"Ah, so what we've been seeing is a sharp increase in smuggling traffic through these two corridors, primarily Outcast traffic, of manufactured goods bound for Rogue bases through this channel here and cardamine through this channel here. The reduced military presence in the sector due to Texas buildups in conjunction with speculated Spa and Cruise pressure on the LPI has almost removed any lawful presence from the Cortez - California gate, so nearly the entirety of *cough* our contacts have been coming from there, rather than any connecting jumpholes. Slide."
The small assembly of glassy eyed officers muttered amongst themselves as the aid in attendance worked with the antiquated machine, attempting to unstick one manner of jam or another. David Chambers wasn't sure what sort of reward leading a somewhat successful front line unit granted a body, but if sifting through reports to digest their briefings for the brass was his golden prize... The notion of what came your way if you ****ed it up was unsettling.
With an an unhealthy clunk the next slide came into place and he waited patiently as the books propping the machine at the correct angle were resettled.
"As a result our interdiction efforts have been chiefly centered around Colorado jumphole, which we've been successfully maintaining as a choke-point for trade leading in to Rochester for some time now." As David wondered to himself if today was Tuesday or Wednesday, and what would be served in the mess. "But has in turn been the site for increased conflicts with the Hackers and the Rogues, doubtless pressured by either the Junkers or the Outcasts to work to ensure that cardamine shipments are allowed to proceed unhampered. Slide."
"Ah, thank you Mr. Chambers. But that will be fine, the report has been filed. Thank you for your time." With a brisk salute he snatched up his folder and strode from the smokey ready room and into the noise of Refugio's bustling flight deck. Mechanics of all ages flowed across ship frames, repairs intermixing with manufacture while groups of huddled students watched as instructors demonstrated the finer points of making the saddest assembly of ships in the Sirius sector into something that could hold a pilot and an engine without one flying in the opposite direction of the other long enough to blow something up.
It was by far his favorite spot on the station, if it weren't for the noise he'd simply move his cramped office down here. Moral was always high, a room full of men and women who were back to doing what they loved, putting their hands to work. A day's work that meant something. The life was hard, but it wasn't a dogtown on California Minor and it wasn't a work camp on Houston. Both places most all of the people here would, or had, have seen more than once if they didn't have a place here. It was a nice removal from dryly describing the deaths of his fellows to men who spent all day listening to dry reports about people dying.
As he passed the desiccated wreck of an Eagle, the barely discernible sigil of a serpent emblazoned on its tail he spotted a mechanic passing by with what looked like meatloaf.
