The carriage's senses settled around Team Laps.
Not completely, though.
The link had edges, places where Naf's reach thinned out, and the Chief's experience became more impression than clarity.
Naf was not controlling a consciousness. He was sitting in one and passing the view back through the connection, which meant what arrived on their end was not just the Chief's thoughts but his current experience, the texture of his perception rather than the true content of his mind.
What the Chief saw, they saw.
What the Chief heard, they heard.
And underneath both of those, running like a baseline current, what the Chief felt at any given moment carried through the link as a kind of ambient weather, the emotional temperature of a man who had been managing high-stakes situations for decades and had developed watchful stillness that filled the carriage.
The intrusive irritation when a cart blocked the intersection for thirty seconds longer than necessary.
