A rearing, segmented body. A screaming face cast in metal.
Jinx stumbled back, almost dropping her scanner. Olsen and Rolli fell back with her, cursing. The whine of panic-induced tinnitus momentarily drowned all thought. Then her brain re-engaged.
"Don't raise your weapons," she ordered breathlessly.
More movement—high in the corridor. Multiple feet. Multiple life forms.
Their welcoming party had arrived.
And with it, the resonance of an approaching storm.
The electric hum in the corridor increased, crawling across her scalp. She had to fight to stop her heart rate going terminal as a weird pressure built at her temples and more images of death skipped through her mind; nasty, meaty ones she could not recall the origin of.
Gut going loose, she struggled against competing urges: to run or be ill. Instinct warred with knowledge. As adrenaline surged, she battled to remember that the crawling things in the dark with her—on the walls, on the roof—were rational beings, not mindless predators. Even the freakish thing perched on a panel mere metres from her, looking like a visual commentary on torment, was an intelligent being. The roaches had signed a treaty with five other sentient species. They were at the port because they needed assistance, not because they needed a human to snack on.
Even knowing that, she found herself calculating the time it would take to reach, open, and re-enter the airlock behind her.
Ten seconds max.
Way too long.
Olsen summed things up on a low breath: "Fuck."
The ghoulish exoskeleton hovering over them rotated its artificial eyes toward the officer. Jinx willed Olsen to stay still and quiet. The cyborg above them was a twisted mix of insectoid and humanoid morphology. A composite-plated abdomen hunkered between four multi-jointed legs, but the exskel's thorax mimicked a desiccated human torso. The archives in her mind gave her a name for it: an andropod. A rare Xykeree exoskeleton, first seen during the Arterus peace negotiations. It was believed the aliens had created the form to facilitate communication with anthropoid species like humans and their genetically engineered alterant offshoots.
Staring at it, Jinx decided she'd have preferred a bug exskel to liaise with. The andropod's earless humanoid skull was harshly metallic, a stark contrast to its light-absorbing body. Two clusters of sensors formed large eyes but sat too high to look human. Where a mouth of some sort should have been, an oval hole gaped, its purpose not immediately clear.
The overall effect was a screaming, silver mask.
Under it, two robotic forelimbs curled, their three-digit hands clasped, as if the creature within the tech pleaded or contemplated prayer. Those hands, that mask... They made Jinx's insides clutch, made her wonder what kind of expressions the Xykeree usually saw on human faces.
She chose not to follow that thought.
The andropod took a slow step down the wall, its movements a sly slide of lubricated mechanisms. Olsen jerked up his rifle, and Jinx had to move back and grab his arm to stop him doing something understandable but totally stupid. Rolli stood motionless, transfixed by the nightmare creeping towards him, his weapon aimed at the deck.
The andropod stepped down from the wall to stand little more than a metre away. Its attention, too, was clearly fixed.
On Olsen. On his quivering rifle.
Jinx tightened her hold on the officer's arm. The Xykeree's expression might have been a frozen mask, but it was easy enough to read. The alien inside the disturbing tech was assessing its human visitors and deciding how to greet them.
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.
Her temper instantly cooled with the recalled image. Thoughts of the past war and of the thousands of people at the port pushed everything else to the periphery. The alien in front of her needed to be dealt with. Calmly. After that, she was getting clear. She'd been wrong; she wasn't even a passable choice for this inspection.
When she finally found a thread of voice, she did what she could to emulate the alien's inhuman calm. "If the hive wishes to negotiate new landing conditions, we will disembark and request that the Port Authority contact you to alter your arrangement with them."
"Noncompliance is hostile action. Delay is hostile action." The laser weapon's muzzle moved in as the alien took a step closer, making Jinx jump then reassert her hold on Olsen. "Comply or all agreements will be void."
Hostile what? Fear prickled like hives. Suddenly, she had to consider the alien's rationality. The roaches were in a hurry—obviously—and she could appreciate why, but the andropod's logic was absurd. As for that "all agreements will be void" comment... Images of mass death flickered in her head once more.
It was time to back the hell up. Whatever was twisting up the Xykeree's cyborg circuitry was above her damn pay grade.
"How about we just say the inspection was done?" She dragged Olsen a step closer to the exit. "My associates and I can complete the necessary documentation in the airlock on our way out. The repairs to your vessel will start immediately. Parts can be delivered via airlocks to avoid any safety issues related to your unvetted environment. Any waste materials will remain on your vessel. You will be able to leave the port as soon as your ship is spaceworthy."
It was a generous offer—one that would land her in hot water. She was overstepping her authority by a light year, but what the hell. She was probably going to quit her job soon anyway, and Dem wasn't a complete idiot. Ultimately, no one in management would have a problem with the Xykeree leaving quickly and peacefully.
However, the thoughtfulness of her offer seemed lost on the alien in front of her. The andropod did not lower its weapon. Its stare continued to bore into her. The odd electrical hum in the corridor changed subtly as the uncomfortable moment drew out, raising more hairs and increasing the tension at her temples. In her right hand, her scanner's screen blinked, notifying her of a fluctuation in the chemical composition of the air.
A couple of facts surfaced from her haemorrhaging mental archives: a number of species communicated using pheromones, and it was believed the Xykeree had some form of hive mind they'd enhanced with tech. Maybe the alien was considering her proposal. Maybe it was even discussing it with someone further up its hierarchy—some creature skulking about in the darkness.
The idea made her flesh creep. It brought home just how alien the Xykeree were. That otherness unnerved her more than the photonic in her face. She was used to weapons being drawn on her. Plenty of Tirus 7's regulars thought intimidation was part of port routine. But she understood human motives and actions, and usually knew when to act and when to let things slide. She couldn't really read the Xykeree. Artificial bodies and alien physiology were one problem, undisclosed motivations another. All she could do was pray that logic ruled whatever passed for a Xykeree brain.
The aliens had signed the Arterus Treaty for good reasons—like gaining transiting rights for the hyperspace axes in Coalition Space. The gateways linked distant systems, increasing resource and trade opportunities. Many people believed the Xykeree's desire to access the gates—to extend their hunting grounds—had been a primary reason for the war. If that were true, the roaches wouldn't risk losing that access over a minor port dispute.
Nor would they risk actual hostilities, though Jinx doubted her death—that of a backworld port employee—would be enough to restart the conflict. The Formation War was so named because of the multi-species cooperative that had been born from it: the Coalition. Over the years, other sentient groups had joined the original five member species, expanding their battle-scarred territories into eleven expansive, well-resourced star sectors. The Coalition's military now had few rivals.
The roaches would not want any trouble.
After a moment, the andropod dropped its weaponised arm and returned to its unnerving pleading pose. "Worker, proceed. Fifteen Earth-standard minutes."
That was not what Jinx wanted to hear. She wanted off the ship; she wanted the Xykeree gone—lost back in the void. The aliens had to be keen on that plan, too. Why the hell had they turned down her offer? It was a great offer.
But that was only half of the bad news delivered in that one emotionless statement. That term 'worker'...
Trepidation snarled up her intestines.
She glanced at Olsen, willing him not to do something brainless, even as she fought to stay calm herself. She wanted to believe she'd misunderstood, but her gut told her she had it right. "I don't think it's referring to you and Rolli."
Olsen shot her a confused look. "What?"
"You're armed, not a 'worker'. You need to stay here."
"No fucking wa—"
The officer's protest cut off as that weaponised arm jerked up again—swiftly this time. No games.
Jinx flinched. The threat... This time, it felt like more than the usual posturing she got prior to an inspection. That promise to void all agreements, maybe it covered more than just landing arrangements.
The idea brought the taste of nausea. But it also echoed with the paranoia and fear that had been clawing at her for weeks. For the first time ever, she hoped she was just losing her mind.