Page 24 of Reaper Said Mine

"The Reaper is using these talks to inflate his importance. The moment people like you chase him with cameras, he looks less like a pirate squatting on stolen infrastructure and more like a head of state."

Theryki’s tone remains smooth. "One might argue that controlling territory, enforcing trade, maintaining order, and negotiating with major powers already makes him a head of state."

"One might argue many stupid things."

"One often does, in your presence."

Wilcox closes her eyes briefly. "General."

Gobold ignores her. "Gnash signs with the Coalition, and the balance shifts across this whole border. Ataxian influence moves closer to Alliance lanes. The Badlands become a fortified wedge. Helios panics. Merchants panic. Old soldiers with bad memories start dusting off contingency plans. That is how war returns, Ms. Ramone. It does not march in waving a flag. It arrives as a clause everyone was too clever to fear."

That is the first useful thing he has said.

Theryki notices me noticing.

"Or," she says, "war returns when the Alliance insists that no formerly marginalized people may seek protection unless Alliance command approves of their protector."

Gobold’s scales darken along his throat. "Do not pretend this is liberation."

"Do not pretend your objection is peace."

Their eyes lock, and the room around them adjusts. Conversations quiet just enough to listen while pretending not to. Wilcox watches both of them with the expression of a woman monitoring a reactor temperature. I step half a pace back and let my compad record environmental audio within legal bounds.

There it is.

Not negotiation.

Pressure.

Theryki wants Gnash bound to Coalition interests and dressed in legitimacy before anyone can pry him loose. Gobold wants him isolated, delegitimized, and contained before his station becomes a strategic fact no one can ignore. Wilcox wants to keep her general from creating a war while protecting Earth from being dragged behind Alliance momentum. None of them is truly here for Gnash as a person. They are here for the territory he controls, the routes he affects, the precedent he sets, and the old grievances his choices can awaken.

A servant announces that Lord Gnash will not attend the reception.

The announcement lands like a slap wrapped in ceremony.

Theryki’s smile tightens by less than a millimeter. Gobold barks a laugh loud enough to rattle glassware. Wilcox’s gaze flicks toward the shipyards, where Reaper crews continue welding the bones of a future while diplomats inside argue over who gets to name it.

I look through the glass at the sparks falling around the unfinished cruiser.

I wonder whether Gnash’s refusal to speak with reporters is arrogance, strategy, or survival.

Maybe all three.

My compad vibrates with another denial from Command Scheduling. The message is short, impersonal, and final enough to be insulting.

I read it twice, then close it.

Theryki glances at the movement. "Bad news?"

"Familiar news."

"Denied?"

"Repeatedly."

Gobold grunts. "Smartest thing he has done all day."

Wilcox gives me a look that is almost sympathetic. "There are other stories here, Ms. Ramone."