Trite

"The ambassador is here." The reedy-voiced woman ended her message with a cold metallic click, and representative Ingo Dominguez straightened his tie before calmly standing to greet his guest. He underestimated the time it would take the ambassador to travel from the receptionist's office to his own, and so he spent a few long seconds tapping his foot on the carefully polished hardwood floor. The similarly-paneled wooden doors slid apart in absolute silence as an aged Asian man gingerly carrying a briefcase stepped through, his patent leather shoes striking the floor with an unusually sonorous sound. Offering his hand, Ingo momentarily wondered whether he would be expected to help the man to his seat, so fragile was his stance.

"Konichiwa Ambassador, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I trust your lift ride was comfortable?" The small man nodded and smiled blankly before producing identical sets of earbuds from his breast pocket. As he returned the man's smile, Ingo cursed inwardly. The ambassador obviously still spoke his native language exclusively, as was the case with many postmoderns: at least the ones still clinging to life. Reluctantly he accepted the proffered earpieces and the small box to which they were attached, hesitating for a moment before recalling how to use the archaic device. Into each ear he inserted the small, round electronics, and gestured for the other to seat himself. Ingo turned his back and allowed a small grimace to flicker across his face before returning to his characteristic charming smile. The eggshell shaped chair sighed slightly as he sunk into it, and he cleared his throat before speaking.

"As I said before, I hope your trip was relaxing and enjoyable." There was a slight feedback in his ears as the other man equipped himself similarly before responding.

"Naturally it was very pleasant." The metallic sound of the computer-generated voice was nowhere near as unsettling as watching the ambassador's mouth move seemingly independent of the words being filtered into Ingo's ears. "I expect you are eager to get talking?" Had he not been upset at the inconvenience the device was causing Ingo might have allowed his mouth to twitch upwards in reaction to the poor translation; as it was he simply leaned forward and pushed a folder across his desk.

"This contains all the information we are willing to release to your government at this time regarding the wells. Location will be divulged once the transaction is made final."

"What is the cost you are wanting?"

"Twenty three K." Ingo needed no translation to interpret the pained expression that sifted into the ambassador's sandy, wrinkled face, a face that was now staring out the window behind the desk.

"That is a difficult thing to say." More feedback in his ears as the translator tried to convey the heavy sigh that wracked the elderly man's body. "We are not a prosperous or affluent nation sir, it is difficult to say." More staring, this time his eyes peering beyond the window and the office into the past. "It is sad how we have fallen, to be bartering for oil like KSHHHHHH." Static burst into Ingo's ears and then faded.

"I'm sorry, but that price is non-negotiable: we have many other potential buyers who are willing to pay what we ask should your government decide against the purchase." Ingo's eyes met his adversary's, and for a moment he felt genuinely sorry for the decrepit figure hunched over in the ill-fitting chair opposite his own.

"Why must the world be ruled by absolutes...where is our freedom?" Trance-like, the ambassador drifted his fingers over his briefcase before opening it. The folder coalesced into the case, guided gently by the man's aged fingers. "Thank you for your patience" said the cold, monotone voice as the man's lips moved. He stood to leave, and Ingo quickly removed the earbuds, careful not to let his elation show. When he stood he moved with bewildering speed to return his manacles to his captor, one last handshake offered in final farewell.