place. Griffiths' targeting computer chirped as the Cavanta Bay's Ops Room transmitted surveillance gathered data directly from their own scanners, and two white squares appeared on the canopy. Griffiths clicked a switch on top of his control column and selected missiles, holding off locking his targets up just in case they were not hostile, just in case his actions might provoke a fight that could be avoided. Not that Griffiths wanted to avoid a fight, he just did not want to risk taking any flak from his superiors. "Black Two, this is Black One," Cavouri transmitted, "we'll go in loose echelon starboard and visually ID these guys, don't lock them up." "Black Two copies," Griffiths replied, easing slightly back and right to take his position off Cavouri's right wing in echelon starboard formation. Griffiths' earphones hissed as the Cavanta Bay's fighter controller send a transmission out on all communications frequencies. "Unidentified spacecraft at position seven eight five two, three niner three, this is the Republican Warship Cavanta Bay. You are approaching my ten kilometre exclusion zone. If you enter this zone I am authorised to use deadly force. Alter your course to port and squawk six thousand for identification." A shrill tone sounded in Griffiths' ears and a light on his central warning panel alerted him to the fact that he had been locked up by a fire control scanner. "Blacks! Break! Break!" Cavouri shouted. Griffiths hauled his control column to the right and then back into his gut, rolling