Chapter 2 #2
“Ghosts need shields that work, Letitia,” Carmen said, her voice rough. “Ghosts need sensors that don’t pick up every piece of space dust like it’s a COPS cruiser. They need a ship that isn’t held together by Zed’s ingenuity and pure fucking stubbornness.”
The frustration boiled over, hot and acidic.
“We’re not ghosts. We’re a target. A slow, noisy, busted-up target, hauling illegal coffee into the most policed port in the galaxy.”
She saw the flicker of hurt in Letitia’s eyes, quickly masked. But it was there. Carmen instantly regretted the outburst, the raw edge in her voice. It wasn’t Letitia’s fault. None of this was Letitia’s fault. It was hers. All hers.
“I know,” Letitia said softly.
She stood up, her tall frame towering over Carmen, her braids spilling halfway down her back. Methodically, she began pulling on her own clothes – simple gray fatigues. The intimacy of moments before felt galaxies away.
“I know the Antilles needs more than patch jobs,” Letitia went on.
“She needs teeth. Proper point-defense turrets. A modern sensor suite. Maybe even a chaff launcher that doesn’t jam half the time.
” She fastened her trousers, her movements deliberate.
“We’ve been limping along for too long. This …
this coffee run. It’s a stopgap. A way to buy time, maybe.
But it won’t fix the underlying problem.
We need cash, Carmen. A lot of it. For upgrades. For survival.
Carmen turned away, staring blindly at the schematics of the Antilles pinned to her locker door – outdated, optimistic lines depicting a ship that no longer existed.
Letitia was right. Painfully, obviously right.
The coffee money was a bandage on a gaping wound.
The fines, the debt, the failing systems … They needed a windfall. A miracle.
And miracles were always expensive.
“I know,” Carmen echoed, the words tasting like engine oil.
Letitia stepped closer. She didn’t touch Carmen this time. Just stood near, her presence a warm, solid thing in the cramped cabin.
“We’ll figure it out,” she repeated, but the conviction seemed thinner, stretched over the harsh reality Carmen had just voiced.
A different kind of tension filled the space between them now. Thicker, heavier than the humid air after sex. Letitia took a breath, as if steeling herself.
“Carmen.…”
Carmen braced herself. She knew that tone. The we-need-to-talk tone. The intimacy was gone, the release faded, and now came the emotional invoice.
“This …” Letitia gestured vaguely between them, encompassing the rumpled bunk, the lingering scent of sex. “… it’s good. The release, the heat … you.” She met Carmen’s gaze directly. “But it’s not enough anymore. Not for me.”
There it was. The inevitable. Carmen kept her face impassive, a mask welded into place. Inside, something cold clenched. Not surprise. Dread, maybe. The confirmation of a distance she’d carefully maintained.
“I want more,” Letitia said, her voice steady but soft. “More than just bunking down when the pressure gets too much. More than being your … stress relief.”
The words weren’t accusatory, just painfully honest.
“I want connection,” she continued. “Something real. Something that lasts longer than the afterglow.”
Carmen stayed silent, staring at the bulkhead. Connection. Real. Words that felt alien, dangerous. She cared for Letitia. Respected her. Enjoyed her body, her fire.
But the thought of more, of opening that door, letting someone see the raw, terrified mess underneath the captain’s bravado, it made her want to bolt. To lock the hatch and seal herself in.
Control wasn’t just about the ship, the job, the sex. It was about the walls. Thick, high walls that kept her safe.
“I know you can’t,” Letitia continued, her voice dropping, laced with a sadness Carmen hadn’t expected. “Or won’t. The distance … it’s part of what makes you such a damned good captain. You carry it all. Alone.”
She took another step closer, close enough for Carmen to feel the warmth radiating from her but still not touching.
“But I can’t keep doing this, Carmen. Not like this.
Pretending this is just physical, when for me …
” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It hurts too much. Seeing you shut down the second it’s over.
Knowing I’m just … a tool. A very enjoyable tool,” she added with a wry, pained twist of her lips, “but still. A means to an end.”
The coldness spread through Carmen’s chest. Tool. The word landed with brutal accuracy. Wasn’t that what she’d made Letitia? A convenient outlet, a skilled partner who followed her directions, gave her the release she needed without demanding access to the crumbling fortress inside?
The shame was sudden and acute, sharpening the edges of her earlier humiliation. She’d used her. Used her loyalty, her desire.
“So,” Letitia said, squaring her shoulders.
The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a determined resolve that Carmen recognized from the bridge, from combat.
“This has to be the last time. For this.” She gestured again at the bunk.
“I can’t be your pressure valve anymore.
Not if it means tearing myself apart watching you walk away afterward. ”
The ultimatum hung in the air, stark and final. The last time. The end of the easy, uncomplicated release. Carmen felt a pang of loss, sharp and unexpected. Not for the relationship she couldn’t give, but for the simple, physical solace.
She nodded stiffly, still not meeting Letitia’s eyes. What could she say? Sorry? It wouldn’t change anything. Promises she couldn’t keep? That would be worse.
“Understood,” she managed, the word clipped, professional. Captain to crew. The safest distance of all.
Letitia watched her for a long moment, searching Carmen’s closed expression. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, quickly smoothed away. She nodded back, the movement tight.
“Okay.” She turned towards the cabin door, then paused, hand hovering over the release pad. “For what it’s worth, the upgrades? They’re not optional. We need a plan, Carmen. A real one. Before Babcinq, or after. But soon.
“Or the next job won’t just be insulting. It’ll be our last.”
Carmen didn’t answer. She just stood there, arms crossed, the cool metal of the viewport frame biting into her back.
Letitia hit the release. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the dim, utilitarian corridor outside.
She stepped through without looking back.
The door slid shut behind her, sealing Carmen into the silence of her cabin.
Alone with the schematics on the wall, the lingering scent of sex and sweat, the ghost of Letitia’s warmth, and the crushing, inescapable weight of failure. Coffee. Rejection. A ship falling apart. A crew depending on her. Walls. So many freaking walls.
She pushed away from the viewport, the movement jerky. She needed to move, to do something. Punch the bulkhead. Scream. Anything to shatter the suffocating stillness.
She paced again, three furious steps, her bare feet slapping the cold deck plating. Maltese’s greasy smirk swam in her vision. Corso’s mocking laugh. Letitia’s sad, resigned eyes.
A tool.
The intercom panel beside her bunk chimed, a soft, insistent tone that sliced through the turmoil in her head. Carmen froze mid-stride. Who the hell…? Sark knew better than to disturb her after … well, after.
She stabbed the accept button.
“Díaz.” Her voice came out rougher than she intended.
Zed’s synthesized voice, calm and precise as always, filled the small cabin.
“Captain. Apologies for the interruption.”
“What is it, Zed?”
Impatience edged her tone. She wasn’t in the mood for the Mechan’s measured analysis.
“I am conducting a routine sweep of the cargo hold,” Zed replied, unfazed. “I have detected an anomaly associated with Container Seven-Beta-Alpha.”
Container Seven-Beta-Alpha. Maltese’s damned coffee. Of course. Something else. Something wrong. Carmen closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Could things get any worse?
“The nature of the anomaly is unclear,” Zed continued.
“Environmental readings are inconsistent with the stated manifest for organic consumables. There is also a faint, unidentified energy signature emanating from within the container. It does not match known contraband scanner profiles or standard cargo monitoring systems.”
Anomaly. Energy signature. Inconsistent readings.
The words landed like stones in Carmen’s gut. Maltese. That double-crossing hijo de puta. What had he loaded onto her ship? Had he set them up? Planted something to get them caught? Or worse?
The cold dread that had been coiling in her chest since Letitia left solidified into a hard knot of suspicion and rising fury. Coffee was insulting. Coffee with a side of unknown, potentially lethal, bullshit? That was a declaration of war.
“Captain?” Zed prompted, his tone unchanged. “I recommend immediate visual inspection.”
Shit. What fucking disaster would pop out of the shipping container when they cracked the seal? She didn’t want to even imagine.
But Zed was right. If something was off with Maltese’s cargo, she needed to know. Now. Before they dropped out of hyperspace anywhere near UPA sensors.
“On my way,” Carmen snapped, already reaching for her boots.
The sting of Letitia’s rejection, the weight of their impossible situation, the humiliating memory of Corso’s smirk – all of it was shoved aside, buried under a surge of adrenaline and cold, focused rage.
Something was wrong on her ship. In her cargo hold.
And Carmen Díaz was going to find out what the hell Maltese had really sent them to die for.