Just once, Polk would like to have a textbook mission, where everything worked out as well as possible, with no danger whatsoever. Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d chosen the right line of work.

“Copy that LASV-1,” the comm officer said, turning to the acting captain as she did so. Out of respect to the captain and XO, he’d decided to remain at the helm of the Galaxie. Having an almost motherly attachment to the ship, especially in times of crisis, definitely didn’t play a part in his decision. Not that anyone onboard was a better helmsman, of course.

“Get me an active scan with as much power as you can muster,” Polk said, taking the Galaxie into yet another corkscrew. “And make sure that the torpedoes are armed and ready.”

The lander was just a speck by now, barely visible against the jade backdrop of the planet below. While he couldn’t see it, Polk knew their mysterious greeter had changed position, getting as close to the lander as possible without being trapped by the planet’s gravity.

All eyes were on the sensor officer as her hands danced across the controls like an artisan weaving a tapestry. After a few moments, she bit her lip and began reading off the display.

“Definitely homing in on them,” she said. “I’m detecting slight traces of… it’s a missile sir, definitely a missile. Detecting a large amount of explosives inside the object, and it’s using the sphere to get the lander’s position.”

“Going to full power,” Polk said, flipping off the switch responsible for limiting his precious engine power. He then deactivated the restrictive switch, and felt the ship roar to life under his hands.

“Plot a firing solution for the sphere, and shoot as soon as you get it,” Polk continued, wincing as the active scan alarm blared to life once more. He needed to have a talk with whatever shrink back at the shipyard decided it was a good idea to install the thing.

“And can someone shut that off?” he asked, pulling the ship into yet another set of evasive maneuvers. Either someone complied with his instructions or he’d scared the alarm into silence, since the repetitive whine stopped.

“We’ve got a third contact on scopes,” the sensor officer said. “Looks like another sphere sir. It’s pinging and heading toward us.”

“One sphere at a time,” Polk said through gritted teeth. “Does tactical have a firing solution for the first one?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then shoot for chrissake,” Polk ordered, his exasperation causing the Galaxie to turn wide. He could now see the second sphere, hovering just into the viewscreen’s range. Seeing the blinking red light on his display, he turned the ship towards the first sphere in time to see a silvery-white rod streak from their torpedo tubes. Since it wasn’t a straight shot by any means, they had to use a homing missile of their own, its white-hot maneuvering jets kicking in a few seconds after launch.

“Polk, that missile’s getting closer,” Asadi’s voice echoed through the bridge, bursting into momentary static. When the static receded, Polk could hear the tension in the Commander’s voice, like a steel cable stretching past what was recommended. He knew that she’d keep her cool, but that was hard to do with a missile bearing down on you.

“I’m going to cut off the booster engines,” she continued. “It should make us tougher to hit. Any chance you could take out the missile?”

“Working on it,” Polk said. Asadi conveniently didn’t add that she’d drop like a stone when the boosters were off. Throwing off the missile meant nothing if she plowed into the dirt at mach three.

“Sir,” the comm officer said, their voice cracking in excitement rather than fear. “Tactical reports a clean hit. I repeat, a clean hit, the first sphere is gone. Standing by for orders and status of the enemy missile.”

“Target the second sphere with straight-shot and fire when ready,” Polk said, banking the ship to starboard. The second sphere swung onto the viewscreen, its stillness sending chills down Polk’s spine. Odd, how so innocuous of an object could create such chaos.

He was just about to ask for an update when a gunpowder gray shell shot out from the Galaxie’s left launch tube and streaked towards the sphere. Not bothering to adjust the ship’s course, Polk watched as the teardrop-shaped projectile soar away, hitting and then punching a hole right through the sphere. Amazing, what a few hundred pounds of solid steel heading a few thousand miles per hour could do.

“Tactical, what’s the status of the enemy missile?” he asked, sighing through his nose as the viewscreen zoomed in on where the lander should’ve been. All they saw, however, was the thin white trail of the missile, angling towards… something. Polk gestured for someone to enhance the image.

“Commander, where are you?” Polk asked, gripping his headset until his knuckles turned white. “Did you throw it off? Give me something here, come on.”

“Having a little trouble here--,” came Asadi’s voice, scratched and garbled to pieces by a static that seemed to stab Polk in the ears as he tried to listen.

“Missile still homing--,” Asadi continued, the interference hiding any notes of tension or anxiety in her voice. “Some kind… jamming… going in hard.”

“Commander?” Polk asked. The only response was a brief mumble of that vexing static, before the transmission cut out altogether.

“Commander!” Polk asked again, cursing under his breath when she didn’t respond. He glanced around the bridge, seeing a lot of carefully blank faces and a few who had the guts to show their trepidation. Hoping to break that, Polk clapped his hands together.

“Get the relief helmsman in here,” he said. “I can’t think and fly at the same time. In the meantime, I want the most thorough sensor sweep you can give me in this system. I want to know where the hell these things are coming from. And better yet, who’s sending them. Actually, broadcast this on all frequencies.” He grabbed the mic, and ignoring the mixed reactions from the bridge crew, began to speak.

“Attention unidentified civilization. This is Captain Zachary Polk of the starship Helios. I don’t know about your culture, but in ours it’s considered aggressive to probe us without warning, then attempt to shoot down one of our ships. If you do not respond, I will assume your intent is hostile. All further attacks will be met with appropriate force.”

He ended the transmission, fuming so much he expected smoke to fly out of his ears. Turning towards the comm officer, he gestured to the blue-skinned Centauri to cut the broadcast. The lieutenant nodded back at Polk and flipped a switch, his pale yellow eyes seemingly bouncing around in their sockets.

“The Helios, sir?” the relief helmsman asked as he slid into Polk’s seat. Fighting the urge to snatch back the controls, Polk nodded and took a seat in the captain’s chair. It wasn’t comfortable; the sharp metal corners dug into his sides and back, and the seat didn’t have the cushioning of his spot at the helm.

“It was the captain’s previous ship,” he explained. “Better to have them think we have two ships up here. Whoever they are.”