CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sinking into the corrosive abyss, tremors of pain prickled across their exposed skin. Tugg easily tunneled through the viscous sludge, his crewmates wrapped around his shoulders like a living shawl. Accran physiology presented several advantages in the unfavorable situation. Thick layers of durable skin offered protection from even the most corrosive environments, and a secondary protective lens—that activated with a blink—shielded their eyes, offering the Accran enhanced visual acuity. Despite these assets, he wasn't immune to the caustic effects of the diesel.

  The ocean of crackling fluid seemed endless, and any suggestion of an exit still eluded the panicked Accran. The tightening grips of his crewmates confirmed to Tugg that his brief window of time was almost up. El was under targeted attack by the torrent of chemicals, the liquid flooding her porous skin. Ranna flung his arm to the left side of Tugg's bulbous head, and his fortified vision punctured the tar-like substance enough to reveal the exit hatch. Tugg made a sharp turn and hurtled toward their salvation. He slammed his bulk into the tank's casing and grabbed the interlocking clasps, using his final morsels of energy to pry it open. Stiff with neglect, he struggled against the rusted lock, prising with herculean effort. He noticed the weight of his companions lessen. Turning from his task, he watched El float unconsciously through the liquid. Ranna reached up and swung his arm toward her. Siphoning momentum from his lunge, the crimson ooze was determined to claim her life. Though beyond the limits of his reach, he refused to allow her to drift any further. Using Tugg's back as a springboard, he launched toward her, narrowly grasping her ankle. He pulled her close and wrapped her unconscious body in his reddened arms as the last of his air exploded from his lips, and a flood of corrosive stew filled his mouth. Before he could succumb to his fate, the muted sound of grinding metal filled the tank. The exit hatch drank in the hunters like a desert-starved wanderer, vacuuming them from the tank into the adjacent maintenance hold. Gallons of diesel showered onto their steaming bodies as they choked up lungfuls of crimson sludge. With a final demonstration of inexorable strength, Tugg fought against the liquid avalanche, pulling himself through and slamming the hatch shut behind him.

  "She's not breathing," said Soran, his words punctuated by metrical panting. The boy hunched over El's motionless body, his fingers desperately scanning for a pulse. Ranna pushed him aside, drumming on her chest in rhythmic compressions and exhaling deep gusts of vitality against her diesel-soaked lips.

  She wasn't responding.

  Five compressions to the chest and one breath in; this was his healing mantra, his prayer of revival. He repeated it countless times, and yet, there was no sign of life. There was no twitching, no gasp of resurrection, nothing.

  Tugg stilled his desire to cease the futility, knowing that Ranna wouldn't stop until he was physically unable to continue. Never had he turned his back when they needed him, and the fierce look in the Captain's eyes told Tugg that today would be no different.

  Ranna started his compressions for what seemed like the hundredth time when a droplet of crimson leaped onto his face. Pulling his hands away, he noticed something leaking from every inch of El's skin.

  Her pores opened and closed like tiny valves, expelling the toxins drop by drop. A wispy thread of air crept through her wavering lips, followed by a much less delicate sputtering of red molasses ejected from her windpipe. Ranna fell back onto his palms, exhaling his relief. El's eyes shot open, and the grateful expressions of her crewmates greeted her.

  "Must have... needed a nap," El said, curling the corners of her mouth into what could be mistaken for Ranna's signature grin. The mockery received a pass from the Captain, and he mirrored the gesture, comforted by the warm sound of her voice.

  "Last time... Soran makes the plan," El added, her statement seconded with a chorus of agreement. The boy nodded, still surprised that minor chemical burns had been the only repercussion of their ill-advised venture.

  After a much-needed respite, the crew wiped away the Shimmersene with loose cloth pilfered from a nearby staff closet. They sheltered their blistered skin beneath overly large laborer uniforms, though Tugg made do with a discarded tarp that El had refashioned into a surprisingly unoffensive cloak.

  With their bodies covered and the angry red of their skin calmed by El's revitalizing touch, they proceeded to a set of service ladders that led to the lower decks and, hopefully, to the Horizon.

  As they descended deeper into the station, they heard a commotion on the upper decks. The Navy's presence continued to elicit significant unease amongst the pirates. Small skirmishes had broken out in several establishments, spilling into the streets and escalating into an all-out brawl. It was good news for the fleeing crew, whose chances of going unseen increased dramatically.

  They arrived back at the boarding station, and fortunately, the Horizon's presence remained unnoticed. Ranna extended his arms to halt the crew's advance. Experience had taught him that danger often masqueraded as calm, luring unaware, overconfident fools to their doom. Suspiciously, they remained unmolested — no stealth platoon of Naval officers to apprehend them or rogue pirates attempting a hijack.

  Nothing.

  Although difficult for the Captain to accept, this might be that elusive lucky break finally rearing its head. Not wanting to spit in the face of fate, he motioned the crew forward, his eyes flickering between the shadowy colonnades that dotted the abandoned station.

  Every whisper was a threat. Broken tiles crunched beneath their feet, and shadowed vermin scurried between cover. The chorus of hushed ambiance from the frantic activity above offered little comfort to the sneaking band of hunters.

  Once his crew was safely onboard, Ranna leaped onto the rear ramp. As he went to pull the ramp's withdrawal lever, he heard the slow tapping of metal clasps approach from behind.

  He didn't want to turn around. He wanted to continue living in a world where something went right for a change — where his crew wasn't moments away from imprisonment or death. The hope of such a reality returned to a realm of naive imagining.

  "Close, Mr.Ranna. Almost lost you there." Said a thickly accented voice.

  Ranna recognized the unique cadence from Veng's hideout, and gruesome memories rushed back to him with an unwelcome sharpness. They had been followed.

  "Here's what's going to happen: First, you are to relinquish possession of Samael Kaligan. Second, you and your crew will vacate the vessel, yielding possession to the Galactic Navy. Finally, you will surrender to me and be escorted to the Hive to serve your respective sentences in full. By the looks of it, Mr.Ranna, that will be the rest of your life. Was that clear enough?" The man delivered his instructions calmly and without laying so much as a finger on his weapon.

  "You know I can't do that, Teege," Ranna replied, glancing over his shoulder at the fur-clad assassin, his hand still hovering over the withdrawal lever. He knew that no matter how quick he was, Teege was quicker.

  The stalemate had the entire crew fixed in place. They knew that any sudden movement would trigger Teege to act. Sweat trickled uncomfortably down scowl-laden brows as they waited to see who was brave -- or stupid -- enough to make the first move. If Veng were anything to go by, negotiating on Teege's demands would not be permitted.

  Ranna raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. The others looked on in wide-eyed disbelief. Despite their reluctance to accept the situation, there were no other options. Teege held all the cards, and in challenging his undeniable position, they would risk losing everything.

  Teege cracked a smile at the hunter's submissive pose. Although this was how most of his interactions ended, the ease of persuasion bolstered an already swollen ego. Ranna genuflected to his captor, and Teege took the first step toward claiming his fortune.

  A bemused sneer infected Teege's perpetually smug grin as his limbs refused the command to advance. He was rooted to the ground. Struggling against this unexplained paralysis, his puzzled expression deteriorated into a grimace of humiliation. A colony of Frystian Crawlers were constructing a glacial net around his feet, using the folds in his cape to avoid detection. Immediately, Teege's eyes darted upward, just in time to see Ranna's smile vanish behind the Horizon's exit ramp. He tore the ornate pistol from its holster and opened fire on the Horizon's fuel storage. The hail of bullets ricocheted off of the shimmering resonance field, colliding with the surrounding pillars and casting shrapnel in every direction. Unfortunately for Teege, El had had the wherewithal to activate their shielding when he averted his gaze. He watched helplessly as his legs were enveloped in freezing restraints. Trailed by streams of blue flame, his prize escaped into the tunnel system.

  His usual calm and collected persona momentarily vanished, and a yell of frustration burst from his puckered lips. Unsheathing a knife from his belt, he broke apart the web, crushing the crawlers with the butt of his gun before pacing back to the cargo elevator. After a few moments of hesitation, he plucked a communication device from his breast pocket. He took several deep breaths before reluctantly informing whoever was on the other side of the unfortunate news.

  "The hunters have escaped. Again."