Page 24 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
It was no wonder she craved control so much, no surprise at all that she micromanaged everything. In the immediate danger of a firefight, her crew was competent, lethal even. But otherwise, they needed supervision, direction. Parenting.
What was wrong with Letitia? Was she so hurt about losing her bid to be more than a lover that she absolutelyhadto win this fight? Where did she get off saying, “Fuck you,” to Norvik?
And what the hell was going on with Sark? He was acting like a coward, like a terrified child. He’s supposed to be the fun one, Mr. Popularity, always quick with a zippy one-liner. Instead, he was shitting his pants over their financial situation.
Yes, it was bad. Velasco did not take well to having his goods seized by the COPS. He wouldn’t wait long before he sent the worst people in the galaxy after them.
But Sark had more character than to just abandon all sense of ethics out of self-preservation. Didn’t he?
At least Norvik was taking a reasoned approach to the problem. He was behaving consistently with his morals. But for fuck’s sake, he was acting so damnedrigid. That just did not help.
She sighed heavily as she arrived at her quarters. She needed some quiet time, maybe a nap. Needed to let this situation percolate in the back of her mind, hoping a solution would bubble up. She keyed the hatch open and stepped into her private sanctum.
Mila stood before her, wet and toweling off.
Every thought vanished from Carmen’s mind. She stood gaping at the Xena, entranced by her appearance. Her fur was darkened by the water, her face covered in surprise. Those bright, green eyes shone like stars and bathed Carmen in a warm light that felt innocent. She looked vulnerable wet, like the shower had washed away her composure, denuded her confidence.
A heady scent filled the cabin – musky, pungent, and thick. Carmen hadn’t noticed it before. It must have been a side effect of Mila’s shower.
“Captain,” the Xena said, her voice cautious. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
She’d been expecting her? Why?
“Sorry,” Carmen replied, struggling to recompose herself. “I need time to think.”
“Of course.”
They continued staring at each without moving. As though there were some unspoken promise between them they both were waiting for the other to fulfill. Hunger she barely understood growled in Carmen’s loins. She was unable to resistletting her gaze travel to the other woman’s sex, sitting between her legs like forbidden fruit, begging to be plucked. Consumed.
No. That was the last thing she needed, especially with an outlaw alien who was likely to get them all killed. What was the matter withher, now?
“I’m sorry, Mila, I know you’ve only been here ten or fifteen minutes, but I need some privacy. Why don’t you go back to the mess hall and get yourself something to eat? You have to be famished.”
For a moment, Mila continued to look surprised. Then she scrubbed her head one more time with the towel and hung it on its hook.
“Yes, thank you, Captain.”
She moved past Carmen, squeezing between her and the bulkhead. That wet, cloying scent filled Carmen’s brain, stole every conscious thought like some potent intoxicant. Silently, Carmen resolved to get this situation cleaned up quickly – before the Xena would need to bathe again.
The hatch slammed shut behind Mila with a heavy, final thud. Carmen stood frozen for a second in the sudden silence of her own quarters, the ghost of the XenX woman’s presence clinging like static. Mila’s scent permeated the cramped space. Carmen scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to erase it, wipe away the image of those calm, green eyes staring into her own.
The weight of the decision pressed down, solid and suffocating. Sell her. Sell the calm acceptance, the quiet dignity, the fuckingpersonthat just used her shower? Or condemn her crew – her family – to slow death by debt or a quick one at the hands of Velasco’s enforcers?
Her fingers found the edge of the desk, gripping the cold metal until her knuckles ached white. The worn leather of her flight jacket hanging on the peg seemed to mock her. Captain. Ha.
Movement was better than standing. She paced the narrow strip of deck plating between the bunk and the desk, three steps one way, pivot, three steps back. The thrum of theAntilles’s engines vibrated up through her boots, a constant, anxious heartbeat.
Two hundred thousand credits. Minimum. Enough to pay off Velasco’s bloodsuckers, the COPS fines that hung over them like a guillotine, fix the damned starboard thrusters, replace the flickering shield emitters. Buy them breathing room.
But Letitia’s furious eyes burned in her memory.
Slavery. Exploitation. Part of the chain.
Was it? Was it any different from the choices she made every damned day, trading freedom for survival in this rusted tin can? Was selling Mila just another transaction in the Belt’s grimy ledger?
The sweet smell seemed to intensify, thickening the recycled air. Carmen stopped pacing, leaning her forehead against the cool bulkhead.Mierda.She couldn’t think straight with that scent clogging her brain.
The comm panel beside the bunk buzzed, a harsh, grating sound that shattered the fragile silence. Carmen flinched.