"Sir, there's been a work stoppage on Procyon 12." Oversight of Sector Procyon walked into the Director's office. "The equipment all pings functional, just, the workers have stopped digging."
"What are their demands? More pay? Better safety equipment?" The Director looked up from the screen embedded in his desk. He liked the old ways of doing things, like mining. No matter how much new equipment you threw at it, it still amounted to people digging in the dirt for shiny rocks. Robots and machinery could scan, but for some reason it still required the human touch to make mines profitable.
"There've been no demands." Oversight took a deep breath. "Apart from pinging equipment, there's been no communication at all. When we tap into the security feeds, the place is deserted, but the shuttles are all still docked, there's been no signs of violence. They turned everything off, set down whatever they were working on, and walked out. Here."
Oversight punched a few buttons on the virtual machine that orbited him like an anxious moth.
A video feed came up, projected in the air over the Director's desk. Men, all over the mine and its related offices, looked up as if someone had gotten their attention, and after a minute, smiled, set down whatever they held, and walked off.
The female employees paused, looking around and at one another in confusion, starting to gather in small clutches, looking, presumably, in the direction the men had gone. Then as one, they all smiled, nodded as though agreeing with an old friend, and followed the same path the men had taken.
"Give me the feeds now." The Director stared at the last of the women walking calmly out of the compound. Procyon 12 could sustain life, was initially intended to be an agricultural colony, until someone discovered unobtainium on it. So it wasn't as if they'd all committed suicide by walking out of the compound.
"Give me feeds of their quarters, the farms outside the compound." The Director poked at his own display, and the feeds expanded next to the first. Empty halls and rooms, empty roads and paths, empty fields, automated watering equipment doing it's job.
On one of the feeds, near one of the farms, a feminine shape appeared, just appeared. It looked directly into the camera, green skin, darker green eyes, tendrils of plants for hair. All in all a more than reasonable facsimile of a woman. She smiled into the camera, and waggled a finger at it as though it were a naughty child.
All feeds cut simultaneously.