The rec room wasn’t built for celebrations. It was too small, too industrial, with its dented metal tables and flickering overhead lights. But tonight, it was alive. Someone had rigged up speakers, and music, an eclectic mix scavenged across everyone's centuries of library space, pulsed through the room, every new track earning a groan from someone and a cheer from someone else. The scent of food, scavenged and improvised, filled the air: stale rations dressed up as hors d’oeuvres, a tray of cookies someone must have hoarded for months. A bottle of contraband whiskey passed discreetly between calloused hands.
Dara-6 stood near the back, her arms crossed and a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. Hera floated beside her, the lavender glow of her Buddy interface softening the harsh fluorescent light. The faint hum of Hera’s servos was almost drowned out by the buzz of voices and laughter.
“It’s a good turnout,” Hera said, her voice low and warm. “Better than I expected.”
“It should be,” Dara replied, her tone sharper than she intended. “We just won the first damn union vote in the Plutonian system. People should be celebrating.”
Hera tilted her display slightly, a gesture that, after years of partnership, Dara knew was meant to convey skepticism. “You sound like you’re convincing yourself.”
Dara sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Because I am. We won by what, two percent? That’s not a mandate. That’s a coin toss.”
“A coin toss that landed on your side,” Hera countered gently. “Take the win, Dara. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
Dara didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes swept over the crowd, picking out familiar faces: logistics techs, mechanics, medical staff, even a few of the junior engineers. Their relief was palpable, their laughter edged with the kind of giddy nervousness that came from years of suppressed frustration finally bubbling to the surface. For a moment, it almost felt like a victory.
“I’m taking the win,” Dara said finally, her voice soft. “But you know it’s not over.”
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Hera didn’t argue. She didn’t need to.
The celebration lasted exactly forty-five minutes before the first NSS Buddy showed up.
It was Victor-6 duo Lyra, flanked by two reinforced Buddies whose black polymer shells gleamed in the rec room’s dim light. The crowd sank away from them like spots of pepper on the surface of water when you do the dish soap magic experiment thing for children. Conversations trailed off into uneasy murmurs, and the room seemed to shrink around them.
Dara’s smile vanished. Hera moved closer to her, her display shifting to a muted, defensive hue.
Victor-6 didn’t bother with pleasantries. His Buddy, Lyra, stepped forward, its visor displaying a flickering NSS insignia. “Congratulations on your victory,” it said, its synthetic voice calm but carrying an edge that made the hairs on Dara’s neck stand on end. “Management has instructed me to remind you of the importance of compliance during this transitional period.”
Dara stepped forward, her arms still crossed but her posture firm. “Compliance with what?”
“With NSS protocols,” Lyra replied smoothly. “The union vote must be certified by Management. Until then, all station operations remain under standard NSS oversight.”
“Meaning you get to keep breathing down our necks,” Dara said flatly.
Lyra tilted its head. “Meaning we are here to ensure a smooth transition. Any deviations from procedure will be addressed appropriately.”
Dara felt the room’s tension shift, the celebration soured by the Buddies’ presence. She could see it in the way people’s shoulders tensed, the way their smiles faltered, the way some began to edge toward the exit. The whiskey bottle disappeared into someone’s jacket.
“We’re not deviating from anything,” Dara said. “We’re just having a drink. Last I checked, that wasn’t against procedure.”
Victor-6 finally spoke, his voice as smooth and polished as his Buddy’s. “Of course not, Ms. Dara. But I’d advise against any disruptions to the regular work schedule. Management takes these matters very seriously.”
Before Dara could respond, Lyra’s visor flickered, displaying a message too quick and faint for her to catch. Victor-6 glanced at it, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Enjoy your celebration,” he said, his tone clipped.
He turned and left without another word, Lyra and the other Buddies trailing behind him. The room exhaled as soon as they were gone, but the mood had shifted irreparably. The laughter didn’t return. The music stayed off.
Dara felt Hera’s presence at her side, the faint glow of her Buddy interface a quiet reassurance.
“They’re rattled,” Hera said softly, referring to the crowd but possibly meaning Dara too.
“They’re not the only ones,” Dara muttered.