Burning Suns: Conflagration (Book One)

  ***

  Here we go.

  Keera took a deep breath and stepped through the door of the club and into the pulsating crowd. Vertigo, one of Midmarket’s better establishments, was a favoured haunt of Orden’s and most of his would-be girlfriends could apparently be found on the dancefloor, alert for any opportunity to move up in the world.

  Keera had gone through Jennifer’s spare clothes, and then her current ones, picking out some items that she thought would suit. Then, she’d caught a shuttle down to the main orbital transfer depot for Highmarket. She’d loitered around the station until she’d spotted a target she liked the look of, a woman of roughly Jennifer’s height and build but with colouring similar to Keera’s current skin. She needed to make the most of the resources she had to hand.

  Tripping the woman up had been the work of seconds, obtaining a DNA sample just as quick. Keera hated using blood, but the ring-mounted hypodermic needle was quick and painless, and by far the safest option in a busy public place. Acquisition accomplished, she’d caught the public transit to Midmarket and found a washroom in a busy fast-food restaurant where she could carry out her transition without anyone disturbing her.

  Dressed in her borrowed skin-tight maroon pants, knee-high black boots, maroon halter top and black leather jacket, make-up painstakingly applied to give her new face darkly hooded eyes and angles and definition it didn’t really possess, Keera had sauntered out of the restaurant with as arrogant a swagger as she could muster. She’d made her way to the club, dropping her bag at the coat check after pocketing one precious vial of sedative. Now, as she headed toward the bar, she let the half-dark and her disguise give her self-assurance. She was going to need every ounce of bravado she had to pull this off. Seduction had never been her strongest suit. You’re playing a role, Kee. Embrace it. You’re trained for this. It’s all about confidence.

  The thought buoyed her spirits a little. This was work. She was good at this. And she had to prove that to her new employer. In this moment, she didn’t need to worry about her situation, the conspiracy, or any of the bigger picture concerns. All she needed to do was acquire her mark.

  Reaching the bar, she snapped her fingers to attract the bartender’s attention. “Vodka rocks,” she ordered brusquely.

  “Hey, I was here first!” a small, pugnacious neomorph objected. Keera looked him up and down slowly, then shrugged.

  “Congratulations,” she drawled, deliberately turning her back to indicate her disdain. The barkeep choked back a snigger, and tipped her a nod.

  “Vodka rocks, comin’ right up,” he said. Setting the iced glass before her, he poured the clear spirit with a flourish. “Ain’t seen you in here before,” he remarked. “I’d remember.”

  “No doubt. I’m new in town,” Keera replied with the same careless drawl. “Looking to make an impression.” She raised her glass in a salute, then knocked back about half of it. A little liquid courage to help things along—her high tolerance for alcohol would keep her clear-headed enough if she didn’t overdo things.

  “Congratulations,” a familiar voice chipped in. “You’ve succeeded.” Jennifer insinuated herself into the gap between the neomorph and Keera, shunting the disgruntled snake even further down the bar’s pecking order. “Put the lady’s drink on my tab, Marco,” she continued, flashing Keera a grin that was nothing short of devilish.

  Keera inclined her head. “Generous of you,” she commented.

  “My pleasure,” Jennifer replied. “Jennifer Bronwen, freelancer.”

  “Kate Nelson. The same.”

  “Welcome to Hel.” Jennifer offered a hand. “Care to dance?”

  “You don’t mess around, do you?” Keera replied, giving Jennifer the same slow once over she’d given the neomorph and following it up with a lick of her lips and a smile.

  “Never saw the point in being unclear about my objectives,” Jennifer shrugged.

  “And I admire a woman who knows what she wants. All right, Jennifer. A dance it is.”

  Jennifer led her onto the floor and took hold of her hips. “You look incredible,” she murmured. “I gotta say, your taste in women is top of the line. And I wouldn’t have recognized you if you weren’t wearing my clothes.”

  “That’s kind of the point.” Keera looked up briefly as Jennifer spun her around, taking in the faces in the crowd. “Unless I’m very badly mistaken, Orden’s actually here, and he’s watching you.”

  As they swung around and changed places, Jennifer nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. But it’s not me he’s watching.”

  Keera glanced up again, and sure enough, Orden’s gaze was fixed on her. “You reckon he’s interested?”

  “Oh, he’s definitely interested. And as a bonus, taking you away from me will make him feel all kinds of powerful.”

  “You really think he’d try that?”

  “Are you kidding? Reminding me that I’m in the doghouse for fucking up? Proving that he’s better than me at charming women? He won’t be able to help himself.”

  “Change of plan, then. I was going to try and borrow a skin from one of his girls, but this is actually better.” Jennifer spun her around again, and this time, she caught the naked look of appetite in the hybrid’s eyes. “Yes, I think you’re right.” Victory would make him overconfident, and then, hopefully, careless.

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “Sorry. I’ll try to get him to take me home. If I manage, wait five minutes, then follow us. I’ll restrain him then let you in.” She palmed her coat-check tag into Jennifer’s hand. “Pick my gear up, will you? There are some useful gadgets in the bag.”

  “All right,” Jennifer agreed. “Are you armed?”

  “No. I don’t need to be,” Keera assured her.

  “Well… just be careful, OK? Those are my favourite pants.”

  Keera rolled her eyes. “Jennifer?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Get your hand off my ass.”

  Jennifer’s eyes widened, and she jerked back just in time for the slap Keera aimed at her to mostly miss. Turning on her heel, she stalked back to the bar. “Hey, Marco? Did I mention I wanted to make an impression on the right people?” she declaimed loudly, raising her empty glass for a refill.

  Marco chuckled as he came back with the bottle. “I’ll keep you on Captain Bronwen’s tab,” he grinned, “since she hasn’t told me to take you off it.”

  “No need,” a new voice interjected. “I’d be delighted to entertain the lady.”

  Keera turned slowly and met Orden’s cool, reptilian gaze with a coy smile. “Now that’s the most interesting offer I’ve heard so far on this rock.” She gave Orden her hand. “Kate Nelson.”

  “Orden Snake-Eyes, at your service.”

  “Charmed.” Keera took a sip from her fresh drink. “So tell me, Orden. Are you what passes for civilised company round here?”

  “I’m a rose among the weeds, Kate,” Orden proclaimed. “A rose among the weeds.”

  The plan progressed perfectly. So keen was Orden to put Jennifer in her place that he made his move before they’d even got through two drinks, and Keera found herself being solicitously escorted to a cab and thence to an immaculately appointed penthouse in an exclusive residential suburb of Highmarket. Within ten minutes of unlocking his front door, Orden was insensible on his living room floor, courtesy of the sedative Keera had slipped into his drink.

  Jennifer arrived promptly, breaking into laughter as she spied the unconscious crime boss on the carpet. “I’ll be damned,” she chuckled. “I wouldn’t have believed it.”

  “Here, give me a hand with him,” Keera instructed.

  Together they sat Orden in a chair from his kitchen. Taking her bag from Jen, Keera retrieved two sets of disposable restraints and snapped them around Orden’s wrists and ankles, securing him. “We’re ready,” she judged. “He’ll come round in a minute or two. Stand in front of him and keep his attention.”

  “Right,” Jennifer acknowledged. S
he looked around admiringly. “Nice pad. Did you have one like this?”

  Keera sighed as a pang of longing spiked in her chest. “Yes. Mine had a nicer view, though.”

  Orden groaned, forestalling any further idle chat. Jennifer bent and pinched his cheeks to bring him round fully. “Hi, Orden,” she greeted him cheerfully. “Having a fun evening? I see you couldn’t resist the bait.”

  “Captain Jennifer,” Orden spluttered. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Solving a mystery,” Jennifer replied. “See, that little job you asked me to do went bad. Now, if I’d fucked it up on my own, that would be something I could live with, but someone fucked it up on my behalf and got a good friend of mine killed. So what I want to know is who was responsible for ordering one of my crew to fuck me over, so I can carve retribution for my buddy’s life out of their goddamn hide.”

  “I had nothing to do with your operation,” Orden growled. “Or your incompetence.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it was you,” she assured him, “since you’d have no reason to want me to fail—you were getting one and a half million credits from the job. So I need to look a little further up the chain. Who was your client, Orden? That’s all I need from you.”

  “Fuck that, and fuck you,” Orden spat.

  “Aw, c’mon, Orden, be reasonable. If you won’t tell me who your backer is, I’ll have to assume you’re taking full responsibility.” She drew a wickedly sharp combat knife from her boot. “I’m sure you get my point.”

  “You won’t kill me,” Orden declared with a snort. “I know you, Bronwen—you’re not the casual murderer type. This isn’t anything other than a colossal bluff. One that will cost you dear when I get loose.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Jennifer said chirpily. “Casual killing isn’t really my speed. And I like you, I always have, but my associate here doesn’t know you and is a lot less tender-hearted.”

  Keera took the cue, stepping silently up behind the captive half-breed and catching him round the throat. “Hello again, Orden,” she hissed in his ear as she tightened her grip, feeling his pulse throb against her fingers.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he wheezed.

  “No one that need concern you. Now, this doesn’t have to be traumatic,” she continued cordially. “If you answer the Captain’s question, there’s no reason for anything… unpleasant… to happen. All we want is a name and a location.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say,” Orden choked out.

  Keera held out her hand. “The knife, if you please, Captain.” Jennifer placed the weapon in her grip, and she laid the razor-sharp edge of the blade against the hybrid’s throat. “Bravado isn’t going to save you,” she advised him, keeping the same calm, friendly tone. “I know you have the information I want, and the only way to save yourself from a messy and humiliating situation is to share it with me.” Very carefully, she scraped the edge of the knife down his throat, the edge rasping against his skin as it pared off some of his sparse, ratty stubble.

  “If you kill me…”

  “I didn’t say anything about killing you,” Keera interrupted pleasantly, using the knife to slit Orden’s shirt open. “Not immediately, at least. I was thinking of castrating you. It might not kill you, if you were somehow able to summon the concentration to answer me before you bled to death. I’m assured that it’s an excruciating way to die. But even if you were to survive, well,” Keera trailed the knife tip down his chest and abdomen to his navel, “imagine your life without your favourite body part. And imagine how it’ll feel when everyone on Hel learns—and they will—that you got your cock cut off by a girl. Somehow I don’t think they’ll be calling you Snake-Eyes after that.”

  Orden bucked against her hold, but Keera had braced herself for it and tightened the choke. “Ah ah,” she chided. “Hold still. You don’t want my hand to slip, do you? Captain, get his trousers off.”

  “Ugh, really?” Jennifer protested, but she moved to obey. “Sorry, Orden. Nothing personal, but I learned a while ago not to cross my friend here.”

  As Jennifer popped the button at his waistband, Orden’s courage snapped. “All right!” he gasped. “All right! I’ll tell you. His name is Octavius Gullane. He’s an arms dealer, the ancient collectibles are just a sidelight.”

  “And where can we find him?” Keera asked.

  “Omega Chronos. He has an estate on Chronos Four.” Orden sneered. “You’ll never get near him.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Keera rebuked, fighting down the surge of satisfaction the confession had evoked. “But thank you for your concern and your cooperation.”

  “Fuck you, bitch,” the hybrid snarled.

  “Not tonight. One last thing, Orden, before we go,” Keera said softly.

  “What?”

  “I’m watching you. Try anything in retribution against the good Captain or warn Gullane, and I’ll be back. There’s no security protocol you can devise that will keep me out. So do the smart thing and pretend this never happened, all right?”

  She pressed the loaded hypodermic ring to Orden’s neck, injecting a second shot of sedative, and the hybrid slumped back into unconsciousness. Hefting the knife, she pressed it against his belly just hard enough to nick the skin, then drove the blade through the plastic of the seat and pulled him down so that the sharp edge rested against his crotch. “That should be a suitable aide memoire. We’re done. Shall we take a walk?”

  Jennifer was staring at her, and she snapped her fingers in the human’s face. “Jennifer? You there?”

  Jennifer nodded slowly. “Wow. Remind me to make more of an effort not to piss you off. You really are quite scary.”

  Keera shrugged deprecatingly as they let themselves out. “Your imagination is your own worst enemy, if you permit it to be. It’s just a question of finding the right triggers.”

  “You enjoyed that,” Jennifer accused with a grin.

  “Maybe a little,” Keera admitted awkwardly. It had felt good to get the play right. “Shan’Chael’s right about him, by the way. He’d sell his own mother for a fast credit.”

  “A quick buck,” Jennifer corrected absently. “I know, but since I don’t see him offering me any more work, the quality of my social circle is already on the rise. Soon you’ll be taking me to all those swanky New Lagos cocktail bars you frequent.” She shot Keera a curious look. “Would you really have cut his dick off?”

  ‘I wouldn’t have had to,” Keera deflected, blushing. “He was never going to take that risk for someone he owes nothing except professional courtesy.”

  “Shit. You really would have,” Jennifer asserted. “That’s pretty cold, Keera.”

  “Says the woman who choked a man to death with her bare hands.” As Jennifer shrugged equably, Keera gave her a sidelong glance. “So, next stop Omega Chronos?”

  “Seems that way. Come on, we should lie low for a while to dodge any fallout. Let’s head home and celebrate a successful mission with those miniatures I boosted from your shuttle.”

  “Classy,” Keera chuckled. “Lead on, Captain.”

  KOHATH

  Korxonthos, Neutral Space

  Kiith Kohath.

  The voice of the Synergy shattered the reflective silence of Kohath’s mind.

  Kohath set down his study of recent engagements by the Corrupted in the outlying regions of the sectors of the galaxy claimed by the Terrans. “You have need of me?”

  Forgive the intrusion, but you are urgently required to attend to defensive command.

  “Acknowledged.”

  Kohath opened his cortical link to the Korxonthos mainframe—habit had made a hermit of him in regard of staying constantly connected—and began walking. Even though his physical presence was not actually required, it was his preference to be in proximity to the command centre in case of unforeseen circumstances. As the connection linked up, however, the information that downloaded to his awareness wiped any thought of habit and custom from his m
ind.

  Korxonthos was under attack. The Corrupted had launched a direct assault on their former brethren.

  We are require your expertise, the Synergy whispered. Will you assume overall command of our defences?

  I am the Synergy’s to command, he responded. Speech was an indulgent luxury in an all-cyborg environment. Nanoseconds after the thought had formed, a cascade of information began to stream through his processors as the tactical datastream came online, projecting a heads-up display at the left of his field of vision. Fleet disposition, troop deployment, defence system statuses, and direct communications interfaces to each unit commander, a wealth of situational data, all at his neural fingertips.

  Kohath felt an odd surge of positive feedback as he reached his destination. He had forgotten, over decades and centuries spent in close collaboration with the other races of the galaxy, how harmonious and fluid the process of commanding cyborg forces was. Invigorated by both the reminder and the improved performance of his freshly overhauled systems, he turned his focus to his work, seeking to observe and quantify the nature of the attack.

  He quickly located the enemy force: twenty battle cruisers, heavily armoured and heavily armed, advancing on an intercept course for the dockyards in a tight formation. Far too small a number to hope to adequately engage the Synergy’s defences.

  A raid, then. But to what purpose?

  The enemy ships had dropped out of FTL perilously close to the minimum safe deceleration distance and divided into four squadrons, the lead one applying braking thrust with such intensity that the ships could not possibly be crewed by organic-based animates. The second and third squadrons decelerated far more gently, but the fourth made no attempt to brake, bearing down on the orbital platform ringing Korxonthos at flank speed.

  Their intention was all too clear.

  The enemy intend to ram the dockyards.

  Collision alerts began to wail over the emergency communications bandwidths as the Synergy tried to evacuate the targeted area, but the speed of the approach rendered the attempt futile. Kohath dismissed the data stream from his active feeds as the cruisers struck, ignoring the diversion. The suicide squadron, its hand played, was no longer of tactical concern—the greater threat would arise from the squadrons that were still inbound. Computing their trajectory, he pinpointed the likely target, a commercial sector of the docks where the defence systems had been rendered powerless by the impact of the kamikaze strike. Several newly arrived transports hung helplessly from their docking cradles, suspended in space mid-berthing and terribly vulnerable to the enemy cruisers.

  I believe we are about to be boarded, he advised the Legislature even as he directed covering fire for the transports from the orbital defences in the adjacent sectors. Those transports must be brought into dock and secured against attack. Open bay doors are a significant vulnerability.

  We will attend to it, the Legislature confirmed.

  Kohath transmitted the target coordinates to the animate commanding the ground defences in that zone. Direct your forces to stand by to repel boarders. Keep them contained if you can.

  At your command, the animate acknowledged. Be advised that I may not command sufficient resource to hold them.

  Understood. Kohath switched channels. Praetorius, are you receiving the battle telemetry?

  I am, Kiith Kohath, the gladiator replied. As chance would have it, I am in physical proximity to the target zone. I am gathering reinforcements to supplement the division already deployed.

  A flash notification in Kohath’s heads-up display confirmed the release of boarding pods from the two inbound cruiser squadrons, as he had anticipated. The lead squadron was loitering just out of range of the static defences. So far, the Corrupted were employing classic cyborg tactics: create a diversion, strike hard and fast in the ensuing confusion, using ranged support to coordinate tactical movement and—of course—transmit intelligence back to a command vessel.

  Kohath directed his focus momentarily to the environmental scans. The command vessel would be further out, likely beyond the effective sensor range of Korxonthos. He was about to order a battlegroup out conduct a more thorough sweep when an incoming distress signal was flagged for his attention. An inbound personnel transport had encountered a hostile vessel with a cyborg dreadnought silhouette as it decelerated from FTL, was now being pursued by a flight of Corrupted raiders.

  Transport two-seven-nine-seven-seven, report, Kohath requested as he completed his original order to the closest battlegroup to come about and retrace the transport’s route in the hope of flushing out the command vessel.

  Status critical. Shields are draining rapidly, fourteen percent and falling, engines are exceeding safe maximum thrust and we are about to cross the deceleration threshold. Transmitting coordinates for enemy dreadnought with this communication. The enemy raiders are gaining. They…

  Whatever else they were was lost in a crackle of static as the vessel’s transponder glyph vanished from Kohath’s HUD. Unfortunate, but inevitable. Erring on the side of prudence, Kohath directed a second battlecruiser group out to support their fellows, ordered two dreadnoughts to take up positions close to the deceleration threshold along the original attack trajectory, and then checked back on the situation at the dockyards.

  Show me the invasion attempt in sector four seven six, he requested of the Synergy. His personal ocular implant feed shut down and suddenly he was floating above the combat zone, courtesy of a visual feed from an Acarid-based animate usually tasked with overhead systems maintenance. It was an excellent vantage point, and could see numerous gaps in the cordon the sector commander was striving to throw around the combat zone. Why are there so many openings in our lines?

  Immolation units, his subordinate responded tersely. We are taking steady losses. Your orders?

  Reinforcements are arriving. Hold them as best you can. Any area that opens to space should be locked down and vented.

  May I be of assistance, Kiith Kohath?

  The new voice was unfamiliar, but the identity tag made Kohath smile. Greetings, Dolos. A timely intervention. Where are you?

  I have just disembarked from one of the transports trapped in the cradles. We were in the process of docking when the attack commenced. I expect to reach the engagement zone in ninety seconds.

  Excellent. Any assistance you can render to reduce the enemy’s command and control would be appreciated. Additionally, while I am confident of our ability to repel this assault, it would be of considerable value to discern the enemy’s intent in making such a superficially foolhardy offensive. Can you infiltrate their systems and attempt to acquire such data?

  At your command.

  Reinforcements incoming, Kiith Kohath, Praetorius reported. I will ensure Dolos is adequately supported in her task.

  Excellent. Deploy your troops to close those gaps. Attrition will begin to take its toll upon the enemy shortly.

  Praetorius was as good as his word, rapidly providing support and shoring up the cordon. Kohath shut off the feed from the maintenance animate, re-engaging his own visual systems, and returned his attention to the external battle. The two squadrons of cruisers that had deployed the boarders were arrayed in a defensive starburst formation, using the orbital ring as cover to occlude most approaches. The Corrupted support squadron had been engaged by two groups of defending battlecruisers, and two of the enemy vessels had already been destroyed. Further out, the battle groups Kohath had dispatched to intercept the Corrupted’s command vessel were steaming at half-speed, methodically tracing back along the doomed transport’s flight path. Exposing the command vessel would provoke a retreat. The Corrupted would know precisely where the gain to loss ratio for the assault would become unacceptable, and the quickest way to end the engagement was to reach that ratio.

  Kiith Kohath. Dolos’ transmission carried urgency markers. The Corrupted are deploying armada nanites in the shipyards along channels alpha and delta in sector four-seven-seven.

  I see i
t. It seems our corrupted brethren are not above common thievery.

  Surely the attempted theft of battlecruisers is somewhat uncommon? I… Dolos’ transmission cut off, and Kohath could not re-establish the connection.

  Praetorius?

  Yes?

  You are near to Dolos’ position, are you not?

  I am. Do you wish me to locate her?

  If you would. Her communications ceased unexpectedly.

  I am on my way.

  Contact, the commander of the lead battle group reported, redirecting Kohath’s attention. One Corrupted dreadnought, unescorted, at the coordinates indicated by two-seven-nine-seven-seven. Deploying raider flights to intercept.

  Kohath nodded in satisfaction. The retreat would begin in a moment, he was certain. Calling up an inventory log, he saw that the shipyards affected by the armada nanites contained nothing but empty cargo transports. The command and control AIs would resist the nanites’ attempts to override their control, but ultimately they would be overwritten. Kohath took note of the transponder identities, and relayed the information as targeting data to the command AI of the Synergy’s flagship, the titan Koios.

  Awaiting your order, strategos, Koios acknowledged.

  I have located Dolos, Praetorius reported. She experienced an infiltration attempt and isolated herself from the mainframe. She will reconnect when she is satisfied she has cleared her systems. Additionally, we have the boarding party fully contained. They are disengaging.

  Let them go, Kohath instructed. We will deal with them in open space to avoid further casualties on our side.

  At your command.

  The retreat was orderly and swift, the Corrupted pulling back to their newly acquired transports and launching in less than three minutes. Their surviving battlecruisers pulled into a close formation around the transports to escort them clear. The support squadron had been completely destroyed, and the Synergy’s battlegroups were closing in, sensing an imminent victory.

  Hold position, Kohath ordered them. I do not wish our forces to suffer further damage.

  Are you certain? one of the commanders queried.

  Quite certain, Kohath confirmed, noting the report on his HUD that stated the Corrupted’s command dreadnought had retreated to FTL. Do not engage them, and keep your shields raised.

  The Corrupted ships raced through the loose blockade, too focused on achieving their escape to risk engagement with the now-passive defenders. Too focused to pay attention to the wider environment. Too focused to notice the power signature emanating from the titan on the far side of Korxonthos’ superstructure.

  Now, Koios, Kohath commanded.

  The titan, homed in on the transponders of its former allies, launched a full broadside of anti-ship missiles. Accelerating and already locked into their FTL jump trajectory, there was no way for the Corrupted vessels to evade the salvo, and Kohath watched dispassionately as the battle ended with the tightly bunched glyphs representing the enemy vessels winking out.

  Excellent, the Legislature approved. Thank you for your assistance, Kiith Kohath. We will inventory the damage and casualties. You may wish to attend to your colleagues. An avatar can be brought online if you require it.

  I require it, Kohath confirmed. He disliked using avatars, but his position in the heart of the Korxonthos control centre meant it would take hours to transfer his physical form to meet with Praetorius and Dolos, and he wanted to get a direct sensory input of the aftermath of the combat.

  The transition was jarring—he hadn’t used an avatar in well over a century, and the sudden switch to a new platform carried a ghostly sense of dislocation. Closing his eyes, he ran a quick diagnostic. Everything seemed to be optimised, so he spared the sensation no further thought, opening his eyes and walking across the debris-strewn deck to where Praetorius stood talking with the far shorter, human-based Dolos.

  “I do not fully comprehend their objectives,” Praetorius was saying. “Superficially it appears to be little more than a waste of resources.”

  “It looks to have been principally a foraging expedition,” Dolos noted. “We have suffered a significant loss of hardware in sections where we suffered hull breaches. What a recent human acquaintance of mine would term a smash and grab job.”

  “Hardware and data.” Praetorius looked down at her. “Your memory data was not the only hack enacted.”

  “You were hacked?” Kohath enquired.

  “It was opportunism,” Dolos replied. “Random chance. I had the misfortune to intercept one of their infiltration units in my attempt to access their network. He took advantage of my attention being focused on my objective.” She shrugged. “I was able to ascertain little, unfortunately. The animates deployed in the boarding pods were little more than drones, simply programmed to cause the greatest amount of damage possible and harvest as much data or material as was practicable.”

  “The hardware, at least, has been denied to the enemy,” Kohath noted. “However their command vessel did escape, so it is a certainty that they have gained at least some intelligence. What data from your memory was accessed Dolos?”

  “Nothing I would class as tactically valuable,” Dolos replied. “It only affected the lowest-security tier of my memory before my countermeasures blocked it. Recent environmental information, possibly records from my recent trip to Terran space, but nothing classified or code-secured.”

  “It still seems an illogical waste,” Praetorius mused.

  “I doubt they were anticipating a total loss,” Kohath observed. “However, they have achieved one significant outcome. We must now look to defend Korxonthos more stringently against assault, and that will limit our projection of force in other theatres, should they arise.”

  “Surely they would not wish to handicap us against the Wraiths?”

  “No, I cannot conceive that to be so,” Kohath concurred. “This is a distraction, an attempt to keep us from looking too closely upon their actions elsewhere.” He looked around at the drone animates scattered across the deck. “Curious. All of these drones are human-based.”

  “The Corrupted have been raiding colonies along the Terran border,” Dolos supplied. “Recent conversions would be the most expendable assault troops.”

  “True,” Kohath acknowledged, “but there are nearer hunting grounds than Terran space if their sole motive is recruitment.”

  “Then we must investigate,” Praetorius asserted, “and determine if there is a specific reason for targeting the humans.”

  “Indeed we must,” Kohath agreed thoughtfully. “And I believe I know where to begin.”

  KEERA

  Chronos Five, Omega Chronos System, Neutral Space

  The trip to Omega Chronos was educational.

  Determined to capitalise on the good impression she’d made handling Orden, Keera threw herself into the task of chasing down Octavius Gullane. The morning after they’d got the name, she’d set up shop in the Fortune’s rec room, hooking her communications rig into the main power and tuning the carrier bandwidths to match the ship’s, while Jennifer ran a few upgrades on the engine software. Sprocket, the relentlessly cheery maintenance VI, was by turns useful and obstructive, its intransigence on one thermal control coding patch such that it eventually drove Jennifer from her own boat in a fury to look for a cargo they could carry to maximise the return on the trip. By the time the Fortune’s still-smouldering skipper returned with a job, Keera had finished optimising her systems and verified that the comm credentials Shan’Chael had set her up with were in proper working order. The broker knew his stuff—Keera was impressed with the package he’d supplied. She was pre-registered with most of the news services and a few good political analysis sites, had a subscription to a data analytics suite that was corporate cutting-edge, and a cybersecurity toolkit that was at least the equal of government-grade protection. “This is a work of art,” she declared as she cycled through the available tools.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re happy with your toys,”
Jennifer grumbled. “God knows they were expensive enough.”

  “They were worth every credit,” Keera assured her. “Or they will be. Trust me.”

  “So you keep saying,” Jennifer groused.

  “Did you get out of bed the wrong side this morning?”

  Jennifer glowered at her. “No.”

  “Then why are you in such a foul mood?”

  “I’m… I hate that fucking thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “The VI. It never does what I want it to first time. There’s always this extended bout of negotiations and permissions and pissy little system confirmations, and it drives me fucking nuts. Why can’t it just install the code patches? Why doesn’t it just work, like the engines do?”

  Keera chewed her lip for a moment, then decided to be diplomatic. “Do you want me to do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “The code installs. It won’t take long.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure. It’s just system rules. If you give me a couple of hours to read up on them, I can do a manual install. Does it need to be done before we leave?”

  “No. It’ll improve our engine efficiency and save fuel, but it’s not drive-critical.” Jennifer smiled suddenly. “Thanks, Keera.”

  “Not a problem.”

  And so, Keera had spent the trip with her time divided between studying the Fortune’s software systems and connecting her new comm network into the oubliette she’d constructed in the Service’s network, a concealed virtual lockbox containing a complete copy of her system profile, files, and tools. Most agents had them, even if they never admitted to it; their existence officially and strenuously denied, the designing of them never taught in official courses, their secrets passed on from handler to agent, generation after generation. Keera had taken hers very seriously, maintaining it rigorously, and using it regularly to test its security against the Consortium’s cyberwarfare suites. She’d also backed up all of her files and programs religiously, so it was a little like coming home to find that it had remained undiscovered in spite of her apparent dismissal from her post. After many hours of painstaking work she got it hooked up via a secure tunnel, and as the interface screen started to display the familiar system icons and filenames, Keera felt a brief flush of happiness. “Jennifer,” she called over the comms. “I’ve got access to the Consortium’s intelligence network.”

  “Great. Does that mean you can find a good pizza takeout somewhere in Omega Chronos?”

  Keera huffed a sigh, instantly deflated. “All the classified information we have at our fingertips and that’s the thing that leaps to your mind first?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Shall I bring you up a ration pack?”

  “I’m not that hungry. Listen, we’re about to make the system transition into Omega Chronos, and we’ll be decelerating shortly after. Then we’ll have a long haul towards Chronos Four—it’s way over the rim-ward side of the system, smack dab in the middle of the Belt.”

  “And we can’t get closer in FTL?”

  “Nope. Flying through a planet tends to be detrimental to your health, and there are two hundred and seven of them in Omega Chronos. It’s not a good system for indulging a cavalier approach to navigation.”

  “Noted. Please don’t feel you have to fly through anything just to prove your point.”

  “I’m comfortable with not getting to say ‘I told you so’ in this instance.” There was a pause, then the comm clicked again. “Keera?”

  “Yes?”

  “I am that hungry.”

  Keera groaned.

  A few blessedly collision-free hours later, the Fortune had settled inconspicuously into geosynchronous orbit on the dark side of Chronos Five. The Chronos Belt was some distance off the major transit lanes through the system, and while Chronos Four was the major outpost for the Belt, it was still small enough that discretion was warranted.

  Jennifer had set the autopilot and was sitting on the couch in the wardroom, legs stretched out, head against the backrest. She looked tired—navigating the intricate channels between the gravity profiles of so many planets had been an arduous job. Keera made them both some coffee and handed a mug to the shattered human as she sat down beside her.

  “All right, what do we know?” Jennifer asked.

  “Gullane is human, of Terran origin. He’s a moderately large player in the arms trade, particularly active in the neomorph and leviathan sectors. Needless to say he’s been getting a lot of business lately.”

  “He has?” Jennifer queried.

  Keera blinked. “With the border tensions between the leviathan Giants and the Neomorphs. There’s been a skirmish just about every other week, and Gullane sells to both sides.”

  “I don’t pay much attention to politics,” Jennifer shrugged.

  “Evidently,” Keera said dryly.

  “Don’t get all snotty about it,” Jennifer retorted. “Not all of us are thinking about the greater galactic good all of the time. Some of us have to get by with real work.”

  “It’s not about that,” Keera protested, stung by the rebuke, “it’s… oh, fine, never mind. Gullane’s been doing well for himself. The estate on Chronos Four is a new acquisition, he only moved there last year. It’s close enough to the main settlement to be easy to supply, but it’s isolated enough to be easily defended.”

  “And all that data was just lying around for you to find, huh?”

  “The Service keeps close tabs on the black market,” Keera half-explained, ignoring the scepticism. She didn’t feel that sharing her government’s intelligence strategies with a complete outsider was entirely prudent, even for her own good. At least not voluntarily, and not yet. “Using third parties helps us keep operational deniability.”

  “Scapegoats,” Jennifer mused. “You do like to play dirty, don’t you?”

  “Intelligence isn’t a game where playing fair gets you any points,” Keera noted. “Honourable intentions are best kept confined to election speeches and other works of fiction.”

  “Wow, and I thought I was a cynic.”

  “You aren’t even close to being a cynic.” Keera looked at her thoughtfully, granted a sudden flash of insight. “You’d like to be, but you do actually believe in doing the right thing, don’t you?”

  “You’re not helping your case for your own trustworthiness, you know,” Jennifer deflected sharply.

  “You wanted me to be honest,” Keera shrugged. “I studied intergalactic law and politics at university, then did my Service training. It’s safe to say that kind of education gives you a pretty low opinion of the galaxy in general.”

  “You’re depressing the hell out of me, secret agent,” Jennifer chided. “Let’s get back to the point. Gullane’s a wealthy, successful arms dealer with a swanky new fortified pad. So something tells me we’re not going to be able to just walk up to the front gate and ask about his plans for acquiring Templar collectibles on the quiet.”

  “No. We will need to be a little more subtle than that. But speaking of Templar collectibles, I’ve been researching your target artefact,” Keera continued.

  “Why?” the human enquired with a pained expression. “It’s just an ancient piece of junk, isn’t it? The plaque at the museum said it wasn’t functional.”

  Keera nodded. “I know. And that’s been bothering me. Solinas said that you’d picked the wrong job. So, logically, we can infer that whoever he was working for didn’t want the artefact stolen. But if it’s useless, why worry about it being stolen, to the extent of compromising a second operation?”

  “So you think Gullane is another front? That maybe the Templars wanted it back?”

  “I think if the Templars wanted it back, they’d just have thrown a colossal temper tantrum. Stealing it back would be beneath them. And if Gullane really just wanted a broken relic gathering dust in his trophy room, why bother trying to stop you? So yes, I think it’s a front. Whoever’s after it doesn’t want their in
terest publicly declared. Gullane could well have been using his reputation as a collector as cover for a risky business deal.”

  “Sounds like leverage to me, if we can figure out where to apply it,” Jennifer remarked.

  “I agree.”

  “So, do you know what the damn thing’s supposed to do?”

  “No,” Keera admitted. “I haven’t found a good source beyond the museum records as yet. And the thing that bothers me there is how ridiculously worked up the Assembly got about it. The Templars going ballistic was to be expected, but the Guardians and the Ercineans don’t normally get excited about botched thefts.”

  “It wasn’t botched, it was sabotaged,” Jennifer corrected stiffly. “And a good man died because of it.”

  “Sorry,” Keera apologized, kicking herself mentally. She’d forgotten how raw that nerve still was. “I really didn’t mean to offend you.” She turned to face Jennifer more fully. “Or to belittle your friend’s death.”

  “He was a good guy, and he didn’t deserve to die like that.” Jennifer shivered. “He was trying to protect me. Stupid bastard.” She shook her head, her gaze going distant for a moment. “I was careless and he paid the price.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Keera offered.

  Jennifer shrugged. “People are easy come, easy go, Agent Naraymis,” she said with an edge of bitterness in her voice. “Everyone’s transient, everyone’s working their own angle, everyone moves on when the job’s done, one way or the other. Getting down about it does you fuck all good, and neither does pity.” She met Keera’s gaze with a challenging stare. “Cynical enough for you?”

  “Well, actually, I don’t agree,” Keera objected, but the sudden flash of temper in Jennifer’s expression warned her to drop the subject. “Anyway. Whatever that artefact is, it’s clearly not a useless trinket. How much did you say you were getting for the job?”

  “Two million credits between Orden and me.”

  Keera clicked her tongue in surprise. “I’m not conversant with the antique collectibles market. Would you say that was unusual?”

  “It’s the highest I’ve ever seen,” Jennifer fingered her tattoo thoughtfully as she spoke, “although a finder’s fee in high six or just breaking into seven digits isn’t unusual for Templar toys. It’s not a market I deal in often, but I figured the risk of jacking it out of a high-security environment would have added to the price. Why?”

  “Because the mark-up in black market deals for personal weapons is around a factor of ten, and increases exponentially when you get into ship-mounted calibres and specialised hardware. If Gullane was willing to invest two million to get it, he must have been confident of receiving twenty million or more when he sold it on.”

  “Which tells us what?”

  “Right now? Nothing.” Keera ran two fingers down her nose. “But it’s where the credit trail leads, so we need to look into it. If we can get hold of Gullane’s transaction data, we can see if my theory’s correct.”

  “And that’s not just lying around someplace where you can take a peek at it, I suppose?”

  “Sadly not.”

  Jennifer’s face fell. “Damn. I was hoping we’d earned a break.”

  “It’s just intel, not omniscience.” Keera rubbed at her nose as she thought. “So we need to get into his records, and that means getting into the estate.”

  Jennifer’s expression brightened slightly. “Infiltration? Well, we know you can do that. Do you have a plan?”

  Keera smiled, oddly pleased by the compliment. “I have the beginnings of one, and it’s going to require a little subterfuge. I’ll need you to make a nuisance of yourself.”

  “I specialise in being a nuisance,” Jennifer declared.

  “Oh, I believe you,” Keera smirked. “I need you to go out to the estate and demand to speak to Gullane. Make it clear that Orden sent you to discuss the lack of expenses cover for the job on Earth, and that you’re more than a little pissed off about being extorted and then given the run-around.”

  “That’ll get us nowhere. They’ll just chase me off.”

  “Yes, I know. And then they’ll follow you. Which is exactly what we want them to do.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure.” Keera arched her eyebrows. “We’ll need at least one of his employees to be outside the compound if I’m going to get hold of an identity.”

  “What if it’s a guy?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Jennifer looked over, interest clearly piqued. “So, your appearance isn’t gender-restricted?”

  “No. Why would you think it was?”

  “I dunno,” Jennifer shrugged, “I guess I just thought since you’re a girl...”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Keera replied, “but can we maybe discuss comparative biology another time?”

  “Uh, sure, sorry. So, I get their attention, and get them to set a tail on me. Do I bring our new friend back here?”

  “Yes. I need to be able to identify them.”

  “OK, then what?”

  “Then, you’ll lead them away and pull a good old-fashioned vanishing act.”

  Jennifer grinned. “And am I actually going to disappear?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Keera held out her hand. “Spit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Spit. Unless you want me to scratch you. Or you could kiss me, I suppose.”

  Jennifer frowned, but she complied, spitting reluctantly on Keera’s outstretched palm. “Right, so now…” She trailed off as Keera lifted her hand to her mouth and licked it, rolling her tongue around her mouth to get the sample DNA to her receptors. “That’s gross, Keera.”

  Keera ignored her, took a deep breath, stood up, and initiated her skinshift, watching in abstract fascination as her skin tone paled, her arm thickened with Jennifer’s better developed musculature, and the fine, dark hair that covered her forearms lightened to blonde. When she looked up, the human was staring at her, dumbstruck.

  “I’ll need to work on the vacant look,” Keera remarked dryly. “And use some make-up to simulate that ridiculous scribble under your eye, but should be close enough, I think.” She cocked her hip to ape Jennifer’s usual stance.

  Jennifer shook herself. “That’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she breathed, her tone awed. “I mean, I know you’re not me, but fuck, I’m doubting my sanity just looking at you.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “What’s with the spit?”

  “I needed a DNA sample,” Keera replied. “Fluids are the quickest thing to process.”

  Jennifer pouted. “Well, I like the kissing suggestion better, for future reference.”

  “I’m sure that won’t prove necessary,” Keera parried.

  Jennifer licked her lips and winked salaciously. “Suit yourself, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Keera felt her cheeks heat, and dropped her gaze as she floundered for a response. “I, uh…”

  “Oh, Jesus, stop that,” Jennifer cut her off, voice pained. “I look terrible when I blush.”

  Keera burst out laughing, and the awkward moment evaporated. “So,” she continued, “I’ll lead them someplace quiet, take them down, then borrow their identity for a few hours.”

  “Then you’ll just report back and have a snoop through Gullane’s operation?”

  Keera nodded, but Jennifer shook her head. “Uh uh. This isn’t Orden’s apartment we’re talking about, this is a galaxy-wide arms dealer’s personal fortress. You ain’t going without backup.”

  “And how exactly would I explain your presence?”

  Jennifer frowned. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. We need to know a little more about the place before we commit to any decisions.”

  “All right. I’ll do some more research on the compound layout, but we need to move fast. Before Orden does the decent thing and warns Gullane that he gave him up.”

  “Orden’s never done the decent thing in his life. You sca
red him pretty good. He isn’t likely to provoke Gullane by admitting he ratted him out. But yes,” Jennifer held up a hand to forestall any objections, “the sooner the better.” She got to her feet and drained her coffee. “I’ll get us under way for Chronos Four. You get as much data on the estate as you can, and we can get started as soon as we deliver our cargo.”