Two #2
If the Scozid planned to turn the negotiation into a spectacle—and Willow thought they almost certainly did—then the alliance might as well arrive looking like it understood the stage.
The structure was ugly. It might have been functional, once. Now it looked like a relic that was repaired too many times by too many different engineers with wildly different design philosophies.
Old docking arms and a reinforced central spine made up its main features. Observation decks were added later and then reinforced when someone realized they’d created perfect sniper positions.
“Subtle,” Willow muttered.
She zoomed in on the receiving corridor. The Scozid had selected the meeting chamber there. The corridor leading to it forced incoming delegates to approach along a narrow path beneath the observation deck. Anyone standing above would appear physically elevated during the initial greeting.
It was always a show of dominance with them.
Willow adjusted the hologram again, overlaying the Scozid patterns she’d memorized. Greeting posture and challenge distance all lined up.
“They really can’t help themselves,” she murmured. A quiet sound behind her said she wasn’t alone anymore. “You forget something?”
Renjik stepped into view beside the projection. “No.” His voice was controlled and slightly irritated, exactly the same as before. “You stayed.”
Willow snorted. “Someone has to make sure people don’t accidentally declare war on an entire species before we even say hello.”
Renjik studied the projection. “The route you suggested reduces their advantage.”
“It reduces the obvious advantage. They’ll have another one.”
“Where?”
Willow expanded the station model and rotated it again. “There.” She tapped the underside of the observation ring. “Hidden maintenance deck.”
Renjik leaned closer. Warmth and height registered immediately. That was distracting.
Willow mentally shook off the twinge of desire and zoomed in on the deck. “Old stations like this always have service walkways running parallel to the primary corridors. If they put someone there, they can trigger an interruption halfway through the greeting.”
“What would that accomplish?”
“It lets them reassert dominance if they feel it slipping away from them.”
Renjik nodded once. “So we avoid that corridor.”
Willow grimaced. “Unfortunately, that corridor is the only one big enough to hold a Scozid delegation.”
Renjik looked at her. “That seems intentional.”
“Oh, it absolutely is.”
The projection rotated again. Willow leaned on the table and stared at the structure, mentally replaying every Scozid interaction she’d cataloged over the past year.
Something still felt wrong. The trap was obvious, and Scozid loved obvious traps. But there was something else. Something she couldn’t see yet.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Renjik said.
Willow blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re thinking like an anthropologist.”
“That’s literally my job.”
“Yes.” His gaze returned to the projection. “But the Scozid are thinking like prey.”
Willow frowned. That wasn’t how most alliance described them.
Renjik continued. “They’re physically weak. They survive by controlling the battlefield before the fight begins.”
Willow tilted her head. “Which means?”
“They’re not planning a single trap.” He tapped the projection once. “They’re planning layers.”
Willow stared at the station again. Then she smiled. “That’s annoyingly insightful.”
Renjik didn’t react, but she thought he was pleased.
She rotated the model again and began marking possible disruption points. “Two.”
“Three,” Renjik corrected.
Willow glanced at him. “Where’s the third?”
He pointed to the negotiation chamber itself. “Inside the corridor.”
Willow laughed quietly. “They’ll try to provoke a response.”
“Yes.”
“If we react wrong, they can claim the alliance initiated hostilities.”
Renjik inclined his head slightly.
Willow leaned back and crossed her arms. “Well, that’s rude.”
Renjik’s mouth twitched.
The projection rotated between them. For a moment the room was quiet except for the low hum of the station’s systems.
Willow became aware—again—of that strange, static-like sensation she’d felt in the council chamber.
She glanced sideways at Renjik. “Do all Ka’atari stare at problems like they’re deciding where to stab them?”
“Yes.”
“That’s comforting.”
Renjik looked directly at her then, and that live-wire sensation sparked along her skin. Willow ignored it. She currently had larger problems than unexplained warrior-induced static.
The station lights flickered once as the docking systems cycled. A moment later the intercom chimed.
“Delegation transport departing in ten minutes.”
Willow shut down the projection. “Time to go let a species of homicidal technophiles judge our negotiation skills.”
Renjik stepped aside as she moved toward the door. “I’ll try not to declare war accidentally.“
“That would be helpful.” Willow glanced back at him. “Try to keep me alive, warrior.”
He met her gaze. “That’s the plan.”
Willow nodded as they walked toward the docking bay.
Toward what her masaní would’ve described as a certain disaster.
RENJIK SHOULD’VE KNOWN the politicians would spend the entire trip arguing.
The current debate was whether the Qirsi delegate’s outfit was a diplomatic statement or a crime. Which was worthy of debate. The outfit was extremely loud in color and number of accessories, as was all of their fashion.
Willow was seated at the back, directly in his line of sight. Her fingers rubbed her temples in small circles and she looked like she would rather the shuttle explode in a ball of fire than walk into the negotiations.
He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t mind a disaster that averted them from this meeting either.