Page 89 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

Temporarily. The word echoed.

“And then? How do you get back?”

“Retrieval protocols should remain identical. Once the reprogramming is achieved, I will reintegrate my consciousness to my primary chassis. Assuming the unit remains attached to the satellite, I will be completely restored. Odds of successfully returning toAntillesupdated to 29.6%, given damage to propulsion pack.”

Damn it! Now getting him back was less than one chance in three! The odds on this whole mission kept getting longer and longer. Eventually, they were going to catch up with them. Eventually their luck was going to run out.

But what choice did she have? The only way out of this mess was forward.

“Permission to proceed, Captain Díaz?” Zed requested.

The silence on the bridge was absolute. Even the ship’s vibrations seemed to still. Carmen could feel the eyes of her crew on her – Sark’s terrified gaze, Letitia’s intense, conflicted stare, Norvik’s expectant calm.

There was no good choice. Only survival. Or oblivion.

She closed her eyes and remembered the unexpected freedom in surrender. Surrender wasn’t weakness here. It was the only move left. Roll the dice one more time and hope not to crap out.

Her throat was desert-dry. She forced the word out.

“Proceed.”

“Acknowledged,” Zed responded instantly. “Initiating drilling into satellite housing to enable hardwire connection.”

A high-pitched whine came over the comm speakers. Carmen held her breath, praying that Zed’s partial destruction of the satellite body wouldn’t trigger an explosion.

Seconds ticked by. No one spoke. The sound of Zed’s drill filled the bridge, setting Carmen’s nerves on edge.

“Access to motherboard achieved,” Zed reported as the tool at last fell silent. “Establishing hardwire connection.”

This time, there was no sound. All Carmen could do was wait and wonder. Sweat trickled slowly her temple.

“Hardline connection to satellite CPU established. Initiating consciousness-transfer protocol. Estimated transfer time: 17 seconds.”

Seventeen seconds. Seventeen heartbeats. Carmen counted each one, a hammer blow against her ribs.

Ten. The satellite loomed, silent, deadly.

Eleven. Sark’s breathing was a ragged whisper.

Twelve. Letitia had closed her eyes, her lips moving silently.

Thirteen. Norvik watched his console, completely still.

Fourteen. The phantom scent of Mila’s pheromones seemed to whisper through the recycled air, a cruel reminder of life.

Fifteen. Zed’s body on the screen was inert.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

“Zed, can you hear me? Give me a status.”

Silence.

“Zed? Report!”

“Contact lost, Captain,” Norvik said.

“What do you mean, ‘contact lost’?” she said, whirling on him.