by Vann, Gregg
He looked over at the Sentients and then back at me. “Bad news would be an understatement.”
“I couldn’t agree more. My deep shit detector started going off as soon as I saw them. But what the hell are they doing on this side of The Verge? And if they are responsible for all of this, why are they still here?”
He shrugged, evidently as baffled as I was.
The Verge. It wasn’t a natural phenomenon, I reminded myself, it was a point in space where humans crossing it were blown into atoms, or worse.
The first humans to encounter the Sentients were deep space explorers, using Masai class fast Transit vehicles to chart the stars. I could only imagine their excitement when they discovered the unusual, and definitely non-human ship, orbiting a planet in the Meras System.
They tried everything they could, in every known language and mathematical formula, to peacefully talk to the ship and establish a line of communication—all to no avail. The alien craft just circled them silently, undoubtedly doing their own investigation.
In the end, the Sentients opened fire and the explorers were forced to defend themselves. But they were grossly outmatched, and barely managed to escape destruction by engaging their Transit drive.
The discovery sent shock waves throughout the Sectors. Humans had discovered other forms of life—in many different incarnations—as it spread throughout the stars, but nothing even remotely sentient until that moment. The common descriptive was adopted into the nomenclature, and soon, everyone referred to them simply as The Sentients.
Every Sector sent emissaries to establish contact with the Sentients, and each met the same fate. Actually, some ended up much worse. The Sentients captured and dissected a few of the expeditions, and then for some inexplicable reason, reassembled their bodies and sent them back into human controlled space; their ships on autopilot.
Finally, the ever militaristic Rand Sector sent an armada to let the Sentients know that humans had teeth, and at the very least, establish an informal diplomatic conduit based on mutual respect. They were met with a force ten times their size and obliterated.
That put an end to all attempts at contact, and went a long way toward making sure no one ever crossed into Sentient territory again. A few more years of vanishing ships and expanding debris fields firmly established the borders of Sentient space, the boundary around it eventually becoming known as The Verge.
But why were they on our side of it now? Did their presence signal some Sentient expansionist plan or coming attack? This system did border their territory; did that have something to do with Val Evans’ disappearance?
Time for some answers, I thought.
“I think I’ll have a talk with one of the Sentients,” I announced to Stinson.
“In that case,” he said. “I’ll alert Sergeant Tanaka to be ready for…well anything I suppose.”
I calmly walked up to the closest one, subconsciously brushing the inside of my left arm against the gun hidden beneath my coat; making sure it was still there, just in case.
“Would you mind answering a few questions?” I said in the most neutral tone I could muster.
“Why?”
“It might help my investigation,” I replied, a little insulted that the Sentient didn’t bother to look at me while I was speaking.
“We are here to find Val Evans human. If your questions further that goal, then I will answer them. If not—then no.”
The voice was…well….metallic, and when he/she/it spoke, there was no tone or emotion. Even so, the message was abundantly clear that I was barely being tolerated.
“They do,” I assured it. “We have the same goals.”
It looked straight ahead, its eyes never leaving the engineers as they went about their work, “I doubt that is true.”
“Well…we all certainly want to find Miss Evans.”
It paused so long that I almost turned around and left. “Yes. What are your questions?”
Finally, some answers…
“What was your involvement with Miss Evans?”
“No.”
“No?” I asked. “No what?”
“No. I will not talk about that.” It continued to stare ahead without further elaboration.
“Okay… do you know where she’d gone on this trip?”
“No.”
“No you don’t know, or no you won’t answer?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea why someone would take her?”
After a full minute of silence, it dawned on me how useless this was going to be—I spun around to walk away.
“Why do you care?” I heard from behind me. I turned around to see the Sentient looking right at me. The effect was unnerving.
Staring into its mechanical eyes, I began to wonder if I really wanted to be noticed after all. “Er…what?” I finally got out.
“Why do you care human? Why do you want to find her?”
“It’s my job to get her back…to help her.” I said forcefully.
It stared at me for the longest few seconds of my life before saying, “I don’t know anything that would assist you human, but I do believe that you want to help.”
It took a step toward me, closing the already small distance. “Our collaboration with Doctor Evans is private, but I can assure you that we had nothing to do with her disappearance.”
“I see,” I said. My intuition told me it was speaking the truth, but the creature was so impossible to read.
“I am certain that you can’t tell us apart, but I am Del. I would…appreciate it if you would share any of your findings with me.”
“I will,” I replied, realizing how right it was. The two Sentients looked identical to me. “But only if you intend to share as well.”
It inclined its head in agreement. “Also, a word of advice, Commander; you should avoid my companion Woz if at all possible. It is not nearly as progressive as I am.”
Progressive, I thought, compared to what I know about the Sentient propensity to vivisect humans, you seem downright ebullient.
“What the fuck?”
The exclamation was loud, rising high above the other engineer-speak going on inside the ship. Del and I looked at one another, then walked toward the source of the outburst. I motioned over at Stinson to join us.
Looking through the now skeletal framework of the flyer, I saw a short, female engineer with a copious amount of brown hair, unceremoniously stuffed into her service cap. She was triumphantly holding a partially melted device.
“What do you have?” I asked.
She ran a hand scanner over the small piece of electronic equipment. “Son of a bitch…er…sorry, sir. It’s a remote blackout unit.”
“Son of a bitch indeed…” I took a look at her name tag. “Ensign Mendoza.”
Stinson smirked. “You’ll have to forgive her, Commander. She is only twenty-five after all.”
I grinned. “Actual age?”
“Actual,” he snickered. Mendoza gave us both as defensive look. “She just transferred aboard the Babylon,” he added.
“I take it from the melted casing it was supposed to self-destruct?”
“That would be my guess, sir.” I reached out and she handed me the chunk of distorted metal. When I showed it to Stinson and Del, I got the distinct impression that the Sentient’s mechanical eyes were getting a more detailed view than Mendoza’s hand scanner had managed.
“That should have shown up in the annual inspection,” Stinson said.
“Actually, that’s probably when it was installed,” I surmised.
“You are correct, Commander,” Del said. “The battery’s decaying energy signature is consistent with being charged at Harrakan Station—before it was installed. It functioned independently from the ship’s other systems. That is how it evaded detection during routine system scans.”
Stinson looked at Del in amazement. “You can tell that just by looking at it?”
“Yes, among other things. There is a res
idual transmission signature as well—nothing else important.”
That explained the how anyway. A blackout unit did just what its name implied, sending out a pulse to drain nearby energy sources. It then used that captured energy to create an explosion. The units were frequently employed in assassinations because they were difficult to detect, and could be programed for different rates of energy absorption. This allowed the assassin to regulate the size of the explosion, making it as large or small as they wished.
But this one wasn’t programed to explode at all, and a transmission signature meant remote activation. The kidnappers were close when they triggered it, then they swooped in, killed the pilot, and took Evans from the powerless craft.
“Jeff, I’d like you to notify the ship to prepare for Transit to Harrakan Station. Then join me for dinner with Breth Evans. There are a few more things I’d like to find out about before we leave.”
“I’ll make sure everything’s ready,” he replied.
“Mendoza,” I said. “Take it to the bones. Make sure we don’t miss anything else.”
“Yes sir.”
Del walked away without saying another word, making its way toward Woz to bring it up to date on the new developments. I went to the nearest communications console and called up a delighted Breth Evans to let her know we were on our way. We were making progress, but as happy as I was to have found a small piece of the puzzle, I wasn’t thrilled with the shape it was taking.
*****
As I made my way out of the hangar, my pad emitted a short beep indicating a message had been received. I opened it to find an active map to Breth’s quarters. I started following the route laid out for me, examining the interior of the dome along the way
The large complex had an outwardly chaotic layout, but I knew there was a logical reason for the arrangement of every part of structure. The hydroponics bays were built where the dome’s artificial sun could provide the maximum benefit for the plants, increasing both the yield and quality of the food they produced.
The flight hangers were naturally placed around the outside circumference of the dome—each having their own internal pressure seals that served as secondary safety features should part of the dome fail. Because the dome and its vehicles also required periodic repair and upkeep, each of the four hangars included fully equipped maintenance facilities. Should the need arise, the hangars housed tools and equipment suited to almost any task. The physical plants that pushed water and electricity throughout the structure were concentrated in the areas adjacent to the hangers, and I was walking through this area when I decided to have a cigarette.
I didn’t smoke to be trendy, or pseudo-retro like others, I actually enjoyed the experience. But it was unwise to smoke on a spacecraft, so it had been awhile since I’d had the opportunity. No sooner had I ignited the ancient styled tobacco substitute, than a voice bellowed out from above me.
“No smoking in the dome, Sir or Madame.”
I looked up to find a small Bot, floating a meter above my head. It must have been part of the dome’s ceiling, automatically dropping down when it detected the smoke. An atmospheric monitoring Bot. Good Lord.
“Go away,” I said testily, and continued to smoke.
“Attention, Sir or Madame. This dome’s atmosphere is highly regulated. Smoking is prohibited. Please cease immediately.”
It dropped level with my face and stood off just out of reach—almost as if it were challenging me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this little thing had an AI, but no one, not even Val Evans, was allowed to pursue or develop artificial intelligence. Every time it had been tried in the past, the results had been unexpected at best—disastrous at worst.
During the war, all sides had experimented with augmenting their ships with AIs, some even completely automating warships. It seemed like a good idea at the time—until the ships began to develop personalities. Imagine the surprise when scared ships ran from battle—against their captain’s wishes. Or even worse, the bold ones that sacrificed themselves, and their human crews, on unnecessary suicide runs. The AI programs were promptly discontinued—eventually outlawed altogether—leaving dumb machines like this one.
I took a backhanded swipe at the Bot, knowing I couldn’t hit the little thing, but hoping to send it on its way. It responded by taking up position floating behind me, turning on its internal vacuum system to suck up the smoke as I exhaled. Stubborn little guy, I thought. Good for him. I kept walking, with my new friend in tow.
The residences were placed squarely in the center of the dome, behind a dense and very tall wall of trees—designed to isolate the living area from the sights and sounds of the structure’s mechanical necessities. Ahead of me, I saw a three meter tall rounded entryway leading through the trees, fashioned out of shrubbery, and festooned with colorful flowers; the entrance to the residence sector I surmised.
I stepped through ornate archway, noticing a strong floral smell as I walked; it was so pungent that it overpowered the smoke wafting off my cigarette. I looked back to see that the Bot had entered the small tunnel as well, stopping when I did. I flicked my cigarette at the little machine and it sucked it up greedily, backing out of the arch and rising back to the dome’s ceiling.
I shook my head in amusement, then finished walking the short distance through the natural canopy. I emerged into an open area covered with bright, green grass and beds of roses and other assorted Earth flora. The gardens were multicolored, expansive, and obviously well maintained.
There was one, three story, rectangular building in the center of the large clearing, and other smaller structures scattered throughout the area. They were all brilliant white in color, with light blue trim around all of the rounded doors and windows. I noticed that one of the larger structures had an exterior airlock; an emergency shelter of some type?
I walked up to what was obviously the main building, and as I reached for the buzzer to announce my arrival, the door opened and a woman stood there to greet me—an old woman.
“Commander Malik, I presume?”
“Yes,” I said, doing everything in my power not to stare. “And you are…”
“I’m Lesa, Breth’s daughter. Please, come in.” She moved aside and motioned for me to enter. Sensing my poorly concealed surprise, she smiled. “Certainly you’ve seen someone aged before, Commander.”
“Of course, forgive me. It’s just so rare.”
She responded tersely, “Not everyone wants to live forever you know. Some of us follow God’s Plan.”
Ah. Well that explained that. She was a member of the religious sect that so fervently disapproved of her aunt’s Permalife treatment. They were a small but vocal minority in the galaxy, and their stance against life extension ensured that their ranks were constantly dwindling.
“Please come in,” she said. “My mother is waiting in the dining hall.”
The exterior entryway opened into a large foyer—the space filled by a double staircase that wound up to the second level before branching off into two landings. The walls and ceilings were all standard plasti-board, but the stairs and flooring were all constructed out of wood. Real wood.
“Impressive,” I said
“Grown right here in the dome,” Lesa explained, beaming with pride. “The house started out pretty standard for a dome dwelling, but my mother and Aunt Val have been adding personal touches over the years.”
She pointed to a wood framed door to the left of the foyer. “Right this way, Commander.” I followed her into the room where I found Breth already seated at the head of a large table. When she saw me enter, she excitedly directed her two attendants to start serving food.
She’d changed clothes since our first meeting in the hangar, and was now wearing a low cut, black dress with an expensive array of diamond jewelry around her neck. Matching pieces adorned her ears and wrists—the diamonds sparkling in the light from an impressive chandelier overhead.
The interplay between the stark blackness of the dr
ess, the bright red color of her hair, and the smooth white skin was very distracting.
In a good way.
“There you are,” she smiled. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the chair on her right while Lesa took a seat at the far end of the table.
“Thank you,” I said. “Captain Stinson will be here in a few minutes.”
“Of course,” she said, leaning forward. “Have you had any luck with the ship?”
“Some. We’ve found evidence pointing to Harrakan Station as a possible source of further information. We will be leaving shortly to investigate.”
She made a disgusted face. “Do you really think my sister is there?” She frowned before continuing, “I suppose it’s possible. It wouldn’t be hard to believe someone from that cesspool was involved in a kidnapping.”
“At this point, I honestly don’t know what happened, but it’s a promising lead and will hopefully get us closer to finding her.” I looked her in the eyes, and with that outfit it was difficult, “I need to examine her lab and personal console—with your permission of course. I’d like to see who she’s been dealing with lately, and what she’s been working on.”
Breth fell back into her seat. “That’s easy. For the last six months she has been on whatever secret project the Sentients have set her on. She’s refused any and all other offers of work.” She looked pensive. “Even her humanitarian efforts, Commander.”
“I take it that would be unusual for her?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I have never known her to neglect her charity work.”
“Are you privy to the details of her arrangement with Sentients?”
Before she could answer, Stinson entered from the foyer and the servants returned through an opposite door, carrying trays of food.
“Miss Evans, Commander.” Stinson gave us each a small bow.
“Please do sit down, Captain.” Breth motioned for the servants to hurry up and deposit their burdens and leave.
Taking the proffered seat opposite my own, he stated, “Everything’s ready to go, Commander. I’ve detailed some of my officers to begin interviewing the staff in our absence.”