Extrasolar Teas Box

Last drinks at the bar of Mamta Jagasia and the publican's long, violet nails rap staccato on bench top Security, a macaw perched atop double-barrelled shotgun, endures heavy eyelids. Pale extraterrestrials, not quite passing as human in black Zoot Suits, have tended to the Polybius cabinet and left. One lingering patron: Michelle's left hand swirls glass four of 'Dear Kelsie' 2019 whilst right hand slowly turns Extrasolar Teas Box so that she may read each side's writing.

Some context: a few months back, Michelle was making and selling her own Rapid Antigen Tests. These RATs, a piece of paper which says 'yeah, you got omicron bro' have been scientifically proven to be more accurate than those on the legitimate market and, furthermore, the demand at the time outstripped conventional supply.  Lo, Michelle made illegitimate bank or, rather, a canvas bag from a major supermarket chain (she works at one, literal half chance of guessing which) full of Ghost Tobacco, El Dorado Green and the Fire Extinguisher of Merg Portua, because CatScript (₵$) works as a mean of pricing but not as a store of wealth.

Michelle has no use for these esoteric inhalants and so is in the process of splurging, by barter, on weird alcohols. With paperwork brought home, Mamta has grown politely impatient and, sideways glance at canvas bag, proffered the Box of Suhwill Tea for Michelle's consideration. This xenobiotic tea comes from outer space. Now that grand scale dick waving has been privatised, commercial space tourism is a thing and space planes must be cleaned because zero-g vomit just gets everywhere. Luke cleans airplanes. He takes stuff left behind by passengers. Luke took the Box of Suhwill Tea from a space plane and sold it to Mamta for a drink-in-a-coconut recently popular in Genoa, Italy. Yeah, that checks out.

Anyway.

Michelle plonks the Flower of Suhwill on the bar: 'I can't get behind this.'

Mamta, covering her own bemused groan: 'Pray tell, why? You like tea. You don't want to awaken your Yeetsu?'

'I suspect that people were exploited in the making of this space tea. Ethically, I can't -' buuurp '- purchase this.'

Care to elaborate? : 'They advertised pretty clearly otherwise.'

Smug: 'They sat "it could never grow on Earth". That's because, on Earth, we have labour laws. How, about, another drink?'

Mamta discretely shuffled to stand in front of the coconuts: 'How, about, benefit of the doubt? They gave the Suhwill safety goggles.'

'Yeeesss, increased the eye health of the tea masters, made sure that indentured servants could work longer.'

'Pfft. Healthy work force.' Mamta seems to be drying a pint glass with rag. 'They don't use machine harvesters.'

'That's, because -' Michelle slaps hands on bar with more force than intended and tilts stoll slightly backwards, four seconds to rebalance herself 'exploiting unexploited foreigners is cheapr than machines aaand parts aaand engineers which, fair 'nuff, are just over qualified engineers. Dated an engineers once. Decent guy, but d'dn't work out. Prob'bly because he was a meteorologist.'

Mamta partly digests that before sensing a need to fill silence: 'They pay the Suhwill the full value of their labour plus 10%. Then three flowers on top of that.'

'Value as judged by an organisation that Evil Tea Evil Corp set up. Full value plus 10% probably is the three flowers.'

Exasperated, checking the box again: 'They're giving all their employees a lifetime supply of flowers.'

'Is drug. Keep 'em doped up, placid. And jus' because they like it doesn't mean is good for them - booze, tobacco, meth. The, uh, stuff is a pesticide.'

'Wait.' Mamta begins gotcha' smile. 'The Tea Masters gouge at the tree's roots with their beaks. Insects don't have beaks.'

Michelle takes the box of tea for her own consideration: 'Jus' 'cause they fly doesn't mean they're birds. See, addiction in rodents - they're bats.'

Reiterating: 'Beaks.'

'Hmmmer then maybe...'

Sexy pose: 'Nobody was exploited in the making of this space tea.  And they're sending that chick's kids, or, ahh, chicks to uni.'

'Yeah, probably study to be engineers. Or meteorologists.' Michelle plonks the Flower of Suhwill on the bar. 'I can't get behind this.'