“I’m illegal outside Orshan space,” Tennal pointed out. “So are you. When the Resolution let us back in, they made us sign that treaty that promised no neuromodified citizens would leave. They teach this every year at school. Remember? If I read a galactic citizen, I’m pretty sure that’s both a treaty violation and an act of war.”

“Yes, but if you don’t, would they notice you’re a reader?” Surit said, still frowning earnestly. He wore exactly the same expression discussing intergalactic warfare as he had when he’d found out a ranker hadn’t turned in the last weekly report. Tennal was starting to suspect that in Surit’s world, it was not possible to give less than 100 percent of your attention to an issue. “Other Resolution planets have neuromodifications. The High Chain has had them for centuries, for a start, though I don’t think they’re the same as ours. Orshan just wasn’t authorized when the army started experimenting.”

“Oh, so I’ll just pass myself off as High Chain royalty?” Tennal said, but his brain had started to whir. He hadn’t paid much attention to wider galactic politics, but he knew what Surit was talking about. The Resolution was huge. Orshan hadn’t managed to secure acceptance of architects or readers—possibly because the reader powers creeped everyone out—but other planets had managed to get acceptance for their own people with weird quirks. There were trillions upon trillions of people in Resolution space. Tennal could disappear much more effectively out there than leading a paranoid half-life in a suburb of Orshan Two.

“You’ll need documents for the link,” Surit said. “Real or fake. Is there anyone…?”

“No,” Tennal said reflexively. Nobody was close enough to him that they would risk helping him commit a crime, except maybe Zin, and he’d cut his own leg off before he got her involved. And any attempt to reach out to his aunt’s allies would get back to her before the data packets had even finished transmitting.

Then he realized: it didn’t have to be an ally of his aunt.

Archer Link Station was in the hands of that terrifying general with the nuclear-reactor smile: Governor-General Oma. Archer and Cavalry didn’t get along. Governor Oma didn’t have any reason to be fond of his aunt. Of course, she didn’t have any reason to be fond of Tennal either, but that was a problem for later. “Hm,” Tennal said, the corners of his mouth turning up. “I’ve got some thoughts.”

“Then don’t tell me,” Surit said, a crack of worry showing through.