The New Authority Conspiracy (The Keeley Dorn Adventures Book 1)

by J. S. McClelland

  The area directly outside the inclinator doors was nothing more than a staging zone for the operations station at the far side of the concourse. Sixty or so technicians, dressed in black, scuttled between four massive transparent shafts that were built into the wall. The plastene shafts extended to the ceiling but were fitted with access doors so that someone standing outside could enter them if necessary.

  The shafts were circular, not square, and each one had a floor constructed of what looked like graphene mesh. Air moved freely up inside the shaft, but nothing could fall through the bottom.

  This had to be product testing.

  I stumbled forward and wandered around the mob of technicians, appearing as if I were uncertain of my destination while squinting at each person in turn, hoping to find the adult-face-version of the twelve-year-old Ule Devan. Frantic people jostled me relentlessly, and finally, I surrendered and stood with my back to one of the shafts to get out of everyone’s way. An access door on the side of the shaft stood open beside me, and I took great care not to touch it while I studied each face that passed by.

  A deafening roar sounded as some sort of machine activated, and behind me, the shaft exploded with a powerful gust of air. It was strong enough to tip me forward on my toes, and I spun around to face the shaft in case it happened again.

  “You shouldn’t be standing there.”

  I turned to look at a technician, dressed in black, who watched me with a humorless expression. Annoyed/impatient.

  He seemed to have been the one who’d activated the blower, and his hand hovered over a valve handle. “We are testing a new drop-suit. You might want to stand someplace else.”

  I smiled timidly. “I’m looking for Ule?”

  He blinked surprise. “Devan? He’s around. What do you want him for?”

  “I was sent over to deliver the component?”

  He took in my black clothing, seemed to notice the box for the first time, and waved generally to his left. “He’s in the booth with the other engineers.”

  “The booth?”

  “Over in the corner. He’s monitoring this test. It’s his suit, after all.”

  I scurried backward as the machine roared to life again. The technician counted down while watching a wrist monitor, then threw the valve handle and a burst of air jetted to life inside the shaft. A flash of movement inside caught my attention.

  A man, dressed in what looked like a suit made of dark green titanium fiber, plunged from a trapdoor at the top of the shaft. He fell through the shaft at an alarming rate, then extended his arms and legs and his downward motion ceased instantly. He resembled a surprised falling spider, but an unknown force somehow arrested his momentum.

  After watching his movements for a few seconds I realized that dozens of monofilaments covered the form-fitting green suit and it seemed to respond to his commands. Though I didn’t understand the physics behind it, the monofilaments gave him the ability to alter his direction, to decrease or increase his rate of descent, and even regain a little altitude, at will.

  His face was obscured by a full helmet, but from his body language, it was evident he was enjoying the sensation.

  The technician had called it a drop-suit. What a remarkable invention.

  Aware of the need for haste, I redirected my attention and headed for the far corner, still clutching my prop box.

  The observation booth buzzed with movement, and I could see six people inside, alternating between staring at the man in the green suit and staring at their screenboards. Animated discussions accompanied the process, and when I stood in front of the booth and smiled in the window, one of the men stood up instantly and mouthed my name. Delight/astonishment.

  He promptly maneuvered to the door.

  I tossed the box of components on the floor unceremoniously.

  The man Ule Devan looked remarkably similar to the still-frame of the boy, and I knew without question I’d located the correct person when he stepped outside and enveloped me in a long, and a rather intimate embrace.

  “Keeley, this is remarkable! Did you see?”

  “I saw,” I replied, glancing back at the airshaft.

  His hands lingered on my arms. “It’s holding up a lot better than I’d hoped.”

  “Is this the prototype?” I asked.

  “Final production model,” he boasted. “I will have it available to enforcement in about a year.”

  “Fantastic.”

  He released my arms, leaned inside the booth and shouted something to the other engineers before turning back to me.

  “Let’s get out of here. Come on, I’ll take you up to the enchanted grotto.” He slammed the door to the observation booth and motioned toward the inclinator, putting one hand on the small of my back intimately.

  I obviously knew this man, and with much more familiarity than an old childhood chum.

  His face turned pink with happiness when I circled my arm through his.

  Holding his arm allowed me the excuse to avoid touching the call panel, and he palmed it while staring happily into my eyes.

  We entered the inclinator and he selected the fourth floor.

  He looked me up and down, a peculiar frown on his face. “Why the black? You working?”

  I shrugged dismissively. “As usual.”

  When the doors opened he placed his hand in the center of my back, quite low this time, and ushered me out.

  He steered me to the right. “So are you on mission right now?”

  “Yes, but I had some time so I wanted to see you.”

  This produced a sudden spring in his step and he took my arm and looped it through his own once again. Smug/privileged.

  He obviously felt favored knowing that I was working, and a small alarm bell sounded inside my brain.

  Ule Devan had just asked if I was on mission. Was this an indication that I was active enforcement?

  “It has to be a rip, your job,” he said cheerfully. “Unlimited budget. All the authority a person could want. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t in development.” Longing/wistfulness.

  “My work does bring me into contact with very interesting people.”

  “I haven’t seen you for I don’t know how long,” he said.

  “How long has it been now?” I asked brightly.

  “At least two months. What have you been doing? I hope the last time we got together you didn’t get the feeling I was…” Shame/guilt.

  “Of course not,” I said reassuringly.

  His face flashed relief. “Too much to drink. It was such a beautiful night. But why did you say you were here again?”

  “Just forgot something is all.”

  He led me through a breezeway and up to a terrace overlooking a poorly designed, and unattractive artificial garden. The moniker ‘enchanted grotto’ was obviously sarcastic. The seats were uncomfortable looking, olive drab, and the lighting overhead gave off a dingy yellow glow making everyone seem jaundiced.

  A few couples sat together conversing casually or discussing work projects. A single man, sitting with his back to the others, seemed to be talking to himself while bent low over a screenboard. He occasionally muttered incoherently, but no one paid any attention. Apparently, this behavior was considered normal.

  We sat across from each other at a tiny table and he cupped both my hands in his.

  “How long are you in Aukholm?”

  “Not very long, I’m afraid.”

  Disappointment/worry. “That’s not due to my behavior from last time is it?”

  “I thought you were…adorable.”

  His eyes widened. Desire/hopeful.

  “Well, how long have you got?” he asked suggestively.

  What sort of filthy slut had I been in my previous incarnation?

  “Not enough time. But I can always come back,” I replied.

  “I’m very happy to hear that.”

  I stroked his arm. “Ule, do you ever think about the past? What choices you made to get where you are in life?”


  “Me? Every day.”

  “I’ve had some time to think about those things,” I said. “Ask myself some hard questions about my career.”

  “Like, why you went into your line of work?” he asked.

  “Yes. And… reevaluate.”

  “Well, I always thought it was a good field for you,” he said.

  “I’m thinking of trying something new,” I said.

  Shock/confusion.

  I’d said something very wrong.

  He squeezed my hands and leaned forward, practically whispering. “But, Keeley, I didn’t think…I didn’t think Greys could resign.”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak.

  His words stunned me and I felt a wave of emotion that was difficult to label.

  “Not leave service,” I said, recovering quickly. “I am thinking of switching fields, into research.”

  “Oh, sure! But you like neurolinguistics. Why would you want to go work with a bunch of lunatics in development?”

  “It’s just a thought. Probably I won’t.”

  He leaned in again. “We could go somewhere…”

  “I’d love to. But honestly, I need to get back.”

  “You said you forgot something? Did you leave one of your baubles here last time?” he asked.

  “I may have. Do you remember if I had anything else with me that night?”

  He rolled his eyes. “We were both hazed. If you did, it might be under my bed or it could be at the waterfall pavilion.”

  “The waterfall pavilion?”

  He lifted my hand and suggestively fingered the silver ring I wore. “The ring you had on that night was different than this. But I don’t remember if it was gold or just titanium.”

  I’d forgotten that I was still wearing the piece of jewelry I’d stolen from the apartment back in New Dublin, and as he twiddled the ring, it gave me a moment to process the new information he’d supplied.

  So.

  I was a Grey.

  Interesting.

  Ule looked closer at it, squinting. “That’s nice. When did you get this one?”

  “I picked it up a few days ago.”

  He turned my hand to the side and peered at the ring carefully. “N.A. Did you accept a partner proposal or something?”

  I laughed. “Me?”

  “I’m relieved. Whoever N.A. is, tell him you are too young to make a commitment.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  I slipped my hands away and patted his cheek. “I’ve got to go. Walk me out?”

  He stood up and escorted me back to the inclinator.

  He rode with me to the top floor and walked me to the door. “You need to come see me more often. It’s almost as if you completely disappeared that night. Don’t stay away so long next time.”

  “I promise.”

  He leaned down and covered my mouth with a kiss so intimate there was little doubt about the nature of our friendship.

  “See you soon?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  He turned and went back inside the inclinator while I stood in the middle of the doorway and absorbed the new data.

  It was…disconcerting.

  There was no question that I would not be sharing this information with Flick.

  I strode from the building, trying to concoct a story that might sound likely, my head down and my eyes focused on my feet.

  My thoughts were interrupted when a shadow blocked out the sunlight and I froze.

  I looked up to see Flick standing centimeters away, fists clenched, mouth slightly open with anger, and eyes blazing.

  Incredulous/stunned. “You’re a Grey?”

  “How did you—?”

  He palmed the back of my neck and lifted his fingers to show me.

  A skinner had been there the entire time.

  He grabbed my wrist and slapped it on my forearm. “That skinner is tied to mine. It lets me monitor your movements accurately to the centimeter, hear your conversations, and see the activity around you.”

  “When did you apply this?”

  “When do you think?”

  He grabbed my arm and hauled me down the walkway. We plunged into the mass of bodies at a brisk pace.

  I’d been unconscious in his presence for hours the night before. He would have had plenty of time to place a skinner on me.

  The implications of his admission that the device was a tracker settled in.

  So he was well aware I’d been inside his underwater bunker.

  How…unfortunate.

  “Smart that I have been watching you,” he said. “Considering who you really are.”

  His grip on my wrist was fierce.

  “I had no way of knowing anything about my previous occupation,” I said. “I don’t even know what a neurolinguist does.”

  He practically snarled. “They are rare. I’ve never met one before.”

  “What is their purpose?”

  He navigated us around a large group of animated people, standing in a cluster, arguing about the aesthetics of an art installation.

  His tone was stern. “I’ve never even seen one before.”

  “Flick, what do they do?”

  “What do they do?” he echoed, his voice strained. “Their job is to break people. You are an interrogator, Keeley. Your job is to force people to admit to things they wouldn’t even tell their partner.”

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “Because you don’t ever interrogate civilians,” he said.

  “Then who?”

  He stopped and looked at me. “In rare cases you interrogate enforcement officers. But that’s not your primary emphasis group.”

  “Who is?”

  He huffed out an angry breath. “We are, Keeley. You interrogate other Greys.”

  I attempted to compartmentalize the data. “Could this have something to do—?”

  A woman beside me collapsed face down on the walkway in a frozen heap.

  Flick spun sideways, drew a weapon from underneath his jacket, and fired three quick shots as he jumped in front of me.

  “Move!”

  He quick-stepped to the left and I scrambled to stay with him.

  A flash of pink caught my eye and through the crowd, I saw the woman from the education academy standing behind two green-clad enforcement officers.

  She pointed straight at us. “Don’t let them leave the city!”

  A smoker fired. A second person fell to the walkway beside Flick and the horde of people around us panicked.

  He grabbed my arm and hauled me through the screaming crowd at a sprint, shoving people aside as we charged down the walkway.

  My feet took two and a half steps for one of his, and only through sheer force of will did I manage to keep up.

  We maneuvered between bodies, around food carts, and over benches, careening at a dead run.

  Flick tapped his wrist and shouted. “Locate and land!”

  The memory of regaining awareness back on the ocean base, only to hear the sound of gunfire, flashed in my mind.

  As I recalled, that situation had not ended well.

  Angry shouts from behind us, followed by squeals, indicated the two enforcement officers were pursuing, and not being very careful with the civilian population as they did so.

  Flick glanced at his wrist without breaking stride. “Six minutes.”

  He slowed his pace, looked to the left at a long flight of steps leading down toward an open area, and pulled me to them at a trot.

  Before I could protest he scooped me up like a package and cradled me in his arms.

  “What are you—?”

  “Don’t move.” He cocked one knee, sat on the handrail and lifted booth feet off the ground.

  We slid down the shiny steel handrail at an impossible speed, moving so fast the wind whipped my hair back.

  At the bottom Flick tensed his legs, rotated off the rail, and hit the ground hard, but managed to stay upright and keep from dropping me. />
  He ducked underneath the stairs, set me back on solid ground and flashed me warning/alert, while holding a finger over his lips, shaking his head.

  The implied instruction was to stay still and not make a sound.

  I was gasping, but he looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  Thumping feet sounded over our heads and Flick pulled me into a crouch further beneath the stairs. The skirting below the treads hid us from view and would do so as long as the two men didn’t look under it.

  We waited for a full minute before Flick darted a glance around the skirting. He pulled back instantly, looked at me and shook his head.

  I was having no trouble reading his expressions now.

  Proximity/threat.

  The men were dangerously close to our position.

  I tried to pant quietly.

  He looked at his wrist and grimaced. I thought I detected the faint hum of the helicar engine overhead but couldn’t be sure.

  Then I noticed Flick still clutched his smoker. He had essentially performed the acrobatic escape down the stair’s handrail with one hand, and in spite of our current circumstances, I was greatly impressed.

  His face presented an inner dialogue clearly as he considered our options.

  Attack? Too risky. Distract? Maybe.

  I touched his arm and shook my head.

  He stared at me, shrugging impatiently. What?

  I mimed my suggestion silently. ‘Wait.’

  The enforcement officers were following the instructions of the woman in pink. She was undoubtedly hurrying to catch up with them, and when she did, would demand to know what had happened. This would provide a distraction.

  Flick shifted restlessly beside me, itching for action, but I put one hand on his arm and pressed down. ‘Wait.’

  A woman’s piercing voice came from the top of the stairs.

  “Where are they? Did you lose her? I told you not to lose her!”

  The two enforcement officers trudged back up the stairs to defend their actions.

  “We didn’t lose them,” one of them said.

  “Then where is she? I don’t care what you have to do, just find her!”

  I definitely heard the helicar now.

  “Not much longer,” Flick whispered. “Get ready to run.”

  I peeked around the skirting and I saw an open area ahead, slightly raised, surrounded by curved stone benches. It was a stage, probably used for live performances.