Page 65 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
Mira watched him as she ate. The recovered fragments from Laaer's terminal had occupied him for hours. If anyone could make sense of the corrupted data, it was Anson.
His fork froze halfway to his mouth, his eyes widening at something on the screen.
"Anson?" She leaned forward. "What's wr?—"
The lights died.
Not dimmed. Not flickered.Died.
One second, the galley hummed with power; the next, they were plunged into total darkness. The constant background noise of the ship's systems cut out, leaving nothing but startled breathing and the clatter of dropped utensils.
"What the fuck?" Ryke's voice snapped through the blackness.
Something cold and tight coiled in her gut. She couldn't see a damn thing. Not even shapes. A hand clamped around her upper arm, hot fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. She almost screamed, but then she registered the heat of his body. Davis.
"Stay put," he growled in her ear.
His body shifted, angling in front of hers, blocking her from the rest of the room. A human shield. Part of her appreciated the protective instinct. Another part bristled at being treated like something fragile.
"Jex, status!" Ryke barked.
"Environmental systems operational." Jex's voice came from the darkness, his faceplate the only source of light, casting eerie blue shadows across metal surfaces. "Ship's primary power grid is offline. Backup systems attempting to engage but encountering resistance."
Mira's eyes slowly adjusted. Shapes emerged from the darkness… hulking Covak, Ryke's tall silhouette, the gleam of Jesh's cybernetic implants. Davis remained pressed against her, his breathing controlled but faster than normal, his body radiating tension and something else. Something almost… possessive.
Movement caught her eye as something small detached from under the table. Spot. The little robot scuttled onto the tabletop, its optical sensors brightening as it oriented itself. In the dim glow, she watched as Spot grabbed two steak knives from the tabletop and positioned himself in front of her, knives held ready.
What the actual fuck?
"Ship's computers under attack," Anson announced. The ke'lath lines beneath his skin pulsed brighter. "We have an external breach."
"How?" Jesh moved to another terminal, her cybernetic enhancements letting her navigate the darkness easily. "Our firewalls should have?—"
"B'Kaar spike attack," Anson cut her off. "Sophisticated. Targeted. Piggybacked on the data packet I opened from Laaer's files."
She leaned forward. "Can I help?—"
Davis yanked her back against him. "Stay. Close," he ordered, each word clipped and final.
Fuck that. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. Not painful, but unyielding. Like steel wrapped in skin.
"Navigational systems are compromised," Jex reported. "Attempting isolation protocols."
"Life support?" Ryke demanded.
"Stable." Anson's voice was tight with concentration. "They're not trying to kill us. They're extracting data."
A tense minute passed. Then another. She held her breath. This wasn't a battle she could help with. Suddenly, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then they blazed back to full brightness. Systems whirred back to life around them, the ship's ambient hum resuming as if nothing had happened.
Every eye in the galley turned to the table's center.
Spot stood motionless, brandishing the steak knives like some tiny, mechanical samurai. For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
The little robot's optical sensors blinked rapidly, taking in the scene. With a cheerful chirp that somehow sounded embarrassed, it carefully set the knives down and folded its appendages back against its body.
Covak's booming laugh shattered the tension. "Little guy was ready to throw down!"
"Draanthingwarrior spirit," Ryke said with a grin. "Give him a rifle and I'll name him a Reaper. Start paying wages."
