Once, the rising stars symbolized hope and adventure. Today in Perth, Earth’s defense city, children clenched their eyes while resting in their beds and feared any glance at the stars before sunrise.  From the corner-office conference room, I stared at the star-illuminated waves, crashing against the shoreline. “Ministry of Defense Forces, the Honorable Gilbert Zahn,” a young lieutenant announced. I spun to attention in the leather chair. The leaders, gathered at this strange hour, rose to attention. As customary, the civilians remained seated, but everyone wanted Zahn’s attention. I inched to the chair’s edge and anticipated his entrance. Recalling my first day on the station, indoctrination briefed this tradition as a sign of respect to the civilian’s authority. They were full of shit.

Zahn’s espresso leather loafers squeaked on the concrete floor. He motioned his hand downward for the group to relax. The beaded armrest caught his jacket and disclosed his suit’s silk lining with floral patterns. The sheen from his bespoke sleeves faded when the windows tinted from the tranquil views to white-noise static. The latest pop-diva’s music hummed in the room. These arcane security measures sparked memories of my mentor’s favorite coffee lecture, Security by Obscurity. Tom had ridiculed these procedures. “Do our security teams think music will stop an advanced enemy from listening?” 

My aura sank deeper into the government issued chair and I rubbed the razor scar below my chin line. Tom remained in critical condition after the pressurization accident back on the station. A week ago after grav-ball, I had hit the showers and Tom stayed to stretch. I was in full lather when the alarms burst over the station’s intercom. Half dressed, I slipped into the passageway and found the commotion. The medical techs rushed Tom to the infirmary with a mobile lung respirator hung over his oxygen-deprived body. Now sitting in his chair with a banner streaming his name: Dr. Tom Waldon. I regretted my joke. “Old man, the stretches will kill you before the gravity does.” 

“Good evening,” Zahn said.

 The leaders robotically mumbled back the pleasantry. He headed the oblong table and peered over to Director Lawrence, the head of the Office of Future Warfare (FU-WAR for short). With a cheap grin, Director Lawrence snapped from her chair.

 Director Lawrence gripped the podium and peered down at the group, standing two meters tall. “Today marks the forty-third anniversary of the attack on Hong Kong. On that day, we lost seven million lives and society learned a new enemy lives in our backyard. The enemy has waited and grown their foothold in our solar system.” 

Her lace macramé ankle boots clicked as she paced along the front wall. “Recognizing this historic inflection point, Earth’s strategy to defend against the unknown alien insurgence shifted from protracted land wars with each other to a unified whole-of-world. We were once a society of many, and today we build solidarity.”  She focused on each leader one-at-a-time.

Once, the rising stars symbolized hope and adventure. Today in Perth, Earth’s defense city, children clenched their eyes while resting in their beds and feared any glance at the stars before sunrise. < Wouldn’t the stars be gone after sunrise? The wording implies that they can look at the stars after sunrise.  From the corner-office conference room, I stared at the star-illuminated waves, crashing against the shoreline. “Ministry of Defense Forces, the Honorable Gilbert Zahn,” a young lieutenant announced. I spun to attention in the leather chair. The leaders, gathered at this strange hour, rose to attention. < Watch out for using the same phrase so close together. As customary, the civilians remained seated, < I assumed that there were no civilians present based on the previous line. but everyone wanted Zahn’s attention. < Who is everyone? I got the impression this was a small meeting room. How many civilians are present? I inched to the chair’s edge and anticipated his entrance. Recalling my first day on the station, indoctrination briefed this tradition as a sign of respect to the civilian’s authority. They were full of shit.

Zahn’s espresso leather loafers squeaked on the concrete floor. He motioned his hand downward for the group to relax. The beaded armrest < I really can’t imagine what this room is like. I assume only his chair has a beaded armrest? What’s the style of the room as a whole? caught his jacket and disclosed his suit’s silk lining with floral patterns. The sheen from his bespoke sleeves faded when the windows tinted from the tranquil views to white-noise static. < I had to read this line twice to understand what you meant, but that could just be me. The latest pop-diva’s music hummed in the room. These arcane security measures sparked memories of my mentor’s favorite coffee lecture, Security by Obscurity. Tom had ridiculed these procedures. “Do our security teams think music will stop an advanced enemy from listening?” 

My aura sank deeper into the government issued chair and I rubbed the razor scar below my chin line. Tom remained in critical condition after the pressurization accident back on the station. A week ago after grav-ball, I had hit the showers and Tom stayed to stretch. I was in full lather when the alarms burst over the station’s intercom. Half dressed, I slipped into the passageway and found the commotion. The medical techs rushed Tom to the infirmary with a mobile lung respirator hung over his oxygen-deprived body. < Personally, I feel like I don’t know enough about the narrator to be ready for back story. Now sitting in his chair with a banner streaming his name: Dr. Tom Waldon. I regretted my joke. “Old man, the stretches will kill you before the gravity does.” < It’s not clear to me when he made this joke – before, after, or during Tom being transported to the infirmary?

“Good evening,” Zahn said.

 The leaders robotically mumbled back the pleasantry. He headed the oblong table and peered over to Director Lawrence, the head of the Office of Future Warfare (FU-WAR for short). With a cheap grin, Director Lawrence snapped from her chair.

 Director Lawrence < Her name is repeated too many times too close together.gripped the podium and peered down at the group, standing two meters tall. “Today marks the forty-third anniversary of the attack on Hong Kong. On that day, we lost seven million lives and society learned a new enemy lives in our backyard. The enemy has waited and grown their foothold in our solar system.” < I feel like you’re gearing up for an info dump, which I’m not ready for. There’s not been enough to hook me into the story.

Her lace macramé ankle boots clicked as she paced along the front wall. “Recognizing this historic inflection point, Earth’s strategy to defend against the unknown alien insurgence shifted from protracted land wars with each other to a unified whole-of-world. We were once a society of many, and today we build solidarity.”  She focused on each leader one-at-a-time.