The mess hall wasn’t much of a hall at all—a segmented ring tucked into one of Caliban Station’s mid-level modules. Like most things aboard the station, it was designed for function over form. A central dispenser station dominated the space, flanked by a few seating clusters bolted to the floor to prevent any enthusiastic floating during mealtime.

Judas-12 sat cross-legged at one of the bolted-down tables, his tablet propped up beside him. Across from him, Caleb hovered awkwardly, juggling a tray of food packets and his tethered Buddy tablet.

“What’s the rules about eating here?” Caleb asked as he clicked into place, fastening his boots to the ground. “No soup? No crumbs? The guys in maintenance engineering kept trying to get me to toast my tortillas.”

Judas snorted. “No mess, period. You get crumbs on the filter system, and you’re on cleanup duty for a week. The chefs’ll put your picture on the dispensers as a warning to the rest of us.”

Caleb grinned, carefully tearing open a packet of what passed for chili. The smell of spices—faint, but tantalizing—wafted out. “And here I thought engineers were above petty revenge.”

“We are,” Judas said, spooning something from his own packet that might have once aspired to be mashed potatoes. “Chefs aren’t. They’re gods. You don’t cross gods.”

Samson chimed in from the tablet. “A wise perspective. Not that you’ve ever shown this respect in practice.”

Judas shot the tablet a look. “You’re very chatty today.”

“Merely observational,” Samson replied smoothly. “Your record with meal etiquette is well-documented. Shall I retrieve the incident logs?”

“Let me guess,” Caleb cut in, looking between them. “This is about the chili incident?”

“No comment,” Judas muttered, shoving a spoonful of potato paste into his mouth.

Caleb laughed and leaned forward, his Buddy Pax quietly processing updates on his tray. “Hey, speaking of Samson—you know, you never told me why you named him that.”

Judas raised an eyebrow. “Why does it matter?”

“I mean, it’s just kind of weird, right? Everyone names their Buddy, but ‘Samson’ feels...I don’t know. Important. Was it after Samson Graves?”

Judas groaned loudly enough to startle the nearest table, where a pair of crew members were debating whether algae protein could really pass for omelets. “Not this again.”

“Again?” Caleb asked, grinning.

“Every time I meet someone new, it’s the same question. ‘Oh, Judas, did you name your Buddy after the famous Samson Graves?’ No. I did not. I don't know who that is.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Then what—”

“It’s from the old religion,” Judas said simply, cutting him off. “The strongman guy who killed a lion and got blinded or something. It sounded cool. End of story.”

Samson’s voice cut in, dry and amused. “And yet, when asked about naming traditions, you always omit that you deliberated for three days over historical lists before settling on—”

“End. Of. Story,” Judas repeated firmly, glaring at the tablet.

Caleb snorted into his chili. “Man, you and Samson have the weirdest relationship.”

Judas shrugged. “He does the math; I keep us alive. It works.”

“And provide invaluable commentary,” Samson added.

“Yeah, that too.”

The mess hall filled up gradually, a rotating cast of station personnel arriving in shifts. Caleb scraped the bottom of his chili packet, his enthusiasm tempered by the blandness that crept in after the first few bites. Judas, meanwhile, toyed with the remains of his meal, more interested in the human tide around them than his food.

Reya-9 duo Magnus strolled in with her Buddy, Magnus, trailing on a tether like an obedient pet. She waved at Judas but didn’t stop, heading for a quieter corner of the room. Caleb watched her go, then turned back to Judas.

“Why doesn’t she eat with the rest of us?” he asked.

“Reya?” Judas shrugged. “She says it’s because she likes quiet, but I think it’s because she hates my face.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Half.”

Tariq-8 duo Nyx entered next, carrying a tray stacked higher than was reasonable for one person. He glanced around, nodded curtly at Caleb, and made his way to a table without a word. Caleb leaned toward Judas conspiratorially.

“What’s his deal?”

“Tariq? He’s just a grump. Don’t take it personally. It’s his resting state.”

The mess hall chatter ebbed and flowed around them, a low hum of voices punctuated by the occasional hiss of the food dispensers. Judas leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.

“This is the best part of the day,” he said idly.

“What, eating mush?” Caleb asked.

“No, watching people pretend they’re not losing their minds out here.”

Caleb frowned, stirring the remnants of his chili. “You think everyone’s losing it?”

“Not yet,” Judas said, “but give it time. You know what they say: space doesn’t kill you, but the boredom will.”

As the meal wound down, Caleb leaned forward again, his expression serious. “Hey, Judas. Can I ask you something?”

Judas glanced at him sideways. “You’re going to anyway.”

“It’s about the Buddies,” Caleb said, lowering his voice. “Do you ever think about, like...how they work? How they’re all basically the same but not?”

Judas raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been talking to Pax, haven’t you?”

Caleb shrugged. “I mean, kind of. But it’s weird, right? Like, your Samson and my Pax—they’re people, but they all come from the same code. How does that work? I flunked out of AI classes.”

“They’re assistants,” Judas said, his tone neutral. “They grow with you. They're designed to be your mirror.”

“Yeah, but... where do they come from?”

Judas hesitated, his gaze flicking to Samson’s tablet. For once, Samson remained silent, his LED interface dim and unreadable.

“I couldn't tell you. Does it matter?” Judas said finally. “They do their jobs. That’s what they’re for, and that's what we're there for.”

Caleb nodded, though his curiosity didn’t seem entirely satisfied. “I guess.”

“You think too much, kid,” Judas said, finishing his meal and crumpling the empty packet. “Let the Buddies do their thing. You’ll live longer.”

Caleb didn’t respond, his Buddy chiming softly on his tablet as they prepared to leave.

As Judas stowed his tray and floated toward the exit, he caught sight of Reya at her table, staring at something on her tablet with unusual intensity. She didn’t notice him watching, and he didn’t bother saying anything. Probably the union vote.

Judas shoved the thought aside and focused on the next task. Space didn’t kill you, he reminded himself.