Page 22 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
He looked pleadingly at Carmen.
“Captain, she wants to help us,” he said, softening his tone. “Why are we fighting this? It’s the answer!”
Carmen closed her eyes for a second. The whine of theAntilles’s straining engines vibrated up through the deck plating, a constant reminder of their precarious state. The numbers Zed had thrown out earlier echoed in her skull: Ninety-seven-point-three percent chance of death trying to take her home. Twenty-three-point-one percent chance of surviving an attempt to sell her. And the crushing certainty of what would happen if they got caught with her.
She opened her eyes. Sark looked terrified, desperate for the lifeline. Norvik was a statue carved from ice, his Collectivist logic a wall against Letitia’s fire.
And Letitia glared at her with that fierce, unwavering intensity, the same look she’d had when she ended things in her quarters. Expectant. Demanding.
“Her wanting it doesn’t make it ethical,” Letitia pressed, her voice dropping, thick with emotion. “It makes it tragic. We’d be profiting from her desperation, from a system designed to exploit her people! We become part of the machine that grinds her down!”
“The ‘machine,’” Norvik countered, his head tilting a fraction, “is the reality we inhabit. Our survival requires capital. The XenX female provides it. Refusing this resource due to abstract ethical principles endangers the entire group, including yourself, Letitia. Your moral stance does not shield you from COPS detention or Velasco’s collectors.”
“Abstract?” Letitia’s voice cracked. “What’s abstract about selling a living, thinking being? About handing her over to God-knows-who to be used?” She turned fully to Carmen, her gaze locking on. “Captain, please. You can’t seriously be considering this. After everything ... after what we saw? What we are? We’re better than Maltese. Aren’t we?”
The question hung in the air, heavy as a neutron star.Aren’t we?
The image flashed: Corso’s smug face on Alora. Maltese’s greasy smirk. The cold dread in the cargo bay when they’d opened that container. The vulnerable curve of Mila’s striped back as she’d followed Zed out.
Carmen pushed her untouched coffee mug away. The dark liquid sloshed, mirroring the turmoil in her gut.
“Sark’s right about one thing,” she said, her voice rough, cutting through the charged silence. “We need options. Real ones. Not just ‘sell her’ or ‘die trying to be heroes.’”
She looked at Norvik.
“You said the value was minimum two hundred thousand. Where? Who pays that for a ... for her? And how do we contact them without painting a target on our hull the size of Babcinq Station?”
Norvik’s black eyes met hers, unblinking.
“I could not say without research,” he answered. “If you’ll forgive my terminology, Letitia, Mila is a product unique to this market.”
“Fuck you and your terminology,” Letitia said.
Carmen winced. She hated when her crew insulted each other personally. But Norvik continued unperturbed.
“While I am sure there are other XenX Harimi … working in UPA space, they represent the ultimate taboo. Their presence in the UPA is forbidden and enforced with our strictest laws. As sound as selling Mila is, it will admittedly be a difficult task to accomplish.”
“Why can’t we just sell her back to Maltese?” Sark proposed. “Make him pay our debt to Velasco and our fines. Even if that was all we got, it would remove the knife from our throats. He’d probably be grateful to get her back.”
“What makes you think he didn’t put her here on purpose?” Carmen said.
The room fell silent. Try as she might, she couldn’t put this down to simple incompetence. Sure it was possible the dockworkers loaded Mila ontoAntillesby mistake. But it seemed every bit, if not more, likely that this was a deliberate setup. She couldn’t imagine why Maltese would want to fuck her over like this. But why had he given them a run to Babcinq, when he knew they were in deep shit with the COPS?
The whole thing stank. There was something she hadn’t discovered yet, some dark secret that threatened to destroy them all. But she couldn’t begin to fathom what it might be.
“Captain, listen,” Letitia said. “Forget the money for a second. Forget Maltese. What about her? What happens to her after we take the creds? Some rich pervert buys and uses her. She becomes a thing. A toy. Do we want that on our consciences?”
“Survival often requires difficult compromises, Letitia,” Norvik said, his tone unchanged. “The Collective recognizes that individual sacrifice, even unwilling sacrifice, can be necessary for the greater continuity of the group. Her cultural conditioning suggests she would view her role in our survival as fulfilling a purpose.”
“Herconditioning?” Letitia’s laugh was short, harsh. “You sound like you’re talking about reprogramming a robot! She’s aperson, Norvik! With thoughts, feelings! Did you see her? Hear her? She was calm, yes. Accepting. But there was intelligence there. Depth. She isn’t some mindless drone!”
“All right, enough!” Carmen snapped. “This isn’t helping. I asked for options. For analysis. Not a fucking ethics seminar.”
She glared at Letitia, then at Norvik. “Sark sees cash. Norvik sees a logical asset. Letitia sees a victim. And none of you are giving me a wayoutof this shitshow that doesn’t end with someone getting screwed!”
She slammed her palm flat on the table. The mugs jumped. Coffee slopped over the rim of Sark’s.
“We are stuck with illegal contraband that breathes, in a ship held together by Zed’s genius and hope, hiding from the entire fucking galaxy! I need solutions, people! Not arguments!”