“Interesting. Wait, I’m such a poor host.” Car’Annie eased back in her seat. She tapped a control on her wrist and lowered the restraints. Fela tumbled from her perch. The muscles in her legs barely cooperated. She managed to lope to the table, her eyes focused on the water. Car’Annie made no move to stop her. Unable to feel her hands, she fumbled at the glass. Water splashed all over the table as her trembling hands brought the glass to her lips. Eventually, enough filled her mouth to warrant her swallowing. Car’Annie raised her glass to her mouth and waved her other hand in a circle for Fela to continue. “How did that start?”

“My great-grandmother was a cleaning lady for a rich woman on the other side of the town she grew up in.”

“Franklin, Indiana…” Car’Annie continued the show of recalling her dossier.

“Yes. After the third great pandemic, work was hard to find and she took whatever work she could find. My ma-maw was a proud woman. The manner of work wasn’t an affront to her dignity. She worked hard no matter the job. She’d get up early every morning, don her rebreather mask and gear, and take the bus to the other side of town. Do the woman’s laundry. Sweep her floors. Wash her dishes. Once the job was done, out of her benevolence, the woman would offer ma-maw an item she’d either tired of or needed an excuse to replace. After a year of working for her, she gave my grandmother a set of dishes. A complete setting for eight people. Some of the fanciest plates ma-maw ever laid eyes on. She treasured those dishes. Every Sunday—before we called the day Ojo Aiku, the Day of Immortality—she’d set the table for her family’s dinner. She passed them down to her oldest daughter, who passed them down to me.”

“What did you do with them?” The woman enjoyed a long sip from her glass.

“I smashed them to bits. I had no interest in receiving scraps from the master’s table.” Fela smiled at the memory.

“They must’ve been a priceless heirloom. You couldn’t have wrapped your mind around ‘reclaiming’ them for your family?”

“I’m sure on O.E. they’d have been worthy of display in a museum. Within Muungano, material things aren’t valued for their monetary worth. That was another thing destroying them demonstrated. From their shards, I crafted my first piece. In memory of my family’s tradition, my next project was to hand cast a new place setting. For eight. I made such sets for several Muungano families before I joined the HOVA.”

“Just so I understand, your society centers art as its ethos, yet has no problem creating and sending out soldiers.”