Surit knew what the plan was. This small, noisy gathering held most of the younger officers who were closest to Oma, though not, of course, the governor herself. Someone here should know where the remnants were. If Birimi had been wrong, or lying, then the remnants should have been logged and sent to the Resolution. Let’s wait until they’re drunk and then ask, Tennal had said clinically. We need them distracted. That way it’s less likely to get back to Oma.

“So, Yeni,” a smiling lieutenant said next to him. “How’s the station? You’ve got the problem district, haven’t you?” Surit tensed, wondering if this was about their visit to Birimi, but she immediately clarified, “The traffic, that is. I’ve got the patch next to yours.”

“Oh, that,” Surit said, instantly relaxing. He could have talked about traffic patterns all day. If he’d known you were allowed to talk about work at this kind of party, he would have seen the point of them sooner.

They fell easily into a conversation. Surit was getting prurient sideways glances from everyone who passed—Tennal had admitted they were synced; of course that would cause curiosity—but he ignored them. Trays drifted around with sizzling roasted vegetables, seasoned and spiced, and morsels of expensive meat. Surit stopped drinking because it interfered with his ability to sketch an action plan for their joint traffic issues. At one point he had his message inbox up on a screen in front of him and caught an incredulous look from Tennal across the table, but just then Tennal was swept up to visit another group across the room.

There was only one odd moment with the other lieutenant. When they’d beaten the traffic problem into the ground, to mutual satisfaction, and Surit was finally closing his wristband screens, the lieutenant blinked, and a blank look came over her face. Then she looked seriously at him and said, “Halkana must be getting impatient.”

It was her voice—Surit should know, he’d been talking to her for twenty minutes—but something was off about it. Some intonation wasn’t quite the same.

“Impatient for what?” Surit said carefully.

“I heard he wanted to leave?” the lieutenant said. She glanced over at the gaggle of officers who had moved onto a drinking game—Tennal, of course, in the middle of it. The odd note in her voice was still there, as if her mouth were an unfamiliar shape.

Surit was not an actor, but he could make his voice politely baffled. “I don’t think so. He seems to like it here.”

For a long few seconds, there was no answer. The lieutenant just blinked. Then her face relaxed. “We all like it here,” she said, and smiled in a distracted way. “Excuse me.” She stood and wandered away to another of the couch groupings. A tray drifted hopefully behind her.