One #2
“I’m suggesting,” Benally replied, “that if the Scozid wanted to negotiate peace, they would do it competently.”
A quiet ripple of amusement moved through the room. Renjik felt his mouth twitch. The woman had claws. Good. This group needed them.
The conversation shifted again as the advisors discussed the implications of her analysis. Tactical projections replaced the rotating transmission, outlining possible locations for the proposed negotiations.
The Scozid had proven themselves inventive enemies. Their biological vulnerability made them cautious, but their technology compensated for it in ways that had already cost the alliance several worlds.
Assuming they would behave predictably would be foolish. Assuming they would behave rationally would be worse.
The negotiation station rotated into view again. Renjik studied it. Outer alliance territory. Limited civilian traffic. Three docking spines. Two viable evacuation routes. Too many blind angles.
His jaw tightened. Trap.
Not because the Scozid would attack openly. If they wanted a battlefield, they would simply create one. This location offered subtler opportunities. Non-existent station traffic. Disable communications. Cut power. Seal exits.
A dozen possible scenarios unfolded in his mind.
None ended well.
“The station is vulnerable.”
Several heads turned. Det’ae’s gaze shifted toward him. Renjik pointed toward the tactical display. “Two docking spines can be disabled with minimal force. With no outside station traffic, anyone attending the negotiations becomes trapped.”
The Azar general frowned. “You believe this is a military operation?”
“I believe the Scozid selected the location for a reason.”
A murmur moved through the chamber. Willow looked directly at him for the first time.
“The Scozid absolutely noticed those vulnerabilities,” she said.
Renjik inclined his head. “So did I.” He was considering several more unpleasant possibilities when his attention drifted back to the human again.
Before the Scozid, Renjik would have blamed his lack of focus on Rucieth senses.
Crowded war councils were never quiet. Fear, ambition, and anger used to press against his awareness like weather.
Since the torture, that part of him had become unreliable at best. Some days he caught only static.
Some days nothing at all. Some days the impressions came warped enough to be worse than useless.
The broken places where his instincts used to live made every room feel wrong.
Dr. Benally should have registered in his mind like anyone else.
A little fear. A little frustration. Some normal thread of emotion he could identify and dismiss.
Instead, his damaged senses gave him a flicker so sharp it vanished when he reached for it, leaving him with nothing useful except what his eyes could read: steady posture, sharp focus, mild irritation every time someone interrupted her.
His gaze shifted back to her without conscious thought.
She had straightened away from the table now, arms folded as she listened to two military advisors argue about negotiation protocols.
A strand of dark hair had escaped whatever restraint she’d used and was falling across her cheek.
She didn’t seem to notice. Her attention was on the projection display.
Renjik’s cybernetic arm adjusted slightly as the servos compensated for the subtle tension in his posture. He forced himself to look away from Willow. Whatever this was, it wasn’t relevant to the discussion.
“Doctor Benally,” Det’ae said, “based on your assessment, what would the Scozid expect from this negotiation?”
The woman considered the question for a moment. “They’ll expect posturing. Displays of confidence. Probably a few ritualized threats.”
“That sounds like a normal diplomatic exchange,” someone muttered.
Benally gave him a dry look. “Yes. The difference is that the Scozid consider those displays legally binding declarations.”
Renjik watched the ripple of realization spread through the chamber.
“If the alliance accidentally triggers one of those rituals,” Willow added calmly, “the Scozid will interpret it as a formal challenge.”
“And respond accordingly,” the Azar general finished.
“Yes.”
Renjik could see the flicker of irritation beneath her steady focus now. She was analyzing the room while speaking to it. Most people could only manage one of those things at a time.
He shifted his stance and deliberately focused on the tactical display instead of the human.
Renjik studied the projection. Then, despite himself, his gaze moved back to Willow.
She turned slightly while the advisors discussed the location.
Her gaze moved across the chamber—and collided directly with his.
The contact lasted less than a second.
Renjik went utterly still.
His Rucieth senses sparked. Not a clear impression or a readable emotion. Just a sharp, useless flicker that left his chest tight and his body locked in place.
The same fractured instinct that failed him for months suddenly surged to life. It made one thing clear—the woman mattered.
The human blinked, clearly startled by something she couldn’t identify. Then she looked away.
Renjik remained where he was, staring at her. Slowly, very carefully, Renjik folded his arms.
Across the chamber, the anthropologist continued explaining Scozid ritual dominance displays to the war council as if nothing had happened.
Renjik listened. But a small, dangerous part of his mind stopped paying attention to the war.
And started paying attention to her.
THE WAR COUNCIL didn’t like uncertainty. Unfortunately, that was the only thing Willow had to offer them.
She stood aside while the advisors argued in low, urgent voices. Tactical maps rotated slowly above the table surface, showing a cluster of neutral stations along the outer edge of Denchui space.
Willow folded her arms and leaned back slightly, giving the military officers room to circle the problem like predators that hadn’t yet decided who should bite first.
The Azar general spoke again. “If we accept the negotiation site, we send a full escort.”