Jhor crosses the chamber in two strides. “So we do nothing?”
“I did not say that,” I reply.
I turn to the tactical interface and begin issuing commands.
“Signal Droven,” I say. “Direct channel.”
Varek hesitates only briefly before initiating the connection. The comm field hums to life, flickering before resolving into the angular face of Droven’s leader, Kethar. His bone spurs are thicker than mine, jagged and asymmetrical from repeated combat. His eyes gleam with something close to anticipation.
“Kael,” Kethar says, voice like grinding stone. “You return to Badlands space with interesting rumors trailing you.”
“You are altering vector,” I say without preamble.
“Observation is not prohibition.”
“You approach a Combine convoy under active Alliance scrutiny.”
“Combine deserves loss.”
“That is not the point.”
Kethar’s lip curls slightly. “The point is survival. Your reforms do not feed our crews.”
“My reforms prevent extermination,” I counter.
A low murmur ripples behind Kethar. His bridge crew shifts restlessly.
“You fled neutral station,” he says. “You carry a League woman on your ship. And now you tell us to starve?”
“I tell you to stand down,” I reply evenly.
The silence that follows is thick.
“You are not my sovereign,” Kethar says at last.
“I am not,” I agree. “But you know the calculus. Strike now and the Alliance mobilizes fully. Helios Combine will broadcast footage. Your raid becomes Valen’s proof.”
“And if we do not strike?”
“We gain time,” I say. “Time to fracture their accusation.”
“You gamble on politics.”
“I gamble on survival.”
Kethar leans closer to his projection. “Or perhaps you gamble because you are distracted.”
The implication is clear.
Jhor’s claws scrape faintly against the deck behind me.
“Careful,” Varek murmurs under his breath.
I hold Kethar’s gaze.
“You question my focus,” I say, my voice still level.
“I question your allegiance.”
