Page 30 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

The other captains shift, their gazes flickering between us, sensing the unspoken power struggle unfolding. I straighten, though the movement sends a fresh wave of dizziness through me, making my vision swim.

“I’m fine,” I lie, the word tasting like poison. “What’s not fine is the rate at which we’re losing ships. Losing people.” I activate another display, this one showing the faces of missing crew members, their images frozen in time, their eyes staring out at us with silent accusation. “These aren’t just statistics. They’re our own. They’re families. Friends. And while we stand here arguing, they’re suffering. Or worse.”

My voice cracks, the dryness in my throat making it difficult to speak, but I push through the discomfort. The bond-sickness surges again, a wave of molten agony that makes my markings flare, their crimson glow visible even in the dim light of the chamber. I feel the other captains watching me, their gazes sharp, assessing, searching for any sign of weakness.

A ripple of unease runs through the assembled captains. Even Ralith’s carefully cultivated indifference seems to crack momentarily, a flicker of genuine sorrow crossing his vulpexian features.

“And if we find this...leak?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual, laced with a new, unsettling edge of uncertainty. “What then?”

“Justice,” I growl, the word raw with barely suppressed fury. “Swift. Public. The Brotherhood needs to see that betrayal has consequences. That loyalty still means something in this fractured galaxy.”

“Assuming we can trust the evidence,” K’vex purrs, her voice smooth as silk but sharp as a vibroblade. “After all, Captain, youyourself could be compromised. Perhaps your...fevered state is clouding your perceptions. Perhaps you’re seeing enemies where there are none.”

The accusation, delivered with such calculated precision, hangs in the air like a drawn weapon. My wings snap open before I can stop them, tribal markings blazing with a mixture of fever and rage. The motion costs me dearly—black spots dance at the edges of my vision, and momentarily, the room seems to tilt sideways. But I hold my ground, meeting K’vex’s emerald gaze with unwavering intensity.

“Question my methods,” I snarl, letting just enough of my pain bleed into my voice to make it dangerous. “Question my decisions. But never question my loyalty to the Brotherhood.” I sweep my gaze across the assembled captains, letting the weight of my words settle on each of them. “Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve sacrificed—has been to protect what we’ve built. What Kyor built before they took him from us.”

The name, spoken aloud, hangs heavy in the air. Kyor, our former leader, now rotting in an STI prison while his legacy crumbles. I see the impact ripple through the room—shoulders tensing, gazes dropping, hands clenching on weapons. Even K’vex’s perfect composure slips for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something crossing her features before she quickly masks it. Regret? Fear? Or perhaps...satisfaction?

“Submit your logs,” I continue, forcing steel into my tone despite the fire raging through me. “Investigate your crews. Vet your communications. If you find anything—anything at all—you report it directly to me. No exceptions.” My voice cracks, my throat burning, but I force the words out, each one a testament to my unwavering resolve.

“And if we...decline?” Vornak rumbles, his massive form shifting, his golden eyes narrowing into predatory slits.

I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to yield even an inch. “Then you’re declaring yourself a suspect. And I’ll treat you accordingly.”

The threat, delivered with quiet menace, lands exactly as intended. One by one, with varying degrees of reluctance, the captains nod their assent. Vornak, after a prolonged stare-down that feels like an eternity, finally grunts his agreement. Ralith, his face unreadable, gives a curt nod. K’vex, her six hands moving in a complex pattern that might be a silent calculation of odds or a coded message to an unseen accomplice, inclines her head slightly.

“Very well, Captain,” she says, her tone clipped. “But I’ll remind you—if this...investigation...fails, if even one more ship goes missing, you’ll have more than the Eclipse to worry about.”

The implied threat hangs heavy in the air as the captains begin to file out, whispered conversations trailing in their wake. I remain at the table, wings trembling with the effort of staying upright, until the last of them has departed. Only then do I allow myself to sag against the obsidian surface, its cool touch a small comfort against my burning skin. The room swims momentarily, the holographic lights blurring into streaks of color, and I close my eyes, fighting back the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm me.

“Impressive performance, Captain.” Zara’s dry comment makes me open my eyes. She stands guard by the door, her russet fur still bristling with tension. “If by ‘impressive’ you mean ‘barely managing to stay conscious while simultaneously threatening to start a civil war.’“

“They needed to hear it,” I rasp, my voice a croak, my throat raw and burning. “Even if they didn’t want to.”

“What they need is their leader at full strength.” A new voice—familiar, challenging, tied to my very being by bonds I can’t escape—cuts through the chamber’s tense silence. “Not half-dead from stubbornness, pride, and a fever hot enough to melt steel.”

I turn, though the movement sends a fresh wave of dizziness crashing over me. Neon stands in the shadows of the doorway, her enhanced eyes glowing with a mixture of concern and frustration. Their blue light cuts through the dimness like twin stars, their intensity both comforting and alarming. The sight of her, the mere fact of her presence, sends the bond-sickness into overdrive, need and pain twisting together until I can barely breathe. The air crackles between us, charged with unspoken emotions, with the weight of the bond that pulls us together even as my instincts scream at me to push her away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper, the words lacking their usual bite. “This was a closed meeting. Classified information.”

She steps closer, her implants casting shifting blue patterns across her skin as they diligently catalog my deteriorating condition. “Classified information that could cost you your life if you don’t get some rest. Your core temperature is dangerously elevated. Neural readings are erratic. You’re burning yourself out from the inside, Cirdox.” Her voice softens on the last word, a hint of something in her tone that makes my heart clench. Fear? Concern? Something dangerously close to affection?

“The Brotherhood needs—” I begin, but she cuts me off, her voice sharp with an urgency that tightens my chest.

“The Brotherhood needs its leader alive, not collapsed in a heap because he was too proud to admit he needs help.” She moves closer still, close enough that I feel the warmth radiating from her skin, smell the faint, intoxicating scent that is uniquely hers. The bond-sickness roars to life, a firestorm in my blood, but beneath it, another sensation stirs—a flicker of warmth, of comfort, of hope.

“I can manage,” I say, the words a lie, a desperate attempt to cling to the last vestiges of my control.

“No, you can’t.” She reaches out, her hand hovering just above my arm, then gently, hesitantly, resting it on my skin. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through my system, a mixture of agony and ecstasy that makes my breath catch in my throat. “You’re shaking, Cirdox. You need rest. Now.”

I want to argue, to push her away, to maintain the distance that might keep us both safe. But the bond—the damn, insistent bond—thrums between us, a living thing that grows stronger with every shared breath, every stolen glance, every touch. And as another wave of fever washes over me, obliterating the last vestiges of my resistance, I find myself leaning into her touch, surrendering to the one person who might understand what it means to carry impossible burdens.

“I...I can’t protect anyone like this,” I admit, the words barely a whisper against her skin, a confession of vulnerability I’ve never allowed myself to utter before. “Can’t even protect myself.”

“Then let someone else do the protecting, just for a little while.” Her voice softens, though her enhanced eyes never stop scanning my vital signs, their blue light a constant reminder of her analytical mind, always measuring, always assessing. But beneath that clinical detachment, I sense something else—a flicker of warmth, of genuine concern, that makes my heart ache with a longing I haven’t felt in centuries.

The offer, simple yet profound, hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us is ready to fully explore. But as the bond-sickness rages through my system, consuming my strength and shattering my defenses, I find myself nodding. Just once. Just enough.

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