Dangerous Evolution (2 page)

“And the other rumor…about the more drastic
precaution
?”

I knew what he meant of course. “That’s also true. The chip
includes an explosive device as well.”

A shocked pall overtook his features, and I watched as his
military demeanor collapsed right in front of me. “How could you agree to
that
?”

“It was a requirement when I took the position,” I said. “Think
about it, Captain, I can do anything I wish in this Sector, and almost anything
in the other six—without asking permission from anyone. If I want money, I get it.
If I need a ship, I just ask for it; just like I requisitioned the
Babylon
.
I can have people arrested—even killed in extreme circumstances—with a simple word.
And that’s just the stuff I can talk about.”

“I understand the need for caution,” Stinson agreed. “But doesn’t
it bother you that someone, sitting in an office somewhere, can push a button
and your head will explode?” He sounded exasperated.

“It’s not quite that simple,” I assured him. “For them to detonate
my implant, at least five Sector Regents have to agree. Have you ever known
that many Regents to agree on anything?”

He appeared to be searching his memory for a moment, then replied,
“No. You would really have to screw up badly for that many Regents to issue a joint
order. I see your point…but still…”

“I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind from time
to time,” I admitted.

The pilot’s voice broke in over the intercom,
“Sirs. We are
approaching Evan’s Moon.”

Stinson glanced at the military issue, black chrono on his wrist. “That
was quick. Where would you like to go first, Commander Malik?”

I mulled it over for a minute before deciding. “Let’s go see the
ship. I want to get a handle on exactly what happened before we check the
residence and interview the staff.”

“Of course sir,” he pushed the com button to call the pilot. “Take
us to the crash site first.”

“Yes sir. We should be touching down in approximately thirty
minutes.”

“We should start suiting up,” I suggested. Stinson rose from his
chair to follow me out the door. “And please… call me Ben.”

I knew that a Special Inquisitor outranked a captain—even an admiral
for that matter—but the constant
sirs
and differential treatment became
trying after a time, counterproductive even.

“Yes si…Ben.”

“Jeff.” I bowed my head slightly, reciprocating the informality.

“As you know sir,”
this was going to take some practice,
I
realized.
“I’ve already detached a security team to secure the site.
They’ve been coordinating the overall effort with Miss Evans’ sister, and everything
should be just as you’ve requested.”

“I’m sure your team has it well in hand,” I replied.

We completed the short walk to one of the ship’s airlocks; a small
room equipped with a standard dual-chamber system. The only furnishings inside
were an open locker filled with neatly hung pressure suits and a wall rack
containing energy weapons.

As we started to pull the suits over our clothing, Stinson paused
and a serious look came over his face. “We need to find her, Commander Malik.
Not only because it’s our duty, but because she deserves it.”

“We will,” I assured him, my face showing some confusion, “It
is
why we’re here.”

“I know that. It’s just that I am...personally motivated.” He
looked around uneasily.

“What’s troubling you, Captain?”

Stinson avoided looking me in the eye and I could almost feel the
deliberations going on in his head. He cleared his throat before finally speaking,
“During my first visit years ago, I mentioned in passing to Miss Evans that my
daughter Marie suffered from a congenital defect making her ineligible for life
extension. The same condition also left her very weak, unable to walk or play
without becoming quickly winded.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “The doctors couldn’t do
anything?”

“No…nothing meaningful anyway. And you know that Sector Security
has access to some of the best.”

“Indeed.”

“After wrapping up the accidental death investigation, I headed
home to find that three of Miss Evan’s genetic physicians had already beaten me
there. They managed to devise a cure for Marie in less than a week, then
explained the treatment process to our local hospital staff before returning to
their research laboratories.”

He bent down and snapped his boots on tightly, then looked back up
to meet my eyes. “To this day, she sends Marie a birthday card every year—even
though my daughter is an adult now. An actual handwritten card, physically
delivered. Do you know how much that costs?”

I did. The cost was inconsequential to someone of Val Evan’s
worth, but the personal attention was a remarkable kindness.

“She gave me back my daughter, Commander...I owe her for that. We
have to find her.”

His ardent concern for his daughter made me think about my own
plans for children—how the war had stripped them all away. I would never
experience the terror he felt over Marie’s illness or the joy when it was
cured, but I understood exactly
why
this was important to him. I knew
what Val Evans had given him, and why he felt he owed her.

“We
will
find her,” I promised. “You have my word.”

*****

We came in high over the crime scene, and I ordered the pilot to
take comprehensive scans of the entire area and then send them to my pad. The
flyer was clearly displayed on the small, hand-held screen, its canopy open to
vacuum and several small figures stationed around it.

After directing the pilot to land, I checked my Unisuit a final time.
Everything appeared functional and the oxygen levels read full. The suits were
rated for ten hours of outside use, though I doubted it would take even half
that long to investigate the downed ship.

Stinson was shifting around uncomfortably in his suit. “Is there a
problem?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, sounding agitated. “These damn suits never seem
to contract enough to fit me properly.”

I envied him slightly. At two meters tall and 100 kilos, these things
felt very constrictive on me.
Universal my ass,
I thought. Apparently it
was one size fits none.

A slight bump and barely perceptible wobble announced our touchdown
on the moon. At almost 150 meters long, the
Babylon
was a fairly large
ship, but the area around the site was flat and featureless making a shuttle
landing unnecessary.

I nodded to Stinson, and we stepped into the airlock to start
depressurization—I noticed a bland, sterile taste when I switched on the suit’s
oxygen supply. The sound of the venting air was loud through the helmet’s
speaker system, and in less than a minute, the outer door began to swing open.
The awaiting vista was magnificent.

The huge planet dominated the sky, its vibrant colors starkly
contrasted by the pale grey surface of the moon itself. Clouds of swirling
gases, many kilometers long, slowly played across its bright surface, their
serene appearance conveying nothing of the turbulent atmosphere in which they
roamed. I could see why Evans chose this place for her home, it was beautiful.
A peaceful hideaway distant from the usual travel lanes—far away from a hectic galaxy
always in a state of flux—sometimes violently so.

Well it
had
been peaceful anyway.

Stinson bounced across the moon’s barren surface to confer with
the onsite commander while I crossed the short distance to the downed ship—eager
to get started on this new challenge, a new mystery. The shallow impressions made
by my footsteps joined those of the soldiers that had arrived earlier.

As I strode up to the flyer, I was struck by its unnatural position
resting on the side of its fuselage. The sleek, elegant ship was about ten
meters long, with a transparent canopy running its full length. I recognized it
as the type that could be rendered opaque on demand to provide privacy for the
occupants. The hull of the craft was bright silver, but the sheen was now muted
by dust kicked up when the nearby Sector ships landed.

The scene looked very much like a simple crash—like dozens I’d
seen over the years. That was until I got close enough to peer inside and see
the body. I leaned over the side of the ship and into the cockpit, running my hand
scanner over the pilot’s corpse to look for anything unusual. Unfortunately, I
didn’t discover any hidden information or surprises. Other than the obvious cause
of death, and damage to the body from exposure to vacuum, everything seemed
normal.

A normal murder
, I mused

I looked back over my shoulder to see Stinson talking to the
entire group of personnel on scene—gathering a thorough report I assumed—then I
grabbed the canopy edge and hopped up into the flyer. For a small ship, it was
spacious and opulent, easily seating eight people. The fine layer of dust made
things slippery, and I had to tread carefully on the side wall to keep from
falling.

I searched meticulously, slowly making my way to the back of the
ship, but found nothing out of sort. No blood or telltale debris, no signs of a
struggle, nothing at all.

When I reached the cargo hold, I discovered a complete set of
travel luggage left untouched. I also found a small handbag and bent over to
pick it up. Inside, were Val Evan’s identity documents, currency from several
different planets, and one of the highest limit credit rings in the entire
galaxy. Whoever wore that ring could probably buy a ship just like this, simply
by waving the ringed finger through a vendor’s purchase grid.

I’d never imagined that this kidnapping was about money, and this evidence
was just further confirmation. Hell, it must have cost a small fortune just to
Transit out this far to abduct Evans. In fact, it must have cost a
large
fortune.

What the hell was
really
going on here?

The emergency pressure suits were located next to the cargo hold—unsurprisingly,
one of them was missing. They must have lazed the pilot through the canopy,
forcing Evans to suit up as the oxygen leaked out of the tiny, precision hole.
Even if the canopy’s self-sealing material did stop the leak in time, where
could she run? She had no choice but to put on the suit and go with them.   
 

I worked my way back to the front of the craft to download the
ship’s flight data, stepping on the arm rests of the red, thickly padded seats
this time. But when I got to the console, the pad failed to synch; the craft
was completely powerless.
Well that’s odd,”
I thought. I’d need to plug directly
into the console and use the pad’s own internal power supply to fire up the
panel.

The pilot’s body was blocking the connector port, held tightly in the
seat by his safety straps. I struggled to undo the buckles—pinned between him
and the control panel—but eventually got them loose, then used my helmet
communicator to call two of the security men over to transfer the body to the
Babylon
.
He was nearly weightless, but it still proved a chore to wiggle his large frame
out of the cockpit.

After retrieving what information I could from the ship’s systems,
I contacted Stinson—telling him to go ahead and call in the waiting orbital tug.
It had been maintaining position overhead, ready to pick up the stricken craft
and take it back to the residence dome for a closer inspection.

I wanted to do a complete forensic analysis in an atmosphere—so we
could crawl over every inch of the ship looking for clues to what happened.
There had to be something here. There was
always
something.

Watching the tug start its descent, I climbed out of the flyer and
headed back to a safe distance. The engineers swarmed out of the tug, their
yellow clad forms lightly falling to the surface. They fastened four lines to
the flyer, placed strategically so that the ship would right itself when lifted
from the moon’s surface. Apparently, one of the lines had a power connection,
because the ships navigational lights flickered then came on.

As the pilotless craft rose to finish the final leg of its journey,
I saw the landing gear remotely activate. Once they got it back to the dome,
all they would need to do is gently set it down.

Stinson and his security force boarded the
Babylon
as I
followed closely behind them. I turned back to take one last look at the flyer
as it moved away, its small form framed by the grid-work of the much larger
tug. I silently mouthed:
What happened? Where is she?

I knew better than to wait for an answer.

Chapter
Two

I couldn’t find anything useful in the ship’s logs; the records
detailed an uneventful flight, ending suddenly with a total power outage—so
very close to home. The shutdown disabled the recording equipment along with
everything else, leaving no evidence about what happened next. But I knew it
wouldn’t be that easy; it never is.