Page 63 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

“Captain,” Zara protests, her russet fur bristling with concern. “You can’t take on an Eclipse flagship by yourself.”

“I won’t be by myself,” I growl, my tribal markings pulsing with predatory intent. “I’ll have a mate-bond guiding me straightto their heart. And I’ll have you two keeping them busy from out here.”

The ship’s secure comms crackle to life with a chorus of outraged roars as I send encrypted coordinates to our allies. Vornak’s voice, amplified by his ship’s systems, booms through the bridge. “Thar’Kal! That treacherous Rhilnar scum! We just picked up the distress signals. K’vex will pay for this betrayal. The Bravorian fleet stands ready. Just give us the target coordinates.”

Other captains chime in through the encrypted channel, their voices a mix of fury and grim determination. Shen’va, their ethereal tone laced with steel, pledges the Seraphim’s support from the outer rim. Zyx’tal, her voice clipped and precise, offers the Muspel fleet’s tactical expertise. Even Drokmar, usually pragmatic to a fault, growls his condemnation of K’vex’s treachery, though his pledge of support is carefully worded, leaving room for calculated retreat. Ralith, ever the pragmatist, remains silent, no doubt assessing the shifting power dynamics before committing his forces.

“Three Brotherhood ships lost in the outer sector,” Vornak growls through the static, his voice heavy with grief and fury. “The Stellar Wind... the Night’s Promise... good crews, loyal crews.”

“The Crimson Vale’s engines are critical,” Shen’va adds, their ethereal voice tight with controlled anger. “We had to evacuate the engineering deck. Twenty of our finest...”

“My weapons officer served with K’vex for ten cycles,” Drokmar cuts in, unusual emotion roughening his gravelly tone. “She trusted her. We all did.”

The weight of their losses settles like ice in my chest, each name another wound that demands vengeance. These weren’t just crews, they were family.

“We lost good people today,” I acknowledge, my voice carrying both grief and steel. “Brothers and sisters who trusted the Brotherhood to keep them safe. K’vex didn’t just betray me—she betrayed every one of us, every principle we stand for.”

A moment of heavy silence fills the comms, broken only by the distant sound of battle alerts.

“The Brotherhood stands united against betrayal,” I declare, my voice rising with command and conviction. “Not just for vengeance, but for justice. For every ship lost, every life taken. K’vex thought she could shatter us by aligning with the Eclipse. She’s about to learn that betrayal only strengthens the bonds between those who remain true.”

“I’m transmitting coordinates for the Eclipse flagship,” I continue, watching the tactical display as friendly signatures begin to move into position. “I need you to hit them hard—draw their defensive forces away from the central sectors. Make them think this is a full Brotherhood assault.” I pause, letting the implications sink in. “While they’re occupied with you, I’m taking a small team aboard. They have something that belongs to me.”

Around us, Eclipse warships maintain their blockade with mechanical precision, their coordinated movements speaking to an intimacy with our tactics that makes my markings pulse with fury. K’vex’s betrayal has given them everything—our protocols, our strategies, the very patterns of thought that kept the Brotherhood alive all these years.

Through our stretched bond, I feel only fragments—sharp spikes of fear and pain that fade into a hollow emptiness where her vibrant spirit should be. The silence burns deeper with every passing moment, threatening to shatter my hard-won control. She’s alive, but the bond is muted, distorted—like trying to hear her voice through layers of static.

The comm system crackles, and a chillingly familiar voice fills the bridge. My wings snap wide at the sound, recognizing the synthetic undertones that have haunted Neon’s nightmares.

“Cirdox Thar’Kal.” Kira’s voice carries an artificial warmth that sets my teeth on edge. “I have a message for you. From your... mate.”

Static crackles, and then Neon’s voice, strained but defiant, fills the bridge. “Don’t play their game, Cirdox. They’re trying to provoke you. Don’t—”

The transmission cuts off abruptly, replaced by Kira’s chilling laughter.

Chapter 22

Neon Valkyrie

Theacrid,chemicalburnin my nostrils sears my lungs, mixing with the coppery taste of blood that fills my mouth—a souvenir from fighting back when they dragged me in here. My neural implants spark and misfire, sending jolts of white-hot pain through my skull with each erratic flicker of the emergency lights. Damn Eclipse bastards knew exactly how to scramble my tech, leaving me cut off from the digital world that’s been my sanctuary for so long.

The holding cell is a sick joke—a perfect cube of gleaming durasteel without a single flaw or feature to latch onto. No seams to exploit, no shadows to hide in, just endless reflective surfaces designed to mess with your head until you start doubting your own sanity. They think their precious tech can break me? I’ve survived worse. I’ve rebuilt myself from nothing before.

The acrid taste of blood fills my mouth as Kira’s transmission ends, my warning to Cirdox cut off by a brutal backhand that sends me sprawling. The cold metal floor of the Eclipse holdingcell presses against my cheek as I struggle to focus through the waves of pain radiating from my scrambled neural implants.

“Get her up,” Kira commands, her synthetic voice carrying that terrible mechanical precision that still haunts my nightmares. “The lab is prepped and waiting.”

Rough hands haul me to my feet, Eclipse guards flanking me with military efficiency as they drag me through sterile corridors. My boots scrape against polished floors, leaving scuff marks that somehow feel like tiny acts of defiance. The antiseptic smell grows stronger as we approach what can only be their research wing, making my stomach churn with dread.

The lab doors hiss open to reveal a nightmare of gleaming medical equipment and monitoring stations. At the center stands a reclined examination chair, its restraints and neural interface ports leaving no doubt about its purpose. My heart pounds against my ribs as they force me into it, the cold metal pressing against my back through the thin fabric of my tactical suit.

“Comfortable?” Kira asks, running her augmented fingers along a tray of examination tools with obscene tenderness. “You always did hate medical procedures. Remember how you used to hold my hand during implant maintenance?” Her broken-code smile never reaches her enhanced eyes. “Such a shame we’ve grown so... distant.”

“Go to hell,” I spit, testing the restraints even though I know it’s futile. They’re made for containing subjects—subjects like me.

“Now, now,” she chides, selecting a neural probe from her collection. “Is that any way to talk to family?” The probe whirs to life, its tip glowing with an eerie blue light. “Let’s see how those implants have adapted to the mate-bond, shall we?”

The first touch of the probe against my neural port sends white-hot agony shooting through my skull. I bite back a scream,refusing to give her the satisfaction, but I can’t stop the way my body arches against the restraints. Through our bond, I feel Cirdox’s answering surge of fury and fear.

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