“Mm,” Tennal said. When Surit came out of the bathroom, he’d killed the screen entirely and was sitting straight up. The only light was the room’s low red safety glow. “That’s not the only thing, is it?”

Surit paused, one hand on his locker.

“Go on,” Tennal said softly, with the air of someone poking a firework with a match. Tennal had said he couldn’t read Surit, and Surit believed him, but Surit’s face must be more transparent than he’d thought. “What’s on your mind, Surit Yeni?”

“I looked up the other military readers,” Surit said carefully.

He hadn’t been looking for other readers when he’d started. He’d been looking for information on the sync. Military briefings were a byword for being full of holes and leaving out vital information, but it was incredibly frustrating how little they’d been told. The regulator who’d assigned Surit to the post had given the impression that this was a test period and, after this mission, they’d be given regulator training and guidance, but that seemed irresponsible. As far as the regulators knew, he and Tennal had already synced. What if they’d done it wrong? Didn’t the regulators care?

Surit had scoured all the networks he had access to for more about readers, but the only mention in general military guidance was a note that synced readers must receive orders through their designated architect. Public networks had an array of lurid dramas about syncing, which didn’t really help. There were rumors that had entered popular culture, some of which Surit recognized—synced architects could write readers with no effort, they couldn’t spend too long apart, they died if the sync was broken. The way synced readers could teleport ships, had red eyes, and exploded people’s heads from a distance was probably artistic license.

It had taken Surit some time and a lot of stubborn attempts, but eventually he’d found a file full of numbers. And for each number, a unit.

“So…?” Tennal said.

“There are fifty-two synced readers on active duty. Ten of them are with the regulators.”

“And the others?” Tennal said. “The fleet readers?”

“They’re all synced to pilot specialists,” Surit said. “All forty-one of them.”

Tennal made the leap easily. “The forty-second is me.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m the exception. I should be synced to a pilot specialist, if I’m supposed to be helping with navigation, and instead I’m synced to you. And you don’t know why.”