Page 65 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

Back in the present, Nick stopped pacing abruptly, his breath coming in short, harsh rasps. The memory of that humiliation was as fresh as if it had just happened.

And somehow, the petulant bitch had managed to escape her chosen fate. She and the rest of the losers he’d marooned had found their way off the strip-mined asteroid he’d left them on. She’d gotten a ship and a crew of her own. It was outrageous!

His fury with her had metastasized into something deeper, uglier: a festering obsession. Díaz didn’t just defy him; sherejectedhim. His power. His ambition. His very being. She looked at him and saw weakness, insignificance.

Impotence.

The thought was intolerable. He needed to break her. Utterly. Completely. He needed her on her knees, acknowledging his superiority. Begging for his mercy. He needed that fire in her eyes extinguished, replaced by submission.

And the Xena – that beautiful, exotic creature – was the key. Possessing her, flaunting her obedience in front of Díaz would be the ultimate proof. Proof that he could take what he wanted,that Díaz’s defiance was meaningless, that he was everything she refused to see.

But first, he had to find her. Find them both.

He forced himself to take a slow, deliberate breath, trying to shove the seething rage down, to think past the pounding in his temples. Díaz had the Xena. That much was undeniable. Maltese’s incompetence had loaded her onto theAntilles. And Díaz, in her typical, bull-headed fashion, hadn’t sold her at Babcinq. Why?

Possibly because her POS ship had destroyed itself in hyperspace. Old, damaged, and practically un-space-worthy, it had finally given up the ghost and killed them all.

Nah, he’d never get that lucky. Díaz was a disease in his life. She wouldn’t go away on her own. She was a cancer he needed to excise deliberately.

So that left two options. First, he’d beaten her to Babcinq just like he’d thought. Which meant it was possible she’d shown up after he’d been forced to flee and was about to get herself killed. He didn’t need to worry anymore about her fucking things up forhim. They were already torqued. All she could do now was get herself and her worthless crew spaced.

He spent a moment deliciously fantasizing over that scenario. That would be proof of his superiority. He’d escaped destruction.Antilles? The thought was laughable.

But again, that was asking for the cosmos to do the work for him – let the natural consequences of Díaz’s stupidity and stubbornness remove her from his existence. And Nick just didn’t believe that was possible. He’d had to take destiny into his own hands at every critical turn in his life. Nothing ever happened just because he wanted it to.

And, oh, how he wanted Díaz beaten.

So, the only other option was that the petulant bitch had discovered the Xena aboard her ship. That Mechan engineerof hers probably scanned the cargo and realized a shipping container full of coffee beans shouldn’t have a life-support system. The Xena was almost certainly free aboardAntilles.

What would willful, defiant Carmen Díaz do once she found out she was carrying the most illicit package in UPA space?

The answer clicked into place with cold, brutal logic. That stupid, stubborn morality of hers. She’d railed against slaving runs back onThe Buccaneer, called them vile, refused to let W’Ooshlee take them. So, her actions now were obvious:

She’d look at a trafficked Xena, a walking violation of UPA law, and see not a payday but a victim needing rescue. Of course she wouldn’t sell her. She’d try to “free” her.

But where? The Xena was from the Forbidden Zone. Smugglingintothe Zone was nearly as suicidal as smuggling out, thanks to the UPA’s automated kill-sats.

But for Díaz? With her self-righteous heart and her talent for stumbling into disasters? It fit. It fit perfectly. She’d see it as the “right” thing to do. The only option that didn’t compromise her precious principles.

A grim, humorless smile stretched Nick’s lips. He could see it. Díaz, hunched over the helm of that piece-of-shit,Antilles, jaw set, eyes blazing with that infuriating conviction, plotting a course straight into the teeth of the most heavily automated death-zone in the sector. Because it was “noble,” “just.”

Stupid. Reckless. And utterly predictable.

The rage he’d felt before was still there, a banked furnace, but it had direction now, a focus. He knew where she was going. He knew her destination.

He just had to get there first. Or intercept her before she vanished into the Forbidden Zone’s chaotic fringe. His ship was wounded but not dead. Not yet. She wouldn’t outrun him. Not this time.

A soft chime echoed in the room, followed by James’s crisp voice over the comm.

“Captain? Engineering reports the primary thrusters are back online at eighty-seven percent. Structural containment on decks seven through nine is holding stable. Sensors are patched – we’ve got basic functionality back. Long-range is still spotty, but we can navigate.”

Nick turned slowly towards the comm panel. He didn’t look at the damage report anymore. He didn’t feel the ache in his clenched jaw. He saw only the stars beyond the viewport, and beyond them, the invisible line marking the edge of the Forbidden Zone. And Carmen Díaz, flying straight towards it.

“James,” he said, his voice devoid of its earlier ragged fury, cold and flat as deep space. “Set a course.” He paused, letting the order hang in the air. “For the Forbidden Zone. Maximum sustainable burn. I want us on that perimeter before she even sniffs it.”

Silence on the comm for a beat. Then, unwavering loyalty:

“Aye, Captain. Plotting course now. Forbidden Zone. Jump-drive will take approximately sixty seconds to spool up. We’ll be on our way as soon as I have the course mapped.”