Like a drumbeat in the back of Surit’s head, like a distant tide on a shore, Tennal felt something Surit had been trying not to think about. He felt a dizzying reflection of himself. Surit had an image of Tennal in his head that he was trying to hide, something made of lightning and razor edges and fireworks. Surit had been thinking about him for weeks.

Tennal realized, at the same time, his own speculations about Surit—what Surit’s shoulders would feel like to touch, the heat of his skin if he was close—were escaping into their joined mind.

Of all the times to find out, Tennal thought, choking on the hysteria. He felt his own panic rebounding from Surit. If he thought of touching Surit right now, it would be like touching his own skin and expecting it to be someone else’s.

They had a handful of seconds as the elevator fell toward the reception bay. Surit braced against the other side of the car. Slitted windows passed, showing stars. This time, Tennal didn’t have to watch Surit; if he reached out with his mind, he could feel Surit’s quick breathing.

It was Tennal who voiced the first thing they’d said to each other since they’d synced. “What are we going to do?”

He felt the question go through Surit like a frisson, the shock of Tennal’s audible voice. And then the panic paused, and through sheer force of will, Surit stabilized himself. Tennal could feel him drawing away, painstakingly re-forming into the person who was Surit, rather than Surit-synced-with-Tennal. Tennal was barely ready for the sudden distance. It was as if Surit’s heartbeat had been right next to his ear and was now across the room.

“I think the first thing on the list,” Surit said, in a voice that seemed to come from a deep, dry pit, “is to disappoint Governor Oma.”

“Oh,” Tennal said, “my favorite hobby.” He wasn’t really thinking about what came out of his mouth. Two cut-together images of the legislator and Governor Oma flashed on the news screen in the elevator. Something moved deep in Surit’s thoughts. Tennal reached out and found that reading Surit was effortless; he could just peel back the layers.

A flood of images came to him. Under its protective shell, Surit’s mind ticked like a machine: a neat, ordered thing of shelves and categories. His memory was like nothing Tennal had ever imagined. Tennal lived his life in a haze of thoughts and impressions, but Surit had taken in and filed away thousands, maybe millions, of crystal-sharp images. No wonder he needed to keep his mind in order.

Even now he was running through a list. Tennal got more flashes of himself, of Retrieval Two, of the Note—Surit was still thinking of his escape plan, though he had mentally written himself out of it.