"TP-103, you are off course."

The flight control station of RHE-GP11 was quiet. The scent of exotic flowers set in the corner by one of the overzealous botanists on station provided the only deviation from the muted, bland smells of life in space.

Eric leaned on the bulkhead door, watching one of the air traffic controllers notify an off-course vessel to correct.

His coffee ration was nearly gone, as was the time on his shift. Life as a security officer wasn't exactly exciting. But it paid exceptionally well, and he'd only signed up for a nine month tour. Seven more months of boring and he'd be ready to move on with a pile of cash and a shiny rèsumè.

Life, in short, was good.

If a little bland.

"Hey, you got an extra coffee ration?"

Eric glanced at the flight control attendant nearby, twirling their empty mug.

He shrugged.

"Sorry, I'm about out of my rations too." He said. "Can't wait to get a supply ship in."

"That's what this one is." The flight control officer said without looking up from her screen. "TP-103. Next stop, more coffee and fresh food. If they can stay on course."

A quiet ping sounded in the flight control center, followed by another.

And another.

"What's that?" The Officer asked, lifting a few papers as she searched for the quiet alarm lazily.

"I dunno, probably a course correction alarm." someone said. "I'll get it."

Eric stood by as the alarm continued to sound its melancholy pings as the flight control crew searched for the source of the warning.

Eric shifted his stance a little, unconcerned. He looked out through the armored window, mindlessly watching the stars as they wandered by with the base's rotation.

One stood out.

One that wasn't moving. One of the incoming ships, lined up on an approach vector.

He smiled quietly as he thought ahead. Once she arrived, there would be fresh rations and perhaps a few new faces around the stale base.

The twinkling ship got brighter.

One of the technicians finally found the alarm as the air traffic controller issued another warning.

"TP-103, you are still off course, please correct vector and respond, over."

The technician beside him leaned over and moved a notepad to reveal a blinking light.

"Found it," he announced to the skeleton crew in flight control. "We're registering a 'radar lock' alarm." He said.

"What the heck has us in radar lock?"

Eric shrugged as he looked back at the approaching ship.

It was much, much brighter.

And it was leaving a trail behind it.

Eric took a step forward, his heart suddenly jumping into his throat as he watched the ship peel a hard corner to the right. The light flared as the engine tilted partially towards flight control.

Radar lock, trail, sudden maneuvers...

Eric's stomach seized up as he made the connection.

That was no ship.

The mote of light twisted once more, leveling its flight course for the final approach.

"Incoming!" Eric shouted, watching as the light brightened.

The room turned to face him suddenly.

He was white as a ghost.

He simply pointed outside.

The mote of light was accelerating, blooming into a flare of white hot flames as it screamed towards the flight control center.

It was no ship.

It was a missile.

The flight control deck lunged for the floor, Eric gritting his teeth as the missile swerved.

Blinding white light filled the flight control center for a moment, along with thunder that shook the ground.

Eric's head swiveled.

The radio mast.

Debris and smoke spun and drifted in zero atmosphere, slowly coming to rest on the moon's surface.

He panted once, and instinct took over.

"Get the station defense online!" he shouted, taking a couple steps forward.

The flight control room instantly lit up.

Alarms started to shriek, along with some of the crew.

Two of the flight controllers hopped back into their seats and started to slam at their keyboards with shaky fingers.

"Where did that come from?"

"TP-103." One of them said.

"Tag it as a hostile."

Eric watched out the window as another mote of light started to swing a wide, slow arc overhead.

That was the ship.

"Our array is down. Can't tag." One of them said over the screaming.

Eric looked around.

The crew was frantic.

Of the ten people on deck, only three were functional.

Some were still shocked, staring at the glowing wreckage of the mast.

Others were huddled under the controls.

He needed everyone present.

Eric leaned forward and grabbed the PA microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Security Officer Eric. This base is under attack. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill." He said, betraying none of the panic that gripped his soul.

"Everyone report to battle stations. All hands on deck, repeat, all hands on deck."

He set the microphone down in time to see the ship turning back for another shot.

He looked down at one of the technicians that was huddled up under her controls.

"Get up." He said. "We need everyone."

The human woman swallowed, nodded, and started to crawl out from under her desk.

"Do we have point defense up?" Eric asked, watching as the other technicians started to climb back into their chairs.

"Point defenses coming online." One of them answered, slipping his headphones on. "Radar tagging is down, we're going to need IR tags up."

"Working on it." Another replied.

Eric looked outside.

The twinkle of light suddenly split.

Two.

Three.

Five.

Missile launches.

"Get the guns online!" He said, looking back uneasily. His stomach danced into knots as he watched the fiery lights spiral away from the ship.

"Point defense lasers are ready to fire." Someone said.

"Multiple targets incoming."

Alarms blared louder.

"Target lock, permission to fire?"

"Fire!" Eric shouted.

The flight control center's alarms suddenly died under the scream of the 'active fire' alert system.

Invisible streaks of light targeted the incoming weapons and began to heat their hulls.

Come on... Eric thought, watching as the missiles continued to charge.

One of them suddenly flared, the light blinking out before blooming into a twist of spiraling debris and flames.

Eric looked at the next one.

It followed suit.

As did the next.

The next one, however, impacted.

Eric watched as a shockwave lifted dust off the moon's surface from where the missile had imploded one of the compressed gas lines.

White clouds of precious oxygen bellowed out into the vacuum of space, losing thousands of cubic feet per second.

"Seal the oxygen pipes!" Eric said.

"Already done."

He didn't get to witness the destruction of the final missile.

But he did see it as the ship rocketed overhead, turning a barrel roll as it passed and strafing the area with point-defense rounds.

"Habitation 3 is reporting damage from fallen debris."

Eric felt his hands shaking and his throat turning into a hard knot as he tried to imagine that everyone was alright.

But he knew they might not be.

"Target that ship." Eric said.

"Lasers won't penetrate the hull." Someone replied.

"Adjust the output spectrum to Ultra Violet." Eric said.

"We'll burn up our mirrors." They replied. "We only have seconds on the UV spectrum."

Eric narrowed his eyes.

"Then let's make them count."

"Target locked, ready to fire."

"Are we set to UV?"

"Lasers are adjusting."

Eric looked over his shoulder, towards the glowing sun of Socotra, where the ship was making a slipping turn, preparing to fire another barrage of missiles.

"Fire when ready." Eric replied, squinting as he watched the ship maneuver.

The whole room was consumed with the sound of shouts and alarms, the thumping of fingers on keyboards and screens popping like gunfire.

Come on... he thought, gritting his teeth as the ship made its full turn.

"Weapons ready and firing!"

Eric flinched as the 'active fire' alarm screamed again.

He counted the second.

One...

Nothing happened, just invisible warfare.

Two...

The hull of the ship started to glow faintly against the stars behind it.

Three...

The ship suddenly pulled up, trying to evade.

Four...

The hull brightened suddenly, and the ship lurched to one side as one of its bulkheads depressurized.

Five...

Nearly out of burn time on the lasers. The hull was brightening to almost painful.

Six...

There was a blink.

The lasers had found something volatile.

And in a fraction of a second, the ship vaporized itself, leaving nothing but white-hot gas and peace.

The fire control center burst out in cheering, humans and Springers jumping up and high-fiving each other.

Eric, however, didn't.

He just stood silent and stunned, looking off into space through the glass.

Eventually others noticed.

The celebration died instantly.

He swallowed, his mouth already dry as he watched in pure horror.

Blinks of laser light boiled far overhead, beyond the debris of the ship, on the neighboring moon of Corisc. Motes of light popped into existence and took a few seconds to fade as missiles exploded hundreds of miles away.

They weren't alone.

Eric swallowed.

"Get the navy on the phone now."