Aberrant

Chapter 3

A mindless rock tune looped through Jinx's thoughts as she stepped into Dock 12's airlock. A distraction as necessary as air. Fatigue and nerves continued to screw with her recall. A disjointed movie threatened to run behind her eyes: old war documentary footage liberally sprinkled with scenes from horror movies and her recent dreams.

All of it was bloody.

It made her regret the alcohol she'd imbibed the night before, queasiness joining the throb in her skull. Letting Dem talk her into another shift had probably been a mistake. Sleep deprived and distracted, she wasn't in the best shape to handle a high-priority inspection. But that damn dream she'd woken from had left her edgy and needing to move.

Shrieking alarms, fire.

Remembered panic tightened her throat.

Shaking it off, she glanced back to the crowd milling outside the airlock. Maybe she should hand the job off to another CI. Or maybe not. Even with a head full of junk, she was still a better choice for this inspection than many of her colleagues. For a start, she wasn't armed and under the influence of an illegal substance, standard operating procedure in the 'mine pops' of StarSec Four. A human territory for two hundred years prior to the Coalition's formation and home to humanity's origin planet, Earth, the sector was still mainly populated by brainless apes.

Eyeing the battered plex of the airlock's sealed external door, she slumped a shoulder against one wall. Fatigue and unwanted recall were just the start of the issues she had with this assignment. Following standard protocols with a foreign military vessel was as good as pointless. The aliens weren't smugglers, drug runners, or even taxpayers.

And thanks to storm delays and malfunctioning satellite tech, a ship full of roaches would only be the start of the day's pain.

She pressed fingers to the ache between her eyes. She should have told Dem where to 'file' this job assignment first thing, maybe even her job in general.

Not a new idea.

Closing her eyes, she blocked another rush of disturbing images and thought of everywhere else she'd rather be. The itch to move on had been building for a while. Finding a new backworld hole to fall into seemed like a good idea. Tirus 7 had only ever been a stopping off point. There was nothing she couldn't walk away from—not her job, this inspection, her friends...

It would be better if she left now. The way things were going...

Bad dreams would soon be the least of her problems.

The clomping of boots behind her stopped that unsettling line of thought. Opening her eyes, she looked over her shoulder.

Her escorts, Olsen and Rolli, strode into the chamber, face shields down, rifles propped against their shoulders. A jab of an impatient finger—Olsen's—sealed the officers in with her. With a shrill beep, the airlock started its atmospheric analysis cycle.

Jinx focused on the ceiling, actively ignored her company.

Unfortunately—predictably—a wall of beige armour inserted itself in front of her.

Olsen.

Looking up through a few wayward strands of hair, she found dirt-brown eyes on her; hostile gleams within a scarred helmet.

"You weren't supposed to be working today, freak." The big officer bared metal-capped teeth and leaned in, bringing perspiration-soured armour way too close. "This ain't your shift, and this sure as shit ain't no job for a runt pu'ta."

Jinx suppressed her first response. Olsen, like most on Tirus, was a product of a mine-corp workers' hostel. To geniuses like him, anyone with an IQ over one hundred was a freak and all weaker beings were whores, bitches—or pu'ta. As for the "runt" comment, she couldn't argue with it. Sickly kids didn't grow in communities that prioritised recreational stimulants over food and healthcare. The officer wasn't the only one who'd been raised in a backworld mongrel pit.