The words felt dry and undemonstrative in Lady Chancellor's mind. Her tongue mangled and curled around the sentences with great difficulty (despite her tireless effort rehearsing over the last two days). Her fingers seared holes into the cue cards between them.
She never looked forward to delivering speeches. It was puzzling that she had spent 15 years toiling and climbing towards the symbolic pinnacle of respectability, only to be rendered a glorified public speaker. Sometimes she felt as though she was merely a spokesperson, a puppet whose strings were pulled by a master with an obscure countenance. Like most throughout history, she was a Chancellor only in title. Isn't that why she was the one delivering this news to the world today?
She was a figurehead; a role model endowed with an authoritative air yet a soft tongue. Almost maternal, almost nurturing. It was doubtful that the public would accept the terms of the reinstated act. Amongst revolutionary factions, its motives would indeed be labelled 'inhumane' or favouring imperial interests. She would not discount the possibility of a protest interrupting the occasion.
People loved to protest.
Lady Chancellor was not entirely sure what her own opinion was on the matter at hand. She found herself feeling indifferent towards the words she read on her script. Who was she to supply her judgement, though? It would be above her pay grade.
From where she swayed, she saw the shimmering blue holograms of foreign delegates, all standing as if steel rods had been soldered into their spinal cords. This conference would be aired live worldwide; holographic attendance was the only way the world leaders could prove united support without travelling to one another.
A plastic smile was plastered onto the face of the Empress of Nigeria, a woman whose imperious disposition exuded like beads of sweat. The President of the South Asian Conglomerate flashed the audience a charismatic grin. Even through a hologram, she noticed a near-imperceptible twinkle in his gaze. A young and charming man, she had interacted with him often throughout the two-year planning phase of the upcoming initiative. His easy-going and amiable personality provoked an air of familiarity between the two. The President was often someone Lady Chancellor confided in, constantly ranting about her unconquerable stage fright. If messages could be passed through holographic glances, he was currently sending encouragement (with a hint of lighthearted taunting).
Lady Chancellor blushed ever so slightly. At least being flustered would overtake her feelings of utter trepidation from having to deliver this speech. Despite speaking at several conferences in the past, it never got more manageable, especially with the nitpicking the media was notorious for inflicting upon every female leader's ascension to power. Anyone could check the history books for examples.
All scrutiny was upon her as she strode purposefully over to the podium to begin her orations. The spotlight was damning and harsh in her eyes. Journalists teetered off the edges of their seats, interrogation poised on the tips of their tongues. Microphones and recording devices brandished, thrust towards her personage. Swallowing the signature tremble in her throat, Lady Chancellor commenced her ministrations.
"Good afternoon, everyone." She spoke.
A pregnant pause. The woman cleared her throat amid the stagnant silence and stood straighter.
"I am excited to share this space, this time... this era... with all of you. Today, we all bear witness to a monumental, historical, revolutionary step into our future."
Another thick cloud of expectant silence settled upon the room. Each eye in the audience twinkled, each journalist like a vulture awaiting Lady Chancellor's fatal stumble - for the chance to tear her to shreds in the coverage of this speech. As one can imagine, this reality only worsened the state of her nerves. However, she had already started; this was all part of the job description. The Chancellor moistened her lips and was about to resume her recital when a resounding bang, accompanied by deep roars, filled the air.
Instincts primed, Lady Chancellor displayed no hesitation before she ducked beneath the podium, her back facing the feared threat. The other dignitaries looked at her in worry — well, The Nigerian Empress's look was more mocking than anything — as she crouched behind a glass podium that provided no protection. Oh, how she wished she, too, was granted the privilege of being a hologram today.
She could just about hear the clamour of the journalists scrambling over chairs and peers to safer corners of the room. Spasmodic flashes reflected on the wall Lady Chancellor faced.
It took about a minute for her to make out the initially unintelligible bellows filling the room. They were synchronised in rhythm and volume - it was a chant: a protest: how typical. Assuming it was non-threatening, it would be too embarrassing for her to arise from her shielded position now.
"SCRAP SPACE COLONIES! SCRAP SPACE COLONIES!"
Lady Chancellor forced herself to stop quivering as she precariously rose to her feet. The sticks of her heels trembled dangerously as if on the cusp of snapping. The chant became nothing but a drone as she composed herself and turned slowly around.
The microphone was still on; it amplified her breath, which was coming out in awkward, laboured sputters.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please, if you wouldn't mind calming down..."
Her plea was to no avail as the crowd of mottled red faces, and angry frowns surged forward. Luckily Lady Chancellor was protected by a barrier of security guards.
"SCRAP SPACE COLONIES! SCRAP SPACE COLONIES! SCRAP SPACE COLONIES!"
The roars were unceasing.
"I—"Lady Chancellor stammered. "I can assure all of you that this endeavour has no relation to colonisation. On the contrary, interplanetary transportation has been devised with the interest of keeping our world safe. It allows the convicts to start a new life, a clean slate..."
A rogue protester snatched a microphone from a reporter who was cowering behind a chair. He turned to the mob behind him and raised a fist in an action that communicated that they should temporarily pause their chants. He was likely the ringleader of this entire spectacle. He cleared his throat before asking.
"How is there any guarantee that these people will be able to withstand conditions on Mars? No human has ever lived there before."
The Chancellor gulped before responding in an unconvincing tone, "After years of credible research and experimentation, it is our understanding that the conditions of Mars are now practically identical to those on Earth."
The man was unrelenting and attempted to offer another quickfire inquiry before the microphone was pried from his grasp by a security guard.
"Show's over!" A burly woman grunted in his face before shoving him back into the throng of people with whom he had arrived.
Before long, all the protestors were being rammed towards the direction of the entry. Some more resistant than others. All the while, they chanted their slogan like a saving prayer.
Lady Chancellor glanced back to examine the reactions of her colleagues. Their expressions gave nothing away; The Nigerian Empress still stood imperious in her disposition. The South Asian President still sported a charming smile. If he seemed to be unfazed, then perhaps the audience would, in turn, be unfazed by the chaos that had just occurred.
The large doors of the great hall slammed shut, emitting a large gust of wind that shot through the entire room. The chants were all but a soft and muffled undertone now—a forgotten rhythm.
The wind that had floated through the large room caused something to flutter in Lady Chancellor's peripheral vision. It was a cue card upon which this fated speech had been scribbled.
She bent to the floor with an attempted grace and picked them up. She would deliver this speech as planned. As if nothing had interrupted it.
The woman cleared her throat and began to speak once again.
"Ah, well, when has there ever been monumental change without a little push back." She chuckled dryly into the microphone.
Respondent chuckles resonated sparsely in the room.
This was above her pay grade.