Page 9 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
“Summons issued.”
The wait was agonizing. Carmen paced a tight circle around the container. Every creak of the ship’s superstructure, every distant hum from Engineering, sounded like a countdown. Worry gnawed at her, cold and sharp.
Coffee. It was supposed to be freaking coffee.
The sheer, insulting banality of it warred with the terrifying unknown Zed described. Temperature fluctuations? Energy signatures? That wasn’t contraband. That was something else. Somethingexpensive. Something dangerous enough that Maltese would happily sacrifice theAntillesand her crew to cover his tracks. The fines, the debt, Corso’s mocking face – they all shrank next to the immediate, visceral threat humming inside this unassuming box.
The hatch hissed open again. Sark entered first, his orange skin looking slightly ashen under the work lights, his prominent red head-fin twitching nervously. His webbed fingers flexed at his sides.
“Captain? Zed said it was urgent? Something wrong with the, uh, cargo?”
She didn’t answer. The terror threatened to undo her cool command. She didn’t want to give it voice until they were all here.
Norvik arrived next, his light-blue features composed, black eyes taking in the scene with detached calm.
Letitia brought up the rear, her expression guarded, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She avoided Carmen’s eyes,focusing on the container. Her earlier sadness was buried beneath a layer of professional concern.
“What’s the play, Captain?” she asked
Carmen stopped pacing, planting herself squarely before the container. Swallowing hard, she met their worried gazes.
“Zed found something weird with Maltese’s ‘coffee’. Readings are all wrong. There’s some kind of energy signature coming from inside. Doesn’t match any standard scanner or monitor.” She jerked her chin at the latch. “We need to crack it open. See what that greasypendejoreally stuck us with.”
Sark paled further.
“Energy signature?” he said. “Like … explosives?”
“Possibly,” Carmen admitted. “Or something else. Something worse.
“Norvik, you’re with me. Sark, Letitia, Zed stand back. Way back. Near the hatch. If this thing goes boom …”
She didn’t finish the thought. They all knew.
Norvik stepped forward without hesitation, his movements economical. He examined the latch mechanism.
“A standard pressure-seal. Requires simultaneous application of force at both anchor points.” He placed his hands on the indicated spots. “Ready, Captain.”
Carmen mirrored his position, her palms slick against the cold metal. The lever felt heavy, inert. She met Norvik’s black eyes. Saw no fear, only focused readiness. Collectivist pragmatism. Do the necessary thing.
She took a deep breath and prayed she wasn’t making the stupidest decision of her career.
“Okay,” she said, faking confidence. “On three. One … Two … THREE!”
They heaved. Metal groaned in protest. For a heart-stopping second, nothing happened. Then, with a sharp hiss-whump that made Sark flinch, the pressure seal released. The heavy lid lifteda fraction, venting a puff of cold, damp air that carried an overwhelming, sterile scent.
Carmen recoiled, staggering back a step. It wasn’t the stale funk of the Alora cantina, nor the heavy tang of coffee beans. This was different. It was … clean.
“Smells like antiseptics?” Letitia ventured, nose wrinkled. “What the hell is in there?”
Zed rolled forward, returning to the crate. He extended a sensor probe towards the gap.
“Atmospheric analysis suggests machinery. Trace amounts of complex disinfectants in air, likely emitting from equipment, likely medical in nature. No detectable toxins or airborne pathogens above safe thresholds.”
Carmen’s stomach churned. She forced herself forward, back to the container. Worry was rapidly morphing into a cold, sickening dread. Coffee didn’t smell like bleach or formaldehyde. Nothing legal did. Not like this. She braced herself, gripped the edge of the heavy lid.
“Norvik, help me get this damned thing open all the way.”
The comms officer rejoined her. Together, they strained, muscles bunching. The lid rose, hinges protesting, revealing the dim interior. Cold vapor curled out. Carmen leaned over the edge, peering into the gloom, her heart hammering against her ribs.