Page 92 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

“Of what she has with you,” Letitia clarified, her voice thick. “Or what it seems like she has. That … intensity. That surrender.” She looked down at her hands. “I wanted that with you. I tried, but you … you wouldn’t let go. Not like that. Not ever.”

She looked up, her eyes glistening.

“And now, she walks in, and it’s like … like she found a key to a lock I couldn’t even see.”

The raw hurt in Letitia’s voice was a knife twisting in Carmen’s gut. She opened her mouth to speak, but Letitia cut her off.

“No, let me finish.” Letitia took a shaky breath. “I researched the XenX. I know what those pheromones do. How they fuck with perception, with judgment. Part of me – a big part – is terrified that’s all this is. That she’s drugged you, compromised you, and you’re leading us all into a deathtrap because you can’t see straight.”

Her knuckles whitened where she gripped the edge of the table. Guilt squeezed Carmen’s heart like a vise.

“And that’s on me,” Letitia went on. “Because I’m the one who pushed you to free her. I shoved that moral high ground at you, and you grabbed it. Because that’s who you are, Carmen. You see someone chained, and you break the shackles. Even if doing that breaks you.” She shook her head, a bitter half-smile touching her lips. “Even if it breaks us.”

Carmen stared at her, the words landing like hammer blows. Letitia wasn’t just accusing her; she was blaming herself. The guilt, the fear, the complexity of it all crashed over her. The scent of Mila felt suddenly suffocating, a question mark hanging over every decision, every feeling.

“I don’t know, Letitia,” Carmen whispered, the admission tearing out of her. “I don’t know if it’s the pheromones, or … or her. Or me finally cracking under all this fucking pressure.”

She ran a trembling hand through her hair.

“All I know is selling her felt like becoming Maltese. Becoming Corso. And I can’t, I won’t.…” Her voice broke. “But if I’m wrong, if I’ve gotten us all killed for a chemical illusion …”

“Then we die free,” Letitia said quietly, fiercely.

She reached across the table, her hand covering Carmen’s clenched fist. Her touch was warm, solid, grounding.

“Not slavers. Not traffickers.” Her grip tightened. “Listen to me, Carmen. I’m scared shitless. I think you might be compromised. But you’re still my captain. You gave me a place here. A family, fucked up as it is.”

Her dark eyes held Carmen’s, unwavering.

“So, I’m with you. To the end of the line. Whatever happens. If we fly into the Forbidden Zone, if we fight the Kovoids, if we get spaced by the COPS, I’m at your side. My choice. My chain.”

A ghost of her old, defiant smile flickered.

“Besides, someone’s gotta watch your back while you’re busy getting fucked out of your mind by a hot, alien chick.”

A choked sound escaped Carmen – half-sob, half-laugh. The weight pressing down on her chest eased, just a fraction. The guilt was still there, the fear for Zed, the terrifying uncertainty about Mila. But Letitia’s hand on hers, her fierce, unwavering loyalty, was an anchor in the storm. A fragile crack of hope.

“Thank you,” Carmen managed, her voice thick. She turned her hand, lacing her fingers with Letitia’s. The simple connection, the unspoken forgiveness, was a balm. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Damn right you don’t,” Letitia snorted, but she squeezed Carmen’s hand back.

The tension between them, the months of unresolved hurt and jealousy, didn’t vanish, but it shifted. It became something shared. A burden carried together.

The fragile peace lasted exactly three heartbeats. Then the universe exploded.

Klaxons shattered the tentative calm, a deafening, pulsing wail that screamed through the ship’s intercom. Red emergency lights bathed the mess hall in a hellish, strobing glare. The deck plates vibrated violently underfoot, not the wounded shuddering of the engines, but the bone-jarring tremor of proximity alerts and active sensor sweeps.

Carmen and Letitia were on their feet instantly, hands wrenched apart, captain and weapons officer snapping into combat readiness, the brief moment of connection obliterated by raw adrenaline.

Norvik’s voice, unnervingly calm despite the shrieking alarms, crackled over the intercom.

“Captain to the bridge. Immediately.”

Carmen was already moving, Letitia a step behind her, both sprinting for the hatch. Carmen hit the comm button on her wrist unit.

“Report, Norvik! What is it?”

The Collectivist’s reply, crisp and devoid of inflection, froze the blood in Carmen’s veins.