Dangerous Evolution Read online

  Dangerous Evolution

  A novel by

  Gregg Vann

  Copyright © 2012 by Gregg Vann

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Silver Rocket Press

  [email protected]

  For my mother, Jan

  Thanks for pushing me out into the light.

  But more importantly, for pushing even harder every day since.

  Chapter One

  They always call me in on the tough ones.

  Missing persons cases where only fragments of evidence exist, sometimes at the subatomic level; disasters in space where a ship has been lost in a black hole or completely vaporized by a sun; and then there’s my personal favorite, the suspicious death where the victim was eaten and partially digested by his own unique pet—an exotic alien carnivore.

  That one was…messy.

  Throw in the occasional assassination, cross border piracy, and the growing problem of inter-Sector human trafficking, and I’d amassed an extensive history of cases and experiences to draw from. At this point in my career I’d been a Special Inquisitor for more than a hundred years, and I was convinced that I’d seen it all, but this new assignment took the proverbial cake.

  This kidnapping case was special indeed…as was the victim.

  Val Evans was famous, unquestionably one the most prominent women in the galaxy. As the inventor of the Permalife treatment, she was wealthy beyond anyone’s practical measurement of possession (or impractical one for that matter). Her genetic discoveries allowed people to live as long as they wished, simply by restructuring their DNA to prevent aging.

  Well maybe it wasn’t that simple. But it worked.

  But unlike most of her wealthy contemporaries, everyone who knew her liked her. Hell, everyone loved her. Even the God’s Plan zealots respected Evans as a unique child of god, even if they did strongly disagree with her work. They believed her genetic manipulations infringed on the purview of a much higher power.

  As far as anyone knew she didn’t have a single enemy in the universe, yet her small starship was discovered abandoned on the airless moon where she made her home—found in the middle of one of the large, open plains that dotted the private satellite bearing her name. It had crashed less than two kilometers from the pressure dome housing her expansive residence.

  The pilot’s frozen corpse was the only thing left inside the small vessel, and the pin-point laze burn through the center of his forehead told the story clearly enough; Val Evans had been taken. The local Sector authorities began an immediate search for her tracking signal but found nothing.

  Like most wealthy, high profile people, Evans had a locator chip implanted featuring redundant tracking systems—its signal was kept on file and constantly updated with Sector Security. The device’s primary function was to act as a deterrent to kidnapping, but they’d also proven very effective at locating victims when abductions did occur.

  Evan’s particular model featured an embedded broadlink system spanning several wavelengths—complete with galaxy wide positioning. It was even equipped with a locking mechanism based on a secure DNA sequence. The program periodically generated a random access code that could only be defeated if you knew the identity of the donor.

  Her tracker couldn’t be turned off without access to its communication system and the proper code. Most importantly, the signal was impossible to mask or disrupt. Well apparently not impossible, because Val Evans had vanished without a trace.

  That’s when I’d been contacted by the Regent to take over the investigation, and how I found myself in this remote system on the outskirts of Prima Sector.

  I glanced out of the small window of my commandeered spacecraft, watching the planet outside revolve beneath us. We’d used its gravity well to bleed off excess speed after exiting transit, and were now crossing the terminator of the enormous gas giant. It was the largest planet in this small and sparsely populated system, our destination was one of its smaller moons.

  I was forced to squint as a flash of light glared off the faux glass surface, but before the material automatically polarized—muting the natural view—I caught a glimpse of Evan’s Moon, barely visible as a large point of light in the distance of space. Moving as it had for millennia in its fixed yet somewhat eccentric orbit around the massive planet.

  The Sector destroyer Babylon Rising was slowly swinging its bow around, straightening out in a direct path toward our final destination—preparing to leave the colorful planet’s clouds of swirling helium and hydrogen in its wake.

  The door opened behind me, followed by the sound of footsteps.

  “Have you been here before?” I asked Captain Stinson, my eyes still focused on the view outside the window. We’d barely had an opportunity to speak since his ship picked me up at the Sector transfer station on Halus.

  “Only once,” he replied, “when I was a junior officer. One of Miss Evan’s servants was killed in an unfortunate accident. I was only there to formalize the paperwork, you see, no real investigation was necessary. The cause of death was obvious. I’d say it was probably 50 years or so ago”

  I turned to face him as he slid into the chair at his desk, leaning back and cupping his hands behind his head. Stinson was trim and fit in his black, Sector Security uniform, his dark brown hair grey at the temples. A few medals sparkled on his lapel, but from reading his file I knew he had earned many, many more. And despite his smallish stature, he projected absolute confidence and authority.

  This was no simple soldier; he was in charge of protecting this system and two substantially larger ones with greater populations. He was a competent captain, sharp and experienced.

  “What is she like in person?” I asked, taking another look around the sparsely decorated room. Other than a picture of his family on the desk, and two simple chairs in front of it, the room was empty. I had a feeling he spent very little time in here.

  “She is brilliant,” he said without hesitation, his British accent characteristic of his home world of Britannia Novus. “Very genuine and approachable, but I got the impression she has to work at it. Despite her attempts to appear normal, she has a rather overwhelming presence. Even in simple conversations it’s blindingly obvious how smart she is. She tries to compensate by acting...well....regular I suppose.”

  “Hmm...that’s how she comes across on the Vidnet as well, brainy but somewhat awkward.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t say act,” Stinson clarified hastily. “She really is a nice woman; it’s just that dealing with people can sometimes be uncomfortable for her.” He leaned forward in his seat, “I’m afraid she is a bit of a stereotype when it comes to scientists, you know, smart and somewhat socially awkward.”

  “That would explain why she doesn’t appear in public that often.”

  “I believe so,” he agreed.

  Stinson used the back of his hand to brush loose hair off the front of his uniform. “This damn black shows everything.”

  “I recall,” I replied, remembering a time when I wore the same uniform. “Imagine the fun I had with this blonde mop…of course my hair wasn’t quite this long back then.”

  “I imagine a Special Inquisitor can wear what they wish eh?”

  I looked down at my civilian style attire; black slacks over boots and a form-fitting grey, turtle-neck shirt. All covered by a black, wide collared trench coat designed to conceal my very large, yet very necessary TAC pistol. “Well it does help when we go undercover.”

  “I’ll bet,” he said, a tinge of je
alousy coloring in his voice. Maybe even resentment, I thought?

  I knew from his file that Stinson had earned a larger command and a more strategic posting, but until someone decided to step down, he was stuck out here on the fringes of civilization. Most of the larger ships and best assignments went to war veterans, and with perpetual youth at their disposal, many were unwilling to step aside and let others move up through the ranks. It was one of the numerous unforeseen consequences of Miss Evan’s remarkable discovery.

  Stinson’s voice broke in, derailing my train of thought. “I have to admit, Commander; you are not at all what I imagined an SI to be.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well….if I’m being honest, you carry yourself like someone who’s no stranger to violence, but I wouldn’t call you overly serious for a man in your position.” He looked a bit uncomfortable—searching my face for disapproval.

  My position was extremely high level, as were the assignments I undertook. The rank of commander was merely a courtesy, a convenient fiction that belied my true influence. Stinson was a man who worshiped the chain of command, and my status was unnatural in his eyes.

  I chuckled, setting him at ease. "I spent over 90 years being very serious, now I just concentrate on the job. Don't worry; when the shit hits the fan, I'm all business.” My smile faded and I lowered my voice. “With luck, this mission will go smoothly and you won’t get to meet that side of me, Captain.”

  “My crew and I will do our best, Commander Malik,” he replied tartly. “This is a good ship.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the pride in his voice. “So I’ve heard. Have you ever worked with a SI before, Captain Stinson?”

  I knew it was unlikely, especially if he’d been stationed in this backwater region of Prima Sector for any real length of time. Besides, this was my Sector—if he had met one of us it probably would have been me.

  “Actually…no. But I’d imagined you all just sat back in comfy offices directing your minions—calling the shots from the shadows as it were.”

  “Few have that privilege I’m afraid. Most of us prefer to be more hands on. In my case, after almost one hundred and fifty years of traipsing about the galaxy, I’ve become a bit of a micromanager.”

  “150 years?” Stinson said. “So you were in the war?” His tone was more accusation than acknowledgment. He leaned further forward, giving me his full attention—waiting for the answer.

  “I was,” I confirmed, then stopped pacing about long enough to face him directly. “But the Diaspora War was a long time ago, Captain, and some things are better left in the past.”

  I made certain that my tone and facial expression discouraged any further questioning. I’d spent a long time trying to forget that hell, and certainly didn’t feel like talking about it now.

  “I understand,” he said reluctantly, but he got the hint and moved onto something I would talk about—with high level Sector personnel anyway. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, uncertain how to proceed. “Are you allowed to discuss…might I ask, Commander…oh hell, I’ll just come out and say it. Did they really put an electronic chip in your head to keep an eye on you?”

  “Oh that,” I replied. “It’s tied directly to my visual cortex. Recording everything I see. It only makes sense; when you give someone this much authority, you need to observe how that power is used and take precautions.” I smiled, “The video feed also frees me from having to fill out so many reports.”

  “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 Mar
ie 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.