“Frequency irregular,” the officer continues. “Low amplitude. Repeating in non-standard intervals.”
“Pirate chatter?” Rethan suggests.
“Negative,” she says. “Too structured.”
I study the pattern.
It is subtle.
Deliberate.
“Has it been observed before?” I ask.
“Not in this sector,” she replies.
Elara leans closer to the display, eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s not broadcast strength,” she murmurs. “It’s probing.”
“For what?” Rethan asks.
“For response,” she says.
The war room grows very still.
The agreement is barely dry, and already something else whispers at the edge of the map.
“Continue quiet monitoring,” I say. “No broadcast. No escalation.”
“Yes, Captain,” the officer replies.
Rethan looks at me. “You suspect third-party interference?”
“I suspect nothing yet,” I answer. “But I do not ignore patterns.”
The interference signal pulses again, faint and almost polite.
Elara folds her arms. “If Alliance were testing boundaries, they would be louder.”
“Yes,” I say.
“And if a seceded clan were posturing, it would be messier,” Rethan adds.
“Yes.”
The room settles into a low hum of analysis as data teams begin passive tracking protocols.
Outside the viewport, Alliance fleets maintain their defensive arcs—present, restrained. Our own ships hold position along the newly defined borders, reduced but steady.
Peace exists in a narrow corridor.
Conditional.
Monitored.
Temporary.
“You realize,” Rethan says quietly, “that some clans will interpret the corridor loss as permanent weakness.”
“I realize,” I reply.
