At the door was the same captain he’d spoken to on the screen. He was only a few years older than Tennal, with a pleasant face, a fashionable haircut, and an expensive tailored inlay on his wristband. After all this time stuck in the military, the tabs and badges on his uniform now meant something to Tennal. That service mark of crossed wheat stalks was exactly the same as Oma had worn. The border on the rank tab meant he was probably an aide to Governor Oma.

The captain saluted Tennal, which almost certainly wasn’t correct. “I’m Captain Enahin Fari. Delighted to meet you.” His accent was one Tennal recognized: the private schools in Exana took the children of the elite from the biggest cities across Orshan’s three planets and gave their home accents that kind of Exana gloss. Tennal and Captain Fari might have met in class. If Tennal had made friends, and passed exams, and not gone off the rails, he could have been this smooth, successful officer in a few years. It was like looking at himself in a parallel universe.

The captain said, “This way, please.”

Tennal automatically jogged to catch up. “You realize I’m a—” He realized with a horrible lurch he’d been about to say ranker. He changed it. “Civilian.”

Captain Fari gave a polite nod without breaking his stride. “Yes, sir.” The corridor was hushed and carpeted. This was an expensive accommodation block. The only thing marring it was a burn gun mark on the wall. Tennal’s eyes caught on it, and he thought about the coup that Governor Oma had mentioned.

“So I’m free to leave, then?” Tennal said.

“Absolutely, sir.”

That was a lie. Tennal read the surface impressions coming from the captain without any guilt at all, because Tennal might not be conscripted, but he was still technically a prisoner. He got nothing about himself; Captain Fari didn’t know anything about him. He was just impatient to do his job and deliver Tennal to his boss. Bafflingly, despite the sirs, there was no mockery in him.

There was something bothering Tennal. It took him a moment to put his finger on it. Captain Fari, like most officers, was obviously an architect. He gave off a corona of light to Tennal’s reader senses—nothing exceptional, only a presence that lay slightly heavier on the fabric of the universe than a neutral. But there was something off about the light around him. A haze, as if it were reflected through water. Tennal didn’t know what to make of it.

At the end of the corridor, a glass wall showed another vertiginous drop over the city. The huge, clear pipe behind it must be the tube car system: Tennal had seen them before, though nothing on this scale. A panel slid open as a small four-person capsule arrived outside their floor. Tennal settled into it gingerly.