My ping to Cara Morgan gets sent to her inbox automatically. I'm not sure how much information to share, so I keep it brief and vague. I certainly don't give her my real name; with the admin notice out, I need a pseudonym. There will probably be an arrest warrant soon. Crap, are those criminal interrogatories late? Not yet, but being 'wanted for questioning' related to a murder investigation would just be icing on the cake to the alleged attempted murder on Ganymede.

  Well, that's a problem for later. Dame works as good as anything for now. In any event, I send a written ping requesting a meeting to do business with the Daughters of Ganymede. I'm careful to keep it vague, not describing precisely what I wish to contract. Until I know exactly where they stand, it's my safest bet. Just because they might be enemies of the Gaian's doesn't mean they're my friends.

  I'm shocked when I get a ping back within a minute with a time and virt address to meet in. Not specifically with Cara, but I assume someone with her outfit. Within half an hour, and not meatspace? Well, I guess someone values their privacy right now, not that this private-investigator slash murder-suspect is complaining.

  So, I have an appointment. Can I keep it? I suppose I should escape first. Hmm, I have a career's worth of hacking experience. But no experience picking the lock on cuffs. Well, let's improvise. With some effort, I manage to shimmy my cuffed hands around my hips and squeeze them under my legs. Ugh, I need to stretch more, but I manage to get my hands in front of me.

  Where's a hairpin when you need one? Fine, cuffs later. I turn the bolt on the bedroom door, sliding it open. The rest of the unit is empty of any conveniently placed handcuff keys. In fact, it's largely empty aside from some personal effects. Little more than I had. The front door is locked, but the bolt is on this side.

  The use of some utensils in his kitchen suffice to get the cuffs off, though it takes long enough to embarrass me. I make sure the dampener is in my pocket, but off. I have a few places to go. And might have to visit TooBee again. And there's a stun-stick left by the front door. Alex must have brought a spare? And then left it out? Seems stupid.

  In fact, this all seems too easy. A password I could guess? Cuffs, but no real locks? Alex, you must not respect me at all. Or... it's just theater.

  I pause. I've been reacting, not acting. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Think, Mel... what is Alex doing right now? Running down leads? That could mean anything. Why didn't he check me into the precinct? Why hasn't he called for backup, for his partner? Or any other scouting officer?

  Why would I do this, if I were him? He's suspicious of his colleagues, right? If the league infiltrated Admin, and got an asset into Ursa Miner, they could easily have a number of officers on Ganymede. Maybe even the ranking officer at the station. If Alex is playing this off the grid...

  For a moment, I'm of two minds. Part of me wants to ping him and talk. I want to trust Alex implicitly, but I also want to talk to him, to reason out what I suspect. And part of me thinks he's already trusting me, and maybe he doesn't need to talk to me at all. Maybe he's giving me the benefit of the doubt, and I should do the same.

  Can you trust someone you've hurt, when you have no reason to believe they've forgiven you? Can you put your fate in the hands of someone you wronged, and still believe they'll have your back? And also not be a total chrome-licking moron? Trust is only trust if they can really hurt you, after all. Maybe he's trusting me.

  So, I do something stupid. I trust him. I tag my implants, and load the tag into the hunter-killers, the sniffers. I off-load my older sniffer into the node in Alex's apartment. And now, if I had to leave Alex a message that couldn't be traced digitally... I scratch one word into the doorframe. Ambrose.

  Because whatever else may be going on, I believe Alex is a cop, through and through. And even if he's not my Alex, he's still a good man. Besides, he left me a stun-stick, and that's not nothing. And if he's anything like the Alex I knew, he'll remember and understand the message.

  I'm now attempting to do something I despise. I'm going to 'drop in' while walking. At the best of times, I'm not fond of visiting virts in the first-person. The subjective perception of the virts, the lie that the human brain tells itself? It's nauseating when I'm sitting still. The visual cortex didn't evolve to process input in a tangled arc in digital space while the body walks around and sees in meatspace.

  So, I crank my baud rate down to bearable levels. As I walk, I try sort of 'autopiloting' my body by the map in my overlay while I drop in. My meat senses are vague perceptions, so I manage to keep myself from falling on my face or bouncing off of walls. And in D-space? yeah, seeing in every direction without a blind spot, while trying to keep my meatsuit centered in the corridor?

  I barely manage to make it work. It's disorienting, especially because the input is skipping my eyes; the motion, the sensory feedback I'm getting in meatspace? It's not reflected in my stationary position as I drop into one of the public virts.

  My avatar is still on incognito. Not illegal, but looking suspicious. A blank grey humanoid blur jumping through the gates. Ugh, there's gravity and inertia in meatspace, and feeling it makes the unnatural experience of 'floating' in d-space all the more surreal. I hope I'm managing to walk in a straight line; I probably look drunk. In D-space, I check the gates.

  Ganymede is a warren of independent virt, and the meeting space is in a private one. I assume with security tilted in their favor. Still, I've got good filters and sanitizing software, so might as well see what I can do. I flit through a gate, keeping my bearings in meatspace as I pass through a gate into the specified virt. It's somewhere in the entertainment network, so the bandwidth is high.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The colors are vibrant, and jagged geometric shapes meld and lock together everywhere in my field of vision. A wave of vertigo sweeps through me, and I have to stop walking for a moment. Tessellated shapes make my eyes water, splayed on the environment around us. I'm sure it's a gorgeous sight to a synth, but to me it looks like the ceiling, walls, and floor are made of shifting and rolling kaleidoscopes.

  And I can't close my eyes or keep it out. My focus is overtaxed, so I'm shocked to hear a clearly synth voice ring out. "I apologize for any confusions or anxiety, the virt was designed to discourage casual interest by fleshbags," the vaguely masculine voice says smoothly.

  I don't need to turn to see all around me, but I still can't identify the speaker. I'm surprised that the words seem to be coming from a piece of the wall. It's only when the tessellated shapes flash several times that I perceive a synth's avatar. It's shaped like hundreds of colored blocks stacked to form the vague outline of a person. "Sorry, I didn't... see you," I say quickly. "You're the representative for the Daughters of Ganymede?"

  The figure vaguely bends. A nod? "From their parent organization, if you'll pardon the pun. Call me Aquarius. And this is Cassandra," the figure says, lifting an arm. A dozen of the blocks shine a brilliant rainbow pattern, swelling in size and brightness. "She's just here to make sure we're all on the same page."

  Aquarius, really? "I'm sorry, who is Cassandra?"

  "Cassandra is a part of my distributed consciousness," the masculine figure says.

  The right arm flashes brighter. "And yes, my conglomerate is Aquarius; you rolled your eyes. Is that a problem, Dame?" The voice is much higher in pitch, and the arm's color seems to drift towards the red side of the spectrum. Oof, fair enough. A networked mind? Rare.

  I hold up my hands, placating. "I apologize. I was caught off guard, I'm sure as you intended. So, what are you?"

  The Synth's figure seems to shift, probably sharing processing time, as the arm shines. The arm, er, Cassandra, says, "I'm a sentient savant-grade empath. In meatspace, I read body language and micro-expressions to tell your emotional state and intentions. And being incognito won't shield you, since your avatar will respond to your neurological state even if it doesn't display the physical indicators," the chipper voice pipes up.

  I frown, not that the avatar will show that. But wait, she can still tell? "Sorry, you're a lie detector?" I ask, pausing. She can read me through my avatar?

  The arm brightens and softens rapidly. "If you're got nothing to hide, you've got nothing to fear, copper," she squeaks. I stiffen, which makes her shade of color lighten toward yellows and greens and blues. "Though it doesn't take an empath to tell that."

  The hair rises on my neck in meatspace. "I'm not-"

  "A cop, I know. Former. Did you come here with the intention of harming my Ms. Morgan or her interests?" The individual blocks of the arm seem to drift apart, dulling in color. Observing?

  "No!" I don't even know, precisely, what her interests are.

  The blocks darken further. "Are you aware of our identities?"

  These aren't the questions I expected. "Not... specifically, but I assume you're working for the Daughter's of Ganymede-"

  "Enough," calls the larger whole. Cassandra shrinks back to blocks, and Aquarius brightens again. "I'll conduct the meeting from here, she'll merely observe for now."

  My feet nearly go out from under me in meatspace as I realize. Oh crap. A truth detecting bot? If they figure out who I am, what will they do? I probably have a warrant in my name by now. Don't panic. "It's not like I'm in a position to complain," I say, trying to recover.

  The figure seems to shift several of its components around. "So, Dame, why are you looking for a meeting with Ms. Morgan?"

  I swallow. "It's a little convoluted, but I'm hoping to inquire as to what security services the Daughters of Ganymede offer, their price range, the coverage areas. I didn't have a specific contract on offer, it's more of a getting a lay of the grid-"

  "Stop." The colors drain from most of the blocks, and the space between them seems to widen. "You're dancing, avoiding specifics. Give us a clear answer."

  Crap, should I just say I'm trying to find out about this K.C. and the Gaians? But what if the Gaian's are buying muscle from the Daughters of Ganymede? Vacuum-sucking hell, I don't know where they stand. I struggle to frame my thoughts.

  The individual blocks turn black, drifting around me, beginning to buzz threateningly. "We will terminate the meeting if you don't answer immediately."

  Crap, what's safe to say? "I'm here on because of Jax," I blurt out. "Of the Callisto Mining collective."

  The colors fade to a glossy grey. "We're aware of him. Continue."

  I lick my lips in meatspace. "He hired me because he's under pressure to sell his products through the markets in Ganymede."

  A moment of silence goes by, the many shapes color turning dull and matte. "It was our understanding that the mining collective is committed to maintaining their local sales network and therefore unwilling to work with us."

  So, you not only know, but you're in on this? Holy void-spawned fuck, the Daughters are in bed with the League?! Shit, so much for scrounging local support! "Let's just say that recent events have made my client consider his options." I say, swallowing hard.

  The blocks creep closer to my avatar. "And he's decided to sell?"

  Careful Mel. "My client retained me to protect his interests in this matter."

  The shaped blocks turn, angled towards me. "So, to negotiate. Do you have actual authority to make a deal?" The strange blocks roll through browns and purples and greys as they resolve back into a humanoid figure.

  Go for broke, Mel. "I was hired by my client because you have certain... information he doesn't want to come to light. He has given me broad authority in this matter." In that he didn't give me any specific instructions or limits. "Obviously, he couldn't trust this to an exonet communication-"

  The blocks darken again. "Your wirehead client couldn't secure his own comms?"

  The hell if I know. He's been playing me from the start. "My client is under suspicion of gaming metal markets. Do you want him to set up off-grid, unregistered comm channels linked to your organization?"

  The colors flare brightly. "Fair point. In the future, tell your client to ping ahead before sending intermediaries."

  I nod and wave a hand. "I can come back, if there's a better time..."

  The figure raises a hand made of varied colors and shapes. "You're here, and the timing happens to dovetail with other matters. And just to be safe; are you currently working for Code Enforcement or our competition?"

  "No." An honest answer.

  "Well, a former cop, and mostly truthful. No wonder you didn't last."

  Haha. "For a synth, your sense humor isn't terrible. Now, will I be meeting Ms. Morgan?"

  "No. Callisto falls under my boss's territory. You can call him Caspian."