CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A blade of winter light sliced through the fractured hull, settling on the crystalized impression of a man. Chains bound his neck and hands, tethering him to the floor. He knelt before the Bassalark's engine. Yet another monstrous instrument, hewn in the guise of countless writhing serpents, so entwined, their bodies formed an incoherent mass of scales and fangs.

  Soran took a step forward. The glassy coating of the first frozen stair cracked under his weight, yet his vision remained fixed on the immobile figure. Exposed to the elements was the bruised flesh of the man's back, torn from countless lashes. Decades of abuse covered his withered body; scars jostled for position, dividing the skin like contours on a map. Limp, shackled arms were draped by his side, covered in burns and other remnants of mistreatment. Step after step, gruesome details continued to emerge until Soran realized that he had taken a step too far. He had crossed the threshold of denial. A second pair of arms clutched against the figure's chest, decayed remnants of frostbitten fingers pulled tight into purpled fists.

  The all-consuming cold vanished, replaced with an escalating sickness. Its tendrils slithered in Soran's stomach, filling his throat with venomous guilt. He refused to move.

  One more step would reveal a face he had longed to see smiling. He remembered it vividly: welcoming, warm, and reassuring, constantly ferrying a chuckle or parable of sage wisdom.

  The Horizon crew formed a row of immobile sentinels. Based on Soran's reaction, they knew his search was over. Marbled tears ran down El's face, only to freeze before they could fall. Ranna remained speechless. There were no words to ease the situation. He had to let it play out and be ready to shoulder the fallout.

  Despite the sincere pleas of his aching heart, Soran took the last fateful step. A pair of goggles sat upon a lifeless face, wrapped in clumps of icy hair. His mustache, coupled with scruffy sideburns, was singed and patchy. Dark bruises were scattered around the eyes and mouth, matching the stains that crusted his torn overalls. A breath escaped Soran's lips. Despite the horrific injustice inflicted by the Bassalark's crew, the corners of Lanic's mouth were curved upward. Traces of a calm acceptance still lingered in his glistening, pale eyes. They couldn't take him away. Not even the cruelty of desperate pirates could break a man like him. He'd left this life the way he lived it, smiling.

  Soran sank his knees to the glaciated ground and flung his arms around his mentor. Once again, an apology sat lodged in his throat. It tried to escape, emerging as a series of staggered breaths until a handful of words managed to escape grief's hold.

  "I tried to come earlier. I really did."

  Soran's remorse stifled the apology, unable to convey the true extent of his regret. Whatever string of excuses he could muster would be insufficient at lifting the leaded cloak of guilt that so wholly enveloped him. His mentor had died a slave.

  A genius in every sense of the word, Lanic had crafted the finest vessel to ever sail amongst the stars. Forged to vanquish evil yet corrupted in purpose, turned against those it was built to protect. Despite this herculean feat, Lanic had perished stoking the flames of a failed engine in the depths of a drowning pirate Dreadnought. A task unfit for a peasant, never mind a true master of his craft.

  Soran's mind reconstructed the scenario of Lanic's last moments. His grip tightened as the building anger boiled over, consumed with a longing for just one more word, one final piece of advice that would bestow the strength to go on. The boy felt his grip loosen as a dull crunch of cracking ice ended his frigid embrace. He pulled back, savoring the kindness preserved in his mentor's eyes as the glacial prison faltered.

  Lanic's body shattered, blossoming into a nebula of glittering mist, and the Bassalark illuminated with innumerable flakes of brilliant light. Consumed in the ethereal cloud, for a moment, Soran swore he could hear his name.

  A swift rush of polar gales swept away the phantasmal remains, and the trapped breath finally stumbled from Soran's lips. Within it contained everything he had never said: a final thank you for all he had been given and one last apology that he couldn't return the favor. With nothing left to cling to, a crushing realization dawned. He was alone.

  A dam of frozen lashes held back rivers of tears. All Soran's fears and desires were bound up in the safe hands of their friendship. In an instant, the only life he had ever known was swallowed in a swirling torrent, unable to be retrieved.

  Soran had become the sole proprietor of an unimaginably important truth. Lanic's truth, a tale of kindness and sacrifice. A selfless mentor, humble to his brilliance, and dedicated to his craft. Far from the inept traitor that the Navy portrayed, the simpleton who had allowed the Eureka to slip into the hands of Marick Thane. Soran would set the record straight.

  El prompted Ranna to show some support, but a visible reluctance kept him maintaining his distance. Seeing the chained Ven had spooked him, reviving memories he had thought buried. Knowing her pleas would remain unanswered, she shouldered the burden of comfort herself. Despite the glacial condition of her suit, the soft, amber glow of her skin shone onto the boy's face. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and the warmth of her empathy flowed into him. As he relaxed into her, raw emotion flooded from his eyes, and decades of smiles and laughs raced through his mind. Every time he was picked up from a fall, saved from an accident, or told it would be okay. As the boy cried his final tears, sorrow yielded to determination. The memory of his friend would not be forgotten. Erasing the fallacious tale of a cowardly fool, in its place, Soran would proliferate the heroic truth to the furthest reaches of known space and beyond. Soran hadn't just lost a mentor; he had lost his father.

  A strong wind bathed the engine room's skeletal expanse, sweeping away the crystalline dust and exposing a buried vestige. Lanic's Naval pendant. A reminder of his accomplishments and proof that he was anything but a lowly station engineer. Soran grasped it between his thumb and index finger and held it above his head. He watched its frozen surface glisten in the dim light. Clutching it close to his chest, gratitude bloomed for this small memento.

  His mourning was interrupted by a chorus of salient chimes echoing from their suits. Thirty minutes remained.

  Soran pocketed the pendant and pushed against the weight of bereavement, clambering to his feet. If Lanic's memory was to survive, he had to make it out alive. His courage summoned a proud smile from El. The boy she had met on the Hyacinth was no more.

  Ranna and Tugg charged over to the extraction engine. They pried open a locked storage vent to reveal a stash of Bohlatite Crystal.

  "Bingo," said Ranna, relieved their trip had not been made in vain.

  "It's not much, but it should get us off this rock and on our way." The hunters packed as much as their storage pouches would hold, cracking open the frozen zips and clasps. Although aware that thirty minutes was insufficient for their return, they had come too far to give up now.

  "Tick, Tick. The scurrying of rats as they sense their end has always fascinated me. Isn't embracing death a more dignified way to slough the mortal coil?" Chimed Kaligan, who, despite not being covered by a suit, was handling the subzero temperatures with surprising ease. Though his Shimmersene-infused blood was likely the culprit, Ranna bet that utter madness was the more probable offender.

  Kaligan's' sudden outburst had left the Captain feeling light-headed, the impromptu transfusion taking its toll. He needed to get the Pirate-Lord back on ice before sustaining permanent damage.

  "What's the plan, kid?" Asked Ranna. Granting Soran the final say on their departure was a kindness he rarely extended to others. The boy took one last look at the chains that had bound his mentor. They would pay for what they had done to him. A nod of reassurance prompted Ranna to take the lead, breaking into a run as the crew charged back through the ship.

  As they paced through the corridors, they could feel the Bassalark slipping further into icy depths, their presence disturbing the delicate balance. The ship's angle tilted a further ten degrees, forcing the fleeing crew to use the walls for balance. After mere moments, their footing shifted again, the floor and ceiling becoming their walls. Despite the urgency presented by their ever-depleting time, they adopted a steady pace to traverse the perilous hallways.

  Arriving back at the entrance, they encountered an impasse. The entire hold had flooded, their salvation submerged under six feet of arctic water. The Nanofibers of their suits had long failed, leaving them with little protection from the rapacious elements.

  With no time to waste, Ranna took the plunge, breaking through the thin layer of ice that had formed on the surface. Spurred on by their leaders' fearless action, the crew followed. Kaligan's dismay manifested in a screech of protest, though his cries fell silent as the reservoir swallowed him.

  As they hit the water, regret bloomed. A bolt of glacial lighting sliced through their skin, and paralyzing shock set in. The tendrils of the depths dragged them down with a torrent of debris from the collapsing ship. Streams of hideously sculpted gargoyles cascaded around them, swirling like departed souls. The hunters kicked ferociously against the current in an attempt to find purchase, anything to save them from the ceaseless descent. Air departed Ranna's lungs in a string of bubbles. He pulled his hands to cover his mouth, but it was too late. His vision was failing him. The determined expression he wore moments ago contorted into a grimace that would be at home amongst the Bassalark's tortured portraits. Just as he opened his arms in surrender to the abyss, a claw-like hand breached the water's surface. Frostbitten fingers clasped the Captain by the shoulder and heaved him from the lake. His landing was cushioned by a thick sheet of snow, encasing him in a powdery coffin. With a shuddering breath, he fogged the membrane of his helmet. The crew was breathing so heavily they could barely hear themselves think. Despite Tugg's familiarity and resistance to such frigid conditions, even he was struggling with the ordeal. Sinking debris had torn his suit during their escape, and his legs were dangerously close to becoming glorified icicles.

  An ominous chime delivered the hunters a penultimate warning. Only fifteen minutes remained.

  El locked eyes with Soran, but neither of them had the heart to admit defeat. Even if they had had the strength to run, the distance was insurmountable. Ranna was succumbing to hypothermia, the midnight black of his eyes glazed over with a white sheen. Tugg remained upright, though he, too, was undergoing gradual petrification.

  Tears begged to fall from Soran's eyes, but chilling winds arrested their release. It seemed that he was fated to fail continually. He had gotten up after each punch, but the cards he had been dealt were too unfair, the odds too cruel to overcome. His fingers declined to move, fused into an arthritic talon. He wouldn't give up, not on himself or his crew. He retrieved Lanic's pendant and pressed it to his chest.

  Fantasies of returning to the Hyacinth with tales of his mentor's bravery swirled through his mind, combatting the reality of his crippling environment. He told them of Lanic's defiance. How he refused to stoke the pirate's flames, stranding them on the ice-bound moon. The tale spread far and wide through every sector of the ship, the crew raising monuments of heroism in his memory.

  Shooting pains from his torso banished the daydream. He had to move.

  Soran forced himself to his feet. Wading through the snow, he grabbed El by the shoulder. She was a partially frozen cocoon, her limbs wrapped tightly around her shuddering body. He helped her to her feet, and together, they pulled Tugg free of his icy shackles. Though shaking profusely, the Accran still possessed a morsel of strength. The three of them hauled the unconscious Ranna onto Tugg's back and took the first arduous step of their impossible journey.

  Soran noticed a glint reflecting from the surface of the pendant. He looked up to identify the source. A blinding light cone engulfed the achromatic landscape, accompanied by a thundering growl from blustering winds overhead. A vast shadow descended upon them. The hunters peered into the shrouded heavens, desperate for a glance at what they hoped was an ally. Far from their imagined angel of mercy, a narrow, lance-like vessel plummeted through the misty clouds. As it drew closer, Soran recognized the avian sculpture that adorned the hull, swiftly realizing that their savior was the reaper himself, come to collect his due.