Burning Suns: Conflagration (Book One)

  ***

  Bronwen hadn’t been lying about the ship’s interior being functional. Most of the fittings appeared to be bare metal and plastic in varying shades of grey. The cockpit was crammed with instrumentation, and the co-pilot’s seat was hard and unyielding.

  The human seemed to have forgotten about her as she readied her ship for departure, her attention completely focused on completing the tasks and checklists displayed on the haptic interface above the main flight console. She had relaxed considerably since setting foot aboard, clearly feeling safe in her own environment. “All right,” she murmured eventually, more, Keera suspected, to herself than to her passenger. “We are good to go.” She flicked a quick glance in Keera’s direction. “Buckle up. As you no doubt noticed on the way in, Ganymede’s atmosphere can be a bit choppy.”

  Keera fastened her seat restraints obediently. As she did, she felt a deep rumble vibrating through the deck under her feet as the ship’s engines started to spool up. “All systems green,” Bronwen murmured. “Running lights, check. Artificial gravity engaged, atmosphere pressurised. All airlocks and external seals secured. Main generator online. Decoupling from external power supply…”

  The litany was hypnotic, almost poetic, and Keera found herself drifting as she listened to the human work, a reverie that was rudely interrupted as the launching thrusters powered up with a tumultuous roar. Bronwen grinned at her. “Here goes nothing,” she said as she hit a button on her interface. “Ganymede Control, this is the DSV Bronwen’s Fortune, requesting departure clearance.”

  “Stand by, Fortune,” came the terse response.

  Tension gripped the back of Keera’s neck, tightening her shoulders and setting her heart thumping as the silence stretched. Had they been quick enough? Would they be allowed to leave?

  Ten seconds.

  Fifteen.

  “Come on, come on,” Bronwen muttered, licking her lips and leaning forward to look out of the viewport.

  Twenty.

  Keera couldn’t stop fidgeting. What’s taking so long?

  Thirty seconds.

  “Fuck,” Bronwen growled, rubbing at her chin. “Come on…”

  “DSV Bronwen’s Fortune, this is Ganymede Control. Sorry about the wait, we had a little glitch with the scan. The sky is clear, and you are go for launch. Your departure beacon is Lima Foxtrot Niner. Safe travels.”

  “Copy that, Ganymede Control, beacon is set, Lima Foxtrot Niner. See you again sometime. Fortune out.”

  Keera slumped back in her seat with a relieved sigh. “I thought we’d had it for a moment there.”

  “Yeah,” Bronwen concurred, sparing the monosyllable as she concentrated on her boards. The Fortune’s thrusters howled, and Keera was pressed down in her seat as the ship muscled its way into the air. It took bare minutes to clear the atmosphere, and when they did, Bronwen pumped her fist in triumph. “Yes! Now we just need to get off the beaten track a ways, and we’re all good.”

  After about thirty minutes, with the ship coasting past Neptune and out into empty space, Bronwen set the autopilot and gestured aft with a jerk of her thumb. “I’m going to get out of this costume. You can wait in the wardroom. I don’t want you in here unsupervised.”

  Keera followed her aft to the communal crew deck, and used the time to look around, identifying the medical compartment on the far side of the main hatch, and beyond that, the washroom and galley. The hatch in the aft-most bulkhead of the kitchen was locked down, but she guessed it likely led to the engine room. Returning to the wardroom, she found Bronwen already waiting for her, dressed down in a pair of olive combat trousers and a black cotton vest with a sidearm prominently strapped to her thigh. She’d loosened her hair, and wiped the makeup away to reveal her tattoo. The effect was remarkable—the simple pattern of dark red lines drew the eye like a magnet, obscuring the more subtle details of her features. Which was no doubt the point.

  “So, there’s something I’d like to ask, if you’re done snooping,” Bronwen began, leaning against a locker with exaggerated casualness.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s a little complex. I might not get it all out in one go, so I need you to be quiet and listen. Can you do that?”

  Keera frowned at her. “Whatever it is, I’m sure that…” She cut off as the freighter skipper held up a hand, a dark scowl tugging her brows down into a hard line.

  “That was a yes/no question, Naraymis.”

  Keera bridled at the tone, but she mastered her sudden spike of temper as she noticed up the tension in Bronwen’s voice. The Marauder woman was on edge. “Yes,” she acknowledged tersely

  Bronwen huffed out a short breath. “OK. Here’s the thing. I’d like to know what the fuck’s going on.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The human shook her head sharply. “Don’t. Just… don’t try that “I’m so superior” bullshit, all right? You’re smarter than me, I get that, but I’m not stupid.” Bronwen pulled her sidearm from its holster and pointed it steadily at Keera’s chest. “Let’s start again,” she said with heavy deliberation. “Are you paying attention, secret agent?”

  Keera nodded warily.

  “Good. I would like to know what the fuck is going on,” Bronwen repeated. “You’ll understand, I hope, that my trust in the motives of any of you shape-shifting bastards has been worn somewhat thin by recent events, and that you’re going to need to make this an exceptionally good explanation, because as far as I can see, I don’t need your credits badly enough to take risks with you. Now, have I made my request crystal fucking clear, Miss Naraymis?” Bronwen snorted a sardonic laugh. “If that’s even your name?”

  Keera started to step forward, and Bronwen thumbed the safety catch on her weapon. “Uh-uh, you stay over there. I’ve fought enough shifters in my time to know how goddamn fast you are.” She gestured with the pistol. “Sit your ass on that couch and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Keera sank into the seat behind her obediently, slowly raising her hands. “I’m not going to try anything,” she promised. “You don’t need the gun.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Bronwen retorted. “Now, I asked you a question.”

  “You did,” Keera replied. “You were quite clear. I’ll tell you what I know, but unfortunately, that isn’t much.”

  “That’s too bad for you.” Bronwen settled back, lowering the gun slightly so that the reflexive shot would wound rather than kill. “Start talking.”

  “My name really is Keera Naraymis. I’m a field agent for the Consortium’s Diplomatic Service.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re a spy. I’d figured that much out.”

  Keera fought the temptation to roll her eyes. “Two years ago I was placed on active duty on Geonova. My assignment was to infiltrate the Marauder government and ensure that certain security measures regarding our border treaties with your people remained in force.”

  “Why would you bother with that?”

  “What do you know about the Sentinels?”

  “Not much.” Bronwen gestured vaguely with her pistol. “They’re terrorists, or freedom fighters. Depends who you ask.”

  “Terrorists,” Keera specified, and the Marauder smirked.

  “Yeah, well, you’re a government spook, of course you’d say that. So, you were working against them?”

  “Yes. My most recent objective was a political deal to make sure that Marauder security forces could continue to detain Changeling citizens without charge if suspected of criminal activity.”

  Bronwen whistled. “Ballsy, considering that it could have ended in a delicious irony.”

  “It was necessary. And my cover was as near airtight as it could be.” Keera met Bronwen’s gaze steadily. “Hard as it might be to believe at this moment, I’m good at what I do.”

  “Yeah, you had me fooled. You really do sound like you’re from Oceanhill.”

  “I am,” Keera reaffirmed. “I did grow up on Marinaris.” She sighed softly. ?
??Anyway, I was almost done with the assignment. A few days before the treaty was signed, my boss at the Exterior department sent me to Earth in advance of a new round of talks with the Terrans.”

  “Talks about what?”

  “Dealing with the recent Reaver incursions on the outer boundaries of their territories and ours… yours.” Keera shrugged. “Once that was done, Secretary Naraymis was going to have a fatal accident, and I was to be extracted.”

  “So what does Solinas have to do with any of that? Why’d he come after you?”

  Keera spread her hands helplessly. “You’re not going to like this, but I honestly don’t know. There are two possibilities. One, he was a Sentinel, sent to get rid of me and stop the treaty from going ahead. Or two, I’ve somehow become a security risk, and the Diplomatic Service decided to terminate me. Dead agents tell no tales.”

  “That seems like a particularly shitty employee loyalty scheme, even for government work,” Bronwen wisecracked.

  “Yes, but I knew the risks.” Keera sighed. “One thing you have to understand about my people is that we plan long-range, over generations. Individuals are deemed expendable in pursuit of the greater goal.”

  “But you didn’t like the idea of being expended, did you?” Bronwen remarked astutely.

  “No,” Keera admitted, shame heating her cheeks.

  Bronwen studied her in silence for a moment. “What greater goal?” she asked eventually. “Galactic domination?”

  “Galactic peace.” Keera cocked her head to one side. “We don’t start wars, Captain Bronwen. We divert them, turn them back if we can. If the races of the galaxy aren’t at each other’s throats, it’s better for everyone.”

  “Well, that all sounds very noble,” Bronwen observed dryly.

  “It’s not. It’s profoundly dirty work, sometimes, but the outcome is worthwhile.”

  The human regarded her impassively for a moment. “Back up a little for a minute. You grew up on Marinaris? You were really raised in Marauder space?”

  “Yes. My parents moved there shortly before I was born, to a small town near Gold Harbour. My sibling still lives there. It’s a training strategy, part of our long-range planning. We seed families all over the Assembly so children who grow up in alien space are potential recruits. It makes us more effective as specialists who skinshift to one species—we already know the culture and customs, and we can honestly reference our childhood experiences. It makes us more authentic, harder to catch.”

  Bronwen stared at her. “Wow,” she muttered after a moment, “that’s breathtakingly cynical.”

  “It is,” Keera concurred, “but it’s not without its advantages. My parents were incentivised for moving, and Marinaris is beautiful. I loved my home, and I had a happy childhood—it never felt contrived.”

  “Lucky you,” the human grunted. “So are your folks still there?”

  “No.” The old grief thickened in her throat. “My mother died last year, and my father died three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bronwen offered, and she sounded sincere. “You were obviously close.”

  “We were,” Keera agreed cautiously. The human didn’t sound so angry any more, either, and the silence stretched for a moment.

  “Yeah, so,” Bronwen said eventually, “you really don’t know why Solinas wanted you dead? And you don’t know why he sold me out, got my friend killed?”

  “No, no I don’t.” Keera suddenly felt drained, overwhelmed by her situation all over again. “I have no idea who he was. I’d never even heard his name until you mentioned it. I was trying to figure it out, and I was hoping you knew something that’d help.”

  “Nope. I hired him to do a job, no questions asked, and he fucked me over.” Bronwen was glaring again, but Keera sensed that that anger was no longer directed solely at her. “Of the two possibilities you mentioned, which is the more likely? In your opinion.”

  Keera considered it. She’d thought the situation through in depth during her hours of insomnia last night, and come to half a conclusion. “I’m inclined to suspect he was a Sentinel, simply because I don’t believe one of our agents would have botched things so badly. And they don’t usually involve other people in their work. But I can’t be sure. As I said, I have to try to figure that out.” She sat forward a little. “That’s everything I know,” she declared earnestly. “I can understand why you’re angry, and suspicious—I would be too. You have no reason to trust me…”

  “Damn straight.”

  “But put yourself in my position. I have no guarantee that you won’t just take my money and then kill me anyway.”

  “I don’t break deals,” Bronwen declared flatly. “Nor am I a professional liar by trade.”

  “Oh, please,” Keera objected, “you really expect me to have faith in your integrity? Breaking deals is unthinkable, but theft and extortion are perfectly acceptable? Tick tock, secret agent?” Keera met Bronwen’s gaze with a challenging stare, gratified when the human looked away first, a faint pink flush staining her cheeks. “Let’s neither of us pretend we’re paragons of virtue. Yes, I lied to you, and yes, I would have used you to get what I wanted without thinking twice. But you’ve no grounds to be judging me for that, since you did the same damn thing as soon as the opportunity arose.” Keera took a slow, controlled breath—losing her temper wasn’t going to help. “I guess we don’t really have to trust each other, since this is simply a business transaction. I’m happy to keep my distance for the whole trip. You can lock me in if you really feel you have to. But would you please put the gun down?”

  Bronwen regarded her for a long moment, lips pursed, brows drawn down, and then lowered the weapon, slotting it neatly into its holster. “All right,” she agreed, her tone clipped. “Confine yourself to the medical locker and the galley for the rest of the trip and we’ll get on fine.”

  “Understood.” Keera nodded to the medical compartment. “At least I can catch up on some sleep in there.”

  “Swell.” Bronwen turned away, heading for the cockpit.

  “Captain?” Keera called after her.

  “What?” Bronwen didn’t turn back.

  “Am I allowed to know where we’re going?”

  The human did turn then, slowly, a wolfish grin suddenly gracing her features. “Sure. We’re going to Asgard. Hel’s Market, to be precise. There are a couple of people there I’m very keen to have a word with.”

  JENNIFER

  System Horizon, Asgard System, Neutral Space

  Home, sweet home.

  Jennifer sighed contentedly as the Fortune decelerated from FTL on the border of Asgard. So much had happened, it felt like months had passed since she’d left Hel. In barely two weeks, she’d had her life turned upside down, then somehow, miraculously, it had rebounded, knocking her back into utterly familiar territory. Coasting into Asgard on momentum to save as much fuel as possible, not quite broke but near as damn it, looking for a job and a little luck to turn her fortunes around. Although this time, she was very definitely looking for something solid, dependable, and completely dull. If I spend the next year shipping meat to Korxonthos I swear I’ll enjoy being bored stiff.

  As soon as she got shot of her mysterious passenger, that was.

  In fairness, Naraymis had been as good as her word. She’d kept to herself, only emerging from the med compartment for food and water. Discreet checks of the security camera feed had shown she had indeed mostly been asleep throughout the trip from Modeus. Certainly it’d be the easiest money Jen had ever earned.

  She couldn’t help feeling intrigued, though. Naraymis certainly didn’t lack for guts—baiting someone who wanted you dead took serious nerve. And although Jen had initially been baffled by her decision to run, it made sense in light of their conversation yesterday—if Solinas hadn’t been an isolated threat, getting away from where people expected to find you was smart. The speed at which she’d moved on the information spoke of decisiveness, and her execution of their escape plan—not that
Jen had contributed much planning—had been flawless. She also didn’t lack for self-confidence, even arrogance, yet she had an edge of vulnerability that Jen couldn’t quite reconcile. The whole situation had clearly dented her composure, and she wasn’t doing a particularly good job of concealing it.

  But that could just be an act. You’ve no way of knowing if she’s telling the truth, Jen reminded herself. For all you know you’re playing right into her hands. The changeling was a spy, a professional con artist like Solinas, and likely could be trusted no further than her dead compatriot.

  What does it matter? she asked herself by way of rebuke. You’ll be kicking her off your boat in ten hours or so, then you’ll never see her again. And once she’s gone, you can focus on getting your so-called life sorted out.

  The chirp of the navigation computer confirming that FTL deceleration was complete pulled her from her contemplation. First things first. She checked her trajectory and range, ensuring she was on a standard approach vector and not messing with Hel’s traffic control while coasting in under minimal power. Position and speed verified, she relayed her transponder freak and nav data to Traffic, and received confirmation that her approach was cleared.

  Second on her list of priorities was getting the loose ends of the botched heist tidied up, starting with a call to Shan’Chael. His assistant answered, citing his boss’s extreme business, but nonetheless managing to get her an appointment for the early evening. Then, Jen accessed her private comms to check the news networks for any mention of the robbery, but she found nothing of particular concern—the usual circus of cartel skirmishes, gang rumbles, and what looked to have been an epic riot in Lowmarket over a bare-knuckle boxing gambling sting. Seems like life’s been pretty calm on Hel. Good. I could do with some peace and quiet.

  She was just about to logout when the intercom chirped. “Captain Bronwen?”

  So much for peace and quiet. “Yeah, Naraymis, what do you want?”

  “We… uh, need to talk.” The changeling sounded upset.

  “Meet me in the wardroom.” Jen set the autopilot and headed aft to find the changeling pacing the deck, visibly agitated. Leaning against the doorframe, she folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the twinge from her left shoulder. “All right, what is it?” she demanded, braced for a deluge of complaints. “Did the cabin crew forget your peanuts?” Smirking at her own joke, she waited for the changeling’s reaction, but her amusement faded when she saw the expression of utter horror stamped on her passenger’s face. “Naraymis? What’s up?”

  “They…” Naraymis swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “I…” She stared at Jen with big, frightened eyes. “I can't access my credit account.”

  “What?”

  “They've shut me out of my account, changed the access codes.” There was an edge of panic in Naraymis’ voice. “I… I can't pay you.”

  “Come again?”

  “I can't… I can’t pay you. I don't have any credit,” Naraymis confessed, her tone completely stunned. “I can’t access anything—my bank, my service login, my personal comm network—they've cut me out of my own identity, as a human and at home. I’ve got… I’ve got nothing.” She raked her hands through her hair. “They've wiped me from existence.”

  “Woah, woah, back up a little,” Jen cut in. “You’re not making sense. Who cut you out?”

  “The Service.” Naraymis sounded bewildered at the thought. “My own people.”

  Jen frowned. “So they were trying to kill you? Solinas was sent to terminate you?”

  The changeling cupped her hands over her mouth and blew out a breath. “I don’t know! Cutting me out could still be either cause or effect. The only thing I’m sure of is that they’ve frozen me out. They might have switched another agent in to replace me, or blown my cover publicly, or…” she shook her head. “I don’t know. Without data access, I’m blind.”

  “There was nothing on the news channels,” Jen noted. “I’m sure a senior Marauder official being outed as a changeling would have made the news everywhere.”

  “Maybe,” Naraymis allowed uncertainly.

  “So your shifty little spy friends have decided you’re more trouble than you’re worth—although it’s possible they’d already decided that—and you can't go back home to contest that decision, because you don't know who set you up in the first place, so you could be handing yourself over to the people that want you dead,” Jen recapped. “Leaving aside the fact you’ve got no money for passage to Eva Arielle or anywhere else.”

  Naraymis nodded in mute agreement.

  Well, that's just fucking splendid, isn't it?” Jen adopted her best poker face as she waited for the changeling’s response.

  “I'm sorry, Captain, I never…” She trailed off, tears in her eyes as she looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t think it would be so fast. What… what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Jen replied, covering her own uncertainty with a careless shrug. “It’s not like I was burdened with disposable wealth before all my plans were shot to hell, so I still need to recoup my costs somehow.” She eyed the changeling thoughtfully, curious to see how she would react. “I’m sure there’d be a reward for handing you over to your government.”

  The look Naraymis shot her was stricken. Sinking onto the couch, she buried her face in her hands, her petite frame racked with sudden shivers.

  “Unfortunately,” Jen continued, “the Changelings would probably just hand me to the Terrans rather than pay me. So I guess that’s out of the question.”

  “I imagine if you were to s-sell me to one of the cartels in Hel’s Market, you could make back some of the money I promised you,” Naraymis suggested in a low, sick voice, hunching up defensively.

  “Aw, hey now, come on,” Jen protested, stung by the inference she’d consider selling another sentient being into slavery. “I might, from time to time, take on contracts that are somewhat… dubious… in their legality, but I'm not a slaver and I don't propose to make a debut in that career with you.” She studied the clearly terrified changeling, and a wave of sudden pity washed over her—the fear and horror she’d felt in that Terran jail cell was still freshly imprinted in her mind.

  Stepping closer, she relented a little. “I'm also not going to dump you on Hel, or anywhere else, with no money and no contacts—it would be kinder just to shoot you and get it over with.”

  Naraymis started up out of her seat in alarm, and Jen caught her by the arms, restraining her firmly, but not roughly. “Hey! Settle down! Tempting as it might be, I'm not going to shoot you either.”

  “What are you going to do, then?” Naraymis asked, relaxing in Jen’s grip.

  “I don’t know,” Jen admitted. “I can't keep you aboard out of charity—I just can't afford it.”

  Naraymis looked down at the deck, struggling for control, and Jen’s sympathy redoubled. She didn’t doubt that the reaction she was seeing was genuine. For all that she wanted to be angry at the changeling for everything that had happened, for all that she didn’t want to think of her as someone who had a home, someone who missed her family, someone whose life had just been utterly ruined, that ship had apparently already undocked.

  Inspiration struck, and before she could second guess herself, Jen ran with the thought. “I do have one idea. If you want, I could indenture you for the cost of passage from Earth to Hel. You can work the debt off crewing for me—help me with jobs, do maintenance, that kind of thing. And as long as you're around, I guess we could look into who set us both up. If we could find that out, we’d be a lot better off, right?”

  Naraymis stared at her for a long moment, an incredulous expression slackening her jaw. “You’re serious?” she breathed, barely audibly. “You… you’d do that for me?”

  Jen shrugged awkwardly. “Sure.”

  The changeling cocked her head to one side. “That's… unexpected,” she admitted. “And incredibly generous. Thank you.”

  “Don't thank me just yet
. You may not like some of what I ask you to do. Not all of it’ll be legal.”

  “I've spent the last year impersonating a Marauder government official,” Naraymis pointed out with a trace of her usual poise, “which likely makes me more of a criminal than you.”

  “Fair point.”

  “But why do this?” Naraymis gave her a weighing look. “You don't particularly like me, and you've no reason to want to help me.”

  “Let's not get into deep and meaningful chats about motive and character right now,” Jen deflected. “I’m not a paragon of virtue, as you said, but I’m not a heartless asshole either. Why don't we leave it at the fact we have a common cause, OK? Or a mutual enemy, if that’s too much of a stretch.”

  Naraymis smiled. “Fair enough, Captain.” For the first time, there was no hint of sarcasm in the use of the title.

  “Jennifer. Or Jen.” Jen flapped a dismissive hand. “I’m not much for formalities. Just… don’t call me Jenny, OK?”

  “Jennifer,” Naraymis repeated. “All right. Call me Keera, then, please.”

  “One more thing then, Keera, if you’re going to stick around,” Jen added. Feel sympathy for the changeling she might, but she needed proof that she would be compliant.

  “Yes?”

  “I want you to show me what you really look like.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Change. Do your shape-shifting thing. I want to see who you really are.”

  Keera didn’t seem entirely happy with the request, but she nodded curtly, got to her feet and began unbuttoning her shirt. “What are you doing?” Jen demanded.

  The changeling hooked the garment over her head, folded it with fussy precision, and set it on the chair back. “Taking my clothes off.”

  Jen rolled her eyes. “I can see that. Why?”

  Keera slid her trousers off just as methodically. “These are the only clothes I have. I don’t want to rip them. My body doesn’t stay the same shape. If it bothers you, don’t look.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t bother me.” Jen gave the changeling a leer for good measure. “I was just curious.”

  She indulged that curiosity openly as Keera continued to strip, enjoying the unexpected show. The human form Keera used was undeniably pretty, and the fact that she seemed oblivious to it—or self-assured enough to be confident in displaying herself—only added to the allure.

  Naked, Keera met her gaze defiantly. For a moment, nothing happened, then her body began to change, stretching and flexing in little jerks and starts that had Jen bracing herself for the sound of bones snapping. The changeling’s skin darkened, her hair receded, her hands started to fuse, and most disconcerting of all, her beak began to protrude.

  Discomfited, Jen turned away. She had a strong stomach, but there was something gut-churning about what she was seeing. After a few more seconds, she heard Keera’s voice again, edged with amusement. “You can look now, I’m finished.”

  Jen turned back, and even though she was expecting it, seeing Keera’s real form was a shock. She looked nothing like Solinas, which was a relief—Jen honestly wasn’t sure she’d have been able to deal with that. Keera was shorter, with a more delicate build and darker body colouring, mainly black along her outer arms, torso, and legs. Her face was finer featured; her beak narrower, her crest lower-lying and shorter, and the tentacles that protruded from the back of her skull were longer and thinner. The fine fringe of hair at the back of her head was black rather than orange, and her eyes were much larger. They were the same shade of electric-blue as her human form’s, framed by long, pale eyelashes and set close to the bridge of her beak.

  The most significant difference with Solinas, however, was her colouring. Where the con-man had been vibrantly coloured with bold oranges and reds splashed over his beak, throat, and chest, Keera’s palette was a more subtle blending of muted purples, blues, and greens, almost iridescent in the way it rippled across her beak.

  “Wow,” Jen breathed. “That’s a brain wrench and no mistake.”

  Keera tilted her head to the side. “I daresay it looks much more dramatic from your point of view.”

  “Does it hurt? It looks like it should.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was comfortable, exactly, but it’s not painful,” Keera replied, settling on the chair with a sigh. “It’s draining, though.” She regarded Jen contemplatively. “Since you’re in charge, I’ll let you decide. Do you want me to stay like this, or change back?”

  “You don’t want to be yourself?”

  Keera clicked her beak. “I’m myself no matter what I look like. I’m used to wearing a human skin, it’s just as easy for me.”

  “Seems to me there’s benefits either way,” Jen thought aloud, “but it might be to our advantage if no one knows what species you really are. I’m not known for associating with changelings, but people see me with other humans fairly frequently.”

  “Fine,” Keera agreed. “Do you mind if I don’t change back right away?”

  “You don’t need my permission. As long as you look human when we dock, that’s fine.”

  “Was there anything else you needed me for, then?” Keera’s tone was suddenly slightly brusque. Something was off, but Jen sensed she’d get no information if she pried.

  “No, not really. I’ll call you when we’re an hour out, and you can make whatever preparations you need. We’ll be heading into Midmarket to talk to an associate of mine. It should be safe enough if we’re watchful.”

  The changeling nodded, gathered her discarded clothing, and walked slowly back toward the companionway. As she reached the hatch, she turned back. “Jennifer?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. Really. I…” Keera ducked her head in a bobbing little bow. “Thank you.”

  Jen shrugged. “Sure.”

  Jen headed back to the cockpit and put in a call to her preferred docking station, booking a berth and giving them an ETA, then logging her destination with Traffic. There was nothing else to do now but wait, so she reset the autopilot, programmed an alarm, and left the ship to tend to its own navigation for a few hours. As she climbed the ladder to her cabin, she did her best to ignore the soft sound of crying coming from the medical compartment, and the question whirling round and round in her mind.

  What the hell did I just do?