Aberrant

Chapter 26

Jinx slumped in her seat, not giving two damns about her rented pinstriped skirt or the disapproving eyes watching her. The pastel elegance of Sky Landing's multi-floor conference facilities rose up around her. Military personnel, admin staff, and diplomats strode back and forth along the wide concourse, seemingly oblivious to the shadows guarding every meeting room and entry: military security.

After two days of spinning her wheels at the port, she'd finally been called up for her witness interview. But any hope of being 'paroled' by lunchtime had well and truly been nuked. Her skirt-clad arse had been laminated to a chair in a waiting area for an hour fifty and counting.

So much for deciding cooperation would be the quickest route to freedom.

She glanced up at the Atillian standing guard beside her: Crewman Quilok Cruse, an ugly wall of muscle in crisp, military black. "How about you draw your gun and put us both out of our misery, furball?"

The Atillian's response was typical: a flick of rust-red eyes that told her she wasn't worth wasting a bullet on. It had become clear over their days together that babysitting her—a puny human—insulted his breed and skill set.

She couldn't argue. Watching her eat, shop, and drown her sorrows in the port's bars had to suck.

Slumping further, she blew back the hair that had escaped her braid. The strands were black, no streaks of colour. Kaplan's curt message that morning had told her to dress "professionally". On Feuria, that meant 'retro-Earth' and insipid.

She eyed the mock pearl buttons on her blouse, then the baby-blue high heels at the end of her outstretched legs. Forget the waste of her time and the armed escort. Those shoes—rented for this meeting alone—were reason enough to put Kaplan back on her shit list.

And she had forgiven him for grounding her. She'd have done similar if someone had tried to screw with her on an investigation.

But understanding his decision didn't make it easier to live with.

Drumming her fingers on her chair's arm, she eyed the meeting room opposite. She wanted this over with. The restless drive to be elsewhere still had her by the throat. Along with that eerie sense of being out of step with the world.

Not a great sign for the future.

But there'd been no hallucinations since landing. No major recall glitches.

Just nightmares.

Pain and blood. Her screaming, trying to reach out. Finding only bodies: rotting flesh hooked up to med beds.

Or worse, finding nothing.

Drowning darkness.

The abyss.

Mouthing a curse, she pressed a hand to her brow. The dull headache she'd had for days showed no sign of shifting. The cocktails she'd downed the night before hadn't helped, but losing herself in the pulsing sea of bodies sweating it out in the local dance pits had seemed a good idea at the time. A much-needed distraction.

Taking one of those bodies home would've been an even better one. A way to avoid sleep. But Cruse's presence had killed her chances. His scarred brown face and cat stare could wither human gonads at fifty paces.

The Atillian wasn't the only one with that skill.

Uncomfortable recall flickered: Kaplan on the docks two days earlier. The void hound had been in a dangerous mood the last time she'd seen him, and according to his subordinates, he still wasn't feeling friendly. Petty Officer Fero had advised her to stay clear if she wanted to "stay intact". A warning she'd heeded. That first day, when Kaplan had slapped an armed escort on her, she'd fully expected to end up in a detention cell.

Instead, she'd got corporate accommodation, a temporary refugee allowance, and regular updates on the investigation and rescue efforts through his team. Kaplan hadn't left her to rely on the delayed and highly vetted footage the military fed to the media.

He'd been considerate, unexpectedly thoughtful.

She'd rather he'd locked her up—kept things simple and given her a target for her crappy mood. But if she read the man correctly, when he took responsibility for something or someone, there were no half measures.

Exactly what she didn't need.

Swallowing another oath, she shifted restlessly in her seat. She needed to forget the void hound. In a couple of hours, she wouldn't be his problem and vice versa. After the debriefing, she was gone. No hanging around Sky Landing to deal with follow-up questions.

Returning to Tirus 7 was starting to look like an actual option. The debris in low orbit had been mostly dealt with. The only settlement hit in the surface assault had been the main port, and its warren of old bunker tunnels and airlocks had allowed people to hide from the roach infantry and escape the neurotoxin. While the list of the confirmed dead grew daily, so did the list of survivors.

Dem's, Soh's, and Lenton's names were yet to appear on any list.

Stomach a tight ball, Jinx jiggled an idiotic high heel on her toes. No news could be good news. A lot of people were still unaccounted for. Many had fled off planet or out into the wastes.

But for those on the port's top deck, facing the brunt of the Xykeree attack, there wouldn't have been many escape routes. No doors to the surface. All lifts shut down. Stairwells filled with toxic air and panic. The only other way out, a dozen docked vessels right next to the Xykeree battle barge and the troops it had disgorged.

News footage flared behind her eyes: burnt-out ships and lines of body bags. That sense of cold darkness that seemed always with her now deepened. No light. Nothing within her grasp. No one—

"Jinsin Koel?" The sound of her name cut off the feeling of isolation and loss.

Blinking her way back to reality, she spotted a bald man in a tailored blue suit searching the crowd. It took her a second to register what his presence meant, the thud of her pulse all consuming. And nothing to do with the coming interview.

She knew what grief and worry felt like.

That void that had opened inside her days ago was starting to feel like something else.

The insides of a closed box. A trap.

And that sounded like irrationality and paranoia.

Her father's first symptoms.

She pushed to her feet. It was past time to get this done and get gone.

Before she lost her grip completely.