Writing was the informal term for the way architects bent your mind into compliance. It was more accepted than reading, since at least you knew it was happening—and there were so many bloody architects, you couldn’t turn a street corner in Exana without tripping over one. Tennal had never seen why that was so much better for society than reading. “How good are you?” Tennal asked, with enough skepticism to sound like a challenge. This man was obviously an architect, since he glowed bright to Tennal’s reader senses, but Tennal had seen better architects. “Try me.”

The boss gave him a second look, eyes flicking up and down. “All right, then.” He looked over at his bodyguard and tapped his wristband.

After a few moments, the bodyguard silently laid a display case on the table. He flipped up the lid and stepped back.

Tennal tried not to react. It was totally innocuous: a display set of liquor glasses, the high, flared type common in this part of the world. They were emblazoned with the full set of military divisions. Red for Cavalry, charcoal for Infantry, Archer gold, Vanguard blue … the full dozen was there, even the smaller divisions with no political influence.

“Pick your poison,” the boss said, watching his face.

This was a test. The first architects and readers had been created by the military, twenty years ago, so anyone Tennal’s age must have got the reader gene from a veteran parent. That meant Tennal’s family was tied to one of the divisions: if not Cavalry, which was currently in charge of the legislature, then maybe Infantry, or Navy, or one of the others. Military politics mattered everywhere on this bloody planet. You couldn’t escape it. The man wanted to know if Tennal would admit who he was connected to.

Tennal ignored the vivid red of the Cavalry glass and picked one of the others at random. Yellow glinted between his fingers as he slid it over to be filled. “Three minutes,” he said. “Try writing me.”

“And what do you want if you win?” the man said.

“You own this hotel,” Tennal said. “The people I’ve been rooming with want me out. I need a place to stay for a while.” He tried to sound casual. He’d been kicked out this morning, not to put too fine a point on it, but that was an unnecessary detail. Tennal didn’t like the word desperate and saw no reason to apply it to himself.

“That’s all?”

Tennal felt it. The first touch of an architect command, like a solar flare in his peripheral vision. He didn’t react. “I’m buying time,” Tennal said. He leaned back in his chair, the liquor glass between his fingers. “Why, can’t you afford to let me have a room? Business not doing well?”

The boss struck.