Page 89 of Commander’s Mate

“High.”

That was command: not choosing good.

Choosing which risk someone else would carry because of your decision.

I opened convoy comm.

“Dreadnought Three remains escort. One diverts seven minutes. If threat enters the corridor, we return immediately.”

The convoy commander swore.

“Your contract—”

“Contains civilian protection authority.”

“Not at the expense of contracted cargo.”

“Medical cargo exists to keep civilians alive.”

“That is not the same—”

“It is exactly the same.”

I cut the channel.

Pyrr looked pleased.

“Do not encourage me.”

“I said nothing.”

“You felt loudly.”

Harper had infected everyone.

The freighter was worse up close.

A mining transport.

Old.

Damaged.

No insignia.

Tivid found the registry.

Private operator.

Debt-labor contracts.

My jaw tightened.

“Slaves?”

“Legally contracted labor under local law.”

“That is not an answer.”