Aberrant

Chapter 44

A plain plex table. Two chairs. The not so distant rumble of ship engines priming for launch.

Jinx stumbled as she got pushed into the starkly furnished detention cell. Not one in the Silver Dawn's brig. An interview room in the back offices of a docking bay's terminal. A room for problem travellers. Her duffle bag, retrieved from Kaplan's cabin, sat just inside the door.

Her escorts, Officers Landon and Pi'akk, according to their ID badges, shoved her abused body down onto a chair. The shorter of the two men, Landon, held up a warning finger when she would've scrambled to her feet. "Get comfortable. You've got a quarter of an hour wait."

"For what?" The basics she could guess. She wanted the ugly details.

Landon slipped off her restraints. "Your transport off ship has been arranged."

"By whom?" Shau's cold gaze flashed to mind. "And to frigging where?" The void?

Landon checked his wrist com as he and his colleague moved to the door. "Destination is noted as Sky Landing. The docking authorisation came from one Lieutenant Commander R.N. Kaplan."

Relief unlocked Jinx's spine. Kaplan had wangled something. But had he crossed Shau to do it? Had he bought himself more trouble? Jinx's heart thudded harder. Maybe he didn't care if he had. God, was he okay?

She pushed to her feet. "I need to talk with the lieutenant commander."

Landon spared her an impatient glance then looked to his com. "His status is 'offline'. Wait here until your escort off ship arrives."

"Hang—" The room's door slid shut in her face. The beep of an electronic lock activating set her teeth. "Shit."

Wrenching back her hair, she paced the room, her thoughts spinning at high warp. Kaplan couldn't have found out about the med implant yet; he'd never have sent her off ship with unknown chems possibly in her system. Channing would eventually update him, after she'd conducted her tests. But only if Kaplan was still functional, not sliding into a goddamn coma.

"Fuck." Jinx pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn't think about that. She'd beat her head bloody on a wall. The Xykeree. She needed to focus on those bastards, figure out why they'd drugged her and with what. What had really happened when she'd blacked out on the barge? She remembered so little.

Yet her inspection docs said she'd covered the whole ship.

"Ah, shit." The cyborg arseholes had knocked her out to fudge her report and stop her seeing too much. They'd probably planned to take her out—trigger the implant—the second she wasn't needed anymore. If things hadn't gone to hell at the port, if Kaplan hadn't hauled her arse clear...

Damn it. She needed to talk to Kaplan, clue him in, and find out what his status was.

She swung back to the door, stared out its narrow window. Nothing. No one. An empty corridor. There'd been people wandering about a few minutes ago. Now, when she needed help, to get a message out...

Fuck. She slammed her hand against the bulkhead beside her. Heaving in a breath, she fought for calm, pressed her forehead against the window's cool, reinforced plex.

Kaplan would contact her when she hit the surface. This wasn't him cutting her loose. Regardless of his personal feelings or situation, the simple fact was she knew too much about his alterant kind. More threats needed to be made. Over-the-top nondisclosure agreements had to be signed—probably in blood—before she got her life back.

She shoved away from the door, winced as the move set off her headache. Too much adrenaline on top of the stun bolt she'd taken. The hum of the Silver Dawn's systems became a throb, uncomfortable pressure at her temples. Her tinnitus flared, dizziness with it. Cursing, she reached out to brace herself—

Pain lanced behind her eyes.

Then detonated. Hot, blinding agony.

She barely saw the deck rush up to meet her, didn't feel the impact. It felt like her brain was tearing open.

Black claws piercing, rending.

The image drowned under an agonising flood of recall. Her nightmares: screams and wasted bodies. Real events: her strapped to a diagnostic bed, Zio Tarak staring down at her; her wrapped around Kaplan, breathless and desperate. Remembered conversations poured through the torrent, a thousand garbled voices. Her talking to Channing, to Kaplan.

The cascade accelerated. Memories haemorrhaged—ripped her mind apart.

A choked off scream. Hers. No dream.

A slide into darkness.

*

Awareness returned what felt like a decade later and with a high-pitched ringing. Jinx groaned, nausea rolling through her. She felt beaten—mauled. Goddamn it. What the hell?

Gritting her teeth, she forced open her eyes. Her head shrieked. Her vision swam.

Grey plex tiles.

She was face down on the deck.

She'd blacked out.

Again.

Flashes of memory returned. Fear clawed up her windpipe, black talons like those her sick mind had conjured. For a moment, reality narrowed to her heartbeat, to her rasping breath, to the pain hammering her skull. She fought to think—not slide back into the dark.

Things had been getting bad; she'd known that. The restlessness. The glitches. Her dreams had become dark worlds of torment. Her hallucination the night before had been a vision of self-destruction. Her recall cascades had grown violent and disorienting. But this last one...

Her brain felt lacerated. She swore she could weep blood.

She couldn't keep doing this.

And wouldn't.

Enough was fucking enough. Hands clenching on the deck, she drew in a shuddering breath. With the world and her gut still revolving, she eased onto her knees and braced a shoulder against the bulkhead beside her. Time to deal. Denial was no longer an option.

She slid back her jacket's sleeve to access her hobbled com. If Kaplan could face his health issues, so could she. Maybe they'd swap notes later, then get terminally blasted in one of Sky Landing's bars.

Hysteria threatened to bubble up over that flash of cynical humour. She closed her eyes, then brought up the second DNA analysis Cryver had given her: "Bio-source B—contaminant". Her DNA, from the shirt Callan Tarak's blood had soaked into. She'd kept the report, knowing she'd need hard facts sooner or later.

Her screen lit up with the file's contents. A DNA analysis of—

Her abrupt scowl set off a fresh stab of pain. There were two reports. One for Loni Alectra Koel; another for Ollyus—

She snarled as she saw her parents' names. The pounding in her head became a savage drum as she read the 'helpful' note Cryver had left her.

Frigging extortion. Pure void shit.

The skeezoid had said he'd make her regret not paying him. He hadn't lied.

Not about that.