Flashpoint (Book One of the Drive Maker Trilogy)

by Adam Quinn

  “Fair enough.” Brook clasped her hands together. “So who in Telahmir can lead us to the Alliance?”

  “Someone in Griffin Space Technologies,” Hezekiah said.

  “But who?” Brook asked.

  “An important question,” Joseph said. “It is likely that Griffin himself is not informed of the details of his company’s illicit operations, so as to maintain plausible deniability. Unfortunately, we do not have even an entry point into the system.”

  “No, but the MRSIS must,” Taylor said.

  Brook spun to face her. “Why’s that?”

  “Just an educated guess,” Taylor said. “I’m not familiar with how things work around here, obviously, but from what you’ve told me it seems like Ryan Harrison is a little bit paranoid—I mean, he hunted us down and shut us out just for investigating an alternative to his position on the Anniversary Attacks. It also seems like he assuages this paranoia by trying to have eyes everywhere. If Griffin has such a history of flouting the law, I feel like Harrison wouldn’t sleep soundly until he had spies within Griffin Space Technologies.”

  “If Harrison had a lead on the Alliance like that, why would he not prosecute them?” Hezekiah asked. “I understand he wants to smear the Jacobins, but couldn’t he protect the Republic too?”

  “Maybe he is,” Brook said, “but maybe he’s not. Maybe he wants tomorrow’s attack to occur so he can smear the Jacobins even more—I wouldn’t put that past him. I’m not sure if any of this helps us, though, considering the MRSIS is probably even more secretive than GST.”

  “Perhaps,” Joseph said, “though there is at least one opening in the former that does not exist in the latter. While most MRSIS positions are now filled by those selected by Harrison, a few remain who were brought into the MRSIS from the Galactic Resistance intelligence apparatus at the inception of the former. These people could potentially be convinced to act against Director—”

  Joseph’s door opened, and Fanu stumbled in.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Taylor, Director Harrison has… summoned your group. He didn’t mention you by name, so I don’t know if he knows you’re here, but he knew there were four of you. There’s a hovercar waiting outside.”

  Joseph pursed his lips. JP searched his pockets for something.

  Brook swept the room with a hard-edged glare as if looking for someone to train it on. “You were right, Ghatzi. Eyes flipping everywhere.”

  “I am truly sorry,” Joseph said.

  “Don’t be,” Taylor said. “His spies could have spotted us flying down from the Spirit or walking in the door.”

  “A fair point,” Joseph said. “That stated, I believe you should go.”

  “Why in the galaxy would we do that?” Brook asked. “He’s not going to help us.”

  “No,” Joseph said, “but I may yet be able to. I know several former-Galactic-Resistance MRSIS agents, and I can arrange for one of them to set up a time and location to meet with you, and then physically pass that information to you while you are in the MRSIS’s headquarters. That is likely the most secure method.”

  “Fine.” Brook drove a fist into her opposite hand. “Now that I think about it, I might just enjoy telling Harrison exactly what I think about his bullying.”

  JP pulled a personal screen and a biological signature—or biosig—cube out of his pocket, handing both to Joseph. “Mr. Moore, I believe Harrison may wish to cause trouble for us. If you can authorize this document, it would help us tremendously.”

  Joseph looked over the screen, then pressed the cube to his right eye. Its exterior turned bright green, at which point Joseph touched it to the personal screen.

  As soon as the cube’s natural blue hue returned, JP took both it and the screen. “Thank you.”

  Brook and JP headed for the door, but Taylor remained in the middle of the room. Hezekiah threw her a look.

  “Go on,” Taylor said. “I’ll meet you in just a minute.”

  With the Alliance’s next attack just a day away, her dream seemed almost embarrassingly insignificant, but there was no one in the galaxy more qualified to help her than Joseph, and she doubted the other three would mind keeping Ryan Harrison waiting.

  “I need to ask a question,” Taylor said.

  “Anything.”

  “Back when we were members of the Cavalieri, I know everybody liked to exaggerate the Seniors’ abilities, but was there any truth in those claims? Particularly those related to, ah, telepathy. And if so, is it possible—under any situation—that someone could develop that independently?”

  “Mm.” Joseph ran a single finger along his chin. “No one has asked me about the Cavalieri in a very long while, and I must admit that my memories of that time are… indistinct. However, I can tell you with certainty that those rumors were wholly fanciful. Though powerful, all Seniors were still telekinetics—not telepaths.”

  Taylor noted the indirect way Joseph had answered the question. She would not call it evasive, but it definitely was not straightforward. She would have thought he was unsure of his answer, but he claimed to be certain; he was probably just trying to soften the blow for her.

  At any rate, she now realized how foolish she had been to expect any other answer.

  “Thank you.” Taylor slipped her Newface back on. “And thanks for helping us.”

  “My pleasure,” Joseph said. “And Taylor? Especially with all these Freeborners running around, we are tremendously understaffed. So if you ever want to come back into the fold… the door is always open.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Taylor lied.

  In a city with a pedestrian culture as vibrant as Telahmir’s, hovercars were more than a little conspicuous, and it did not help that the one Harrison sent for them was jet black with tinted windows. The craft filled Taylor with a sense of foreboding, though not nearly as much as did the MRSIS’s headquarters, at which the hovercar deposited her team. The building looked like a metal cliff in the middle of the city, widening slightly as it went up so that the plaza in front of it was partially in its shadow.

  When they entered, the MRSIS security detail stopped them.

  “Please hand over your weapons for storage.” One agent offered a white tray to them.

  At first, Taylor was confused—she carried nothing that could be construed as a weapon—but then Brook spoke.

  “They’re incapacitators,” Brook said. “Dart based. Nonlethal.”

  “Please hand over your weapons.”

  “We carried these things into the flipping governmental complex, and nobody batted an eye. Do you know why?”

  “Please hand over your weapons.”

  “I’ll tell you why. It’s because I’m the captain of the Interstellar Emergency Service, and this is a service sidearm, and—”

  “Captain.” JP pulled a short silver pistol with a stout barrel out from its holster under his uniform and placed it on the white tray. “It would be best to comply.”

  Grumbling, Brook relinquished her own incapacitator. The agent took away the tray, and a Rosarian MRSIS agent with the light green skin and angular face that characterized his species waved Taylor’s group forward. As the Rosarian guided them deeper into the building, Taylor had a discomforting thought—if the MRSIS had scanners that could detect Brook and JP’s incapacitators, they could certainly have other scanners that could bypass the weak disguise provided by her Newface.

  It was no great surprise to find that Harrison occupied a corner office on the highest, and thus furthest-overhanging floor of the building.

  “You might want to let JP and I handle this snake,” Brook muttered as they approached the office.

  Taylor gave an affirmative nod. She did not know what Harrison wanted—probably to intimidate them out of pursuing Griffin Space Technologies, if Brook’s characterization of the man was correct—but she doubted it would be more useful than the hand-off Joseph was arranging, which Taylor was keeping watch for.

  Harrison smiled as they entered. “Jar�
��”

  Captain Brook,” the captain corrected him.

  Harrison’s silvery-gray hair reminded Taylor of Joseph’s before it went fully white, save for Harrison’s clean-shaven chin, but what really caught her eye was the holographic model of a planet that was slowly rotating above Harrison’s desk. She recognized its squiggly landmasses, not from her travels but from her Cavalieri history lessons years and years ago.

  “Director Harrison…” A smile slowly spread across Taylor’s face as she spoke despite Brook’s suggestion. “Are you an Earthpunk?”

  Although humanity had left their collective homeworld thousands of years ago—the place was basically a planet-sized museum at this point—some of Earth’s culture was making a comeback via the Earthpunk movement. Many self-respecting galactic citizens wished it was not.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Harrison’s smile never left his face as he rested his folded hands on his desk, which was emblazoned with the stylized torch emblem of the Meltian Republic on an ancient shield. “I do read some of their plays, but the main reason I am interested in Earth is that, until ten years ago, the Earth Age was the last time our civilization dealt with a multipolar balance of power. After that, it was just the Union of Twelve Worlds, and later the GG. Not to offend Mr. Parriburt’s people, or any others, but every civilization we encountered after the Earth Age was quickly assimilated into our own, except perhaps the Kaleknarians. Today we find ourselves again in a multipolar situation, and the Earth Age is the only decent precedent. It would be irresponsible for me not to take an interest.”

  “That’s a nice theory,” Brook said, “but what I want to know is why you requested our presence.”

  “Simple,” Harrison said. “As a patriotic citizen of the Meltian Republic, I would rather not see our Interstellar Emergency Service put its resources to waste. Specifically, regarding your investigation of the Anniversary Attacks.”

  “What is wasteful about identifying a group of terrorists that murdered thousands of Meltian citizens and is preparing to do it again?” Hezekiah asked.

  “The fact that my organization has already identified them and is working to bring them to justice,” Harrison said. “I trust you have read the report we released?”

  “Didn’t bother,” Brook said. “Reliable sources told me that you didn’t have a scrap of solid evidence.”

  Harrison sighed. “Chief Representative Arriet is a brilliant stateswoman, but she is not an intelligence professional. She does not fully understand the burden of keeping our people safe, and I don’t blame her for it, though I wish she would refrain from aiding your misguided quest to do my job for me.”

  “I did read your report,” JP said, “and you had plenty of statements you claimed were fact, but there was no way to independently verify them.”

  “Well, we would not be much of an intelligence agency if we only had facts that were available on the interplanetary network for you to ‘independently verify,’” Harrison said. “Luckily, you don’t have to worry about any of that. That’s why the MRSIS exists: so we can investigate this kind of nasty affair, and you can go to bed more easily at night.”

  “It’s not an investigation when you ignore leads because they don’t conform to your agenda,” Brook said.

  “On the contrary,” Harrison said, “I am not addressing your lead both because I know the answer to the whole affair already, and because your theory has serious holes. Don’t bother with your screen, Captain, I’ve seen your evidence, and here’s just one of the problems with it: motive. You say Griffin is in this because he’s a corrupt businessman, but then you go on to claim that he spent a fortune on neutronium. Either he funded the attacks out of pocket due to a personal vendetta—which you did not account for—or he is being funded by somebody else, in which case you’ve merely identified the middle man.”

  “I never said we knew all the answers now,” Brook frowned. “That’s why we’re still working on it. You seem to think you do, though, so why don’t you tell us how Griffin’s bombs ended up with the terrorists.”

  “Griffin is known to sell his products through various black market channels,” Harrison said. “The Jacobins purchased them on the Alliance’s behalf. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to discuss all of the details outside of my organization.”

  “Unfortunately,” Brook said, “as Captain of the IES, I cannot conclude our investigation until I get a satisfactory answer. With real proof.”

  Harrison sighed again. He seemed incredibly reluctant to resist them, but Taylor knew that it could all be just an act, especially since he had not given Brook a centimeter since they arrived.

  “I anticipated that you would be reluctant,” Harrison said. “Fortunately, in exigent circumstances, Meltian Republic law allows the MRSIS to seize exclusive control of a particular sensitive investigation, rendering inquiry into it by other agencies illegal.”

  Both Taylor and Brook looked to JP.

  “Harrison is correct,” JP said.

  Harrison looked incensed. “Of course I am.”

  Taylor felt the same hollow feeling as when Harrison had first tried to cut off their efforts. She did not understand how Harrison could do it, acting kind and reasonable one moment and then turning around and destroying the Republic’s only chance—Taylor’s only chance—at stopping the Alliance before another terrible attack happened. Was this how Telahmir worked: those who had the cunning and lack of ethics required to manipulate the process won out?

  “However,” JP said, “this principle does not apply to agencies which are considered co-equal to the MRSIS under Meltian law.”

  “Which the IES is not.”

  “The TKG is,” JP said, “and as of ten minutes ago, they are the official administrators of the investigation into Charles Griffin’s role in the Anniversary Attacks.”

  Harrison’s eyes burned into JP. “That requires—”

  “A type-B internal transfer form.” JP pulled out his personal screen to show the document Joseph had signed. “With the biosig of the head of the receiving organization.”

  Taylor was caught between pumping her fist and mourning. They had beaten Harrison, but only temporarily and only on a technicality—because JP out-maneuvered Harrison rather than due to their moral high ground.

  “You…” Harrison’s countenance had lost any vestige of reluctance, and he held JP’s gaze with a cold stare for a moment before turning his chair around to look out over Telahmir. “In that case, we have nothing left to discuss. One of my agents will show you the door.”

  Then again, it felt pretty good either way.

  The door opened behind Taylor, and not one, but two MRSIS agents entered—the Rosarian from before and a human woman with short-cut blond hair. Taylor eyed them both carefully—Joseph’s promised hand-off had not yet happened—but they simply motioned for her group to exit the way they had come. Taylor was hypervigilant as they walked through the building, but no MRSIS agent so much as spoke to them until they reached the entrance. On the potentially positive side, Harrison had not mentioned her identity once, indicating that either he was not aware of it, or he did not care.

  The Rosarian retrieved the white tray with Brook and JP’s incapacitators, and the human woman grabbed both weapons by the barrel and handed them to their respective owners.

  After that exchange, their two guides retreated into the building. Taylor glanced at the entrance’s security detail, but none of them made a move, so she strode out the door with the other three on her heels. What had gone wrong? Had Harrison caught the person who was supposed to make the hand-off? Had Joseph not been able to convince them?

  Taylor glanced at the others. Hezekiah looked almost as disheartened as she felt. JP was fiddling with a transceiver, probably calling down a control boat to pick them up. Brook was for some reason still holding her incapacitator—and she was grinning.

  Brook held up her incapacitator, uncurling her fingers from around it to allow the small pistol to sit in her hand.<
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  Resting on top of it was a tiny datacard.

  “How much longer?” Taylor held her transceiver to her ear.

  “Five minutes if our friend is punctual,” JP’s voice said.

  “Hopefully.” Taylor’s gaze swept across Freedom Square. The square should be empty at this time of night and illuminated only by light from the governmental complex, which towered over it, but today it was bustling with people making preparations for tomorrow’s Treaty Day parade. In theory, these preparations meant the square was off-limits to civilians, but Taylor’s black IES uniform helped her blend in with the stone pedestal of the Order War memorial at the center of the square, and she doubted that her contact—a trained MRSIS agent—would have much difficulty eluding the attention of a few parade workers. Rationally, Taylor knew that even if Harrison somehow learned of this rendezvous, he probably wouldn’t try anything in the middle of Telahmir, but illicit meetings in the middle of the night still made her uneasy. She would have preferred to have Hezekiah—or even Brook or JP—with her to pass the time, but the agent had specified in the datacard that the meeting would be one-on-one. She scanned the square again.

  “Taylor Ghatzi.”

  Taylor flinched as the short-blond-haired MRSIS agent dropped to the ground next to her from atop the pedestal. No difficulty with the parade workers at all, then.

  “Contact on site.” Taylor switched off her transceiver and peeled off her Newface. “How did you know my name?”

  “You came in our building,” the agent said. “We have scanners. My name’s Marissa Bell.”

  So Harrison had learned her identity, he just did not care enough to mention it. That suggested he was confident enough in his ultimate victory that it did not matter. Which was disconcerting.