Page 13 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

Fear twists in my gut—not just for me, but for everyone on this ship. They didn’t choose this fight. I grit my teeth and turn to the console, fingers flying. I’m not just escaping now. I’m keeping them alive.

Right now, that threat is asphyxiation. From the vent in my tiny cabin, I can hear the panicked shouts and the distinctive hiss of escaping atmosphere. My internal sensors confirm what my ears already suspect—rapid decompression in sections fourand five. These pirates, it seems, are out of their depth. I access the ship’s internal network, bypassing their surprisingly weak security protocols. Schematic diagrams flash across my vision, showing me exactly where the damage is and how quickly it’s spreading.

Zara’s frantic attempts to reroute power are visible on the engineering logs—her efforts are valiant, but ultimately futile. The other crew members’ bio-signs show elevated stress levels, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated as they try to contain the damage. They’re good in a fight, I note, analyzing their combat training protocols, but this is a technical crisis, and they’re flailing. Perfect. Time to turn chaos into an advantage.

“Let me access your systems again,” I tell Zara, my voice calm despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. “I might be able to reroute power to the failing atmospheric regulator—and the shields, while I’m at it.”

Showtime, I mutter, a grim satisfaction settling in as the familiar thrill of a high-stakes hack takes over. Time to remind myself—and these pirates—why they call me the Neon Valkyrie.

Zara’s russet fur bristles, her vulpexian ears flattening against her skull as she moves to block the console. “Access our systems?” Her tail lashes with agitation. “I may not be human, but I wasn’t born yesterday,” Zara says, her sharp eyes narrowing as she leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her russet fur bristles slightly, betraying the tension she’s trying to mask. “You already hacked into our systems once. I’m not about to hand you another opportunity to compromise my ship just because the Captain seems to think you belong here.”

“You want to survive this? Then get out of my way.” I match her stare, letting her see the steel in my eyes. “Those aren’t standard pirates out there. They’re targeting your life support systems with military precision. Your engineering team is good—I can see their countermeasures in the system logs—but theseattackers are using classified STI override protocols. The kind that can tear through even military-grade defenses. In about three minutes, this section will decompress completely. Your choice—trust the hacker who specializes in breaking exactly these kinds of systems, or watch your perfectly competent crew get overwhelmed by classified tech they were never meant to face.”

Another hit rocks the ship, and Zara’s claws dig into the console’s edge. Her ears twitch as she listens to the failing equipment, weighing her suspicion against the very real possibility of death by asphyxiation. “If you try anything—”

“You’ll space me yourself. I got it.” I edge past her, fingers already moving across the interface. “Now shut up and let me save your ship,” I reply, my fingers already dancing across the console, working through the sophisticated security protocols with practiced focus. “Unless you’d prefer being recycled as space dust by the Black Eclipse?”

My implants highlight the Void Reaver’s systems—a level of sophistication that confirms my earlier analysis. Multi-layered encryption, adaptive firewalls, and a core matrix that seems to anticipate intrusion attempts. Cirdox clearly invests in quality tech. But beneath the elegant architecture, something feels... off. Like the system is designed to protect against something more than just standard security breaches. There’s a hidden layer, a subtle hum beneath the code that my implants can’t quite decipher. It’s like a whisper in the back of my mind, a warning I can’t ignore. This ship is hiding something.

If I push the shield generators past their limit, we might deflect the next barrage. Or we’ll fry the system and be sitting ducks. My fingers hover, then slide the output to max. “No other choice,” I murmur. The ship groans in protest as I push its systems past their recommended limits, creating a temporary energy surge that will fry any incoming missiles—or melt ourown circuitry if I’m not careful. It’s a calculated risk, the kind I thrive on.

“He needs you on the bridge. Now.” Zara’s fur bristles with alarm. Her tail lashes anxiously as another tremor rocks the ship. “The jump drive’s failing, and from the sound of those alarms, we don’t have much time.”

I curse under my breath. Getting involved is a strategic mistake, but staying hidden while they’re blown out of the sky is an even bigger one. Every instinct screams at me to stay hidden, to protect myself, to avoid becoming entangled in someone else’s fight. Especially when that someone is a dangerously attractive alien pirate who insists I’m his fated mate. The memory of Kai’s screams, the final flicker of his neural link before it went dark, still haunts my nightmares. Trusting anyone, even in a crisis, feels like inviting another betrayal.

But the thought of the Black Eclipse fighters tearing through this ship, of Zara and the other crew members being vaporized by plasma fire... I can’t stand by and watch. Not again. Not after losing Kai, after watching him die because I trusted him to have my back. This time, I’ll be the one watching theirs. Even if it means risking everything.

“Fine,” I say, pushing away from the console as the ship shudders under another near miss. “But if this gets me spaced, I’m haunting your captain for the rest of his ridiculously long lifespan.”

On the bridge, the atmosphere crackles with tension. Cirdox stands at the helm, his wings half-extended, radiating power and barely controlled fury. He glances at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“Report,” he barks.

“Shields holding, but they’re targeting our engines,” Grig says, his pale blue fingers flying across the controls.

“Neon,” Cirdox says, his voice rough. “Can you scramble their targeting systems?”

I take over the tactical display, my neural implants syncing with the ship’s systems. My pulse hammers, the adrenaline of an incoming attack flooding my senses, but then—Cirdox moves. Just a fraction. A shift so minute it shouldn’t register, yet I feel it like a gravitational pull. He’s close, too close, his heat pressing against my side, a counterpoint to the cold logic of my tech.

I expect him to bark another order, to push forward with the same controlled authority he’s wielded since I first saw him. But he doesn’t. He’s still. Too still. A muscle tics in his jaw, tension coiling through him like a wound wire about to snap. His fangs gleam between parted lips, his breath a hot whisper against my skin. Not steady. Not measured.

Something is wrong.

I glance at him, expecting hard calculation, but his eyes—those burning crimson eyes—aren’t locked on the battle schematics. They’re locked on me. Wide pupils, too much strain in the tight line of his shoulders. His wings twitch, the tips curling inward, like he’s fighting something I can’t see.

An error flashes in my neural overlay. My implants glitch. Or maybe... maybe I’m not the only one short-circuiting.

My fingers dance across the tactical interface, neural implants blazing as I weave through layers of encryption. The enemy’s targeting matrix unfolds before me like a deadly constellation, each weapons system a node waiting to be corrupted. Time slows as I sink deeper into the code, the physical world fading until there’s nothing but the pure stream of data.

“Come on, you bastards,” I mutter, injecting a virus into their guidance systems. It’s beautiful in its simplicity—a cascading failure that will spread through their network like wildfire. My enhanced vision highlights each successful breach in brilliantblue, a deadly light show only I can see. “Let’s see how well you shoot when you can’t tell which way is up.”

The effect is immediate and devastating. On the tactical display, their formation breaks apart as my code scrambles their sensors. Plasma bolts that would have torn through our hull now streak harmlessly into the void, their deadly accuracy reduced to wild shots in the dark.

“Targeting systems offline,” I announce, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction as their ships wheel in confusion. “They’re firing blind.”

Cirdox maintains his predatory stance at the helm, wings half-extended as he watches our countermeasures take effect. “Good work, mate.” His voice remains rough with barely contained fury, the intensity in his crimson eyes never wavering.

“Still not your mate,” I retort, but the words come out uneven, lacking the sharp edge I intended.

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