Page 3 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

He lingers for a moment longer, his massive, taloned hand gripping the doorframe. I can practically feel the weight of his stare pressing into my back. My pulse thunders in my ears, a relentless drumbeat. This is madness. I’m treading on dangerous ground, and Bruxor is the spark that could set it all ablaze.

The tension in the air is palpable, thick enough to choke on. I resist the urge to turn and meet his gaze, knowing any show of weakness will be pounced upon. Instead, I keep my focus trained on the flickering console, my fingers poised to continue my work.

A low, rumbling growl emanates from his direction, a clear warning. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. He’s testing me, seeing how far he can push before I break. But I can’t afford to back down, not when I’m this close to uncovering the truth.

Slowly, deliberately, he withdraws, his hulking form disappearing from the doorway. The moment he’s gone, I exhale a shaky breath, realizing I’d been holding it the entire time. I’ve bought myself a little more time, but I know it’s only a matter of seconds before he returns.

Back to the hunt. The intruder’s digital breadcrumbs lead me through encrypted channels, bouncing through proxy servers across multiple star systems. They’re a force to be reckoned with, no doubt. But my skills are honed to a finer point. Each false trail is a puzzle piece, revealing a glimpse of their strategy, their skillset... their identity.

A blinding white message flashes across my vision, the text searing into my retinas against the dark backdrop of scrolling code:

HE ISN’T THE ONLY ONE WATCHING YOU.

My heart pounds as I read the words, realizing whoever is on the other end of this connection is framing me. They’re makingit look like I’m the one who’s been digging into the luminore trafficking.

Another message appears, equally chilling:

THEY’RE HERE.

Rapid keystrokes as I purge my system, severing connections, scrambling my digital signature. But they’re faster, always one step ahead. Fragments of data start downloading into my neural cache—flashing images, coordinates, timestamps. Pieces of evidence I was never meant to uncover. Incriminating data that could get me killed if discovered.

My heart races, palms sweating as I try to move the process along faster. The download is painfully slow, each second feeling like an eternity. Every alert ping makes me flinch, certain they’ve found me. I have to get this information out before they catch on. Before they silence me for good.

The final message burns itself into my vision, a stark warning:

RUN.

The office goes dark. The emergency lights die, plunging me into absolute darkness. Then, the klaxons begin to wail, a deafening shriek that echoes through the empty office. It’s a trap.

I’m out of time.

Chapter 2

Cirdox

Iprowltheedgeofthe docking bay, my wings twitching with a restlessness that goes deeper than mere impatience. The emptiness inside me grows with each passing day—an ache that even the freedom of deep space can't ease anymore. Orion Outpost's sterile atmosphere burns my senses. The bay churns with its usual chaos—cargo loaders whining their protests, crew members from a dozen species barking orders in competing languages, and beneath it all, the suffocating weight of regulations that makes my wings itch for open space.

This sanitized hellhole is the last place I want to be, but necessity drives us here. We need supplies, information—and most importantly, a safe route for our cargo. Still, every moment spent in this bureaucratic prison sets my teeth on edge. I flex my talons, fighting the urge to tear through something. The sooner we finish our business here, the better.

The lower level repair bay's a far cry from Kyor's top-tier Engineering Dock facilities. I watch a Croakan mechanicstruggle with an outdated plasma torch, the tool sputtering and dying in his webbed hands. The sight brings back memories of that human engineer, Tasha, whom Kyor helped frame for attempting to murder the Morcrestian High Chieftain. Look where that got him—rotting in a prison cell when his political games finally caught up to him. Now I'm stuck balancing his responsibilities, trying to keep the Brotherhood intact while maintaining our legitimate courier contracts with the STI. This is what we're reduced to—unreliable parts and second-rate equipment that could leave us stranded in deep space. The thought sends another wave of restless energy through my wings. We can't afford weakness, not with the Black Eclipse circling like vultures, waiting for any sign of vulnerability.

My talons click against the grimy floor as I survey our options. The Croakan working on our shield couplings at least seems to know what he's doing, his methodical approach suggesting experience despite the subpar tools. Still, beggars can't be choosers when you're flying with the wrong side of the law.

"Void Reaver's ready for departure, Captain," Zara announces, materializing at my side. Her russet fur bristles with barely contained energy, tail twitching in a way that betrays her own unease. My first officer's been with me long enough to read my moods, and lately, she's been watching me more closely than usual. "Cargo's secured, systems check out. We can leave this glorified tin can whenever you give the word."

I straighten from the engineering console. "Good. The sooner we're back in open space, the better." I pause, studying the subtle signs of wear in her usually immaculate fur. She's been pushing herself hard since Kyor's arrest, trying to compensate for our dwindling resources. "But first, get down and verify those shield coupling repairs. That Croakan seems competent enough, but I want your eyes on the final check. Last thing we need is another burnout mid-jump."

The familiar hum of the ship's systems washes over me as I make my way to the command deck, my wings flexing instinctively as I pass through the doorway. The vibrations should be soothing—they usually are—but lately even this comfort feels hollow. The emptiness inside grows stronger each day, a primal warning I can't afford to heed. As I settle into the captain's chair, my hand brushes over the worn armrest, tracing grooves etched by years of command decisions—some I'm proud of, others that still haunt my dreams.

But lately that freedom feels more like a burden. Our last three shipments were intercepted by Black Eclipse fighters who seemed to know exactly where to find us. Routes that should have been secure, known only to Brotherhood captains, suddenly crawling with hostiles. The pattern is too precise to be coincidence. Someone is feeding them information—someone on the inside. I run a hand along my jaw, feeling the tension building there. With Kyor imprisoned and the Brotherhood already fracturing, a traitor in our ranks could destroy everything we've built. The thought sends a spike of discomfort through my blood. I need to gather the other captains, find out who's been compromised.

Ten minutes later, Zara's voice rasps through the comm, carrying an edge of static that sets my teeth on edge. "Captain, repairs are complete, but..." She pauses, and I can picture her running a hand through her hair—a nervous habit she's never managed to break. "Ren here says the power fluctuations in the aft section are still... unpredictable."

I rake my fingers across the worn arm of my command chair, the familiar texture grounding me as I push aside the weight of uncertainty. "Get it stable enough for jump. We're not staying in this cesspit any longer than necessary." A few months ago, we had access to the finest repair facilities in the quadrant. Now we're patching systems together with salvaged parts andsheer will. My gaze flicks to the empty co-pilot's seat, the hollow ache in my chest deepening. Every Kyvernian knows the stories—the mate-bond that either completes us or destroys us. I've seen warriors fade into nothing, consumed by bond-sickness when fate denied them. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Shaking it off, I focus on the present. "Plot a course for the Nebula Nexus when you return—and Zara," I add, my voice softer, "double-check those shield harmonics yourself. I trust your eyes more than these dock rats."

I shake off the dark thoughts, though the emptiness inside seems to mock my attempts at denial. Out here in the lawless expanse, I'm safer than most. Pirates don't have the luxury of fate or destiny. We take what we need to survive, and leave the rest to the void. The Brotherhood needs my focus, especially now with Kyor imprisoned and the Black Eclipse circling like vultures. I can't afford the distraction of what I might be missing, what the growing emptiness in my chest might mean.

The bridge doors hiss open as Zara returns to her station. Her eyes meet mine, holding a note of concern she doesn't quite manage to hide. My first officer's known me long enough to recognize when something's off, and loyal enough to always mention it. "Sir? Are you alright?"

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