Tennal drained his shot and bought a round.

The two of them ended up in Tennal’s cabin. As a partner, the ranker was enthusiastic and good-natured, but when Tennal opened an experimental channel to read his surface feelings he got something not quite complimentary about Tennal himself, so he shut it again. Casual encounters were a bad time to read people. His partner wasn’t as good as an architect—getting wasted on cheap drinks wasn’t as effective as someone writing you—but between fooling around and the lurching blurriness, Tennal unwound enough to sleep.

The day cycle started with a soft glow in the cabin walls. Tennal shoved himself up on his elbows, dislodging his partner, as the door buzzed.

He didn’t have to open it. The person outside had entrance access.

“I know I’m late,” a voice said as the door slid aside. “I didn’t get the docking notification until just a few—” The newcomer broke off.

He was young. All the Rank Ones Tennal had met were senior officers with graying hair and cutlery trays of decorations on their chests. Tennal wasn’t ready for this fresh-faced lieutenant straight out of a recruitment promo, hesitantly blocking the door with the width of his shoulders. He should have been ready, Tennal realized: he should have expected every bit of him, from the fastidious hang of his belt to his clean shoes to the pleasantly blank look on his face. An oak-wood button on his cuff gave his gender reference in a neat, military-approved style. His hair was thick and sandy, cropped close to his head.

But the one thing Tennal had been ready for wasn’t there. There was no light coming from the soldier in front of him. As he stood there in the door, Tennal was sure—absolutely certain—he was an architect. It didn’t make any difference what his rank tabs said; this instinct could have picked him out in the blackness of space. Tennal had always assumed architects couldn’t help the light they shed, as if their intentions spilled it into the universe undirected, like a lamp with no shade. But he could see nothing from this newcomer at all. Tennal had never experienced this certainty combined with this total lack of presence. This soldier had defenses so strong that nothing showed through.

The perfect soldier was frowning now, a frozen expression with a gaze that didn’t quite land on the curly-haired ranker in Tennal’s bed. He said, “Fifty-Six?”

Tennal gave him a cool, artificial smile. “Surit Yeni. I don’t recall inviting you to my cabin. Did you come to watch?”