“No!” cried Tisarwat. Indignant. And also ashamed—because she knew as well as I did that there had been times and places where such a concern would have been well founded. And from what we’d seen when we arrived, with the painter and Sword of Atagaris, there was some reason to suspect that this was one of those times and places. “The plan is to confirm existing housing arrangements.” A few people scoffed. “And you’re right,” Tisarwat went on, “Station Administration should be hearing your concerns. We can talk about them right now if you like. And then you”—she gestured at the person standing in front of her—“and I can take those concerns directly to Station Administrator Celar. In fact, we could set up an office on level four where anyone could come and talk about problems with the repairs, or things that you want, and we could make sure that gets to Administration.”

“Level four?” someone cried. “Not all of us can get up and down those ladders!”

“I don’t think there’s room on level one, Citizen,” said Tisarwat. “Except maybe right here, but that would be very inconvenient for Citizen Emer’s customers, or anyone who walks through here.” Which was nearly everyone in the Undergarden. “So maybe when this good citizen and I”—she gestured toward the person in front of her—“visit Administration today, after we talk here, we’ll let them know that repairing the lifts needs to be a priority.”

Silence. People had begun to come, slowly, cautiously, out of the shop and into the tiny, makeshift concourse. Now one of them said, “The way we usually do this sort of thing, Lieutenant, is we all sit down, and whoever is speaking stands up.” In a tone that was almost a challenge. “We leave the bench for those who can’t sit on the ground.”

Tisarwat looked down at the bench she was standing on. Looked out at the people before her—a good fifty or sixty, and more still coming out of the tea shop. “Right,” she said. “Then I’ll get down.”

As Sirix and I returned to the house, Fleet Captain Uemi’s message reached Mercy of Kalr. Medic was on watch. “All respect to Fleet Captain Breq,” came the words into Medic’s ear. “Does she desire some sort of firsthand or personal information? I assure you that I was the only person on Sword of Inil to spend more than a few minutes on Omaugh.”

Medic, unlike Seivarden or Ekalu, understood the import of the questions I had been asking of Fleet Captain Uemi. And so she was horrified rather than puzzled when she spoke the reply I’d left, in case the answers to my questions had been what they were. “Fleet Captain Breq begs Fleet Captain Uemi’s very generous indulgence and would like to know if Fleet Captain Uemi is feeling quite entirely herself lately.”