Page 28 of Reaper Said Mine

Gobold points one clawed finger at me. "You keep invoking dead laborers and refugee children because it lets you pretend every aggressive act you take is mercy."

My warriors along the wall shift. The air thickens around them, anger rising in a low animal current. Skahar’s cane taps once, and the warriors settle, though grudgingly.

I smile at Gobold without warmth. "Careful, General. You are close to saying something honest."

"I will say it plainly. You are not a liberator. You are a pirate who seized infrastructure and discovered flags are more useful than skulls when demanding respect."

"And you are an old soldier terrified that if Reapers become something other than monsters, your side will have to remember what it did to us."

Wilcox says my name sharply. "Gnash."

Interesting. She uses no title when she wants me human enough to restrain myself.

Gobold stands, and the movement forces two of his aides back. His height is impressive, though still beneath mine. His old scales catch the chamber light, scarred and faded, and for all his bluntness there is real danger in him. He has survived wars that chewed through younger fools, and his honor, while inconvenient, is not counterfeit.

"If you sign with the Coalition," he says, "Alliance command will respond."

"Then respond."

"You may not like how."

"I dislike many things."

"Your people will dislike burning in another war."

The chamber goes dangerously quiet.

Skahar’s fingers tighten around his cane. Across the room, one of my younger guards emits a soft growl before catching himself. I keep my gaze on Gobold. The old Vakutan has overreached, and he knows it, but pride will not let him step back first.

I rise slowly.

The height difference becomes useful. So does silence. I do not need to roar. Roaring is for creatures afraid their meaning will not arrive.

"General Gobold," I say, "if Alliance command intends to burn my people, then bring enough ships to finish the work this time. The galaxy keeps failing to kill us properly, and we are tired of being inconvenienced by amateurs."

Wilcox pushes to her feet. "That is enough."

Theryki watches the exchange with glittering attention, the way a gambler watches loaded dice tumble.

Gobold’s jaw works. His hand drops near his sidearm, perhaps from habit, perhaps from insult. He does not draw. That restraint saves everyone paperwork and several lives.

Wilcox steps closer to him and speaks low enough that only those of us near hear her. "Sit down before you give the Coalition exactly what they want."

Gobold’s eyes flick to Theryki.

She smiles.

That does what reason could not. He sits.

I remain standing a moment longer, then lower myself back into my chair with deliberate ease. "Now. Shall we discuss water rights, or has everyone satisfied their appetite for stupidity?"

Skahar makes a noise that might be a cough if age had not stripped him of shame.

The rest of the session crawls forward over broken glass disguised as procedure. Theryki proposes emergency medical corridors in exchange for Coalition oversight of incoming refugee classifications. I counter by demanding Coalition-funded med-bay expansion with no observer authority, plus thirty thousand tons of shipyard composite at below-market cost. Gobold demands inspection access to ensure no Coalition military equipment is installed on Guyver. I counter by offering him a guided tour conducted entirely by Reaper children asking questions about his medals. Wilcox attempts, with heroic patience, to extract practical agreements on civilian shipping safety, communications protocols, and deconfliction boundaries. I reward her effort by granting provisional access to a shared hazard channel and refusing everything else until she admits the phrase pirate-controlled zone is removed from Alliance briefing language.

"That phrase is not mine to remove," she says.

"Then become more influential."