The multipurpose room on Caliban Station was already packed when Judas-12 arrived, its harsh overhead lights reflecting off the dull steel walls and casting stark shadows over the gathered crowd. Folding chairs bolted to the floor ensured no one floated out of place, but the atmosphere was anything but stable. The tension was palpable, a crackling undercurrent of unease that Judas felt even before he entered.
He hovered by the door, arms crossed, watching as Rhea-12 duo Mira commanded the room with an air of quiet authority. Her Buddy, Mira, floated silently at her shoulder, its soft display illuminating her profile.
“Sycorax’s population decline isn’t just their problem,” Rhea said, her voice steady but urgent. “It’s ours. They’re the source of every worker in the Plutonian system. Every engineer, every tech, every logistics coordinator. Without them, there’s no pipeline. No replacements. No future for anyone here.”
Judas leaned against the wall, his eyes scanning the room. Most of the attendees were workers he recognized: mechanics, logistics officers, medical techs, and the odd engineer like himself. Dara-6 duo Magnus stood near Rhea, her expression stony as she watched the crowd.
At the back of the room, the NSS Buddies loomed like silent sentinels, their reinforced polymer shells and impact-proof vests a stark reminder of who held the real power.
“Not exactly subtle,” Samson muttered in Judas’s earpiece.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Judas replied, his gaze lingering on the NSS contingent. “You’d think they’d at least try to blend in.”
“They’re not here to blend,” Samson said. “They’re here to remind.”
At the front, Rhea continued, her voice cutting through the murmurs. “This vote isn’t just about ratifying the union—it’s about ensuring everyone here has a voice. That we have the power to demand what we need to survive. And the first step is making sure Sycorax has the resources to grow our replacements.”
Victor-6 duo Lyra, the Management representative, cleared his throat and stepped forward. He was a polished figure, his uniform crisp and his demeanor carefully neutral.
“Let me assure you,” Victor said, his tone measured, “Management is fully aware of the situation at Sycorax. We’re working on solutions. Reallocating resources, streamlining supply lines—”
“Streamlining?” Dara interrupted, her voice sharp. “You mean cutting corners.”
Victor raised his hands in a placating gesture. “No one is cutting corners. These are logistical challenges, not systemic failures. We’re doing everything we can to address them.”
“And yet Sycorax’s population has dropped six percent in the last century,” Rhea shot back. “What happens when it drops another six? Or another twelve? Are you planning to work this station with ghosts?”
A ripple of agreement ran through the room.
“We’ve seen what happens when replacements don’t arrive,” someone called out. “Longer shifts, more injuries, people burning out.”
Victor’s composure wavered, just for a moment. “I understand your concerns, but these decisions aren’t made lightly. The resources simply aren’t there.”
“Then find them,” Rhea said, her tone like steel. “Because if you don’t, we will.”
The crowd erupted into murmurs and scattered applause, but Judas stayed silent, his attention drawn once again to the NSS Buddies. They didn’t move, but their presence felt heavier now, like a storm cloud looming over the room.
The debate stretched on, with arguments flaring up over what demands to prioritize. The need for replacements was universally agreed upon, but other issues—better rotations, improved life support systems, stricter safety protocols—split the room. Judas listened with half an ear, his focus drifting.
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“Are you planning to contribute, or just spectate?” Samson asked.
“Spectate,” Judas muttered. “This isn’t my fight.”
“Not yet,” Samson replied.
The conversation reached a boiling point when one of the logistics officers, a wiry man named Kieran-8, stood and raised his voice.
“We’re wasting time,” he said. “We all know the replacements are the biggest issue. Let’s focus on that, ratify the union, and deal with the rest later.”
“That’s short-sighted,” Rhea countered. “If we don’t lay the groundwork now, we’ll be fighting an uphill battle every time we try to negotiate.”
“But if we wait too long, Management will tighten the screws,” Kieran argued. “The NSS is already here. You think they’re just going to let us organize without interference?”
The room fell into uneasy silence.
“They’re not wrong,” Samson said quietly. “Delays work in Management’s favor.”
Judas frowned, glancing at the NSS Buddies again. Victor-6 was speaking with one of them now, his expression unreadable as the Buddy’s visor flickered faintly.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Judas muttered.
“Your instincts are rarely wrong,” Samson said. “But they’re often inconvenient.”
Judas sighed, pushing off the wall and heading for the exit. He’d heard enough.
He found Caleb-7 in the maintenance bay, elbows-deep in a cluster of tangled conduits. The younger engineer looked up as Judas entered, his face lighting up with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
“Judas,” Caleb said. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Yeah, well, plans change,” Judas said, leaning against the doorframe. “Got a favor to ask.”
“Sure,” Caleb said, wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. “What’s up?”
“C-3 alignment checks,” Judas said. “Think you can handle them?”
Caleb’s eyes widened. “Me? Really?”
“Yeah, why not?” Judas said with a smirk. “You’re not gonna screw it up, right?”
“No way,” Caleb said, grinning as he grabbed his tools.
“Good,” Judas said. “Follow the protocols. Call me if something weird happens.”
Caleb nodded, already engrossed in prepping his gear. Judas turned to leave, his thoughts already drifting back to the lamprey station.
----------------------------------------
The lamprey station loomed like a parasite on Caliban’s hull, its dark metal exterior bristling with sensors and antennae. Docked at a rarely used port, it exuded a silent menace, its purpose unmistakable even without the NSS branding etched into its plating.
Judas floated just beyond the docking corridor, his tether securing him to the rail. The corridor itself was quiet, the usual hum of activity muted here.
“Still think this is a good idea?” Samson asked.
“Not really,” Judas admitted.
The lamprey’s sealed airlocks gave no hint of what lay inside, but the station’s sleek design and heavy shielding spoke volumes. This wasn’t just a surveillance outpost—it was a statement of control.
Judas tapped his wrist console, pulling up a diagnostic interface. The station’s systems were locked down tight, their comm protocols heavily encrypted. He wasn’t trying to break in—just to listen.
The console beeped softly, displaying a faint, intermittent signal. It wasn’t standard comm traffic—too weak, too irregular—but it wasn’t background noise either.
“What do you make of that?” Judas asked.
Samson processed the data. “A short-range pulse. Encrypted. Could be telemetry, could be something else.”
“Like what?” Judas asked, narrowing his eyes at the faint pulse on the console display.
Samson paused for a fraction of a second, enough to signal he was parsing the data with care. “It could be directives to the NSS Buddies. Short-range encryption is ideal for commands that need to stay secure but localized. Or… it could be a heartbeat signal. A system check to ensure their networks remain synchronized.”
Judas frowned, tapping the screen to zoom in on the waveform. “You’re saying they’re talking to each other.”
“Or to someone else,” Samson replied.
He reached for the tether line, his grip tightening as he took a step closer to the docking corridor. The lamprey station’s hull loomed in the artificial light, a monolith of precision engineering and quiet menace.
“This is more than just babysitting a union vote,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Undoubtedly,” Samson said. “But the question remains: what are you planning to do about it?”
Judas hesitated, his gaze fixed on the sealed airlock.
He clenched his jaw, the decision solidifying in his mind. “I’m going to take a closer look.”
“That,” Samson said, his tone as close to exasperation as a Buddy could get, “is a profoundly bad idea.”
Judas grinned, his usual irreverence breaking through the tension. “Yeah, well, bad ideas are kind of my specialty.”
The lamprey station loomed larger as he unhooked his tether, his boots clanking softly against the corridor’s magnetic rail as he moved forward.
“Judas,” Samson said, his voice quieter now. “If you go in there, there’s no guarantee you’ll come out clean. NSS doesn’t play by our rules.”
“I’m not looking for clean,” Judas replied, his tone resolute. “I’m looking for answers.”