Chapter 34
Corso’s ten-minute deadline pulsed in Carmen’s skull like a bomb timer. Ten minutes until he spaced Sark. Or Letitia. Or turned the Antilles herself into glittering debris. Ten minutes until Mila …
The phantom scent, that sweet, cloying musk, gathered in the air around her. Corso’s taunts echoed, poison dripping into the cracks of her certainty.
Property. Using her. Next john.
“Captain,” Mila’s voice came over the intercom, “I recommend you report to Engineering right away. Without Zed aboard, someone needs to be at my station. I’ll report to the airlock at once.”
“Stay where the fuck you are, Mila,” Carmen snapped. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Everyone on the bridge stared at her. She sighed.
“Not yet, anyway,” she added.
She closed her eyes and imagined Mila’s face. The mesmerizing green eyes filled her vision. How could she live without them gazing on her with desire? With love….
“Options,” Carmen rasped. She didn’t turn from the screen, didn’t look at her crew. Couldn’t. “Talk. Now.”
A beat of heavy silence. Then Norvik’s calm, unnerving voice cut through.
“Captain, I believe the situation is not as dire as you think.”
“How do you figure that?” Letitia said, incredulity dripping off each word.
Carmen sighed and opened her eyes. She turned her gaze on Norvik.
“Explain,” she said.
“Nick Corso desires the XenX female intact and functional,” he replied, his tone devoid of inflection. “He clearly has a high financial investment in delivering her to her contracted buyer. He is at least a week overdue on completing his commission.
“The individual who purchased her is no doubt uncomfortable with the delay. It is illegal for XenX to be present at all in UPA space. Possession of a Harimi constitutes the highest level of felony violation there is, meaning Captain Corso’s client knows exactly what the risk is and will not want her … lost.
“It is therefore further likely that Captain Corso finds himself under extreme pressure to recover the goods, if you will.”
“In other words,” Carmen said, “the slimy piece of shit is desperate.”
“Correct,” Norvik said. “One assumes Captain’s Corso’s well-being is dependent upon fulfilling his end of the contract. Threatening Mila’s destruction, then, introduces a variable counter to his immediate aggression. It forces negotiation.”
“Negotiation?” Letitia spat from the weapons console, her voice thick with fury and unshed tears. Her hands were clenched into fists on the useless panel. “With that animal? After what he just did?”
“Negotiation is the logical path to survival,” Norvik stated.
“A threat of mutually assured destruction alters the tactical calculus. If we transmit that we are initiating core overload self-destruct protocols, contingent upon his continued aggression, he must pause. He cannot risk losing the asset.”
Carmen’s mind raced, cutting through the fog of grief and fury. Norvik’s logic was chilling, but it wasn’t wrong. Corso wanted Mila whole. A threat to destroy her might make him hesitate.
“He’s not stupid, Norvik,” Carmen said, the numbness receding slightly, replaced by the sharp, tactical edge she usually wore like armor.
“His sensors can scan our power grid, our core signature. He’ll know in seconds if we’re running a genuine overload buildup or just bluffing with lights and sirens.
If he sniffs a bluff, he fries us where we sit. ”
“Captain,” Mila said over the commlink, “there are several transponder probes in Cargo Bay Three. Their primary function is emergency, location broadcasting, but their emission matrices are highly adaptable.”
“What are you suggesting?” Carmen asked.
“I can reconfigure a probe’s core emitter,” Mila explained.
“Instead of broadcasting a locator signal, I can set it to flood a localized area with broad-spectrum static interference. A focused EM pulse combined with randomized sensor ghosting. At close range, directly against Star Shrike’s hull, it would blind their short-range sensors and targeting systems temporarily. ”
Carmen’s breath hitched. Blinding Corso. Even for a minute. Long enough to make their self-destruct threat plausible. Long enough to make him sweat. Hope, fragile and terrifying, flickered.
“How long to rig it?” Carmen demanded.
“Approximately six minutes, Captain,” Mila replied. “The components are accessible. The modifications are within my capability.”
Six minutes. They had maybe seven left on Corso’s clock. It was tight. Too tight. But possible.
“Do it,” Carmen ordered. “Fast as you can. Sark, prep a probe for remote launch. Minimal thrust. We need it to drift close, very close, to Star Shrike before Mila activates the scramble.”
“Aye, Captain,” Sark squeaked, his orange fingers already flying over the launch console, head fin twitching nervously.
“Okay,” Carmen breathed, forcing herself to think, to plan. “Blind him. Make the self-destruct threat real enough he can’t verify it. That buys us time. But what then? He’s still going to want us to hand her over.”
“With the threat established, we demand he pay us for her. Cover our fines, settle our debt with Velasco.”
“No fucking way, Norvik!” Letitia roared. “We can’t sell her to that dickless asshole.”
“We do not need to sell her,” Norvik said, his voice smooth, his gaze still locked on Carmen. “We need only keep Captain Corso talking, force him to bargain. With luck, it will be enough time for Zed to complete the hack. At that point, we can escape into the Forbidden Zone.”
“Where Corso can’t follow,” Carmen said.
Her mind whirred. Corso didn’t know Zed had transferred his consciousness into the satellite. He assumed he’d killed their engineer and left them effectively dead in space. He couldn’t know Mila was every bit as talented as Zed, that she was in Cargo Bay Three right now, rigging a diversion.
And that meant Zed still had a chance. If he was still in there, he could finish the hack and let them through.
But could he come with them?
She didn’t have time to think about that. She had to think like Corso had killed him, so she could save the other people still aboard.
Including Mila.
“But how do we sell it?” she asked. “Corso knows me. He’ll never believe I’d want to sell her.”
Norvik swiveled his chair fully to face her. His yellow pupils held a strange intensity.
“He would not believe you, Captain. But he would believe a mutiny.”
Carmen’s heart stopped. Mutiny?
The ghost of The Buccaneer, of W’Ooshlee staring sightlessly at her, slammed into her like a comet.
Her vision narrowed. She saw Norvik’s calm blue face, remembered his cold pragmatism, his relentless push to sell Mila.
Was this his moment? Was the Collectivist finally making his move, using Corso’s attack as cover? Trusting him felt like stepping onto quicksand.
“A mutiny,” Carmen repeated, her voice dangerously quiet.
She straightened, pushing away from Sark’s chair, her gaze locking onto Norvik.
“You suggesting you take command, Norvik? Signal Corso that the pragmatic faction has finally overthrown the bleeding-heart captain? Offer him Mila in exchange for letting the Antilles limp away, her debts paid?”
“Precisely,” Norvik said, unfazed by the accusation in her tone.
“Nick Corso’s psychological profile, based on observed interactions and known history, indicates a profound need to dominate you, Captain.
To witness your defeat. A signal indicating crew insurrection, your confinement, and an offer to liquidate the disputed asset would be irresistible to him.
It fulfills his narrative of your incompetence and his ultimate victory. ”
Bile flooded her throat. The very idea of Corso beating her – again – made her want to vomit. And the crew had been fighting her the whole way here. What if the real bluff was Norvik suggesting the mutiny would be fake?
She scanned the bridge. Letitia watched her, dark eyes wide, a complex mix of fear and fierce loyalty warring on her face. Sark hunched over his console, trembling, but his fingers kept working. Norvik … Norvik was a blue statue of logic, impossible to read.
“You trust him with this?” Carmen’s question was aimed at Letitia, her voice raw. “After everything? After he wanted to sell her?”
Letitia met her gaze, unflinching.
“I trust you, Captain. And I trust that Norvik wants to live as much as the rest of us. Selling her to Corso doesn’t guarantee that shitheel will keep his end of the bargain.
“This … this gets us a chance.” She rose from her seat, took a step towards Carmen. “It’s a hell of a bluff. But it’s the only play we’ve got.”
Sark looked up from his console, his orange face pale.
“Captain,” he said. Then he paused and gulped before continuing. “We’ve followed you into hyperspace storms, past COPS cordons, into deals with backstabbing scum like Maltese. We’re still here. Because of you. We trusted you through everything. Even this.
“It’s time you trusted us back. Just this once.”
The words echoed in the hollow space Zed had left.
Trust Norvik, who saw Mila as cargo. Trust Sark, paralyzed by fear.
Trust Letitia, whose loyalty felt like the only solid ground left, but whose jealousy was a fresh wound.
Surrender control. Completely. Let them stage a mutiny. Hope it was only a ruse.
The aftertaste of Mila’s scent through the air scrubbers seemed to intensify, a sweet, distracting whisper:
Surrender. Freedom.
The memory of yielding on the cold deck plates in Engineering flashed – the terrifying loss of control, the obliterating release. Was this the same? Trusting her crew with her life, with Mila’s life, with the ship? Was it surrender? Or suicide?
Letitia’s station chimed. She went to her board.
“Star Shrike has launched their lander shuttle, Captain,” she reported. “Nick Corso is on his way.”
They were just about out of time. There was no choice. Only the gamble.
Carmen closed her eyes for a heartbeat. When she opened them, the numbness was gone, burned away by the desperate fire of the only option left.
“Do it,” she ordered, her voice regaining a sliver of its old steel.
“Norvik, you have tactical command for the deception. Signal Corso. Tell him the crew has seized control. Tell him I’m confined.
Tell him you’re offering Mila for safe passage.
” She met Norvik’s yellow gaze, forcing herself to hold it. “Make it convincing.”
Norvik nodded once.
“Understood, Captain.” He turned back to his console, fingers moving with swift precision.
“Captain,” Letitia said urgently. “You need to be off the bridge for the deception to hold. It’ll be better if he can’t see you on the viewer.”
Carmen’s gut clenched. Leaving the bridge. Leaving her ship in the hands of a man who’d advocated selling the woman she … the woman she needed to protect. It was the ultimate surrender. Terrifying. Necessary.
“Mila,” Carmen said into the commlink, her voice tight. “Status on the probe?”
“Modifications complete, Captain,” Mila replied instantly. “Charging sequence initiated. Ready for launch in ninety seconds.”
Carmen took a deep, shuddering breath. She looked at Letitia, then Sark, finally letting her gaze rest on Norvik’s back.
“You know the plan. Hold to it.” She paused, the words sticking in her throat. “Good luck.”
Without another word, she turned and strode towards the bridge hatch. Each step felt like walking off a cliff. The hatch hissed open, then closed behind her, sealing her out.
Alone in the corridor, the muffled sounds of the bridge – Norvik’s low voice issuing commands, Sark’s nervous affirmatives – felt distant, alien.
She leaned back against the cold bulkhead, pressing her palms flat against the metal, feeling the ship’s wounded heartbeat vibrating through her. Surrendered. Waiting.
Praying the mutiny was only skin deep.