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luxuries on equipment. There was no answer I could have given to the question of what I would drink without seeming to send some message, or imply something about what I was or wasn’t.
    As Eight handed me the water I’d asked for—in the best porcelain she had access to just now, I noticed, the violet-and-aqua Bractware—someone came out of the nearby dormitory, turned to walk down the corridor toward where I sat. She was Ychana, dressed in the light, loose shirt and trousers nearly all the Ychana residents of the Undergarden wore. I recognized her as the person who had confronted Lieutenant Tisarwat two weeks ago, to complain—with some justice—that our proposed plans for the refit and repair of the Undergarden had not taken into account the needs and desires of Undergarden residents themselves. But I had not actually been present at that confrontation. It had been conveyed to me by Ship, who had seen and heard it through Tisarwat herself. This person would have no reason to think I would recognize her.
    But she could have no other business coming to the end of the corridor like this than speaking to me, or to one of my Kalrs. I drank my water, handed the bowl to Five, and rose. “Citizen,” I said, and bowed. “Can I be of some assistance?”
    “Fleet Captain,” she said, and bowed herself. “There was a meeting yesterday.” A meeting of Undergarden residents, shemeant—it was how they settled matters that affected everyone generally. “I know you and the lieutenant were unable to attend or of course you would have been notified.”
    On the surface, entirely reasonable. Tisarwat and I had been away from the station, either aboard Mercy of Kalr or en route here. But of course any of my Kalrs that were still on the station might have been notified of such a meeting, and I knew they hadn’t been. The meeting had never been meant to include any of us, then, but saying so directly was a difficult matter, and I didn’t doubt this citizen was hoping I wouldn’t bring the question up. “Of course, citizen,” I replied. “Will you sit?” I gestured to the nearest crate. “I don’t think there’s tea ready, but we’d be happy to make some.”
    “Thank you, Fleet Captain, no.” Her message would be something awkward, then, and she was not looking forward to my reaction to it. Or perhaps to Lieutenant Tisarwat’s reaction. “The young lieutenant very kindly set up an office on level four of the Undergarden, to make it more convenient for residents to bring their desires and concerns to Station Administration. This has of course been very helpful, but perhaps her other duties have been neglected.”
    Definitely not looking forward to Tisarwat’s reaction. “And the consensus of the meeting was that someone else ought to be running that office when it opens again, I take it.”
    This citizen’s unease was barely visible, but definitely there. “Yes, Fleet Captain. We wish to emphasize, there’s no suggestion of any complaint on our part, or any impropriety on the young lieutenant’s.”
    “You just think it might be better for that office to more directly represent the concerns of the majority of Undergarden residents,” I acknowledged.
    Surprise flashed across her face, and then was gone. Shehad not expected me to speak so directly. “As you say, Fleet Captain.”
    “And Citizen Uran?” Uran wasn’t one of my soldiers, of course wasn’t in any way related to me, but she was nonetheless a member of my household, and had spent her mornings assisting in Tisarwat’s level four office. She was Valskaayan, the child of transportees sent to Athoek a generation ago and set to picking the tea that grew downwell, and was shipped out all over Radch space.
    “The Valskaayan child? Yes, of course, she’s welcome to continue. Please tell her so.”
    “I’ll speak to her,” I replied, “and Lieutenant Tisarwat, both.”
    Tisarwat definitely wasn’t happy. “But sir!” Urgent. Whispering, since we