Page 263 of Reaper Said Mine

I lift my hand from the packet and return it to the map.

“Vakka,” I say.

“Yes, lord.”

“Shift Red Maw from interception posture to shelter cover.”

She hesitates only long enough to show she understands what I am giving up. “That leaves the Combine cutter near Ash-Maw free to retreat.”

“Let it retreat.”

“It killed two of ours yesterday.”

“And killing it today will not wake them.”

The sentence leaves my mouth and settles over the room like a new law.

Vakka’s eyes meet mine across the pit. She nods once, fierce and solemn. “Red Maw to shelter cover.”

Skahar’s cane remains still.

I feel his attention but do not look at him.

Another alert sounds.

Then another.

Reports pile in from three sectors: convoy harassment near Ybessa, reactor instability aboard a damaged evacuation barge, Alliance warning shots near a Coalition screen, Combine private craft loitering near a neutral water station, Guyver Dock Four requesting more med-bay space, market shelter demanding clarification on ration priority after a fight between two refugee groups.

War is not one grand blade.

It is a thousand small cuts, each one requiring judgment before blood reaches the floor.

I move through them one at a time.

“Convoy holds course. No chase.”

“Send reactor technicians under escort. Evacuate the barge if containment drops below seventy percent.”

“Do not answer Alliance warning shots unless they strike civilian craft.”

“Broadcast water station neutrality on open channel and copy Ursa’s network contacts.”

“Dock Four receives Coalition triage tents in external berth only.”

“Ration priority remains children, wounded, pregnant, elderly, then workers on active repair shifts. Anyone who fights over food works distribution under guard for the next cycle.”

Vakka barks a laugh at the last order. “Elegant punishment.”

“Useful punishment.”

“Even worse.”

The hours grind forward.

Every decision becomes a rejection of revenge.

Every rejection costs something.