Page 41 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

“Certain enough that I’ve triple-verified the signature patterns.” I stream the encrypted data through our secure channel, letting McCoy see the evidence herself. “The transport’s using modified shielding—same configuration we found at the medical depot. And the energy readings...” My enhanced vision highlights specific anomalies. “They match the tainted luminore shipments exactly.”

McCoy’s expression hardens as she analyzes the data. “Timeline?”

“Based on their current trajectory and speed, they’ll reach Vulpexian space in less than six hours.” My implants calculate possible scenarios, each one worse than the last. “If this is just a scout ship, the main fleet won’t be far behind.”

“And once they establish a foothold—”

“The entire sector becomes vulnerable,” I finish, watching the tactical projections play out across my neural interface. “They’ll control every major trade route, every medical supply line. Vulpexia’s just the beginning.”

Our eyes meet through the neural link, and I see my own grim understanding reflected in her expression. We both know what’s coming—and that stopping it will take more than just one rogue hacker or one determined officer. Ice floods my veins, freezing the lingering warmth of Cirdox. While I was letting myself feel something real, Kira was out there, setting her plans in motion. How many people will die because I let myself get distracted?

“We need to move,” I say, already reaching for my discarded clothes. “If they’re starting their advance—”

“Wait.” McCoy’s voice cuts through the comm with sudden urgency. “There’s something else you need to know. About the Vulpexian connection.”

I pause, noting the careful way she chooses her words. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I have a contact there. Someone who might be able to help us stop whatever Kira’s planning.” Her image flickers in my enhanced vision. “Ambassador Ta’vag.”

“A politician?” I pull away from Cirdox, incredulity sharpening my voice. “You want me to trust a politician? After what happened with Kyor?” The memory of Kyor’s betrayal, of how his “help” nearly got us all killed, makes bile rise in my throat.

“Ta’vag is different,” McCoy insists, her usually sharp tone softening slightly. “He opposed Garrox’s luminore deals, fought against Eclipse influence in his sector. His fur ripples when he’s distressed—makes him a terrible liar, actually. The Eclipse would never trust him with their operations.”

I rake my fingers through my hair, that old nervous habit surfacing again. “Right. Because the last time someone vouchedfor an ally, it worked out so well.” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.

“I wouldn’t suggest this if I wasn’t certain,” McCoy says quietly. “I’ve worked with Ta’vag before. He helped expose Garrox’s corruption when everyone else looked the other way.”

Cirdox moves closer, his fever-hot presence both comforting and distracting. “If McCoy trusts him, that’s worth considering. She’s not exactly known for giving trust easily.”

The words hit harder than they should, making my throat tight. Trust. Such a simple thing, but so terrifyingly powerful. I’ve spent so long running from it, hiding from it, believing it would get me killed. But maybe it’s what will save us instead.

“Fine,” I say, already pulling up Ta’vag’s records on my neural interface. “But I want everything—surveillance feeds, communication logs, anything that might help us verify his loyalties. And we do this carefully.”

“Already sending the files,” McCoy says. “But Neon? We’re running out of time. If the Eclipse launches this attack—”

“I know.” I close my eyes, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavy on my shoulders. “If they succeed, Vulpexia won’t just fall. It’ll be the first of many.”

Cirdox’s wings create that familiar pattern of shadow and warmth that somehow makes even the worst situations feel manageable. “Then we fight,” he says simply. “Together.”

As we head for the bridge, my neural interface catalogs our chances of survival, running probability scenarios and threat assessments. The numbers aren’t good. But for the first time since Kai died, since Kira revealed herself, since this whole mess began, I don’t care about the odds.

Because for once, the odds and calculations don’t matter. My implants can run probability scenarios until they overheat—it won’t change what needs to be done.

Chapter 14

Cirdox

Igriptheedgeofthe tactical display, fighting to keep my balance as the safe house's obsidian walls blur and swim before my eyes. The bond-sickness tears through my veins like plasma fire, turning even the recycled air into acid in my lungs. My wings tremble against my back despite my best efforts to keep them still, their membrane-thin edges betraying weakness I can't afford to show. Every shadow in this damn place seems to move, every sound hammers against my enhanced senses until I can barely tell what's real and what's fever-twisted imagination.

"Captain." Zara materializes from the shadows, her russet fur bristling with barely contained concern. Her tail lashes once, a tell she's never quite mastered. "The Brotherhood captains are reconvening to discuss the new security protocols. But your condition..."

"Has nothing to do with our mission." The words scrape against my raw throat as another wave of disorientation hits. The room tilts sideways, forcing me to catch myself againstthe wall. My wings snap tight against my back, hiding their trembling through centuries of ingrained discipline. "The Eclipse won't wait for me to recover. Neither can we."

The safe house's main chamber contracts around me as I enter, its black walls seeming to pulse in time with my fevered heartbeat. The bond-sickness makes every shadow writhe and dance, turning familiar spaces into alien landscapes that set my predatory instincts on edge. Most of the captains from our previous meeting have returned—some in person, others appearing as flickering holograms above the tactical display. Their faces blur together in my fever-addled vision, but I force myself to catalog each one, to show no weakness despite the inferno raging beneath my skin.

K'vex's six arms move in precise patterns that my addled mind struggles to track, each gesture carrying layers of meaning I can't quite grasp. The sight sends fresh waves of suspicion through me—are those movements simple nervousness, or coded messages to unseen allies? She whispers something to Vornak, whose massive Bravorian form tenses subtly in response. The interaction makes my wings twitch with barely contained aggression, though I manage to keep them folded against my back. Every instinct screams that they're plotting against me, but I can't trust those instincts anymore. Not when the bond-sickness turns even loyal allies into potential threats.

"I see you've recovered from your... indisposition at our last gathering," K'vex observes, her silver eyes calculating as they track my unsteady gait. All six hands still momentarily—a predator scenting blood. "Though perhaps 'recovered' is too generous a term."

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