The silence between them stretched. Not awkward, not hostile, but pregnant with implication. Ethan's response hung in the air like a balancing blade: "I'll think about it." It wasn't a rejection. It wasn't an embrace. It was a decision deferred, and Krell recognized it for what it was.
Still, the governor wasn't finished.
He reached slowly for his cup, took another sip of the Camellia tea, still very warm, and set it back down with precision. Then he leaned forward, elbows resting gently on the edge of the holotable, fingers interlaced.
"In that case, let me be clear," Krell said, voice calm and deliberate. "I'm not asking you to pledge allegiance. No insignias. No oaths. This isn't a recruitment pitch for the moderates. We're not trying to trap you."
Ethan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"What I am offering," Krell continued, "is the possibility of occasional cooperation. Call it… mutual opportunity. There are systems under stress, troubled zones where open Federation involvement would only escalate tensions or draw unwanted scrutiny. But a freelancer with your reputation? With your record from Kynara? You can walk into places we can't. Influence events quietly. Tip balances without needing a fleet behind you."
He paused, letting the weight of the offer settle before adding:
"You would remain fully independent. Choose your contracts. No obligation to report back to anyone. Just… if the work aligns with your goals, and with ours, consider it."
Krell let the words breathe. It wasn't a hard sell. It didn't have to be. The offer was the pitch: strategic flexibility, no chains, and influence with one of the most ideologically driven factions in the Federation.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely over his chest.
Outside the sealed room, the artificial light of Ashen Prime continued its programmed cycle. Here, inside this silence-proof chamber wrapped in layers of clearance and trust, a different kind of light flickered....one of unspoken pressure.
Ethan thought it through.
Carefully. Methodically.
He'd expected something like this, some kind of ask, but this was cleaner than he'd imagined. No threats. No promises gilded in fake warmth. Just a door being held open… without someone standing behind it with a leash.
Still…
There were dangers here.
Big ones.
He was already being watched. Krell was right about that. His movements, his status, his access to Ashen Prime's command center...it all left a digital trail. To the Centrists, he was a curiosity. To the Extremists, a potential problem. And now, to the Moderates? A potential asset.
Was it manipulation?
Maybe. But not maliciously so.
Krell was a tactician, and tacticians understood that trust couldn't be demanded. It had to be built slowly, carefully, over time. He had offered Ethan power, support, and a pathway to matter beyond kill counts and contracts. But he had also respected his independence.
That made him dangerous.
And worth listening to.
Ethan glanced down at the datapad near his hand, blank now due to the security field, but soon to flood with messages, contract offers, and perhaps the beginnings of surveillance.
He couldn't afford to be naive.
But he didn't have to be cynical, either.
"I appreciate the honesty," Ethan said at last. "And the approach."
Krell said nothing, just waited.
"But I'm not ready to pick a side. Not officially. Not philosophically. I've only seen one corner of this Federation, and I don't make judgments based on polished summaries and good intentions."
His voice was calm. Professional. Not cold, but firm.
"I need to see it myself. Travel. Work. Talk to people. See the cracks and the seams up close. Then, maybe, I'll decide if the house is worth helping repair."
Krell inclined his head. There was no disappointment in his eyes, just a faint glimmer of recognition.
"Spoken like a man who's seen the cost of blind loyalty," he said quietly. "That's not a weakness, Mr. Walker. That's wisdom."
Ethan nodded once.
"I'll stay open to contact. If you need a hand, and if it aligns with where I am and what I'm doing, I'll listen. That's all I can offer."
Ethan's tone didn't waver. It was the voice of someone accustomed to carving out freedom in places where obligation often came with chains.
Krell gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable at first until a faint flicker of something surfaced behind his eyes.
Not satisfaction.
Respect.
"And that's all I expected," he said quietly. "We're not looking for soldiers. We're looking for men with judgment."
His words weren't empty. They carried a note of something rare in politics: a belief that wasn't trying to convert, only to be understood.
A quiet moment passed between them. Not filled with tension, but with weight. The kind of silence that only comes after truths have been shared without posturing.
Ethan didn't move. Neither did Krell.
The conversation, heavy as it was, had never felt forced. It had been calculated, yes. Strategic. But not dishonest. And that, perhaps, was what struck Ethan most. In a galaxy where everyone played angles, Krell had played his openly.
That in itself was… rare. And strange.
Krell reached for his cup once more, lifting the matte-black ceramic with a subtle steadiness. He took the final sip, still perfectly warm, the vessel's integrated thermal lining preserving the tea's heat and freshness as if it had just been poured. The flavor held its clarity, smooth and layered.
He set it down slowly, precisely, as if sealing the last page of a chapter.
"Then we'll leave it there for now," he said.
But the way he said it carried everything unsaid:
This isn't the end. This is only the pause between moves.
And Ethan knew it too.
Ethan stood.
So did Krell.
There was no handshake. No gesture of binding agreement. Just mutual acknowledgment between two men who both knew the conversation they'd just had wouldn't stay confined to this room, or be forgotten anytime soon.
Krell glanced toward a subtle console on the wall.
"We've spoken for hours," he said. "It's nearly past midday."
A pause. Then, with that same effortless politeness he wielded like a blade:
"Would you care to stay for lunch? I've had a meal prepared, something a bit more relaxed. No politics. Just food."
Ethan gave a small, tired smile.
"After all that?" he said. "Hard to say no."
Krell gestured toward the side door, a more modest exit than the one they'd entered through.
"Then allow me to play host, Mr. Walker. No titles, no factions. Just two men breaking bread."
And just like that, the weight shifted. Not gone, but moved slightly to the side. Not erased, but softened by shared humanity.
As they stepped away from the holotable, the anti-espionage field began to lower. Filters disengaged. Surveillance resumed. The lights returned to their natural tone, as if the room was exhaling after holding its breath for far too long.
The conversation was over.
But its echo would follow Ethan long after the plates were cleared.