Blood and Fire

by Dana Lyons

  “The syrup place?” Quinn asked.

  “I have connections in covert ops,” Rhys said. “We meet at a waffle joint. When I asked about an eye doctor who wouldn’t ask questions, it turned out our Draco security clearance grants us carte blanche with no questions asked.”

  “So, US intelligence meets at a waffle place?” Quinn snorted with a grin.

  His dry humor was reassuring. In this last week, she woke several nights to see him sitting in human form by the window, shrouded with a collage of emotions. He was a stranger who was suddenly a part of her family, a stranger with secrets. She was afraid to look at his file. If he had secrets, she needed to hear about them from him. Being attached to him and Rhys, everything new she learned carried emotional weight.

  “Regular eyes. That’s what I want,” she said. “No scrutiny. We just go to Draco, ask questions and get answers.” She gazed at them with her freaky new eyes, able to detect a great deal from faces with her new enhanced vision. What she saw in the mirror comforted her—the need for answers from Lazar was also their priority one.

  They walked out into her living room. Since their Nobility drug transition, Rhys and Quinn had been camping out at her place. That first night Rhys left for his own apartment, but returned within the hour. She was grateful to see him, for Quinn had shifted and would not settle down. A pacing wolf is not conducive to sleep.

  When Rhys returned to her door, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  He came in, a flush spread across his cheeks as he stammered an explanation. “I didn’t feel right leaving. The further I drove, the worse I felt.”

  Quinn thumped his tail on the floor and nosed Rhys’ hand. Me, too. Anxiety. Thanks for coming back.

  This bond between them was growing in directions she couldn’t anticipate. So was the sexual tension. Quinn and Rhys wanted her, but she sensed not in a sexual free for all. The new emotional terrain of Nobility was awkward and they were still finding their way. The sleeping arrangement issue was solved with the boys shifting at night. Quinn slept in the bed. Rhys perched on the headboard.

  She wondered, what in my life prepared me for this bizarre relationship? Her men, or animals, she hadn’t decided how to think of them, waited at the door. Dreading their answer, but needing to ask, she said, “Are we ready for Pantheon?”

  Quinn anxiously shifted from foot to foot. “Answers. I need answers.”

  “We all do,” Rhys added. “Let’s go. I want to get this over with.”

  “Which part?” she asked. “Today, or the whole trip?”

  “All of it,” they declared in stereo.

  * * *

  Pantheon Corporate Headquarters

  “For this mission, you’re receiving a security clearance the President doesn’t even have.”

  Dreya, Rhys, and Quinn sat across from Pantheon’s corporate mouthpiece, Mr. Jones. She peered speculatively at him. Based on what she knew of Pantheon and its illicit deal brokering, she suspicioned Mr. Jones was entirely bankrupt of morals, conscience, and integrity. Her new vision saw nothing in his face to refute this assessment.

  She shot a glance at Rhys to see how he was taking the corporate spew. His face was rigid as he deliberately stared point blank at Mr. Jones, ready to peck out Jones’ eyes. She had to look away before she burst into laughter.

  “Note the fine print on the NDA,” Jones said.

  Leaning over, she checked out Rhys and Quinn’s documents to see if theirs matched hers. A glance at Quinn showed his eyebrows appeared ready to march out the door. She could sense his inner wolf wanting to pounce on Jones.

  Jones cleared his throat loudly until he held all eyes. “The confidentiality clause is non-voidable.” Slowly, as if they were stupid or couldn’t hear, he repeated, “Non-voidable.”

  “Non-voidable?” Rhys asked. “What the hell does that mean?”

  The response from Jones was cold and flat. He gazed over the top of his glasses and down his nose at the detective. “It means there is zero tolerance—you cannot void those terms of the contract in any way. Break the NDA and you go straight to jail, actually, Level 5 on Draco Station. Till the end of your days.”

  Rhys placed a finger to his lips, locking down a verbal outburst. Quinn, holding back his inner wolf, scribbled his signature on his NDA. He passed her the pen. She signed and turned to Rhys. When she offered him the pen, he pulled back as if she held out a basket of snakes.

  Come on. We have to go to Draco Station … to find answers.

  She was not in full control of her telepathy. When Rhys and Quinn were in animal form, the path between their minds was clear. But telepathy from human to human was a little more complicated. She blinked slowly, the universal animal gesture for calm, and mentally nudged him.

  He took the pen and signed, a deep scowl lining his face. She collected their forms and passed them to Mr. Jones.

  “Now that we have this formality behind us,” he said, “I’m able to give you a little more information.” He handed each a pamphlet. “All materials are considered part of the NDA. Make sure you return these pamphlets back to Pantheon before you leave. Unless you’d like to move to Draco permanently.” He smiled, but the gesture was thin on humor.

  Quinn closed his pamphlet. “What can you tell us about our mission that isn’t in the pamphlet?”

  Jones placed their signed NDA documents in a locked drawer and relaxed back in his chair. “You’re going to investigate a murder, actually two murders on Draco Station. Because of your involvement up to this point, Senator Stanton feels you’re the best choice for the job.”

  “You don’t have someone on station for this?” Quinn asked.

  Unabashedly, Jones’ response came with a deadpan expression. “Essentially, no. We have an individual who we call sheriff, but he’s actually the doctor and the coroner. So, no, there is no law enforcement on Draco.”

  Now Rhys’ eyebrows looked ready to vacate the room. “No law enforcement?”

  “Draco Station is not the International Space Station,” Jones responded.

  Dreya leaned forward, wondering how far Mr. Jones would go.

  “Draco is a privately owned installation. The basic rule of law is indemnified by Pantheon in each of its contracts. The penalty for disrupting operations and affecting the corporate bottom line is the same for breaking the NDA—a life sentence on Level 5. The threat of that penalty is the best law enforcement possible. Until now.”

  “Two murders, you say?” she asked.

  “Yes, one Annie Cooper, from a few months back.” He passed them photos. “And another murder more recent.” He gave them an additional stack of pictures.

  These were passed from Dreya to Rhys and Quinn. “You think these are connected?” she asked. “I see no commonality.”

  “That’s for you to investigate.” He handed them plastic ID badges with their names and photographs.

  Dreya examined her ID. Of a possible 1 through 5, and either A, B, C, D, hers was checked 1A. “What does 1A stand for?”

  “The numeric value indicates what level you are contracted to, from admin to waitress to Demon. The alpha indicates the value of your purpose for being on station.”

  “Explain that?” Rhys’ scowl deepened.

  “All life on station must defend its value. ‘A’ indicates Critical; ‘B’ is Necessary; ‘C’ is Disposable, and ‘D’ means Demon.” He cleared his throat. “I was told you were briefed on the Draco Demons.”

  Quinn shifted in his seat. “Who determines these values?”

  With his corporate voice, Jones said, “It’s a complex boilerplate algorithm generated yearly by the corporate number crunchers.” His eyes took on that deadpan expression from earlier, offering no foothold for challenge or complaint.

  “What about the trip?” Dreya asked.

  “Yes. The first leg is to the Vulkillium base on Mars on the RocketX. I hear it’s much like a train ride consisting of about five days travel. From there you change ships and hop a wormhole putti
ng you on station in time for breakfast.”

  She fought to keep her stupefied brain in check. Once Jones began nonchalantly explaining the details of their coming space travel, she avoided glancing at either Rhys or Quinn. Besides the emotional battering coming from them, her head was full of her own thoughts to process.

  “Do you have any more questions?” Before she could speak, he cut off her opportunity for more inquiry and blurted, “Oh, everything on station will be provided. You should pack a few clothes for the … train ride.”

  * * *

  Six Days Later

  Aboard the deep space transport that took them through a wormhole, Dreya packed her small bag of clothes. She waited in her cabin for Rhys and Quinn to join her before they disembarked at Draco Station. A knock at her cabin door, and she let them in. After evaluating their expressions with her new vision, she asked, “Ready?”

  Quinn grunted and gazed off, detached. She felt his wolf about to explode, needing something to rip apart with his teeth. Rhys was the opposite, closed and unhappy about being, “In a big cage,” as he put it when their journey to Draco Station was first mentioned.

  She had her own anxiety to manage. In spite of what Gideon Smith told them the day he committed suicide, the unspoken fear was that they, too, were susceptible to this killing behavior.

  The implication from Pantheon was that a Draco Demon had committed at least one of these murders. From the crime scene photos, it wasn’t difficult to imagine a dragon ripping apart the victim in the elevator. The other victim, Annie Cooper, was claimed by Smith before he killed himself.

  She said, “We keep our mouths shut and don’t attract any attention, just investigate this crime on Draco Station like any other murder. In the course of that investigation we have a platform for our own questions.” She picked up her bag. “Shall we?”

  Rhys mumbled, “Next time I hear a complaint about fossil fuels I’m—”

  “Going to void your NDA?” she finished.

  Indignant over the enforced secrecy, he puffed up, ready to release a sarcasm, but she drew her fingers across her lips like a zipper, immediately deflating his posture. With a grimace, he opened the door to her cabin and announced, “Draco Station, we’re here.”

  3

  Draco Space Station

  Dreya, Rhys, and Quinn entered the receiving area for new arrivals on Draco Station. She stopped suddenly, causing Rhys and Quinn to flow around her. “Uh, did we miss our stop?”

  “And end up at the Ritz Carlton,” Quinn mumbled.

  “It’s—” she started, unable to match reality with her expectations.

  “Sexy,” Quinn said.

  He was right. But sexy wasn’t in her expectations or on her list—gain a few personal answers, solve a crime, and get back to Earth was on her list. “Sexy?”

  “Well, the muted tones, the curved walls and sleek metal accents all present a seductive, come-along sort of allure. Or maybe the dog is picking up pheromones.” He shrugged one shoulder.

  “Yep,” Rhys added. “We are not in Kansas anymore.”

  A smiling young man approached. “Agent Love, I’m Scott Williams, your liaison while you’re on station. Welcome to Draco.”

  He shook hands all around, beaming with pleasure. Dreya couldn’t help but smile, his vivacious demeanor reminded her of a car-salesman.

  “First, let me get you settled in. I have you in a suite with adjoining rooms on each side. You should be quite comfortable.” He handed them leashes for their IDs and led them to an elevator bank. “Keep your ID with you at all times—it provides you run of the station.”

  Rocking back on his heels, he radiated pride as they waited for the elevator. “Envision the station as the frame of a giant tennis ball. There’s a cap on top and bottom, with three rings circling the frame between the two caps.”

  He illustrated and held his hands out as if encircling a sphere. “Admin and engineering are on top at Level 1, Draco Prime surface operations are Level 5 on the bottom. Science, Residence, and Horticultural, Levels 2, 3, and 4 are the rings.”

  They entered the elevator and it dropped, giving Dreya an uneasy image of them crashing through the bottom cap and hurtling through space. She shook off a chill and focused on Williams.

  “All levels are color coded. Blue for Science, green for Residences, and yellow for horticulture, so it’s impossible to get lost. You may, however, feel like you’re walking in circles.” He chuckled. “Station joke, circles … you know.”

  The elevator stopped, to Dreya’s relief, and they exited.

  Williams continued. “But before you go down to Level 5, please contact me or Sheriff Sinclair. Corporate regulations require an escort for all non-trained persons on Level 5.”

  “Why do we need an escort for Level 5?” Rhys asked.

  “Oh, purgatory can be dangerous if you don’t know your way around.”

  “Purgatory?” Quinn repeated.

  “Yes, we call Level 5 purgatory. It’s the last stop before hell, the Draco Prime surface,” he said with a winning smile. The door opened and he guided them out.

  “I’ve located you near the elevator bank for convenience.” He approached the first door. He swiped Dreya’s ID card through the slot. “This embeds your fingerprint on the door lock. Gentlemen, if you will?” He took their ID cards and repeated the process. “To get in your room swipe the card and wave your hand before the screen.”

  The door opened and Dreya tossed her bag on the bed while Rhys and Quinn opened the adjoining doors. They gathered to watch as Williams explained the features. “Every wall is an Infinity screen, all you have to do is touch the wall and ask.”

  Dreya tried not to appear ignorant, but knew a vacant expression was forming on her face. She peeked at Rhys and Quinn; they were equally in the dark.

  “I’ll show you,” Williams said. He tapped the wall. “Cosmos.”

  The wall lit up, and a sultry female voice asked, “Which sector?”

  “Your choice,” Williams answered.

  The wall displayed a view of the Milky Way. “Something from home?” the voice asked.

  “Now, flowers,” he requested. A field of flowers covered the wall.

  Dreya sniffed. “What is that? Do I smell flowers?”

  “Yes. The Infinity screen can be all things visual, auditory, and olfactory.” He tapped the wall and the screen blinked out. “You may ask for any entertainment program available on Earth. We get the latest shows every time the ship comes in. You can get anything, but no murder and slash movies. That sort of gory stuff is not allowed.”

  Recalling the bloody crime scene in the elevator, Dreya understood. No sense agitating the natives.

  Williams cleared his throat and busied himself with items laying on a side table. “These are your watches, you’ll want to keep them on. They’ll continue your adjustment to station time in the absence of sunrise and sunset. As with the watches you wore on the ride from Earth, the clock face is lit in the daytime, and darkened at night.” He passed them out and waited until they were firmly anchored on wrists.

  “You may want to use the Infinity screen to help you sleep your first couple nights. Just program the number of hours you want to sleep. Everything else is voice activated. You’ll figure it out,” he offered. “Come, I’ll show you the station and introduce you to staff.”

  They walked past what seemed to be an endless row of residences. “Level 3 has two decks, all residences, retail and entertainment. We have almost two and a half thousand personnel on station. Of these, three hundred upper management live in residences in the top deck of this level. Everyone else lives on this deck.”

  “How many Draco Demons are there?” Rhys asked.

  “About eight hundred, and all dragons are permanent residents.” The surrounding décor changed and a ramp took them up to a business district. “Here you’ll find eating establishments, theaters, virtual reality rooms, a bowling alley, Las Vegas style night clubs with music, dancing and ente
rtainment of all kinds. We have retail establishments supplying anything your money desires.”

  Dreya had to hold back her exclamations. Where she had expected a dark and dreary place from hell, instead she found the bright and engaging scenario entirely enticing. She was beginning to see the allure Quinn was talking about.

  Williams explained, emphatic. “Draco Demons give up their humanity and their right to return to Earth. To reciprocate, Pantheon endeavors to make the station a haven where dragons can live a life in luxury and comfort.”

  Seduction was woven into the station’s atmosphere. Dreya withdrew from the tempting ambience, remembering why they were here. “Now that we’ve seen life on Draco, can we see the bodies?”

  The cheer drained from Williams’ face, but he quickly mustered a surprising level of enthusiasm. “Yes, that takes us up to the next level and Dr. Sinclair in the medical lab. You’re going to love the medical facilities.”

  Another elevator ride up and they entered the laboratory level. “To the right is Dr. Lazar and the genetics lab. To the left is where we’ll find the bodies.”

  At the mention of Lazar, Dreya felt immediate emotional pressure urging her to veer right into Lazar’s realm and get her answers. The emotional pressure quickly evolved into a primeval urge to run down the hall and grab the man by the—

  But she exhaled slowly and steeled her resolve to follow Williams. Feeling the tug of emotional resistance behind her, she glanced over her shoulder. Rhys had slowed down, lingering at the laboratory junction. Quinn stopped and stared at the genetics section, his longing to go after Lazar a thrumming in her mind.

  She cleared her throat, drawing their attention. ‘Get over here’ she motioned. They fell in line with reluctance, trailing last into the medical section.

  “Dr. Simon Sinclair,” Williams announced.

  The doctor looked up. He had surprisingly long, sandy blonde hair and cool hazel eyes over a chiseled jaw on top of a muscular physique.