Dangerous Evolution (8 page)

“What the
hell
, sir?” Mendoza said.

Stinson was fully alert, keeping his pistol trained on Del. “It’s
just as we suspected, Commander; it appears the Sentients were involved after
all.”

I watched Del grab an EVA propulsion vest from a rack off the wall
and strap in to the corpse. Then the Sentient tucked the head into one of the
tool bags hanging off the side and adjusted the navigation controls. The vests
were used when the mechanics had to work outside the station, usually on ships
too large to fit into the hangar. What was Del up to?

The Sentient deposited the body in the airlock, then muttered a
few words over it while making arcane hand gestures. Energy pulsed from its
hands as they moved, reaching down to spark over the lifeless form.

Some type of death ritual
, I surmised.

Del stepped back into the hangar and punched the door controls.
The inner door sealed shut, then the outer door released, sending the body on a
slow trip through space.

The Sentient turned and started walking towards us and I could see
power building inside its body. The energy field was so strong that its entire
form was glowing blue. I pulled out my TAC pistol, and motioned for Stinson and
Mendoza to ready themselves.

“Stop!” I ordered.

It paused. “I assure you, Commander; I had nothing to do with
this.”

“I want to know
exactly
what’s going on. Where is Val
Evans? Tell me now!”        

“I will expl…” Its body jerked twice, then became rigid—the
powerful glow faded away.

“What now?” I asked, exasperated.

Mendoza cautiously walked over to scan the Sentient while Stinson
and I kept our guns trained on it.

“I think it shut itself off,” she said, walking around it in a
complete circle.

She pulled out her scanner and waved it over the motionless
figure. “Biologically it appears fine, but there are some incredible power
fluctuations throughout its mechanical systems.”

“Is it dying or about to explode or what?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she shrugged. “If I had to guess, I would say
that it’s repairing itself.”

Hmmmmm. I did some quick calculations in my head: One human body
on the floor, one Sentient corpse floating in space, one unconscious guard
slowly coming around, and two terrified mechanics hiding under a very damaged
spaceship.

Added together, that equaled a shit-storm of unparalleled proportions,
and a fire fight back to our ship if the Cartel owning this section finds out
before we’re gone.

“Mendoza, grab a floatpad and secure that Sentient. And I mean
secure
.
If it comes back around, it’s going to finally answer my questions.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, then set off to search the hangar for what
she needed.

I turned to Stinson, “Jeff, I need you to access this hangar’s
security grid and destroy any video or audio recordings. I’m going to tie up
our guests—hopefully it’ll give us enough time to get off this station before
this gets out.”

“On it,” he said, then went to the security junction on the wall—stopping
along the way to pick up a pry bar from an open tool bin.

Mendoza found some rubber coated bailing wire, and I used it to bind
the mechanic’s hands behind their backs. Despite their protestations that the
ship might collapse, I tied them to it as well; the ship was stable, and those
two weren’t going anywhere.

I hog-tied the bodyguard’s hands and feet together, and left him
lying on his stomach. He started swearing at me as I walked away, so I found a
nice oil soaked rag to shove in his mouth.

Mendoza used the bailing wire to tie Del to the float, and sighed loudly
when I double checked her work.

“Better safe than sorry,” I told her.

Despite its tremendous strength, I didn’t think Del could get out of
the restraints without our help. But after what we just saw…

Stinson joined us at the floatpad, “All evidence of our visit has been
destroyed.”

“Good,” I said.

“What about our witnesses?” Mendoza asked.

“They don’t know who we are,” I assured her. “And do you think
anyone is going to believe a fight happened between two Sentients?”

“Probably not,” she agreed.

I put the mask back over Del’s face, closed up the coat to hide
his body, then started pushing the floatpad out of the hangar.

“But just in case,” I said. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

*****

We found ourselves back in the crowded docking ring, pushing the
floatpad through an even greater mass of people than had jammed the area just a
few hours before. The air was thick with the smell of perspiration and perfume—the
telltale scents of various drugs intermittently adding to the mélange of odors.

It was clear that even more ships had arrived, disgorging their
passengers to join in the growing festivities. I lit a cigarette and took a
deep drag, slowly exhaling and putting forth my best apathetic attitude—projecting
what I hoped was an ‘everything is normal’ aura. With luck, it might help us
get to the ship without having to answer too many questions about our overly
burdened floatpad.

I needn’t have bothered.

Getting past customs, if it could be called that, was far too
easy. In any other port in the galaxy, an apparent corpse might elicit at least
a cursory examination. On Harrakan Station, it was simply:

“What happened ta’ im?”

“He got sick and died.”

“Hey! It’s not contagious is it?”

“Nah”

“Fifty creds for the lot of ya.”

“Here you go.”

The customs ‘officer’ took the money and shoved it into his
pocket, stepping aside and grunting assent to pass. We made our way back
through the foul smelling docking tube—passing two guards Stinson had posted at
the hatch—and then boarded the
Babylon
.

There is something to be said for a no questions asked policy
, I
thought.

There would soon be more than enough questions when the events at
Bitra Mechanicals came to light, but I hoped to be far, far away by then. Mendoza
took over pushing Del, taking the Sentient to one of the med-bay slips in the
ship’s small infirmary. Stinson and I went to the bridge.

“Dead end?” Stinson asked, falling into his chair.

“Not at all,” I replied. “I’m now certain that the Sentients are
up to their asses in this case. What good it does us—I don’t know yet.” I brushed
a hand through my hair pulling several loose strands out of my eyes.

“Please have the pilot undock, and move to the outer edge of the
system while I figure out our next move.”

“Yes sir.”

I laced my fingers together behind my head and leaned back, trying
to piece together what we had so far in my mind.

Obviously, Woz was responsible for the blackout module being
placed in the ship, but why didn’t it leave when Evans was taken? You don’t
kidnap someone and then stay behind to get caught.

Del was either not involved, or killed Woz to hide its own part in
the crime. But if so…why? So it could continue to tag along with us? None of it
made any sense, and every answer came with even more questions. My thoughts
were interrupted by a loud, rapid tone emitting from my pad; the signal for a
priority communication from Sector Security.

I keyed up the device and saw a message with multiple attachments
from the Cipher Division. They had finally cracked the code.

“What is it?” Stinson asked, sensing my excitement.

“Cipher got into the file,” I said, scanning the attachments
quickly. “It contained her secure communications information, including the
codes to access her tracking device. Well this is interesting…
she
sent
the signal to turn off the tracker.”

“What?” he said incredulously. “She turned it off herself?”

“Apparently, there is an unsent message to Breth explaining that
someone broke Val’s DNA coding and was tracking her movements. She turned it
off right before she was taken; the signal came from her remote link while she
was still on her ship.”

“Too late,” Stinson said, shaking his head. “They must have been
right on top of her by then. Well that solves the mystery of why we can’t track
her signal; anything else?”

“Yes. But Cipher can’t make heads or tails out of it. It’s just a
name in a simple text document—more highly encrypted than anything else in the
files. They haven’t been able to trace or tie it into any of Miss Evan’s
activities.”

“What name?” Stinson said, rising to get a drink from the ship’s
dispenser.

“It just says, Marie Elisabeth.”

Stinson’s face blanked and he fell back into his seat. “What?”

“Do you know this person?”  I asked.

“Elisabeth,” he said, “is my daughter’s middle name. Marie
Elisabeth
Stinson.”

Well that certainly was interesting. “Why would she have your
daughter’s name secreted away in her most impenetrable database?”

“I have no idea,” he almost whispered.

I held up my hand to keep him from speaking further; I didn’t want
anything interrupting the thoughts coming together in my mind.

“You told me that she sent physicians to cure Marie when she was
suffering from a childhood illness, right?”

“She did, and the therapy worked perfectly; Marie’s been healthy
ever since.”

Son of a bitch. That’s it!

“They took samples of her DNA to devise the cure, Jeff. They
kept
samples of her DNA.”

His mouth slowly started to move, the truth dawning on him. “Evans
used Marie’s DNA to code her tracker. No one would ever make that connection.
Unbelievable.”

Val Evans was indeed a genius. Who would think to check the DNA of
that one girl, out of the millions that Evan’s had helped over the years?

Almost no one
, I thought. But someone had put it
together, and used that information to track her down and kidnap her. They
chose the moment when Evans away from the dome and its inherent safety,
striking when she was alone and vulnerable. Or maybe they’d been forced to act
ahead of plan, striking when the tracker went dead and they knew they wouldn’t
be able to follow her anymore. Great, more questions.

“It’s a shame that tracker was disabled,” Stinson said. “It would
have been so easy to find her.”

“Captain Stinson,” I said, drawing his full attention. “We have
the communication codes obtained from the personal files
and
the DNA
crack. We can remotely control the tracker now. If you will kindly have your
daughter forward a copy of her DNA profile, we will reactivate the device and
find Miss Evans.”

His smile was as genuine as it was large; he triggered a com panel
to send the transmission, “Immediately, sir.”

Real progress at last. If this worked, we’d at least be able to answer
the most important question of all.

Where was Val Evans?

Chapter
Four

Stinson obtained the information from his daughter and I promptly forwarded
it to Sector Security. While the
Babylon
headed further out of the system,
away from Harrakan Station and any possible complications from our recent visit,
Cipher Division was running a plethora of decryption algorithms—attempting to
track down the code to reactivate the tracking device. As we waited for those
results, I went to visit our prisoner, seeking some answers of my own.

Del woke up angry, at least it looked angry to me; the restraints
did nothing to help its mood I’m sure, but after the events of the past twenty
four hours, I wasn’t inclined to take any chances.

Two guards were stationed outside the infirmary, and I instructed
Mendoza and the ship’s physician to leave the room and join them. The pair had
been running scans on Del, trying to learn everything they could about Sentient
physiology while they had the chance.

I pulled up a chair and sat down next to the floatpad, its
oversized frame stuck out of the slip and into the room.

“Tell me everything, Del.” I said sternly. “Why did you need Val
Evans?”

“Release me!” it barked, struggling against the restraints; I
could see the wire digging into its flesh. The rubber coating had already
frayed off, exposing the bare metal underneath.

“Release me now,” it repeated.

“Not likely,” I said.

Del breathed in deeply calming itself, then stopped straining
against the wire. Leveling an intense gaze at me, it said, “I will cooperate if
you release me.”

“You will cooperate….period,” I clarified, returning the stare.

Del looked at me hard, as if trying to decide whether slicing off its
own hands might be a decent tradeoff—if it could beat me to death with the
bloody wrists. “What do you want to know?” it said.