Judas-12 floated through the maintenance corridor, his magnetic boots clunking softly against the handrails as he made his way to meet Dara-6. The station’s quiet hum filled the air—a sound he’d grown so accustomed to that he barely noticed it anymore. Samson’s voice, muted in his earpiece, recited the telemetry data from the last coil alignment.

“Warp deviation in C-3 has stabilized,” Samson reported. “You might even finish your shift without breaking anything.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Judas muttered, reaching the access hatch where Dara-6 was waiting. She was already geared up, her tether clipped securely to the railing, her helmet tilted back to reveal a face that always seemed mildly annoyed.

“Late again,” Dara said, not bothering to look at him.

“I’m punctual in spirit,” Judas replied, clipping his own tether to the rail. “Ready to rappel?”

“Ready,” she said, voice brisk as always. “Let’s get to it.”

The two of them moved in practiced rhythm, guiding themselves into the zero-g maintenance shaft that ran parallel to the mass driver. The shaft was barely wide enough for two people, its walls a patchwork of exposed piping, cable conduits, and utility panels. Magnetic grapples in hand, they propelled themselves forward in short bursts, the station’s faint tremors vibrating through the rail.

“C-3’s stabilized?” Dara asked, her voice calm but with a tinge of skepticism.

“For now,” Judas replied, glancing at his wrist console. “Samson thinks the warping’s manageable, but if we don’t fix it properly, the next launch could make things... interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” Dara muttered.

They floated in silence for a few moments, the only sound the faint hiss of their movements and the occasional chirp from Samson in Judas’s earpiece.

“Got a weird heads-up,” Judas said eventually, breaking the quiet. “Figured I’d run it by you.”

Dara shot him a look, her grip on the rail steady as she adjusted her trajectory. “Weird how?”

“Elijah,” Judas began, pushing himself off a nearby wall, “said there’s been some chatter about Caliban. Inter-station stuff. Niobe Security Services.”

Dara’s movements stilled for a fraction of a second, the faintest pause before she continued. “NSS? What kind of chatter?”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Nothing concrete,” Judas said, keeping his tone casual. “But Elijah mentioned our station by name. Something about a ‘routine compliance sweep.’”

Dara’s lips thinned, her grip on the rail tightening as she propelled herself forward. “Routine, my ass. They don’t show up unless someone invited them—or someone’s spooked.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not into station politics,” Judas said. “But I figured you’d want to know. They might get in the way while we’re fixing the driver.”

Dara exhaled sharply, her breath crackling faintly in Judas’s comm. “It’s not just politics, Judas. You know what NSS is, right?”

“I know they’re a pain in the ass.”

“They’re more than that.” Dara’s tone was serious now, her usual brusqueness giving way to something heavier. “You ever seen them in action?”

“No,” Judas admitted, adjusting his tether as they approached a junction in the shaft. “But I’ve heard the stories. Buddies with combat upgrades, human handlers back on Mars pulling the strings. Big scary corporate stuff.”

“It’s not just corporate,” Dara said, her voice low. “They’re authorized by the pan-systemic council. They can override local security, seize resources, detain people. And they don’t leave until they’ve ‘restored order.’”

Judas frowned, glancing at her. “Restored order to what? We’re a mining station, not a rebellion.”

“Doesn’t matter to them,” Dara said. “If someone in Management asked for their help—or if they think we’re not following the rules to the letter—they’ll find an excuse to stick their noses in.”

“Great,” Judas said dryly. “More people telling us how to do our jobs.”

“It’s not a joke,” Dara said sharply. “If NSS gets involved, it won’t be about the driver. They’ll dig into everything—logs, comms, personnel files. They’ll start asking questions no one wants to answer.”

“Like what?”

“Like why a bunch of workers are talking about a union,” Dara said, her voice edged with frustration. “You think NSS doesn’t know? You think they haven’t heard the rumors?”

Judas sighed, pushing himself off the wall and floating alongside her. “I get it, Dara. It’s just... not my problem.”

Dara stopped abruptly, grabbing the nearest handhold to steady herself. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. “Not your problem? You think NSS is going to care about that? You think they’ll leave you alone because you don’t give a damn?”

“I’m not exactly a union poster boy,” Judas said, his tone defensive.

“They won’t care,” Dara snapped. “They don’t care about who’s involved or who isn’t. If they decide we’re a threat—if they think we’re rocking the boat—they’ll treat all of us the same.”

Judas stared at her, the weight of her words settling over him. He opened his mouth to respond, but Samson’s voice interrupted.

“Telemetry update,” Samson said in his usual calm tone. “Alignment in C-3 remains stable. No significant deviations.”

“Thanks, Samson,” Judas muttered, his gaze still fixed on Dara. “You done?”

Dara exhaled, her grip on the rail loosening slightly. “Yeah. Let’s keep moving.”

They continued down the shaft, the tension between them lingering like static in the air. Judas focused on the task at hand, but his thoughts kept circling back to Dara’s words—and the faint unease that had been gnawing at him since Elijah’s message.

NSS wasn’t his problem. Not yet. But the station had a way of making everyone’s problems everyone else’s.

And that, he thought, was probably the real problem.