Page 128 of Reaper Said Mine

Gnash stops near a communal repair bay where three teenagers are dismantling an old service drone. “Lekk.”

One of the teenagers freezes with a tool halfway inside the drone. “Lord.”

“Why is that drone not in the schoolroom?”

“Because it was dead.”

“That was not my question.”

The teenager, a human boy with dark curls and grease on his nose, gives Gnash the weary confidence of someone who has been caught before and survived. “We are bringing it back to life for educational purposes.”

A Reaper girl beside him nods solemnly. “Very educational.”

The third teenager, an Alzhon with bright tendrils tied back in a cloth band, adds, “Also, if it works, we can make it carry laundry.”

Gnash folds his arms. “Does your teacher know?”

Lekk looks at his companions.

His companions abandon him with their eyes.

“No,” he admits.

Gnash looks at the drone, then at the exposed power core, then at the three of them. “The coil is inverted.”

The Reaper girl leans over the machine. “I told you.”

Lekk groans. “You guessed.”

“I guessed accurately.”

Gnash points to the power core. “Fix the coil. Return it to the schoolroom for inspection before activation. If it explodes before the teacher clears it, you will spend a month cleaning duct filters.”

All three teenagers recoil as if he has threatened execution.

“Yes, lord,” they say together.

As we walk away, the Reaper girl whispers loudly, “I told you the coil was inverted.”

Lekk hisses, “Everybody heard you.”

I glance at Gnash. “You realize they adore you.”

“They fear duct filters.”

“They argued with you about a stolen drone.”

“It was repurposed.”

“You are defending them.”

“It may carry laundry.”

I laugh, and the sound bounces off the metal walls before I can swallow it. A few heads turn. Gnash looks at me as if that laugh is something he has won but does not dare claim.

We pass through a mess hall built inside what used to be a cargo storage chamber. Long tables fill the space, scarred and bolted to the floor. The air is thick with broth steam, charred meat, fermenting root mash, citrus cleaner, and bodies packed close together. Warriors sit beside dockworkers, refugees, mechanics, and children. Reapers tower over humans, Alzhon, Grolgath, and species I cannot immediately identify, but no one moves with the brittle silence of captives. They complain, bargain, tease, shove bowls across tables, and make space for one another without ceremony.

A scarred Reaper woman with one missing horn spots Gnash and marches toward him with a ladle in her hand.