"Good," she whispers. "Then go. But Crash? I'll still feel every meter between us."
"I know, zihah'tel. Me too."
Jitters presses himself against the main viewscreen, his gelatinous form pulsing with nervous energy—a living mood ring broadcasting his emotions in shifting colors. When our eyes meet, he shifts to a warm golden hue that somehow conveys absolute faith in my abilities.
"Even Jitters believes in us," I murmur, touched by the simple loyalty.
"Jitters is very smart," Zola replies, and I hear the smile in her voice. "Now go show that overgrown beetle what real partnership looks like."
The comm crackles with Thek-Ka's formal tones—broadcast on open channels so everyone can hear.
"Golden Viper. The time for words has ended. I emerge now to settle our debt of honor. Will you face me in the traditional manner, or do you still hide behind your female's calculations?"
Every protective instinct I possess flares at the dismissive term. My fangs extend involuntarily, and I feel Zola's answering spike of irritation through the bond.
"I don't hide behind anyone," I reply on the same open channel, activating the airlock sequence. "And her name is Zola Cross. She's my partner, my equal, and the most brilliant tacticalmind I've ever encountered. When you lose today, you'll know it was to both of us."
"We shall see, pit fighter. We shall see."
The airlock cycles, and I step into the vast emptiness of space. The comm connection to The Precision cuts off—helmet systems aren't designed for ship-to-suit communication at combat ranges. But the bond? The bond holds strong, a living thread of awareness that lets me feel Zola's presence even across the void.
Zero-gravity combat is an art form most species never master. The human military teaches basic EVA maneuvers, and even the Velogians adapted our jungle-world reflexes to work in three dimensions. But Exoscarabs are natural void dwellers, their segmented bodies and multiple limbs perfectly suited for the environment.
Thek-Ka emerges from his ship's belly like death incarnate—seven feet of chitinous armor and predatory grace, four arms ending in weapon mounts that gleam with deadly purpose. His natural carapace has been augmented with military-grade plating, and the mandibles framing his face click with anticipation.
But I can see the damage now. Micro-fractures in his chest plates. A slight favoring of his left rear limb. The way he compensates for compromised maneuvering thrusters. Through the bond, I sense Zola's analytical mind processing the same visual data, and suddenly I know—not guess, butknow—that the asteroid field took a heavier toll than Thek-Ka wants to admit.
"You look well, Golden Viper. The softness of a female has not diminished you as I feared."
"Disappointed?" I ask, firing my maneuvering jets to maintain position fifty meters away.
"Relieved. Victory over a weakened opponent brings no honor."
There's something almost sad in his voice, and I realize that for all his obsession with completing our interrupted match, Thek-Ka is as trapped by his culture's demands as I was by mine.
"Then let's give each other the fight we both deserve," I say.
He comes at me like a missile.
Thek-Ka's opening gambit is pure Exoscarab—a four-limbed assault designed to overwhelm and disorient. Plasma fire streaks past my position as I twist aside, feeling the superheated energy singe the air in my helmet. The thermal bloom is intense enough that my suit's systems immediately begin compensating, but I barely notice. All my attention focuses on the massive warrior bearing down on me with lethal intent.
Through the bond, I feel Zola's awareness sharp and focused. Not words—the distance is too great, the connection too new for complex verbal communication—butimpressions. A sense of where to move, what angle to take. Her tactical genius flowing into my combat instincts like water finding the path of least resistance.
I roll into an attack vector I wouldn't have consciously chosen, coming up behind Thek-Ka's blind spot just as his momentum carries him past my previous position. My claws extend fully as I reach for the servo connections at the base of his rear left limb—
His secondary arm whips around faster than should be possible, combat stimulants lending him inhuman speed. The weighted chain-blade he wields carves through space where my torso was a split second before.
Fast. So fast.
But through the bond, I sense Zola's racing thoughts—patterns she's recognizing, metabolic calculations, implications of artificially enhanced reflexes. The knowledge doesn't come as words but ascertainty. He's burning through his oxygen faster than normal. The stimulants are working, but they come with a cost.
"Good reflexes, Viper. But can you maintain them?"
Thek-Ka's plasma cannon speaks again, a sustained burst that turns the debris around us into glowing slag. I dive behind a twisted section of hull plating, feeling the metal grow white-hot under the assault.
Through the bond: tactical awareness blooming in my mind like flowers made of mathematics. Zola's consciousness overlaying the battlefield, showing me what she sees—escape vectors, weapon ranges, the pattern in Thek-Ka's assault. Classic Exoscarab tactics. Eliminate cover, force close combat where his reach advantage matters most.
So I don't give him what he wants.
