Code Enforcement: Wetware

I've been jonesing for coffee, but not anymore. Maybe Cartwright was right. Am I engaging in thrill-seeking behavior as a coping mechanism for my trauma? I feel right, in a way I haven't since I resigned. Even though I'm about to walk into the serpent's nest after kicking a few snakes. Maybe it's just that I have a plan, that I finally know what to do. Well, either way; as I ping Cara Morgan, I savor that rush of endorphins.

I send a written message; this is a conversation I'd prefer to have face-to-face. The short spurt of text is simple, but I take the time to add my own personal twist. "For sale: one serving of fresh Jovian calamari. Price: the life of Caspian Casey and my void-spawned weapons certification. The order is first-come, first-serve, between you, Dyer, and Clearfield. Get it while it's hot."

I'm nearly giddy as I send the ping. Assuming that Aquarius is still running, and still running interference, Caspian should be seeing that shortly. If Aquarius is merely reading her pings, it's a duplicate of Dyer's message. If he's holding them back or deleting the pings, Casey won't expect her to meet with me, since he doesn't know about Dyer's message. But she will, for a payday this big.

Oh, what a tangled web you all weave, and I'm gonna expose all the strings. The problem now is timing. I have to get to the Trojan Whores before Clearfield reads my written responses to her interrogatories and shits silicon. I expect a warrant will be out for my arrest shortly, perhaps in a matter of minutes.

Closing out my overlay, I kick my legs. "Well, that's done. Now to see Cara Morgan, in the flesh."

TooBee shakes her head in exasperation. "And the chassis?"

"Oh, I still need that, at least for a little while. I'll write a macro to get it back to you, but for now, I need to do some cleaning."

TooBee raises a perfect eyebrow, but I keep my silence. "Well, I suppose it'll all the same as long as I get it back undamaged," she says with a shrug. She raises a hand and flexes, blades peeking out of her thumb and index finger. "And if it all goes south, I still get paid; it's a win win," she purrs with a smile.

Oh joy. I think you like reminding me of that. "Great, glad to know I've pawned my body to an eager surgeon," I say, rolling my eyes. "Now, where do I go to find the whorehouses?"

I have to admit, I almost like Cara Morgan just for her sense of humor and creativity in naming her place. Heh. If she wasn't helping Casey try to kill my girlfriend, I might leave well enough alone. Maybe she'll cut a deal. If not, well, I'll keep my plans fluid. And I have a stun stick on me and I'm not hiding it.

But now, once again, I'm going to drop into D-space and walk in meatspace at the same time. At least on this attempt I'll be staring out through the washbot's camera, not seeing a full arc around me in D-space. It'll be less disorienting. But more complicated, as TooBee points out at my exit.

As the door to her surgical suite rattles open, she puts her hand on her hip. "I'm just saying. The whole reason we did this through the instrument in my surgical suite was to maintain the link. If you're walking through the corridors, moving from node to node, that's gonna bounce the signal around different servers and substrates. You could lose the link entirely. And you might not get it back, depending on where it happens and how weak the signal is from the nearest node."

"I'll be careful, and stay where signal strength is high," I mutter, scratching my head and trying to ignore the vertigo as the camera feed blooms in my visual cortex. "Don't distract me," I add, stepping out into the corridor, and taking a breath. I close my eyes and guide myself by overlay again, following the silver map. Crap, piloting this chassis is tricky enough; walking a straight line on top might be pressing my luck.

But somehow, I manage to navigate the twisting corridors in the ice with a minimum amount of stumbling. Though even in the low gravity, I fall and skin my palm, and get the chassis stuck twice. It's harder than it sounds. Still, I make it to the entertainment district on the third level with a little of my dignity intact. The district consists of a series of six oblong open-air chambers in a circle, connected by wide thoroughfares.

It's much like a series of high, wide stadiums underground, filled with a host of interlocked buildings of clashing styles on a circular promenade. The district is spread wide and runs under most of the colony, and the organic growth of streets and alleys within defies any centralized planning. It hosts perhaps a third of the open-air in the station, but the air isn't empty. It's filled with glam, glitz, and the canker sores of capitalistic society; public advertisements.

As I walk inside, linking to the public node, the wave hits me. In my overlay, hundreds of signs, alerts, and pings erupt in my vision. The adverts seem to skip the usual filters and security macros. Which means they're probably hosted on the substrate, and not optional for guest users. In meatspace, it's little better; vibrant and loud signs for clubs, bars, and hotels feature prominently, catering to every theme imaginable. Even coffee shops!

But that's not the end of it. There are a series of streaking silver stars across the high ceiling that resolve into shuttles, with numbers blooming to show odds on the local racing circuit. A large holovert shows the outline of a space-pirate hoisting a cannister of rum and pouring a glass for his mechanical bird, claiming it 'burns clean'. Yeah, so does hydrogen. Many of the spam images show women in various states of dress, or lack thereof. Seems like a gender imbalance. There's a small billboard advising me to 'go green' by injecting my cells with custom-modeled chloroplasts. Kinda sweet, but not for me.

One large holo sign shows an arm, with skin transitioning to fur, claiming 'only GenCorp can help you achieve the body you desire'. I snort. Furries. They'll be lucky if these grey-market splices don't go haywire. Gene modders are crazier than shuttle-pilots; you won't see me growing fur or scales. The cascade of ads almost overwhelms me, before I manage to fix my notification settings to keep them out. Well, I'll give the coder who designed that some respect; it's a devious way to get past my filters and try to separate me from my hard-earned credits.

In short, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of debt, I shall fear no popup. I'm glad; the result was a dazzling display that seems to flit across my overlay and make my eyeballs water. It made it especially hard treking a parallel path on three wheels, especially pausing to mark junctions with the nozzle arm.

If anyone is paying any attention to the janitorial unit, there's no sign. But then, why would they? And if they did, a washbot spraying the wall is merely... odd. I keep the chassis following at some distance, as the route comes to an end. And if I didn't know it was a brothel, I would have said it was a bar, or maybe a gentleman's club.

There are Greek-style columns, though they can't be real marble. The walls are covered in some filmy soft fabric with iridescent patterns that shimmer through a spectrum of colors. Offset in brighter tones are scenes from what I imagine is Greek myth. Simple reliefs of scantily clad figures and naked nymphs and such, with the illusion of motion from the iridescence.

It also makes the building seem larger than it really is. It's two stories, and I step inside the open door into a dimly lit and sweet-smelling parlor expecting to feel cramped. The material on the walls muffles the sound without utterly muting it. And under the quick beat of Martian heavy metal, the sounds...

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Well, it's a brothel. Voices crying out a few key phrases, and some organic sounds that tend to accompany physical exertion. I'll let you use your imagination.

When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I I hiss and spin. My stun-stick is in my hand and pointing at the chest of a wiry man in a heartbeat. The man isn't augmented; he's got choppy dreadlocks, with a scarred face and a knife on his belt. He barely blinks, looking down at the buzzing tip of my rod, before looking back up at me. And keeping his hand away from his knife. "Your Cruz, yeah?"

I glower at him. "Aren't there rules about touching without paying in a place like this?"

His flat eyes slide up to my face. "Yeah, but it doesn't apply to security. Leave the stick, and Ms. Morgan will meet with you upstairs."

I shake my head, not lowering my hand. "Nah, I'll keep it, and she can meet me anyway." I turn to the door. "Or I'll leave and take my offer elsewhere."

For a moment, I wonder if he's going to make it an issue, before he grunts. "At least put it away," he says, before turning and pressing his hand to the door-pad, opening the stairwell with a click. For all the good my stick will do me, if I miss the threat coming.

But there's no missing Cara Morgan when I enter her office. She radiates confidence, even though she's easily a head shorter than me and unarmed. Sitting at an ornate wooden desk with a floral motif is the madam, a thin and severe woman in a pencil skirt and grey blouse, with her steely hair pinned tightly back. The strict, conservative appearance seems at odds with my mental image of a 'madam', but her body language reads clearly as 'in charge'.

She gives me the ghost of a smile as the stairwell door closes behind me. "You must be Ms. Cruz. Contacting me through one of Dyer's flock, of all people. And after striking poor Anna," she says with a hint of drawl. The angular, grey-haired mistress looks like she chews gravel. "Brave of you to walk in here alone."

My eye passes over the single bodyguard, the same wiry scarred man, as he takes up a standing position behind her. Judging by his physique, a spacer. Probably not Gaian then, but the way he's trimming his nails with that knife... "But not unarmed," I say, nodding to the stun-stick by my side. "Brave isn't stupid."

She inclines her head mildly, motioning to a faux-leather chair in front of the desk. "Which is why you want your weapons certification approved, I assume?" Her hazel eyes take me up and down for a moment. "A woman who understands her station, then."

I slide into the soft seat. For fake leather, it feels remarkably real. Maybe she had a real skin lab-grown and tanned for it... or wants clients to think so. Pricey. "We all make our own station in life, don't we?"

Her smile shows a hint of teeth, a dimple crossing her wrinkles. "Would you like a drink? Or perhaps take a few hours to enjoy the services of my girls... or boys?"

"Not unless you mean the daughters of Ganymede," I say, narrowing my eyes. "You got my message, you know what I'm offering."

That gets a flicker of her eyelid. "Hah, I got both messages. An open offer? You know how to light the fire under me, kid." She gives me a grin devoid of warmth. "Your weapons certification; the nature of your business?"

I cross my arms. "Personal, and not the kind I'd like to make public. I'm a PI, enough said."

She nods, leaning forward. "Ah, well, discretion costs extra, but if you can deliver a cephalopod-analogue, I'll waive the fee and pay your passage back to Io, and square all debts with the League," she says with a shrug. "I don't want to make this complicated."

"Yeah, I bet," I snort. In my mind's eye, I have washbot spritz the rear of the brothel. Just to start the trail. "And Casey?"

Her smile slips. "I can get him off Ganymede, and make sure no operations-"

"No. I want him off the board," I say, closing out the link to the camera. Finally, no more headache. "Not fleeing to Callisto to take shots at me and mine from a distance," I add.

The older woman gives me a sour frown, the lines crossing her wrinkles and emphasizing them. "I'm sure there's bad blood, but good business dictates-"

"You don't get the squid until I have proof Caspian is dead or in custody," I snarl, making the bodyguard stand with knife drawn.

Cara motions with a hand. "It's not that simple. He has an armed crew. They-"

"I know," I mutter, feeling the ache in my shoulder. "But that's the price. And if you don't pay it, someone else will," I add with a wry grin.

There's a long moment of silence as she glowers at me. "Neither Dyer nor Clearfield can get your cert approved. I control Admin on this station now.'

I chuckle and open my hands. "Exactly. You're the impediment. So once one of them, or one of your own Daughters of Ganymede slash ecoterrorists, decides to jump the gun and pull the trigger on Casey? Or call Codes?" I throw my hands up. "Then you're the last thing standing between them and a payday," I say, smirking as her eyes widen.

"I'm..." She trails off.

A moment passes, and even her bodyguard looks concerned. "See? You understand gambling, right? It's game theory. If you know someone is going to defect, and first to defect wins-"

"Casey and I are building something out here!" She hisses through clenched teeth, eyes narrow. "The Jovian, united. Eventually, the whole Dark District. Together, with all of the resources-"

"You'll stand up to Earth? Like the Solar District did?" I ask, standing. "Yeah, fuck that. You and Casey are consolidating power for yourselves, and you'll murder anyone who gets in your way. Well, fine. Deliver Casey and you can make whatever plays you want, with all the funding you can get. But that squid will never land on this moon unless Casey's as dead as the last polar bear."

Her eyes are wide, and her confidence seems to have left the building. "Clearfield won't..." She trails off.

"Risk her career by killing a terrorist?" I finish for her. "But she already has been risking her career smuggling terrorists. She'll be getting paid to clean up loose ends. And Dyer? He's aching for vengeance. With that squid in hand? He'll be able to hire out the Daughters of Ganymede from under you, and every other freelancer on the moon. Hell, one of Casey's own Gaians might flip for the right price," I muse aloud, watching her face fall.

For a moment she looks down, her hazel eyes darting, before she meets my gaze. "Why aren't you after the lifeform?"

"I've been holding out for some fresh dipping sauce," I mutter. She furrows her brow in confusion, and I sigh. My wit is wasted on someone who's never had seafood. "I don't want to play keep-away with a bunch of hardened criminals. The squid is an albatross, and I can't monetize it. But it's good leverage, so buy me out now, while you can," I say, watching her fingers clench.

Her lips quirk up. "That seems premature. It's still on Ursa Miner station."

I nod. "Where my partner, Rusteater's old partner, is flying now. To pick it up, and deliver it here, to the buyer," I say as I set my jaw.

I watch her face turn white. "What? That runner? Swallow?"

"Sparrow!" I growl, clamping down the rising tide of anger, taking a few breaths. "Her shuttle should be docking there shortly."

Ms. Morgan gives me a blank stare. "And I'm to expect the Codes Captain is going to hand over the package to her?"

I nod. "Yes. Because I worked for him and know him. Cartwright doesn't want a pay day. He wants the League," I hiss. "The Gaian's infiltrated his station and sabotaged it under his nose. He's out to take them down. Give him Casey, his crew, and the Gaian's in Codes. He'll have enough to arrest Clearfield, too. It's a win-win; he sweeps the board clean of the League and offloads the albatross of a squid at the same time. You're just a vice-peddler and an oportunist; he doesn't care about you, Cara. And neither do I, if you give up Casey."

She scoffs. "You've told Ashton Cartwright you already have a deal in place, didn't you?"

Nope. Haven't spoken to him at all. "I'm not here to compare notes."

She sneers at me. "See, but what if I turn on Caspian and you don't deliver?"

I shrug and motion around us. "Well, he'll probably already be suspicious of you taking this meeting."

Cara blinks a few times. "Dyer wouldn't fill Casey in."

I chuckle at this point. I can't help it. "No, but you got a separate message from me directly, right? That's because Caspian has been having his synth intercept your pings, presumably to prevent you plotting against him and making power plays, and I wanted him to know," I admit with a smirk.

Her eyes are wide as saucers. "You... That's a bluff."

I shake my head, grinning wickedly. "Not at all. It's actually how I met him, trying to contact you. And see, now you met with me, after getting my message demanding Casey's head..." I clap my hands, making her jump in her seat. "I mean, at this point, you have two options. You can kill me now to demonstrate your loyalty, which will cost you the best chance of getting the squid. Or you can give me Caspian for the payment, now that the trust is gone." I crack my knuckles as her breath catches. "Can't play it both ways; no hedging your bets at my table."

The madam's mouth works soundlessly for a moment, trying and failing to find words. I take a moment to savor the look of consternation on her face, seeing her eyes widen as she sputters.

My moment of glee is only slightly soured when the door explodes in a rain of shrapnel and fire.