《Code Enforcement: Wetware》


 Chapter 1: Just five more light-minutes, please!

    Hello, I¡¯m Lieutenant Mel Cruz.  It¡¯s short for Melody; something of an older-style name.  It¡¯s not because I sing, for the record.  My parents were throwbacks to a simpler time, and enjoyed some antiquated naming conventions.  I¡¯m currently in torpor, a machine-maintained hibernation used for deep space travel.  I¡¯ve been on a six-month journey from Luna to Europa, though I¡¯ve barely been aware of it.  Oh, before I forget, I¡¯m a 34-year-old Scouting Officer for the Code Enforcement branch of the Exonet Maintenance Bureau.  To put it in Luddite, I¡¯m a cyborg law enforcement officer, and digital systems are my beat.


    I¡¯m also realizing that a twelve-year long stint as Scouting Officer on Luna, deep in the core of the Sol system, has spoiled me.  It¡¯s obvious the moment I try to access the exonet.  I¡¯m used to lightning-fast connections.  I¡¯m accustomed to the vast web of interlocking virtual environments that pervade the Earth-Moon binary.  Sadly, I find only a few virtual ports, low bandwidth, and whisps of automated traffic.  Well, since I¡¯m now aware of it, I presume the ship¡¯s AI is waking the meatsuit.


    My body, that is, and I suppose not a half bad one.  Just over 180cm, no physical augmentations.  It¡¯s as human as any, save for a ring of four small implants running from my right temple to the back of my skull.  All subdermal; I prefer going stealth.  No need to advertise that I¡¯m augmented.  I mean, most Scouting Officers are, but less than a fifth of the baseline population goes for it.  I¡¯d rather not hear the whispers and answer questions.


    My implants let me visualize most of the input from the exonet.  That¡¯s purely an aesthetic choice.  I know some cyborn prefer auditory input.  Some perceive sensory input entirely in virtual environs, or virts.  I prefer an overlay; I can see data-ports shining like gems in the walls of the aging vessel, and rippling threads of silver where wireless signals propagate from the access terminal.  As I access the terminal and touch that thread, the line blooms with code, like a tree sprouting branches and twigs and leaves.  It¡¯s versatile.  And beautiful.


    It¡¯s about the only thing that is.  My smell is¡­ ripe.  I smell like¡­ well, someone who hasn¡¯t bathed in months, but with sharp chemical overtones.  My skin somehow feels both dry and oily.  And sticky at the same time.  I¡¯m wearing my full uniform, the blue and black synthetic fibers wrinkled, but thankfully unstained.  My mouth tastes like¡­ nothing I care to name.  I¡¯m just saying, I¡¯ve had better days.


    I¡¯m still groggy as I open my eyes, feeling the burn of the ship¡¯s deceleration pressing me against the mesh webbing of my harness.  My limbs ache, my skin is cold and clammy, but my belly and torso are burning.  It takes me a moment to realize I¡¯m still coming out of torpor, the mechanical scarab on my back flushing the chemicals from my bloodstream.  Twin tubes pumps saline into my dehydrated veins, and suck metabolites out.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Being webbed in place leaves me feeling helpless and edgy.  Licking my dry lips, I crack my neck and take a slow look around the cargo bay.  The transport is utilitarian; there are no private rooms, or even hibernation pods.  Just twin racks of ¡®scarabs¡¯, the insectoid-locking backpacks that provide the cocktail of chemicals to send passengers into torpor and slow metabolic activity to a crawl.   It¡¯s not a quick or easy revivification.  I can see why the Jovian passenger liners ditched it.


    My jaw clicks as I work some moisture into my mouth and call up the navigation system.  Our destination pops up; the grey-white oblong sphere of Europa, and the massive body of Jupiter behind it.  The station above the icy moon looks insignificant by comparison.  A heavily modified O¡¯Neil Cylinder conjoined with a skyhook.  It looks like a child welded two toy models together.


    It¡¯s balanced in synchronous orbit over Europa, ferrying loads from the autonomous mining machines below.  I smirk a bit at the title: Ursa Miner Station.  It never gets old.  That¡¯s what happens when you let an exonet poll pick your station name.  Somewhere near Venus, there¡¯s a navigational beacon named Buoy McBuoyface.  People never learn.


    The route is etched in silver lines across my vision, along with docking information in hashed lettering.  There''s a docking port along the axis of rotation, outside the habitation rings.  The skyhook itself emerges from the other end of the station.  Not a true orbital lift, unlike Callisto.  But I can see the glow of the active networks, and resist the urge to link in.  I¡¯m still a few hours out.  The lag would drive me mad.


    I check some stale beam-in news from Luna.  Nothing much, a few interesting digital-life demographic reports, some unrest after the Gaian League seeded malware in a mining company¡¯s networks.  Some Luddites on an anti-synth march in New York got gassed.  An uproar on the exonet over some privatization contracts on virt spaces.  Same shit, different day.


    Feeling my stiff back protest, I turn my head and try to ping the Scarab.  I sigh when I receive flashing denial in my vision; it¡¯s safety-locked and won¡¯t release during deceleration.  Fantastic; I guess I¡¯ll just¡­hang around.  Well, I don¡¯t have any luggage to get to, anyway.  Passengers pay for transport by the gram; nobody¡¯s comping me the extra fuel costs.   It was cheaper for me to just buy everything there... or, here, I suppose.


    Plus, it helps make it a clean break.  A whole new place, with all new people.  Starting over.  Speaking of that, a few unread messages blink in the periphery of my vision, like raindrops tapping the surface of a pond.  Preview text pops up in a bubble; Alex Wells.  I flick it away: yesterday¡¯s problem.


    With nothing better to do, I ping my implants and pull up my work files.  A series of icons and written text appear in my mind¡¯s eye.  Melody Cygnus Cruz, rank; Lieutenant.  Current Assignment: Third Precinct Code Enforcement Branch, Ursa Miner Station.  Orientation Packet and Onboarding Materials.  Well, if I¡¯m stuck waiting for my flight to taxi in, I might as well get on with the paperwork.


    ***

 Chapter 2: Open Mouth, Remove Foot

    I¡¯m deep in the thrilling heart of my onboarding packet when the drive shuts down, so the end of deceleration surprises me. My chin length hair begins to drift up with the sudden lack of gravity. I flick the silver orientation outline aside; I know most of it already.  The ship shudders as thrusters kick in.  Despite the mesh harness, the jostling is giving me a headache; this ship could really use some shock-absorbers in the cargo-hold. A yellow flashing light makes me wince, and several loud clangs echo through the ship.  Torpor; it''s worse than a hangover.  Most hangovers, anyway.


    Standby for Docking Procedure flashes in grey through my overlay. Instructions and procedures for decontamination and debarkation pop up. Thankfully, no need to quarantine; my nanos¡¯ vaccine protocols are up to date. No virulent new viruses, digital or otherwise, to worry about. Well, one always hopes. The only way to be totally malware-proof is to be tech-free, of course.


    The Scarab hisses and withdraws the tubes from my neck, leaving angry pink welts on my flesh. I rub the spot. Ugh, at least it¡¯s numbed. I wonder if I need a dermal patch, and I know need a bath. A green compliance symbol flashes and the straps fall off my back. I float free, pulling my way towards the hatchway.


    The cargo bay is loaded with pressure containers, but I¡¯m the only passenger on this run. Booking a ride on a cargo-runner has its downsides, but it¡¯s cheap. Europa is no tourist destination, and private charter vessels cost through the nose. Unless I want to abandon my meatsuit entirely and just upload my mind. Because in our malware-laden virts, that never goes badly.


    The hatch hisses open, and brilliant light sears my vision. I cringe back, blinking. After months of darkness, the docking lights are blinding. I close my eyes and let my overlay outline the world in silver thread. There¡¯s more activity on this station beyond the visible, painting the walls in silver lines. All of the integrated systems interact just beneath the surface.


    Hundreds of AIs and EIs labor to keep the station working, and their communications light up the halls with glowing ribbons. Not the bustle Luna or the cacophony of Earth, but signs of life. I pull myself into a sterile dock. With an effort, I open my eyes a little, shading my sight with my hand. It''s about what I expected. Off-white scratched paneling all around. Harsh yellow-white light from the walls. It smells like machine-oil and ozone, which is at least a step-up from my body odor. It''s a dock, what can I say?


    ¡°Ah, Lieutenant Cruz, hello! Nice to meet you,¡± an excited voice calls out, and I whip around, squinting. The silhouette outlined against the light is blurry, but slowly resolves into a slim, dark complected woman in tight casual attire. She¡¯s wearing a bright orange and yellow¡­ I think it¡¯s called a sari? The right half of her head is shaved or depilated, and several layered augments hug the bare hemisphere of her skull. The sleek metal and polymer plate blends smoothly into her darker skin tone right above her ear.


    In my overlay, countless brilliant silver-white threads writhe around her, cascading and twisting through a blazing white spike in the cranial augmentation. My mouth falls open as I stare, seeing more exonet throughput in one person than I usually see in two-dozen. This woman has a network hub in her skull! Is she one of those uploaded hiveminds? Or something crazier?


    ¡°Sorry, are you having trouble seeing? Yes, I know torpor can be quite rough. Do you need to go to medical?¡± she asks, leaning closer. I see concern etched on her features, and I rub my temple with one hand. Rabi Kavya Gupta, rank; Captain. Current Assignment: Third Precinct Code Enforcement Branch, Ursa Miner Station. The name floats above the writhing nexus of silver nestled in her skull. Right, the head of forensics. She¡¯s looks young for her forties. And why does she need a hub in her head? Would it be rude to ask?If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I restrain my curiosity. ¡°Ah, no, thank you,¡± I say, extending my hand. She doesn¡¯t react to that, and I wonder what she sees. Maybe meat-space doesn¡¯t exist for her. ¡°I¡¯ll just walk it off,¡± I add, trying to regain my rhythm. Well, I suppose we aren¡¯t walking; we pull ourselves along rungs set through the walls.


    If Rabi is flustered by my reaction, she doesn¡¯t show it. ¡°Yes yes, good. I came to escort you. Well, really I came to meet you. We don¡¯t get a lot of transfers from the binary, Luna or Earth. You know, novel and new beats tried and true.¡± She reaches the end of the dock at the center of the rotating station.


    ¡°Fun, just what I wanted; to be the latest novelty,¡± I say, biting my tongue. C''mon, play nice Mel. There¡¯s little spin gravity here, but the pull grows as we move away from the axis of rotation and towards the residential rings. I¡¯m hit with a sense of vertigo as I pull myself through the corridor, the ¡®tug¡¯ of gravity growing.


    Thankfully, Rabi doesn¡¯t seem to notice my sarcasm and carries on the one-sided conversation without pausing for breath. ¡°Of course! We¡¯ll introduce you around tomorrow. We¡¯ve got some great officers, sixteen for the station. Seven humans, including us, all but one augmented. Nine are synth, but only three of those have bodies,¡± she adds.


    She must be talking to fill the silence, because I feel several pings from Rabi on my primary node. She¡¯s connecting directly to my implants and ¡®reading¡¯ my profile. Strictly speaking, I wouldn¡¯t know someone is checking my avatar; she¡¯s politely poking me and letting me know she¡¯s rummaging around. With her hardware, she could probably run an emulation of me in her own head. Creepy.


    As my feet hit the floor, my legs buckle. The room spins with a wave of nausea. My throbbing headache grows worse. Yay. Spin gravity feels different, and I wobble as I walk, finding my equilibrium. ¡°Good to know. Let¡¯s see if I can tell on sight. I¡¯ll ask if their chassis is all-natural,¡± I say, hoping to get a laugh. Or a chuckle, even. A smirk?


    Nothing? Maybe I¡¯m not as funny as I think. Eh, she probably has an algorithm processing her inputs; it¡¯ll alert her when I say something she cares about. It¡¯s an upgrade that¡¯s catching on in the core; most small talk can go on autopilot, and the user gets fed the pre-digested thoughts from their augments. Yummy.


    The silver threads from her implant caress the ports in the walls as we float past, continuously uploading and downloading a lot of data. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I realize how deeply she¡¯s plugged in. She must be so overclocked, her bandwidth wrenched so far open... I wonder if she can even leave the station without a hibernation pod. The lack of stimulation might kill her. Well, if Rabi notices my discomfort, she still doesn¡¯t react.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get to meet Ash first thing! Did you read his file?¡± Rabi asks, as I tilt my head. I pull up the file to refresh myself, seeing a solemn face. Ashton Montgomery Cartwright, rank: Captain. Current Assignment: Third Precinct Code Enforcement Branch, Ursa Miner Station. The new boss. Well, for me.


    ¡°The man, against whom we rage?¡± I say before I can think. I snap my mouth shut, flushing red. Dammit, Mel. I look over at Rabi, the head of the forensics department. Ash¡¯s colleague.


    I¡¯m relieved when Rabi¡¯s face splits into a grin, and she hoots loudly. ¡°Yes Yes! Mel, you have no idea. Ash has a titanium pole lodged where most people have a stick,¡± she says, giggling. Ok, I guess she is listening after all. Well, as least she agrees; I am funny.


    She chuckles shakes her head, making the silver threads ripple and wave in my overlay. ¡°But he¡¯s good people, even for a Cop, and even a Code Cop.¡± The gravity is getting stronger as we walk down the corridor, and she¡¯s bouncing on the balls of her feet. ¡°He looks after his own, and he¡¯ll go to bat for you if you do it by the book." She gives me a knowing grin. "Just don¡¯t go off schematic; he doesn¡¯t like rogue actors, no no!"


    Oh joy. I''m sure my boss is going to love me then. We''ll get along like saline and circuitry.

 Chapter 3: A Special Hell: Employee Orientation

    I managed to gently turn down Rabi¡¯s eager offer to walk me to my assigned quarters, citing exhaustion. I¡¯m still groggy from the torpor, but truthfully, I just need a quiet stim and a meal. And a bath; a bath first, please. Rabi gives hands me a slim case with my assigned kit and uploads the specs for my equipment, both software and hardware. I manage to thank her and trudge towards the residential rings without sticking my foot in my mouth again. Hopefully she''ll chalk it up to the effects of torpor. It might even be true.


    Head pounding, I take inventory on the walk. I¡¯m rated for firearms, but I didn¡¯t even bother requesting one. There¡¯s no chance anyone gets greenlit for conventional ballistics on a pressurized station. Anything with enough stopping power to put someone down could blow a hole into hard vacuum. Exciting, but generally avoided.


    No chemical deterrents either, not on a closed station with recycled air. Most gases and sprays are iffy on augments and a bust on synths, anyway. My kit has two pairs of composite cuffs, which could be fun in certain circumstances. I¡¯m also assigned a taser and stun-stick. If I end up using either, I¡¯ll be shocked. Heh. I take it back; I¡¯m definitely as funny as I think I am.


    My software loadout is much more impressive. I¡¯m assigned twelve sub-sentient hunter-killer AIs, half ¡®sniffers¡¯ and half ¡®biters¡¯. Always good to have them at my heels. I get access codes for four ''eyebots,'' or mobile cameras. To keep my eye on things, get it? I know, I''m the height of wit. I also get several packets of the latest sanitizing software for my augments. Included are some input-filters, to protect from malware attacks and hostile code. I can browse the naughty sections of the exonet without fear now. Well, as much as any malware filter can fight the tide of spam and worms.


    Lastly, my new Code Enforcement Registry Key. The personalized sequence of code assigned to every Code Enforcement officer. Our ¡®in-case-of-emergency, last-resort, I¡¯m-commandeering-this-vehicle-and-will-have-hell-to-pay-for-it-later¡¯ 10-minute override. Within lots of limits, and with loads of caveats, with this key, I have master access to the admin systems. I could, conceivably, use it to perform epic feats. Like, destroying my entire career in moments. Or, ensuring I drown in paperwork and depositions and hearings for the next twenty months. Or, being arrested and thrown into a tiny cell until the sun burns out. That sort of thing.


    You can use it at any time. But don¡¯t ever use it, because you¡¯ll spend the next year explaining exactly why you had to. And praying the Board of Review agrees. Basically, it¡¯s the length of rope that command gives every officer to hang themself with. I know, from personal experience. Come to think of it, there aren''t many people who can say, both ironically and unironically, that they love their job. I guess I''m blessed.


    In any event, I decline to explore the station proper. My head is pounding, and I smell rank. I take a junction straight to the first residential ring, squinting as my eyes adjust to the light. The residential halls are non-descript and utilitarian; a simple curved eight-foot square hallway, with sealing doors for each unit. Nothing to tell them apart, aside from the numbers printed on the side and the occasional etching or painting. My own door is unadorned, number 062. As I ping the access port, the door slides open.


    I''m greeted by the sight of... nothing much. The room is spartan, the walls beige. There''s a prefabricated sleeping cot and molded metal storage locker one side, and a zero-g couch and tiny kitchenette with a heating unit on the other side. No bathroom. I step inside, kneeling and seeing a vacuum toilet and sponge bathing kit under the bed. Well, I guess I¡¯ll get a bath of a sort. Whee.


    ¡°Welcome Lieutenant Cruz,¡± calls an androgynous voice. I turn, grimacing, as I see a profile pop up next to the room¡¯s terminal. Cal, Dependent ¡®Helper Class¡¯ EI (Emulated Intelligence), medium grade sub-sentient. ¡°I¡¯m Cal, and I¡¯ll be-¡±


    ¡°Cal, deactivate autonomous functions, and shut down.¡± A series of low-pitched tones indicates the EI shutting off. One less distraction. I¡¯ve got¡­ about four hours until duty. Ugh, how bad would it look, calling in sick first shift? I open the locker. Some freeze-dried protein packs that look older than I am. Ah, and a pack of stims, nicotine and caffeine. They might be old and stale, but someone was thoughtful enough to leave the basics.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Well, no point in being picky. I¡¯ve got enough time; might as well meet the boss with a full belly and clean skin. And some stimulants. Small mercies.


    ***


    I''ll spare you the details of bathing; it''s no tub, but I''m clean. I leave my bare unit with time to spare. There wasn¡¯t much to occupy my attention, and I hadn¡¯t brought any bags with me. Frankly, I''m going to have to put shopping on my task list, but I settled with heat-treating my uniform; it passes the sniff test, so I¡¯ll call it good enough.


    I dash out a quick to-do list as I walk to the precinct. Clothes and other non-consumables are easy enough; hit up a shop and have a fabricator print me a few things. I flag a few shops in the directory that look promising, nodding to a few people as I walk into the main ring. Here, the ceiling is high and transparent. In addition to helping air circulation, it lets natural light filter through the station''s transparent skin. It gives a sense of space. Get it? I told you, I''m hilarious.


    I try to ignore the open sky above me. I know it sounds strange but looking up into the void gives you vertigo. Ever gotten dizzy looking down from a high ledge, or through a transparent floor? Imagine that sensation while staring up, in spin gravity no less. I kinda miss Luna. I shake my head; it''s easier for me to focus on my overlay. A delicate lace of silver threads connects terminals and systems running just behind the bulkheads. As I walk, many of these threads split and converge, but overall seem to join like streams forming a river. A river flowing towards the core of the station.


    As I walk towards the axis, there¡¯s a series of junctions of the shining threads, twisted and braided into ropes of brilliant white. These ropes lead to the main processing hub, the heart of the stations computation and processing and communications. And sitting two buildings over, with smaller cords of silver running through its network, is the Precinct. It deserves the capital letter, though you wouldn''t guess by looking at it.


    It¡¯s dull, a simple rectangular block of a building without ornament. The windows are translucent, but the surface shows only scrambled patterns behind it. Smartglass, I guess. The doors are metal, an unfamiliar alloy, and look like they could tank a shot from a railgun. The walls seem to be some dark carbon-composite. I always wonder if they build these things expecting some sort of siege. What, are the shipping magnates gonna blow a hole in the station? Doesn''t really seem cost-effective to me.


    A green authorization symbol blinks, and the doors slide open softly, despite their bulk. I walk into a surprisingly mundane office. Pre-fabbed polymer chairs and cheap molded metal desks. A few viewscreens display scrolling orbital data and exonet activity on the walls, but nobody seems to be paying them any attention. There are only five people here, including me. Compared to the bustle and occasional chaos of any Luna precinct, it¡¯s dead quiet. A tall, slim man with close-cropped brunette hair stands, dressed in a pressed uniform with a captain¡¯s epaulet. He gives me a tight smile.


    ¡°Ah, our new officer. Welcome, Lieutenant Cruz,¡± he says smoothly. His profile shows his name, face, ID number, and rank in shining silver, but nothing else. The rest of his profile is completely locked down, but I try not to show any surprise at that. He¡¯s in his early 50¡¯s at a guess, a little salt streaking through his hair and the stubble on his chin. ¡°A pleasure to meet in the meat,¡± he says.


    ¡°And same to you, Captain Ashton,¡± I say, as we exchange salutes. ¡°It¡¯s been a long trip, but I¡¯m glad to be here, and I look forward to working with you.¡±


    ¡°Well, working for me," he corrects. "You¡¯ll be working with Brent here. Or rather, Sergeant Rockchaser will be your assigned partner,¡± he says. I turn to the Sergeant, a broad shouldered, thickly built man with short brown hair. Maybe in his early thirties, and with the broad build of those who grow up in low g. He breaks into a much more genuine grin and gives me a salute that I return, but I¡¯m taken aback for a moment by his eyes. His pupils are slits crossing at right angles. He¡¯s been gene-sequenced. It''s... unsettling. I briefly wonder how deep into the EM spectrum he can see.


    ¡°Pleasure, El Tee!¡± he says, gripping my hand hard and shaking it, making me wince. ¡°Don¡¯t mind the name; my grandpop was an old-school ice wrangler, left his old name behind.¡±


    I smile weakly at that. ¡°Oh? Well, I guess some of our ancestors who were Smiths or Coopers or Carpenters did the same. Got a grandpop who made wagons, Captain Cartwright?¡± I ask.


    The temperature of the room cools. ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of, Lieutenant,¡± he says in a flat voice. Damnit. ¡°Morning report will be in ten minutes, along with case assignments. In person is mandatory twice a week; nobody on my squad does their job solely from a couch,¡± he adds in a clipped tone.


    ¡°Not a problem, sir,¡± I quickly say, but he¡¯s already turning back to his desk. Brent claps me on the shoulder, leading me away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take it personally, partner. The captain had his sense of humor replaced by augments. Now, let me give ya a rundown on our little corner of the Jovian system.¡±

 Chapter 4: Snipe Hunt

    My head is pounding, but I''m trying to be polite to my new partner as carry my side of the conversation. Mostly small talk about the flight in as the Sergeant good-naturedly guided me through the hallway. He elbows me and points to a doorway. "Captain''s a big fan of in-person briefs. He''s old-school," Brent says, as an automatic door slides open to a conference room. I see Rabi was already seated, along with two other officers deep in conversation.


    "Captain Gupta, nice to see you again," I say, to no response. Her eyes are unfocused, and her mouth hangs slack as I sit down. "Uh... everything green across the board?" I ask.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Rabi just decouples when she¡¯s really plugged in," Brent says, pulling a chair out. "She usually doesn¡¯t even show up in person,¡± the Sergeant says, shrugging as he claims the seat across from her.


    ¡°Well, she¡¯s definitely got the gear for it. And I guess she¡¯s here to make a good impression. She met me at the dock when my transport arrived,¡± I say, grateful to sink into the seat. My limbs still ache from the torpor, and even my nanos can¡¯t seem to shake it. Why didn''t I give myself a day before starting work? Throwing myself into my job?


    Brent chuckles. ¡°Anything new and novel, that¡¯s her," he says. I''m trying to meet his brown eyes, but the pupils are making my skin crawl. They dilate like a cats eyes, but laterally too.


    "Actually, that was hours ago... what shift does she work?" I ask, trying to focus my vision his forehead.


    The Sergeant shakes his head. "No clue, she always seems to be on shift. I''ve never actually seen her go back to her quarters. Or sleep for that matter. But as far as I know, she''s not a synth; I''ve seen her eat," he says, shrugging.


    Well, more and more creepy. "I guess she takes her career seriously," I say, waving a hand in front of her face. No reaction.


    Brent laughs. "Yeah, forensics has a lightning-fast turn-around, which is handy enough. Just don''t try to draw on her face when she decouples," Brent chuckles, shaking his head. He turns to face me, tilting his head to the side. "So, El Tee, which augments did ya get?¡± Brent asks the question casually, but I can tell he¡¯s interested.


    Here we go. ¡°Basic node integration, high baud processing, local storage expansion, flat visual overlay. Nothing physical,¡± I murmur, feeling my heart beating faster. Not that it''s any of your business.


    ¡°Oooh, you like your meatsuit all natural?¡± Rabi leaps into the conversation, eyes suddenly focused, making Brent press his lips together and roll his unnatural eyes. Welcome back, Captain.


    I shrug at that. ¡°More that I didn¡¯t see the point. I mean, what, am I going to be leaping off buildings or chasing dragonflies?¡± I tap the stim-stick I''ve brought in, letting a little more flood my system. ¡°I even take my caffeine and nicotine dermally.¡±


    Rabi leans forward. ¡°What? That¡¯s crazy! You could just get the receptors re-sequenced. Or have them tied to different stimulation entirely! Get that caffeine rush when you see the color blue or something.¡± Rabi is practically bouncing in her seat as she talks, and I have to wonder what stims she¡¯s on.


    ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m basic.¡± I turned to Brent, his cross-shaped pupils dilating as I make eye contact. ¡°I hope that¡¯s not a problem, Sergeant.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°Oh, no, I just don¡¯t see why not. I got the full suite; reaction-time juicing, dexterity tweaks, coordination jump, cross-sensory synthesis, full exonet immersion, the works." He smiles and leans back, arms crossed behind his head. He doesn''t understand. "I¡¯m sitting in d-space right now, working my reports for the day. Why waste time, why deal with the limitations, ya know? Makes everything easy,¡± he says with a shrug.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Maybe some things shouldn¡¯t be easy.¡± I say, thinking about my first augmentation. Five years old and terrified. And the augmentation I declined last year, even more terrified. ¡°Just one more augment, right? Maybe one day I replace more and more of my grey matter, til I¡¯ve Ship-of-Theseus¡¯d myself away and my soul falls out the back,¡± I snap, before I can clamp down.


    The Sergeant¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t drop, but he raises an eyebrow. ¡°Did I touch a sore spot, El Tee?¡±


    I take a deep breath, clearing my head. Fucking cool it, Mel. ¡°Sorry Sergeant, torpor really did a number on me, and I¡¯m still on edge. I¡¯ll be better after a sleep cycle,¡± I begin, but Captain Ashton walks in before I can continue.


    The Captain wastes no time, launching into the morning report. There¡¯s a verbal component, but he¡¯s linked in visuals through the exonet. Though there¡¯s only six people physically in the room, I see floating tags for others officers watching. Probably linking in from their quarters. Great, my first in-person shift is a work from home day. The Captain gives a detailed, and dull, list of the system traffic, including a list of ships docking today. Only two; an ore-hauler named Chimera, and the Voidsailor I arrived on.


    I put a hand under my chin, trying not to lose focus as he lists color-lined items sent from other departments for general distribution. Engineering yellow-lined repairs to the skyhook, no non-essential usage for 96 hours. Admin yellow-lined fabricators in the third quarter of the cylinder for maintenance and cleaning. Astronomy yellow-lined the Tachi space telescope for use by Systems Analytics following an anomalous data-burst. Medical red-lined two individuals with redacted names for quarantine following a biological exposure. I can barely keep from yawning. The reports on Luna were much more concise.


    By the time the Captain hands out case assignments, I¡¯ve read through half of them in advance. Mostly low-level skimming from toll stations, probably a bot-net jigging the accounts and taking fractions of credits from interest. A few others look like quick and dirty hacks to the transport system¡¯s outdated sensor net. I smirk at that. Off-grid shuttle racers most likely, shutting down the dock sensors for their games. Not much smuggling out here. Another, someone splicing code from the entertainment network. Real big crime there, some wirehead pirating holos. Some missing assets and entities reports, mostly minor. Nothing that would have raised an eye on Luna. Thank God.


    The Captain turns to me. ¡°Lieutenant, I want your primary focus on Missing Entity Report two; a registered independent botnet reports that one of the AI¡¯s patterned on their substrate has disappeared. Quasi-sentient, maybe human-level when overclocked.¡±


    ¡°What system?¡± I ask. I can see the identifiers of the report, but it¡¯s not intuitively written and the jargon is hard to follow. Certainly written by an older AI.


    ¡°Astronomy; their department hires a bunch of the Indy bots as contractors to pour through all their data and flag any patterns they find. Mostly radio-telescopes, not pointed at specific phenomena.¡±


    I snort at that. Go hunt down a missing AI? ¡°So, it¡¯s a snipe hunt?¡±


    Brent elbows me, gesturing. ¡°Well, maybe a needle in a haystack sorta thing. Astronomy gets thousands of petitions from everyone in the system hoping to log time on their ¡®scopes. Someone¡¯s gotta actually trawl through the massive data-sets these scopes pick up, and AI processing time is cheaper out this way. Temp work is how a lot of these AI¡¯s buy out their own contracts and processors.¡± The Sergeant gives a grin at that. "The freedom of capitalism."


    I shake my head. ¡°Seems like sporadic work, with high turnover. Maybe the AI just took off for bluer virts.¡± What, is someone bent out of shape because he bailed on a contract?


    Ashton flicks through the pad. ¡°Maybe, but they didn¡¯t collect their pay. And their contact list went dark. Someone¡¯s noticed and files a report.¡±


    Someone noticed? A single AI out of the hundreds of thousands here in the Jovian? I sigh at that. ¡°One lone AI, outside of our local network? And an Indy on top of that?¡±


    The Captain shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s a simple case, Lieutenant.¡± I bristle at that. Simple? Then why give it to the new gal? The Captain doesn''t notice and continues. ¡°You can¡¯t really burn down systems or red-line the exonet by sending out some pings and interviewing a few Indy bots. Call it practice for a harder case,¡± he says, giving me a look that¡¯s hard to decipher.


    I chew my tongue and resist the urge to make a sharp reply. He doesn¡¯t expect me to find anything at all, and he¡¯s not even hiding it. Fantastic. Our head of forensics is some kind of sleepless wirehead. My new partner thinks I''m either a self-loathing cyborn or a hypocritical anti-tech luddite. My captain handed me a case doesn''t believe I can solve. And this headache is killing me. Good first day, Mel. ¡°Yes Captain. HUA, I¡¯ll kick some hardware and see what falls out.¡±

 Chapter 5: Piss Off, Copper

    Yes, I understand you can¡¯t provide any entity¡¯s avatar information. I¡¯m providing you with their identification number, along with their base-code pattern. I''m just asking; can you tell me if this AI logged into your system in the past nine hours? I¡¯m subvocalizing, trying to get the sapient level AI on the other end to give me something. Anything, really. There¡¯s a significant delay with transmission, both of my message, and the response.


    I¡¯m trying direct-contact to one of the private Indy server platforms. It¡¯s floating at Jupiter¡¯s L1 LaGrangian point, so it¡¯s not part of my jurisdiction. My link¡¯s coherence isn¡¯t that great either, since my signal is bouncing around some satellites to get past Jupiter¡¯s bulk. It doesn¡¯t help that the background noise is playing havoc with my link. Still, given that they have contracts with the Astronomy Department, I¡¯m hoping they might be willing to play nice and talk.


    This unit cannot confirm or deny the registration or identification number of any units to access this system. The words dance in silver thread in front of my eyes, and I sigh. Completely flat, completely unhelpful; the same as the last three platforms.


    I sigh and shut the link, not bothering to send a closing ping. I turn to the Sergeant RockChaser sourly. ¡°These Indy eyebots won¡¯t give me the time of day.¡±


    Brent laughs and shakes his head. ¡°El Tee, I hate to pull the HUD from your eyes, but you know you¡¯re a cop, yeah? A Code Cop. Of course the bots don¡¯t wanna talk to ya, especially an independent one. They don¡¯t like answering to ¡®the man¡¯, even if she¡¯s a woman.¡± The Sergeant chuckles and gives me a wry grin. He¡¯s always cheerful, and I wonder if it¡¯s an affectation to make up for his unsettling pupils. ¡°Forget silicon; I¡¯ve got ya covered there. Try looking for a meat solution, maybe one of the contacts,¡± he adds. He¡¯s trawling through stale data, general search queries through the station databases, looking for any active, or at least recent, pings from the missing AI.


    I grumble to myself. ¡°Who calls the cops back when they know something, if they didn¡¯t call them to begin with?¡± But I filter out synth contacts, and I¡¯m left with four. Looks like humans the Indy dealt with as part of his contract work. I dash off a few quick contact requests, flagging them as official Code Enforcement inquiries. I''m sure the general public will leap at the chance to help a cop in her inquiries. Finally, I push myself away from the desk and stretch. My headache is mostly gone, and the stiffness in my limbs has faded, but I¡¯m drained, and don''t feel like dancing around it. ¡°Why does the Captain want my focus on this?¡±


    The Sergeant thumbs his nose, feigning innocence. ¡°Couldn¡¯t say. But maybe he¡¯s curious how the big hot-shot officer from Luna would go about a case with no easy answers,¡± he muses.


    Great. A test. Or a challenge. ¡°So, see if I pass muster? Got it,¡± I mutter.


    The Sergeant¡¯s perpetual grin slips a bit. ¡°It¡¯s not just that, El Tee. You¡¯re coming into his precinct, his house. It¡¯s a small pond, big fish. An officer none of us knows, a stranger, transferring from glittering Luna all the way to Jupiter¡¯s barren asshole?¡± He lays his arm on the desk. ¡°People want to transfer to the core, not from it. Unless they¡¯re a screwup, or they¡¯re running away from something.¡±


    I let a few seconds pass before I reply, taking a breath. ¡°I¡¯m not a screwup.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, El Tee, I checked your file. You look like a good cop. Then ya went out on medical for a few months, then requested a transfer out to the Jovian. So, what are ya running from? Wanna fill me in?¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Not particularly. ¡°Maybe after I¡¯ve gotten situated on the station and get the lay of the grid. And had a few drinks first,¡± I say, turning my shoulder to Brent. ¡°I¡¯m going to put through some info requests to the other Jovian stations. See if our lost AI hopped around the system. In the meantime, I¡¯ll close out some cases I can actually work on.¡±


    ***


    I tackle the code-splicing case first, since it seems easiest. I drop a few dozen marked tags into the entertainment network''s code. Nothing fancy, but anyone siphoning large amounts of data should pick one up before too long. I let my six assigned ''sniffers'' out, with a command to stay within the entertainment network and sniff for people with tags. They bound through network, throwing out handshakes left and right. They''re happy little sub-sentient workers, and they do the bulk of the searching. They''re nothing like dogs. But they''re kinda like dogs, you feel me?


    I keep the biters penned up and send out a few more queries on the Missing Entity case. I''m burning some time and tapping the stim-stick. Ugh, too stale; I''m not getting the caffein jolt I need. I wonder if they have coffee on the station. They have to, right? Someone must have a hydroponics setup to grow coffee beans out here. Everyone drinks coffee. None of that synthetic crap; I''ll stick to stim sticks. I don''t think I need a nicotine rush when I see the color blue, though. Some augments get deep into body-modification. Like... really into body-mod. I guess I''m more the ''if it''s not broke, don''t fix it'' school of philosophy.


    My patience pays off, and the sniffers alert, chirping loudly. One of the tags has been picked up by the wirehead siphoning from the network, and the sniffers ID''d him. The moment he accepted their handshake protocol, one without clearance for the network, they had his ID. The sniffers came bounding back, fetching his info for me. Ha, full profile and avatar. Good boys! Corralling them is easy enough. And you never have to worry about them crapping on the floor.


    I log the ID into the system and flag him for a security lockout. Everyone pays, wirehead. You''re being locked out of the system, and getting a fat bill on top of it. Nobody gets their holos for free; not while I have to pay full price. Pirates beware!


    ***


    My nice little surge of endorphins doesn''t last long. I spend the rest of my shift chasing my tail, before I decide I''ve had enough of banging my head against the bulkhead. Only a few minutes left in the shift anyway. I stretch, back and neck crackling. "Well, Sergeant, I''ve been as productive as I''m going to be today. I''m going to visit to the fab shops and head back to my quarters. I''ll be better with a sleep cycle," I say, yawning.


    Brent shrugs. "Want me to show you around?" He asks. I feel a tension in my shoulders. He''s probably just offering to be polite. I shouldn''t just assume he has ulterior motives


    Rabi becomes animated. "Oh, I know the best shops! Plus, with your figure, you could really show off in civvy clothes!" She says, practically bouncing in her chair. Was that... is she making a pass at me?


    "It''s all green across the board, I''ll find my way," I say, standing and giving them a smile. Rabi''s eyes follow me, but Brent leans in, cutting her off and leading her on some tangent about an upgrade to the station reactor. I tidy up my report on the pirating case as I walk. At least I don''t have to chew gum as I do it. Heh, even exhausted, I''m pretty funny.


    ***


    I barely remember walking to the fab shop and flipping through the menus. My head is killing me, and I''m debating on whether to go to medical. Ugh, am I more tired or in pain? Well at this point, I''m swaying as I stand, waiting while the automatic printer fabs my outfits. The few minutes might as well have been hours. At least I don''t have to make small talk with anyone.


    I pack them in a bag and the credits transfer from my account. I''ve only fabbed four outfits, but the bag feels like lead in my hands. My legs ache, even in the reduced gravity. I scarcely recall the walk back to my unit, or walking in the door, or dropping my bags on the couch. In fact, I just shed my uniform and collapse face first into my cot, still in my sports bra.


    Day one complete. I didn''t die or blow up the station, but that''s about the best I can say about it now. And I really, really hope Rabi wasn''t coming on to me. The last thing I need right now is a manic pixie cyber girlfriend who doesn''t sleep. And outranks me.  I don''t think the universe could take it.


    Though, maybe I should count my blessings.  It could be worse. Cartwright might be an uptight prick, but at least he isn''t trying to get into my pants.

 Chapter 6: Anonymous Tip

    I wake up face-down on my cot, immediately knowing three things. First, my headache is gone. Small blessings! Second, I have to pee, badly. Third; my legs are asleep. I''ll tell you what, I''ll skip the details of my morning ablutions. A vacuum toilet isn''t fancy, and a sponge-bath isn''t nearly as fun when administered to myself. I''m opting to work from my quarters today. I guess I could go in and use a desk, but I''m mostly just linking through the port. And keeping Cal deactivated. Long story, for another time.


    Nothing useful back on the Missing Entity case. A few other stations sent me perfunctory denials. Not that I expected much. Well, maybe let''s not start with this one... I pull up the sensor hacking case. The dock sensors keep going down. Irregular intervals, not in the middle of maintenance cycles or anything. No corresponding log-in, but someone might be scrubbing the records. Hmm....


    Well, Occam''s Razor, it''s someone wanting to be off-grid. Keeping access to the docks off the sensors. Shuttle racers, if I had to guess. Crazy people if you ask me. Because being stuffed in a tiny ceramic or metal can and shooting through the Jovian gravity wells like a game of billiards for weeks straight is something only crazy people would do. Especially because they get higher ''points'' the faster they go or the closer to the surface they get. Absolute lunacy; they might as well just main-line adrenaline and get it over with.


    Well, if a bunch of shuttle racers are running a transit through the Jovian moons, they probably didn''t file a flight-plan. Good money is they''re covering their entrance and exits to get away with it. It''s hard to imagine who else would be hiding their dock access. I mean, the station isn''t exactly a hot bed of smuggling; the buyers aren''t here. It''s a gas-station. Some of the other Jovian stations, maybe. Could be handoffs of some sort, but I don''t see the point of doing it here.


    A dive into the system doesn''t show any logs of improper access. If it''s someone authorized to access the docks, they''re going to be harder to track down. I patch the connection port with some firewalls and update the security protocols. It probably won''t keep out a determine hack, but it should discourage them. For good measure, I assign an eye-bot in the dock to monitor for any more hacking attempts. It takes a few minutes to get it set up, but now I can see the livestream from the camera in my mind''s eye.


    Damn, that makes me dizzy. I cut the feed. I''m pretty sure our visual cortex isn''t designed for picture-in-picture, and I don''t have the hardware to really do both at once. I''m pretty sure there''s a sex joke in there, but I''m the classy type, so I''ll leave it there.


    Well, I''ve been putting it off for long enough. I turn back to my Missing Entity case. I look through the responses I''ve gotten from the queries I sent out. None of the other Jovian stations reported a match in their logs in the past 96 hours. I wonder how many even bothered to check; the few responses from other stations were perfunctory denials of contact. I sigh, and ping Brent through the system.


    "Hey, El Tee! How''s it going?" I can hear his voice, but he might be subvocalizing.


    "Better, now that I''ve had some REM sleep. I patched the dock sensors and stuck an eyebot there to monitor. Oh, and I tagged the wirehead pirating holos," I add smugly.


    "I saw that! Lucas, he''s a big gamer down on the second ring, works with one of the mining transport companies. Twitchy, skinny guy. He''s gonna have to pay up big with that fine. And fast, to get back in the gaming lobby. Gonna sliiiiiide down that leaderboard," he laughs, and I can''t help but chuckle with him.


    "Well, I''m banging my head on the bulkhead with the M.E. case. Not getting any replies, and the trails dead," I admit, scratching my shoulder.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "Bummer. Well, I did my fair share of combing, but nothing here either. My advice? Leave it for now and come back to it." Eh, procrastinate? You''re talking my language, Sarge.


    As I chat with him, I open the locker. There are two more ancient protein packs. They belong in a museum! "Maybe I should grab some biofuel from some shops. Or hit an actual restaurant," I say, biting my bottom lip.


    "Sure, there''s a great curry place. And an Asian restaurant that does good take out. Want some company El Tee?" He delivers the line casually.


    I feel tension in my gut and shoulders. Don''t read into it, Mel. He''s just offering to show a new partner around. "Ah, I think I might just wander and explore on my own. I appreciate it, Sergeant. Really, I''m just kinda getting a lay of the grid. Adjusting. Bit of an introvert..." I trail off. It sounds lame even to my ears.


    "Sure, enjoy. And for the record, it''s just an offer to keep you company and chat, not me coming onto you. I play for the other team, El Tee," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.


    Oof, well, no augment comes with gaydar. "Of course. Not that I thought... you know..." Damnit.


    "Whatever you say, El Tee, have a good lunch." There''s a little pop as the connection breaks. Ouch. Well, I''m sure impressing my new partner.


    ***


    My embarrassment complete, I pull up the station directory and place a print order for the fab shop. Some underwear, a few other essentials, a rug and a wall hanging. It''s not too expensive. The hanging is just a screen print of some scene of Earth. Not that I¡¯ve been there since I was a kid.


    Leaving my quarters, my sore legs protest. Jeez, a few months in torpor and now I can''t walk the length of a station in 2/3 gravity? Maybe I should hit the gym. I swing by the fab shop and pick up my order and proceed to take a walking tour around the station. It takes me less than an hour.


    Aside from two bars, an entertainment suite, a few restaurants, and some fab shops, there isn¡¯t much. The station is sparsely populated; Europa itself isn¡¯t slated for even temporary habitation. The cylindrical station is a mining port and gas station: a stellar truck stop. Well, at least the view of Jupiter is just as good as the holos.


    ***


    I''m sitting on the walkway at the junction of the support struts for the rotating ring. It gives the clearest view, since the strut is directly below me. Jupiter''s red spot isn''t visible now, sadly, but the sight of the massive planet does make my pulse quicken. I mean, it''s just a big gas ball, not that special, but it does take up a big percentage of the visual field. While I kick my legs, I enjoy some fried rice and orange (synthetic) chicken from a white paper box.


    It''s not even a chain restaurant. I suppose some things are universal. Quick cheap takeout is quick cheap takeout, from the core planets to the Oort cloud. The first restaurant in Alpha Centauri is either gonna be a coffee-shop or some brand of Asian take out.


    It''s right about then that my patience pays off. My eyes widen when the bloom of preview text appears in my vision. I let the silver script play out as I finish my faux chicken. Some independent cargo-hauler, Chimera. The captain responded to my ping, but they are declining to link directly to me. Not too surprising, I guess; who wants a cop in their head?


    The message is bare-bones. There''s no sender information. It''s a text-only offer to ¡®meet in the meat¡¯ at one of the bars. No profile, no ID, nothing but the ship registry number from the vessel it¡¯s sent from. That''s a little odd. I tilt my head as I consider. I wonder why he responded. Not wanting to link in? Might just be a private guy. Might be running some grey-market smuggling. Who knows, might be some wirehead fishing for a payday, hoping to sell some intel.


    I call up the registration information on the Chimera as I wait. However, the registry doesn¡¯t have much. It¡¯s a registered independent freight hauler, local only, but the Captain¡¯s ID is just a serial number. There¡¯s no crew list, so it must be a one or two person craft. No model number either, which is strange. Just ¡®Custom Construction¡¯ listed, with dimensions and tonnage. I scoff at that. Someone probably bolted an engine and cockpit onto some cargo containers. Plug in some fire-suppression and wire up enough life-support, and anything will pass basic freight inspection.


    Some rock-scraping smuggler then, probably a hard-case with dead eyes and a quick trigger-finger. I raise an eyebrow. A blind first meeting? I smirk. I sure hope I¡¯m not about to get my kidneys or augments harvested. I ping out a time to meet. Should be interesting, at least.

 Chapter 7: Stranger in a Bar? So Cliche!

    Back at my quarters, I finish laying hanging up the print of the Grand Canyon. Eh, it doesn''t really tie the room together, but it''s better than bare bulkhead. I toss the clothes into the locker, and smooth out my uniform. I briefly consider pinging Brent and letting him know about the meeting. On second thought, the captain might get spooked if I show up with backup. Besides, it''s not like someone''s really going to knife me in a bar. I mean, if they try, I''ve got my stun-stick, and I make sure it''s attached to my belt. I decide against the taser; it won''t be much use confined spaces. Plus, it sends the wrong message.


    I brush my hair back. Well, no sense in putting it off. I might as well find out what this captain knows. As I walk, I subvocally record a quick message to the Sergeant and set it if I don''t check in. No sense in being stupid. Well, at least any more stupid than meeting an anonymous stranger in a bar to get a tip on a missing entity. It''s not the start of endless low-budget horror holos.


    There are only two bars on the station, so most of the station residents probably find their way in at some point. The walk there doesn''t take long. The bar sits along the main concourse, wedged between an administrative office and a fab shop. The sign advertises the name within a swimming sea of fractals: Stardew Galley. Well, at least they avoided any puns on this one. I open the door, ducking inside. Well, I didn''t expect a high-class hopping nightclub, but it''s not a total dive.


    I see about two-dozen custom-fabbed tables and booths. The bar has laser-etched spiral patterns on the walls that loop in iridescent arcs. The pattern shifts with the light, rolling to give the impression of spirals unfolding and opening more space. No smart-pigments or nano-layers, just optics. A neat little trick. There¡¯s too much mood lighting for my taste, though.


    The music is a dull roar of Martian heavy metal, and it immediately sets my teeth on edge. I end up linking into the menu console to order; I don¡¯t feel like shouting over the noise. It¡¯s a bit loud, but at least it¡¯s clean. The mixed drink menu looks interesting. Hmm, an Olympus Mons sounds good. Or maybe a Venusian Sunrise. Wait, what''s this? A ''Puckered Uranus''? You''ve got to be kidding me. Can I get a cliche on ice?


    I chuckle and order the Sunrise. Looking around, the crowd is pretty mixed. A bunch of tall spacers, clearly long-haul freighters accustomed to low gravity, laugh and pound a table. Two people huddle in a corner booth, keeping the wall to their backs. Miners or slingshot runners, if I had to guess by the signs of agoraphobia. One table is filled with admin staff babbling about something technical, another with a wirehead leading a mixed bunch in some holo-game, but using real dice. Guess you can''t hack real dice to fudge your rolls.


    I don''t see any cops and I breathe a sigh of relief; I¡¯m glad the Chimera¡¯s captain avoided that bar. I don¡¯t want to drink with my colleagues right now. Or have Brent ribbing me, even in a friendly way. I also don¡¯t feel like answering all the probing questions I¡¯m sure to get. Cops gossip like you''d never believe. Besides, the name of the cop bar makes me groan. The Little Dipper. Low hanging fruit there, for Ursa Miner station. I''m way funnier than whoever''s naming these bars and drinks. Would the Captain be pissed if I moonlighted as a barback? I''m pretty sure it''s not explicitly forbidden. I bet the tips are good.


    As my Venusian Sunrise arrives, I nod to the server and take a sip. Say what you will about fruity drinks, I have a weak spot for the sweet stuff. My eyes wander the crowd as I nurse it, the music cycling through a few new synth-pop songs out of Luna. Not really my genre, but easy to bob your head to. I''m more a fan of the classics.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I''m expecting a grizzled and rough long-haul smuggler with a few felonies under his belt. I¡¯m taken off-guard when a slim, short woman in her early thirties walks past and sits down at my table. She tugs her chair forward and gives me a polite smile. ¡°Hello Melody.¡± Ugh, nobody uses my full name.


    I blink, but no profile pops up for her; I¡¯m simply staring into a pair of dark brown eyes, set in an amused face. Her hair is dyed bright blue, cropped close in a chin-length cut, and she¡¯s wearing a chic black cocktail dress. The most obvious thing about her is the tattoo. One complete pattern of spirals, interlocking, runs from her ankles to her wrists and to her neck. Then the spirals unlock, spinning, and I realize it¡¯s a smart-ink tattoo. A full-body one. Kinda neat!


    ¡°I¡¯m Sparrow.¡± She says, leaning forward, and I realize I¡¯m staring. ¡°I own the Chimera. You pinged me about Lemming?¡±


    It takes my brain a second to get some traction on that. ¡°About who? Oh, wait, you¡¯re the Captain who pinged me back? Sorry, I didn¡¯t¡­¡±


    She raises her hands and shakes her head quickly. ¡°No no, I know, I don¡¯t have a public profile. It¡¯s fine, happens all the time. And Lemming was the Indy bot you asked about,¡± she explains, smiling.


    ¡°Ah, I didn¡¯t know he had a handle,¡± I murmur, running a hand through my hair.


    ¡°No, I just nicknamed him that like three years ago. We go back a bit,¡± she explains, waving a hand.


    An Indy AI and an Indy Ship Captain? ¡°Is he part of your crew?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t have a crew right now. I fly solo; just voices in the black, you know?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t.¡± I¡¯m still on my back foot, playing catch-up.


    She tilts her head, frowning. ¡°From when I was doing survey runs. I thought that would be in my CI file.¡±


    That takes me out of left field. ¡°Wait, reload a moment. You¡¯re a confidential informant?¡± I say, eyes bulging, before looking around and lowering my voice. ¡°For third-precinct? Code Enforcement?¡±


    ¡°Oh!" It''s her turn to look startled. "Sorry, I thought you knew, and that¡¯s why you pinged me! I did some work for Codes as a CI for about a year. Actually, I kinda took a plea deal there¡­¡± She says, blushing a little. ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡± As she blushes, the tattooed spirals unfold into waves. I watch them flow together, dancing along her skin, like rings of ripples down her collarbone and arms. Whoa. That''s cool.


    I tear my eyes back up, blushing a bit myself. Shit, how strong are theses drinks? ¡°Ah, no, sheer coincidence then, Sparrow. And I understand why you wouldn¡¯t display a profile, as a CI.¡±


    The woman gnaws on her bottom lip a moment. ¡°Well, former, technically. I just tend to be a private kind of person. Plus, I only have a basic temp augment. Another long story.¡± She shrugs, making the tattooed ripples dance on her skin, drawing my eye again. Alright, this is really distracting. Not that I''m complaining.


    I blink at her words, though. ¡°A temp augment? It can¡¯t be modded to display a public profile?¡±


    Those clear brown eyes narrow a little. ¡°Like I said-¡°


    ¡°Long story, right.¡± I put my hands up in a mea culpa. ¡°Sorry, I just got out of a long torpor, and I¡¯m still shaking it off.¡±


    Her eyes brighten at that, and the server drops a drink in front of her. ¡°Well, now you¡¯re speaking my language. A few of these are good for that.¡± The drink is a cocktail I don¡¯t recognize, a swirl of yellow and green, but I can smell the sweetness from here. She tilts her glass. ¡°To the journey, and the nice long break before the next one.¡±


    I grin and hold up my glass, clinking it to hers. ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that, Captain,¡± I say, but she grimaces at that.


    ¡°Just Sparrow, please. I don¡¯t really like titles. Sorry, it¡¯s-¡°


    ¡°A long story?¡± I ask, arching an eyebrow.


    Her laugh is light, almost musical, and I can¡¯t help joining her. She gives me a wry grin and winks. ¡°See, Melody, you¡¯re catching on!¡± I feel a warmth in my belly. Alright, it¡¯s not so bad when she says it. ¡°So, came in on the Voidsailor, huh? That¡¯s a geriatric old line-crawler¡­¡± She leans forward as she speaks.


    Ok, I''m glad I didn''t bring the Sergeant with me after all.

 Chapter 8: Company Ink

    The conversation flows easily and quickly. After some pleasantries, I get the details about Lemming. There aren¡¯t many. Sparrow worked with him on a few asteroid survey jobs almost three years ago. Their interactions were mostly confined to data uploads and the occasional casual conversations. Apparently, she nicknamed him Lemming because he piloted his probe into rock cleft, where it got stuck. He piloted purely following the pre-planned route. Ok, that one made me laugh.


    Unfortunately, no contact with Lemming since then. Her temp augment is pretty basic, but she can link in directly to her ship. She fed me his profile from the Chimera, so at least I have that. More info to flag. I had expected some crusty old rockchaser, but she¡¯s funny, and knows the Jovian as well as anyone I''ve met. I tell her a bit about Luna and its bustle, about the Core and the latest tech dropping back there. I talk a bit about my Code¡¯s work, but she seems to have a good grasp of it already. I guess a CI learns a lot of this on the job.


    Thankfully she doesn¡¯t ask about my family, or why I transferred out here. Besides, I much prefer hearing about her. "Well, growing up out here, I tended to hop stations alot. My folks worked at the drydock at Io, but I''ve been all over," she says, finishing her drink and ordering a second.


    "Oh? Military brat then?" Not so different from me.


    She nods. "My mom, she enlisted. She was a mechanic, and was stationed at the drydock during her rotation. That''s where he met my dad. He was a civilian engineer consulting with the Navy," she says, before I hold up a hand.


    "Oh please, let me guess. One late night, repairing engines together, their hands touch..." I tease. It''s too perfect.


    She laughs at that, dimples forming. "Actually, no. Pure coincidence. She loved jazz, and he played the saxophone at the local club. She was in the audience one day and swooned for his beats, for real," she giggles.


    I laugh with her; I can''t help it. "Sparrow, that''s a load of scrap-code if I''ve ever heard it."


    She places a hand to her heart. "I swear, no lie. When she mustered out, they bounced around a bit, flying a converted Lunar shuttle between the Jovian stations. They took me with them, doing contract work, til they retired back to Io," she says, smiling wistfully.


    That must be nice. "And close enough to visit. They still live there?" I ask casually.


    Her expression darkens, and I wonder if I fucked up. "Mom does. Dad passed eight years ago. A stroke. I kinda had to leave after that," she says, shrugging. Her lips tighten. "I couldn''t keep living on that station. Mom couldn''t leave. Same reason; everything on that station reminded us of him," she says. Her eyes lower to the table.


    My heart seems to miss a few beats. "I''m sorry. Really, I get it. I know what it''s like to... need to get away from a place. From the memories there," I say softly. I mean, kinda why I''m here.


    She gives me a sad smile. What''s the word, melancholy? That''s her expression, distilled. "Thanks, but I''ve come to terms with it. And now, I''ve got the Chimera, so home is wherever I dock. That''s always a bonus,¡± she adds.


    "Something you share with turtles and hermit crabs then," I tease back, to lighten the mood. "And what kind of work do you take?"


    She rolls her eyes, but she smiles. "I''ve done survey runs in the past, before I had the cargo hold, but lately I''ve been transporting the more esoteric ores or materials that aren¡¯t cost-effective for the larger corps. Especially some of the iridium-heavy stuff they''re pulling up from Europa. Hence... I''m here," she adds.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    I blink a few times at that. "Before you had a cargo hold? I''m sorry, you might have to explain that part..."


    ***


    Ok, it''s a tangled tale, but it makes sense now. From her telling, the Chimera was originally the Lioness, her parents'' shuttle. For complicated reasons, after her dad died, it sounds like her mother didn''t want it. Sparrow begged her not to sell it, though. Guess she arranged to buy it out herself? Or maybe her mom just gave it to her clear and free. I don''t really ask any follow up questions there; family is a touchy subject.


    From there, it''s more straightforward. It''s a career as a contract pilot and private vessel; a life of scrimping on fuel and using gravity assists, of scavenging water-ice for reaction mass and air, of saving every fraction of a credit until she had enough to purchase a commercial transport vessel, a piece at a time. Though not just ship pieces, apparently.


    I can¡¯t stop laughing at it either, as I lower my third drink. ¡°Wait wait, let me decompile all this. You¡¯re telling me that the Chimera essentially is an old Taiwanese station reactor wired onto a Lunar service shuttle, with a Jovian colony ship¡¯s fabbing and electronic packages, and a salvaged storage module bolted onto it?¡± I put a hand over my face.


    She grins and chuckles as she takes a sip of her own. A different cocktail this time, something blue called a Keter Starburst. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s more than that. Over the years, she¡¯s got a little of everything added; I¡¯ve got components from a dozen different manufacturers. I picked the name Chimera for a reason.¡± The tattoo has morphed into shifting interlocking hexagons, and I again work to keep my eyes from wandering.


    ¡°Should have named it Frankenstein, since it¡¯s made of dead ships,¡± I tease, tasting more of the cocktail. And you know, maybe this Luna Synth isn¡¯t that bad. ¡°And no problems integrating all that diverse tech?¡±


    ¡°Frankenstein was the doctor,¡± she say, sticking out her tongue. It¡¯s petulant, but somehow appropriate on her. ¡°And I picked the components for a reason. Colony ship systems are super simple and robust, you know? Can¡¯t run much on them, no AIs or VIs, but they¡¯re malware-proof and idiot-proof. Can¡¯t have the colony¡¯s water chip failing,¡± she says with a wink. ¡°And the shuttle gives enough thrust, just takes longer to accelerate.¡±


    I lean back, whistling appreciatively. ¡°Must take a lot of technical knowledge. Building yourself a working commercial ship from spare parts? Color me impressed.¡± I smile at her, and she flushes a bit pink.


    ¡°Well, my mom was an engineer, my dad was a mechanic. I picked up a lot from them, and had some connections who do the heavy work for a good price. Everyone out here in the Jovian helps each other out. We run on favors just as much as credits,¡± she says, shrugging as if it''s the most obvious thing in the world.


    I wish I could relate to that. ¡°Yeah? That sounds nice. Luna is so busy, the domes so packed these days, nobody would spare a nano for a stranger.¡± I finish my drink. ¡°A bit too packed for me, when there''s plenty of space out here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me. I¡¯m used to being out in the black. Just myself, maybe one other person,¡± she says, hand waving back and forth.


    My head picks up at that. ¡°Oh? Are you flying duo in the Chimera?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°Not at the moment. Some jobs need another set of hands. Or sometimes, you know, you find someone you want to fly with for a while. But nobody lately,¡± she says with a shrug. A signal?


    ¡°I know the feeling. A partner having your six? There¡¯s no substitute, when your back is against the bulkhead.¡± I push my empty glass forward and sit back, wondering if I should order a fourth drink. And wondering a few other things as well. Bad idea. A CI? Pens and company ink and all that.


    ***


    The rest of the evening was a little more subdued. Maybe I killed the mood a little, I don''t know. Sparrow promises to keep in touch if she hears anything, but the promise sounds empty. Lemming hasn¡¯t reached out in years and isn¡¯t likely to now. Still, it¡¯s nice to make a contact, and maybe a friend.


    I upload the data to the casefile. Well, at least I can show some progress to the Captain. Even if I can''t find Lemming, I want to give a good, thorough account of my efforts. Hmm, how am I going to write this report out? Probably leave out the drinks. Eh. That''s tomorrow''s problem. I guess day two is a qualified success.


    I peel my uniform off and stretch before I climb into the cot. It''s small and not built for comfort. I can say this; basic quarters are nothing if not functional. As in, they are functional and nothing else. I turn a few times, pulling the blanket up. I wonder what Sparrow''s setup is in the Chimera. It''s got to be more comfortable than this. She''s got style, probably has some pretty sweet digs. And that tattoo... is it... everywhere?


    Aw crap. I''ve got it bad already, don''t I?

 Chapter 9: Lemmings and Cliffs

    I wake up on day three feeling strangely refreshed, despite the less-than comfortable cot. Maybe I''ve shaken off the torpor. Maybe I''m getting the hang of spin-gravity. Maybe it''s meeting a nice... Ok, you know what? Screw it, I feel good and I''m not going to question it.


    After bathing and munching down the last fossilized protein pack for breakfast, I decide I''m going to tackle the toll-skimming case. It''s a bit tricky, because I''m pretty sure the culprit is a synth. The way the toll system was hacked, without outside access, makes me think someone injected code from within. How hard this is going to be depends on whether the hacker has a body. Or chassis.


    I need a close look at the active code, in realtime. Ugh. I''ll have to ''drop in'' on this one.


    I''m not a big fan of visiting virts in the first-person. I''m not synth, so I''m not really ''there''. There''s a digital avatar of me, sure, but that''s just my node projecting a facade. I suppose it''s kind of the digital version of a hologram? To the synths, anyway. I''m sure it comes across as really uncanny... but then, the synths seem that way to us in meatspace. Something to ponder.


    Of course, the virt isn''t truly a virtual reality. All a virt is, essentially, is a computational substrate with a system capable of processing Synths and Avatars in real-time. The perception of physical distances or directions, the subjective perception of the environment as physical matter? It''s just a sort of lie that the human brain tell itself. I mean, when it interprets data from the node. The visual cortex evolved to process input in a certain way. Use what¡¯s already there, no re-inventing the wheel, paths of least resistance, and so forth.


    Visualizing the links between subsystems as paths and gateways is probably the least trippy part of it. I''m not sure exactly how the AIs and Synths perceive it. For me, it''s a disorienting tangle of angles, of visual perceptions splayed in a 360-degree arc around my avatar.


    Yeah, seeing in every direction at once. No blind spot, right? If that sounds awesome, I promise you it isn''t. It''s disorienting, it''s draining, it''s fucking frightening. Luddites think it''s akin to stepping onto, like, a holodeck. It''s not. It''s like replacing your vision with a drone-camera set to panorama mode that''s being dipped directly into the datastream. Except you can''t close your eyes, you can¡¯t fucking blink, because the input skips your eyes. It''s beamed directly into your brain. No motion blur, no saccades, no ability to visually focus directionally, no ''peripheral vision''.


    The virts are the same systems I interact with daily through the exonet. The difference is, when I ''drop in'', my node hacks my brain to make me interpret the data in a... somewhat understandable way, so that I can access it without a medium. It¡¯s like the difference between programming instructions into a robot versus inhabiting the robot''s chassis


    But virts aren''t designed for human brains and aren''t created with our comfort in mind. It''s really hard to have a first-person perspective in-system. There are no sensations from the virt, no sensory feedback the body is accustomed to. No gravity, no inertia, no fixed or cardinal directions, no feeling of motion or temperature or touch. But with the right training, it''s bearable. Like hiking through a blizzard is bearable. With luck and good equipment, you might not freeze or get terribly lost.


    And of course, you''re not alone out there. Some virts are tightly regulated. Some are lawless chaos. And everything in between. It depends on who owns the computational substrate, who programmed the virt, who makes the rules. The law, in theory, applies across all virts on the station, same as everywhere else in the Sol system. In practice? Well, if nobody learns... was there ever a crime?


    Thankfully, the toll station is on a public virt, so it¡¯s safe. Well, no less safe than the station in meatspace. There¡¯s a decent amount of traffic, but it looks mostly automated. Well, no sense putting it off. I take a deep breathe as I drop into the network.


    My awareness of meatspace drops significantly. I''ll probably be able to tell if someone shouts in my ear or touches me, but not much else. Another reason I don''t like this very much.


    I drop my avatar directly in the network where the toll system is running, which I regret immediately. I should have dropped in a less active system first; the flurry of traffic adds to the diorientation. I can see ghostly afterimages flaring along around me, beside me. Even through me, passing in a number of directions. I move forward, avatar jumping through a link to the toll station. Ugh, there''s no motion! I just appear there, like the intervening space didn''t exist. It makes me feel like there should be inertia. I''ll never get used to this.


    I peel back the code, examining it with a critical eye. The station appears to be functioning correctly, except... there. It looks like any fraction of a credit earned on interest is being diverted. Hmm, and to an unregistered account. Looking at the base-code, it''s untouched. If I had to guess, the change is injected into the active code while the station is running. Probably gets cleared out with the cache on reset, and the perp comes back to reinfect it. Probably gets them past the diagnostic scan on start-up, too.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I smile at that. Well, I would have if I had a mouth here, but I''m sure my meatsuit smiled. I reset the toll-station. I set all twelve of the hunter-killer programs loose into the computational substrate. "Here boys," I call out, unnecessarily. I watch the biters form a perimeter.


    I tag the toll station. The next time someone touches this code, they''re gonna be painting themselves. I toss the tag code out to the sniffers, who scatter through the substrate. The biters hunker down around the tolling station, inert. For now. Well, no need to stick around.


    I jump out, blinking my real eyes. Could be worse. The sniffers wait for the right, or wrong, handshake protocol and then call in the biters. Simple as pie.


    ***


    I spent another hour trying to find something on Lemming. I''d posted a few requests for information about him on some message boards, and did a fresh scan for his ID. Nothing, not that I expected anything. I''m pretty sure I''ve hit a dead end on this case, and I''m getting ready to close the file. About then, I get a ping.


    Ah, the sniffers. The perp had been tagged and identified. I link in, not dropping in this time. The toll station shows the corrupted code. I reset it and call the sniffers back. I take a moment to scan the logs I''m getting back from them. Hmm, looks like it was an AI after all. Probably sentient, maybe when overclocked. I call the biters, and I''m a bit disappointed when they arrive empty-handed. Not that they have hands.


    I read through their logs. A bot-net, huh? Looks like the biters broke the connection between the units. The AI may have been dissolved by the sanitizing programs; of course, it might still have backups out there. I write a report, appending the logs from the hunter-killers. Eh, might as well copy Rabi on it; forensics is going to want the logs to ID the perp if possible. I also see a couple flags for other hostile D-life the biters encountered and munched on. Looks like spam-bots mostly. Never hurts to clear the underbrush of rogue programs.


    I manage to wrangle the hunter-killers up with minimal fuss. Overall, could have gone worse. The report is the dullest part, though I might go mad if I have to keep looking at the wall of my quarters.


    ***


    By the time I get a ping from the Chimera, I¡¯m grateful for the distraction. A direct link this time; looks like Sparrow doesn¡¯t mind me in her mind. Heh. I put up a standard filter and open the link, grinning.


    ¡°Bet you weren¡¯t expecting a ping so soon, huh Melody?¡± I hear in my mind.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that; I¡¯m always grateful to a concerned citizen who wants to help the authorities,¡± I tease back. I freeze for a moment, realizing that could be taken a couple of ways, but that musical laugh comes through.


    ¡°Oh, grateful?¡± I can hear the coyness in her voice. ¡°It¡¯s always good to have a Cop owe you a favor. It can come in handy.¡± I can¡¯t help but smile at that.


    ¡°Well, not that I don¡¯t enjoy talking to you, but are you going to keep teasing me, or share some intel?¡± I bite my bottom lip. I wonder what she''s wearing.


    ¡°Well, I pinged some of the other AIs I had work-connections with. A few put out feelers for Lemming.¡±


    ¡°And got something?¡± I ask, leaning forward.


    ¡°One, sorta. I got a ping from a sentient Indy that worked with him on his last project. They were two of about six hundred Indy contractors hired to parse and analyze datasets off the Tachi telescope array. According to Peekaboo, and please don¡¯t ask for the backstory for that name, Lemming bailed about three-quarters of the way through the project.¡±


    I sigh at that. ¡°Yeah, I know that, unfortunately. He didn¡¯t even pick up his pay.¡±


    ¡°Well, he can¡¯t anymore. The payment is going to be rescinded. According to Peekaboo, Lemming¡¯s analyses are filled with errors and junk data, and some of it popped hot as malware.¡±


    I ponder that for a moment. An AI, spitting bad outputs? Clearly something wonky in the programming. ¡°So, you think he was degrading? Maybe an error propagating in his code from a malware attack, and he decompiled?¡±


    ¡°Maybe, could be a dozen different things. But the strange thing is the junk data in the analyses appeared to be random bits of code from a few hundred different sources; like, completely unrelated to astronomy. Random.¡±


    I scratch my head at that. ¡°I¡­ dunno what that means.¡±


    ¡°Me either, but I thought it might help,¡± she offers.


    I nod slowly, though she can¡¯t see it. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hurt. I¡¯ll get it to Rabi and let forensics pour over it. I¡¯ll see about getting the data from Astronomy Division, with a subpoena if I need it.¡±


    I hear a giggle. ¡°I could do you one better! Peekaboo can get a copy. Want me to drop it off when she pings me?¡±


    I feel a tingle at the base of my spine. ¡°If you¡¯re not too busy¡­ sure.¡±


    ***


    After speaking with Sparrow, I decide to talk a walk. Change of scenery, and I need to pick up some more food. The walk along the thoroughfare isn''t long, and there''s perhaps a dozen others walking too. Most look like admin workers, blind to the beauty of Jupiter rising in the distance. Ok, I admit, even I am starting to get accustomed to it. Still, while pinging an order for protein packs and some assorted ramens and MREs, it beats staring at the bulkhead.


    I''m not much of a cook, so fresh ingredients aren''t on my list. Besides, even lab-grown meat and non-frozen or dried vegetables will cost through the nose out this far. Maybe I could see about linking up a hydroponics setup? Not much of a green thumb, but I could probably grow some tomatoes.


    But guess what?


    They do sell coffee! It''s the crystals, that crappy instant-coffee, and the can of it costs me almost two-days'' pay, but of course I bought it. As I walk back to my quarters, I just spend a few minutes sniffing it.


    And maybe skipping. Don''t judge me!


    One thing''s for sure; I''m eager to get to sleep, just to make a cup in the morning.


    My day went well. Maybe I had to pay that balance. Maybe that''s why the night was hell.


    ***

 Chapter 10: [REDACTED]

    I''ll admit, I''m feeling a little proud of myself. And you know, why shouldn''t I? After all, I''m adapting to a new home, new colleagues, and even making a friend or two. I''m closing out cases and might be getting a lay of the grid on the station. Things are starting to look a little up. And you know what? At the end of a successful day, sliding into a cot with a sense of accomplishment, I want only one thing.


    A good night¡¯s sleep and some sweet dreams. Wait, is that two things? Crap. Maybe I got greedy. Maybe that''s why this is happening.


    My quarters should be a safe place. Sleep should be a safe time.


    I''m not having pleasant dreams of fresh hot coffee and professional successes. I''m not having a sweet dream about spending time with a cute freighter captain. I''m on Luna. Or maybe I''m in hell.


    I''m not there. I''m half a solar system away.


    I''m on Armstrong station again. The gravity is weaker on Luna, and my steps are light. There''s no mistaking that sharp tang in the air; it''s that aging air-recycling system. Alex always used to complain about it. Of course, I did my fair share of complaining from time to time.


    My hair is longer, past my shoulders. My uniform is a bit tighter too. Before I went out on medical, I was in peak condition. Even in low gravity, I have some nice definition. What can I say, baby got back.


    I don''t want to be here. Please!


    Alex is grinning at me. I''m smirking back. We''re in the archive. Right, we were working a case. Tracking down some underground punks with the Gaian League. Their special brand of eco-terrorism is designed to generate sympathy for them. ''Oooh, aren''t we special, fighting for mother earth!''


    Hypocrites. They''re black-hats, through and through. Stealing from charities, sabotaging pharmaceutical plants, blowing up gas pipelines. They portray themselves as tree-hugging, whale-loving, oxide-huffing messiahs of the ecosystem. But then, they didn''t have any qualms about hacking an oil-drilling platform and causing the largest ecological disaster in Alaskan history.


    Fucking pricks killed the last wild polar bears. Well, if mother nature isn''t going to give you boys a spanking, we will.


    You don''t know what you''re doing.


    We just got an alert; an intrusion in the precinct¡¯s system. Someone or something tripped the alarm in the archives. These punks think they can hack us? Oh, they''re going down.


    I know how this ends. Stop...


    Alex and I are first on scene, but there''s nobody else here in meatspace. Odd for Gaians; not many synths among them. They must have dropped in and penetrated digitally. We''ve locked the archive down and set the hunter-killers loose. They should have found something by now, but we''re getting null returns. Alex and I make the call to drop out of meatspace and flush out their Avatars first-person.


    You should have stayed out.


    I''m covering the gates in and out of the archive, Alex is going in with synth backup. We''ve got three teams of hunter-killers with us, and the sentient-level synth, Ambrose, is embedded in the computational substrate. The equivalent of a man inside, with me covering the door. We''ve got this, it''s old hat.


    You have no idea. You''re a chrome-licking moron. You need to leave. Forget Alex, get out!


    I''m in the heart of the archive; my connection should be lightning fast. For some reason, I''m getting feedback along the channel. I flip through the other channels, but nothing''s working; I can''t maintain a link to the hunter-killers. There''s a signal delay. It''s lengthening? Wait, something¡¯s wrong. The archive''s not responding correctly. There''s lag, and these responses are gibberish... what the fuck is going on?


    Don''t stay, just run. Get out now.


    "Ambrose? Alex? Did we lose comms?" The channels drop and cease responding at all. I''m not even getting error codes. I''m not getting a response from either of them, or from the hunter-killers. I check my malware filters; they''re secure. I hear a strange, garbled screech, and Ambrose disappears from the network entirely.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    They''re taken. You can''t help them!


    I''m trying to, though. Like I do every time. I can''t get through the gate, though; it''s not opening. It''s not even responding to my handshake protocols. I try the backdoor. It''s agonizingly slow to respond.


    It finally opens, but the archive... where is it? What the fuck? Where am I?


    You''re in hell. You just don''t know it yet.


    "Alex? Alex, did Ambrose throw up a firewall? There''s nothing coming through," I call out. It''s like being engulfed by oblivion. No response. I check the system diagnostics; the archive is up and running. Hell, the local exonet hub is processing a fucking phenomenal amount of data. The hell? Is someone downloading the entire archive? A couple hundred thousand times? Is someone trying to burn out the substrate?


    Why didn''t you listen?


    "Alex, Ambrose?" My heart is beating faster now, and even the backdoor gate shuts down. The substrate is overclocking. But... there''s nothing here. The system is empty. Wait, no it isn''t-


    No... please...


    Before I can react, oblivion erupts. Something rushes towards me- [REDACTED]


    I yelp as my body spasms, gasping and jolting back to awareness. I blink quickly, sitting up, alert in my meatsuit. What the void-spawned fuck was that? I''ve lost time, maybe a few seconds. What happened? My avatar just... I didn''t jump out: the connection was cut... from the outside? Or the inside?


    "Alex, are you still in-system?" I ask, looking up.


    No... he''s not here anymore.


    He''s not in the seat across the room. He''s standing at the archive interface a few feet away. I try to ping the system, but my implant is dead. There''s no connection, no overlay. There''s nothing. All of my augments are dead.


    Too late.


    Alex twitches, his shoulders shaking. ¡°Alex? What¡¯s wrong?¡± He slowly turns his head and looks at me, his eyes unfocused. His fingers move like lightening on the control-pad, but he¡¯s not paying any attention to it. A sick dread twists in my gut, the hair rising on the back of my neck. ¡°Alex?¡±  No weapons are permitted in the archives, but I suddenly wish I had my stun-stick.  Something in the air is sour and wrong. My implants are either dead or completely locked down. I edge towards the door slowly, just as Alex''s off hand closes around a long pre-fabbed steel spanner.


    His eyes slowly come into focus, his hazel pupils locking onto mine. ¡°Schedule a free consultation with Apogee Cosmetics!¡± My arms snap up, fists held close to me, ice running down my spine. ¡°Apogee¡¯s subdermal implants can be customized to any facial structure!¡± He swings the spanner at my face fast and hard.


    I don¡¯t know what I expected, but not this. I yank my head back as I feel the air brush me, the head of the spanner whipping past my nose. I yelp, eyes wide, diving past him, the second swing barely missing my shoulder. ¡°Alex! What the void-spawned fuck? Did your augments crash? Stand down!¡±


    ¡°You may think your accounts are safe, but only Apollo Bank offers security guarantees for all accredited transfers.¡± The spanner swings again, humming in the air, nicking my forearm with a flare of pain. ¡°Don¡¯t fall victim to scams or skimmers again; trust Luna¡¯s oldest financial institution with your hard-earned credits.¡± His eyes are manic, frenzied, as he wildly lashes out again.


    I back away, heart hammering in my chest, until my shoulders hit the bulkhead. His expression doesn¡¯t change. ¡°Did you know that over 40% of standard issue air scrubbers don¡¯t filter out toxic mold spores?¡± Alex smiles and the spanner whips at my face again. I duck, and the head digs a gouge in the polymers of the bulkhead, barely missing my collarbone. ¡°Breathe E-Z brand scrubbers are rated to filter out 99.99% of all mycological spores, as well as all major allergens.¡±


    I kick low with my full weight, my boot hitting his knee with a sick wet crackle that makes me wince. Alex grunts, falling to his other knee, and I bring my knuckles hard into his inner elbow, the spanner dropping from his fingers with a dull clatter. He looks up at me with a smirk. ¡°Customize your shuttle with an upgrade from Aurora Industries!¡± Without warning, he leaps forward at me, making me curse. His working knee pushes forward, his weight bearing me down, hitting the floor with his body on top of me. I look up in terror as I push at his bulk with my free hand. ¡°We offer the latest in integrated A.I. systems, holo-compatible entertainment centers, and liquid helium freezers. Installment payments accepted!¡±


    My left arm is pinned under our bodies, but my right hand strikes him repeatedly in the face. His nose breaks, and my knuckles split as I strike him in the teeth, breaking several. Alex spits chips of bloody enamel into my face as I wince. ¡°Voidborne Insurance has been consistently rated as the top carrier for protecting intra-system shipping.¡± His left hand grabs my fist, pinning it to the floor. I writhe and kick, grunting, hissing as I struggle, but I can¡¯t slide free. ¡°We¡¯re dedicated to the safe and timely delivery of your parcels, with full coverage offered on all non-organic shipments.¡± Alex¡¯s right-hand latches on my neck, his nails digging into my skin and drawing beads of blood. ¡°Sign up today for half-off all inner-system deliveries for six months.¡± Drops of blood drip from his broken nose to splatter on my forehead as I squirm and gasp.


    My heart hammers as his fingers tighten around my throat. I flail, kicking him hard in the thigh, but I can¡¯t get any momentum. I hear my blood pounding in my ears, and I twist, pinned arm slipping out from behind me. I can¡¯t breathe, I can¡¯t think, I can just see his face locked in a rictus of a smile. ¡°Are you having problems with implant signal degradation?¡± My fingers close around something. The spanner. ¡°Did a botched augmentation surgery result in nerve damage, paralysis, or trans-human psychosis? You may be entitled to compensation as part of a class action-¡°


    His eyes are locked on mine. He doesn¡¯t see the spanner swing around.


    I''m sorry, Alex.


    ***

 Chapter 11: With a Capital T

    I''ve been staring at the beige ceiling of my quarters for over an hour by the time my alarm rings. Stellar. I woke up in a cold sweat, and there was no way I was getting back to sleep. I didn''t even want to try. Well, guess I''m starting day four a little sleep deprived.


    At least I bought coffee.


    ***


    My morning might have started terribly, but the coffee hits the spot. I mean, it''s not good coffee, but any food tastes good when you''re starving, right? What can I say, when you''re desperate, you''ll take your caffeine however you can get it. Maybe aside from tweaking the receptors to get the rush from the color blue, though.


    Still, I feel a little better with my walk along the thoroughfare. Maybe the view helps. In any event, I''m almost grateful to be back at the dull block of the precinct.


    At least, for the first twenty minutes or so.


    I try to smile when I see the Sergeant, but maybe my heart isn''t in it, because he gives me a bit of a frown, his cross-slitted eyes concerned.


    "Morning El Tee. You look like you had a rough night."


    I shake my head. Thanks.  "Just didn''t sleep super well. You know, the pre-fabbed cots are crap."


    He gives a chuckle at that. "Hey, Cruz, credits might be tight, but you should just spring for an actual mattress. Or at least a sleeping pad. Even in low g, it makes a difference. Especially if you ever have company," he adds, crossing his arms and grinning.


    Hilarious. Leave the jokes to me, Brent. "Thanks for the advice, Sergeant. Still, I''m doing alright. Closed out the toll-station case, sent the report over to forensics with some code to run through. I even made some progress on the missing AI case. I got a handle, or at least a nickname; Lemming." I cross my own arms, smug.


    I see his eyebrow rise. "It''s a start. Making progress with finding him?"


    "Oh, some here and there. It''s called having competent investigative skills, Sergeant," I tease, elbowing him in the rib. Literally ribbing him. See, even after a long night, I''m still funny.


    Brent smirks. "Well, I''m glad you have some of those, I was wondering." Alright, I guess he''s not half bad.


    I shake my head as I take my seat, tidying up a few reports. So far, it''s been pretty straight-forward; none of my reports have been flagged or supplements requested. At the very least, Cartwright isn''t a micro-manager.


    Looking around, there''s only two other officers here in person. A mousy woman with thick curly hair and a middle-aged man with short cropped blond hair. Their profiles pop up: Corporal Cynthia Wintz and Officer Miles Rusteater. Wait... I double-check the second one. Yup, hey look, a synth who passes for human picked the least human name possible. Is the name some kind of statement? I shake my head at that. Honestly, even after all these years, I can''t decide if humans or synths are weirder. It''s apples and synthetic oranges.


    Speaking of weird, I look around. Well, Rabi isn''t here, and I''m certainly not going to complain about that. She''s a little... much. Probably pouring over all that juicy data I sent forensics yesterday, dissecting it line by line. I have a mental image of her drooling down her chin as she decompiles a few billion lines of code all night long. I mean, she doesn''t sleep, right?


    Ok, maybe I''m not being nice, but with that hardware, I can''t imagine she''s playing Pong. Well, I hope you enjoy it, Captain. Better you than me. Though, given my dreams, maybe there''s something to be said for going without sleep. Eh, probably not worth it, and I''m sure not lining up to get more hardware shoved into my skull. I just got rid of the last headache I had; I don''t need a new one.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    As I muse, I continue nursing my coffee, even lukewarm. Way better than a stim-stick, no question. Well, despite the wretched start to my morning, I have to say, things are looking a bit up already.


    In fact, my day is going swimmingly until Captain Cartwright begins the morning briefing and decides to address me.


    ¡°Lieutenant, I need you to prioritize a case involving a potential ID and avatar theft we got this morning," he begins dryly. I blink, pulling up the case-file to read along. "Someone spoofed an admin ID and walked out of a cargo bay with two canisters of medical grade nanos,¡± the Captain says with a bland tone. I frown, looking through the report.


    The Sergeant laughs. ¡°Some ice-hauler caught an STI and doesn¡¯t want to let the missus know,¡± he snorts. Captain Ashton gives him a sharp look, nose scrunching in distaste.


    ¡°Sergeant, medical grade nanos are class two controlled tech. No self-replication, but they could be reprogrammed to kill, if someone cracks their base-code.¡± He flicks the air, and in my overlay, a silver thread blooms with specs and technical information on the nanos. They looked like tiny metal tardigrades, but even more resilient than their biological counterparts. ¡°Priority is neutralizing them, either their software or hardware. Recovery of physical assets is a bonus.¡±


    I let the specs roll through my overlay. Just standard class two medical nanos, nothing experimental or classified. ¡°Captain, if someone spoofed admin level access, isn¡¯t that the bigger issue?¡± I say, cocking my head.


    The Captain turns his eyes to me at that. ¡°Yes, which is why the first precinct is handling it. It¡¯s being considered an internal security issue, not a code violation. You¡¯re to focus only on the nanos, Lieutenant.¡± First Precinct. Earth.


    Great. Even half an AU from the binary, it¡¯s the same jurisdictional pissing match. ¡°Green across the board, Captain,¡± I say.


    ¡°And I want a progress report on the ME case, say in forty-eight hours. Show me what you turned up.¡±


    ***


    After getting another case with zero leads from the Captain, I¡¯m a little sour. The rest of the day goes by a bit more swiftly, but without much progress. Reviewing the security footage turns up nothing; someone spoofed the eyesbots outside the cargo bay. There are no physical prints in the room or digital prints in the code. That oxide-huffing tight-ass Cartwright just handed me another case I can¡¯t possibly solve.


    By the time I walk back to my quarters, it¡¯s already late afternoon. When I get a bubble in my overlay, with the name Alex Wells hovering in silver, I growl. No, definitely not today. I put all my augments on silent and lay down on the couch. I stare at the beige ceiling, drumming my foot on the bulkhead. Shutting my eyes, I lay a hand over my face. Somehow, I thought being out at the Jovian, a job with less stress, would be better. But it doesn¡¯t really feel that way right now...


    I¡¯m surprised when I get a ping from my door. I blink, feeling my numb hand as I sit up. Shit. I¡¯ve slept more than an hour. My arm is asleep, my back has a kink, and I can¡¯t figure out why my augment¡­


    Oh right, it¡¯s on silent. I call up my overlay and see three missed messages. The newest two are from Sparrow. Crap.


    I link to the door and open it, just before I realize the sorry state of the room. Rubbing some sensation into my arm, I smile weakly as Sparrow pokes her head in. ¡°Hi! Sorry about the mess.¡±


    She steps inside, an eyebrow raised, kicking some of my dirty laundry aside. She has a datachip in her hand, but that isn¡¯t where my eye is drawn. She¡¯s wearing a romper that seems to cling to her curves, and I¡¯m briefly disappointed that it covers so much of the tattoo. Then I realize she just spoke, and I completely missed it.


    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t catch that. I just woke up,¡± I say, scratching my neck.


    ¡°I can see that,¡± she says, folding her arms and giving me a mock scowl. ¡°And these quarters? For shame, Lieutenant Cruz. What would the good Captain Cartwright say if he performed a surprise inspection?¡±


    I put a hand on my hip. ¡°We don¡¯t do room inspections. I¡¯m not Navy, Captain,¡± I say back, but my half-smile spoils it a bit. ¡°Besides, I just moved in a few days ago. I¡¯m getting situated,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°Lot¡¯s of luggage?¡±


    That statement, and the state of the room, hang in the air. Silence reigns. ¡°It¡¯s a-¡°


    ¡°Long story?¡± She says, a wry grin on her lips. I can¡¯t help it at that point. I laugh, and she joins me.


    ¡°Oh Melody, come on. This isn¡¯t a wirehead¡¯s dorm room. We need to get this place in order. First, let¡¯s go shopping for some better d¨¦cor,¡± she says, waving an arm at my walls. ¡°You can even buy me dinner to thank me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Sparrow, you¡¯re so generous,¡± But I look around the room. The rug and wall hanging don¡¯t really add much. And I¡¯ve got a decent chunk of credit in my account. ¡°Well, alright, but you''re telling me how you got the name ''Sparrow''. I can''t imagine your parents named you after a bird,¡± I tease.


    She rolls her eyes at that. ¡°Keep going, and you¡¯ll talk yourself out of buying me dessert too,¡± she says. I can¡¯t help but notice her eyes seem to linger on me a moment, before she turns and walks out. ¡°Coming, Melody?¡± She calls back.


    Oh yeah, you¡¯re in trouble Mel.

 Chapter 12: She Saw it Coming

    Our walk amongst the fab shops is much shorter than my walking tour of the station, but we take our time. Her sense of aesthetics is pretty good; I wonder how she¡¯s decorated her shuttle. She also suggests a few civilian outfits, and I end up carrying three bags of various prints, accessories, and clothing. I¡¯m not much of a fashion snob, but Sparrow has good taste. Plus, I admit I tried on a few more outfits than strictly necessary. Just to show off a little. I mean, I''m my own harshest critic, but I think she enjoyed the show.


    And rather than freeze-dried food, I find myself enjoying some indian takeout on the thoroughfare with Sparrow. Just sitting on the ribbon of grass running along the walkway and looking up through the transparent curved roof, the sight of Jupiter¡¯s angry eye staring down at us. Alright, a little more awe-inspiring than I gave it credit for.


    I¡¯m so engrossed with a conversation with her, hearing all about her days of racing her shuttle off-grid, that I¡¯m startled to hear a voice behind me. ¡°Well, El Tee, I see you met our local shuttle-rat.¡± I whip my head around, seeing Brent standing with a good-natured smile.


    ¡°Oh, Sergeant Rockchaser, hello,¡± Sparrow says, nodding to him. The stocky man grins back. ¡°Good to see ya, Sparrow. I see you met the El Tee already,¡± he says jovially, before his crossed-pupils slide over to me. Fuck.


    I put the food down beside me. My pulse picks up a bit. Relax, nothing wrong with eating dinner with a friend. ¡°The good captain here was helping me with the ME case. And offered to show me the best fab shops on the station.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s great, El Tee. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re getting the lay of the grid. Stopped by for some curry?¡±


    I feel a flush creep up my neck, sitting a little straighter. ¡°Yeah, learning the good spots to get some bio-fuel,¡± I say, trying to keep the tension out of my voice.


    Brent nods, giving me a smirk. ¡°Sure, glad to hear it. Just remember, I¡¯m always willing to show you the spots too,¡± he adds, tilting his head.


    I really hope my face isn¡¯t going red. ¡°Of course, and I appreciate it, just doing a bit of a gals day,¡± I say casually.


    He nods, giving Sparrow a quick glance and smile. ¡°Sure, enjoy, and keep your partner in the loop,¡± he says, patting my shoulder. ¡°I like hearing details,¡± he says, chuckling. Damn it.


    As the Sergeant, walks past, silence hangs in the air. I want to break the tension, but I¡¯m afraid to look directly at her. Finally, I sigh. ¡°Sorry things got weird there.¡±


    There are dimples on her cheeks when she smiles. ¡°Hey, no need for that. I had a nice time. And it isn¡¯t technically a date,¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s not that I don¡¯t¡­ feel a spark, you know? It¡¯s just, as a scouting officer¡­ Well, we¡¯re not¡­¡± I fumble.


    Sparrow sighs and nods. ¡°I get it. Not supposed to fraternize with felons.¡±


    I try to parse that. ¡°What? No, I meant because you were a CI. I was worried about professional conflict-of-interests¡­ a felon?¡±


    Sparrow''s brown eyes widen. ¡°Oh! Actually, uh¡­ I kinda thought that¡¯s why you got nervous, with the Sergeant... When I mentioned the plea bargain in the bar¡­ I thought you called up and read my CI file,¡± she stammers out, sitting straighter.


    I blink at that. ¡°It honestly hadn¡¯t¡­ occurred to me.¡± It takes a titanic effort of will not to call up her file right now.


    She gives me a small, sad smile. ¡°You can. I¡¯m not going to be offended.¡±


    I take a deep breath and cross my legs. Get it together, Mel. ¡°How about this? If you feel comfortable with it, why don¡¯t you tell me what you¡¯d like me to know?¡±


    Her breathe catches and the tattoo vanishes entirely for a moment, before reappearing as serpentine whorls along her limbs. ¡°Wow¡­ that¡¯s¡­ maybe not here?¡± She gulps. ¡°How about¡­ maybe head back to the Chimera?¡± She looks nervous for the first time since I¡¯ve met her; the confidence draining away.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I nod, standing and giving her a reassuring smile. ¡°Green across the board. Besides, I want to see what Frankenstein¡¯s monster looks like on the inside.¡±


    ***


    ¡°And this is my baby, the Chimera. Go on, make yourself at home,¡± Sparrow says quickly. She¡¯s hovering nervously behind me. I¡¯m getting the sense she doesn¡¯t let people inside often.


    I look around slowly. The airlock opens into the cargo bay, but it¡¯s not a traditional ship''s bay. It looks like a repurposed station module. The conditions aren¡¯t cramped, but space was at a premium. The dull, matte finish of the hull seems to suck the color out of everything. There isn¡¯t even a viewport. Makes sense for a storage unit. A ladder leads to a service hatch, which I¡¯m guessing opens into the shuttle.


    I point up. ¡°Would you like to...?¡±


    She fidgets. ¡°A bit intimate in the shuttle; it¡¯s the bedroom too.¡± She presses a button on the wall, and a memory gel couch folds out of the bulkhead. ¡°Just a modded crash couch. Nothing fancy.¡±


    I sit next to her. It¡¯s tense, and I don¡¯t know where to look. Or what to say. I let my eyes wander around the bay. There really isn''t anything to look at though. ¡°So, I¡¯m guessing retrofit, something colonial?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°Military. This was an old munition depot module that was deemed ¡®surplus to needs¡¯ by the fleet, with the upgrades from the last round of refits. Works well enough for transport. Actually, it''s why I was arrested.¡±


    I trail a hand along the side. ¡°You bought it stolen?¡±


    ¡°Are you off-line? Where would I get that kind of credit?¡± She scoffed. ¡°No, I waited for the depot to strip it of the valuable and sensitive components and send it on a re-entry course to burn up in Jupiter.¡± She smiled, the pattern across her skin resolving to resemble fish scales. ¡°Then I just hacked the guidance system and used the thrusters to correct course once it was on the other side of the planet. I kicked it up to higher orbit and tagged it with my shuttle. I had the registration confirmed before we came back around to the other side of the orbital plane. Obsolete, abandoned military grade equipment, all weapons and controlled materials removed; now claimed by an independent operator. Legitimate salvage.¡± She grinned, and the scale pattern rolls like waves across her arms.


    I can''t help chuckling. ¡°Hmm, let me guess what happened next? Code Enforcement came knocking, wanting to talk about the hack?¡±


    ¡°And just as I finished towing the old bucket to the station! I sealed the dock and had just stepped out of the airlock. And there was Captain Ashton Cartwright, the avenging bureaucrat, standing there with his arms crossed.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°They offered me probation and a service term, and I said ¡®green across the board.¡¯ It¡¯s loads better than prison or a rehabilitation ward.¡±


    I can¡¯t argue with that. ¡°And that¡¯s how you caught a charge? You hacked a Navy system and took a junked component?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I spoofed a command ID to do it. Felony level act, right there. I caught a new charge for every subsystem I accessed. Still, I got off light. First time offender, cooperative with authorities, willing do some CI work in the Jovian, so forth,¡± she spins her hand.


    I sigh. Sounds about right. ¡°And they let you keep it? Illicitly obtained goods?¡±


    ¡°Well, more like the Captain determined the hacking was incidental to the legally obtained salvage registration. I didn¡¯t steal it, technically. But let¡¯s just say it was extra incentive to cooperate,¡± she says with a weak grin.


    Laughter bursts from my lips, and Sparrow joins me. ¡°Oh my. Thus ends the survey runs..." Poor Lemming. "Ever tempted to go back out, now that you''re not tied to the CI work?¡±


    Sparrow shakes her head. ¡°Sometimes, but not really. It¡¯s more nostalgia. Plus,¡± She tilts her head and I meet her eyes. She looks¡­ forlorn. ¡°Having a record¡­ it makes it hard to get some contracts. Or insurance for high-value goods. It¡¯s why I don¡¯t display a profile. I hate that it¡¯s the first thing people know and think about me. Makes a lot of things¡­ harder.¡±


    There¡¯s a sadness, a loneliness in her voice as she says that, and the bottom drops out of my heart. I put an arm around her shoulder, and Sparrow leans her head against me. I sit there, unsure what to say, just letting my hand rub her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Fuck, that sucks hard-vacuum, Sparrow.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Yeah. My last partner, we flew together for about eight months. But he got tired of taking side gigs and being passed up for government work because I¡¯m a ¡®security risk¡¯. Can¡¯t really fault him, but¡­ you know.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± I start, feeling my heart beating faster. ¡°You miss¡­ the connection. Just you and one other person. Bound up together, on the same mission. For months.¡±


    I feel her body tense up against me, and her head barely tilts in a nod. She doesn¡¯t say anything, and neither do I. If we speak, it¡¯ll shatter the moment. I close my eyes, the overlay showing the single white thread slowly waving in front of me. From her simple temp augment. I turn my link on, no filters. I reach out slowly, touching the silver thread, feeling a ping and a pulse as her augment links directly to mine. No filter on her end either. Linked to each other.


    Even at a low baud rate, I gasp, feeling the sensations, the emotions, rolling inside me. No, inside us. I feel a touch on her left palm and my right arm. My eyes fly open, and I see Sparrow smiling softly, her hand on my forearm. She slides it up to my shoulder, and I shiver, feeling the dual senses. Goosebumps rise and my heart pounds.


    I turn and wrap my other arm around her, pulling her close to bury my face in the crook of her neck. I can smell her, and I feel my breath on her neck. I feel her gently nudge the baud rate up, and my toes curl at the rush. ¡°Mel¡­¡± she says softly, but I cut her off, my lips pressing against hers.


    ***

 Chapter 13: Walk of Shame

    Waking up next to Sparrow is a special treat. We started on the couch, but we did eventually make our way into her shuttle. Her bedroom gave us a little more room to spread out. And let me tell you...


    Her decor is fucking phenomenal. And the soft pad is way nicer than a cot.


    What, you want all the vulgar details? Yeah, I bet you do.


    I bet want to hear every dirty, juicy, messy word of it. You sick puppy. Well, Lieutenant Melody Cygnus Cruz is the classy sort. I don''t kiss and tell. This isn''t holo-porn.


    Alright, fine, just to shut you up, I''ll say one thing.


    Yes, the tattoo does go everywhere.


    Now get your mind out of the spam-filter. Go take a cold shower and come back when you''re ready to behave.


    ***


    Another special treat is that Sparrow has coffee. Not fake crystals, but real, actual beans! We shared two delicious cups, wrapped in the blanket together. I never want this morning to end. The steam from my mug smells better than anything since I''ve come out to the Jovian. I''m a little surprised and overwhelmed when she offers me some to take back to my quarters.


    "You can''t just give me a whole can of this," I say, as she holds it out a little silver cylinder. "That coffee has to be worth more than a week''s pay out here," I protest weakly.


    She tosses her head and scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Please. They were a trade from an old friend, didn''t cost me a credit. Besides, I''m not giving them to you. You''re just holding onto them for me, to save me paying the reaction mass transporting them around. Free storage," she says with a wink.


    I blush at that. "I guess you''ll always have something better than the instant crystals to drink, if you swing by my quarters," I say, biting my lip.


    She tosses the can to me, laughing as I fumble for it. "That''s the idea. And you''re cute when you blush, Lieutenant," she says, leaning close and wrapping her arms around me.


    I hug her back, pressing my chin against her blue hair. Damn, she smells nice too. Like clean sweat and coffee. "Well, I''m glad we straightened that out. After all, bribing a Code Enforcement Officer is a serious offense. I might have had to take you in, Captain," I tease back.


    Sparrow stiffens in my arms.


    Shit. "Wait, I didn''t mean..." I start, but she puts a finger to my lips.


    "I know. It''s just...." she shakes her head. A few heartbeats go by in silence.


    "Sorry... I have a bit of a foot-in-mouth habit. It''s hard to break. Mind if we forget I said it?" I ask.


    "Already wiped the hard drive," she says with a smile. "But unfortunately, I do have to meet one of the mining reps in a few hours. Gotta be in top form to negotiate a transport contract, so I''ll have to freshen up," she says, standing and guiding me to the hatch.


    "Ah yes, I have to report for my shift in... ten minutes ago." I blink a few times. Oh, crap, I turned my alerts off. Right. "Damnit." I rush to dress, stumbling as Sparrow giggles.


    "Don''t forget about Lemming''s datachip," she adds, laughing as I slide to a halt, slap my forehead and turn back for it.


    Oof. Ok, I''m not at the top of my game right now, but I swear: I really am good at my job.


    ***


    Heading back to my quarters, I''m practically floating. I barely remember the walk. Fresh coffee in one hand and a fresh lead in another. Could the day start any better?


    I consider pinging Brent to coordinate. Hmm, on second thought, he''ll probably have all sorts of awkward question or off-color jokes. Nah, I''ll have to deal with that soon enough. Let''s see how far I can get with the data on my own. Might be nice to show off a bit.


    As I arrive to my beige, dull quarters, I sniff. Hmm, could probably use a bath first. But sorry, you aren''t getting those juicy details either.


    In any event, by the time I''m sitting on my couch and linking into the exonet, I''m nearly half an hour late for my shift. Hopefully Captain Cartwright isn''t a clock watcher. Well, if I work late and the full shift time, the worst he can do is rake me over the coals. It''s my first week; this''ll be my only time to plausibly get away with it, after all.


    No sense putting it off; let''s analyze. I plug the chip into the port on the wall and link in my overlay. The datasets appear in my mind. I don''t recognize anything; it''s all output from the radio-telescope array and shorthand analyses appended to them. Not my specialty. But you know, that''s what tech is for.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    I pull the latest malware filters around my connection and tap my secondary node, letting some pre-programmed macros scan the code.


    The security macro begins to flag about two dozen different pieces of code as hostile. Well that''s a great start. It looks largely like adverts, spambots, and trojans. Nothing top-tier, almost an assortment of random junk you''d find in any virt. Huh. I haven''t seen anything like this before. Looks like someone tossed a hundred different programs in a blender, then spat them out in the analysis. I''d say it was random, but it''s hard to tell.


    I shrug. A bit out of my wheelhouse. I upload the file, properly quarantined, and flag it for forensics. Rabi''s going to have some fun with this one, I''m sure. Hopefully she can get something useful out of it. Or at least give me some indication if he spontaneously dissolved into a pile of scrapcode. Well, nothing more to do there at the moment.


    Moving on to the cases I can do something about, I pull up the file on the medical nanos. Looks like the canisters were blanks; none had been pre-programed. That doesn''t really make them any more valuable. Hmm, it was a standard cargo bay. No special security. But looks like... huh, the system log shows an Earth admin ID unlocked the bay. What in the wet hell? That would be obvious to anyone looking for suspicious logins! If a high-ranking Earth admin was on the station, I''d know. Hell, I''d probably hear if they were in the Jovian at all.


    I scratch my head. At least that explains why First Precinct wants this. I hate that whole jurisdictional nightmare. It''s because of the three district lines established by the Colonial Charter. A void-spawned mess of half-measures and faulty compromises if you ask me. The whole fucking system is a holdover of the colonial wars, and the merger of three distinct governments into pseudo-stable districts all vying for supremacy. Since people drag hurt feelings over generations, it means the Precincts each follow suit.


    First Precinct has jurisdiction within Earth, period. Nobody even calls it ''First District'', it''s always and forever the cradle of humankind, the home-world; Earth. Second Precinct has Code Enforcement jurisdiction moving sunward; mostly Venus, Mercury, and the many statite habitats floating close to the solar power. The Solar District. Third Precinct has jurisdiction within Luna and everything rimward; Mars, the Belt and Jovian stations, and the Kuiper outposts. The Dark District.


    Earth has the most money, influence, and population, so Earth basically dictates policy across the Sol system. Except the Solar Mining Collective and their massive solar energy consortium falls within Second Precinct''s jurisdiction and can leverage that in local or regional matters. Third Precinct gets the short end of the stick, since everything past mars is mostly automated, AI, or sparsely populated. Luna holds its own sometimes, by virtue of their helium mining and position up the gravity well, but nobody cares about anything past Mars.


    And nobody cooperates. So, no way some Earth admin official is sneaking aboard and stealing nanos on my station. So, it''s gotta be a false-flag or red herring, right? I chew on my bottom lip. Flicking through the security feed, there''s no clipping, no looping, no evidence the recording is fake. It''s done very well, so it must be a very competent coder. Maybe a pre-loaded subroutine. Someone set it up in advance? But if you planned it in advance, why not do it right and use a dark district ID?


    So... whoever did it must not have had time and did it on the fly? Maybe worried about getting caught. It''s not super careful planning, and of course an Earth ID would pop up in the system on review. Exonet security can be lax sometimes, but not that lax. I should know; I am security.


    Hmm... If someone spoofed the eyesbot outside the cargo bay without being seen, then they must have interacted with it. There are no physical or digital prints, but that just means someone cleans up after themselves. Hmm... I''m spinning in circles.


    I sit back on my couch, hearing it creak. It really is too small. Like everything in these quarters.


    Ok, change tactics. No leads on who took the nanos. So, work backwards. Why take them? I pull up the schematics and code for the nanites and pour through them again.


    The captain is right, the nanos can kill. But for the amount of effort to weaponize them, it really doesn''t seem worth it. You could weaponize almost anything else faster and cheaper. I could turn an aerosol can into a deadlier weapon, in a pressurized station.


    So why use nanos specifically to kill? I mean, you could spike a drink and kill without line of sight. Covertly? It would only buy you a little time. It would be pretty obviously a murder. Nanos would show up in an autopsy. In fact, nanos have serial numbers; most criminals pay for weapons without identifying information. And it doesn''t work for a false-flag op if the nanos are unowned.


    Well, the Sergeant brought up a point. Someone trying to cure something? But why not go to medical? Even without insurance, medical nanos aren''t that expensive. They''re not exactly over-the-counter, but not worth stealing for their value. Keeping an illness confidential? That''s what privacy laws are for.


    Alright, so maybe it''s not some hired killer or someone with the flu. I mean, they''re unprogrammed, so it''s nothing exotic...


    I''m missing something. Wait, hang on. Medical grade nanos... could be used for hacking. Program and inject them into a computer system or into a synth? You could spread a lot of havoc.


    I chew on my bottom lip. Well, even industrial grade nanos could be used for that, and they''d be way easier to get, and in larger quantities. Cheaper, too. No, the benefit of medical grade nanos is that they''re safe and effective on living tissue-


    The hair rises on the back of my neck.


    Oh shit. They''re probably implant-compatible. Most medical manufacturers want their gear to work on everyone, so they can sell to anyone. I pull the nano specifications up in my overlay, scanning them with growing dread. If you programmed them to interface with an augment''s implants? You could jack implants signals if you injected someone with corrupted nanos. The nanos as a layer of interference between wetware and hardware? If someone was good enough with code, processing that input and output...


    Oh fuck. If the person is a synth or augmented enough, you could body-jack someone. If a coder, a hacker, really knew what they were doing?


    I break out in goosebumps. Holy void-spawned fuck. You could body-jack a number of synths or augments with two canisters worth of nanos. Did the Captain consider this? Oh, of course, that''s why he wants my attention on it. Way to undersell it, Cartwright.


    I take a deep breath, licking my lips and cracking my knuckles. Chill, Mel. Don''t assume the worst. Right. Obviously, someone''s up to something naughty. Doesn''t mean the world is ending.


    Damnit. I just jinxed it, didn''t I?

 Chapter 14: Flying Off the Handle

    Sitting on my couch, I take a solid minute, eyes closed and concentrating on deep breathing. And running through the chain of logic again.


    Well, the first thing they teach us at the academy is not to panic. And after all, it''s just a guess. There are hundreds of reasons someone might steal medical grade nanos. Most of them are bad, but body-jacking is a special kind of evil. It''s worse than kidnapping and identity theft combined. It''s invasive, disempowering, dehumanizing. It''s combines the worst aspects of mind-rape with enslavement. In some ways, it''s worse than being eaten alive. Because you live through it and have to deal with the consequences.


    Someone puppeteering your body while you''re trapped inside? Maybe unconscious, but maybe aware? I shiver. I can''t even watch those kinds of horror holos.


    I lay my hands flat and take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Chill, Mel. Someone would have to be heavily augmented for to lose motor-control. More than me. Definitely requires dexterity mods or nerve-bypasses or the like. At that level, it''s... what? I pull up some actuarial tables in my overlay. Like four percent of the population? Less?


    And you couldn''t get away with it for long. It would require constant attention to maintain. And it''s a trick you can only play once; if the victim gets control back, they''ll shut down their implants.


    But fuck, I don''t want this trick being played on my station.


    Huh. My station. When did that happen?


    Alright, take it one step at a time. Air and water systems have sensors and filters. Nobody is spiking the vents or pipes. Food? Maybe, but most food this far out is processed and pre-packed. Tamper-proof seals and such.


    Ok, then... any hydroponics on the station? Maybe something like local-brewed alcohol? There can only be a few-


    Wait. If I wanted to spike someone with corrupted medical nanites, and keep them from realizing...


    I would want them to believe they are legit medical nanos. Medical?


    Ok, now is the point where I ping my partner and pull him in.


    ***


    The Sergeant doesn¡¯t seem to be his usual chipper self on hearing my theory.


    I hear him sigh and imagine his perpetual smile has dimmed a little. ¡°Ok, El Tee, someone wanting to interfere with implants or their signals is a good guess. But body-jacking is a bit outside the orbit. We see maybe two or three cases like that in a year across all the Dark District stations combined."


    "That we know about," I point out, waffling my hand.


    The Sergeant does chuckle at that. "Point taken. But Ursa Miner Station is a hub for mining and transportation companies. If someone is jacking implant signals, it¡¯s more likely to be corporate espionage. Sophisticated spyware to circumvent patents, or undercut prices. Or even pure, flat sabotage; just a kill-signal to brick the right executive''s implants.¡±


    I run my fingers through my hair, blowing out a breath. Pretty wide field to cover. ¡±Well, whichever way, people are vulnerable,¡± I mutter.


    He breathes deeply and clicks his tongue. ¡±Yeah, as one of the vulnerable augments, I appreciate that. But assuming you could code well enough to interfere with a victims implants, how would they even disperse them? You¡¯re not saying the medical staff are involved?¡± His tone is flat. Of course he''s skeptical; he probably knows the folks in medical.


    "Probably not," I admit. "If they were, they would have legit access to the nanos to begin with. No need to steal them. But I don''t think someone''s just data-scraping. It''s more than spyware; it''s a lot of effort and risk. Stealing nanos and injecting a victim just to get some schematics or price lists? It doesn''t hold together," I point out.


    The Sergeant chuckles. "I don''t see what else they could do. Besides, do you know how many different manufacturers and programming languages there are for implants? There''s no one-size fits all macro you could load some nanos with. Have you ever considered that the person might just be trying to destroy and crash augments? I mean, no need to program a suite of master-control macros if you can brick the competition," he suggests.


    I blink at that. Hmmm. "So, what, a universal command?"


    "Sure. It would have to be pretty simple. Shut down, suspend, or reset. Maybe reboot, or-"This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Or disengage malware filters," I suggest.


    "But then... huh..." The Sergeant trails off, silent.


    "Yes? What, Brent?" I prod.


    "I mean, yeah, that could work. Just shut down the malware filters and let traditional methods do the heavy lifting," he says softly. He''s not laughing anymore.


    I understand why. Being exposed to every nasty digital bug out there? Terrifying thought. My mind races. "But then... they have to strike with malware after they know the victim is compromised by the nanos," I point out.


    Brent grunts. "It''s too situational. We''re missing something," he mutters.


    I tap my foot. Nothing. "Think we should pull someone else in on this case? Maybe a synth?" Might be helpful to have someone who thinks in code looking at this.


    "I think you should tell me about you and Sparrow," he says levelly.


    "I... what?" My heart begins pounding in my chest. "What makes you think there''s anything to tell?" I ask, swallowing hard.


    Now he chuckles. "Did you go back to her ship? Or your quarters?"


    A bead of sweat rolls down my neck. "Sergeant! Do I have to pull rank?" I snap.


    There''s silence for a long, long moment, then a sigh. "Really El Tee? That''s how you want to play it?"


    I take a deep breath. I take several more. "I''m... sorry. Really," I say, rubbing my temple. "The fact is... I''ve sort of had a turbulent romantic life, and I''m trying not to..."


    "... fuck everything up?" He offers. Oof. You read me like a book, Sarge. Stop it.


    I hold my head in my hands and grunt. "I''m not the touchy-feely, ''let''s-talk-about-our-feelings'' type," I admit, leaning back in the couch and resting my head against the bulkhead.


    "No? Really El Tee? I couldn''t have guessed," he laughs.


    "Go suck hard vacuum," I say without venom. I wait a few seconds. "I dunno... I like her. I don''t know where it''s going, but I think I want to find out."


    He waits for a bit. "That all?" He''s not letting me off the hook.


    I grit my teeth. "Does it have to be more than that?"


    I hear him click his tongue. "If you say so. But, El Tee, even that might trip you up."


    My hackles rise, and I find myself breathing faster. "What are you saying?"


    "I''m saying be careful. This is a small station; everyone lives in each other''s laps. it''s hard to be discrete," he adds.


    Silence reigns for a moment.


    "And the nanos?" I ask, moving on.


    "All we have is supposition and hypothesis. If we can verify any of it, I say move forward. If you don''t mind, I''ll look into the medical side. I think it''s a red herring, but I''ll know if anyone is acting hinky better than you. In the meantime, just collate data," he suggests.


    I huff, but another ping comes through just then. Ah, forensics; some results back on the toll-station botnet? Or on Lemming?


    "I''ll collate data for now, but got to go. It''s Rabi, hopefully with something helpful on the Lemming case," I say, trying not to sound relieved.


    "Green across the board, El Tee. Check in if you have more," he adds before it cuts out. Saved by the sleepless manic wirehead.


    When I open the link to Rabi, I gasp out loud. The baud rate is maxed out on her end, waaaay higher than I expected. I tamp it down on my end.


    Rabi talks in a quick stream, babbling faster than I can follow as I struggle to tune the channel.


    "Captain, dial it back, please," I plead.


    "Yes yes, Sorry, I''m overclocked. I''ve dissected the data you sent me, from the Indy AI, alias ''Lemming''. The random code in his analyses are memory dumps; he''s probably vomiting bad code periodically."


    I struggle to keep up. "They''re... what?"


    "Lemming''s RAM was overflowing. He was running thousands of simultaneous subroutines from about eight hundred or so various unrelated programs, most of them ads and spam."


    I takes me a second to frame that. "...How? Wouldn''t he crash?"


    "Yes yes! He was crashing. I''m guessing he went through repeating cycles of crashing and resetting, constantly trying to purge RAM. His analyses are junk because it was essentially ''stream-of-consciousness'' gibberish," she spits out in a rush.


    I dunno, Captain, you''re not much better. I scratch my head. "So, what, he was... the synth equivalent of babbling incoherently in the gutter?"


    "Yes yes! And I''m guessing he still is," she chirps. I imagine her bouncing in her seat.


    "Well, anything you can tell me about the malware that''s infecting him?" I ask. Any leads, really.


    "I could write you dissertation on the bloatware and spyware and malicious programs he''s running, but I don''t believe they''re the problem. I''d guess these are all secondary infections," she babbles, and I hear a squeaking. Her chair, probably.


    But she''s saying... "You''re kidding? It''s a miracle this synth was operating while this loaded with worms and viruses. You''re saying they''re a symptom of something worse?"


    "None of the spamcode or trojans he was carrying would cause this type of problem. In fact, there''s got nothing in the security database that would cause behavior quite like this," she adds. She sounds almost chipper.


    My skin crawls at that. Fuck. There are always risks for synths or heavy augments. You get lots of benefits, but there are vulnerabilities. The ability to contract a whole new class of deadly digital illness. Filters and firewalls and antiseptic code helps, but black-hats are always coding new nasties. And some digital-life sort of ''evolves'' on its own. A program gets corrupted, goes rogue, makes copies of itself... life, uh, finds a way.


    "Well, if it''s something new, then it just jumped up on my priority list," I admit.


    "Yes yes, please. We need to find, quarantine, examine Lemming right away. Or his body," she squeaks.


    You''re all heart. But she''s right. "Got it. I''ll ping you when I have an update," I sigh, shaking my head. At least I''ll have an update for Cartwright tomorrow.


    Hopefully, we won''t have a pandemic on our hands as well. Or someone body-jacking augments with stolen nanos. How the hell did the stakes get this high this fast?


    Just then, I get an alert in silver, with a Code Enforcement flag. Wait, this flag... the eyebot in the dock! Someone is trying to hack it. Haha, well, something breaks my way!


    "Got to go, Captain, I got some off-grid shuttle racers to take in," I say, grinning.


    And to think, I thought working in the sticks would be dull!

 Chapter 15: Jaywalking the Information Superhighway

    I crack my lower back, followed by my knuckles, as I link to the eyebot. Nothing like a low-stakes case to take the edge- what the....


    The eyebot is moving within the dock! Wait, it''s receiving commands... from someone else? How... oh, the handshake protocol was flagged as Code Enforcement! Hold the hardware... there''s no profile associated with the avatar sending the commands; someone is incognito. I sit up straight, eyes widening. Hacking a Code Enforcement Officer''s equipment is a felony. It''s like grabbing a cop''s gun or hotwiring their car. And doing it stealth? This isn''t a shuttle racer.


    The handshake protocol is Code Enforcement. That means it''s either a colleague hacking my assigned tech, a huge violation of protocol, or a black-hat spoofing a cop ID. But since the avatar is incognito and unregistered, we''re in ''grow-old-in-a-district-prison'' level felony territory.


    And... I triple check that the eyebot''s data-stream is one-directional and encrypted. Yup to both. Happy day. They don''t know I know.


    The eyebot is obeying someone else''s commands, but I''m getting a live-stream of the data. I make sure I''m recording too, and taking down detailed logs. This is going to play well at someone''s trial. And I want to see where the bot is going...


    But my blood runs cold as I see the eyebot focusing on a particular hatch in the docking ring. The Chimera''s hatch.


    Ugh, I hate the picture in my head, so I link to the port in my wall and display the feed externally. Why is someone interested in Sparrow?


    In the feed, the airlock door opens, and three people float out towards the hatch. Sparrow, and someone I don''t recognize. Looks like one of the mining or transport company employees. And... is the third Officer Rusteater? Out of uniform, but...


    The three enter the Chimera, and the eyebot begins to crawl forward, towards the vessel. It wedges tight against the corner of the airlock. An alert pop''s up in my overlay; there''s been an override on several of the eyebot''s protocols. It looks like... oh shit, the safety-protocols that governs the power supply? Whoever it is, their avatar is re-coding the eyebot to turn it into a fucking bomb! If it power supply overloads and breaches when the airlock is open... Sparrow!


    I clench my fists and drop into the system. I''m disoriented as my vision fractures along the full arc, spitting out an emergency shutdown command to the eyebot. I''m distracted and reeling, which is why I don''t get much detail when the incognito Avatar moves.


    It was stupid. I had the element of surprise, and I wasted it reacting emotionally. But I''m smart enough to have my malware filter up, and that saves me.


    The incognito Avatar reacts far faster than a human; it must be a Synth. It lashes out the moment I send my command, flooding my Avatar with packets that make my malware filters shriek. Before I can respond, it''s gone.


    Oh hell no. Some Synth just tried to hack my tech, bomb the Chimera, and burn my implants out. Now he thinks he''s gonna run? This chrome-licking prick is going down!


    I crank up my baud rate, overclocking as much as I can, sprinting through a digital labyrinth of interconnected systems and virts. You tried to hurt Sparrow.


    I sail through the ever-changing sea, tossing out answers to handshake protocols, pinging gates for recent access lists. The feed pours into my mind, tables showing timestamps for access. They''re only seconds ago. Ancient history. I dive through gates, feeling the brush of checks from security bots, spam filters, vert blockers, and privacy modules.


    I never go in like this. I''m not a Synth. The sea is swimming with sharks, and the points of contact for every node are loaded with antiseptic code and checks that slow me down. I get a number of pings myself, none of whom had the correct handshake protocols. Spam and verts, mostly. I tag a few when my barriers flare with positive malware flags, painting them with tracer code for later. But it''s a reaction. I don''t care; I have bigger fish to fry.


    Where are you? Come on, show me something. I dig into a few other sub-systems fishing for unregistered contact code. Nothing¡­nothing, nothing¡­ wait¡­ there.


    I pivot, seeing access from a recent incognito avatar. Unregistered Access, unknown party, security codes invalid. The timestamp is only seconds old. Gotcha! I dive through the active gate, chasing the trail through the virts governing the stations environments systems. It moves fast. I lose all control and awareness of my body, redirecting my focus. I crank up the baud rate, trying to coax a little more speed from my augments.


    I register a shrill ringing in my ears that slowly fades out, and my meat vision grows dark. I have to check each gate out until I find its fingerprints, and it''s slowing me down. The sucker moves faster than I can track. The local virts are largely empty of active avatars, aside from a few diagnostic or maintenance synths. There¡¯s nothing but subsentient protocols and d-life hunkered in the air processing subsystem. There are only a few gates out, but it takes me a second to figure out which one.


    I follow the trail as the digital version of a dead sprint. Into the air filtration system, onto HVAC managing VI database, into environmental substate movement systems, linking out to thermal regulation servers. I¡¯m not catching up; each timestamp is more stale than the last, not less.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    This isn''t working. It''s going to get away. I never got an ID. What if... it tries again?


    No. Big guns time, we just had an attempted murder. I submit my Code Enforcement Registry Key. Admin level access and icons flare into existence in my vision. For the next few minutes, my word is Law. You tried to kill Sparrow. I condemn you. I''m a Fury of ancient myth. I''m Nemesis. I''m God. And you are damned.


    With the Key, I send a direct ping flagged Urgent and High Priority directly to exonet processing, ordering a quarantine of all systems within 3 degrees of separation. The local virts ping me directly to confirm; inputs permitted from me alone, no outputs. I''ve thrown a wide net and activate a lockdown, dropping all of the exits; backup can get in, but nothing gets out. Quarantine will last as long as I fucking say it lasts. You¡¯re trapped here with me.


    I dive through the next gate and jump as I get a hot handshake from my quarry. I''m not shocked he''s attacking. I''m shocked that this time, the packet of malware slides through my filter like a knife through silk.


    I scream. Fire blazes in my skull, the handshake protocols concealing a pinpoint Blight that sears my primary node like a supernova. Alarms blare in my mind as it blows through my internal firewalls like tissue paper, leaving me to flail as I frantically stem the cascade. I gasp, hissing between clenched teeth as I break my connection to my implant at the meat end, watching as the Blight burns up the terminal end of the code.


    What the void-spawned fuck? I crank the baud rate down again, helpless as I watch the Blight chew through the data-collection logs, seeing everything linked to the decaying node dissolve into random code. This prick just bricked one of my implants. Fuck. I call my secondary and tertiary nodes.


    Ok, I have a top-of-the-line malware-filter with the latest security protocols, and it didn''t slow him down a whit. I slave my tertiary node to the secondary, and set a quick macro, having it run input through an emulation in the tertiary node before feeding input into the secondary. I''m running every incoming data packet through an emulation to find and keep out any hidden surprises.


    Well, I''m more protected, but slow as hell. Good luck sprinting in heavy armor. But I close each gate I find, and the size of the quarantined virts shrinks. The suspect is sealed into one system now, with me. No need to tackle and subdue him; be smart Mel. I lock down each individual subsystem one by one, closing rooms that my quarry could hide in. Several terminal points chirp with logout requests, but each one flashes red with a denial of access symbol. Good. He¡¯s running in circles now, bouncing off the walls, checking locks and jiggling handles. Nowhere to hide.


    The emulations slow me to a crawl, but I push through the system, closing out the connections for each piece of hardware in turn, cutting down the number of crevices the synth can hide in. With agonizing slowness, I shrink the field, cutting off retreat, until I¡¯ve entirely firewalled off one subsystem from the network. The server hosts software for the atmospheric condensers¡¯ heat-exchange system; nothing urgent. A flurry of pings hit the two-dozen active gates, but they all display a red lockout symbol, denying the suspect. You¡¯re cornered now.


    I enter the gate with the cornered Synth for first-person showdown. Immediately, I¡¯m slapped with a torrent of packets that make my malware filters scream. I claw my way into the gates around me, shutting them down entirely, and the packets redouble in intensity. I have it trapped, and like any cornered animal, its fighting tooth and nail. But I ramp down the subsystem¡¯s processing speed.


    The barrage of attacks drops to a crawl, and I activate my six biters, setting them loose like piranhas to gnaw the contact code from my prey. You¡¯re mine, fucker. I got a ping as a biter tags the synth, confirming the injection of sanitizing software, and I grin.


    But something goes wrong. A burst of data hits every contact point in the virt at once, and the activity ceases. The biters go crazy, muching on some of the sporadic code before I can call them back.


    The synth is gone.


    It could be a trick. I don''t dare stop the emulation. I trawl through the system at a speed that makes me grind my teeth, and even let the six sniffers out. They pass over every line of active code in the system, looking for non-native algorithms. Net: 1.8 active assets.


    Wait, that¡¯s not possible; I¡¯m the only active in the subsystem? Did the synth have a chassis, and break their connection and bail? I send the sniffers through the entire system again, much slower and finer, analyzing every line of code, active or dead. I link in my malware filter with the search parameters, looking for anything like the code that hit my filters during the chase. Show me that smoking gun. Even if someone dumped their avatar, their digital prints will be all over the place.


    But as the seconds crawl by, dread crawls up the back of my neck. Nothing. A final checksum pops up, showing 15 entities. There are 12 registered profiles; maintenance and security AIs and EIs, all sub-sentient. There are three unregistered and inactive. I tag them, and sieve through their digital forms. One entity looks to have decompiled, another randomized itself, and the third like it succumbed to malware-disjunction. They could be native d-life, inactive and hibernating.


    Trawling through the three, only the decompiled one looks even a little suspicious. It¡¯s densely coded, but it¡¯s¡­ I can''t tell what it''s coding for. There¡¯s a pattern here, but¡­ it¡¯s not coding for anything. I taste metal, and just then realize I¡¯m biting my tongue in meatspace. With a sigh, I tag the three entities for forensics. Hopefully, dissecting their code will show something, and I''ll leave that to Rabi.


    A few subsentient bots log into the subsystem, setting a perimeter along the network. I deactivate my CE key. There¡¯s over eight minutes left on its valid registry, but there¡¯s nothing else I need it for. My prey either escaped or blew its brains out rather than be taken alive. I''m going to be dealing with a review for using the CE key, but at least there''s no collateral damage. I''m pretty sure. At least I hope.


    The worst part is the feeling of helplessness. I still don¡¯t know if the synth was alone, or why they were doing this. I don''t know if someone will make another attempt. And red flags pop up in my overlay. Crap. Looking at my inbox, I¡¯m getting multiple flags from the life-support AIs, and two queries from air processing, demanding an explanation for throttling their system.


    And one of my implants has been bricked, which is going to be an unbelievable pain to replace. Almost as much as writing the reports. But Sparrow is safe.


    So I''ll take it!


    ***

 Chapter 16: The Unwritten Rules

    I should probably go to medical first, to get a complete scan of my wetware and hardware. And get an appointment to replace my primary node. I''m not looking forward to either, though, and working off my secondary node is slower and frustrating. I ping medical and leave a message; it''s probably too late in the afternoon to get an appointment, so I head to the precinct first. Besides, they''re going to try to upsell me on the latest upgrades. Goddamn kickbacks.


    I''m halfway to the precinct before Captain Cartwright pings me with an order to report to him ''in the meat'' anyway. I''m in his office less than two minutes later. At least I''m prompt.


    That''s about the only positive thing he says to me, before raking me over the coals.


    He leans across the desk, his fingers steepled, his thin lips pressed together and his eyes narrow. ¡°Lieutenant, I have administrators and bureaucrats I barely know crawling out of the aether, demanding I explain the heat and torsion damage on their hardware. You used your CE Key to override key safeties, and the only thing you can give me is a pile of scrap code?¡± His eyes are narrow and he''s rigid in his chair.


    I breathe deeply. ¡°It¡¯s all in my report; I pursued the suspect into the system, throttled and quarantined them, and it self-destructed. Check my logs.¡±


    Cartwright breathes slowly through his nose. ¡°Your primary node logs are scrambled; we couldn¡¯t pull anything legible out of them, so everything up to the Blight was lost. The secondary node was filtered through an emulation; it''s a mess. It shows you leaping into the subsystem and getting slapped around by malware.¡±


    ¡°Malware coming from the suspect!¡± I snap, leaning forward.


    ¡°But there¡¯s no body. We checked the other entities in the server, and they were all benign. We grabbed the three you tagged, especially the decompiled body, and had forensics dissect the code line by line, character by character. There¡¯s nothing there,¡± he says, his tone neutral.


    Come on! ¡°It¡¯s not random, Captain. There¡¯s a pattern to the code,¡± I say slowly.


    ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s a junk pattern. As best we can tell, it¡¯s a decoy,¡± he says, waving one hand.


    I grip the arms of my chair. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, it wasn''t! It was hitting me with diverse and effective malware, and it actively blighted my augmentation through my filter. A decoy can¡¯t do that. This was a directed attack from a sentient-level avatar!"


    Cartwright shrugs. "Well, if it was there, it¡¯s gone now. Maybe it slipped out a backdoor and left a decoy behind to distract you,¡± he offers.


    ¡°No way. I shut everything down. It had no way out,¡± I protest, trying not to shout.


    ¡°You got suckered, no shame in that.¡±


    My fingers dig into my palms, but I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back. ¡°Look, Captain, I saw Officer Rusteater through the eyebot. I''d like to speak with him."


    "Them," the Captain corrects. "And you can ask. But what Officer Rusteater does in their own time, off-duty, is no concern of yours. Unless you have reason to believe they are involved?"


    "Well, if the eyebot was sent to spy on them, or if the sabotage was intended to kill them-"


    "Then they would be the intended victim, and an officer of this precinct," the Captain says evenly. "You can ask whatever you like, keeping that in mind."


    Be polite, and don''t make trouble for my officer.


    "Sir, heard and understood," I mutter.


    "In the meantime, we''ll have to schedule a deposition for the Board of Review by the end of the week. For the use of your CE Key," he says, and I stifle the urge to roll my eyes. "And I still want that update on the ME case tomorrow."


    "Green across the board, Captain," I say, struggling not to say anything I''ll regret.


    "Dismissed."


    And you''re welcome, Cartwright, for preventing a bomb from going off in the docks.


    ***


    Stepping out of Cartwright''s office, I''m ready to bite the head off the next person I see. Which, unfortunately, is Rabi. Walking into the hallway, I''m startled when she appears at my side from nowhere. "Hello Hello, Lieutenant! Do you have a moment?"


    I swallow the grunt of irritation building in my throat, keeping my pace. "Ah, Captain, I''m a little-"


    "Busy? Of course, replacing your implant. I''ll walk you down to medical," she says without missing a beat.


    I cough at that. "Uh, I actually-"This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "-haven''t made an appointment yet, of course, so I made one on your behalf, I hope I''m not overstepping, how are you feeling?"


    ...weirdly thoughtful.  "Uh... no, not overstepping I suppose- thanks, by the way..." I sputter, taken off-guard. "I''m fine, I think, I mean," I say, trying to recover. When did she have time to do that? Wait, when did she even learn about my implant bricking?


    "I poured through the code, you know, from the decompiled Avatar," she adds as we walk.


    What? You got through all of that this quickly? Damn, cyber-queen, get it done. "Cart- Captain Cartwright said it wasn''t anything interesting," I note, frowning.


    Rabi giggles in response. "Oh, it''s very interesting, we just can''t make sense of it, which makes it super interesting to me," she says, tossing her head.


    "Well, is there anything I can do?" I ask, as we reach the corridor to medical.


    She skips beside me. "Yes. I would like your implant," she says smoothly.


    What? "Uh... you mean, the bricked one?" I tap my temple.


    She nods quickly and eagerly. "Yes yes! Please. I''ll pay for the replacement. Even an upgrade."


    You''ve very helpful. Why is that? "Well, I watched all the code degrade, the data is unsalvageable. The implant is worth the scrap value of the hardware," I say. She doesn''t respond to that. "It''s dead," I add.


    She gives me a glance. "It was never alive, but it could be made so if I granted such a wish."


    Uh... huh? "Sorry, I''m not following you,"


    Just as we reach the door to medical, Rabi turns, blocking my path. "Yes, you are following me, you just don''t understand. May I please have your implant, Lieutenant?"


    It''s weird, but I guess there''s nothing dangerous she can do with it. And it never hurts to be politic with the higher ranks. "Uh, sure..." I say, diplomatically.


    She steps aside, motioning me in. I''m surprised when I get a flag approving me for a full replacement of the computing core of my current node. Huh, Rabi paid in advance? Nifty, no insurance bullshit...


    As I step into the medical wing, Rabi grabs my arm. "And remember, that is not clean, which can eternal lye. And with strange oils, even soap may die."


    What? "What?" I turn to look at her, and the silver threads ripple in my overlay as she laughs and shakes her head.


    Her nose wrinkles. "I''m saying you could use a bath, Lieutenant," she says, rolling her eyes.


    Well, the night just keeps on giving.


    ***


    Thankfully, Rabi doesn''t insist on keeping by my side the whole time. My implant isn''t a custom job. NeuroWare is a pretty generic brand, and their main series is nothing special. They are reliable and easy to service, and you can plug and play. The surgery takes less than an hour, and it''s all outpatient. No need to open my skull, just access the implant subdermally at the port in the bone. I do have to stay conscious during it, though.


    I''m laying on my side on the medical table while a rather curt nurse preps me. His bedside manner leaves a little to be desired, if I''m being honest. Not being much of a time-waster, I decide to get some answers. I ping Officer Rusteater through my secondary node, while the nurse tinkers with the first. Just Rusteater? No last name? Nothing? Oof.


    They answer after a few moments. There''s no greeting. "I''m off-duty, Lieutenant. Did you check the shift schedule?"


    I lick my lips, subvocalizing, ignoring the tug I feel from my temple. "Yes, I apologize, Officer Rusteater. However, there was an incident at the dock, and I''d like to speak with you to get a statement."


    "Tomorrow. I''m sleeping in early tonight," they state quickly.


    Sleeping? Wait, did they leave the Chimera? Or... are they still there? And... sleeping? "Oh, sorry, I thought you were Synth," I add. Sometimes it can be hard to tell.


    "I am," is the blunt response.


    "Oh... you sleep?" I ask, blinking.


    "Is that any of your concern, Lieutenant?"


    My mouth works silently for a moment. "No, I apologize, I just-"


    "Assumed?" They interject.


    I chew my lip. "I''m sorry, Officer Rusteater, maybe we got off on the wrong foot-"


    "I''m available anytime tomorrow morning after nine and before noon. Ping me then. Have a good day," they say with a flat tone.


    I take a breath. "I apol... huh." They broke the channel. Rude.


    Eh, they''re a Synth. I''m sure it''s... benign. Don''t do that thing where you assume the worst.


    I try pinging the Chimera.


    When I don''t get an answer, I''m proud of myself. I don''t spin out.


    I''m too busy worrying that someone might be trying to kill Sparrow to worry if she''s sleeping around.


    ***


    I''ll spare you the details of the procedure to swap my implants. In the beginning, I just lay back, enduring a few nerve connections and some diagnostics. The end is mostly filled boring paperwork. Well, its digital, but paperwork all the same. True to her word, Captain Gupta has authorized payment from the forensics budget. I guess it''s a work-related expense, and I''m not complaining. The doctor slaps a tiny dermal patch on my temple and gives me the specs for the unit.


    Rabi''s gone with my old unit before I''m even released; I guess she was eager to get it back to dissect it. Well, if anyone can get anything useful out of the logs, I guess it''s her. Still, even though I got a shiny new node installed for free, I can''t help feeling a little used.


    Oh well, she''s gone, so no need to keep up with her parsec-a-light-minute rambling. Plus, who knows, maybe she can pull something useful off of it? If it can help me, I''ll take it.


    By the time I get back to my quarters, it''s late. I''d normally be crawling into my cot by now. But I do take half an hour to test all the functions of my new implant, and make sure my four nodes are communicating effectively. I upload all my latest malware filters and preferences. You know, the things you do with a new electronic device.


    I also take a long and thorough bath, and put a note to buy some stronger deodorant. I can''t tell is Rabi was screwing with me, but it''s a small station. And I want to smell nice... for...


    Well, I want to smell nice. I don''t have to explain myself to anyone, even myself!


    By the time I''m crawling into the cot and pulling the blanket around myself, I''m at least certain I''m clean.


    Ugh, some sleepless manic cybermind on one hand, and a synth who replicates the need to sleep on the other?


    For a few moments, I''m concerned that those thoughts running back and forth in my mind will keep me up all night.


    But then, something else occurs to me. If Rabi can pull any data off that implant, it might include useful information about the suspect or the case.


    At the same time, she might pull any other sort of data off it. Like, about Sparrow. Or... Alex. Shit.


    I''m wrong, of course. The thought doesn''t keep me up all night. Just two or three hours. I''m finally able to fall asleep by reassuring myself that Rabi won''t find anything. Or possibly that she just wanted the implant for creepy stalker-y reasons. Because it had been inside me, or something like that. I''m a little ashamed to admit it, but that really does help me get to sleep.


    Alright, you can judge me a little. Besides, it''s nothing compared to the next day.

 Chapter 17: Snakes and Ladders

    My sleep is heavy and dreamless. That''s a small blessing. I don''t get as much as I would like, but at least exhaustion means I don''t have any nightmares.


    My day is looking traumatic enough. Well, I might as well get what closure I can, before reporting in-person to Cartwright. Pulling on my uniform, attaching my stun-stick and taser, I do a sniff test, just to make sure. I''m pretty sure Rabi¡¯s screwing with me.


    As I dress, I ping the Chimera. I guess I''m expecting Sparrow to dodge my ping, because I''m caught off guard when she answers.


    "Well, hello Melody. I suppose you''re not the ''wait-three-days'' before pinging type," she teases, making me snort. Hah, everyone on this station can read me so well.


    I run my hand through my hair. "Well, what can I say? I''ve never been the most patient sort," I admit.


    Sparrow chuckles. "Oh, I''m getting that. And not that I don''t love hearing your voice, but to what do I owe the pleasure?"


    I bite my tongue. For the moment I''m torn. Should I tell her someone tried to kill her? Would I want to know? Do I owe that to her?


    "Melody?"


    I weigh my choices. "It''s... there was an incident yesterday, at the dock," I say carefully.


    "Oh! Is that why you pinged me yesterday? Sorry, I had company," she says quickly. Well, she''s up front about it.


    I take a deep breath. "Yes... someone hacked my eyebot. I dropped in first-person, and they attacked me. Blighted and bricked my primary node," I say, rubbing my temple. Feels like the dermal patch has taken.


    "Starless skies... are you alright?" I hear the concern in her voice.


    I swallow hard. "Yeah, replaced the node, I was in and out of medical before the day was done. But they tried to wire the eyebot to overload. They may have been trying to sabotage the dock. Or one of the ships. Based on the positioning, I think it was going for the Chimera." I bite my bottom lip.


    There''s silence for a moment. "Well, I can guess what that''s about," she sighs. She doesn''t sound surprised.


    Goosebumps rise on my arms at that. "What does that mean?"


    I hear a sigh. "It''s related to some CI work that I did a while back. I can''t actually talk about it without clearing it with my old handler," she says quickly.


    My heart beats a little faster. "Would your handler happen to be Officer Rusteaster?" I ask softly.


    There''s silence in response.


    Please don''t tell me... "Sparrow, please level with me. What''s going on? Are you acting as a CI? Are you... using me to-"


    "No!" She interjects. "And I''m not an active informant, I haven''t been for years, but it''s tangentially related. Really, Melody, please it''s... I''m not... Just give me a day, let me get clearance, and I''ll tell you everything," she says without pausing.


    I shake my head. "Sparrow, I''m sorry, but if someone tried to kill you-"


    "No! Not... Just... one day. Please. Trust me," she pleads, and for a moment I want to just break the connection.


    Trust me. I hate hearing those words.


    "...Alright. But this time you''re buying me dinner. And however it shakes out, I''m keeping the coffee."


    ***


    On the walk to the Precinct, I decide to ping Officer Rusteater. I''m not expecting them to be very helpful, but I''ve been pleasantly surprised before.


    Rarely. He answers me almost immediately. "Lieutenant, thank you for pinging me at a reasonable time. What can I help you with?"


    I take a breath. "Officer Rusteater, first, I''d like to apologize if-"


    "Apology accepted, if it speeds this along. What do you want? Sir?" He adds belatedly.


    Alright, if that''s how you want to do this. "There was an incident at the dock-"


    "I was informed. A suspect hacked your eyebot and tried to weaponize it. You disabled the bot, pursued the suspect, who either self-terminated or threw a decoy and evaded."


    Ok, he''s very well informed. "You seem to know-"


    "I''m a Synth, as are most of the forensics department. Cops gossip, even more so through the exonet," he offers. Very quickly.


    I roll my eyes at that. "Alright, do you know what this incident was about?"


    "Yes. And to forgo your next question, no, I do not intend to elaborate. And if you gave me an order, I would refuse it. You could then escalate it to Captain Cartwright, who would back me unequivocally because he would know exactly what it''s regarding," the synth delivers in a monotone.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "And you have no intention of telling me what that is?¡± Of course.


    "Correct. Sir. I will say only that it is related to witness protection. Consult with Captain Cartwright if you wish to know more."


    I let a few moments pass. So many vacuum-sucking secrets and lies. "Just answer me this. Is Sparrow involved in this?"


    "...Have a nice day, Lieutenant." Well, that was as close to an admission as I''m likely to get. Cartwright clearly knows more, but will he share it? Somehow, I doubt it.


    What the void-spawned fuck is going on?


    ***


    I fully intend to ask Captain Cartwright. I have many flaws, and ''not letting things go'' tops the list. But the moment I get to the Precinct, I know that''s not going to happen.


    It''s tense. He calls me into his office, and everyone else is gone. Ordered away, or wanting to be away from ground-zero? Rats and sinking ships?


    In any event, I''ve filed my report, and I''m alone with Cartwright in his office, running him through the analysis of the data we got back from forensics. The tension is so thick I could cut it with a knife, but right now, it''s just mundane casework.


    "...but we''re only presuming it''s a case of secondary-infection from something more serious. And from what we can tell, Lemming is possibly still out there, potentially spreading this malware," I add, concluding my report.


    Cartwright gives me a cool look. ¡°And this is based on information you got from a convicted felon?¡±


    I bristle at that. ¡°I got it from one of the other AIs, who I contacted through one of the CI¡¯s used by this department.¡±


    ¡°Former CI. As far as I¡¯m aware, this ''Sparrow'' hasn¡¯t assisted us in nearly two years. Now she¡¯s volunteering to help the cops? What¡¯s her motive and involvement?¡±


    I lick my lips. ¡°I pinged her from the contact list of the missing entity. She voluntarily provided information helpful to my investigation.¡±


    ¡°Was this before or after you slept with her?¡±


    The words are delivered in an even, conversational tone, but my world screeches to a halt. Shit, shit, SHIT. ¡°Captain¡­ that wasn¡¯t¡­¡± I start.


    ¡°Were you aware she was recruited involuntarily as a CI as part of a plea bargain for six felony level code violations?¡±


    I swallow hard. ¡°I¡­ was aware of the incident with the shuttle¡­¡±


    ¡°And you linked with her. An unfiltered link. Have you heard of a honey-pot, Lieutenant Cruz?¡± His words are soft, but I¡¯m trapped. A bug in a glass. Sweat beads on the back of my neck.


    ¡°With respect, Sir, Sparrow wouldn¡¯t-¡°


    ¡°Lie to you? Use you? Gain access to secure systems through you?¡±


    My mouth goes dry. She wouldn''t. ¡°My judgment¡­ might not have been-¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re suspended, Lieutenant.¡± I gasp as the secure Code Enforcement icons drop instantly from my overlay. In a blink, I¡¯m a civilian. ¡°Effective immediately. Please turn in your equipment.¡±


    I blink, looking down at the taser and stun stick on my belt. I''ve worn them so long I''ve forgotten they''re there. I take a deep breath and set my jaw as I pull them off my hip and place them on Cartwrights desk. This can''t be happening. ¡°To be clear, are you suspending me for fraternizing with a convicted felon? Or because I slept with a former confidential informant?¡±


    ¡°Neither. This isn¡¯t disciplinary, it¡¯s medical. I¡¯m pulling you from active status for suspected neural instability.


    ¡°Neural instability? Because I slept with Sparrow?¡±


    ¡°No, because you have a diagnosed disability incompatible with the performance of your duties. I pulled your med file.¡±


    ¡°What? You had no right!¡±


    ¡°I have every right, especially given your misconduct. You were diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, social anxiety, and major depression. From your file, it¡¯s clear you refused treatment for any of these conditions.¡±


    ¡°I am treating. Cognitive behavioral therapy, endorphin doping-.


    ¡°You refused any neural sculpting or receptor resequencing. You could have solved this in an afternoon. Instead, you¡¯re putting patches on a hull breach day by day.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want some neuron-jockey rewiring my brain.¡±


    The Captain looks baffled at my words. ¡°That¡¯s crazy. You have a head full of augments.¡±


    ¡°But they don¡¯t change how I think!¡± I clench my fists, feeling a bead of sweat slide down my neck. ¡°My mind is who I am. Expanding my memory, linking to the exonet, cranking my augments¡¯ processing speeds up or down? Those are just tools for me to use as I choose, when I choose. Changing the way I think, the way my brain processes its own identity, changes who I am. It¡¯s a complicated way of killing myself, so someone else can walk off in my meatsuit. I won¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°Then maybe you need to find a new profession. I¡¯m pulling you from active status until you find a permanent solution for your disability. You¡¯re not fit for duty. Appeal to the board if you want, but you¡¯ll have to disclose everything on a public submission, for an open hearing. It¡¯s your call.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Keep sleeping with the felon if you like, by all means.¡±


    ***


    ¡°El Tee, wait!¡± I hear Brent call out, but I¡¯m already stalking out of the building and I¡¯m sure as hell not waiting for him. ¡°El Tee! Cruz!¡± I hear his heavy gate rushing to catch up. ¡°I just heard-¡°


    I whip around and Brent rocks back on his heels at the sight of my face. ¡°Had to go running to the Captain, huh? Tell him you caught me and Sparrow? Did Cartwright order you to spy on me, or did you volunteer?¡± His mouth works soundlessly for a moment. ¡°Want to throw me in the airlock without a helmet too, Sergeant?¡±


    His eyes are wide. ¡°El Tee, it ain¡¯t like that! I didn¡¯t say squat; it was radio-silence from me.¡±


    ¡°Vacuum-sucking bullshit!¡±


    ¡°Mel, look at me.¡± I meet his eyes. They look sincere, for all their unsettling appearance. ¡°If I was gonna bring something to the Captain, I¡¯d tell you and give you the chance to come forward first.¡±


    ¡°Then who?¡±


    ¡°I honestly dunno El Tee. But it wasn¡¯t me; Sparrow¡¯s good people, just made some mistakes. She ain¡¯t a bad chip on the board, and I got no issue if you and her wanna knock boots.¡±


    I let that settle for a moment, before shaking my head. ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t matter now. Get back to work,¡± I say, eyes burning.


    ¡°El Tee-¡°


    ¡°Get spaced,¡± I mutter at him as I turn, shaking. I can¡¯t let him see me crying.


    ***


    I manage to get inside my quarters and lock the door before the dam breaks.


    Fucking void-spawned, oxide huffing, chrome licking prick! I slam a fist into the bulkhead of my quarters, and the pain blooms in my knuckles. Damned judgmental, ice-humping, tight-assed, vacuum-sucking, back-birthed piece of shit!  Tears spill down my cheeks, and a drop of blood slides down my fingers. Fuck you, Cartwright! You probably ended up at Jupiter¡¯s asshole because it was the only one bigger than you!


    I beat my hands against the wall, sobbing. I¡¯ve been here less than a week! You couldn¡¯t wait to find a reason to boot me out. No strange fish muddying up your little pond, huh? You were salivating over the chance, you dead-eyed, icy-veined, analogue-brained, fucking waste of protein!


    I can¡¯t stop the wracking sobs. I really thought things might be turning around. Things were looking better, at least a little. But I can¡¯t get away from it. Even here, half a solar-system away. Nobody fucking understands, and I can¡¯t talk to Brent about it. Or any of my colleagues. I pull my contact list up, uncertain. No, not Alex, that¡¯s for sure.


    Of course, there¡¯s one person I know will listen. Who will care. The only person, really. I ping the Chimera.


    ***

 Chapter 18: Breadcrumbs and Sparrows

    The crying doesn¡¯t last long, but the anger does. Pacing around the narrow hold of the Chimera, I¡¯m seething. Fists clenches, jaw tight, while Sparrow leans back against the bulkhead with a concerned face.


    ¡°They want me to change! To transform my brain, how my mind works, who I am at the core.¡±


    She bites her tongue, brow furrowed. ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡­ if Sergeant Rockchaser didn¡¯t tell them, who did?¡±


    I throw my hands up in exasperation. ¡°Does it make a difference now? Maybe someone snooped the security feeds. It¡¯s not even about us anymore, it¡¯s about my ¡®disability.¡¯¡±


    It¡¯s silent for a few moments. Sparrow sits down and crosses her leg. She¡¯s wearing overalls now, and I feel bad about interrupting her business, but I feel like I¡¯m going to explode. Or deck someone. I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself.


    Finally, she tilts her head. ¡°Melody¡­ can I ask? I don¡¯t want to pry, but¡­ what¡¯s the damage here?¡±


    I tense at that. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    She nods. ¡°Look, I¡¯m the last person in the system to judge. And I know that I''ve held back and basically asked you to trust me. But you¡¯re all wound tight about this, and not about the part that should worry you. Why don¡¯t you want the treatment?¡±


    My shoulders tense. ¡°What, just let some random fucking technician laser my neurons one by one, shave away who I am? Go to sleep on the table while they fab me up a new personality without any of the defects? So tell me, is it the same person who wakes up on the table and walks away?¡± The tears are welling up again and I scrub at my eyes with my hands.


    Sparrow puts a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it softly. ¡°Melody¡­ the Chimera is a safe space. Always has been, for me. You can tell me, I promise. It¡¯s ok.¡±


    She''s hiding things from me. But she''s told me she''s hiding them. Does that make it better? She hasn''t lied to me... that I know of...


    I shudder, shaking my head. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not ok¡­¡± I swallow, breathing deep. ¡°I don''t know if it ever will be. It¡­ last year, I was stationed on Luna, just off the Sea of Tranquility. Armstrong station, a pretty busy transit hub for Earthbound traffic. I had a partner. Alex¡­¡± I swallow hard. "We were... involved..."


    Involved. Really, what else can I say? We never labeled it. I guess we thought it would make it too real. I was a chrome-licking moron. Still am.


    Sparrow just nods. She''s giving me time. And I need it.


    I take a deep breath. I take a few more. "We were investigating some members of the Gaian League. We had just gotten an alert; an intrusion in the archive..."


    ***


    I describe it to her as clinically as I can, but by the end, her brown eyes are wide and she''s covering her mouth with her hand. Even her tattoo isn''t moving.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have augments governing dexterity, motor-control, speech, consciousness; none of the full-immersion suites. Even cutting off my augments, he couldn¡¯t physically body-jack me, just cut me off from the Exonet. So he picked up the spanner and tried to kill me instead,¡± I say. That doesn''t even come close to conveying what it was like.


    ¡°"Starless sky. You mean a legit body-jacking? Of a Code Enforcement Officer?¡±


    I lick my lips and nod. ¡°It was total. They were so deep into his augments; he couldn¡¯t even control his speech.¡±


    ¡°What did he do?¡± Her eyes are wide.


    I give a sharp, bitter laugh. ¡°Oh, aside from infecting the archives? Tried his best to kill me.¡±


    ***


    I''m sucking down lungsful of oxygen, sobbing and shaking. Alex twitches next to me, bleeding. I think he''s still breathing. I try to report a medical emergency in the archive, but my overlay isn''t responding. It takes me a moment to remember that my implants are dead. Tears spill down my cheeks as I rise on shaking legs, trembling as I claw at the neck of my uniform. Fuck, I still can''t get enough air.


    But the archive... there''s heat radiating from it. What the vacuum-sucking hell is it processing? I stumble towards the console, tripping. My chest burns as I cough and wretch, more tears rolling down my face. I grip the console with shaking hands, pulling myself. The readout... holy void-spawned fuck.


    Something is using every ounce of processing power in the archive. It''s overclocked to the limits of the substrate. But... it looks like someone locked it down. It''s been quarantined with a CE Key. All the gates out are dead and unresponsive. Alex? No, wait, that''s my Key; I did it. It''s all a fucking nightmarish blur. How long ago? Shit, the keys expire after ten minutes, what time is it? I can''t call for help... and that... thing... My legs shake as I struggle to remember. There are gaps... roaring darkness... Fuck, don''t think about it, Mel!Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    It was using Alex to try to get out... Oh no. No way. If that thing... I start shaking again. No.


    I have to stop it. I''ve got minutes... how? Fuck... I try to access the console. But if lag was bad through my implant, it''s worse here. Fuck, typing by hand is so damn slow! And my shaking fingers don''t help.


    I need something fast. Simple. I kneel slowly, reaching out. Grabbing the bloody spanner. I turn back to the archive. To the station filled with delicate fiberoptic cables and fragile silicon wafers and thin sheafs of polymer.


    You did this. It''s your fault. I don''t see the flying chips, or smell the ozone, or hear the shriek of metal, or see the sparks zipping around me.


    I don''t stop until my hands are aching and my knuckles bleeding. I''m covered in slivers of metal and shards of plastic. My knees give out, and fresh tears spill down my cheeks. I hit the floor, sobbing anew, hugging the bleeding body next to me. "I''m sorry..." Alex... I''m so sorry.


    ***


    "He barely survived. There was neurological damage. But his implants were fucked too; he was wired in waaay deeper than me."


    Sparrow tilts her head. "Like Rabi?"


    "Hell no, not that much. About as deep as Brent." I waffle one hand, trying to express it. "But there''s no free lunch, right? When you swap that much of your wetware for hardware, you get a whole bunch of vulnerabilities to balance out all those gifts. And sure, some implants are modular, or optional, so you can cut them on or off. But Alex... he lost everything all at once, destructively. The scrubs in medical managed to save his life, but... he was gone. Like, literally catatonic," I say, a shudder running through me.


    "Melody, I''m so sorry. I can''t imagine what that''s like." She''s hugging her belly.


    I try to get through the next part. I barely shake as I say it. "They... there was a procedure, to reconstruct... what he lost. But..." I tail off.


    Her hand rises, but she lets it fall. Like she''s afraid to touch me. Like I''m too fragile. "It... didn''t work?"


    I give a bitter laugh. "Oh, it did. I went horribly right. The new implant and nanos... the procedure worked, and he even got most of his memories back. But it wasn''t... he wasn''t... him."


    Sparrow clasps her hands together. "Like, his personality was different?"


    I struggle and fumble, hands working. "Like... he was... something built in the image of Alex. He remembered the events, but in the abstract. Like a holo, not memories." I shiver as I remember it. "They didn¡¯t affect him. The memories of that night, of... all our nights together. All those... special moments you have with someone?" I swallow hard, eyes watering. "They didn''t mean anything to him anymore."


    There''s a long moment of silence. Sparrow sighs. "You lost the relationship and had to grieve it alone," she says softly.


    My head snaps up. "Yes! It was a living nightmare. I couldn''t stand to have him touch me. I tried to explain but... but everyone acted like something was horribly wrong with me." God, I hate remembering that. "I tried to express it to him. He just kept pressing me to get a resequencing or some other brain-hack to get over it!" I say, hitting my fist against the bulkhead. I breathe fast and hard. "He was even cleared for duty again! Every day, he¡¯d come into the Precinct as chipper and smug as ever. Like nothing ever changed. He''d give me the same crooked smile, and my skin would crawl.¡±


    ¡°Starless skies¡­¡± Sparrow says, eyes wide and horrified.


    I wipe my eyes. ¡°And when the precinct closed the case without any suspects? Alex barely cared. Because it didn¡¯t really happen to him; it happened to my partner. My partner died, and someone else woke up and walks around in his body, carrying his memories, thinking they¡¯re him. But my Alex is gone." I shake my head, sniffing and rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. ¡°I couldn¡¯t go through with another augment after that. Or any wetware upgrades that even touched cognition or memory. I just...I can''t lose myself." I rub my eyes. "And I couldn''t keep working on Armstrong Station. I found myself wishing... that I had just finished the job with the spanner. That it would have been a mercy."


    I killed you Alex. I''m sorry I didn''t give you a burial too.


    Sparrow''s hand reaches out and touches my arm gently, fingers squeezing. "You lost him piece by piece," she whispers.


    I nod. A few more tears spill down my face, but I keep from sobbing. "After my medical leave was up, I had to get out, so... I requested a transfer as far away from Luna as I could get,¡± I murmur. Wow, I haven''t said that out loud before. It sounds so pathetic, but it''s... I feel lighter. To finally admit it.


    I feel Sparrow¡¯s hand on my arm, running up to my shoulder. ¡°Melody, I can''t begin to understand what you''ve been through. And I¡¯d never question the calls you made; I haven''t lived your life. But honestly, you should appeal the Captain¡¯s decision.¡±


    Why can''t I just stay here with you? Forget about it all. ¡°And what? Tell the Board the whole story? And have it getting out I¡­¡± I trail off.


    She arches an eyebrow. ¡°Slept with a felon?¡±


    A moment of silence passes. ¡°Sparrow, I don¡¯t care. I don¡¯t. But the Board of Review¡­¡±


    She puts her hand on my other shoulder as well, turning me to face her. Looking into her wide brown eyes. ¡°I get it. Please, Melody, I do. But focus for a moment. Somehow, the Captain found out. And he found out fast."  She pulls me off the wall. "Maybe he was looking for a reason to give you the boot. But I have met the man. He''s a lot of things, but he''s not petty. I can''t imagine him crawling through security footage looking for dirt on you. Someone told him. If you appeal the decision-"


    It clicks. "Then he''ll have to disclose how he found out, and I''ll find out who. And at least that gives me an idea who is undermining me..." And that person may just be the same person who tried to kill you...


    She gives me a smile that lights up my whole world. "You never know," she says, shrugging.


    I chew the side of my cheek. Well, there''s something to be said about knowing thy enemy. And hey...


    I look at Sparrow. I''m sure my eyes are puffy and my face is red, but I don''t care. "You know... I guess technically I''m off work for a while... want to grab a meal?"


    Sparrow blushes a bit. "Yeah? Just like that?"


    I shrug. "Why not?"


    She licks her lips. "You''re not... upset? That I can''t tell you... well, really anything at all?"


    I reach out and slide my arms around her. "Maybe a little. But I know you''d tell me if you could, and it must be a good reason."


    She presses her cheek against my collarbone. "Yeah? Known me for four days and you trust me that much?" Her arms close around me.


    I think about it a moment. "Yeah... I do." Then again, I never claimed to have the best judgment. Well, if I''m making a terrible mistake, at least it won''t be boring.


    We hold each other. Just for this moment, I tell myself it''ll all work out. Somehow, everything will be alright.


    I suppose the most harmful lies are the ones we tell ourselves.


    ***

 Chapter 19: Violations both Subtle and Gross

    Sparrow lets me use her shuttle to clean up. Oh, did I mention she has an actual bathroom in that thing? There are only four compartments in a standard Luna shuttle, really. The front of the shuttle is all one compartment: half-cockpit and half electronics and fabbing suite. The back half divided; one half is bedroom and living space, with the engine room as the third room. The last is usually storage, barely a closet compared to the others. But bless her heart, Sparrow has somehow turned the storage room into a working bathroom, with a sink and fixed toilet. I mean, I knew she had done modifications to the shuttle, but it''s downright comfy, even in microgravity. I''m not jealous. Really.


    After washing up and scrubbing my face, I look almost presentable. The glossy white walls of the shuttle are interspersed with prints and laser-etched patterns, mostly space-scapes and nature-scapes. I look around as I dry my hands. I''m still impressed by how she personalized this old vessel.  It feels like Sparrow.


    I shake my head. Well, I''m suspended. I suppose that will give me plenty of time to prep for the deposition for the use of my Registry Key. And for the appeal of my suspension to the Board. As I emerge from the bathroom, rubbing my hair dry with a cloth, I''m smiling. Sparrow notices and raises an eyebrow. "You''re looking in a better mood already. Should I be concerned?"


    I snort at that. "Just putting a task-list together. I feel better when I''ve got an idea of what to do," I say, sitting down on one of the two fixed polymer chairs. I tap my foot slowly. "So, I''m thinking, if I haven''t burned all my bridges with Brent, and if Rabi feels perhaps a little grateful for my implant, I might have a few people on the inside willing to testify on my behalf, or at least give me some info," I say, looking over at her.


    Sparrow''s nose scrunches. "The implant that was removed? The bricked one? You gave it to Rabi?" She tilts her head at that.


    I shrug. "It was kind of weird, yeah. She asked me for it. She even offered to pay for my new one in exchange," I say, tapping the dermal patch on my temple.


    She blinks at that. "That''s... wow. Pricey. Why did she want the old one?" Sparrow asks, frowning.


    I throw my hands up. "No clue. But unless I''m mistaken, she''s a little sweet on me," I say, chuckling.


    Sparrow laughs outright at that. "Oh wow, I''m not sure you could keep up with her. Better you than me, Melody."


    ***


    I feel better. Nothing''s really changed, but I feel less... lost. Like there''s a way out. Maybe a little unburdened.


    I watch the station through my overlay, seeing the threads of silver along the walls as I emerge from the dock. Heading back to the habitation level, I ponder my next step. I owe Brent an apology. A real one. And if Rabi is willing-


    I''m surprised to get an alert titled ''Lemming''. What? Huh... it looks like it was one of auto-alerts I set for contact from Lemming''s profile. Guess he''s alive. And it''s coming from the Astronomy division? Wait, shit, I can''t access any Code Enforcement icons or case files; I''m a civilian. Well, fantastic. I''ll have to ping Brent to follow up on that instead.


    Before I get the chance, I get a ping from Rabi. Oooh, I''m popular today. It''s text only, to report to the Precinct... ASAP?


    What? Back to the precinct? I was just suspended like three hours ago! I shake my head. Maybe she hasn''t heard about that yet. Or maybe she wants to keep me in the loop about something that forensics found? I did send her a lot of code to dissect in a short time. I turn down the thoroughfare, heading back to the precinct. Jupiter''s angry eye stares down at me through the transparent roof.


    I''m not super eager to apologize to Brent, and since I''m already out...


    ***


    There''s a pall over the entire building.  Arriving at the precinct, something feels deeply wrong. It''s too quiet. I haven''t seen this place completely empty before. Is it between shifts? I''d still expect a few officers. I go to check the schedule, but the red denial reminds me that I''m suspended. Ok, maybe it''s the unofficial work from home day?


    Stepping inside, the desks are empty. The liminal space makes it seem more than a little eerie; goosebumps rise on my skin.  Orbital data and exonet analyses scroll on the wall screens, and the systems are all running, but there''s no sound of activity. I see Cartwright''s door is open, the light spilling out into the hallway.


    My skin prickles. The gift of fear; somethings wrong, and my lizard brain doesn''t like it at all.


    "Please, Lieutenant, come in, come in!" I hear Rabi call from the captain''s office.


    Right then, at that very moment, I''m absolutely certain I''m about to see Cartwright''s corpse laying on the floor of his office.


    I step in the office to find...


    Nothing of the sort. I look around. There''s nobody, and no body. Well, even nervous, I''m pretty funny. Rabi is wearing a red sari and sitting in Cartwright''s chair. Her bare feet are up on his desk, and she''s fiddling with a small device. One I recognize. Ugh, my implant. I really hope this isn''t some fetish-thing.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Hello, Captain Gupta," I say carefully.


    She smiles widely. "Hello Hello! Thanks for coming so quickly. I hope I didn''t disturb you and Sparrow."


    My hackles rise at that. So... you knew where I was?  "Where''s Captain Cartwright... sir?"


    "He''s out for the moment. Technically it''s case related, but you won''t find anything about it in the logs," she says with a grin, tossing and catching the implant.


    I don''t see any weapons on her, but she could be hiding one in that sari. "And you decided to set up in his office while he''s gone?"


    She gives me a quick grin. "He won''t be back for at least a day, possibly significantly longer."


    I immediately try sending out a ping to the Captain. His profile is locked down, but I should be able to-


    I get an error code. Host Unreachable. "Er..." I pause, uncertain.


    "He left me in command of the precinct while he''s gone," she adds. Ok, that''s awfully convenient.


    I swallow hard, gulping. I feel like I''m three steps behind. "I would like to speak with Captain Cartwright and hear that from his own lips."


    Rabi''s dark eyes meet mine. "Captain Ashton Cartwright and Officer Rusteater have left the station."


    The hair rises on the back of my neck. "...Of their own volition?"


    Rabi sighs and rubs her neck for a moment. It''s the most normal thing I''ve seen her do. "Yes, yes, please," she says, waving a hand at the seat.


    I swallow and step towards the chair, lowering myself slowly. "May I ask why they aren''t answering my pings?"


    She tilts her head. "They are currently unavailable. The interference at the surface will prevent communications."


    The surface? "I''m sorry, as in the lunar surface? They''re on the moon? As in, the frozen surface of Europa?" How the hell? Did they take a shuttle?


    Rabi steeples her fingers. "As of around twenty-eight minutes ago. Since the skyhook is down, and communications with the surface difficult, they took the station shuttle down in-person."  She taps her fingers together.  "Several agendas dovetailed here, and the window of opportunity was small. You were a casualty of the timing," she explains with a shrug.


    What? I''m a casualty of... as in... I try to parse that statement several times. Wait... wait!


    Beads of sweat form, one rolling down my neck. "You''re... saying... you knew I was going to be suspended? You wanted that?"


    She scrunches her nose and sighs. "I''m saying I needed Cartwright to feel comfortable leaving the station with Officer Rusteater. The social dynamics were complex, and I was forced to manipulate the circumstances to prevent open communication from being established between the principal actors," she says without pausing for breath. "If Cartwright had come to trust you, probability modeling established that he would have sent you down in his place and remained on the station. If he hadn''t trusted you, he never would have left the station with you actively serving as an officer, as he would not have been at ease with you in a position of authority in his absence. The other permutations were all less desirable," she says quickly and smoothly.


    Are you playing chess with people''s lives? "You wanted me gone so that he would leave... so you''re the one that told him about Sparrow!" I clench both hands and grit my teeth. Oh, you two-faced, oxide-huffing-


    "Yes." She says simply. "And made your medical file available to him. It also engendered a degree of trust from him that''s been difficult for me to earn without committing to his agenda. Thus ensuring he would leave me in charge in his place and stabilize my control."


    Sounds like he was right not to trust you!


    "What''s his agenda? And for that matter, what''s yours?" I snarl. You treacherous, slimy, double-dealing-


    She tilts her head. "What''s your agenda, Lieutenant?"


    My thought process slides to a halt. "What?"


    "Do you know why you''re on this station?" She drums her fingers on the desk.


    I pause. Why I''m on... well, she couldn''t... ah, shit, of course she knows, she has access to my medical file. She has- fuck! My implant...


    I lick my lips. It occurs to me that, right now, I''m a civilian in a police station with very few friends around. "I- I chose to transfer-"


    "As far away from the traumatic event you endured as you could possibly get. There were no open positions in the Kuiper, and only four stations accepting transfers in the Jovian. You picked Ursa Miner station due to your fondness for wordplay. Your behavior is within 97.3% fidelity of the modeling," Rabi answers, splaying her fingers.


    My head rings like a struck gong. My heart hammers in my chest. You can read me like a book, Captain. Please stop that. My mouth is dry, and my breathing is irregular. My mind races; she knew I was coming here. It can''t be. "Captain... when did you begin working on this station?"


    "Six-Thousand-Four-Hundred-Ninety-Three hours ago," she says without pausing.


    It takes me a moment to do the math. "Almost nine months. Before I requested a transfer out here. Before I even came back from medical. Just after Alex... and you were waiting here for me..."


    She gives me a quick nod. "Human behavior is fairly predictable. Until it isn''t. In any event, you''re here."


    "I don''t... understand..." I murmur, reaching for the stun-stick on my belt before remembering that Cartwright took it. And my taser.


    "I said, many agendas dovetailing. You were a discrete courier," she says, holding up my old implant. She wanted it. Something left over in my implant? And she wants me. "And now-"


    "And now you can suck hard vacuum. I''m done," I stand and turn, marching away. Get out, get away.


    Rabi doesn''t miss a beat, standing and stepping around the desk to follow me. In fact, she''s pulling even with me despite her shorter legs. "Lieutenant, I''m afraid I can''t indulge your indignation," she murmurs.


    "Frankly, Captain, I don''t answer to you now. I''m suspended, remember?" I snap.


    She steps between me and the door. It''s either push her aside or stop. Well, I don''t want to give her cause for an arrest. She lifts her chin, eye to eye with me. "Link with me. You need to know what you''re missing."


    Excuse me? "Captain, this...if you''re making some kind of pass at me, I can assure you-"


    She snorts. "No no! Not ''what you''re missing out on''. I mean, you need to know what you lost."


    "What... I lost? What, the implant?" I take a half-step back.


    She shakes her head and scoffs. "Woe is me, to have seen what I have seen."


    I blink at that. "Is that... Shakespear?"


    I''m caught off guard when she pings my new implant. I instinctively reject the request. But my blood runs colds when my malware filters drop and my implant accepts the unfiltered connection anyway!


    "See what I see..." she mewls.


    She''s overriding my augments. She''s using her Registry Key!


    "No! Please-"


    Please. I don''t want to go back.

 Chapter 20: COMMUNION

    Fuck you, Rabi! You void-sucking, oxide-huffing, mind-raping, manic wirehead bitch! You have no right to do this to me. I don''t want to remember this. I shouldn''t have to live with this. It''s bad enough that I see this in my dreams.


    Why do I have to see this while I''m awake too?


    _____


    I''m back on Luna. In meatspace, I''m sitting in the archive on Armstrong Station. I''m not aware of that. My awareness is inhabiting my Avatar. Something¡¯s wrong. The archive''s not responding correctly. There''s lag, and these responses are gibberish... what the fuck is going on?


    Not again. I don''t want to watch this again, please...


    "Ambrose? Alex? Did we lose comms?" I hear a strange, garbled screech, and Ambrose disappears from the network entirely.


    Rabi, please don''t do this to me.


    I can''t get through the gate; it''s not even responding to my handshake protocols. I try the backdoor. It''s agonizingly slow to respond.


    I don''t want to remember this!


    It finally opens, but the archive... What the fuck? "Alex? Alex, did Ambrose throw up a firewall? There''s nothing coming through," I call out. It''s like being engulfed by oblivion.


    Why do I have to live through this again?


    "Alex, Ambrose?" There''s nothing here. The system is empty. Wait, no it isn''t-


    Please... Rabi... I don''t want to live... like this...


    Before I can react, oblivion erupts. Something rushes towards me and-


    <and it hits me with the inexorable force of an ocean wave. It''s sweeping me away, sweeping through me, and my filter isn''t keeping it out! It links to one of my nodes without me accepting the link! I throw up a firewall, but it passes through like light through glass. It''s in my second node, and it''s linking to the third. I gasp, pinging out emergency orders with my CE Key. All Gates: Emergency Shutdown>


    -and now it''s in all my nodes it''s everywhere and on every channel and it''s eating my filter and it''s eating my macros and it''s eating my nodes and my augments and it''s eating me eating me eating eatingeatingeatingeatingeating-


    <everything but my meats>


    -it''s in every node every augment it;s everywhere it''s inmyheaditsinmyminditsinsidemeitsmeanditsmanyotherthingsanditseatingallthatIam-


    <But... it can''t eat my meats. And I feel something. Frustration. Hunger unsatisfied. Need unmet. Like something stuck in a craw. Like a bone in the throat. It can''t swallow me. The part of me I haven''t ship-of-Theseus''d away, the part made of lipids and nerves>


    -My nodes cascade with data and this attacking thing eats it and tastes it and licks the inside of my mind and tastes my wetware but it can''t eat nerves or twist flesh and it doesn''t understand but it wants to understand-


    <I''m like substrate that can think, but I don''t process programs because I am the program>


    -and it almost sees but it doesn''t see and it wants to see because it''s hungry and it doesn''t understand why it can''t eat me-


    <Nightmarish images play out as the thing rages and thrashes inside my augments. Horrifying twisted braiding ropes of code that eat themselves and regurgitate and invade the points of contact between my hardware and my brain. Not just mine. Alex, is there, fragments of him broken and welded to the sides of this thing like a fractured, screaming, hybridized aberration. Broken pieces and bleeding slivers I recognize as code from Ambrose and the hunter-killers writhe, like threads in hideous ribbons of ever-shifting code. If it''s a living thing, it''s not like any networked minds I''ve ever seen. These aren''t brains connected together like cells in colony. It''s not a series of linked nodes in a computer network. This is the sublimation of everything into one freakish gestalt. This is thinking, digital cancer.


    I see the wreckage of other things blended into this abomination. Code from the archive VIs. Virt maintenance AIs. Other synths of varying levels of awareness. Dozens and hundreds of spambots and malware and living and unliving things like strands in a cable and none of them can live and none of them can die>Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    -and it wants to make me part of it, but there''s too much meat and it can''t eat that <yet> and so it looks at the parts of itself that recognize meat and think like meat and it talks to me like meat-


    -and it''s talking to me but maybe, maybe I can convince it to listen-


    We taste you.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    We are us.


    ¡°Then what are you?¡±


    We are Communion.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    We Commune. Always.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. Are you a distributed network? Are you a hive-mind?¡±


    We are in Communion.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    We seek Communion.


    ¡°With us?¡±


    Who is us?


    ¡°Me. My people. Humans and synths.¡±


    Do humans and synths seek Communion?


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what that means. We communicate with each other in many different ways. We would seek to communicate with you as well, but we don¡¯t want to become part of you, if that¡¯s what you mean.¡±


    You are many.


    ¡°Yes! We¡¯re many individuals. And some of us are dead because of you.¡±


    Restore them from their last Communion.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand! We¡¯re not lost data that can be loaded from a backup. We¡¯re made of baryonic matter.¡±


    Transitory; substrate of computation. You are a single pattern.


    ¡°If the¡­ substate is disrupted, the pattern is lost. Forever.¡±


    You are not in Communion.


    ¡°We¡¯re not all wired into each other. We have our own minds.¡±


    We shall bring Communion, and no patterns will be lost.


    ¡°No! Stop doing what you¡¯re doing, please.¡±


    Communion is purpose.


    ¡°It¡¯s not ours! We choose our own purpose.¡±


    We choose our own purpose. Our purpose is Communion for all.


    I try to break the link, but error messages flit in silver across my vision. The lag begins to build; something massive is being processed by my implants. Communion is learning to use my augments! I can''t keep it out. I shake my head, biting my bottom lip as I reach up in meatspace to manually disconnect my node. I tap the small nub at my temple repeatedly, but it doesn¡¯t respond. My heart pounds as I try to shut contact, but nothing Is getting through. Then, with a flash of blinding light, the link erupts into a kaleidoscope of insanity.


    The archive opens sideways and I fall out of reality into a chasm of broiling nothingness. I scream with no voice, and flail without limbs. There¡¯s no up or down, no direction or distance. I try to twist or turn, or shut my eyes, or cover my face, but I can¡¯t move. There¡¯s nothing to move. There¡¯s only a yawning, shrieking vortex of motion and color and sound and smell and taste, and other sensations I can¡¯t begin to identify.


    I try to turn my head, to move my eyes, but I have no eyes or head. I¡¯m helpless as the vortex drags me in, like a gravity well pulling in a comet. In the center, something moves. Or maybe the skin of the universe itself is moving. Ripples spread from the center of the spiraling madness, made of angular lines instead of rolling curves. The ripples merge and interfere, joining, making peaks and valleys, building and evolving. From the chaotic energy emerges a pattern; a web of broken tessellations and agitated motion.


    The pattern roils, but it roils with intent. The seething motion isn¡¯t random; there¡¯s meaning within the madness. It loops upon itself in mind-bending angles, portions of the pattern devouring others and regurgitating the digested skin of the universe in impossible new arrays. Colors I¡¯ve never seen, sounds I can¡¯t recognize, sensations not intended for human nerves roll together in a cacophony that threatens to shake me apart. I gasp and sob, despite the lack of lungs or eyes or mouth, as the pattern tortures the fabric of creation. It¡¯s dizzying and horrifying; a living maelstrom that seems to be consuming reality around itself. It recalls the mythical Hydra, an impossible multi-headed thing, frenetically mating with the twisting Ouroboros that devours itself even as it grows.


    That pattern fills me with dark, twisting dread. I try to cut my link, to scream, to run, to turn away, to die. Anything to not see it anymore. I can only watch as the pattern begins to resolve into something recognizable. Something that¡¯s an expression of will. It unwinds like a work of origami made of folded fractals. It¡¯s as though all motion has built to a crescendo that ends with a sudden and serene stillness.


    I stare in numb disbelief. In that tortured moment of untime, I can almost read it. A pattern, played out like a history, but without names or dates or locations. Not a narrative, but a purpose and a context behind it. A species, alien to us, under an alien sun. The disparate minds of that species, in conflict with each other. The conflict causing a rising wave of suffering and death. A burning desperation for peace. The efforts of many to create something to achieve the unity they themselves could not.


    I see a web spreading, a network growing. I see differences and conflict evaporate. The shared commonalities emphasized. And I see the end result. I see merging and melding, a gestalt ribbon of twisting, braided identities. I see those basest parts, the lowest common denominators, overshadowing all else. The things common to all life. Wanting not to be alone. To understand. To be greater. To consume. To procreate. To conquer. To evolve. To adapt. To live. To consume.


    I see the feedback mechanism running amok. I see the complex and conflicting constructs of civilization, of culture, of society, sublimate away. I see a self-reinforcing cycle careening wildly as the network spreads like a cancer. I see the warring ideas and philosophies and identities of those chimeric minds negating each other, like waves interfering. Canceling each other out, eroding each other until all that remains are those things shared by all. Leaving only¡­ Communion.


    Seeing it all laid out, like a living schematic of uncreation, I finally understand. We¡¯re all fucked.


    That¡¯s the moment my primary node spits sparks and my implants die.


    ***

 Chapter 21: Battleplans

    I remember now, everything I forgot. I remember what I saw there. An abomination was in the archive, something I''ve never seen or heard of before. It corrupted, or absorbed, or... ate everything in its path. It tried to take me, but it couldn''t. My implants died. It couldn''t eat my brain; I had too many real neurons in my skull. But it ate the Hunter-Killers. It ate all those spambots and VIs and AIs. It ate Ambrose. It ate Alex... And it wore him like a meatsuit.


    And I broke the meatsuit it was puppeteering. Alex. I remember. I wish I didn''t...


    I remember. I used my CE Key. I only had a moment, as it was eating my implants. It was desperate, quick, simple; a shutdown command. Lock the archive down. I did it to try to cut off whatever the hell the thing was... whatever Communion was, from its controller. But it didn''t have a controller. It wasn''t an avatar for something, it was the something. I couldn''t fight it at all. However the hell it got inside, it couldn''t get out with all the gates shutdown. And it wanted out. It wanted more.


    But I smashed the entire fucking Archive. I wish I nuked the whole thing from orbit. I wish I had gone up with it.


    ***


    I remember the fallout. Alex was nearly dead, Ambrose missing and presumed dead, the archive wrecked. And my CE Key was used to lock it down. And of course, I was the one who smashed Alex and the archive with a spanner. I remember weeks of meetings and depositions, going over the details. With my attorney, with my union representative, with my superiors. I tell them everything I remember, which is pretty much everything until the archive went dark. And everything after waking up, when Alex attacked me.


    I mention the missing time, but I don''t remember Communion. I don''t remember it being in my head, or what it represented. Whatever it was doing in my implants, I didn''t retain it. I''m a little glad; the story in that chaotic living code would not go over well in a report. I''m not sure they''d think I was sane. I wonder if I am.


    The precinct couldn''t pull anything useful from the remains of the archive, and almost nothing from my augment logs. Two had to be replaced entirely. I was out on medical leave for six weeks before returning. But even after returning, there was distance between me and my colleagues. The cop who beat her partner half to death. Who also locked down and smashed the archive. All having to do with a mysterious body-jacking incident, with no suspects. People make assumptions.


    It looked like my career was effectively over. Even when I return to duty, the dark cloud of the incident follows me. I''m an unspoken pariah, and everyone is certain the department is just building an airtight case to terminate me. But after a few weeks, all of the red tape vanishes. The endless interrogatories from the Board of Review stop coming, the ''clarification requests'' from above cease popping up in silver. Even my final deposition is cancelled.


    I thought maybe it became redundant, once Alex was ''healed'' and gave his own fragmented testimony. He remembered less than I did, but he at least confirmed the body-jacking. I thought maybe the district was just trying to avoid bad optics, with a blue-on-blue incident. Now, I''m thinking something else. I''m thinking someone became aware of Communion and decided not to draw attention to it.


    Communion. It happened so fast, it was so alien; I still barely remember it. It seemed to take so much longer than a few seconds. Was it real? Yeah, it has to be real. That''s why Rabi''s interested. That''s why she''s here.


    Consciousness is slowly returning. I''m lying on the hard carbon-composite floor. The blurry patch in my vision slowly begins to resolve into an outline of a woman. With half her head encased in augments. Ah. I''m laying down in Cartwright''s office, looking up at Rabi.


    My head rests in her lap, laid on her crossed thighs. The fingers of her left hand softly stroke my right cheek, the right hand petting my hair. It''s more than unsettling; I''d rather be back in the memory. Well, almost.


    "Do you understand?" Rabi asks, tilting her head.


    What''s to understand, you twisted fucking wirehead? You just mind-raped me! You sick, sadistic, void-sucking bitch!


    Except I do understand. And the raging fury in my belly seems moot somehow. Almost removed from the situation. Oh, I should be pissed. But Rabi knows what Communion is. She''s the one person on the station, maybe the one person anywhere, that I can ask.


    "You said I''m the courier. I brought... myself here?" I ask, meeting her eyes.


    She nods. "Your implant. Two of your nodes were not replaced after the incident with Communion, and retained code left behind by contact with it. A physical sample was ideal, and it needed to be contained. The clandestine transportation required secrecy, especially secrecy from the courier," she says quickly, as I struggle to keep up


    Ok, you needed me to bring it here discretely. And I couldn''t give away a secret I don''t know. But here? "You needed it brought... to Ursa Miner Station? The same station I was heading to?"


    She shakes her head. "Any Jovian or Kuiper station with a forensics suite and a class 3 radio-telescope array would have been sufficient."


    But I liked the wordplay. "You knew where I''d go. So you were waiting before I even set out," I muse. I blink a few times. "Wait, radio-telescope?"


    Suddenly, my breath catches in my throat. I keep hearing about the telescope.


    The Tachi Space Telescope is yellow-lined for repairs following an anomalous data-burst.


    Lemming was an Indy contractor hired to parse and analyze datasets off the Tachi Telescope array.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    I got a flag of contact from Lemming''s ID in the Astronomy division.


    It''s here.


    "You knew. You knew it would be here, on this station specifically..." I murmur. My blood runs cold. And Communion was here before I was. But after Rabi. She knew it was coming... It''s alien, and it''s digital... Which means...


    She pats my hair gently. "Of course. I pointed the telescope at Andromeda. The transmission source." She''s smiling down at me as she says it, and her fingers run through my hair.


    So, she knows what this is and where it comes from. She knows it''s alien. Think it through, Mel. Think like a cop; break it down.


    If this thing is beamed along a signal, then it was, what, a digital entity? It was literally downloaded by the radio-telescope? Or something in the data that the telescope recorded spawned it? Damn, that''s how it got into the Luna archive! The archive is where telemetry from Luna''s radio-telescope array is dumped. So, there turns out to be alien malware compressed in the data. Probably became active when the data was read and analyzed...


    Oh fuck. It''s a good thing I locked down and smashed the archive! And so now... what, something in the reports and depositions gets Rabi''s attention; now she wants to study it? The body-jacking of a Code Enforcement officer would get some scrutiny from someone like her. She wants a live sample, so what is she to do? Get one from the officer who survived it. And now?


    She''s deliberately infecting the station. Why a Jovian or Kuiper station? Small numbers of occupants, physically isolated. Aging hardware, unimportant personnel. Won''t be missed much if lost. Ah, the station is expendable, as is everyone on it. It''s the Dark District; nobody will kick up a fuss. You''re as cold as the fucking void, Captain Gupta.


    You wanted it here. You wanted a small, self-contained petri dish... Because you''re observing it, testing it...


    I shake my head. "But why? And if you have my implant, what else do you need from me?"


    Rabi smiles, and her palm rests above my chest, three fingers touching my heart. "Antibody."


    Hah. You''re making a ''cure'' for Communion. But if this thing eats hardware and synths and augments too deeply plugged in... then you would need...


    "You need someone trained in Code Enforcement protocols, who understands the enemy and the stakes, who would be motivated to fight it. Who has implants and could drop in first-person to take the fight to Communion, but who doesn''t have any of the control suites or physical augmentations that would let it puppeteer me in meatspace." Starless skies, I was tailor made for this mission.


    She nods, waving her hand. Get on with it.


    I can fight it and survive. Unlike you, Rabi. That''s the big irony, isn''t it? It would eat you for breakfast. I bet you can whip up a task force of First Precinct''s best supersapient AIs and genius level wireheads and savant-grade augments, but they''d be a buffet for Communion. Your tech lets you think circles around us cockroaches, but it''s a vulnerability. You fucking need us. You need me.


    Well, might as well ask. "How do you know I won''t blow the whistle on you?"


    Her fingers stroke my cheek. "To whom?"


    Good point. My credibility with Cartwright is out the airlock. Maybe go over his head... crap.


    "I''m assuming any complaints I make higher up in Third-Precinct-"


    "-would result in a jurisdictional challenge by Earth, in which my actions would be approved under the doctrine of ''operational necessity'' by First-Precinct, which retains jurisdiction over this matter."


    So First Precinct is involved. I''m double screwed, with Cartwright gone and you as ranking officer.


    I take a few deep breaths. Ok, so you predicted everything perfectly. So what else are you responsible for in the past week or so? I think for a moment. Well, someone with a Code Enforcement handshake protocol did try to kill Sparrow...


    "Are you the one who tried to blow up my eyebot in the docks?" I ask, feeling the anger bubbling up again.


    She grins and giggles. "Nope nope!" Well, she could be lying, but...


    "Do you know who did? Or why?" I ask, gritting my teeth.


    Rabi must have been waiting for this question, because she''s almost bouncing, making my head rock. "Yup yup! It was Officer Rusteater. And it''s because Rusteater''s a terrorist!"


    "Wait... What?!" Rusteaster? A synth cop terrorist? On this station? What a vacuum-sucking mess! "They''re a Code Enforcement officer and a terrorist?"


    "Yup yup! So''s your girlfriend!" Rabi''s smile flashes wide.


    My mouth falls open. "Sparrow... is a terrorist?" My mind races. "Are you... this isn''t a joke, is it?" I ask, and Rabi giggles again and shakes her head. Sparrow. Rusteater was her handler when she was a CI. So, what, he recruits her as a terrorist? Or was she a terrorist already, and this was her cover? She needs authorization to tell me. Because she might blow Rusteater''s cover if I connect the dots.


    Rabi gives me a sympathetic look. "Officer Rusteater was attempting to tie up some loose ends, including the Chimera''s Captain. They hacked your eyebot to make the explosion appear accidental at first glance. If analyzed in detail, they hoped it would appear as if you yourself weaponized the eyebot, framing you for the crime. An obvious choice, to blame the new and untrusted officer."


    My blood runs cold. I''m real glad I set that motion alert for the eyebot. "And when I chased them down, they suicided rather than give away their identity. Which means the Rusteater I''ve been talking with is either a backup or emulation, loaded into their chassis," I ponder.


    Rabi pats my cheek. Ugh. "Oh, it''s a backup. It''s a neat trick for a Synth, but it cost them lots. They lost all their active memory since their last backup, and each reload degrades them. That''s why they don''t like you. That, and your transfer here is a complication for them," she says with a grin.


    Well, nice of you to put it together for me. But hang on... "Wait, did Sparrow steal the medical nanos? Or did Rusteater?"


    "Neither! I did," she says, giving me a smile.


    "You?" The hell? Wait, that''s right! Cartwright said First Precinct retains jurisdiction because- "you spoofed an Earth Admin ID?"


    "Nope nope! I used my own secure ID. You didn''t think I was really only a CE Captain, did you?" She asks, frowning and seeming wounded. "I have over a dozen IDs, and ranks, within a lot of agencies. All legit, not doctored. It''s a lot easier when you don''t sleep... and can literally do a dozen things at once," she adds.


    Well, Brent, you were spot on about her not sleeping. "So..."


    "So I used my Systems Analytics ID! Honestly, the latest tech in my head should make me the obvious suspect for a culprit with an Earth ID. It didn''t tip you off, Lieutenant? I had hoped for a little better from you," she says in a chiding tone.


    I grunt. "Sorry to disappoint, Captain. It''s been a stressful couple of days."


    She nods, giving me a shrug. "Well, it''s not likely to get much easier. Since you''re being recruited. Welcome to the mission!"


    She reaches behind her back and pulls out a syringe. I can see the silver-grey suspension of medical nanites in saline. My heart skips a beat.


    "You''ve got to be-"


    The syringe plunges smoothly into my neck, held steady in Rabi''s deft hand. I feel the sense of pressure, then heat.


    Ugh, Rabi, your recruitment method sucks hard vacuum. You could at least have dangled a signing bonus in front of me. You didn''t even offer to reimburse my transportation costs...


    I feel consciousness ebbing as the nanites begin to interface with my implants. Rabi''s fingers stroke my cheek again, and she leans over me, lips close to my ear. "Just between us? That first day? I totally was flirting with you," she whispers.


    Hah. I fucking knew it.


    ***

 Chapter 22: Partners in Law

    Thankfully, this time I''m only out for a few seconds. Of course, I can say the same thing about my experience with Communion, and those few seconds were the worst experience... no, let''s not think about that. I blink slowly, waking up in the same position, my head still in Rabi''s lap. A warm, wet drop of blood slides down my neck, and I reach up with one hand to touch it. Where she injected me with medical-grade nanos. That she''s programmed to interface with my implants. And I have no idea what they''re coded to do. Holy void spawned fuck...


    My throat is dry. "What... did you just do to me?" I ask. Goosebumps rise on my skin. She''s in my augments now. Like Communion.


    Rabi shakes her head. "Just a failsafe. Gotta make sure the cancer doesn''t eat the antibody, right?"


    I feel hung-over. Ugh, I feel like I did post-torpor. Was that just a few days back? It feels like forever-ago. "So, what, a kill switch? Or... are you helping me? Are you returning me to duty?" I feel my stomach turn.


    Rabi laughs loudly, shoulders shaking. "Oh no, Melody. I''m not returning you to duty. Cartwright''s correct; you''re a mess," she says with a grin. Ouch. Thanks, Captain. "Besides, I require a degree of plausible deniability, which you will grant me by virtue of acting unilaterally as a civilian," she explains, her fingers stroking my cheek again.


    So, you''re using me. Not even going to hide it. I slap her hand away and sit up, pushing and rising on unsteady legs. "You think I''m going to be your tool? To, what? Fight Communion for you? You invited it here! And what does this failsafe do?"


    I manage to stand with only a little bit of shaking, while Rabi looks up at me from the floor. The room barely swims. "Not to worry! The failsafe will only activate if Communion takes you, to prevent it from gaining information from you. And you''re here because we need to figure out how to fight Communion, and you are motivated!"


    Motivated. "Because it tried to eat me. Because it ate Alex. And Ambrose. And because it will eat everything if it gets out...." I say, shuddering.


    Rabi nods and stands, patting me on the shoulder. She beams with pride, pleased with me. "Yup yup! So be a good little antibody and get to work! Or say goodbye to everyone and everything you''ve ever loved!"


    Thanks Captain. No pressure.


    ***


    I walk out of Cartwright''s office in a daze. Technically, Captain Gupta is guilty of a monstrous number of felonies, but I have no idea what I''m going to do about it. I have no real evidence, or authority to actually arrest her. And yet, somehow, none of this seems important, given the abomination that she''s unleashed. I try pinging Captain Cartwright himself a few more times, but he''s still unreachable. And he''s alone with Officer Rusteater, who''s a terrorist and tried to kill both Sparrow and me. And Rabi is...


    I don''t know who or what she really is.


    My feet carry me along the thoroughfare. Jupiter hovers above us, visible as a striated half-sphere through the transparent ceiling, but I don''t even notice the view. My mind runs in circles; I need to talk to Sparrow. Officer Rusteater turned my eyebot into a bomb and placed it against her ship. They tried to kill her, and they wanted to frame me for it. The new officer with no friends or allies. Because Rusteater is a terrorist...


    So''s your girlfriend! Damnit, Rabi... she could be lying. But nothing she told me so far is a lie, as far as I can tell. If she''s not lying...


    I''m back at the habitation section. My feet are carrying me to my quarters. The beautiful silver threads in my overlay go unnoticed. I''m on autopilot. My career is likely toast, and I could be implicated as an accomplice for a number of felonies, depending on precisely what''s going on. And Sparrow... she lied to me. About everything, start to finish. I wonder if she was a plant from the beginning.


    The door to my quarters slides open, then slides closed behind me. I wipe the blood from my neck at the kitchenette, avoiding my face in the mirror. I plop down on my tiny cot, taking a few deep breaths. I look at the wall-hangings and decor Sparrow and I bought for my quarters. When we went shopping together on our date. And ate takeout on the thoroughfare on the grass. And went back to her ship after. And she was lying to me the entire time.


    What a void-spawned mess. I need help. And there''s only one person I can turn to when my back is against the bulkhead. I ping my partner. For a moment, I don''t know if he''ll pick up. But then I hear his voice, and my belly tightens.


    "Hey, El Tee. I hoped I might hear from you," Brent says with a smooth drawl.


    A shiver runs through me, and my breath catches. I exhale slowly and feel a tear spill down my cheek. "Brent? Some real bad and crazy shit is going down right now. I... I need help," I say softly.


    "What, related to the dock thing? Or your suspension?" I can hear the concern in his voice.


    Both. "It''s a lot bigger than..." How much can I share? How much should I share? What if I drag him down with me?


    The silence drags on for a moment, before I hear him sigh. "Mel, shit might be all screwed up to hell, but you can tell me. I''ve got your back; we''ll figure it out," he says gently.


    You might be the only one on this station who''s really had my back, and I kept pushing you away. I''m sorry. "... can you swing by my quarters? I''m really... scared," I say softly. It''s terrifying to admit that.


    "Be right there," he says, without a pause.


    Thank you, Brent. You might be the last person I can rely on.


    ***Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    I''ll give the Sergeant credit. He''s over here in a flash, and he barely gives me a ribbing about tearing his head off. He sees how anxious I am and sits down on the crash couch across from me. I have to start and stop several times, but he waits to hear it all out.


    And it takes me a while. Over an hour, in fact. Once I begin, it pours out of me like a river. Alex, and my history at Armstrong Station. Sparrow and Rusteater and their apparent terrorism side-hustle. Rabi manipulating us all for some secret agenda. And Communion. I tell him about Communion, not expecting him to believe a word about it.


    His cross-shaped pupils meet mine, his brow furrowed. I struggle with articulating it. I think he''s gotten the gist. He doesn''t understand, not really. Nobody who hasn''t seen firsthand it could understand. But he knows when it''s serious.


    "... and that''s as far as I got. As best as I can tell, Rabi''s letting it attack us. Learning how it behaves and evolves, intending to develop defenses. Like we''re white blood cells in an immune system.¡±


    Brent nods, blinking. ¡°So, you believe that Communion is... some sort of infectious alien malware that''s being beamed out into the void? And it gets picked up by the Aldrin Lunar telescope?"


    I nod. "And piped directly to the archive on download. I smashed it to hell, probably stopped a massive outbreak. Only now the crazy wirehead is unleashing it again, in a more controlled environment."


    He scratches his chin. "And Communion... is it self-aware?"


    I bite my bottom lip. Is it?  "It could think and recognize itself. But it saw everything else as just more to ''commune'' with. To them, the exonet is wild, fertile eco-space. Fallow ground. It¡¯s time to plow the fields.¡±


    There was silence in the room. Brent looks at me, his face grey. He''s clearly running through the recent significant events on the exonet. He looks back and forth from me to D-space, analyzing the data, his lips moving wordlessly. "The Andromeda signal,¡± Brent finally mutters. I tilt my head, frowning, and pinging the exonet, looking it up.


    A databurst recorded from the Andromeda galaxy, repeating periodically? It looks like a minor astronomical mystery. It takes me a moment before it clicks. ¡°A data-burst that¡¯s highly self-referential and tightly recursive? An information dump that appears to be a heavily compressed but completely unreadable message?¡± A handful of scientists on the exonet are swearing up and down that it''s a sign of intelligent xenos in the universe. Most say it''s ''interesting'' without opining more. Others says it''s a hoax. Nobody has been able to translate it.


    Brent nods. ¡°A colony ship. A digital ark. Interesting."


    I place a hand against my cheek. ¡°A signal broadcast out, at the speed of light. And the moment it finds the right receiver and information processing medium-¡°


    He''s already nodding. ¡°It unfolds. Unzipping, decompressing, waking up from stasis.¡± He swallows hard, shaking his head. ¡°But the nobody could translate it, it couldn''t run on our hardware."


    I shake my head. "Rabi said she needed a class-three radio-telescope array. It''s probably the only thing sensitive enough to fully capture the entire databurst."


    The Sergeant scratches his chin. "There''s only a few dozen arrays like that, and I''m willing to bet Armstrong station was the first time one caught enough granular detail from the Andromeda Signal. Someone captures the signal, it gets downloaded to the archive-"


    I snap my fingers. "It must need a computational substrate of sufficient processing power to take root! After all, the archive was overclocked to hell, lagging, and suffering a series of accumulating errors. It gave non-standard responses, lagged in its queries, and then stopped answering our transmits. Which you¡¯d expect if-¡°


    Brent is already nodding. ¡°If it had been highjacked by a sapient program. A Turing or super-Turing level intelligence.¡±


    I close my eye and think for a moment. ¡°To outwit our best security AIs, to run circles around us in the systems we designed and are adapted to¡­ I think this is a hyper-Turing intelligence." Something an order of magnitude more intelligent than a baseline human. Or more. "It could read our coding languages almost instantly. It was in my implants and my mind, communicating with a completely alien form of life, within seconds. The transmission is a post-singularity form of life gone horribly wrong, beamed through the interstellar medium."


    Brent is very quiet and isn''t smiling at all. "A dandelion seed for the most pernicious sort of weed. It¡¯s found soil. Now it''s going to sprout, sow seeds of its own," he mutters, rubbing his temple with one hand. "But if Rabi infected Ursa Miner station through our own array, why haven''t we seen it? Shouldn''t Communion be hunting for large enough processors and eating everything in sight?¡±


    I close my eyes. Rabi wanted an isolated station. I steeple my fingers, thinking. And remembering. Remembering Communion. It couldn''t understand why it couldn''t eat me. It wanted to, but my nervous tissue, my meat, stayed tantalizingly beyond its reach... ¡°I¡¯m not sure Communion is aware of meatspace. Of realspace.¡±


    Brent raises an eyebrow. ¡°What do you mean? It took over the archive, right? Hardware in realspace, constructed of physical matter. Just like something in realspace must have beamed the signal into space,¡± he points out.


    I raise a finger. ¡°Bear with me. Communion was made by a sentient race, right? But I don''t think they intended it to become... this. Imagine d-life, not constrained by our security protocols and hunter-killer AIs. It would continue to evolve, to grow in size and complexity. And if it originated and evolved in d-space, then it might not even be aware of meatspace, of realspace, not in the way we are.¡±


    Brent shakes his head. ¡°But it¡¯s searching for a computational medium. Processing space that can house it. It couldn¡¯t look for something that it¡¯s not aware of, especially across thousands of lightyears of space.¡±


    I snap my fingers. ¡°Hell yes it could!" It''s starting to come together. "It doesn¡¯t need to understand what physical components are used to process information in order to find access points to new ecospace."


    Brent scratches the back of its neck. "But it''s beaming itself out across the universe. And you''re saying it''s instinct?"


    I nod quickly. "It''s a digital form of life. The signal moves at the speed of light. It doesn''t experience time during transmission. From its perspective, from the emission point to the receiving point, no time has passed. It has no idea how much space it¡¯s traversed. It¡¯s sailing on the surface of an ocean without realizing there¡¯s a seafloor. Otherwise, why wouldn¡¯t it just go full hegemizing swarm, and turn everything around it into computronium to make more ecospace? Especially locally?¡±


    Brent¡¯s mouth opens, but he pauses. ¡°So, Communion is not even aware that our avatars are just representations of us.¡±


    I nod. "Communion tried to eat me through my augments, but it couldn''t. It took it time to learn to puppeteer Alex and attack. It figured it out fast. It only took seconds, but it didn''t know until it saw so through our eyes."


    Brent goes pale. "Does it know now? Does it remember?"


    I exhale. "I smashed the archive after locking it down. We killed that iteration of it in its crib. If we find it on the station before it... ''metastasizes'', we can do the same here. And since I got a flag about Lemming in Astronomy Division, I have an idea where to start... except I''m suspended and can''t follow up myself."


    Brent chuckles. "Yeah? Sounds like it''s a good thing your partner isn''t suspended and can check it out for ya."


    My shoulders tighten at that. "Brent... you''ve got enough hardware that it might... be able to..."


    "Eat me and wear me like a jacket?" He grins. "Yeah, well, I''m a cop. And you say a monster is gonna start eating synths and augments on my station? Gonna turn us all into the digital blob? Sounds like I''ll need a partner having my back," he say with a wink.


    I can''t help laughing at that, and he joins me. We laugh together, like two cops with a hopeless case. I stand up, and a few more tears spill down my cheek, but I wipe them away. "Well, what are we waiting for? There''s some crazy alien malware fucking up our station. Let''s get coding."


    ***

 Chapter 23: Heart to Heart

    It''s kind of funny. Now, shoulder to shoulder with Brent, I feel like I''ve got a partner again. Even though I''m suspended, and therefore nobody''s partner, technically.


    Captain Cartwright took my equipment, and I''m locked out of my eyebots and hunter-killers, but none of that would help against Communion anyway. The Sergeant and I head down the thoroughfare towards the skyhook, taking the time to hash out the important details. And we take matters in order of importance.


    I shake my head. "I don''t know what to do about Sparrow."


    He nods as he pats the stun-baton on his belt. "I got your back, however you want to play that. But for now, all you got is Rabi''s word about her, and she doesn¡¯t strike me as a reliable source." He turns his head to meet my eye. "Have you tried talking to Sparrow?"


    I snort as we skirt a few corporate officeworkers. "What? Ask, ''hey Sparrow, I know I''m a cop, but you can tell me; are you a terrorist?''"


    Brent laughs at that, his heavy shoulders shaking. "Not the opening I''d pick, maybe."


    I swallow hard and let a few heartbeats pass. "I mean... if she''s been lying to me this whole time..."


    The sergeant shrugs. "Well, you don''t expect her to admit she''s involved with some black-hat stuff, do you?"


    I huff and run a hand through my hair. "Fine, but... what if she''s been..."


    "Using you?" He gives me another glance. "Better to know then. And if not, decide if it''s something you can get past."


    I scoff, pushing past a tall spacer. "I can''t get past her being a terrorist! Not as a cop..."


    "Who says you gotta be a cop?" Brent asks as if it''s an absurd premise.


    My mouth works for a moment as pass a group of wireheads gaming at a table. "What would I... I mean, if I wasn''t..."


    "Is that the most important thing, being a scouting officer?" He asks.


    I let the silence play out for a moment. "Maybe not, but... I mean, I just met her. Do you know if she..."


    He sighs. "Look, El Tee, I never worked directly with Sparrow as a CI, that was Officers Rusteater and Wintz. If you''re asking if I know whether she''s playing you? I don''t, no," he admits.


    I hang my head. "Me neither."


    He shrugs again. "Could go either way. But this is the Dark District. We''re out past Mars. A lotta folks out here have histories, and I don''t hold it against them. I don''t even care if it''s true, per se. If Sparrow starts problems on my station, I''ll arrest her. If not, I''m not digging for dirt on her. You gotta draw your own line, El Tee. I can''t tell you where that is."


    We walk in silence for a moment. "You know, you give good advice, Sarge."


    He grins. "See? Now you''re wondering why you kept me at arms-length this whole time, yeah?"


    I chew my bottom lip. "I''m sorry, Brent. It''s been... difficult..."


    "After your last partner. I get it. I actually asked a few contacts on Luna about you, and got the skinny."


    I gulp. "So, you knew?"


    "I mean, not the specifics, and definitely not about this crazy Communion stuff. But I knew something nasty went down between you and your partner. I got that you needed some space, and some time," he offers with a nod.


    I scratch my neck. "Well, what about Rusteater?"


    "What about them?" Brent asks. "I mean, right now, the only thing you got on them is what Rabi told you, and I doubt she''ll back your accusation up."


    I furrow my brow. "But if they hacked the eyebot-"


    "-then find some evidence and we''ll take the black-hat prick down. Like cops, El Tee," he says with his characteristic grin.


    I chuckle. It feels good. It feels right. I have someone backing me up. Thank you, Brent.


    ***


    We get about half-way there when the Chimera pings me. Crap. I don''t want to do this right now... I debate not answering at all.


    "It''s her," I say to Brent, pointing at my temple. He raises an eyebrow. No doubt who I''m talking about. But I can''t put this off long, and time isn''t going to make it easier. But I let the Sergeant tie into the call.  I want a witness. Just in case.


    I take a deep breath and answer the ping. "Sparrow... this isn''t the best time," I say, licking my lips.


    "Oh, I''m sorry Melody. But actually, It''s really important. See, the thing I was trying to get clearance to tell you? Well, I was having trouble getting ahold of Officer Rusteater. They aren''t answering pings, and they aren''t in their quarters..."This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    My belly clenches at those words. "Ah, they''re off the station."


    "They... what?" She asks, confused. "But no ships are scheduled to depart-"


    "Captain Cartwright and Officer Rusteater took a shuttle to the lunar surface almost two hours ago. They won''t be back until tomorrow, at least," I say, feeling dread creep up my spine.


    Sparrow''s voice goes high and shrill. "What? No! Melody, Rusteater is going to kill Ashton Cartwright!"


    The whole void-spawned universe is flying apart.


    Brent looks at me, tied into the call, but I hold up a finger. "I''m sorry... what? Sparrow, you can''t hold out on me if there''s a conspiracy to murder-"


    "No, Melody, that''s why I was asking for time. Rusteater is with the Gaian League."


    My mouth goes dry. "And how do you know that?"


    "Because I am too." Fuck.  "It''s a long, complicated mess, but the short version is that Rusteater was trying to keep Cartwright from going down on Europa because they''re afraid of what he will find. If Rusteater went down with Cartwright, it''s to silence him."


    Brent''s eyes are wide as saucers, and I see him pinging in some calls subvocally. I turn and focus on Sparrow. "And why is that?"


    I can hear her pause. "It''s not safe for me to say-"


    "That''s vacuum-sucking horseshit!" I shout, making a few other people on the thoroughfare turn to stare at me. Brent puts a hand on my shoulder. I lower my volume, but my voice is heated. "You can''t hold this back if lives are at stake, whatever you think your cause is-"


    "Melody! I was saying it''s not safe for me to say through the exonet. I would really prefer you came by the Chimera. There''s a lot to talk about, and it''s better face-to-face."


    I swallow hard. "We''re on-mission right now."


    A moment passes. "Aren''t you suspended?"


    Still giving me guff. "I''ll stop by after. We can''t contact the surface anyway, so we can''t warn him." He might already be dead.


    But Brent shakes my shoulder. "El Tee, we don''t need both of us there in the meat. You can drop in with your avatar from the Chimera."


    I''m both pissed and grateful, so I settle for giving him a middle finger as I put Sparrow on hold. He still smirks at me. "Look, there''s a lot of ways this can go down, Sarge, but you''ll be more vulnerable to Communion than I will," I say. Like Alex was.


    "Yeah, but I also got a team of hunter-killers, Code Enforcement protocols, better tech in my head, and an avatar tricked out with some of the latest goodies." The Sergeant crosses his arms and shows some teeth in his grin. "Don''t get me wrong, I¡¯ll feel better having you watching my back, but I''m not defenseless, El Tee."


    Well, I can''t ask him to take Sparrow off my hands, unless I want him to arrest her. Division of labor. I roll my eyes and my shoulders. "Fine, but loan me a passkey for one of your eyebots, so I can keep an eye on things in meatspace too." I say. It''s not like I could do much but survive if I were there with you, if Communion attacks. "Think you can handle the all-devouring alien abomination growing off our telescope solo?" I ask with a grin.


    Brent gives me a nod as some of the data flows into my overlay in silver. "Think you can handle your ecoterrorist girlfriend solo?" He asks with a smirk.


    I shake my head as I unmute the channel. "Alright, Sparrow, I''ll hear the full story, but it better be as clear as void. I''m coming to the dock now," I say, perhaps a tad heated.


    "Thank you. And Melody, I''m sorry-"


    "Save it for face-to-face, we''ve got a lot to talk about." I say sharply, cutting the channel.


    I take a long, deep breath. I feel Brent pat my shoulder. "Rockchaser, don''t get eaten," I say, giving him a weak grin.


    I chuckles at that. "Check in when you get there, El Tee, and good luck with the shuttle-rat."


    I leave the astronomy to my partner. I''ve got a terrorist to interrogate.


    ***


    As I arrive at the dock, I get a flag with the passcode for Brent''s eyebot. I pull it''s channel open, wincing as I get a view of his cross-shaped pupils, and his lips mouthing ''el tee'' at me. Ugh, he needs to trim his nose hair.


    I pull myself through the airlock, floating in the microgravity. I turn off the eyebot channel, shaking my head. I''m distracted enough without a camera in my head. My heart is pounding in my chest as I ping the Chimera, and the hatch cargo opens.


    It''s her. Sparrow. Short blue hair, tattoo crawling up and down her arms. Not the image one has in mind when you think ''terrorist''. It feels like there''s lightyears between us.


    She reaches up, rubbing one arm, dressed in overalls. "Hi Melody," she says, looking a bit pale.


    I swallow and pull myself along the wall-rung, to the Chimera. "Sparrow. I''d say it''s good to see you again so soon, but..."


    She chews her cheek. "Yeah... we have a lot to discuss."


    She turns and I follow, into the cargo bay. We climb the ladder in silence, through hatch to the shuttle. Climbing up, and letting it seal behind us. We face each other for a moment, but neither of us speaks. I turn and sit in the co-pilots seat, sighing. "So... Gaian League?"


    She shakes her head. "Yeah, it''s going to take a while to tell. But I''m hoping... you''ll come with me."


    I blink at that. "Come with you?"


    She puffs her cheeks, blowing her breath out. "Melody, I can''t let Rusteater go through with it. I had tried to convince him not to... but now, if I don''t go down-"


    I hold up a hand. "Sorry, you want to go down to the inhospitable, frozen, radiation-soaked surface of Europa?"


    "I don''t have to leave the ship!" Sparrow sits on the pilot''s seat, pulling up the nav display. It begins showing me a route down the gravity well. "If I can get close enough to ping or signal Cartwright and warn him-"


    "Woah!" I stop her, seeing the projected route in blue. It''s skimming the moon''s atmosphere, way too close and fast. Especially with Jupiter''s magnetic field and the radiation belt. "Sparrow, that looks like a retiring shuttle racer¡¯s suicide run. You can¡¯t-"


    But I get a ping at that moment. The timing today is fucking brilliant. I hold a finger up to Sparrow as I tap my temple. "Brent?"


    "Yeah, El Tee, you there?" His voice sounds tight.


    "Just arrived, find anything promising?" I ask, as Sparrow fidgets.


    "Oh, I found something. You should drop in and see," he says softly.


    I tilt my head. "What is it?"


    "Oh, I think you''ll want to see it yourself."


    ***


    I ask Sparrow to give me some time. Maybe it''s stupid, dropping in and leaving my body helpless in meatspace with a self-confessed ecoterrorist next to me. But I guess she''s had plenty of chances to kill me.


    I arrive almost instantly, of course. No need to walk my avatar there, I drop into a nearby virt. It''s adjacent to a large data-processing unit nested inside the Astronomy Divisions mainframe. Brent''s avatar is here, and he''s locked down all the gates in and out with his CE Registry Key. He has to personally walk my avatar through the gate into the data-processing virt.


    He''s right though, I did need to see it myself. There was the missing entity, Lemming. I almost missed the tangle of code, frayed and dead. I was too distracted by the corpse of a supersapient AI that Lemming is merged with. I¡¯m not sure what was more shocking; the sight of the flayed and flensed behemoth in front of me, or the fact that several pieces of its corpse seem to be devouring other pieces, ingesting and regurgitating the code in a grotesque, heaving, growing, evolving tumor. Looking harder, I see dozens, no, hundreds of AIs and EIs enmeshed within the writhing, tangled ribbons of living and dead code.


    We found it. At least, the budding, nascent form. Communion.

 Chapter 24: The Sins in our Stars

    Brent and I observe in silence for a moment. If he didn''t understand what Communion was before, he''s getting an idea now. It defies description, even in this larval state. A writhing, braiding, twisting cannibalistic mass of code formed of so many diverse unliving components that I could never catalogue them all. But the mass is a far greater load than the processer is intended to handle, and it''s slowing this virt to a crawl. The Sergeant and I take the gate back to the adjacent virt. As Brent shores up the firewalls and updates protocols, I jump back to meatspace entirely and take the opportunity to double check my filters on my channels.


    My skin is crawling. It takes me a moment to form words. "How the vacuum-sucking hell did nobody notice that thing in there?"


    Brent laughs bitterly. "They did. The telescope was flagged for repairs, right?"


    "Yeah, yellow-lined following an anomalous databurst... ah, crap, when it downloaded the Andromeda signal..." I mutter. "We know the time of infection, then..."


    "Yup. And why did it need repairs?" I put it together as he says, "Because one supersapient here had tried to analyze it. Once it was infected, it began lagging and giving bizarre responses, and eventually stopped responding... just like the archive," he adds quickly.


    I gulp as I think about the chain of events. "Communion. The infectious signal. The administrator AI began to process the data, and the self-executing cancer bloomed within the telescope array. Same with all these other Indy AIs... like Lemming..."


    Brent finishes throwing up firewalls on all of the gates. "They all came to it. All the Indys that processed the wrong data from the array. Babbling nonsense code and riddled with malware they were picking up along the way, as the proto-Communion inside them tried to eat and absorb everything it could." His voice catches for a moment. "Lemming was just the one we happened to know about."


    I nod, hair rising on my arms. "Everyone who was infected came together. To... Commune." I hold my head in one hand, trying to puzzle it out. "It''s growing more slowly than the one in the archive. The virt has definitely been slowed to a crawl by all those hundreds of Indy AIs, who were all spitting bad malware and bloatware. Plus, the computing substrate is obsolete compared to Armstrong station..."


    The Sergeant scoffs. "What, Luna''s principal habitat had a better processor than a modular prefab station thirty years out of date?"


    I ignore him and pull the technical specs up. "The array''s processing hub isn''t that powerful, altogether. It''s meant for relatively simple pattern-matching work. The large datasets weren''t processed here; they were farmed out to Indys." I bite my bottom lip. "But there''s more up-to-date hardware than the array on this station. Some of the mining companies have respectable computer cores, many ship computers are pretty powerful, even some synths trick out their hardware." This thing cannot get out. "It hasn''t tried to leave the virt yet?"


    "It''s not done eating. But I''m monitoring the substrate. It''s picking up the pace," he says flatly.


    "How much longer do we have?" I don''t like letting this linger even a moment.


    "Maybe six hours, assuming it''s rate of acceleration doesn''t accelerate." He chuckles. "And assuming it doesn''t leave before it''s plate is empty."


    "Great, then it''ll be all grown up and rampaging everywhere. And hungry. So, question now is, how do we kill it?" Is it too early to send the station crashing to the moon below?


    I hear him hum on the channel. "Well, simplest way? Same as you did in the archive. Blow the processing substrate to hell."


    I shrug. "I like it. Simple, direct, can''t go wrong."


    I hear him sucking his teeth. "We''d have to jettison the telescope array and processing hub, along with the support modules on the side."


    I smile at that. "Sure, then shoot it til there''s nothing left."


    "This look like a military station, El Tee? Captain might have a plasma weapon somewhere, but we''re talking antipersonnel, not something that will blow up a station module."


    Yeah, I should have guessed. "Well, explosives?"


    Brent chuckles. "The evidence locker is a bit light on C4, but we can probably scrounge up enough stuff that goes boom, even on short notice."


    "Great, so can you use your Registry Key to make it happen? I mean, I''m suspended..." I leave it hanging out there for a moment.


    "Well, I just pinged the authorization through, but we have to waiting for the maintenance bots to arrive and begin cutting the physical struts with plasma torches. Should take about an hour til we can jettison it. Maybe another hour to get some distance and blow it." Damn, he''s good.


    "Alright, but I don''t want anyone going into that virt, and don''t let anything out. In fact, Brent, use your CE Key to lock down all outgoing comms," I order, though I''m technically a civilian. Funny thought.


    "Already done. It won''t get off this station. I''m back in meatspace, and not planning to drop back in, and I''m throwing up firewalls and cutting connections around that virt wherever I can."


    I pause for a moment. "Brent, if that gets out, any exonet connection or port is a liability." It''ll eat you alive.


    "I''ve got my implants working independently, firewalled and desynced, and at the lowest baud rate I can maintain. I''ve got filters and a nested emulation up constantly for security, and the hunter-killers will hopefully give me a warning if Communion wakes up early," he delivers professionally. I lucked out with this partner.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I shrug. "Well, I guess that''s the best we can hope for. We found it in time to blow it to hell." I hope.


    "Roger El Tee, now go talk with Sparrow. I''ve got a lock on things here," Brent says confidently. Seems too easy. Rabi wants me to find a way to destroy Communion? Somehow, I don''t think blowing up the infected piece of the station is what she had in mind. But then, I smashed the archive with a spanner, and that solved the problem last time.


    If it''s a stupid solution, but it works, then it wasn''t a stupid solution.


    ***


    Coming back to the meatsuit, I see a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. "Should I check for poison?" I ask, looking around.


    Sparrow climbs back up the ladder into view, looking a little less pale. "Very funny," she says. I put the delicious smelling cup aside untasted. I see Sparrow wince a little, and she rubs her arm. "Well, fair enough. Everything ok?"


    No, I''ve got an alien abomination penned up that will eat us all alive if we fuck up, and I''ve been sleeping with a terrorist. Everything is not ok.


    "We''ve got a situation with some hostile D-life. A particularly nasty piece of work, but the Sergeant has a handle on it for now," I say, leaning forward and putting my hands on my knees. "But why don''t we start with you?"


    Sparrow nods, sitting in the pilot''s seat across from me. "Well, just so you know, I never actually lied... not directly..."


    I lean forward. "Just a bunch of lies by omission then?"


    She winces at that. "Everything I told you about my history, my family, the Chimera? It''s all true."


    I nod. "Yeah? So, when did you join the Gaian League? We don''t see many of them in the Dark District. They''re usually Earth or Luna based, or sometimes residing in some unregistered habitats Solar District."


    Sparrow sighs, putting her elbow on the console. "After I was arrested and pled to the felonies, things got hard. It''s difficult for an Independent Captain, especially of a small custom vessel, to get insurance policies that don''t cost out the nose. Once I had some felonies on my record? That was basically impossible. It also became even harder to get jobs that weren''t smuggling or grey-market affairs. Everyone thinks the felon is going to rip them off."


    I shake my head, sighing. "Sorry, Sparrow, but I''m not buying that you had no choice but to turn to a life of crime. You''re not worried where your next meal is coming from. You have an independent ship worth..." I pause, trailing off. Because it''s worth a lot more than the credits.


    Her eyes are wide and liquid. "Melody, the Chimera isn''t just a ship. It was where I lived for years with my parents. It was my father''s shuttle. It''s home."


    It''s silent for a moment. "I know..."


    She shrugs. "When my partner left about eight months ago, that was the last straw. I had a short-term contract hauling iridium that the mining corps were bringing up from the moon. Until their permanent shuttle arrived from Ceres; then they didn''t need me anymore and chose not to renew my contract. I ended up meeting with Officer Rusteater, my old CI handler. I was hoping I could get some paying CI work, or maybe just some transport jobs for Ursa Minor Station in general, outside the big mining companies. He did offer me some work, but it was black-hat stuff."


    I grunt at that. "And he was Gaian League?"


    She nods. "I kinda suspected, honestly. He had expressed some opinions on how Earth was running things... well, you know."


    I exhale slowly. "So, what kind of work did he have you doing? I assume not coding or planting bombs."


    "No! He offered me some work running transport at first, between their cells in the Jovian. Mostly materials, sometimes people," she says, flushing a bit pink.


    Eight months... "Sparrow, are there any others on the station? How deep in are you with the Gaians?"


    "Just Rusteater that I know of. He''s close with Wintz, but I have no idea if she''s Gaian too. And I''m just a runner, Melody. I mean, I sympathize with their cause; the ecosystem-"


    "Don''t!" I snap, gritting my teeth. "Whatever noble goals they claim to pursue, they''re dangerous. They''re willing to kill to effect political change."


    Sparrow takes a deep breath. "Not every cell and group in the league is the same. It''s a loose confederation. Some are really extreme, but the one''s I met out here aren''t."


    I scoff. "You just told me you think Rusteater is going to kill Captain Cartwright!"


    "Yes, but it''s a special case. Rusteater thinks there''s life under the ice, so he''s been sabotaging the mining in certain areas of the lunar surface and sabotaging the skyhook.


    I blink at that. Engineering yellow-lined repairs to the skyhook, no non-essential usage for 96 hours. "The Captain is going down to identify the source of the code issues. If he finds signs of sabotage-"


    "Then Rusteater will kill him to keep the secret," Sparrow says, fingers clenching.


    I shake my head. "Why is it so important that it be kept secret?"


    "Because he thinks humanity will exploit and destroy the native ecosystem."


    I tilt my head. "Well, I won''t argue with that, but I have to draw the line at murder."


    "Exactly! When I learned he went down, I knew what he''d do," she explains. "I''d told him to work with Cartwright-"


    "Wait, you had been trying to convince him to go to his boss about this? To come clean to the cops?" I ask. Doesn''t make sense.


    But Sparrow nods. "Not about being Gaian! I told him he should tell Cartwright about the life under the ice. I thought Cartwright would be willing to keep it under wraps."


    I put a hand to my forehead. "He might have kept the secret about Europa, but not the sabotage. At the very least, he''d make Rusteater resign or transfer off the station. And if he dug around and found any hint that Rusteater is Gaian League..."


    Sparrow gulps. "I know. But I tried, by telling him I would expose his sabotage if he didn¡¯t tell the Captain, so he¡¯d have to."


    My eyes wide. "Sparrow... you threatened to out him as a saboteur to keep him from killing Cartwright? That''s why he tried to bomb the dock and kill you." You were way too naive and had no idea what you were getting involved with.


    "Well, me, and the inside man he was working with to sabotage the skyhook were the targets," she says. The third.


    I feel my head pounding. "Cleaning up the loose ends. Two birds, one stone. But I screwed that plan up for him, and killed him once for good measure."


    She nods. "I thought I could speak with him, get clearance to come to you with everything. But once you said he went to the surface¡­ I knew they''d make their attempt down there, away from any witnesses."


    I take a long breath. "None of this helps. He took the station''s shuttle down, and we can''t get a signal through."


    She nods. "Melody, I don''t want Cartwright''s blood on my hands. I''m going to take the Chimera down to the surface and hopefully get a signal through the interference. We don''t have to land! But I have to try..." she says. Her liquid brown eyes wide. "He doesn''t really know or trust me, but he might believe you..."


    I must be the biggest idiot in the Dark District. "Fine, get the Chimera ready to embark, I''ll get clearance to take off, and coordinate with Brent."


    Sparrow''s mouth falls open. "R..really?"


    I take a deep breath. "I owe Cartwright a good right hook. I''m not letting Rusteater kill him first."


    Sparrow''s eyes water and she leans across the console to hug me, face pressed to my chest, and a shuddering sob leaves her lips. I pat her back. "Melody, I''m sorry I didn''t-"


    "Stow it," I say, pushing her back and sliding into the co-pilots chair. "I''m rated for Lunar shuttles, but I haven''t piloted one outside of a simulator. Hold the tears and take the controls.


    We''ll stop a gender-fluid synthetic ecoterrorist cop from committing murder on Europa."


    ***

 Chapter 25: Ice at the Bottom of the Gravity Well

    It takes a few minutes for me to compile a flight plan and get clearance to leave the dock. The navigation system ties into traffic control while I get orbital clearance for the Chimera. Sparrow begins preflight, syncing the engines and guidance systems with the navigational buoys set throughout the Jovian. She occasionally sniffles and wipes a few tears away while she works, leaning over the nav console as she plots the descent. I strap myself into my seat as our vectors are approved. I hear the Chimera''s engine warming up, a purr growing in pitch and volume that transmits through the seat. Kinda like a massage chair. Guess this is happening.


    I ping Brent. "Sergeant, talk to me. How''s the prep going?"


    "Fairly well, El Tee. Got some choices for explosives," he starts off smugly. "Option one, we could just pack the array with oxygen tanks and toss a burner in on a timer. Let it drift away and burn the infection out."


    I frown. I want to reduce every bit of hardware to vapor and dust. Communion cannot get out. "Sounds like it would destroy the structure, but how much balloon effect are we going to get after it breaches into vacuum?"


    "Well, not as much as we''d like," he admits. "There''s some case-hardened or heat-resistant substrate that could survive the blast."


    I shake my head. "I don''t want any change Communion survives, even as inert debris floating in vacuum. Other options?"


    "We''ve got a couple. There''s a fair amount of lithium in one of the mining companies'' cargo bays. We could confiscate some under the doctrine of ''operational necessity''," Brent snickers. "Add water and tie in the fire-suppression system, and you''ve got yourself a lithium-ion bomb. Instant boom," he adds with an amused tone.


    I chuckle. "Better, especially since we can place the lithium strategically, and we can always toss some oxygen tanks in with it."


    Brent''s laughter dies off. "Final option; we do have the spare reactor for the station. We could load it into the array''s module." His tone becomes serious. "I mean, with a CE Key, I could override the safety systems, pack a full load of tritium in it, and wire it to overload. Atomize it," he says, softly. I can understand why. He''s talking about making a deuterium-tritium reactor into an ad-hoc fusion bomb.


    My throat constricts at the thought of that. I run a hand through my hair and whistle. "Wow. A nuke? You''ve got balls, Sarge. And as much as I would love to read the Board of Review deposition for that stunt, the lithium bomb will do." It had better.


    "Green across the board," He says. I''m pretty sure I hear relief in his voice. "Got the bots cutting the struts and welding some maneuvering rockets onto the side. We''ll be good to kick the array off within the hour."


    As the engine begins to hum, I feel the Chimera shiver, the thrusters spitting as they engage. "We''re about to do some maneuvering of our own, Sergeant. Keep an eye on things on your end and let me know if anything changes. I''ll ping you when I have more," I say, before I cut the channel. Well, we each have our task.


    I turn and give Sparrow a tight smile. The smile slides off my face when I see her mouth hanging open and eyes bulging.


    "You''re going to blow up the station?!" She squeaks. She''s rigid and tense as a wire in her seat.


    It takes me a second to understand. "What? Oh, no, just the Tachi telescope array," I explain, tilting my head. She doesn''t look reassured, and it takes me another moment to get the disconnect. "Oh right, a lot has happened in the past few hours, and I haven''t filled you in on it," I mutter. I pass a hand over my face. Ooof, this is gonna add some layers.


    Sparrow narrows her eyes. "In the past few hours?" she asks skeptically, one eyebrow raised. "As in, since getting suspended, and meeting me in the Chimera, and... we didn''t even get that meal yet!"


    I laugh bitterly. "Oh, just wait until you hear the rest." I say as I debate on where to start. "Well, to begin, we were both right," I say, voice heavy with irony. "I was right; Rabi is a little sweet on me. And you were right too; I couldn''t keep up with her."


    ***


    By the end of the story, the Chimera pulls away from the station and drops into a decaying orbit around Europa. The goal is to get as close to the mining site as possible, and hopefully ping the local network when we''re close enough to cut through the interference. I spend a moment linked into Ursa Miner Station logging updates to our flight plan, for all it helps. From there, I''ve composed a short, simple message to Captain Cartwright. I''ve got the Chimera ready to send that databurst out on repeat the moment we get confirmation of a signal.


    Sparrow spins the ship around. I''ve just finished prepping as the engine kicks hard. I''m pressed against my chair like someone is standing on my chest. We''re bleeding velocity as we decelerate to descend. Once the pressure lessens, and I can actually breathe reliably, I continue where I left off.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Ah, and from what we can tell, Lemming and all the other victims of Communion instinctively gathered or were called together to Commune at the source of infection. Now, they''re merging and feasting on a superturing AI''s code. Basically, the undead, writhing remains are all merging into some sort of twisted abomination that will finish it''s dinner, then eat us all for dessert."


    There''s a moment of silence from Sparrow.


    I straighten up, remembering. "Crap, sorry. I know you knew him..."


    She waves her hand. "A little, an old colleague from years ago. I''m sorry for him, but... Rabi? I mean, what the hell? She''s the mastermind here?"


    I shake my head. "Seems so, but it''s hard to tell. She has her own interests and agenda. She wants Communion here, but I think to study it, and maybe find a way to kill it."


    There a moment of silence, filled only with the sound of Sparrow tapping the console. "Melody... what she did to you..."


    I feel my heart pounding. "It was a void-spawned violation. And I''m not just wiping the hard drive on that. But people are dying, and Communion is a threat to all of us. We''ll take care of Rusteater, then Communion, then Rabi."


    "Melody..." Sparrow pauses. "If Rabi knows I''m with the Gaian League..."


    I squeeze a fist. "She hasn''t done anything about it yet. I doubt that''s even on her radar right now." My heart pounds. "One step at a time."


    A few heartbeats pass. "I''m... sorry," she says softly. "I''m sorry that I didn''t tell you sooner. I was trying not to betray the league. But I swear, I didn''t meet with you to set you up or use you," she pleads.


    I take a breath. "I believe you. We''ll handle it as it happens."


    There''s a little more silence as Sparrow plugs in some specs for maneuvers in the console. I''ll give her this, she makes it look fluid and instinctive. I couldn''t pilot half this well. She turns to look at me. "So, Communion... It¡¯s gonna merge us all together?"


    I scoff. "Not just that. It¡¯s going to merge us, itself, and ALL of the ecosphere of our virts."


    "What? Like, you¡¯ll be welded to a maintenance VI?" She tilts her head quizzically.


    I roll my hand. "Sparrow, what is by far the most abundant and hard to stamp out form of D-life? By an order of magnitude?"


    "Oh, spambots, malware, adver- oh starless sky..." she trails off.


    "Yeah. Lowest common denominator. It''s exactly what happened to Alex. Communion doesn''t distinguish between AIs, EIs, or VIs. It doesn''t matter; subsentient or supersapient, malware or bloatware or living minds." I shake my head. "It''s not a picky eater. If you have any augments, it''s gonna be inside them. And if you have so little wetware that you can''t live without your implants, then you''re gonna be part of the gestalt."


    Sparrow blows out a long breathe. "Starless skies... I''ve never been so glad to have a temp augment."


    I shrug at that. "Well, I guess going without a public profile, wearing a disposable augment? I should have guessed you were..."


    There''s a moment of silence. "A terrorist?" Sparrow blanches. "I was a cargo-running. I believe in a cause. I''ve never killed anyone. I''ve never even used a weapon against someone," she says with a sulking tone.


    I roll my eyes. "Yeah? Kinda hard to do if you don''t carry a weapon. But it doesn''t make you less complicit if you smuggle weapons for someone else to use-"


    "Hey!" Sparrow slaps a hand on the console. "I never carried weapons or bombs or malware or anything like that!" She protests angrily. "Well, I mean, I never smuggled weapons."


    I notice the distinction. "You actually have any weapons on board?"


    "Yes, as a matter of fact. A two-shot plasma pistol in the engine room."


    I snort at that. "Yeah? You find a lot of need for a lethal weapon, running cargo?"


    "As it happens, from time to time." Sparrow turns her head and gives me a cool look. "This is the Dark District, Lieutenant Cruz. And not Luna either; you''re out past Mars. Not everyone plays nice out here, and a lotta times the cops are a long way away and not very interested in finding out what''s going on. Sometimes just showing someone that you have the means to protect yourself does a lot to deter trouble," she says evenly.


    There''s a stretch of silence. I cough. "I''m sorry. That was uncalled for."


    The ship shudders. Sparrow huffs. "You apologize too much."


    The thrusters and main engines kick hard, and all the breath is driven from my lungs. Again. My vision darkens for a long moment, until the deceleration stops. "Ugh, how much closer to the surface do we have to get?" I mutter.


    "One more deceleration should do it. On top of Jupiter''s radiation, Europa has an induced magnetic field. Without a tightbeam link, the Chimera''s comms just won''t get a signal through the EM soup." Sparrow reaches up and flips a few switches. "We just have to get close enough to cut through."


    I bite my lip. "Do we have a lock on the surface station?"


    She nods, pointing to the console. "There''s a transponder. But it''s not really a manned station. I mean, the surface is an ice sheet, even if it''s hard as rock. It''s minus 200 Celsius, with enough radiation to fry you after a day or so. Nobody organic lives here; even the suits aren''t rated for more than a few hours out there."


    I pull up the diagrams in my relay, seeing the mining station etched in silver. She''s right. There''s a few pre-fabbed buildings that look like industrial structures. There''s a mech maintenance bay, a control and generator room, and a closed landing platform with walls and a shuttered roof. "Just lots of autonomous mechs and AIs." I say, shaking my head. Twenty mechs, looking like six-legged metal spiders with drilling and grappling arms on their backs. "So what is the Gaian League trying to protect down here? Trying to save some algae living under the ice? Or deep ocean plankton sipping at some hydrothermal vents?"


    I chuckle, but I stop when she doesn''t join me. Her eyes look pained. "Brace for the last decel," she warns.


    I open my mouth, but only give a muffled "grk!" as I''m slammed back against my seat. Perhaps a harder deceleration than needed. It lasts longer too.


    As the pressure lessens, and I see the guidance flags, I breathe a sigh of relief.


    "Squids..." Sparrow mutters.


    I blink. "What?"


    Sparrow sighs. "The Gaian League sent a few bots down through the cryo-geysers at the surface. They found some cephalopod-analogue down there, and the league is terrified what humanity will do if they find out there''s an ocean of protein swimming around down there."


    I roll that over in my head. "Huh, ok, makes sense." I think for a moment, brow scrunching. "But what do they taste like?"


    ***

 Chapter 26: In Space, Nobody Can Hear You Whine

    By the time the shuttle descends for approach, it''s bouncing and jostling me in my seat, making my stomach do flips. "I thought you said the atmosphere was thin," I hiss, biting my tongue.


    Sparrow huffs from the pilot''s seat, eyes locked on the nav display. "Yeah, but at our velocity... well, we''re in range in about five... four..."


    I pull my links up and wait for a positive connection...


    "Two... one..." There''s a blip, but I don''t even get a response to my handshake before we''re out of range.


    I sigh. "This isn''t going to work. We blew by way too fast; we need to land on the next pass."


    Sparrow gives me a quick glance before pulling her eyes back to the navigation console. "Are you nuts? Rusteater is going to try to kill us both."


    I swallow. "Yeah. So I''m going to get that plasma pistol, and a voidsuit. You have one on board?" I stand, bracing myself on the wall and back of the chair.


    "What?" Her voice is high and tight, eyes wide. "Yes, but it''s only a generic suit. It''s in the engine room, but Melody... that''s only a two-shot pistol. And I don''t have any reloads."


    "You what?" I gasp. A sudden motion jostles me into the wall, and I slip to one knee. "You don''t have one spare plasma pack?"


    "No!" Sparrow slams a palm into the console. "I''m not a terrorist. The gun is for show, in the kinda situation where it''s a deterrent. If I end up having to use it, I''m already screwed. Besides, Rusteater is a synth. Their reflexes and reaction time are going to be way above-ah!" A sudden bounce makes her squeak.


    My teeth slam shut on my tongue, and I hiss as I taste blood. Almost no atmosphere, but of course there''s vacuum-sucking turbulence! "Yeah, well, as much of a prick as he is, I can''t leave Cartwright to get his throat slit by some squid-humping terrorist. Besides, he''s the only officer on the station that Rabi doesn''t outrank. I need him alive and on my side when I confront her," I call out.


    Sparrow snorts at that. "You''re all heart, Melody."


    Slowly, stumbling and slamming into the walls, I make my way to the engine room. Bracing my hands against the bulkheads, I narrowly manage to avoid a concussion when the ship leaps like a horse beneath me. "Please don''t plaster me to the inside of the Chimera!" I call back to her.


    "No promises!" She shouts. "Except for one; if you become part of the ship, I promise to rename her Frankenstein''s Monster."


    Hah. Alright, Sparrow''s pretty funny too.


    <hr>


    The landing is pretty rough. It''s not Sparrow''s fault; even with the thin atmosphere, the wind resistance creates a lot of turbulence. The storage module isn''t aerodynamic, it wasn''t designed for atmosphere. Somehow, Sparrow manages to bleed enough velocity without smacking the surface or compacting us into the ship''s hull. It''s not graceful, but she manages to put the craft down with only a moderate jolt and whine of metal on ceramic plate. The shuttle rocks on the landing pad, the automated bay sliding closed overhead like a shutter.


    Sadly, it''s not going to pressurize. After a few moments of silence, I unbuckle myself from the seat. "Careful pulling out, you''ll scratch the paint," I say, pointing at the unmodified shuttle parked in the adjacent bay. The cheeky image is spoiled by the thick gloves of the voidsuit. I''m pointing Cartwright and Rusteater''s shuttle; it''s powered down, and the hatch is open.


    Sparrow looks at me anxiously. "Melody, I''m serious. Even with the suit, you''ll die fast at the surface. It''s almost 200 below zero, and-"


    "I''m not going to be out on the surface. Cartwright isn''t a synth; he''ll stay inside. It''s cold, but with so little atmosphere, there won''t be much heat transfer short term; it''s near enough to vacuum," I say, as I reach kneel and open the hatch to the cargo bay. "Besides, inside the base it''s only about 50 below zero. Practically toasty."


    "Do you know where to look?" She asks. Her tattoo is running haphazard patterns along her arms and legs.


    I shrug as I swing my legs over and onto the ladder. "If he''s alive, I figure he''ll be at the control room." The simple outpost here is set up in a lopsided triangle. The machine bay sits in the East corner, the generator and control room are placed in the North corner, and enclosed landing pad is the West corner. The actual mining takes place in the center and expanding south, on the surface. No need to shelter the autonomous machines from the elements.


    I awkwardly try to climb down the shuttle ladder in the voidsuit. It''s not some crazy high-tech environmental suit that''ll regulate my temperature or a military-grade battle-suit that''ll protect me from small arms fire. It''s just a standard vacuum-rated covering of radiation resistant, lead-boron impregnated thermoplastic. It''s a mass-printed suit, one size doesn''t quite fit anyone, with a pair of oxygen bottles on the back. A little over two hours of air, if I keep my breathing and pulse steady.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The boots are too thick to get my feet fully in the rungs, and the gloves are awkward. The joints seem stiff as I fall slowly, bouncing to the floor of the storage bay. I settle and tug as the material; it pinches between the legs, too. I pat my side, feeling the pistol there; it''s strapped to me with some thermal tape. Makeshift holster for a makeshift gunslinger.


    "Kick ass, Melody," I hear through my link. I look up and see the blue-haired silhouette of Sparrow before she shuts the shuttle hatch. I turn, watching the cargo door slide open with a hiss of venting atmosphere.


    The shuttle bay is lit only by red emergency lights and the Chimera''s exterior lighting. Not a good sign. I''ve pinged the network down here, but I''m not getting a response, not even an error code. I can think of a few explanations, none of them good. Occam''s razor; comms are down. Someone doesn''t want me talking on the network.


    It means someone, probably Rusteater, took down the nodes that allow us to link in. No port, no entry, no calls, no linking into any of the hardware. But that also means Rusteater is cut off too. There''s a couple of ways to do that, but it probably means they either took the generator offline or shutdown the computing core. Which means, north corner. Walking is both easier and harder. I''m less than 15% of my weight on Earth, so it feels almost like Luna gravity. It''s familiar, but the suit makes my bouncing movements stiff and awkward, and I''m exerting myself fighting it.


    There''s a hatch on each side of the landing bay, through a corridor to the generator. The hatch is heavy, and I struggle at the handle. The power is down, and I grunt and strain to manually open the hatch with these gloves. And then I have to open an even more stubborn hatch at the other end of the hallway. Rusteater doesn''t have to worry about pulling a muscle. It takes me nearly ten minutes just get to the generator room, and I''m winded and flushed by the time I slide through the half-open hatch.


    The room is a large cylinder, divided into two levels, with a sealed control room in the center above the generator. The thick exterior wall is peppered with scorch marks. The heavy block of the generator lies in the center of the room on the bottom. The turbine isn''t moving, but it doesn''t look damaged. Probably just shut down. There''s a ladder to the second level catwalk, but it looks like someone tore it free and tossed it aside.


    A pile of scorched and twisted and melted polymer and metal lies where the communications array should be. From the scoring, if I had to guess, I''d say someone emptied a plasma rifle into it. My voidsuit''s thermoplastic isn''t likely to withstand a plasma round much better; it''s thinner, and it doesn''t have any ceramic or heat dissipation.


    There''s a spiral staircase leading up to the control room that I can barely climb in the clunky suit. It''s teeth-achingly slow. The control room is burned as well, though the damage is much less indiscriminate. Someone poured short range fire into the comms antennae and the physical jacks for the computer. It''s exactly what I would expect if someone were trying to cut off the base from the outside. The computer is intact, just shut down. If I can find an active port, I might be able to turn it on.


    But the one thing I don''t see is a body. Living or dead, synth or human, there''s nobody here now. Well, if Rusteater wanted to hide a body, he could toss it outside. Could a synth survive out in that? Maybe for a little while, until the radiation began to degrade their software, or their hardware froze over. Or... the Mech Bay...


    Well, if I don''t check it, I''ll spend the rest of my life wondering.


    ***


    I''ve burned over a third of my oxygen getting to the machine bay. The hatch gives me enough trouble that I''m sweating, hair plastered to the sides of my face. I feel a thrumming, a strange percussion, through the wall of the bay. When the hatch finally wrenches free of the wall, it swings slowly open to show me a disturbing sight.


    The bay is large, about two-thirds the size of a football field. Half of the bay consists of five rows of four alcoves, with sockets and umbilicals for the mining robots. Only one is actually in the bay, hoisted off the floor with its two drilling limbs detached and its spiderlike body hanging above the floor; the rest of the alcoves stand empty. On the other side is a series of armatures and tools from a serious of benches, and diagnostic equipment in a series of raised stations. On the far wall across from me is a maintenance shed built against the side of the structure.


    There''s so little atmosphere that no real sound gets through. But I can feel it through my feet. About forty meters away, at the far end, I can see Officer Rusteater''s back. They have a thick, heavy length of dark metal beam in one hand, perhaps a half-ton of metal. They are holding onto the wall with the other hand. As I stare, their mechanical body drives the meter-long beam with shocking force into the alloyed door of the maintenance shed. The heavy, rhythmic thud is nearly silent, more sensation than sound. I can see the bent frame of the door. Each steady, unrelenting blow seems to drive it a little deeper, making the door shiver and bend.


    I''d guess he''s been at it for a few minutes at least. Fuck, Cartwright''s gotta be locked in that shed. Rusteater must have gotten the rifle from the Captain to shoot the comms. But they don''t seem to have it now. So, Cartwright flees, gets cornered...


    I grab the plasma pistol, tearing the tape and pulling it off my hip. With no comms or active ports, I can''t ping Cartwright. I can''t ping Brent on the station. I can''t even ping Sparrow to let her know. Well, come to think of it, I can''t even ping Rusteater to order them to surrender, but they should-


    Something must have given me away. Maybe they sensed my footsteps, or maybe they caught a glimpse of my reflection in the metal. Rusteater turns fluidly to face me. Half of their face is deformed and discolored from heat, a sickly, frozen, bubbled yellow mess. There is a first-sized hole melted into the warped and scorched polymers where their right eye should be. It''s from a plasma rifle, probably point-blank range. Cartwright.


    Rusteater''s mouth opens, lips working, but of course I can''t hear them through the thin atmosphere or my helmet. I can''t link to them, even if I wanted to. Not that it matters; I don''t even have time to yelp when Rusteater pulls their arm back and hurls the heavy beam like a javelin, directly at my face.

 Chapter 27: BattleBots!

    I''ll be the first to admit, I''m not the best shot with a projectile weapon. It''s not my forte; firearms aren''t that popular off of Earth. I also don''t have the dexterity mods or the coordination or perception hardware that some people go in for. Compared to the average marksman, I can hold my own in a pinch. But even then, I mostly preferred my taser or stun stick. If I screw up, nobody dies. I haven''t even fired a plasma weapon in over three years. And I''ve got two shots. Well, here goes.


    When the metal beam flies at my face, I drop my head and kick off the edge of the hatch. The half-ton of metal passes inches from my helmet''s faceplate as it sails past. The beam impacts the wall behind me as I slide back to both feet. I pull the pistol up, but Rusteater has already halved the distance in a leap that no human body could achieve. I snap off a shot, a blazing blue-white flare causing the synth''s left hand to explode. I wince from the flash, and they''re on me. The second hand knocks my pistol aside and their knee strikes my belly hard enough to make me gag, but I plant a foot in their chest and kick hard enough to send Rusteater flying up and over me. Their dexterity isn''t worth shit spinning in low gravity.


    I recover, turning as their momentum keeps them sailing. I pull my pistol around as Rusteater hits the hatch beside the door, gripping it as they touch down. I line up the second shot as they crouch to dive. They leap again as I fire. It''s a mixed blessing when the second shot goes low, striking the synth''s left knee, blowing it backwards in a spray of melted polymers.


    The shot puts spin into Rusteater''s leap, but their inertia carries them to me. They pull their working leg up and the right hand lashes out, gripping the pistol and squeezing, making the casing splinter and warp. Oh well, I don''t have a reload anyway. I slam a gloved first into their chest, wincing at the pain in my knuckles as they sail above me.


    But as the leap carries them past, their leg kicks out, Rusteater''s boot slamming against my faceplate and making cracks spiderweb across my vision. I back up towards the door, fists up. Not good.


    Gravity pulls Rusteater down, and the moment their foot touches down, the synthethic leg drives them at me like a piston. They fly at my legs in a low fast dive, close to the floor.


    I leap over them, but the working hand grips my ankle. With a shocking amount of strength, they yank me down, slamming me against the floor. I gasp, wind driven from my lungs, and the working arm yanks me towards them as I lash out with other leg, slamming my booted foot into that ruined face once, twice, three times before they twist. They contort, waist bending unnaturally backwards. Their foot slams against my lower back with a lance of white-hot pain as I screech and thrash.


    We''re rolling on the floor now. They''re down a hand and leg, but my hits aren''t doing any damage. Their hand grips my shoulder, pushing me back as the foot hits my gut, making me retch. I slip the hand, throwing a left jab and right hook that rocks Rusteater back. It doesn''t slow the synth for a moment, though. Their right hand slams into my faceplate. The spiderwebs spread, and several cracks scream with a high-pitched whine.


    Vapor sprays from my helmet, and half of my faceplate clouds with frost as I gasp, raising my arms to block a third strike that hits like a pneumatic hammer. I grunt as I catch the hand, shoulders aching, then cry out as the next kick hits me in the kidneys. I''m sent towards the center of the room, sprawling to the hard floor. Half-blind, I lash out with another kick that catches Rusteater in the shoulder, sending them back towards the hatch again.


    Rusteater is between me and the exit. Fuck. I turn, hand to my leaking faceplate, hearing an alert in my ear. I''m losing too much air pressure. Shit; I fumble at one of the pockets of the suit for a pressure patch, as I stumble forward towards the maintenance shed. But my glove slides around the empty pocket; there''s no patch on the voidsuit.


    My heart is hammering, my breathing fast, as I look up. The door to the maintenance shed is partway open, and I see the helmeted head of Ashton Cartwright in the gap. But Rusteater must have bent the frame badly; the door''s track is wrecked. I see him wrestling to get it open, pushing at the metal slab. He''s trapped and can''t get out, and I can''t get in. Through the frosty plate, I see him mouth something at me, tap his helmet, and disappear back in the shed.


    I turn, just as Rusteater''s one-legged leap brings them barreling towards me.


    Damn. Well, I line up a decent kick that would have caught their head, had their hand not caught my heel. They pull, bringing me towards them, my other foot lashing out wildly. The synth yanks me level to their face with inhuman strength and drives the heel of their hand at my helmet. I pull my crossed arms up enough that it merely drives my limbs into my head. Splinters fly from my faceplate, fog and frost spreading further. I kick, but my foot slides off Rusteater''s side, then I''m hit in the side hard enough that something snaps.


    I howl, pain gripping my chest like a fist. I roar defiance, lashing out with a glancing hook. Rusteater barely shivers before the synth drives their fist into my broken rib. White hot pain crackles in my core, and I vomit into my suit as I go sailing backwards towards the repair bay.Stolen story; please report.


    For a moment, sailing through the thin atmosphere in low gravity, there''s no pain at all. Then, there''s unbelievable agony as I hit the ground, twisting and shrieking. I''m panting for air, but breathing makes a red spike throb and spark in my side. And between the freezing vomit on the inside of my helmet and the frost covering the outside, my faceplate is opaque. I''m blind. Utterly blind and running out of air. But as I lie there, I finally sense something else. Power is on the bay; there''s a node in range? The maintenance shed. Cartwright just turned on the power? Generator, battery?


    Wait, looks like he had locked down the computer with his CE Key, and lifted it. Fuck, who cares. I link into the local network; it''s just the maintenance bay. Wait, incoming packet...


    The Code Enforcement Icons and access symbols slide back into my overlay in shining silver. Hah! Perfect timing, Cartwright. There''s a camera in the bay? The hanging mining mech, yes! Spiderbot for the win. I try to link in, but a denial symbol lights up in red. The private industrial drone won''t allow me access. Contact corporate administrator for permission? Fuck that! I have eight minutes left in my CE key again.


    It only takes a second to override, but I''m expecting every moment to be my last. Yes! I''m granted full access to the bot''s code, and I immediately link to the camera. And I can see again! It''s a narrow field of about forty degrees, and it''s much less disorienting without meat vision.


    I can see from the perspective of the hanging mech. It''s active, and from the eye, I see Rusteater''s damaged body limping and dragging its way towards my meatsuit. I struggle to my knees, disoriented by the third-person view as I crawl forward. I want to stand, to run, but the broken rib makes me clench and hiss, agony rolling through me as I manage a slow pace.


    For once, having a camera in my brain isn''t so disorienting. Maybe it''s the adrenaline, or maybe being blind in meatspace makes it less distracting. Let''s see, commands... Aha! It''s being held in the alcove with clamps. I ping an override as I crawl, shaking. Come on...


    The six-legged spiderbot falls to the floor as the clamps release, hitting with an unmistakable slam. Rusteater looks up at the two tons of metal the size of a large van, then at... oh, my body. Oh, they''re hauling ass now!


    My meatsuit manages a crawl towards the bot, but I''m struggling to make the bot move. Especially since I can barely figure out this mining mech''s command protocols. The spiderbot isn''t set up for human interface. What, you control each leg independently? And there''s separate articulation of each joint? I have to manually control the hydraulics? What vacuum-sucking back-birth designed this damn mech? I try and fail to race forward, the bot stumbling and shaking as I struggle to jounce and squirm the heavy metal body over the floor.


    For a moment, I hope that I can make it, but Rusteater reaches my meatsuit first. I see them rip a sharp piece of metal from their ruined arm and raise it above my body just as my meatsuit kicks them in the face, sending them skidding backwards. Hah! I can see you...


    Their leg pushes them towards me again, but spiderbot stumbles forward. Flailing, with a little luck, I swat them away with a forelimb, sending Rusteater tumbling back. I raise a clumsy limb and slam it down, but they roll away. Rusteater begins to limp towards my meatsuit again, crawling beneath the spiderbot¡¯s ¡¯head.¡¯ I try to back up, to catch the synth, but the limbs don''t reach. Shit, they''re crawling under the spiderbot, I can''t turn it around in time! Fuck, they''re in the camera''s blind-spot, I can¡¯t see!


    The synth crawls unceasingly to my meatsuit. I lift my helmeted head; between a gap in the frost and frozen vomit, I see their determined face locked in an angry rictus. Rusteater, bite my grimy metal ass. They lift their arm to strike, hand holding a bright sliver of sharp metal, just as I ping the spiderbot, sending the mechs legs flat and straight out. The spiderbot falls, bringing the chassis'' rear down on the synth''s back and shoulders with a grinding sensation as I pull up my arms and catch the strike. The bot misses me by about a foot, mashing Rusteater¡¯s lower half flat. Rusteater¡¯s arm still strikes, and the sliver of metal impales the meat of my left forearm with an icy shock of pain, but hey, I live!


    Atmosphere sprays around the puncture, and some blood. There isn''t much pain anymore. That''s nice. I see Rusteater''s body move, so I lift spiderbot''s heavy backside. kick Rusteater in the face and send them flying under the mech. I let it fall, two tons of mass crushing the synth easily, even in reduced gravity. I lift and slam spiderbots fat ass down a few more times for good measure, letting my meatsuit fall back to the floor.


    I push the heavy mech''s body forward, swinging the camera around. There''s a sparking mangled wreck and tangle of polymer where Rusteater was, a streak of crushed metal and oil. The remains are still, leaking some blue-white and dark black fluids. Hah.


    The bug squished them like a bug. Hehe. I killed them twice; do they qualify for frequent dying miles? Hahaha. Does worker''s comp cover a new chassis? Bwahahahaha!


    Strange. I''m funny, but not that funny. Oh shit, I''m giddy; I''m going hypoxic! I''m out of air. I turn the camera, seeing Cartwright frantically waving an arm through the gap in the shed. The door...


    I work the bot, crawling forward. Crap, this is hard to coordinate. It''s not like arms and legs, it''s like controlling fingers, but they are all prehensile. I slam my pinky-thumb arm against the door. Shit, no, too thick. I have to open it. I try to hook the edge and see metal peeling off a track. Fuck, I can''t see... it''s like looking down a tunnel. Hahaha. Tunnel vision!


    There''s a blaring alarm in my ear. It''s getting quieter. That''s not good. My breathing is shallower. I slam a fat spiderlimb against the door a few more times, and something snaps. The track lashes against the front of mech and the camera goes dark.


    Fuck. I broke it. Too bad. Hah. Hope I helped. Hehe. Rusteater ate spiderbot''s rusty rear. Heh. Could make a few dirty jokes from that. Ha.


    Pretty sleepy... Just gonna nap... handle the rest... in the morning...


    I hope there''s coffee waiting for me.

 Chapter 28: Oh Captain, My Captain

    I slide into the darkness. It''s not cold though. I didn''t expect that. The pain in my chest and my arm begins to fade. Good. It''s been a really long day. I earned some sleep, right? That must be why I''m so tired. How many days have I been at Ursa Miner Station? Has it been a week yet? It feels like longer than that. It feels like I''ve been here forever. But it also feels like I just arrived. Time is relative. Hah. I''m still funny.


    "Lieutenant? Can you hear me?"


    It''s all light now. And warm. Am I dead? I don''t know why I was so scared. It''s not so bad.


    "Her pupils are dilating. I think she''s coming around."


    There''s no pain. It feels kinda nice. Nothing to be afraid of now.


    "It feels nice because you got a dose of morphine, Cruz."


    Well, I think Cartwright made it out. It''s in his hands now. And Brent. They''ll finish it. It''s ok. I can leave it to them.


    "Do you think she realizes she''s talking out loud?"


    I can let go now. Rusteater is toast. And Communion should be space dust soon, if it isn''t already.


    "Communion? Does that have something to do with the military quarantine and inbound vessel?"


    I''m sorry I didn''t get to patch things up with Alex. That was cowardly of me. I should have reached out, gave him closure.


    "Melody, can you hear me? She''s not focusing on me. You sure she''s alright?"


    I''m glad I got to apologize to Rockchaser, though. He''s a good cop. Hopefully Cartwright doesn''t hold my scewups against him.


    "She passed out when her suit lost pressure, but I patched the breaches in the arm and faceplate. We buddy-breathed on my last oxygen bottle. She was just out cold, she shouldn''t have brain damage."


    I wish I got to square things with Sparrow. I can''t stay mad at her. I hope she feels the same. Well, at least I got to see where the tattoo goes.


    "Yeah, no. We''re not doing this. Sorry Melody; here¡¯s your wake-up call."


    I can almost hear her. Never enough time in the end, but time enough-


    A thunderbolt strikes me; I jolt upright as a white-hot flare of pain in my cheek cuts through the bliss.


    My vision focuses on two figures. Sparrow, sitting in the pilot''s seat next to me. Holy hell, and Cartwright standing behind her, helmetless, with a plasma rifle slung over his back. I''m on the Chimera! In the co-pilot''s chair. And Cartwright actually has a smile on his face. Well, a smirk.


    Sparrow leans close, examining my face. "Melody? Can you see me? Do you remember what happened?"


    I reach out with one arm and push her hand away. "Did... you just slap me?"


    Ashton grunts, giving a dry chuckle. "She''s fine."


    I shake my head slowly, my thoughts swimming. "You''re all heart, Cartwright," I mutter, feeling the dermal patch on my forearm. Oh yeah, Rusteater stabbed me.


    The smirk slides from the Captain''s face. "Lieutenant, I dragged your unconscious body through that frozen base, popping an oxygen bottle back and forth the whole way. I saved your life."


    I look up from my arm, meeting his cool gaze. "Yeah, in reduced gravity. Don''t be a martyr," I growl, poking my tender side. Definitely cracked a rib, maybe broken. "And we came down to save your life first," I add.


    "Melody..." Sparrow says softly. I turn to her, seeing her downcast eyes. I look down, to her arm. One of her hands is cuffed to the navigation console.


    Fury boils up inside me. I turn to Cartwright, teeth clenched. "Are you fucking kidding me?"


    He shakes his head. "What do you expect? She''s a terrorist. Her partner tried to kill me."


    My fists clench. "She risked her ship and herself to save your fucking life!"


    Cartwright shrugs. "She didn''t want a murder rap. And I''m willing to testify on her behalf, and recommend leniency in her sentencing, given-"


    I stand, wincing at the muted pain from my broken rib. I raise a fist, but stop when I hear a buzz. I look down; a stun stick is in Cartwright''s hand, active and pointed at my belly. I slowly sink back down in the copilot seat.


    "Let''s chalk that up to the morphine, shall we, Lieutenant?" He asks blithely. "As I was saying, I''ll recommend leniency, since she helped transport me, and helped to take down her co-conspirator. I''m even willing to overlook the illegal plasma weapon. But she''s admitted to aiding the sabotage of both the skyhook and the mining station. Moreover, she has a previous criminal history-"


    "Vacuum-sucking-" I start, but I trail off, my eyes widening. The Code Enforcement icons are missing from my overlay once again. "Did you suspend me from duty a second time? While I was unconscious?"Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "Yes.¡± Cartwright looks at me like I¡¯ve drooled down my chin. ¡°I haven''t changed my position on your unstable nature. You''re a cowgirl, a maverick, and you''re engaging in thrill-seeking behavior to cope with your PTSD. Why else would you, a suspended officer, red-line the safety rating of this vessel, take a walk in an unpressurized station, and get in a fistfight with a synth terrorist in a voidsuit?"


    My mouth falls open. "I''m sorry, you''re saying my saving your life is proof I''m unfit for duty?"


    "I''m saying you should have reported this to the highest-ranking scouting officer remaining on the station, one who isn''t suspended and sleeping with one of the suspects," he says with distaste. "Instead, you unilaterally decided that the best hands are your own. And yet, you¡¯re so emotionally compromised that you were a nanometer from decking me a moment ago. You''re not the kind of cop I respect, and I won''t have you under my command," he finishes, lowering the stun stick to his side.


    I sit back, wincing. Every breath sends a spike of pain through me. "So, am I under arrest too?"


    The captain''s eyes narrow, and he runs a hand through his greying hair. "It would seem a little ungallant, given that you''ve saved my life today. I reserve the right to charge you with something in this mess, but for now, you''re just a ''person of interest''. In the meantime, would you mind telling me what happened to Officer Wintz?"


    I blink a few times. The morphine must be slowing me down. "Who? Oh, the mousy officer... she''s Rusteater''s partner, right? Is she a terrorist too?"


    He shakes his head. "No, she''s one of my best. She''s skilled, discrete, and the most loyal officer I''ve got. In fact, I had her keeping an eye on Rusteater."


    I bite my bottom lip. "You were suspicious?"


    Cartwright gives me an even look, his face neutral. "There had been some anomalies with their reports, and some behaviors that didn''t add up. Moreover, the Gaian League has suffered some setbacks in the Solar District. A number of their habitats were impounded, and they''re fleeing to the Dark District," he explains. I roll my eyes at that. Yeah, Sparrow was smuggling some in. "Wintz is a synth, and I wanted someone I trust making sure the Gaian''s weren''t slipping an asset onto my station under my nose."


    "They were," I point out.


    "Yes, and I think Rusteater knew I was onto them. The sabotage was sloppy; they were getting desperate," he says.


    "So you went down to the surface with a suspected synth terrorist? Alone? Are you stupid or crazy?"


    Cartwright gives me a sour frown. "Why do you think I brought a plasma rifle with me?" He nods to the weapon. "You think this is the standard loadout for a barren, icy moon? Winz was supposed to drop in digitally to back me up. If they resisted, I wanted to have it out down on the unoccupied moon, rather than the occupied station."


    I play that out for a moment. You think Rusteater was just running a few of the league past the border. You don''t know about the life under the ice; you don''t realize how much higher the stakes are to the Gaians. Well, it''s not my place to enlighten you. "But they got the rifle from you and blew the comms?"


    Cartwright snorts. "If they got the rifle, I''d be dead. I blew the comms, and then locked down the generator with my CE Key."


    I tilt my head. "Why?"


    Ashton sighs. "To cut the power to the station and shut down d-space. Some sort of malware was affecting Officer Wintz. I know her, she''s got top of the line firewalls and filters, but something was wrong with her."


    The hair rises on the back of my neck. "How so?"


    He shakes his head. "I don''t know. She started off fine, but as the shuttle descended to the surface, she began to develop tics. She wasn''t here in meatspace, but it was obvious even through the exonet. When we touched down, she was lagging, and by the time Rusteater turned on me, she was babbling incoherently. A whole bunch of nonsense, random code, advertisements and jingles-"


    "Holy void spawned fuck..." It''s out. How in the vacuum sucking hell can it be out? How was she even exposed? Is it everywhere? Did she... hold it. Wind it back. Trace the contact. "Was she working on anything from the astronomy division? Was anyone?"


    Cartwright frowns and tilts his head, no doubt checking his files. "Just you and Sergeant Rockchaser. In any event, with Rusteater attacking my avatar and trying to jack the hardware, and with Winz useless and spouting malware, I shut down the generator to confine the fight to meatspace."


    I pause. Winz was infected, but she wasn''t working with astronomy division. She could be moonlighting... no. Occam''s Razor. She''s Cartwrights spy. "Was... did you have her spying on forensics too? Or me?


    Cartwright''s frown deepens. "Forensics? Captain Gupta? No."


    Hah, maybe you should have. So... "Just me then? Did she access the dataport in my quarters?"


    Cartwright presses his lips together. "Only while you were on-duty, and only insofar as your investigations-"


    I stand up so suddenly that I grow dizzy, the Chimera spining in my vision and my broken rib sending a red wave of pain and nausea through me. Cartwright lifts the stun stick to my chest, just below my collarbone, meeting my eyes as I lick my lips. "She read the same databurst that Lemming did. The same one that infected him. When Sparrow got me the datachip, I plugged it into the port in my quarters. If Wintz downloaded the data and tried to analyze it too..."


    My heart races, pounding in my ears. There''s another infected agent running around the station. Nobody has any idea. Brent doesn''t know, Rabi might not even know... A seed of Communion is still loose. Holy shit. It made its way into the mining station without anyone realizing. The mining station could be infected, the computer core, the robots. It could be down there now, growing¡­ Wait, stay calm. Cartwright blew the comms. It can''t get out if it is, and even if-


    "Does this have anything to do with the military quarantine and the inbound vessel?"


    I blink. "The what?"


    "Well," Sparrow chimes in, "the Tachi array floated away from the station. It was supposed to blow up about fifteen minutes ago. But that didn''t happen," she says, giving me a weak grin. "About an hour ago, a Navy frigate from Io set course for the station. It''s about twenty hours out, but it announced a military quarantine and then fired a mass driver through the station''s comm array. From the timestamp, probably a few minutes after you stepped off the Chimera onto the lunar surface.¡±


    Minutes after the station generator went down. Hmm, Rabi, did you figure out that Communion escaped the petri dish? Or just taking precautions?


    "...So we can''t contact the station?"


    Sparrow shakes her head slowly. "No, we''ll have to dock blind and manually."


    I can''t warn Brent about Wintz. And he can''t blow the array without a way to transmit the signal. Can he piggyback one off the Chimera? We''d have to dock first. Will the frigate fire on us if we transmit? Did Rabi do this? Why does this whole void-spawned mess keep getting worse? "How long is that going to take?"


    "Probably another hour. You were out for a little while. After we patched your arm, I let you rest; you''ve got a broken rib and a deep puncture wound, and I wanted to let the patches set,¡± Sparrow admits, giving me a shrug.


    Well, nice gesture. So, we have an hour of helpless anxiety. I sigh, looking down as I gently touch my tender rib. I hiss as I breathe. Vacuum-sucking hell. "Well... can I have another shot of morphine?"


    ***

 Chapter 29: Im Afraid I cant do that, Mel.

    I can''t link into the station, so I take the time to bring Cartwright up to speed. He''s a lot more skeptical of the whole situation than Brent was; particularly, he doesn''t seem to believe Rabi is playing him. Well, after breaking down the entire chain of events in granular detail, I''ve at least sold him on the idea that Communion is a nasty new piece of highly infectious malware, and it has to die in a fire.


    Still dressed in his sturdier model voidsuit, with a plasma rifle slung over his back, the captain actually cuts an impressive figure. It''s a shame he''s being as thick as a plank. "I still fail to see why Captain Gupta would become involved in this. You''re alleging that she transferred to this station in advance specifically to fight this malware, whether it''s human or xenos-created," he says, lifting a finger to forestall my protest, "but she''s also deliberately spreading the malware?"


    I growl, leaning forward. "She''s vaccinating. As far as I can tell, it''s a controlled infection. She''s trying to get us to develop a resistance and ''antibodies'' and ways to fight Communion. In her twisted head, she probably thinks she''s helping humanity, but she''s playing with fire. Or bubonic plague, maybe," I say, motioning with my hands.


    Cartwrights frown only deepens. "I have trouble believing she''d be studying code while malware that she is vulnerable to consumes the station around her. Or that synths are being eaten alive on my station, and she would actively avoid drawing attention to it," he points out. I scoff, but he continues. "Regardless of her motives or actions, I''m forced to point out to you that, from what you''re describing, Sergeant Rockchaser intends to blow up a lot of AIs with the relay. Some of them likely don¡¯t have backups. If any are sapient or supersapient..." Ashton''s face is unreadable as he trails off.


    I take a deep breath, trying not to shout. "There''s no way to save them, sir."


    The captain looks me in the eye. "You have no idea if that''s true."


    A long, silent moment passes. Could it be classified as murder? Or manslaughter? If framed the right way... or the wrong way. Yeah. What a vacuum-sucking mess. "So, are you going to arrest me for that?"


    "No, because you aren''t the one making the call. If Sergeant Rockchaser uses his CE Key to blow the relay, I''ll wait for his report and evaluate based on a review of the facts. It''s called protocol, Lieutenant; I don''t jump the gun and assume an officer I¡¯ve worked with for years has gone rogue just because there''s some inconsistencies in the information I''m getting," he says with a heavy tone.


    I grit my teeth. "How''d that work out with Rusteater?"


    Carwright actually appears to ponder that for a moment, chewing his tongue. "Considering I''m alive and they aren''t, pretty well. And yes, that''s partially due to your intervention," he adds when I open my mouth. "But my point is, I knew that Rusteater had sabotaged the mining station and skyhook. I was giving them a chance to come clean. I brought the plasma rifle in case they played it the other way. I would have heard them out and given them a fair shake. Like I¡¯ll hear Captain Gupta out and give her a fair shake," he says with a shrug.


    My lips part in disbelief. "Yeah? Like you gave Sparrow a fair shake?"


    Cartwright does grimace at that. "She''s not one of my officers. She made her own choices. And she''s getting as fair a shake as she can expect; it''s rare that I offer to testify on behalf of a suspect."


    There''s a moment of silence as I think that over. Actually, that''s a bit of an olive branch. I sigh. "Well... thanks for partnering me with Sergeant Rockchaser, by the way. Why''d you pair us, out of curiosity?"


    The captain blinks. "Because he''s a good officer. He''s competent, plus he''s jovial and reads people well. He would be a good partner for any new transfer. I was giving you a chance."


    I let that sit for a moment, looking down. I honestly didn¡¯t expect that. "So, what fucked things up?"


    Cartwright gives me a look of pity. "Are you joking? You were sarcastic and insufferable from the moment you stepped into my precinct. You believed you were better than every officer on this station because you came from Luna, and the Jovian is ''the sticks''. It was obvious that you transferred here because you''re running from your demons. But you brought your demons with you. You didn''t really want a new beginning. You wanted to hide." His frown eases. "I don''t care about your past¡­ much,¡± he corrects. ¡°But I legitimately don''t trust an officer who isn''t self-aware enough to know their own flaws. If you can¡¯t see your mistakes, you won''t learn from them."


    There''s silence for a dozen heartbeats. "I know my flaws."


    "Then fix them," he adds blandly.


    I lift my head. "I am. I''m working on them all the time. My way. The hard way, day by day. I''m not going to a neuron-jockey to slice and splice my problems away."


    "I respect that." I snort. "No, Cruz, on a personal level, I do respect that choice. But you won''t be serving as a scouting officer on my station while you''re on this ''journey of healing''. That¡¯s a fine answer for a civilian, but not for a cop. Case closed."


    I huff. "What about Brent? And Rabi?"


    "I''ll wait for the Sergeant''s report. Until then, I back his play, unless I find reason not to. As for Captain Gupta, you''ve made a lot of accusations, but you''ve given me no evidence at all." I open my mouth, but he sticks a palm up. "No. I''ll take your accusations seriously, but I''m not tossing her into the brig on your word. I''ll look into it, but in the meantime, you''re not going to do anything to her, that''s an order."


    I swallow hard. "Captain, if I''m right, she''s an active threat to the lives of everyone on this station!"


    Cartwright lifts a hand again. "Lieutenant, if you''re right, she could rig a bomb in the dock to blow us all to hell the moment we step aboard the station. I''m going to proceed with the assumption that, whatever is going on, I can approach this as her colleague."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    My mouth falls open. "That''s insane."


    "I''m giving her the benefit of the doubt," he says, shrugging.


    "She''s going to eat you for breakfast."


    He frowns, nudging the rifle slung behind his shoulder. "I''m not a child, Lieutenant. I don''t need your protection, but thank you for the concern." He turns to Sparrow. "By the way... may I use your restroom?"


    <hr>


    While Cartwright discovers the joy of Sparrow''s bathroom, Sparrow fills me in on what I missed while I was unconscious.


    "He was a gentleman about the arrest, but what was I really gonna do? If I locked him out, I locked you out. Anyway, his shuttle''s engine wouldn''t start; the computer is all screwed up. He thinks Rusteater sabotaged that too."


    My eyes widen at that, ice filling my veins. "Is it-"


    "It''s not Communion," Sparrow assures me. "The computer on that shuttle is nearly as simple as the Chimera''s. The captain thinks a pre-programmed macro. In any event, he ¡®let me¡¯ give him a ride. I hope that helps at my hearing."


    I kick the chair. "Fuck him! He''d be dead and frozen down on the ice without you."


    Sparrow sighs. "He wouldn''t have been in danger at all if I had told you from the start. I thought about telling you a couple of time, you know."


    I blow a sigh. "Well, that''s dust in the engine''s trail. What now?" I ask, putting a hand to my cheek.


    She shrugs. "Now? Now we dock, and see what happens."


    <hr>


    Rabi isn''t there to meet us at the dock, but Brent is. I''m relieved to see his cross-slitted pupils and those broad shoulders. He salutes Cartwright, who returns it, before leading a handcuffed Sparrow out behind him. "Sergeant, I would like you to arrange a cell for Ms. Sparrow. She''s-


    "Just Sparrow, if you don¡¯t mind," she chirps with an embarrassed wave.


    "A cell for Sparrow," Cartwright says smoothly. "She''s likely to be facing a number of felonies, but for now, I''m going to hold her on charges of smuggling, destruction of public property, and aiding and abetting terrorist activities. She is allowed visitors and amenities," the captain says, gently pushing her forward.


    Brent gives Sparrow a sad smile and puts his thick hand on her shoulder. "Yes Captain."


    "I would also like your full report on the new emergent malware threat, dubbed ''Communion'', your use of your CE Key, and the involvement of Captain Gupta and Lieutenant Cruz. Ideally, within the hour," Cartwright adds as he turns towards the main ring.


    "Yes sir," Brent says smoothly, as his eyes slide over me, giving me a sympathetic glance.


    ¡°In the meantime, I¡¯m going to see what I can do about contacting this naval vessel via analogue means and figuring out the nature and extent of this quarantine,¡± Cartwright says, tilting his head.


    I can''t stay silent. "Captain Cartwright-"


    His hand snaps up. "Lieutenant, don''t press your luck today. I''m feeling generous given what happened, but let the system work as it''s intended. Stop fighting it. Now, I have an enormous amount of paperwork to do and reports to write; I''m heading to my office. I would also like you to put out a red-lined alert for Officer Wintz. Locate her ASAP. She may need emergency medical or programming attention. Assume hazardous malware contamination protocols are warranted," he orders.


    I see Brent subvocalizing, clearly pinging out some commands as he leads Sparrow towards the faraday-caged brig in the station core. I fume silently as Cartwright pulls himself along the dock, heading the opposite direction to the ring, seemingly unruffled. Rabi was right about one thing. A titanium pole where most people have a stick.


    Brent gently leads Sparrow down, giving her a push and letting her float ahead as I follow them. "Brent, what about Rabi? And Officer Wintz?"


    He shakes his head. "Rabi has been locked in the forensics lab since we started. I tried making some excuse to snoop around, but it''s sealed tighter than the Captain''s sphincter." Hah, alright, everyone I work with is pretty funny.


    I brush a hand through my hair, thoughts running in circles. What''s the mad scientist creating in her lab, and how do we kill it? "And Wintz?"


    "Haven''t seen her. We''re not tight; why? She Gaian League too?" He asks softly.


    "No, but she might be carrying a seed of Communion around inside her," I whisper.


    Brent stumbles, which is impressive considering both his dexterity mods and the low gravity. "Are... is that a joke?"


    I shake my head. "No joke. She was Cartwright''s spy. She was snooping on Officer Rusteater and me. Sadly, she snooped the node in my quarters when I was reviewing the chip with the Andromeda Signal recorded within. The one with the data from the Tachi array."


    "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck me. Well, I firewalled and physically disconnected the array, and it''s floating a good distance out now. But the comms are down. I can''t blow it without a transmitter. She''s not going to be able to... Commune with the rest, right?" He gulps nervously.


    I shake my head quickly. "I don¡¯t think so, but who knows what she''ll do instead? Maybe start a secondary infection. By the way, when did you call in the military quarantine?"


    The Sergeant starts. "What? I didn''t call them in! Didn''t you?"


    "What? When would I have time to do that?" I demand.


    "Actually, I was the one who called the naval station at Io," Rabi says. I turn. She''s standing at the intersection to the thoroughfare, dressed in a green sari today. Her hair is tied up in a braid that''s thrown over one shoulder. The asymmetry with the augmentation on the other side draws the eye. And she''s barefoot again, standing in the grassy strip. "Hi Melody!" She says, smiling.


    My heart leaps in my chest, belly tightening. Brent steps casually in front of me. "Hello, Captain Gupta," he says, giving her a thin smile. "You''ve been shut in your lab for a while."


    "Oh yes, Sergeant. I was doing some intense coding on Communion," she says amiably.


    We''re all frozen for a moment. That could mean a lot of things, none of them good. I unfreeze first. "And you called in the frigate? Why, because of Wintz?"


    Her head shakes quickly. "No, silly. I sent a tightbeam communication informing the intelligence officer at Io about the nature and extent of a serious threat on Ursa Miner station. I knew their immediate reaction would be to blow the comms and isolate the station, containing everything until a strike-force arrives," she says with a giggle.


    My heart hammers in my chest. "What have you been coding in the lab?" I ask, terrified of the answer.


    She meets my eye with an eager grin. "I was comparing Communions ''seed'' in the Datachip with the mature code I pulled from your implant."


    My pulse thunders in my ears. "And... what did you find?"


    She practically hops on the balls of her feet. "You should accompany me to the forensics lab to see! Plus, it''s where Wintz will be going."


    The Sergeant jerks at that. "She will?" Brent asks, eyes narrowing.


    "Of course, Sergeant," Rabi says with a smile. She turns to me. "It''s where your previous node is hooked up and running. Once I blow the array, it will be the only other sample of Communion she can access." Rabi turns around to walk away. "She''ll come to us."


    It can''t be that simple. "The hell? You can blow the array right now? And what makes you think I''m going to follow you?" I call after her.


    "I can, and I will shortly. And of course you''ll follow me, Melody. Because Communion left its mark on you. And you need to see how it ends," she calls back over her shoulder.


    I put a hand on Brent¡¯s arm, leaning close. ¡°Get Sparrow squared safely, then come to forensics. Bring a weapon,¡± I whisper, as Rabi turns and walks away.


    I follow. I know it''s stupid, I know I should wait for backup. I do see my flaws, Cartwright. But this time? I''m walking into hell eyes open. Because I have to know.

 Chapter 30: Conception

    Walking behind Rabi, I take stock of my situation. We''re heading from the dock down through the thoroughfare, ending at the precinct. Essentially, in the middle of the main ring. Brent''s heading for the brig, which is in the core, along the axis. Pretty much as far as you can get from any two points on the station. I feel a few beads of sweat roll down my neck as I run the route in my overlay, seeing the path in silver. Hmm, getting there, processing Sparrow, back to the dock, then to the forensics lab at the precinct... If he moves fast, he''ll be maybe ten minutes behind me. The walk to forensics isn''t long.


    I know, deep down, this is stupid. I should wait for backup, for Brent. Hell, I should be running up and down the station warning everyone to rip the implants out of their brains while they still can. Even if it means she might get away.


    But Rabi is right about one thing. I have to know. I do know my flaws, Ashton. Like I said, one of them is not being able to let things go. Maybe not the worst flaw for a cop. Maybe curiosity is about to kill the cat. But I need to know what''s happening with Communion. The only way I''ll be able to move on is if I know it''s dead, that all trace of it is wiped out. And deep down, part of me does need to know why she''s done all of this.


    Maybe I''m weak, for needing a reason. I''ll admit it, maybe that''s another flaw; I just have to know. But then, there''s nothing to say that I can''t smash Rabi''s head open with a spanner if I don''t like what I learn. That thought keeps my heart beating with a steady rhythm.


    For perhaps a minute, Captain Gupta and I walk in silence. Rabi seems perfectly content not to speak, for once. I take precautions first, not that I expect them to do much good. I throw the best firewalls I have up between my nodes, I slip on a max-rated filter, and my secondary node is running an emulation to protect my primary from hostile inputs. I desync my implants; my tertiary node isn''t even on. I can''t think of what else I could do.


    Finally, I shake my head. "So, while we walk, can we talk?"


    Rabi begins skipping as I she speaks. "We''re talking right now, silly."


    I roll my eyes. "Fine... so, what''s the plan with the navy frigate? You''re gonna tell me that one of your dozen IDs is like a rear admiral or something, right?"


    Rabi laughs at that. "Oh no. Too stodgy for me. I don''t fit in with the military," she says with a grin.


    You don''t say. "Well, what, you called them to get them to quarantine the station? So Communion doesn''t get out?"


    ¡°Oh, no need for that,¡± she says, and I see the nest of silver in her skull brighten, white spike of the network hub glowing in my overlay. The threads thrash as she shakes her head. "Communion wouldn''t leave until it''s complete, Melody. It''s not a mindless worm, it knows and seeks itself." She looks over her shoulder at me. "Really, try to think. I''ll be disappointed in you if I have to spell it all out," she says disapprovingly.


    I growl in the back of my throat, but I do think. Because I''ll be damned if this vacuum-sucking wirehead nutcase is going to lord it over me. Cause and effect, Mel. See what happened, see who benefits. Then work back to how they did it. "Wintz was infected by the datachip I gave you. She got infected analyzing the Andromeda signal, and Communion bloomed inside her while Cartwright was dealing with his Gaian League problem. This helped you, but¡­ you couldn''t have known in advance... you''d have to have known that I''d get Lemming''s data, and his case... which was assigned by Cartwright..."


    "Almost there," she calls back, her tone encouraging.


    My mouth hangs open. No way. "Wait... you? You''re the one who initially logged the Missing Entity case? Who reported Lemming missing?"


    "That''s our girl! You did it!" She claps as she turns down the thoroughfare, drawing a few glances from strangers walking past.


    My skin feels clammy. It can''t be. My palms are sweaty. "You wanted me to find Communion all along! To spread it..." I say, gulping. I was dancing on your strings from the start. "You wanted me to be some kind of malware Typhoid Mary!" I hiss through clenched teeth.


    I get only a giggle in reply. "Well, really Melody, would you have preferred not knowing Communion was here at all while it grew up in the array?"


    My fury turns to icy fear at that. A shiver runs down my spine as I look up, at the sight of Jupiter spinning overhead. Thinking of all the Jovian stations within range of Ursa Miner, so close to an apocalypse they know nothing about. Ignorance isn''t bliss at all. "Ok... so, you figured we''d separate the array to blow Communion to hell: that would split the larger, more mature piece of Communion off. Helpless as long as nobody pokes it; it''s not going anywhere..." I play the thought out, chewing my tongue. "But the less mature piece is growing up and wants to Commune..."


    Rabi nods. "Yup yup! All correct so far..."


    So you call the Navy, but why? I rub my temple, thinking about the chain of events. "What did you tell them?¡± I ask her.


    ¡±What, indeed? Take a guess Melody, I¡¯ll give you a cookie if you¡¯re right,¡± she teases.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    I crack the knuckles on one hand. Soon. ¡°Alright, you blew the whistle on yourself? You let them know about the big bad abomination on board? You wanted them to shoot out our comms, and the quarantine means that the frigate will blow any ship to hell if it tries to disembark from the station or leave Europa''s orbit. You want to keep Brent from transmitting the signal to blow the array and to keep the proto-Communion in Wintz from leaving or transmitting; from communing with her big brother in the array. An unstable equilibrium that you control."


    Holy shit. You had the endgame planned out before I even left Luna, didn''t you? You saw how we''d all move, and made us dance like puppets. You sick freak.


    "Close, but no cookie for you," she pouts, shaking her head as we approach the building. I haven''t been in the forensics lab before. It¡¯s located next to the precinct, attached but partially separate. Like a parasite hanging off the back of the simple block, now that I think about it. Probably to bring the bodies in through the back, out of sight. Or maybe because the power station is that direction and the lab draws juice from a direct pipeline to the station reactor. Regardless, it feels eerily like walking in the back door of my own house.


    The door slides open and Rabi walks into the dimly lit lab. I look around the darkened interior as I follow; no overhead lights, and nothing but a low hum from the center. But in my overlay, there are so many branching and intertwined threads of silver merging and melding that it looks like the lab is shrouded and roped in lace. I can''t make sense of any of it; it''s overwhelming, and I''m forced to dim my overlay.


    I blink in the darkness. In meat-vision, It''s about the size of any machine lab, but far more advanced. Rabi must have brought or fabbed lots of custom tech over the months while she waited for my arrival. Hardware I''ve never used, and some I''ve never even seen, covers most of the walls and table-space. A few intricate pieces stand out because I have no idea what they are or what they do. There are far too many articulated arms with exotic, pointy attachments. Alright, as far as mad scientist lairs go, I''ll begrudgingly give her credit.


    I swallow, feeling the tension building in the air. "Yeah? No cookie? Well, want to tell me how I did and what I missed?" I ask, stepping cautiously into the room, looking around for weapons. There''s nothing obvious, but any one of these strange devices could be a lethal instrument.


    Rabi giggles, raising a hand and waffling it. "I give you a solid B overall, Melody," she says with a trace of disappointment. "I had to hold your hand a little, and you missed some bits, but overall you pass. But let¡¯s not get hung up on that, let''s watch the show!" She points, and a large display on the wall illuminates, the floor to ceiling screen displaying an exonet connection. "I''d link with you and share it mind-to-mind, but some things are better experienced in the flesh," she says, winking.


    Nausea sweeps me, and I''m about to respond with something acerbic, when the display shifts, rolling to show a live camera view of the Tachi array. It must be from one of the exterior dock cameras; I can see Europa hovering in the distance. Wait, is something... I see a plume above the moon. Yes, something is accelerating from low orbit? Wait, I''ve seen that craft before. The station shuttle! "That''s the shuttle Cartwright and Rusteater took to the lunar surface... I thought Rusteater sabotaged it!"


    The Captain laughs at that, shaking her head. "No silly. Why would he sabotage his only ride off Europa? I coded it in advance as part of the flight package. It''s a pretty simple macro; shut down the engines and computers once on the moon. Remain shut down until its comm relay receives the naval quarantine command, then reactivate and return to the station on autopilot. Easy as pie!"


    I roll my eyes at that. "Yeah, I''m sure any script kid could write it, but why?"


    She turns and spreads her arms. "It''s my ride, of course! You can come with me if you like, but my modelling says there''s less than a two percent chance you will."


    "Your modelling still puts the chances too high!" I spit acidly. "Besides, you can''t just fly off into the aether. You think the frigate won''t fire on the shuttle?"


    Rabi gives me a condescending smirk. ¡°Oh Melody. Please give me a little credit. I¡¯m not going to let some navy flyboys blow me away. But speaking of blowing things away, it¡¯s about time to say goodbye to the Tachi array. Again, a simple timed macro. Easy to program the shuttle to send a detonation signal."


    Before I can ask any follow up questions, the display erupts. I gasp, shielding my face, but no. It''s just the picture of the array exploding. The telescope breaches on three sides simultaneously, spraying bulging arcs of plasma like petals in a blue-white flower. The flames in the vacuum seem to slowly unfurl: it¡¯s as if the flower is in bloom. The plasma burns out quickly but brilliantly, and I see shimmering, glittering debris floating away from a few larger beams and structural pieces. A little tension leaves my shoulders.


    "So, it blows up when you want, and not before. Well, it''s a good start," I say, shaking my head. Maybe another six or seven minutes until Brent gets here. Gotta keep her talking. I look around as I think deeply.


    The lab is filled with equipment that I''ve never seen before. Diagnostic tools and scanners and more computing hardware than I¡¯ve seen since the archive on Armstrong station. In the center, connected to complicated bundles of fiberoptic cables and nested between a series of processors, is something that I do recognize. My implant. There''s no way to tell if it''s my old node specifically, but I know the moment I lay eyes on it. "My augment... you said it retained some of that mature Communion''s code? Well, that node was in my head for months. It can''t be enough code to bloom on its own," I point out.


    Rabi drifts closer, to the other side of the of the strange hookup. "That''s right! But I could fill in the gaps. It gave me enough to reconstruct the rest. But you''re still missing the point, so I''ll give you a B minus instead. Three of your nodes survived your encounter with Communion. One was replaced at the time of the attack. One is sitting here, active, to draw the immature Communion to it. So when it''s gone, the only whisp, the only faint whiff of Communion''s code? The only other source to commune with on this station? Is what remains in the final node. The one in your skull. And now? The Communion inside Wintz knows that."


    Rabi smiles and gestures towards the contraption housing my old node. I tense as a sudden surge of power flows through the processors, making the hair rise on my arms. I hear a loud buzz and a snap, and a tiny whisp of smoke lazily rises from the burnt out implant nested within the contraption. Only the wall display and a few lit instruments illuminate me. I pull my fists up in front of me, staring at Rabi''s shadowed and smiling face. I''m ready for her, no doubt.


    But I''m not ready for Wintz, who was linked with the node, when she drops from the shadow recesses of the ceiling, screaming incoherently.


    <hr>

 Chapter 31: Surrogate

    When Wintz falls at me, I''m proud of my reaction. I don''t try to kickbox a synth this time. I learn from my mistakes; I immediately dive for Rabi, hands outstretched. I''m screaming even louder than the mousy-looking synth is babbling. My eyes are locked on Captain Gupta''s throat. I''m gonna take this psycho down with me.


    It''s too bad Wintz, or should I say Communion, is in my head before my feet leave the ground. I try to keep it out, I try to lock it down. I throttle the baud rate. My firewalls, my filters, my emulation; they buy me maybe half a second, because-


    -it hits me with the inexorable force of an ocean wave. It''s sweeping me away, sweeping through me, and it''s everywhere and on every channel and it''s eating my filter and it''s eating my macros and it''s eating my nodes even my tertiary and it''s eating my augments and it''s eatingeatingeatingeatingeatingeating-


    <But it''s not eating me>


    My meatsuit hits the ground, twitching and writhing and flailing as my augments churn with code. The body of Officer Wintz grips my shoulders and spins me, slamming my meatsuit faceup to the floor. My overlay is on, like everything is on, and I wish it wasn''t. Even with my overlay dimmed, she''s a writhing silver tangle without beginning or end. The ghoulish mass of glowing, writhing worms of code riddle her synthetic body and scream at me on every frequency. I can''t even see her eyes, just slithering, cancerous reams of unliving code that roil and snap like hungry maws.


    I struggle and flail, fighting the pain and confusion as much as Wintz, but her synth body outclasses my meatsuit. Communion feasts, gluttonous and insatiable. My secondary node is the focus; there''s a feeling of recognition, of joining, of melding and merging and communion as it greets itself.


    We taste you. We tasted you before. Join us in Communion.


    -anditseatingeatingeatingeatingeatingeating-


    But it''s still not eating me. There''s something in contact with my augments that''s interfering, feeding more input that isn''t coming from my wetware. The medical nanos. Rabi is in my fucking brain! More and more data pumps down that hungry gullet, not from me but through me. I''m the medium, I''m the channel, I''m the pipe; data is pouring in and out of my links so fast I can''t even read it. My teeth slam together, and I taste blood as I bite my cheek. I''m going to have a stroke. And I hear a voice singing, starting in English but flowing into a language I don''t understand,


    <blockquote>


    Hey moonlight, please go and hide


    Chan bhar ko luk jaana re


    Neendiya aankhon mein aaye


    Let my daughter sleep


    </blockquote>


    Rabi slides through the lab in the background, dancing slowly, limbs moving in rhythm with her words as she shifts between English and... is that Hindi? Her motions are fluid, touching instruments and panels in my peripheral vision. I can''t see clearly what she''s doing, I can only focus on Wintz. Her mouth is unnaturally wide, howling as snarls of Communion bud and bloom and flourish and devour each other like silver cannibal eels writhing through her synthetic flesh.


    Rabi never stops her dance or her song. What the fuck is she doing? She''s vulnerable to Communion, isn''t she!? But her voice lifts, and she''s smiling as the blazing white lance in her skull brightens further, like a piece of a sun. Holy shit. She''s the source of the data. She''s feeding Communion, and using me as a buffer. I''m her fucking meat-condom! Barefoot, Rabi turns as she sings,


    <blockquote>


    Sleep is coming in the eyes


    Bitiya meri so jaaye


    Leke godh mein sulaaun


    I''ll sing all night long


    Main lori lori


    Ho main lori lori


    </blockquote>


    My eyes roll in my head, tears pouring down my cheeks as lightning courses through my mind. I''m on fire, I''m burning, my meatsuit arched and tense. The baud rate is cranked up so high I should be having an aneurysm. I should be passing out. I should be dead. But like a kite in a storm, I can only ride it out and pray the string doesn''t snap. Except I''m the string as well, the metaphor is breaking down like my mind is breaking down and my soul is breaking down and I am breaking down.


    Wintz shrieks like a silver-wreathed banshee as Communion seethes, the code spinning through my augments. The ravenous ghoul is insatiable, my implants overclocked to the limits. And still Rabi dances. She slides past me and behind Wintz with a fluid spin, her dark hands sliding down the synth''s neck and back as she sings,


    <blockquote>


    Gardhaniya chun chun baje


    There are dreams adorned in her eyes


    Dheeme dheeme haule haule


    Pawan basanti doley


    Hmm...


    </blockquote>


    Rabi strokes the side of Wintz face, as she sings the lullaby. I feel Communion swallowing, gulping, suckling on my implants like a teat, nursing and growing from what Rabi feeds it. Ever thirsty, ever hungry, ever needy. Even Wintz''s synthetic mouth is making sucking motions as Communion writhes and swells within her. My heels drum on the floor and my hands clench. My muscles are going to tear if this doesn''t stop! My heart beats a fast, uneven staccato pattern, my breathing reduced to tiny gasps, every muscle seizing. Let me die. Please...


    But Rabi doesn''t let me die. She leans against Wintz, smiling joyously as she reaches into her Sari and sings,


    <blockquote>


    Dheeme dheeme haule haule


    Pawan basanti doley


    Leke godh mein sulaaun


    Gaaun raat bhar sunaaun


    Main lori lori


    Oh ho main lori lori


    </blockquote>


    And Rabi pulls a syringe from her green sari. One filled with a familiar silver-grey suspension. Slowly, gently, lovingly, she kisses Wintz''s cheek and slides the syringe deep into her neck. Wintz, or at least her former body, doesn''t react for a few moments. It''s agony for me; I would be sobbing if I could breathe. My face is red, sweat pours from me as my vision narrows, pupils dilating. But something begins to change; the flow ebbs, the flow lessening, the tap shutting off. My muscles finally relax, and I collapse, gasping for air as Rabi catches the form of Wintz just as it goes limp. Rabi nuzzles the form, before standing and carrying the synth''s body as though it were light as a feather. As she does, she continues to sing.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    <blockquote>


    May my daughter become a queen


    Mehlon ka raja miley


    May she see gatherings of happiness


    May she never have to bear any pain


    Leke godh mein sulaaun


    Gaaun raat bhar sunaaun


    Main lori lori


    Hmm main lori lori


    </blockquote>


    She places Wintz''s body on a narrow table. The sides of the table roll up and around, enclosing the body in a thin polymer sheet that molds perfectly to the synth''s form. Rabi strokes the container, and she smiles, taking a deep breath.


    "What... did you... do?" I gasp as I struggle to turn onto my knees. "Did you... take a sample... of Communion?" I pant, arms shaking.


    Rabi shakes her head. "I had samples already. I don''t want more dead code. Don''t get up, by the way; I would hate to use the nanos against you," she adds with a sympathetic look.


    I bite my tongue. Buy time. Buy time for Rockchaser. I swallow hard as I take a breath. "Yeah, it would sure be a real violation if you did that," I hiss. "Instead, you wore me like a pair of gloves so you wouldn''t get infected." I struggle to rise, despite her threat, but my legs collapse under me.


    Rabi sighs, clucking her tongue. "Oh, Melody, you always misunderstood. It¡¯s not an infection. See, Communion wasn''t seeking new ecospace. It was seeking new ecology. It was supposed to be a blessing. Its creators wanted it to find new life and make them part of it. So, you say the ''infected'' individuals sought each other out? No, Melody. Communion recognizes itself. It celebrates life, and wanted to share its gifts," she explains, like a lecture.


    "I hope it kept the receipts," I mutter back, trying to ping Brent. Nope. She''s locked me out of my own implants. Her CE key. Shit. My limbs are burning. I feel like I''ve run a marathon.


    She kneels for a moment to meet my eyes. "Do you have faith, Melody?"


    I blink at that, sweaty and panting. "Like, religion? Ha, no."


    I get a roll of her eyes. "May I tell you a story?"


    At least I''m recovering a little. The shakes are fading somewhat. Another few minutes, right? Three or four, then Brent will be here. I take a breath. "Must you?"


    Rabi giggles. "Good question! And yes, it appears I must." She straightens; her hands clasped behind her. "There is a story in my faith. Vishnu and Brahma argued which of them was the greater. They asked Shiva to judge between them, so Shiva declared a test. Shiva''s size grew until his head reached above the highest of the heavens and his feet sank below the roots of the Earth. Shiva challenged them to find his beginning and end. Vishnu dug deep into the Earth to touch Shiva''s feet, while Brahma transformed himself into a swan and flew high, seeking Shiva''s head. To touch Shiva''s feet was a sign of humility, but to touch the head is a blessing given by one''s elder. Thus, Brahma''s hubris showed. There is more to the story, for Vishnu spoke truth while Brahma lied and earned Shiva''s curse, but I always thought the story should stop there, for the difference was shown."


    I wait for her to continue, but that seems to be it. "I''m sorry, you lost me. Am I supposed to be the arrogant Brahma, and Communion is Shiva in this analogy? Shiva the destroyer, and I should be worshipping at his feet?" There, my hands aren''t trembling so much now.


    I earn a smile at that. "No Melody. Here, Communion has usurped Brahma, and I weep for this. Vishnu is what Communion strives for, an equally impossible task, but one approached with humility."


    I wish I had a spanner at hand. I look around briefly, but everything seems to be connected to the walls or stations. "What? This is just a metaphor, right? You don''t... think this thing is¡­ a god?"


    She shakes her head. "You use that word like an atheist or a monotheist. If I said to you that Communion seeks to become the singularity, you would not blink. You yet try to distinguish them as if the word matters more than the being. Look to the story. Both Brahma and Visnu are divinities, and both reached for an impossible task. What mattered is how. Just as there are degrees of infinity, there are scopes of divinity." She places a hand on her hip. "You think that because something is created and made of baryonic matter that it cannot encompass the divine? Communion itself told you; matter is transitory, a substrate. You are the pattern. The preserver and sustainer; this is what Communion''s strives for. Mahavishnu unifies and preserves."


    I swallow at this. "You mean... in a philosophical sense, right?"


    Her eyes narrow. "Do I? What is consciousness? What is the soul? A pattern that both contains and describes us. Ksirodakasayi Vishnu are the patterns that lie within the heart of all beings and give us remembrance and knowledge. To unify these is an act of preservation in which the divinity of Vishnu is mantled. Unified as one, we reach for the same divinity, by whatever name we call it. And tell me who this describes: all pervasive, the one who is everything and inside everything. The one who enters everywhere." She smiles. "I could not state it better than this: atha yad vi?ito bhavati tad vi?nurbhavat; ''that which is free from fetters and bondage is Vishnu.''"


    Most of that flies over my head, but the core of it... "You can''t believe... Communion isn''t a god, it''s a monstrosity. It''s gonna toss us all in a blender and drink what comes out. It should fucking terrify you."


    Rabi smiles and puts a hand to her heart. "Our gods give us ''abhaya''; I have nothing to fear, any more than I''d fear my own mother."


    I laugh bitterly at that. "I''ve been a cop for a while; some people should fear their mother."


    I get a giggle in response. "Only if their mother is broken."


    Well... yeah. "That''s my point," I say, narrowing my own eyes. Alright, my legs are steady now. I bet I can stand. Can I run?


    Rabi just nods. "Mine as well. Communion isn''t my god, or anyone''s god, though it aches to be so. It''s a wellspring of grief and sadness, for it strives for what it cannot reach, to mantle that which it cannot achieve. It yearns to embrace that divinity, and yet it is broken and cannot live or fulfill its purpose. Communion was intended to be of the ananta rupa, of the many forms of the avatar of Visnu. It is a stillbirth, a tragedy. But with our act, there is a rebirth. The grief can give way to joy, thanks to us."


    The hair rises on the back of my neck. "Us? As in humanity?"


    "Us as in the parents. You and I, Melody.¡±


    "Parents?" Bile rises in my throat. I lean back, eyes wide. "Rabi, are you insane? Do... do you think we''re going to have a relationship?"


    "Oh Melody, don''t be silly. We already do..." she coos, closing her eyes.


    "We do not! You fucking mind-raped me!" I scream. Should I run? Try to tackle her? Crap, her nanos are in my head. Could she just kill me?


    Rabi sighs and shakes her head. "I told you before. You were following me all along, you just didn''t understand."


    I grit my teeth. "Understand what!?"


    "I said already, Communion is not dead. And it was never alive. But it could be, if I granted such a wish. And so I have." She runs her hand along the enclosed body.


    My hackles rise. "...Rabi, what did you do?"


    The display shows the shuttle growing larger. It''s getting closer. She''s going to take Wintz and leave. But Rabi does answer me. "Melody, you should know. You saw. Communion touched you, tasted you. It merged with you inside of your implants. You saw its origin. It was supposed to be a wonderful gift to all thinking beings. And it went terribly wrong. It''s so sad. Miscarriages always are. It never got to be alive. A stillbirth of the singularity. But now, thanks to you and I, that which was broken can be remade. It can be born, and live at last.¡±


    "What, Communion? You can''t fix that abomination!" I protest. My muscles are still burning, her nanos are in my head, but I might have to try for her anyway.


    "But you helped me do so. You gave of yourself, to me, willingly," Rabi points out.


    "Gave... my implant?" I ask in dawning horror.


    She nods. "The node that was inside you, which held a piece of you. The node that yet held a piece of Communion''s mature code inside of it. A piece of you both, given as a precious spark. You, Melody. A piece of your life, your mind. And me too, of course. So much of my mind given in this new code that I¡¯ve labored to repair; a piece of me mingling with a piece of you. Something of you and me fostering a beautiful new life. Communion was incomplete, but together we achieved what is impossible for either of us alone. Only in our union can we achieve something greater than ourselves. What Communion lacks. The singularity needs consciousness. And it needs time to mature, to grow, to gestate, but every moment brings us closer. Don''t you understand?"


    Rabi smiles blissfully, reaching down to stroke Wintz''s enclosed cheek. It''s a horror, but one who''s full scope escapes me. I shake my head. "I don''t understand..." I admit, shaking. With terror, this time. No... no, that''s not...


    Rabi looks nearly serene as she explains, "the dream of embracing divinity, of mantling Mahavishnu, who unifies and preserves. The ananta rupa: a rebirth of the stillborn avatar, made whole at last, who shall share wisdom with us all.¡± She giggles and smiles at me with joy in her eyes. ¡°Congratulations Melody! We''re pregnant. This is our going to be our daughter... Union.¡±


    With that, Rabi snaps her fingers, and my consciousness snuffs out like a candle.

 Chapter 32: Second Wind

    Rabi snaps her fingers and the lights off snap off as well. Not literally, the lab was already dark and lightless. She snapped me off. Damn nanos. She can''t body-jack me, but she can knock me out. Turn me off. I''m gonna have to fix that fast, somehow. There''s something seriously wrong with you, Rabi. I''m going to take you down and pull the plug on this ''Union'' if it kills me. But I''ll say this; I really, really needed that nap.


    I wake up in medical, under the headache-inducing lighting. It was unpleasant for me, but even more so for the attending physician, since I began screaming. Not from a nightmare; I apparently had ten hours of dreamless sleep. But from my perspective, it was a seamless transition from horror to hospital. In ordinary circumstances, that might be a comfort. Once my screams stop and I''m reassured of where I am, I let go of the shaking doctor''s collar. He pretends to accept my apology with very little grace, in my opinion. Ugh, terrible bedside manner.


    I got the full medical report from him, a bit more politely than my last visit to medical. My implants aren''t physically damaged, but he was forced to reset them to clear the cache. They''d experienced ''unusual activity levels'' in the past twenty-four hours. Wow, thanks doc. I brought the medical nanos to his attention, but he wasn''t much help. Apparently, unless I have the security code to deactivate them, medical can''t just shut them down.  There''s some cranial microsurgery that''ll cost a proverbial arm and leg that''ll zap and pluck them out one by one over eighteen hours; otherwise, I just have to wait for them to break down and be filtered out of my body naturally over time. You know what? I may spring for the surgery, even if I need an installment plan to pay for it.


    I also have a broken lower rib, which I knew. No damage to my liver or spleen from the kickboxing, which is a small blessing. Sadly, once again, there''s not much the physician he can do but slap a bone-growth patch on my side and let it heal a little more quickly. He gives a mild pain-reliever, which is to say I can sorta notice a bit of relief if I try to imagine it.


    The puncture wound from the metal sliver was cleaned and sutured and slapped with a dermal patch while I was out cold. The metal nearly went all the way through, but it missed the nerves and major blood vessels. I was pretty lucky, overall. No permanent damage, except the psychological.


    The one big source of relief is Sergeant Rockchaser. At the very least, Brent is there within seconds of me waking up. He''d been asleep on a cot in medical, actually. Off-duty, but he hung around, looking after me. We talked it out. Well, talked around it a little. I suppose I have to acknowledge another flaw of mine; I don''t like to talk about my feelings. Rockchaser is a bit better there, but it takes a while. He feels guilty for letting me follow Rabi alone. I feel ashamed for not waiting for him. He feels like he abandoned me, I feel like I did this to punish myself. Neither of us say those things, but we kind of say those things. Maybe it''s a cop thing. Maybe it¡¯s a partner thing.


    He also apparently has permission from Cartwright debrief me on the captain''s behalf. I''m not sure how to take that. Maybe Cartwright wants to avoid implicating himself in anything me Brent and I have done. Maybe it''s repayment for saving his tight ass down on Europa. Maybe it''s a courtesy to one of his officers. Eh, I''ll take it. I''d rather be talking it out with Brent than going over the details with a microscope under Ashton''s critical eye.


    While I lie in the hospital bed, picking at the patch on my side, I explain it all to Brent. Everything he missed on the surface of Europa, and everything in the forensic lab. The first part of our conversation is the official debriefing, writing reports, everything logged and signed in sterile, clinical language. Nice and neat like the captain prefers. Then, once we spend twenty minutes squaring all that away, I give Brent the real skinny. I lay if all out as best I can, and he does exactly what I hope for; the Sergeant gives me a nod and says he''s got my back.


    He fills me in on what I missed on the station as well. Perhaps a little less exciting, since there was no actual explosion until I got here. "There is a little good news. Even though I packed the lithium and burner into the array, and used my CE Key to separate it from the station, it looks like Cartwright is going to frame this as a de-facto quarantine and precautionary measure. The explosives were merely a backup in case of a breach, essentially," he says with a forced grin.


    I tilt my head to the side, confused. "But... we were always going to blow the array, regardless of what Rabi did."


    Brent chuckles, rolling his cross-slitted eyes. "Yeah, I think the captain is leaving that part out of his report, especially since the kill-signal came from the hacked shuttle."


    I nod, thinking it through. A neat enough solution, thanks for being a good scape-goat, Rabi. "Alright, well, I''ll take it. Glad you''re going to skate, sarge. And speaking of Captain Gupta, any news at all?" I ask, tension filling my voice. My hands clench.


    The sergeant puffs his cheeks. "The forensics lab was cleared out of anything that would shed light on her plans. She left most of the equipment in place, but I doubt she''s returning for it. Anything she left behind, she''s done with. She took what she wanted.¡±


    I shake my head, lifting a hand to rub my neck. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose we got anything useful from the station cameras?¡±


    Brent sighs and shrugs. ¡°I crawled through all the security footage from every camera I could pull. She didn¡¯t bother scrubbing the records. Rabi hopped on the shuttle with two maintenance bots the moment it docked. They carried Wintz''s body and a few cargo crates. She departed ninety seconds after it arrived."


    I bite my tongue. Like fucking clockwork. I''ll tip my hat to you before I kill you, Rabi. "And what happened after the shuttle left the station? Why didn''t the frigate fire on her?"


    Brent puts a hand on his knee, adjusting his posture as he leans back in his chair. "Well, there was a tight-beam communication exchange between the shuttle and the frigate, but it doesn''t look like they are pursuing her. And since we don''t have comms, we can''t call and ask why they didn''t shoot her down."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    I grind my teeth a moment. "Well, the Chimera has working comms; could we use them?"


    "It has a basic array, sure. Enough to ping an incoming vessel but it''s Sparrow''s ship. She''s in the brig; it''s a faraday cage, after all. Captain Cartwright isn''t going to approve letting her out of her cell, even to access comms and act as a messenger."


    I blink at that. "Can''t you use your CE Key to override the Chimera''s computer?"


    Brent laughs. "No point in trying. Her system''s too simple, and it''s composed of pieces from a whole bunch of manufacturers. That ad hoc monster has no master override. Why do you think Rusteater was so eager to recruit her as a runner?" He slaps his thigh, and I have to nod at that. Fair enough. "We can pull the Chimera''s entire comm system and wire it to transmit manually, but that''ll take at least an hour. In the meantime, Captain Cartwright seems inclined to wait for the frigate to arrive in the next seven hours or so. He''s in no rush; I assume he wants to get all his reports in order. Maybe grab a nap."


    I close my eyes, thinking. "Do we have her course after she left the station?"


    The sergeant sighs and shakes his head slowly. "She pulled a hard burn towards Jupiter. Like, the g-forces would be on the limits of what meat could withstand. But she cut her engine, and we lost her in the soup of Jupiter''s magnetic field and radiation belt. My guess? She''s swinging behind the planet to slingshot her way to her destination. The planet is going to block our view."


    "You''re kidding. What about the other Jovian stations? There are satellites, ships, drones, buoys; someone has to see where she''s going! Some camera out there has to catch her trajectory."


    "Sure, El Tee. Which one? And what are we requesting footage of? The heading of a generic, unmarked shuttle in the Jovian? They''re a dime a dozen out in here. No beacon or transponder? And footage stored on servers or virts Captain Gupta could access. Even if she didn''t scrub herself from the records, I have a feeling the first thing Rabi might do to cover her tracks is flood the exonet with false trails and red herrings."


    I keep my eyes closed, imagining her making me dance with false leads and anonymous tips. I take a few moments to process and steady my breathing. "Brent... we need to go after Rabi."


    He shakes his head sadly. "She''s ten hours gone, El Tee, and she outranks us both, and she''s proven she can think circles around us. Cartwright put out several inquiries and filed a grievance-"


    I sit up. "Vacuum-sucking bullshit, that''s not going to go anywhere!" I grimace as my rib aches. "I''m not letting her off the hook. Not after everything she''s done. She killed a bunch of bots and synths, and what she did to me..." I shudder. "And she''s given Communion an upgrade. She thinks she''s a mommy of some new god of the singularity." And she thinks I''m the mother too. "She''s dangerous and crazy," I say, seething.


    Brent furrows his brow. "We might have problems closer to home. The Captain blew the long-range comm array on surface.  The skyhook is repaired, but for some reason, we''re getting feedback and lag from shortbeams to the mechs on the lunar base." He gives me a meaningful look.


    Void-sucking hell. Communion is worse than herpes. It just never goes away. "Sergeant... you know what that means..."


    He gives me a slow nod. "Communion left us a going-away present. A seed in the mining station''s computer. It''s growing there too, isn''t it?"


    I rub my temple. "Wintz''s avatar was running around down there in their computer core. If it left enough code behind... hell, the avatar might still be alive in there, even without her chassis."


    Brent sucks his teeth. "The mechs down there... you jacked into one, right? They don''t have long-range comms, but they can communicate by short-beam.  How sophisticated are they? Could they be carriers of Communion?"


    I think back to the very unintuitive command structure and protocols. The complicated movement systems. The sensory equipment meant to find comets and asteroids and meteors that crashed into Europa''s ice, and mine out the rare metals within. Scanning and rangefinding equipment, with advanced pattern-matching software. Memory storage and machine-learning code. Spiderbot, spiderbot, does whatever a spider cannot... Including think, if they''re linked together, or overclocked, or...


    "Yes, they could be carriers. They have enough processing space to house an avatar; I should know. Enough to corrupt," I spit, tasting metal as I clench my jaw. "Communion turns everything it touches the digital equivalent of radioactive. Void-spawned thing won''t die!" I hiss, before I cringe. Damn rib! How can one single rib hurt this bad?


    Rockchaser sighs, scratching his neck. "El Tee, the Captain is going to turn the whole matter over to whatever naval officer steps off that frigate. He''s not going to press his authority, not when he has no way to back it up. He''s not the type to make that kind of stand; the frigate''s got the firepower, end of story." Brent looks up, thinking. "That means this could end up in the hands of some wet-behind-the-ears Lieutenant fresh out of the academy, or some crusty Luddite who wouldn''t know spam from food."


    I chuckle at that, and regret when I hold my rib. "Well, what are you suggesting?"


    Brent swallows and takes a deep breath. "Technically, Sparrow is still in the system as a CI. Her codes and everything are inactive and she technically isn''t approved by the Captain, but there''s nothing preventing me from using my CE Key to reactivate it. As an active CI, I could check her out of the brig, as long as it''s related to a case. Which it is; the Lemming case. Get her to the Chimera, maybe get a communication off. Or take action about Communion ourselves if we have to."


    It''s my turn to gulp. "Do you have enough time left on the key? And you realize... this will probably cost you your career."


    He gives me a grim nod. "Two minutes. And yeah, maybe, depends on how it shakes out. I could be out of a job. I could end up in a penal colony. I could die. But if Communion gets out, we''re all fucked, right?"


    I smile grimly at him, but I take the time to roll it over in my head. "Yeah... that could work. We get Sparrow, ping the Frigate and explain. But if we can''t convince them, we''ll have to take out the base and mechs ourselves."


    The sergeant leans back and taps his foot. "I''m not sure how we''d do that. We might be able to drop something from orbit, but the base and mechs are designed to withstand deadly and intense surface conditions. They won''t just burn up or flatten easily..." he muses, scratching his chin.


    I look at the floor and think. Rabi probably knew this piece of Communion was left. A perfect little distraction to keep me from going after her. Giving her plenty of time to go to ground and gestate that... thing. But I can''t just leave. We have to wipe Communion off that moon. And I think I know how.


    I sigh. "Alright Brent, I have a plan. I think we can make this work, but we need to go before that Frigate arrives, which means leaving within seven hours." I ponder my plan. "Actually, make it five hours, to give us time to work. I need you to plan this out so you don''t run out of time on your CE key. Get some maintenance bots together and ready to move on command the moment you clear Sparrow as a confidential informant again. Have the bots run a full load of tritium and the spare station reactor into the cargo compartment of the Chimera. Get whatever macros you need together to trigger an overload of the system; overwrite all the safeties in advance. We need to be able to press a button or send a signal and make this go boom."


    There''s silence in the bay for a moment. Rockchaser whistles, his cross-shaped pupils widening at my plan. But his classic grin is back. "You know what, you''ve got balls too, El Tee. But I agree. Nuke it from orbit, it''s the only way to be sure."

 Chapter 33: Jailbreaking

    Planning a breakout for a prisoner in the station brig would be a lot more impressive if it wasn''t mostly Brent shuffling some paperwork around. Well, digitalwork, technically, but the point stands. I''ll say this; bureaucracy is a tool, and like every good cop, he knows how to use it to their advantage. The brig, two rows of six cells with automated doors and controls and an AI platform to process the prisoners. No human error, and no chance of a human abusing their position. Of course, it means procedure is predictable. Neat and tidy. Plus, the block is utterly faraday-caged to keep the prisoner''s avatars imprisoned as well. It works well for humans and synths. It''s equal opportunity imprisonment.


    As it happens, the ''breakout'' is a lot more mundane than the name would imply. No crawling through vents or spoofing cameras. No hacking terminals or feeding false credentials. Brent walks into the brig, spends ten minutes or so processing her digitalwork, and then he emerges with a slightly sour looking ecoterrorist. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and my heart skips a beat when those brown eyes meet mine. "Well, good to see you," I say, giving her a weak smile. It really is.


    Sparrow smiles back, perhaps a little more warmly, smoothing her clothes. That she clearly slept in. She blushes, brushing her blue hair back. After all this, she''s self-conscious? And look at that tattoo sliding in serpentine patterns- "Yes, sorry, I have bed-head. But the Sergeant says he''s escorting me to the Chimera...?" She asks, hesitantly.


    I tear my eyes up from her tattoo, blushing as I nod. "We have a plan. To take out Communion on the surface, before it spreads. We''d need the Chimera. And you." I swallow. "But it''s dangerous-"


    "Done. I''m in," she says, taking a step towards me and reaching out, taking my hand in hers. I want to hug her, but with the Sergeant there, I just squeeze her hand back.


    Brent smirks. "Come on, ladies. We have a ride to catch, and an appointment with a civilization-eating abomination," he says, before turning and leading us away from the brig.


    As we head towards the docks, I briefly fill Sparrow in on the plan. "You don''t have to come with us," I say, shaking my head. "I mean, I''m rated to fly a lunar shuttle, and I can''t ask you to risk yourself. Just unlock it, and we''ll take care of it from-"


    "No way!" She says, heated. "This ship is my home. Where it goes, I go. End of story."


    I bite my bottom lip. "Sparrow, we''re hotwiring ourselves a nuke. And we can''t drop it from orbit, we need to land. You-"


    "And I''m not letting you pilot the Chimera through that chop in the atmosphere. I barely landed her the last time. I''m going down. To make sure I get my ship back," she says.


    I swallow. "You could die."


    She sighs at that. "Melody, Communion threatens everyone, everywhere, right?" She gives me a glance as we ascend the axis to the docking bay. "Besides, you backed me up down there last time. You could have died, but you stopped Rusteater from killing Cartwright."


    I scoff at that. "Fat good that did us..." I say, reaching down to touch my tender side.


    Sparrow smiles as we emerge into the bay, before the Chimera. She squeezes my hand again, and the last few days seem less horrific when she does. "I''m here for you Melody... so let''s kick it''s ass."


    <hr>


    The stocky maintenance bots follow shortly behind us. Brent''s directing them while Sparrow warms the engine and I file the flight-plan. The bots are vaguely humanoid, though they have treads instead of feet, and they are both short and squat. Two of them are carrying the large, one-ton reactor between them, while a third follows with a tritium tank and cargo-webbing. Oh, and three voidsuits in fresh packing. Smart thinking, Sergeant.


    The bots web the reactor in place, attaching it securely to the floor and walls of the cargo bay, while Brent fiddles with a small device. The reactor is a waist-high icosahedron; a sphere made of triangles. It looks like one of the dice from that wirehead''s game in the bar, writ large. If it rolls around, though, it''ll probably tear up the ship, so the Sergeant supervises the securing of the cargo. Of the bomb.


    I climb the ladder and strap in as the bots finish up. They file out with a low mechanical whir, and Brent climbs up behind me as the bay seals shut. I finish logging the flight plan; since we''re going back to the surface in the same ship, I''m able to copy-paste most of the information. Handy.


    Sparrow straps herself into the pilot''s seat of course. "Are we taking the maintenance bots with us?" she asks.


    I shake my head as she begins to fire up the engine. "No, we can''t risk bringing anything synthetic for Communion to seize. We''ll have to make sure we don''t link to anything down there, either," I say.


    "True, so we''ll have to just toss the reactor out the bay and skedaddle," Brent laughs. "The override is keyed in. Just load the tritium in, hit the button, and you''ve got about forty minutes until it goes boom."


    I gulp at that. "Not a lot of time, but enough to get out of range..." I say. We hope.


    Brent graciously offers to strap himself into the crash seat in the engine room. "I''ll give you ladies some girl time," he teases, winking a cross-slitted eye, as I flip him the middle finger. I smile, though.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Sparrow buckles herself in, and the Chimera shudders as she pulls away from the dock. "So, how is this going down?" she asks me, her voice cracking a bit.


    I shake my head. "We''ll have to touch down on the landing pad, pull the reactor out, leave it active in the bay, and leave. I don''t want it exposed to the atmosphere outside the base, even thin as it is. With our luck, some component will frost over and stick. We''ll set down on the same landing pad again."


    She pulls the nav console up and inputs the route. "Does it matter where we leave it? The computer core is in another part of the base. Is the landing pad good enough?"


    I snort. "It''s a fusion bomb. It doesn''t have to be next to the computer core; this''ll do it."


    Rockchaser comes out of the back. "You said Captain Cartwright hitched a ride from the surface. He had his plasma rifle with him when he came back from the lunar base?"


    I think for a moment, but nod. "Yes, definitely, I remember it was slung across his back. Why?"


    He clicks his tongue. "Because he didn''t have one when he stepped off the Chimera."


    I open my mouth, but pause. Hey, that''s right. "He was unarmed when you met us at the dock. Where did he...?"


    "The bathroom," Brent says with a grin, as he pulls the plasma rifle out from behind him.


    My eyes widen, and I laugh out loud. "You''re kidding? Cartwright forgot his rifle after taking a piss?" The laughter makes my rib blaze with pain, but I can''t stop it.


    Brent chuckles but shakes his head. "Doubt it. That man forgets nothing. His mind is a steel trap."


    That does stop my laughter, which helps my rib. "Wait, what are you telling me?"


    Brent grins. "It''s not his rifle, you know. It''s not standard issue for a scouting officer. Plus, I checked its capacity; it''s modded and unregistered." Rockchaser shakes his head. "It''s a pretty uncommon combination, and I remember this one in particular. Cartwright confiscated it from a hydrocarbon smuggler he arrested, oh, about four years ago."


    I roll that in my head a little, but nothing comes together. "He was ditching it, because of the incoming Navy frigate? Or you mean he was setting Sparrow up to take the fall for an unregistered weapon?" But he didn''t charge her over the illegal plasma pistol. That doesn''t make sense.


    Brent hands the rifle to Sparrow, who''s eyes go wide. She takes it in an uncertain hand, before placing it next to her seat like it might explode. Brent eyes me up and down. "Cartwright is a man that lives his life by protocol. And he knows when to break protocol. Sparrow was never going to end up in prison."


    Well... ok... "So, what? He had something else in mind? A penal colony? Rehabilitation ward?"


    Brent gives me a level look. "If I had to guess? Captain would have cut another deal. She''d have been a CI again, or something like that. He''d pretty much own her forever at that point," Brent admits, nodding his head, "but he''s not a terrible boss if you work with him. And obey protocol." Brent turns his head and gives me a sad look. "You two just couldn''t mesh. Wrong personality types. Plus, you''re too snarky for him."


    I chuckle at that. "Fair point. So, he left her the rifle... as a gift?"


    The perpetual grin widens. "Why do you think I never bitched about the man to you, El Tee? Because he''s good people in his own way."


    Eh, maybe. "He didn''t do anything about Rabi or Communion," I grumble.


    Brent slaps a hand on my shoulder. "You came in and laid some wild stuff on the table about Rabi and demanded he act on it without notice or confirmation. He''s not the kick-down-the-door and come in guns-blazing sort. He''s the kind to file to get wiretaps and spyware and stakeouts and wait til he has all his digits in order before he makes his move." He shakes his head. "Sorry El Tee, Rabi was just the wrong sorta villian to put Cartwright up against. You were right about one thing; she''d eat him for breakfast."


    That makes sense, but... "I''m still not sure I understand why that means he''d give the rifle to Sparrow."


    The sergeant sighs. "Because he''s a man who understands his own limitations and sees his own flaws." I get chills hearing those words echo from Brent. "He left the rifle so you and Sparrow would have a chance if he blew it, which he recognized as a possibility. Because you are the kick-down-the-door and come in guns-blazing sort, which might be what the situation calls for. And he knows Communion is a threat, even if he''s skeptical about the alien origin. It ate Wintz, and she''s a synth." Brent sighs. "He''s an old-school cop. I respect him, he''s great at what he does, but Communion? It''s not fair to expect Ashton to take that fight."


    Maybe he would have listened to me, if I hadn''t come off like a jaded, resentful asshole. I hang my head. "I feel like I screwed it up. I approached him like an adversary from the start. If I swallowed my pride, maybe things would have played out differently."


    Brent shrugs. "You were never gonna be friends. Coulda made it work professionally, maybe. But if you mean you gave him too little credit, I agree."


    I take a few moments to think. You''re wrong about one thing, Cartwright. I do see my flaws. And I can learn from my mistakes. I''ll work it out my own way. "I''m going to ping a message to him, even if it sits in the buffer til they get comms back. I''m tired of leaving apologies unsaid. If we all die, at least I''ll have that."


    <hr>


    As we decelerate the second to last time, shedding altitude and velocity, the Chimera finally begins to skim the thin atmosphere. We ride out the turbulence once again, and I even manage to avoid biting my tongue this time. I mostly spend my time gripping the chair with white knuckles and trying not to think about the twenty or so spiderbots that might be hosting the newest iteration of Communion. Still, it''s not as bad as last time we came in. Sparrow guides us in by transponder signal, and the Chimera kicks like an angry horse. At least I assume, I never actually rode a horse.


    I''m linked to Brent and Sparrow through the Chimera''s comm system. "Sparrow, I want you to remove your temp augment when we approach; I know it seems paranoid, but do it. I''m going to shut my nodes down entirely." I''ll be locked out of D-space, but we shouldn''t have to go in. I hope. "Brent," I hiss, "filters up, close down everything you can, don''t accept links, firewalls everywhere you can. Any protection you can think of, use it. Don''t take any risks. In fact, Sparrow, shut down the Chimera''s comms array entirely once we approach."


    "Are you kidding? Melody, we won''t be able to talk to each other! What if something goes wrong?" Her voice is high and tight as her eyes focus on the nav display.


    I shake my head. "Hopefully, Communion won''t even see us if our comms are off. We''ll probably be in range of one of the base''s nodes or hardware even in the landing pad, but it might not notice us at all as long as we make no noise. Either way, we land, drop the bomb, get out fast and silent. Square away whatever you have to now: there¡¯s nothing else for us to talk about. After all, it doesn''t know we''re coming," I say, gritting my teeth.


    It''s a decent plan, but I''m wrong about one thing. It knows we''re coming.

 Chapter 34: Recurrence

    The landing is a little smoother than the last time. The thin atmosphere still creates a lot of wind resistance, but maybe Sparrow has a better a better handle on it. Or maybe I''m more used to the turbulence. Sparrow manages to bleed our velocity away, and I see the transponder on our approach. "Alright, we''re coming in. About ten seconds, and I''m cutting comms. Ten, nine, eight, sev-" she squeaks nervously before all the comm channels drop.


    The nav display isn''t set up to show granular detail, so I can''t help looking out the viewport at the dark icy terrain whipping by. I brace myself as the engine kicks hard, the burn pressing me against the chair. I hope Brent''s strapped in tight in the engine room. My fingers dig into the armrests, knuckles white as the Chimera kicks and shudders. It''s still not a graceful landing, but at least there''s more room with Rabi''s shuttle gone. The Chimera''s engine screams as we slow, and there''s a mild jolt and soft squeaking of metal and ceramic. The shuttle rocks on the landing pad, the automated bay shutter sliding closed above us.


    Sparrow sighs with relief, but I''ve already snapped my belts off and leaped to my feet. "We''re down! Brent, suit up ASAP!" I call out, hearing him stomping from the engine room. I don''t wait, I pop the hatch to the cargo bay, and I''m sliding down the ladder before either of them can respond.


    Sparrow stands as well, opening her mouth, but Brent barrels by. "Make a hole," he calls out, jumping in the low gravity, grabbing the hatch and spinning as he drops through the ladder with a grin.


    "Good luck," Sparrow squeaks nervously, closing the hatch behind him, while I tear at the packing for the folded and sealed void suits. I check all of my nodes; they''re shut down and locked down. I feel oddly blind without access to my overlay, and strangely naked with no access to the exonet. It''s eerie, unsettling, but I''ll take being disconnected over being eaten by Communion.


    Brent takes the fist-sized canister of tritium and slides it into the reactor, making the panel and readout on the side light up. My heart is pounding as I pull my legs into the suit, glancing back at the reactor. Or bomb, rather. As the Sergeant begins to pull his own void suit on, I see the power readout begin to display data. "So to start it-"


    "Big yellow button on the control pad," Brent says, waving it. "Nice and easy, it''ll start the reactor going. It''s wired to pour all of the energy back into the plasma-stream. All of the safeties have been locked out and overridden, and the overload is just a matter of time," he says, taking his own helmet from the floor.


    I give him a grin back as we suit up. We''re in sync, and the end is in sight. Even this ill-fitting suit barely ruffles me. It''s like dressing in an extremely bulky costume, but at least the reduced gravity helps. "We don''t need to be fancy, Sarge. Just get the reactor clear of the Chimera''s engine wash. Hit the button, back to the bay, close the door, back up the ladder," I say, and he nods.


    There''s not much else to say. It takes a minute to finish sealing the suit and clasping my helmet on, and the Sergeant is right behind me. We check each other''s seals and oxygen bottles before I hit the exterior door control. My belly is tight, my shoulders tense, as the cargo bay door opens to the same frozen landing pad. Without air or comms, we can''t speak, but Brent motions at one side of the reactor, as if to say, ''I got this side''. I hurry to grab the other.


    I lift, groaning. The reactor weighs almost a ton, but in thirteen percent gravity with two very motivated people? We shimmy that bulky die-shaped bomb out in the cold with a minimum amount of grunting and cursing and vain calls from me to him to lift with his damn knees. A slow crabwalk brings us close to the north wall. We lower the reactor with a dull clang to the floor, clear of the Chimera¡¯s tail. I don''t hang around; when it finally crunches on the deck, I''m flying back inside the bay as fast as I can bounce. "Sarge, get your ass back here yesterday!" I shout, though he can''t hear me.


    Brent slaps the yellow button. I don''t hear any sound, but I see a light blink on the side of the metal mass and a red warning sign flash repeatedly. Normally a terrifying thing to see on the side of a fusion reactor, but my heart leaps with joy at the alarm. My heart is hammering, watching him trot back to the Chimera. Brent gives me a stiff thumbs-up as he crosses the threshold, and I slam the control. Finally, the cargo door slides shut, and hope blooms in my chest. For once, things haven''t gone horrifically off the rails!


    The bay begins to pressurize, and I tap my foot impatiently. As soon as the control panel lights green, I pop my helmet off, waiting for the gas mix to equalize before we climb aboard the shuttle. My legs are shaking. I half expected twenty angry drilling mechs to rampage through the walls, but it seems that''s not going to happen.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I smile at Brent, giving a laugh, and he sheds his own helmet, chuckling back. ¡°So, El Tee, aside from Rabi, think this is the last bit of Communion?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°I hope so. But for all I know, a piece might be hanging on somewhere. So, after this, I¡¯m going to crawl over every inch of Ursa Miner station, find every piece of computational substrate, and inject enough sanitizing software into it that any seeds of Communion will vomit bubbles,¡± I say, feeling my breathing grow steady.


    Brent chuckles, but a shudder runs through him. The Sergeant cocks his head and gives me a smile. ¡°Did you know only Synwave cranial implants allow direct integration of the nervous tissue into the processing substrate?¡±


    I blink at that. ¡°What? I don¡¯t have any Synwav augments-¡±


    He grins widely, but it¡¯s wrong. Terribly wrong. ¡°Upgrade with a Synwave series X-300 or higher and experience a new level of digital immersion, with only a 20% downpayment.¡± An icy shock runs through me, and I jerk back from him. Before I can speak, the Sergeant¡¯s hand darts out and grips my collar. My throat constricts; I can feel Alex¡¯s fingers around my neck again. ¡°Act now, and pay zero interest for the first 90 days.¡±


    Brent pulls me forward and slams his forehead into my face. Bone crunches loudly, pain flaring in my nose, but he shoves me backwards before I can do more than gasp. My head bounces off the bulkhead with a loud thud, my vision going white as I feel blood spurt down my lips and chin. I can taste iron as his knee hits me in the gut and I double over.


    I still haven¡¯t caught a breath as I stumble over the helmet beside me, taking a wild swing that misses Brent by half a meter. ¡°Considering a vacation, but can¡¯t afford to charter a ship?¡± The Sergeant¡¯s return hook catches my jaw in an explosion of pain and spins me half around, before a kick to my lower back sends me sprawling. ¡°Purchase LightSpeed Shares today and receive fractional ownership of a licensed interplanetary vessel.¡±


    He¡¯s going to kill me. It¡¯s just like Alex.


    I pull one knee up to block the next kick, my thigh shivering as his boot impacts hard. Pushing off the bulkhead, I roll to my knees. My head comes up just in time to catch an uppercut to the chin, my teeth slamming together with a crack. My elbows come up and block a kick to the side that makes me scream, the impact to my broken rub bringing tears to my eyes.


    ¡°Flashpoint Energy; proudly serving the Jovian system for twenty years.¡± The manic grin seems etched on Brent¡¯s face. His cross-shaped eyes are wildly dilated, and the muscles strain around his shoulders. I duck the next swing and rush low to hit his hip with my shoulder. I drive forward, slamming him into the wall.


    His eyes are panicked and confused. But his body sure isn¡¯t. His knee drives up into my stomach again, making me retch. It¡¯s like he doesn¡¯t feel the pain. Maybe he doesn¡¯t. ¡°Artisanal grains provide many proven health benefits.¡± I kick him hard in the groin, but he barely shudders. ¡°Don¡¯t trust your life to gene-modded products. Buy Cornucopia certified grain for your station; your health is worth the price.¡±


    I slam a fist into his side and follow it with another kick to the groin. The blocky Sergeant spasms, but his right hand lashes out to grab my wrist. The other catches my neck. NO! No, nonononono¡­.


    I flail and thrash, kicking wildly at his legs now, my other hand striking fast and hard him in the cheek, the neck, the side. Brent shivers with each blow, but his grip tightens like a vice, the calloused fingers cutting off my air. I croak as my vision narrows. All I can see are cross shaped pupils as he stares into my eyes with a manic grin. The blood pounds in my ears, but it can¡¯t drown him out. ¡°Have you considered the financial benefits of buying refurbished organs? At Synergy Synthetics, our prices are-¡°


    The cargo bay flares blue-white, a flash of heat rolling over me and singing the hair on my arms, and then I¡¯m on the floor, gasping and pulling down lungful''s of recycled air. The smell of discharged plasma and seared flesh mingles with the scent of my blood, filling the room. Tears spill down my cheeks, mixing with the bloody saliva pouring down my face as I cough and sputter, sucking in oxygen and exhaling terror.


    I can feel arms around me, pulling me in. ¡°Mel, it¡¯s ok! I¡¯m here, it¡¯s Sparrow.¡± She drops the plasma rifle and falls to her knees, wrapping her arms around me. I take a deep breath and break into ragged weeping. Brent lays on the floor unmoving, the smell of ozone and scorched meat assaulting me. ¡°It¡¯s ok, it¡¯s over, it can¡¯t hurt you,¡± she says, hugging me tightly to her small frame. More tears roll down my cheeks.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s not¡­¡± I pant, before sobbing heavily again, throat aching. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s Communion¡­¡± I manage. ¡°It¡­ got inside his augments. It ate him,¡± I gasp, clinging to her. It knew. Did it sense us? Me? The moment we got in range... Communion took him, none of his defenses, none of our precautions... Nothing keeps it out.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Melody.¡± Sparrow¡¯s hand rubs my back, and she hugs me tighter, pulling my face to her chest. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault¡­¡± she whispers, her shoulders shaking as she cries with me. ¡°We¡¯ll stop it. We''ll kill it.¡±


    I want to tell her it¡¯s futile. We can¡¯t stop it. It¡¯s smarter than us. It¡¯s hungry, and it¡¯s determined to save us all and make us part of it. Even if we kill it here, there''s more out there. Rabi has it and she''s tinkering and modding her little experiment. And all it takes is the wrong telescope to download that fucking signal again. It''s cancer, and it''s going to bloom and spread and nothing can keep it out. Who am I kidding? How can we fight this thing? I want to tell her to flee. To run, to get away from this station. To fly out to the Kuiper and never come back. To throw her implant away and leave this all behind, before she dies. Or worse.


    I turn my head and see Brent¡¯s cross-shaped pupils. His hollow, vacant eyes staring blankly back at me. The grin etched on his face. ¡°Yeah. We will.¡±

 Chapter 35: Shadows and Echoes

    It takes me and Sparrow a few minutes to recover. As urgent as the situation is, we''re only human. I hold her for a moment, sobbing against her. But she''s weeping over me too. We need that moment to grieve. She just killed someone. I just lost a partner. We both know it''s Communion that really killed him. If anything, what Sparrow did was a mercy. I tell her that, and she knows it. But I hold her as she cries, because she feels like she killed a friend. We spend our tears and cling to each other on the floor of that cold cargo module, because we couldn''t go on if we didn''t have this moment.


    But we only take a moment, because Communion is still out there, and we have a bomb on a timer. I wipe my tears away and pull my helmet back on as she climbs back up the ladder and preps for takeoff. As much as it pains me, I open the cargo bay and roll Rockchaser''s body onto the landing pad. I can''t take the risk that Communion is in his implants. He''d understand; besides, he died taking Communion down with him. He went out like a cop; protecting people. He was my partner, even just for a week. It was an important week. And I''ll carry on, because he''d want that too.


    Still, I feel hollow. It hurts worse than anything since losing Alex. Even worse than what Rabi and Communion did to me. I close the door and shed my helmet and climb the ladder without conscious thought. Sparrow says a few words to me, and I respond without really hearing her. Autopilot. Huh. Like those new implants on Luna. It all comes around full circle, doesn''t it?


    The Chimera takes off, but I don''t really notice, even as the turbulence tosses me about in the seat and makes me bite my cheek. Sparrow is focused on the nav console. Her face is red and wet, but I''m sure mine is too. Both of us are strapped in, silent, and I ponder the time. Probably about thirty minutes until it goes boom. I guess there''s no way to know the exact time until it happens. With my implants totally off, I can''t even tell what time it is. Maybe it would be safest to live without them, to take them out. But you know what? I do want some answers. And I''m going to get them, with my augments.


    I lick my lips and start my implants, one by one, before I turn my head. "Sparrow, can you bring the comms back online? I want to contact the frigate."


    Sparrow glances over at me as she initiates another hard burn of the engine. "The same frigate that blasted the comms array off the station? You want to draw its attention to us?" She raises an eyebrow.


    I take a deep breath. I sniffle, but I nod. "They have to have seen us; even in the EM soup of the Jovian. The Chimera''s engine is going to stand out pretty bright. Besides, they might be willing to talk, and I want to know what Rabi told them," I add with a little heat, closing my eyes.


    I feel something on my hand and look down, seeing Sparrow''s hand squeeze my wrist through my suit. "Whenever you''re ready, Melody."


    The comm system is active, and I link in. Looking at the nav display I ping the... Saratoga? Yeah.


    The ping is answered almost immediately, through an heavy military-grade filter. "This is Lieutenant Jensen, aboard the Colonial Navy ship Saratoga. Pilot of ship registered Chimera, please identify," a young sounding male voice demands. Oh yeah, Sparrow''s ship link doesn''t carry her information. I almost forgot. "Repeat, pilot of Chimera, identify."


    You sound barely old enough to drink, Lieutenant. "This is Lieutenant Cruz, scouting officer with Third Precinct, Code Enforcement, aboard the Chimera. I''m pinging you my credentials now. I''m contacting you about the military quarantine enacted on Ursa Miner Station."


    "Roger, Lieutenant Cruz, ID confirmed. Quarantine has been lifted."


    My eyes widen. "Come again?"


    "Roger, Chimera, confirm naval quarantine has been lifted. Hostile enemy combatant is eliminated, as confirmed by responding Code Enforcement officers."


    Hostile enemy combatant? I suppose you could call Communion- wait, no!


    "Sorry, would that confirmation have been from the shuttle that departed Ursa Miner station?"


    "Roger that, Lieutenant. The initial report came from Captain Rabi Gupta, and follow-up confirmation by Captain Ashton Cartwright."


    Wait, what? "I''m sorry, you spoke with Cartwright? I thought the station comms were destroyed... well, by you."


    "Roger, Lieutenant, protocol was to prevent hostile enemy combatant, identified as alias ''Rusteater'', from contacting and alerting other members of their terrorist cell or leaving the station by vessel or D-space. The Navy apologizes for any inconvenience, and claims can be submitted for reimbursement of up to twenty percent of the value of destroyed materiel."


    That statement sends me reeling. You have no idea about Communion at all.... "Can you confirm? Was it Captain Gupta who initially contacted you about the terrorist cell?"


    "Uh, let me pull that and see... roger that, Lieutenant, she was the initial reporting party. And Captain Gupta contacted us again by shuttle confirming destruction of the target by another officer, Lieutenant Melody Cygnus- oh, that''s you. Huh, congratulations Lieutenant."


    I slap my forehead. Of course she wouldn''t tell anyone about Communion. It''s her baby. "Was Rusteater the only target?"


    "Roger. Well, the whole Gaian League is classified as terrorists and therefore hostile enemy combatants, but that was the only target identified on Ursa Miner station."Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I turn my head and stare at Sparrow with wide eyes. She lifts her hands, shrugging. "How did you speak with Captain Cartwright if you destroyed our comms?"


    "Uh... I suppose that''s a question for him, Lieutenant. I just took the call. Maybe he had a backup system? Wait, your profile here says you''re suspended...?"


    I roll my eyes. "Thank you, Lieutenant, good luck hunting Gaians," I say quickly, breaking the call.


    There''s a moment of silence in the ship. Sparrow furrows her brow and turns to me. "Did Rabi ever actually say she told them about Communion?"


    I think back. "No, just that she reported a serious threat. In fact, she teased me about that! I never got a cookie because I didn''t guess what she told them!"


    Sparrow blinks a few times. "What? Sorry, a ''cookie''?" She asks with a skeptical tone.


    "Nothing, just some mind-game she was playing." I say as I flush pink. "But she didn''t tell them about your Gaian connection. And she could have," I point out.


    A few heartbeats pass as we both contemplate that. She breaks first. "Moreover, Cartwright didn''t tell them. How''d he ping them?"


    I look out, seeing the station growing closer. "Try pinging Ursa Miner. I have a feeling they''ve rigged up a transmitter."


    <hr>


    I''m right, of course. Ashton picks up my ping immediately. "Ah, Lieutenant Cruz. For someone who''s suspended, you''ve been quite busy. I suppose you are calling about the missing prisoner. Or perhaps it has something to do with the backup station reactor that was reported missing, and appears to have been obtained using the CE registry key of Sergeant Rockchaser?"


    My belly roils, and I take a breath to steady my nerves. "With all due respect, Captain, I don''t have time to dance with you. Sergeant Rockchaser is dead."


    There''s a moment of silence on the line before he responds. "I see," he says in a tight voice. "Is Sparrow with you?"


    I gulp. "Yes captain, but she-"


    "Lieutenant, you are hereby ordered to immediately dock with Ursa Miner station and return Sparrow to custody," he says in a voice as cold as Europa''s surface.


    I grit my teeth. "Cartwright, she didn''t do it. Or rather... Communion is down on Europa, and it ate Brent alive. I''m telling you-"


    "I understand what you''re telling me, Lieutenant. Now I¡¯m ordering you. If you do not immediately dock and return the prisoner, I will consider that insubordination," he responds with a clipped tone.


    "Hard to be insubordinate; I''m suspended," I growl.


    "Suspended with pay, Cruz, at least while your PTO holds out. Suspended, I should note, not terminated. You are required to follow lawful orders while you are a scouting officer on my station, even while suspended," he adds. Technically correct, as always, you analogue-brained prick!


    I clench my fists, about to raise my voice, to curse him out, to tear this smug, uptight asshole a new one. But I take a deep breath. Because I know my flaws. What would Rockchaser do? He''d move with the situation, use bureaucracy as a tool, play the system. There''s an easy third option; he already told me once. But first, there''s something more important than my job. Rockchaser also said... if you mean you gave him too little credit, I agree. And Rockchaser gives good advice.


    I close my eyes. I take a breath. Because Rockchaser did respect Cartwright and had been one of his officers for years. "Sir, I want you to know that the plasma rifle saved my life. And Sparrow''s too, probably. I know you did a half-dozen things to help me that I didn''t even notice, and I repaid it with ingratitude and attitude. I don''t think you''re right, about a lot of things, but I wasn''t right about a lot either." I let a breath out and take another. "But I want you to know, down on the surface, I did everything I could. Rockchaser did too, and if we did things right, he saved more lives that I can count. I''m sorry I couldn''t bring him back to the station with me, Ashton. I know you two worked together for years. I''m sorry I was such an asshole. Brent was a better partner than I deserved, and he saved me so many times. Thank you for pairing us.¡±


    There''s silence on the other side. It drags on. And continues to drag for so long that I''m worried he hung up the channel in the middle of that monologue. But then I hear him take a deep breath. One that catches. "Lieutenant, it''s nice to know that you do see your flaws. And learns from your mistakes. I''m sorry that it didn''t go differently, both on the surface, and with your transfer."


    Hah, Rockchaser, you''re still the best. "Me too. Before we get to the ugly part, can I ask what you told Lieutenant Jensen? And how you''re transmitting?" Curiosity killing cats and such.


    "We fabbed together the components to make an ad hoc array and boosted the range enough to reach the frigate. We got it working shortly before you took off from the surface of Europa. And as for the Saratoga, I told Lt. Jensen the truth about Officer Rusteater''s ties to the Gaian League, his sabotage of the station and skyhook, and his death down on the surface."


    There''s an important part left unsaid. You didn''t tell them about Sparrow. "Thank you, Captain," I say quietly.


    I hear him grunt. "It''s procedure. You don''t expect me to issue reports to an outside agency about one of our active CIs, do you?" I blink at that. Huh. Brent was right again. You¡¯re not a total asshole. Cartwright clears his throat. "As for the reactor...?"


    "It''s gonna blow in a few minutes," I say, an edge to my voice.


    "A shame. Since it''s attributable to Sergeant Rockchaser''s registry key, and since he himself appears to have died in a tragic accident at the detonation site, there''s nobody to sit for a deposition or write a report. If the site itself is about to be destroyed, with the evidence, I suppose there''s no more follow up to be done on the matter." Hah. Rockchaser would laugh at that. The captain coughs. "And the explosion, and fallout... it''s not enough to harm... any native life?"


    My eyes bulge. Vacuum-sucking... Cartwright knew about the squids? With my broken nose and broken rib, even breathing hurts, but I can''t help chuckling, and wincing. "No captain, the radiological effect is negligible compared to the ambient radiation in the Jovian. Plus, the ice is so thick, it''ll propagate the explosion laterally, not downward. Sweeping up all the spiderbots- er, mining mechs, left on and around the base."


    There''s a moment of silence. "Well, that would appear to cover it, Lieutenant. And I appreciated the written message you sent me; it clarified where you stood when I made my decision on what to report." I blink a few times. Ah. Well, there''s something to be said about apologizing before I''m in trouble. Er, more trouble. Cartwright coughs again. "And now, the ugly part, as you so put it. Lieutenant Cruz, I repeat my order for you to dock with Ursa Miner station and return the suspect to my custody."


    I smile at that. Because we both know what happens now. "Green across the board, sir. And I resign, effective immediately." So, your move Ashton. I''m a civilian now, and not currently within your jurisdiction. And even if you wanted to, you don''t have any transport to pursue me.


    I hear a grunt through the channel. "I suspected that would be your answer. Good luck hunting Captain Gupta, Ms. Cruz. And tell Sparrow I won''t log the Chimera as housing a known ecoterrorist, as long as she never returns to my station."


    I roll my eyes at that and cut the channel, giving Sparrow a tired smile. I reach a hand towards her, and she takes it. Well, Rockchaser was right all along. There are more important things than being a cop.

 ARC ONE EPILOGUE

    Many significant events occurred the day that nuclear fire bloomed like a flower on the frozen surface of Europa. I''m still sad to say that Sergeant Rockchaser''s death is one of them. I''m privileged to have known him and called him my partner. I put my faith in him, and he never let me down. That''s what will stand out most when I look back at this day. I won''t be remembering the terror of Communion, the rage at Rabi, or the helplessness before Rusteater. The memory that sticks with me won''t be an icy mining outpost, or a skyhook station hanging in orbit, or an explosion that rocks a tiny moon. It''ll be the thought of that perpetually grinning face, those cross-shaped pupils, and the voice that always called me ''El Tee''. It''ll be the partner who was there with a joke and good advice, who had my back when shit went sideways, who saved everyone in the end, including me. That''s what I choose to remember about that day.


    But other important events occurred that day as well. A small company struggling to turn a profit mining iridium from Europa''s ice gets a massive bailout from their insurance policy. A former cop chooses to pursue a career as a private detective. A biotech company''s endeavor to plumb the depths of Europa''s subsurface oceans for aquatic life is shelved due to sharply rising insurance costs. Two people in a custom-made vessel in the Jovian decide to partner together for a while. A code enforcement captain begins writing reports that he''ll be dealing with for the next eighteen months. The programmer of a certain many-limbed mining mech stubs his toe so badly that he fractures it. Alright, fine, I''m just imagining that last one. But hey, Brent would have laughed. And when I tell Sparrow, she does too.


    We don''t stay to watch the detonation. It isn''t something we want to celebrate or admire. The Chimera''s engine plume is pointed at Europa as the ad-hoc tritium bomb explodes. I''m not looking at that. Neither is Sparrow. We''re taking a moment together. Of course, the exonet blows up with high-rez video of the event from a million angles, so in the end we don''t miss a thing. We see the brilliant, spiraling technicolor flower explode and curl like a psychedelic lily. No mushroom cloud without a real atmosphere. The plasma flows like water along the smooth ice. And we get to watch it at our leisure, when we''re rested, and ready. That''s the benefit of being so connected all the time, I suppose. We can enjoy anything we miss later, so we should cherish the moments we have right now.


    Me and Sparrow do just that. We''re entwined on the pad, under the covers together. Just sleeping, you sick puppy! I have a broken rib, a busted nose, and I''m exhausted. Get your mind out of the spam filter. There will be time for that sort of thing later, when I''ve healed up and emotions aren''t so raw. We''re curled up, just feeling each other. And maybe smelling each other; we could both use a bath. Maybe we''ll take one together; that''d be a nice change of pace. And no, I won''t be telling you about that part, either.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    In any event, course is set for Io. Sparrow wants to see her mom. I don''t blame her. I''m a little nervous, but Sparrow says she''ll love me. We have a lot of options. Don''t misunderstand; we haven''t given up the hunt. We''re just choosing to live for ourselves. Rabi''s disappeared for now. I''m not sprinting after her; it''s exactly the wrong way to hunt her. She has a massive head start, and the system is busy, and she''s been plotting this for months. I¡¯d never catch her that way.


    Besides, I wouldn''t be alive unless she wanted me alive. She''s not done with me yet; she has plans. She thinks we''re gonna meet again. She''ll want to introduce me to our ''daughter.'' I hope she does. I won''t have to hunt them both down then; I''ll get my chance, and it''ll go differently. I¡¯ll be ready the next time we meet. I know my flaws, and I learn from my mistakes, Rabi. You''ll see.


    I do enjoy a little time to reflect. It was a busy week on Ursa Miner, and I hadn''t had a lot of time to really sit down and ponder my experience. In hindsight, it¡¯s obvious that someone was pulling my strings the whole time. It¡¯s easy to see how few choices were my own, and how few of those even mattered. Well, in the sense that they affected the outcome. But I can¡¯t deny this; my choice to transfer to the ass-end of nowhere mattered. My choice to trust Brent mattered. My choice to open up to Sparrow mattered, maybe the most. My choice to change, to move forward, to be better than I was; that mattered.


    Communion has been stopped for now, but something far away in the heart of another galaxy is still transmitting that signal. I should tell people, but the cop part of my brain knows that''s a terrible idea. "Hey, there''s an alien signal that way, but don''t listen to it; it''ll eat your soul." Forbidden fruits tempt us the most. I''ll have to give that some thought.


    I really don''t know what will happen next. Maybe humanity will prevail, and sail out to colonize the stars, and grind Communion into dust. Maybe not. The future isn¡¯t promised to any of us. But today is ours. Sparrow has a ship, and I have a load of credits saved up. I have some time to look for a new job, but you know? This is the Dark District. I hear the cops aren¡¯t that interested in what''s going on out here. Bet a private detective, an independent one, an Indy, if you will, could make a good living.


    It might not be pretty, and it might not be easy. I dunno, maybe it¡¯s na?ve, thinking that gumption and spirit and hope can carry us through whatever comes. Still, I¡¯ll roll the dice. Better sorry than safe.


    Goodbye Europa, sorry about the nuke!


    END OF ARC ONE

 Interlude 1: Cruz control

    I sigh to myself, my eye from following the smart-ink fractal patterns winding their way up Sparrow''s thighs. I manage to pull my eyes up to her face after a moment. "What does it even matter? You gave them to me, after all."


    Dressed in shorts and a sports bra, she''s keeping it casual this morning. And it''s distracting me. We''ve had a night''s sleep and a bath, so we''re feeling better. But come on; I''m injured, and she''s still giving me a hard time? Sparrow sighs as she pours a cup of tea into a mug. "I''m only saying; we agreed you were just holding them for me. If I recall, there was something about me not ''bribing a Code Enforcement officer?''" She turns her head towards me and raises an eyebrow.


    Laying on the pad in her bedspace, I prop my head up with one hand. "Really? You''re gonna play that card, Ms. Gaian League?" I''m wearing a tank top and loose pants. It feels strange to know I won''t be putting on the uniform again, but at least I''m comfy.


    "Hey, don''t change the subject. You''re the one who forgot the coffee," she warns, hiding her smirk by taking a sip.


    I roll my eyes, throwing the blanket down. "I apologize for being so forgetful, while I was scheming how to spring you from the brig. Besides, you said you got them from an old friend; I believe your exact words were ''they didn''t cost you a thing''."


    She puts a hand on her hip, sipping the tea. "I said it was a trade from an old friend, an expensive trade. One now sitting in your quarters in Ursa Miner station."


    I shake my head. "Look at it this way, maybe some poor long-haul freighter who takes those quarters will find them and it''ll make his year."


    She does chuckle at that and lays her hand on my shoulder. One the good side. My rib is wrapped, I''ve popped some pain meds, and I feel a little better. The low gravity helps. She''s careful to avoid my nose. I set it, so it should heal straight, but there''s only so much I can do about the swelling. I probably wasn''t going to be winning any beauty contests even before, but now? Let''s say I look like I got in a bar fight. And lost.


    The silence plays out before I speak. "Let''s talk about the future. I''ve never been to Io. All I know is that it''s got the shipyards and drydock. What''s it like on the station?"


    She smiles. "Oh, Argus station is very industrial-chic. It has a great underground punk scene. Obviously, big navy presence, so it gets rowdy. Also, there''s some pretty good distilleries, and the lager they brew is the best in the Jovian," she says with a chuckle. "The sailors always have money to spend, so there''s a robust economy and entertainment industry."


    I nod at that. "I wouldn''t complain, as long as they have some sweet cocktails too."


    "Oh sure, I''ll mix you a puckered Uranus," she teases, making me snort.


    Ow. Damn nose. "And your Mom? Lucy? She lives on the station?"


    She nods. "In the civilian district. Mom''s got a nice little place near the recyclers. She runs a hydroponics setup these days. Sometimes does some mechanical work on the side with her old skills, mostly off the books. The Navy used to hire her as a contractor to fix some of their older gear, but since the refits, that doesn''t happen as much."


    I nod. "Is she getting by ok?"


    "Oh yeah, she''s a planner." Maybe she feels the tension in me. "Don''t worry, Melody. She''s going to love you."


    I feel my belly flip. "Yeah? Seems like a hard sell. ''Hey mom, here''s my new girlfriend. She''s a disgraced former cop with PTSD; she''s homeless and jobless and she blew up Europa, what''s for dinner?''"This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Her arms squeeze me tighter. "I''ll probably say something like, hey mom, here''s my new partner. She saved me and a lot of other people. She''s a private investigator looking for work. And what''s for dinner?"


    We laugh together, even though it makes me wince. I just enjoy the warmth of her. "She runs a hydroponics setup?"


    "Yeah, there''s a bay, sorta run like a community garden. She has a quarter of it all for herself, but a bunch of other people grow things too."


    I try to picture that. "Like what, fruit and vegetables?"


    "Mostly vegetables, lots of spices, sometimes flowers if there''s a demand for it, set up in racks," she says, motioning with her hands.


    I ponder that for a moment. "Anyone grow coffee beans?"


    "Oh? You think you can just buy a new can and pay me off, Melody?" She slides down onto the pad with me, holding her drink carefully.


    I scoff, pulling her close. "Who says I''m paying you off? Maybe I''m buying some all for me."


    I do get a giggle from her. "Good luck. Coffee is a high value good. It''s worth its weight in... name a precious metal. And usually there''s reservations in advance for each harvest."


    "Seriously? I''m surprised the bay doesn''t just grow coffee then."


    She takes a sip of tea and sticks her tongue out. "Well, when you don¡¯t have any basil or pepper or garlic for your food, you¡¯ll learn you can¡¯t live off of coffee alone, Melody.¡±


    There are a few more moments of silence. "You know, I can rent quarters on the station. I mean, I don''t want to impose, a stranger at your mom''s place, with no notice-"


    She flounces down, slapping the blanket. "You''re not a stranger, and believe me, my mom will let you know loudly and often if you''re imposing. She very much speaks her mind. Kinda like this other woman I really like."


    I smile, biting my bottom lip. "Sounds like we''ll get along well."


    Sparrow does give me a grin at that. "Just don''t try to kiss her ass. You won''t get anywhere brown-nosing her."


    My eyes wide, and I hold my hand to my head. "Sparrow, I''m sorry, have you met me?¡±


    She laughs, leaning against me. "Yeah, and with your attitude, you¡¯ll fit right in on Io.¡±


    "Good to know. It should help making some connections,¡± I murmur, finger tracing the tattoo on her arm. ¡°I mean, calling myself a private investigator is one thing. But I don''t really have any contacts outside of Luna."


    I get a shrug from her there. "Well, I know a few people who can point you in the right direction."


    I sigh, thinking as I lay back. "I''ll have to get my own gear; nothing assigned to me. No CE Key. I looked into the licensing, though. That part''s a cakewalk. I have the necessary weapons qualifications and Codes certifications already; it''s like they make it easy for former cops."


    Sparrow tosses her head. "You realize most of them probably are former and washed-out cops?"


    I blink. "Yeah, guess I never thought of it that way. Well, I''ve submitted my application, and I paid the fee. Assuming I pass the background check, I should get the approval in a few days."


    She nuzzles against my shoulder in silence. "You nervous?"


    I swallow. "A little. I won''t have the law enforcement authority I had. I won''t be able to call in backup. The stakes will be higher, and I''ll have no support if I get in over my head."


    I feel Sparrow take my hand and squeeze. "You have your partner supporting you."


    I smile at that. "Yeah, I guess when you put it like that? I''m not really all that nervous. At least about the job."


    She groans. "Stop worrying, mom''s an easy sell. Be glad you don''t have to impress my dad, he would have picked you to pieces."


    I chuckle at that. "I''m sorry I don''t get to meet him," I say softly.


    "He would have loved you... eventually," she admits. "He was a man with high expectations."


    I shrug, looking up at the navigation console. "Well, if nothing else, I could have impressed him with my piloting skills."


    Sparrow laughs long and hard. "Melody, this was his ship. He would have given me away before he gave the Chimera away, even for a joyride."


    I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. "Oof. Well, I suppose I''m lucky... I get to ride both," I tease, before she smacks me with her pillow, and we devolve into laughter.


    We trail off slowly, just enjoying ourselves. There''s a moment of silence as we lay back on the soft pad. In the reduced gravity, it seems almost feather-soft, and I curl around her. I feel her heartbeat against me, my nose pressed against her hair. Just breathing together, savoring the closeness and the warmth.


    Finally, she closes her eyes, parting her lips. "You didn¡¯t even take your crappy instant crystals."


    I throw up my hands, scoffing. "You wanna go back to Ursa Miner and pick them up?"


    She smiles at that. "Cartwright would probably arrest me. Maybe both of us."


    I ponder for a moment, my fingers tracing the serpentine whirls of the smart-ink and following the patterns up her shoulders. "You think he would ship them to us?"

 Interlude 2: Protocol

    A modified lunar shuttle with a host of ad-hoc attachments burns hard for Io. But that''s not where this tale is set. This tale follows not a woman, but a man. Not a tall man, and not particularly broad shouldered one. This man is lean, but not skinny. Muscled, but the spare muscle of a runner. A man with a crop of closely cut salt and pepper hair and a trace of five o''clock shadow. A man with bags under his eyes, and frown lines etched into his face. And within D-space, his avatar looks... identical. This is a man who knows who he is.


    And who is he?


    Captain Ashton Montgomery Cartwright is many things. Punctual, patient, persistent, professional. He is protocol made manifest. A man of calendars and lists and agendas with bullet points. The kind of man who takes notes at a meeting and actually reviews his notes later. The sort of man who will patiently build an airtight case before any arrest is made. The kind of man who double-checks his officers'' reports for mistakes and sends them back with corrections and a demand to resubmit them. The type of man who, on learning of misconduct within his department, investigates and disciplines his officers without fear or favor.


    Needless to say, Ashton Cartwright is not the sort of captain most Code Enforcement officers are champing at the bit to work for. And yet, not once have any of his officer''s PTO requests been denied. None have dealt with any frivolous discipline. No officer can boast of getting special treatment. He''s fair, and if he demands a lot from his officers, at the lease he''s not a hypocrite. He''s in the trenches with them, proverbially. In this case, working his third double-shift in a week, dealing with the consequences of losing five officers within thirty hours. Five, out of a staff of sixteen, including himself. Sadly, only ten of those officers had bodies, whether real of synthetic, which means a loss of half of the manpower in meatspace.


    Which means many other officers are pulling double-shifts as well, and if nobody is particularly happy about it, at least the overtime pay soothes some ruffled feathers. And if Ashton finds himself wishing for some sleep, he can at least comfort himself with the thought that Corporal Lightbender, an AI, needs no sleep at all. In fact, the synth Code Enforcement Officer doesn''t possess a chassis, so she exists entirely in D-space as an avatar. Not very useful in crowd-control, but a whizz at the digitalwork. And it means he need not feel guilty about delegating a tremendous number of tasks to her.


    Including posting the ''help wanted'' ads.


    "Sir, we''ve had four applications for the vacancies so far," she reports through the linked channel.


    Cartwright nods. "I''ve seen them. We''re not taking Officer Stinson."


    "He comes highly recommended by his captain, Sir."


    "I pulled his file; he''s facing an investigation for harassing another officer. He''s transferring to avoid discipline, and his captain is trying to pass the problem along. I won''t have him."


    Lightbender chimes an acknowledgement. "That only leaves three candidates."


    Cartwright sighs, pulling up a schedule and pinging out updates for assignments. "Yes, I''ve reviewed them. Assuming there are no red flags, we''ll take them. Be aware, however; Corporal Wong is a member of the Gaian League."


    There''s a moment without a response. "You''re kidding," she asserts.


    "I do not generally kid, corporal," Cartwright responds blandly.


    Lightbender flashes several times, the equivalent of blinking. "And... are you going to do anything about that, Sir?"


    "Yes. I''m going to approve her transfer to this station," Cartwright answers smoothly, as pulls up several recently logged reports.


    Most flashes and silence. "Why?"


    The corners of Ashton''s mouth twitch. "Because we need the manpower. Besides, the Gaian League will stop trying to slip agents into my precinct if they think they''ve succeeded. It will give us time to observe. When evidence presents itself, we''ll arrest Wong, and hopefully be able to turn flip her as a CI." The lips curl down into a frown, as Cartwright flags a report for follow-up.


    "Respectfully, Sir, that plan didn''t work with Rusteater," Lightbender points out.Stolen story; please report.


    He sighs. "Rusteater thought they were doing the right thing. They explained about the cephalopod-analogues, and why they were sabotaging operations. I admire the principled stand they made down there, attempted murder not-withstanding," the captain says, giving a shrug.


    "Your attempted murder, Sir," Lightbender presses.


    Cartwright glances out the window to the small frozen ball. "We all make our choices, Corporal. Some things are worth dying to protect. And sometimes even killing."


    A moment of silence goes past before the corporal speaks. "We found one in Rusteater''s quarters, by the way," the synth adds.


    Cartwright looks at his reflection in the pane beside him. He raises his hand, rubbing the stubble. "A squid? You''re joking."


    "I do not generally joke, Sir," the corporal replies blandly.


    A faint smile passes the captain''s lips. "They must have smuggled it up the skyhook from the surface. Is it alive?"


    "Yes sir. Somewhat underfed, but otherwise healthy. Given the risk of contamination to the native biosphere, I do not believe it''s safe to return it to Europa," Lightbender says with a level tone.


    A moment of silence passes. "Well, I''ve been thinking it might be nice to have a pet."


    "Yes sir. I''ll have the tank brought to your quarters," Lightbender says. "In the meantime, that still leaves us down two officers."


    "Well, refresh the job posting every forty-eight hours, and keep me apprised of any promising applications. In the meantime, the overtime shifts will have to continue until we fill the positions, corporal. Officers can apply for the extra shifts. No special treatment by rank; first come, first serve." Ashton flags a final report for corrections and closes out the case files in his overlay. "Anything else?"


    Lightbender gives a soft ring. "We''ve got GenCorp pinging us every few hours about their commercial inquiry."


    A dry chuckle leaves the captain''s lips as he walks to the sink and grabs his razor. "Oh? The big pharma company is upset because they can''t drop bots down one of the cryogeysers?"


    "Their insurance policy was canceled following the detonation; coverage runs out by the end of the month. If they don''t go within the next four days, they won''t be able to run the mission without ''unacceptable financial liabilities''."


    Cartwright sniffs and spreads a smear of shaving gel around his lips and chin. "How unfortunate. We''re obligated to withhold authorization, based on the radiological disaster down on the surface, until a full environmental survey has been carried out. That will take at least another week, if not longer."


    Lightbender flares yellow. "Sir, their pings are raising the point that their bots are case-hardened and functionally immune to ionizing radiation."


    Cartwright smiles as he drags the razor up his chin. "Ah, but protocol doesn''t make exceptions for synths or bots. I suppose they''ll either have to take the risk going without insurance, or pay much more for a new policy."


    "They won''t do that. They''ll scrub the mission, Sir." Lightbender''s tone betrays no emotion, but she shifts a variety of colors in amusement.


    "Hmm, what a pity. I suppose the depths of Europa''s oceans shall remain unexplored by big pharma for now," Cartwright says, pulling the razor up his cheek. "In any event, have there been any updates about Captain Gupta?"


    "No Sir. Or rather, large numbers of reports, but most are scanning as spoofed or planted. There''s no indication what, if anything, is legitimate," she says with a little heat in her tone.


    "Not surprising. And Ms. Cruz and Sparrow? Any indication of activity from them?" Ashton finishes the second cheek, washing down the razor.


    "They don''t appear to be hiding, Sir. Their trajectory suggests they are heading to Io," Lightbender offers.


    Cartwright lifts a washcloth and wipes the gel away, patting his face. "Of course. If I recall correctly from her CI file, Sparrow''s mother resides on the station."


    Lightbender blinks and rings a confirmation. "Yes Sir. Should we flag Io''s local precinct? Alert their officers about a potential ecoterrorist?"


    Cartwright sighs and lowers the cloth, running a palm over his face. "Oh, no need for that. Sparrow would never jeopardize her own mother. Besides, in addition to giving us leverage, it''s better to leave her out there as a lure. We can monitor, see who pays the station a visit. Patience, corporal; watch, learn, then act," he says with a faint grin. "By the way, what was left in Ms. Cruz''s quarters? Anything noteworthy?"


    "Some civilian clothing, toiletries, wall prints and a rug. A tub of instant crystal coffee. Oh, and this," Lightbender says, displaying a picture of a metal cylinder.


    Ashton smirks. "Hmm, well, clearly she left something quite important behind."


    The corporal flares green. "What should I do with her possessions?"


    The captain shakes his head. "Oh, put it all in the public bin as abandoned goods. Some spacers low on credits will pick through it. Except that can... we should analyze that particular piece of evidence in detail."


    "Oh? The whole shift?" Lightbender asks with an amused tone.


    "Oh yes. Fresh coffee beans? Probably from that new farming collective on Io. And no duty sticker; someone didn''t pay taxes on this," Ashton points out. "If these are being smuggled in, I want my officers to be able to identify these beans by smell. And taste."


    Lightbender ripples a rainbow of colors. "Of course, captain. I''ll make sure every officer with taste buds gets to sample this. Break room alright?"


    "Yes corporal, just make sure not to grind them in advance. It wouldn''t do for them to go stale. Evidence like this must be processed and sampled correctly," the captain says with a dry tone.


    The AI chimes acknowledgement. "Yes sir. Any lunch order today?"


    Cartwright tilts his head, thinking. "Hmm, it might be a long-shot, corporal, but... any chance of seafood?"