Page 60 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

“They’re trying to split us up,” I mutter, disabling another attacker with a quick burst of code that overloads his weapon’s power cell. It’s a temporary fix, a digital band-aid, but it buys me a few precious seconds.

I hear Cirdox’s voice crackling through the failing comm system, his commands breaking up as interference grows stronger. Each burst of static feels like another barrier being forced between us, the electronic disruption a physical manifestation of the growing distance that threatens to strain our bond.

“. . . defensive positions . . . hold the line . . .” His words cut in and out, but the authority in his tone still carries through, even as the connection deteriorates further. The Eclipse is systematically taking down our communication systems, isolating different sections of the ship. Soon we won’t even have this tenuous link.

My heart clenches at the thought of Cirdox up there with only Zara and Grig to defend the bridge. They’re skilled—the best—but they’re drastically outnumbered. Through our bond, I feel Cirdox’s rage warring with exhaustion as he coordinates the defense. Zara’s probably at his right hand, bristling as she maintains weapons control, while Grig’s pale blue fingers dance across navigation with characteristic precision. But they’re only three against an army of Eclipse forces.

My thought cuts off as another explosion rocks the ship, a violent tremor that throws me off balance. The lights flicker, emergency systems struggling to compensate for the cascadingdamage. Through the smoke and chaos, I hear the distinctive, sickening thud of more boarding craft attaching to our hull.

“Neon!” Grig’s voice, usually calm and precise, is barely a whisper through the static of the failing comms. “They’re targeting the auxiliary power couplings. If they breach—”

I grip my weapon tighter, torn between racing to help my family on the bridge and protecting the critical systems they need to keep us alive. The rest of his warning dissolves into a burst of static, but I’m already moving. The auxiliary power couplings are vital—if the Eclipse takes them out, we’ll lose what little control we still have over the ship’s systems. But reaching them means moving further from Cirdox, stretching our bond to its breaking point.

Through the static of the failing comm system, Cirdox’s voice comes in broken fragments, rougher than usual with barely contained pain. “Go,” he growls, the word crackling with interference and emotion. “The crew needs those couplings more than I need you within arm’s reach.”

Through our bond, I feel how much it costs him to say those words, to willingly increase the distance between us. The connection strains between us like a taut wire stretched to its limit, each step carrying me further from his protective presence.

I race through smoke-filled corridors toward the auxiliary power couplings in the secondary command center, my neural implants mapping the fastest route through the chaos. Each turn takes me further from Cirdox, our bond stretching painfully thin like a signal losing strength. But the crew needs these systems operational, even if maintaining them means increasing the distance between us.

The auxiliary control room is eerily quiet when I arrive, emergency lighting casting strange shadows across banks of humming equipment. My fingers fly across the nearest console,neural interface connecting smoothly as I dive into the power grid’s core systems. The familiar dance of code usually brings comfort, but now every sequence feels wrong, corrupted by K’vex’s sabotage.

“Come on,” I mutter, isolating compromised sectors while rerouting essential power through backup channels. “Just give me something to work with.”

A warning flashes through my neural feed—unauthorized access attempts multiplying across the network. They’re trying to breach the auxiliary systems, using the same protocols K’vex must have given them. My enhanced fingers dance faster, racing to strengthen firewalls even as more sections of code turn treacherous under my commands.

The secondary command center erupts in chaos as emergency bulkheads slam down, isolating me from the rest of the crew. My neural implants catalog multiple hostile signatures converging on my position while trying to maintain connection with the ship’s failing systems. Through our bond, I feel Cirdox’s desperate need to reach me warring with his duty to defend the bridge.

I race to the terminal at the back of the room to initiate emergency protocols, my fingers flying across interfaces to protect what data I can. Better to destroy our own systems than let them fall into Eclipse hands. Smoke fills the air as overloaded consoles spark and die, taking vital ship information with them.

The first explosion rocks the corridor outside, followed by the distinctive sound of cutting torches slicing through hull plating. Our bond stretches painfully thin as more attackers force themselves between us, Cirdox’s presence fading like a signal losing strength. My heart pounds against my ribs in fear, not of the enemy, but of that growing silence where his strength should be.

I check my stolen weapon’s charge as I analyze the tactical display, watching enemy movements through the ship’s compromised systems. The Void Reaver’s layout flows through my mind—not from tactical displays or neural feeds, but from hours spent exploring every inch of my new home. They may have compromised our systems, but they can’t hack my intimate knowledge of these corridors.

A subtle creak behind me makes my muscles tense. The air shifts, carrying the faint scent of ozone and metal that marks Eclipse tactical gear. Someone’s in the room with me, and they’re trying very hard to be quiet.

Time seems to slow as my implants process the nightmare materializing before me. Kira emerges from the shadows like a digital specter, her movements unnaturally fluid, each step precisely calculated. The crimson glow of her cybernetic enhancements casts blood-red shadows across features I once knew as well as my own. Elite Eclipse troops flank her, their weapons trained on me with mechanical precision.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” Kira says, her synthetic voice carrying that terrible mechanical calm that still haunts my nightmares. “Though I must admit, you surprised me at the facility. Using my own encryption against me?” Her enhanced eyes pulse with something almost like pride. “I taught you well.”

The words hit like physical blows, each syllable precisely targeted to old wounds. My hands clench into fists as I remember how close she came to killing Cirdox with that chemical compound, how she nearly took everything from me before I’d even accepted what he meant to me.

Through our fraying bond, I feel his desperate fury, his need to reach me warring with duty. But we both know it’s too late. The Eclipse has orchestrated this separation with terrifying precision, and now I face my past alone.

“You taught me to fight corruption,” I say, watching her elite team move to flank us. Their movements mirror her mechanical precision—more programs than people. “Not become it.”

“Still so naive.” Her crimson implants pulse with cold amusement. “You’ve bonded with a pirate captain, thrown your lot in with smugglers and thieves, yet you cling to this illusion of moral superiority?” She takes a step closer, each movement unnaturally smooth. “The Eclipse simply admits what everyone else denies—power is the only truth that matters.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” I ask, noting how her lowest set of cybernetic enhancers twitch slightly. “That turning energy supplies into weapons of control is somehow better than what killed Kai?”

Something flickers beneath her mechanical calm—grief or rage, I can’t tell anymore. “Kai died because he was weak. Because he thought ideals could change anything.” Her enhanced eyes narrow. “But you’ve grown stronger since then, haven’t you? Found your own power. The question is, will you be smart enough to survive using it?”

The threat hangs between us, sharp as a blade and twice as deadly. We both know this confrontation was inevitable—the sister who chose to become a weapon facing the one who chose to keep fighting. The only question is which of us learned our lessons better.

My fingers twitch toward my interface panel, a desperate instinct, even as her enhanced eyes track the motion with mechanical precision. Those eyes used to crinkle with warmth when she called me “sister.” Now they’re cold calculation matrices, processing my every move through whatever programs the Eclipse has wired into her brain.

For just a heartbeat, I catch a flicker of something in her expression—pain? Regret?—but it vanishes beneath layers of cybernetic enhancement before I can be sure it was ever there.The Kira I knew is buried somewhere beneath all that tech, but I don’t know if enough of her remains to reach.

“You know,” she says, idly cycling the charge on her weapon—a redundant gesture, a tic left over from organic days. “When K’vex relayed the intel on your . . . attachment to the Kyvernian captain, I almost flagged it as corrupted data. NeonValkyrie, bonded? You couldn’t even maintain a stable connection with Kai, and look how that terminated.” Her laugh is a burst of static, devoid of warmth.

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