“Here you are, guys.” The woman eyed Jemunu-jah. “You might have to do some bending over near the back, Saki.” She proceeded to supply details about the specific model, addressing herself to Masurathoo on the assumption that he was going to be doing the piloting. The fact that she was correct did little to assuage Jemunu-jah’s quiet humiliation.
Have tolerance, he told himself. The female was a bureaucrat, not a diplomat. Still, the longer the conversation went on, alluding to terms and technology he did not understand, the more uncomfortable he felt. He forced himself to listen and, where possible, to learn. To give in to his rising anger and embarrassment would be to react exactly the way someone like Aniolo-jat would wish.
When at last the human female finished, they boarded the compact, powerful craft and made their own check of provisions. That, at least, he could do as well as Masurathoo. The inspection concluded to their mutual satisfaction, they settled into the two seats forward. Though designed to accommodate a human backside, the particular curve of the flight chair allowed Jemunu-jah to sit comfortably without putting pressure on the tail that emerged from the back of his waist straps.
Receiving clearance from port control, Masurathoo smoothly powered up the craft and guided it out of the hangar. A large cargo skimmer lifted in front of them, rising above the clearing in the trees on its way to another town. In the rain gloom, the glare from its traveling lights caused Masurathoo to shield his eyes with one arm.