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

by J. S. McClelland

  The arrival of a Grey was obviously something of an event.

  After jogging effortlessly up several flights of stairs, (I stopped counting after nine) Flick pushed through a set of tall white doors and waved a hand to a petite young woman occupying a narrow desk off to the right.

  She rose instantly when she saw him enter, her face registering exasperation/ire.

  It wasn’t difficult to surmise her words.

  He’s been waiting for you.

  Flick opened another set of white doors and, as he strode into the next room, I saw a centrally located desk of massive proportions, made of white marble and decorated with intricately carved shapes. The room was cavernous, stark, and windowless. The walls flashed repeatedly of their own accord, and when I looked closer, I saw that they were crowded with hundreds of individual screenboards.

  The screenboards constantly changed images, showing shifting still-frames, and live feeds, many displaying the walkways all across the city, and some even seemed to show the interior of an individual apartment or office.

  Flick strode to the desk.

  A man with short reddish-brown hair sat with his back to the room, only turning his chair around after waiting for a full minute to elapse.

  I couldn’t hear the conversation but the exchange wasn’t difficult to decipher.

  Francis 11.

  Governor.

  I expected you some time ago.

  Well…

  I read the man easily, relying solely on his non-verbal tells.

  Restrained/annoyed.

  His unwavering steel gaze probably intimidated most people.

  Flick stood before him casually, with one thumb tucked in the belt loop of his pants, as if he were discussing the recent increase in the humidity.

  Do you know why I summoned you today?

  Shrug.

  You have something of mine.

  Flick paused. Governor?

  And I’d like it back.

  The windscreen image of the man faded and suddenly I saw the roof outside the helicar come into focus.

  Movement from the stairwell caught my eye.

  Four enforcement officers, weapons raised, were stealthily crab walking toward me with an abundance of caution.

  As they circled the helicar a quiet chirp sounded from the cabin.

  The helicar spoke. “Proximity alarm activated.”

  “Thank you. That’s incredibly helpful.”

  One of the enforcement officers knocked on the hatch. “Madam Dorn? Please step out of the vehicle.”

  “Activate external weapons.”

  Nothing.

  “Activate flight controls.”

  The officer tried to peer inside the cabin. “I need you to step out now. The governor would like a word.”

  I tugged uselessly at the harness. “Activate emergency ejection seat.”

  The man who had spoken first jerked his chin at one of his companions. This second man then stepped forward and placed a small black device on the pilot hatch directly above the lock.

  He pressed a button and the team scuttled back.

  A popping sound sent a shiver of electricity through the helicar and the hatches started to vibrate. Then everything shook violently and both hatches blew open.

  I lifted my arms over my head. “I’m not resisting.”

  The first officer spoke again. “Please step out.”

  “If only I could.”

  He reached in slowly, tugged on my harness and frowned. It refused to release.

  “Hand me a knife, somebody.”

  He was offered three.

  The knife sawed uselessly at the harness. The material was woven of something impossible to cut with a normal blade. The officer grumbled and dropped his hand, irritated.

  “Perhaps you would be more satisfied in another line of work?” I suggested.

  I didn’t need to have neurolinguist interrogation skills to interpret his expression.

  “Right,” he said. “Give me the plasma cutter.”

  One of the men offered him a hand tool resembling a very large common screwdriver, but seemingly constructed of a polished, mercury-like substance.

  The officer thumbed the tool and a dazzling flash of white-hot light, about ten centimeters in length, hissed to life. It looked like a knife blade, except it was probably hotter than the surface of the sun.

  “Hold still.”

  I stared at it. “Absolutely.”

  He sliced through the two shoulder straps and was reaching for the last one that circled my hips just as Flick crested the top of the stairwell. The other three enforcers spotted him and fanned out in a row to intercept.

  One of them raised a hand. “Remain where you are.”

  Flick stopped at the top of the stairs, saw three men with weapons surrounding his disabled helicar, and looked at me.

  A hulking enforcement officer loomed over me, holding an activated plasma cutter a few centimeters from my body.

  As he processed what was happening, something in Flick’s eyes…shifted.

  He slowly lifted his wrist. Not taking his eyes off the men, he tapped his skinner once and spoke with a methodical, measured tone.

  “Francis November. Alpha, One, One.”

  “Receiving.”

  “Going off mission.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides. Fury/fury.

  I looked at the officer next to me. “You will want to work faster.”

  The sight of an angry Grey agent glaring at them was too much for the men. Two of them lifted their smokers and fired.

  White tendrils of crackling energy struck Flick’s chest.

  He inexplicably remained standing.

  The men looked at each other for reassurance and confirmation that what they had just seen actually had occurred.

  Flick drew his smoker, and in one fluid motion walked forward and fired rapidly, dropping two of the officers instantly.

  The third man returned fire and managed to land another shot, but Flick advanced on him relentlessly, seeming to suffer no effects from the smoker blast.

  My harness was nearly cut through but my would-be rescuer abandoned the task before it was complete and focused on self-preservation instead. Luckily the moment he dropped the plasma cutter it switched off, or I’d have lost part of my right thigh.

  Flick could have continued to shoot from a safe distance but chose not to. He lowered his smoker and bull rushed the third man with a bellow. He knocked the man out with three punches, stepped over the prone figure, and moved toward the last man standing.

  “I’ve orders to assist you!” the officer shouted.

  Flick shot him in the chest.

  The man heaved sideways and crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  Flick raised his smoker and turned a complete circle, checking the rest of the roof for threats. Satisfied, he stepped over the prone officer and came to my side.

  “Was that necessary?” I asked.

  He holstered his weapon. “No. But it made me feel better.”

  “I believe them. They did not intend us any harm.”

  “Oh, sure. That’s why there were four of them.”

  He palmed my harness buckle but nothing happened. He reached for the plasma cutter, activated it, and sliced away the rest of the strap, freeing me from the seat at last.

  “This was not another abduction attempt,” I insisted.

  “Then why did they shoot me three times?”

  “They were conflicted when you arrived and did not put up as much resistance as they were capable of. They were instructed not to injure us.”

  “Too bad I hadn’t been instructed not to injure them,” he replied.

  “How are you still able to move?” I asked.

  “Lighting rods. I’ve got two of them. As long as one foot is on the ground when I get hit I’m fine.”

  “What did the governor tell you?” I asked.

  Flick examined the panel inside the cab, tapped it twice and shook his
head. “My helicar is cooked,” he said, helping me out. “Let’s move.”

  He took my hand firmly and pulled me toward the stairs.

  “What did the governor say?” I asked again, more forcefully.

  “Nothing important.”

  We encountered not a single person as we made our way inside, which seemed incredible to me. Flick led me down the emergency stairwell at a trot, not releasing my hand once.

  When we the reached ground level he turned sharply to the right and started walking fast.

  “I’m taking you in,” he said.

  I tried to pull my hand from his grasp. “What?”

  “My primary Grey facility is secure. You will have to sit in a cell for awhile but at least no one will be able to hurt you.”

  Struggling would be a waste of energy. His strength far outmatched mine.

  “Flick, think about this. You just walked us out of the primary enforcement building and encountered no resistance. The governor is the only one with the authority to order an entire division of officers to stand down. Clearly, he is on our side. You should take me to him.”

  Even though I’d only seen a glimpse of his conversation with the governor, the facts were unmistakable. Broyce Farber had not ordered the rapid-strike squad to eliminate me back at the NARPA base. Otherwise, the enforcement officers wouldn’t have bothered to try to extricate me from Flick’s helicar and would have probably blown it up instead. All the evidence suggested he was acting as a collaborator rather than an enemy.

  “What did he tell you?” I asked again.

  “I will let you know after I get you some place secure.”

  I stopped speculating and tried to keep up.

  We hurried along the walkway and Flick paid little attention to anything other than holding on to me and moving forward.

  He was oblivious to our surroundings, but I wasn’t.

  The city seemed uncannily deserted, even by New Dublin standards.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  He slowed down and scanned the walkway. “They probably issued a lockdown. Announced a shelter-at-work safety exercise in case their custody-capture maneuver on the rooftop turned ugly.”

  Flick tugged my hand and urged me to keep moving. “Six more grids and we are there.”

  At least he was allowing me to walk and wasn’t prompting me along at a sprint.

  With two grids left, my legs started to burn with fatigue in spite of what Flick would consider an easy pace, but I resolved to keep up.

  The vacant streets felt ominously quiet.

  Unnervingly so.

  My eyes darted frantically from doorway to doorway of their own accord. Every instinct warned me that something was terribly wrong.

  We rounded the last corner leading to the Grey facility and saw a woman, dressed in pink, standing in the center of the walkway with her back to us.

  She turned and when she saw us, she smiled.

  My mind scrambled.

  The image of a still-frame with the same smiling face burst into my mind.

  First day N.A. training!

  Canda. Her name was Canda.

  I’d burglarized her apartment my first day in New Dublin.

  How could she be here? Now?

  I stopped dead and jerked Flick’s hand. He tensed and started to reach for his smoker, but when he saw the woman in pink he hesitated.

  The woman came toward us, her look a mixture of satisfaction and fictitious concern.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” she asked. “I can’t get back into my station.”

  Flick wavered with uncertainty.

  “Shoot her,” I said.

  He stared at me. “What?”

  “Shoot he—”

  She tossed a blue marble on the ground between our feet.

  A flash bomb exploded, engulfing us in a sickly orange haze, and my knees instantly buckled.

  My eyes blurred and the walkway distorted into a mass of swirling white stars before I lost consciousness.

  ∆

  I woke to the sound of deep, mechanical thrumming. My head swam but I managed to move my fingers, so at least I wasn’t paralyzed again.

  I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to reveal that I was conscious.

  The thrumming sound seemed to come from an engine.

  A very large engine.

  A slight rocking motion coupled with a steady, rhythmic bounce provided the only hint as to my whereabouts, so I focused my mind and began to gather information.

  The surface where I lay was ice cold, metal, and textured.

  Two voices murmured close by, echoing off a very low ceiling and closed-in walls.

  I was inside a box.

  Turbulence hit and we dropped sharply.

  A flying box.

  The voices belonged to two conversing women. I listened carefully and determined they sat directly behind me and would not be able to see my face. I opened my eyes.

  I saw a steel bulkhead half a meter from my nose. I was on the floor, but my hands and feet were not bound. I saw an insulated rectangular seam and realized I was lying directly beside the exit hatch.

  Based on the size and shape of the craft, it wasn’t difficult to conclude that I was inside an enforcement airship.

  Where were they taking me?

  “How do we do it?” asked one of the women.

  A second voice responded. “Push her out.”

  The first voice replied nervously. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  There was a pause.

  “When?” asked the nervous voice.

  “As soon as he tells us we are far enough out to sea.”

  I’d heard enough.

  I sat up and turned around.

  The nervous woman squeaked out loud when she saw me move.

  The other woman, Canda, who had tossed the blue marble and my feet and effectively captured me, simply stared ahead with disdain/contempt.

  It had obviously been her who had expressed her willingness to shove me out through the hatch.

  “You shouldn’t be awake,” said the nervous woman. “She shouldn’t be awake.”

  Canda cleared her throat. “Shut up, Bee.”

  They both wore pink dresses and had similarly styled short haircuts.

  Conformity was important to this organization, whoever they were. Although they wore pink, I doubted very much they had anything to do with actual childcare.

  “I assume you are taking me in to make my report,” I said.

  Bee stared at me with confusion, and then looked at Canda. “Report? What report?”

  “You know how difficult it is to convince a Grey to do something?” I asked, mimicking the look of disdain on Canda’s face.

  “What is she talking about?”

  “Shut up, Bee.”

  I stood up and took great care straightening my dress. “I led him straight to you.”

  Bee blinked. Confusion/worry.

  “How long until we land?” I asked.

  Canda’s forehead crinkled slightly and her lips puckered. “And just where do you think we are landing?” Smug/righteous.

  I planted my feet far apart and looked down my nose at Canda. “It took longer than I expected, but I managed to get what we needed.”

  Bee’s expression shifted so rapidly she was on the verge of straining something.

  Canda frowned. “We?”

  I spoke assertively. “It was more difficult than we thought it would be to locate the information.”

  Bee spun her head back and forth between us. “What is she talking about?”

  I looked at the nervous girl and lifted my chin a millimeter. “Do shut up, Bee.”

  “I wasn’t told about any information gathering operations,” Canda said.

  “Of course you weren’t,” I said dismissively.

  I dropped the pitch of my voice half an octave lower than hers and relaxed my shoulders. Confident/commanding.

&nbs
p; Canda’s eyebrows spoke on her behalf. Uncertainty/unease.

  The woman called Bee swallowed repeatedly, and then her cheeks flushed bright red. Frantic/worried.

  Canda cleared her throat again, attempting to regain control of the situation. “I received my instructions directly from Nasha.”

  “I’m sure you did,” I said. “And so did I.”

  “What instructions?” Bee asked.

  I rubbed my forehead, displaying impatience/annoyance. “When will I be able to make my report? This is important, after all.”

  Bee’s mouth opened, closed, opened and finally closed.

  Canda sneered. “What report?”

  My brain seized on the first thing I could think of. “About the governor. Broyce Farber.”

  They both stared at me.

  I planted the final seed. “What he did? We have proof now.”

  Canda’s gaze flicked to my right hand and she squinted at my finger. Her eyes widened.

  She looked back up at me, glaring. She’d just seen something significant, and her aura began to change.

  The silver ring I was wearing? Why was that important?

  For whatever reason, it was. I crossed my arms, taking care to fold my right hand on top of my left, emphasizing the ring visually.

  Bee blinked at me stupidly, but Canda’s mouth twisted down. Defeat/reluctance. She stood up, pounded on the cockpit door and shouted to the pilot. “Turn around!”

  The door opened and an enforcement officer leaned out. “Did you say turn around?”

  “Take us back to the facility.”

  “But we have almost reached minimum distance,” he said.

  “Do it!”

  Canda sat down hard, folded her arms, and refused to look at me.

  Bee’s head pivoted back and forth, her face shifting between bewilderment and trepidation.

  I didn’t speak again and simply stood there, my shoulders held back and my chin up, giving every impression that I was the one in charge.

  The airship banked smoothly and we rolled into an easy turn that presumably took us back the way we had come. We had been flying out to sea to use it as a body dump.

  My body.

  I casually leaned against the bulkhead and thought quickly.

  These women did not represent the governor, who had probably been the one who had ordered a New Dublin Grey to hide my activities. They didn’t work with the Greys either, and they certainly had not been told I was a valuable asset.