Code Enforcement: Wetware

Although I get the sense he's skeptical, Dyer nods and gruffly promises to get my message to Morgan, within the hour. Which gives me plenty of time to get the other moving parts of my plan in motion. Despite my injuries and lack of sleep, I feel the buzz of energy running through my meatsuit.

This is it. The feeling I missed. Having my feet under me. Having a plan. Acting, not reacting. Not waiting for them to strike at me. Casey and Morgan; I've got your numbers. I know the players now, at least enough. I hope. Watching the grizzled Dyer hobble away, to apparently send the message in meatspace, I know I have a chance.

I feel the tingle at the base of my spine. Let the crap hit the turbine, and the winner is the one who dodges best.

I roll my shaky chassis to the bar, tilting the camera up to look at the local equivalent of a pastor. The plain, short synth mixes a drink, tilting his head to me as I ping him. "Remembrandt, I'm assuming if I asked for your help stopping the Gaian League-"

"I'd tell you to go stuff your meat," the bot says smoothly, sliding the glass to an androgynous synth from the holo-watching group.

I roll my eyes in meatspace, not that he can see. Fair enough. "Right, I can read the lay of the grid. But if I asked you to help me save someone I hurt?"

Both blocky grey eyebrows rise. "In that case, I'd be willing to offer assistance. Within reason," he adds, turning to face me, looking down with renewed interest.

I bet you know who. It's what you hoped, yeah? "Thank you. You might not be the only one. In fact, I have a feeling a friend of a friend threw me a lifeline. Could I get your opinion on something technical?"

He tilts his head. "I'm not an engineer, but I'll run some numbers," he says.

I open a channel and link with the synth. Through a filter, of course. I ping him the message Jax sent me by deadman's switch, along with the string of digits. "A client sent this to me. I thought it was a coded message I needed a cypher for, but now I suspect it's a lot simpler," I explain.

Remembrandt only pauses for a moment. "I'd say so. There's no metadata, and it's too short. Sixteen digits? I'd say it's an access code, though it's hard to be specific."

"Do you know if it's for hardware or software?"

"Software, definitely. It's not a ship or dock code; that wouldn't be alpha-numeric. Most physical hardware reads prints. It could be for a personal account, I couldn't say for sure," the Synth shrugs. "And it wouldn't do you much good without knowing the institution and account number."

An account? I find it hard to believe Jax is sending me his credits for safeguarding. Plenty of banks would be happy to do that for a modest fee. "Can't tell me anything about the location of the system it accesses?"

The channel closes out, and the bot shakes his head. "What, you think just because I'm a synth, I know all the virtual systems?"

I raise the nozzle and vacuum arms in a placating gesture. "Sorry; I appreciate the help either way." Well, if Jax sent it to me, it has to be related to the Gaian blackmail. And I think I have an inkling why he left it to me. "Could I leave the chassis here for a few minutes while I confer with an associate in meatspace?"

Short as he is, Remembrandt looms over my chassis. "Oh? Trusting a strange synth with your chassis? Risky; I could load you up with all sorts of nasty malware," he says in what I hope is a joking tone.

I wave the clamp-arm at my chassis. "If I'm gonna pull this off, I'm going to have to risk even more on you, so might as well get any betrayals out of the way early," I suggest.

The bot crosses his arms. "Fairly put. Well, no need for concern; I'm a bot of my word."

"Great. While I'm out, I'd ask you to fill the basin of the chassis," I say, as I roll the body behind the bar. "Got any of the UV pigments that you used for the walls?"

A grey eyebrow rises. "Some; should I ask what you need it for?"

I wiggle the chassis back and forth, hoping it comes across like shaking my head. "Better not, in case you're questioned, but it's not for anything illegal. Just enough to fill the washbucket, if you can spare it."

I have a feeling he would be smiling if he had lips. "That's fine by me, just be aware that Codes takes graffiti seriously if it's on paid advertisement space. I'd also avoid private residences; some people take property rights quite personally."

Oh, I just bet they do. "I wouldn't worry about either. I doubt the people who might care will be able to read it." But the people who need to will. "It's time for me to visit the surgeon; better top me off while I'm out, bartender."

Dropping back into meatspace, I blink quickly, trying to focus and reaching up to rub my eyes. Ugh, I almost forgot about the wound on my shoulder until I moved. And I might actually kill for a cup of coffee. And I have to pee.

"Welcome back. I hope your little sojourn was worth the cost," I hear, making me start and turn. TooBee has one hand partially disassembled on the bench beside her in the cramped suite. A half-dozen blades of various shapes and lengths are laid beside it, as she fiddles with an actuator with her other hand.

"Time will tell," I say, sitting up and biting my bottom lip as I observe. Ugh, I'm thirsty too. And hungry. I wonder which of my organs is worth takeout. I should start the bidding with my appendix, settle for my gallbladder. Maybe my spleen, if she throws in coffee. "TooBee, I have a plan. I need your help."

The actuator clicks, and there's a whir as her fingers flex dexterously. "You're already in debt to me quite a bit. I'm not feeling particularly inclined to extend your line of credit," she says without turning to face me.

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I give her a disgusted snort. "Please," I scoff, letting my feet touch the floor. "You've made ninety thousand credits off me in less than a day and have rights on who knows how much more in tissue and organs."

"I know how much. Exactly, to the last credit," she says softly. I watch as the synthetic skin splits between the fingers, and she positions the first blade into its 'sheathe'.

Yikes, fair enough. "Fine. But what if I could do more than money?"

TooBee feeds several more surgical blades through the gaps in her skin. "I'm not interested in promises."

I shake my head, huffing. "What about cutting off the supply of weapons to the Luddites? Stopping the violence against the synths on Callisto? Stop the flood of desperate AI's fleeing here?"

Silence plays out as the split in the fingers and wrist close, and the synth flexes her hand. "I told you already, I'm not getting involved in politics."

"No, you've made that clear, and I won't ask you to get involved in something as dirty as politics," I protest, sliding into her eyeline. "But how do you feel about crime?"

Her eyes widen and her lips open in surprise. "Oh, it's generally less dirty overall, though almost as expensive. But depending on the risk and the payment..." For a moment, she gives me a piercing look. "What did you have in mind?"

I explain the plan to TooBee. It's hard to read her face. Her eyebrows are raised, and her lips are pressed together tightly. "I'll admit, you're either far crazier or far more desperate than I imagined."

I give her what I hope is a confident grin. "I'll take it as a compliment. And any funds you collect in the process, you can keep," I add quickly.

Her lips quirk up at that. "I appreciate you sweetening the pot, and yes, I thought of that. Not that I would have asked your permission either way," she adds, crossing her arms in front of her generous chest. "Alright, when do you want to do this? Tomorrow?"

"Today," I say to her, watching her eyes widen. "Probably no more than nine hours, in fact. Just let me get a few pings out to set up."

For a moment, she gives me a flat look. "Your old flame, Alex? The cop?"

I shake my head, ignoring the pang in my chest. "No. His message to me was devoid of information; he only spoke with me verbally. Like his call over the exonet with Cartwright. No care taken at all with that, despite making it from his assigned quarters. I should have guessed."

TooBee gives me a bewildered frown. "Who?"

I chuckle. "Never mind, just a detail confirming my theory about the local Codes precinct and it's management style."

The synth's eyes narrow. "I'm glad you understand, because I'm lost."

I laugh aloud at that. "I've been there. Trust me, it's for the best," I add, leaning back. "I'm pinging my current flame. To inform her that I'm turning her in to Codes for murder. Then I have to ping a brothel-madam who's trying to kill me. I need to transmit an offer to betray her partner, which her partner will certainly intercept. And then walk into her brothel in my own meatsuit."

TooBee is silent for a long moment, giving me a blank look as she waits to see if I'm joking. When she sees me smiling as I pull up my channels, she shakes her head. "Meatbag romance; it's nearly as dirty and confusing as meatbag politics."

Pulling up my overlay, I check my messages. Still nothing from Sparrow. I can think of a number of reasons for that. I mean, she has a temp augment, so she won't even see them unless it's on. It's been less than a full day, after all. It still makes my gut twist in knots, but there's no reason for me to panic. After all, none of my pings have been kicked back as undeliverable.

In any event, I flag this one as an emergency, and high priority. She doesn't pick it up, but again. She could be sleeping. Or she could have the augment off. Maybe she's busy speaking to her mother on her channel. There are a thousand reasons she wouldn't pick up, Mel. Well, I don't actually need Sparrow to pull the plan off, but I have to give her a heads up. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell her. And she could really help.

I make the message short and clear. "Sparrow, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to trust me. I'm going to be sending the interrogatories back with my answers naming you as Brent's shooter." I pause, then chuckle. "Just like you demanded, ironically, but it's a ploy. Don't go to Io; the League are the ones who caused the explosion. It's sabotage; they're trying to kill you, and Lucy was the collateral damage."

My guts twist: Sparrow is going to blame herself for that, but I don't have time to get buried in the details. "If you go to Io, they could try for you again; hell, they might have an agent waiting at medical." It's just what the League would do; the wounded mom to act as bait for the daughter? Slimy fuckers. "You need to go to Europa, and dock at Ursa Miner station. Then come back here, to Ganymede, and meet me at Aquila."

I send the ping and close out my channel. Well, I'm committed now. I suppose we'll find out if I'm right. Because an admin notice went out with a security alert in my name. But not an arrest warrant, despite an alleged attempted murder. Why not? Because someone fairly high up in Codes didn't want me arrested yet. And why?

Well, there's two possible reasons; the obvious answer is that Codes doesn't believe I'm the perp. Given that I have a set of criminal interrogatories pending in a different alleged murder, I doubt that. The second; someone in Codes thinks it's better for them personally that I'm not under arrest. Aside possibly from Alex, there's only one candidate who might have made those judgment calls.

At first, I assumed Luna HQ had initiated the criminal inquiry into Rockchaser's death. If so, then what I'm about to do is the dumbest thing I possibly could do. But Occam's razor; someone doesn't know what went down on Europa and is trying to force me to spill the beans. And they don't want me in a custodial interrogation, where my statements will be on the record and witnessed by other officers.

It's the same reason that they didn't go to Cartwright, since good old Captain protocol would have logged it. Someone wants to control the paper trail. Someone wants to keep the information all to themselves.

Captain Jessie Clearfield. I don't know her, and she doesn't know me, but she's taking Gaian credits. She's working to get their agents into her precinct and transfer them to stations where they need assets. Including Ursa Miner. And for her to risk so much, risk her career and freedom? The League must have informed her of the package and its value. The fucking squid.

The interrogatories are asking all about the associated ecoterrorists and events on the moon. You want to know where that squid ended up, don't you Clearfield? You want to cut Morgan and Casey out of the loop. Not gonna settle for a measly percentage; I bet you're trying to nab the package yourself. Probably intend to sweep Casey and his crew off the board afterwards and return to the status quo? And you think you can force me to give you the info you need with these?

Pulling the incomplete interrogatories up in my overlay, I smile. I'm going to tell them everything. Rusteater, Cara Morgan, Caspian Casey, Jessie Clearfield, Officer Wong too, right? I dump all the details on the Gaian plans and assets I can think of. I take the time to slip a tag into the metadata as well.

Writing out the details of the whole criminal conspiracy takes me almost twenty minutes, but I'm grinning as I finish the answers and submit them. Now, the answers will go straight to the officer who drafted the interrogatories. In fact, I get a confirmation chime and little silver acknowledgement in my overlay a heartbeat later. And since there was almost no lag in getting the confirmation, it's not from Luna. Lightspeed delay would have been over half an hour. Proof that the officer initiating the inquiry is in the Jovian.

Well, Jessie Clearfield, let's see how far you'll go for a payday.