"Another station went dark this week. Wednesday, 21:35 hours."
"Which one?"
"Segraga."
"Eldan Combine?"
"Yes. One of their bio domes."
The Commander scratched his stubble. The Shetland's CIC was an old, battle worn place at the best of times, but it never seemed more so than when her fusion drives were down. Emergency lighting cast a dull, red glow upon the wrought steel and carbon fibre workdesks, accentuating every pit and scar the warship had earned through her years of service. The only counter balance was the green and blue light of the tactical display, hanging in the air portraying a holographic mockery of Orkney stations' fortunes.
"Strike it off. That is three in the last month." His dry lips pursed. "Have we any recent communiques regarding their situation?"
"No, Sir."
"This is concerning."
"Sir."
Renard leaned back from the tactical display, rising to his full height. He'd never been the stoutest of men even in his years of military service and twenty years on the frontier had done nothing for his complexion. However, at six foot two, he still had a presence. His second had it too, though sometimes she was unaware of it. He also knew her too well.
Ella Laresil was not a tall woman but she'd have fit neatly into the GTVA's ranks with nary a whimper of male protest. Five foot two of sharp features and shorn blonde hair returned his look with one of her one - one he'd seen in many officers during his career. It was a practiced one. She had something to say.
"You've been my XO for fifteen years, Ella," he said. "Speak your mind."
"I have no evidence of it, but I think this is a campaign."
He arched a brow. "Indeed?"
"Yes." Laresil started forward and reached into the hologram. The plane of the system shifted and with a few gestures, a handful of icons rose to the foreground, blinking. "I have been keeping my ears close to the ground - as you suggested, Commander."
"Good to know an old man's advice is still taken."
"Sir. A lot of these attacks have been written off as pirate attacks - that's the rumour, anyway. The assaults appear random at first inspection, but their timing is deliberately intended to coincide with periodic food shipments to five major Oort conglomerates and two inner system syndicates."
The Commander's brow creased. "The profile of the attacks suggests massed fighter assaults. No real firepower to suggest a sustained campaign."
"Sir," she said automatically, "except that certain allied stations have gone dark which my tactical analysis suggests could not have been accomplished without major tactical, bomber or capital ship support. Pirates cannot sortie cruiser class vessels on a fancy, Sir."
"Some can."
"Not against such a varied range of targets, Sir."
"Hrm. So assuming this campaign continues, what do you believe the end goal is?"
"To cut off food supplies to most of the Oort cloud and begin a containment or elimination operation."
"That's all very well," he said, scratching his chin, "but give me a prediction, Ella. Where next?"
"Well, Sir, most probably Highfavour Station."
"That'd be ambitious. The Combine's headquarters."
"Yes Sir."
"If they go dark, how long do our food supplies last?"
"Twelve days, Sir."
"Then," he said with finality, "we have a problem."
