“No,” he replied simply, remembering to appear noncommittal. “Although I’ve not been to every part of Indira, so I couldn’t say for sure.”

“What part of Indira are you from?” the Which asked. “And what should I call you?”

“You can call me soldier,” Everson answered quickly. “Where I’m from doesn’t matter.”

The Which smiled even more deeply. “There, you see. Now you sound like a soldier.” She gracefully and graciously gestured to the waiting food. “Please, eat something.”

Everson didn’t need to be told twice. He hadn’t eaten in days and his stomach growled to remind him. He spooned portions onto his plate and dug into the food with fervor, shoveling in mouthful after mouthful before the previous one had even been swallowed.

“I’m sure it’s not like the bounty you’re used to on Indira,” The Which continued, “but it’s the best we have to offer.”

“I’m grateful,” said Everson through distended cheeks.

The magi seer let him eat for a moment, watching him carefully all the while, and then ventured forward, with an air of casual conversation. “I’m aware of the battle that took place at the Grand Schism,” she said. “How is it that you remain here on Mano?”

“I was left for dead,” Everson replied without thinking. His chewing slowed to a more reasonable rate, and he was pleasantly surprised at how palatable this food was now that he allowed it to rest on his tongue long enough to taste it.

“So no one on your home planet is aware that you’re alive?”

Everson abruptly stopped eating. Looking up from his plate for the first time since serving himself, he noticed that not a morsel had been placed on the plate of The Which. Obviously, she had not eaten a bite. How could he have been so stupid? Had this Which saved him from the mob so that she could have a private audience to his slow, agonizing death by poison? Or perhaps he had ingested something that would make him helpless against her questioning? He threw down his spoon in self-disgust.

“If you intend to kill me, you needn’t have been so gracious about it,” he said.

The Which sat back in her chair, eyebrows askance. After a moment of silence, she picked up her own spoon and scooped up a healthy mouthful of food from the Indiran’s plate. She popped it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed.

As she delicately dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, she said, “On the contrary, I need you alive. You may be able to do something for me. Think of it as a favor in payment for your life.”

Everson felt foolish, but he picked up his spoon, took another bite of the admittedly delicious food, and turned to the Which. “I’m listening.”

The Which looked to her guards, and her features seemed to darken. Though their eyes remained mostly focused on nothing, Everson could see right through their amateurish attempts to appear unengaged. He imagined their ears were so burning with interest that melted earwax should be dripping from their lobes.