Aberrant

Chapter 11

Jinx pushed past Olsen, her mind racing as she exited the airlock onto A-Deck. No way had some pirate got his or her arse killed on a roach vessel, not as part of an offensive breach. They'd never have got on board.

So, what the hell had she found?

The basics she'd confirmed with her scanner. While the organic matter on her sleeve couldn't be officially identified, the flag it raised about warrants told her enough. The organic belonged to a sentient species that loved lawyers and its privacy enough to have set up bureaucratic protections. A few species in the Coalition fitted that bill, but only one of them leaked red biofluids.

She swore silently and tried not to think about what had happened to whoever had bled on the Xykeree's deck. Telling herself it had probably been some moron criminal didn't make her feel better. Before leaving the airlock, she'd checked the relevant sections of the Arterus Treaty. The Xykeree had to report any altercations with humans, and as far as she knew, the roaches were yet to mention killing or apprehending anyone during the attack on their vessel.

Dem appeared in her path, pulling her up short, Soh a step behind him, her leggy, overall-clad form towering over his squat hulk. "Tell me I can clear the bastard for repairs, before a damn riot starts."

Seeing his grumpy red face, Jinx felt her throat clog with the urge to dump everything on him: unidentified organic; blackout; looming personal crisis—the works. Dem considered the term 'slave driver' a compliment, but he looked after his own. From day one, he'd made it clear that included her. She owed him for that.

And that was just one more reason to swallow the words strangling her. Unloading her personal crap onto her friends would be unfair and pointless. Besides, further fainting spells aside, her problems were on hold—her resignation included. She wasn't letting Soh or anyone else on the barge until she knew what the hell was going on.

She dismissed Olsen and Rolli with a curt wave, but the look Olsen gave her as he strode away made it clear someone from Medical would be on her back very soon. Shit.

She got to the point. "No one is to go on board. Credible biological threat. And I mean no one." She shifted her attention from Dem to Soh. "The flesh-eating bastards want their ship fixed, they do it themselves. Advise and supply only."

Dem hissed out an oath. "What kind of damn threat?" He tried to grab her wrist com, but Jinx slapped his hands back.

"You'll get my report after I brief the techs."

"Damn it, Jinx—"

"Don't push me, Dem. Jesus, you frigging owe me for doing that inspection. You don't get to argue with my findings." She swung away, avoiding all further questions.

The gathering outside the airlock had grown. More armed Enforcement officers, more bureaucrats, more technicians and supply handlers, all with data pads and damp pits. Even better, a collection of intent faces now peered through the two-story viewing window near the public lifts. Sleazoid reporters and rubberneckers mingled with passengers and crew who'd had their flights delayed.

Jinx's jaw tightened. What she'd found wasn't for public consumption. She'd already had to misdirect Olsen and Rolli, telling them she'd bumped her nose when she'd fainted.

But the blood wasn't hers. She remembered finding it—just a few unnerving seconds of time—and her only injuries from the fall were a couple of banged up knees and a slight scrape on the back of her neck.

"Officer Koel!" A familiar, well-groomed figure pushed clear of the gathering as Jinx approached: Gia Smaith-Willis, Legal's senior hit woman. Dem swore, and Jinx had to concur. Even after five years on Tirus, the lawyer hadn't lost the suit and tight bun, nor realised rules were wishful thinking.