Page 20

Chapter 20

Neon Valkyrie

T he taste of Cirdox’s fierce 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 of running 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.

“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 cascading damage. 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.

“Don’t you dare speak his name,” I snarl, my heart pulsing with a rage-fueled energy that threatens to overload my systems. I monitor the bridge’s security feeds, catching glimpses of Cirdox coordinating the defense, his wings mantled as he barks orders to the crew. The Void Reaver shudders under another barrage, but I know he won’t abandon his post—not while his people need him. Through the flickering displays, I watch Zara and Grig working in perfect sync at their stations, keeping our damaged systems operational against overwhelming odds. This fight is mine, and I need to trust them to handle theirs.

“Why not?” Kira’s elite team moves to flank her, weapons trained on me, their movements precise and synchronized. “I was there too, remember? I watched my brother die because you were too afraid to trust anyone but yourself. Too convinced you could handle everything alone.”

“That’s not what happened.” My fingers tighten on my stolen weapon, the cold metal a small comfort in this chaotic nightmare. “Kai died because the Eclipse—”

“Because the Eclipse knew exactly how to manipulate you,” she cuts in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Just like they knew exactly how to turn your isolation against you. Why do you think the STI hired you? Why do you think they put you in position to find that data?”

“I knew the STI was rotten,” I snap back, my voice tight with fury. “That’s why I took the data in the first place. You think this changes anything? It just proves I was right.”

“No,” she agrees, raising her weapon, her cybernetically enhanced eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating light. “Now you’re just another liability that needs to be contained.”

“K’vex was right about you and the Kyvernian,” she says, synthetic undertones making her voice unnaturally smooth. “When she told me you’d actually bonded with someone, I almost didn’t believe it. The great Neon Valkyrie, finally letting someone close enough to touch her heart.” Her broken-code smile never reaches her enhanced eyes. “Though your neural implants have certainly evolved since I last saw them. The Eclipse’s research division will be particularly interested in how they’ve adapted to the mate-bond. Once we’ve properly extracted them, of course.”

There is no humanity in her tone, just cold machine precision calculating the most efficient way to tear us apart. The sister who once taught me everything I knew about neural interfaces is gone, replaced by something that sees only specimens to be dissected, patterns to be analyzed. The way she studies my implants’ glow reminds me of how she used to examine code—methodical, relentless, focused only on finding exploitable weaknesses.

I launch myself sideways as Kira fires, the energy bolt scorching the wall where I stood, leaving a trail of molten metal and the acrid stench of ozone. My bond-enhanced reflexes give me a split-second advantage, but I’m outnumbered, cornered, and my systems are flickering. The elite team moves with a practiced precision, cutting off my escape routes, forcing me back, away from any semblance of cover.

Through our bond, I feel Cirdox’s desperate need to reach me, a raw, primal urge that’s almost painful in its intensity. But K’vex’s betrayal has left the bridge in chaos, a maelstrom of failing systems and desperate maneuvers. He’s fighting his own battle, trying to prevent the Eclipse from completely seizing control of the ship. The crew needs him there, even as every fiber of his being screams to protect his mate.

A flash of movement catches my enhanced vision—one of Kira’s elite soldiers emerging from a ventilation shaft, his Malaxian bulk barely fitting through the opening. All four arms move with lethal grace as he drops to the deck, each limb equipped with different weapons. His iridescent scales shimmer beneath state-of-the-art combat armor, marking him as one of the Eclipse’s enhanced operatives. My neural implants catalog the modifications—reinforced skeletal structure, accelerated reflexes, integrated weapon systems that make him more machine than organic.

I don’t hesitate. A quick burst of code overloads his primary weapon, sending feedback screaming through its targeting systems. The distraction is minimal—these troops are too well-trained to rely on a single weapon—but it gives me the opening I need. As he switches to his secondary arms, I grab a flickering holographic display panel, ripping it free in a shower of sparks. The distorted emergency warnings create a strobing effect, momentarily confusing his enhanced optical sensors.

His lower arms reach for me as the upper pair draw backup weapons, but I’m already moving. My foot connects with a gap in his armor where flexibility is prioritized over protection—the sweet spot where Malaxian exoskeletons are weakest. The impact isn’t pretty or technically perfect, but I feel something crack beneath my boot. He staggers, all four arms flailing to maintain balance, giving me precious seconds to put distance between us.

“You’ve gotten better,” Kira admits, her voice devoid of emotion as she watches me fight with a clinical detachment. “But you’re still predictable. Still trying to protect everyone but yourself. Still letting your conscience make you vulnerable.”

She’s right. Even now, with Eclipse forces closing in, I can hear crew members trapped in nearby sections, their panicked voices carrying through the damaged bulkheads. If I retreat now, if I focus solely on escape, I might save myself. But I can’t abandon them to the Eclipse’s mercy. Not when they’ve become more than just crew—they’re family. And that’s exactly what Kira knew I would do. She counted on my loyalty being my weakness, just like it was with Kai.

The tactical part of my brain knows she’s using my protective instincts against me. But knowing the trap doesn’t make it any easier to walk away from people who need me. Not anymore. Not since I stopped running and learned what it means to truly belong somewhere.

The ship lurches violently, a catastrophic tremor that signals their sabotage has reached the main power grid. Emergency lights flicker and die, plunging the corridor into a near-total darkness, broken only by the sporadic flashes of weapons fire and the eerie glow of my neural implants. In that moment of chaotic darkness, Kira’s team makes their move.

The first stun blast catches me in the shoulder, a searing jolt of energy that sends electricity arcing through my cybernetics. I stumble, fighting to maintain consciousness as my enhanced systems short out, overwhelmed by the sudden surge. The second hit drives me to my knees, my muscles spasming uncontrollably as the energy disrupts the delicate balance between organic and technological.

“Finally,” Kira says, her voice a cold whisper in the darkness as her team secures me. “The Eclipse has plans for both of you.” She kneels beside me, her enhanced eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “And this time, you’ll get to watch someone else die because of your choices.”

The last thing I see before darkness claims me is the flash of Eclipse energy weapons, the desperate, terrified faces of the crew I swore to protect, their fear a chilling echo of my own.