Mia Visser stood in the ballroom of the Sulamze Museum of Technological History wearing a floor length black gown. Her hair was braided and hung over her left shoulder. On her breast was a pin bearing the emblem of Sulamze: a hardhat and pencil surrounded by a gear. All around people were rushing back and forth putting last minute details in place. Across the room by the display of the first calculator built in Sulamze was an open bar. Five people were anxiously waiting for the rush of orders they would be receiving soon. In the middle was a six sided granite tower with a hexagonal clock face on each side. From down the hall the smell of food wafted from the kitchen. Laguno bread, fresh crab, fish, and oysters. Pine needle tea, potatoes, carrots, and pastries overflowing with jam. Mia's mouth watered at the thought of it all. The gala would begin at eight. She looked up. Just a few more minutes.
Every time a person walked through the front doors the smell of the sea would rush inside. Soon guests would be arriving from around the Isles. They would be escorted by security to the Museum as the building was currently the center of a protest. Many Sulamze believed that the nation should take a hardline stance against the more hierarchical countries in the archipelago. People were chanting for the destruction of capitalist systems of these foreigners and their anger was being focused on the diplomats and leaders attending tonight's gala. However the Confederated Congress had implored the People's Militia to be involved for the purpose of keeping the event safe from anyone who might try to cause any trouble.
The clock in the center of the room struck eight o'clock. Mia jolted from a state of deep thought and realigned her attention to the matter at hand. She could hear the guests arriving.
