Flashpoint (Book One of the Drive Maker Trilogy)

by Adam Quinn

  One of the large screens switched to a view of a single Kaleknarian against the background of a small starship’s cockpit. He said something in the Kaleknarians’ hissing, clicking speech.

  “He asks why your fleet is infringing on Kaleknarian space.”

  “We are here to protect the independence of our ally, Trascion,” Cherran said. “However, when we found you under attack by people who are known terrorists in the Meltian Republic, we decided to lend you a hand as a sign of our goodwill toward the Kaleknarian Empire.”

  Shuping relayed Cherran’s message, then listened carefully to the Kaleknarian’s reply. Cherran drummed his fingers against the platform’s railing as he waited.

  “He appreciates your assistance, but says that bringing a battle fleet into Kaleknarian space could spark a war between Kaleknar and Meltia.”

  “This is not Kaleknarian space,” Cherran said.

  The translation was relatively quick.

  “He says that it is and that we should remove ourselves from the solar system, or risk confrontation.”

  Cherran pursed his lips. Shuping’s unflagging faith in him could be irritating, but in a way, it was also his best asset. This was a game of wills, after all, and the question was who would yield first: it sure wasn’t the son of Percival DeGuavra. “Sir, the Meltian Republic does not seek confrontation, but we believe in defending our allies from territorial aggression. We believe in peace and diplomacy and mutual respect, but we also believe in standing up to those who use unilateral force to achieve their ends. We also believe that we are not alone in this. We believe that the Kaleknarian Empire prefers peace to war and cooperation to conflict. So prove us wrong, if that is your intention. If the Kaleknarian Empire really and wholly wants a war, then go ahead and fire the first shot.”

  “Cherran…” Lauderheist said.

  “Translate it,” Cherran said.

  Shuping did, throwing a barrage of guttural noises at the Kaleknarian. For what felt like a full minute after she finished, the Kaleknarian locked eyes with Cherran. The ambassador knew that his opponent was looking for signs of irresolution, so he did not so much as twitch. Then the Kaleknarian turned to his side, and the communications channel cut out.

  “I want all scanners on that fleet!” Lauderheist said.

  “Yes, sir!”

  Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. Cherran stared at the holographic map, watching the two fleets just sit there, doing absolutely nothing.

  “We’re picking up EDR signatures across the Kaleknarian fleet!”

  The Ingenuity’s fleet bridge erupted in cheers and whoops as Cherran looked helplessly at Shuping.

  She grinned. “That means they’re warming up their flip drives.”

  “Oh,” Cherran said. “Oh yeah! We’re the best!”

  He pumped his fist before realizing that the cheering had died down enough for him to be out of place. “Sorry.”

  Taylor Ghatzi blinked sleep from her eyes as she gazed out at Cryzdeklith from her quarters aboard her MRES frigate. Thankfully, the frigate’s alarm was not blaring this morning—the only noise in the room was coming from the clock embedded in her bedside table, which was set to wake her up with the audio from the Telahmir Report’s main broadcast channel.

  “The TSX Composite lost 0.6% in trading early this morning, in what several analysts are calling the end of the post-Trascion-Crisis rally. Meanwhile, the formalization of the Trascionese Transitional Government has sparked a sharp decline in trascionite futures, though they are still almost 40% above their pre-crisis—”

  Taylor tapped a button on the clock, and the audio turned off; today, she could hardly care less about trascionite futures.

  At the foot of Taylor’s bed was a suitcase that contained most of her worldly possessions, aside from her SX-7, which was packed somewhere else. Hanging from the bedframe, above the suitcase, was the formal version of the IES’s uniform, with brass buttons running down the center. Taylor took her time freshening up and changing into that formal uniform; it was her last day on the frigate, after all, and the place had sentimental value.

  As she did so, Ciro’s mua’er stuck its nose through the door, then pushed its way inside. If Taylor had seen it a week or two ago, just after the dream it had featured in, its presence might have been unnerving, but her incense-dreams—or communications, or whatever they were—had a given her a reprieve during the travel back to her homeworld, so she just smiled at it. “Hey.”

  “Mwa?” it inquired.

  Taylor finished doing the last buttons on her uniform and glanced around the room, looking for something she could give it to play with. Her eyes fell on her Newface, which rested on the bedside table.

  “Here.” She tossed the silver band up in the air. The mua’er backpedaled and caught the device in its teeth, then scurried out the door as if it thought she would give chase. Taylor smiled, closing the suitcase and carrying it out the door—hopefully, the Veterans’ Agency did not mind her using their device as a mua’er toy.

  She found Hezekiah and the King of Cryzdeklith waiting in the hangar outside a gunboat painted royal green.

  “Good morning, Hezekiah, and Your Majesty,” she said.

  “Good morning Admiral Ghatzi,” the king said, “or should it be Operations Officer Ghatzi?”

  “I don’t think that’s official until after the re-launching ceremony,” Taylor said.

  “Speaking of which,” Hezekiah said, “they want you to give a speech or something.”

  “I am sure,” the king said, “that if you are uncomfortable doing so, it would be trivial to withdraw from it.”

  “No need,” Taylor said. “I’m sure the galaxy doesn’t need me this morning.”

  Though it might soon enough. Two weeks ago, she would have had to seriously debate giving up her peaceful but secluded life as an MRES Branch Commander, but two weeks ago she had not destroyed the Alliance and stopped a war… nor had she seen the Project Firestorm laboratory. The first had shown her that, if one was willing to shake up the existing political order, it was possible to do a lot more real, solid good on the galactic stage than she had ever done on Cryzdeklith. The second, combined with her incense-dreams/telepathy, showed her that something was seriously wrong in the galaxy—bigger than the Alliance—which she, and frighteningly even Harrison, could not yet figure out.

  Two weeks ago, she would have called that a dangerous combination, but now… maybe it was an opportunity.

  As they talked, an IES control boat set down in the hangar next to the king’s gunboat, and JP stepped out, carrying two rectangular metal badges and a personal screen.

  “Here you go.” JP handed Taylor and Hezekiah each one of the badges.

  Hers, as expected, read “Operations Officer” below her name. Though she already knew Hezekiah’s title, she couldn’t resist glancing over at his badge to see “Chief Engineer” emblazoned beneath his name.

  “Unfortunately, Marissa Bell will not be able to join us at the ceremony today.” JP held out the personal screen, which displayed an article from a Selecian news company.

  Meltian Intelligence Agency Rocked by Massive Scandal.

  Twenty-three low-level MRSIS agents had been arrested on charges of conspiring with the Jacobins to launch the Anniversary and Treaty Day Attacks.

  Ryan Harrison said he was “shocked and disheartened” by the affair.

  Five more agents were under investigation for possible cooperation with the conspirators, including Marissa Bell.

  Taylor saw Harrison’s game immediately: he knew that the IES had evidence linking the MRSIS to the attacks, even if they had chosen to go after the Alliance instead of going public. Now, if they did go public with it, Harrison could plausibly say that it had been the actions of these low-level agents—probably Marissa’s allies in the MRSIS—and that he had already addressed the issue.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Taylor asked. It seemed like Marissa’s problems were a lot deeper than missing a re-launching
ceremony.

  “Yes,” JP said. “Harrison is playing a complicated legal game. He does not wish to spark a full confrontation with us—if he did, he would have had Marissa while we were with the 6th fleet—he merely wishes to intimidate us and make our evidence obsolete. Once we show that we are intimidated by pulling Marissa out of the public’s eye for a while, he will back off.”

  “Ah.” Taylor was glad they had JP to handle this kind of thing for them. “Have you figured out where Saifan is?”

  The ex-Firestormer had slipped away from their team at some point during the journey back to Cryzdeklith. Taylor hoped Harrison had not moved against him.

  “We have been unable to locate him,” JP said. “He could be on the other side of the galaxy by now.”

  “It is unfortunate to lose a team member so soon after a great victory,” the king said. “However, we should depart so as to not delay the re-launching ceremony.”

  JP returned to his control boat, while Taylor and Hezekiah followed the king to the control room of the CRSC gunboat.

  As they pulled away from Taylor’s old home, she caught sight of her new one, lifted from the surface of Trascion, repaired in the shipyards of Walletarde, restocked, refurbished, and finally re-crewed with Hezekiah, Marissa, and herself among others: the MRS Kindred Spirit.

  “It is a rare breed who volunteer to leave their homes and risk their lives for the people of the Republic,” the king said. “We are lucky to have you two.”

  “Thank you,” Taylor said, though she knew that her choice was fueled more by realism than by some abstract desire to help the “people of the Republic.” After all, if the Jacobins’ plan to unleash war on the galaxy had succeeded, Cryzdeklith would not have been spared, and she was far from convinced that the end of the Alliance had nullified the broader danger that her incense-dreams had been trying to warn her about. She used to think the best way to secure herself and her homeworld against these dangers was to ensure that she did not set them off, but if the Trascion Crisis showed anything, it was that the powers that be were no better than her in that department, so there was no reason she shouldn’t try to help.

  Of course, there were other benefits to her new position. Like the fact that Hezekiah was no longer her subordinate.

  The Drive Maker Trilogy continues with Pressure Point!

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  There are three planned novels in the Drive Maker Trilogy, plus two novellas.

  Transforming Flashpoint from a gleam in my eye over a year ago to the finished product you see today took the collective efforts of a diverse and talented group of people.

  First and foremost, thank you to Susan Kaye Quinn, my editor, critique partner, and overall source of writing and publishing wisdom. Without her, I wouldn’t be at a point in my writing career where I could even think about writing a novel like Flashpoint.

  Thank you also to my critique partners, Faithan To and Ellen Ni, whose ideas propelled the fourth draft of Flashpoint into existence, to my writers’ club for their support and advice, and to my family for their unflagging enthusiasm toward my work.

  Adam Quinn is a Chicago-based author of science fiction and space opera. When he’s not writing about the technology of the future, he’s studying engineering so that one day he can help create it.

  Looking for more of Adam’s work? Check out his facebook page or his website at AdamQuinnAuthor.com to learn about all his current work, and subscribe to his newsletter to make sure you’re the first to know about new releases.