Page 28 of Swept By The Alien Pirate Prince

The ship tilted upward as another wave tumbled over us, nearly flipping us upside down.

I gripped the sides of my seat and tossed a nervous glance in Cyburn’s direction. “Are we going to capsize?”

“Not on my watch.” Cyburn’s features were set with determination. His huge fingers pressed buttons on the control panel. Sweat glistened on his forehead and at his temples. His stony expression refused to crack.

Just as he said that another swell of torrential rain lashed at the windows, sending a downpour directly over our ship. The wavy motion made my stomach roll. I squeezed my eyes shut and stiffened.

“How can you see anything?” I shouted above the wail of the ocean squalls once the wave of nausea subsided in my stomach.

“I can’t. I’m winging it,” Cyburn responded.

I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it.

“How will we find the docking station?” I tossed a wary glance at the A.I. I was still worried that she would short out again before we made it.

“The navigation panel,” Cyburn said and glanced over his shoulder at Silver too. She was set to a generalized setting where she couldn’t speak but she could give directions via the program connected to the bridge’s control panel.

She was in a partial sleep mode, aside from producing the coordinates. She was still not up and running quite to par, and we felt it was probably better for her functionality if we only gave her one task to handle at a time.

“As long as Silver comes through for us,” Cyburn said with only a trace of doubt in his voice.

My heartbeat drummed through my temples and ears. My skin burned, almost like fever, but it was more of a nervous sensation that started in my stomach and spread like wildfire through my limbs.

“As soon as we dock, we’ll be safe,” Cyburn advised.

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to believe him, but the storm was relentless. The clouds clashed above our heads and produced jagged streaks of white lightening that lit up the entire sky like booming fireworks.

“Yes,” Cyburn muttered through clenched teeth, staring at the panels and steering. “Right there — bring us home.” He was talking to the ship, more than to me.

A moment later, an automated, robotic voice cut through the speakers. “Docking initiated.”

A moment after that it spoke again. “Docking engaged.”

I hadn’t realized just how hard I’d been gripping the sides of my seats. When I finally unlatched my hands, my fingers ached from being bent in the same awkward position for the entire atmospheric landing.

We’d made it to the docking phase, but what lay ahead for us was still a mystery and a great concern of mine.

* * *

When I wokeup the next morning, the storm had dissipated. However, the threat of rain still loomed. Dark rain clouds looked almost purple off in the distance, stretching out for as far as I could see for miles out across the ocean.

There were no windows around the cabin where I was staying with Cyburn, but there was a huge access doorway leading out to a deck outside.

In the back of the cabin, was the large open space. The ocean was spread out on all sides. The cabins were lined up in rows. This designated location was for refugees and sky wanderers who needed to seek shelter, camp out for nights, weeks, or even months at a time. It was like a hotel, parked in the middle of the ocean.

From the front, there was a long dock that extended out from the cabin to a stretch of wet, cold, almost a dirt colored sand. From there and beyond, it was nothing but woods.

We were totally secluded out here, in this ‘fortress’ of sorts — the island area was constructed this way on purpose.

There were quite a few locals who lived or camped on the edge of the woods. I learned early on that they were the ones responsible for managing the upkeep and maintenance of the area.

They also brought ample supplies for their guests ranging anywhere from food, to clothing to medical necessities. The needs of each individual varied, and the natives seemed well equipped to deal with whatever issues came up along the way.

If I didn’t know any better, I might stand on the deck of the cabin and be able to pretend that I was looking out from my tiki hut in Fiji, or Bali, or the Maldives.

Only the water here on Machinoor wasn’t translucent or aqua-teal like the Caribbean or the sea by a European country.

It wasn’t pretty. There were no coral reefs, no tropical fish swimming around ranging in just about every color of the rainbow.

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