Twenty seconds.
But the Eclipse isn’t turning. Voros is screaming something unintelligible over the broadcast channel—I catch “mine” and “burn” and “take them all with us”—but his ship maintains course. He’s overridden the automatic targeting. He’s flying manual, death-locked on the fortress.
“Zip, the Eclipse isn’t responding to the signature redirect—”
“I AM AWARE, CAPTAIN. COMMANDER VOROS HAS DEMONSTRATED SURPRISING COMPETENCE IN OVERRIDING HIS OWN TARGETING SYSTEMS.”
“Can you get into the Eclipse directly?”
“UPLOADING NOW. ALSO UPLOADING TERRIBLE MUSIC TO THEIR MESS HALL SPEAKERS. THIS IS PERSONAL.”
I grab Rynn, steadying him as the bio-flare takes its toll. He’s trembling, burning hot, pouring everything he has into staying visible.
Hold on, I send through the bond.Just a little longer.
I can feel you, he sends back.You’re magnificent.
Stars, he picks the worst times to be romantic.
“Target lock achieved!” Zip’s voice shifts from sardonic to triumphant. “THE ECLIPSE’S TARGETING COMPUTER IS NOW LOCKED ONTO ITS OWN ENGINE SIGNATURE. COMMANDER VOROS, I HOPE YOU ENJOY IRONY.”
Through the sensors, I watch it happen.
The Eclipse’s navigation system glitches—hard. The ship that was bearing down on us with unstoppable fury suddenly jerks,course correcting toward... itself. Toward the ships flanking it. The escort cruisers that are still slaved to its tactical network.
Voros’s scream cuts across the channel: “What—NO! Override! OVERRIDE!”
Five seconds.
But you can’t override physics. Not at ramming speed. Not when your own targeting computer thinks you’re the enemy.
The Eclipse slams into its escort cruisers.
The explosion is massive—chain reactions cascading through hulls that were never designed for this kind of impact. I watch millions of tons of corporate arrogance fold in on themselves, consumed by fire and the consequences of one man’s obsession.
Voros’s transmission cuts off mid-scream.
And then... silence.
The remaining Meridian ships break formation. Some surrender, killing their engines and broadcasting white signals. Most jump away, scattered to the void where they’ll become someone else’s problem.
“Targets neutralized.” Luzrak’s voice is calm, almost bored. “All courier vessels report minimal damage. One request for hull paint compensation.”
“Anyone else want to try?” Mother’s voice rings across the system. “No? Good.”
I collapse.
Not dramatically—I just... stop being able to hold myself up. My knees hit the generator room floor, and I’m distantly aware that I’m kneeling in blood and debris and the aftermath of everything we survived.
Rynn catches me before I fall further. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel his exhaustion, his pain, his overwhelming relief through the bond. We’re both wrecked. Both barely holding together.
But alive.
Alive.
“We made it,” I whisper.
His forehead presses against mine. Through the bond, love blazes so bright it hurts.
