Page 108 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
TheAntillesgroaned. A deep, resonant vibration built within the ship’s bones, stronger than the wounded engine, stronger than the impacts. The jump-drive, stressed but holding, whined to life.
Carmen braced herself against the console, grabbed Mila and pulled her close instinctively. The Xena didn’t resist. Her scent, that sweet, demanding musk, wrapped around Carmen, no longer a chain, but an anchor.
Antilleslurched violently, throwing Carmen hard against the console. Mila’s arm tightened around her, holding her steady. The scream of the drive peaked, then settled into a deep, resonant rattle that vibrated in Carmen’s teeth.
They were safe. They had made it to the Forbidden Zone.
CHAPTER 41
The jumpout of hyperspace slammed Carmen back into her command chair. The familiar, gut-churning disorientation of transition gave way to a profound, ringing silence. The deep-throated whine of the stressed jump-drive spooled down, replaced by the normal, background rumble of theAntilles’s sub-light engines and life support.
Outside the main viewscreen, the swirling, pink soup of hyperspace returned to endless black, pricked with the white light of stars.
Relief, thick and dizzying, washed over her, followed immediately by a bone-deep weariness that threatened to buckle her knees. She gripped the arms of her chair, grounding herself in the familiar, vibrating metal. They were alive. Against impossible odds, stupid risks, and Nick fucking Corso
“Status?” she commanded.
A beat of silence. Then, a voice – calm, precise, familiar. Yet profoundly different.
“Hyperspace transition complete, Captain Díaz. All systems nominal. Structural integrity holding within tolerance margins. Jump-drive core temperature stabilizing. External sensorsactive. No immediate hostile contacts detected within scanning range.”
Zed. But not Zed. The ship. TheAntilleswas speaking with Zed’s synthesized voice. The reality of it, the sheer, impossible intimacy of her engineer nowbeingthe ship, slammed into Carmen with fresh force.
He’d sacrificed his body. His physical existence. For them. Forher. The guilt was a cold stone in her gut, heavier than the relief.
“Zed?” she managed, the single syllable thick.
“Affirmative, Captain. Consciousness integration withAntillesprimary operating architecture is complete and stable. I am functional.” A slight pause, the digital hum modulating. “Survival probability: 100%.”
A choked sound came from the pilot’s station. Sark swiveled his chair, his orange face pale, the red fin on his head twitching erratically.
“Zed? Buddy? You’re … you’re the ship now?”
“An oversimplification, Sark T’Raan,” the ship’s voice – Zed’s voice – replied. “My consciousness occupies and directs the vessel’s computational and operational subsystems. I perceive through its sensors. I act through its mechanisms. The distinction between ‘Z136∑?9’ and ‘Antilles’ is now functionally obsolete.”
“Holy shit,” Sark breathed, his webbed fingers trembling slightly on the flight controls. He looked awed and deeply unsettled.
Letitia pushed herself away from the weapons console, her dark eyes wide, fixed on the ceiling as if she could see the entity speaking.
“Zed, are you … okay?” she asked.
The question held layers – concern for his state, horror at his transformation, profound relief that he wasn’t just gone.
“Define ‘okay’, Letitia Anderson,” Zed replied, the tone neutral. “I experience no physical pain. My cognitive functions are unimpaired, operating at 127% efficiency compared to my previous chassis due to increased processing capacity.
“However, my experiential parameters are radically altered. Sensory input is vast but filtered through machine interpretation. Physical interaction is nonexistent. The concept of ‘okay’ lacks sufficient contextual relevance.”
A heavy silence settled over the bridge. The sheer magnitude of what Zed had done, what he was now, hung in the air, thick and complex. Gratitude warred with a kind of horrified pity. He was alive. He was the ship. He’d saved them.
But at what cost to himself?
Carmen scanned her crew. Sark, still wide-eyed, fiddling nervously. Letitia, leaning against her console, arms crossed, her expression a mix of fierce relief and deep contemplation.
And Norvik. His light-blue face was as impassive as ever, but his yellow pupils were fixed on Carmen. He didn’t flinch when her gaze met his. Instead, he gave a single, deliberate nod. Not triumphant. Not smug. An acknowledgment. An apology, etched in the subtle tension around his eyes and the slight incline of his head. He’d played his part in the mutiny charade, the part that had involved offering her up to Corso. He’d done what logic dictated was necessary for crew survival. And it had worked.
But the look said he understood the weight of that deception, the raw nerve it had touched in her.
Carmen held his gaze for a long moment. The memory of that cold announcement –Agreed. – still echoed, a spectral knife-twist. But so did the sight ofStar Shrikeexploding under that unseen assassin’s fire, the knowledge that Norvik’s cold logic had bought them the crucial seconds Zed needed.