Gerald’s ears twitched, his mouth scowled; then his legs stopped, and he turned around.

“And what,” his voice called out, in a deceptively calm tone but purposely loud enough to disrupt conversations among nearby tables, his bootfalls stark as he approached one end of a particular one. “Are we talking about here, lady and gentlemen?”

He placed his hands on the table decisively, effectively slamming them against the hardwood. He sweeped his head from right to left, blue eyes staring at the faces of a gaggle of unremarkable inmates, some of whom were familiar, others, not so much: Ami, Cyrus, Xerox, and, of course, Joshua -- a very prolific troublemaker, at whom he stared at with ferocious intensity even through his almost indifferent facial expression, which was, obviously, hard to read.

“I believe it appropriate to remind you, Joshua, that the law regarding public gatherings and speaking ill of the Government applies here as well.”

He withdrew his hands from the table and straightened himself up.

“Your name comes from the Bible, yet you are probably one of the biggest sources of commotion whenever we allow you anywhere. You should behave, for only through cooperation can prosperity follow,” he quoted a parliamentary edict. “Trust me when I say that the Government is only trying to help you people. This, all of this,” he gestured all around him, “is but part of a grand, master plan, I assure you. For all we know, they could be building a city dedicated to housing the Evolved somewhere out there, where you and the others can live in peace while, well, not managing to bother us normal people.”

As he spoke, the edges of his lips seemed to be tugged upwards in a faint smile. Either he was mocking the inmates, or he actually believed what he was saying.