We stop before a pair of doors that open inward with smooth precision.
The room beyond is warmer.
Subtly so.
A table. Two chairs. No visible recording devices. No visible weapons.
And Admiral Serrik Valen standing at the far end of the room as if this is a scheduled luncheon.
“Ms. Vance,” he says smoothly, folding his hands behind his back. “Thank you for joining me.”
The Vakutan officers step aside but do not leave.
“I don’t recall accepting an invitation,” I reply.
Valen’s mouth curves faintly. “Circumstances accelerated.”
I walk to the chair opposite him and sit without being told. The metal is cool beneath me. I rest my cuffed hands on the table.
“You orchestrated quite the retrieval,” I say.
Valen takes the seat across from me with unhurried composure. “I anticipated your transmission attempt.”
“I’m flattered you care.”
“I care about destabilizing narratives,” he corrects.
Silence stretches for a moment. His eyes are pale and sharp, assessing not just my posture but my breathing, my micro-reactions.
“You’re broadcasting already,” I say, watching his expression. “Reaper collaborator. Human traitor. Efficient.”
“Public perception requires clarity,” he replies.
“You mean simplicity.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“Why?” I ask, leaning slightly forward. “Why stage the summit? Why escalate a war you don’t intend to finish?”
Valen studies me for a long moment before answering.
“You misunderstand my objective,” he says calmly. “I do not seek war for its own sake.”
“No?” I raise an eyebrow.
“I seek equilibrium,” he continues. “The galaxy is unstable. Trade empires swell. Badlands raiders grow bold. Coalitions fracture. When tension diffuses entirely, collapse follows.”
“So you manufacture tension,” I say.
“I maintain it,” he corrects.
I sit back slightly, studying him.
“You believe conflict is preventative medicine,” I say.
“Yes.”
“You think controlled opposition keeps the system intact.”
