“Good,” I say, because I am done being polite about rot. “Let it burn where it needs to burn.”
Drax’s voice turns dangerously soft. “Commander Varos, I am not your weapon against the Senate.”
“You are not my weapon,” I reply. “You are the High Arbiter. Act like it.”
The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut.
Pellorin exhales slowly, then nods once, resigned. “If you insist, I will draft the petition, but I need you to understand the scope objection will be immediate.”
“I understand,” I say. “Draft it anyway.”
Drax’s gaze remains on me, cool and assessing. “You are determined to fracture this tribunal.”
“I am determined to stop it from fracturing itself quietly.”
She studies me for another beat, then gestures toward the door. “Proceed. Recess is ending.”
When we returnto the chamber, the atmosphere has shifted again, as if the building sensed the tension and decided to feed on it. Broadcast drones hover closer, their lenses glittering with predatory attention. Observers in the gallery lean forward in subtle anticipation, the way crowds lean forward when they smell blood in water. Prosecutors cluster at their bench, murmuring, compads flashing, their composure tight like cloth stretched too far.
Drax takes her seat. Her gaze sweeps the chamber once, sharp and controlled.
“The tribunal will reconvene,” she announces, voice amplified and ceremonially calm. “We will address pending motions.”
Pellorin steps forward beside my partition field, petition in hand, projection ready. “High Arbiter, the defense submits a formal motion to subpoena Admiral Caedrin Vol’s wartime directives pertaining to Kirell evacuation corridor recalibration authorization.”
A murmur rises instantly, too immediate to be organic; the room has been primed.
Thane stands so quickly his robe swishes sharply. “Objection.”
Drax’s eyes flick to him. “State.”
Thane’s voice is polished, confident, designed for broadcast consumption. “The requested subpoena exceeds the scope of the negligence charge. This tribunal is not investigating League strategic command decisions. It is evaluating the defendant’s duty of care and his command negligence during evacuation. Dragging Admiral Vol into this proceeding is irrelevant,inflammatory, and risks transforming a straightforward negligence case into an intergovernmental spectacle.”
Straightforward. The word tastes like a lie.
Pellorin responds, voice careful. “High Arbiter, the defense asserts that evidentiary integrity requires full reconstruction of the corridor recalibration authorization chain. If a League clearance directive altered the corridor path after Commander Varos’s issuance, it is directly relevant to the negligence narrative being presented.”
Thane’s smile is thin. “Relevance is not a license for fishing expeditions.”
I speak then, because this is not a moment for lawyers to soften. “It is not a fishing expedition to ask why the prosecution’s reconstruction omits a verified recalibration window.”
The chamber’s murmurs swell, and I can almost feel the Holonet feed capturing every shift in tone, every raised eyebrow, every whisper that will be turned into headlines within minutes.
Drax’s gaze sharpens. “Commander Varos, you will direct statements through counsel unless addressed.”
I incline my head slightly. “Understood.”
Thane presses. “The defense is attempting to smear the League by implying impropriety. This is hostile revisionism. It invites diplomatic destabilization and undermines public confidence in tribunal neutrality.”
From the gallery, an observer—a senator’s aide, judging by the pin—leans toward another, whispering urgently. Compads light up across the benches like fireflies.
Pellorin’s voice tightens. “Public confidence is not served by suppressing relevant directives.”
The chamber fractures into procedural debate the way thin ice fractures under weight: not all at once, but in spreading lines that cannot be ignored. Motions are called. Objections layered.Drax attempts to maintain order, but every sentence feels like it carries two meanings now—one legal, one political.
A tribunal communications officer appears at the chamber’s edge, whispering into Drax’s ear. Her expression tightens, and the wall screen beside the bench flashes briefly with incoming public statement alerts before being shuttered again.
Even shuttered, the glow leaks.
