“No one here is looking at you or speaking to you,” I said. “And your accent isn’t the same as theirs. You’re not from here. Reeducation usually works by straightforward conditioning, by making it intensely unpleasant to do the thing that got you arrested to begin with.” Or the most basic sort did, it could and no doubt did become much more complicated. “And the thing that’s upsetting you is expressing anger. And you’re so very angry.” There was no one here familiar to me, but anger I recognized. Anger was an old companion of mine by now. “It was an injustice, start to finish, yes? You hadn’t done anything. Not anything you thought was wrong.” Likely no one here thought it was wrong, either. She hadn’t been driven from the tables here, her presence hadn’t cleared everyone else from the vicinity. The proprietor had served her. “What happened?”

She was silent a few moments. “You’re very used to saying you want something and then just getting it, aren’t you,” she said at length.

“I’ve never been to Athoek Station before today.” I took another sip of the thick tea. “I’ve only been here an hour and so far I don’t much like what I see.”

“Try somewhere else, then.” Her voice was even, very nearly without any obvious trace of irony or sarcasm. As though she meant only what the words she said meant.

“So what happened?”

“How much tea do you drink, Citizen?”

“Quite a bit,” I said. “I’m Radchaai, after all.”

“No doubt you only drink the best.” Still that apparent sincerity. She had regained most of her composure, I guessed, and this overt pleasantness with its near-inaudible undercurrent of anger was normal for her. “Handpicked, the rarest, most delicate buds.”

“I’m not so fussy,” I said, equably. Though, to be honest, I had no idea whether the tea I drank was handpicked or not, or anything about it, except its name, and that it was good. “Is tea picked by hand, then?”

“Some,” she said. “You should go downwell and see. There are some very affordable tours. Visitors love them. Lots of people only come here to see the tea. And why shouldn’t they? What are Radchaai without tea, after all? I’m sure one of the growers would be happy to show you around personally.”

I thought of Citizen Fosyf. “Perhaps I will.” I took another sip of the tea-gruel.

She raised her bowl, drank the last bits of her own. Rose. “Thank you, Citizen, for the entertaining conversation.”

“It was a pleasure to have met you, Citizen,” I replied. “I’m staying on level four. Stop by some time when we’re settled in.” She bowed without answering. Turned to depart, but froze at the sound of something heavy thunking hard against the wall outside.