Page 192 of Reaper Said Mine

“You think I'm a fool,” I say.

“I think you are cornered.”

“That is kinder.”

“It was not meant to be.”

I grunt, and for a while we watch the stars beyond the viewport. Somewhere out there, enemies move ships across my borders and call it order. Allies position themselves inside my defenses and call it aid. Dead men become banners. Living men become excuses. The galaxy dresses greed in noble language and expects the hungry to applaud the tailoring.

Skahar’s voice softens with age rather than pity. “What will you tell Ursa?”

The question finds the wound beneath the armor.

“The truth.”

“She will dislike it.”

“She dislikes many things.”

“She may be right about most of them.”

I glance at him. “You have grown fond of her.”

“She asks better questions than you do, and she is less likely to solve discomfort by breaking furniture.”

“I do not break furniture that often.”

“You broke a treaty table yesterday.”

“That was diplomacy.”

Skahar’s laugh is dry as bone. “Then may the gods we do not worship protect us from your statecraft.”

I almost smile. Almost.

Then another alert blooms across the main display, and the moment vanishes. A neutral merchant house has suspended all routes through my territory. Two Reaper clans request permission to shelter dependents on Guyver Station. A Helios refinery broadcasts a fabricated distress call claiming Reaper raiders have attacked civilian workers.

The lie spreads across public channels before my officers finish verifying the truth.

I stand in the center of my command room and feel the walls of the trap press closer.

My rage wants to roar.

My hands want weapons.

My heart wants Ursa, wants her sharp green eyes and steadier courage, wants the way she looks at facts until powerful lies begin sweating under the light. Yet even the truth may not move fast enough to outrun fleets.

“Send orders,” I say, forcing my voice into the shape my people need. “All outer holdings move dependents inward. No raiding without direct command. No pursuit beyond established lanes. Every captain who breaks discipline answers to me personally.”

Vakka’s eyes flash. “Some will call that weakness.”

“Then they can call it weakness with their remaining teeth.”

A few warriors bare smiles at that.

Good.

Let them have teeth to hold on to.