Dangerous Evolution (6 page)

“Find anything interesting?” I called out to Stinson.

“Yes. But nothing useful,” he replied. “This is a veritable
factory.”

“It is a factory, of sorts,” Lesa said. “Most production occurs at
Aunt Val’s outside laboratories, but she can batch manufacture things here as
well. Not at such a large scale of course.”

“If there’s nothing else we can learn here, let’s get to the
hangar,” I said. “We will leave you to lock up, Lesa, I know the way…and thanks
for your help.”

“You’re welcome, Commander, Captain.” She moved to the control panel
to shut off the lights as the two of us headed back up the steps.

I began reviewing Val’s personal files as Stinson and I walked to
the hangar, noticing immediately that one folder in particular was crypto-sealed.
The amount of complex coding screamed:
Do not access
! I set my pad to
auto decrypt—to virtually pry it open if possible.

While the pad worked its magic, I went through Val’s
correspondence. Unfortunately, nothing stood out. There was no trace of the
exchanges between the Sentients and Miss Evans. In fact, the blank spots in her
normal communications pointed to purposeful deletions, apparently by her own
hand. I closed the pad in frustration as we rounded the corner to the shuttle
hangar.

There was a loud commotion ahead.

“No! Stop! I’m not going to tell you again…STOP OR I’LL FIRE!” It
was Sergeant Tanaka’s voice.

Uh…oh…
We started running toward the screaming.

We found four of Stinson’s security detail, pointing their guns
at…oh hell—one of the Sentients. It was just standing there, but there was genuine
menace in its bearing.

“Enough!” I barked, and they all turned to look at me, including
the Sentient.

“Commander Malik,” Tanaka said,” this ma…perso….
this thing
attempted to board the ship.”

The possibility of a war, starting right here in this hangar, flashed
before my eyes.

“Stand down, Sergeant.” I was closer to the Sentient now, and
could feel an electrical energy in the air. I could also see tiny sparks moving
quickly across its body, as if they were building into something larger.

Tanaka look confused. “NOW! I said!” He lowered his weapon to his
side—the others did as well.

I walked up to the alien and calmly asked, “What can I do for you…?”

Which one was it?

“Del,” it said.

“Del. Thank you, yes. What’s going on?”

“I will accompany you to Harrakan Station,” it replied matter-of-factly.

“What…
why
?” I was caught off guard by the frank statement. “It
would be chaos if you were exposed to the general public; there would be a
total panic.”

“I have already established my ability to assist in your
investigation. You wouldn’t have even known about Harrakan without my help.”

“I
already
knew about Harrakan, but your information about
the energy signal was welcome. But why do you need me and my ship?”

If a biomechanical being could sigh, I think I witnessed it. “As you
point out, Commander, I cannot function unnoticed in a human environment. You
can. This approach is expedient and mutually beneficial.”

“Maybe, but I can’t have someone…um…let’s just say operating
unilaterally. It would impede my investigation, and possibly damage my attempt
to find Miss Evans.”

The flickers of light slowed, receding back into the Sentient’s
body. The static energy in the air diminished greatly in response.

“I understand, Commander. I will place myself at your disposal for
the duration of the trip. I will follow your directions—
if
you will
follow my advice.”

Was it serious?

“How do I know you’ll do as I say?”

And how will I control you if you don’t?

His mechanical eyes extended slightly, focusing in on my face.
“You have my word, Commander. Is there no trust in your culture?”

“There is, but it’s usually earned, not given. You will do as I
tell you, without question or dissent?”

“Yes.  But any orders contrary to my mission will be ignored. This
should not affect
appropriate
instructions. Woz will remain here with
our ship in case Val Evans returns.”

“Alright,” I said. “I can see some possible benefits to bringing
you along.”

A lasting thaw in Human-Sentient relations being chief among them.

Stinson and his security force stared at me; each face carrying
the exact same question:
Have you lost your mind?

Enjoying their discomfort more than I probably should have, I
asked the Sentient, “Can you shed any further light on your work with Miss
Evans?”

“No,” it stated flatly.

Well, it was worth a shot.

Chapter
Three

Considering the unusual composition of our group, the Transit to
Harrakan Station was remarkably uneventful.

Ensign Mendoza spent her time dissecting the blackout unit, trying
to glean any additional information from it. She was powered by the exuberance
of youth and her new found importance within the hierarchy of the
Babylon
.
I was confident that she’d figure out how the device was installed on Evan’s
ship, and maybe even how it’d made it past the station inspector—a bribe being
the most likely explanation for the latter.

Del sequestered itself in empty crew quarters near the front of
the ship, speaking to no one. Captain Stinson and I made ourselves at home on the
bridge; he was reviewing real-time video of the ongoing interrogations on
Evan’s Moon, while I continued to sift through Val’s personal files. 

“Anything useful on the feed?” I asked.

“Nothing yet. It seems like Miss Evans was keeping everything to
herself.” He paused the image and the screen dimmed automatically. “But all of the
staff agree; other than the increased secrecy, she was behaving normally. No
signs of any duress.”

He looked toward the back of the ship and lowered his voice. “They
also say that the Sentients never acted threatening, and if anything, were
deferential
to Miss Evans.”

I lowered my voice to match his, wondering how well developed
Sentient hearing was—not knowing if they augmented it like they did their
vision. “Now
that
is interesting,” I said.

“Very,” he agreed.  “Apparently, the Sentients came and went
frequently; the staff got the impression that Miss Evans was sending them off
to gather materials.”

“Materials? Do we know what type of stuff they brought back to the
dome?”

“Unfortunately, no. The containers were always cryo-sealed. She
made them pass whatever it was through bio-screening, to make sure it wasn’t
dangerous, then she deleted the records herself. The staff only knew that they
were biological samples of some sort.”

“Asking the Sentients about it directly would be pointless,” I
said. “We’ll have to find out about their project on our own.”

I blew out my breath in frustration. “We still don’t even know if
it’s related to the kidnapping.”

“Indeed,” he said. “But that project is the only thing out of the
ordinary in Evan’s life at the moment, and the mystery around it makes me very
suspicious.”

“Me too.” I pointed to the back of the ship. “
Anything
involving them should make you suspicious; keep your ship prepared for...complications.”

“Already done.” He noted the consternation on my face. “No luck decrypting
that locked file, huh?”

“Not yet. As you might guess, my status gives me access to the
best software and cryptographers in the Sectors. I sent it directly to Prima’s
Cipher Division, but I still haven’t heard back yet.”

“I think I can comfortably say that Miss Evan’s intellect,
influence, and wealth, probably give her the same capabilities as our Cipher Division,”
Stinson said reluctantly.

“You’re probably right,” I shrugged, folding up my pad and putting
it back in the holster. I started rubbing my eyes.

“Have you brought the other Special Inquisitors in on this, or are
you on your own?”

“On my own for now; the other six have their own responsibilities
at the moment, but if this degenerates into something more serious,
specifically involving the Sentients, I won’t hesitate to call them in. They’ve
all received a mission brief.”

Each inquisitor had confirmed receipt of my interim report within
minutes of the transmission. We rarely updated each other on individual cases—unless
they involved a particular hazard or concern in an inquisitor’s Sector—but this
case involved us all, and it was incumbent on me to keep every Sector updated.

“How exactly does it all work?” Stinson asked. “With the Special
Inquisitors, I mean, if you don’t mind telling me.”

“Not at all,” I said. I could use a break from the confusing
scientific minutia filling Evan’s files.

“You probably know more than you think, just from the history of
the Sectors. For example, you know that each is an independent entity, governed
by a Regent and Advisory Council, and that every Sector has its own military,
sworn to defend and police their area of space. Since the formation of the
Sectors after the Diaspora War, each has pursued their own individual agenda—with
an informal agreement among them not to interfere with one another.”

“That worked out well enough, until the Sentients were discovered
anyway,” Stinson said.

“Exactly,” I replied, shaking my head. “Rand Sector’s disastrous
attempt at showing the Sentients how tough we were, demonstrated to the
individual Sectors the need for a communal arrangement to defend ourselves from
the Sentient threat. All the petty differences that ripped apart our homogenous
spread across the stars—the ones that lead to the Diaspora War in the first
place—paled in comparison to the threat of a true human genocide.”

“Hence the formation of the Inter-Sector Cooperative Defense,”
Stinson finished. “But how does that explain the inquisitors? Mutual defense is
one thing, but designating an individual operative in each Sector that is
essentially above the law is…well it seems reckless.”

He was right of course, but the safeguards minimized most of the
risks.

“The Regents realized that crime and other intrigue didn’t respect
Sector borders, and also knew that they didn’t trust each other enough to work
cooperatively on those issues. The SI were the only reasonable approach to
inter-Sector problems that the Regents could agree on; only one per Sector—plus
staff, responsible directly to their individual Regent.” Stinson nodded as I
spoke, paying close attention.

“Each SI is permitted to operate freely throughout human space—no
jurisdictional boundaries. We usually respect local law and custom…
usually
…and
always notify our Sector counterparts when operating in their regions;
typically just our presence—not the particulars of the case.”

I let him digest that before continuing. “We were created to go
where the military and police can’t, and given the power to control both if
necessary. SI are chosen for their skills and independence from blind Sector
loyalty, and most importantly, their lack of any political aspirations.”

Now it was Stinson’s turn to blow out a long breath. He took
another deep one before asking, “Who chooses how
that
kind of power is
handed out?”

“The Sector Regent; when a position opens for his region, he
selects a nominee, then forwards that selection to the other Regents and the
existing SI. Everyone, and I mean everyone—each Regent and all six of the other
SI, must agree on the appointment. It has to be unanimous.”

“A high bar to admission,” Stinson stated.

“It should be. I’ve been a Special Inquisitor since the initial formation
agreement, and have only seen three new people admitted since; all of their
predecessors had been killed in the line of duty.”

“Like they say,” Stinson offered, “Just because you
can
live forever, doesn’t mean you
will
.”

“Very true. Do these questions mean you’re scouting out my job—for
after my retirement of course?”

“Hell no,” Stinson replied. “I prefer to keep my skull as is,
without any hazardous implants. I was merely curious.”

I understood; it
was
a curious arrangement. The Special Inquisitors
were the only truly tested, cooperative body between the Sectors. We had unfettered
freedom to do whatever we thought was right or necessary; we
were
a
powerful and dangerous oddity. In the end, we answered only to our own
conscience, and those of our fellow inquisitors. We were encouraged and
obligated to let one another know we’d crossed the line.

And then there were the Regents of course.

There was always the chip.

*****

Harrakan Station. One of humanity’s older and more notorious
constructs. It started out as a deep space refueling and jump-off point, but as
humans spread further out into more interesting and profitable systems, it
became an unnecessary redundancy, eventually falling into disrepair. The
population eventually began to drain away, and the station struggled to hold on
to enough crew to continue operations.