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Doc was in charge of the ship’s bio-signal via her complicated handheld. It was the same scanner she used on the crew after a job to ensure no alien critters, bugs, viruses, or weird shit had messed with us.

My job was explosives, especially the core, and I’d run every fault pattern Kelvane bioships were known for against the archive Tambi kept.

We were all experts in our fields, and when we joined forces, nothing stopped us.

I ran the same file by mistake and cursed softly. I wasn’t thinking about being in that room with Rennick, his gaze on my mouth so fierce, I figured he’d eat me alive, and I’d fucking love it. If Monica hadn’t shown up in that doorway, I’d know exactly what he tasted like.

Stop! Getting attached to a two point six million credit problem with a pulse wasn’t how I operated. No screwing Rennick. I could think about it all I liked, but those thoughts stayed in my head, and my pants stayed on.

By the time we regrouped in the galley, dawn had gone pink over the water. It was a morning that promised pretty, if you ignored four exhausted women who’d spent the night arguing with a ship that didn’t want to share her secrets.

Doc dropped into the seat across from me and put her head on the counter. “We’re being criminally underpaid for this.”

“You said that about the Verrathi tanker.” Tambi joined us, fingers stained with what looked like chocolate. There was evidence of it around her mouth, too.

“I was right about the Verrathi tanker. That bastard almost broke me.”

“It broke my wrist!” Monica dropped onto the padded seat beside her and groaned. “I still smell like ship spunk.”

“You should have grabbed a shower.” Tambi leaned away from her. “I wish you had.”

Monica shot her the finger. “I marinated this stench for you, sweetie. And it’s growing on me. Maybe I could bottle it and sell it.”

“What would you call it?” Doc asked.

“Space Spunk has a certain nasty zing,” I said.

Doc snort-laughed. “For every princess who wants to smell like she’s been with an alien baddie and he’s filled her holes as they raw-dogged through the cosmos, breeding and humping, humping and breeding.”

“I’m totally yucking that yum, you perverts. Now, if somebody doesn’t feed me in the next ten minutes, I’m eating one of you,” Monica said. “Cass, food. Now. Let’s see what your hunk of burning alien love machine has in stock. Will he make suitable husband material by having a pantry filled with goodies?”

“He’s not mine. I’m never getting married. And do it your damn self.”

“Not happening. I outrank you in seniority of suffering.”

I stood grudgingly. “You don’t outrank anybody. You’re just louder than me.”

“Loud and starving, so move that gorgeous ass before I spank it.”

“There’s definitely chocolate.” I pointed at Tambi. “Unless it’s all gone.”

“I saved you bitches some. Rennick has months of supplies, and all of it is quality.” Tambi swiped a hand across her mouth.

I raided the cold storage, and I came up with cheese, crackers, a sourdough loaf, fresh fruit and veg, a huge crème brûlée, and a giant bar of dark chocolate studded with nuts.

Tambi got the crystal glasses out and uncorked two bottles of claret.

“Wine for breakfast!” Monica took a glass and swirled the contents.

“We deserve it. This ship is fucking spooky. The wine is a nerve settler.” Tambi passed the wine around, while Doc fixed us all espressos from the fancy coffee machine in the corner.

Monica heaped a giant plate of food and pulled her screen closer. “Okay. Let’s go over what we got. I have readings that match nothing in any database, and it’s fucking me off.”

Tambi turned her tablet around, the incident board glowing on the screen, every anomaly since the airlock time-stamped and cross-referenced. “There are no malfunction pattern matches or virus signatures, and no structural fault that explains the flickering lights, weird sounds, and stuff working without instructions.”

“The power draw is weird.” Monica talked around a mouthful of bread. “Whatever’s pulling energy every time the lights flicker, it’s not coming off the main grid.”

“The bio-signal is even weirder.” Doc set her handheld on the counter, screen lit. “This ship is supposed to register like every other bonded Kelvane hull. Steady baseline, small fluctuation for mood, same as a resting heart rate. This one’s spiking and dropping like it can’t settle on being one thing. It feels panicked.”