By this point, Tennal was so used to dealing with the difficult people Surit aimed him at that he did it without even prompting. Between Surit’s exhaustive mental lists of everyone on the ship and Tennal’s own nose for problems, he spotted the few soldiers who were grumbling about the new course and cut them out for a talk. Tennal was charming. He was sincere. He dangled the threat of Oma like a grenade. And he ran it all on autopilot, because Tennal’s higher consciousness had just decided to pack up shop and stop thinking.

That was fine. Tennal didn’t need to think because Surit was still thinking for him in their joined mind: solid, intent thoughts about divisions and coups and what might be happening on Orshan. Thoughts about their ship and their tiny, self-assigned mission back into chaotic space. Tennal tagged along with the currents in Surit’s mind. This was much easier, in fact. It didn’t hurt at all.

Days ticked by, two into three. Tennal had gotten over his aunt’s death. He no longer thought about it, even when Surit was distracted.

“You used to talk more,” Basavi said abruptly.

They were both at the pilot’s terminal. Basavi was basically Surit’s deputy lieutenant now, but since Tennal didn’t have the training to handle even basic piloting by himself, she sometimes covered for Istara. Tennal looked up.

His eyes had been physically staring at a radar navigation screen, but all his attention had been focused through Surit’s eyes down at the power generators. “Fifty-one, and the last power rack at half capacity,” Tennal said. Then, “What?”

Basavi wore a miniature Guidance script on a bracelet; now she touched a fingertip to it uneasily. “I know you were always synced,” she said, “but you and the lieutenant … it didn’t look like this.”

Tennal wrenched his attention back into his own head. It took some effort. It took even more effort to realize he’d been riding along in Surit’s head for most of his shift. He’d sat next to Basavi for—Lights, five hours—with neither of them saying anything. His mouth was dry, his muscles were stiff, and he needed a piss. What he really didn’t need was ship gossip about how weird he and Surit were becoming.

“We’re fine,” Tennal said. “Nothing’s different.” He cast around for a distraction and realized he wasn’t the only one who had been sitting here in silence for hours. “You’re quiet.”

Basavi brought up two more light-screens, as if she could hide in her work. “No, I’m just—I’ve been distracted.”