Firebrand

"That's certainly an...unusual method," he muttered. "Do you have anything else to go on?"

"No, that's all we got right now," Boyd replied.

"I think a railgun is a safe bet," Stan continued. "Plasma weapons work by using magnetic fields to shape and contain superheated gas, and while that's going to hit with about the same force as a railgun slug, you're going to be shedding energy pretty quickly over the kinds of ranges that we're talking about. A railgun, on the other hand, uses magnets to accelerate a tungsten slug. It has a low enough melting point not to just turn to sludge on its way through the hull, and it won't shed any energy or velocity as it travels through a vacuum."

"So what kind of railgun could make that shot?" Boyd asked. "The largest models I know of are those big anti-tank rifles that require a two-man team to operate. Could one of those do it?"

"Maybe," Stanley replied, sounding unconvinced. "You couldn't just hook one of those up to the station's grid and expect it to work, though. They need specific power delivery systems, or they'll either fail to reach the correct velocity or explode in your hands. No, it must have been a custom job."

He walked over to the back of the storeroom and reached up, pulling a long, heavy barrel from one of the racks. It was almost as long as he was tall, the black polymer lined with tightly-packed, copper-colored rings. He hauled it over to a nearby crate and dropped it down, grunting with the effort.

"This is the largest barrel that we carry," he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve as the trio crowded around to get a closer look. "This is a sixty-five incher, designed for maximum stopping power. It's mostly used for anti-material purposes, for destroying enemy armor and disabling light spacecraft. The slug is fired from the magnetic rails in the receiver, and then is picked up by these coils, accelerating it to the desired velocity. It's as much a coilgun as a railgun, really. The shooter would have needed to use something like this to get through so many layers of the hull, and then also maintain enough velocity that he didn't fill the room with molten metal. If you put enough juice through something like this, it could theoretically do the job."

"But you could barely carry it, and that is merely the barrel," Lorza mused. "Can we be sure of the shooter's species?"

"The tripod was at human height," Boyd replied, "and there were only human-sized pressure suits in that airlock. I suppose a Borealan could've brought their own pressure suit, maybe a suit of Shock Trooper armor that's rated for vacuum, but it doesn't seem likely. A cat in full gear fucking around in the service tunnels would raise too many questions if they were caught."

"It's heavy," Moralez added with a nod, "but consider this. He could have wheeled the parts, or even the fully assembled rifle, through the service tunnels on a cart or something. He would have had to lug it through the airlock, but once he was outside, it would have weighed nothing. There's no gravity out on the hull."

"They would have needed some kind of targeting system too," Stanley continued, "a smart scope. Nobody could have made that shot by eye, it would have to be done with computer assistance."

"Do you carry those too?" Moralez asked.

"We do," Stanley replied, "and I know what you're going to ask me next. No, I haven't noticed any missing inventory. Everything in here has a serial number, down to triggers and batteries. We log what comes in and out very carefully. Lots of people have access to the armory, but smuggling out any parts is practically impossible, let alone enough to build a functioning weapon."

"Can you be certain of that?" Moralez asked. "If it didn't come from the armory, then that means my security staff dropped the ball. Call it petty pride, but we run a tight ship too."

"I'll double-check it for you," Stanley said with a nod. He made his way over to a nearby terminal that was built into a wall between two weapon racks, tapping at the touch screen for a few moments before waving Moralez over. "As you can see, we're not showing any missing inventory. Everything is accounted for."

"Damn," Moralez muttered under his breath. "Well, thanks for the help, Stan. I guess the only option left is that it was somehow smuggled through security. Admiral Vos isn't going to like this..."

"Let me know if I can be of any more help," Stanley replied, Moralez giving him a somber nod before heading back towards the exit. The two agents shared a glance, then followed after him.

As they emerged onto the torus once more, leaving the din of the firing range behind them, Moralez put a finger to his ear and placed a call.

"Yes, this is the Chief. I want men checking every waste disposal system on the station for objects that are made from polymers and alloys that correspond to an XMR weapons system. The perp may have ditched the gun. It's possible that he disassembled the rifle and scattered the pieces throughout the different quarters, so make sure to be thorough."

"He could just as easily have tossed it into space before returning through the airlock," Boyd added.

"Check the immediate vicinity of the station for small objects and debris too," Moralez added, "and don't waste any time. The longer we wait, the more chance there is of the evidence being destroyed or lost. Chief Moralez out."

"So you're gonna have your deputies sift through every garbage can on the station?" Boyd asked, Moralez turning to give him a scowl. "Looks like your good mood has soured, Sheriff. What do we do until the results come back? It's gonna take 'em a while."

"Now, we can begin our interviews," he replied. "We now know how the attack was carried out, and we have some idea of the weapon that was used. Whoever did this couldn't have fired that rifle blind, he had to be able to see inside that room, which means that one of the people who attended the conference was feeding him information."

"So...you couldn't stop someone from smuggling a listening device onto the hub," Boyd began, "and you couldn't stop someone from bringing a weapon onto the station? I have to admit, it's seeming more and more like Vos has some genuine grievances with the way that you run things around here."

Moralez was about to reply with a cutting remark, but Lorza beat him to the punch.

"Enough of this, malish," she grumbled. "The Chief is troubled enough without your prodding and poking."

"I'm just saying," Boyd continued, but Lorza seemed to have had enough. She brought her furry hand to her mouth, extending her pink tongue, matting her furry palm with a sheen of saliva. Before Boyd could react, she planted her hand in his dark hair with a wet splat, a shiver crawling down his spine. She pulled her hand away, linked to his head by a strand of her drool, his hair now damp and messy.

"I said enough, malish."

"One of these days I'm going to lock you on the wrong side of an airlock," he grumbled, his lack of surprise suggesting that this wasn't the first time that she had subjected him to the Borealan equivalent of a wet willy.

Moralez suppressed a smirk, shooting Lorza an appreciative glance.

"Alright," he said, "who should we start with?"

"We need to interrogate everyone who was in that room," Boyd replied, trying and failing to straighten his hair. He wiped his hand on his long coat, grimacing with disgust as Lorza looked on with a satisfied expression.

"I prefer the term interview," Moralez replied, crossing his prosthetic arms. "And when you say everyone..."

"I mean everyone. The Krell, the Araxie, the Elysian, the Rask, the Valbarans, your two security guards."

"Wait, my guards aren't suspects," Moralez complained. "And you didn't include everyone. What about Admiral Vos and the Broker? They were both in the room, and neither one of them submitted to a standard check before being admitted to the hub."

"Do you suspect the Admiral?" Boyd asked, Lorza narrowing her eyes. Moralez tried to take a leaf out of Kaisha's book, not hesitating as he gave a swift and confident reply.

"I didn't say that, but you said everyone."

He had to keep in mind that although Boyd and Lorza had been assigned to assist him, they were not on his side. They were here to observe him as much as to help him, reporting his every move back to Vos. There was no telling how close their relationship was. If the Admiral really was involved in the plot, and he got wind that Moralez was investigating him, he could have the Chief removed from the case with a snap of his fingers.

It wouldn't be the first time that an Admiral had succumbed to corruption. Moralez was reminded of his encounter with Rawling, an Admiral who had been allied with organized criminals, running a black market out of the very station itself. He had been dealt with swiftly and decisively, but Vos was no petty smuggler. The man had connections to UNNI, SWAR, and who knew what other secret services and special operations divisions.

"The Admiral said that we are not to bother the Broker delegate," Lorza added.

"Yeah, the walking fridge is off-limits," Boyd confirmed with a nod.

"This is my investigation," Moralez snapped, "I will not allow it to be hampered in any way. The Admiral dictating who we may and may not interview is completely unacceptable, and I'll go over his head if I have to. He's not the only one with connections."

"I'll be sure to let him know," Boyd replied ominously.

"You do that..."

"There is also the issue of diplomatic immunity," Lorza added, Moralez switching his attention to her. "Even if we were able to identify which delegate was involved in the attempt on the ambassador's life, we would have little recourse when it came to prosecuting them. We may be able to detain them for a short while, but once their government got wind of it and asserted their diplomatic rights, the UNN would be compelled to release them under the Vienna Convention."

"If that's the case, then why hasn't the culprit simply fled the station?" Moralez asked.

"Because fleeing would be tantamount to a confession," Lorza replied. "I believe that they will wait, and hope that we do not succeed in unraveling this tangled thread."

"You're assuming that if we uncovered the truth, any government would assert those rights," Boyd added. "It might be state-sponsored, but if not, they'd drop their delegate like a live grenade."

"You both make good points," Moralez mused, watching as Boyd patted gingerly at his wet hair again. "But we won't know more until we've completed the interviews. I suppose we should tackle the most obvious suspects first, and deal with any...disagreements as we come to them."

"As you said, it's your investigation," Boyd replied with a deference that was far from genuine. "Lead the way."

***

"So what do you eat?" Harry asked, digging into a bowl of cereal. He had found a box in one of the kitchen cupboards, and there was milk in the fridge. It probably wasn't the real stuff, even the ambassadors weren't quite that pampered. But it tasted close enough, and the chilled liquid felt pleasant on his tongue.

"My nutritional requirements are not dissimilar from yours," Holly replied, standing beside the kitchen table as she watched him bring another spoonful to his mouth. "What about Blackjack?" she added, glancing at the sleeping Krell. "Is he not hungry?"

"Krell only eat about once every few months when they're not burnin' calories fighting," Harry said over a mouthful of crunchy cereal. "Their metabolisms are really slow, BJ won't get hungry for weeks yet."

"And that is the key to their long lifespans?" Holly mused, watching the reptile sleep as her antennae bobbed in the air. "An uncommonly low metabolic rate."

"I guess," Harry said with a shrug.

"What is that white fluid?" she asked, gesturing to his bowl.

"That's milk," Harry explained. "It comes from a cow. Well, it would come from a cow if we weren't light-years too far out to get fresh produce delivered to us. This is some kind of synthetic substitute."

"Is it good?"

"You can try some if you like, it's nothin' special."

She sat down at the table to his right and waited patiently, Harry quickly realizing that she had no idea where the milk was, or how to prepare it. If you could call pouring a bowl of milk preparing anything. He set his spoon down and rose to his feet, walking over to the fridge and opening the door, fishing for the carton. He retrieved a glass from a nearby shelf and poured some, placing the cup on the table in front of her. Harry had been curious about how she ate for some time now, and he was about to get his answer.

Holly's dainty, doll-like mouth opened as the pearly, chitinous plates that made up her face shifted. As he had suspected, those painted lips had only been for show. He watched as what might pass for her lower jaw descended, her face split almost cheek to cheek, revealing flesh beneath her carapace that was a striking blue in color. It reminded him of Blackjack's tongue. The reptiles had blue mucous membranes due to the hemocyanin in their blood, and it seemed as though Holly might share that feature. It almost looked like she had a beak, the interlocking plates shaped like a rough W. From within, a long, flexible protrusion emerged. Her mouth was open just wide enough to let the tongue-like, tapered organ pass. It just kept coming until at least a foot of it was visible, suspended in the air like a tentacle, its slick surface the same off-blue color as the inside of her mouth. It slowly descended towards the glass of milk, dipping into the liquid. He noticed that there was a hole on one end, it was a hollow tube. It must be a proboscis of sorts.

She began to drink, he could see the muscles in the fleshy tube rippling, like she was sucking through a giant straw made of meat. There was nothing unusual about it from her perspective, but when she glanced over at Harry, she must have noticed his expression of surprise and displeasure.

"My apologies," she said, "you must find me strange."

She spoke as though her throat wasn't obstructed in the slightest. Whatever organ produced her speech, it didn't seem to be connected to this feeding tube in any way. It was a little unnerving, like watching a ventriloquist drink a glass of water while throwing their voice.

"It's...not what I was expecting," he admitted. "Can you taste through that thing?"

"Yes," she replied, "though I am not sure how our senses might differ. My people mostly feed on a concentrate of nutrients and vitamins. It resembles honey in taste and texture, so my father tells me, I have never tasted honey for myself. It is all that we require."

"Sounds convenient," he mumbled, watching as the milk vanished into her proboscis. Within a minute, she had emptied the glass, the prehensile organ probing the bottom of the cup for stray droplets. It sucked back up into her head as abruptly as it had come, her face returning to its familiar configuration, the plates that made up her jaw sealing shut.

"I can probably get honey for you if you want some," he added. "In fact, there's probably all kinds of shit in here. This suite was furnished for ambassadors, so it's fully stocked. Let's see..."

He rose from his seat at the kitchen table, Holly turning in her chair to watch him as he investigated one of the cupboards. After rummaging for a moment, he withdrew a can of coffee beans and a packet of hot chocolate.

"Can you only drink liquids?" he asked, "no solid foods?"

"As I said, I consume only the nutrient paste that is produced by our Repletes, save for an occasional drink of water. My father has shared fruit juices with me on occasion, components of his Navy ration packets. I enjoyed them, but they were inferior to the paste in terms of their nutritional value."

"So Bugs don't eat for fun? Gotcha." He juggled some of the packets, examining the labels. "On second thought, I'd better not give you coffee. There's no telling if your body would be able to handle it. Cocoa should be fine, though."

He set the kettle to boil, then made his way to the fridge, withdrawing a carton of orange juice. He opened the cap and poured a glass for Holly, watching as her doll-like face split open to reveal her insectoid drinking tube once again. The sight was no less unnerving, but at least he was prepared for it this time...

She plunged the organ into the orange liquid, taking a tentative suck. The flexible tube of muscle withdrew shortly afterwards, Holly recoiling.

"It is acidic!" she complained.

"Yeah, I take it you don't like that flavor?"

"No," she replied, "though the sugar content is pleasant."

"In that case, I'm sure you'll like this," he said as he moved over to the counter. The kettle had boiled, and so he tore open a packet of cocoa, pouring it into a mug and filling it with warm milk. He stirred it with a spoon for a moment, then placed it in front of Holly, the Bug watching as a wisp of steam escaped from it.

"Don't drink it yet," he warned. "It's hot, let it cool down a little first."

"Why did you heat it if it should be consumed cool?" she asked.

"Do you know how to make hot chocolate? No? Then just wait a minute."

They waited for a few more moments, and then Harry dipped the tip of his finger into the cocoa.

"Alright, it's cool enough to drink now," he said as he sucked his digit clean.

Holly's prehensile proboscis snaked forth tentatively, testing the drink, as though she was afraid of being burned. As soon as she took her first sip, her eyes widened, her furry antennae twitching.

"It is good!" she exclaimed, Harry watching the fleshy tube pulsate as she drank. "The taste is sweet, and yet bitter. The warmth reminds me of fresh nutrient paste, straight from the Replete."

Harry sat down beside her, watching with a smile as she slowly drained the mug. A human would sip at their beverage, then take a pause, but the Bug drank continuously until it was all gone. When she was done, she turned her attention back to him.

"I would like to make another request of you, if I may," she began. "I have spent much time thinking about how I might sway some of the remaining ambassadors, but I fear that emotion will rule over reason if I attempt to make my case at the next council meeting. If such a meeting will indeed be scheduled to resolve the matter, as I have no doubt it will. They need time to consider my application, and most importantly, to cool their tempers."

"So, what are you suggestin'?" Harry asked.

"I wish to meet with them face to face. Specifically, I wish to meet with the Araxie and Valbaran ambassadors."

"The Chief says we can't leave the suite," Harry replied simply, Holly's antennae twitching with what might be irritation.

"Sergeant...I appreciate your concern for my safety, and I mean you no disrespect, but how can I be expected to perform my duties as a diplomat if I am unable to even meet with my counterparts? Will staying confined to this apartment protect me from a foe that can shoot clean through the hull? You could move me through the tunnels in secret, as you did before. There would be no reason to reveal my presence here to anyone else."

"Until the Chief figures out who tried to kill you, we're stayin' here," Harry replied sternly. "It's too dangerous, there are too many variables. You're as safe as you're gonna get right now. Listen, I'm not thrilled about being cooped up in here either, but you should trust the Chief. He knows what he's doing."

"You do not understand, Sergeant," she continued. She was becoming agitated, her antennae waving, her pink eyes fixed on him intently. "My life is of no value if I do not accomplish my task. Sitting here, doing nothing...I might as well be dead."