Kataru Alliance, was dreaming he was back home in Saltillo, Mississippi, sitting at the kitchen table having coffee with his mother.