Page 59 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

The ship lurches again, throwing me against my station as the deck plates shudder beneath my feet. But I refuse to give up, refuse to let them win. They may have compromised our systems, but they haven’t broken us yet.

“Cirdox,” I say through gritted teeth, watching him coordinate the defense with predatory efficiency from his command position. His wings are mantled aggressively as he barks orders, tribal markings pulsing with battle-rage. “We need to—”

Another blast rocks the ship, and this time the impact sends cascading power failures through the tactical center. Through our bond, I feel his fury spike as he slams his fist into the command console, fangs bared in a snarl of frustration. Even as systems fail around us, he maintains the iron control that makes him such a formidable captain, his tactical genius shining through every calculated command.

“Maintain defensive formation!” he roars to the Brotherhood ships trying to rally around us, his voice carrying that edge of authority that brooks no argument. “Zara, reroute auxiliary power to the forward shields. Grig, prepare for emergency jump protocols.”

As my screens go dark, I realize with cold certainty that this is only the beginning of K’vex’s endgame. But watching Cirdox fight to protect his crew, his ship, his mate—it reminds me why I chose to bind myself to this fierce, noble warrior. He won’t go down without making the Eclipse pay dearly for their treachery.

Another blast rocks the ship, a catastrophic impact that sends cascading power failures rippling through the tactical center. As my screens go dark, a chilling realization dawns: this isn’t just an attack; it’s a carefully orchestrated execution.

Emergency bulkheads slam down, cutting off our primary escape route, the metallic clang echoing like a death knell. I feel Cirdox’s desperate need to reach me warring with his duty to defend the ship, a conflict that tears at my own soul. The deck shudders beneath my feet, a rhythmic vibration that signals the approach of boarding craft. Their cutting beams are already slicing through our compromised defenses.

The tactical center fills with smoke as another explosion rocks the ship. I hesitate, knowing that with only Grig, Zara and Cirdox on the bridge, every capable hand is needed. But as my neural implants register the cascading system failures, I realize our primary tactical controls are compromised beyond recovery.

“The secondary command center,” I say, fingers flying across my failing console. “Its quantum processors are isolated from the main system—they run on protocols I designed myself. K’vex never had access.” I lock eyes with Cirdox. “Someone needs to get those systems online or we’ll lose everything.”

Through our bond, I feel his understanding war with his protective instincts. We both know splitting up is dangerous, but with such a small crew, we need every advantage we can get. Zara and Grig are irreplaceable at their stations—keeping the ship moving and our weapons operational. Only I have the expertise to bring the backup systems online.

“Go,” he growls, though his wings shift with barely contained tension. “We’ll hold them here.”

My neural implants flicker and spark, struggling against the system-wide corruption, but years of surviving in the digital underbelly of the galaxy have taught me to trust my instincts over technology. The Eclipse wants this tactical center intact—which means we need to deny them that advantage. All our classified data is here: Brotherhood safe routes, colony defense codes, crew personnel files that could expose our allies.

I slam my palm against the emergency protocols panel, initiating a localized data purge that will fry not just the computers, but the quantum cores themselves. Better to destroy our own tech than let it fall into enemy hands. The console sparks and dies under my fingers, taking vital ship data with it. I feel Cirdox’s desperate need to reach me warring with his duty as captain. The ship-wide comm crackles with his commands as he coordinates defense from the bridge, his voice tight with barely contained rage.

Before I can move, he’s there, wings mantled possessively as he pulls me against him. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s equal parts dominance and desperation, fangs grazing my lowerlip. The heat of his tribal markings burns against my skin as he growls, low and fierce. “Come back to me, little hacker.”

The intensity in his crimson eyes makes my breath catch, but there’s no time to savor the moment. The ship shudders under another impact, and we both know what’s at stake. I force myself to step back, though every cell in my body screams to stay.

“Protect the ship,” I tell him, my voice steadier than my racing heart. “Protect our crew.” Even as I say it, I know our separation is exactly what the Eclipse wants. They’re trying to divide us, to weaken the tactical advantage our bond provides. But sometimes the only way to win is to spring the trap—and make them regret it.

Chapter 20

Neon Valkyrie

ThetasteofCirdox’sfierce kiss lingers on my lips as I sprint through the darkened corridor, my neural implants casting an eerie blue glow against the metal walls. His words echo in my mind—”Come back to me, little hacker”—a command and a prayer wrapped in that growling voice that makes my heart race even now. But there’s no time to dwell on the warmth of his touch or the desperate possessiveness in his crimson eyes. Not when every second counts.

The first explosion rocks the corridor outside, followed by the distinctive sound of boarding parties breaching the hull. I grab a fallen attacker’s weapon, checking the charge as I plan my route through the chaos. They may have compromised our systems, but they can’t hack my intimate knowledge of the Void Reaver’s corridors.

The first Eclipse boarding party rounds the corner ahead, their tactical gear gleaming in the flickering emergency lights, marking them as elite strike teams. I don’t hesitate. Years ofrunning from corporate hunters, of evading security patrols, have honed my survival instincts. And now, those skills are subtly amplified by the Kyvernian strength flowing through our bond, a new edge to my reflexes.

The first attacker—a hulking Bravorian with obsidian scales and razor claws—lunges with the overconfident swagger of someone expecting an easy target. They always underestimate hackers. I duck under his swing, the movement sending sparks cascading from a damaged conduit overhead. His scales ripple with surprise as I use his own momentum against him, driving my elbow into the sensitive pressure point where neck meets shoulder plate. He drops with a satisfying thud that reverberates through the metal deck plating.

His partner, a lean Muspel with pale blue skin that seems to shimmer in the emergency lighting, raises an energy weapon. But I’m already moving, my enhanced reflexes carrying me through the smoke-filled air. The acrid scent of burning circuitry fills my lungs as I dodge between flickering holographic displays, using their erratic patterns to disorient him. His large, luminous eyes blink rapidly, trying to track my movement through the chaos.

It’s a trick I learned in the shadowy back alleys of the Orion Outpost—using technology against those who rely too heavily on augmented targeting systems. The Muspel’s weapon discharge goes wide, leaving a scorched pattern on the bulkhead behind me. Before he can compensate, I’m inside his guard, my boot connecting with his wrist in a move that lacks Cirdox’s natural grace but gets the job done. The weapon clatters across the deck as warning klaxons scream overhead, their urgent wail nearly drowning out the sound of more boarding parties breaching the hull.

Smoke curls around my ankles as I retrieve the fallen weapon, its familiar weight a comfort in my hands. Through the haze,I catch glimpses of other crew members engaged in similar struggles—Zara’s russet fur bristling as she coordinates defense from a secondary command post, Grig’s pale fingers dancing across emergency controls with characteristic precision. The Void Reaver shudders beneath us as another explosion rocks the ship, but I can’t focus on that now. Not when more Eclipse troops will be here any second, their boots already thundering through adjacent corridors.

This isn’t the elegant combat Cirdox has been teaching me—all controlled power and predatory efficiency. This is survival, pure and simple, learned in the digital trenches where every advantage counts. But right now, staying alive matters more than looking good doing it.

“Command center breached!” Zara’s voice crackles through the failing comm system, a desperate cry that cuts through the chaos. “Multiple hostiles, heavily armed!”

I grab one of the fallen attacker’s weapons, checking the charge as I plan my route. The ship’s layout flows through my mind—not from tactical displays, not from neural feeds, but from hours spent exploring every corridor, every vent, every hidden passage of my new home. They may have compromised our systems, but they can’t hack my intimate knowledge of the Void Reaver’s guts.

Through the private team comms, I hear Cirdox coordinating the defense, his tactical genius shining even in the midst of this digital firestorm. His voice carries steel as he directs the crew, using the ship’s compromised systems against the attackers, venting sections to space, sealing others to trap boarding parties. Even through the static-filled channel, the fury in his tone at our separation is unmistakable, a searing heat that’s matched only by his resolve to keep his crew—our family—alive.

They’re herding us. The realization hits me with chilling clarity as I evade another patrol. The boarding parties’movements aren’t random. Each strike, each carefully placed explosive charge, is designed to push us further apart, to guide crew members away from key defensive positions. My neural implants, though flickering, manage to map their advance patterns, revealing the unmistakable strategy.

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