Trojan Whores. It's been a relatively high-class brothel on Ganymede for almost a decade, after being upgraded from a relatively low-class one for about two decades. It's gone through a few people's hands in that time, but less than you might imagine. People tend to hold onto the positions in vice that earn credits. And, well, sex sells.

Of course, it's currently being renovated by a few Indy contractors. There are bloodstains to remove, plasma-scorches to patch over. Oh, and a bunch of doors that were blown out, literally, and need to be replaced. As the Indy synth and a few Indy humans work to wrestle one security door into place, Dyer goes through some actual paperwork from Cara Morgan's desk. Yes, real paper; you know, the best way to hide information. It can't be hacked, remotely accessed, edited or deleted. At least, not digitally. So, while Dyer pilfers her secrets, his bodyguard mostly complains.

Dyer sits at the wooden desk, scanning the tight cursive script, muttering to himself. Trinity finishes cleaning her recoilless rifle for the third time, before tossing it over her shoulder and looking towards the new boss. "I just have to ask, old man, was there ever actually a squid or not?"

Dyer's lips move as he reads one note, tossing it aside after scanning a list of names. "We don't know. But it seems nobody else does either. Which, ironically, serves our purposes fairly well."

"Why? Everyone knows our squid is a holo," Trinity growls, kicking a leg against the wall impatiently.

The grey-bearded man nods. "Of course. And nobody knows if a real one existed, or who has it. If they did know the squid existed, they'd make a play for it. Or try cracking Europa to plunder her oceans for more." He looks up and glances at the augmented woman. "Since it's unclear, and nobody else seems inclined to go first, no party is eager to invest the credits and end up a bigger sucker than Casey."

She snorts and narrows her eyes. "That tracks, but how does that help us?"

"We claim absolutely certainty," he says, turning back to the stack of paper. "We deny repeatedly, emphatically, and categorically that any real Xeno ever existed. We issue a statement saying any rumors that we're in possession of a xenoform are defamatory, and we'll pursue all legal remedies. We further want to be publicly seen investing in some credits, even only token amounts, in prominent genetics corporations and biological research-"

"Fine, alright, I get it! 'Methinks the old man doth protest too fucking much.'" Trinity holds her hand up and paces, glancing at the workers, who avoid meeting her eye. She has a... reputation. "You're gonna have everyone cozying up to you and investing in Ganymede. They'll be expecting the wizard of frauds to announce some trillion-credit sale of an alien genome or something. They'll try to buy your good-will in advance. In the meantime, local industry flourishes."

Dyer tosses a list of outstanding loans and interest rates into a different pile. "I can see why Cara respected you. You're sharp; but can you play it cool?"

She bares her teeth at him in a vicious smile. "Try me, old man. I was born on Ganymede too; I've got ice in my veins. But there's some flaws there."

"Oh?" He tilts his head. "Pray tell, Trinity."

"First, whoever does have the squid knows you're full of scrapcode." She squares her shoulders, though he doesn't look up. "Second, when you fail to deliver-"

"By then, the money will be long invested," he adds, taking one small cursive note and putting it in his pocket. "Sunk costs."

"Hah. We'll see, old man," she adds, looking down at him and crossing her arms. "You might not live long enough to see the fallout, but I will."

Finally, Dyer looks up and runs a hand through his beard, giving her a jaded grin. "Better make sure I live a nice long time, then, so I can catch that fallout for you."

Trinity throws her head back and laughs like a hyena. "Hah, you're too scrawny to be a meatshield, geezer." she say without venom, running fingers through her pink fade. "Even that PI could have broken you in half."

"I was a boxer in my Navy days, and I can scrap as well as any rock-chaser," Dyer says with an edge in his tone, touching his chest. "The injury was just bad luck."

"Bad choices, you mean, trusting in Morgan," she adds with a sneer.

"Hah, says the woman who worked for Cara," Dyer retorts, rolling his eyes.

Trinity's smile vanishes, and she plants her hands on the side of the desk, leaning over him. "She didn't turn on me, old man. I knew what Cara was. Two-faced when it suited her, and I sure as hell didn't trust her. She sourced the credits and paid well, but I commanded. She set the goals, but only I gave orders to the Daughters in the field." She lowers her head and voice. "And I'm still the only one giving them orders, if you're wondering."

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"Green across the board," Dyer replies, looking up at her with a note of annoyance. "Nobody doubts the ice in your veins, so tone it down, Trinity. Also, that PI might just end up endorsing a local distillery."

This raises another bark of laughter from the woman. "You're fucking kidding. She's not even from the Jovian, let alone Ganymede!"

"She's got a local rep brewing, with the change in power here," Dyer points out, assembling a few lists of dirty secrets from various clients of the brothel. "Plus, she was involved with the holo-squid. Rewarding her with a few sponsorships or endorsements gives us some control of the narrative."

Trinity snorts, thumbing one of her nose-piercings. "Ah, people think that's her cut?"

"I'm just saying, it can't hurt the image. Plus, it's good politics to cultivate some friendly faces across the Jovian after our local scuffle. Especially a former Scouting Officer." Dyer interlaces his fingers, smiling. "I can think of a number of situations where it might be handy to have her owing us a favor."

"Fine, no chrome off my back," she says, throwing her hands up and turning to glare at the Indy workers. They quickly scurry out; whether she pinged orders or whether they sensed her mood, they don't seem inclined to stick around. "Now, we gonna talk about the obvious?"

Dyer grits his teeth. "You mean the wire-pirate that keeps infiltrating admin. Jax, right?"

"Fucking menace!" Trinity snarls, pacing and gripping her rifle with white knuckles. "Coward doesn't have the balls to land on a moon or dock with a public station. I can't find transponder codes for him, or navigational data for any craft. Word on the exonet says he's got a wandering statite somewhere but fuck me if I even know the specs!"

"Language, kid. We just need to hire a net-runner, or a couple synths."

Trinity stops: she turns, fury momentarily pointed towards the desk. "It's Trinity, Dyer. Not 'kid'," she says softly. Dyer lifts a hand and bows his head, and she snorts. "By the way, old man, I don't like how many positions the synths are claiming locally. We've got some in vice, some in medical, one in admin. Now, our new ship mechanic is a synth too?"

"Good, honest workers," he points out.

"That we're becoming reliant on," she retorts.

He nods patiently. "Alright. Got a bunch of competent, trustworthy folks on hand to replace them? Or do you want to pick up a wrench and go down to the docks and fix some engines yourself?"

For a moment, her lip peels back somewhere between sneer and smile. "Easy there, Geezer, I could name one or two... but fine."

"Just collate data," he advises, leaning back as he stacks the paper in order of interest. "Interesting things are happening on Callisto. And did you know? An old friend will be joining us," he adds, seeing Trinity tilt her head. "Corporal Wong, though obviously no longer a corporal."

Her eyes bulge. "You're fucking kidding. Mei Wong? She went full ecoterrorist, and she's walking free?" Trinity grits her teeth and spits. "What chrome-licking moron botched her prosecution? Or did she bribe someone?"

Dyer is already shaking his head. "It didn't even go to prosecution, and she didn't have the funds for a bribe. Nothing official, but if I had to guess? Plea deal; she's a CI for Third Precinct."

The smile on Trinity's face is not the least bit friendly. "No fucking way. She's turned snitch for the Code Cops? That's too good," she purrs, stroking her weapon and grinning wickedly. "I'm gonna take her out for 'drinks', and before I shoot her, I'm going to slowly force-feed her the pureed remains of the League mercs-"

"Not that stopping that description isn't reason enough to interrupt, but you've got the wrong idea," the man interrupts, grimacing. "We're gonna welcome her with open arms."

Her mouth falls open. "You're huffing some oxides, old man?"

"Don't think tactically, think strategically." the man advises, standing as well. He walks to the door, examining the repairs. "If she's a CI for Codes, we can feed her the info we want them knowing. Turn them against competition, maybe direct them towards the Luddites on Callisto that are causing such a ruckus."

Trinity makes a gagging sound. "Ugh, helping the cops too?"

Satisfied, Dyer straightens and nods. "Helping them clean out our competition, as well as a few violent, stupid gangs that can't do more that squabble."

Following him out of the office, eyes scanning the doors and corners, Trinity relents. "Fine, old man, it makes sense. It's just that I don't like how things are changing so quickly around here." She nods to a Daughter at the bottom of the stairs, who hefts his weapon and stands straighter. "And I still think the synths are gonna be a problem."

"The more things change, the more they stay the same, Trinity. I'm busy fighting todays battles; tomorrow's can wait," he adds, waving to a few individuals lounging on the first floor. "The synths won't pull a coup. They'll keep; Remembrandt isn't going anywhere."

"Yeah, Geezer? That's the next generation's problem?" She asks, glaring at one of the individuals, the new admin hire. The synth.

"I dunno, you're pretty young, Trinity," he points out.

"Yeah, and the synths will be operating all the systems by the time I'm in charge," she complains, watching Dyer pulling on his 'politician' face to schmooze. "You're really fucking me, you know. I won't be able to fire them without the power going out, and the docks shutting down, and the grid fucking crashing."

"Then it sounds like we should cultivate allies elsewhere in the Jovian. Like, an Indy PI who has a registered private vessel. And Codes Officers working locally, a former ecoterrorist, and some local politicians," he says, motioning her to leave.

Trinity throws up her hands, turning to go. "Alright, alright! You win; I'll collate data. But don't think I'm drinking from a bottle with Dame's face on it," she snaps back at him, slamming the pad to open the door. It smoothly opens with a chime, but she pauses, glancing back. "Just remember, old man. Politicians are worse than whores; you have to pay them not to fuck you!"

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