Page 10 of Reaper Said Mine

"Unregistered medical nanites, two crates of Alzhon sensory silk, and six passengers listed as agricultural tools."

"Refugees?"

"Likely. One has a Coalition work brand burned off badly enough that I smelled it from two paces away."

The old rage in me lifts its head.

"Clear the ship after we remove the passengers and medical supplies," I say. "Charge the captain triple tariff for wasting my inspectors’ time, then give half to the med-bay and half to the refugee ledger. If he complains again, remind him that my patience is not included in the docking fee."

Vakka thumps one fist against her chest. "Done."

Skahar watches me with one cloudy red eye. His other was replaced years ago by a salvaged implant that whirs softly when he focuses too hard. "You grow sentimental."

"I grow expensive."

"You are sheltering refugees again."

"I am taxing liars."

"Both statements may occupy the same chair."

I snarl. "If you intend to be wise, do it faster. I have ambassadors waiting to pretend they are not frightened of me."

Skahar raps his cane against the deck, and the metal sound carries just enough to make three nearby warriors straighten. "You think the Coalition proposal is a trap."

"I know it is a trap."

"Then why keep them here?"

"Because a trap can catch the hand that sets it." I gesture toward the display, and a second holo blooms beside the proposal, showing Helios Combine market fluctuations from the last forty-eight hours. Red lines plunge and stagger across the screen. "Every day Theryki sits in my halls and smiles for her masters. Combine shipping confidence drops. Their investors hate uncertainty more than they hate death. Dead workers can be replaced. Unclear territorial status makes credit markets squeal."

Skahar’s broken mouth curves. "There is the boy who used to steal ration markers by convincing three bigger boys they had already lost them."

"I was charming."

"You were a menace with ribs showing."

"Now I am a menace with a fleet."

He makes a thoughtful noise. "A small fleet."

"A growing fleet."

"A fleet that cannot fight the Combine alone if they stop hiding behind brokers and send warships."

I look through the viewport at the ships gathered beyond Guyver’s defense grid. My station controls the corridor now, but control is a word that becomes fragile when cruisers arrive. I have raiders, converted freighters, two stolen gunships, one half-functional Combine patrol vessel my engineers swear will stop exploding any day now, and enough mad Reapers to make any boarding action a nightmare. Pride can make that sound like strength. Experience knows the difference between a nightmare and a war.

"The Combine will not come openly while the Coalition is here," I say.

"Unless the Coalition wants them to."

I turn back toward the proposal. The letters glimmer in neat lines written by people who have never scraped ice off the inside of a sleeping pod to melt for drinking water. "Theryki wants my name on the agreement. Once she has it, she will wrap me in obligations until every shot fired from this station belongs to her coalition. She does not want an ally. She wants a useful animal with borders."

"And you are insulted by the leash rather than the animal part."

"The animal part is accurate enough."

Skahar’s cane taps again, slower this time. "You laugh, but there is a difference between accepting what others call you and allowing them to decide what you are."