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The Coalition representative, a severe Ataxian woman with cobalt facial markings and the posture of someone who has never once laughed at a joke by accident, narrows her eyes. “You expect this board to believe your mechanic’s loyalty can be purchased?”
Brakk straightens, offended. “I expect this board to believe my loyalty is expensive. There is a difference.”
Sira closes her eyes briefly.
I keep my face neutral through raw willpower. Ghar, behind me, makes a low sound that might be a cough if anyone at the table wants to live comfortably with that interpretation.
The Ataxian representative looks unimpressed. “That is not reassuring.”
“It should be,” Brakk says. “Fanatics work cheap. Professionals invoice.”
I point one finger at him without looking. “Brakk.”
“What? That was relevant.”
“It was also inflammatory.”
“Truth often is. I learned that from you.”
I hate that he has a point.
Halvek taps the packet. “Your proposed charter includes unusually strong ethical restrictions. No isolated access to dangerous artifacts. No single-institution custody. Mandatory psychological risk modeling before disclosure. Staged translation with contextual buffers. Civilizational impact review for findings with religious, political, or existential implications.”
“Yes.”
Merrow leans forward. “Some might argue you are overcorrecting because of trauma.”
I look at him. “Some might argue you are undercorrecting because your suit has never been on fire.”
A tiny sound travels around the table. The independent human representative hides a smile behind her water glass. Ghar shifts slightly against the wall, and I feel his amusement like warmth at my back.
Merrow’s lips thin. “I am asking a legitimate question.”
“No, you are asking a useful question badly.” I sit straighter and force my voice out of its defensive edge. Mostly. “Yes, trauma informs this proposal. It should. Any system built around dangerous knowledge by people who pretend they have not been changed by danger is already compromised.”
The Pi’Rell representative tilts his head. “You no longer believe discovery justifies itself.”
I take a breath.
The old me would have hated that sentence. The old me would have heard it as cowardice dressed in silk. The old me would have argued that truth owes nothing to comfort and knowledge must be dragged into light no matter who squints.
The old me was not entirely wrong.
That is what makes this difficult.
“No,” I say. “Discovery matters. Truth matters. But discovery is not morally complete at the moment of exposure. Knowledge has consequences after it leaves the chamber. If we do not plan for those consequences, we are not brave. We are negligent.”
The room quiets.
Sira’s hand moves slightly nearer mine under the table, not touching, but close. Ghar remains still behind me. His presence is not pressure. It is support with breath and scars.
The Alliance representative, a Vakutan captain with dark green scales and a formal uniform, looks toward Ghar before returning to me. “Your charter includes specific language regarding jalshagar-related discoveries.”
My stomach tightens.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
