Page 12 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

“Captain’s orders,” she says, setting the tray down. “He said you might appreciate some... sustenance.”

I eye the food suspiciously. “Is it poisoned?”

A flicker of amusement crosses her features. “Only if you consider spiced Huxarian root vegetables poisonous. It’s... an acquired taste.”

“I’ll pass.” I gesture to the datapad. “Busy.”

Zara exhales sharply, her russet ears twitching. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

I pause mid-step, tension coiling in my shoulders. “See what?”

She gestures vaguely, not just at the ship, but at something bigger—something I don’t want to name. “The Captain. He’s holding it together, but not for long.”

A prickle of unease skates down my spine. “If this is another speech about fated mates—”

“It’s not,” she snaps, tail lashing. “You don’t have to believe in destiny. But you should believe in biology. He’s already showing signs.”

A cold weight settles in my stomach. “Signs of what?”

Her expression hardens. “Deterioration.” The word lands like a blow. “The bond-sickness isn’t just a myth, and it’s not some romantic curse. It’s real. And it’s already taking hold.”

My throat tightens, but I force a scoff. “And what? He’ll just drop dead if I don’t fall into his arms?”

Zara’s ears flick back, her voice razor-sharp. “No. But if he keeps pushing his body past its limits, he’s going to slip. His judgment, his reflexes—everything that makes him Cirdox will start failing. And in a fight like this?” She leans in, eyes locking onto mine. “Mistakes mean death. Not just for him. For all of us.”

I fold my arms, ignoring the sudden pressure in my chest. “That’s not my problem.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Not yet.”

The clinical detachment of my neural implants feels like a shield against the weight of her words. They’re designed to analyze threats, calculate odds, process data. But they offer no insights into alien biology or the implications of what she’s saying. All they can tell me is that her vital signs indicate she believes every word.

The weight of her words hits me like a plasma blast. This isn’t just some alien trying to claim me—he’s literally dying because of whatever biological imperative makes him think I’m his mate. And I have no idea what to do with that information.

The crew’s hushed voices filter through the ventilation shaft, punctuated by the clink of metal on metal. My illegal neural implants filter out the background hum of the ship’s systems, isolating their conversation.

“...Black Eclipse consolidating power...”

“...Brotherhood fracturing...”

“...Captain Cirdox taking too many risks...”

My blood chills. Whatever Cirdox is involved in, it’s bigger than just smuggling. And if his crew is worried, it’s serious.

Suddenly, the ship lurches violently, throwing me against the wall. Alarms blare, red lights flashing across the ceiling. Zara grabs the nearest handhold, her fur bristling with alarm. “What was that?”

“Ambush!” a gruff voice barks over the ship’s comm. “Three unidentified fighters, closing fast. They’re flying Huxarian colors, but their energy signatures don’t match any known models. Could be Black Eclipse.”

I shove the plate of nutrient paste aside, my stomach churning with a tension that has nothing to do with the recycled-protein flavor. The buzz from my illegal implants intensifies, a frantic energy that vibrates in unsettling harmony with the alarms screaming around me. The deck vibrates beneath my feet, and the acrid tang of ozone stings my nostrils—a telltale sign the atmospheric regulator is struggling to keep up. If they don’t get this under control, we’re all going to suffocate before those pirates even get the chance to carry out their charming spacing plan.

My mind races, trying to connect the dots. Eclipse fighters. Here? Now? It can’t be a coincidence. That last message—the hacker knew I was onto them, knew about the luminore shipments, knew I’d run. Did they tip off the Eclipse? Orchestrate this whole attack? My luck can’t be that bad, can it? One minute I’m dealing with a lovesick alien pirate who thinks I’m his cosmic soulmate, the next we’re getting jumped by unknown assailants. This feels... wrong. Too precise.

The data I stole burns in my neural cache—proof of Black Eclipse collusion with STI officials, evidence of their plans to monopolize the luminore trade and cripple Outer Orion. If itfalls into the wrong hands, entire systems will suffer. And now someone’s hunting me for it, someone with enough resources to track me across systems and coordinate attacks. This whole pirate drama feels like a calculated move, a way to keep me off balance while they close in. The timing is too perfect, the pursuit too precise. Like they know exactly which buttons to push.

And the biggest, most tempting button of all? Cirdox. The pull toward him feels like a betrayal of every survival instinct I possess, yet I can’t deny the way my body thrums with a dangerous energy whenever he’s near. Whatever’s happening between us is just another vulnerability they can exploit, another way to break down my defenses until they get what they want.

The alarms blare, a deafening symphony of impending doom. My mind races, sifting through the encrypted files burning in my neural cache. Each one a potential motive, each one a possible reason for this targeted attack. CorpSec data breaches, black market weapons deals, stolen STI intel—any of them could be enough to draw this kind of heat. They’re after me.

Either way, I’m trapped in the middle of a fight I didn’t start, and if I don’t act fast, I might not live to regret it. My instincts scream at me to run, to find an escape pod and prioritize my own survival. But years of scraping by in the Orion Outpost’s underbelly have taught me a different lesson: when the walls start closing in, find the biggest threat and make yourself indispensable.

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