Page 76 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

“Mila?” she prodded.

“I assume you’re asking if I am comfortable stepping into the role of ship’s engineer during Zed’s absence,” she said. “The answer is yes and no.”

“What do you mean yesandno?” Sark asked. “It’s an either/or question.”

“Not precisely, Mr. T’Raan. Yes, I am fully capable of performing the tasks of ship’s engineer, and, yes, I am willing to do so while Zed is away.

“However, Zed has modified all the engineering stations to respond to his wireless commands. For me to take over, eventemporarily, we will need to reconfigure the interfaces to be operable by an organic lifeform.”

Yes, of course. When Carmen and Mila had performed the repairs, they’d needed Zed to guide them. They did the physical work of replacing the slagged cables and parts. But they’d needed Zed to operate the system.

The memory of the kiss shot through her mind again like a rocket. The heat. The smell of those intoxicating pheromones. The sensation of surrender.

And the fact that Zed had saved her from it. He was the one who brought her back to her senses.

The sinking dread in Carmen’s stomach deepened, a yawning chasm opening beneath her. She was likely sending Zed out to die. Not because she wanted to, but because the numbers said it was the only play. Just like stripping the turrets. Just like every other brutal choice she’d been forced to make. And reconfiguring the engineering bay so that Mila could operate it felt like she was already acting as though he weren’t coming back.

Control was an illusion. She was just the one steering the ship towards the inevitable asteroids.

“Zed,” Carmen said, her voice sounding distant, hollow even to her own ears. “You’re up. Norvik, get that hack code packaged into something Zed can carry. Sark …” She looked at the pilot, who was staring at her with wide, horrified eyes. “… you’re on propulsion. Rig something to get him over there fast. A backpack thruster. Make it work. Use whatever junk we’ve got left in the hold.”

Sark swallowed hard.

“Aye, Captain,” he whispered, scrambling out of his seat, his movements jerky with fear.

Norvik was already turning back to his console, his blue fingers flying.

“Compiling intrusion package now,” he reported. “Optimizing code for direct hardware injection.”

Carmen pushed herself out of the command chair. Her legs felt unsteady. The vibration of the ship seemed to seep into her bones, a constant reminder of how fragile their existence was.

“I’m going down to engineering,” she announced. “To help with the reconfiguration.”

Carmen shook her head. Even she didn’t believe that was the reason.

She needed Mila. Mila understood machines. Mila could help reconfigure engineering to run without Zed’s direct interface.

And Mila understoodher– whether she liked it or not.

“Letitia,” Carmen ordered, “monitor the sensors. Anything that looks like it could be a ship on approach, I want to know.”

“On it, Captain.” Her voice was tight, focused. She turned to her console, her posture radiating tense concentration.

Carmen took another breath. The dread was a physical weight now, pressing down. But beneath it, a sliver of desperate purpose ignited.

The plan was set, the die cast. They were sending a machine lifeform on a suicidal job because the organics were too fragile. Because her choices had painted them into this corner. The control she craved felt like sand slipping through her fingers. All she could do now was pray the numbers held.

Pray that thirty-eight-point-seven percent was enough.

CHAPTER 29

Silent Whisperslidinto Waystation Alora’s chaotic traffic pattern like a shadow slipping between raindrops. Passive sensors drank in the chaotic scene: battered freighters limping towards docking clamps, sleek runners vanishing into side tunnels, the constant chatter of encrypted comms traffic laced with threat codes and bargain offers.

Julear K’Shaa ignored it all, his focus narrowed to the station’s schematics overlaid on his tactical display. Maltese’s den wasn’t listed in any official directory. It didn’t need to be. Its location – Sector Gamma, Sub-level 7, adjacent to The Lost Spacer cantina – was an open secret to those who operated in the corrupt world of smuggling and piracy.

They docked in a neglected service bay,Whisper’s dark hull blending seamlessly with the grimy bulkheads. Julear didn’t wait for the clamps to fully engage. He rose, a fluid motion of controlled lethality.

“Vek, Tarn, with me. Silent entry. Avrin, maintain overwatch from the ship. Comms silence unless compromised.”