Page 26 of Reaper Said Mine

"I enjoy many things. This one is free."

Skahar grimaces. "Provocation is rarely free. Someone always collects payment later."

I walk to the head of the table and rest my claws on the scarred plating. The metal is cold beneath my palms. The Combine serial numbers run beneath my right hand, half-worn but still readable, a bureaucratic scar left by men who thought ownership was a sacred condition as long as they were the owners.

"They come here expecting me grateful," I say. "The Coalition brings a collar and calls it protection. The Alliance brings threats and calls them stability. The IHC brings polite concern and counts its exits. Helios sends money and knives through other people’s hands. If they wait long enough to remember they are not in charge, that seems healthy."

Skahar’s mouth twists. "Healthy for whom?"

"For me."

"Ah. Then naturally there can be no objection."

I glance at him. "You are very sour this morning."

"I woke to three reports of captains asking whether they should reposition ships near the Helios corridor, one complaint from water reclamation that refugees from the Red Wake are already overwhelming intake beds, two Coalition requests for private docking privileges, and a message from an Alliance attaché demanding assurance that our patrols will not 'misinterpret peaceful military observation.' I have had no breakfast, and you are smiling."

"Your suffering gives me strength."

"My cane gives me reach."

The chamber doors open before I can answer, and Theryki enters first. The female Grolgath wears robes of layered ivory today, trimmed in green thread fine enough to shimmer when she moves. Her aides follow in a neat formation, each carrying compads, legal slates, and expressions of cultivated calm. Behind them comes General Gobold, broad and scowling in his Alliance uniform, his faded red scales darkened along the throat with irritation. Ambassador Wilcox follows him with a diplomat’s posture and a soldier’s eyes, already measuring who looks most likely to say something unforgivable.

Gobold stops five steps inside the chamber. "You kept us waiting."

"I did," I say.

Theryki glides toward her seat. "Lord Gnash, the art of diplomacy occasionally benefits from the illusion of mutual respect."

"Then I have saved us all the burden of pretending."

Wilcox sighs softly. "Good morning to you too."

Skahar mutters, "No proof of that yet."

Theryki sits with perfect grace. Gobold drops into his chair with enough force to test its construction, and Wilcox sits between factions as though she has accepted a lifelong punishment. I remain standing until every aide, guard, and clerk takes their assigned place. Let them look up. Let their necks ache.

"We are here," Theryki says, "to discuss revisions to the protectorate framework."

"You are here to make the same demand with softer verbs."

Gobold snorts. "At least he hears it."

Wilcox shoots him a look. "General."

"No, let him speak," I say. "I admire efficient rudeness."

Gobold leans forward, forearms on the table. His medals clink against his chest. "Fine. The Alliance position is simple. You will not sign a Coalition protectorate agreement. You will not permit Ataxian military observers to establish presence on this station. You will not expand patrols into Alliance-recognized trade lanes. You will cease using negotiations to destabilize Helios markets and civilian shipping confidence."

I wait until he finishes, then look to Wilcox. "Does he always bring such thoughtful gifts?"

"He thinks subtlety is what happens when artillery misses," Wilcox says.

Gobold glares at her. "I am sitting right here."

"I am aware, General. The room lists slightly."

Theryki smiles into her glass of water.