He listens soberly as she describes the history of the ploom. The more he hears about Anwei's people, the more he understands how she is the way she is, all the self-defeating and blame-shifting, and the more he sympathizes. She's not unlike him, a product of her culture, a refugee.

"Who says you have to bring it back? I'm not exactly jumping up and down to bring the FAYZ back, I mean." He shrugs and licks the ploom, trying to eat slowly, but the sensation of food in his mouth is too much temptation. He can't try to savor it; food isn't for savoring. Savoring is a luxury for people who haven't starved before. He swallows it whole, but a sincerely apologetic look crosses his face.