They were watching Tennal with mild disappointment. The way they said illegal made Tennal feel that what he was really being censured for was being impolite.

Reading was not admissible evidence in court. Orshan’s judges—none of whom had been in the military more than twenty years ago, when neuromods were created—had collectively decided that tampering with suspects’ minds was not a route they wanted their courts to go down. The answers could also be slippery: someone could be on edge because they were lying or because they thought they might be accused of lying. It was a bad way to get at the truth.

Tennal’s head was spinning. On balance, he thought Birimi probably shouldn’t be in here. As he slowed down the whirling in his head and managed to think in a straight line again, he realized how much he had just screwed up. “I—okay, look, that was—”

Birimi appeared bleakly resigned. “So General Oma is now using readers to interrogate people.”

Tennal straightened indignantly. “Lights, it was an accident. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, I’ve triggered the defense condition,” Birimi said. “Of course, it was nothing to do with General Oma. She has done everything legally and morally.”

“Chances of that are low,” Tennal said, with some asperity. He still had his reader senses open: for some reason he caught a glimpse of surprise from Birimi. Surely they knew that. “Oma hasn’t gotten me to read anyone, though. That was my idea, I meant it to be shallow, and I’m sorry. Though, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Oma would have read you if she could.”

Genuine surprise. “Hm,” Birimi said. They appeared to relax. “My apologies. It’s just that I have encountered some … strangeness in Oma’s officers. Some odd reactions, maybe not of their own doing. I see that’s not the case here.”

“Strangeness,” Tennal repeated. “What, you think she’s writing them? She did put a compulsion on Surit.”

“That was different,” Surit said unhappily. “That was necessary.”

“Don’t start,” Tennal said. “Look, I talk to the other aides every day. I think they’d have noticed if she were writing them. I get that you think you’ve been screwed over, but this seems paranoid.” Also, importantly, not Tennal’s problem. He wasn’t getting involved in Archer Link Station politics.

“Perhaps I am paranoid,” Birimi said, after a pause. “I have a very limited view from here.”

“I think you should explain what you meant,” Surit said. “You think Governor Oma is writing people?” By this point in their working relationship, Tennal recognized it: the painstaking inevitability of a cat that had been presented with the end of a piece of string; only instead of string, it was a potential injustice. Tennal couldn’t even half-heartedly think, Damn Surit. It was just how Surit was.