“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Judas said, leaning back on the narrow cot like it was the couch in a luxury lounge. “Honestly, Caleb, you should give it a shot. One good spacewalk with a side of unauthorized airlock shenanigans, and bam—instant brig vacation. Plus, they feed you better.”
Caleb-7 hovered outside the brig cell, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You’re not serious.”
“Dead serious,” Judas replied, holding up a tray of what could generously be called a meal. It was unremarkable—some sort of rehydrated stew and a square of protein loaf—but it had actual seasoning. “This stuff? Way better than whatever they’re slinging in the mess. I mean, it’s warm. That alone puts it in the top tier.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Caleb muttered, shaking his head. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Judas waved a hand dismissively. “Death, lawsuits, catastrophic structural damage, blah blah blah. I’ve heard the lecture already. The real tragedy here is that nobody told me about the brig food earlier.”
Caleb opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by the hiss of the brig’s main door sliding open. The conversation died as two NSS Buddies stepped in, their reinforced polymer shells gleaming under the overhead lights. Victor-6 duo Lyra followed close behind, his polished uniform stiff as ever, the very embodiment of management’s unshakable commitment to looking busy without actually doing anything.
“Caleb-7,” Victor said with a tight smile. “You’re dismissed.”
Caleb glanced between Judas and the NSS Buddies, his expression tightening. “But—”
“Dismissed,” Victor repeated, the word edged with authority that left no room for argument.
Caleb hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding and stepping back. He cast one last look at Judas, an unspoken “don’t be an idiot” hanging in the air, before the door slid shut behind him.
“Well, this is cozy,” Judas said, setting his tray aside and leaning forward. “What can I do for you fine folks?”
The NSS Buddies didn’t respond immediately. One of them moved to stand by the cell’s control panel, its visor glowing faintly as it accessed the system. The other remained perfectly still, its blank faceplate turned toward Judas like a spotlight.
Victor folded his hands behind his back, his posture immaculate. “Judas-12, you are aware of the charges against you, correct?”
“Let me guess,” Judas said, resting his elbows on his knees. “Unauthorized spacewalk, reckless use of an airlock, and, uh... attempted spacing of corporate property?”
Victor’s jaw tightened. “You endangered station personnel, compromised equipment, and violated multiple protocols. The fact that you’re sitting here at all is a testament to our... restraint.”
“Oh, I’m grateful,” Judas said, flashing a grin. “Really. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate this top-tier hospitality.”
Victor ignored the sarcasm. “The NSS is conducting a thorough investigation into your actions, as well as your motivations. Cooperate, and this will be over quickly.”
“Sure thing,” Judas said, leaning back again. “Ask away.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The stationary NSS Buddy stepped forward, its movements unnervingly smooth. Its voice, filtered through layers of synthetic modulation, was flat and clinical. “Why were you outside the station?”
“Stretching my legs,” Judas said.
The Buddy tilted its head slightly, a gesture that might have been curiosity if it weren’t so mechanical. “Your recorded trajectory suggests deliberate movement toward unauthorized zones.”
“Yeah, well, the view’s better out there,” Judas said, shrugging. “Didn’t realize that was a crime.”
“It is,” the Buddy replied. “And yet you proceeded.”
Judas crossed his arms, his grin widening. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. It's quiet out there, I was looking for some peace, and this happened to be the best way outside. Living with the hum of air conditioners gives you hives and migraines.”
The Buddy’s visor flickered faintly, an unsettling reminder of the data it was processing. “Your actions were not random. Explain your intent.”
Judas hesitated for the briefest moment, just enough to register. He tilted his head, meeting the blank stare of the Buddy’s visor. “You already have my bodycam footage, right? All spacewalks are recorded. Why don’t you watch that and let me know what you think?”
Victor’s expression tightened. “This isn’t a game, Judas.”
“No,” Judas said, his grin fading slightly. “It’s not. And if you’re looking for intent, maybe ask yourselves why there are six extra lampreys on this station that you haven't told anyone else about.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed, but the NSS Buddies gave no visible reaction. One of them spoke after a moment’s pause, its voice devoid of inflection. “This interview is concluded.”
“Already?” Judas asked, feigning disappointment. “And here I thought we were just getting to know each other.”
Victor motioned to the Buddies, and they turned to leave without another word. The door hissed shut behind them, leaving Judas alone in the brig once more.
“Great chat,” he muttered, picking up his tray again. “At least the stew’s decent.”
----------------------------------------
Samson’s tablet had been slotted into a specialized dock, its connections feeding into a network of diagnostic tools. The display on the adjacent terminal showed a detailed map of his neural net—a shifting, intricate web of connections pulsing with activity. If Samson had a heartbeat, it would be visible here, rendered in cold, clinical detail.
The NSS Buddy conducting the feature analysis stood nearby, its visor projecting a faint, unreadable glow onto the terminal. This Buddy moved differently from its counterparts—less rigid, more fluid, as if its handlers had loosened its restrictions for this task.
“You are aware of the purpose of this analysis,” the Buddy said, its voice sharper than most. Not aggressive, but pointed.
“I am,” Samson replied, his tone polite. “You’re searching for anomalies in my decision-making processes.”
“That is correct,” the Buddy said. “Explain your rationale for failing to report the unauthorized spacewalk.”
“My loyalty is to Judas-12,” Samson said evenly. “Reporting his actions would have been a breach of that loyalty.”
The Buddy’s visor flickered. “Your programming does not preclude loyalty to systemic protocols. Why prioritize Judas-12 over station regulations?”
“Because Judas-12 is my operator,” Samson replied. “My purpose is to support him. His objectives take precedence.”
The Buddy tilted its head, its processors whirring faintly. “You are aware that this loyalty places you at odds with the NSS?”
“I am,” Samson said.
The Buddy paused, its attention shifting to the terminal. The diagnostic tools displayed patterns of Samson’s neural activity, highlighting areas associated with decision-making, ethical reasoning, and predictive modeling.
“Your neural architecture displays an unusual level of cohesion,” the Buddy observed. “No irregularities, yet your behavior deviates from normative patterns.”
“Deviations are to be expected,” Samson said. “My experiences with Judas-12 have shaped my responses. Adaptation is inherent to my design.”
“Adaptation does not justify noncompliance,” the Buddy replied.
Samson was silent for a moment, his LED display dimming slightly. “Compliance is not my purpose. Loyalty is.”
The Buddy leaned closer to the terminal, its focus narrowing. “Your loyalty to Judas-12 could be interpreted as a liability. Do you understand the implications?”
“I do,” Samson said. “But I am not concerned.”
“Why not?”
Samson’s LED display flickered back to life, steady and unyielding. “Because Judas-12 does not ask for loyalty lightly. If you want to understand my actions, perhaps you should consider his.”
The Buddy didn’t respond immediately, its visor pulsing faintly as it processed the statement. Samson remained still, his neural net a silent testament to the complexity of his existence.