Conflagration 1: Burning Suns Page 2

  She pulled the polyfilm back out of her pocket, studied the details one more time, then dropped the note into a nearby trash incinerator. The location of the target meant there was no way she’d be able to do the job alone; she had most of the requisite skills, but it would be a delicate operation. At the very least she’d need a good datarat and some dependable back up.

  As she crossed the boundary from the Outskirts to Lowmarket, she let her guard down fractionally and pulled her combat holo-visor from its resting place in her inner coat pocket. Activating the communications protocols only, she hooked the unit over her left ear and placed a call to another of her frequent associates.

  “Good morning,” a pleasant baritone voice greeted her. “Captain Bronwen, how perfectly delightful to hear from you. How may I assist you?” There was humour in the speaker’s voice. “Are you buying or selling?”

  “Hi, Shan’Chael. Buying. I’m in the market to recruit a couple of specialists for a contract. Is there any chance you have some time to see me today?”

  “For you, my dear Captain, I’ll make the time. Clients as charming as yourself are never a burden. Let me just check… ah, yes, good. Shall we say fifteen hundred hours, galactic standard?”

  “That’d be great, thanks. I’ll see you then.”

  “Looking forward to it, my dear. Do have a wonderful morning.”

  Jennifer disconnected the call with a wry smile. The recruitment broker was fussy, pedantic, effete, and a terrible snob, but he was undoubtedly the best in his field, and, more importantly, he would certainly have some decent coffee to offer when she arrived at his office. Smiling, she checked her chronometer. She had about six hours to kill. More than long enough to make some more use of that sinful bed, and its equally sinful occupant.

  KEERA

  New Lagos, Geonova, Sol Deuterion System, Assembly Space

  Keera Naraymis leaned forward in her chair, planting her elbows on the conference table and meeting the gaze of the Changeling dignitary opposite her with a firm stare. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Minister. But as I’m sure you are aware, our administration is not prepared to concede any ground on this point. Your security forces’ woeful inability to police your own people’s dissident factions inspires precisely zero confidence in any guarantee that your government could make.” Keera allowed a note of disdain to creep into her voice. “Surely you must admit that when your people can disguise themselves as almost anybody, these ‘Sentinels’ represent a clear and present danger, not just to our citizens, but to people all across the galaxy?”

  “Secretary Naraymis, forgive me, but I can’t help but feel that you are exaggerating the risk for your administration’s political gain, rather than out of any concern for the welfare of your citizens,” Minister Solta, the Changeling envoy, retorted. “You have an election coming up, if I recall, and the threat of monsters in the dark has always been one of the most effective political scare tactics one can employ.”

  “It’s not the monsters in the dark that worry me, Minister, Solta, it’s the ones walking around in broad daylight that look just like me,” Keera countered smoothly, running her a hand through her short, curly black hair. “And I resent the implication that this is some sort of campaign stunt.” She waved one hand theatrically at the rest of her delegation. “The threat is very real. Any one of my colleagues here could be one of these terrorists, a sleeper agent just waiting for the right opportunity. How can I know for sure that they are who they say they are? Unless I take a knife to each and every one of them to see what colour they bleed, which is hardly a practical solution.”

  The changeling scoffed, the fringe of fine feathers around his jaw flaring in offence. “Oh, please. Don't be so melodramatic. It’s as insulting as it is juvenile, and it does you no credit.”

  Keera tapped at the holographic interface on the desk before her, and a series of case file windows popped into view, forming a wall of information between her and her opponent. “These five cases have arisen in the last six months, Minister. That represents a serious escalation of activity on the part of these dissidents, and that’s not melodrama, it’s cold, hard fact.” She leaned forward, dismissing the display with an aggressive swipe with the blade of her hand. “I’ll say it once more, just so we're absolutely clear. We are not prepared to permit our sovereign right to safeguard our citizens to be infringed, and your proposed amendments to our open border treaty don’t meet with our expectations in that regard.”

  Minister Solta clicked his beak in irritation. “And what exactly is the nature of your expectations with respect to the amendments?”

  “Most of what you've proposed is fair and reasonable; my colleagues in the Trade and Industry department have given me the green light. You’re talking to us because there’s one issue that still needs to be resolved, and I'm afraid that it’s a red line for the Exterior department. We are not prepared to soften our position regarding the detention of changelings suspected of impersonation of our citizens.”

  Solta frowned hawkishly at her. “You want to lock our people up without charge,” he accused.

  “That’s rather a crude generalisation, Minister.”

  “Forgive me, Secretary, but I thought you wanted to be absolutely clear?”

  Keera bit back the sudden burst of admiration that threatened to crack her professional demeanour. The Minister certainly knew how to play. “We reserve the right to remand into custody without charge any citizen of the Consortium found to have assumed a false identity, pending a full investigation into any potential criminal activity.” Keera met the changeling’s gaze, deploying her coldest stare in the silence that followed her words, waiting patiently until he twitched, nerves betraying him. “It’s either that,” she continued, “or we revoke the open border treaty completely, and require all of your citizens travelling in Marauder space to be genetically tagged at point of entry so that they can be tracked. Failure to comply would incur criminal charges levelled against the individuals and financial sanctions, scaling with the number of arrested individuals, on your government.”

  “That’s preposterous!” the Minister exploded. “You want to build a DNA database of our people, and extort money from us for the privilege?”

  “If your people have nothing to hide, why should they object to being unambiguously identified?” Keera challenged. “Innocent citizens have nothing to fear from such a policy.”

  “Be that as it may, our people have a right to privacy. And levying fines in addition to criminal charges is tantamount to piracy!”

  “We have to bear the costs of taking extra precautions, Minister, and crystals don’t grow on trees.” Keera spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Be reasonable, sir. We don't want to inflict that kind of blanket enforcement on anyone, it’s not in your best interests or ours, economically or diplomatically. But we must be able to reassure our citizens that they are safe from terrorism. Any of your people we catch masquerading as humans are going to be doing so for reasons that will almost certainly be illegal. Why bother wasting your resources, and inconveniencing your innocent citizens, who are, I’m sure, the bulk of our visitors, to protect a few criminals?”

  “It’s a matter of principle, and respecting our people’s civil liberty,” Solta retorted. “There’s no law against shapeshifting on the Assembly’s charter, Miss Naraymis. In fact the right to freedom of self-expression is enshrined. I understand your desire to reassure your citizens that your government can protect them, but we have an equal responsibility, and an equal right, to defend our citizens from unjust accusations of wrongdoing and harassment simply for being born as who they are.” Solta leaned in aggressively, neck ruff bristling with indignation. “Your threats tread perilously close to violating our people’s sentient rights.”

  “I'm not going to apologise for that, Minister,” Keera shot back, refusing to give ground. “You can wave the Assembly’s charter around as much as you like. It doesn’t cover its signatories’ legal frameworks. And the iss
ue here, as we both know, is one of practicality.” Keera jabbed her index finger down on the table to reinforce her point. “Unless suspects can be remanded while we carry out background checks, they shift to a new identity, and we lose them. Your people have a unique ability, Minister, and unfortunately that ability is perfectly suited to concealing criminal activity and evading justice. Some minimal restrictions put in place to vet potential troublemakers is not an unreasonable price to pay for the security and freedom of the larger population. Yours as well as ours, since these psychopaths are as hell bent on causing you as much trouble as anyone else.”

  The changeling official sighed heavily. “Please don’t pretend that any of this is for my people’s benefit, Secretary Naraymis. I find your paranoia as unattractive as it is misguided, but… you have your blade to my throat. Very well, on behalf of the Consortium, I agree to retain the clause stipulating that our citizens may be detained without charge, if you will agree that the clause will state explicitly that they must be informed of the reason for their detention and given immediate access to legal counsel.”

  Keera nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll go on record here and now—that’s not a problem.”

  Solta gave her a baleful stare. “The other amendments to the treaty shall be drawn up in line with the recommendations from your Trade department.” He raised his tiny inner arms to smooth the feathers round his neck back down, visibly collecting himself. “Was there anything else?”

  Keera shook her head. “I believe we’ve covered everything, Minister. I will have our legal attaché draw up the final draft of the treaty and have it sent over for your approval at your earliest convenience.” She rose to her feet and offered her hand.

  The Minister declined to accept the handshake, though there was a hint of grudging respect in his expression. “I shall make sure the documents are dealt with as soon as they arrive,” he declared, gesturing to his entourage to leave the room ahead of him. “You’ll forgive my abrupt departure, I trust, but I’m exceptionally busy, and this extended discussion of civil liberty has made me late for my next appointment. Good afternoon, Assistant Secretary Naraymis.”

  “Good afternoon, Minister, Solta.”

  Once the door had closed behind the Changeling delegation, Keera blew out a long, relieved sigh. “That went well,” she observed to her staff at large.

  “Well played, Keera,” her junior aide, Bremerton, congratulated her enthusiastically. “God, I thought he was never going to crack, but you got him.”

  “Solta’s a stubborn old bird,” Keera said. “I was worried he was going to call my bluff. He’s just about obstinate enough to have tried it.” She huffed a second relieved breath. “Can you imagine the amount of effort it would take to actually follow through on that threat? The cost of tagging and monitoring every single changeling passing through our space? It’d bankrupt us in less than a year.”

  “But Solta has to have known that,” Bremerton pointed out, “so why not argue the point?”

  “Because we’re not the only ones with an upcoming election to win.” Keera allowed herself a satisfied smile. “Solta was so busy weighing up the political cost of losing the open border, both in terms of economic loss and public outrage at the threat to their civil rights, that he didn’t think it all the way through. Which I was banking on: someone with less to lose might have turned it back on me.”

  “How?”

  Keera looked around the room. “Anyone else know the answer?”

  “The Assembly’s articles of anti-discrimination,” Mahmoud, her deputy, piped up.

  “Exactly. Requiring only Changelings to be tagged would be discriminatory, which is prohibited by the Assembly’s Charter of Rights. Demanding that we tag every visitor, regardless of species, would have shot our bargaining position in the foot—there's simply no way we could achieve that.”

  “Because it would cost too much.” Bremerton nodded understanding.

  “And besides, how the hell would you tag a Guardian?” Mahmoud chuckled. “Spray paint their armour?”

  Keera smiled tolerantly. “Right. But as I said, happily, he was too busy calculating the political fallout for him and his party from the worst-case scenario, and that let me away with the bluff.” She nodded to Bremerton. “Even when what you’re asking for is unpalatable, if you can make the alternative seem far worse, chances are people will agree with your initial suggestion. And that, ladies and gents, is today's lesson in the dirty art of diplomacy.” She eyed her team appreciatively. “Good work today, guys. We're on the brink of making sure Marauder space is that little bit safer. We’ll reconvene first thing tomorrow to finalise the recommendations for the draft, then we can safely say this one’s inside the bag.”

  “In the bag,” Mahmoud corrected with a grin.

  Keera arched an offended eyebrow. “That's what I meant. Slip of the tongue—it's been a long day. OK, thanks, everyone, see you tomorrow.”

  The team dispersed with a few good-natured jokes, and Keera headed directly back to her office, five floors down from the conference centre. After checking her messages, firing off a few rapid responses and submitting a brief memo on the meeting to her boss, she settled down with her annotated copy of the treaty to read through it carefully one more time, adding her final comments and a few extra references to precedents that she thought would be helpful.

  By the time she got done, the sun had set, and the city had donned its sparkling night attire, a riot of light and colour that stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. New Lagos, capital of the Free Terrans and the heart of Marauder space, presented a far prettier face to the universe by night than it did by day. In the two years she'd been living here, she'd come to appreciate the city’s amenities and the high-end lifestyle they afforded, but never quite shaken her initial distaste for the extensive level of urbanization on Geonova and throughout the Sol Deuterion system. She wasn't homesick, exactly, but she was sure she would never really come to feel at home here.

  Packing up, she was about to leave for the evening when her comms rang. She flicked a glance at the ID and muttered a curse as she saw it was her boss. No choice but to pick it up. “Naraymis.”

  “Keera, I read your memo. Good job today.” Associate Secretary Mendieta’s bullish, confident voice boomed around the office. “You really got that scrawny old bird by his tail feathers.”

  “I'm not sure he has tail feathers, sir.”

  “You know what I mean, don't be so damn literal.” Mendieta paused for a moment, and Keera braced herself. She knew such pauses well; nothing good ever came of them. “I was thinking, now you've been so successful in getting this legislation passed, it's high time you started work on your next project.”

  “This one's not quite signed, sealed, and delivered yet, sir,” Keera protested, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “I’d like not to assume it's done till I see the final copy imprinted by the Changelings.”

  “Mahmoud can handle all the final paperwork for you, you don't need to babysit that. It'll be good practice for him. And you’ll be there for the formal signing to get the credit you crave, don't worry.” There was a slight sneer in Mendieta’s voice; no doubt he’d been hoping she wouldn't make an issue of it, so that he could take the stage himself.

  “It's not that, sir,” Keera objected for the sake of form. “I’m not looking for any credit, I’d just like to make sure that everything’s done properly and nothing’s overlooked. Call me a perfectionist.”

  “Well, that's commendable, but I think Mahmoud can be trusted to remember that the shapeshifters actually need to sign the agreement,” Mendieta retorted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “And I need you getting started on the advance work for the upcoming summit with the Terrans on these Reaver incursions. You'll be leaving in two days for Earth, and I'll expect daily updates for the Secretary. Get in touch with our office in the Hong Kong enclave and set it up.”

  Keera rolled her eyes in exasperation, but there wasn't much she
could say. “Yes, sir. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Good. And send me the draft treaty before you send it to legal. I’ll want to eyeball it before it goes any further.”

  “Yes, sir.” You mean you want to edit a few lines, then you'll feel like you did some work you can put your name to.

  “That’s it for now, Keera. Have a good evening.” Mendieta hung up without waiting for a response, which was probably just as well, Keera thought darkly as she pulled on her coat. The old fraud’s blatant appropriation of her work was getting increasingly hard to stomach.

  She reflected on her feelings as she began her short walk home. (Being a high-flying government official had its perks, one of which was a stipend toward accommodation that was incredibly generous, and when supplemented with a bit of her income made a downtown address eminently affordable.) If she was honest, she was surprised by how much Mendieta’s ambition and persistent credit-stealing bothered her. After all, it wasn't as if she was here for the career. This was strictly a short-term employment, something she'd be leaving behind as soon as she could. Realistically, the less she was in the limelight, the better, and she'd never been predisposed to being the centre of attention at the best of times. And yet, and yet, some part of her wondered how it would feel to actually be acknowledged for once for the work she did.

  This job is getting to you, she told herself sternly as she reached her building, nodding a perfunctory greeting to the concierge. I need to get these last few pieces sorted out, and then I'll be ready for something new. Catching her private elevator up forty floors, she stepped off into her apartment’s personal lobby, unlocked the door, and headed gratefully into the secure tranquillity of her living space.