Page 192 of Commander’s Mate

Not from a general.

Not from a politician.

From a woman named Councilor Ena Var, who stood in what had once been the Waysatu municipal archive with a temporary roof stretched above her and two portable heaters glowing behind her.

The visual feed shook twice before stabilizing.

I recognized the building.

Or what remained of it.

One wall was gone. The stone floor had been patched with metal plates. Behind Ena Var, three civilians worked at folding tables covered with slates, ration packets, and handwritten lists.

She did not salute.

Good.

She was not military.

“Commander Maktu.”

“Councilor.”

“I received your notice concerning the Consortium offer.”

Degatu stood to my right. Tivid remained at the communications console. Harper was still in the room, though she had moved away from the command table as if trying to make herself smaller inside a conversation she knew did not belong to her.

Ena Var looked older than I remembered.

Everyone did.

“Is it true?” she asked. “Hospitals?”

“Yes.”

“Food shipments?”

“Yes.”

“Grid components?”

“Yes.”

Her jaw tightened.

“And you refused.”

“Yes.”

No one on the bridge moved.

Ena looked away from the camera.

For several seconds, all we heard was wind against damaged stone.

“My granddaughter sleeps in a transit shelter,” she said.

I had no answer.