“Check—check, reading green Kiriad-1, Kiriad-2?” He waited over the comms system, watching the cargo ship drift lazily into the space port. “Roger, Control. You have the conn, give us the go to light when ready.” Screens about the room displayed wireframes of the ship as it was scanned in the docking station, checking for discrepancies. Everyone in the room watched a different part of the ship—efficiency by division, like an assembly line.

  “Structure green, sir. Moving to check Pile integrity.” The nuclear engineer scanned his screen. The room turned to look at the man at the helm for the go-ahead. After overlooking the models himself, he allowed the process to continue with a nod. “Kiriad-1, Kiriad-2. Please do a controlled light of your pile, no full burns. We need a read on it under work. Keep it light, we don’t need the station breathing vacuum.”

  “Understood Control, start-up in progress, heating to eighth power.” A gentle glow filled the control room, a prismatic blue glow drifted from the vessel’s stern. The nuclear engineer was the only one in the room whose attention was not on the lights. He was deep in study over what looked to be hieroglyphics to the Control Master. All seemed good. “Pile stable, sir—Some mild abnormalities. Suggest taking it easy on any burns. Do we update the flight plan to accommodate?

  “Kiriad-1, 2—we’ve found some minor abnormalities in your pile, though is stable. Do you want to update the flight plan, or do you want to chance it?”

  “We chance it, Control.” A new—Russian-accented—voice came over the console’s speaker. “Roger, Kiriad-2. Stand-by and wind down.”

  The one hundred and twenty foot vessel began to drift in dock. “Kiriad-1, 2—you’re drifting, something fouled up?” The drifting ship began to glow brighter. They couldn’t hear it, but all of them could imagine the whine of the pile engine pushing to full power. “Kiriad-1, 2—pile off, pile off. Do not push to power, we are not ready to launch you.” The room was silent, faces no longer fixated on the brilliant glow of the ship. Every man and woman was deep in their consoles, checking for any and all issues that could be the cause of the malfunction. “Control, this is Kiriad-1—we have had a malfunction in our pile. We cannot wind down now. It’s start up, or blow up—your call, Control.”

  He dropped slightly. Holding his head up, elbows on the console. “Someone get those doors open, we’re lighting early.” He switched from inner comms, back to speaking to the Kiriad. “Kiriad-1, 2—we’re opening the doors to launch you early, we can get you close to your destination with your original flight plan, but you’ll have to contact another station to tow you in.” The room went silent for the response, seconds that dripped like honey. “Roger Wilco, Control. Give us the green to full light when ready.”

  “Sir, big problem.” The wide-eyed Control Master turned to the young woman who dared to bring up another issue at a time like this. “Please tell me it’s negligible—”

  “Negative, sir. We found a mass discrepancy upon a second, deeper scan. Significant. Trajectory will not land near where the flight plan is set. Even worse now that we’re boosting them early.”

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  The prismatic glow gained a purple hue as it grew to higher power, the launch doors were not yet open.

  “I need a moment to think, you have the conn, let the Kiriad know.” The Control Master left and leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor. He roughly rubbed his head. “Ki—Kiriad 1, 2—Sorry to report, but we have another issue. We cannot guarantee you’ll make it anywhere near your destined point, you’ll be off by a significant scale.”

  “So, we’ll be stuck to drift if we make it out of here?”

  “Roger.”

  “Roger.”

  “WAIT.” A short man in a sweat-darkened white shirt barreled to the console. He was tailed by the Control Master. He wasted precious moments to catch his breath. The Control Master and the woman watched as he began to scrawl on the back of a piece of scrap paper—diagrams and formulas that neither of them could fully wrap their heads around. “Get them on the comms, let’s hope they’re true astronauts and not just rocket jockeys!” He continued frantically writing, snapping his pencil. A staff aid almost tripped over himself in his rush to get him a new one.

  Both of the spectators went for the microphone. “Kiriad-1, 2—do you know how to fly that thing manually?”

  “Roger, Control.” The short man grabbed the microphone, and slid the keyboard closer to him. “I am sending you inputs now, I did some math, and this should get you to where you need to go. Approximately, numbers don’t lie, but this was some real quick math.”

  “I’m a betting man, sir. And I’m willing to trust anyone who can actually do that kinda math. Ivan, punch it in the navigator console and pray that they’re right.” The shuffle of moving from seat to seat came over the comm’s speaker. “Roger Wilco Adam.” Both sides of the exchange went quiet as the glow became brighter. “Seventy percent power, twenty seconds to full burn.” No one acknowledged.

  “Eighty percent power, ten seconds to full burn.” Still no response. The Control Master closed his eyes, and imagined his crew did too.

  “Ninety perce—”

  “Inputs in, you have conn, Control. Give us the gree—”

  “LAUNCH.”

  There was no assent to his order, only action.

  The glow became blinding. Everyone had to close their eyes now. But in an instant, the ship was gone. But the station remained, the crew slowly opened their eyes. He coughed, “If there are no more ships scheduled today,” he said hoarsely, “everyone take the next cycle off.”