Page 129 of Reaper Said Mine

“My lord,” she says.

He stops. “Narra.”

“You promised me two more heat exchangers.”

“I promised you one.”

“You said one with your mouth and two with your face.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Gnash’s eyes narrow. “My face makes no supply commitments.”

Narra gestures with the ladle toward the crowded tables. “Then tell your face to stop lying. We are feeding a hundred and twelve more bodies than last month, and if you want protein stew hot enough not to kill the soft-bellied ones, I need exchangers.”

“Soft-bellied ones?” I ask.

Narra looks at me, eyes dropping briefly to my press badge and then to the sealed cut at my temple. “Humans, mostly. Some Coalition defectors. A few traders who claim spice gives them philosophical symptoms.”

“It does,” a man calls from one of the tables.

Narra points the ladle at him. “Your philosophy is gas, Renn.”

The hall erupts in laughter.

Gnash pinches the bridge of his nose. “You will have your exchangers.”

“Two?”

“One and priority repair allocation.”

“Two.”

“One, repair allocation, and first claim on surplus docking heat coils.”

Narra considers. “Fine. Your face bargains better today.”

“My face is honored.”

She looks at me again, this time with a shrewd softness that makes me stand straighter. “You are the one he carried from the feast.”

“I am also a reporter.”

“So I heard.”

“I’m not here to make anyone look foolish.”

“Then you are unlike most outsiders.”

“That’s the plan.”

Narra studies me another moment, then grunts. “Eat before you leave. You look like you survive on spite and bad caf.”

Gnash turns toward me slowly.

I point at him. “Do not start.”

“I said nothing.”