Sarah Twintower rubbed her left shoulder, reading the file the White Man Suit had given her.

Considering that she and her four tribe members had been relaxing before his arrival, none were happy.

Mark, hands deep in the engine of his truck, sent her a wireless message, (Thinks highly of himself, don't he?)

She raised an eyebrow at the positions the Suit wanted her and her tribe to fill on a military base, responding to Mark, (Considering he holds our petition to be acknowledged as a tribe in the eyes of White Man's Government, he is in a position of power.)

Why would they need a liaison and ones like her and her tribe? Sarah wondered as she finished reading the contracts they'd have to sign to accept the position.

(I want to punt the cocker,) Annie snarled, though her face when Sarah glanced over showed nothing.

(There is wisdom even in White Men,) Sarah replied before looking up at the Suit, "You wish us to be liaisons to a number of unidentified individuals. That seems risky since me and mine have little experience in cultures outside the U.S."

"You will do this or you will never be a tribe to the government," he sneered at her.

"You do not list how long we'd hold that position, nor do you state you will approve the recognition. As such, we decline."

(What's your game?) John inquired, his body relaxed in the driver's seat of his vehicle, a fancy two seater.

(Seeing how desperate he is to have us,) she replied, dropping the stack of paper in front of the Suit, picking up the proposal for the next stage of integration Frank wanted on their project.

Reviewing it, she noted the Suit hadn't walked away.

The warehouse her tribe worked and lived in lay just in the reservation of the Pawnee. Sarah had close with their tribe until her obsession with all things mechanical began to worry them. They wouldn't allow her into the main part of the reservation anymore. Almost an exile, but not quite. Some still came to see her, but only for repairs or trade for a special gadget.

The warehouse belonged to her grandfather so he let her stay there, building her widgets and thingabobs as he called them. He didn't mind the clutter of inventions on shelves and often came to exchange for the more useful ones.

Mark, a Navajo who'd done something in his tribe to warrant exile, straightened and called to John, "Bring him up."

Frank, the tribe's shaman, though he preferred to be called the medic, turned the engine on.

It purred to life in a rumble that mirrored a lion.

"We will pay you for your services," the Suit stated, as if he expected money would buy them.

Annie snorted, "Don't need money, don't need work."

Her half Cherokee heritage only showed on her tunic and jewelry. She could have passed for Hispanic due to her mother's influence. Her love of math set her apart from her siblings.

Standing from his car, John scowled at the suit, "My business keeps us well supplied. Better than the pittance you'd offer."

Born Iroquois, John took great pleasure in using White Man's laws to rake in profits. He paid taxes so he could demand representation from the government. He hadn't gotten it yet, but he hoped.

"Do you want this designation for your tribe of five or not?" the Suit snarled.

"We've learned from our past," Sarah looked at him, her tone firm, "You do not mean us good fortune. You seem to want us to return to the Wild West days where Cowboys killed Indians in droves. We Native Americans deserve more respect than that."

"It's a simple liaison job," he planted his hands on her desk, leaning forward to intimidate her.

"No," she replied evenly, "This looks non-simple. Who will we work with? What is the goal we are being hired to accomplished? Who is responsible if anything goes amiss? What is the culture of those we are to liaise with? The fact you hide these from us like White Men of old hid their true intentions when they stole our land and our ways makes us distrust you. Please depart."

He picked up the file, "You will say yes."

"You so mirror the White Men of the past, that we will not agree," a thought crossed her mind, "If you wish our efforts, perhaps return with one of those you wish us to liaise with."

He sneered, marched out.

Frank sighed, "We all grew up with stories of White Man's cruelty and deceptions. I wonder if my Apache roots are withering my branches."

Sarah rubbed her other shoulder, "We all grew up with tales of the old days. We also grew up with the public schools. We know how to balance the winner, the loser and the truth in all histories."

"We must have someone special coming soon," John smiled.

"Why do you say that, John?" Sarah leaned back, considering the electrician and businessman with brown eyes, her black hair braided back with tendrils of white creeping in.

He chuckled, "You rarely rub your right shoulder. Last two times you did, we had Frank then Annie join our tribe."

She perked up at that, "Let's see if this is true. Another member would bring us to six."

"I hope a software engineer," Frank groused, "That would complete our project."

(Is he gone?) Sarah asked Mark.

(Yep. Got a stick for his back.)

(Annie, sweep for bugs. He seems to carry a hives worth of them. Mark, get the tools. Frank, get your kit. John, you want to give it a try today?) her eyes darting to each of them in turn.

Annie picked up a black box, flipped open the lid, then walked over the warehouse, (We need a breakthrough soon. I know most of us have been doing this for fifteen years or more, but we need some hope.)

(Genius don't fall from the sky everyday,) Mark one handed the tool chest that Annie and John had to drag to move, (Be grateful no trickster has come calling)

Frank sighed out loud, (No one lose a toe or finger.)

Sarah smiled as John purred, (But we need to so you have something to fuss over, shaman)

(Medic,) Frank scowled hauling his kit out of the storage closet, (I for one do not want to sew back on appendages)

Sarah stood, walked to the boxes they'd stacked to the side.

She depressed the hidden switch, lifting the boxes into the air, wind blowing down the hidden tunnel.

(Shall we?) she asked.

The chorus of (Yes, Chief.) let her shoulders relax.

Leading her tribe to their hopes and dreams, she forgot about the Suit.