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

by J. S. McClelland

  A few seconds passed and then I saw the airship cruising beneath me and far off to the left.

  The drop-suit responded flawlessly as I angled my arms and banked to intercept. My proximity relative to the airship changed instantly, and I flew toward it almost as if I was actually under propulsion.

  The suit performed exactly as I’d expected.

  As the airship drew closer, I thrust my arms and legs out to slow my speed. I needed to catch them, but I also needed to survive the impact when I did.

  Needless to say, they wouldn’t see me coming.

  Carefully, I lifted both my hands to my chest and pulled the drop-suit sleeve away from the skinner on my wrist. I waited another thirty seconds and tapped it once, peeled the edge of the oxygen mask up and shouted.

  “Locate and retrieve!”

  The airship stayed on its steady course as I approached. The oxygen mask hindered my breathing now and I shoved it down to my neck to get it off my face.

  I altered my speed slightly, sped up, slowed down, and adjusted my flight path to get into the best position possible.

  My plan was to land on the top of the fuselage silently and avoid alerting them to my presence.

  The matte steel fuselage was shaped like a box, and therefore, flat on the top. It provided the perfect target.

  I soared toward the airship, aimed, and attempted to quietly touch down directly in the center.

  That failed to occur.

  I hit the fuselage too fast, rolled across the top three times before managing to grab a cargo railing, and fell over the nose, barely managing to maintain my hold on the rail.

  My legs fell over the front of the windscreen and flopped against the plastene wildly.

  There was no point now in attempting to move around quietly.

  They knew I was here.

  I scrabbled against the windscreen with both feet and heaved myself up. The wind whipped against me, and I dropped down to my stomach to avoid being blown off the top by a strong gust.

  I crawled to the edge directly over the hatch and spread my legs wide for stability.

  I looped one arm underneath the cargo railing and removed my left glove carefully.

  Proceeding in a way that was surely counter to the safety recommendations on the instruction manual, I clamped the plasma cutter between my teeth and activated the blade. A white-hot flash of buzzing fire surged to life millimeters from my skin and singed the fabric of my headgear, but my lips were still attached to my body so I kept working.

  I removed the tiny disruptor from beneath my right glove and slapped it on the hatch cover.

  I rolled to the center, grabbed the cargo railing with both hands and held on as the disruptor fired.

  The airship bucked from the destructive surge of energy, but the pilot managed to initiate emergency power quickly and prevented stalling.

  A hydraulic moan sounded as the hatch gave way and the ramp lowered.

  Success!

  The airship slowed dramatically as the lowered ramp created a lopsided drag and we tipped wildly sideways, but the pilot righted us and I held on until our flight stabilized again.

  I slid into position, gripped the cargo rail with both hands and jumped over the top, dropped my legs down and swung into the airship feet first.

  The expression on Flick’s face when he saw me land was one I vowed to treasure for the rest of my life.

  Gob-smacked accurately described it.

  I’d expected to see at least three, possibly four enforcement officers with Flick, but there were only two.

  Flick’s wrists were restrained, but I counted on him to put up a fight. He did not disappoint.

  He stood up between the two startled officers and used his elbows and legs as weapons. Both men yelped with pain and dropped to their knees from the attack, momentarily stunned.

  I grabbed the plasma cutter and sliced through Flick’s restraints, palmed the skinner off my wrist, and slapped it on his exposed forearm. Before he could react, with one rapid motion I clutched his shirt with one hand, hauled him to the open hatch, and shoved him out of the airship.

  He tripped forward and tumbled off the end of the ramp into thin air.

  A strong pair of hands grabbed my shoulders, and I found myself face to face with an angry man and his bloody, broken nose.

  He looked me up and down. Incredulous/awed. “Where’s your parachute?”

  “What is a parachute?”

  At that moment Flick’s helicar plunged past us in a blinding flash of silver chrome and noise.

  The three of us leaned out the opening and watched as Flick tumbled through the air below. He threw out his arms and legs and managed to right himself as the helicar chased after him like a manic bird of prey.

  There was a real danger that Flick would be sliced to ribbons by the rotor blades before managing to climb inside the cab, but the helicar was intelligent enough to anticipate that eventuality and moved to intercept him from above. It dove after him, still accelerating.

  He vanished from view as the helicar intercepted him, and then reappeared once more, this time dangling from the treads.

  The helicar gradually slowed its speed as Flick threw one arm into the cab and then shimmied the rest of the way inside. He took control of the stick only a few hundred meters above the surface of the ocean.

  “Huh,” said one of the officers. “He made it.”

  They turned their attention away from Flick and back to me.

  I stepped away from the opening and held my arms out at my sides in surrender.

  “My name is Keeley Dorn. You are looking for me.”

  “Yes,” said the officer with the broken nose. “We are.”

  He punched the side of my head and everything went black.

  ∆

  Regaining consciousness was a struggle.

  I vaguely noticed the sounds of arguing. A female voice suggested to a man that he could be classified as something called a troglodyte.

  Another man, possibly one sympathetic to my cause, handled my body with great care while dictating instructions to the woman.

  They were most likely medically trained. That came as something of a relief and I slipped back into oblivion, secure in the knowledge that Flick had survived and I was currently under the care of trained doctors.

  When my eyes opened again I felt normal, aside from a throb of pain over my left temple.

  Sitting up did not appeal to me, so I simply lay still, taking in information from my surroundings.

  I was inside a room. It was very quiet, and the temperature was slightly cool.

  A weak blue light glowed nearby, and though it did not offend my senses, it was so dim that it prevented me from seeing the room clearly.

  Doctor Hove’s shadowy face appeared at my side. He flicked on an overhead lamp, and when he saw that my eyes were open, he smiled. Relief/happiness.

  “How do you feel?”

  I swallowed. “Thirsty.”

  He hastily retreated, only to appear again holding a tube of liquid. He held the back of my head while I drank. It tasted sickeningly sweet.

  “Bruck ruptured a blood vessel over your occipital nerve when he hit you. I repaired it. You may feel dizzy, and your vision might be slightly impaired for a little while.”

  I focused on his eyes. They were green, with small flecks of brown. “I appear to have normal vision. There is no impairment.”

  He smiled wider. “Excellent.”

  “How long?” I asked, my voice breaking.

  “Don’t try to speak,” Doctor Hove said.

  I cleared my throat. “How long was I unconscious?”

  “You slept normally. Well, as normal as can be expected, after a head injury. It’s been roughly a day.”

  My head swirled as I heaved my torso up.

  “No, no. Stay down,” he instructed. “Give the syrup time to work.”

  I had no choice but to comply. Nausea forced me to close my eyes and focus on my breathing. My
vision fogged over.

  “You need to rest.”

  “Where am I?”

  He hesitated, glanced over his shoulder, and then looked back to me. Resolute/determined. “You are in Nasha’s education academy in New Dublin.”

  The information elicited a slight twinge of disappointment.

  Doctor Hove grimaced. Apology/fear.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “It is not your fault.”

  His expression shifted to one of absolute dispassionate professionalism. “Now, tell me about your sleeping patterns.” Tension/focus.

  His demeanor told me two things. First, he was anxious to talk about my physical condition as a way to deflect any questions I might have, and second, Nasha did not know that he was working with the dissenters because he was obviously in charge of my care.

  I decided to cooperate and refrain from asking any questions that might compromise him.

  I described the nightly episodes for what they were, a semi-comatose state from which I was unable to awaken, starting my first day of regained awareness and happening each night two or so hours after sunset.

  Doctor Hove appeared to listen while taking notes on a screenboard.

  But he wasn’t listening to me. His attention was focused on other individuals in the room who stood behind him. It was difficult to see them, but two or three people stood against the wall, whispering to each other as I spoke.

  Nothing I said came as a surprise to Doctor Hove.

  This wasn’t an interview to ascertain my condition. It was a performance. He wanted to put on a show to demonstrate that he was doing his job and that I was in good health.

  A door opened suddenly and a woman, flanked by two others, left the room. I caught a glimpse of her as she walked beneath the soft, blue overhead lights. She wore a crisp white suit, and her white hair glowed indigo under the bluish hue.

  Nasha.

  As the door closed, I turned to face Doctor Hove. “Do you know if the Grey, Francis 11, was able to escape?” I asked.

  “I know that Nasha was very angry when you arrived.”

  Which indicated to me that Flick had managed to survive and evade capture.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  Doctor Hove shifted uncomfortably. “We begin the process of conducting our tests, which I have already started, and after I’ve reviewed the results, we try to determine what makes you special.”

  “I’d like to rest now,” I said. “Can we continue this interview at a later time?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course. I can give you more pain medication if you need it.”

  “That is not necessary,” I said.

  The doctor bowed to retrieve some sort of medical kit he’d placed on the floor and I studied the door carefully. It was a standard hinge-handle with one crucial component; this door locked from the inside.

  They assumed I was too weak to attempt an escape.

  Of course, there would be a man posted outside, but I wasn’t locked in, which was somewhat of a surprise.

  Doctor Hove stood up, patted my shoulder reassuringly, and left.

  I studied my clothing.

  No shoes, but some sort of heavy beige socks covered my feet. A pair of red leggings provided slight compression on my legs and ankles and may have been supplied by someone who wanted to provide me medical benefit, as well as modesty. I wore a long pink shirt that had long sleeves delivering comfortable warmth.

  I’d been very well looked after during my unconscious episode.

  The room obviously had not been constructed to accommodate a patient and was nothing more than a conference area with a small bathroom in the corner.

  They had deliberately isolated me from any public medical bay and placed me in a building that was under Nasha’s complete control.

  A prudent action considering my recent history.

  Other than a hastily erected medical bed, a blanket, and three plastene chairs that stood along the far wall, the room was empty. Not that I had any inclination to do so, but I noticed that there was nothing present that could be used as a weapon.

  I rose cautiously and used the bathroom facilities, noting that my balance seemed normal, my vision clear, and I could move without experiencing nausea.

  Whatever Doctor Hove had given me to drink seemed to be working.

  I washed my face and hands carefully, braided my hair back from my face and breathed deeply. My legs were sore and I felt a long bruise on my left hip where I had collided with the airship, and my left temple ached. Other than that, I felt reasonably fit.

  I considered everything I’d learned up to this point, taking into account recent events.

  The information Doctor Hove had provided made my next decision simple.

  Circumstances had now changed, quite dramatically.

  It was time that Nasha and I came to an understanding.

  I left the bathroom and walked through the door into the hallway. An enforcement officer blinked surprise when he saw me and tensed, having evidently been told not to underestimate me.

  “Take me to see Nasha,” I said.

  I folded my hands demurely in front of my waist, relaxed my shoulders, and kept my face passive.

  The officer, not one I recognized, twisted his lips up and down. Irritation/worry. “You are not supposed to be out here.”

  “Obviously,” I said. “Take me to see her. Now.”

  My non-threatening but firm posture convinced him. He seized my elbow and held it as he reluctantly led me through the hallway and up a steep flight of stairs.

  The New Authority was fond of steel, it seemed. Everything looked to be constructed of it. The walls, floors, and even the door handles and doors themselves gleamed metallic silver.

  We walked for a few minutes through the stark building and stopped outside a polished silver door.

  The man knocked.

  He waited.

  A voice called out. “Enter.”

  I didn’t bother to seek permission and simply went inside, leaving the officer in the hallway.

  Nasha turned her head slightly as I strode in.

  Interest/focus. She rotated her chair to face me directly. “Do sit down, Keeley.”

  I ignored the invitation. “It is time for us to end this conflict.”

  She looked down at her hands with a tired frown. “Perhaps so.”

  “The dissenters will attempt to free me again.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know they will. Someday. No matter where you try to hide me.”

  “Is that what you think?” she asked.

  “It’s what I know. But I would prefer not to spend the rest of my life locked inside a metal cage. In order for that to occur, you need my cooperation, so the next time they come for me, I can choose not to go along with it.”

  “What if I don’t care whether or not you choose to cooperate?” she asked.

  “You have seen what I am capable of accomplishing when I set my mind to it. Don’t you think it would be better if we had an arrangement that benefited us equally?”

  Nasha laced her fingers together and leaned both elbows on her desk. “And you have a way to achieve that, I take it?”

  “Yes.”

  She studied me intently. “And it will require compromise.”

  “And sacrifice,” I said.

  “I’m listening.”

  I outlined my solution methodically, carefully, and to her credit, she did not interrupt once.

  When I finished speaking she rotated her chair back and forth a few times, thinking.

  It didn’t take interrogation skills to see what she thought of my proposal.

  After several minutes, she took a long, slow breath and scowled. “I will require certain…concessions from you.”

  “Understood.”

  Nasha listed her demands, and after she leaned back in her chair and fell silent, I lowered my head.

  “Agreed.”

  She stood up and extended her hand, reluc
tantly.

  I did the same.

  We grasped hands, and shook once, firmly, sealing the bargain.

  Nasha gave me a brittle smile. “Welcome to the New Authority, Keeley Dorn.”

  “Will you permit me to tell him?”

  “Francis would not believe it unless it came from you personally.”

  “I need an escort, clothes, and a shower.”

  She sat down again and waved me away. “Go. I’ll see to it directly.”

  I turned to leave.

  “Keeley,” she said forcefully. “You understand that I can’t give you any more leeway. If you deviate from our agreement, I will simply have him killed.”

  “I understand.”

  She turned her attention back to the task of running her vast organization and ignored me once again.

  The officer escorted me to an apartment, and it provided everything I had requested. When I was showered, dressed, and prepared to leave on my dreadful errand, Bruck, my new head of security, had arrived, and stood waiting for me outside the door.

  He mumbled an apology to me for knocking me out cold as we made our way to the rooftop, and I murmured one back for his broken nose, even though it had been Flick who had given him that.

  We met three other officers on the rooftop, where an airship waited, powered up and prepared for takeoff.

  It was a surreal experience for me as I stood with the four men, knowing that less than a week ago they’d been issued orders to eliminate me. Now, their mission was keeping me alive.

  The airship engine vibrated the metal beneath my feet as we approached, and I climbed inside, thinking about what I would say to Flick, and realizing that the only correct thing to do was explain the truth to the best of my ability.

  We took off and flew toward Flick’s Grey facility. Since it was the only place he could go where Nasha’s men couldn’t reach him, it stood to reason that was where he was hiding.

  When we arrived I gave instructions for the pilot to set us down on the rooftop. He wasn’t happy about it, but he complied.

  There was no question that Flick knew we had arrived. I hoped that Nasha had been able to communicate with him by this time and warn him that we were coming, but there was a strong possibility she hadn’t bothered, and he could be completely blindsided by our appearance.