Page 108 of Reaper Said Mine

The transaction ledger does not look like a weapon at first.

It looks boring, which is how money prefers to travel when it is doing something criminal. The archive room around me is cold enough to numb my fingertips, and the blue glow from the financial holo makes the skin on my hands look bloodless as I move figures from one projection field to another. Shipping manifests hover in stacked columns above the table. Docking payments scroll beside tariff adjustments, cargo holds, fuel transfers, passenger declarations, insurance flags, and corporate ownership trails so deliberately tangled that I want to reach through the projection and throttle whoever designed the shell structure. The room smells of coolant, stale caf, and the peppery broth Skahar forced on me hours ago, with a faint undertone of hot wiring from Vakka’s patched data link humming beside my compad like it is one insult away from exploding.

I have been awake too long.

That does not matter.

Numbers, unlike people, do not change their stories when intimidated. They lie only when someone teaches them how, and even then they leave fingerprints.

I drag one manifest into the center of the holo. “That’s weird.”

Gnash stands behind me near the archive door, speaking quietly into his wrist comm while two security feeds play beside his shoulder. His voice drops into the rough register that makes officers stand straighter and enemies reconsider their life choices. He is discussing patrol rotations, missing kitchen staff, and one broker whose name still has not surfaced despite Vakka apparently threatening half the station’s underworld with creative body-part reassignment.

At my words, his attention shifts instantly.

“What is weird?”

I glance over my shoulder. “I thought you were busy being terrifying.”

“I am capable of doing both.”

“Good for you. Multitasking is important in leadership.”

He ends the comm with a flick of one claw and comes to stand beside me. Even after hours of working together, his presence still changes the room. Not because he crowds me, though he easily could, but because my body notices him with an embarrassing lack of professionalism. The warmth of him pushes back the archive chill. The faint scent of iron, smoke, and whatever dark spice clings to his skin threads through the sterile air. My pulse, traitorous little bastard that it is, picks up.

I point at the manifest before I can start thinking about his mouth again.

“This freighter,” I say. “The Atrament Star. It docked two days before the main Coalition delegation arrived. Declared cargo was refrigeration parts, textile dyes, and shelf-stable grain concentrate.”

Gnash leans closer. “I remember the ship.”

“Of course you do.”

“It had a false bulkhead.”

“You remember every false bulkhead?”

“I remember boring smugglers because they offend me.”

Despite the exhaustion pressing behind my eyes, I laugh softly. “Fine. Your criminal aesthetic standards are noted. What did they hide?”

“Unregistered stabilizer coils and six cases of counterfeit Alzhon prayer medals.”

“That is such a strange combination.”

“Smugglers do not require thematic consistency.”

I turn back to the ledger. “The tariff payment cleared through a minor trade broker registered out of Saffron Gate. That broker is supposedly independent, but three holding companies up the chain connect to Halcyon Resource Arbitration, which connects to a creditor pool that bought a large block of Helios Combine distressed assets six months ago.”

Gnash’s expression sharpens. “Show me.”

I expand the ownership trail. The holo obliges, blooming into a web of corporate names, contract numbers, routing codes, debt transfers, and escrow markers. It is not a straight line. Nothing this dirty ever is. It loops through shell companies, dead subsidiaries, trade arbitration houses, and one supposedly charitable reconstruction fund that makes the back of my neck prickle with old, ugly recognition.

Gnash watches the web build. “Halcyon was not in the official Combine delegation packet.”

“No, and that’s the point. They don’t show up as Helios Combine. They show up as everyone else.”

He points to a transfer marker. “This one paid docking surcharge for three Coalition-linked vessels.”