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"Hard to starboard!" Rooke calls out.
Metalloid scrapes against metalloid as we narrowly miss a large chunk of debris. With unwavering focus, I navigate the intricate twists and turns while Rooke keeps a sharp eye out for any potential collisions. Every narrow escape from disaster feels like a hard-earned victory, solidifying the trust between me and the Ziarian.
"We're clear, Kaul!" Rooke says, punching out a hard breath. "Readying the tow beam."
"On my mark, we fire the dyri cells and attach the tow beam," I order my Ziarian co-pilot.
"Ready." Rooke's finger hovers over the controls to engage the dyri cells.
"Ready… and mark." In one fluid motion, Rooke blasts the Lizordian craft as I activate the tow beam, a golden lasso of light reaching out from the underbelly of my craft to wrap around the Lizordian ship. The beam locks on with an unyielding grip just as the electric current from the dyri cells kills power to the craft.
"Good work, males." Mordox comes to stand next to my seat at the command console and claps me on the shoulder, his voice tinged with the warmth of a hard-fought camaraderie. "We're not done yet, but that was some serious navigating."
I allow myself a small smile, the tension easing from my shoulders as the debris field shrinks in the distance.
"Now, let's go get our females." I release the strap from my seat, my sivot emerging as I stand.
TASHA
The ship rocks violently, and I grip the edge of the console to steady myself. Stacy's hands dance over the controls with frantic inexperience; her brow furrows in concentration as she tries to tame the ship's erratic movements.
"You've got this, Captain Stacy," I murmur, eyes locked on the three-dimensional map projecting up from the console. My own heart keeps time with the erratic thrumming of the engine, each beat a reminder of how far out of our league we are. "Just aim for that galaxy up ahead."
"Trying," she grunts back, the strain evident in her voice. Her fingers move over the controls and the craft lurches. "Fuck! I suck at this."
"You're doing better than any of us could," I reply with a tight grin.
I refocus on the map, and that's when I see it, a blip moving toward us, steady and purposeful. I squint at the approaching object. As it gets closer, it becomes more recognizable. Qhix's ship! It cuts through space with the confidence of a predator, its trajectory aiming straight for us.
A laugh bubbles up my throat, relief washing over me. He's coming for me! My mate, my fearsome outlaw savior with his snow-white hair and glossy blue skin, is coming to save us.
"Stacy, look!" I say, my voice a mix of awe and urgent joy.
Her eyes flick to the spot on the map I'm pointing at, and I watch the realization dawn on her. For a brief moment, her posture relaxes, the lines of tension easing from her face.
"Qhix," she breathes, and we share a smile.
The shrill scream of an alarm slices through the command deck, shattering our brief respite. My heart slams against my ribs, a staccato rhythm that matches the blaring warning flashing an incessant yellow.
"What's happening?" Stacy's voice cracks, hands flying over the console in a desperate attempt to silence the alarm.
"I don't know!" I frantically manipulate the map, using my fingers to pan around and zoom in and out until I see it. "Oh fuck! Look at that."
A minefield of debris is about to cross in front of us.
"Can we go around?" My voice is tight, every word squeezing through clenched teeth.
"I'll try." Stacy's complexion turns ghostly with her attempts to turn the ship out of harm's way. "The goddamn thrusters aren't responding!"
Stacy's movements are awkward and uncoordinated as she tries to steer the ship. It moves as if it were a wounded animal, slow and erratic. I bite my lip, holding back tears that threaten to spill.
As I stare out the viewscreen, the veil of debris crossing before us obscures the view of my savior. "We've survived too much to be taken out by some stupid space debris."
To hrough the wave of chaos, I spy Qhix's ship and hope flare, sparking a flame within the icy dread clutching my chest.
Stacy leans forward, her knuckles white against the console. "He's insane," she breathes, eyes wide.
Every twist and turn of his ship through the debris field is a masterstroke, a silent testament to his skill as a pilot. He slips through gaps that seem impossibly narrow, dodging chunks the size of cars.
