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

by J. S. McClelland

  She tightened her lips fractionally. Appreciative/sad. “Concentrate on survival.”

  “I understand.”

  Bee quickly tapped out a detailed sequence of commands on the panel. “It will be disconcerting when you launch, so brace yourself.”

  “I will.”

  She drew her pistol and placed her finger on the trigger.

  “Bee, who am I?”

  She hesitated. “It’s what you are that matters.”

  The water crept up her waist, rising relentlessly.

  “Why don’t I remember?” I asked.

  She reached for the portal lock. “Tell them Nasha knows you are alive. It will complicate matters.”

  She grasped the ejection handle.

  I leaned forward. “What about you?”

  Bee allowed me to see the last, truly unrestrained expression she would ever show.

  Defeat/resolution. “I was killed during your escape.”

  She pulled the handle down, and as the portal closed, she lifted the pistol and shot herself in the temple.

  Air squeezed out of my lungs as the pod pressurized, shuddered, and shot out of the launch tube with incredible force. I gasped and clung to the safety straps.

  The pod tumbled wildly through the water before automatic jets activated and stabilized the trajectory. I felt the sensation of momentary weightlessness and then the unmistakable lurch of forward movement.

  The designers of the pod had neglected to include windows. I had no way to know where I was.

  “Location?” I asked.

  A metallic, unsophisticated computer voice responded. “Twenty meters.”

  “Be more specific.”

  The computer emitted a noise like an electronic hiccup. “Twenty meters below the surface of the water.”

  Fair enough.

  “Estimate the time of arrival to the pre-programmed coordinates.”

  “Unknown.”

  The pod bounced off something, vibrated alarmingly, and then righted itself again.

  “What caused that impact?” I asked.

  “There is no record of an impact.”

  I considered it unlikely that this machine would even be able to find the pre-programmed coordinates, much less deliver me to them. There wasn’t anything I could do to affect the outcome of that, so I turned my attention elsewhere.

  I pulled back my sleeve. Flick’s skinner came off easily in my palm and I examined it. It wasn’t damaged. I placed it on my wrist and tapped it once.

  Nothing happened, but I had not expected a response. The twenty meters of water over my head made communication with him unlikely. After reaching the surface, if I reached the surface, I would try again.

  I sat back and incorporated the new data.

  New data?

  My stomach felt sick from the image of Bee’s final moments. Considering how badly I had managed to interfere with her mission plan, I was lucky to still be alive.

  No, that assessment was incorrect. It was clear to me now that luck had nothing to do with it. A great number of individuals were working diligently to afford me every opportunity to survive, and in so doing were curiously willing to die in the process.

  That suggested a greater cause was at work here.

  What could motivate another interrogation specialist Grey to sacrifice herself in such a way? Bee had been a member of a determined, desperate group of people willing to do incredible things to secure my freedom.

  Did they subscribe to a belief system?

  The possibility that people who held ideological belief systems could have initiated this ordeal irritated me. They were not based on reason, but on nebulous concepts such as hope or goodness, and I found the thought distasteful.

  Perhaps they were working on behalf of a competing organization that had taken an interest in me for some reason? A rival group of scientists, perhaps?

  Unknown.

  For whatever reason, they were exceptionally determined. Bee, Doctor Hove, and the three individuals on the ocean base were members of this secret group. Were there others?

  Also unknown.

  At least now I knew whom they were working against.

  I glanced at the ring on my finger that I had taken from Canda’s apartment. The initials N.A. were stamped in the silver metal inconspicuously, and now I knew what they stood for.

  No wonder Canda had altered her assessment of me after she had seen me wearing it. She must have concluded I was also a member of her hidden organization.

  The New Authority.

  That was the moniker laser-carved on the beam spanning the entrance to the medical facility.

  It was the name of the organization that wanted me dead.

  They supposedly operated out of the childcare division, but considering the size and scope of their medical bay facility I’d just seen, the childcare academy was probably nothing more than a shell to provide infrastructure for their true activities.

  And a small group of infiltrators had penetrated the New Authority to liberate me.

  Why?

  Undetermined.

  Something about my physicality, but other than that I was unaware of the reason for my importance.

  Then I thought about the governor of New Dublin. His motivations were a mystery. I could see nothing to associate him with either the New Authority or with the rogue elements within it, and I had no idea why he would want to help me. Probably I did not have enough information to make an informed guess about him.

  The New Dublin enforcement officers I’d encountered did not seem to have any purpose other than to follow commands. I suspected they had no particular loyalty to any cause and likely had no idea that a civil war waged inside the organization. They took orders, nothing more.

  What I’d come to think of as the rapid-strike enforcement squad did seem to have a particular allegiance. I placed them firmly under the control of the New Authority.

  It was apparent that not two, but three separate and opposing entities were at work here.

  How did the Greys fit into this complex puzzle? That was a difficult question to answer. I tentatively labeled them allies. Time would bear that out.

  Could I trust anyone?

  Bee. She had been the first reasonable person I’d come across thus far.

  Had been.

  Flick?

  If he was alive, that is, could I trust him?

  His skill and determination were desirable traits, but his impulsiveness and emotional volatility also made him something of a liability.

  But could I trust him?

  The pod beeped and reverse jets slowed forward progress. “Arriving at pre-programmed coordinates.”

  “Do not open the portal until we have reached the surface,” I said.

  “Unable to comply.”

  Of course not.

  The pod clicked, burbled and swayed wildly, and I sucked in several deep breaths in anticipation of a long swim to the surface.

  As the portal whooshed open I expected water to rush inside and took a last deep breath, held it, and closed my eyes.

  Nothing happened, and I cautiously looked out.

  Soft sunlight shone gently through the opening, and we bobbed lightly in the surf, facing a long, white sand beach.

  I climbed out, swam a dozen strokes, and waded toward shore until the water reached my ankles. The pod portal whined shut, and I watched as its pale egg shape disappeared beneath the waves.

  Bee had programmed it to disgorge me and then retreat to a different location in a hurry. Whoever located the pod would have a difficult time getting any useful information out of it, and it was unlikely that they would be able to trace its movements back to me.

  I scanned the beach in both directions and saw an outcropping of rocks a few hundred meters away that extended down to the water. I jogged toward the rocks, staying in the surf to avoid leaving any tracks, and used them as a pathway to hide my emergence from the ocean.

  It would be dark soon but I did not want t
o be discovered in the morning before I awoke again simply because I’d been careless enough to leave tracks in the sand.

  Darkness enveloped me quickly as I headed into the foliage, the temperature dropped and I retreated into the undergrowth as far as possible before the snarl of vegetation halted my progress.

  I located a soft, sandy spot, dug a hole large enough to conceal my body, climbed inside and submerged myself with cool sand. My face protruded, but as I’d done once before when evading Flick, I did what I could to cover it, and hoped any heat-sensor equipped helicars flying overhead would be fooled.

  If Bee had managed to arrange for someone to meet me, they were not appearing.

  Perhaps my rescue would not happen tonight after all.

  My body was already growing chilled and I wondered if the wet sand would induce fatal hypothermia before dawn.

  The sun set completely, and after two hours of unproductive worry, my eyelids began to close uncontrollably.

  The faint whine of what sounded like an engine droned in the distance, but I was helpless to do anything about it. If a rescuer arrived they would have a very difficult time pinpointing me in the jungle. If it was my captors, they might be hampered by my hiding place, or not, there was simply no way to know.

  The engine grew steadily louder and through my cloud of semi-awareness, I heard it touch down on the beach very close to where I lay hidden.

  My vision blurred as my eyelids wilted closed, sounds muted into a haze of muffled echoes and I heard a familiar voice calling my name.

  My last moment of awareness was the sensation of Flick’s hand as he cupped the back of my head, wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me out of the sand.

  ∆

  I awoke wrapped in a cocoon of thermal blankets. My head and feet seemed higher in elevation than my torso and the reason for this became clear when I tried to sit up.

  Everything rocked from side to side and I blinked until I was able to focus on the surroundings. I held still to calm the swinging of the hammock and then tried to sit up once more.

  Flick appeared and placed a hand on my legs. “You’re safe.”

  I studied the area. A wide net stretched overhead and it crackled occasionally, indicating that it possessed some type of electric current.

  “Camouflage?”

  “More than that, it’s a chameleon net. Blocks out everything. We are invisible from the air.”

  I rolled out of the hammock and Flick handed me a steel cup filled with liquid.

  “How long?” I asked,

  “A minute under eleven hours.”

  I drank the liquid and found it bitter but refreshing. “How did you locate me?”

  He lifted a heavy pack from the ground and pulled several items of clothing from inside. “It wasn’t easy. Your skinner was tied to my helicar, which was cooked, so I couldn’t use it to track your location. I had to get your brother to let me borrow his pet Grey, and together we found a way to tie my skinner to yours. It took some time.”

  I removed my black dress and accepted the grey-colored shirt and pants he offered. “My brother?”

  “Governor Farber.”

  The information sank in. “Ah.”

  Mystery solved.

  I sat down and pulled on a pair of grey boots. They conformed to my feet well and I stood up.

  “Your brother was the one who sent those two thugs after you at the archive. They were just a couple of orderlies who worked in the mental illness wing of a local health facility. He thought they would be able to bring you to him…ah…quietly.”

  “I see. Did he explain what happened to my memory?”

  “Said he didn’t know.”

  “Do you believe him?” I asked.

  His lips thinned. “I’m not sure. But he did help me. Without him, I never would have found you.”

  “I would like to see him,” I said.

  “That’s not going to happen. He wouldn’t be specific, but he mentioned that if he was publicly associated with you there would be no way he could maintain his position and that sounded bad, so I agreed to keep you away from the city for awhile.”

  That explained Governor Broyce Farber’s involvement. It was personal, not ideological.

  Flick wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. “It’s been a long night. I set us down about thirty kilometers inland but it was still tough to get any sleep. Every sound, you know?”

  His embrace felt oddly comforting. I tucked my head beneath his chin and circled his shoulder with my arm.

  “Who knows where we are?” I asked.

  “No one. This new jetcar is—well for starters—it doesn’t use conventional fuel so it’s lightning fast, but it’s also your brother’s personal transport vehicle and can’t be traced.”

  I turned my head to look at the glossy machine. It was white, denoting the level and rank of governor, and used some type of directional turbines instead of propeller blades. “What is the range of this vehicle?”

  “As long as there is water close by? Virtually unlimited. It’s magnetic hydrogen conversion propulsion and, this is the part I like the best, it’s a lot faster than my old helicar.”

  “How long will we be able to stay in this location?”

  “For at least six or seven days, depending on how much we eat. There is a water source a few hundred meters from here.”

  He kissed me then, hungrily. I pulled off the clothing I had only just put on, and we discovered how difficult it is to have meaningful sex in a hammock.

  When we were satisfied and managed to find a comfortable position, he took the time to cover me with a thermal blanket carefully before we relaxed, even though my body temperature was normal.

  It appeared my attempt to forge a bond with Flick had been successful.

  Although I knew that communication between us would never be as efficient or rewarding as it had been with Bee, short though our time had been, there was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer.

  It was time to tell him the truth.

  Taking into account his masculine characteristics, which made him more ego-driven and less focused on productivity, I told him everything.

  Since the moment I’d regained awareness for the first time on the NARPA base to the moment he had located me the previous night, buried in the cold sand on the beach, I recounted all of my movements, softening the details to spare his overwrought emotional responses when necessary.

  He actually shuddered when I recounted the moment Bee used her own weapon on herself, and when I had completed my story he was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “I failed to tell you these things before now because I did not know if I could trust you,” I said. “I apologize.”

  He sighed deeply and squeezed my shoulders. “Honestly? Sometimes I don’t trust me.”

  “Are you saying I should not have told you?”

  “It was a joke. Keeley, I will never let anything happen to you. Understand?”

  “I understand. That might be an impossible task, however.”

  He kissed my forehead. “It won’t be easy.”

  His breathing was steady and slow. My head rested on his chest and I could hear his heartbeat. For a moment I succumbed to my own overwrought emotional response and felt a tear trail down my nose. I sniffed unattractively.

  “Hey, you’re all right,” Flick said. “No one can get us here. It’s safe.”

  “Promise me that you will not sacrifice yourself for me,” I said.

  Even as I spoke the words my personal disgust elevated.

  “What does that mean?” he asked. “You think I’ll end up like Bee, or the other three who tried to help you?”

  “Yes, I think that is a possibility.”

  “Not going to happen. I promise.”

  His tone was light, but my highly trained ear detected the faint pitch alteration indicating uncertainty and concern. It would have been more reassuring if he had not spoken at all.

  I kissed him, and then c
limbed out of the hammock to see to my personal needs. When I returned he was asleep, a peaceful expression on his face.

  For a moment I considered taking the jetcar and leaving. It was thirty kilometers to the coast but Flick had plenty of food and water and was healthy as well as capable. He would be able to successfully walk back to civilization.

  If I left him now his chances of survival would improve. Perhaps I could even find a way to resolve my complicated problems before he made it back to the city.

  I lowered my head and discarded the idea.

  For now, the better plan would be to stay together. It was not the best option for Flick, but it was the better plan for my own chances of survival, and Bee had been firm that I focus on that to the exclusion of everything else.

  I hoped her reasons for that directive were good.

  Taking a thermal blanket, I folded it carefully and, using it as a cushion, sat with my back against a tree and spent the time during Flick’s rest to formulate a strategy.

  When he awoke I allowed him a few minutes to register his surroundings and clear his head.

  “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  He stretched mightily. “Ask me anything.”

  “Where is this secret island that these supposed refugees are coming from?”

  His rapid blinking indicated he concluded what I was about to propose. “Somewhere off the eastern coast. A long, long way off the coast.”

  “How long would it take us to fly there?”

  “In that,” he jerked his chin at the jetcar. “Theoretically?”

  “Not theoretically. How long?” I asked.

  Ponder/calculate. “Ah. Let’s see. 286 knots, divide by…Maybe around four hours? But I don’t know the precise coordinates.”

  “Is the location of the island known to the jetcar?”

  He laughed. “That info was scrubbed a long time ago. There isn’t a way for me to plot that course with any computer.”

  “What if you had written coordinates?” I asked.

  “You mean, like a map?”

  “Yes. Could you do it? Theoretically?”

  He squinted. “Sure, if I provide an accurate heading the jetcar can program itself to take us there.”

  We looked at each other for a moment.

  I smiled faintly.