Aberrant

Chapter 5

With open robotic arms or deadly force.

Jinx was very sure she did not want to leave the decision up to the roach and Olsen.

"Customs Inspector Jinsin Koel." Her words sounded abrupt, scraped from a tight throat. "I'm here to inspect this vessel, as stipulated in the landing agreement your hive has entered into with the local Port Authority."

The exskel's head smoothly reoriented itself. That unnerving sense of assessment shifted to her, along with a stare as soulless as the gleaming tech that formed it. Nightmare images started to flit about the edges of her consciousness once more.

After a moment, the purpose of the cyborg's screaming maw became clear.

"Fifteen Earth-standard minutes." The announcement was jarring—hollow and distorted, as if it were delivered through deep piping rather than out of some form of translator unit embedded in the thing's shiny skull. "Worker to proceed. Ship clearance for repairs and disembarkment priority."

Jinx let that message sink in. Fifteen minutes. It was giving her fifteen minutes for an inspection of a class four vessel, a ship of medium-to-large tonnage with a crew capacity potentially in the hundreds.

Flesh-eating alien arthropods, it seemed, were like everyone else when it came to customs inspections.

Arseholes.

That knowledge righted her world a few degrees, easing the passage of air to her lungs. The scenario was familiar despite the creepy setting and players: an impatient crew wanting to interfere with her job. That was normal, expected. And there'd been no mention of breaking her body tissues down in a predigestion chamber. That, she could work with.

Conscious of Olsen's bunched muscles under her hand, she gave the alien her standard reply to crew who tried to impose limits on her inspections, minus the cuss words. "You might like to review that time allocation, given the dimensions of your vessel. There are also forms to fill out that will require more time."

A robotic forelimb unfurled before her in response, its three-digit hand swinging downward as the limb extended. It was a graceful transition, unhurried and nearly silent. Once completed, the action revealed a metal tube fixed along the exskel's forearm.

The tech was distinctive. Instantly recognisable.

The barrel of a laser-based weapon.

Any other words of diplomacy turned to dust in Jinx's throat.

Fortunately, disbelief or fear also held Olsen and Rolli in place.

No shots were fired.

For a long moment, three stunned primates stared at a textbook example of cold-blooded arthropodal aggression.

Jinx kept her fingers clamped on Olsen's arm, but as the seconds passed, each measured by multiple heartbeats, she felt her shock morph into something hotter and less tidy than fear. Her day wasn't even an hour old and she already had a fully pumped laser weapon pointed at her head. She had nightmares crawling through her skull thanks to a shitty genetic defect, and she was probably going to lose her mind in the not too distant future. Her alternative? A cure as debilitating as the affliction. Brain regen therapy was a hard reboot that corrupted data. Her father had gone from raving madman to zombie overnight. He'd since regained his higher brain functions, but was no longer the man who'd raised her.

Maybe getting her brain lased by a roach wouldn't be such a bad outcome.

Rubble. Burnt bodies. Lightning in a grainy photo: electrolasers discharging across a ruined street.