Page 6 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

“Then why the hell are we doing it?”

“It’s all I could get,” Carmen admitted.

She fought the urge to vomit. They all deserved much better than this. She hated herself for failing them, for having to take a job this bad. For Corso getting to witness it.

“At least Sark wasn’t there,” she muttered more to herself than to Letitia.

“Oh, yeah, he’d have shit his pants if he’d seen Corso,” Letita replied. “He’s terrified of that asshole.”

“He’s got good reason,” Carmen replied.

For a moment, her mind flew back toThe Buccaneer. She could still see him trembling in front of the airlock. Could still hear the warning he gave her – the one she hadn’t heeded.

Carmen pushed off the viewport, resuming her pacing. Three steps. Turn. Three steps. The confines of the cabin felt like a cell.

“But it was that or nothing,” she said switching back to talking about the job. “We take it, or we starve. Or get spaced by debt collectors. Or worse.”

The silence stretched. Letitia watched her, her expression unreadable. Carmen hated the pity she imagined simmering beneath the surface. She didn’t need pity. She needed solutions. She needed control.

“We’ll make it work, Captain,” Letitia said finally, her voice firm. “We always do. Sark’s already running diagnostics on the thrusters. Zed’s holding the stabilizers together. We’ll slip through Babcinq like ghosts.”

Carmen stopped pacing. She looked at Letitia, really looked at her. The fierce loyalty in her eyes, the unwavering belief. It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like anotherburden. Another life depending on her not to screw this up. The weight pressed down, heavier than before.

“Ghosts need shields that work, Letitia,” Carmen said, her voice rough. “Ghosts need sensors that don’t pick up every piece of space dust like it’s a COPS cruiser. They need a ship that isn’t held together by Zed’s ingenuity and pure fucking stubbornness.”

The frustration boiled over, hot and acidic.

“We’re not ghosts. We’re a target. A slow, noisy, busted-up target, hauling illegal coffee into the most policed port in the galaxy.”

She saw the flicker of hurt in Letitia’s eyes, quickly masked. But it was there. Carmen instantly regretted the outburst, the raw edge in her voice. It wasn’t Letitia’s fault. None of this was Letitia’s fault. It was hers. All hers.

“I know,” Letitia said softly.

She stood up, her tall frame towering over Carmen, her braids spilling halfway down her back. Methodically, she began pulling on her own clothes – simple gray fatigues. The intimacy of moments before felt galaxies away.

“I know theAntillesneeds more than patch jobs,” Letitia went on. “She needs teeth. Proper point-defense turrets. A modern sensor suite. Maybe even a chaff launcher that doesn’t jam half the time.” She fastened her trousers, her movements deliberate. “We’ve been limping along for too long. This … this coffee run. It’s a stopgap. A way to buy time, maybe. But it won’t fix the underlying problem. We need cash, Carmen. A lot of it. For upgrades. For survival.

Carmen turned away, staring blindly at the schematics of theAntillespinned to her locker door – outdated, optimistic lines depicting a ship that no longer existed. Letitia was right. Painfully, obviously right. The coffee money was a bandage ona gaping wound. The fines, the debt, the failing systems … They needed a windfall. A miracle.

And miracles were always expensive.

“I know,” Carmen echoed, the words tasting like engine oil.

Letitia stepped closer. She didn’t touch Carmen this time. Just stood near, her presence a warm, solid thing in the cramped cabin.

“We’ll figure it out,” she repeated, but the conviction seemed thinner, stretched over the harsh reality Carmen had just voiced.

A different kind of tension filled the space between them now. Thicker, heavier than the humid air after sex. Letitia took a breath, as if steeling herself.

“Carmen.…”

Carmen braced herself. She knew that tone. The we-need-to-talk tone. The intimacy was gone, the release faded, and now came the emotional invoice.

“This …” Letitia gestured vaguely between them, encompassing the rumpled bunk, the lingering scent of sex. “… it’s good. The release, the heat … you.” She met Carmen’s gaze directly. “But it’s not enough anymore. Not for me.”

There it was. The inevitable. Carmen kept her face impassive, a mask welded into place. Inside, something cold clenched. Not surprise. Dread, maybe. The confirmation of a distance she’d carefully maintained.

“I want more,” Letitia said, her voice steady but soft. “More than just bunking down when the pressure gets too much. More than being your … stress relief.”