#saelin

Davi had just had a whole morning full of briefings and seminars. It would have been nice if Saelin could be excused from that kind of thing, since Davi would send him all the information he needed to know and nobody ever asked his opinion. People rarely even acknowledged him where he sat beside Davi (or sometimes slightly behind, which felt just great). But that didn’t seem to be allowed.

Now, as they walked down the corridor into the mess hall, past the streams of military personnel, Saelin took a deep breath and steadied himself against the flash and flutter of hungry, thirsty, I can’t believe he did that, ugh what is taking this bitch so long, wow look at them, longing…

“If you go get the food, I’ll get coffee,” Davi said, turning away.

A quick scan of the crowded mess hall didn’t detect any of the handful of people he knew, so Saelin didn’t have any real cause to object to Davi’s assumption that they’d sit together. Probably with some of the other pilots, none of whom were synced except Davi. Fantastic. Exactly what I need.

Saelin wove his way between the crowds of people, through the billowing clouds of noise that nobody but him ever perceived, towards the food lines.

… did she see me, Lights my back hurts, for fuck’s sake not this guy again…

And it was then, collecting his tray and weaving his way through the crowd, that Saelin realised he had gone all day without once consciously thinking about the sync bond or the looming counterweight of Davi Antrell’s mind on the other end of it.

It was just… there. He had not thought about it.

He wanted to throw the tray in his hands. The urge, the need to do it rose up in his chest and made his hands tremble; he wanted to dump its contents on the ground and fling the whole thing as hard and as far away from him as possible. Maybe it’d break. He wanted to break it against the ground, and scream or cry, and run. To break something, to make noise, to show some kind of external sign of the horror and grief and rejection that pressed against his skin. No. No. No. Can’t.

He’d been here for six months.

And this was normal now.

Saelin took a deep breath, resettled the weight of the tray in his hands, and resumed walking. Probably the mugs and bowls wouldn’t have broken anyway, he told himself distantly. Not the way he wanted them to.

He was aware of the sync bond now. So was Davi; there was no way he wouldn’t have felt that sudden tempest of emotion. Here he was now, sliding alarm, inquiry and concern down the bond.

Saelin pushed back, more firmly than he probably should have. No need. Wait.

When Saelin slid the tray onto the table and dropped into the seat beside him, Davi frowned at him.

“What was that?” he asked, aloud, but under his breath.

“Nothing,” Saelin said.

Irritated concern pulsed across the sync. “Did somebody say something to you?”

The protective edge to the question was annoying. “No.”

“Saelin…” Davi glanced behind Saelin, his eyes scanning across the crowded mess hall. “Don’t pretend you didn’t flip out just now. If somebody did or said something, you need to tell me about it.”

No, I don’t, Saelin wanted to say. In fact, if I were being bullied, telling you so you could pull rank on whoever it is would probably not result in anyone thinking better of me.

The murmuring of thoughts pressed in around Saelin, distracting him from the conversation. Someone two tables back was engaged in a furious argument with the supervisor they’d just left, sitting alone and stabbing a fork at their meal viciously.

The non-synced pilot sitting across from Davi was carefully keeping his face blank and wondering with queasy fascination about the sync bond and what it felt like.

“Agent Thirty-two…”

He needed to give more than this, he realised, Davi didn’t respond well if Saelin gave him nothing.

He sighed, put his hands up to massage his temples as if they hurt. They didn’t, yet. “Nobody said or did anything wrong,” he managed to say. “I just - it’s just one of those days. Nearly dropped something, and I just... Overreacting to minor inconveniences. You know how it is.”

Davi’s face cleared slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I get it.”

That was an odd thing about this. Saelin had thought, when this began, that the sync bond would let Davi hear his thoughts the way he heard everybody else’s. That it would convey reader powers onto Davi somehow, even if it was just Saelin it worked on.

It didn’t. Unless they were sunk really deep into the sync, one bilobed mind with the ship as its metal body, Davi had no more idea of what Saelin was actually thinking than anybody else did. Emotions came across if Saelin wasn’t careful, intentions sometimes, but conscious thought? No. Saelin could still lie to him.

“You always do get a bit oversensitive at lunch,” Davi said, offhandedly. “Low blood sugar or something?”

And every so often Davi would say something that showed two things simultaneously: that he was actually paying attention to Saelin’s moods and preferences. And that he no more understood what powered those moods than Saelin understood the inner workings of the coffee dispenser.

Saelin fought back another wave of grief and refusal, took a deep breath. He swiped his coffee from Davi’s tray and used it as an excuse not to speak for a moment.

Caffeine made his barriers worse, if anything. But the coffee was the way he took it; Davi remembered without asking now, just as Saelin remembered to snag an extra bread roll and ignore the dessert option when he got Davi’s food.

He kind of wished he had gotten the wrong things on purpose. But that was one of those mean, self-destructive little impulses he already knew decent people pretended they didn’t have.

He should give Davi credit for trying, should extend that little bit of grace that said ‘he didn’t mean that to come out as rude as it did, let it go’.

Saelin didn't want to.

“Leave?” Davi repeated, baffled. He quested out along the sync-bond and found nothing but a cornered-animal panic that made him pull back. “We’re in a shuttle, Sae- Agent Thirty-two. What do you mean, leave?”

“I - I know,” the reader said, still sounding odd. “I can’t - I can’t - permission to step away - please - ”

Davi had been opening his mouth to say no, to demand an explanation, but that last word got to him. “If you’re unwell, I can bring us in to dock without you,” he said curtly.

“Thank you, sir,” Saelin said, as if through gritted teeth. He fumbled with the seat restraints, threw himself out of the chair, and crossed behind Davi heading for the back of the shuttle.

Davi brought the shuttle back in to dock, easy enough it didn’t require much thinking. What was the problem? Things had gone well.

Saelin had been consuming the navigation training materials with a dogged and single-minded focus that Davi had thought boded well. The navigation officer who’d been training him had said he was ready, and hadn’t had anything negative to report about his attitude. Davi had even seen the reader’s careful blankness give way to a smile once or twice, voice lifting as he grasped one of the concepts.

This was the first time they’d actually put all of it into action, and Davi would understand if the reader was nervous - Davi himself had been nervous - but everything had gone as well as it could possibly have gone.

So what was the problem?

“All right,” he said, putting the headset aside again, taking a moment to straighten the one that his reader had thrown haphazardly onto the navigation panel. “I’m going to need an explanation for that, Agent Thirty-two.”

To Davi’s confusion, his reader had found a corner to cram himself into, on the brushed-metal floor beside one of the seats, with his knees drawn up to his chest.

“Sorry,” he muttered, seeming embarrassed as he uncurled himself and got to his feet. “I - I apologise, sir.”

“What’s the problem?” Davi asked.

Saelin didn’t meet his eyes, fixing his gaze on the division pin on his shoulder instead. “No problem, sir,” he said, voice strained. “Is that - do you want to do another run on the course?”

“No,” Davi said. “There isn’t time.”

Saelin’s shoulders dropped in what Davi instantly knew was relief. Then why did you suggest it?

“I want,” Davi continued, “To know what’s wrong. Why you dropped everything and ran.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Saelin told Davi’s division pin. “Then, are we finished with this training block?”

“… yes, but…”

“May I return to quarters? I’m not hungry.”

Later, in their quarters, Davi alternatively stood and paced. Saelin just stood.

“I want to know what’s wrong with you, is what!” Davi said.

“Today, or in general?” Saelin said, a short-lived quirk in his face rapidly smoothed away. “I understand reading is genetic. I’d like to go to bed now, sir.”

Davi ran a hand through his hair. He realised that he was standing in the doorway to the tiny shared bathroom, and that Saelin probably wanted him to move aside so he could get ready for bed. He planted his feet instead.

“Look, I don’t know what you were expecting, from today,” Davi began. “You’ve not seen chaotic space before, I know. Things were… fast-paced. But the training course was a breeze, especially with you along. Today was a big success, no matter what it felt like to you. You did great. You should be proud.”

If anything, the reader’s face went more blank. “Thank you, sir.”

Apparently realising Davi wasn’t going to move, Saelin turned away, and sank down to sit on his bunk instead. He checked the schedule on his wristband, then laid it calmly in his lap and stared at the wall.

“Does it not seem like a success to you?” Davi asked.

“It does. I’m glad it went well.”

“So that’s why you ran away, then?” Davi pressed. “You’re just so glad it went well you had to go off into the corner for a cry or something? Come off it.”

Saeling said nothing. His gaze remained on the wall. The sync bond was as closed off as he could make it - as if there was a wide corridor, running between their minds, and Saelin was pressing himself against the wall at the far end.

It would be easy to cross that distance. Davi was only being polite in not doing so.

Does he think I’m stupid? Davi wondered. Does he think I’m negligent enough that if he just sits there like a grey rock I’m going to get bored and go away? Does he think if you ignore a problem for long enough it will cease existing?

“If there is a problem,” Davi said, trying to be patient. “If you are unwell, or there was something wrong with the sync that I haven’t noticed - ”

“There isn’t.”

Davi gritted his teeth. “If there is a problem,” he repeated. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to fix it, if you won’t tell me what it is. We need to communicate.”

“Nothing is wrong with me, sir,” Saelin said, staring straight ahead.

Davi wanted to yell at him - to grab him by front of his uniform and shake him - to tell him Davi wasn’t a moron and he didn’t appreciate being treated like one. Anything to get Saelin to do something that wasn’t sit there and tell transparent lies with a blank face.

Instead, frustrated and angry, he did something that he was not proud of - but it was so easy, much easier than doing any of those other things. As easy as thinking about it.

“Saelin, tell me why you’re upset.”

Saelin took one deep breath, eyelids fluttering as the command took.

“I hated going deep into the sync,” he said, the strangest combination of flatness and turmoil, words spilling out of him uncontrolled. “Not during, but after. While we were in the sync and working, it felt good, and that’s what I hate. I’m upset that it went well. I was good at navigating and I don’t want to be good at navigating, I want to go home. You said ‘well done’ and touched my mind like… like… fucking smug and affectionate and possessive, your reader, I don’t want to be your reader, I don’t want your approval or your affection. You’re revolting. We were one, I was you, I know you. Arrogant asshole, you think this is just great, you think we can be fucking friends. Friends when you practically own me. We were together and it worked and I’m good at it and the sync felt right and I hate it, hate the sync, hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you - ”

“Stop,” Davi said. The bulkhead, the wall of their quarters, bumped into his waist and he realised he’d stepped back. His hand out as if to hit the off switch on that vicious litany of misery.

Saelin shivered, arms wrapping around himself as the command faded. He licked his lips, obviously deciding on something to say of his own choice. Davi didn’t want him to; he wanted him to shut up, but this time he managed to restrain the reflexive movement to write him.

“So,” Saelin said. “Happy? Sir?”

“No, I -” Davi opened his mouth, but couldn’t find any words. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“What did you make, a month?” Saelin asked, and he was looking at Davi now, why the fuck had Davi wanted him to look at him, the blank stare at the wall had been much better than this. “Not unless it’s necessary for work, isn’t that what you said?”

“I’m sorry,” Davi said, automatic, guilt like a stone in his stomach. He tried to mask the shock on his face. What were you expecting him to say? Why the hell would you give him such an open-ended command? “I - I didn’t - ”

“Oh, you don’t have to apologise to me, sir,” Saelin said, his voice light and deferential and barbed. “I’m a conscripted reader. You’re allowed - nay, encouraged - to write me as much as you like.”

Davi sat down on his bunk with a thump and put his head in his hands. “I said that I’d - It’s not supposed to be… I shouldn’t have…”

What were you expecting? You had to have an idea. You couldn’t have expected him to like you, after seeing how miserable he was initially?

Davi was used to being likable. People did like him. Maybe somehow he’d thought that would… carry over. He’d gone out of his way to try and put the reader at ease, hadn’t he?

“Am I in some sort of trouble, now?” Saelin asked. He shook the wristband to indicate his schedule. “Do I get a punishment work detail, or something? There’s not a lot of room. Sir.”

“No.” Davi squeezed his eyes shut, counted to five, then sat upright. “That wasn’t fair of me, and I’m sorry. Perhaps it’s best if we just… forget this happened.”

Saelin was looking at him again, and Davi badly wanted him to stop. The sync bond was back to being empty and tidy, but now Davi could see the currents swirling underneath the smooth surface. “All right,” he said. “In that case. May I go to the deck two rec room and read for a while? Sir.”

“Sure,” Davi said, relieved. He lifted a hand in a wave, and reached for some sort of equillibrium; to get back into the rhythm they’d had for the last few weeks. “Sure, go on. Don’t… don’t stay out too late. We have… more training tomorrow.”

You don’t need him to like you, Davi told himself. You just need him to obey you.

Well, fucking great news, I have that covered. That’s the one part of this job that is given to me as a freebie!

Saelin gathered a couple of book cubes in silence, opened the door to the hallway with a hiss. He hung back in the doorway for a moment. “Davi?”

Davi looked up. “Yes?”

Saelin met his eyes, and they were hard and cold as glass, and in them Davi read the echoes of hate you, hate you, hate you.

“A word of advice from a reader,” Saelin said. “You should be careful what answers you go looking for, because if you don’t like what you find, there isn’t any putting them back in the box afterwards.”

Agent Thirty-two blinked slowly behind his glasses. “Yes, sir,” he said, obediently enough. But something about the way his gaze slid away afterwards hit Davi wrong. He reminded himself that this man was a civilian, he hadn’t had military posture and tone and attitude drummed into him. And since the two of them were sharing quarters now, they were technically in his private space. So it was pretty unfair of Davi to want to snap at him to sit up straight.

Instead, he reached into the reader’s mind - absurdly easy, even for Davi who had never found other people’s barriers difficult - and pressed a command into it. “Answer me truthfully.”

The reader breathed, in and out, slowly. His eyes were suddenly full of trepidation, but he looked to Davi for the questions.

“What did you do?” Davi asked. “To be conscripted. What was your crime?”

“Assault,” the reader said simply. “Stalking and harassment using reader powers. Deep reading without consent.” He wavered for a moment, as if trying to hold something back, but it was shortlived. “I was found not guilty of attempted murder.”

Davi winced. Murder. Yep, all right, you did know that was a possibility. He was going to be tied to this person for the rest of their lives, so he wanted to know what exactly he was dealing with, but he had known when he accepted the assignment he wouldn’t get to pick what kind of criminal he was dealing with. “Who did you stalk and assault?” And probably try to murder?

“My friend’s partner,” the reader said. He closed his eyes, and his mouth quivered and pressed flat. His voice came out calm, though. “Friend and ex-girlfriend. Actually. I’m not likely to do it again, if that’s what worries you.”

Davi eyed the reader’s frame, which was slight and hardly seemed well suited to violence. Well, this could be worse, he thought, trying to be optimistic. A crime of passion is probably better than something calculated.

“And what about the deep reading?”

“Multiple people. Can’t promise I won’t do that again,” the reader said - and winced. “Damn it. I - I just - ”

Davi raised an eyebrow. This was so easy. Davi found himself briefly put out that architect and reader powers weren’t usable in the criminal justice system, but rapidly squashed it. There were reasons for that.

“Well, I can promise you won’t do it again,” Davi said. “Because ‘no reading people’ is going to be one of the - ”

“Wait!” Agent Thirty-two interrupted him, sitting forward, alarmed. His hands gripped the edge of the bunk. “Um. Sir. Sorry - ”

“What?”

“Don’t - don’t write me,” he said, the tone dropping to something that was almost pleading. “Not that, anyway - Don’t write me not to read people. Please. It doesn’t work like that.”

Davi shifted back on his own bunk. “No? Explain, then.”

“I - of course, going deep into somebody like… like I did, a few times, that’s on purpose,” the reader said. His hands crept into his lap and he started fidgeting. “But most reading isn’t that. It’s little bits and pieces. It’s hard to… turn it off.” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know what would happen if you wrote me to stop. I’m sorry.”

Davi watched him thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to know any more about architect powers than he did about his own; otherwise he’d have known that most writing wasn’t anywhere near as long-lasting as he seemed to think. Davi’s truth command wouldn’t last through this conversation.

But Davi had seen a few people written to do something impossible, for a laugh, and it had been uncomfortable enough even for ten or twenty seconds.

More than that, though - what was coming through the sync bond, bleeding around the edges of whatever walls they'd both tried to put in its way, was... fear. Dread of being written. Dread of being out of his own control. Davi supposed that was a logical enough fear to have.

“Okay,” he said. “But you’re to respect everyone’s privacy as much as you can. That’s an order even if it isn’t a written one, all right?”

Agent Thirty-two - or Cor? Saelin? Davi was going to need to figure out how to address him when they weren’t on duty - looked relieved. “Yes, sir.”

“In fact,” Davi said, sitting forward again. “We should clear something up. Most orders aren’t going to be write-commands, that sounds fucking exhausting. I only wrote you just now because it’s important, it’s not going to keep on happening.”

Was there a slight relaxation of his reader’s shoulders? Davi hoped so, but couldn’t be sure. The sync felt the same. The reader’s face had returned to a studied blankness.

“And I meant what I said,” Davi said, returning to the script he’d planned out in his head earlier. “About this being a second chance rather than a punishment. It’s a chance to contribute to society and do something positive with your life. This doesn’t have to be what you’re afraid of. It’s a working relationship. Okay? I’m not interested in tormenting you.”

Agent Thirty-two, or possibly Saelin, looked down at his knees, scuffed and faded prison-issue scrubs. “No, sir. I know you’re not.”

“You’re here to help with my work,” Davi said. “Why would I want you miserable? There’s no reason this needs to be any different from any other command-chain relationship on this ship. The ability to write you is just a safety net, and as long as we’re working well together it’ll never need to come into play.” He smiled. “Hell, it’s not even unique to you. I’m strong, I could write half the people on this ship whenever I wanted, but I don’t.”

“You couldn’t,” the reader said, reluctantly. “You would… get in trouble. Not so, for me.”

“True,” Davi said. “But… I’ll make you a deal. Okay?” He took a deep breath. “I won’t write you unless it’s necessary for our work. All right?” He slapped hands on his knees, and stood up. “I promise not to write you unnecessarily, and you promise that it won’t ever be necessary. Does that sound fair to you?”

The reader tipped his head and leaned back a little, as if to get away from Davi in the small space. But he straightened his shoulders and returned his hands to something like a neutral position. “Yes, sir. It won’t be necessary.”

“Great! It’s a deal,” Davi said cheerfully. There, see? We’re all civilised people here. No reason this can’t be just another subordinate. The head-stuff doesn’t have to matter. “Take off the prison stuff, then, because it’s not who you are anymore. You’re a reader with the finest division the Orshan army has. And I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

Agent Thirty-two made an expression that was almost a smile. “Yes, sir,” he agreed.

Davi tried to tough it out, but even lying on his bunk he couldn’t focus on the book-cube he was trying to read. Or on any of the training modules, or on the latest pulpy fiction vids the ship’s library had to offer. He couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that a part of himself was not here, was over in the station somewhere wandering around, aching and pulling and tearing.

After half an hour, he rolled out of bed with an uncoordinated stagger, threw on one of his civvie shirts, and limped out into the hallway and towards the docking bay.

The station wasn’t exactly touristy; at least, not the part of it where Saelin had apparently decided to go. Potted plants with heavy waxy leaves lined the thoroughfare, and people wandered in and out of the shopfronts.

Davi’s head pounded from the strain of reaching out in his reader’s direction and touching nothing. For a little while, as he walked, he could feel Saelin getting closer, feel the aching wrongness easing. Then it stopped improving, and stabilised, the invisible elastic band remaining at the same length no matter how far Davi walked along the unfamiliar streets of the station.

Then it started to get worse again.

Eventually he stopped, breathing hard, spots in his vision. Anger made him hiss under his breath. How is Saelin doing this? He’s a pudgy civilian, he skips out on gym sessions whenever I let him! No way he can walk faster than me while putting up with this!

This was ridiculous. If they’d been closer - if his head hadn’t hurt so damn much - Davi would have written him. Ignoring the station citizens giving him strange looks where he stood in the middle of the thoroughfare, he lifted his wristband and keyed in a message.

Agent Thirty two, stay right the fuck where you are. That’s an order.

A few moments later, it pinged with an acknowledgement. No words. It must have been Davi’s imagination that tinged the bland computerised noise with resentment.

When he caught up with Saelin, the reader was sitting at a table outside a faintly grubby little cafe, with one of the waitstaff eyeballing him distrustfully.

Davi dropped into the seat opposite him.

“There is something wrong with you,” he said without preamble. “I know you felt that too. You’re happy to hurt yourself as long as you get to cause me pain at the same time, is that it? Or is hurting yourself the point?”

Saelin sat back in the seat and crossed his arms. He looked sloppy in his undershirt and uniform pants. “I asked. You said I could leave the ship.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to hike out into the fucking middle of nowhere!” Davi hissed. “I thought you just wanted to get, I don’t know. A coffee at one of the port bars. Pick up something at a shop and come back.”

He should have known that wasn’t the case, he realised, kicking himself internally. Saelin didn’t have any money. It had been irresponsible of Davi anyway, even if that was all Saelin had wanted to do. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking to say yes.

Saelin shrugged. His glasses reflected the grimy station lights, so that Davi couldn’t quite see his eyes behind them. “So confine me to quarters from now on. I’ll comply; I don’t have a choice.”

“Do you want me to do that?”

“And when,” Saelin said, “Has it ever mattered to anybody, least of all you, what I want?”

Davi wondered what had changed.

Things had been, well, uncomfortable for weeks. Davi’s first impulse - to act as he would with any other ranker or subordinate he spent a great deal of time with, casual and all right, yes, friendly while still maintaining a sense of authority - had obviously backfired. But at least it had been something to fill the space. Now there was just… a wordless resentful submission to everything Davi said or did or expressed. When they sank deep into the sync, for tricky navigation around the curlicues and eddies of chaotic space, Davi felt like he came out with a residue of dislike and contempt on his mind. It wasn’t what Davi had been aiming for but he understood why Saelin responded like that; what choice did he have?

But this, this was weird.

Davi leaned forward and stabbed a finger at the table. “If you want to get me to write you, this is the way to do it,” he said bluntly, and was satisfied to see the reader flinch. “I don’t give a damn what I promised. I know you hate it. But this here is point-blank unacceptable, and I’m being nice by even making this a conversation. So you can cut the fucking attitude, all right? It’s like you’re daring me to write you. Which is why I’m asking you, do you want to be confined to the ship? Do you want more write-commands?”

Saelin hunched his shoulders and stared at his lap. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t want that.”

Davi felt like a bully. Trouble was, he was still angry; a tension headache still pulsed behind his eyes.

“What are you doing out here?” he settled for asking. “Why this? Are you trying to show me that the sync can hurt me, too? I already knew that.”

“No,” Saelin said. Unwillingness radiated from him. “No, not at all. At first I just wanted to see for myself what our range was. And then…” He lifted a hand, pushed the glasses up and aside so he could rub his face. The sync bled vulnerability, all of a sudden. “Please,” he said. “I needed it. I know it hurts. And I know I’ve - I’ve been hostile. But I wasn’t doing it because it hurts you.”

Davi felt his eyebrows lifting. Progress.

“So hurting yourself is the point?”

Saelin frowned, but didn’t immediately deny it.

Davi sighed, propping his head up on his hand. “You need to see a head-doctor,” he said. “Or, I don’t know, get a subscription to a kinky magazine.”

Saelin’s mouth twisted in distaste. He didn’t engage with either comment. “What I needed,” he said, “Was… distance. To be as far away from the sync and you as it’s possible for me to be, ever again. And once I had it, it hurt but I couldn’t leave it alone.”

Davi allowed himself to think about it, for the first time in long uncomfortable weeks.

This was forever. Davi knew people didn’t survive having a sync severed. The two of them were stuck with each other until death. The person across the table from him now would be within a couple of city blocks of him forever.

He wondered if it was better or worse to have had no choice in it. Because right now, Davi felt like the most stupid person in the world for agreeing to this of his own free will.

Across the table, mind close enough to touch, the reader sighed. He was examining the peeling trim of the table with intense focus. The next sentences were clipped. “I’m sorry. That I hurt you.”

That had the ring of a genuine apology, to Davi’s surprise.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I understand.”

“Please don’t… confine me to quarters, or to the ship,” Saelin said. “I won’t go this far again. I won’t play games. I’ll come back when you call. But, please, if I can get out into the real world every now and then…”

Davi felt his brows come together in a frown at the notion that the ship, and the Division, and the military didn’t count as ‘the real world’. What do you think of as the real world?

But he’d flubbed the last real attempt to forge a working relationship with this person. And he found that the alternative prospects - maintaining authority over Saelin with never-ending threats and write-commands and short leashes - was both exhausting and distasteful.

“No promises,” he said. “I don’t think I should make you any more… promises or deals. You’ll have to ask me if you want to leave, and tell me where you’ll be going, and I might need to write you truthful sometimes to do my due diligence.”

Saelin cocked his head, feeling out cautiously along the sync. “But?”

“Ask me next rec period,” Davi said aloud, but pulsed yes. Conditional, but yes, across the corridor between their minds. Saelin acknowledged it with a pulse of his own.