Chapter 16 #2
Stage 3 (Exposure > 72 hrs): Profound physiological arousal bordering on obsession.
Prioritization of the XenX source’s well-being over personal safety or group objectives.
Willingness to engage in high-risk behaviors to please or protect the source.
Potential for complete breakdown of social and command structures within affected groups.
Psychological dependency may develop rapidly.
The cold dread that had been congealing in Letitia’s stomach solidified into ice.
Stage 2. Impaired judgement. Suppression of ethical or logical objections.
Carmen met each of their gazes in turn. Mila watched her, those green eyes unreadable.
“We take Mila home,” she said. “To the Forbidden Zone.”
“Captain, the operational parameters have shifted drastically,” Norvik said, leaning forward.
“Our projected survival probability for reaching the Forbidden Zone perimeter, let alone penetrating it and locating the XenX homeworld, has decreased significantly. The Antilles lacks the maneuverability to evade interdiction satellites or patrol craft. Engaging in combat is not a viable option.”
“We don’t need combat,” Carmen shot back. “We need stealth. We need to be smart. We slip through the perimeter, find her people, drop her off, and slip back out.”
“With thrusters at eighteen percent?” Sark cried. “Cap, it only takes one COPS interdictor to come across us, one spy probe to spot us and call in interceptors. We need to be nimble as hell to survive an encounter with ships like that! We barely made it out of the gas giant!”
“Mila knows the approaches,” Carmen countered, gesturing towards the Xena. “She can navigate us through.”
Increased suggestibility to the source’s expressed desires.
Carmen sighed.
“And practical concerns aside, it is the right thing to do,” she said. “Trafficking sentient beings is wrong. I don’t give a damn how voluntary your slavery is, Mila. It’s wrong. I hope I can make you realize that.
“But if you want to go straight back into slavery when you get home instead of resuming your career as a starship engineer, that’s your business. In the meantime, while you’re aboard my ship, you are no one’s property.”
Mila held her gaze, her expression baffled, but her green eyes thoughtful. Carmen turned her attention to the rest of the crew.
“Any questions?” she said.
And Stage 1: Increased distractibility. Mild to moderate amplification of libido.
When Letitia finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. Fire burned in her loins as her heart pounded.
“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” Carmen said, her voice rough.
Letitia’s lips curved. Her hands found the hem of Carmen’s shirt, fingers grazing bare skin beneath.
“You think clearer after you’ve been laid,” she purred. She pulled the shirt up and over Carmen’s head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. “Just let me help you.”
Oh, shit.
“What’s that smell?”
“Wet XenX.”
The scent of Mila’s wet fur – no, her pheromones – thick in the air, short-circuiting her anger, replacing it with raw, demanding need. She’d blamed stress, proximity, her own unresolved feelings. But that hadn’t been it….
The final line of the summary burned itself into her retinas:
Conclusion: XenX pheromones represent a significant psychological and operational hazard. Designation as a Class-4 Bio-contaminant and primary rationale for UPA interdiction of XenX individuals within controlled space.
Not slavery. Not cultural incompatibility. This. This insidious, invisible weapon. This chemical subversion of free will.
Mila wasn’t just a victim or a burden. She was a walking, talking neurochemical bomb. And she’d been sitting in their midst, radiating that sweet, treacherous scent, while Carmen made decisions that could get them all killed.
The console screen blurred. Letitia slammed her fist down on the metal surface, the sharp crack echoing in the quiet station. Fury, cold and pure, washed over the icy dread.
Not at Mila, not entirely. The report mentioned “source individual,” implying it was biological, involuntary. Mila might not even know the full extent.
No, her anger was directed at the situation. At the UPA for burying this. At Carmen – her friend, her captain – being played, manipulated on a fundamental level.
Carmen, who prided herself on control, whose very identity was built on commanding every variable, was being puppeted by her own biochemistry.
That protective instinct, the fierce loyalty that had always defined her relationship with Carmen, flared white-hot. This wasn’t a crush. This wasn’t Carmen making a risky choice based on flawed logic or even burgeoning affection. This was chemical warfare.
And Carmen – stubborn, proud, fiercely independent Carmen – was the primary target, drowning in an invisible tide of manufactured desire and impaired judgment.
Letitia pushed back from the console, Kovoid fiscal policy completely forgotten.
The nebula fringe, the damaged drive, the pirate threat – all of it was secondary.
There was a more immediate enemy aboard the ship.
An enemy wearing fur, calm acceptance, and no fucking clothes, whose very presence was unraveling them.
She had to find Carmen. Now. Before Stage Two became Stage Three. Before Carmen gambled everything, sacrificed them all, on an altar built by pheromones and a desperate need that wasn’t even her own.