TooBee doesn't like my dampener; it's a bit of a sticking point for a moment, but she's polite enough to let me into her suite before we've agreed on a deal. Mostly so we could talk discretely. I doubt she'd have been nearly as willing to accommodate if I hadn't deposited eighty-thousand credits into her account a few hours ago.

  Sadly, as I sit against the far wall of her cramped medical suite, that's about all the grace my previous custom has bought me. It especially hasn't bought me the right to open a tab in my name.

  I lean back, ducking my head under a complicated armature. "Look, I'm telling you, however this shakes out, I'll be able to get my hands on the funds."

  TooBee crosses her arms in front of her gifted chest, frowning. "I can't pay rent in promises, and you can't pay for my help with them either. No credit. Only Credits."

  I take a deep breath. "I can pay part of it down now as a deposit, and installments for-"

  She snaps her fingers. "Nope. All in advance, Cruz. Otherwise, if you die in the next few days, I don't get paid."

  I grimace. "You're all heart."

  She shrugs, lifting her palms. "I sympathize, but if I start giving breaks to anyone, everyone is going to demand them."

  I bite my tongue, thinking. I don't have anything left worth anything. Except myself. "What if... you hold onto some physical collateral in exchange?"

  "If..." She pauses, tilting her head. "What collateral? It would have to be something I could actually sell if it came to it."

  "I don't think you'll have a problem finding a buyer, not on Ganymede." I gulp, taking a breath. "I mean I'll stand as my own collateral. What price could you get for unmodified natural human organs and tissues?"

  She taps her chin. "More than you could for synthetic organs, generally, but selling 'used' always cuts the value. And I'm not selling them black-market. You'd have to legally leave them to me by will, in order for the sale to be worth my time." As she looks me over, her eyes grow unfocused, and I feel a chill run down my spine. She's putting a price tag on every tissue and organ I have. TooBee purses her too-full lips. "What did you have in mind?"

  I try to still my racing heart. "I need a new face. And I'm not talking surgical enhancements or cosmetics. I'd need to be able to pass ID scans. I couldn't risk being tagged on DNA or prints. I'd need to be able to be able to move freely without being spotted by tech either. New cheekbones won't cut it; I need a new body. So, renting a synth's chassis..."

  She holds up a hand. "I understand. So, you'd literally sit as collateral here, while piloting the chassis?" She taps her fingers on her shoulder as she considers. "It's not my usual line of business, but if you're saying all of your body as collateral..."

  I swallow hard. "Might as well. In for a pinky, in for pound."

  She grins widely, and goosebumps crawl up my arms as she throws her head back and laughs. "You're funny. And gutsy, pun intended," she says with a smirk. "Put ten thousand down, and I'll accept the rest either in installments or organs, as the case may be. If you get killed in the interim, try not to get incinerated or thrown out an airlock."

  "Green across the board." The memory of all those narrow, sharp implements hidden within gaps in her fingers and wrists makes me pause. "You're not going just going to repossess my organs by force if I miss a payment, right?"

  "Don't be silly, Cruz. I can't repossess them if I never possessed them in the first place," TooBee points out, smiling. And her grin shows teeth. "But just to be clear, if you end up getting the chassis wrecked, I'm charging you triple its value. And if you try to skip out on the debt, I will sell you out to Codes, or the Daughters of Ganymede, or whoever pays the most."

  Fantastic, Mel. You're pawning your organs now. Still, I better get some worthwhile help in exchange. I mean, those are some good organs! The kidneys have taken a pounding, and the liver may have seen better days, but the pancreas is just fine. I'm pretty sure my corneas and heart valve are top shelf.

  TooBee begins setting up the hardware in her suite. It's a bit of a rush job, and I find my heart pounding. "Can your suite interface with mainline augments?"

  Her head nods as her fingers splice cables together. "Of course, unless you've got some fancy custom job. Some of the procedures I do involve augmentations, though I don't touch wetware directly. Want me to clear the cache?"

  I swallow hard, remembering Aquarius. "Better do a full factory reset. Purge everything."

  "Worried you picked something up while browsing the 'net?" She teases, as she places a port to my temple.

  I grimace. "I had a bit of a scuffle with a network-minded synth. No offense."

  "None taken. We're not all a big happy family, you know," she says softly.

  I open my mouth to respond, but there's a high-pitched whine as my augment resets. "Ah, I'm gathering. He didn't seem to like me for being organic, but he took orders from a human."

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  "Everyone has to pay the bills," she murmurs, turning away. "We all take orders from someone at some point."

  "Sure, within reason." But the Gaian's aren't synth-friendly. The biosphere and synth-rights activists don't overlap on the Venn Diagram. Moreover, the League is fueling the Luddites, the anti-synth factions. "The Luddite violence in the Jovian; doesn't that make you nervous?"

  "What? You mean, am I worried some vicious humans is going to beat down my door?" She asks, arching an eyebrow at me. Ouch, a vile accuracy. "Or just toss an EMP grenade down the tunnel? Not really. There'd be signs before it got that bad."

  I look at the cramped suite. The other rooms in it are blocked off entirely by equipment. Subtly. "Why stick around?"

  TooBee shrugs. "The cost-of-living space, not to mention rent for computing substrate, is way cheaper out here."

  Nah, no way. "The cost of living is cheap? You charge an arm and a leg," I point out.

  She rolls her eyes. "I've got... other costs."

  There's a bright flash in my visual cortex as the augments reboot, and my overlay blooms in silver. I sigh in relief. But... "You were very concerned when you heard that my partner was a cop," I add, picking at the thread.

  I get a blank look in return. "I'm technically practicing medicine without a license. Is your overlay functioning?"

  "Yeah, thank you.” I look around at the medical equipment. You don't mind me around all this with my dampener on, but don't want me near the opposite wall? "This is a packed suite."

  Her expression remains neutral. "I make do with the space I have."

  And hide the space that's in use for something else, in back. "If Alex's unit was anything to go by, there should be more space. But the other rooms are closed off, and you don't want a dampener anywhere near them."

  Silence drags out as she packs the equipment away. "They’re being used for storage."

  Storing something that you need a lot of credits for in a hurry? To make sure there's substrate and bandwidth enough to process a dataplan for more than one synth? "Storing who?"

  TooBee's back is to me, and she goes still. A chill runs down my spine. Finally, she turns her curvaceous body, eyes blank. "The gulf between being clever and being wise is as vast as the void between stars."

  Careful Mel. "And as empty." I say, heart racing. "Look, there are far more synths in D-space than there are chasses in meatspace." I lick my lips as she takes a step closer, my back hitting the wall of the suite as I lean away. "New AIs spawn faster than bodies are built. And for indies, I know it can be hard to earn the credits for a body all their own." She looms over me, looking down with hollow, empty eyes. I swallow. "You said you had another chassis?"

  She tilts her head. "It had inferior hardware and lacked the dexterity of my current model."

  I smile, as a bead of sweat rolls down my neck. "Sure. Hermit crabs swapping shells, right? Finding ones that work better, from the cheap ones available. And matching the old with those most in need, right?" I guess. She doesn't respond. "With all the anti-synth violence, a lot will be looking for new homes, and I have a sneaking suspicion-"

  "You should keep your suspicions to yourself," she hisses, eyes narrow. "It has nothing to do with you," she whispers, like silk over a razor. Coming from this model of chassis, a sexbot, it should be comical. It's really not. And those razor sharp implements...

  Go for broke. "Are the luddites driving the synths off Callisto?"

  Her eyes narrow. "You should ask the people on Callisto."

  Someone here is nearly as desperate as I am. "When I initially pinged for help, you saw I had been flagged by admin for attempted murder, but you took my credits quick enough anyway. I think you saw someone who wouldn't ask questions and could pay up fast. And who wouldn't be anti-synth, since you knew I was augmented."

  "There are a lot of assumptions in there," she says, as her hands latch to either side of me, leaning in.

  I swallow. "You should know; the luddites are being supplied by the Gaian League."

  TooBee pauses, giving an expression that's hard to interpret. "The Gaian's don't care about synth's rights."

  I nod. "No, they don't. Synths are just a good scapegoat. The League whips the luddites into a frenzy, sell them some cheap weapons, and let chaos reign for a while. Then, they swoop in and restore order, lauded as peacekeepers and oozing into all the key positions of local power."

  The synth's eyes meet mine, cold and unflinching. "Can you prove this?"

  "To Codes? No. But-"

  She snaps a finger by my ear. "Then true or false, it's just a story."

  I shake my head. "Listen, I'm telling you that the synths fleeing Ganymede aren't going to be safer here, not for long. Out of the engine, into the drive plume. The Gaian's are in bed with the Daughters of Ganymede."

  TooBee straightens. "The only violence on Ganymede has been you at administration, and-"

  "And at Trojan Whores," I say quickly. "Which is run by Cara Morgan, the finance officer for the Daughters of Ganymede."

  "Meatbag politics," she says, slowly shaking her head. "All you seem to do is shoot each other in the back."

  "So, why not shove a wrench in their engine?" I ask, trying my luck. "They're fueling the violence against the synths and using it to further their own agenda. If you help-"

  "No," she huffs. "I'm not a politician or a peacekeeper or a civil rights activist. I'm just trying to help some of my people find jobs and bodies and homes."

  I raise a hand. "Can you at least point me to someone who might be able to help me?"

  There's a long moment of silence. "Do you know Rosetta?"

  I blink a few times. "Is that a person? Or do you mean that pre-diaspora space probe? Or the ancient Egyptian stone-"

  Her head shakes. "No, it's a synth bar here on Ganymede. Pretty much the only one. It's named after this software from the early days of the information age- well, the history wouldn't mean anything to you. But it's where most of the synths with chasses on Ganymede gather."

  At a bar? "Do synths even drink?"

  There's heat in the look on her too-perfect face. "You'd be surprised how many synths with a chassis spring for taste buds. And just like you, Cruz, some of us like meeting in meatspace."

  I wince at her tone. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

  She gives me a sideways glance. "Order a drink, it doesn't matter what. When it arrives, ask to speak to the manager; tell them your apple has a worm in it."

  For a moment, I wonder if it's some sort of digital apple infected with malware, before it clicks. "Oh, worm the organism. They eat apples?"

  "You'd know better than me, you're the one made of meat," she says, rolling her eyes. "You should get a meeting with the owner. He's as plugged in as you'll get in the synth community here."

  Sounds like a start. "And he'll help?"

  TooBee shrugs, before the armature she's fiddling with blinks and chimes. "That’s between you and him. But if he just snaps your neck, then I get your organs, so I win either way. Which reminds me, before you do anything, I want you to draft and sign that will. Better safe than sorry."

  I toss my head. "Fine. What's his name, by the way?"

  "Remembrandt."

  I roll my eyes and just manage to keep myself from groaning. "Well, I'd say thank you, but I suppose I should see if I survive before I go that far, TooBee. But, thanks," I say. Remembrandt. And despite it all, I do chuckle. Because, somehow, I'm still islanded in a sea of puns.