Corner of Reverence

Zonin silently landed on the cold metal floor, his environmental suit taking most of the brunt. Crouching, he looked up, wary that someone or something sensed his racing heartbeat, rather than the graceful fall.

The space station's corridor was empty.

"There!" the shout tore through his eardrums from behind. Without thinking, Zonin snapped to his feet and erupted down the corridor, as fast as his legs could push him. Plasma streaked over his head, searing the metal superstructure. He dodged left, then right. A bolt singed his abdomen and he felt the familiar sense of blisters creeping up his side and tearing open.

Fatigue began to force itself into his mind and his pumping legs. His movements were no longer like those of an agile leopard. Zonin's heart rate was that of a machine gun, firing so rapidly it felt as though it were humming.

I will survive this mission, he thought. A second bolt slammed his back, fusing suit with skin. He ignored it and pushed through the searing pain. I will survive. I will survive. He continued to pump this mantra through his head as he rounded a gradual corner.

It would be the last corner he ever encountered.

Zonin's armored feet skidded to a grinding stop. His heart skipped a few beats as his eyes widened to the size of golf balls.

A platoon of Rebel fighters awaited him, rifles leveled and fingers quivering above their triggers. The leader, standing tall before his men, held his rifle at his side and stared through Zonin's masked eyes. His expression wasn't one of hatred or disgust, rather a sense of respect and admiration.

The last thought that streamed through Zonin's mind was what earned respect from the Rebel leader: I nearly completed the impossible...