Jinx's nerves wound as she disembarked the surface-to-orbit shuttle. A vast cavern of tech opened up around her. An in-ship docking bay. Beyond the plex and force fields that protected the shuttle dock from the bay's thin atmosphere, landing and departing shuttles moved in a computer-controlled dance, along with two squadrons of sleek drone fighters. A class three Night Viper cruiser, a ship designed for a crew of around one hundred, crouched by one massive bulkhead, a giant bird of prey submitting to the indignity of maintenance.
And insignificant next to the vessel housing it.
The Silver Dawn. A class eight military population ship; the base for multiple Coalition battleships, political leaders, and diplomats. Home to over a hundred thousand souls.
A slick metal and polymer world.
Jinx drew in a breath, tasted air disinfectants and aviation by-products. Those, at least, were familiar. But little else was. The tech around her gleamed, and the bay's operations were as polished. Nothing like the controlled chaos of Tirus 7's port or any of the pop ships she'd lived on. For the first time on a vessel, she felt like she was inside a massive machine, not a crate filled with sentient livestock.
Following Kaplan and his team, she moved through the dock's passageway and out into the arrivals terminal. The organic machinery of the ship became apparent: busy military personnel and ship operations staff. Elegant civilians strutted among them, moving through transit checks, luggage bots nipping at their heels. Many weren't human. Vok, Throls, and more obscure life forms. Ogleans—carpets of black tentacles. Guodoans or 'Gooies', slug-like amphibians with red, bulging eyes.
Jinx skirted their designer luggage, gripping the strap of her cheap duffle. On this ship, she was the alien, not the Gooies and Ogs. She should've stuck to her original plan for the evening: cruising the port bars for outgoing crews. Accompanying Kaplan would no doubt turn out to be a mistake. Instead of vodka shots and bawdy propositions, she'd get more elitist attitude and pain-in-the-arse questions.
But one look at Kaplan's face after he'd seen the blood analysis had shut down her protests.
Tension, even now, hampered his movements as he ordered his team to deal with transit documents and gear. When he signalled for her to head through a security checkpoint, she didn't argue, just let herself get scanned and stripped of her bag and tech. The warning look he shot his cousin Sun as she joined him on the other side of the checkpoint wound more nerves. Sun clearly had reservations and questions about what was going on, but Kaplan was in no mood to explain himself.
Not until he'd had someone confirm his suspicions.
Whatever they were.
Stifling her own need for answers, Jinx moved to the checkpoint's scanner to gather up her com and bag. Kaplan beat her to it. With a curt glance her way, he dumped her belongings onto a carrier bot with his own. She bit her tongue again. No com. That most likely meant a high-security area. What exactly had she got herself into?
Kaplan signalled for her to accompany him. Leaving Sun with the luggage, they headed to an intra-ship travel station. Glossy white IST—'istee'—pods arrived to the left to release their passengers then joined the queue of pods waiting to slot back into the ship's transport network.
Jinx followed Kaplan into one. The roomy pod reflected the military ship's affluent civilian heart: purple padded seats, piped-in bird song, and walls that gracefully transitioned between travel and onboard shopping adverts. All three-sixty-degree, floor-to-ceiling visuals. All reminders of how the elite lived.
As the doors closed with a polite hiss, Kaplan entered the location he wanted. A demand for security clearance lit up the console. He submitted to a biometric and password protocol then leaned against the opposite wall.
Jinx stayed silent as the pod eased into motion, smooth, almost soundless—unlike the IST systems on the pop ships she'd lived on, which had felt like the rattle toys of baby giants. An overhead display tracked the pod's progress as it shot up five levels then glided sideways to a sector near the middle of the ship. After only a minute or so, a melodic asexual voice announced their arrival. The control console flashed up "Medical Precinct: Research Section 2".
Jinx felt her intestines slide back down five levels. Memories of visiting her father blindsided her. She had to pull in a breath to clear her head. With effort, she forced her feet out of the pod.
This wasn't about her. The blood analysis; that was all Kaplan was interested in.
The corridor outside glowed sterile white. Medical art lined the walls: microscope images of diseases and molecular-level scans. Further along it, people in pale uniforms crossed between offices and laboratories, data pads and drinks in hand.
Jinx trailed Kaplan, her nerves winding, despite her efforts to ignore them. The vibe of the place was off—tension that had nothing to do with her personal issues. People were taking one look at Kaplan and moving back into their labs and offices. On a military base ship, the sight of a darkly clad Space Corps officer shouldn't have fazed anyone.
Kaplan's dangerous mood had to be written on his face.
He headed through a transparent set of sliding doors into one of the labs. Following him, Jinx eyed the glossy space: fancy scanners; diagnostic med bays in side rooms. In the main work area, three people in white uniforms sat at high-tech workstations. They turned at the sound of the door—then promptly stood, eyes widening. Sweaty palms got wiped on pristine pants and coats.
Reaching her limit on diplomatic silence, Jinx caught Kaplan's arm. "Why do these people look ready to wet themselves?"
Kaplan eyed her hand on his arm, then flicked his gaze up. The whine he put in her skull increased and fed a weird urge to step back. "They weren't expecting visitors." He nodded to the staffroom near the door. "Get yourself a drink. And Jinx, relax."
She tightened her grip on his rigid forearm. "I will if you will."
While his lips curved, his stare remained cool as he pulled free.
She headed into the staffroom and took it in with a single, cynical glance. Like the rest of the ship, it was top line. Its arty red couch likely cost more than three times her monthly salary. The refreshment dispenser she stopped in front of looked like a silver, minimalist sculpture.
She gave its drink options a token scan then shifted her gaze to the room's transparent plex wall. To the lab beyond it.
Kaplan had headed over to the med-techs. One in particular. A willow-slim woman with neatly pinned-up copper hair. The pretty tech's eyes grew large as Kaplan stopped in front of her, and her skin flared pink. As he took her data pad and transferred files to it, she babbled some greeting or platitude Jinx couldn't hear.
The other med-techs slid their colleague what looked to be pitying glances then returned to work.
Narrowing her eyes on the awkward exchange, Jinx punched in an order for coffee. Kaplan's expression remained aloof as he delivered his instructions. The redhead jerked her head in acknowledgement, blushed again, then retreated to her workstation.
Jinx frowned, but the rich aroma of coffee interrupted her morbid speculation on what was going on with the blood analysis, Kaplan—and the redhead. Lifting a brow, she retrieved her drink and sniffed.
Real coffee. Not synthed flavour.
She took another look around the shiny lab. Whoever employed these people most definitely had too many credits to burn.
She punched in another order and offered Kaplan the second cup as he strode into the staffroom. He took it automatically, his attention still on the pretty med-tech in the other room. "It'll take Dr Channing a few minutes to verify the results and run the checks I've requested."
Jinx nodded and took a sip of coffee, letting its full, expensive taste drown her many, many questions. Or most of them. "So, what's the deal with you and the redhead? Who's seen who naked? Or who wants to?"
Kaplan shifted his gaze off the med-tech. "I drag you onto a military base to verify some questionable blood analysis related to the Xykeree attack on your home world, and that's the question you ask?"
"You're not going to tell me shit, Kaplan."
He raised his cup, eyed her over it as he took a sip. "It's not like you to give up that easily."
She shrugged and rested her hip against the staffroom's bench. "I don't like being left in the dark. I really don't like being here." She scowled at the med equipment around her. "But I get why I am. There was a heavily drugged human on that barge. That's messed up enough, but you saw something more than that in those screwball results."
"I can't go into it." Kaplan glanced back to the lab—the redhead. "Not even about Dr Channing. On that score, let's just say I make her uncomfortable and leave it at that."
Jinx dropped a look down his fit, uniform-clad body. "The reason's not really a mystery, Kaplan."
The long look he gave her knocked her pulse up a gear, but not strictly for entertaining reasons. "Jinx, if those results mean what I think they do, things will get complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"People will want to know everything that happened on that barge. And you haven't been totally straight with me."
The recyclable cup in her hand gave a fraction under her grip. She snatched back control. She'd known this was coming—had told herself it didn't matter. Kaplan and his superiors already knew about her father. Admitting the truth—that she'd wigged out in the middle of an inspection—wouldn't change anyone's opinion of her or her evidence. Shau already assumed the worst, had even suggested medication. A therapy to recover—
"Oh, shit." Jinx straightened abruptly. "Tell me that bitch Shau isn't going to suggest those drugs again."
Kaplan placed his coffee onto the bench behind him before looking back to her. "No medical intervention will happen without your permission."
"So, that's a 'yes'. Fuck." The memory of her father's drug-dulled stare swallowed her vision. Recall from her nightmares rose next: bodies strapped to beds; endless screams. The harsh gleam of the lab outside hit her, burned away any illusions she'd had about why she was there—why Kaplan had wanted her with him. "Is this where you 'strongly encourage' me to agree?"
"You're a Coalition citizen. A witness. Not a terrorist or traitor." Kaplan's stare was a cool rebuke. "Personally, I'm more worried about you volunteering."
"Are you high?"
"A couple of days ago, you were willing to deal with a mercenary weapons trader on the slim chance you might find your friends. Today, you considered joining a scav crew to get back to Tirus 7. Not an hour ago, you handed over illegally obtained intel even knowing it could land you in court. Your own welfare isn't a top priority for you, Jinx. If I tell you lives are at stake, that having your memory pharmaceutically jogged could help in a matter vital to Coalition security, what would you do?"
Her heart gave a hard beat. "What the hell is this about?"
"It's classified."
"And I'll need a hell of a lot more than that before I ever agree to take mind-altering pharma, Kaplan."
"I'll tell you what I can if it becomes necess—" Kaplan cut off, every muscle going rigid.
Jinx stilled. "Kaplan?"
He held up a hand for silence, a hollow kind of shock in his eyes. Then he was moving. "Stay with Channing."
Jinx followed him to the staffroom's door as he strode back to the med-techs. The redheaded doctor met him halfway, her expression more confused than flustered now.
After a quick file transfer, Kaplan exited the lab, looking like a man gearing up for war.