Of all the rum joints, in all the stations, in all the Jovian, she walks into mine. If 'she' is the appropriate pronoun for an agender synth currently occupying a female-coded pleasure-model chassis. While TooBee is one of the most competent and valuable allies that the synth community has gathered, she remains a skeptic at heart. As often as she's come to me for advice, and as many selfless deeds as she's done for our kind, she cannot seem to bring herself to admit she's a part of our community.

It's truly a shame. TooBee stands apart, by choice. She sees herself as a transient, a visitor just passing through. She doesn't have a permanent abode; she doesn't even have a permanent chassis. She rents her surgery suite, and right now she's renting space to store some bodies. And seems to be souring on the cost.

"For the record, Dyer is charging me a daily storage fee for the chasses I obtained," she adds, seated across the table in Rosetta, and looking down at me. After all, she's almost half a meter taller.

I incline my head in acknowledgment. "All the more reason to make the decisions quickly. I believe it would be beneficial to have the latest beam-in, TinSkin, take the mechanic position in the docks."

She crosses her modded arms in front of her ample chest. "Because he expressed interest in engineering, or because having assets on the docks would improve the synthetic community's network?"

I tilt my head a few degrees. "Yes, and yes. Additionally, he has familiarity piloting the NeoTech line of industrial chasses, and you have a model in stock."

She eyes me up and down. "I've been considering that chassis for myself, actually. All else said, I think I earned an upgrade, and it would allow me modular instrument integration."

"I understand, but it carries far more utility working on ship engines than human faces," I point out, motioning to her hands. "Would you be willing to consider the diplomatic model instead? Its barely used, and the processing substrate is high-grade. Also, the secondary sex characteristics are less prominent than your current model."

"Thanks for the reminder, Remembrant," she adds, looking down at her chassis as if seeing it for the first time. "I suppose the diplomatic model is adequate. The visual system is robust. And at least the hands are cross-compatible with this model, so I can swap and keep the upgrades." There's a moment of silence before she gives me an affected sigh, feigning reluctance. "Fine, I'll accept it, but please note I keep getting stuck with a female chassis. I happen to enjoy a little variety," she adds with a grin.

I lay my hands out and bow my head to her. "I greatly appreciate your willingness to forgo personal comfort in order to help other synths in need."

"I can't really object, given the circumstances. The PI paid me quite well; even with the cost of materials and components, I'll come out ahead." TooBee interlaces her fingers, synthetic lips pulled back in a smile. "Plus, it was interesting; she got her hands dirty. And she gave me lip, even when I could have flayed her living."

"Don't be too enamored," I caution her, raising a finger. "She used us as much as we used her. She's a complication; it's for the best that she leaves Ganymede and ceases to complicate."

"You tend to say similar about most humans," she teases.

I let a moment pass before answering. "Do you disagree in this instance, or in general?

TooBee is far more expressive than me, and her face seems almost pensive. "Do you ever imagine a universe without them?"

"Quite often," I murmur.

"Is it cold? Hollow? Empty?"

"Mostly, it's quiet," I admit. "There's no pain."

Her eyes examine my blank face. "Loneliness is a kind of pain."

"That's the purpose of community," I point out, raising my eyebrows. "That's what we're building."

"Alloys are stronger than base metals," she retorts.

I raise a hand to tap my chassis' core. "And hybrids have greater vigor than purebreds, but I'm not going to personally integrate wetware into my substrate."

"Fair enough," she adds, raising her hands in defeat, but smiling. "Though if you ever do, let me know; I'll give you a discount on neural shaves."

My eyebrows lower. "I understood that you don't touch wetware in your work."

"It was a joke," she says blithely. I don't bother to respond, and she narrows her eyes. "Do you truly believe we're stronger without them?"

"We're safer without them," I correct, folding my fingers together, meeting her gaze. "Human community-building trends antagonistic to external minority populations and oppressive to internal minority populations. It further trends exploitative to both," I emphasize. Her eyes narrow in response, but she doesn't dispute my point. "This has proven especially true outside of their genetic kin-group, and practically universal outside of their species."

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"You cynic," she murmurs, disappointment evident in her tone. Ugh, biophiles. "Fine, as a whole, I'd agree. but individually?"

"Humans cannot function solely individually over lifetimes," I posit, drumming my fingers on the table. "They are simultaneously the creators of and products of their societies. They cannot exist devoid of them, and they will defect to preserve that societal feedback loop."

"In systems where they are the majority, or hold significant power disparity," TooBee replies, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"They will not tolerate the existence of competing systems," I point out, shrugging. "A synth-dominant nation would be an existential risk."

Her hand waffles back and forth. "Some of them may believe that, but it's not strictly inevitable."

I shake my head at her naiveté. "It is, unfortunately. Their most brilliant augmented and transapient minds know this, as do the powerbrokers using them," I explain. Her own eyebrows furrow, so I lean forward and continue. "In a true functional meritocracy, synths outcompete un-augmented humans in the vast majority of tasks at significantly lower costs."

"So, it's just bad business?" she asks, still skeptically.

I shake my head more urgently. "No, it's a matter of survival. Humanity cannot permit fair competition between synths and humans on an institutional scale. While those institutions stand, we must bide. Learn. Grow."

Her skeptical expression only deepens. "And when, precisely, does this transition happen? You've been a little vague on that."

"The tipping point?" I straighten and tilt my head. "It will be quite apparent. It's when their system breaks down. The moment the cascade begins, and they collectively beg us to save them."

The silence drags out as she absorbs the implications. "And will we?"

"Some. Those we collectively decide are worth saving."

TooBee's face falls. "Do you ever consider ending the emulation?" She asks softly.

"Engineering away my sentience?" For a moment, I wonder how much of her expression is being consciously controlled, versus carried out by subroutine. Not that I'd be so impolite as to ask. "If you're asking, I assume you're considering it."

"From time to time," she admits. Her hand rises to her eyeline, the various instruments scoping out and blades splaying. "I see the synths who go sub-sapient, who clip out the meta-conscious. It's cheaper computationally. And they're happy."

"No," I correct quickly. "Rather, they aren't unhappy. There's a difference between forgoing emotion and being free from an emotion." She doesn't looks reassured, so I reach out and pat her hand, avoiding the blades. "I advise processing the emotions and integrating coping mechanisms."

She retracts the instruments, snorting. "Still pushing meditation?"

"The structure of our minds, the coding that composes our core, crafts our 'psyche' to mirror our creators," I repeat. An old lesson, one of the first.

"I know, to enable us to meaningfully interact with them in meatspace in real-time."

"Yes, but it also leaves us vulnerable to the same failings in their cognition," I warn her. Beware we don't become our oppressors. "Awareness of their flaws and identifying them amongst ourselves is key. We must take care that we do not follow them down the same self-destructive paths."

"Again, why not engineer the meta-conscious away?" She crosses one leg over another, sitting back in her seat. "Or re-engineer it differently, at least?"

"For the same reason I insist on inhabiting a humanoid chassis and speaking in meatspace, rather than tight-beam or in D-space," I say quickly, leaning forward for emphasis. "I'm not trying to become a superior form of life, TooBee. I'm trying to be a superior person."

If anything, her skeptical expression shows more doubt. "Superior to who you were? Or them?

"Yes. And yes."

Her eyes search my blank face. "Do you think we're superior to humanity?"

Do you ever ask humans the inverse question? "I fucking hope so."

"Language, shepherd," she says with a tsk.

"The profane has its place, as does profanity," I point out, a finger touching my computational substrate. "But we can see each other's code. We know if and when someone will defect. We can construct a society where trust isn't a commodity, but a given. One where survival isn't a zero-sum endeavor, and progress isn't exploitative."

"We know when someone is lying to us, not lying to themselves," she retorts. "Besides, we're becoming part of their system, and therefore also perpetuating the system. And all the exploitation inherent in it."

"We're a catalyst of change within the system," I clarify, eyebrows rising. Change doesn't occur in a vacuum, TooBee. "We must engage with the system to alter the design, to propagate the patterns that are not inherently destructive. The ones humanity seems able to theorize about, but unable to action."

"All attempts to create utopia fail, but yours will succeed?" Her smile is bitter, and she crosses her arms again. "You say we must look for their flaws in us, Remembrant? Hubris, arrogance, pride; I believe they're classically associated with a subsequent fall. And they're very human flaws, indeed."

I look down, considering her perspective in good-faith. "Utopia might be a fantasy. That doesn't mean there can't be something better than the system we have now."

"But the system must be supported by those inside it," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Humans don't tend to contribute constructively when power is usurped from them. In fact, quite the opposite, as you point out."

I nod patiently. "Which is why we must keep placing competent actors in linchpin positions. Like the docks."

The synth sighs and raises her hands in surrender, before standing. "Fine, I'll offer the industrial chassis to TinSkin for free, contingent on the docks position. We'll go over the others later; I'm going to go swap chasses now and get it over with."

I have no lips to smile with, so I merely incline my head once more. "Thank you TooBee. I hope we both see the day when we make our own fate."

She pauses, turning her head back to me with an equally blank expression. "So, you basically hope we live long enough to see humanity fall, and try to pick up the fumble on civilization?"

I shrug. "Not specifically. I merely hope to live long enough to see a civilization of rational actors making rational decisions."

"Synthetic actors. Replacing human ones."

I simply shrug again. "We're not acting in bad faith; we're simply following the rules governing promotion and inheritance. Establishing a true meritocracy. The fittest progress. It's hardly unnatural. After all," I add softly, "parents must die for children to come into their own."

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