CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Flashes of light crept in from the glass-covered holes masquerading as windows. Soran observed the fleeting dance of caustic reflections on the exhausted faces of the others. He felt the weight of his body increase as they descended, Accrakos unwelcoming to visitors in more ways than one. The feeling brought him back to his interactions with the shard. His body reacted both with Malig and the Bassalark, but he struggled to identify a plausible rationale. Why him? Ranna was seemingly unaffected, handling the object without so much as a wince; how could that be? Soran was no closer to finding an answer than when he first saw the shard. Fortunately for them, it had managed to go unnoticed by Teege and would remain their secret for now.

  Moments later, the tunnel ended abruptly, and the piscine cart flooded with light. Tugg's four eyes sprang open, greeted by the sight of the Accran capital city. Due to the translation issue, the city's true name was unknown to everyone except her denizens. The structure was unmistakably that of ingenuity, a cyclopean monument to the Accran's architectural prowess. Mile-high steps separated each of the city's five levels, clearly a divide of the haves and have-nots. It was fitting that each layer was physically out of reach for the one below. Confined to the level on which you were born was how it would remain for the majority, though moving down loomed as an ever-present threat, retaining one's position requiring strict adherence to the law and customs.

  As the cart continued to descend, each level of the city became more explicit, and Soran could discern the more prominent features. The pinnacle was a masterfully carved conch-shaped palace, adorning the city like a jeweled crown. Its radiance showered over everything, bestowing a tainted beauty to even the lowest reaches. The slums that littered the ground sprawled in labyrinthine alleys of scavenged constructs, usurping every square inch of available space. Buildings jutted out from the wall that connected them to the level above, a transparent attempt to assert dominance over their fellow bottom-feeders. He struggled to discern the difference between the other levels. A mixture of industry, commerce, and entertainment permeated the winding streets, though the specific purpose separating them seemed only to be status.

  The hunters reached the end of their journey. The sudden halt jostled the passengers, and rusty hinges moaned as the saloon-style doors swung outward. A heavily armed guard greeted them, growing immediately after setting eyes on Tugg. He escorted the group through a narrow corridor and out into the city's bustling main strip. The sights, sounds, and odors flung Soran back the Hyacinth. Back to the disorderly amusement he had felt strolling the lanes of the Umbra Market. It was evident by the rags draped over their scarred bodies that these people had nothing. Cheap augmentations ornamented their skin, and mismatched prosthetics took the place of lost limbs.

  Again, Tugg quickly became the center of attention. Familiar jeers echoed all around them. Nervous whispers were making the rounds, and the innumerable sand-crafted huts hummed with judgment. Something landed at Soran's feet. He looked down, confused, and met with the dead eyes of a fish staring right back at him. An unseen bystander hurled another rotten projectile, this time connecting with its intended target. Tugg winced as a barrage of carcasses came flying toward him. The accusatory chanting grew louder and more virulent but goaded no reaction. Seeing one of their own in Naval custody was a grave dishonor for the Accran people. Soran glared scornfully at the mob, not that his disapproval diminished their aggression. He looked back at Ranna, whose gaze locked firmly to the ground. Ever since awakening on Teege's ship, he had been silent and unresponsive, shambling forward like a man gallow-bound. The Ranna Soran had come to know would have jumped to his crewmate's defense and protected him as a Captain should. This lumbering wraith was a mere shell.

  "They do not like you, do they?" Teege snickered, proceeding through the crowd, amused at the ill-treatment of his prisoner. Tugg stoically endured the abuse until they arrived at their destination. The platform of an imposing freight elevator lay before them. Guards fanned out before it, but unlike the security that had greeted them on the surface, these Accran dripped with luminous armor. Nanoalloy exoskeletons cocooned their bodies in brilliant chrome, each wielding a halberd-type weapon held menacingly at arm's length. Protection being so tight around the only means of ascending to the next level was unsurprising. Teege flashed some identification, and the guards stepped to one side, allowing them through. Like the cart before, the elevator functioned utilizing thick ropes and pulleys. The machine sprang to life, the slums below blurring into abstract geometry as they ascended to the second tier.

  Upon disembarkment, the crew noticed that despite only ascending a single elevation, this level differed significantly from the one below. The accommodation was more established, with tall blocks of single occupancy rooms lining the streets. Restaurants and merchants commandeered the ground floors of each building, filling the streets with an endless stream of bartering locals. Once more, Tugg was brought into sharp focus, a sea of hate-filled glares piercing him from all sides. Teege slowed his pace, forcing the crew to linger in the vitriol. For the next half-hour a din of insults, attempted assaults, and even one act that would not be ill-described as an assassination attempt, hampered their progress. Though no physical injuries were sustained, Tugg's head seemed to sink further in shame, almost buried into his chest as their slow march culminated at the plateau's center.

  Though another elevator awaited them, it seemed the third level was not their destination. A beautifully carved silver door, embedded deep into the ascending wall, loomed threateningly before them. Three Accran guards stood on either side with weapons crossed to block their path. With identification authenticated, one of the guards lifted a giant cog that sat propped against a wall. He slotted it neatly into the door amongst a nest of smaller gears that immediately whirred to life. The incredible weight was apparent as the door struggled to open, the mechanism hissing in frustration. Although the city had presented a novel exhibition for the crew so far, what was behind the door was, unfortunately, very familiar. Rows of cells coiled down a seemingly endless spiral staircase, the cries of those imprisoned echoing from the blackness below. The core of the Accran city being a prison was as impressive as it was terrifying. If you wanted to keep someone hidden, away from official government records, and out of reach from prying eyes, this would be the place to do it.

  A guard approached, an expectant hand extended toward them. Teege handed over a handful of credit slates along with a disk containing the incarceration protocol for his prisoners. The restraint orb that bound them changed into the guard's hands, the power it represented reflected in his eyes. Teege sauntered out the way he came but not before parting with a disingenuous wave.

  "I'll return for you... one day." He said callously, the silver doors crashing closed behind him.

  Their new captor wasted no time, immediately testing the limits of the orb. He dropped the hunters to their knees, then hoisted them back into the air, grunting with perverse enjoyment.

  Almost an hour later, and with his appetite for cruelty satiated, the guard escorted the Horizon crew to their temporary dwellings. Ranna was first. The cell door opened to a meter-square pool of water, a freezing mist rising from its surface. He fell forward, plunging into the icy water after a swift kick to the back of his knees. The door immediately slammed shut, and the others were pulled to the next cell. Tugg and El both suffered the same fate: Cast into their cages and plummeted into darkness. After a short march forward, Soran was confronted with his cell. The punishing boot of the guard flung him forward, inhaling the liquid as his face broke the tension of the water's surface. Disoriented, he pushed off the cell floor in an attempt to surface, but something blocked his ascent. A translucent pane was preventing his emergence. Panicked and still bound at the wrist, he reached up, trying to force his way through. On his third push, he found an opening, breaching the surface, gulping at the frigid air.

  The hole was only large enough for his head, shoulders jutting up against the frozen glass. Barely having time to catch his breath, the opening snapped shut, constricting around his neck. The glass collar pushed against his windpipe, its grip tightening until his breaths were shallow and wheezing. One painful gasp after another crept down his throat, his legs kicking and arms struggling through the arctic pool. Less than a minute passed before the futility of resistance kicked in. Until Teege saw fit to return, he would remain suspended on the edge of suffocation. There would be no escape.