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 least 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 or synthetic, which means a loss of half of the manpower in meatspace.

  Which means 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.

  More 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 flip her as a CI." The lips curl down into a frown as Cartwright flags a report for follow-up.

  "Respectfully, Sir, that didn't work with Rusteater," Lightbender points out.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  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 hidden behind a false panel 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 a maintenance bot bring the tank 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?"