The mass driver’s diagnostics terminal blinked with sluggish intent, its screens spitting out lines of data faster than most could follow. Judas-12 leaned against the console, eyes darting across the display with the intensity of someone who thrived on problems to solve, provided they were sufficiently complex. Behind him, Caleb-7 duo Pax floated in the zero-g workspace, tethered to the console by a single magnetic line. Caleb’s tablet, with his Buddy, Pax, flickered faintly from where it was attached to his belt.
“Alright,” Judas muttered, mostly to himself, “what do we know?”
Samson’s voice hummed from his own tablet, velcroed to Judas’s jumpsuit. “Structural warping in rail sections B-12 and C-3. Stress patterns match projections, but the magnitude is slightly higher than expected.”
“Slightly higher,” Judas repeated, tone laced with sarcasm. “How comforting.”
Caleb, who had been quietly observing, floated closer, gripping a nearby handhold. “Is it...bad? Like, how bad are we talking?”
Judas didn’t look up from the screen. “Not catastrophic. Yet. But if we don’t fix it, the next asteroid launch could turn the driver into a very expensive noodle.”
Caleb blinked. “Noodle?”
“It’ll bend,” Judas said, deadpan. “A lot. And then probably snap. And when a kilometer-long electromagnetic rail snaps, it tends to ruin your day.”
“Got it,” Caleb said, wide-eyed. “No noodles.”
Judas smirked, finally glancing at the younger recruit. “Don’t worry, kid. We’re catching it before it gets that far. That’s why you’re here. Hands-on education in the glamorous world of ballistics engineering.”
Samson added, “And an opportunity to learn from the station’s foremost expert in diagnostics.”
Judas raised an eyebrow. “You’re laying it on a little thick.”
“I’m building morale,” Samson replied, utterly deadpan. “It’s part of my job.”
Judas kicked off from the console, letting the momentum carry him toward the rail section in question. The diagnostic bay was cavernous, the vast curve of the mass driver stretching into the distance like the spine of some mechanical beast. A faint hum filled the air, the residual charge from the coils thrumming through the structure.
“Alright, Caleb,” Judas said, planting his boots against the rail’s surface with a satisfying magnetic clunk. “Time to see what we’re dealing with.”
Caleb drifted down beside him, fumbling slightly with his tether before stabilizing. “What’s first?”
“First,” Judas said, “we check the telemetry logs against the physical damage. Samson?”
Samson’s tablet beeped in response. “Displaying recorded stress patterns for rail section B-12. Overlaying with expected tolerances.”
A holographic map of the rail flickered onto the nearby diagnostic display, glowing lines highlighting the points of concern. Judas crouched, his gloved hand running along the surface of the rail. His movements were precise, methodical, like an artisan inspecting their work for imperfections.
“Here,” he said, pointing to a faint discoloration on the metal. “See this? Microfracturing. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s enough to throw the whole system out of alignment.”
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Caleb leaned in, squinting. “How does that happen?”
Judas straightened, his tone slipping into lecture mode. “Thermal expansion and contraction, mostly. These rails handle insane amounts of energy—enough to sling a billion-ton rock at Pluto. That kind of power heats the metal, and when it cools too fast, you get stress fractures.”
“And we fix it...how?”
“Laser annealing, mostly,” Judas said. “Heats the metal evenly, seals the cracks. But first, we need to make sure the warping hasn’t thrown off the rail’s alignment.”
Caleb nodded, clearly trying to absorb everything. “Got it.”
Judas smirked. “Relax, kid. You’re not gonna break it just by looking at it.”
Judas and Caleb moved further down the rail, their boots clanging softly with each step, magnetized to stick to the floor. Caleb’s Buddy, Pax, floated closer, its soft voice offering a steady stream of data.
“Alignment deviation detected,” Pax reported. “Approximately 0.13 degrees.”
Caleb frowned. “That's a lot, right?”
“It’s enough,” Judas said. “Any deviation messes with the magnetic field. If the asteroid’s even slightly off-center, it starts to wobble. And if it wobbles, it doesn’t go where it’s supposed to.”
“Like...not to Pluto?”
“Or straight through the station,” Judas said casually.
Caleb paled. “You’re joking.”
“Mostly,” Judas said, flashing a grin. “But seriously, it’s why we do this. No pressure.”
Samson’s voice cut in. “The deviation is within correctable limits. Suggesting recalibration of the adjacent coil to compensate.”
Judas nodded. “Right. Caleb, grab the adjustment tools from the kit. Let’s fix this before it gets worse.”
Caleb drifted over to the supply crate, fumbling with the latches before pulling out a sleek, multi-tool device. He handed it to Judas, who inspected it briefly before crouching back over the rail.
“This is the fun part,” Judas said, activating the tool. A focused beam of light shot out, slicing through the air with a faint hiss. “Precision work. Like surgery, but for a giant railgun.”
Caleb watched intently as Judas adjusted the rail, his movements precise and confident. The younger recruit couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration—Judas might be a cynic, but he knew his craft.
As they worked, Samson’s voice interrupted. “Judas, I’ve detected an anomaly in the telemetry logs.”
Judas paused, lowering the tool. “Define anomaly.”
“During the last launch, there was a brief fluctuation in the magnetic field. It resolved within milliseconds but was not accounted for in the initial diagnostics.”
Judas frowned. “How brief?”
“0.024 seconds.”
Caleb blinked. “That doesn’t sound like much.”
“It’s not,” Judas said slowly. “But it shouldn’t happen at all. The field’s supposed to be stable.”
Samson continued, “The fluctuation occurred near coil B-12—the same section currently exhibiting warping.”
Judas’s frown deepened. “That’s not a coincidence.”
“You think it’s related?” Caleb asked.
“Could be,” Judas said. “Or it could be junk data. Either way, I’m not ignoring it.”
He stood, his gaze flicking between the rail and the diagnostic display. Something about the whole situation nagged at him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. The warping, the fluctuation—none of it felt right.
“Samson,” he said, “run a deeper analysis on the telemetry. I want to know exactly what caused that fluctuation.”
“Already on it,” Samson replied.
By the time they finished the recalibration, the rail was ready for further repairs. Judas leaned against the console, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. “And that, Caleb, is how you keep the station from turning into space debris.”
Caleb grinned. “Not bad for a morning’s work.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Judas said. “We’ve still got to check section C-3. And then run simulations, do dry fires, and come back next week. It's hard to fix all this in a single day, I'm just lazy.”
Caleb groaned. “You’re kidding.”
“Welcome to ballistics engineering,” Judas said with a smirk. “It’s all rails, all the time.”
As they packed up their tools, Samson’s voice came through the tablet. “Telemetry analysis complete. The fluctuation appears to have originated from an external source.”
Judas froze. “External?”
“Not from the equipment,” Samson clarified. “It's possible that the asteroid contained more ferrous material than expected. Or a stranger, undetected third option.”
Judas’s smirk faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. “That’s... interesting.”
Caleb looked between Judas and the tablet, clearly uneasy. “Is that... bad?”
Judas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared out the viewport, his gaze fixed on Pluto’s distant surface. The faint lines of the mass driver curved into the void, its purpose clear and unyielding.
“Not bad,” he said finally. “I like interesting,”