Page 66 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

Ta’vag’s hologram flickers beside her, his fur rippling with waves of barely suppressed fury that match my own. “I’ve activated every diplomatic channel at my disposal, but the Eclipse is deliberately ignoring all established protocols. Their reach is worse than I thought.”

Their words wash over me like distant thunder, barely penetrating the primal roar of protective instinct drowning out all other concerns. Every heartbeat without Neon is agony, every second we waste in discussion is another moment she suffers at their hands. My mate is in danger. My crew is trapped. And K’vex’s treachery has already cost too many lives.

“Zara, maintain cloaked maneuvers. Grig, prepare for emergency hyperspace override—I’ll give you the coordinates when I have them.” I turn to McCoy and Ta’vag, my tribal markings pulsing with barely contained power. “Buy me time.”

Their holograms flicker and fade as I activate my personal comm, monitoring the faint pulses of tactical data Neon manages to send through our strained bond. Even through the pain and interference, she’s fighting—using her brilliant mind to analyze Eclipse movements, identify system vulnerabilities, mappotential escape routes. She’s not just struggling to survive; she’s working to protect us all.

My wings flare wide as another fragment of data comes through, the urge to reach her, to shield her, a physical ache in my chest. I don’t need complex tactical displays or computer readouts. Her fear is my compass, leading me straight to the heart of the Eclipse’s treachery. Her determination sharpens my resolve into a razor’s edge.

I study the massive Eclipse flagship looming before us through the viewport, its sleek obsidian hull bristling with weapon arrays and defense turrets. The sheer arrogance of their design makes my markings pulse with fury—all those gleaming sensors and perfectly aligned gun ports speak to an empire convinced of its own invincibility.

“Zara, coordinate with the Brotherhood vessels. I want synchronized strikes on their primary weapons array.” My voice carries the cold authority of a predator preparing to strike. “Grig, get us as close as you can to their auxiliary docking bay. That’s where I’ll breach.”

Grig’s pale fingers dance across the controls with deadly precision, weaving the Void Reaver through gaps in the Eclipse’s defensive screen. Around us, Brotherhood ships move into attack formation, their coordinated fire drawing attention away from our approach.

Through the crackling comms, Vornak’s voice carries a mix of fierce loyalty and grim understanding: “Thar’Kal, the Bravorian fleet is in position. But their flagship’s defenses...” He pauses, his usual bravado replaced by genuine concern. “The casualties will be severe. Are you certain about this approach?”

My wings snap wide, tribal markings pulsing with battle-fury as I study the tactical display. The Eclipse flagship looms before us, its obsidian hull bristling with weapon arrays and defense turrets. Through our stretched bond, I feel Neon’s painspike sharply, and my claws dig deep grooves into the command console.

“I’m going after her,” I growl, my voice carrying centuries of predatory promise. “The Eclipse wants to use my mate against me? They’re about to learn exactly how fatal that mistake will be.”

Zara steps forward, her russet fur bristling with barely contained emotion as she hands me the final weapons check report. “The boarding craft is prepped, Captain.” Her voice softens slightly. “But if things go wrong...”

“Get our crew to safety,” I command, gripping her shoulder firmly. We both know this could be our final conversation. “Don’t wait for me. That’s an order.”

She meets my gaze steadily, years of friendship and trust evident in her eyes. “The Brotherhood stands with you. But we’ll honor your command if...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.

I turn toward the boarding craft, every muscle tensed for the coming battle. Behind me, the bridge crew moves with grim efficiency, knowing that their captain is about to launch himself into what could well be a suicide mission. But they understand. They’ve seen what the bond between Neon and me means. And they know that nothing—not overwhelming odds, not certain death—will keep me from reaching her now.

“Remember,” I tell her, gripping her shoulder firmly, “your first duty is to the crew. If the Eclipse brings in reinforcements, if the odds turn against us—you jump to hyperspace. That’s an order.”

McCoy and Ta’vag’s holograms flicker on the tactical display, their expressions grim but determined. The Planetary Police forces are already engaging the flagship’s outer defenses, while Ta’vag’s diplomatic channels work to prevent Eclipse reinforcements from arriving.

“Your sacrifice won’t be in vain, Captain,” McCoy promises, her voice tight with respect. “Whatever happens today, the Eclipse pays for their treachery.”

Through encrypted channels, I hear the Brotherhood captains checking in—Vornak’s proud Bravorian fleet, Shen’va’s ethereal warships, even Drokmar and Ralith’s pragmatic forces. K’vex’s betrayal has united us all, though the price may be higher than any of us imagined.

“Remember,” I tell them, my tribal markings pulsing with fierce determination, “this isn’t just about revenge. This is about showing the galaxy that some bonds can’t be broken. That loyalty still means something.” I pause, letting my next words carry the full weight of command. “But don’t throw your lives away needlessly. If the battle turns, save your crews. The Brotherhood must survive.”

I turn to board the assault craft, but Zara’s voice stops me. “It has been an honor, Captain.” The formal words carry years of friendship and trust.

“The honor was mine,” I reply softly. Then I steel myself, pushing aside emotion for the cold focus of combat. “Now, let’s remind the Eclipse why they should fear the Brotherhood. All ships, commence attack!”

The Void Reaver glides through the void like a ghost, her cloaking systems—Neon’s final gift before her capture—masking our approach from the Eclipse’s sensors. Through the viewport, I watch their ships pass within meters of us, their crews blind to the predator in their midst. My markings pulse with fierce pride at my mate’s brilliance, even as worry gnaws at my heart.

Grig’s pale fingers dance across the helm controls with impossible precision, each minute adjustment keeping us perfectly aligned in the flagship’s sensor shadow. One wrong move, one fraction of degree off course, and the cloak’s delicate algorithms could falter. But Grig proves why he’s the finest pilotin the Brotherhood, threading our massive ship through gaps that shouldn’t exist with the fluid grace of a much smaller vessel.

“Boarding craft in position, Captain,” he reports, his usually calm voice carrying an edge of steel I’ve rarely heard. His large eyes remain fixed on his displays, monitoring the thousand variables that could expose us. “Maintaining optimal stealth profile. They won’t see us until it’s too late.”

I grip the command rail, wings mantling with barely contained fury as another spike of pain bleeds through my bond with Neon. Soon, my fierce little hacker. Soon I’ll tear apart anyone who dared lay hands on you.

I strap on my combat gear, the familiar weight of my weapons a comforting presence against the burning rage in my blood. My wings flare, impatient to unleash their power.

“Let’s get her back,” I growl, the words carrying a cold promise of retribution as I check my weapons one final time. My wings flare with barely contained fury, casting crimson shadows across the bridge.

I stride toward the boarding craft, my tribal markings pulsing with lethal intent. Let them come. Let them try to stand between a Kyvernian warrior and his captured mate. They’re about to learn exactly how fatal that mistake will be.

The bond tugs at my soul, guiding me like a compass pointing true north, though the signal feels weaker, more fragmented than before. Each pulse carries echoes of her pain, her fading strength. The bond-sickness scratches at the edges of my consciousness, a creeping darkness I refuse to acknowledge the meaning of. Hold on, little hacker. Just hold on.

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