Trail of Evil

by Travis S. Taylor

  “Sir, I think you need to come down here and see this.”

  “What is it, Buckley?”

  “Well, we been tearin’ into this bot-made shuttlecraft, and it’s kind of like something a human would build, but at the same time it’s not. But we found a snap-back actuator pad.”

  “Really? Is it functional?”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  “Now we’re onto something,” Alexander said. “I’ll be right down, CHENG. Good work, Buckley.”

  Moore stood straight up and thought, A snap-back actuator pad. Where does it teleport to, I wonder?

  Well, every other one of these things we’ve found snapped back to another one of these crazy hidden bases, Abigail replied.

  Hopefully, we’re onto something here.

  Moore grabbed his coffee cup off his desk on the way out the door and sipped at it as he marched down the corridor to the elevator. Abigail, locate my wife.

  Sir, your wife is with your daughter in the medical bay.

  Everything is all right there, I assume?

  Yes, sir. Deanna’s procedure is almost complete.

  Understood.

  Commander Joe Buckley, Jr. had been in the Navy for more than two decades. His father had been a career man and had given his life to save the Sienna Madira. Buckley Junior had his opportunity to save the Madira in turn, but managed to survive.

  He was ready to retire from the Navy, and was about to do so, until President Alexander Moore himself offered him the position as chief engineer for the expeditionary mission. Buckley was under the impression that nobody in history had ever told the man no, except maybe his daughter or his wife. And then he wasn’t so sure, after having seen them on board the ship for the last year, if that ever worked out very well for them, either. The man was a force of nature. And Buckley was proud to be serving under him. The best part was that the mission had them venturing out into the stars further than humanity had ever gone and to do so they would have to travel faster than humanity ever had. That was what Buckley lived for, space travel. It was the reason he joined the Navy and the reason he studied spacetime manipulation propulsion theory in college.

  Buckley looked at the readouts in his direct-to-mind link and viewed the design of the odd little spaceship that the recon team had recovered. Although the thing had been blown to hell and ripped to shreds during the acquisition, Buckley had managed to put it all back together and create a full 3D model of the vehicle. Tracing the power leads, he realized that there was a huge source of power in the engine components. And there was a snap-back quantum membrane technology teleportation system. And it was active and linked to other pads.

  Buckley went through the software and realized that it was an encrypted control system, but it was nothing that the AICs of the Sienna Madira couldn’t put their heads together on and crack.

  Now just where do you go, you little bugger, he thought to himself as he looked at the list of addresses attached to the quantum membrane teleportation pad. There were seven. “So you were only designed to go to seven places,” Buckley muttered to himself.

  “If you continue to speak to yourself all the time like that, CHENG, then people are gonna put you in the loony bin,” Alexander Moore’s voice rang over his shoulder. Buckley immediately stiffened and turned.

  “Well, sir, if you go up there in the loony bin, them folks are swattin’ around at stuff that’s not there all the time anyway. I think I’d fit right in,” Buckley said with a smile, as he referenced the virtual-reality simulation room where the war-gaming experts would go to plan out the battles in a virtual four-dimensional direct-to-mind environment that only they could see. An outsider looking in would see a roomful of people moving imaginary things around in the air.

  “Show me whatcha got, Buckley,” Moore said in his slow Mississippi drawl, getting right to business. The man was always right to business.

  “Well, sir,” Buckley said, “if I may . . . it’s easier to show you direct-to-mind.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Buckley noticed Moore making the expression that all humans make when they’re speaking in their minds to their AICs. Buckley did the same to his, as he instructed, Debbie, set up the DTM link with the captain.

  Roger that, Joe.

  And then, in a mini version of their own loony bin, Buckley started pointing at things in mid-air that were not there, but the captain could see them just fine.

  “. . . So you see, sir, here’s the ship. This hole here, that must be where you tore through, this part here is from battle damage, and now let’s move away the exterior layers.” Buckley waved his hand and pulled away the structure. “Now here is the power system. You see these conduits flowing here? This conduit goes into this junction box from the main propulsion system, but if you look just beyond that, there’s another conduit coming out of there, going somewhere where it normally wouldn’t. To this box here. That’s what triggered my suspicion.”

  Pull away this layer, Debbie, he said to his AIC. With another motion of his hand, the box skin flew away, revealing the internal components.

  “And this, sir, right here, is a quantum membrane snap-back teleporter link.”

  “You’re damn right, Joe, I’ve seen plenty of them,” Moore responded. “Have you cracked it?”

  “Well, sir, we put a cluster of all the AICs on the Madira together, and when all the AICs on board put their noggins into it, in just a matter of a four minutes, they cracked Copernicus’ encryption. Looks like there’s seven addresses.”

  “Seven? Very interesting. But you still haven’t figured out a way to know where in the hell that address is?”

  “Sorry, sir. Quantum physics and all doesn’t allow for that. All we can say is that this thing is connected to seven other things somewhere else in the universe.”

  “Shit!” Moore said. “Physics.”

  “Yes, sir, quantum membrane stuff, to be exact,” Buckley replied.

  “Maybe we need some other quantum physicists on board to help you out.”

  “Well, sir, the chief scientist and I have been working on this for awhile, and we’ve spoken with anybody with any knowledge on the subject, as well as all of the AICs, and all we can say is, this thing is linked to seven other locations somewhere in this universe.”

  “Understood, Joe. Good work,” Moore said as he offered him a hand. Joe shook it in return. Moore had been a politician for so long that a lot of times, Joe had noticed, he would offer a hand to shake over a salute. Joe didn’t mind at all.

  “So what are your orders, sir?”Moore rubbed his chin in thought, then looked at the 3D model in his mind for a second longer.

  “Well, I guess we start at the top, Joe. Get this shuttle fixed back up, and we’ll just have to figure out where these things go. How long will it take?”

  “It’ll take, uh . . . a few days, sir.”

  “Good. That’ll give the A-Team time for their wounds to heal, and to rest and prepare, and we’ll start right back at this thing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  This time, he saluted. Joe watched as Moore returned the salute and then turned and walked out of the hangar deck, thinking, Does that man ever tire? He slumped for a second, and leaned against the hull of the shuttle and thought, So we need to put you back together, old girl.

  “Well, it looks like it hurts, Dee,” Rackman told her. Deanna could see the 3D printer laying out bone materials onto the severed hand and watched as tissues were printed and attached, but she could feel nothing. There was the occasional spurt of blood as an artery or vein was printed then sealed, but the small transparent plastic shield kept any debris in or out as needed. Then she looked at Rackman’s new arm.

  “Did it hurt you?” she asked the SEAL.

  “Didn’t feel a damned thing. Amazing to watch,” he said. “Seen it before but not on myself.”

  “Yeah, I don’t really care to watch much more of it.”

  “Understood,” Rackman smiled. “Hey, look at it this way
. Minimum required recovery before active duty is seven days. We get to goldbrick for a week!”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.” Dee closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she showed the young SEAL her big brown doe eyes that she had inherited from her mother. “Davy, do me a favor and quit gawking at me. It makes me feel, uh, vulnerable.”

  “Shit, Marine, you! Vulnerable?” he laughed. “That will be the day, mate.”

  “Up yours, squidboy,” she replied with a smile. “Before you start goldbricking, at least do me a favor and go check on the rest of the team.” Dee had made the med crew take her last, even though her father and mother had been through to expedite her treatment. But Dee had put her foot down. It was her team, and her wound wasn’t critical. She could wait until everyone else was good.

  “Roger that, jarhead. Will do.” Davy made his way past several other wounded soldiers from the battle in search of the rest of their wounded team members. Dee watched the SEAL as he walked out. His hospital gown opened up the back and she could see red marks where the bots had cut him up. The immunoboost was healing him up nicely. She also like the rest of what she saw. She so wanted to run her fingers over the wounds and caress the SEAL’s firm . . .

  “Ahem,” came from behind her, almost making her jump off the hospital bed.

  “What you looking at, Marine?” Penzington said with one eyebrow raised.

  “Uh, I, uh . . .” Dee stammered embarrassedly. “Uh, nothing?”

  “Relax, Dee. I’ve been a spy most of my life. I notice things. Your secret is safe with me.” Nancy laughed.

  “Don’t tell Daddy. No telling what he would do.” Dee wasn’t sure what her father would do to a potential boyfriend and she didn’t really want to know. There had been that one incident with the senior cadet formal dance that she would never forget. The young man who had taken her most certainly wouldn’t forget it. Ever. He still wouldn’t respond to her calls or e-mails. She couldn’t even apologize to him.

  “Understood. I wouldn’t wish that fight on anybody. Not even a SEAL.” Nancy laughed again. Dee wasn’t sure if she was laughing with her or at her in an I’m-glad-it’s-not-me way.

  “Bah, SEAL. No match for a good Marine,” Dee spat instinctively.

  “So you doing okay?” Dee was glad that Nancy had changed the subject. It didn’t really embarrass her to talk about boys and sex and stuff, but the more they talked about it in the open, the more likely it would be that somebody would hear it and it would get back to her parents.

  “I’m fine. This doesn’t hurt at all.” She pointed at the now halfway printed hand.

  “Looks like it hurts like hell.” Nancy cringed at the sight.

  “I guess. But, you know, immunoboost and stims and painkillers have me so hyped up I’m ready to take on a hovertank barehanded.” Dee did feel hyper but at the same time tired. She had been on the Madira for more than a year now and in so many fights with bots that she would enjoy a week on a beach somewhere. Too bad there was no beach anywhere nearby. Hell, she’d settle for a night of drinking and sex. But she was a good Marine and there were things to be done. And she was her father’s daughter.

  Chapter 7

  November 5, 2406 AD

  27 Light-years from the Sol System

  Saturday, 11:17 PM, Expeditionary Mission Standard Time

  “You gonna work on that all night long, Commander?” First Sergeant Rondi Howser stood straddle of a pair of boots sticking out from underneath the strange-looking bot-built shuttle in engineering. She didn’t really care so much for the shuttle as she did for the man working on it. Although she had drawn support for the upcoming mission in the shuttle, the Marine just saw it as a means to get her wherever it was that she needed to be in order to kick ass.

  “Amari! Where the hell’ve you been? I need you under here right now to help align the snap-back to sling-forward conduit projector on this thing,” the man underneath the spaceship shouted.

  “I am NOT Petty Officer Engineering Technician First Class Sarala Amari!” Rondi said sourly.

  “Huh? Rondi, that you? Hold on a minute,” came from underneath the shuttle. There were a couple of clanging noises and then an, “Oh, shit. Goddamit. Where the hell are you, Amari?”

  The boots were attached to a set of red engineer’s coveralls that were in turn on the Madira’s chief engineer, who was lying on a hover creeper doing God knows what up underneath the thing. Rondi put her hands on her terrific hips, tapped her right toe against the deck plating, and raised an eyebrow as the creeper started to slide from underneath the ship.

  “Firstly, I suspect PO1 Amari has sacked out, like most normal people. Secondly, what the hell, Joe?” Rondi said in her best hurt voice. “We were supposed to chow over two hours ago! I’ve been waiting and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you stand me up!”

  The CHENG looked up at the sleek muscular Marine in her Universal Combat Uniform and Rondi was certain that he was thinking several things all at once. The first thing she hoped was that the fireproof fabric conformed around her Marine-hardened midsection and pushed up her more-than-ample breasts into a very nice supported position. The common description of the female UCU tops was that they always kept “things” at attention. The compression shirt had been designed to fit skintight as a lightly armored fireproof paper-thin layer. And it did. The shirt not only wicked away sweat and moisture, conformed to most environment color schemes, led repel, low-order shrapnel, resisted fire, and compressed the muscles, improving the wearer’s performance, but it did so in a way that made the person wearing it look damned good. And Rondi knew she looked damned good in them.

  The other thing that Buckley had better be thinking was that he was fucking sorry for standing her up, and was in fear of getting a knot jerked in his ass.

  “Uh, sorry about that, First Sergeant.” Joe stammered. “Somehow or other I promised the general I’d have this ship ready in two days, and that was a day and a half ago.”

  “How does that affect me?”

  Rondi knew damned well how it did. There were at least five generals on board the ship, but when somebody said “the general,” everybody knew they meant Alexander Moore. Everybody on board the ship also knew that when the general expected something from you that you’d better deliver it. Knowing all that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some fun with Buckley, though.

  “Well, Marine, you want to crawl down under here and give me a hand, we could get to that chow sooner than later.” Joe smirked at Rondi. She could tell he was having a hard time looking her in the eye, so she knelt down beside him.

  “Is that an order, Commander?” Rondi raised an eyebrow flirtatiously.

  “Negative.” Joe paused for a long moment and then sighed. “I’m brain dead right now anyway. I really should stop for a bit. Maybe some chow and then a nap in my quarters.”

  “Is that an invitation?” Rondi almost laughed. “I’ve heard more enticing ones.”

  “You know it is, gorgeous, but I really do have to get this thing flying in perfect order.” Joe rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Rondi wondered just how long he’d been at it. “I really should finish calibrating that QMT grid panel while it’s apart. Just not a good time to stop.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “An hour at best. By then I’ll be starving and cross-eyed from lack of sleep.” Joe frowned a bit. Rondi could tell he was pushing himself too hard. Having only a skeleton crew in engineering must have had him doing several jobs all at once.

  “Tell you what. You crawl back in there and fix the QMT thingy and I’ll go get us some dinner. Meet you in your quarters with it in an hour. Sound good?” Rondi put her hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly at Joe as she stood up.

  “Great. An hour. That’s just enough time.” Joe leaned back on the hover creeper and slid back up under the shuttle. “That’s enough time to straighten out the wavefunction correlator with the pattern buffers in the . . .”

  Rondi turned and walked toward
the chow deck, doing her best not laugh out how big a geek the CHENG was. “Best one in the fleet,” she said to herself.

  Dinner had gone well. Joe ate like he hadn’t eaten in two days. Come to think of it, he realized that he hadn’t. He then realized he hadn’t showered in as long either. He excused himself from Rondi to hit the shower. As one of the senior staff, Joe managed one of the quarters with its own shower, so there wasn’t too big a disruption to his date with Rondi.

  The CHENG had been seeing the Marine for most of the expeditionary mission, and every time she went out on a job he felt his heart in his throat until he saw her come back. He couldn’t imagine how the general handled seeing his daughter go out on dangerous missions day in and day out. And on this last one she lost a hand and was cut up pretty badly. Joe had hard enough time watching Rondi go out and they were just, well, mostly having a lot of sex together. But Joe liked the Marine a lot. The kind of like that is beyond “boat cute”; it was the kind of like that makes you consider retiring and getting a house somewhere together—though they had never discussed it. Joe used the general as his rock. If Moore could send Dee out into the muck and still function, then he could watch as Rondi went out.

  Joe turned his back to the falling water and let it wash away the stress and grime from keeping the ship together, repairing the shuttle, and a million other things. He looked up as the shower door slid open and Rondi slipped into the tight space with him. She reached her arms around his shoulders and kissed him softly. Joe stood back as far as he could get in the tiny shower and took in the view. The movement of Rondi’s arms resting on his shoulders and her slight wriggling movements as the water splashed against her body exaggerated the brilliant red, black, and blue cobra high-resolution laser-printed tattoo that curled around her left leg three times from the knee, up between her legs from behind and over her pubic area, across her rippled abdominal muscles, and around both breasts, with its mouth open and fangs showing on the left side of her midsection. The red and blue were nanofluorescent and retroreflective, causing them to glow brilliantly in the low lighting of the shower.