Hammering music. The thrash rock of E-district body-mod clubs clashing with dance-pit trance. A freak show of humanity lining walls covered with glowing obscenities.

The back corridors of C-Deck's entertainment district.

Kaplan psionically deflected attention and people from his path as he strode through the strobe-lit gloom, Jinsin Koel on his heels. He rallied his team, keeping his communications brief and encrypted. The CI's coms he vetted via the link he'd established with her tech, but true to form, the woman played things smart. She gave nothing away as she liaised with her colleagues. Nothing that would help bounty hunters track her. Nothing that would alert people to his team's presence at the port.

The last was possibly a moot point.

The lost air droid bothered him. If it had been hacked, someone could redeploy it, follow his team's tracks. And they were big tracks, those of the prospector droid they'd misappropriated. That droid currently sat among the dunes only a kilometre from the settlement, a giant red flag.

He blocked the rising pain in his skull and moved into the corridor leading to the lower docks. It was possible the Xykeree's interest in the crash site was benign. If they'd been attacked by the same hostile, they could be tracking its activities. A scenario that might explain the number of ships in local space.

But a troubling question kept circling his mind, made his pace quicken.

How had the Xykeree known about his ship?

The Phantom's cloaking tech had rebooted en route to Tirus 7. None of the civilian vessels holding in orbit had witnessed the scout ship's entry. Nor had anyone on the ground witnessed its rough landing, thanks to the planet's minimal population and suspiciously timed sat tech failure. And no one had reported seeing the crash site. Traffic wasn't being directed over that sector.

Only one ship had been in sensor range while the Phantom's cloak had been offline. Only one ship could have tracked his vessel—and had seemed to be able to even with the cloak engaged.

Matt black, almost spherical apart from its jutting engines. Nothing like the standard squid-shaped ships of the Xykeree.

Could the roaches have new cloaking and ship tech? Their technology hadn't changed in decades, if not longer. Hiring or conspiring with a third party was another possibility, but also seemed unlikely. The Xykeree were hardwired to see other species as enemy or prey. Hence, their poor track record with the treaty.

But they'd deviated from normal protocols. An armed Enforcement officer had made it onto their barge. They'd recognised a human CI as a separate entity from the port.

Kaplan thought of his dead crew. He wanted to stay, hunt down some answers, but Star Sector Defence needed to be made aware of the situation. The Xykeree's interest in his vessel, even if semi-innocent, had implications.

He headed for a side door to C-Deck's internal loading bay. The psionics beyond it, like those he'd endured on the main promenade, burned with petty frustrations. But malice and fear also churned in the atmosphere—consistent with Shio and Tripp's prior assessment. The young ensign and combat specialist had declared the deck "a viper pit" when they'd reconned it earlier. Illegal activity was rife. The CI's—Jinx's—warning about reloading his pistol had been on the mark.

Kaplan glanced back to her as he reached the side door. Her hood and the breather over her mouth and nose obscured her features, a disguise as much as a necessity. An environmental system malfunction on the top deck had seen good air pumped upward at the expense of the lower port. Most people wore breathers or, like him, took periodic hits from their resp units. But even with the disguise, Jinx was taking a risk coming to the lower docks. Port officers weren't popular on such decks, and someone had made her a specific target.

But the CI hadn't even flinched at the idea of helping him.

She should have. After learning of the Xykeree's interest in her and his ship, he'd come to a decision she wouldn't like.

Bracing himself, he pushed into the storm of hot psionics.

Semi-controlled chaos. The E-district's pounding music gave way to the thrum of ship engines on the landing platform outside and the clank and whirr of loader bots ferrying cargo back and forth from airlocks. Irate voices rose over the din: arguing ship crews, port officials, and supply handlers. Everyone was armed, even the near-naked pleasure traders preening by the deck's busy main entrance. Decorative-looking spikes held up fluro hair. Micro shock weapons adorned gaudy rings.

A fight broke out before him, between a hissing Throlean merchant and a gang's 'tax' collector. Stepping to the side, blocking out what he could of the hostility, Kaplan searched the vast bay for signs of his team. A whisper—more instinct than actual contact—told him they were close, but not yet on the docks.

Disengaging his amp tech, he set his back against a large supply container and had his battle suit administer another dose of painkiller.

Jinx came to slouch beside him, her attention on her com—the docks' flight schedule. Her right hand rested on her stunner, under her overshirt's hem, but otherwise, she looked at home, like she had no better place to be.

A lie. Her colleagues had been messaging her almost nonstop, ordering her to the nearest Enforcement station for protection. She'd put them off, telling them to watch their own arses and stay clear of the port's "bug infestation". When pushed by her supervisor, she'd agreed to report to A-Deck "in fifteen", an appointment she'd made no move to keep. But then she was smart enough to know any bounty hunters eavesdropping on coms would try to intercept her.

Then there was the med check she seemed keen to avoid.

Kaplan flicked a look over her, her inner tension at odds with her relaxed pose. Her reticence to return to duty worked for him; a certain conversation needed to be had. But transport had to come first. He glanced at the vessel list on her com. "Progress?"

Above her breather, her nose wrinkled. "You've got options, but they're all dogs—some of them rabid ones. Sure you can't wait an hour?"

His brain was on fire. "Give me what you've got."

"Three possible rides leaving within the next thirty minutes." She gave him a rundown on the ships, all modified with falsified or out-of-date records, options his team wouldn't have spotted using official specs.

The last one caught his attention, a trash hauler that, according to Jinx's droll insider knowledge, still had the class two life-support system from its past use as a brothel, as well as most of its whips-and-chains décor. Its engines were also overspeced for its current use. "The Fire Witch."

Jinx flicked up dark lashes. "Don't pick that one."

"It's got the earliest departure, and you've noted it's high-warp capable."

"Now, ask why a recyce hauler needs that kind of speed."

With other people's thoughts hitting like hot bullets, he didn't much care.

He pushed off the container behind him, pulling Jinx with him. Dozens of port-side freight airlocks lined the cluttered length of the loading bay. A scan of the vessel IDs over the scarred doors gave him the relevant berth. He headed over, ignoring Jinx's low curse.

Two men directed loader bots and crates of inorganic waste. A third tapped a data pad, completing documentation for a hovering port official. All three men bore signs of violence: scarred faces and tech. Beneath their flowing metallic coats, they wore gaudy custom battle suits and weapons. Recyce appeared to be their outgoing cargo, but plaz blades poked out of the back of their Zex-reinforced boots, expensive tech that advertised their real business on planet.

Illegal tech traders. Weapons dealers.

Kaplan pushed Jinx between him and a stack of crates near the loading pad, careful not to use too much force. Concentrating, remaining unmoved by other people's aggression, brought cold sweat to his spine. He thought better of turning on his amp tech to read the men. "Tell me about the crew."

"They're amoral, credit-hungry SOBs." Jinx rose onto her toes to peer over her cover. "The creep with the black ponytail's the captain." She nodded to the tall male completing documentation: mid-thirties in appearance; leanly muscular; clad in a long, silver coat and deep purple Zex. "Heiko Tras. Ex-military, ex-assassin, current arsehole. Yes, those are directional plaz charges strapped to his chest. The bastard likes to terminate unsatisfactory business discussions by vaporising whoever's in front of him."

Kaplan moved up beside her to get a better line of sight. "The others?" One of the men, a thug with a ginger goatee, rivalled Crewman Trippoli for size. As muscular but shorter. Like many in the crowd, he had spikes screwed to his knuckles, a tattooed skull, and nonhuman eyes—his pure tech, not alien or bio-alterant implants. The younger man working with him also sported an inked skull, but his gave way to a floppy, blue, asymmetric fringe. Black makeup accentuated his lips and Asian chem-coloured eyes, the latter an eerie silver violet.

"Big guy's Dorf Gorstav." Jinx huffed out air through her breather. "Tras' pet pitbull. Loyal, mean, brain damaged. An ex-cage fighter. The guy with him is Konnu Phang. Don't be fooled by the mascara. He's trained in all sorts of nasty, including explosives. Got half a degree in ship systems and is the onboard engineer. The only other crew member is Tras' co-pilot, Ike. She'll be on board. She's antisocial and highly strung. More a whiner than a fighter, but like all Throleans, she'll bite something off you sooner than look at you."

"You've had run-ins with this crew, I assume?"

"Oh, yeah." Jinx's tone grew dark. "I've confiscated more than a few of their expensive toys. Amazing what gets 'accidentally' thrown out with the recyce these days. If you're insane enough to try to do business with these bloodtechs, don't mention my name."

Kaplan frowned. He needed to get all possible intel on the Xykeree. Until he got hers, her presence was required. "How much of a threat are they to you?"

Jinx snorted. "Tras would get rid of me in a heartbeat if he could do it without inconveniencing himself, but he has regular business at this port and he loves his ship."

Kaplan slid her a questioning look.

She shrugged and tugged down the peak of her hood. "The local warp tech's a talent. She's also hot, blonde, and a friend of mine. Tras along with a number of other regular scumhead captains would like her to tweak more than their engines, but they know better than to suggest it. Their ships are their life. They can't risk pissing her off, and that means they don't mess with me." She looked back to him, gaze mocking. "Why the interest? You worried about me or something?"

A familiar energy uncoiled in the crowd, an excuse not to answer. Kaplan tapped his ear headset as if he had incoming coms. "My team's arrived."

On the tail end of his words, Sun strode through the loading bay's main entrance, the rest of the surviving members of Helios Seven flowing behind her. A psionic projection of her mood cleared her path. Cruse and Fero had a similar effect, but for a different reason. Atillians' had unsavoury reputations. If they'd been somewhere more civilised, they'd have covered their features, but in the backworlds, fangs were an advantage.

Sun's stare found Kaplan's then shifted to Jinx—narrowed.

Kaplan anticipated her question. She's aberrant. And not our current problem. With his cousin's strong telepathy and their well-established mental link, he didn't need to re-engage his amp tech to be heard.

This day keeps on getting better and better. Sun's hand dropped to the pistol strapped to her thigh. The hostility in her aura caused a couple of tattooed thugs near her to shift back. Do we have transport?

Dock nine. Captain's Heiko Tras. Start negotiations.

With a parting scowl directed at Jinx, Sun stalked over to the Fire Witch's loading pad. The rest of the team took up positions to watch her back, blending with the rough crowd. They didn't need to be psi to know the men she approached were potential trouble.

The captain looked up from his documentation. His eyes, pale green like broken glass, cut down Sun's body as she planted herself in front of him. Not an act of male appreciation. More a threat and business assessment. Scarred lips twisted. The weapons trader clocked every piece of hardware Sun carried.

"Damn." Jinx whistled through her breather. "That lethal pu'ta one of yours? Tras isn't going to know whether to shoot her, screw her, or sell her weapon upgrades. What're your employer's rules on team interpersonal—"

"She's my cousin."

"Seriously?" Jinx lifted both eyebrows, then dropped a look down his body. "Nice genetics, stretch."

The pain in his skull said otherwise.

Sun's psionic 'charm' took a minute to get a result. The captain has agreed to take on passengers, but we're going to have to work out some actual deal with him in-flight.

Kaplan eyed the weapons trader and understood. He's fighting you. You're forcing him to act against his instincts.

I'm having to constantly adjust his and his crew's attitudes, Sun confirmed. If we can't do business with them, we'll have to physically restrain them. The captain can't understand why he's agreed to let an armed group on his vessel. He keeps on going through scenarios of how he'll take us out if we try to hijack his ship.

Kaplan felt a flicker of sympathy for the man—stowed it. ETD?

Twenty minutes. The crew need to load new warp isotopes.

Kaplan scanned the loading area. The need to leave crawled up his back. He lifted the mask around his neck to draw in an oxygen-rich breath, calming his respiration before dropping the tech again. Get everyone on board. I'll join you shortly, after I've spoken with Ms Koel.

If she's aberrant, she's a liability. Sun's antipathy, a typical Rha Si reaction to an unreadable mind, was strong enough to register in the irate crowd. If we're being tracked—by the Xykeree or someone else—we can't leave a witness behind. Especially not someone who knows what ship we boarded. Is a memory wipe possible?

Not in the time we have. Establishing a link to a resistant mind could take hours. If not days.

Kaplan looked to Jinx, found her watching him. His pulse quickened at the eye contact. His natural reaction to her or an empathic echo from her or someone else? She gave him nothing useable, even standing a hand's breadth away, well within his natural telepathic range. But other people's emotions crawled in his blood. Aggression. Hot frustrations.

He suddenly itched to draw a weapon.

He tore his gaze away from the CI to scan the people and cargo around him. Had the mood on the docks worsened? Or was he becoming dangerously over-sensitised? Anticipation hummed, as if a storm approached. Every hair on his body lifted.

A flicker of impatience—Sun's—cut across the disturbing sensation. Reid, I know what you're thinking of doing. Her gaze met his as she stepped into the Fire Witch's assigned dock airlock with the team, herding the ship's crew. Reconsider. The aberrant's intel on the Bullhead might or might not be important. You've still got a few minutes to question her. Find out more before you—

Hold the airlock, he interrupted.

Reid—

Sun, something on the dock's inducing a disturbing empathic effect. I don't have a source yet.

A pause, filled with his cousin's tension. I'm not sensing anything. But I'm not as strong an empath as—

The rest of Sun's words got lost in a surge of psi noise. Foreign sensations roared up. Hostility. A craving for blood. Kaplan wanted to gag as saliva flooded his mouth.

Someone else's hunger. A rogue spike in his abilities had tuned him to a single mind.

A predator's.

One he recognised. A composite consciousness made up of at least twenty individuals, but probably far more.

Pulse hammering, he drew his pistol and replaced its tranq clip with armour-piercing shock rounds. Re-engaging his amp tech, he risked an aneurism to 'path his entire team. Xykeree subhive inbound. We've got vent crawlers in the ES. That environmental system issue on the top deck wasn't a malfunction. It was the point of infiltration.