“Here are some commercial transports,” Tennal said, waving up a link search he’d done half an hour ago. “I’d be very happy to take any of them to our destination.” The destination the fleet had registered was a patch of uninhabitable chaotic space, which Tennal assumed had something to do with research mission. No commercial transports would go near it. Tennal had highlighted a few pleasure-cruise tours to Archer Link Station instead. “What do you think, Officer?”

The warrant officer stared at him for a good three seconds and turned to the rankers. “You two, get the fuck out. We’re launching in thirty-two minutes. Stations.” The two rankers saluted, one of them doing a better job at a poker face than the other one, and left. Tennal heard their footsteps slowing as they walked away, clearly angling to hear the rest of the argument.

The warrant officer took a heavy step into the room, right on the deep-pile rug Tennal had borrowed from the legislator’s storage without her permission. “For a start, you’ll stop calling me Officer like a fucking civilian. You call me sir or Captain. And second, you aren’t a fucking civilian, and you aren’t covered by this—this regulation-grubbing. Third—”

“Oh, but I am,” Tennal said.

He opened the channel again just in time to feel that derail the warrant officer from their train of thought. “What?”

“A civilian,” Tennal said helpfully. “Up until I either sign a recruitment form or sync with a serving architect, I’m not actually classified as military personnel. I’ve had to dig into the regulations a bit, but it looks like the best description for me on this trip is civilian adviser, as I’m voluntarily contributing my knowledge and expertise. Not a big deal, by the way,” he added. “Always happy to help our brave protectors.”

The warrant officer glared at him, a tic jumping in their forehead. “Show me these regulations.”

“Of course. Let me just—here we are—” This time, the text that filled the wall was ant-sized. Page after page of laws and codes crammed in, highlighted here and there in blue. Tennal hadn’t read half of them—he only ever learned enough about any one field to be dangerous—but he was fairly sure they backed him up. “So that seems clear,” Tennal said blandly. He turned away to rearrange the gaudy decorations he’d picked up for his wall-mounted Guidance shrine. He’d unearthed a string of red novelty lights in place of the oil lamps, and when he clicked them on, they started flashing in an immensely satisfying way.

“Turn those bloody things off,” the warrant officer said irritably. “My orders say differently. You’re a normal ranker being transported to meet up with an architect. The only special instructions I have are not to spread your name around, and to arrest you if I find out you’ve read anyone.”