Aberrant

Chapter 15

Jinx stepped out into the furnace of Tirus 7's surface. Hundreds of ship engines roared overhead. The goggles on her suddenly sweat-beaded face adjusted to the harsh light, revealing a warren of blast walls, plex domes, and covered alleyways. Environmental systems whined, their fans and industrial-sized filters on nearly every wall. Cabling and vent networks ran over surfaces like vines. Behind her, the mammoth, mindboggling structure of the spaceport loomed, giving her and the surrounding ghetto, Level Zero, the precious gift of shadow.

Adjusting the respirator settings on her com, she took her first breath of native air. It was hot enough to desiccate her lungs. The budget breather strapped to her nose and mouth did the bare minimum to keep her alive, upping the O2 and adding a miserly percentage of H2O to stop her tongue cracking off and choking her.

Tugging the hood of her therm-pro low over her eyes, she didn't waste time setting tracks in the red earth. She had one hour of supplementary respiratory gases and a severe itch between her shoulder blades.

She kept her hand on the stunner strapped to her thigh as she dodged refuse and hanging wires, staying to the main street. An eclectic collection of individuals watched from doorways and alcoves, a few not even close to human. Naturally armoured Ha'Vokoeans, or 'Vok', reminiscent of Earth armadillos. Lizard-like Throls—Throleans—colourful, scaled aliens who walked upright and dressed like humans. But regardless of their origins, none looked happy to be on the surface. Pissy gazes gleamed behind tinted masks and goggles. Reflective coats and ponchos draped hunched forms, garments designed for the heat and unnervingly perfect when it came to concealing weapons.

The itch at the top of her spine crawled down her back along with perspiration. A glance behind her confirmed some of Zero's grime was sticking to her.

Getting to her destination would be her best defence.

At the end of the main street, sandblasted domes gave way to partially buried junk and dead spacecraft: the port's Boneyard. Between two jimmied scrubbers, she found what she was looking for: an old, class two void raider. Tatty tarpaulins covered the vessel's ravaged external systems, including a few drooping gun turrets.

Jinx eyed them as she approached. Numerous times in the course of her work, she'd intercepted illegal goods ordered in by the dwelling's owner. If half of what the bastard acquired on the black market was for personal use, most of the tech strapped to the old carcass would be operational.

She was proved right. The second she stepped up to the dwelling's hatch and reached for the door's dangling intercom, one of the turrets overhead squealed, angling toward her.

"Fuck off, port piglet." A voice as course as the planet's dirt scraped out of shorting speakers. "Ten seconds, then you're crispy fucking bacon."

Careful not to dislodge any exposed wires, Jinx lifted the com unit and glowered into what she assumed was its camera. "I catch you at a bad time, skeezoid?" She jerked up a hand. "No—don't tell me. Just put your damn pants back on or whatever."

"Bad time, good time... Try no fucking time. Not for your kind." A second turret adjusted its angle. "Got plenty of room in my recyce for your corpse, though, CI. Get off my fucking doorstep."

"Yeah, yeah. My dead body, your next bio-meal pack. Can we do this inside?" She glanced back to the shadows lurking at the ghetto's edges. "Or do I order an Enforcement raid to get this door open?"

"You got no basis for a warrant and fuck-all authority, baby pig."

"You're right. So, I'll do you a favour instead. I'll check on any equipment you've ordered recently, talk to your suppliers, and make sure all the correct forms have been filed. It's the least I can do. I wouldn't like you to accidentally—and for the third time this month—receive illegal goods, or anything."