111 Souls (Infinite Universe)

by Justin Bohardt

  A female voice came on the line, “Starlight Minstrel, you are clear to enter the pattern. Engage thrusters only until above hard deck then proceed on gravity exit vector eleven.”

  “Thanks, control,” Jennings replied as he kicked on the thrusters and felt the Melody Tryst lift off the ground.

  “Safe sailing,” the controller said.

  Jennings punched a few commands into the computer, grabbed the control stick and the throttle and began easing the ship up into the sky. A satisfied smile crossed his face and a feeling of ease flowed through his entire body. No matter how many times he performed the simple act of taking his ship into the sky, he never got over the thrill of it. The city of Centuria became smaller and smaller as Jennings continued to follow the elevator skyward, the elevator being the vertical airspace above each individual dock going from ground to the hard deck at ten thousand feet. The docks were a no fly area without clearance, a prescribed elevator shaft and docking port as dictated by the tower.

  “Eight thousand. Nine thousand. Here we go,” Jennings said to no one in particular.

  The thrusters disengaged just as the main atmospheric engine cut in and the ship leapt forward up its exit corridor- another no fly zone to all but those trying to escape planetary gravity. The inertial dampeners kicked in as they reached breakaway speed and the feel of the acceleration vanished, but those few seconds of breakneck velocity were all that mattered to Jennings and he could not help but grin. The Melody Tryst broke through the atmosphere within two minutes and the roar of the engines just vanished. He could still feel the slight vibration of the hull under his feet as the Melody Tryst continued to accelerate rapidly now that it had escaped the confines of gravity, but the silence of space was an eerie and mesmerizing thing.

  “It gets quiet fast,” he commented to Lafayette.

  “Until the screaming starts anew,” he replied without looking up from Magellan. “All right, where to?”

  Jennings thought about it for a long moment. “Earth,” he said at last.

  3

  Long after Magellan had finished its telemetry calculations and the FTL engines had sent them rocketing out of Proxima Centauri and into the darkness between solar systems, Jennings was enjoying a nice cup of tea in the tiny lounge with his boots up on the coffee table in front of him. Fix was in the rec room, lifting weights and Squawk was catching some sleep. Lafayette had bridge duty and Minerva at last advised him that she had completed her evaluation. Jennings hoped that his presumption of Earth was the correct one. He had wanted to get Mariador far behind him, but it would not help to get them going on an incorrect course.

  “Good evening, captain,” the pleasing female voice of Minerva said. “You look comfortable.”

  “I’ll be more so if you have some good news for me,” he replied, taking another sip from his cup.

  “Perhaps,” the computer replied coyly. “Begin report. There have been no sightings of Michelle Rachel Williams since her escape from police custody in the incident contained within your briefing. The high-profile nature of Ms. Williams’s parents, the level of news coverage of the incident, the high reward for the safe return to police custody of the fugitive, and psychographic profiling compiled from Ms. Williams’s psych screenings and current affiliations suggest a 71% chance she is no longer on Earth.”

  “Any suggestions where she might be?” he asked.

  “No known inputs to satisfy said logic,” Minerva replied. “No known friends, family or acquaintances on outlying colonies. All possibilities present nearly equal probability.”

  Jennings had figured as much. “What’s the other 29%?” he asked.

  “9% chance she has already been killed. 7% chance she is still in hiding,” she replied. “13% miscellaneous and highly unlikely possibilities.”

  “Right,” Jennings nodded, pulling his feet off the table and sitting forward in his seat. “Makes sense. Whoever is trying to kill her would make damn sure everybody knew that it was done.”

  “Unless it was a non-Resistance related murder,” Minerva corrected. “Given the likelihood that she has had to deal with the underworld as a part of her flight, the majority of the chance of her being deceased relates to that element, not the assassins chasing her.”

  “If a friend were hiding her, the police or the bounty hunters would have found her already,” he said.

  “Correct,” Minerva agreed. “However, her attractiveness matrix scores very high with most males of the human species. There is the small possibility that she is being hidden by someone outside of her normal circle for sex or for the promise thereof.”

  “Thanks for your high opinion of our species,” Jennings muttered.

  “Don’t take it personally. It’s only mathematics,” she said.

  “Working under the parameters that she got off-planet before they found her, what’s her most likely escape route?” he asked.

  “93% likelihood that she was smuggled off planet by illegal shipping activity,” she replied. “6% chance she stowed away on legitimate transport. Less than 1% chance normal shipping or passenger methods due to interstellar travel advanced security precautions,” she replied.

  He nodded. “Any associates or friends who might make an introduction to anyone with smuggling associations?” he asked.

  “Probabilities suggest this man,” Minerva replied as a holographic emitter on the table showed an outline of a young man, probably twenty, tall, muscular with dark brown skin and light brown eyes.

  “Jacq Clemmons?” he asked Minerva as the personal details of the man displayed in a holographic image next to the picture.

  “Though not friends, our fugitive shares three university affiliations with Mr. Clemmons,” Minerva reported as Fix came in and sat on the couch opposite, still sweating from his workout. “They would at least be aware of each other, maybe even acquaintances.”

  “He is nae a smuggler,” Fix said.

  “Mr. Clemmons comes from a privileged background, but his father did not make his wealth with one hundred percent legitimacy,” she replied. “Although much is classified, he was a duty-free smuggler who became a useful tool for the military during the war when they needed to resupply besieged planets. Not only did it make him rich, but the government turned a blind eye on all his past discretions. His father then legitimized the business and became a regular trader.”

  “I guess you don’t care so much about doing end-runs on import taxes once you get wealthy enough,” Jennings observed.

  “His father would likely still have connections to the underground,” Minerva reported. “He is by far your most likely source. Combined, all other options only have a probability of 7%.”

  Nodding, Jennings said to Minerva, “Connect me with Lafayette please.”

  “Go ahead, mon capitaine,” Lafayette said through the intercom.

  “How long to Earth?” he asked.

  There was a moment’s pause. “1.4 hours present speed,” he answered.

  “You ready to play?” Jennings asked Fix.

  “I’ll get my game face on,” he replied. He stood up and added, “Better make sure my tool kit is fully stocked.”

  As he headed into his cabin, Jennings said to Minerva, “Download all data to flashport.”

  “Of course,” the computer replied.

  Jennings stood and walked over to the wall where one of Minerva’s terminals was built in. Inserting a flash drive, he watched the download bar shoot from left to right across the screen and then removed it. Shoving the drive into the receiver on his tablet, he sat back down on the couch and began deciding what his move was going to be on young Jacq Clemmons.

  Chapter 7

  1

  Colonial Triangle was a massive anachronism located smack in the middle of about forty TGF military bases, planet-side shipyards, and skyscrapers that housed the giants of the military-industrial complex. Stuck in between the former tobacco lands and the ocean, Colonial Triangle was home to the recreations of some of the fir
st European colonies on the North American continent. Stuck in the middle of that was the historic and prestigious College of William and Mary.

  The core of its campus was a series of buildings arranged around a sunken garden that had existed since the nineteenth century, but the university had radically expanded after its popularity skyrocketed in the latter half of the twenty-first century. There was no space-to-shore landing area for a ship the size of the Melody Tryst, so Fix and Jennings had hopped into the shuttle and had followed Antarctica Traffic Control’s directions to their entry vector. A couple of hours of speeding through different skyways had brought them halfway around the planet and to the Colonial Triangle section of the city of Seaboard.

  They circled around Lake Matoaka, around which a huge section of the dormitories for the university lay, for the better part of half an hour, looking for a landing space, but they were all full or more annoyingly tagged for residential use only. At last, Jennings piloted the shuttle to a parking facility that stood about twenty stories high and two miles across just outside of campus.

  “Parking in this town sucks,” Fix observed as he jumped out of the open cockpit and landed next to Jennings on the tarmac.

  The cockpit sealed shut behind him and the two took off to find an elevator that would take them to the ground floor. From there it would be a beautiful but long walk through the forested waterlands within which many of the university’s halls were located. The large brick institutes of higher education held no interest for them though. They were headed to the residences around the lake, where fraternity row had been relocated after the first one had burned to the ground.

  According to Jacq Clemmons’s file, so expertly organized by Minerva, he was a member of the Phi Theta Gamma fraternity and lived in their house. It was Friday planetside and evening was approaching pretty fast. Everyone was back on campus as winter break was ending and there was naturally going to be a lot of parties before classes started up again. Disappearing someone from a loud, raucous group of mostly inebriated morons was not the most difficult thing in the galaxy. Finding a place to work on him would be a little different, but Minerva had already sorted that out for them. The music department had soundproof rooms and there would not be any students using them at the hour they planned to arrive.

  The forest that had surrounded them since they began their trek from the parking structure vanished suddenly as they came onto the lake. Consulting the microlink to Minerva on his left wrist, Jennings pulled up the holo-map as discreetly as possible, consulted it and pointed for Fix to take the right hand fork of the path that completely encircled Lake Matoaka. As they continued down the path, they began to pass four and five-story brick buildings with Greek letters branded into the brick.

  A couple of female joggers passed them by and Jennings smiled and nodded, receiving a few grins in return. Fix was carrying all of his equipment in a black book bag and Jennings looked young enough to pass as a student. Minerva had even forged a couple of functional student IDs for them. They kept their pace at an even clip even as they passed the Phi Theta Gamma house, which Jennings only gave a brief glimpse to. Locking eyes with Fix for the briefest of moments, he still managed to convey his plan. They continued walking until they entered a wooded area again and were certain there was no one else within their line of sight. Winter had not truly hit this far south yet and the trees were still clinging to their last vestiges of red, orange and yellow leaves, providing all the cover they needed as they darted into the woods. They circled back through the forest, Jennings with the learned stealth of fighting the Gael on a dozen different worlds with hundreds of different forest types, Fix with the learned skill of whatever the hell he had done before they met. The forest was cleared only around the very edge of the lake and where the dormitories had been built, so they were able to creep within sight of the building easily.

  “This is good,” Fix whispered.

  “All right, let’s get comfortable until nightfall,” Jennings replied, dropping with his back against a large oak, out of sight from anyone who might look out one of the building’s windows.

  Fix did the same. “Let’s hope Minerva’s on point,” he whispered after a moment.

  Jennings gave a thought to the computer system that had come with his ship. He had never seen an NAI like her, or like it, he corrected himself. Most ships had NAI central computers, but none seemed to have the intelligence or the emotional range that Minerva expressed. He had asked Minerva about it once and she had accused him of flattery, but had not commented anymore on the subject.

  “Minerva’s always on point,” he answered at last. Despite her only being a computer, Jennings still felt an attachment to her, as if she were a manifestation of the ship he loved so much, and he felt an obligation to defend her.

  “Whatever you say, captain,” Fix said quietly.

  2

  Fix never did talk much, so waiting until darkness and then another three hours until the thump of an overly loud bassline started hitting them was a long stretch of boredom. Jennings spent the time going over the plan in his mind. Snatch the kid. One point one miles to the music building. Fifteen minutes. Seventh floor. Password for admin would be hacked by Minerva once they got there. Two hours for him to wake-up. Then they had seven hours at best until someone would be looking for him. It was tight- hopefully the kid would be a pushover and Fix would not need to get nasty. Other than the war, Jennings’ nastiest memories involved watching Fix get desperately needed information out of someone who did not want to give it.

  “Party’s started,” Fix observed.

  “Give it a few more minutes,” Jennings commented. “We don’t want to be the first guests.”

  Fix grunted a reply.

  “You have the injector ready?” Jennings demanded.

  A stare from Fix essentially communicated a dozen curse words and an affirmation.

  “Just checking,” he clarified, holding up his hands in placation. Jennings took in another breath and said, “Okay, let’s move in.”

  The two of them stalked their way through the forest back to where they had jumped off the trail, waited until the coast was clear, and then walked back onto it about one hundred feet behind a group of seven girls, dressed to party. The music got louder as they approached, booming through an open double door. A dozen or so people were mingling outside, smoking dried fruit cigarettes, sipping beer from synthetic cups or just chatting up the few ladies who were out there. A beefy guy with a flattop and a badly fitting black suit stood outside the door with a tablet, checking names for the guys who wanted in. The seven girls in front of them he just waved right through.

  He stepped out in front of Jennings and demanded, “ID cards.” Once produced, he scanned them through his tablet, he shook his head and said menacingly, “Sorry, but you’re not on the list.”

  “Come on, man, we’re here to party,” Jennings replied in his most jocular, beer-addled tone.

  “You’re not on the list. You don’t party,” the security guard replied, stepping forward and staring up at Jennings. “Plus you brought your father with you,” he added, nodding toward Fix.

  Looking over at Fix himself, Jennings nodded and then accepted from him a small plastic bag no bigger than one inch by one inch. He leaned down to the security guard’s ear and said as he pressed the package into the man’s beefy hand, “We’re here to help the party if you know what I mean.”

  The guard eyed the small package in his hand and looked back to Jennings. “Reasonable rates. Satisfaction guaranteed,” Jennings continued with his sales pitch.

  “All right, come on,” the guard said, waving them through as another group of girls arrived behind them.

  Stepping into the darkness that lay beyond, Jennings immediately felt a migraine beginning to grow. The music throbbed through his skull painfully, colored lights and strobes danced like a horrible hallucinogen stinging his retinas, and a sea of drunken future leaders of the world thrashed about as if they were being hit
by some sort of stun gun. Fix nodded toward a bar that was situated toward the back of the room and Jennings dragged his feet forward until he was at a bar stool and seated.

  An interrogative glance from a goateed bartender prompted a response from Jennings of, “Anything. Fast.”

  “Hurting?” Fix asked in his ear, slipping him another one of the small plastic bags with a little green pill in it.

  “I’m not taking that,” he nearly shouted back.

  “It’s prosenipal,” Fix replied. “It reduces input from the senses, leaves you a little numb to all this chaos.”

  “That’s what you gave the kid up front?” he demanded.

  Fix snorted. “You could give one of these kids a breath mint and they would swear they were trippin’,” he replied.

  “Fine,” Jennings said, downing the pill with the shot of vodka that the bartender had thrown down in front of him. The cheap vodka burned badly, reminding Jennings of why he almost never drank.

  “No eyes on target,” Fix observed, looking around the room. “How the hell are we going to find him in here?”

  “Minerva,” Jennings whispered.

  “One moment, filtering out background noise,” Minerva’s voice said through the small earpiece Jennings was wearing. “Ah, hello, Captain. Enjoying the party?”

  “Cute,” he whispered back. Minerva had filtered out all the surrounding noise, so she could hear him quite easily even though Fix was hard pressed to. “What do you have?” he asked.

  “Satellite data show Mr. Clemmons left his dormitory apartment seven minutes ago. I convinced the satellite to lock onto his heat signature and I am currently tracking him at approximately thirty feet from your position,” she replied.

  Jennings scanned the room, feeling the pill Fix had given him alleviating the harsh burn of the lights and strobes and reducing the cacophony to a more controlled din. He spied Clemmons almost immediately- he was one of the only black members of this fraternity apparently. He was dancing with two women simultaneously. Jennings tapped Fix on the shoulder and jerked his head toward Clemmons. He nodded in reply and pulled out a small hypodermic injector, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand.