Sometimes, we just have to go with our gut, right? And it usually works out for me pretty well. It's how I won the reactor for the Chimera in a bet. It's how I got this rockin' smart-ink tat. It's how I ended up with a badass space cop who saved the day and looks damn hot doing it. Broken nose aside, of course.

  She's snoozing now, recovering on the pad under the blanket, while I walk quietly to the cockpit. Sitting in the pilot's seat, I check the route. Another thirty hours. Well, I've gone with my gut, and it usually goes well. I've gotten by, made my friends and connections. It's gotten me in trouble a few times. Nothing like the Gaian League; I bit off a little more than I could chew with them. Still, I haven't been afraid to bend the rules. Or break them, if my gut tells me to.

  Like, when I hacked a military system to salvage a defunct munition storage module. There was nothing sensitive or classified left on it. But it's not about what I took, it's about how I took it. Spoofing a military ID? It didn't get swept under the rug simply because the stolen item was scrap sent to burn up. It just made it a stupid felony in their eyes.

  I didn't really understand how they'd see it. I went with my gut, didn't really think it through. Same with Rusteater and the Gaians. I thought I was doing the right thing. The underdogs, you know? Fighting against the corporate-fascist oligarchs of Earth. The people who exploit the biosphere, and who even exploit humanity itself. Fighting the good fight?

  But people die in a fight. I thought I could keep my hands clean. I was an idiot. You don't support a conflict and let other people take the sins on themselves. I tried to have my cake and eat it too. I was running refugees. And a few operatives, sure. Sometimes supplies but never weapons or malware. I double checked my cargo; besides, Rusteater promised they wouldn't ask for anything like that when they brought me into the fold.

  But then things got rough. A lot more Gaians were fleeing the Solar District. Eight habitats had been traced and seized by Second Precinct and a Naval strike-force. Rusteater tried to run the refugees along my Jovian routes, but we had trouble arranging cover for so many trips in a short period. The contract work I could get was sporadic, and Rusteater had to personally cover my fueling costs twice. Something in this must have tipped Ashton Cartwright off, because Officer Wintz was practically welded to Rusteater afterwards.

  The timing couldn't have been worse. I thought maybe Rusteater was trying to bring her on board, but now I know she was onto us, looking for intel. And when Rusteater sabotaged the skyhook and mining bots digitally, pulling up a package from the surface, I didn't realize how insanely risky it was. Rusteater gambled big on their ability to slip under Cartwright and Wintz's noses. But then, the package was alive, and the timing was constrained by the lifespan of the magnetic bottle protecting it from radiation.

  If I had really understood the stakes, the real game being played? I never would have tried to back Rusteater into a corner. The eyebot bomb made it clear what they meant by 'cleaning up after themselves'. Not scrubbing the records, but leaving no witnesses. I had hoped to contact them and defuse the situation; retract my words, maybe offer to leave the station. And when I couldn't contact Rusteater, and Melody told me they were down on the surface with Cartwright? My whole world came crashing down.

  If Rusteater had ended up killing me... fair enough. I got involved in something bad, I can't blame anyone but myself. I'd hope it would be quick and painless, but we all live or die by our choices. But in that moment, I know that I'm not the one who will pay for my sins. It'll be the humorless, procedure-driven Captain Ashton Cartwright who will be murdered. The same man who arrested me and made me a felon. The one who had me work for him, passing info and making contacts in situations where a felony record gave me credibility. The man who used me.

  And also, the man who offered me a deal. Who let me off without prison or a rehab ward and even waived some of the fines. Who declined to seize the Chimera, even though he probably could have scrounged up a reason to impound and sell it off. Who even let me keep the cargo-module. I could have lost everything, but he let me keep it. Maybe it was just to hold leverage over me, but still. He had a choice. And so did I; I couldn't let him die when I could have saved him.

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  And there she was, like a snarky angel. Stepping out of the dark and offering salvation. Melody came in like a whirlwind and dove in headfirst. I'd been lying about who I was from the start, and she just brushed it off. She should have hated me. But she strapped herself in and went down to the surface with me and saved him. It was all my fault, but she kept his blood off my hands and got beat to hell doing it. And then she busts me out of the brig, bombs Europa to sterilize the threat that would have killed us all, and throws her career away to keep me out of custody.

  And she's worried my mom won't like her crashing under our roof. Hah.

  But I know that's not what she's really worried about. She's worried that she doesn't have a place here. A purpose. She doesn't have a direction now, and she's anxious.

  She'd probably be doing better if we had some coffee. In the alternative, I decide to take the time to ping some old friends. To pay back a bit of the debt I owe her, and help my partner find her feet. I'm not sure where to start, really. I remember when dad didn't have the next work-contract lined up, he used to go by his gut. It didn't always work out, but we never worried. Mom had steady work, and we had faith in him.

  And sometimes mom would ping her old Navy connections and get a few referrals to help out. No shame in trading favors; that's what we do in the Jovian. So, I take a leaf from her tree; I ping an old friend.

  I don't have Melody's augments, so I don't see any overlay: I just get a voice. But the familiar gravelly voice with a vaguely eastern-European accent makes me smile. "Well, who's tweeting in my ear? A Sparrow you say, yah?"

  I smile at that. "Jax, what's the word? Still selling rare-earth metals off Callisto?"

  I hear a disgusted snort through the channel. "The word is inflation, and I'm hearing it too much, Sparrow. Don't even get me started, hah. What's shaking on Io?"

  "The radiation traps, the ship engines, and the sailor's bunks," I say with a grin.

  "Hah, you shacking up with one?"

  I thumb my nose, not that he can see. "Not with a sailor. I'm actually on my way back to Io, with company. I was pinging to ask if you had some connections with the PI world, maybe a few referrals."

  "Yah, private investigator? We talking licensed? Independent?" Pretty much the only thing that matters out here.

  "Yeah, and experienced too," I say, biting my tongue. "She's a former Scouting Officer," I add.

  I can hear coughing from the channel. "Wha? You loony? You shacking up with a cop?"

  "Former cop, and a good partner," I state, sitting up straighter.

  I hear humming on the channel. "Heard you were running with Gaian's now, yah?"

  I grimace at that. "Not anymore. Long story, but I'm out of that and not going back."

  "Hah, yah, I see that. Too crazy for you... so the terrorist shacks up with a cop instead?" I hear him laugh and roll my eyes. "So, your partner want grey, black, or white hat work?"

  The hair rises on my neck at that. "White hat stuff only. I'll vouch for her skill."

  There's an intake of breath. "Yah, but you're not paying for the skill, hah!"

  I smile at that. "Just giving a partner a leg up. You hear of anyone looking for a PI around Io, send them her way."

  A sigh comes through the channel. "Sure, yah, name of your former cop partner?"

  "Melody Cygnus Cruz. Private investigation, digital and meatspace, rates varied; I'm sending over her license number," I murmur, transmitting.

  I hear a grunt. "Got it, sure, but she gotta make her own name, yah? Gotta make her own rep, no?"

  "I'm not worried about that. She'll get her feet under her fast," I say with an even tone.

  "Just so happens got a few people in need of help, one might even be on Io," Jax offers.

  Slow pitch, as usual. "Yeah? A paying gig?"

  I get a laugh from him. "You know how it goes in the Jovian, scratching backs and such. Get a good local rep, maybe nobody cares so much she was a cop, yah?"

  I'm actually hopeful hearing that. No pay, but he's offering a test-case. Charity work to make a name for herself. "Ping the details over. Might be worth a look," I say, pumping a fist silently.

  Vouching for someone out in the Jovian is a big deal. You're basically placing your entire rep on another person. People don't even vouch for family, for blood, if they aren't sure that the person will deliver. You can get burned easy. When lives can be lost with the smallest mistake, playing it fast and loose out here is a sure way to end up friendless and alone with nobody willing to offer a hand.

  I'm risking a lot on Melody. I'd trust her with my life. To be honest, though, I'm not sure she has the chops to be an Indy PI out here in the Jovian. Not because she's not smart or tough, but because the locals won't like a Luna transplant much, and a former cop even less. It's a rough and tumble place, and the rules are fluid and always changing. But you know what? My gut says she's worth the risk. And I tend to go with my gut.