Dangerous Evolution

by Vann, Gregg

  Del said it was familiar with the city’s layout, so I let it lead the way. We didn’t get five meters before seeing the first body, arms and legs splayed open, lying in the middle of the road. Then we saw three more, then a dozen—they were everywhere. We were forced to step over and move a few of them along the way, and I was morbidly fascinated to note that there was no smell of decomposition. It could be the result of the cold environment, or maybe Sentient biology was so different that death was a disparate experience.

  So similar in some ways, I thought, yet so different in others. Leaning down to look closely at one of the faces, I saw a brown discoloration around the mechanical eyes…rust maybe? Hopefully, I’d have a chance to learn more about them later, when this was all over.

  If there was a later, for them or us.

  It took far longer than I’d hoped to wind our way to the park but we finally made it, ending up on the street facing the Sentient ship’s opening. Seeing our objective in person made my heart beat a little faster—this was real now. Like I do for every operation, I converted my growing excitement into focused determination. Stinson was composed and cool, as was Del. Even Mendoza seemed to have an air of calm about her.

  We’ve got this, I thought.

  Huddled together behind an overturned transport vehicle, I pointed at Mendoza, giving her a hand signal to move into position. She responded by crouching down and running to the nearby half-wall, slowly making her way around to the back of the ship. Stinson pointed to an opening in the wall well suited to our part of the plan. At three meters wide, it was large enough Del to crawl through unnoticed, and position itself in the open field.

  Stinson and I would station ourselves on either side of the entrance—ready to attack when the time came. We left cover to take up our positions.

  Del ducked as best it could with such a large form, and then ran across the street until it got to the wall. It laid down flat on its stomach and started crawling through the entryway—out into the grass clearing. The sun was beginning to rise, sending a mild yellow glow over the park, highlighting the inert forms scattered about the space. I worried about Del’s visibility as it moved, but it stopped about two meters in and assumed an unnatural, contorted pose. It became indistinguishable from the other bodies.

  Stinson, stationed to the left of the opening, looked over and gave me a thumbs up; I returned the gesture. Mendoza radioed that she was also in position, and despite methodically scanning her location on the other side of the park, I couldn’t spot her—the Kamosuit was doing its job perfectly.

  Now we wait.

  If they didn’t react before our time was up, Del would start Plan B, standing up and walking toward the ship. This would set off the perimeter alarm, prompting the Sentients to drop the shield and investigate. Unfortunately, we were probably too far away from the ship to reach it before we were spotted—giving them plenty of time to reactivate the shields, and blowing our chance of a surprise attack.

  Also, there was every reason to believe they might just shoot Del from the ship out of an abundance of caution; it was Plan B for a reason.

  I needn’t have worried. Less than an hour after we got into position, at about the same time my joints were starting to stiffen from the cold, the force shield dropped. This close to the ship, you could hear the hum of the shield fade away—the sound and temperature collectively reminding me that we were no longer watching this scene from the safety of our ship.

  Stinson and I both snapped to attention when the shield went down. I rapidly clenched and released my fists; trying to force them to wake up—then slowly raised the barrel of my Snub rifle.

  I could hear voices growing louder as they approached. The guards were complaining about the cold, and harassing the third Sentient about how many bodies it needed for its experiments; the tone the guards used toward the third Sentient was more acerbic than respectful.

  “What is that?” I heard one of them say.

  “What?” another voice replied tersely.

  “A life sign!”

  “Not likely, Doctor. Everything on this planet is dead.”

  “Look at this!”

  “You need to get your equipment checked, Doctor. But let’s take a look.”

  The footsteps grew louder; I could hear the swish of their boots cutting through the dry grass. I clutched my rifle tightly and nodded to Stinson.

  So close.

  “That’s odd; I don’t remember a body positioned here bef….ugh!”

  “Go!” Del yelled.

  Stinson and I rose in unison and fired. The impact slugs hit the guards hard—knocking them off their feet. They both fell to the ground dropping their weapons. One Sentient managed to pull the trigger before the rifle fell out of its hand, sending a plasma bolt smashing harmlessly into the wall protecting Stinson. The impact threw melted rock and flames into the air, and burned the grass at the base of the wall.

  Del was standing with the doctor’s neck in its grasp.

  “Wait!” the small Sentient cried, “I am a prisoner.” The voice was more breath than actual sound.

  An explosion rocked the ground, drawing my attention to the Sentient ship. The back of the craft shuddered upwards, engulfed in flames, before crookedly settling back down on its landing gear. Smoke was billowing out of the rear of the ship, and large fragments of what used to be its engines littered the ground.

  Nice work Mendoza.

  Stinson and I moved out of cover to check the guards. “Just hold on to him…it for a minute,” I told Del.

  “It’s unconscious,” Stinson said, kicking one of the downed Sentients with his foot.

  “Mine too,” I replied.

  “Cover!” Mendoza called out over our headsets, and we all ran out of the park and back into the street—Del dragging our captive behind us. I peeked out over the top of the wall and was met with multiple blasts of plasma fire, singing my hair as I dropped back down.

  I spoke into my headset, “What do you see, Mendoza?”

  “There are two of them sir, standing in the doorway. One firing at me and one focused on your position.” I could hear nearby plasma impacts coming in over her headset—confirming the report.

  “Are you close enough for a grenade?” I asked.

  “No sir…unfortunately.”

  Stinson interrupted, “If she threw one anyway, it would cause a distraction—giving us an opportunity to fire.”

  “Yes it would,” I smiled.

  “Put one as close as you can, Ensign.”

  “On its way.”

  I caught myself counting subconsciously: one, two, three, four, five…Boom. I stood up, sighted the doorway of the ship and started firing. With Stinson and I both unloading on full automatic, it was hard to say who hit what, but both the Sentients dropped off the ramp and into the grass. A few residual hits bounced off their unconscious forms and we stopped firing. The door slid closed behind them and the shield went back up, its humming sound filled the air.

  The sound of failure.

  Shit!” I exclaimed.

  Stinson and I ran out from behind the wall to search the guards, looking for the ship’s control device. I spotted it on the ground, next to one of the unconscious forms and quickly grabbed it. Pointing the remote at the shield, I hit the button and it fell away again…silence returned.

  “Let’s go, before they have a chance to disable this thing,” I called out. Looking at Del, I added, “Bring the doctor along, he might prove useful.”

  The five of us converged on the ramp, breaking into two groups on either side of the door when we reached the top. It was locked tight. My budding confidence about getting into the ship evaporated when the remote failed to work.

  “That didn’t take long,” I murmured, smacking the device against my palm. “They’ve already locked it out.”

  I turned around to speak to Mendoza and found her waiting behind me with a breaching charge—ready to go. “I’ll take care of this, sir,” she said.

 
“You know the rules, Mendoza; make sure I still have a ship to seize after the explosives go off.”

  “I promise, sir,” she winked.

  She set the charge and we moved back down the ramp, darting underneath the ship and jogging toward the front of the craft—away from the blast. I didn’t know if the Sentients could target us in the clearing with the ship’s guns, so I thought this was a safer place to be. Besides, unlike when Mendoza blew up the engines, this explosion should just be a little pop. Or so I thought… Then the beaching charge detonated, rocking the ship from side to side and filling the air with smoke, it even drifted under the ship where we were hiding.

  Guns raised, we went back up the ramp and into the ship; the smoke from the explosion providing cover as we moved down the main passageway. Advancing as a group—with Stinson and myself out front—we went to the bridge first but found it empty. There were closed doors on either side of the long passageway, and we were forced to move slowly, clearing each one individually as we headed toward the back of the ship.

  All of the rooms were deserted—containing debris scattered about by the explosions but nothing else. When we finally reached the back of the vessel, we found a large room resembling a morgue.

  We cautiously moved in through the open door, guns at the ready. Bodies were stored in shelving units, stacked four high, situated along the outside edge of the room. The center of the space was filled with medical equipment and a menacing looking metal surgical table. I recognized some of the equipment as the same type that Val Evans had in her personal laboratory.

  But where was she?

  I heard a faint rustle of fabric, and pushed Stinson down yelling, “Take cover!”

  But it was too late. A plasma bolt shot out from behind one of the stacks of bodies, hitting Mendoza square in the abdomen. Her eyes widened as she soundlessly fell to the floor.

  Fuck!

  I dove behind the surgical table, dropping the Snub Rifle and pulling out my TAC in one fluid motion. The pistol would be much more effective in this small area.

  Plasma fire rang out blindly, striking the ceiling, floor, and dead bodies indiscriminately, even still; I could see that everyone else had made it back into the hall and relative safety.

  Despite the haphazard firing pattern, I was able to discern where the assailant was hiding and quickly devised a plan. I launched two rapid shots from the left side of the table to draw the Sentient’s fire, then dove out from the opposite side. I caught it leaning out to shoot where I’d been—only its head and arm were visible—but it was enough. I took aim and fired, hitting the Sentient mid-temple, removing and cauterizing the top of his head simultaneously.

  The shooting stopped, and Stinson swooped back into the operatory, rifle at the ready. I walked over to what was left of the Sentient’s body and removed the gun from its spasming fingers. Then, from opposite sides of the room, Stinson and I swept the remaining racks but found no one else hiding behind them.

  I motioned for Del and the Sentient doctor to come in the room, then Stinson stood guard while I went to treat Mendoza. I needed to assess how badly she’d been injured.

  It was bad.

  “Did we get em sir? she said weakly.

  “We got them, Ensign.”

  A loud moan came from one of the racks. Stinson pointed his rifle at the source of the sound—preparing to fire. Someone was alive under one of the sheets.

  “Don’t shoot!” the Sentient doctor yelled. “It’s Doctor Evans! Let me help her.”

  The figure sat up slowly, the sheets falling away to reveal long, red hair—unkempt and partially blocking her face. She swung her thin, pale white legs around and straightened her back, taking in her surroundings; her bare feet were hanging several inches from the floor.

  “Val Evans?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes,” she said looking around. Her eyes came to rest on Del. “Ambassador?”

  It nodded.

  Ambassador? Well that was interesting.

  She made the short hop to the floor, steadying herself against the rack—then fixed her gaze first on my uniform, then my face.

  “It’s about time Sector sent someone,” she said tiredly.

  “Special Inquisitor Benjamin Malik, Miss Evans.”

  A low whimper brought my attention back to Mendoza. She wasn’t bleeding, but there was a large, almost perfectly circular hole in her abdomen. Inside it, I could see charred organs and intestines, and a greenish-yellow ooze had already begun to well up in the abscess. Her skin was clammy and losing its color.

  “Del!” I barked at the large Sentient, “Call in your ship and put it down in the clearing outside.” I grabbed a sterile pressure pack from my suit’s med kit, unfolded it to the proper size and stuck it against the wound.

  “Do you have a stasis chamber on board?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I’ll need to configure it for her physiology. If it’s even possible,” it added.

  “Do it fast!” I yelled.

  It nodded, and went outside to wait for the ship.

  Stinson came over to assist me, placing his hand on the dressing. I spied the Sentient doctor walking toward Evans. “Stop!” I commanded, leveling my TAC pistol at its torso, “Unless you want a matching hole in your stomach.”

  “I’m not responsible for her injury,” it pleaded. “I’m a prisoner, just like Dr. Evans.”

  “It’s true,” she said, gesturing weakly at the Sentient I’d shot. “Doctor Sa isn’t one of them.”

  I put my gun away and stuck Mendoza in the leg with an Omni-Pin. The composite injection included pain killers and antibiotics, along with an intelligent volumizing chemical that expanded or contracted as necessary to maintain adequate circulatory pressure. The hardened syringe also contained a coagulant-sealant, designed to slow or even stop internal bleeding; the Omni-Pin was devised to address most types of combat trauma, and was entirely idiot proof.

  I removed Mendoza’s fitted hood and headset, gently laying her head back down on the deck. I also relieved her of the bandolier and other assorted explosive charges, clearing the way to tape the pressure bandage in place.

  Stinson gathered up the discarded weapons and munitions—including the dead Sentient’s—dropping them into a sterile body bag he’d grabbed off one of the tables. Outside, I could hear the welcome sound of Del’s ship landing close by.

  “Commander,” Del’s voice boomed loudly in my headset, “The Sentient fleet is entering sensor range now. We have to depart.”

  “We’re leaving,” I said loudly, making sure everyone heard me. “Introductions and explanations can wait until we hit orbit.”

  Looking at Stinson, I said, “I’ll carry her out, Jeff, get those two on board.”

  “Let’s go,” he told them, jerking his thumb toward the door.

  “Just a second,” Evans said to Stinson. She turned to face Doctor Sa, “We have to get the data. We need it.”

  She looked back at Stinson, then me, desperation in her eyes. “It’s important. It will save billions of lives.”

  I lifted the unconscious Mendoza as gingerly as I could, my anger growing as I watched her young life slip away. “You have until I lock her into a stasis pod to get what you need. If you are not on the ship by then, I will come back here and carry Miss Evans out—by force if necessary. And honestly, Doctor, whoever you are, I don’t give a shit about what happens to you—keep up or get left behind.”

  “I’ll stay here to keep them out of trouble, Commander,” Stinson interjected. As I left, I saw the pair hurriedly collecting data pads.

  I ran to the ship as fast as I could while still holding Mendoza somewhat steady; I didn’t want to exacerbate her injuries, but if we didn’t get out of here quickly, none of us were going to make it. Del had the ramp down and the door open, ready and waiting as ordered, and as soon as I crested the top of the ramp, the Sentient led me straight to the medical facilities.

  Del helped me place her into a white, egg-shape
d chamber. It was thickly padded inside, and its exterior was covered in blue circles of varying sizes. The Sentient then leaned in and connected the chamber’s monitoring equipment to Mendoza’s head and hands, backing away as it finished. The lid began to close automatically, swinging down from a single hinge at the top of the device.

  “It is not ideal,” Del confessed. “It wasn’t designed for humans, but it should keep her in partial stasis for a time.”

  I didn’t need complicated monitoring equipment to tell me Mendoza was dying. She needed a surgeon, fast—a damn good one at that—along with a decent medical facility. We weren’t going to find either in Sentient space, that much was certain.

  Del engaged the stasis field, and I took one last look at Mendoza before running out of the room—headed back to the other ship to grab Evans. But by the time I got to the exterior hatch, I was relieved to find it sealed for departure—everyone was already onboard and milling about the entryway.

  Time to go.

  Del was right behind me as I walked onto the bridge. Stepping up to the flight pedestal, the Sentient engaged the cloak and we started to slowly rise from Seveq’s surface. I looked at the monitoring screen—still focused on the ship in the park—and saw one of the guards we’d first encountered struggle to its feet. It looked up at our departing ship—dazed and bewildered. Unless the newly arriving fleet landed to rescue it, that guard’s corpse would soon join all the rest of them scattered across the planet.

  After what it had done to those bodies, it seemed like justice to me.

  “Destination?” Del asked.

  “The Verge,” I replied. “As fast as this crate will go. Let’s get the hell outta here before that fleet shows up.”

  Chapter Six

  The bridge was cramped with everyone in there at once, so we gathered in the flight hangar—the largest open area on the ship. Stinson and I were still wearing our combat gear, although we’d left our weapons on the bridge—or Central Hub as Del called it. The two Sentients were unclothed of course, if you were genderless, I supposed modesty was unnecessary—the concept may not even exist in their culture. But even with vibrant blue electricity playing across their ebony bodies, the most striking figure present was still Val Evans.