Daven stood perfectly still in the center of the executive office, his posture a study in neutral efficiency. He held a single sheet of heavy parchment, though his eyes never dropped to read it.
"The Ironbone delegation has arrived," he reported, his voice flat, carrying clearly across the quiet room to the man behind the massive mahogany desk, "Their stated objective is the renegotiation of the minor textile tariffs along the western ridge. However, the composition of the party is mathematically inconsistent with the objective. They sent three senior trade officials and a Beta liaison who holds direct access to Ironbone's internal economic records."
Daven paused, letting the silence in the room absorb the discrepancy.
"For a textile tariff, you send a clerk." He waited.
He did not edi
