CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  An unrecognizable face started at Soran, the face of a wanted criminal. There were no scars or missing teeth, no murderous expression or villainous glare, just a happy-looking boy sporting a naive grin of ignorance. When encountering such posters in the past, he hadn't given a second thought to those depicted. They were unquestionably guilty of their crimes and deserving of whatever punishment was coming to them. How could they not be? Wanted posters were reserved for only the most heinous criminals. Why else would the Navy offer such extravagant rewards? But now that he stood in their shoes, certain of his innocence, he wondered how many of those toiling away in the Hive were similarly situated.

  The clang of the magnetic clasps being pried from their sockets doubled as a countdown to the Horizon crew's downfall. With every screech of tearing metal, fate clawed closer, and the constricting promise of incarceration choked whatever hope remained. But Ranna wasn't going down without a fight.

  The Captain spotted a glowing, bulb-shaped jar atop a high shelf to his left. He snatched it from its hold and lifted it above his head, assuming a throwing stance.

  "That's gonna be the end for all of us, Ranna," Etch said, remaining relatively calm. He doubted even Ranna was crazy enough to release what lurked inside.

  "The escape hatch now, or we get to find out what it feels like." Ranna pulled his arm back even further, causing Etch to consider his threat more seriously. Dimmubor Hornets filled the jar and infamous was their voracious appetite for living tissue. If released from their enclosure, all present would be stripped to the bone within minutes.

  "You know where they'll take us Etch. I'd rather be bug food than spend one second in that hellhole." Ranna said, the fires of desperation burning in his eyes. Even if the stories were half-truths, the Naval prisons were places to be avoided at all costs. The Golgotha, in particular, was rumored to be filled with sadistically cruel chambers that forced the inmates to endure the most dehumanizing torture imaginable. Although strictly purposed for only the most heinous of beings, with the level of notoriety the Horizon hunters had accrued, their chances of an easy ride looked slim.

  "Times up," Ranna said, thrusting the hornet's prison to the ground with all the force he could muster.

  "Stop!" Shouted Etch, jumping out of his seat and sending his pet hurtling across the room. Ranna had called his bluff, holding the jar suspended a few inches above the ground.

  "Madman," Etch hissed as he begrudgingly tapped the escape hatch release codes into his console. Without another word, Ranna commanded his crew into the narrow alleyway behind the bazaar. As he cleared the door's threshold, he tossed the glass jar into the air, slamming the hatch closed on the scene of his revenge. Etch watched as the jar sailed across the room. It smashed in a fountain of glass, releasing the hornets and sealing his fate.

  Screams echoed behind them, but the Captain cared little for the murmurs of a traitor's end. Although capable of forgiveness, he gave no quarter to traitors. A connoisseur of betrayal, Ranna knew a second chance would be wasted on the likes of Etch.

  They arrived back in the crowded concourse and changed pace to a brisk walk, sneaking their way through the sparsely inhabited side streets and alleys. Their attention was drawn to the makeshift structures that towered over the streets. Every building was plastered with scrolling images of their wanted posters, and the sound of surveillance drones buzzed through the air, the glare of their single, accusatory eye blaring the light woven images as giant projections; their staggering bounties advertised to the scores of hunters and pirates that dwelt in the Dahlia's slums.

  Soran climbed the first few runs of a nearby ladder to evaluate the situation better. All passageways in and out of the station had been sealed, only opened to allow in ever-increasing numbers of Naval personnel. Their presence put the lawless masses on alert. In the distance, he could see the elevator they had arrived on was guarded by a platoon of heavily armed men.

  He jumped back down and rejoined the others.

  "We're trapped."

  Since boarding the Dhalia, hope had drained from the boy's spirit at an alarming rate. It had been a good run with the bounty hunters, but this was the end of the line. El dropped down into a squat and began to fiddle with the layers of Holo-screen generated around her wrist. Despite taking up the mantle of chief strategist, this seemed like a puzzle even she couldn't solve.

  A sizable group of soldiers was moving toward Etch's Bazaar. Equipped with flame-spewing rifles, they were more than prepared to quench the outbreak of flesh-eating hornets. Now that their presence had been confirmed on the Dahlia, the only way out was either in body bags or Magnacuffs.

  The Dahlia was almost identical to the Hyacinth, and thus Soran wracked his brain, traversing the mental geographies he had constructed throughout his life. He stood nervously in the background with his arms crossed, tapping his feet in an offbeat pattern.

  "There might be another way," Soran said, biting at his lower lip. While analyzing the station's structure in his head, a frightening idea occurred to him; this revelation confirmed the suspicion that he had most certainly begun to lose his mind. The other crew members perked up, waiting on bated breath for a glimmer of hope.

  "There is a connection between the lower and upper decks. Actually, it connects every level station." His insight gave a new lease of life to the hunters who were brought to their feet, eyes wide and spirits high.

  "The Shimmersene tanks," he said slowly to a disheartening change in their expressions. His suggestion only sewed further confusion. Ranna made a rolling gesture with his fingers to coax some elaboration, his mind jumping between all manner of explosive conclusions.

  "We swim." Soran tried to sound confident, but saying it aloud reinforced its absurdity. Ranna and El looked at each other and let out a mirrored snort of disbelief. They could all see that life outside his playpen had started molding the boy's mind into the sharp-edged tool required to survive.

  "Look, It's only around 50 meters between here and the hatch on level six. Tugg's the fastest swimmer so he can take point and we all just, you know, grab on." Despite the evident lack of confidence, Soran had thought this through. Though far from his first choice, the crew was out of options, and the noose was tightening

  "Drowning in a vat of sludge wasn't really on my agenda, but I guess it beats a stint in the Hive. I'm in," Ranna said apathetically. With the patrols of Naval officers increasing, it was only a matter of time before they were discovered. The unquestionable insanity of the boy's plan at least offered them a slim chance of escape.

  "Let's go. We're counting on you," said El with a comforting smile. Tugg seemed impressed with the boys' on-the-spot scheming, treating him to a hearty shoulder rub.

  They made their way over the concourse, sleuthing through a maze of plumbing to avoid the patrols. Once they arrived at the dock, Soran slipped under a set of ladders and pulled open a hatch. The acrid odor of Shimmersene poured out, causing the hunters to wince and take a few steps back.

  "OK, suits off." Soran undid his neck claps, forcing the suit to recede downward.

  "Excuse me?" Asked El, her voice pitched as if his suggestion had offended.

  "The Nanofibre reacts with the Shimmersene. So unless you want your skin peeling off with the suit, we're going to have to go on without them."

  Unaware of this aspect of the plan, the crew exchanged fleeting, embarrassed glances. Having to enter the diesel tanks was one thing, but the stakes drastically increased, holding their breath without the protection of their suits.

  Soran undressed down to his underwear and stood over the hexagonal shaft that descended into the churning fuel tank below. As Ranna removed his vest, the boy noticed a nearly unbroken lattice of scars carved into his body. It looked like a wild beast had attacked him, the markings too deep and wide to be self-inflicted. Their eyes met, and Soran averted his gaze immediately, pretending to examine the switchboard beside him.

  After a few minutes of awkward fumbling, the four of them huddled around the shaft, the weight of what they were about to do finally sinking in. Being exposed to the substance for longer than a few minutes would cause irreparable blood poisoning, possible brain damage, and severe chemical burns to the skin. The red glow coated their exposed bodies; they knew it was now or never. Ranna put his fist into the group's center, and the others did the same. As their clenched hands met, their fear subsided momentarily, and their combined fortitude gave them the strength to act. With a silent prayer, a swift push, and the spirit of what it meant to be a hunter of the Horizon embedded deep within each of them, they leaped from the ledge.