Burning Suns: Conflagration (Book One)

  ***

  They reached their appointed docking berth without incident, and Jen left Honold and Solinas to their own devices as she went looking for a dockmaster’s representative. Since weapons were prohibited to non-cyborgs and she was keen to present an open, honest façade, she forwent wearing her coat, a decision she regretted about two minutes after setting foot on the dock, when the pervading chill reminded her that the cyborgs’ idea of room temperature was at least ten degrees cooler than for humans. Shoving her hands into her trouser pockets, she hurried down the gangway to the doors to the main concourse where she was met by a leviathan-based animate with extensive armaments built into its torso and arms. It must have been a Giant in its past life, Jen judged: it was easily three metres tall. “You will submit to an identity scan,” it ordered without preamble, and Jen nodded acquiescence, allowing the cyborg to run the scanner built into its hand across her body. The scanner beeped, and the security animate gave her a short, permissive nod. “Proceed, Captain Bronwen.”

  “Thank you,” Jen offered as she stepped past. The cyborg wouldn’t care one way or the other for the platitude, but being polite to someone who could crush you like a bug was an ingrained reflex.

  She crossed the concourse to the nearest information node, and was met by a slightly less intimidating registry animate (being human and identifiably female in origin) bearing the dockmaster’s identity glyph on her black tunic. “Welcome to the Synergy, Captain Bronwen,” she intoned. “May I be of assistance?”

  “I have a cargo delivery for you, from Mortalis Inhumations on Hel. Nine hundred units transported in cold storage.” Jen handed across the datapad that was the only thing she’d brought off the ship. The registry took it, scanning the data into the system simply by reading the pad.

  “Thank you, Captain. I have recorded the arrival of the cargo. Pending verification of the contents after unloading, we will confirm delivery to Mortalis. I have instructed the dock to begin unloading.” The cyborg activated a holographic keypad. “Enter your authorisation code here, please, to provide the dock with access your vessel’s cargo bay.”

  Jen entered the code as she was directed. “Great. I’m heading to Modeus when my business here is concluded—do you have any cargo that I could take on for delivery? Specifically for the commercial distribution yards on Ganymede?”

  “One moment.” The registry’s eyes went slightly vacant as she ran the search, and Jen took the opportunity to look around. In contrast to the docks at Hel’s Market, there was an almost eerie calm to Korxonthos’ commercial enclave. With the majority of the processes automated and controlled through the registries, who were capable of processing hundreds or even thousands of transactions at once, and the lack of a free market under the Synergy’s unilateral protocols, there was no need for the frenetic, freewheeling chaos that characterized Jen’s home port. There was absolute order, and a quiet that was quite soothing, since the cyborgs had no actual need to speak to one another, by and large—it was an inefficient communication method by their lights.

  “I have a cargo for you, Captain, a bulk order of electronic components for delivery to Ganymede. Customer is Jovian Industrial Gases. Volume of cargo is five hundred cubic metres including packaging.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Standard shipping contract is ten thousand credits.”

  “Also fine.” It wasn’t really, it was tight-fisted as hell for the length of the run, but arguing with a cyborg was futile. They always had irrefutable reasons backed up with infinite supporting examples. “I’ll need to fuel and recharge.”

  “Standard charges will apply. Shall we debit them from your account?”

  “Yeah, but if you could wait until after you confirm delivery to Mortalis, that’d be great.” The ten thousand credits or so that fuelling up would cost was about two thousand more than she had available.

  “Of course.” The registry regarded her with infinite patience. “Is there anything else?”

  “One more thing. I’m here to meet an animate named Dolos, pertaining to my contracting her for some work.”

  “One moment.” The registry cocked its head to one side, consulting its network access. “Confirmed. Dolos has been notified of your arrival, and requests that I inform you she will meet you at your ship on the dock in three hours.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you require anything further at this time, Captain?”

  “No, thank you, that’s great.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Please feel free to make use of the dock’s facilities for the duration of your stay, and please contact one of us again should you have any further inquiry.”

  “I’ll do that.” Jen offered a farewell smile, another pointless reflex, and headed down the concourse to the facilities area. Since there was no hope of getting a drink, and even less hope of striking up any kind of stimulating conversation with the locals, she amused herself by window shopping in the tech outlets for a couple of hours. There were a few navigation and systems performance apps that looked appealing, as well as some neat FTL engine modulators that promised an extra two percent output. Jen made a note of those—they were reasonably priced, and would likely be a good investment when she had the funds. There was some hardware available as well, but nothing that struck her as unusual enough to be worth the expense. Her rule-of-thumb was to go to the neomorphs for ship tech, the cyborgs for software, cyberware, and wetware, and the marauders for armour, guns, and ammo. Pity there isn’t a new gravity generator going cheap. It’s gonna be a rough ride if it conks out completely on the way to Earth.

  When she got back to the ship Honold was sitting out on the dock, eyeballing the security animate on guard inside the doors with a mix of annoyance and trepidation. “He wouldn’t let me go look around,” he complained.

  “Huh. That’s odd. They’re usually easy-going enough if you follow the rules. Did you submit to a security scan?”

  “No way.”

  “That explains it, then. Let them scan you and you can go be nosey.”

  Honold shook his head. ”I can’t.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I, ah, don’t quite match up with my record anymore. It might have a different DNA match profile.”

  “You got your DNA rewritten?”

  “Yeah. Changed a couple of pairs here and there. Didn’t want the military keeping tabs on me.”

  “How do you even go about getting that done?”

  “I know a guy—a changeling—who has a clinic on the Market. Hell if I know how, but it seems to work. It’s close enough to fool most software, but I ain’t taking no chances with that bruiser.”

  “Wise man,” Jen concurred.

  The door to the concourse hissed open behind her, and she turned to see a lithe, human-formed figure entering the dock. “Holy hell,” she muttered.

  “Problem?” Honold asked, looking around reflexively.

  “Not as such. Just seems like Shan’Chael lied to me a little.”

  The mercenary frowned. “How so?”

  “Well, he said Dolos would blend right into a crowd.” She nodded to the approaching cyborg.

  Whoever Dolos had been in her former life had been born to be a movie star. Golden blonde hair in a pixie crop framed a delicate, elfin face with a porcelain complexion. Her perfectly proportioned hourglass figure was sheathed in a skin-tight, sleeveless black bodysuit that left nothing to the imagination, and she walked with the confident grace of a dancer.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Honold muttered. “What a total fucking waste of flesh that is.”

  “Ain’t it?” Jen agreed. Huffing a sigh, she adopted her best professional demeanour and stepped forward. “Dolos? I’m Jennifer Bronwen.”

  Dolos shook her hand with a controlled, precise grip, and inclined her head in acknowledgement. Up close, it was possible to see that the cyborg’s skin was a little too pale thanks to the synthesised plasma cyborgs used for blood, that her flesh had a slightly waxy cast from the embalming process
used to preserve her organic tissue, and that her eyes were implanted with synthetic receptors; subtle clues to the nature of her being. Of course, many humans now routinely used vision-enhancing implants, so they weren’t in and of themselves a giveaway, and all in all Dolos was perhaps the closest replica of a human Jen had ever come across. With a little make-up, she’d look perfect. Damn, Shan, you really know your work.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain,” Dolos offered in an even, calm voice. “I have reviewed the terms of your offer and find them to be acceptable.”

  “Great. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

  “No. Given the nature of the commission, I expect to receive new data as and when I require it. Speculation is pointless.”

  “Right. We’ll be ready to leave in about an hour, I think. Do you need some time to collect any luggage?”

  “No. I require no personal effects. If you are amenable, I am ready to board the ship and be on our way.”

  “Sounds good.” Jen jerked her thumb at the Fortune. “When you board, take a left and head through to the medical compartment. There’s a bunk in there you can use.”

  “As you wish. If there is nothing further you require of me at the moment, I will take my leave.”

  “Fine. Welcome aboard.”

  Dolos turned neatly on her heel and walked away without sparing them a backward glance. Honold whistled softly. “Say, Boss, do you have ear defenders on the boat?”

  Jennifer nodded. “Sure. Why?”

  “I’m thinking we might need them.” He jerked a thumb at the retreating cyborg. “It’s gonna be hard to get her to shut up.”

  Jen chuckled. “C’mon, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing how she reacts to Solinas. Or rather, how he reacts to her.” Still smiling, she led Honold back toward the ship. It was time to get this show on the road.

  JENNIFER

  999 ATA - Berlin, Earth, Modeus System, Assembly Space

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Jen looked up from her breakfast to see Thaddeus Jones standing beside the table. “Not at all,” she replied, nudging the chair opposite her out with one foot.

  Thud eased himself gingerly down into the seat, as though he was afraid the flimsy furniture would collapse under his heavily muscled bulk. “You picked a real classy place for us, Skipper,” he teased.

  Jen snorted. “I’m on a budget. We don’t get paid till the job’s done. Next time, we can stay at the Ritz. Until then, low key and low cost are my watchwords. If you don’t like it, you can bankroll your own upgrade.”

  “I don’t dislike it that much. And the Ritz is in Paris, dumbass.”

  “It’s a figure of speech,” Jen retorted, but she found herself smiling in spite of the insult. “So did you come down here to eat, or just to piss me off?”

  “I can multitask,” Thud shrugged, signalling the waitress. “Yeah, can I get a coffee and some of those little white sausages with the pretzels? Hold the mustard, though—that shit is nasty.”

  The waitress nodded curtly. “One Bavarian breakfast, no mustard, and one coffee. Anything more for you?” she asked Jen sourly.

  “Just some more coffee, thanks,” Jen requested. Once the woman had gone, she leaned back in her chair, studying her companion in more detail. Since making contact with him yesterday she hadn’t had much opportunity to get reacquainted between putting the Fortune into long-stay docking, meeting up with Wai-Mei Xox in Hong Kong, and then getting to Berlin and doing a few hours private recon in the evening.

  He’d put on a little weight from what she remembered, once-hard muscle starting to run to fat around his waist, and his haircut was distinctly scruffier than the high-and-tight he’d worn in the Corps, the tight black curls making him look a little fuzzy around the edges. He still favoured sleeveless t-shirts that showed off the sculpted muscles of his arms, and the definition there remained sharp, proclaiming loudly that even unfrocked, Master Sergeant Thaddeus Jones was not a man to cross lightly.

  He let her look for a moment, then favoured her with his best shit-eating grin, teeth flashing white against his dark skin. “Like what you see, Bronwen?”

  “I liked the view better when it had a little less sag round the belly, fella,” Jen remarked. “You better lay off the beer and the donuts or you’re gonna have a gut the size of Ganymede before you hit thirty.”

  Thud affected a pained wince. “Damn, that’s cold. Three years no see, and all you’ve got for me is a food plan?”

  Jen chuckled softly, spread her hands to concede the point. “Yeah, I’m sorry, that was a low blow. And I like what I see just fine. It’s good to see you again, Thud. I’ve missed you.”

  She had missed him, missed having a kindred spirit to share her thoughts with, missed the bull sessions and the drinking and the laughs, missed having someone at her back who’d really have her back without an angle or a price tag. For all that she’d met and worked with a lot of people since leaving the military, Thud remained perhaps the only person she really considered a friend.

  Jones smiled, a more genuine, pleased expression. “I missed you too, kiddo. The Corps was boring without you, and…” He broke off as the waitress returned with their order, banging the plate and the mugs down with a minimum of grace and stalking off again before they could even respond. “What put the bug up her ass?”

  Jen shrugged. “Hard to tell. Maybe her daddy makes the mustard.”

  Thud snorted with laughter. “Be about my luck,” he noted. “Anyway, this job…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You got a plan?”

  Jennifer did her best to look offended. “Please. Of course I have a plan. When have you known me not to have a plan?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Thud mugged. “I seem to recall any number of wild-ass improvisations back in the day. Mostly involving getting drunk or making booty calls.”

  “Fair point,” Jen conceded wryly, “but I try not to do that in my professional life. It’s not generally helpful for getting contracts completed.”

  “Damn, Jen. Did you go and get all respectable on me?”

  “Hardly. I just don’t have the fall-back of free chow and an assigned bunk these days. Can’t afford to screw up.”

  “Yeah.” Thud looked away for a moment, and Jen cursed her thoughtlessness.

  “Aw, shit, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “Forget it,” Thud cut her off brusquely. “It’s my problem, not yours.”

  Jen opened her mouth to protest but he shook his head to forestall her, bullishly stubborn as ever. “Just leave it, Bronwen. I ain’t in the mood for a post-mortem of my fuck-ups, OK?”

  Jen nodded reluctantly. “OK. It’s your business, I’m not gonna stick my nose in it. But if you want to talk about it, I’m around.”

  Thud’s irritation dissipated slightly, and he relaxed a little. “Yeah, shit, I know. I just… I’m still a little mad at myself. I’ll get over it eventually, I suppose.” He nodded decisively. “So, there’s a plan,” he recapped. “I take it that it’s more sophisticated than walk in with guns blazing, blow the safe, and walk out again with the swag?”

  “A bit,” Jen agreed. “C’mon, eat up, then we can get the others and brainstorm a little.”

  “I thought you said you had a plan?”

  “I do, but there’s no reason to assume it can’t be improved upon.”

  “I knew it,” Thud sighed theatrically. “You’re gonna just make this up as you go, aren’t you?”

  “Trust me, Thud,” Jen grinned. “Trust me.”