A female voice pierced the fog inside Jinx's brain. "I—I don't understand, L'senuri. I'm so sorry. You should have observed a decrease in psionic noise and a strengthening of signals from the memory centres. I'll check Ms Koel's pre-test workup, see if there's an obvious reason for the lack of effect."
Jinx fought to open her eyes. Her head pounded. Her ears rung—like a motherfucker. The taste in her mouth was worse than the aftermath of any drinking session. What the hell had—?
Memory returned in a flood. The bearded guy—a med-tech. He'd laid her out cold with some kind of gas, the frigging wacko.
She forced open her eyes. A blur of grey. Winking lights. Something curved over her face.
The head niche of a medical diagnostic bed.
Fear sliced through her. Fighting the sudden need to hyperventilate, she looked down her body to see past the tech.
Dark unblinking eyes—locked on her. A lethal-looking male in an elegant grey suit leaned over her, his hands planted either side of her body.
She flinched—and found she was strapped down. Panic surged up, bringing back her nightmares: bodies, naked and exposed, hooked up to machines—
"I'm so sorry, L'senuri." Channing's voice broke through the memory. "I seem to have misplaced Ms Koel's medical history. While I can speculate in general terms about the therapy's failure, I won't be able to posit an explanation specific to Ms Koel's unique biology until the records are located or the relevant tests redone. Once again, I am so, so sorry. I don't know what happened."
The stranger held Jinx's gaze, had no reaction as her respiration kicked up. His eyes mirrored the void. Her senses scrambled: white noise, dizziness, a stab of pain.
The man pushed upright, sending his shoulder-length black hair swinging back—to reveal a micro headset by one ear.
Jinx's breath died. Channing's earlier words rushed back. Genetic alteration. Mind readers.
The stranger smoothly aligned the sleeves of his double-breasted jacket then turned on heel and strode out of the diagnostic bay.
Channing's face suddenly blocked out the world beyond the head niche. "Ms Koel? Oh, you are awake. You must metabolise sedatives quickly." She straightened, frowned at her data pad. "That's probably mentioned in your med files, but whoever did your prelim assessment misfiled it. I'm afraid we're going to have to redo—"
"Get me the hell off this thing!" Jinx yanked against the bed's restraints.
Channing jerked her head back down into view. "Ms Koel, are you—? Oh—oh, you don't suffer from claustrophobia, do you?" She hurriedly snapped back the head niche cover. "I'm so sorry. These beds can be quite confronting for some people. Is that why you asked to be sedated for the procedure? I didn't realise." With a press of a button, she released the arm and leg restraints.
Jinx sat up, fresh adrenaline hitting her system. "What goddamn procedure?"
"You don't remember?" Channing paused, frowning. "Your short-term memory may have been affected. It's a known adverse effect. But don't be concerned. Your bioreadings are perfectly fine. You shouldn't suffer any permanent—"
"Channing, what procedure!"
"PDT—psionic drug therapy. It's designed to depress certain neurochemicals and elevate others to facilitate a read in resistant brains. This would have been explained to you prior to providing consent." Channing clutched her data pad to her chest. "You don't remember that?"
Jinx stared at the woman, her blood running cold—then nova hot. "You think I agreed to be pumped full of drugs so some son-of-a-bitch psychic could rape my brain?"
"Oh, no, no. It's not like that." Channing held up a hand. "L'senuri Tarak was to do a very targeted read for information on his missing son. The poor man. He must be beside himself with worry. I didn't realise the significance of the DNA match Senuri Kaplan requested at first. Such an awful situation."
Jinx swung her legs over the edge of the bed then stopped to stare at Channing. The blood on the Xykeree barge; it belonged to the scary SOB's son? God. No wonder the bastard had—
Channing's vague stare came back in a flash of recall. Then the memory of the doctor's med-tech colleagues slipping into unconsciousness.
Jinx felt her flesh go ice cold. These G-alterants could do more than read minds. "Channing, can you remember me agreeing to this procedure?"
"You said you'd be happy to help. Anything to find L'senuri Tarak's son. That was very noble of you, although possibly a little unwise given the limited trial data in nonenhanced—"
"Jesus." Jinx slid off the bed on jittery legs. "Doc, one of your psycho bosses just mind-fucked you. Is that covered in your employment contract?"
Channing's face fell. "Oh, no, no. They'd never."
Jinx thought of the cold-eyed angel of death she'd woken to. Yeah. Yeah, they goddamn would. God. What had the bastard done to her?
Or tried to.
Channing's words came flooding back. The drugs—PDT or whatever—were used to "facilitate a read", get at memories, but the therapy had failed.
Jinx hauled in air. What exactly did "failed" mean? Had the psychic freak climbed into her head or not? And did it matter?
She looked to the exit. Either way, she had to get off this ship before her brain got as badly screwed as Channing's.
Finding her balance, she stumbled for the examination bay's door.
"Ms Koel." Channing hurried after her. "You can't leave."
"The hell I can't." Jinx entered the main lab. The other med-techs sat at their stations, calmly working like nothing had happened. Her skin crawled. They'd all been frigging mindjacked.
Pulse a sledge hammer, she headed for the main exit.
Channing stayed hard on her heels. "Please, Ms Koel. You've received experimental agents. Your neurological functions may have been adversely affected."
"It's not my goddamn brain you should be worried a—"
A high-pitched, familiar whine interrupted.
Jinx jerked to a stop—just as Kaplan strode through the lab's doors.
His eyes locked on her.
The urge to bolt roared up, stiffening her every muscle.
Was he reading her mind that second? Oh—screw that.
She drowned her plans to run with vivid thoughts of murder.
"Thank goodness." Channing raced to meet Kaplan. "You have to tell Ms Koel it isn't safe for her to leave."
"And why is that?" Kaplan stopped beside the doctor, his gaze sharpening as Jinx retreated a step.
"PDT has a number of possible adverse effects." Channing's breathlessness, for once, came without flushed cheeks. "Some of them serious: hallucinations, dizziness, psychosis, memory deficits. The therapy might not have worked on Ms Koel's unique physiology, but she cannot be left unsupervised. Forty-eight hours close monitoring is the minimum, and at least six months of periodic checkups. She agreed to an experimental procedure, Senuri."
"Did she?" Kaplan's stare sent goose flesh down Jinx's back.
She jerked back another step—and mentally pictured herself pushing him out the nearest airlock.
Whatever he saw in or beyond her eyes hardened his. "That was very selfless of you, Ms Koel."
Jinx clenched her fists, pictured the bloody mess she'd like to make with them. The bastard knew damn well she hadn't volunteered for anything. That glint in his eye—
Her stomach jolted. Oh... The man was pissed. And going by the subzero look he cut across the lab then the corridor behind him, not necessarily at her.
Jinx felt her head go light. Relief. Kaplan was a lying, mind-reading SOB, some kind of military experiment, but he hadn't known, hadn't had her drugged against her will. Or was that wishful thinking? She was on this ship, in this lab, because of him.
She kept her thoughts bloody. "A friend of yours stopped by. He was unusually 'persuasive'." She silently dared Kaplan to come clean about his motives for dragging her on board, about what he was and what he could do—to her, to goddamn anyone. Jee-zus. She needed to get the hell out of there.
Kaplan's gaze narrowed an instant before he snapped it back to Channing. "You have Ms Koel's consent on record?"
The doctor paled. "Senuri, I—I'm so sorry, I can't—"
"Forget it, doc," Jinx overrode the woman's apology. "The 'senuri' knows exactly where my goddamn consent is." Or where it would be when it conveniently turned up. These alterants had hidden in plain sight for decades; they knew how to cover their damn arses.
Kaplan spared her a cool glance before turning back to Channing. "You seem a little off-colour, doctor. Why don't you retire to your quarters? I'll escort Ms Koel to the medical wards." He jerked up a finger to silence Jinx's protest. "If you provide me with a copy of Ms Koel's monitoring requirements, I'll see the appropriate people receive it."
"Ah..." Channing's gaze jumped from him to Jinx. "Of course, Senuri." She ducked her head over her data pad. "I—I do feel peculiar. Lightheaded. I'll put myself through a diagnostic then head home."
Jinx stepped back as Kaplan accepted the file transfer. She wasn't goddamn going anywhere with... Oh, shit. These alterants could control people. Her windpipe closed off. Had the doc's agreement just now come too readily? God. This was not happening.
She made a break for the exit.
"Ms Koel."
She ignored Kaplan's call—but not his quick footsteps behind her. As she hit the corridor, she broke into a run. There was an intra-ship transport station at the far end. If she could reach—
An arm hooked around her waist. "Jinx—"
She swivelled—swung a fist.
Kaplan snapped his head back, avoiding the worst of the blow. Before she could do better, he shoved her against one wall, snatched up her wrists, and planted himself a centimetre from her, giving her no room to deliver the bloody arse kicking he'd earned.
"Kaplan." She fisted her hands in his grip. "I suggest you get the hell out of my face, before I goddamn yank your alien-altered brain out through your throat."
He tightened his grasp. "I let you go, that's exactly what you'll try to do."
"That when you'll turn me into a voidhead? A frigging meat puppet?" She shoved against his hold. "Do you get off on violating—goddamn controlling—people? Did you 'make' Channing release me into your care just now? Is that in her 'programming'?"
Kaplan's lips compressed. "I see Channing didn't skip any details."
Jinx recalled the doctor's non-disclosure agreement, her loss of colour over it. The med-tech, like every unenhanced person on this ship, was in over her head. "You leave her the hell alone. She's been messed with enough."
"Not enough if she's been talking to you about classified projects."
"Fuck your secrets, Kaplan. I just got assaulted by psychically controlled med-tech zombies. This classified shit is out of hand."
"It was a suggestible trance state, like hypnosis." Kaplan suppressed her efforts to twist free—slapped her wrists back against the bulkhead behind her. "And no, I did not influence Channing. She was honestly pleased to hand you over to someone else."
"But you could have?"
"There's a difference between 'could' and 'would', Jinx."
"But you are a frigging mind rapist?"
Kaplan studied her as if contemplating the best way to end her.
She peeled back her lips. "Tell me what I'm thinking right now."
"That wouldn't be hard to guess."
"But you don't need to, do you? Did you like what I just did with your head and a turbo lift?"
Kaplan lowered his gaze to hers, backing up her lungs. "I can't read you." His low, taut words froze her in place. "And I consider that a blessing."
"What do you mean you—?" The memory of void-dark eyes rose. The psycho who'd had her drugged hadn't been happy—because the therapy had failed.
A therapy for resistant brains.
Jinx's heart thudded. "Are you telling me what I want to hear? Because I can't tell if you're lying—not being a frigging mind reader."
"I can't read you, Jinx." Kaplan's stare bored into hers. "You're atypical."
"What exactly—?"
"Your mind is unique. Not normal."
Her breath caught then released in a rush. Yeah, she was "not normal"—try frigging screwed up—because nothing else he could have said would've reassured her more. Her being "atypical" explained why she'd been given the drugs, why she'd been gassed, not psychically whammied like other people had been.
But it didn't mean she was safe.
She watched Kaplan watch her, unease adding to the chill of the plex panels at her back. That high whine had returned to her ears. Was he trying to 'read' her despite what he'd said? Could she trust him? He'd warned her about the drug therapy, but been far from honest about what "memory recovery" actually meant. Hell, he'd reassured her nothing would happen without her consent. What a frigging joke.
"What now?" She angled up her chin. "You going to strap me to a bed and make some zombie doctor monitor me?" Nausea rose at the thought. "You'll have to knock me out cold like the last psychic freak show did."
Kaplan's jaw tightened. "Don't think I'm taking what happened to you lightly, Jinx. Or that I won't be following up on it. Even us 'freak shows' have to follow certain rules."
Her breath shortened. Those words were a clear threat—but one not aimed at her. And that changed nothing. Trusting the alterant son of a bitch, believing he gave a damn, would be purely moronic. "You IDed the blood I found. Channing said the arsehole who whammied everyone is the missing guy's father."
Kaplan scanned the corridor—which was starkly empty. People's earlier reactions, their desire to avoid him, suddenly made perfect sense.
He turned back to her. "We need to take this discussion elsewhere."
"Yeah? I know this great bar on Feuria."
"You're not leaving this ship until you're given the all-clear." Kaplan pulled her away from the bulkhead. "Something goes wrong with those drugs you were given, you'll need the Silver Dawn's med team."
"Like you give a shit."
"You're smarter than that comment, Jinx."
Her heart went off rhythm. She remembered the survivor information he'd given her, his offer to get her back to Tirus 7—that damn kiss he'd laid on her. But none of that mattered. Not given what she now knew—and where this was goddamn headed.
She dug her heels in as he hauled her toward the IST station. "Kaplan, I'm not going to any damn med ward." She'd rather he shot her.
He jerked her forward. "Your health deteriorates, that's exactly where you'll end up. Don't think otherwise."
She snarled, but then his exact words hit. "What? We're not going to one now? You said to Channing—"
"We need to talk privately." Kaplan glanced over his shoulder, rechecking the corridor. "And you've attracted the wrong kind of attention." His gaze cut back to her, a honed blade. "You can trust me on that, if nothing else."