Surit looked down at Tennal’s smooth, elegant fingers around Surit’s crumpled sleeve. His thoughts short-circuited. The jolt helped him shake the fog in his head. “Tennal,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Tennal let go of Surit’s arm as if it had suddenly grown spikes. “You’re on my staff now,” he said. “I’m the world’s phoniest captain. I have a transfer order for you and everything. Washstand’s that way, Lieutenant.”

Surit pulled down his sleeve and lurched to the washstand, where he put his entire head under the tap to wake himself up.

When he emerged, shaking the water from his ears, Tennal was pacing up and down the tiny space, talking. He sounded slightly wild, as if he hadn’t had much sleep either. “… no idea the amount of arguing I had to do. I said I already had a lieutenant. They were going to land me with some martinet they’d picked themselves. I told them you were the logical choice. I told them I couldn’t sleep—”

“What?” Surit paused midshave. “Why?”

Tennal waved a hand. “The sync, Lieutenant Perfect. Don’t you remember all those dramas about synced readers and architects? We’re supposed to get antsy if we’re apart for too long, and nobody out there can prove otherwise. I’m still giving out that we’re synced, by the way, because I don’t trust the gossip won’t get back to my aunt. I don’t trust anyone. Don’t let it go to your head, but I need you. You have no idea how far out of my depth I am.”

Surit dried his face, struggling to get on top of this. “So … you’re not escaping?” he said, trying to fit this into his head. “You’re joining Archer Division instead?”

“I am still very much escaping.” Tennal’s pacing brought him up against a wall and he spun on his heel. “Our dearly beloved Governor Oma says she’ll give me passage through the link if I try out this job. I imagine Oma thinks the power will go to my head and I’ll decide to stay and work for her. I know why she’s doing it: if the legislator’s nephew joins her side, it’ll give her something to throw in my aunt’s face. Not that I’m averse to that, but I hate being dependent on people.” As he turned again, his gaze fell on Surit’s screen.

Surit’s throat tightened as he saw Tennal read the old newslog headlines.

“Your mother’s ship?” Tennal said, more quietly. “Did you … find anything? Apart from the remnants?”

“No.” Surit had to force the word out. There was a miserable prickling in the back of his head. “There was nothing there to find.” He had to admit it. “I think there never was.”

“Oh,” Tennal said, with sudden awkwardness. “I’m sorry.”