“I know.” An iciness edges your tone as you shove them back. It’s not like you hadn’t read any briefs about them. “The Nguni were the oldest of the peoples on Muungano. Though the Nguni more rightly represents a confederacy of peoples, they took their name from a region on O.E. They brought their entire culture to the desolate mining operation. They specialize in skillcraft, with some members being masters of everything from ceramics to metalwork to fashioning to weaving. Craftspeople who approached their work with a mixture of fear and respect, the same way they approached their gods. Because they seem smaller and darker, after generations spent at the mining outpost, they think of themselves as being treated like second-class members.”

Ishant glances at you. His careful gaze takes your measure. “The phase suits aid in the acclimation to the city. They generate…”

“… additional gravity stabilization fields. I know.”

“You could at least serve bourbon with this amount of shade you’re giving me.” Ishant purses his thin lips. “I won’t bother you with a full briefing, then.”

“I was briefed that you like your shirts tight.”

“I prefer the word fitted.” He tugs at his collar. “If you want, I can send you the Nguni cultural protocols.”

“Fine.” You admit that you don’t know the source of your hostility toward him. Only that he is here, his voice haranguing your ears. And Xola is not.

“You don’t think much of me,” he says with a matter-of-fact tone, without anger, resentment, or pity. He monitors the course readings, not meeting your eyes.

“I hear you’re a fine cultural attaché.” You recall how Maulana described him when he pulled you aside. That he grinned like an obroni. Bowed in an extremely polite foreigner way. Always smiling. With a fashion sense involving clothing that fits too tight on him. “What I understand of that job, anyways.”

“I’m sort of like a diplomatic aide. Officially.” Ishant focuses on inputting commands for the flight, still conspicuously avoiding your gaze.

“And unofficially?”

Finally, he angles his body toward you and levels his professional, though not stern, gaze at you. “I’m the one you reach out to when you want to get shit done.”

“I imagine moving work along through relationships must be hard for you.”

Ishant swiveled about to fiddle with the controls again. Almost absently, he added, “Sometimes you have to slow down to speed up.”

“What did you say?” you snap, harsher than intended.

“Nothing. Just something Xola used to say all the time. His way of saying…” Ishant’s voice all but retreats from you, his drone fading out as you remember how Xola deemed every moment an opportunity to teach. You couldn’t even enjoy your bowl of black-eyed peas and corn bread in peace. Without him chiming in about how …