“My briefing had a lot of holes,” Surit said, apparently ignoring him, “but even I can figure out you’re not here voluntarily. I know who you are, and the law should apply to everyone, but none of this feels right.” Tennal couldn’t even laugh. The law didn’t have anything to do with it, but it wasn’t as if he were an innocent victim. “I’m not law enforcement,” Surit continued, “and I haven’t been made aware I have any rehabilitative responsibilities. Have you been sentenced under the laws and codes of the Orshan Fedstate?”

Tennal’s throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. “No.”

He expected then what did you do?—but it didn’t come. Surit seemed to weigh each slow word as he put them together. “Then I should have been clearer,” he said. “There is literally nothing you could say to make me sync you.”

Tennal sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed. “How about, you have orders?” he demanded. “How about, you signed up for this?”

“Not all orders are legal,” Surit said.

“You’re going to risk a court-martial? Over this?”

“Forcing a sync like this is wrong.” Surit’s voice was rough and tightly controlled. He turned away, hunching over his light-screen. “I didn’t realize I was causing you stress, and I apologize. I thought you knew I wouldn’t carry it out.”

Those weren’t reasons; those were excuses. Tennal’s hands were shaking, which was a useless distraction. “You don’t have any family obligations to me,” he said. “You’re not my friend. You’re not even sleeping with me. Although,” he added, suddenly seeing a way this might make sense, “if that’s what you’re angling for—”

Surit tensed further. “Please take this seriously, Tennalhin.” He magnified the screen and angled it so Tennal could see. “I wrote up a formal assignment rejection. I haven’t submitted it yet because it doesn’t fix things. You’ll still be chemically altered, and they’ll probably find another architect to sync you the moment I tell them I won’t do it.”

Tennal gripped the edge of the bed convulsively and stared at Surit. He was a solid, unwavering presence in the chair three feet from Tennal, silhouetted in the dim glow that was all the lights would give out during the night cycle. The screens shed more warm light onto his face. The frown was back, that slight crease between his eyebrows. Tennal had thought he had a handle on understanding Surit, but he’d been wrong. He didn’t know him at all.

“You really won’t do it?”

“Of course not,” Surit snapped.

“Why?” Tennal’s voice was a needle looking for weak points. “Are you feeling sorry for me? You shouldn’t.”