bzzt bzzt bzzt bzzt

Lena rolled out of bed with a groan. There were no more days off. Since the Terran Defense War had started, no one got any days off.

Thankfully, since she worked in a critical sector, she hadn't been drafted to go fight against the Affini threat. 'Slow and weak,' her ass. The rumours and gossip that trickled in from the few ships that had limped back to Terra were terrifying, but far more terrifying were how few ships were coming back. It reminded her of one time when she was young and had gotten to go down to the sea with her family. She remembered watching the tide coming in, slowly covering the beach, inexorably growing. It had awed and terrified her in equal measure.

Nevertheless, thirty minutes later, she was on the maglev with only a handful of fellow passengers, all trying their best to ignore everyone else. She looked around as she sipped her coffee, trying desperately to will herself not to fall asleep. She had never noticed how soothing and gentle the hum of the train was before. Just a nice low hum at the edge of hearing, so nice and calm. She jerked awake with a start as the train slid into her stop. The coffee just wasn't doing it anymore. She needed a break, a chance to take a day or even two off and rest.

Filled with daydreams of getting to lie in her bed for more than 6 hours at a time, Lena shuffled into her work.

"Morning Jerry," she muttered to the white haired old man who was all but dozing at the security desk. Frank and most of the other security guards had been drafted to go fight the affini, leaving behind those who the navy deemed 'unsuitable for combat operations'.

Jerry gave a grunt in response and barely looked up before going back to his nap.

The control room, capable of holding upwards of 50 controllers at once, was down to a bare handful. All of them shared that haggard, tired look that seemed to be permanently etched onto Lena's face, even as they typed and talked with the rapid fire, precise, professional tone that was known to every pilot as the hallmark of Core Terran Space Traffic Control. None of the drawl or stutter of the outer colonies, or the recklessness of some of the industrial districts. No matter how tired they were, no matter how little sleep they were running on, they weren't about to let that slip.

Lena kept half an eye on the news channel screen set in one corner of the room. They still were trying to downplay the invasion, talking about political scandals, celebrity gossip and the like instead, but it couldn't be entirely ignored, even by the skilled propaganda arm of the Terran media. Ooh, Ophelia Merrill was starring in a new movie, some Terran military drama. That looked fun. She was such a good, genuine actress.

With a sigh Lena settled in to work, idly identifying each call in her mind as she did.

Military troop transport: Central, this is Donkey Rider 12, flight of four, we need clearance to Jupiter right away.

Assholes. Lena keyed her mic: Donkey Rider this is Terra Central, you are cleared direct to UGO, follow Standard Instrument Departure Route Cola 3 at best speed, then switch to military STC channel 122.35.

Lena continued: Hauler 5234 change course to inclination 45.6 degrees for military traffic.

The very disgruntled voice of the short range cargo ship replied: Hauler 5234, changing course. Again.

The next voice was smooth and professional: Terra Central, this is N7241, private vessel, requesting departure on spacelane Indigo.

N7241...that was the code for that fancy spaceyacht the Irving family had bought. And going the opposite direction of the front. Well, at least he was polite.

N7241, climb to OL25 and and orbit to waypoint GRIMES, then clear for the departure on spacelane Indigo.

A frantic voice suddenly broke in: Terra Central pan pan, pan pan, this is Dustoff 20, need emergency clearance to Musk.

Shit, military medevac. Bill's voice cut in: Dustoff 20 switch to 122.15, I'll be guiding you in.

Lena slumped in relief. At least they still had their military controllers.

Several hours later she sat down to eat lunch. The lunches were no longer free, now deducted from her paycheck, but they were still a decent amount of food for a low price, which was better than you could get out in the city. Sam and Bill were talking quietly to themselves, shutting up as she came to sit down with them. "Hey Bill, Sam. Whatchya talking about?"

Bill shook his head at Sam, which they returned with a pointed look before sighing. "Well, you probably aren't a treefucker, and you'll know soon enough, but...we're getting mobilized. Full military mobilization. We'll be getting shipped out to do military ATC helping the troops fight back against the weeds."

Sam cut in, "they won't be facing frontier commanders and mercs anymore, they'll be facing the core of the Terran Navy. We'll hold them, don't you worry Lena."

Lena gave them an unsteady grin, even as she thought back to the many times they had boasted about how the Affini wouldn't be able to get past a planet or system, how surely the troops there would be enough, and how it didn't seem to slow them down one bit. She thought again about the tide, about creeping vines slowly and inexorably covering everything in their path.

Bill snapped his fingers in front of her eyes, shaking Lena out of her thoughts. "Hey, Lena, earth to Lena. You spaced out there for a bit."

Lena gave her head a shake and gave another smile. "Sorry about that, haven't been getting much sleep. Anyways, I better get going."

As she walked away she heard Sam lean over to Bill. "I didn't know that Lena was into military types. She got all blushy and junk when I started talking about the Navy. Heh, who would have figured her for a fish hook eh?"

She squeaked as she heard the term used for those who chased after military types used for her. She hadn't been blushing. Not at all.

Finally home, after leaving work at 2100 hours, she ate the tiny bowl of ramen that was all she could afford, sat and stared out at the lights of the city, and thought about the patterns she had been seeing in the traffic. Military traffic one way. Commercial traffic shrinking, increasingly just small local ships. And a small but steady trickle of private, high end luxury craft, all headed one way. Away from Terra. Away from the affini. Rats fleeing the ship.