Tyree spun on her heels, her long hair lashing around her as she faced the council. "You want me to be a what?"
Thirteen elderly Inc-Su met her scream of outrage with angry stares. The last syllable echoed around the chamber. If sound could penetrate metaglass, it would have scattered the saurian lowri gliding past the panoramic windows on membranous wings.
Tyree swore G'vorek, one of her former mentors, winked at her, and her irritation eased a fraction at his silent support. Some of the other council members shifted in their hover seats as she cast her gaze over them. Several scowled. Beyond the oval table and the council members, clouds drifted past the window obscuring the slender sky towers of Refuge, a serene background that conflicted with the turmoil suddenly seething in her chest.
"I didn't think the phrase 'co-delegate' would be considered such an offensive term even by you, Tyree," Great Mother M'roc said.
Tyree latched her attention onto the matriarch. Unlike the majority of the Inc-Su, M'roc had a generous, matronly figure and caramel-colored skin. Dark braids tinted with gray framed her broad face. There was a saying among the Inc-Su, twisted from the old Terran phrase—as solid as M'roc. Unbending, reliable, consistent, and strong. Good traits in a leader, but it meant once she'd made a decision, nothing could change her mind. If she'd chosen this role for Tyree...
"I'm an assassin, not a frigging diplomat," Tyree retorted, but the initial fire of her resistance had guttered. Arguing already felt like a lost cause, but she had to make the point.