Flashpoint (Book One of the Drive Maker Trilogy)

by Adam Quinn

  “An invasion is not a ‘bilateral security operation.’” Markins seemed to pluck the words out of Cherran’s mind. “Whatever your feelings about extragalactic affairs, you must recognize that this Kaleknarian move is a threat to everything this organization stands for, and indeed everything we fought for in the Order War. It seems the Liberated Territories have grown very comfortable under Meltian military protection, to the extent that they view Icarus Events as a greater threat than military aggression. We would only remind them that the same military guarantee was extended to Trascion.”

  “The period for speeches has elapsed,” Miles said. “Delegations, please cast your votes on the motion from the Liberated Territories.”

  Two blue lights from Kaleknar and the Territories matched two red ones from Meltia and the CDW.

  “Unable to achieve a majority, this motion fails,” Miles said. “The chair is now looking for parliamentary motions.”

  To Cherran’s surprise, Shuping pressed the button to ignite Meltia’s light.

  “The Meltian Republic is recognized.”

  “Motion to yield the floor to the Kaleknarian ambassador for five minutes for the purpose of explaining their so-called ‘bilateral security operation’ and subsequently fielding questions from the body,” Shuping said.

  Cherran caught Shuping’s eye and whispered, “I was getting there!”

  Technically any member of the Meltian delegation was authorized to motion or vote for the Republic, but deference to the ambassador was standard practice, and however smart she was, Shuping was not an experienced diplomat: this mission would not go well with her stepping on his toes.

  “One speech is allowed against this motion… the Coalition of Developing Worlds is recognized.”

  Cherran looked up in surprise at Markins.

  “I agree with the Meltian delegation’s intent, but not with their focus,” Markins said. “We may not know why the Kaleknarians chose to invade Trascion at this specific time, but the CDW finds that to be irrelevant. Our focus must be on taking concrete action whether through economic or military—”

  “Point of order!” a Kaleknarian said.

  “The Kaleknarian Empire is recognized on a point of order.”

  “We did not choose a solar system Trascion to our subject, so it is not suitable for the ambassador to discuss peculiar solutions.”

  Cherran buried his head in his hands. PanGal.

  “Kaleknarian delegation, your point of order is not sustained, as the Coalition Ambassador’s specificity was justified in the context of his response to the motion.”

  “Thank you, chair,” Markins said. “As I was trying to say, either concrete economic action or military force is necessary to maintain the peace essential to the prosperity of the galaxy.”

  Three red lights shot down Meltia’s lone blue.

  Cherran groaned inwardly, eyes flicking between the Kaleknarian delegation and Ambassador Miles. He should have known that PanGal would never be willing to go near a topic as sensitive as the Trascion affair—that was why he had given up on trying to do this sort of thing in the first place. Fortunately, Cherran’s time in PanGal had also taught him that the organization’s suffocating procedure could be circumvented. As soon as Miles asked for motions, Cherran slapped his button, throwing a hopeful grin at her.

  “The Meltian Republic is recognized.”

  “Motion for ten minutes of informal debate, seeing as we can’t agree on anything today,” Cherran said.

  “One speech is allowed against this motion.”

  Nobody moved.

  Cherran flipped out his FSO transceiver even as the blue lights swept across the room, pressing a single button on its screen. “Hey, Rey? I need a favor.”

  “No.”

  “This is nothing like last time; just open the Starfield, okay?”

  “Now? It’s not even noon, Cherran.”

  “And get at least a liter or two of whatever the Kaleknarians like. Put it on my account.”

  “Cherran—”

  Cherran closed the communications channel. “Ms. Wei, it looks like Markins is giving the Territories guy a hard time. Go help him—Markins, I mean.”

  “Cherran, your assignment—”

  “Working on it.”

  Cherran gave her a thumbs-up, then moved toward the Kaleknarian delegation, which seemed to be in a pitched argument—against itself. Cherran still had no idea which of them was Ambassador Gerald, so he slipped into the middle of it. “Hey friends, can I speak to your ambassador?”

  One of them stepped forward. “What do you need?”

  Cherran broke into a grin, planting his hand on the ambassador’s rigid back, and maneuvering the two of them away from the rest of the delegation. “Gerald! Long time, no see!”

  “I am not sure what you are trying to say.”

  “It’s an idiom, Gerald,” Cherran said.

  “Why are you calling me ‘Gerald’? My name is not Gerald.”

  Cherran walked them out of the main chamber. “So, how are the kids doing?”

  “I have no brood. I told this to you before.”

  “Me neither, man, me neither. Haven’t found a woman you want to settle down with, am I right?”

  “You are not right. The ambassador has no right to have a brood. I have too much contact with…” Gerald considered for a moment before settling on a Kaleknarian word. “Hahnarans.”

  “Says who?” Cherran led Gerald into an elevator and pressed the button for the lowest floor of the station.

  “The Kalek’hoth’iir. Why do we exit?”

  “The Kalek moth ears?” Cherran asked. “But I bet they get to have broods, don’t they?”

  “They do not consort with Hahnarans.”

  The elevator door opened, and Cherran led Gerald out into the Starfield, the favorite after-hours destination of the diplomats from all five powers. Positioned at the bottom tip of the station’s “ice cream cone,” the Starfield was almost wholly transparent, save for the nebula-like clouds of light that continuously flowed through its walls and floors. Most of the space was filled by abstract-shaped tables and chairs with the same clouds-of-light décor as the room itself, but Cherran steered Gerald toward the bar, sitting just as an Earthpunk tune about a bar pianist struck up.

  Cherran held up two fingers. “One GG Trooper and something good for my friend.”

  Rey guffawed. “Only a Trooper for you, Cherran?”

  “I am on the clock,” Cherran said. “So Gerald, tell me about Hahnarans.”

  “My name is not Gerald. Still, I inform you. They were created by Hahm out of jealousy, to take from us what we have built and that Kalek has given us.”

  “Sound like jerks.”

  “You are Hahnaran.”

  Rey slid their drinks across the bar.

  “Handsome jerks.” Cherran took a sip of his Trooper—a bland affair, but it would keep his wits about him. “Who says I’m a Hahnaran anyway? The moth ears?”

  “There are only Kaleknarians and Hahnarans.”

  “Ah.” Cherran paused to allow Gerald to take a draught from the green slurry Rey had served him. “I guess that’s why you guys are doing your bilateral thing on Trascion, then, right? Because you think we’re out to get you, and you’d rather start the war on your own terms?”

  “No!” Gerald brought his glass down to the bar with a clunk that startled Rey.

  Cherran leaned back. Time to back-pedal, fast. “Sorry, Gerald, man, I’m just speculating wildly. My friends tell me I’ve got a loose tongue—probably should’ve warned you.”

  “We do not want war with Meltia.”

  Interesting.

  “Well, we’re on the same page there, buddy,” Cherran said. “If there were a war, I’d be the first one out of a job—and what other job is there where the government pays for your drinks?”

  Gerald curled his spindly arms up into what Cherran imagined was the Kaleknarian equivalent of a clenched fist. “You cannot allow them to g
o to war!”

  Cherran could not believe his luck—or skill? Probably skill. Either Gerald was a professional liar, or he truly found the idea of going to war with Meltia abhorrent. Still, Cherran needed more than just sentiment to keep the troops from rolling in. He pressed ahead.

  “I told you, man, I’m with you, but I’m not in charge,” Cherran said. It was true. “The people who are in charge just see the Trascion thing, and all the mobilizations you are making—”

  “Mobilizations?” Gerald’s eyes glinted, but the sheer biological gap made it impossible for Cherran to tell what, if any, emotion inspired it.

  Cherran realized in retrospect that he probably shouldn’t have revealed that the Meltian Republic’s intelligence apparatus had detected the Kaleknarian mobilizations, but he had, so he might as well roll with it. “Yeah, all across your empire. They sent me a summary this morning.”

  “But… if you know… why do you think we are mobilizing?”

  “It’s to fight us, right? Potentially? Not to brag, of course, but it looks like you’re throwing together everything you’ve got, and I’m not sure the Selecians or the CDW could put up the kind of fight that you’re getting ready for.”

  “No. You are not right. Those are… unrelated. They would not want me to say this, but…” Gerald trailed off.

  Cherran sipped his Trooper. This was the critical juncture; he had planted the seed, now he just needed to give Gerald space to make the right decision. Forget about learning the Kaleknarians’ motivations—if he could turn an influential Kaleknarian like Gerald to his side, he would have some serious diplomatic leverage to resolve the crisis entirely.

  “I cannot tell you.”

  “You’re a patriotic guy, Gerald, and I respect that, but isn’t there something you could give us? My guys are thinking about sending in a fleet, and it’s not going to go well if that happens.”

  Gerald clenched and unclenched his arms in waves. Cherran finished his Trooper and propped his head up on his fist; there was not much more he could do. Part of him thought that Gerald’s claim that the mobilizations were unrelated was just the ambassador following the standard government line, but another part thought there was more than that, especially considering the amount of arguing—almost infighting—within the Kaleknarian delegation. If that part was right, then Cherran could very well succeed; it all depended on whether Gerald’s conscience outweighed his patriotism.

  Cherran wondered if his father felt this uncertain when he was building the coalition that toppled the Galactic Government.

  Finally, Gerald met Cherran’s eyes. “There is something… some evidence that can prove to you the mobilizations are not against the Meltians. My people… will not like this, but I can bring it to you. To preserve peace.”

  Cherran slapped Gerald on the back, relief spreading through his body. “I knew I could count on you, Gerald—when should I meet you?”

  “Not here. In Telahmir tomorrow, at the beginning of your Treaty Day parade. I will find you,” Gerald said. “And do not call me ‘Gerald.’”

  The fountain outside the Telekinetic Guard’s headquarters featured stone statues of three of its soldiers back-to-back, telekinetically whipping streams of water around them. Taylor saw how the effect was created using strategically-placed hoverlifters, which was somewhat ironic considering that the people inside the sandstone-walled trapezoidal building were among the few in the galaxy who could manipulate water in such a way without hoverlifters.

  The door to the facility was a spiral mesh of glass that looked like it came from a whole different millennium than the sandstone exterior, and which Taylor did not quite understand until it unfurled like a camera lens upon their approach.

  “That is a strikingly pretentious door,” Brook muttered as she stepped into the building. She gave her IES ID to a TKG soldier in sky blue body armor who was standing just inside.

  Hezekiah shot JP a mortified look, but the TKG soldier shrugged as he compared Brook’s ID to something on a personal screen. “You’re not wrong, ma’am.”

  Just as he returned the ID, a stout, brown-haired woman arrived in the entryway whom Taylor recognized for the coffee mug in her hand if not for the TKG-blue casual uniform on her body.

  Fanu Slyzak—she had been the resident technology guru in Taylor’s branch of the Galactic Resistance.

  “Good afternoon, everyone.” Fanu slightly raised her mug as a greeting, searching the group’s faces. “Is…”

  “I am traveling incognito.” Taylor interrupted Fanu before she could mention Taylor’s name. If the message had passed from Joseph to Fanu that Taylor would be visiting, then Fanu herself must be trustworthy, but Taylor could not say the same for any TKG soldiers who happened to be listening in.

  Fanu’s mouth opened in surprise, then twisted into a grin of awe as she stepped closer to Taylor, reaching out a hand to trace the outline of the holographic face, and grinning even wider when her fingers passed through the illusion. “Where in the galaxy did you get that?”

  Hezekiah raised an eyebrow at Fanu, clasping his hands behind his back, but said nothing.

  “Veterans’ agency,” Taylor said. “I am sure they would give you one to play with if you asked nicely.”

  “Well, you know where I am going after this.” Fanu retracted her hand. “But we should get going—Joseph wants to see you.”

  “Lead the way.” Brook tucked away her ID.

  The interior of the TKG’s headquarters bore no resemblance to its sandstone exterior—on the contrary, it reminded Taylor of the base she had lived in during the war, which made sense, since Joseph had been involved in the design of that facility as well. This building, however, felt lighter and more open—perhaps it was the fact that glass panes and windows permeated the structure, giving Taylor a view into training facilities, ready rooms, mission command centers, and computer rooms… or perhaps it was that this was the headquarters of a government agency in the middle of Telahmir instead of a secret rebel base.

  Then there were the children—whole classes of them using the different facilities or being herded through the halls by minders. Taylor knew that the Cavalieri—the old GG’s version of the TKG—took kids as young as twelve, but these ones could not be more than ten.

  “Are you opening a grade school, Fanu?” Taylor asked.

  “We might have to,” Fanu said. “For the past two years, we’ve been utterly swamped by these kids. There hasn’t been a generation with this many telekinetics in… ever, really. It’s like nature’s trying to make up for all the ones we lost in the war.”

  “They are all Freeborners, then?” Taylor used the name Meltian politicians came up with for the post-Order-War baby boom.

  “Ninety-five percent,” Fanu said. “It’s insane. Anyway, this is Joseph’s office. They need me downstairs, so I should get going, but if you have some free time after this gets cleared up, feel free to drop by.”

  “Thank you.” Taylor knew she would be on the first starliner back to Cryzdeklith once the IES no longer needed her, but she saw no reason to say that to Fanu’s face. Instead, she went for Joseph’s door, which opened along its diagonals, splitting into four triangles that receded into the walls.

  “This place is filled with pretentious doors,” Brook said.

  “It is indeed,” Joseph said.

  Taylor’s group filed into the room to find the white-bearded commander of the TKG in the middle of a holographic web of geometric shapes connected by lines.

  “This place was always meant to woo politicians first and serve us second,” Joseph said. “The doors, all the glass, the sandstone, that silly fountain; hardly befitting a military headquarters, but they never asked me.”

  JP nodded understandingly.

  “Are we disturbing you?” Hezekiah eyed the matrix of shapes.

  “Not at all.” Joseph waved his hands, and the shapes disappeared. “That was Capere, an ancient Rosarian strategy game—some experts are saying it helps preserve men
tal agility into old age, but I digress. In any situation, I could hardly turn down Taylor Ghatzi. Speaking of which, where is she? Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but she is an old friend of mine, whom I have not seen in almost a decade now.”

  “Here.” Taylor realized the Joseph Moore’s office was the last place she needed her Newface, so she slipped it off and put it in a pocket of her IES uniform. “Thanks for meeting with us, Joseph.”

  He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Welcome back.”

  Joseph had been the last one she saw on Meltia before departing a decade ago, both from the planet itself and from her life as an interstellar warrior. Taylor knew he was not just welcoming her back to the capital, but to the life it represented for her. She wanted to correct him, to tell him that she could never return to a life of playing galactic politics, and that even her physical presence in the capital would only last until she could be sure that Cryzdeklith was safe from the Alliance, but she was here to seek Joseph’s assistance in more than one matter, and it would certainly not help to start an argument over her plans for the future.

  “Thank you,” Taylor said.

  “So,” Joseph said, “Mr. Parriburt told me that you have reason to believe Charles Griffin is behind the Anniversary Attacks.”

  “We have evidence,” JP said.

  Brook pulled out the personal screen Arriet had given her.

  “I believe you.” Joseph held up a hand. “What I am still unaware of is what, precisely, you believe I can do for you.”

  “You’re the Commander of the Telekinetic Guard,” Brook said. “All we want is for you to deploy a couple of telekinetics, raid Griffin’s company, and stop tomorrow’s attacks.”

  Joseph nodded slowly. “Ordering a TKG raid on a Griffin Space Technologies office is certainly within my power. However, doing so is unlikely to hinder tomorrow’s attacks. Charles Griffin has been the target of many investigations in the past, all of which he has evaded by—we presume—concealing evidence of his illegal activities, and there is no reason to believe my raid would be exceptionally successful. In any case, the Alliance likely already has the means to launch tomorrow’s attack, even if Griffin Space Technologies were to cease to exist in the next hour. If you wish to stop them, you will need a direct lead on them, not Charles Griffin.”