“He calculated our destination.” The realization settles like ice in my gut. “Kallos is the only station in this sector equipped to handle inter-species bonding. He knew we’d have to dock here. He didn’t chase us through the field.”
“He beat us to the finish line,” Zola finishes, her voice hollow.
All that time I thought we were gaining distance, thought we’d outsmarted him with superior piloting—he was three moves ahead. While we fought through the asteroid field, he took a faster FTL lane straight to Kallos and set his trap.
Thek-Ka isn’t behind us.
He’s waiting in the dark ahead, somewhere in the blind spots around the station, patient as death.
“KiKi,” Zola says, her voice steady despite the fear flowing through our bond, “what’s our fuel status?”
“Eighteen percent. Enough for approximately six more hours of standard operation, or twenty-three minutes of combat maneuvering.”
“Air scrubbers?”
There’s a pause. “Saturated. The pheromone levels from your bonding activity have clogged the filters. Full system flush and filter replacement required. Current air quality will become hazardous in approximately four hours.”
Our entwined senses allow me to feel Zola’s tactical mind processing the trap we’re in. We can’t run—not enough fuel, and Thek-Ka is somewhere ahead waiting for us to bolt. We can’t wait—the air is slowly poisoning us with our own pheromones, and eventually we’ll have to dock somewhere. And we can’t go forward—the station is locked down, the blockade grid designed to keep threats contained.
“We have to convince them to let us dock,” she says finally. “Before the air goes completely bad.”
“They won’t open the doors with a Level 5 threat in the area.”
“Then we make them.” She’s already accessing the communications array, her fingers flying over the controls. “This is where being a Safety Inspector actually helps. I have override codes for emergency situations.”
I watch her work, my clever mate turning regulations and protocols into weapons. She’s broadcasting on multiple channels, her Inspector credentials attached to every transmission, demanding emergency docking on grounds of environmental hazard and biochemical contamination.
For a long moment, nothing happens. The station remains dark and silent, the blockade ships holding their positions.Jitters has shifted to pure red, terror and protective instincts flooding through his small body as he senses the danger closing around us.
Then the comm system crackles to life.
But not with the station’s traffic control. Not with the military blockade commander.
The screen flickers, and a face appears—weathered and wise, with eyes that have seen everything the universe can throw at a sentient being and remained unimpressed.
Mother.
“Inspector Cross,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. “Mr. Maxone.”
Through our shared awareness, I feel Zola’s spike of pure terror mixing with my own. Not the physical fear of Thek-Ka hunting us, or the tactical dread of being trapped between threats.
This is the fear of facing someone who knows exactly what you’ve done and is about to make you explain yourself.
“You have,” Mother continues, her tone suggesting she already knows every detail of the past four days, “some explaining to do.”
13
Critical Systems Failure
Crash
Motherdoesnotblink.
On the comm screen, the matriarch of OOPS stares at us with the kind of terrifying patience that makes me want to vent the airlock just to escape the awkwardness. I feel Zola’s nervous system spike—not with fear exactly, but with the specific anxiety of someone facing bureaucratic authority while technically guilty.
“Well?” Mother asks, her voice cutting through the silence of the cockpit with surgical precision. “I am waiting to hear how a routine safety inspection turned into a biochemical incident that has triggered a military blockade.”
Zola clears her throat, straightening her spine in that way that reminds me why I love her—even facing down the most intimidating woman in the galaxy, she refuses to cower. “Director Morrison, regarding the incident... we encountered a Level 5 hostile entity. During the evasion maneuvers in the asteroid field, atmospheric scrubbers failed, leading to a pheromone saturation event which resulted in...”
