ACT TWO: THE GREAT WORK

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Yielding to the sorrow festering inside, Soran gazed into the achromatic oblivion, the prickle of frostbite dancing across his skin the only indication he was still alive.

  Rough hands curled underneath the boy's shoulder blades, grasping his suit and lifting him from what he imagined would be his tomb. A scene of merciful closure accompanied the recovery, his blurred vision resting upon the sinking wreckage of that cursed ship. The Bassalark cried out in shrieking metal groans as she sank. The hull's hideous design warped under pressure, transforming a once fearsome war machine into ineffectual scrap. Her terrible reign had ended; however, this tepid revenge was insufficient to weave even the first stitch through Soran's shattered heart. The anchor of loss continued its descent, careening through fathoms of sadness he'd previously thought unreachable. Coupled with the bleakness of his future, being hauled from the snow-covered mound felt more like a curse than deliverance.

  Soran fell to the ground with a thud and watched the blizzard disappear behind silvery doors. Instantly, the calm of classical music bathed his frigid body, the perfectly placed notes juxtaposed with the erratic rhythm of his breath. His body quivered in the new warmth. The delicate lights cast from overhead lamps were interrupted by the long shadow of their captor. Teege's indifference was astounding, examining the near-frozen bodies not for fear of their wellbeing, but to evaluate the condition of his salvage. Although the Horizon crew represented a substantial payday for him, it was not his only motivation to retrieve them.

  Once a fellow hunter, Teege had shifted career and joined forces with the unseen hand of Naval operations. It was this decision that had started him on the journey to whatever it was he had become. His unit was known as the Sect, and denial of their existence was the Navy's official position — the subterfuge causing a perpetual mystique around the group. If a job exceeded the bounds of the law, then a Sect personnel member would doubtless be found at the scene, usually leaving behind a trail of bodies, empty safes, and an overwhelmed Naval ensign attempting to explain away the situation.

  Teege had patrolled this quadrant for the better part of a decade and had, therefore, encountered Ranna on several previous occasions. Predominantly in situations of questionable legality but never quite high enough profile to be worthy of the Sect's time. In the past, most of Teege's duties involved collecting payment from the Navy's countless interests and persuading those withholding their contribution to take a wiser course of action. In a galaxy rife with pirate attacks, there was a price for safety, and the Navy had remained adequately compensated. The pirates might have been the face of the galaxy's evil, but the Navy was its heart. Unfortunately, when that evil happens to be holding the only shield, you either pay up or forever remain in the line of fire.

  Ranna's frozen captive was first on Teege's agenda. He severed the lifeline and, with it, the oxygenated blood that had kept the Pirate Lord conscious. Kaligan looked a little worse for wear, a sickly veil bleaching his usual olive skin.

  "Been tracking you for some time," said Teege as he stared into the pirate's vacant eyes. Kaligan's brain hungered for sustenance, disintegrating further as each second passed. Teege dropped the head into a Cryo-chamber and spun the seal closed, suspending Kaligan for transport back to where he belonged. The hunters, on the other hand, were far from the Hive's prime clientele. Besides vague horror stories handed down for generations, they had no idea of the true hells that awaited.

  Hooked up to a complex array of medical apparatus, the hunters lay immobile as a rejuvenating serum flowed into their systems. A swelling heat raced through their veins, and gradually, the sensation in their limbs returned, starting in the arms and working down to their practically frozen toes. Ranna began to stir, his breathing raspy and erratic, the serum incapable of fixing the extensive damage sustained by his lungs. The breach in his suit meant he got the worst of it, his sacrifice allowing Soran to spend a few more moments with his friend. For this act of kindness, the boy would be eternally grateful. The notion of leaving the Horizon and her crew behind had become unthinkable. With no reason to return to the Hyacinth and the thought of going it alone too frightening, little choice remained. Forging a life on his own seemed a vague and unrealistic ideal not worth entertaining, and whether he liked it or not, he had become a hunter. Although, if their current predicament was anything to go by, a relatively poor one.

  Tight Magnachain bound Soran's wrists, pinning him to the floor. His peers shared in the predicament, avoiding the glares of disdain from Teege's three-strong crew. The two heavily armed Naval officers that they had outrun on Valaterra gossiped to one another, clearly relieved Teege had remedied their earlier faux pas. The remaining member was a pilot who sat before a pristine set of control apparatus, guiding the vessel through a tricky configuration of asteroids. Teege's ship resembled a gondola and curved upward at the bow. Long benches ran down either side of the main galley, leading to lavish living quarters on the lower deck. Teege's affluence flourished unashamedly and left no doubt that he received substantial remuneration for his work. He sat with his head tucked into the fur lining of his cape, pretending to hit piano keys as he feigned playing along with the music. His celebration was unsurprising as he sailed toward a literal mountain of credits. Even the beauty of his current vessel would pail into insignificance to the luxury his riches would grant.

  Soran stowed Lanic's memory away, fanning the embers of his mentor's legacy within until he could espouse the heroic truth on the grand scale of his ambition. He had come too far to spend the rest of his life locked away in one of the galaxy's foulest constructions.

  Although the crew was in no shape to form any kind of offensive, he remained vigilant for any sign of distraction, a weakness he could exploit. El seemed to mirror his thinking. Her eyes hid behind timidly roiling strands of hair, narrow and focused. Soran noticed her hands moving behind her back, delicately fiddling with the lock mechanism of her restraints. Mag-locks were ubiquitous throughout the galaxy, leaving the boy feeling slightly embarrassed. He could not free himself despite working with the technology for most of his life.

  It's a good job you're not around to see this.

  The Multi-tool on his belt would do the trick, but reaching it without a free hand was impossible. Suddenly, their scheming ceased. An incoming communication tone suspended the jovial atmosphere. Teege patched through the call to his device.

  "Teege. Is there an issue?"

  "Your presence on Accrakos has been requested immediately, sir. Rumors of a growing pirate presence have surfaced. We believe it to be the Cybel." The pilot's voice wavered when mentioning the name. Teege's eyes widened with intrigue. This was his white whale. The Cybel were twins, boasting the highest combined bounty in the galaxy. No sighting had been recorded in decades, not since their escape following the Eureka Calamity. He looked around his ship, inspecting the current haul. Despite his eagerness to cash in, he knew that once discovered, the twins wouldn't remain on Accrakos for long. This was his only chance.

  "Patch through the intel. Inform the Admirals the situation is being dealt with." Teege hung up the call and rose to his feet, eyes gleaming with the promise of near-endless riches. Bottomless greed had swayed him, and the hunt would begin anew.

  Heralded as the masterminds behind the Eureka Calamity and thus responsible for Lanic's downfall, Soran already had a strong distaste for twins. Although the trickster lord, Marick Thane, had been the deceiver, the Cybel twins, Volka and Khan, pulled the strings. To achieve justice and honor the memory of his mentor, the twins would have to pay for the part they played.

  Heavy breathing distracted Soran from his seething. It was Tugg, clearly distressed over what he had heard. Despite no longer being frozen, he shuddered in anticipation.

  "He doesn't like going home. Bad memories." El whispered, nestling up to the brute to offer what little comfort she could. Soran struggled to relate. Being born amongst the colonies meant he had never stepped foot on a habitable world. Earth had been a distant memory for well over a century, and despite the healthy human population that still roamed the galaxy, they no longer had a place to call home. In a way, Tugg's belonging made him jealous. The Hyacinth wasn't exactly the most welcoming place, her rusted husk not exuding the homely warmth he longed for. With the only habitable worlds left being so heavily protected, the chance of settling down somewhere with a view was next to none. For now, at least, the murky porthole windows that framed the endless void would have to suffice.

  Ranna remained on his back, staring up at the red drapery hung purposefully from the ceiling. With the elegant decor accompanying the music, Teege's ship was more of a relaxing lounge than a Naval vessel. The atmosphere, however, was anything but tranquil. Conflicting emotions tore Ranna right down the middle. Despite their postponed trip to the Hive, the waters they were heading for presented a comparable level of peril. Accrakos was the only remaining ocean planet, submerged entirely in water save for a tiny spit of land used to accommodate incoming and outgoing traffic. Classified as highly restricted, visitors were a rare occurrence. Every aspect of the planet was riddled with danger and represented a threat to even the most hardened pirate or Naval officer.

  The Accrans were a warrior race and had staved off all colonization attempts, allowing only brief pockets of outsider access to facilitate trade. The plethora of serpentine abominations that lurked beneath its surface and the constant threat of typhoons and hurricanes were enough to keep most would-be adventurers at bay. These hazards were mere grains in the desert compared to the prey Teege was hunting. There was a good reason the Navy set the Cybel bounty at a hundred million credits, the immense riches acting more as a warning than an invitation. For twenty-five years, the twins had seemingly ceased to exist; no docking reports, sightings on long-range radar, or even rumors in the backstreets of Valaterra. They had become ghosts. The Navy felt threatened enough by them roaming free to offer a sizable portion of the government's fortune for their capture. Most believed the search for the twins to be a pointless endeavor. Anecdotes placed them in the pirate King's entourage back during the Penumbra Onslaught, an event that took place more than a century ago, placing them deep into their graves by now. Teege was of a different mindset. He prided himself on being the best at what he did, taking their illusiveness as a personnel slight.

  Teege silently fantasized about his ascent into the upper echelons. He took great pleasure in delivering formidable pirates to the just arms of the law. Payment may have been his motivation, but the real satisfaction came from ridding the galaxy of these barbarous degenerates one at a time.

  They descended into Accrakos's upper atmosphere, the music cutting in and out as turbulence took hold. As expected, their welcome was far from warm. Vicious storms conjured titanic waves that raged across the planet's surface. The roar of untamed thunder humbled all aboard. Even Teege grasped his hand firmly on the underside of his seat as his ship swayed in the fierce winds. Accran lookouts signaled the ship to dock from their control tower. It was the only surface structure, dominating the vast majority of the port island's measly real estate.

  The pilot brought the ship down in a clumsy but respectable landing. Teege stood and raised a silver orb into the air, pressing a button on either side. The Horizon crew shot to their feet instantly, their arms clasped together above their heads. They were the marionettes, and he was their puppeteer, tilting the orb to reorient the restraints behind their backs. He let his control device float in midair. It followed him as he exited the ship, pulling along his captives in a single-file line.

  Torrential downpours drenched their tattered suits as they emerged. The rain had a strong salty taste, tainted with a fishy odor that sank into their exposed skin. Helmets were not required on Accrakos due to the high oxygen content, so high, in fact, that it left the average human lightheaded if they were to breathe too deeply. Teege's men hurried the hunters into the tower, where a company of Accran security greeted them. The tower had been a peace offering from the Navy — a thinly veiled ploy to gain access to the planet and keep tabs on its people.

  Accrakos was accessible by appointment only. However, due to the time-sensitive nature of the mission, protocol was omitted on this occasion. Weapons were checked and inventoried. Confirmation of identity was processed along with the validation of the Admiral's Holo-seal.

  Tugg held his head low as disrespectful jeers burst from the other Accran. Though untranslatable, the situation was universal, and his crew shouldered his pain alongside him. He was small for an Accran, and even though he towered over the humans, his brethren dwarfed him. Ranna and El knew very little about Tugg, and the circumstances that led to his departure from Accrakos remain a mystery. After all, it was a relatively safe environment for all Accran. Protected from the planet's natural dangers in their vast cave cities hidden beneath the seafloor, they had lived for millennia, undisturbed by the chaos that ensued in the galaxy around them. Tugg had his reasons; whatever they were, neither Ranna nor El would dig any deeper. The Horizon code would remain unbroken.

  They pushed past the chorus of insults and into a circular room that bustled with the sound of machinery. Hanging in the center was a contraption out of time, its archaic nature starkly contrasted by the modern design of the tower that housed it. A form of transportation pulled from the pages of history, a passenger cart hung above a diagonal tunnel that descended into darkness. A continuous updraft rocked the wooden frame, testing the worthiness of the frayed rope support with each swing. Teege pulled himself aboard, his gloves instantly stained with bronze flakes from the rusted poles. As Soran clambered on, he appreciated the craftsman's intention. With a curved body that thinned out into a tail fin, they would be riding on a giant wooden fish. Accuracy was obviously of lesser importance to the Accran, opting instead for a more abstract interpretation of their world and its fauna. Teege sat on one of the many rickety stools, grabbing his control orb from the air and pulling the hunters to their knees.

  "Time to drop you off. I'll be back to collect you later, so don't go getting comfortable," Teege said with a smug grin. Surprise fell upon Soran. He had been diligently planning his escape until now, imagining that they would accompany Teege and his men while they hunted for the Cybel. A short reprieve from their captor was welcome, but the boy knew their temporary destination would be far from pleasant. Grinding gears propelled the cart along the five lengths of rope that ran the entire tunnel; Cylindrical pulleys threaded the rope precisely, giving the cart a decent momentum. As they plummeted further into the planet, they could feel the pressure of the ocean close in around them— the steady hiss of the rope their only companion as they plunged into darkness.