The Callistan message arrived about 120 minutes after their own had been sent, only minutes from when the asteroid would've turned Sycorax into a miserable pile of slag. Well, the NSS had locked down the mass driver once they realized it was serious, but, you know, Judas appreciated the symbolism of the timing anyway.

  No one spoke as the screen lit up, flickering with the compressed, low-bitrate image of the Callistan delegation. Even across millions of kilometers, even with the inevitable distortion of distance and signal loss, the faces on the screen looked wrong.

  Judas stared at the lead negotiator. Stocky. Broad. Shoulders squared, jaw thick, skin flushed with the unmistakable signs of real gravity pressing down on flesh and bone. The Callistan was not some lanky, hollow-boned, slow-moving Plutonian. He was solid, built for the weak but present gravity of Callisto’s domes, and yet to Judas, he looked impossibly dense—as though the man had been compressed from a heavier world into a shape that only approximated normal human proportions.

  The voice was even worse.

  Clear. Sharp. Deep in a way that cut through the station's thin, recycled air like a blade. Callistans, like Earthers, had proper diaphragm support, their voices resonant instead of the soft, slightly congested nasal quality that Judas had never noticed in his own speech until now. Compared to the slow, floating cadence of Plutonians, this man sounded forceful. Almost aggressive.

  “This is Commissioner Valentine-3 duo Armand, speaking on behalf of the Sol Authority, the Callistan Administrative Bureau, and Niobe Security Services.” The Callistan’s expression was unreadable, his dark eyes scanning whatever notes he had prepared in advance. “Your message has been received. Your terms have been considered. Our response is as follows.”

  Judas resisted the urge to cross his arms. Here we go.

  Valentine continued, voice steady. “First. Caliban Station will retain full operational control. All external overrides, lockdowns, and restrictions will be lifted. The station will function as it was originally intended, and Sol Authority will not interfere in its day-to-day operations.”

  No reaction. No cheers, no visible relief. They had all known that would be the case—after all, what was the alternative? Blowing them up? Too expensive. A siege? Impossible. The Callistans were giving them back control not because they wanted to, but because they had no other option.

  “Second,” Valentine went on, tone neutral, “we acknowledge that the previous intervention was an excessive and counterproductive measure. However—” a pause, calculated, deliberate— “Niobe Security Services will not provide an official admission of wrongdoing.”

  Vivian’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t interrupt. Dara leaned back in her chair, expression unreadable.

  “Third. Sycorax and Prospero will be provided with a full, unredacted summary of recent events.” Another pause. “However, that summary will be issued by the Callistan Administrative Bureau, with oversight from Sol Authority.”

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  Dara scoffed. “Translation: they want to control the narrative.”

  Vivian exhaled slowly. “Of course they do.”

  Judas said nothing. He was still watching the Callistan’s face. The summary wasn't from NSS? He wondered what that would mean.

  “Fourth,” Valentine continued, “resource allocations to Sycorax will be reviewed and adjusted as necessary to ensure replacement rate stability. Coffee rations will be increased by 30%. However, all further expansion requests are denied. The current model is sustainable.”

  A half-win. Expected.

  Dara didn’t even blink. “That’s fine. We got the important part.”

  Vivian stayed silent.

  “Fifth,” Valentine said, tone sharpening slightly. “The asteroid currently loaded in your mass driver will proceed as scheduled. It will fire at its original trajectory toward Pluto.”

  Judas snorted softly.

  There it was. Business had to continue as usual.

  Dara hummed. “No mention of future restrictions.”

  Vivian caught the implication immediately. “I'm sure they won't want us aiming it at Sycorax. Or Prospero.”

  Dara gave her a small, knowing look. “Imagine that.”

  Judas resisted the urge to smirk.

  Valentine wasn’t finished. “In addition to these terms, Caliban Station will be required to sign a binding agreement ensuring that no future threats, explicit or implied, are made using the mass driver, in exchange for formal recognition of the Caliban Extraplanetary Union. Any violation of this agreement will result in immediate and decisive intervention from Sol Authority, as well as immediate dissolution of the union.”

  They would give Caliban their autonomy back, they would pretend this whole thing had never happened, but the mass driver would remain untouchable. No more threats. No more leverage. Judas finally let out a low, unimpressed breath. There it is. No more threats from Caliban.

  From Caliban, Judas thought to himself, feeling quite smug.

  “Finally,” Valentine said, “this agreement is final. No further negotiations will be accepted. If these terms are not acknowledged within the next transmission window, Sol Authority will reassess its stance.”

  That, at least, was a bluff. Everyone in the room knew it.

  The message ended.

  Silence.

  The screen flickered to black.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Vivian was the first to break the stillness. She exhaled, slow and measured, rubbing at her temples. “They knew they had to give us most of it.”

  Dara gave a slow nod. “But they had to say no to something. Otherwise, they’d lose face.”

  Judas stretched slightly, staring up at the ceiling. “And the mass driver thing?”

  Vivian sighed. “They had to neuter the threat.”

  Dara smirked. “They think they neutered the threat.”

  Judas tapped his fingers idly against the table. “So,” he said, drawing out the syllable. “We’re accepting, right?”

  Vivian shot him a glare, but Dara just laughed.

  “I don't remember you being part of these negotiations, but, yes,” Dara said. “We’re accepting. We got everything we needed, for now. I didn't even expect them to bite on the coffee, so that's a pleasant surprise.”

  Judas nodded, pushing himself up from his chair. “Great. Now, if no one else needs me, I have actual work to do.”

  Dara raised an eyebrow. “Excited to get back to your mass driver?”

  Judas didn’t answer. He just turned and left.

  The NSS Buddies were already leaving. No fanfare. No dramatics. Just quiet, mechanical efficiency. The moment the response had been sent back, the moment the agreement was finalized, the Buddies had begun moving toward the docking bay in perfect synchronization. The Lampreys would be departing soon.

  Judas barely spared them a glance.

  He had bigger things to worry about.

  The station was already drifting off its axis from the imperfect halt. The thrusters would need to be recalibrated. The flux imbalance corrected, fucking finally. And, of course—

  The asteroid would need to be fired.

  That was, after all, what he had been born to do.