Commander Grev sat in a polished, high-back, black chair in his council chamber. The view of the Ramesian fleet was below him. He did not see any sign that the fleet knew he and his people were behind the planet's small moon, watching them. He smiled; his disks were successfully cloaked out of sight.
A sharp buzz sounded, echoing through the control room; the light flashed at the side of the door, showing that someone was waiting for him outside his council chamber.
Pausing a moment to let whoever was outside his door wait, he looked one last time out the window at the fleet. "Come in," he called. There was a slight growl in his voice. He hated speaking with his men. They were beneath him, merely puppets to do his bidding. He also didn't like to be bothered.
The door slid open, and one of the soldiers stepped in. There was a nervousness about his features. Commander Grev lifted a brow. "What is it?" he demanded with no warmth in his tone.
