Flashpoint (Book One of the Drive Maker Trilogy) Read online

  “All right.” Brook gave a thumbs-up to the pilot. “Welcome to Meltia, everyone. You two will be happy to know that while you’ve been getting to know the Spirit, or working on your power suit, or whatever the flip you’ve been doing, JP’s been earning his corn.”

  “The captain is attempting to be humorous, as I am physiologically incapable of digesting co—”

  “JP, never explain my jokes,” Brook said. “Anyway, he came up with a plan for exactly how we are going to get our hands on Griffin.”

  The Inside Job lifted off and departed the Kindred Spirit, heading for the splotchy maroon sphere that was the capital world of the Meltian Republic.

  “The standard procedure for a situation like ours,” JP said, “would be to notify the Meltian Republic Legislature Subcommittee on Special Prosecutions and request a search and interrogation warrant. Needless to say, this is the slowest possible route. Usually, we would work with the Meltian Republic Special Intelligence Service, which has greater prosecutorial discretion, but the MRSIS has already gone public blaming the attacks on the Jacobins, so I have instead scheduled a hearing with the much-less-busy Legislature Subcommittee on Ethical Business Practices, which, if we can convince them that Griffin is engaged in unethical practices, can recommend the case to the Subcommittee on Special Prosecutions for a simple up or down vote, as opposed to full consideration, which is considerably speedier.”

  “That… sounds smart, JP,” Taylor said. “When is our hearing?”

  JP checked his personal transceiver. “Roughly half of one hour.”

  “Well, then,” Hezekiah said. “We’re not wasting much time, are we?”

  “Why would we do that?” Brook asked.

  Taylor turned toward the viewport to see that their control boat was descending onto one of the landing platforms jutting out from the governmental complex that stood tall at the heart of Telahmir. Though it was still recognizable, Taylor noticed that they had made some renovations since she last saw the place, a few months after the end of the Order War.

  For one thing, it now had landing platforms.

  The collection of interconnected towers that formed the complex had gained a few levels, and the net of bridges between the towers had thickened, but the most noticeable changes were that the building was now protected by several prominent sear gun cannon batteries. Somewhat like Galcen, the capital of the GG, in the closing days of the Order War, but Taylor tried not to think too hard about that.

  “By the way, Taylor,” Brook said. “Don’t take off your holo-face unless you have to. Your identity—Admiral Taylor Ghatzi, Order War hero, and all that—might be our trump card, and I don’t want anybody to know we have it until we use it.”

  “Sounds good,” Taylor said.

  When the Inside Job touched down, Brook led the way out onto the platform, where a woman in an ornate sky-blue cape waited.

  “Arriet—good to see you.” Brook embraced the woman.

  “Jareyn! How does it go in your new spaceship?”

  “It’s going brilliantly, Arriet, though it’s hardly new anymore; it’s been six years.” Brook released the woman and turned back toward Taylor, Hezekiah, and JP. “Crew, this is Chief Representative Arriet of Cheklisboff—the only person I trust in this den of politicians they call a capital city.”

  Arriet laughed at that, and they exchanged greetings, but Taylor did not remove her Newface. Arriet seemed to be a friend, but the glass windows of the governmental complex offered their landing platform little privacy.

  “Let us walk.” Arriet motioned toward the complex, and the group moved into the building, with Arriet and Brook taking the lead and Taylor close behind them.

  Telahmir really was a beautiful city—a blend of gleaming modern buildings and clay-colored traditional roads—and the tall, transparent panes that formed the outer walls of the complex gave a stunning view of it, which Taylor might have enjoyed if she was not focused on the conversation taking place directly in front of her.

  “So.” Brook lowered her voice. “Do you have it?”

  “It was just as simple as your political liaison officer indicated. I admit I had no idea such laws were on the books.” Arriet extracted a small personal screen from her cape and showed it to Brook. It displayed an image of what appeared to be a starship composed of a sphere suspended inside two perpendicular rings. “This transport was constructed in the Liberated Territories to transport extremely volatile materials.”

  “Like neutronium,” Brook said.

  “Exactly,” Arriet said. “It was shipped to the factory of Griffin Space Technologies on Walletarde, and as JP indicated, they were required to report it to us under some section of the Treaty of Galactica—”

  “IX-A-3, ‘On the Transport of Special Non-Military Equipment,’” JP said.

  “Yes, that,” Arriet said. “This was one month before the Anniversary Attacks.”

  “Beautiful.” Brook took the screen from Arriet. “Based on your research, had Griffin ever purchased any ships of this class before?”

  “Never,” Arriet said.

  “Wait,” Taylor said, “so you’re on our side? You don’t believe the MRSIS?”

  “If the MRSIS had any actual evidence, then Director Harrison wouldn’t need so many spin doctors to spoon-feed their theory to the media,” Arriet said. “What the MRSIS will not tell you is that the Jacobins are politically opposed to some of Harrison’s intelligence gathering methods. His targeting of them is at best a conflict of interest. I am inclined to think it is a smear campaign.”

  “But the Director of the MRSIS shouldn’t be able to pursue partisan targets,” Taylor said. “Who oversees Harrison?”

  Brook snorted, then laughed outright, slapping Arriet on the shoulder. “Ghatzi, you need to spend more time in Telahmir. Ryan Harrison is overseen by Ryan Harrison.”

  Arriet looked at Brook. “Ghatzi? As in Taylor Ghatzi?”

  “No relation,” Brook lied without missing a beat. “It must suck to be named ‘Ghatzi’ in this day and age. Almost like being named ‘Gunther’—people always ask, ‘are you related to President Gunther?’”

  Arriet turned toward Taylor. “My apologies, Ms. Ghatzi.”

  “No problem,” Taylor said. “But Harrison’s spin doctors can’t control what the media publishes—they can only give their story—so if Harrison’s explanation doesn’t line up, shouldn’t they investigate independently?”

  “Not if they’re on Harrison’s payroll,” Brook said. “Harrison was an officer in the Galactic Resistance before he became Director of the MRSIS. He saw how the GR used the media as a weapon to destroy GG politicians in spite of GG anti-press laws, and he learned a thing or two. The MRSIS never suppresses news organizations—it panders to them and gets inside them where necessary. Some Selecian news company might broadcast something indicting him, but the big Meltian ones never will.”

  “Hm,” Taylor said.

  Soon the group arrived at a door with an ornate engraved panel reading, “Meltian Republic Legislature Subcommittee on Ethical Business Practices.” Below the panel a screen embedded in the wall listed the committee’s docket.

  Brook ran her finger down the docket until she arrived at a slot in the middle. “Wait. What the flip?”

  Taylor stepped forward, checking her IES transceiver to get the time. The current slot on the docket was filled by “MRVA Entrepreneurial Loan Disbursement Qualifications Appeal”—she could hear people arguing inside the chamber over whatever that meant—but the next slot, the one that should have been theirs, was “[MRSIS Privilege] Wavemod Enterprises Materiel Support for Terrorist Organizations Case.”

  “MRSIS privilege?” Taylor asked.

  “Harrison!” Brook turned to JP. “Harrison bumped us off the docket. How?”

  “Certain agencies have the privilege to address any subcommittee at any time they would like,” JP said. “It is intended to be used for crisis resolution but is more often used for this purpose. I had assumed
Harrison was unaware of our investigation, but that was obviously in error. Nevertheless, I am confident that I can create an altern—”

  “I have an alternative,” Brook said. “We find someone with real power around here—no more subcommittees. No offense, Arriet.”

  “None taken,” Arriet said.

  “Captain, it is unwise to attempt to circumvent the legal system,” JP said. “We would be placing ourselves in a dangerous position.”

  “The Republic’s in a dangerous position, JP,” Brook said.

  Taylor felt sick. She had come halfway across the galaxy, diving back into the world of politics she had sworn to forsake and leaving her home in the hands of two Meltians and Ciro Dance, all because of the hope that she might be able to prevent the Alliance’s next attack, and it would all amount to nothing because some self-serving Meltian politician wanted to smear his partisan foes. They were too far from Cryzdeklith to return there before Treaty Day, so their only options were to accept defeat, or to circumvent the system as Brook seemed to be suggesting—to rebel.

  Taylor shuddered and threw a glance to Hezekiah. He looked almost as distressed as she felt. Rebelling—disrupting the fragile balance of power—was exactly what she wanted to avoid in coming here. What Hezekiah had promised she would not have to do, though she could hardly blame him for not foreseeing this outcome.

  Brook snapped her fingers together rapidly. “Arriet, you tell me, if you want to evade Ryan Harrison, what do you do?”

  “Move to Selecia,” Arriet said.

  “No, no,” Brook said. “What about the President? Surely he could tell Harrison to mind his own business.”

  “He could, but he will not,” JP said. “Gunther’s priority is keeping people calm. Right now, the public believes the government is working diligently to prevent the next attack. If he were to undermine Harrison, it would send the signal that they do not really know what they are doing.”

  “But the truth is, they really don’t know what they’re doing,” Hezekiah said.

  “Of course,” JP said, “but that truth is irrelevant so long as Harrison and Gunther can maintain the contrary impression.”

  “Maybe Gunther has a point.” Taylor appreciated Hezekiah’s uncompromising honesty—it was refreshing in the middle of politician-filled Telahmir—but they had to take political realities into account if they were going to succeed. “Meltians panicking doesn’t help anything. Maybe once Harrison has thoroughly beaten the Jacobins, he’ll go after Griffin, or whoever the real perpetrator is. Maybe the whole Jacobin thing is a move to buy time to find the real perpetrator.”

  Brook gave her a confused look. “I thought you wanted to stop the Alliance. For Cryzdeklith.”

  “I do!” Taylor said. “I just don’t want to start a power struggle in our government for that purpose. Don’t you think that’s what Mantradome wants us to do?”

  “To be honest,” Brook said, “I don’t think that crazy woman is capable of forming such a complicated plan. But we don’t have to start a power struggle; it could be a covert thing. Let the public think the Jacobins are at fault, I don’t care, so long as we get the actual bad guys.”

  Taylor threw a glance at Hezekiah. He shrugged. Despite Brook’s reassurance, Taylor knew they were skirting catastrophe—but then again, wasn’t that what she was paid to do, in a more literal sense? So long as they could find someone who was both powerful enough to be able to defy Harrison, and altruistic enough to be willing to do so, they could maybe get this plan to work. Perhaps President Gunther fit that bill, but he had already thrown in with Harrison. Maybe when she went to talk to Joseph about her dream, she could ask him for a recommendation on this matter, too.

  Wait.

  “Joseph Moore.” Taylor gained confidence as she breathed the name.

  “What?” Brook said.

  “Joseph Moore. Commander of the Telekinetic Guard. Former Galactic Resistance leader. If he can’t help us covertly pursue Griffin, then I don’t know who can.”

  “A good man, Joseph,” Arriet said.

  “The TKG is a co-equal agency to the MRSIS,” JP said.

  Brook seemed to mull the thought over in her head before slowly nodding and then breaking into a smile. She slapped Taylor on the shoulder. “I like it, Ghatzi. For a second there, I thought you were going to knuckle under to Harrison’s bullying, but you’ve got some fight in there. JP, make an appointment with this Joseph Moore—use Ghatzi’s name.”

  Taylor cringed inwardly under Brook’s description. “We’re not fighting; we’re just taking a different path. With any luck, Harrison will never know we did this, right?”

  “Right,” Brook said. “That too.”

  Cherran strode into the main chamber of the Pan-Galactic Commission on Trade and Security Co-operation, known to anyone with a life as PanGal. The room’s transparent dome ceiling revealed a vast array of stars—from outside, the main chamber looked like a spherical scoop of ice cream in the pentagonal cone that was the Samuel Gunther Space Station—while the actual chamber was filled with a similar array of irritated-looking delegates from the other four powers. They were probably upset that Cherran and his foreign service delegation were fifteen minutes late, but coming in on time would have forced him to forgo his Jade Fractal pocket square fold, and whatever Shuping thought, there was no way this mission was going to go off right without a heavy dose of his personal style.

  “Good day, everyone!” Cherran threw out a wide wave.

  “Welcome, Ambassador DeGuavra,” Selecian Ambassador Miles monotoned from the dais at the front of the chamber.

  Cherran had almost forgotten that it was the Selecian Consortium’s turn to chair PanGal. It was a good thing that he was on a special mission this session because otherwise it was bound to be a boring one: that woman had no idea how to have fun. Unusual for a Selecian, and he could say that with authority, having been with a few Selecians in college.

  Shuping subtly maneuvered Cherran into his seat with the rest of the Meltian entourage, at one of the four curved desks that formed a semicircle around the dais. Cherran drummed his fingers against the edge of the control panel he would use to make motions and cast votes for the Meltian Republic. He had not been this anxious over a PanGal session since… well, since he “gave up on PanGal,” in Shuping’s terms.

  Ambassador Miles started in on the technically mandatory opening text that Cherran invariably skipped on his turn. “Quorum has been established, and this session of the Pan-Galactic Commission on Trade and Security Co-operation is hereby opened by the acting chair from the Selecian Consortium. As this is a deliberative session, no substantive resolutions will be brought to the floor…”

  Cherran tuned her out; he had heard this spiel a million times. Luckily, he would not have to actually listen to most of the drivel this session, seeing as he had a special assignment straight from the Cabinet. He just had to get close to the Kaleknarian ambassador, Gerald, sort out the motivation behind the invasion of Trascion, and maybe stop a potential war. Simple. Cherran glanced at Ambassador Gerald—or at least the Kaleknarian in the center of their delegation. Cherran could not tell one backward-L-shaped centipede-like creature from another, but it was hardly diplomatic to admit that. He turned back to Ambassador Miles to hear the two topics she was bringing to the floor as chair.

  “… the Kaleknarian Subjugation of Trascion and the Status of Extragalactic Exploration.”

  A hissing, sputtering sound went up from the Kaleknarian delegation that could have been them gnashing their teeth or communicating in their native language—the two sounded very similar. As they did so, Cherran turned to Shuping, opening his mouth to ask a question.

  “The main factor constraining extragalactic exploration in the past has been the high occurrence of Icarus Events during the intergalactic journey,” she answered before he spoke. “Icarus Events have been abnormally infrequent for a few years, but are climbing now, so some feel we should launch extragalactic expeditions before this
window closes.”

  “You could’ve just said it’s not important,” Cherran said.

  “The chair is now looking for parliamentary motions,” Miles said.

  The front sides of the desks of the Kaleknarian and Territorial delegations lit with a soft white light.

  “The chair recognizes the Liberated Territories.”

  The ambassador from the Territories, a pale and rail-thin human, stood. “The Territories motion for deliberation on the Status of Extragalactic Exploration.”

  “Why the flip would they…” Cherran trailed off as he realized that he was speaking a bit too loudly, and the entire chamber’s eyes were on him. “Sorry.”

  The Kaleknarians were invading Trascion, and the Territories wanted to talk about exploration? Unsurprisingly, the Kaleknarian delegation was chosen to speak in favor of the motion, and after a renewed bout of hissing and sputtering, one of the Kaleknarians from the perimeter—not the one Cherran assumed was Gerald—stood.

  “My colleague, Ambassador, we are extremely dissatisfied to hear our bilateral security operation in the solar system Trascion even brought to this committee. Since independence, the government Trascion not represented in this organization, any conclusion reached by this body on the situation would be unfair in nature, especially given the general bias against the policy of the body Kaleknarian Empire. If there is to be a fair solution to this situation, it had to come from the bilateral cooperation between our empire and Trascionese government, as is already happening.”

  Cherran frowned. The Kaleknarian’s standard Galactican was good considering that PanGal was one of the few places in the galaxy where citizens of the Kaleknarian Empire were allowed to speak it at all, but his points made no sense—which was a problem if Cherran intended to negotiate with this delegation—and his case was not helped by the fact that he spent the entire speech defending why PanGal should not talk about Trascion. Cherran tapped a button on his control panel, igniting Meltia’s light to speak against the motion, but the Coalition of Developing Worlds was chosen instead. Cherran had an uneasy relationship with CDW Ambassador Markins—he was one of the few who knew Percival DeGuavra’s real name, and thus that Cherran was his son—but the ambassador was a shrewd statesman, so there was no loss in letting him speak.