Tamed By the Alien Pirate by Celia Kyle Page 0,53

is a Mephisto class capital warship. Even with our recent upgrades to armament, the Queen can’t hope to do enough damage to disable her.”

My heart sinks as I realize he’s right. The last time we faced off against a capital class ship, we only won because of the Kaan maneuver, a technique where one uses a star’s corona as a weapon of mass destruction. We’re far away from any stars at the moment.

“Then what can we do?”

I gesture at the dismantled star fighter. What do they call them? Arrows?

“Could we use that?”

“Maybe… with your able help.”

I grin and pick up a coil spanner.

“To engage in my penchant for the vernacular, let’s get cracking.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Zander

“Hand me that biter, will you?”

Thrase looks up at me with a grease-streaked expression of confusion.

“That what, now?”

“Sorry. The driver unit with the orange handle.”

“Right.” She tosses the driver into my waiting palm and I slide back under the Dart’s chassis to finish the armature attachments, which will allow us to carry the fission torpedo into battle.

Or at least, I hope it will. I’m a little concerned about the heat from the afterburners accidentally causing a short, which will make the torpedo detonate before launch. I calculate a 3.789 percent probability that it will do so. Under the circumstances, I can live with those odds.

Unless, of course, we don’t. Live, that is.

The Dart has taken shape, its outer chassis still the color of primer. The electronic components have been largely cannibalized from scraps found in the hangar bay, as well as their sonic degreaser array.

The Crushers have made several attempts to retake the hangar, but with Num standing guard they don’t have a chance. I wonder how they caught the little critter in the first place? Thrase keeps talking about it like it’s intelligent, but it will take more than some random flashes and her own anthropomorphic tendencies to convince me.

“Damn it.”

I pull myself out from under the chassis and wipe my hands on a grease-stained rag, favoring her with a worried frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“The life support module is completely shot.”

“Can you be more specific?”

Thrase glares at me until I wilt under her gaze.

“Ah, I mean, please?”

“Hmph. Well, the power transfer relays have burned out…”

“Try using the ones from the degreaser array.”

“I already used those for the yaw pitch control.”

“Damn. Then what about the…”

“It’s not compatible.”

“How did you know what I was going to—”

“I’m your jalshagar, Zander.” She smiles, dark eyes sparkling, and my heart skips a beat. “Besides, we’ve already established I’m always one step ahead of you.”

I can’t help laughing at that because she’s right. My ego isn’t an issue here. I’m just genuinely glad to have her not inconsiderable intellect at my behest.

“Very well. Then we won’t use the life support.”

“Ah, Zander, I’m fond of breathing, not to mention not freezing to death.”

I point over at the space suits on the wall.

“We can use those.”

“You’ll never fit into a human sized suit.”

“You forget that the Crushers also employ Kreetu and Kraaj. One of their units will suffice.”

Thrase finishes soldering the connections on the circuitry in the yaw control and slams the panel shut.

“Then we’re done.”

“We are?”

“Yes… I just hope that doesn’t also mean we’re done for.”

My lips twitch, and then I go to speak—at exactly the same time she does.

“I need to tell you something,” we say in unison.

After a brief laugh, she gestures at me.

“You go first.”

“Right.” I heave a sigh. “Thrase, if I didn’t think this had an excellent chance of working, I would never let you get on this star fighter. You know that, right?”

“Of course.”

“But there is a slight chance it won’t work, and we’re going to die, horribly. Just in case, I want to tell you that… I love you.”

Her eyes widen, and a tear slips down her cheek.

“Oh god, Zander. I love you too. We deserved so much better than this.”

She throws her arms around my neck, and I feel the warm press of her lips upon my own. The moment is pure bliss, a sublime stitch in time I wish would last forever.

Which, of course, means it won’t.

The ship shudders, overhead light panels flicker, and we pull apart from our clinch.

“It’s time to go.”

“Right.”

I leap into the pilot’s chair while Thrase gets in the rear seat. Engaging only the antigrav drive, I hover the improvised star fighter over the fission torpedo and lower it down.

“Let’s hope my armature works.”

There’s a heavy clunk, and then my HUD flashes with a “payload accepted” signal.

“I never doubted you for an instant,