Page 57 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

“Why?” Letitia pushed off the wall, taking a step towards the table. Her voice was sharp. “We’ve got Zed. He can slice through most UPA security protocols like they’re wet paper.”

“The problem is not software, Letitia,” Norvik replied, turning his gaze to her. “It is hardware. Built into the ship itself.”

He tapped his data pad, and a schematic of theAntillesflickered onto the small screen – not the familiar layout of decks and systems, but a dense, layered diagram of embedded electronics. Carmen’s stomach dropped. She knew where this was going.

“Every vessel constructed within UPA jurisdiction, or registered to a UPA corporation, carries a recognizer chip,” Norvik continued. “It’s a unique electronic identifier, broadcastcontinuously on a low-power, secure frequency. Think of it as the ship’s birth certificate and tracking beacon combined. It’s embedded deep within the primary power conduit matrix during construction. Tampering with it usually results in catastrophic system failure.”

A cold dread seeped into Carmen’s bones. She stared at the schematic, at the tiny, innocuous-looking component highlighted in pulsing red.

She’d known about recognizer chips, of course. Every spacer did. But she’d never given it much thought. TheAntilleswas old. She’d assumed, hoped, it predated that particular piece of invasive tech.

“And?” Carmen prompted, her voice tight.

“And,” Norvik said, his tone flat, “the security perimeter surrounding the Forbidden Zone is lined with passive sensor satellites specifically tuned to detect and identify UPA recognizer signatures. The moment a ship broadcasting one crosses the demarcation line—” He made a small, sharp gesture with his hand. “—automated defense protocols engage. No warning. No hail. Immediate vaporization. It’s the primary deterrent.”

Silence crashed down in the mess hall. Heavy. Suffocating. Carmen heard Sark suck in a sharp breath. Letitia muttered a low curse. On the comm screen, Mila’s ears flattened slightly against her skull, her green eyes wide. Only Zed remained impassive.

“So we’re screwed,” Sark whispered, his voice trembling. “We can’t go in, or we’re dead. We can’t stay here, or we’re dead. We’re just dead.”

“No,” Carmen snapped, sharper than intended.

Sark flinched. She forced herself to take a breath, unclenching her fists where they rested on the table.

“Options, Norvik. There are always options. What are they?”

Norvik steepled his fingers.

“Option one: Locate and physically remove the chip. Probability of success without destroying critical systems or triggering a cascade failure: less than point-three percent.

“Option two: Broadcast a forged or stolen recognizer signature from a non-UPA vessel. We lack the necessary hardware and software templates. Probability of success: negligible.

“Option three …” He paused, his black eyes locking onto Carmen’s. “… hack the satellite itself. From the outside. Force it to ignoreAntilles’s signature as we pass.”

“Hack a military-grade security satellite?” Letitia said, a hollow laugh escaping her mouth.

“From a moving ship? With what? Zed’s good, Norvik, but that’s suicide!”

“The task presents significant challenges,” Zed said. “UPA perimeter satellites utilize multi-layered quantum encryption protocols and randomized frequency hopping. Physical access or a pre-existing backdoor would be ideal, but neither is available.

“Remote intrusion would require identifying a vulnerability in real-time during our approach vector, developing a tailored counter-algorithm, and deploying it before the satellite completes its target verification cycle.

“Estimated time window for successful intrusion: 3.7 to 6.2 seconds. Probability of success with current computational resources and available data: 11.4%.”

Carmen closed her eyes for a second. The numbers hammered in her skull. Each one a step closer to oblivion. For her. For her crew. For the ship she’d bled for.

For Mila.

Her eyes snapped open, drawn irresistibly back to the comm screen. Mila was watching her, those green eyes filled with …what? Concern? Understanding? Or just the serene acceptance of her own predetermined fate?

The ache in Carmen’s chest intensified, a physical pressure behind her ribs. She missed the quiet intensity of Mila working beside her in engineering. Missed the spark of intelligence in her eyes when she solved a problem. Missed the warmth of her presence, even as she cursed the biological trap it represented.

Why was she doing this? Why was she gambling everything – Sark’s, Letitia’s, Norvik’s, and Zed’s lives, theAntillesitself – on this impossible run? For a principle she couldn’t trust? For an alien woman whose very biology hijacked her senses?

Was it just the pheromones twisting her judgment, amplifying some latent, stupid hero complex she didn’t know she had? Or was it something else? Something that felt terrifyingly real beneath the chemical fog?

The silence stretched. Sark looked like he might be sick. Norvik waited, his expression unreadable. Letitia stared at her, a mix of fear and fierce loyalty warring in her dark eyes. On the screen, Zed’s lenses remained fixed on Carmen. Mila stood perfectly still, her gaze unwavering.

Carmen pushed her chair back. She stood up, the weight of command, the weight of this insane gamble, pressing down on her shoulders. She met Mila’s eyes on the screen. That strange pull was there, undeniable, a current humming between them even through the cold distance of the commlink.