Surit thought of Governor Birimi saying, Some odd reactions, maybe not of their own doing.

Architects could write people temporarily. That was just a risk of living in the Orshan sector. A strong architect could manage a write command that would linger in someone’s brain, activating on a certain trigger. But nothing Surit knew of would produce an effect where it looked like someone else was in your head.

Even the suspicion was absurd. Architects and readers were real; brainwashing was a myth. This was just a lieutenant who was very loyal to her commander. That was how the army was supposed to work.

“Hi,” Tennal said from behind him. Tennal draped himself over the back of the couch, leaning on Surit’s shoulder. Surit was so familiar with the sound of his footsteps that he didn’t even jump. It was only a second later that he realized Tennal’s face was so close that Surit could feel his breath on his neck, and Surit should probably be feeling uncomfortable. It was alarming—dangerous—that he wasn’t.

“I’m a little drunk,” Tennal said, without moving. He was a warm weight on Surit’s shoulder. Surit couldn’t make himself move. “Most of these people are assholes. I shouldn’t have mentioned the sync; that’s all they want to talk about. Are you having fun?”

“I’ve solved our traffic issues,” Surit said, which was both safe and indisputable.

Surit felt Tennal’s laugh on his skin. “Of course you did. Do you want a drink?”

“No,” Surit said. He had one thing to focus on this evening. “Give me yours.” Tennal passed him his half-finished glass, and Surit replaced it with something nonalcoholic and poisonously sweet. “Try this.”

Tennal pushed himself up straight, took a sip of it, and choked. “Ugh. Perfect.” He glanced across the room. “Stand by, I’ll need you later.”

After he’d disappeared, Surit stayed in his seat for a while. The group around him had disappeared, leaving only empty trays hovering above the plush cushions and crescent dishes of fruit, half-eaten. He watched the other officers from a distance.

Birimi had accused Oma of—well, not much, now that Surit thought of it. Birimi had carefully avoided accusing her of anything. They had mentioned that some remnants had disappeared while Oma was in charge of them and that her architects were acting strangely. That was it.

Orshan’s scientists had dug a set of remnants out of deep space to make the original architects and readers. It had taken years of research and meticulously built technology. The effect of the remnants had made Marit, they had made thousands of other architects, and a generation later, through inheritance, they had made Tennal and Surit.