“I’m not going to read anyone,” Tennal said. This was true in spirit; he didn’t plan to deep-read anyone, which was what non-readers were afraid of. He couldn’t turn off every hint from his reader senses any more than he could turn off his ears. “I also don’t intend to murder anyone or siphon off credits from the ship’s funds—is it that hard to believe I don’t plan to commit a crime on a tiny ship full of soldiers?” A buzzer blared to indicate thirty minutes until departure. “Don’t you want to be on the bridge or something?” Tennal added. “I thought you’d have important buttons to press.”

The warrant officer yanked the flashing lights away from the Guidance shrine and turned them off. “You won’t be laughing when I send back a report about this.”

“Please do,” Tennal said, “I don’t want to stand in the way of our fine military traditions.” He was fairly sure no report would go back—it was only nine days before Tennal was due to become a Rank One architect’s problem. Tennal had picked up a fine sense of how far people would go to get their own back.

The warrant officer looked in increasing frustration at the other bed, which Tennal had used to lay out his clothes. It was meant for the architect who was supposed to sync him. “This is a double cabin,” the warrant officer said. “You may not report to me, but your commanding officer is going to have something to say about it when he joins us.”

“Again,” Tennal said, “I really don’t like to correct you, Officer, it does pain me, but: not military personnel. That bit’s very important. I can’t actually have a commanding officer at this moment. Could I have my important devotional material back, please.”

The warrant officer stood there, their fist clenching around the string of novelty lights, then abruptly shoved them back at Tennal. “Listen to me, you fucking weasel,” they said. “You have nine days before your architect joins us. Once you’ve synced, then you’re a ranker. And if you cause trouble for me before that, I will come down on you like a shipload of girders in double gravity.”

“Of course, Officer,” Tennal said. He gave them a smile. “I don’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Once the warrant officer had gone, Tennal stowed the rug for takeoff because it wasn’t actually fastened to the floor. He strapped himself into a launch chair and spent the burn time reviewing the assignments that had been sent to the new queue on his wristband. There were still no notes on his assigned architect, but he’d apparently been assigned enough learning modules—Study and Training modules—to fill the next six months, let alone the next nine days. He rejected all of them and meticulously noted his civilian status on every rejection.