Page 162 of Reaper Said Mine

Gnash’s voice lowers. “You do not have to do this alone.”

“I know.”

The answer surprises me with how true it feels, and then I press send.

The upload field collapses. The encrypted package splits across three paths at once: my independent escrow, a public holonet release, and a delayed backup to Bellamy with enough documentation to make any suppression attempt look like arson in daylight. The archive room hums. Vakka stops breathing just to be annoying. Skahar smiles faintly. Gnash watches me like I have just walked through fire without flinching.

Then the alert storm begins, and my compad erupts.

Public reaction counters explode across the lower display. News aggregators latch onto the story with the terrifying speed of hungry machinery. The first headline appears from Nebula Nine: RAMONE REPORT LINKS GUYVER SABOTAGE TO SHADOW FINANCIAL NETWORKS. LeagueWire pushes a cooler version ninety seconds later. Independent analysts begin clipping my evidence graphics. Three political commentators misread the entire thing within four minutes, which is almost impressive. Then the first official statement comes in from a Coalition sub-minister denouncing “irresponsible speculative reporting that endangers diplomatic stability.”

Vakka grins. “That was fast.”

I read the statement aloud. “‘The Coalition rejects any implication that its representatives participated in or benefited from criminal sabotage aboard Guyver Station.’ Interesting. I didn’t say they participated.”

Skahar opens one eye. “Guilt often arrives wearing correction.”

Gnash leans closer to the display. “Combine response.”

I bring it up.

The Helios Combine statement is shorter, meaner, and clearly written by lawyers who have never been hugged by anyone they respected.

“Helios categorically denies involvement in unlawful activity aboard Guyver Station and condemns reckless attempts by compromised media figures to manipulate regional markets through defamatory reporting.”

There it is: compromised.

I knew it was coming, but it still lands.

Gnash growls.

I hold up one hand. “Don’t bite the statement.”

“It deserves biting.”

“It’s a press release. You’ll get ink poisoning.”

“I have survived worse.”

The next wave is uglier. Earth political channels pick it up. Alliance-aligned feeds question whether I am operating independently or functioning as “an informal instrument of Reaper influence.” Coalition voices suggest my reporting conveniently benefits Gnash by discrediting oversight mechanisms. Combine market analysts call the piece irresponsible, then spend twenty minutes discussing why Halcyon’s share position should not be interpreted as exposure. Every denial creates another thread, and every thread leads viewers back to the evidence.

That part feels good.

The rest feels like standing naked in front of a firing squad with excellent grammar.

My compad flashes.

TED DAWSON — PRIORITY.

I stare at it.

Vakka pushes away from the wall. “Want me to answer?”

“No.”

“I could pretend to be you.”

“You are seven feet tall and threaten people as punctuation.”