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"Qhix," Behtu's voice erupts out over the comm. "Did you see that? It's doubling back!"
"We see it," I answer through gritted teeth. "Can you hail it? We think the females have taken control."
"Let me try." Behtu goes silent, then comes back with an answer I don't want to hear. "Comm link is jammed."
"Bliking dund!" I curse, balling my fist and wanting so badly to hit something.
"If we can't hail them, we have to assume the worst," Mordox reasons. "We go with our original plan and hit the ship with a blast from the forward dyri cells, kill the power, and knock everyone onboard unconscious. It's the safest way for us to board and get the females back."
I correct my course and move to intercept, getting the dyri cells ready to fire a short burst of electric current at the Lizordian craft barreling toward us.
"Closing in," I announce, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The closer the Lizordian's craft comes, the more apparent its instability. It zigzags drunkenly, thrusters firing off-kilter, casting plumes of ionized gas into the vacuum of space. My corium pulses on my arm, my sivot agonizing over Tasha's safety.
"By the rings of Klaxis," I mutter under my breath. "What in the bliking dund is happening on that ship?"
Adrenaline surges hot through my veins, a tempestuous current of hope and fear as the erratic dance of the Lizordian's craft hints at a rebellion within its sleek hull. Could my fiery-haired female and her friends have overpowered the Lizordian when we could not and seized control of the craft? My heart thrums with fierce anticipation, each beat pounds in my ears.
Suddenly, the command deck is engulfed with the blare of the proximity alarm, indicating an unforeseen threat quickly approaching.
"What the fuck?" Rooke sits forward in the seat next to mine, tapping on the console before him. "Incoming space debris!"
"Debris from what?" I curse.
"Scanners show metalloid and hiffet," Rooke says.
"The remains of spacecraft," Mordox mutters.
My eyes lock onto the source of the alarm. The swirling maelstrom of debris is a wide cosmic river barreling across the path between us and the Lizordian craft.
"We need to move the Lizordian ship," I say, adjusting my course. "My guess is the females are flying that thing, otherwise the Lizordian would have already moved his craft away from the debris field."
"You got a tow beam on that Thrushian cube, Qhix?" Behtu barks through the comm. "I'm out of range and can't get there in time to pull them out of harm's way."
"What?" I jest, though my cocky smirk doesn't reach my eyes. "That Lizordian freighter of yours too slow, brother?"
"Careful flying, Qhix," Behtu responds solemnly, aware of the danger I must face.
"You any good at navigating debris fields, pirate?" I ask Rooke.
"Better than most," the red-and-black-haired Ziarian sits forward in his seat, cracking his knuckles.
"The field is too wide to go around. We need to fly through that mess if we're to reach the females in time." My heart thunders in my chest as the gravity of the situation becomes clear. I know I can't do this alone. "I'm going to need your help to navigate."
"Already on it." Rooke's hands fly over the interface, bringing up a map to calculate the best path through the flow of debris.
I increase power to the thrusters and rush toward the Lizordian ship. Fragments from the unfortunate craft ping off my hull, each course adjustment a calculated risk between reaching the females and obliteration.
"Portside thrust!" Rooke barks.
I respond with the precision of a male who has spent his life dancing with danger among the stars.
My gaze locks onto the Lizordian craft. Tasha, my heart, my mate, is there. The thought of her in peril is a fire in my veins, fueling every maneuver, sharpening every reflex.
"Steady... steady..." I whisper to myself, adjusting the thrusters with deft touches. A large chunk of metalloid spins toward us. With a sharp intake of breath, I twist the controls, feeling the ship respond like an extension of my own body. The fragment grazes the belly of my craft, sending shivers through the hull, the warning kiss of a close call.
"Close one," Rooke acknowledges, his voice a mixture of respect and relief. I can only nod, too focused on the next challenge to spare words. There was no room for error, not when the females' lives hung in the balance. Fear of losing my mate spurs me on as we plunge deeper into the debris field.
