His finger brushed the air a projection occupied, and a console retracted into the wall. Obrad brought with him a mess of a console to replace it with. “Test console installed” he spoke to the array of microphones that dotted the station, “performing diagnostics. Ania, are you ready to go?”
“Ready, Obrad” a disembodied voice spoke. The voice belonged to the individual in a small ship only visible to the naked eye with exterior lights switched on. The console of questionable design blinked green, passing the diagnostics. “Launching target” Obrad pressed a button, then pulled a lever, and entered in some numbers on a keypad, “Console active. Ania, you’re up.”
The small ship’s engines whirred in Ania’s ears. Her hands pushed up on the throttle. The ship’s speed gained. Closer to the target she sped. A wave of her hand and a tube on the ship opened up. A small rocket fired from the ship and Ania pulled up before the ship hit the target. The missile was nearly to its mark when the console whirred to life. Beams of light emanated from the station, focused in front of the target. Colors poured out, the console shook, and the missile passed through the colors. The console calmed down.
“Well?” Ania requested the results. The colors reabsorbed into space, and Obrad saw the target was destroyed. “It didn’t work,” he said, “the wormhole didn’t initialize in time. Come back in.” Obrad pulled the console back away from the wall and a piece fell to the ground. The original console reappeared in it’s previous position.