by Vann, Gregg
The huge planet dominated the sky, its vibrant colors starkly contrasted by the pale grey surface of the moon itself. Clouds of swirling gases, many kilometers long, slowly played across its bright surface, their serene appearance conveying nothing of the turbulent atmosphere in which they roamed. I could see why Evans chose this place for her home, it was beautiful. A peaceful hideaway distant from the usual travel lanes—far away from a hectic galaxy always in a state of flux—sometimes violently so.
Well it had been peaceful anyway.
Stinson bounced across the moon’s barren surface to confer with the onsite commander while I crossed the short distance to the downed ship—eager to get started on this new challenge, a new mystery. The shallow impressions made by my footsteps joined those of the soldiers that had arrived earlier.
As I strode up to the flyer, I was struck by its unnatural position resting on the side of its fuselage. The sleek, elegant ship was about ten meters long, with a transparent canopy running its full length. I recognized it as the type that could be rendered opaque on demand to provide privacy for the occupants. The hull of the craft was bright silver, but the sheen was now muted by dust kicked up when the nearby Sector ships landed.
The scene looked very much like a simple crash—like dozens I’d seen over the years. That was until I got close enough to peer inside and see the body. I leaned over the side of the ship and into the cockpit, running my hand scanner over the pilot’s corpse to look for anything unusual. Unfortunately, I didn’t discover any hidden information or surprises. Other than the obvious cause of death, and damage to the body from exposure to vacuum, everything seemed normal.
A normal murder, I mused
I looked back over my shoulder to see Stinson talking to the entire group of personnel on scene—gathering a thorough report I assumed—then I grabbed the canopy edge and hopped up into the flyer. For a small ship, it was spacious and opulent, easily seating eight people. The fine layer of dust made things slippery, and I had to tread carefully on the side wall to keep from falling.
I searched meticulously, slowly making my way to the back of the ship, but found nothing out of sort. No blood or telltale debris, no signs of a struggle, nothing at all.
When I reached the cargo hold, I discovered a complete set of travel luggage left untouched. I also found a small handbag and bent over to pick it up. Inside, were Val Evan’s identity documents, currency from several different planets, and one of the highest limit credit rings in the entire galaxy. Whoever wore that ring could probably buy a ship just like this, simply by waving the ringed finger through a vendor’s purchase grid.
I’d never imagined that this kidnapping was about money, and this evidence was just further confirmation. Hell, it must have cost a small fortune just to Transit out this far to abduct Evans. In fact, it must have cost a large fortune.
What the hell was really going on here?
The emergency pressure suits were located next to the cargo hold—unsurprisingly, one of them was missing. They must have lazed the pilot through the canopy, forcing Evans to suit up as the oxygen leaked out of the tiny, precision hole. Even if the canopy’s self-sealing material did stop the leak in time, where could she run? She had no choice but to put on the suit and go with them.
I worked my way back to the front of the craft to download the ship’s flight data, stepping on the arm rests of the red, thickly padded seats this time. But when I got to the console, the pad failed to synch; the craft was completely powerless. Well that’s odd,” I thought. I’d need to plug directly into the console and use the pad’s own internal power supply to fire up the panel.
The pilot’s body was blocking the connector port, held tightly in the seat by his safety straps. I struggled to undo the buckles—pinned between him and the control panel—but eventually got them loose, then used my helmet communicator to call two of the security men over to transfer the body to the Babylon. He was nearly weightless, but it still proved a chore to wiggle his large frame out of the cockpit.
After retrieving what information I could from the ship’s systems, I contacted Stinson—telling him to go ahead and call in the waiting orbital tug. It had been maintaining position overhead, ready to pick up the stricken craft and take it back to the residence dome for a closer inspection.
I wanted to do a complete forensic analysis in an atmosphere—so we could crawl over every inch of the ship looking for clues to what happened. There had to be something here. There was always something.
Watching the tug start its descent, I climbed out of the flyer and headed back to a safe distance. The engineers swarmed out of the tug, their yellow clad forms lightly falling to the surface. They fastened four lines to the flyer, placed strategically so that the ship would right itself when lifted from the moon’s surface. Apparently, one of the lines had a power connection, because the ships navigational lights flickered then came on.
As the pilotless craft rose to finish the final leg of its journey, I saw the landing gear remotely activate. Once they got it back to the dome, all they would need to do is gently set it down.
Stinson and his security force boarded the Babylon as I followed closely behind them. I turned back to take one last look at the flyer as it moved away, its small form framed by the grid-work of the much larger tug. I silently mouthed: What happened? Where is she?
I knew better than to wait for an answer.
Chapter Two
I couldn’t find anything useful in the ship’s logs; the records detailed an uneventful flight, ending suddenly with a total power outage—so very close to home. The shutdown disabled the recording equipment along with everything else, leaving no evidence about what happened next. But I knew it wouldn’t be that easy; it never is.
I lowered my pad and rubbed my eyes, watching as the residential dome grew larger in the shuttle’s forward view screen. Even though the light filters were active, making the dome’s shield opaque, I could still make out the faint shapes of the large buildings inside. We’d left the Babylon floating at station behind us, transferring to this smaller craft capable of landing inside the structure.
A personal dome…incredible. Entire planets pooled their collective wealth to enclose inhospitable terrain and make it safe for human habitation, but no single person in history had built a private dome like this—no one, except for Val Evans. Then again, she did own this entire solar system, of which this moon was only a tiny fraction.
There were six other planets that could be settled or mined—even sold outright for a tremendous profit—but they remained as they had for millions of years, untouched by human exploration or intervention. The only people for light years in any direction lived in this dome.
I turned off the pad and folded it into quarters, forming a small, thin square that fit into my holster—right next to the weapon that had saved my life on numerous occasions. I’d always said that those two items were all I ever needed in the field. The pad gave me unlimited access to information, communications, and wealth; the TAC pistol provided the coercion necessary to open any doors the pad couldn’t. I’d yet to find myself in a situation where sufficient firepower or the right information couldn’t solve the problem.
“Breth Evans will be waiting for us in the hanger,” Stinson offered. He was sitting across from me in a jump seat. “I let her know we were on the way in.”
I looked down at the flyer pilot’s corpse, brought over from the Babylon. It was lying on the floor in a black body bag with blue Sector markings. Hopefully, I thought, we can get some justice for you as well as finding Miss Evans.
“Can she explain any of this?” I asked.
“Not much I’m afraid, we’ve spoken at some length while arranging for the security and retrieval crews. She seems just as puzzled as we are.”
We passed through the permeable part of the dome and into the artificial atmosphere, and I felt the gravity increase. My ears popped as the shuttle matched the dome’s internal pressure. Blue and white light st
reamed in through the windows, replacing the grey and black that so dominated the environment outside the dome. I looked out to see a fake sun emitting real light.
My mission brief explained that the dome’s exterior collected light from the system’s star, and then re-processed it, projecting it throughout the interior of the structure from an emitter mimicking Sol’s size, heat and proximity to Earth. The system was so efficient, that it even gathered and repurposed the light reflected off the gas giant.
At “night”, the dome became completely transparent, revealing the stars and planets above as if the buildings were open to space. The transition was timed to simulate Earth’s 24 hour rotational “day”; home away from home I speculated. Except that Evans wasn’t even from Earth, but this far out from humanity’s ancestral planet, so few were.
The shuttle touched down and the door slid open, a ramp extending out from underneath the ship to provide a wide walkway. The security detail stood aside, allowing Stinson and myself to exit first.
At the bottom of the ramp stood a tall, slender woman with long red hair, hanging loosely around her shoulders. Despite the dome’s private sun, her skin was pale, almost luminous really. Breth Evans I assumed; her beauty almost matched her sister’s.
It’s a testament to how striking a figure she was, that I was halfway down the ramp before I noticed she had two companions. On either side of her stood…it couldn’t be… my god, they were Sentients.
I came to a complete stop, my hand instinctively reaching for my TAC pistol. I’d travelled the galaxy from one end to the other, for almost a hundred and fifty years, and I’d never been this close to one. No one had and lived to tell about it. Yet here were two.
They were roughly humanoid in form, and well over two meters tall; their jet-black skin peppered with silver flecks that sparkled in the abundant light. Old rumors held that their skin absorbed light energy to power their mechanical components, but like almost everything else we knew about them, it was pure speculation.
They both had obvious mechanical components—their eyes in particular—but it was impossible to know how much was man and how much was machine. No. Not man, they were genderless from what we knew. They wore no clothing, and had no observable genitalia.
Some scientists were certain that the Sentients were a silicon-based life form, that their mechanical features were a process of natural evolution. Others scoffed at this hypothesis, arguing that they were simply cyborgs who mutilated themselves by adding electronic devices to their flesh.
Nodding in their direction, Stinson said under his breath, “Those weren’t here before.” He couldn’t hide the wonder in his voice.
I performed a quick tactical evaluation; Breth’s demeanor was relaxed, she was smiling even—in the background, hangar workers went about their normal business as if everything was just fine. But this whole situation made no sense. My instincts were telling me it was safe—but to stay alert just in case. I removed my hand from the holster and resumed walking to the bottom of the ramp. Though not an easy feat, I ignored the Sentients and introduced myself to Breth.
“Commander Benjamin Malik, Miss Evans. Special Inquisitor. I believe you already know Captain Stinson.” They shared a look of recognition.
“I’m honored, Commander.” She turned to her left, gracefully waving a hand toward the Sentient standing there. “This is Del Radis of the Free Sentient Alliance,” she repeated the same practiced gesture on the other side, “And this is Wos Rendel of the same.” I nodded at each in turn, but they made no outward signs of acknowledgment. Stinson’s men came down the ramp carrying the pilot’s body, lightly placing it on the hangar floor.
“Your sister’s pilot, I’m afraid. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Oh Bev,” she said, looking down at the body bag. “He has been in our service for at least 50 years, Commander, like family really. We will bury him here; add him to the dome’s ecology. Bev would have liked that, I think.”
Gratefully, Stinson broke the growing silence. “Pardon me, Miss Evans; I’d like to send this detachment to secure the hanger where your sister’s ship is being delivered.”
“Of course, Captain. Anything you require.” She beckoned to one of the dome’s personnel and he rushed over to her side. “Show them the way,” she directed.
“Yes, Miss Evans,” he replied, then began walking out of the hangar.
Stinson waved the security team off, reflexively returning their salutes as they departed. The Sentients abruptly turned and followed them out.
“They wish to observe your investigation, Commander. They were working with my sister on a matter of great importance to the Alliance. As you can see, they are very distraught be her disappearance.”
“To be frank, Miss Evans, I can’t tell what they think or feel,” I admitted.
She looked at me curiously for a moment, then her face shifted in understanding. “Forgive me, Commander, their expressions are quite subtle. I’ve gotten used to their presence around here lately and I think I’m actually beginning to take them for granted. I remember what it was like when I first met them, so I do understand your confusion.”
So the Sentients had been here awhile? Interesting.
“There are probably less than a hundred humans that have ever interacted with them, Miss Evans, and most of those died.”
She laughed. “I admit that our history with them hasn’t been a stellar one. I would be happy to explain everything I know about them over dinner…if your schedule allows?” Her eyebrows rose in anticipation of an answer.
“I’d be honored,” I said. “I have a few things to ask you about your sister’s disappearance anyway, and scheduling it over dinner would kill two birds with one stone. First, however, we need to examine her ship.”
“Of course.” She held out her open hand, palm forward, and pressed it into mine.
“Until then,” I said, and she turned to walk away.
Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled, “You can reach me using any console in the dome.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Once she was out of earshot, Stinson looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “I think she likes you, Ben.”
“I think she probably has access to a lot of useful information.”
“She has everything now,” Stinson replied. “With her sister gone, it is her moon.”
“Hmmmm,” I agreed. “There is that.”
She stood to inherit everything if Val never returned, and even though Breth didn’t seem the type to organize a kidnapping, it was far too early to discount anyone’s involvement in her sister’s disappearance.
Two workmen waiting to dispose of Bev’s body read Breth’s departure as a signal to put the corpse on a floatpad and take it away. I took a final look at the black bag as they hefted it up, and something in my gut—an intuition forged from years of experience—told me that this wouldn’t be the last dead body we saw before this case was resolved.
*****
Val’s ship seemed much larger upright and perched on its landing gear, but it was still incredibly small for a starship. Most Transit-capable craft were large commercial carriers or passenger liners; something this size was a rarity outside the military. The fact that it was the only ship in the large hangar, placed right in the middle of the open area, only added to the perception.
According to the preliminary information—relayed to me when I was assigned the case—Evans was on a personal trip to undisclosed locations. When she returned, the system’s automated monitoring station recorded her ship dropping out of Transit near the planet, then followed her unimpeded progress to the moon.
Her pilot had contacted the dome and given them an ETA, but when they hadn’t arrived, and didn’t respond to any attempts at communication, Breth sent people out to look for the ship. What they found prompted an urgent call to Sector Security, and my hasty journey to the remote moon.
The ship was now surrounded by Stinson’s security force—t
he engineers standing outside the perimeter waiting to begin dissecting the ship. The Sentients stood silently on either side of the craft, positioning themselves so they could watch everything.
“Go ahead and get started,” I said to the small assembly. “If you find anything, anything at all, call me over immediately.”
They moved their tools into position, some hand-held, others on floatpads, and started removing the ship’s skin panels, exposing the systems underneath. I turned my attention to Stinson. “What do we know about this boat, Jeff?”
“Quite a bit actually. It’s only three years old, top of the line of course, and has been very well maintained. In fact, it just went through its annual recertification at Harrakan Station.”
He pulled out his pad and typed in a few commands. “I’ve requested the service records, but they haven’t come in yet.”
“Shifty place that,” I said. “I’m surprised she didn’t go to Elisial for the annual; much better service, and fewer undesirable elements.”
“I agree. According to her sister, she was there on other business, and took advantage of the opportunity to have the maintenance done as well.”
Stinson anticipated my next question. “And no, she doesn’t know what Val was doing there. I already asked.”
I gazed over at the Sentients—intently watching the engineering crew—their heads moving slowly side to side as they scanned the activity. “That makes sense I suppose.” I covertly pointed my elbow at one the Sentients, “What do you know about them?”
“As much as anyone else I guess. An extremely ethnocentric, biomechanical race, whose intense xenophobia usually, thankfully, keeps them behind The Verge. Physically strong and rather emotionless—if history is any guide. Their hatred of humanity made even more dangerous by their advanced military and technological capabilities.”
