Code Enforcement: Wetware

I focus on the flashing red alert in my mind's eye. The picture of me is dated, but they have my name, my profile information, and my biodata. Great, now my fingerprints, retina scan, and DNA will be flagged in the system. I'll have to go incognito everywhere I can and avoid those kinds of sensors. I hope no networked cameras catch my face. The question is, where to go from here? I sit on my haunches in the alley for a moment.

Well, I can't go to the docks or admin, or anywhere I would need a profile for access. I could go back to Rosetta, I suppose, but Remembrandt was already pretty clear he won't help me directly. He probably won't turn me into codes... but then, one of the many other synths there could. Crap, it's too risky to make a public appearance at a bar, even a synth bar.

Shaking my head, I try linking into the chassis; thankfully, the node doesn't seem damaged. Washbot rocks unsteadily as I pilot it forward, and the dead castor scrapes against the ground as it trails behind. Well, at least it moves under its own power. As long as I keep correcting the steering, anyway. Ugh, there's no way I'm going to be able to do anything useful with this busted thing, especially while I walk. It's only got one working arm, and the basin isn't going to hold any fluid with two holes blown through it. Well, TooBee isn't going to be happy, but we never technically agreed on the condition I'd return it in.

Leaning against the eatery wall, I take stock. I've got a broken, mostly useless janitorial chassis and a half-exhausted signal dampener. There really aren't any other tools left in my kit at this point. Or favors to call in, for that matter. No credits, no software, no weapons. And really, there's nobody I can contact for backup. I doubt I can afford more of TooBee's assistance. Alex would be legally obligated to arrest me. Sparrow hasn't returned my pings. Even Jax has vanished. Although...

Jax did leave me that access code. Damn, I should be able to figure out what it's used to access! It has to be connected to Callisto's metal markets and the Gaian blackmail, right? Dammit, I can't see how. Is Jax embezzling from the trading consortium, and the League found out? Maybe the code is the login for the trading-consortium's financial account? No, it would make no sense to give me account access. I couldn't do anything with the credits, except spend them. Tempting, but it wouldn't help Jax.

Besides, money isn't really the issue. It's information, leverage, control; that's what Casey is truly after. And information-

Information is currency to a wirehead like Jax, too.

I stumble, eyes widening. Jax is a wirehead. Really plugged in, right? But how much so? I take a breath. Gaming the metal markets? It couldn't be that simple.

I let a long exhale pass through my lips. Of course, Jax wouldn't send me a financial account. I might be tempted to do something naughty, like empty it. But he would send me something useful against the League. Revealing the ace up his sleeve, giving me his trump card, and hoping I'll keep to my contract. He sent me something that helped him game the markets, and something he thought could also help me fight.

From the closest node, I log into the nearest local virt. Jax sent me the password. And the user: Administrator.

I get chills when the returns to my handshake come back valid. Jax spoofed admin access. The pieces tumble into place. He's been using this to game the metal markets, and probably to scrub all record of it. Moreover, Jax can see everyone's data in real-time! He's not sitting in a front row seat; he's got a peek behind the curtain! No need to be a good gambler if you can see everyone's cards. Holy void-spawned fuck, I'm a chrome-licking moron! That's what the League is blackmailing him over!

I slap my forehead. The code wasn't for a bank account. He's got his hands on a spoofed admin account, the crazy oxide-huffing wirehead, and he's making bank for his little trading consortium. Aha, the timeline all falls together now. Cara Morgan makes a play against Dyer, and her girls take over admin on Ganymede. They see someone accessing the admin system and figure out that it's Jax. Now Casey is making the play to consolidate, and he wants the consortium to play ball.

And the blackmail material is already in the League's hands. Jax is screwed, because spoofing an admin account is a felony. If Casey has enough to prove it to Codes, Jax will grow old in a penal colony, and the consortium loses their advantage. And probably face a slew of lawsuits. And to top it all off, Jax can't come forward about the blackmail to Codes. His hands are tied.

But then Sparrow tells him about a new PI in the Jovian with some experience, and familiarity with the league. He knows my loyalties are untainted, so he hires me. Ok, that holds together. But he gives the spoofed account to me? The Gaian's already have Admin access, so it's no good as leverage. If I use start using admin access to input commands or access systems, I'll be flagged to the goons in Admin. Might as well light a signal fire telling them where I am. Well, if I'm fast...

I bite my bottom lip as I consider. Well, I suppose TooBee is the only safe haven left, if I haven't burned all the credit my organs bought me. I had a little side-hustle going with her, but now I have a synth backup to rescue. Thankfully, she might be sympathetic there; time to adapt.

I log out of the admin account; no need to throw up flags just yet. Still browsing incognito, I ping an unlicensed cosmetic surgeon to negotiate a payment plan. "TooBee? I need to amend our deal."

Again, a snort over the channel. She's synthetic, it's got to be an affectation, right? "I shouldn't be surprised," she says with an amused tone. "I saw the warrant for your arrest. I assume that's what this is about?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I swallow hard as I walk a route back toward her suite, keeping my face down. "Not quite. Though I'll admit, things didn't go as planned."

"You don't say?" Her voice is bland, and I wince in meatspace.

"There's been a complication, and we'll have to adjust-"

"I don't like altering plans after we've agreed to terms," she interrupts sternly.

I shake my head, not that she can see. "I promise you, you'll want to hear me out. Besides, I've kept up my end so far, right?" I'm hoping my tone isn't pleading. "I even have the chassis here with me. No need to hold my kidneys hostage," I joke, feeling the tension in the air.

A very long moment of silence passes. "I suppose," she admits. "And if nothing else, you've been entertaining." There's another pause. "Fine, I'll indulge you for the moment. What did you have in mind?"

The call is short and to the point, which just makes the walk back to the surgery suite seem much longer. Washbot turns off the trail, no longer under my guidance. TooBee took over piloting, so no more picture-in-picture in my visual cortex. It's not following me back to the medical suite, though she didn't mention specifically where she's taking it. As I turn my dampener back on, the silver threads vanish once more. If TooBee cares about the broken arms or pierced basin, she doesn't make an issue of it. Maybe that should raise some alarms.

But maybe I'm just tired. I've lost all sense of time, and my injuries are starting to catch up to me. My shoulder burns, my elbow throbs, and my belly aches where the two bruises stand out. Even my healed rib seems to twinge in sympathy. As I trudge down the ferrocrete corridors, it feels like Earth-gravity. I try to ignore the gurgling in my belly and lead in my legs.

At the sight of the unlabeled medical suite, I can't help but feel a wave of relief crash over me. I really am overdue for some sleep. So maybe that's why my situational awareness isn't what it could be. When I slam my fist on the shuttered door a few times, I'm expecting the synth to pop out again.

I'm caught completely off guard when the shutter rolls up to reveal a uniformed Code Enforcement Captain with a drawn plasma pistol. My mouth falls open as the stony dark eyes of Jessie Clearfield lock on mine. The woman is perhaps forty, helmetless, with short, tightly curled dreadlocks. Her lips press in a tight line in a square jaw. The blocky, mixed-race woman sights her weapon between my eyes.

"Don't move a millimeter," she says in a voice as cold as Europa's surface.

I don't have time to. In fact, I don't realize someone is behind me until the taser hits me in the small of the back.

I squeak, my muscles seizing as I fall sideways. Shaking wordlessly, I impact the ground hard enough to drive the wind from my lungs and make my head ring. It feels like getting the worst Charlie horse in the Dark District, and loud clicking accompanies my spasms and grunts. When it stops, Clearfield immediately drops and throws me onto my belly.

As I look up, I see TooBee holding the taser in hand, stepping forward. She gives me a smirk, before looking at Clearfield. "Since I actually disabled her, I want all the chasses in advance."

"Done," the cop mutters, planting her knee in my back roughly and pulling my arms around. As I squirm, she growls and slams me against the ferrocrete ground hard enough to make my skull bounce and a flash of light bloom in my vision. "Fight me, and I promise you'll regret it," she snarls.

Panting and recovering my breath, I glower up at the synth. "Really, TooBee? Ugh, and after that spiel about not selling out patients, this is the way you play it?"

The shapely Synth shrugs. "The warrant changed things; it got too hot for me. Besides, she beat anything you could offer." The Synth's perfect face seems amused. "It's not personal; my people need a future in the Jovian," she explains, hand on a hip. I growl, but Jessie is strong enough to keep my arms pinned with one hand as she slaps the cuffs on a hand with the other. Damn, this woman is yoked!

I wince as she tugs my other arm around. "And you think some credits will assure that?" I sneer. "Is the payment going that far?"

The synth's eyes narrow, and her lips quirk up. "I got a different sort of payment; access to a number of chasses for my people, at no cost." She lifts a hand, tossing her head. "There are over two-dozen various models impounded or seized by Codes over the years. Anything used in the commission of a crime that hasn't been claimed or auctioned off, essentially. And I can put them to better use than sitting around an impound bay." The synth crosses her arms under her ample chest. "The credits I'll get later are just figurative icing on a metaphorical cake."

The cuffs are snug around my wrists, tighter than Alex made his, and I see Clearfield's lips moving. Pinging someone and speaking sub vocally on her channel, no doubt. She's an augment, judging by the silver band running along her hairline. "Even if Clearfield is good for her word, you're trading the Synths' future on Callisto for temporary homes and bodies here and now," I argue, before the cop wrenches my arm hard.

TooBee bares her teeth. "Well, given that you have less than two thousand credits left to your name, I'd judge it the highest bid on the table." I flinch at that, and Clearfield snorts.

"See, Cruz? The bot understands." The woman grabs my wrists and pulls me to my feet, making me yelp as I struggle. "We live in a system, and we have to work within it to get ahead."

I lick my lips. "Fair enough. So, if I cut a deal, you'll let me go?"

An elbow slams into my side, making me cough and stumble. "Too late."

I swallow a groan. "Oh? You haven't even heard my offer," I pant, earning me an elbow to the gut this time. With my bruises, I whimper in quite an undignified manner.

The older woman sneers. "Let me guess; you'll give me the squid in exchange for your life?" I get a disgusted scoff from her. "I doubt it. And even assuming you had it on you and turned it over right now, Casey would hunt me down for breaking our deal. He'd have to. No, it's better to split the percentage; no need to get greedy," she says smoothly, without hesitation.

I take a few moments to let the tightness in my gut fade. "Yeah, but you're not the only one who might defect in this game," I say, earning a growl from her. "Casey turned on Cara Morgan; she's dead."

"That was a matter of time." Clearfield sighs and flicks her fingers dismissively. "She turned on one of her own to back a play by a Gaian outsider. She punched her own ticket, as far as I'm concerned."

I snarl back at her. "Caspian is that outsider! You're talking about backing him right now, against 'one of your own'."

Clearfield is shaking her head before I've finished. "No, you've misjudged, Cruz. My relationship with Casey is purely transactional. Besides, Morgan turned traitor first; she was fair game in my eyes." The woman gives me a sardonic smirk. "Even the Daughters of Ganymede won't do anything more than whine about it. Nobody is spilling blood to avenge her. Or you."

"Am I under arrest? If you-", but before I can say more, she tugs a stun-stick off her belt, and it buzzes loudly in the silence.

She shakes her head. "No, no paper-trail," she says, narrowing her eyes. Stick in one hand, pistol in the other, she points the way. "Turn and walk. We'll turn this fiasco into a windfall, or you'll die trying."