Conflagration 1: Burning Suns

by Lisa Wylie

  Janacek and Bayram stepped into the cell, wearing matching smug expressions, and Jen’s heart sank. “I hope you enjoy the cold, Bronwen,” Janacek gloated as he dropped a holoemitter on the bunk and opened a display of five photographs, crime scene stills of the late Logan Baines, bundled up in what looked like a closet with his throat open from ear to ear. “Congratulations, you just made felony murder.”

  Jen shivered as icy needles of fear lanced through her stomach. Solinas, you bastard. There was nothing she could say, so she hunched up protectively, hooking her arms around her knees and looking up at the detective miserably.

  Bayram grinned at her. “Your changeling associate is long gone. We found Mr. Baines’ work credentials and clothing in a dumpster round the corner from the museum. You’re riding solo now.”

  Jen remained silent.

  “Well, that’s that then.” Janacek picked up the emitter and pocketed it. “We’ll get the paperwork off to your embassy in the morning, do this by the book, then once we have the Marauder’s permission to proceed, we’ll get started.” He threw Jen a cocky smile as he headed to the door. “You might want to rethink this “right to remain silent” routine, though.”

  Rights. Jen blinked as the realisation hit her. She hadn’t actually been placed under arrest, had she? She thought back through every conversation she’d had with a cop since arriving, and no one had actually explicitly said the words in her presence. Nor had they, at any point, read her her rights.

  Do this by the book.

  Your embassy… the Marauder’s permission.

  Sonofabitch…

  It wasn’t much of a hope, but it was better than nothing. Taking a deep breath, she called out. “Hey, Janacek?”

  The detective turned back with a shit-eating grin. “That was quick. What’s on your mind, Bronwen?”

  “I just realised. All this time I’ve been here, no one’s bothered to read me my rights.” She made her best attempt at her usual sardonic tone, but she could hear how jaded she sounded. “I don’t know how you do things here on Earth, but back home that’s a pretty serious procedural fuck-up.”

  Janacek exchanged a consternated look with Bayram. “Shit. What the fuck were uniform doing?”

  Bayram threw up his hands. “She was unconscious when they brought her in, and she was out for twelve hours. They must have just left her and… aw, crap.”

  “Yeah, and I do still feel a bit dizzy. Maybe my skull really is cracked, and you missed that too,” Jen suggested, massaging her temple with her fingertips for emphasis.

  The cops traded furious glances. “Don’t fuck us around, Bronwen,” Janacek warned.

  “I want my comm call,” Jen demanded. “Assuming that I have the right to one?”

  “Of course you do,” the detective sighed. “All right, Bronwen, who in the world do you imagine is gonna help you out with this?”

  Jen held his gaze steadily. Time to play her last card. “I want to speak to the Marauder embassy. I want to be extradited.”

  KEERA

  Berlin, Earth, Modeus System, Assembly Space

  It had been three days since the attempt on Keera’s life.

  On the upside, there hadn’t been a repeat, so she had to assume that her diversion had thrown whoever was hunting her off the scent for now. She had tightened up her tradecraft in her daily routine, carefully monitoring her surroundings for signs that she was being watched or tailed. So far she’d seen no indications.

  On the downside, exhaustion was taking a toll. Keera had adopted a second skin for her identity at her bolthole, and settled into a rhythm of jogging back to her official hotel first thing in the morning, changing back to her usual form, and walking to Lawinson’s offices, then reversing the process in the evenings. She was eating twice as much as normal and popping stims like candy to try and cope with the energy drain that shifting twice a day, every day, on top of a normal day’s work and activity exacted. However, even with the support of the stims it was becoming progressively more difficult to keep her focus as the days dragged by in a nerve-scraping monotony of constant wariness.

  Yet in spite of her physical fatigue, her mind wouldn’t stop chewing over her quandary, keeping her from sleeping properly beyond the two or so hours sheer exhaustion imparted as soon as she lay down at night. The dingy, claustrophobic accommodation with its paper thin walls wasn’t helping—she was almost certain she could hear rats skittering down the corridors while she tossed and turned in the grip of her anxiety-induced insomnia, and the couple in the room next door seemed to relish spending their nights screaming insults and abuse at each other. Banging on the wall only made the arguments louder, and calling the management had resulted in precisely zero improvement. Keera was rapidly realising how spoiled she’d become by her cover and the easy access to high-end goods and services it provided. It was ironic, she supposed, that she suddenly found herself fervently missing her silent, sterile apartment with its discreet but efficient security systems and its ostentatious king-sized bed.

  Two more days, Kee, she reminded herself as she forced herself to rise with the dawn again, gritty-eyed and thick-headed from her ever-shortening supply of sleep. Chanderpaul arrives tomorrow for the hand-off. Two more days and you can get back to New Lagos, get some distance from whoever’s hunting you, maybe a protective detail if you can scare Mendieta into coughing up the credits for it.

  She threw on her exercise gear, grabbed her bag and headed out into the quiet streets. At this time of the morning there weren’t too many people about, and she managed to jog the couple of kilometres to the bigger hotel in ten minutes. Slipping through the door of her suite, she drew the gun her would-be assassin had left behind and swept the apartment complex for intruders. Only when she was sure she was alone did she skinshift, relaxing a little as her more familiar disguise manifested. Washing down her first stim pills of the day with an energy drink from the minibar, she took a shower, towelled herself dry and dressed for work. The immaculately cut skirt suit made her feel a little better as she slid it on, and she laughed wryly at herself. Changelings customarily didn’t wear clothes, unless they needed protection from a severe or hazardous environment: her appreciation of good tailoring was a clear sign she’d been wearing human skins for too long.

  She took the time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast in the hotel dining room, making sure the staff still saw her as being in residence and making the most of the buffet to provide fuel for the extra energy she was expending. The trip to Lawinson’s offices had become familiar, and she paid no mind to the splendours of the architecture as she hurried along the street to the old Reichstag building, staying alert for anyone tailing her.

  Rose met her at the office door with a smile and a cup of coffee. “Still having trouble sleeping?” she asked sympathetically. Keera nodded wearily.

  “I think I’m still not over the time lag,” she lied easily. “I’d really expected to be past it by now, but apparently my body has other ideas.”

  “Well, you had a shock the other day as well, of course,” Rose observed.

  Keera glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Her tone was harsher than she’d intended, and Rose flinched. “I only meant the news about your friend must have come as a nasty surprise,” she clarified defensively.

  Keera cursed inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose as she let out a sigh. The news of Mahmoud’s death seemed like an event from her distant past already, with so much else to occupy her mind. Get a grip, Naraymis. “I’m so sorry, Rose,” she apologized aloud. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’re right, of course. The news did set me a little on edge.”

  Rose nodded, mollified by the apology. “Well, I hope this will help,” she said as she proffered the coffee mug.

  “It most definitely will,” Keera assured her as she accepted it. “You’re a godsend, Rose, thank you so much. I can’t imagine how Lau would manage without you.”

  “Very badly,” Congressman Lawinson declare
d cheerily as he looked out of his office. “Good morning, Keera, I thought I heard your voice.”

  “Good morning,” Keera returned, smiling at her counterpart with genuine pleasure. She’d come to like the Terran diplomat a great deal in the short time she’d known him.

  “Come on in, there’s something I need to discuss with you before we get started with the main business of the day,” Lawinson invited.

  Keera nodded a final thanks to Rose and followed Lawinson back into his office. “Something wrong?”

  “Not exactly, but it’s… sensitive.” He cleared his throat. “I have a favour to ask of you, on behalf of the Terran government.”

  “Oh?” Keera arched her eyebrows. “What can I do for you and your government?”

  “You’ll have seen this business with the Pergamon Museum on the news, I suppose?”

  “I wasn’t following the story closely, but I had heard about it,” Keera agreed, somewhat perplexed by the direction of the conversation. “Armed robbers going after one of the artworks, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Seemingly they were after one of the templar pieces—I understand there’s a thriving black market for such things. Anyway, the police took down one of the gang in the museum, and detained two others. The casualty was a Marauder citizen,” Lawinson checked his notes on the datapad he was carrying, “as is one of the two women arrested at the scene.”

  “What of it?” Keera enquired. “We have mutual prosecution agreements, don’t we?”

  “Indeed we do, however the suspect we have in custody has requested extradition.” Lau flashed a smile as he sipped his tea. “So we rather need to know if you actually want her back.”

  Keera shrugged carelessly as she took a deep gulp of her coffee. Criminals throwing a last desperate roll of the dice to avoid facing up to their crimes were not high on her list of priorities. “Not particularly, would be my guess—I don’t think we have much use for incompetent thieves at the best of times. But my opinion hardly matters—doesn’t the embassy in Hong Kong handle these requests as a matter of routine?”

  “Of course,” Lawinson affirmed, “and normally this sort of thing wouldn’t even cross my desk, but the thing is, what they were after was actually a defunct weapon of some kind.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” Keera braced herself mentally; she had a horrible feeling she knew what was coming next.

  Lawinson grimaced wryly. “I see you’ve guessed what I’m about to say. The Ercineans and the Guardians have already begun making a fuss about it in the Assembly. And you can imagine, I’m sure, the fit the Templar leadership threw.”

  “I can. They never let an opportunity to cause trouble pass them by, do they?” Keera sympathized. The Templars had never been particularly sanguine about other races holding artefacts they considered their property, and never missed a chance to sabre-rattle whenever any such artefact came to public attention. Combined with their thoroughgoing dislike of humans, it was a pattern of behaviour that had caused more than a few flashpoints throughout Assembly history. They hadn’t been so belligerent on that front lately, but that was largely because they were still in the dying throes of their temper tantrum over the invitation to the Neomorphs and the Insectoids to join the Assembly three years ago. Nobody, as conventional wisdom would have it, could hold a grudge like a Templar.

  “The day they do will be the day the Suns go nova.” Lawinson sighed. “Nevertheless, it makes my life very difficult since the justice department has taken no small pleasure in dropping the whole mess in my lap as an exterior matter. We’d like to be seen to be taking it seriously—as, of course, we are–so, since you are the ranking Marauder government official on Earth at this time, if I can say we’ve asked you to handle the extradition question, I’d be extremely grateful.”

  Keera nodded. The inference was clear—Lawinson would owe her one on a personal level, and that was useful currency. “All right, Lau, I’ll do what I can. I’ll check in with our embassy and make sure there are no delays with the processing. The most likely outcome is that we’ll deny the extradition and let your justice system deal with this woman, unless there are any complications with the case?”

  “No. They were caught red-handed with the artefact, and then one of them drew a gun on the police. And it seems likely that they murdered the security chief as well—he was found dead yesterday. It’s as open and shut as these things get. There was a minor irregularity with procedure and protocol, which prompted the request, but given the charges, I can’t envisage a failure to convict arising from the error.”

  “Then I don’t see an issue. Do you have any information I can look at to get familiar with the details, so I can speak to it if I’m asked?”

  “Surely. I’ll have Rose send you the dossier I received from the justice department.” Lawinson smiled warmly. “Thank you, Keera. I really appreciate your help.”

  “It’s no problem, really,” Keera assured him with a smile.

  “Let me know if you need access to the suspect for interview or anything like that.” Lawinson shook his head sadly. “The lengths some people will go to for money never ceases to amaze me.”

  “It’s incredible, isn’t it? I’ve got no need to speak to her for now,” Keera decided. “Any defence she can think of is seems as though it would be somewhat moot, and I’d rather not give her the impression that anyone is going to take this extradition request seriously.”

  “All right. If you change your mind, you can always let me know.” Lawinson squared his shoulders. “Good. Now that that’s taken care of, let’s get back to doing some real work.”

  ***

  Late that evening, Keera had almost put the museum incident completely out of her mind when she was abruptly reminded of it by an incoming call from Associate Secretary Mendieta in one of his full-blown dictatorial moods.

  “Keera? Mendieta here.”

  “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

  Mendieta snorted. “You can put all those brains of yours to work to help avert a diplomatic crisis. Have you seen anything about this mess with this damn robbery?”

  “Lawinson filled me in,” Keera replied. “He said something about the Assembly throwing some heat about it?”

  Mendieta barked a sardonic laugh. “Oh yes. Like you wouldn’t believe. The shit is really raining down on this one. Between the Templars making threats left right and centre, the Guardians demanding full disclosure of investigations and access to the evidence and the suspects, and the Ercineans making snide little remarks about children with toys, you’d think that someone had uncovered a goddamn Orb of Destiny with its timer ticking down. Christ, they’re even sending a delegation to Berlin to discuss the ramifications.” Mendieta sighed. “And of course, with these idiot thieves being Marauders, there’s as much blame being apportioned to us as to the Terrans. So the long and short of it is, I need you to stay on the ground there and help the embassy out.”

  “Lawinson already asked if I’d endorse the embassy’s handling,” Keera told him in as short a tone as she dared. “I said I’d rubber-stamp it as a formality before I left.” She really didn’t want to get stuck on Earth; if the Assembly were sending a delegation the situation would take weeks to clear up. She couldn’t keep shifting twice a day indefinitely, and the more tired she got, the more likely it was that she’d slip up and get herself killed, or give herself away and create an even worse diplomatic scandal.

  Mendieta, however, had worked himself up to a full head of steam. “Formalities aren’t going to cut it,” he said in a tone even shorter than hers. “So you’re not leaving. Someone has to have oversight and control of this, and our Ambassador’s a moron, as you very well know. He was given the Terran post because it was where he could do the least damage when he opens his mouth to stick his foot in it.”

  Keera grimaced. She’d forgotten about that. Oh, perfect. The one time I actually need Mendieta to think I’m surplus to requirement, there’s only an idiot as an alternative.

  �
��Besides, you outrank our Ambassador,” Mendieta bulled on, oblivious to her predicament, “and the decree from the Office of the Consul is that we need to be seen to be co-operating fully.” He huffed an exasperated sigh. “This Marauder woman they have in custody—have you spoken to her?”

  “No, not yet,” Keera admitted. “I wasn’t planning to, to be honest. If we set a precedent with this, we’ll open the floodgates to extradition requests for every idiot who gets caught doing class-C drugs on holiday.”

  “Ordinarily I’d agree with that assessment, but this is an exceptional circumstance. I’ve cancelled Chanderpaul’s trip, and you should cancel your return ticket.” Regret flickered briefly over his stern expression. “I know you wanted to be home for Mahmoud’s funeral, but the job comes first. I need you working on this as your number one priority. You’re on the scene and you’ve got a route into the Terrans’ approach through your collaboration with Lawinson. This is your chance to prove to me, and to the Secretary, that you’re as good as you think you are.” He frowned at her. “Make sure we come out of this looking like virtuous galactic citizens.”

  Keera nodded reluctantly. If her only way out was through this potential quagmire, then so be it. She would just have to find another way to protect herself. “I’ll get it done, sir.”

  “I hope so,” Mendieta said gruffly. “Keep me posted. I want a daily report. If you can manage more than that I won’t complain.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then get cracking, Miss Naraymis. Mendieta out.”

  “Jackass,’ Keera muttered at the blank screen, yawning as fatigue settled over her like a blanket. Her stims were starting to wear off. Shutting her terminal down, she packed up and headed back to her hotel suite. Once there, she replenished her stims and shifted to the less conspicuous skin she’d copied from a local woman while out running in the park, a close enough match in body size to fit all of Keera’s clothes but practically her regular skin’s polar opposite in colouring, with platinum blonde hair and pale ivory skin. It was also unremarkable in terms of features and not what most humans would find pretty. Keera was aware that her normal alter ego was considered attractive—it was one of the reasons she’d selected it in the first place. Even if she’d rarely had occasion to deploy them, the skin’s looks were just one more weapon in her armoury to be used in the appropriate situation.