Beyond the Stars: At Galaxy's Edge

CAPTAIN JAREYN BROOK swiped through the notes scribbled on her palm-sized personal screen as she walked. “All right, JP, let’s take this from the top‌—‌should I say ‘mistakes were made and therefore the ship is not recoverable,’ or ‘the ship is not recoverable because mistakes were made’?”

“Neither.” Her dark-blue-skinned Archavian companion shook his elongated head. “’Mistake’ is a subjective term‌—‌one person’s mistake is another person’s tragic inevitability. Once you step into that committee chamber, you are that second person.”

“Got it.” Brook smiled, not least because JP had not responded to her use of his nickname. She had thought herself quite clever when she discovered that the initials of her political liaison officer spelled out the abbreviation for “Justice of the Peace,” a position which JP’s exhaustive knowledge of Meltian Republic law undoubtedly qualified him for. “So, how long is it going to take them to set us up with a replacement for the Kindred Spirit?”

JP had assured her that this was a routine process‌—‌talk to some committee here on Meltia, get their rubber stamp, and walk away with a shiny new starship‌—‌but every minute this process took was time that her crew was sitting around in some hotel in the Erian solar system instead of traversing the galaxy, saving lives like the Interstellar Emergency Service was supposed to do.

JP looked up at her, spreading his arms in a gesture of uncertainty‌—‌though average height for his species, he stood almost half a meter shorter than her. “Not as long as it took to retrieve the Spirit after you got it impounded on Walletarde.”

“Hey, now, if they didn’t want us in that shipyard, they should have posted signs,” Brook said.

“In space?” JP asked.

“Or something like that. Anyway, that was Walletarde; this is Meltia.” Brook waved her arm at the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated one wall of the corridor, affording an exquisite view of the capital city of Telahmir. “As far as I can tell, bureaucracy is this planet’s official sport. And don’t tell me they’ll break the rules for us.”

“Break? No. Bend? Perhaps, if you motivate them to do so.” JP aimed an elongated blue finger at her chest. “Bureaucracy is only obstructive to the uninitiated. To the experienced‌—‌including those on this committee‌—‌it provides opportunities.”

A half-formed laugh hissed between Brook’s lips as they arrived at the committee’s chamber. “Whatever you say, JP. Just make sure we have all the boxes checked so we can roll‌—‌or preferably fly‌—‌on out of here after this.” The IES was a popular agency with the Meltian people, so there was no way this committee would deny her request outright, but if they wanted to make her life difficult, the Meltian bureaucracy provided far more “opportunities” to slow things down than to speed them up. That was part of the reason she lobbied the Emergency Service to create the IES in the first place: with a single starship, a small budget, and galactic purview, she could run her little agency without Meltian bureaucrats constantly looking over her shoulder. In fact, she was pretty sure this was her first time on the Republic’s capital world since that initial lobbying tour, four years ago.

On the wall outside the committee’s chamber, an engraved panel read, “Meltian Republic Legislature Subcommittee on Internal Procurements.” Below it was a screen listing the committee’s docket‌—‌she was right on time. She placed her hand on the door, an ancient thing that swung on metal hinges.

“Remember,” JP said, “this committee is not yet aware that the Spirit is no longer operational. As far as they know, we are here to make an ordinary procurement request. Make sure that before you acknowledge that fact‌—‌”

“I frame the question in a manner that appeals to their self-interest. I’ve got this, JP.” Brook gave the archaic door a push, and a groaning, creaking noise accompanied its opening. By the time she closed it behind her, the committee chamber was silent, and every pair of eyes in the room‌—‌plus the third eye of one non-human representative‌—‌was focused on her.

In total, there were nine representatives seated behind a severe semicircular metal desk, each identified by a nameplate and attended to by at least one aide. There was a lectern in the center of the committee’s long desk, so Brook strode toward that, smiling out at her observably unreceptive audience. “Good afternoon! So, how has everyone’s day been so far?”

“Welcome, Captain Brook.” Representative Divar, a human with glossy shoulder-length black hair, sat at the midpoint of the semicircle, so Brook assumed he was the chairman, or whatever Legislature Subcommittees had. “You may begin your appeal.”

Brook winced inwardly as she assumed her position behind the lectern. “Appeal” made it sound like she was some kind of criminal. “Thank you, Mr. Divar. I’m here today to let you all know about an opportunity by which this committee could demonstrate its support for the Interstellar Emergency Service, which, as you all undoubtedly know, is a very popular agency with the Meltian public.”

“Captain Brook,” Representative Divar said, “how was the Kindred Spirit destroyed?”

That stopped Brook cold. She still had almost three minutes of JP-written introduction before she was supposed to so much as hint at the fact that the Kindred Spirit was no longer in service.

“Right,” Brook said. “Funny story, that.”

Divar glared at her.

“Not funny. A very serious story.” Brook scrolled to her notes about the incident itself. “So, the IES has monitoring probes across the galaxy, orbiting stars that are likely to go supernova. They’re pretty dumb probes, just taking sensor readings of their star and slowly changing their orbital inclination so they get the full picture over time. Anyway, one of these probes smacked into a station owned by Griffin Space Technologies.” There was a disclaimer scribbled in the margins of her notes. “Now, for the record, let me note that space is very, very big, and our probes are very, very small, so there is no way this would have happened if they had not been intentionally following our probe, and let me also note that this GST station was completely unregistered and actually used scanner-jamming technology, so there was no way we could have avoided this accident.”

The members of the committee did not seem very impressed. In fact, eight of them still looked downright hostile, while the other‌—‌a woman in a light blue cape‌—‌just looked confused. Time to turn this around, lest Brook be compelled to jump through all the bureaucratic hoops before she got her new ship.

“But we’re not traffic cops, we’re the Emergency Service.” Brook gave the committee a warm smile. “So when this unregistered station calls up and says they’ve lost their flip drive and thrusters‌—‌stranding them in orbit around the maybe-supernova‌—‌we swoop in to save the day. Unfortunately, since they were already unsafely close to the star, the probe collision put them on a course to get an unpleasant solar haircut, so we had to get them out fast. We wanted to evacuate them, but they wouldn’t leave their precious space station, and we couldn’t fit it inside our hangars, so we had to basically strap them to the nose of the Spirit and strain our own flip drive to push them away. Unfortunately, the load was too much, and our flip drive... basically exploded. On the bright side, we managed to get everyone‌—‌even the GST people‌—‌onto lifeboats before we sprayed the Erian system with chunks of Kindred Spirit.”

Perhaps “chunks of Kindred Spirit” was not the most positive image to end on. Brook added, “I think providing for such a popular agency to acquire a new ship...” She glanced at her notes, plucking a few choice words from JP’s introduction. “...is an uncontroversial and pan-partisan objective. Any questions?”

The woman in the blue cape‌—‌Representative Arriet‌—‌looked like she was about to say something when Divar cut her off. “This committee has everything it needs to deliberate on this appeal.”

What? JP had told her she would spend the majority of her time fielding questions from the representatives.

Divar rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his hands. “With the committee’s assent, we will move to a vote on whether to grant Captain Brook her ship. Those in favor?”

Seven of his colleagues raised their fingers in assent.

Arriet folded her arms. “What are you doing, Divar?”

Divar gave her a confused glance, but then shook his head and turned back to Brook. “This committee is now called to a vote. Captain Brook, you may leave the chamber.”

Now was probably not a good time to upset Divar further. Whatever she had done to upset him in the first place. Brook found JP waiting outside the chamber.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“They knew,” Brook said. “They knew the Spirit was destroyed before I said a word.”

JP’s black eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, an aide opened the door with another calamitous groan. “Captain Brook.”

That didn’t take long.

When Brook followed the aide back inside, she found Arriet giving Divar a distasteful look. Divar seemed to be ignoring his fellow representative.

“Captain Brook,” he said, “this committee has voted to deny your appeal.”

Brook opened her mouth, but she had somehow forgotten to breathe. After sucking in a quick breath, she said, “Mr. Divar, we are the Interstellar Emergency Service. We can’t operate without a ship.”

“That is true,” Divar said. “The IES will be forced to temporarily pause their activities. We will ensure that proper paperwork is delivered to the headquarters of the Meltian Republic Emergency Service here in Telahmir, at which point they will have the option to either absorb current IES employees into their main organization or furlough them.”

Brook maintained her composure even as Divar’s words wrenched open a hole in her gut. Sure, the operation hadn’t gone perfectly, but sacrificing the Spirit enabled her to ensure the safety of hundreds of lives‌—‌both those of the GST employees and of her own crew. And as her reward, this committee was taking her command. They were killing the IES, which she had brought to life and nurtured into an organization that did a tremendous amount of good for the Republic and the galaxy.

“Captain Brook, you may leave the chamber.”

“Thank you all for your consideration.” Brook relinquished the lectern and departed the committee’s chambers.

Outside, JP asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing good,” Brook said, but she stopped herself before she gave JP a full rundown of the committee’s verdict. The IES did not need a captain to complain about its problems‌—‌it needed one to come up with its solutions. Brook might not have those solutions in hand just yet, but all that meant was that she and JP had their work cut out for them. After all, she had given birth to the IES‌—‌she was not about to let it die.

“How long would it take to get the paperwork together to shut down the IES?” Brook asked.

“Two days, if one works efficiently,” JP said.

Brook nodded. “Then that’s how much time we have to find a way around this committee.”

JP’s eyes widened in comprehension. “I see.” Though the IES was never JP’s brainchild, he had been the Emergency Service administrator in charge of reviewing her petition to create it, so he was at least a midwife.

Brook clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace. They still had to figure out how to obtain a ship‌—‌there were just a few more variables in play now. Beyond the window-dominated wall opposite the committee chamber, Meltia’s star was visible, casting progressively longer shadows as it sank toward the horizon. Any other modern city would be swarmed by hovercars, but Telahmir’s pedestrian culture meant that only a handful flitted across the skyline. The tranquility of the capital’s airspace mocked the intensity of Brook’s thoughts.

JP said, “Their order to shut down the IES will list our lack of a vessel in its preamble as a justification. If we could prove that condition invalid‌—‌by acquiring a ship‌—‌we could petition the Emergency Service to contest the order, preventing it from taking effect.”

“Makes sense.” In truth, Brook hadn’t realized there was a possibility that the committee’s orders might take effect even if they were to find a ship. But that was why she had JP. “Anyway, I think we need to figure out why they denied us in the first place‌—‌I mean, we are a popular organization, right? Yet they all seemed to hate us. Except for... I need to talk to someone.”

Brook abruptly turned back toward the committee’s chambers and was about to push on the door when it swung open from the inside.

Representative Arriet’s eyes were fiery as she closed the door behind her, but Brook immediately got the sense that the representative’s anger was not directed at her.

“We have hundreds of ships,” Arriet said. “Hundreds of inactive vessels in orbit around Meltia, left over from the Order War. We’ve given them to agencies with a tenth of the distinction of the IES. We’ve sold the older ones as scrap metal. You should have gotten one.”

Brook blinked. “Yes. I agree. Why didn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Arriet said. “Divar and the others‌—‌they were acting so strangely. Like they knew something I didn’t.”

Brook spread her arms. “We have nothing to hide. Is there any way you could figure out why they were so hostile?”

“Perhaps.” Arriet threw a glance back at the committee chamber. “But only if Divar doesn’t realize I’m helping you. He was very upset I did not vote with the majority. Meet one of my aides tomorrow at the center of Freedom Square, 7:00 Standard Time. Do not wear your uniform.”

“I’ll be there.” Brook glanced at JP.

“I will look into alternative‌—‌”

JP cut himself off as the committee’s door offered up its characteristic squeal‌—‌if that awful thing had any benefit, it was that nobody could sneak up on them through it.

An aide stood in the doorway. “Representative Arriet?”

Brook folded her arms and glared at Arriet. “I don’t care what you voted for‌—‌your committee killed my agency. So why don’t you go scurrying back to them, politician?” The resentment was not difficult to fake.

Arriet shot a haughty look back at Brook. “Well, then, I apologize for trying to help you. It’s quite clear you don’t deserve it.”

Representative Arriet turned and strode back into the committee chamber, the outmoded door screeching like the metaphorical cogs of bureaucracy itself.

“What in the galaxy is that?” Representative Arriet scrutinized Brook’s double breasted crimson leather jacket as the IES captain stepped into Arriet’s office. The aide who had met Brook at Freedom Square let himself out.

“Until recently, I lived on a starship,” Brook said. “Didn’t have anything but IES black. So we had to go shopping‌—‌and I was told this was high fashion on Meltia.”

“That it is,” Arriet said, “but my intention was for you to be inconspicuous. Did you see any other committee members on your way in?”

“No one at all,” Brook said. “Your aide brought me in through some back entrance. Are they looking for me?”

“They shouldn’t be, but we don’t want to give them ideas.” Arriet shook her head, pulling a personal screen from a compartment in her desk. “Especially now that I’ve found the source of your problems.”

Brook reached out to take the screen. It displayed a document with a block font heading that tightened the grip of her hands around the device: “THE IES: IRRESPONSIBLE AND UNACCOUNTABLE.” Below the title was the logo of the Telahmir Report, a major Meltian news agency.

“Why have I never seen this before?” Brook asked. JP kept tabs on news articles concerning the IES‌—‌surely this would have come to his attention.

“As far as I know, only a handful of copies were ever distributed‌—‌all of them to Divar and the other members of our subcommittee. I didn’t know about it myself until I sent my aides to do some digging‌—‌I suspect they did not send it to me because they knew I would see through it.”

Brook swiped past the table of contents to the main body of the text, skimming the first page. Every paragraph presented a new example of how the IES‌—‌and by extension, Brook‌—‌pursued their mission with reckless abandon, causing hundreds of civilian casualties in the process. The facts would be shocking if not for the fact that every single one of them was false.

“This is nonsense.” Brook felt her face heat as she tossed the screen onto Arriet’s desk, stabbing her finger at a particularly offending example. “Frinid isn’t even part of the Meltian Republic‌—‌the IES has never been there, much less burned down one of their cities. I can’t believe the Telahmir Report distributed this.”

“I can,” Arriet said. “Divar may not have realized this since he is a relatively new representative, but there are few reporters left in Telahmir who cannot be bought for a sufficient sum. To distribute a few copies of a report on a niche issue? I bet the purchaser did not even pay very much.”

“Then who’s the purchaser?” Brook asked.

“An enemy of the IES.”

“We’re part of the Emergency Service,” Brook said. “We save people. We don’t have any...”

Arriet prompted Brook with a raised eyebrow‌—‌a trademarked politician’s gesture if there ever was one.

Brook eased herself into one of the chairs in front of Arriet’s desk, resting her forearms on the ornately patterned platinumwood surface. “I told the committee we got everyone onto lifeboats when our flip drive overloaded‌—‌and that was the truth. What I... did not emphasize was the fact that in doing so, we left the Griffin Space Technologies station behind. It was ripped apart with the Kindred Spirit. The Emergency Service compensated them, of course, but that didn’t stop Charles Griffin himself from publicly denouncing the IES. I thought he was irrationally angry over the loss of a small station like that, when he’s so rich, and he even got compensated for it, but if the IES has an enemy, it’s him.”

Brook’s certainty grew as she said it out loud. Griffin had a reputation for double-dealing in the business world and meddling in the political sphere; she was fortunate not to have encountered his company previously while serving as Captain of the IES, but there were rumors that Griffin made a fortune during the Order War by selling starships to both sides of the conflict. A petty retaliation like this would not be beneath him, and he certainly had the money to pull it off. The only question was what to do now.

Arriet seemed to agree, judging from her thoughtful nod. “In theory, this matter should be referred to a court or to the Subcommittee on Ethical Business Practices.”

Brook noted Arriet’s qualification. “And in practice?”

“You may not have the necessary amount of time.”

Brook knew Arriet was right‌—‌nearly two weeks had passed between the incident with the GST station and her committee hearing, and she had been lucky to get an appointment that quickly. Two weeks from now, the dismantlement of the IES would be well underway, its assets sold off, and its crew dispersed across the galaxy. Returning to operational status could easily take five or six months. If another space station fell into a star during that time, or a new epidemic spread across the shipping routes, or a new terror cell emerged... the bureaucrats in charge of the regular Emergency Service would do something eventually, but not with half the speed and agility of the IES.

Brook frowned at the report on Arriet’s desk. JP had been right, in a way. The bureaucracy could provide opportunities‌—‌if one were Charles Griffin. If one were an honest captain trying to save her command from a spiteful trillionaire, not so much.

Whatever delusions JP had, it was clear they were heading toward a dead end. The system of arbitrary rules that governed this planet’s bureaucracy was the glove on her fist‌—‌or maybe the pair of handcuffs binding her wrists behind her back; if she wasn’t willing to fight without them, she might as well admit defeat now. Had the stakes been lower, she would have considered doing so‌—‌for JP’s sake, if nothing else‌—‌but to give up now was to be the captain who sacrificed the IES on the altar of bureaucratic procedure.

And that was not Captain Jareyn Brook.

“You’re right.” She stood. “Time is not on our side. But I have a plan.” Brook took the personal screen with the offending document and strode out of Arriet’s office.

Maybe “plan” was a bit of an exaggeration.

Brook knew she needed to prove Griffin had paid for the document to be distributed, and she figured the first step toward that was to trace its delivery to the other representatives.

Arriet’s office was close to the front of the complex in which it resided, so Brook first made her way to the reception desk, attended to by a woman whose nametag identified her as Abigail Igoru.

“Hi!” Brook extended her arm to shake Igoru’s hand. “I’m supposed to bring a copy of this document to Representative Divar’s office, but I think he may have already received a copy. Can you message ahead and check? The title is: ‘The IES: Irresponsible and Unaccountable.’”

“Certainly, Ma’am,” Igoru said. “Or you could deliver it to them yourself. Divar’s office is number... five twenty-four.”

Brook smiled. “Why don’t we do both? If no one’s there, maybe one of his aides will still respond to his Interplanetary Network Address.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Igoru said.

“Also,” Brook said, “do you have a coat check?”

Five minutes later, wearing a gray overcoat from the coat check’s lost and found, Brook arrived at office number five twenty-four.

A single male aide sat behind what she assumed was Divar’s desk. He looked up as she entered. “How can I help you, Ma’am?”

“Abigail Igoru.” The name spilled out of Brook’s mouth as she shook the aide’s hand. “From the reception desk,” she hastily followed up. “I was wondering if you got my message?”

The aide gave her a scrutinizing look. Brook froze‌—‌impersonating a government official was probably something that was frowned upon in Telahmir. In fact, it might be a misdemeanor.

“Did you... get a new haircut, Abigail?” the aide asked.

There was still time to claim a slip of the tongue‌—‌but Brook did not. Surely borrowing the name of a receptionist paled in comparison to Griffin’s outright bribery, and if she wanted to win this bureaucratic tussle, she could not afford to be squeamish about such small things. At any rate, this man clearly did not interact closely with Igoru if he was tempted to confuse her with an IES captain twenty years her senior. Brook dialed up the intensity of her smile. “I did‌—‌thanks for noticing!”

The aide returned the smile before looking back at the computer workstation embedded in Divar’s desk. “Ah, I have your message here. Yeah, turns out we did get a copy of that document a few days ago.”

A few days ago. That would place it just a day or two before her hearing. The other representatives must have deeply trusted the Telahmir Report’s impartiality to not recognize such an obvious attempt to undermine Brook. Perhaps if her investigation disabused them of that trust, this sort of thing would not happen again.

“For our records,” Brook said, “I need the time, date, and manner of delivery, to the best of your memory.”

The aide scratched his head. “Well, I remember it was hand-delivered‌—‌that was odd‌—‌and it was... I don’t know, about 3:00 ST, two days ago? Actually, now that I think about it, it’s probably on security footage downstairs.”

Brook constrained her excitement‌—‌security footage would be excellent, but a Meltian bureaucrat would not be excited to do more legwork in pursuit of trivial records.

“I’ll check that out, but...” Brook let her face fall into a frown. “Could you call ahead for me? Last time I tried to get something from them, they didn’t seem to want me around at all.”

The aide gave her a sympathetic smile. “They’re like that to everyone. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Brook grinned. “Thanks!”

Brook took an elevator to the basement of the complex. Upon exiting the elevator car, she was stopped by a bored-looking security guard.

“This is a restricted area, Ma’am. May I please see your identification?”

Identification? Brook made a show of patting her pockets before coming up empty. She shrugged apologetically. “Must have left it somewhere, sorry‌—‌but I’m Abigail Igoru. Representative Divar’s office should have told you I was coming.”

The guard pulled a small personal screen out of his pocket. Brook clasped her hands behind her back, masking her uncertainty.

“Huh.” He regarded her again. “I guess you’re okay. Says you’re here to look at video records.”

“That’s right,” Brook said. “Can you help me with that? I need the security video of Representative Divar’s office starting 2:30 ST two days ago.”

The guard grabbed a transceiver from his belt. “Yeah, hey, this is Roth, I need someone to relieve me out here. Yes, really. No, I need to escort someone to the camera room.”

Roth led her down the hall‌—‌a bare concrete and metal affair that seemed far removed from the offices above‌—‌until they reached a dark doorway. Inside, three floor-to-ceiling screens dominated the wall space, each split into sections with views from various cameras and attended by a guard dressed similarly to Roth.

“Hey, Roth,” one of them said. “Who’s this?”

“Name’s Abigail Igoru,” Roth said. “One of the Reps sent her down to look at the record from two days ago at 2:30.”

“Office five twenty-four,” Brook said. “Also, if we do find something, is there any way we could pull the image off this system and send it over the network‌—‌or store it on a datacard?”

The next step, Brook figured, was to run facial recognition on whoever delivered the document. The Emergency Service had some powerful video analysis software they used on footage of terror attacks.

The wall screen officer gave her a funny look. “That’s an unusual request.”

This one wasn’t quite as gullible as the others.

“Is it?” Brook asked innocently. “Representative Divar wants to know for sure who was in his office at that time.”

“He does, does he?” the wall screen officer asked. “What did you say your name was?”

“Abigail Igoru,” Brook said.

She noticed too late that the security cameras monitoring the building tagged by name the government employees that walked in front of their view‌—‌and one camera was pointed directly at the reception desk.

The guard pointed at that camera view. “That Abigail Igoru?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Brook saw Roth reach for the stun baton on his belt.

“Oh!” Brook said. “That’s my daughter, Abigail Igoru Jr.”

The age difference was a little too small, but Brook figured it was at least plausible.

“You don’t even resemble each other,” Roth said.

“She has her father’s hair,” Brook said.

The wall screen officer tapped the reception desk view and scrolled backward in time to when Brook approached the desk. “She doesn’t seem to recognize you.”

“My husband and I divorced when Abigail was two. She lives with her father now.”

By now every guard in the room was looking at them‌—‌and they all seemed to be losing patience. Brook’s pulse quickened. There was never a good time to be arrested, but now‌—‌with the future of the IES depending on her‌—‌was especially bad. “Look,” Brook said, “this is extremely important‌—‌I can explain it to you later, but right now‌—‌”

Roth laid a hand on her shoulder. “You can explain it to a judge.”

Not in time to save the IES, she couldn’t. Brook’s muscles tensed at Roth’s touch‌—‌working for the IES, even as its captain, tended to keep one fit, and she could probably evade these guards, but for what? Ironically, they would track her down with the very security systems she had hoped to exploit, and then she would be charged with evading arrest on top of impersonating a public official.

Brook felt a trickle of defeat seeping into her body. She took a slow breath in and expelled that insidious emotion with her exhalation. The fight wasn’t done until the Emergency Service signed off on that dismantlement order, or she stopped fighting, and neither of those was happening right now‌—‌this arrest just added a few more variables to the problem.

Brook raised her arms. “Well then, let’s go.”

Brook was pacing up and down the small holding cell when the door opened. As she turned, her stomach hoped she would see a police officer with her morning meal‌—‌instead, she found an even more agreeable sight.

“JP!” Brook’s initial enthusiasm was dampened by his stoic expression. “They wouldn’t let me contact you; what’s going on out there?”

“Let’s go, Captain,” JP said.

Brook leaned out of the holding cell. No police officer accompanied him. “JP, are you breaking me out?”

“No.” He tossed her a skeptical look as he led her out of the cell. “I used a clause of the Emergency Service’s boilerplate employment contract to ensure your maximum sentence was commuted to a token fine, which enabled me to settle the case out of court for a small sum.”

“Oh,” Brook said. “Thanks.”

JP did not answer. They reached the front of the detention center in which Brook had been held and strode out the door into the Meltian sunlight.

Brook frowned. JP always chose his words carefully, but he was never recalcitrant. “What’s going on? What happened to the dismantlement order? Did you find another legal route?”

“The committee has drafted the dismantlement order. Meltian law requires it to be delivered by a Legislature representative, a process which is undoubtedly underway.”

So they did not have much time left. Brook was concerned by JP’s apparent lack of urgency. “And did you find a way to stop them?”

JP stopped in the middle of the brick street in front of the detention center. The bright sunlight glinted off his bald, midnight blue head. “It is difficult to open doors in the legal system when the leader of the organization one represents is in jail.”

Oh. Right. “Sorry about that. I guess we need to come up with a new plan.”

“Your plan, I should hope,” JP said, “is to refrain from repeating the recklessness that resulted in your arrest. My plan is to find new employment.”

JP turned and began to walk away. The defeat that Brook had deflected before now flooded back. She did not care what Charles Griffin or Representative Divar or even Roth the elevator guard thought of her choices. They had their own agendas. But JP had dedicated himself to restoring the IES, even when she made his job difficult. He had come back to help her out, despite the fact that she blatantly violated his code of ethics.

Wait. By “help her out,” she meant that he had sprung her from jail‌—‌whether he liked that terminology or not‌—‌a feat that she would not have thought possible until he did it. A feat that would have been impossible for her, whether she followed the law in the traditional manner or cast it aside, and which was only possible for JP because of his ability to manipulate that law to his advantage.

“JP, wait!” Brook smiled bitterly‌—‌how ironic that JP was the one to walk away when he was the one with the gift they needed to fix this mess. A gift that she only now recognized the value of.

JP stopped, then turned slowly. “If you wish to involve me in another illegal scheme‌—‌”

“No. I was wrong not to listen to you the first time.” That got his attention. “You got me out of jail despite the fact that I actually committed the offense. Surely we can find an... opportunity to thwart an order based on a bunch of lies.”

“The two situations are not identical,” JP said.

“I know, but...” All they had to do was obtain a starship‌—‌how hard could that be? The IES had acquired a wide variety of vehicles throughout its four-year life, though most of those had been temporarily commandeered to respond to a crisis, and either the vehicles themselves‌—‌or, occasionally, compensation for them‌—‌had to be returned afterward.

But who was going to bother them to return one of the hundreds of inactive vessels Arriet claimed were in orbit?

“JP,” Brook said. “The IES can legally commandeer ships, right?”

JP inclined his head. “In times of emergency, that is correct, yes.”

Brook flicked a look back toward the detention center. On the roof was a police transport shuttle. “I’d say the dismantlement of the IES is a pretty serious emergency.”

JP looked uncertain. Could he be warming up to the idea? “That is an... unusual, but plausible interpretation, Captain.” His gaze followed hers. “In any case, we would only be able to petition the Emergency Service to contest the order if we acquired a ship large enough to allow us to continue our interstellar operations.”

“Well,” Brook said, “I have it on good authority that there are ‘hundreds’ of those ships in orbit around Meltia. I could get there‌—‌if only I had someone to handle the paperwork.”

She spread her arms to indicate that she had nothing to hide. This plan was audacious‌—‌but ultimately completely legal. If JP was willing to rethink his departure.

“I believe,” JP said, “that such a task would fall under the purview of your political liaison officer.”

Brook grinned. “Then you’d better tell him that we don’t have all day.”

She dashed back to the glass doors of the detention center, throwing one open with her left hand while she grabbed her IES transceiver with her right.

“We’re with the IES,” she said to the nearest police officer as she sent a query to Arriet. “We’re going to need to borrow your ship.”

The officer gave her a confused look. “Didn’t you just‌—‌”

JP produced his IES identification. “Sir, under section one of the Emergency Services Act, personnel of the Meltian Republic Emergency Service, or any sub-organization thereof‌—‌”

“Okay, okay!” The officer raised his arms. “Follow me.”

The three of them stomped up a staircase to arrive on the roof of the detention center, where the officer unlocked the transit shuttle and beckoned them inside. He made a move to enter the cockpit of the vehicle, but Brook held up a hand. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Of course, Ma’am. Good luck.” The police officer departed.

At the same time, Arriet picked up Brook’s query, so she tossed the transceiver to JP as she strapped herself into the pilot’s seat. “Put it on the ship’s sound system.”

Brook was no pilot‌—‌her job was to give orders to the people who actually flew the Kindred Spirit‌—‌but the transport was designed for non-pilot police officers, with a standard throttle-and-stick setup, so she was quickly able to ease it off the ground.

“Captain?” Representative Arriet’s voice came out of the transport’s consoles.

“Representative.” Brook angled the transport’s nose upward and pushed the throttle forward. “About those ships you mentioned: where can we find them?”

“I was referring to the Boneyard,” Arriet said.

“Right.” The name conjured images of Interplanetary Network broadcasts from just after the Order War, showing thousands of no longer needed vessels being clustered into a massive orbital shipyard over Meltia for storage. “JP can you get me coordinates on that?”

“Likely,” he said.

“Captain, I don’t know what you’re planning, but you’ll need to do it quickly. We drafted the order to dismantle the IES this morning and submitted it to our administrative staff for documentation and distribution. It could be delivered to the headquarters of the Emergency Service at any minute.”

“I know,” Brook said. “JP told me. Is there any way we could stop the order after it’s been delivered?”

“What do you mean, ‘stop’ it?” Arriet’s tone was suspicious, almost as if Brook had just been arrested for something similar.

Luckily, JP leaned into the cramped cockpit at that moment. “Representative, once we acquire a vessel from the Boneyard, we plan to petition the Emergency Service to contest the dismantlement order on the basis of its counterfactual statement that we have no ship. To the captain’s question, that option is removed as soon as the Emergency Service signs off on the order.” JP tapped one of the readouts that surrounded Brook, and a neon green waypoint appeared on the ship’s viewport. “Your coordinates, Captain.”

“Thanks, JP.” Brook adjusted the orientation of the shuttle. They quickly left behind Meltia’s atmosphere for the blackness of space. “Arriet, can you keep an eye on that order for us?”

“Certainly,” Arriet said.

Brook did not realize they were approaching the Boneyard until its darkened, inactive vessels began to blot out the stars. She switched the viewport to a sensor-augmented display, and almost jumped as hundreds upon hundreds of blue-wireframe starships popped out of the void. She did not have much time to admire the scale of the place, though, as a fully operational Meltian Guard command frigate cut between them and the ghostly armada.

“JP?” Brook asked.

“I have a communications channel open with them,” he said. “They want us to come aboard.”

“Did you tell them it’s an emergency?” Brook asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s try to make this quick.”

The command frigate opened one of its hangar bay doors, and Brook maneuvered the police shuttle inside. Once it was landed, she unstrapped herself and joined JP in walking down the gangway. A female Rosarian in a Meltian Guard officer’s uniform met them at the bottom, carrying a clipboard-sized personal screen.

“Captain Brook.” The Rosarian saluted her.

Brook made a quick guess based on the Rosarian’s uniform as she returned the gesture. “Lieutenant Commander?”

If she was wrong, the Rosarian did not correct her. “I understand you have need of one of our ships, Captain?”

“Yes,” Brook said, “for the Interstellar Emergency Service. Preferably quickly.”

The Rosarian frowned, consulting her personal screen. “What does that entail?”

“Well, our old one had these big fins coming off the side.” Brook illustrated the shape with her hands. “And a pointy‌—‌”

“We need a large interior microgravity receiving bay and capacity for at least two hundred crew members,” JP said.

“That too,” Brook said.

The Rosarian entered a command into her personal screen and then turned it to face Brook and JP. “No fins, but it should work.” The screen displayed a ship with a long, boxy body that opened at the front‌—‌their microgravity receiving bay‌—‌and a skinny protrusion poking out from the bottom side like the grip of an ill-proportioned gun.

“Perfect,” Brook said.

JP produced a small cube from a pocket‌—‌Brook recognized it as a biological signature, or biosig cube. “For legal purposes, we will just need you to officially sign over the vessel to us.”

The lieutenant commander gave JP a skeptical look but accepted the biosig cube.

“Captain Brook!” Arriet’s voice emanated from the interior of the police shuttle. “The order has been dispatched.”

Brook smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure JP’s got us almost squared away.”

“Unfortunately, Captain,” JP said, “just as the dismantlement order must be delivered in person, so too must our petition to contest it.”

Brook blinked. “Meltia. What is it with Meltia and doing things in person?”

JP began, “Meltian political culture‌—‌”

“Never mind!” Brook held up a hand. “How are we going to get back to Meltia, fast?”

“My ship and my crew stand ready to assist you, Captain,” the Rosarian said. “Though I am still not sure what the nature of your emergency is.”

“Warm up your flip drive, then,” Brook said. “Take us as close as you can to Telahmir.”

The lieutenant commander departed quickly, but Brook knew it would not be enough. The frigate’s flip drive could only take them to the fringes of Meltia’s atmosphere. They would have to make the descent to the surface in the shuttle, which would still take a lot longer than flying a hovercar from the Legislature to the Emergency Service.

If the courier was able to use a hovercar.

Brook sprinted back into the shuttle, leaving JP scribbling something on a personal screen. She quickly found her transceiver, linked to the ship’s computer, and removed it.

“Later, Arriet.” She closed that communications channel and opened another to the Telahmir Security Command Center. TeSeComm was responsible for a range of duties centered on keeping the capital of the Meltian Republic safe.

Including restricting air traffic.

“TeSeComm, this is Jareyn Brook, Captain of the Interstellar Emergency Service,” she said as soon as they picked up her query. “We have an emergency situation, and I need to ground all non-military, non-Emergency-Service air traffic over Telahmir.”

“Yes, Captain,” came the reply. “Should we take additional precautionary measures?”

“Not at the moment.” Brook cut the communications channel and returned to the hangar. In another city, this move might have halted the delivery of the order completely, but in Telahmir, with its famous pedestrian culture, the grounding would just slow the courier down.

When she stepped out of the shuttle, Brook saw through the Airshell field that protected the hangar that Meltia had grown a thousand times closer, its red-brown surface now taking up her entire field of view. The lieutenant commander must have activated the ship’s flip drive while Brook was inside, shifting the vessel superluminally across space.

JP thrust his personal screen into her hands, and Brook looked down to find their fully filled out contest petition. “Good wo...”

“Captain?” JP asked.

Brook’s eyes had wandered to a Meltian Guard interceptor that was sitting next to their police shuttle. “We do still need to get down to Telahmir quickly, right?”

“Likely.” JP turned, following her line of sight. “Captain, with all due respect, you can’t fly an interceptor.”

“That was a Foonyan interceptor,” Brook said, “and the weather was atrocious. This one’s Meltian, so it’s got a standard throttle-and-stick setup‌—‌it’s basically just a really fast hovercar. Hey! You!”

The pilot Brook yelled at turned around.

“Can we borrow this?”

“Under standard operating procedure, absolutely not,” the pilot said, “but this is an emergency, and the CO did say we should help you...”

Brook shot a sideways glance at JP. “Is that a plausible interpretation of his commanding officer’s words?”

“I’d say so,” JP said.

“Great.” Brook clambered into the interceptor.

“All you have to do is bring that petition to the front desk,” JP said. “Or anyone in the organization. So long as you beat the Legislature’s courier there, you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” Brook wedged the personal screen between her legs as she warmed up the interceptor. Realizing that if this stunt went wrong, these words might be her last to JP, she added, “For everything.”

Brook sealed the interceptor’s cockpit. The control scheme was indeed centered on the universal throttle-and-stick system, albeit surrounded by a plethora of controls she did not recognize, so she was able to gingerly lift the craft off the hangar floor and out of the command frigate.

Nose pointed down at Telahmir, Brook shoved the throttle forward. The surface of the planet leaped up toward her. Judging by the rate at which isolated clouds were blurring past her, Brook knew that without the normalizing force of the interceptor’s artificial gravity, she would be unconscious if not dead. Still, she kept the throttle at the interceptor’s maximum velocity until the spires of Telahmir spread out below her. She then pulled it all the way back, firing full retrograde.

Her descent slowed noticeably‌—‌but not as much as she had hoped. The spires continued to rise up, like spikes coming to impale her tiny ship. Brook was confident that no civilian craft would be allowed to go this fast this low over Telahmir, but she was in a Meltian Guard interceptor, so ostensibly she knew what she was doing. Brook spotted the Emergency Service’s headquarters‌—‌three boxy buildings in a U-shape around a marble-rimmed pond‌—‌and adjusted her course to come down in the middle of it. Not that doing so helped her with her velocity problem.

Brook knew real interceptor pilots executed insanely-high-acceleration turns routinely during combat, but she was not getting anywhere near that kind of thrust‌—‌because she was using her retrograde thrusters.

Brook flipped the interceptor around, pointing its nose and tiny retrograde thrusters toward the sky while firing her powerful main thruster to push her away from the ground.

Her descent slowed considerably. She was falling past the Emergency Service’s building‌—‌there were meters left until the ground. Then a white gas flowed up and over her interceptor.

Thud.

Brook shut off the interceptor’s thrusters as the ship settled, butt-first, against the ground. She unsealed the cockpit and swung herself out of the interceptor as the white gas dissipated.

Not white gas‌—‌steam. Brook had landed in the center of the Emergency Service’s pond, vaporizing it with her thrusters in the process.

A Meltian man in a suit‌—‌the courier from the Legislature‌—‌was gawking at her from behind the low stone wall that had been the rim of the water feature a few seconds ago. The decorative barrier must have protected him from the worst of the steam.

“Good morning, sir.” Brook retrieved JP’s personal screen from the interceptor and clambered out of the former pond, heading for the front door to the central Emergency Service building.

As if suddenly remembering his job, the courier stumbled after her. Inside, the Emergency Service receptionist‌—‌a male Archavian like JP‌—‌was just as speechless as the Legislature man.

“Good morning to you, too,” Brook said.

The courier produced a small personal screen from his pocket. “I have an order from the Meltian Republic Legislature Subcommittee on‌—‌”

“And I have a petition to contest that order.” Brook set JP’s screen on the receptionist’s desk.

The receptionist looked from one screen to the other. “Uh‌—‌”

“Is everything in order?” Brook asked. If this document went through, she could fly back up to the Boneyard, start up their new ship, and flip over to the Erian solar system to pick up the rest of her crew‌—‌she trusted JP to clean up any legal aftermath. Unless Griffin was willing to physically come after them‌—‌which Brook highly doubted‌—‌they would be free of his influence.

The receptionist took JP’s screen gingerly and scrolled through the document it presented. After a minute, he said, “Everything... except on this document, where you receive ownership of the vessel from the Boneyard, you, ah, you need to give it a name.”

“Oh,” Brook said.

“Of course,” the receptionist said, “if your chosen name differs from the name of your previous vessel, you’ll need to apply for a new registration.”

Even if there was not the danger of giving Griffin another chance to thwart them, Brook had dealt with enough Meltian red tape for a lifetime. “Just go ahead and put it down as the ‘MRS Kindred Spirit.’”

Q&A with Adam Quinn

How similar is this story to the rest of your work?

Very! In fact, “Procurement” is in the same universe as my main series, the Drive Maker Trilogy. Flashpoint, the first book in that trilogy, takes place about six years after the events of “Procurement,” and features Brook, JP, Arriet, and Charles Griffin, as well as the new Kindred Spirit.

So that means that Brook goes six full years without needing a new ship?

A fact for which I am sure Brook and JP are both grateful.

What about Roth the elevator guard? He was my favorite character! Does he‌—‌

He dies.

What?!

Hit by a hovercar. Very sad. Just two days away from retirement.

Are you serious?

No.

Oh. I guess I should read those other Drive Maker Trilogy books, then‌—‌how can I get them?

Glad you asked; Flashpoint is available right now on Amazon. For information on my existing titles, you can visit my website at adamquinnauthor.com. To make sure you’re the first to know when new titles come out, you can sign up for my newsletter at smarturl.it/AQNewsletter.

Only one title?

Don’t worry‌—‌Pressure Point, the sequel to Flashpoint, is scheduled to come out later this Fall, followed by a novella in the same universe in Spring 2017.

But seriously, about Roth‌—‌

I’m sure he goes on to live a happy and fulfilling life.