Conflagration 1: Burning Suns

by Lisa Wylie

  Completing the shift, she changed clothes, repacked her kit, and headed out. She stopped at a hole-in-the-wall snack bar to pick up some dinner (a random choice, as it had been for the past three nights) and wolfed it down as she walked, finishing the extra-large portion by the time she reached the hotel. She was still hungry, but there were no food outlets in the immediate vicinity and she was too tired to go foraging. Resignedly, she raided the vending machine in the hotel foyer for snacks and something to drink, then hauled herself up the stairs to her dingy little hideout.

  Turning on the holoviewer above the bed to provide a little ambient noise, she set up her terminal and opened up the files from Lawinson. She skipped through the luridly graphic crime scene photos—the deceased might have been a thief, but that was no reason for voyeurism—to the incident report. She read the details closely several times, cross-checking a few references as she went. If she was going to be saddled with this ludicrous exercise in politicking, she was damned if she’d give Mendieta the satisfaction of messing it up.

  Satisfied that she was conversant with the events and the associated Terran laws, she turned her attention to the personnel files, spotting out of the corner of her eye that the late night news digest had started on the holoviewer. She turned the volume up slightly—if there was a news report on the case she wanted to catch it—then opened the first dossier, that of the principal suspect and their extradition case, a woman with a wealth of vibrant red hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a peculiar tattoo stencilled on her left cheek. Bringing up the detail screen, Keera frowned as she read the name.

  Jennifer Bronwen. Where have I come across that before?

  She’d heard it recently, she was sure. Not the forename, but she remembered hearing or seeing Bronwen mentioned, and not in relation to the star system.

  As she sat back to think about it, she caught sight of the image of the museum building on the holoviewer, and focused her attention on the news report. “New evidence has been uncovered in the investigation into the attempted robbery at the Pergamon Museum,” the anchor announced. “In a grisly twist to an already complex case, the body of the museum’s Chief of Security, Logan Baines, was discovered by investigating officers yesterday evening.” The image beside the anchor shifted to a picture of the victim, and Keera froze.

  The man in the image was the one who had attacked her, she was certain of it.

  Logan Baines.

  Chief of Security of the Pergamon Museum, the man who’d raised the alarm about the theft in progress, by all accounts a hero. And now a murder victim, seemingly found dead in the basement of his own house with his throat slit.

  She turned the volume up further. “… Mr. Baines alerted the authorities to the gang’s attempt to steal a priceless museum artefact, resulting in a deadly standoff between the criminals and the police that left one gang member dead. The deceased has been named as Thaddeus Jones, a former sergeant in the Marauder Marine Corps. Two suspects were remanded into police custody. Jennifer Bronwen and Wai-Mei Xox have been charged with armed robbery, conspiracy to commit theft, resisting arrest, and assault, and will potentially face further charges if Logan Baines’ murder is found to be related. Two further gang members are known to have evaded the authorities thus far. Inquiries are continuing…”

  Keera grabbed her kit bag and dumped the contents on the bed, sorting feverishly through the various gadgets until she found the comm unit she’d wrested from her attacker. Seizing the wristband, she activated it and interfaced it to her own console.

  She opened the comm unit’s contacts list.

  There it was.

  Bronwen.

  Jennifer Bronwen, her Marauder criminal in need of extradition, was an associate of the man who’d tried to kill her. The changeling had presumably adopted the security chief’s skin to facilitate the theft. Jones and Xox were also on the contacts list, as well as two other names, Dolos and Honold—presumably those were the gang members who had escaped.

  Keera stared absently through the display, mind racing. If her would-be killer had been involved with the theft, why would he sabotage it? Or had he been the Security Chief all along, embedded in the museum? Why was the museum even of interest? There were plenty of templar weapons in antiquities collections all across the galaxy. And how was any of this connected to her? Why would he have jeopardized his position to try to kill her?

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Speculating wasn’t going to answer any questions, and now, sadly, neither would Mr. Baines. Her only route to uncovering the truth began with Jennifer Bronwen.

  It was worth looking into, for certain. If her attacker knew she was going after his associate, maybe he could be lured into the open. It was risky and far from foolproof, but if she could get him to show his beak, maybe she could figure out who had sent him. If he really was a Sentinel, she could call Estris for back-up, and maybe use the opportunity to boost the Terran’s support for new legislation. If he was a termination agent from the Service, well, she would still have a problem, but at least she would know for sure where she stood.

  Mind made up, she grabbed her own comm band and set up a new call.

  “Lawinson.”

  “Lau? It’s Keera.”

  “Keera… good evening. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry for calling so late, but I’ve had a change of plans. I’ve received some new information and spoken to Secretary Mendieta, and it’s apparent that this mess with the robbery is going to need a lot more smoothing over than I first thought.”

  “Welcome to the suck, my dear,” Lawinson chuckled. “My commiserations on your inevitable epiphany.”

  Keera forced a wry laugh. “Thank you. At any rate, I’d like to speak to your suspect, Miss Bronwen, in person if that’s still possible?”

  “Of course,” Lau agreed immediately. “I’ll set it up for tomorrow morning, if that suits?”

  “Perfect, thank you.”

  “Very well. Did you need anything else?”

  “No, that was it. Again, I’m sorry to bother you after hours—please give your wife my regards, and my apologies if I interrupted your evening.”

  “I’ll do that, but you weren’t interrupting, so no need to apologize. And thank you again, Keera. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Good night, Lau.”

  “Good night.” Lawinson rang off, and Keera settled back on the unyielding bed with her terminal, the display fixed on Bronwen’s photograph from her arrest record.

  “All right, Jennifer Bronwen,” Keera said softly as she studied the photograph, “it’s time to find out what you know.”

  JENNIFER

  Berlin, Earth, Modeus System, Assembly Space

  “Bronwen!”

  Officer Krieger’s now-familiar, surly shout echoed through the detention unit as he lumbered into the room, shadowed as usual by Koch and her mocking grin. “Get your ass up, you’ve got a visitor.”

  Jen abandoned her contemplation of the ceiling, rolling slowly to a sitting position and rubbing a hand over her face. God, I’m tired. She hadn’t slept at all well. “Is he cute?” she asked, yawning.

  “She, not he,” Koch corrected amiably as Krieger glared at Jen. “And she’s not a movie star, but I suppose she’s pretty, yeah. In an expensive, high-class kind of way.” She threw a sidelong smirk at her partner. “Out of Krieger’s league, that’s for sure.”

  “I think not,” Krieger retorted, sticking his chest out. “Girls love a uniform, remember?”

  “Yeah, sure we do. That’s why I got my own,” Koch chuckled. “Come on, Bronwen, let’s go.”

  Jen got up and walked obediently across to the door, permitting Koch to cuff her before Krieger led her out of the cell. Koch fell in behind, and they proceeded through the warren of corridors to a different interview room from the day before, a considerably brighter, cleaner one that was not equipped with a mirrored window. There were force-field emitters fitted half-way along each pair of opposing
walls, and Jen guessed this was more of a visitor’s room than an actual interrogation area.

  Krieger stepped back out, presumably to fetch the woman who’d come to speak to her, while Koch took her elbow and guided her over to the table in the centre of the room. “Have a seat,” the cop instructed, pulling the chair out for her. “I’ll uncuff you just before we put the force field up.”

  The door hissed open as Jen obeyed, and Krieger re-entered with a woman she didn’t recognise in tow. Jen studied her intently as she advanced across the room. Short and slender, she had a thick shock of short, curly black hair, fierce raven-wing eyebrows, a blunt hatchet of a nose, and piercing blue eyes made startlingly vivid by their contrast with her dark complexion. Not classically beautiful, as Koch had said, but strikingly pretty nonetheless. She carried herself confidently, with an air of self-assurance that screamed lawyer, or maybe politician. Her charcoal-grey trouser suit was immaculately tailored, teamed with a pale pink and white high-collared shirt, and the coat she carried slung over her arm looked like it was made of genuine natural fibres rather than synthetics. High-class indeed.

  “Now you behave yourself, Bronwen,” Koch warned as she unlocked the cuffs and stepped away.

  “I will if she does,” Jen promised as Krieger activated the force field between them.

  The stranger rolled her eyes in apparent exasperation as she folded her coat over the chair back then hung her suit jacket on top with fussy precision. “Thank you, officers, that’ll be all,” she said curtly, her speech accented with the crisp, clipped inflection of Oceanhill. Marauder, then. That’s a good start.

  “You don’t want us to wait with you, ma’am?” Krieger asked doubtfully.

  The woman nodded to the shimmering blue curtain. “Can she break through that?” she asked sardonically.

  “Well… no, ma’am.” Krieger blushed a little at the admission.

  “Then I don’t see the need to have you standing about, thanks. And make sure you turn off any recording equipment, please. This is a confidential diplomatic conversation, not a criminal interrogation.”

  Krieger puffed up, clearly offended by the woman’s condescending tone, but Koch gripped his elbow discreetly. “Just hit the call button if you need anything, ma’am,” she advised, throwing Jen a look that clearly said good luck trying the charm offensive with this one.

  The stranger waited until the door had hissed shut behind the cops, then settled neatly into the chair opposite Jen’s. “Miss Bronwen?”

  “Captain,” Jen corrected.

  “Captain,” the woman amended equably. “My name is Keera Naraymis. I’m the Assistant Secretary of State to the Exterior Department.”

  Jen blinked. “Wow. Didn’t think I was that important.”

  “Under normal circumstances, that would be a safe assumption,” Naraymis replied coolly.

  “Well, consider my ego punctured,” Jen drawled.

  Naraymis’ impassive expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Normally, for a situation like this, your request would be handled through our embassy in Hong Kong, and normally, it would be rejected instantly—for obvious reasons we’re happy to let the Terrans deal with crimes committed in their jurisdiction.” She paused to let Jen comment, and when no remark was forthcoming, she nodded in satisfaction. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, so I’ll tell you up front that there’s almost zero chance that we’ll grant your extradition.”

  “So why even bother coming to visit?” Jen asked irritably. “You could have just sent a comm—Dear Jennifer, fuck off, love the Marauder establishment. PS, we knew you’d end up like this. We told you so when we fired your ass.”

  Naraymis rolled her eyes again. “Oh, please, don’t play dumb with me, Captain. You know why I’m here.”

  “I really don’t, Madam Secretary,” Jen shot back, aping the other woman’s condescending sneer. “Enlighten me.”

  “You were apprehended attempting to steal a templar artefact that’s been identified as a weapon,” Naraymis explained with measured patience. “The nature of your target means that the Assembly has taken an interest in the case and is sending a delegation of their members to investigate the matter in person.”

  “So your lords and masters sent you trotting down here to talk to me to make it look like they’d made an effort to co-operate?” Jen guessed.

  To her surprise, Naraymis chuckled. “I couldn’t possibly confirm or deny that. But, hypothetically, you might be correct. Hence why your situation is not quite normal.”

  “How come the cops didn’t tell me this?”

  Naraymis shrugged disdainfully. “It’s somewhat above their pay grade. However, politics and the look of the thing notwithstanding, there’s also the matter of your changeling associate. If he was a Sentinel—you’ve heard of them, I assume?”

  “I do watch the news now and again,” Jen said snarkily.

  “Well then, if you’re half as smart as that mouth of yours, I’m sure you can envisage how serious this situation will become if we—instead of deciding this was a basic smash and grab—take the view that you were involved in a terrorist conspiracy to acquire a weapon of mass destruction.” Naraymis leaned forward, folding her arms on the table, her electric blue eyes made icy by the threat. “So really, Captain Bronwen, it’s entirely in your power to decide how long you’d prefer your cryoprison sentence to be. All you have to do is convince me that you’re not a terrorist.”

  Jen stared back at her, momentarily dumbstruck. Terrorism charges carried the harshest sentencing guidelines in Assembly space; if she were to be convicted on those grounds, she’d be doing ten C in the freezer without shadow of doubt. If Solinas had double-crossed her to facilitate a Sentinel operation of some sort, she was utterly, totally fucked. Shit. Could this situation get any worse? How the fuck could I have been so stupid?

  There being no real choice, it was an easy enough decision to make. “Listen, as far as I know there was no terrorist angle,” she confessed, tamping down her suddenly surging fear. “It was my job. I hired the crew. It was a straight-up commission to steal the weapon for a private collector, and I’ll tell you everything. I’m not a terrorist, and I wouldn’t knowingly work with anyone who was.” She shook her head for emphasis. “Look, I served in the Corps for a couple of years.”

  “I know. And you were dishonourably discharged,” Naraymis observed.

  “Yeah, well, that was a personal issue, not a moral one. The point I was making was, I saw the aftermath of the Yokosuka bombing—y’know, when those separatist nut-jobs took a pop at the naval base?” At Naraymis’ impatient nod of recollection, Jen continued, “I was involved in the clean-up afterward, and it was a brush and shovel job.” She glared at the other woman defiantly. “I’ve seen the damage those chicken-shit bastards can do, and I’d never stoop to that level.”

  Naraymis studied her intently for a moment. “I believe you, Captain,” she said softly. “So help me out. Tell me everything, and then I can help you. Start with the changeling.”

  “Why are you so interested in him?” Jen wondered aloud.

  “Because Secretary Naraymis has a personal stake in this that she’s not telling you about.” Officer Krieger stepped into the room and favoured Jen with an uncharacteristic, cocky smile. “Haven’t you, Keera, my dear?” he continued, transferring his attention to the diplomat, who had risen from her seat, her whole body suddenly strung taut with tension. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “The feeling’s not mutual. I wondered if getting close to your associate here would draw you out,” Naraymis replied cryptically.

  The cop shrugged. “I don’t know that I’d describe Jen here as an associate. A dupe, maybe, or a patsy, but she’s never been privy to the true nature of my operations.”

  The credit dropped in Jen’s brain. “Solinas.”

  The changeling winked at her. “At your service, Captain Bronwen. Small world, ain’t it?”

  Naraymis threw Jen a dubious glance, then loo
ked back at Solinas. “She isn’t your back-up?” she persisted with her obscure line of enquiry.

  “Of course not,” Solinas scoffed. “Why would I need help to deal with you?”

  “Why indeed,” Naraymis drawled, “since you managed to deal with me so well the other night.”

  Solinas scowled. “You surprised me, I’ll admit it, but you won’t get another opportunity.”

  “How’s your beak?” the diplomat asked in a taunting tone. “Not too bent out of shape, I hope?”

  Jen stared at her. “You can tell he’s a changeling?”

  Naraymis turned to answer, but before she could speak, Solinas struck, darting forward and lashing out with a fist to catch the petite woman with a powerful right hook to the jaw. She staggered backwards, bounced off the force field and went down in a tangle of limbs.

  “My beak really fucking hurts,” Solinas snarled, applying a solid kick to her midriff that jack-knifed her body and drove the breath from her lungs in a wheezing gasp. “One more reason I’ll enjoy finishing this job.” He drew back his foot for another kick.

  “Hey, Shifty!” Jen bellowed, and he paused, turning to look at her. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Shutting her little operation down,” Solinas replied. “Miss Naraymis here is a little too clever for her own good.” He bent, grabbed a handful of the diplomat’s hair, and jerked her head up. “Truth to tell, I wasn’t expecting you to show up here, Keera,” he said, almost pleasantly. “That’s an unexpected bonus for me.” He tugged her to her feet, eliciting a yelp of pain. Naraymis, clearly still winded, didn’t resist him, instead locking her gaze with Jen’s in a desperate plea for assistance.