Page 95 of Commander’s Mate

“Deducted.”

“Food for eighteen?”

“Deducted.”

“Medical?”

“Deducted.”

“Legal help?”

I frowned.

She waited.

“Add it.”

Tivid did.

The profit dropped.

Harper nodded.

“Now it’s real.”

I looked at the numbers.

Still enough to buy fuel.

Still enough to keep flying.

Less clean than war.

More useful.

Our first mercenary contract had not proven the doctrine worked.

It proved why we needed one.

The first paid contract had tested the doctrine in action. Its consequences arrived before dinner.

The convoy company filed a breach notice.

The debt-labor operator filed a theft complaint.

The eighteen workers filed nothing.

That bothered me most.

They sat in the protected compartment eating real food and waiting for someone to tell them what freedom meant in legal language.

Harper brought me the first translated contract.

“Read this.”

I did.

The worker had borrowed passage money after a crop failure.