Caliban Station’s disused docking bay groaned under the weight of the NSS lamprey station, a modular ship that looked as if someone had designed it by stapling together a thousand angry rectangles. It latched onto the station’s outer hull like its namesake, magnetic clamps digging in with unsettling precision. The ship’s airlock hissed open, releasing a pressurized burst that rippled through the station’s sensors.
Judas-12 stood on the observation deck with Samson’s tablet tethered to his jumpsuit, watching the scene below with a mix of fascination and dread. “You ever seen one of these in person?” he asked.
“No,” Samson replied, his voice calm but tinged with the faintest edge of curiosity. “But I’ve read the reports. They don’t visit mining stations often. Consider this an anomaly.”
“Great,” Judas muttered, crossing his arms. “Love a good anomaly.”
The NSS contingent marched out in perfect synchronization. They were Buddies, unmistakably—humanoid frames molded from 3D-printed polymer shells reinforced with impact-resistant plating. Their "faces" were smooth panels, each one displaying a flickering holographic insignia: the NSS emblem, a stylized shield surrounded by orbiting stars. The Buddies’ gait was fluid but mechanical, their movements betraying none of the individual quirks that Judas had come to associate with Samson. They carried stun prods and tazers clipped to their belts, and a few of them had larger, boxy tools slung across their backs—cattle guns, designed for lethal force without compromising hull integrity.
Judas leaned closer to the viewport. “You think they’re all paired with handlers?”
“Undoubtedly,” Samson said. “Though the handlers remain on Mars. It’s safer for them to operate remotely.”
“Safer for them,” Judas echoed, smirking. “Convenient.”
A dozen NSS Buddies assembled in the docking bay, their formation exact and unyielding. They flanked a single figure—a human, short and stocky, with a crisp navy uniform and a face so neutral it could have been a mask. The human stepped forward, pausing to glance around the bay as though appraising a mediocre art exhibit.
“That’s gotta be one of the liaisons,” Judas said. “No way they send someone important to Pluto.”
“Correct,” Samson agreed. “That is likely an intermediary. Their role is to translate directives from the handlers to the local population. A ceremonial position, mostly.”
The airlock to the docking bay opened again, and a trio of Caliban’s management personnel stepped through. Judas recognized Vivian-3 duo Eden immediately, her holographic form flickering slightly as she led the group. Beside her was a man Judas didn’t know—a middle-aged human with the hunched posture of someone who spent too much time squinting at terminals. Behind them was Sarah-2 duo Amity, one of the station’s senior coordinators. Sarah’s Buddy, Amity, hovered silently by her shoulder, its display showing a muted lavender pattern.
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Judas adjusted the audio feed on his earpiece, picking up snippets of the exchange below.
“Welcome to Caliban Station,” Vivian-3 said, her voice smooth and formal. “We trust your journey was uneventful.”
The human liaison gave a curt nod. “It was efficient.”
“We appreciate your presence,” Vivian continued. “The upcoming proceedings will benefit from your oversight.”
The liaison’s gaze swept over the bay, lingering on the walls with what might have been disdain. “The NSS is here to ensure that all actions adhere to systemic regulations. Fairness and order are our only priorities.”
“Of course,” Sarah-2 interjected, her tone warm but strained. “We’ve prepared quarters for your team. If there’s anything you require—”
“Nothing unnecessary,” the liaison interrupted. “Our deployment is self-sufficient.”
Judas snorted softly. “Charming.”
“They are not designed for charm,” Samson observed. “Their presence is a deterrent. A statement.”
“Yeah, well, it’s loud and clear,” Judas said.
The NSS Buddies remained motionless as the conversation continued, their featureless faces turned toward the station personnel like statues waiting to come alive. Judas felt a chill crawl up his spine despite himself. There was something unnerving about them—not just their precision, but their absence of individuality. Even Samson’s voice, dry and analytical as it was, carried traces of personality. These Buddies were empty vessels, built solely for function.
“Why do they need all this gear if they’re just here to ‘watch’?” Judas asked, gesturing at the weapons.
“Intimidation,” Samson said. “It is unlikely they will use force unless provoked. However, their presence ensures compliance without direct intervention.”
“Nice system,” Judas muttered. “Very democratic.”
The liaison’s voice rose slightly, cutting through the ambient hum of the bay. “We will begin our assessments immediately. All personnel are expected to cooperate fully. Any obstructions to our operations will be noted.”
“Understood,” Vivian-3 said, her tone impeccably neutral. “We are committed to transparency.”
The liaison turned without another word, motioning for the NSS Buddies to follow. They moved as one, their boots clanging softly against the deck as they marched toward the exit. Judas watched them go, a faint scowl tugging at his mouth.
“Assessments, huh?” he said. “What do you think they’re really looking for?”
“Anything that deviates from standard operating procedures,” Samson replied. “Including union activity.”
Judas groaned, rubbing his temples. “Why’d I even bring that up to Dara? Now we’ve got these guys breathing down our necks.”
“They would have come regardless,” Samson said. “Your involvement—or lack thereof—is irrelevant to their deployment.”
“Yeah, but now I’ve gotta deal with it,” Judas muttered. “Can’t wait for them to start tearing through logs and asking stupid questions.”
The last of the NSS contingent disappeared through the bay doors, leaving the docking bay eerily silent. Vivian-3 and the other station personnel remained behind, their voices hushed as they debriefed each other. Judas watched them for a moment longer, then turned away from the viewport.
“This is gonna suck, isn’t it?” he said.
“It will likely be unpleasant,” Samson agreed. “But survivable.”
Judas sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way toward the maintenance deck. “Guess I’d better start pretending I care about following the rules.”
“An admirable plan,” Samson said, his tone light. “Though I suspect it may require significant effort. Or...”
“Or,” Judas muttered, smirking despite himself. “We don't?”