“Aaah, they make these shifts too long!” A young operator whines out-loud. He leans back into his back of his chair and rubs his hair in frustration. “What numbskull thought it is a good idea to have them for over 9 hours?! I’ll beat him to death!”

  A nearby colleague rolls his eyes. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “What is the rush Dickie? It is not like you have anything better to do,” The annoyed colleague takes a glance at his radar before continuing “and it’s not like there is anything to do while we’re here.”

  Dickie shrugs because he has nothing to argue with. It’s true, there are practically no recreational activities here. The station consists of their radar control room, the small cafeteria, and their housing barracks. Designed for work in mind, not so much what you do after work.

  “After a shift like these, all you need is just a nap, no?” Dicky asks as he messes with the knobs and buttons at his station. “Or, like, I dunno, when off schedule hit it off at the casino at Side Blanco. Shit dude, I don’t know.”

  “You gamble, Dickie?” The annoyed one asks in surprise. Dickie grins, “Oh you know it. There is nothing more of a thrill than spending money to make more money.”

  “With the wages they give us, I think it will be a wise option to invest in crypto.” The annoyed colleague surmises. But Dicky scoffs, “are you serious? Crypto is like… several times more dangerous than traditional gambling—”

  “Traditional gambling?” The colleague interrupts with sharp curiosity. “Well, yeah, I mean, like, slots and whatnot, no? crypto is like, you invest in one Crypto and the next day…” Dickie throws his hands in the air and coos an explosion sound with his mouth “—and the next thing you know the crypto you invested in goes belly up! There goes junior’s university funds, eh?” But his colleague only gives him a dumbfounded look. “And literally how is that any different from when regular gambling? That’s why you do your research on the legitimate ones, no?”

  Dickie sighs with contempt. “It’s the thrill of making big bucks or losing more than what you originally invested in.” Dickie flashes a wicked smile, “crypto is the risk with none of the fun, you know? At least you know you will probably lose money, but you also know you might make some bank. Besides…” Dickie takes a glance at his radar before his eyes dart back at his annoyed colleague “I know when to stop gambling! Rather if I make some losses or make some gains, I stop then and there.” Dickie said with total confidence.

  “Yeah right, and I’m the king of Angland.”

  “Angland?” Dickie asks while he leans back into his chair to stare at the ceiling.

  “Er… you never heard that saying? When someone says something completely and utterly bullshit, someone else says ‘and I’m the king of Angland’”

  “…Right, wait, you’re calling me a liar? I’m being honest!”

  The colleague laughs it off, “right, you know that’s what a lot of gambler addicts say. ‘Oh, I know when to quit! I can quit when I’m still ahead!’” He says in a high pitched mocking voice.

  Dickie only forcibly exhales, “it’s the truth I tell you!” But after the colleague ignores him Dickie raises his shoulder in resignation. “But that aside… what do you do in your time off?” He eyes his radar console for a brief moment before he leans back into staring at the ceiling.

  “You know that really tiny compartment for smokers? The dinky lil’ one in the corridor leading to our barracks? Yeah, I smoke in there. ” He exhales with a puff, “what I would do for a smoke break right now. Dealing with your bullshit makes my hair turn gray.” He pulls back his sleeve to reveal a silver wristwatch that he inspects. “Hmm, I believe I have one more hour or so until I can get just that, what about you?” He looks at Dickie, who lets out another agonized moan “I still have like, another two hours! “

  The colleague lets out a whistle, “wow, you must have done something to anger the higher-ups, eh?”

  “Haaah… what did I do, indeed?” Dickie whines while blowing out air. Dickie drops his gaze at his radar screen—

  But Dickie freezes.

  “Say, were there any flights scheduled today?” Dickie asks without breaking eye contact with the radar. “Hmm?” The colleague reaches for a clipboard that is next to him and proceeds to give it a review. “Hmmm… it doesn’t seem like there is today—but there is one tomorrow heading for the Velksland system.”

  “Hmm, that’s a problem then.” Dickie says with a worrisome look.

  “…Why?” The colleague asks with a frown.

  “…There’s a single ship rapidly approaching the Cluster.”

  “Huh? From where?”

  Dickie finally breaks eye contact with the radar and exchanges looks with the colleague. “…It’s coming from the Valspon system.”

  The colleague sets up in his chair and turns on the intercom.

  “This is Lübeck mission control to the unknown shuttle! Please come in!” The colleague inquiries in an authoritative tone. With each passing second, he gets increasingly anxious.

  “…This is Lübeck mission control, do you read me? I urge you to please respond and identify yourself.”

  Dickie looks back at his radar, and the dot’s location on the screen inches closer to the Cluster colonies without breaking speed. The two of them fail to get a response from the bogey; there is only static.

  The colleague clears his throat. He then leans closer to the intercom and raises his voice, “This is Lübeck mission control, please slow down your craft and identify yourself and your navigational route.” But it is only fruitless; he is continued to be greeted by static.

  “What is the commotion over here?!” Their superior jog to their side of the room, and grabs the colleague by the shoulder. “You’re scaring the new guys. This better be a good reason.”

  Dicky and his colleague look at their superior before Dicky speaks up “It’s an abnormality, a shuttle or something is coming at a high speed and ignoring our communication efforts.”

  The old manager rubs his chin. “Abnormality, you say…” He checks with the intercom to make sure for himself. Sure enough, he arrives with the same fruition. “You are sure it is a shuttle and not something like an asteroid?”

  Before Dickie or his coworker can reply, the source of their problems become visible to the naked eye. Murmurs in the control room turn into panic and cries of fear as it gets closer to the mission control satellite. Some brace for impact, while others dive to the ground while uttering prayers.

  The shuttle rapidly passes the satellite at daunting speed, and before long disappears into the starry abyss. There are collective sighs of relief within the control room.

  “Holy shit!”

  “We have a rogue shuttle heading for the Cluster!”

  “Contact Side Blanco!”

  “Shit! We won’t be able to scramble any shuttles to divert it!”

  The sighs of relief turned to panic and uproar. Dickie slumps back into his chair in defeat. The manager storms off to another part of the control room. “What the hell is going on? Do we have any reports from the Valspon system?” He demands from one of the staff. After a couple of minutes, the one the manager questioned shakes his head. “It’s no good, we are unable to make contact with Side Malabo or the rest of the Cluster.”

  A quiet air of uneasiness fills the room for a brief moment.

  “Just what the hell is that Che fool doing in Valspon…?” The manager trails off, but the interruption by an operator snaps him to reality, “The shuttle’s trajectory is shifting towards the capital Side of Brunsbüttel!”

  Murmurers fill the room once more as the manager orders everyone to hush. “Send a radio transmission to Brunsbüttel! Quickly!” He runs a hand through his hair and mumbles under his breath, “…although I’m not sure they can stop it in time.”

  “T-the shuttle is entering the Brunsbüttel gravitational field and shows no signs of stopping!!!” The same operator yells out in panic.

  “What the hell are the idiots over there doing?! They haven’t even closed the Side’s panel shields?! At this rate—”

  If the Brunsbüttel authorities don’t close the panels in time it could risk ramming into the Side’s windows and cause a leak—it won’t necessarily destroy the colony, but…

  “The Brunsbüttel is sortying shuttles to intercept it, but… but…!” The radio operator’s commentary is cut off by the manager rushing over to the commentating operator. The old manager slips off the man’s headset and pushes him aside. “What the hell is happening over there?!” He yells into the headset’s microphone piece. “Report! Were the interceptors able to divert it away from the Side in time?!”

  There is a moment of silence, and with each passing second, the manager’s patience slips on increasingly thin ice. “Mission control to Side Brunsbuttel, I ask again—were the interceptors able to force the shuttle to divert course?!“ The other end is noisy as people shout over one another. It seems their situation was equally as bad, and who could blame them?

  Finally, there is a response from Brunsbüttel—but it is not the one the manager wants to hear. Before the manager even knows it, his already pale skin is further drained of color.

  “Side Brunsbüttel to Lübeck mission control…”

  The manager can feel the headset slipping through his grasp. The crew of the control room crowd around him anxiously. Dickly is among the closest to the manager, who leans as close as he can to the earpiece.

  “The defense fleet of shuttles has failed to stop the shuttle…”

  Dickie, too, feels a lot more drained of energy at the words uttered from the microphone. The ghastly manager works up the strength to ask the followup question everyone in the vicinity dreads to hear.

  The manager clears his throat with a loud hawking noise. “A-and… the panel shields…?”

  The anticipation makes everyone’s stomachs churn as they eagerly await the news—but everyone knew all too well what happened next rather they wanted to believe it or not.

  “The panel shields…”

  Both the manager and Dickie share tinges of queasiness.

  “Have failed to close in time…”

  The trembling of the manager nearly causes the headset to slip out of his hand.

  “Resulting in the shuttle ramming through a section of the Side…

  “This concludes the feed forwarded to us from the commander of the interceptor squadron.”

  The crew of the Lübeck satellite all gazes at Side Brunsbüttel in the distance, as the headset drops to the floor with a metallic clatter.