Page 265 of Reaper Said Mine

“You are turning the civilians into political armor,” Theryki says.

“I am turning warships away from them. If politics makes that easier, I will tolerate politics for once in my miserable life.”

“Alliance commanders may call it a stunt.”

“Let them. Ursa will call it evidence.”

A faint, unwilling smile touches Theryki’s mouth. “You have become difficult in new ways.”

“I am cultivating variety.”

“I will adjust the formation.”

“Good.”

The channel closes.

Skahar looks up at me. “That was almost diplomacy.”

I bare my teeth. “Take it back.”

“No.”

“I will have you removed.”

“By whom? Everyone here likes me better.”

Vakka calls from weapons without looking over. “That is a vicious lie, Skahar.”

He places one hand over his chest. “Betrayal from my favorite artillery goblin.”

“I was never your favorite.”

“You are now that the others are dead.”

The room goes quieter around the joke because it contains too much truth. Vakka absorbs it, then gives him a nod. Reapers do grief strangely. Sometimes a name on a roll. Sometimes a song. Sometimes an insult aimed where the dead would have laughed.

My compad vibrates.

Not a general alert.

A private one.

Ursa’s relay marker.

My hand closes around it before thought finishes forming. The message is short, encrypted, and tagged with a transit origin near Ceres humanitarian routing.

Medical transfer intercepted or redirected. Route compromised. I’m still moving. Deadman safeguards active. Do not send ships unless I request; if you panic and blow up my evidence chain, I will haunt you with editorial notes.

For one moment, the command center disappears behind the roar of blood in my ears.

She is on her way.

She is in danger.

Enemy forces have found her route.

She told me not to send ships.