Conflagration 1: Burning Suns

by Lisa Wylie

  Kicking off her shoes, she stashed them in the rack by the door, hung up her coat, and padded into her pristine, barely used kitchen to boil the kettle; a cup of tea would soothe her nerves. Leaving the water to heat, she headed up the freestanding staircase to the recessed upper level, looking out over the cityscape presented by the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows that commanded the entire outside wall. It was a beautiful vista, probably the thing she would miss most about this place come time to leave.

  She crossed the bedroom to her wardrobe and opened it, peeling off her formal suit and shirt and pulling out some more casual clothes; she had no plans for the evening, as usual. But as she was closing the mirrored door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Stopping, she looked more closely, and was assaulted suddenly by a disorienting sense of displacement, as though she was looking out through a mask. Raising her hand to her cheek, she massaged the rich brown skin softly, trying to convince herself through tactile contact that yes, she did look like that, and yes, it was her face. Most of the time, such uncertainty didn't cross her mind, but lately, it had been happening more often. She kept looking, studying the mop of curly black hair, the dark, raven-wing eyebrows, the determined beak of a nose set between bright blue eyes, but none of it looked real, none of it felt right, and her heart began to race as panic swelled in her chest, began to override her self-control.

  Dislocation syndrome.

  Swearing softly, she ordered the windows polarised to opaque, retreated into the bathroom and locked the door. Paranoid, certainly, but she wasn’t about to break tradecraft when she was so close to achieving her goal. Grimacing at herself in the mirror—idiot—she braced herself against the sink, took a deep breath, cleared her mind, and…

  Changed.

  The blue of her eyes was the only thing that stayed the same as the human form sank beneath the surface of her true appearance, her skin darkening to obsidian black, fingers fusing into the prehensile muscle of her soft pincers, her inner arms unfolding and stretching from her chest. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have them. She felt her body stretch as she resumed her natural, lanky height, and her face shift, jaws and nose elongating until the ridged keratin prow of her beak once more occluded some of her line of sight.

  While Keera Naraymis, Assistant Secretary to the Department of the Exterior, Commonwealth of Free Terran Republics had been standing staring into the mirror a moment ago, a different person was standing there now. Someone she recognised far better: Keera Naraymis, field agent for the Federal Consortium Diplomatic Service, on an assignment to broker more stable border treaties with the Terran Marauders.

  She was in the final stages of her mission; securing Marauder territory as a no-go zone for the Sentinels had always been her primary objective, and with this afternoon’s negotiations successfully guaranteeing that Marauder security forces retained the right to detain suspects while investigating them, preventing them from slipping away and changing form, that goal was almost within reach.

  She chuckled softly to herself as she considered the irony of her position. She could so easily be caught in this trap she'd worked so hard to build, but she was confident it wouldn't come to that. Going up against her own people in drafting legislation that appeared to violate their rights had felt very strange, but it was important that the Marauders believed it was their own idea, their own achievement. And the simplest way to do that, she'd been taught—by no less a luminary of Changeling political doctrine than Minister Solta—was to control both sides of the argument. She'd been almost positive she'd seen approval in his eyes this afternoon, the pride of a teacher who’d just watched one of his students succeed.

  That was a comforting thought, that Solta might appreciate her work even if Mendieta didn’t. She looked at herself for a long moment more, running the tip of her left pincer gently down one of the two slender aquamarine tentacles that grew out from the back of her scalp. The sensation was pleasant, soothing, and as she repeated the touch her heart rate started to slow to a more normal pace and the clawing, heated sense of panic subsided.

  She was ready to be done with this. Just a few more weeks, and her assignment would be over. She’d be extracted from Marauder space, and free to take a well-earned vacation. Just a few more weeks, Keera.

  Calmed, she focused her concentration and changed back, the familiar human form feeling like her own again as it re-emerged. As she relaxed, a wave of fatigue washed over her. Changing was an energy-intensive process; doing it twice in quick succession much more so. Her body seemed suddenly to be three times as heavy as normal, and she stumbled twice as she made the short walk from her bathroom to her bed. She needed to sleep it off. She'd be starving when she woke, but she'd worry about that when she woke. Crashing full length into the soft, welcoming embrace of the duvet, Keera was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  JENNIFER

  Hel’s Market, Hel, Asgard System, Neutral Space

  Shan’Chael ran his recruitment brokerage from a rather classy residential district of Hel’s Market, not quite over the line into Highmarket, but close enough to it to give a façade of respectability. Jennifer, relaxed and recharged after her delayed lazy morning in bed, arrived promptly (Shan hated people to be late, and staying on his good side when you needed something from him was simply common sense).

  The reception attendant showed her into the office, and Shan’Chael beamed at her as he gestured to the seat opposite his. The broker was an odd-looking fellow; though he was mostly human in appearance, his bald head was ornamented with stubby, thick little spikes of bone, almost like little devil horns, and his eyes were so dark as to be almost black. Jennifer had always suspected that it was simply some custom body modification, not too different from the tattoos that decorated her own skin here and there, but she’d never quite worked up the nerve to pry. He was wearing a pale green hooded tunic and a neural network interface, a thin strip of flextronics bonded to his skin that ran across most of his forehead and round to his right ear. “Delighted to see you again, my dear Captain Bronwen,” he greeted her, his voice lilting with the local Market accent. “Please make yourself comfortable. May I offer you some coffee? Just black, correct?”

  “Absolutely. That would be lovely, Shan, thank you,” Jennifer accepted gratefully as she took the seat and looked around the clean, crisp office. “Have you redecorated since I was here last?”

  “Mmm. An unexpected outgoing, I have to say – there was a… regrettable incident involving a client who had double-crossed me. I did try to reason with him, but once the dust settled from the disagreement, well,” Shan waved airily at the walls, “leviathan blood does leave an indelible impression on the décor.”

  “I can imagine,” Jennifer agreed wryly, fighting the temptation to fidget at the not-so-subtle reminder than Shan was not someone to be taken lightly. Killing a leviathan was no easy feat. “So, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “As I said, I can make time for my good customers and my reliable agents, my dear, and you have the happy distinction of being both of those things. How may I assist you with your endeavours?”

  Shan’s attendant set a mug of coffee down in front of Jennifer then withdrew, giving them privacy. “I’ve been contracted to obtain a package from a secure location,” she began obliquely, “and I need some people with some fairly specific skill sets to fulfil the contract.”

  “I see.” Shan’Chael activated his terminal display and opened a search interface simply by looking at the emitter. “Do you need the personnel in question to rendezvous in-system, or are you able to offer transportation?”

  “I can go get them, and I’ll drop them in a neutral system on completion of the job, probably Ice Serpent.”

  “Very good. All right, what skill sets do you need?”

  “I need a datarat, a high-end one with expertise in cracking security systems at a government or military level.”

  Shan sucked his breath in through his teeth. “Th
at’ll cost you.”

  “Understood,” Jen agreed. “I’ll also need a couple of all-rounders who can think on their feet, a confidence man, and, if you can find me one, a thief. Jewellery or artwork experience if that’s possible.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think that will be a big problem.”

  “Well, I’ve got one last requirement to make it more of a challenge for you,” Jen grinned as she took a sip from her coffee, closing her eyes to savour the moment as the rich, bitter beverage spread across her tongue. “Oh, man, where do you get coffee this good around here?”

  “You don’t,” Shan smirked. “That’s imported from Earth.” The requirement parameters scrolled into the interface as he spoke. “What’s your challenge, then, Captain?”

  “They all need to be human, or at least able to pass as human,” Jennifer replied. “The job’s in the Modeus system and I’d like to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

  “Oh, well, now you’ve piqued my curiosity. What in the universe could you be up to?” Shan’Chael chuckled as Jennifer tensed. “Don’t worry, it’s a rhetorical question. Though I must say the whole set-up reeks of being one of Snake-Eyes’ sordid little schemes.”

  “You know me so well,” Jen admitted with a smirk.

  “Mmm. And as a friend of sorts, if I may make so free with your affections, I’d counsel you against getting too embroiled in that odious little snake’s affairs. He’s wholly lacking in moral fibre.”

  “Aw, are you worried about me, Shan?”

  The recruiter shrugged, a precise, fussy twitch of his shoulders. “You’re an asset to my business, Jennifer, my dear, and rather a valuable one at that. I can always rely on you to complete any job you take, and that’s solid credit in our line of work. I’d hate for you to end up in one of those gargantuan freezers in Lord’s Assembly on behalf of that little pit-viper.”

  Jennifer wanted to shiver at the mention of the cryoprisons, but pushed the impulse down as she met Shan’Chael’s dark, thoughtful gaze. “I need the credits, Shan,” she said quietly. “The Fortune’s starting to need some serious overhauls, and I can’t finance them doing the kind of jobs I’ve been doing lately. If I keep on like this I’ll lose my ship within a year, and then I’ll only be good to sign on as cannon fodder for some pissant little crime boss like Orden.” She forced a confident smile. “But if this works out, I can get a complete refit, and I’ll be good for another decade’s sailing at the least. Maybe even have some money left over for a night on the town. It’s worth the risk.” She picked up her mug and took a slow, deliberate swallow.

  Shan took the cue and dropped the line of conversation, turning his attention to his display. “Then let’s see who we can find for you.” He set the search running, and after about thirty seconds ten data windows opened up before him. Deftly, he swiped five of them to one side with a slight jerk of his head, then enlarged the remaining five windows. “All right, in no particular order… Timo Honold, human enforcer, ex-Terran forces. He’s dependable, good for basic systems hacking, most standard military tasks including ground vehicle piloting. Not too imaginative, but on the upside that means he doesn’t get creative in interpreting instructions. I’ve never had a bad report about him.”

  “OK,” Jen agreed. She’d heard of Honold, though she’d never worked with him, but the vine said mostly good things, and muscle was always handy.

  “Good. Second, your hacker. Based out of Korxonthos, a Cyborg who goes by the handle Dolos. She was assembled as an infiltration unit, all of her cybernetics are internalized. She’ll set off security scanners the length and breadth of Modeus, but she looks human enough.”

  “Well, I don’t expect her to be up close and personal with the package. If she can blend in with the crowd in a public space, that’s perfect.”

  Shan’Chael nodded. “That’s what I thought. She’s not cheap, but worth every credit, in my experience.”

  “That’s two, then. Who else do you have?”

  “Calum Pedersen. He’s…”

  “No,” Jen cut Shan off abruptly. “I don’t want Pedersen.”

  “May I ask why?” the broker enquired, cocking a curious eyebrow. “I mean, it’s clear that you know him, so what exactly is it that you dislike?”

  “I don’t trust him. He sold a friend of mine out on a job, and that friend is now in the freezer. He’s a coward, a liar, and a liability.”

  Shan’Chael pursed his lips, his steel-grey eyes darkening as he studied the data file, then added a quick update. “I didn’t know about that. My clients have all expressed satisfaction with his work thus far, but I’ll take that warning under advisement.” He drew his finger down across the file, dismissing the display, and moved on. “I don’t, unfortunately, have a jewel or art thief for you. I do know one, but he’s on retainer with another client. I have a number of run-of-the mill general thieves, but I’m guessing you need someone with artefact experience or similar. I believe Wai-Mei Xox might fit the bill. She’s a bounty hunter, but she specialises in antimatter-related acquisitions.”

  Jennifer scrolled through the dossier. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but the skill set was close enough, and the list of completed contracts was extensive. Bad antimatter handlers didn’t live long enough to develop good resumes. “OK, she looks good to me. What about the confidence man?”

  “Darya Solinas. Changeling, so he can custom fit his appearance. You’re in luck, he’s here in the Market at the moment, and he’s the best I have in that line of work. He’s not available often.” Shan grinned. “He can be hard to find. Snap him up while you can.”

  “All right.” Jen looked at the set of files the broker had discarded. “What about those ones?”

  “Contingencies. Do you want another general enforcer?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Right. Shan’Chael drew one of the files across to the original four. “Let’s try…. hmm, how about Thaddeus Jones?”

  Jen grinned; another name she recognised, but this one was all good news. “Since when has Thud Jones been in your database, Shan?”

  “About a year now. He signed on just after he was discharged from the Marauder Marine Corps. You served with him, I take it?”

  “Yeah. We went through boot camp together.” Jen frowned slightly. “I’m surprised he’s out in the galaxy, actually. He always had that useless lifer look about him.”

  “Yes, well, he may have wanted that, but the officer whose jaw he broke in a bar brawl had a different view of his career prospects, sad to say.”

  “Ah.” Jen quirked an amused eyebrow. “Yeah, that’ll do it, every time.”

  “You never did tell me how you came to turn your back on the iron fist of the Marauder military,” Shan’Chael observed.

  “That’s because it’s not a very interesting story,” Jen replied. “Having spent two years of my life polishing my salute I decided that my energy would be better spent in the wonderful world of freelance employment, so I resigned.”

  “I understood the Marauder military was fixed-term. Five years at a time.”

  “It is. I got creative. They’re pretty quick to weed out undesirables, and I was always borderline. My mouth used to get me into trouble.”

  “That’s almost hard to imagine,” Shan chuckled. “So, how did you secure your dismissal?”

  “I got my platoon officer drunk and seduced her.” Jen grinned at the memory. “She really liked me, and she was helluva cute. We started out just having a bit of fun, and then she got careless like I knew she would, and we got caught by our company commander.”

  “Purely by accident, I’m sure.”

  “Oh purely. I didn’t tip him off anonymously at all. Anyway, since they’d spent far more time and credit on her than they had on me, I was the more expendable, so out on my ass I was kicked. A practical application of the phrase make love not war.”

  Shan’Chael laughed, his merry baritone rolling around the room. “You’re a delight, Captain,” he remarked when he’d reco
vered his breath. “And far too smart to have wasted away as a ground-pounder.”

  “Yeah, well, I learned a lot of useful stuff, but once I’d learned it, I didn’t see the point in sticking around.” She chuckled. “I made captain a lot quicker this way, too.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So, lay it on me. How much is this session going to cost me?”

  Shan’Chael waved a dismissive hand. “This one’s on the house. Call it a loyalty bonus.”

  Jennifer blinked, astonished. She’d never heard of Shan giving anything away for nothing. “I don’t… Wow. Are you sure?”

  “Positive. It’s a one-time offer, don’t squander it.”

  “Then thank you very much. It’s deeply appreciated.”

  “My pleasure.” Shan tapped a few buttons on his console. “I’ve notified all five agents to expect your calls in the next standard day. Good luck with your little endeavour, Captain Bronwen.”

  “Thanks.” Jen got to her feet and offered her hand, and the broker pressed a gallant kiss to her knuckles. “It’s been a pleasure, Shan, as always. See you next time.”

  “Looking forward to it already.”

  ***

  Jen made her way back to the room she’d rented at one of the better spacer hostels along the Strip, the wide boulevard of flophouses, clubs, and bar-and-brothel businesses that delineated the border between Lowmarket and Midmarket on the north side of the city. The Busted Flush was clean, moderately priced, and far enough from the centre of the Strip to avoid most of the rowdy brawls that tended to spread down the street like wildfire from the more boisterous joints. It wasn’t that she was averse to boisterous—by her count she’d been thrown out of most of the bars on the Strip at least once, and had been banned from at least three—but partying got done when the job was finished, not when it was getting started. If she wanted to pick up Shan’s contacts, she needed to move fast.