Waiting for Dyer doesn't take long, and Remembrandt doesn't seem inclined to move us anywhere else. Like a private room, or a closed booth, or an ungated virt. "He's on his way," the synth says, sitting back.

  I let my camera swivel around. "Are we just going to meet him out in the open?"

  The grey eyebrows rise. "Why, worried one of the synths here is going to tattle?" He tilts his blank polymer head. "Nobody here is going to get involved in meat-bag politics unless they have to."

  I'd roll my eyes if I was there. "So, you all knew who I was from the start?"

  Remembrandt shrugs. "Deduction. The admin notice went out widely." He rolls a hand along. "When you see a human trying to pass as a synth less than a day after? It doesn't take a private investigator to put it together."

  So, my camouflage is only going to work on humans. The moment someone sees that I'm a human avatar stuffed in a chassis... "Are you going to tell Aquarius?"

  He shakes his head. "Even if I could contact him, it wouldn't help him. He'd go after you."

  You're protecting him. "And you're afraid he'll die?"

  "Or kill you. And vengeance won't help him," the synth says softly.

  Something in his tone and posture reads as forlorn. "And you're fine with me walking out of here? Despite killing Rusteater? And fighting Aquarius?"

  A silence plays out as his cameras focus on my chassis. "I don't think you really wanted to kill Rusteater or Aquarius. And I think even less so now," he says with a shrug.

  It's not that simple. "If Aquarius comes after me, I'll do what I have to."

  "We all do," the synth murmurs, turning his head. His eyes follow an older man stepping inside the bar, wearing a thick coat and scowling as he looks around. He's balding, with a steel-grey beard and moustache.

  The man catches the synths eye, nodding as he stalks to the table. "Remembrandt. Glad you're well. Get me anything with rum in it. This the one?" He asks, but sits down before hearing the answer.

  "I'm the one," I say, watching his eyes narrow. The man scowls down at my chassis, and I tilt the camera up, examining him. He's in his sixties, balding, and he seems almost gaunt under the coat. And I can see the edge of a dermal patch peeking out from under it. Mostly recovered, huh? "So you're Dyer? You look like you've seen better days."

  The edge of his lip curls up. "You look like you should be scrubbing the head."

  Hah. "It's not my usual body," I say, examining him.

  "Yeah? You a synth, or human?" He asks. His brow furrows, and I take it as confirmation that he's not an augment.

  Still, I raise a clamp-hand and gesture towards the bar. "Remembrandt didn't say?"

  I get a quick headshake from the man. He seems a little pale, but he sits straight as an iron bar. "He said you're an enemy of my enemy. In my line of work, that makes you worth meeting, at least."

  Remembrandt walks back and slides a dark mixed drink in a short, wide glass front of Dyer. Ugh, I still didn't get to try the rum yet. "I'm human. Living on Io, kinda got caught up in the thick of it," I explain.

  He squints and looks me up and down. "You black-hat?"

  "No, but my partner was for a time. Got mixed up in it. Their leader is a man named Caspian Casey," I say, avoiding specifics. His eyelid twitches. "You know him?"

  "I've heard things. I wouldn't mind seeing the League crash and burn, but he's not who I'm after," Dyer growls, fingers tightening on his glass and taking a sip.

  The tension in his shoulders is obvious. "You want Cara Morgan? Who is she to you?"

  He bares his teeth for a moment before throwing back much larger mouthful of his drink. "From about twenty years back through to a few weeks ago? Business partner. And former romantic partner, which just twists the knife."

  "Ah, mixing business and pleasure; always a good idea," I say, seeing him wince. Says the woman who slept with a CI. "What about Caspian?"

  Dyer gives me a sour frown. "What business is it of yours? You're not a cop, not if you're going through Remembrandt. This ain't your concern."

  I tilt the chassis forward. "It is if they're gunning for me."

  Dyer frowns and taps his finger on his glass. I can't be cutting a very intimidating figure. "And why is the League gunning for you?"

  How much should I say? "My partner helped the League as a runner. Now, they want us both dead for knowing too much."

  "Hah, tying up loose ends?" He runs a hand through his beard, scratching it absently.

  "Something like that. She got in over her head, I'm getting her out," I say as he narrows his eyes. "She skates, gets away clean from this whole mess."

  A quiet moment passes as he takes another sip. "So, that's your price for cooperation?"

  "Also, I have a weapons certification I want approved," I add. Two birds, one plasma round.

  He tilts his head. "For a vessel?"

  "Personal, I'm a private investigator," I explain.

  His eyes widen, and he smiles for the first time. "Hah, that's why you're on the station?" He laughs, a loud guffaw that draws a few glances from some synths. "Trying to control the weapons... it backfired on Cara? Good!"

  I see the joy in his eyes and feel a flicker of hope. "You and Cara worked closely together?"

  "Not directly. Let's just say that the entertainment industry and the mining industry don't overlap much in the Jovian. We each had our spheres of influence," he says, rolling his gnarled fingers.

  You split the turf, you mean. "She runs the brothels?"

  He nods, the smile slipping from his weathered face. "Brothels, alcohol, drugs. Most of the black-hat stuff, and even gambling to an extent. I ran admin, mining, transport, and most of the white-hat side. Maybe some grey-hat from time to time, smuggling and such," he says as he takes another sip.

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  "Sure, the legitimate face of business," I point out, and he shrugs. But he's smirking too. "And the Daughter's of Ganymede?"

  He snorts. "Private security. By tradition, she ran their operations. Black-hat enforcement, since she couldn't call codes for some of her... activities," he says in a gravelly voice. "But there were unwritten laws," he growls, clenching his fingers around his glass.

  I nod in meatspace, though he can't see it. "There always are. Don't squeal to the cops, don't break your word, don't pay with dummy credits-"

  He lifts the glass, emptying it in a gulp and wiping his lips. "Yeah, but more specific. She never uses the muscle against white-hat work, never meddles with admin, never shits where I eat."

  Don't muddy the legit business. "What changed?"

  A rictus of fury slides over his expression. "She got greedy. The League's refugees ended up stranded here when their funding and leaders got the axe. Maybe twenty-something all told. She was their only benefactor."

  "So, they signed up with the private security force? Joined Daughters to get a new paycheck?"

  He nods. "Or the brothel; not every Gaian is a fighter. But still, too many to fight," he says, motioning to Remembrandt with his empty glass. "I had a few bodyguards in my employ, but not enough to do more than secure my warehouses."

  I roll the pieces together in my mind. "I get it, she finds herself with a little army of loyalists with no money and nowhere else to go. She and Caspian make a play for the moons and demand all the local operations join up or sell out," I muse, putting it together. "Still, why didn't you sign on?"

  Dyer glares at me, baring his teeth. "Aquila is mine. My grandfather was one of the first generation of rock-chasers to settle Ganymede. My mother founded one of the first rum distilleries. I have more heavy oxygen atoms in my bones from living in the Jovian than the whole League has balls!" He sits up, grinding his teeth. "Some Earth-licking scum and Solar District floozies think they're taking my moon from me?" The man snarls and spits, kicking the table and earning some glances from the synths. "Fuck the Gaians. Motherfuckers killed the last polar bear!"

  Goddamn. Tell me how you really feel, Dyer? This is the kind admin official I like! "So, what's your plan to stop them?"

  Some of the fury drains from his face, leaving him paler. "My plan is to chip away at Cara's support and recruit enough muscle that I can bust through her door and kill her, slowly, for being a treacherous fucking whore."

  I can help but chuckle despite the grisly image. "It's got a certain simplicity, I'll admit, but it's light on specifics."

  Dyer shrugs, bushy grey moustache twitching. "It's a work in progress. But if she's dead, most of the Daughters will fall in line with whoever pays." He leans forward. "It just so happens I can dangle some credits."

  "Well, that doesn't take care of Casey," I point out with my nozzle-arm.

  The older man shakes his head. "Casey wants Callisto. He wants their heavy elements and rare-earth metals more than he wants our gambling money and ice-sales. He's only trying to run them out of Ganymede because Morgan's providing a base." Dyer leans back as the synth slides a second glass in front of him. "If it gets too hot here, he'll flee to Callisto, or maybe out of the Jovian entirely."

  Great, so he'll be in the wind, coming from who knows where? "No, listen, chasing him off isn't good enough. He's got a real security force, not just some knee-cap breaking thugs. Professional, efficient, and they'll kill. And any of the Gaian refugees among the Daughters will break his way."

  Dyer's brow furrows and he frowns at me. "He's got one ship, a corvette. It's got some firepower, but he ain't getting more than eight on it comfortably. Maybe double that if they rip out the storage pod and sit in each other's laps. It's not moving an army."

  Great, he's got an armed ship too? "Listen, it doesn't work unless we take them both out, or we're just giving Casey the chance to break cover and dig in somewhere else. He's not just gonna forget Ganymede."

  For the first time, Dyer looks a little uncertain. Maybe a little green. "Why's he want the Jovian so bad? He'd have more luck taking Titan."

  He wants that squid. "It's complicated, but he's staying around Jupiter because there's a package he needs. He's an issue for the whole Jovian. Yeah, Cara's a problem, but she's a Ganymede problem."

  Dyer sets his jaw. "As someone from Ganymede, I can't say I like the 'fuck you, I got mine' attitude. If you take Casey out, then his crew and the other Gaian's have nowhere to go but to Morgan." He crosses his arms. "I ain't greenlighting a deal that gives her reinforcements."

  I roll the situation around in my mind again, a little more broadly and slowly. "Fine, then we have to take them out together. I've got the beginnings of an idea. I assume you're fine with synths?"

  Dyer blinks a few times. "I got no problem with folks, flesh or chrome, as long as they don't bother me and mine, and work for their fair share-"

  "Great. What about Codes?" I ask, feeling a rush of excitement.

  He stares at me. "What about them? I aint a rat, and I'm not running to the cops."

  "Obviously, not on Cara, but Casey? He's not a local," I point out.

  He shakes his head, giving me the disgusted snort. "Nah, too dicey; the League infiltrated Codes."

  A chill runs down my spine. "How deep?"

  "Dunno. Far as I can tell, the League's been feeding a few Gaian recruits into the Jovian precincts from Aquila. At least three came out of here."

  That meshes with Alex's behavior. "Was Rusteater one of those?"

  Dyer looks up, lips moving as he checks something on the exonet. Hah, I was right. He's just got a simple temp augment. "Let me look... yeah, the synth cop? They joined up here."

  My gut tightens. "Crap, any of the local officers could be with the League. One slipping in is happenstance. Two is coincidence. Three is enemy action," I say, furiously thinking. "Admin's dirty; that's been clear. So are the Daughters, providing security. Codes hasn't been involved in anything, though. If their rank and file were dirty, they'd be elbows deep, taking a big cut."

  Dyer is silent. "You sure?"

  "I was a cop." That makes him sit up. "That many credits involved? They would either be arresting the perps, or soliciting big, big bribes... It's low-key, subtle infiltration; it's coming from high up. Stifling investigations. It's not opportunistic; this is carefully planned." No way this is rank and file. "Who's the captain here?"

  Dyer's scowl deepens. "Jessie Clearfield. But she's not Gaian."

  I pause. "You sure?"

  He grunts and nods. "She's Ganymede born and raised, second generation. No reason to break for the League," Dyer says, swallowing another mouthful as he watches me.

  "Unless they have something on her. She doesn't have to be a true believer," I muse.

  He shrugs. "It's a big moon, but not that big. If she had gambling debts, or was on drugs, or visiting the brothels, I'd have heard."

  Maybe she's sympathetic to the League, or... "Rusteater; he transferred from here to Ursa Miner. Any other Scouting Officers transfer to from Aquila Station to Ursa Miner in the past, oh, eighteen months? Especially in the past month?"

  "Let me look it up..." Dyer says, lips moving as he consults the exonet. "...Hmm, two. Well, aside from Rusteater? One; a corporal Mei Wong, looks like. A few weeks ago, in fact."

  Then Clearfield must know about the squid. There's no reason for her to keep slipping Gaian's into the precinct and arranging their transfer to Ursa Miner station. Each time risks exposure. Which means she'll know what it's worth. "Alright, then. Wong is Gaian. And Clearfield isn't, but she's working with them; she's looking for a payday." Dyer blinks, mouth falling open. "She's trying to intercept a package that's been trapped on Europa. Probably going to get a nice big percentage." Like Caspian offered me.

  He snorts. "She can have it, as far as I'm concerned."

  "No, nimrod, that's our bait!" I say quickly.

  "Bait?" He tilts his head, squinting.

  I feel a tingle at the base of my spine. "Yeah. I've got a better plan. A real plan, not just kicking down the door."

  He growls and lowers his voice. "Why should I trust your plan? Or you?"

  You swimming in allies right now, Dyer? "Because I've got an in with Codes. And I think the local synths."

  "The synths won't intervene in a human squabble," he says, shaking his head.

  Not visibly, not as a group. They won't be seen doing anything that'll provoke backlash. It's why they're letting us act. "There are a lot of players in the Jovian. The League is trying to tie them all together, but they're allies of convenience at best," I lay out as I feel my pulse quicken. "I tried to contact Cara Morgan, but Casey intercepted it with the help of a synth."

  Dyer huffs. "Yeah, he's probably trying to cut her out of the power-plays, cuz he knows she's a treacherous-"

  "Good. Can you get a message to Cara Morgan? One that Caspian couldn't intercept?"

  The man's mouth falls open in shock. "What? If I had to, yeah, but-"

  "You have to. Once that's delivered, I'll send a message that Caspian will intercept, through a synth of his. And I'll have to get a different message to an old friend in Codes." I feel almost giddy.

  Dyer grins, showing a set of crooked teeth. "Playing the sides against each other?"

  I smile back, though he can't see. "I'm gonna try. Let's stir the pot," I say, rolling out of the booth. "For your part, get a message to Morgan; tell her that the woman who smashed Anna Delmond's teeth in wants to talk to her."

  Dyer stands on unsteady legs. "Hah, can't say I'm sad that Anna got taught a lesson. She should have stayed working in the brothel," he says with a smirk. "What should I say you want to discuss?"

  I feel a chuckle leave my lips. "Tell her I want to sell her some Jovian Seafood."