Page 220 of Reaper Said Mine

She shows her teeth once. “Good.”

Krell sends the authorization.

A moment later, Theryki’s voice enters over a private command channel. “Lord Gnash, partial authority endangers our pilots.”

“So does fighting near my station.”

“You cannot ask us to defend your civilians while denying the tools that defense requires.”

I stare at the tactical map, watching blue Coalition icons fold into our defensive arcs. “I can and just did.”

Her voice sharpens. “This is not the hour for pride.”

“No, ambassador. This is the hour for memory. My people have long memories when strangers ask to place their hands on our throats for our benefit.”

“Your people also have children in shelters beneath active bombardment.”

The words strike exactly where she means them to strike.

Skahar watches me from the side, silent for once.

I imagine Ursa in her rented office on Earth, digging through evidence while public feeds try to turn our dead into arguments. I imagine her reading every clause and every casualty report, understanding the trap from a distance while I stand inside it with alarms screaming through my bones.

“Manual coordination remains,” I say. “If your pilots cannot fight without owning my station, send better pilots.”

Theryki inhales slowly over the channel. When she replies, her voice is cold enough to freeze oil. “Understood.”

The line closes.

Skahar’s cane taps once.

“Do not start,” I growl.

“I had not spoken.”

“You were preparing to.”

“At my age preparation is half the pleasure.”

“I will throw your cane into the reactor.”

“You would have to carry me afterward, and I would describe your posture as inadequate the entire way.”

Despite the alarms and blood and smoke, a harsh sound leaves me. Around us, two officers almost smile. It reminds the room that we are still alive enough to be irritated.

Then Sector Twelve’s feed flashes again.

The shelter door jams.

The child screaming for his mother is visible now, a small human boy with dust in his black hair and both hands pressed over his ears. A Reaper emergency worker rips open a wall panel, trying to access the manual release. Another impact shakes the corridor, and the ceiling splits above them.

I turn toward the lower pit. “Why is that door not open?”

A technician answers, voice shaking. “Power relay severed. Manual release is fused.”

“Send a breach team.”

“They are three decks away.”