You accepted, part out of respect, more out of curiosity. You’d never been to the Dreaming City. You spent most of your time in the Belts, the kraals that orbited the moon. The Belts had grown so massive you hadn’t explored all of them, much less made time to check out the Dreaming City. This would be the perfect excuse.

You dined with the rest of the Adisas. Selamault sat off to the side, almost on her own, her spheres swirling about her head as she perused whatever data stream fascinated her. Camara Xola went back and forth with Jaha over matters of operations. Him taking her to task for one thing or another, in this case, agreeing to a plan they’d mapped out together only for her to go her own way in the moment. She suggested that they carve out a new plan. The glint in her eye said that she would only go her own way again, so he might as well agree. Sucking his teeth, Xola threw his hands up in surrender and turned back to you.

“What do you think you gained from your speech?” he asked nonchalantly as if picking up the conversation where you’d left off.

“It needed to be said. You have to speak truth to power.” You hoped you came across as confident, brash, and sure as the rehearsed words sounded.

“Yes, but how did that serve your work?” In a dramatic flourish, he waved a carrot from his plate in her direction. Later, you found out that he simply hated carrots. He would move them about his plate and make it appear like he ate some. That way none of his caretakers would fuss at him.

You tried a different tack. “Sometimes you have to beat the asses of those in the room to get rid of fake friends.”

“But your real friends still end up taking an ass whupping, too,” Camara Xola countered.

“Real friends can handle it.”

“But should they have to?” Camara Xola raised his carrot, holding you in rapt attention. He bit into it, but made a face indicating he regretted that life choice. Spitting it out, though bits still flecked his chin, he said, “You have to be strategic with your actions.”

“I’m doing that.” A shadow of defensiveness entered your voice.

“All I am saying is that you don’t always have to put your game out front.” Xola set the carrot down, his fingers dancing along his plate like a drunk spider, scooping up rice. You handed him a spoon and moved his drink closer to him. He smiled. “With all that in mind, would you do anything different if you had it to do over?”

“It needed to be said,” you said after a moment’s consideration.