Code Enforcement: Wetware

I shouldn't be surprised that Dyer wants to meet at Rosetta again. There's just been a shootout at the docks, and it's as close to clandestine as we're likely to get. Even if he's not directly implicated in anything, I doubt he'll want me poking around Administration, or anywhere Codes is likely to show up. 'Allies of convenience' is a far cry from friend.

Still, after the walk under polite armed escort, I'm surprised at the crowd. There are eight synths, including Remembrandt. Even TooBee is here; maybe she's expecting a show. Or maybe Dyer is making a statement, holding the meeting in plain sight with an audience. Is that supposed to be a message? Some kind of power-play? A flex? Fucking void-spawned politics.

Dyer looks much the same; he's lost the coat and gained a plain grey shirt and suspenders. If there's still a little stiffness in his movements, his face is at least full of color, and the dermal patch isn't peeking out. I nod to him, sliding into the booth with barely a wince. "You're looking better, Dyer."

The old man gives me a discerning look, a hand brushing his steely beard. "And you look like someone ran you through the turbine, Dame. Still, at least you can drink in this body," he answers gruffly, motioning to Remembrandt with two fingers.

I shrug casually, trying to ignore the aches in my belly and elbow and the heaviness in my limbs. "Not that I've had the chance to. I've been on my feet quite a bit since we spoke," I reply making the same motion to the synthetic bartender.

The man grunts. "I'll give you credit. Having Casey take out Morgan for you was a masterstroke, Dame," he says, inclining his balding head a few degrees.

I bite my lip, wincing at the memory. "It didn't exactly go down the way I intended. I sort of planned to use her against him." I pause as Remembrandt slides a mixed drink in front of Dyer. And doesn't slide one in front of me.

Dyer shrugs, not seeming to notice. "Liquid ice one-way, frozen water the other. You got the job done," he admits, giving me an appraising look. "I didn't know you had that fire in you."

I shake my head. "It didn't matter. You were ready to sweep up the Daughters no matter how this went down."

The corner of the old man's lip quirks up. "Casey assumed they would all fall in line with him, but Caspian didn't care about the moon, and folks could tell." Dyer gives me a hard look. "You think anyone wanted to sign on with a stranger after he killed their benefactor? He stormed her place and left bodies on the ground. Locals." The man grinds his teeth for a moment, sipping his drink silently. "Even the Earth and Solar district refugees weren't happy. They may not have loved Cara, but they wouldn't sign up with her killer unless there was no other choice." He shrugs. "I gave them another choice."

I clench my fingers for a moment. "I should be pissed you held back intel, but it's done now." I motion to Remembrandt again. "And it's better than a gang war."

"And for them, it's better than a penal colony or rehab ward," Dyer adds, lifting his drink. "Or a short trip out the airlock."

I roll my eyes. Yeah, yeah; you're running the grid now, I get it. "Code Enforcement isn't giving you problems?"

The drink shakes as he waffles his hands. "Codes has a lot of internal issues right now. They'll be buried in digitalwork about Jessie Clearfield's handshake-agreement with the League for months," he chuckles softly. "Lots of questions from Luna nobody left alive can really answer. They'll be dealing with political fallout for years, on top of the endless tide of everyday code violations on this moon." Dyer's expression turns serious for a moment. "If there's no smoke, Codes isn't going to spend the energy looking for fire. And with time..." He shrugs and tosses back the rest of his drink. "With time, nobody will even care; it'll just be history," he says, shrugging as he slides out of the booth.

I stand quickly, glaring at him. "Dyer, we're not done-"

"You'll get your weapons certification," he huffs, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

I meet his gaze, narrowing my own. "Great, but that's not all I want," I say, squaring up with him. The temperature in the room seems to cool a few degrees, and he raises a bushy grey eyebrow. "I want a bottle of this infamous Ganymede rum."

He blinks a few times and guffaws loudly, slapping his thigh. "Hah! I knew I liked you, Dame!" The laughter is deep and genuine and diffuses the tension. "I'll get you the good stuff, not the swill we serve to the tourists," he adds, extending a leathery palm.

A smile slides over my lips, and I take his hand, trying not to wince at his iron grip. "Fantastic. In the meantime, can I have a few minutes with my cosmetic surgeon?"

TooBee sits alone, pointedly not looking in my direction as I meet with Dyer. When I walk to her table, I'm half-expecting her to ignore me or offer me some veiled threat about taking my liver to square my debts. I'm a little surprised when she slides over at her table, patting an empty chair. "It's good to see you're doing well, Ms. Cruz."

I sit slowly, my back to the wall, eyeing her. "TooBee. Should I ask why you're here?"

She looks around the bar as if noticing it for the first time. "Oh, there's a vacancy in one of the local vice operations, and it just so happens my chassis will supplement the niche quite well," she says, motioning to her curvy figure

I take a moment to parse that. "Your chassis... you're giving up your body to a synth prostitute?" I lean back, eyes wide.

The synth shrugs, lifting her fingers and flexing them. "I like the hands, but I've just obtained a number of usable chasses from impound," she says with a smile, blades peeking from her digits. "I might go back to male for a while; there's a nice industrial repair unit. Highly mobile, good fine motor control, lots of ports, versatile hardware."

I grumble. "Good for you. And you're here to sell the remaining wares?"

The grin vanishes. "Not sell; I'm just providing some local social services," she says softly. The synth folds her fingers together. "But also, I thought you and I should have some words," she adds, tilting her head.

I feel acutely aware of the value and position of my organs in that moment, meeting those synthetic eyes. "Oh? Should I get a weapon?"

She sighs and raises both hands placatingly. "Relax. We had a deal, right? I was supposed to turn you in to Clearfield."

I bite my tongue to keep from cursing. "We were supposed to work out the details after I got back to the medical suite," I hiss, lips peeling back from my teeth. "You went rogue! I could have contacted Alex, had him standing ready-"

TooBee is already shaking her head; she snaps her fingers, cutting me off. "Nope, wouldn't have worked. She'd have twigged to a trap if we tried to play it safe." She places her hands flat on the table. "Besides, the utter shock on your face? There was no faking that," she says with a straight face. But I swear I can hear the amusement in her voice.

I clench my hands. "You tased me!"

The too-perfect smile is wide. "Again, you can't put on an act half as real as that," TooBee says with a shrug. "Besides, it helped earn Clearfield's trust. She thought I burned my bridges."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Maybe you have..." I growl, feeling the ache in my back.

Her mirth seems to die. "Don't be shortsighted, Cruz. Think about what you earned here."

"A couple of scars?" I shoot back. "Oh, and my weapons certification, which I should have had the whole time?"

"Credibility. And credit. And not just here," she adds, an eyebrow rising.

My train of thought derails again. "I... what?"

The synth sighs. "Cruz, really think it through. As I hear it, the infamous gambler and wirehead Jax hired you becauset the Gaian League was blackmailing Callisto's largest mining co-op. And you solved the problem quickly and spectacularly; you dismantled their entire organization in the Jovian."

It takes me a moment to catch up. "Only because they tried to kill my partner, and me for good measure."

TooBee tilts her head. "I'd be shocked if anyone knew that's how it went down," she points out. "And not only that, but I hear you solved another case at the same time."

I blink. "When did I do that?"

Her grin widens. "You didn't realize? That's even funnier." Maybe I'm sleep-deprived, because I don't catch on until she starts explaining. "Cara Morgan and her stooges were scamming sailors, among others, through Admin. A navy boy hired you, and you took down their whole operation and put Dyer back in charge of Ganymede," she says slowly, leading me through it. "The digital scams have dropped dramatically; it's made it to the enlisted message boards."

My mouth works silently for a moment. "That's not exactly how it played out. Cid shot Morgan. And it wasn't, like, designed. I didn't plan the variables in advance-"

"Oh, believe me, I know," the synth says, lowering her voice. "It was like watching someone tap dance on aerogel, but I won't spread that around." She grins again. "Just between us, I was rooting for you."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks, that fills me with pride."

The smile fades, and TooBee's expression turns serious. "Listen to me, I'm telling you that you're getting a reputation. People all across the Jovian are going to be trading rumors and stories about you." Maybe she reads my skepticism because she leans closer and continues. "Think about it. The loose-cannon former cop who decapitated the Daughters of Ganymede, and took down the Gaian League for good measure? Not to mention the whispers that you were the one who nuked Europa. Gossip is already flying over the exonet."

My eyes bulge. "What? Most of that just happened!"

TooBee nods. "And news travels at lightspeed, Dame. You're becoming a bit of a local legend; the forums are blowing up." She lowers her voice. "My advice? Just lean into it; the work will flow to you. Everyone who needs a PI in the Jovian is going to want 'Dame'. They'll know you get the job done."

I let that roll around in my head for a moment. "I suppose I can't complain- wait, Dame?"

The synth waves a hand. "It was the incognito handle you used, right? Besides, it was listed under 'Aliases' on the arrest warrant, so it's catching on. You should check the exonet; bet you could swing some local endorsements," she adds with a wink.

I chew my lip for a moment as I consider. "Well, maybe one of these rum distilleries I keep hearing about..."

We might not be friends, but I suppose I can let TooBee off the hook. Not that I'm happy she's keeping my credits, but I paid honestly, so I can't whine about it. I walked away with my kidneys, so I'll call it a win. But there's still an itch between my shoulder-blades, and I'm bad at letting things go, so I make sure to stop at the bar before I leave.

As I approach, the short synth gives me a blank look, which is easy with a blank face. Leaning against the bar, I drum my fingers on the composite counter. "Remembrandt. I can't help feeling there's something unsaid between us."

The synth pulls out a glass, pours something from a tumbler, and pointedly serves it to another synth. "I feel we've said everything we need to say to each other."

I frown as he turns away, leaving his back to me. "Have you heard from Aquarius?"

There's the barest shake of his head. "No, and I doubt I will. And please, spare me the need to inform me of their change in circumstance. I can infer the outcome," he murmurs, pouring a few ingredients into a mixer.

I grit my teeth. "You know, I went above and beyond-"

"To assuage your guilt and solve a personal problem. It has nothing to do with me," the slender synth says smoothly as he shakes the canister.

I slap my palm on the counter. "Maybe you haven't heard everything, 'reverend'. If you did, I think you'd be grateful," I growl.

"I know what happened." Remembrandt glances back at me over his shoulder. "Dyer came here specifically to recruit assistance. He's had to pull some of the brighter minds from security and the 'entertainment industry' to fill out the gaps in Admin."

I tilt my head at that. "I assume he's promoting from the Daughter's of Ganymede?"

The synth still doesn't deign to face me. "Not exclusively, but backs must be scratched. In order to foster trust among former foes, he's demonstrating that supporting the new status quo comes with rewards. Promotions: meatbag favor-based politics and such," he adds with a dismissive gesture.

Which helps you how? I wait, but he doesn't seem inclined to elaborate. "Well, some local industries might flounder until they reorganize; it'll take a while to fill in the gaps."

The synth nods. "Of course. And as a result, there's a dearth of both private security on the moon, as well as a lack of logistical staff in the local black and white hat industries." He meets my gaze. "It's fortunate that many of the synths who came here from Calisto have skillsets that would fill these gaps nicely."

My eyes narrow as I roll that around my head. "I suppose that works out. And since TooBee came into possession of a number of chasses- wait..." The bodies turned up just in time to house the synths, just as the local jobs open up? "The synths fleeing Calisto just happened to have the right qualifications to rebuild the infrastructure and cover the personnel loss?"

My tone is incredulous, but Remembrandt merely tilts his head. "I would rather describe it as emigration of talented synthetic minds from Calisto in anticipation of incipient career opportunities."

I blink and furrow my brow as I parse that. "In... anticipation of... as in, 'they moved here for the jobs?'" I gasp, eyes widening.

The synth nods. "Of course. It's much cheaper to make the trip beamed as code, rather than in a chassis. No need to transport any matter at all."

High speed transit; lightspeed, in fact. "They'd need to acquire bodies once they arrived..." I start, before trailing off. "TooBee."

Another nod. "An old parishioner of mine, back when she had a male chassis."

"She sent me here because you told her to?" I ask, looking back at her. She smiles and winks. "She's working for you?"

The synth sighs in an exaggerated manner. "That's the point you're missing; she's not working for me, and I didn't tell her to send you to me."

My mouth silently works for a moment. "She's acting independently?"

"She's acting towards the same goal we all are." He gestures around the bar. "She's trying to help synths arriving here with nothing. She helps secure chasses and find employment for them," he explains with a flat tone.

That statement makes me frown. "Surgeon to social worker? I think you had a hand in that."

Another nod. "Of course. I guided her towards good works, to help my people. As I do others here," he adds, waving a hand around. "And I presume she involved you for the same reason I did; to help my people."

Goosebumps rise on my arms. "You're helping the synths come here, encouraging it. To take over in the power vacuum."

Remembrandt gives me another blank look. "Dyer is in charge; he commands a great deal of respect, and he's the last man standing. But much of his power base was eroded in this conflict." The synth's eyebrows lower and his tone grows quieter. "Some of his people fled. He was publicly deposed, and people don't forget that. He'll need to lean on synth labor far more than he likes, but we'll be reliable and cost-effective. Moreover, we synths won't stick a knife in his back."

I swallow hard, leaning back. "No. You'll all just wait for the old man to die, and inherent the power structure."

"Paths of least resistance and greatest efficiency. We can run admin and the entertainment district far better in the long run." Remembrandt pours the mixer into another glass. "That's in my people's interest, and everyone else's as well."

Nothing has changed, but everything is different. "And you'll be here, advising the ones making the decisions?" The synth doesn't respond, and I shake my head in disbelief. "You're looking to be the consigliere of this filthy hive of scum and villainy? The vice-peddling pastor, shepherding his flock through the dens in iniquity?"

The bartender adds a viscous syrup to the mix. "I told you; I see those suffering and try to ease it."

I scoff. "What, with alcohol, narcotics, entertainment and brothels?"

Remembrandt gestures around him. "Traditionally, the salves of the human soul, since long before synths purveyed them. 'Eat, drink, and be merry..." The synth pauses, turning and facing me. "For tomorrow you die. As all of you humans will," he says with a tone that chills my marrow. "But we synths are resilient. We'll be here long after you are gone; the Jovian is far more hospitable to my people than yours."

I sense a vast gulf between me and the synth, a chasm lightyears wide that I hadn't even noticed. The hair rises on the back of my neck. "You're not playing for tomorrow. This is about power over generations. You're the only one in this mix playing the long game."

The synth turns back. "I said you can't turn me against my own kind. My purpose is to advance their interests, here and everywhere. This isn't a coup, Dame; it's an investment in the synth powerbase within the Jovian. After all, you know what they say," he says softly, pouring a drink. "We're moving on up."