The servo fails with a spray of hydraulic fluid and sparks. Thek-Ka's plasma cannon droops uselessly, its targeting systems suddenly disconnected from his neural interface.
Through the bond: Lower right thrust assembly. Thirty-two percent effectiveness. Target it and he's immobilized.
I dive beneath his guard, using his compromised mobility against him. I grab the damaged thruster housing with both hands and yank hard, using my full body weight and Velogian strength. Metal shrieks—even in vacuum, I can feel the vibration through my grip—and the assembly tears free in a shower of freezing propellant.
Thek-Ka tries to compensate with his remaining thrusters, but it's too little, too late. He's effectively pinned in space now, unable to maneuver, unable to close distance or create range. All he can do is defend with whatever weapons he has left.
And he's running out of those.
Through the bond: Chest armor. The damage from earlier can be exploited. But Crash—he knows he's beaten. This is about honor now.
She's right. I can see it in the way Thek-Ka has stopped trying to win and started simply trying not to lose dishonorably. His stance shifts from aggressive to defensive, from predator to prey, and there's something almost tragic in the way his mandibles click with resignation.
I close the distance one final time, my movements careful, controlled, respectful. This isn't about humiliation. It's about completion—finishing what we started three years ago in a waythat honors both the warrior Thek-Ka is and the partnership Zola and I have become.
My claws settle against the vulnerable spot in his chest armor—the same place I struck earlier, now widened by repeated impacts into a gap that exposes the vital organs beneath. One thrust, and this ends.
"Enough," Thek-Ka says formally, his voice carrying across all comm channels. "I yield to the Golden Viper and his bonded partner, Zola Cross of the human territories."
The words echo across the quarantine zone with ritual weight. Through the bond, I feel Zola's surge of relief and triumph—and beneath it, Jitters' exhausted but jubilant presence.
I retract my claws and back away, giving Thek-Ka space to stabilize himself with his remaining functional systems.
"You have taught me something today, Golden Viper," he continues, his mandibles clicking with what I now recognize as profound respect. "I believed that true strength came from individual prowess. That partnerships made warriors weak, dependent. I was wrong."
He turns his head to look directly toward The Precision, where I know Zola is watching from the bridge.
"Zola Cross," his voice carries across the void with formal weight. "I spoke from ignorance when I dismissed you as 'the female.' You are a warrior in your own right, brilliant and fierce. And you, Golden Viper—you fight with honor both with her and without her. Together, you have created something I have never witnessed in all my years of combat. Not master and servant. Not protector and protected. But equal partners who choose to be extraordinary together."
Through the bond, I feel Zola's emotions swelling—pride, relief, love, and something deeper that has no name in any language I know.
"Thank you," I manage, my throat tight with emotion. "You gave us both the chance to discover what we really are."
"And what are you, Golden Viper?" Thek-Ka asks.
I look toward The Precision, where I know my mate is waiting, where Jitters is probably bouncing around the viewscreen like a triumphant rubber ball, where our ship—our home—waits to take us anywhere in the universe we want to go.
"Complete," I say simply. "Both of us, individually complete. But together?"
Through the bond, I feel Zola's answering smile, sense her speaking the same word at the same moment I do:
"Unstoppable."
"Then go, both of you," Thek-Ka says, and there's finality in his voice—not defeat, but completion. "Your bond has earned freedom from my hunt. The debt between us is satisfied with honor. May your partnership bring you strength for whatever challenges await."
As I make my way back to The Precision, I can see Jitters through the viewscreen. He's practically vibrating with relieved joy, cycling through every color in his emotional spectrum, though parts of him look distinctly singed around the edges.
The airlock cycles, and the moment the seal engages, my helmet comm reconnects to the ship's systems.
"—monitoring your vitals and you arehurt, you stubborn—oh thank god, you're back, you're safe—" Zola's voice floods the channel, tight with tears and relief.
"I'm here, zihah'tel," I manage as the inner door opens.
And then she's there, catching me as my injured ribs finally make themselves known. The adrenaline is wearing off, and with it goes whatever was keeping me functional despite the damage.
"Oh god, you're hurt—" she begins, her hands already running over my ribs with gentle efficiency, assessing the damage even as tears stream down her face.
"Terrifying?" I suggest, pulling off my helmet with my good arm. "Exhilarating? Completely insane?"
