Another voice cuts in, one of the secondary officers, his tone sharper.
“Fragmenting,” he says. “Multiple partners requesting clarification. Some are already pulling back.”
“Pulling back how?” I press.
“Suspending agreements,” he replies. “Holding position until Combine command stabilizes.”
I nod once, though he can’t see it.
“They’re hedging,” I say.
“They’re surviving,” Stacy corrects quietly.
“Yes,” I agree.
That’s the difference.
And it matters.
I bring up a wider sector map, overlaying the communication disruptions with fleet positioning, trade routes, influence zones, and the shift becomes visible in a way that words alone don’t capture.
Nothing is collapsing.
Nothing is exploding.
Everything is… pausing.
“This is wrong,” Vihl says over comms, his voice tightening slightly. “They should be pushing. This is when they usually push.”
“They can’t,” I reply.
“Why not?”
“Because they don’t know which command holds,” I say. “And if they guess wrong?—”
“They fracture,” he finishes.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“…You’re not advancing,” Vihl says, the realization hitting him mid-sentence.
“No,” I reply.
“You’ve got an opening,” he says. “They’re disorganized, exposed—this is exactly when we hit them.”
I don’t answer immediately.
Because he’s right.
This is the moment.
The one I’ve built toward.
The one where dominance is possible.
Easy, even.
