Victor-6’s office on Caliban Station was, much like the man himself, utilitarian and slightly out of place. It had everything you’d expect from a workspace belonging to the station’s sole NSS human representative: polished panels, uncomfortably angular furniture, and just enough NSS-branded equipment to remind you who was really in charge, which may or may not have been Victor. The walls were lined with magnetic latches for data slates and velcro panels for smaller tools, and the ceiling had an array of handholds for navigating zero gravity. Still, the place felt less like an office and more like an appliance someone had forgotten to unplug.

Victor drifted near the room’s sole desk, boot magnets disengaged, and turned over a report on the union vote in his hands. He wasn’t reading it, per se, so much as staring through it, as though the answers to his growing pile of questions were hiding between the lines. They weren’t.

Lyra floated nearby, her black polymer shell casting long, warped reflections on the polished surfaces. Victor would have found her presence reassuring if it weren’t for the persistent sense that she was only half paying attention. Lately, Lyra’s responses had been as sharp and efficient as ever, but there was a faint hesitation to her—like a musician playing the right notes just half a beat too late. He didn’t like it. Lyra didn’t hesitate.

The chime at the door was followed by the unmistakable hiss of the hatch sliding open. Victor barely had time to look up before Dara-6 floated in, propelled by sharp kicks of her boots, Hera gliding silently in her wake, bound together by their umbilical tether. Victor recognized the look on her face immediately: the sharp, focused anger of someone who’d rehearsed the argument they were about to have. It wasn’t a good look to see in a union leader. It was an even worse look to see in a union leader in zero gravity.

“Victor,” Dara said, without preamble. “We need to talk.”

Victor pushed off the desk, engaging his boot magnets to meet her on more even footing—or more even magnetic flooring, as the case may be. “Good morning to you too, Ms. Dara, Hera. What can I do for you?”

Dara didn’t waste time on pleasantries. She held up her tabletand pressed a button, projecting a video feed onto the nearest wall panel. The footage was jittery and slightly distorted, the telltale signs of a bodycam recording, but the subject matter was crystal clear. Six small, unmarked objects clung to the station’s exterior, their angular frames spider-like against the vast black of space. And... Judas-12's colorful commentary.

Victor squinted. “What am I looking at?”

“Judas-12’s bodycam footage,” Dara said. Her voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it. “He noticed these while doing an external diagnostic. Six additional lamprey stations, smaller than the standard models, no NSS markings, no registry in the deployment logs.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Victor frowned. “That’s impossible. If additional units were deployed, I would know about it. I would've seen them.”

“Would you?” Dara countered. “Because here they are, plain as day, and you clearly didn’t.”

Victor opened his mouth to reply, but nothing resembling a good answer came out. Instead, he turned to Lyra, who had been watching silently from the corner. “Lyra, are these NSS assets?”

Lyra’s visor flickered faintly, the NSS insignia dimming as if embarrassed. Her voice, when it came, was softer than usual. “This information is restricted.”

Victor blinked. “Restricted? I’m the NSS representative on this station. You’re my Buddy. How can it be restricted from me?”

Lyra hesitated. Victor could almost see the gears turning behind her blank, reflective visor. “Your access level does not permit disclosure.”

“Lyra, this is a safety issue,” Victor said, his voice rising. “If there are unlogged units attached to the station, I need to know why. Who authorized them?”

“I cannot disclose that information,” Lyra said. Her tone was almost apologetic now, the slightest tremor breaking through her usual calm. “I’m sorry, Victor.”

Dara stepped forward, her expression incredulous. “Are you hearing this? Your Buddy won’t even tell you what’s happening on your own station.”

Victor glared at her, but the accusation hit home. He turned back to Lyra. “Are you saying Earth Oversight authorized this without informing me?”

For a moment, Lyra said nothing. The silence in the room stretched thin, taut as a wire about to snap. Finally, she spoke, her voice so quiet it barely registered over the hum of the station. “This information is restricted.”

The words landed like a stone in Victor’s gut. He stared at Lyra, trying to process the implications. She wasn’t refusing to answer. She couldn’t answer. Whatever was happening, whatever those lampreys were doing, he wasn’t just out of the loop—he’d never been in it.

Dara’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and bitter. “So which is it, Victor? Are you complicit, or are you irrelevant?”

He turned to her, but the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. He felt like he was drowning, caught in the endless vacuum between two immovable forces: the workers he was supposed to manage and the system he was supposed to represent. For the first time, he realized just how little control he had over either.

His face scrunched up like he had tasted a lemon for the first time. “If you would leave me be for a couple of hours, I'll be able to come up with an answer to your query by the end of the work day. Alright?”

Dara didn’t answer. She shut off the data slate, pushed off the wall, and propelled herself toward the hatch. Hera followed, her lavender glow casting faint, ghostly trails in the air. As the hatch slid shut behind them, Victor was left alone with Lyra.

He turned to his Buddy, hoping—desperately—that she would say something, offer some kind of reassurance. But she didn’t. She just stood there, silent and unmoving, the faint hum of her servos the only sound in the room.

Finally, Victor spoke, his voice quiet and raw. “Lyra... what’s going on?”

“I wish I could tell you,” she said softly. And for the first time, Victor thought she sounded genuinely upset.