CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Harsh winds gnawed at sheathed extremities as the hunters shuffled through miles of thick snow, each step gulping at their meager well of energy. Despite Nanofibre's durability, complete protection from the elements neared impossible. The landscape was an accumulation of irregular mounds, the constant blizzard making it a chore to penetrate even a few feet ahead.

  A unified chime interrupted their trek. Fifty minutes had elapsed in what seemed like moments. They continued on their way without exchanging a single word or even a glance, not wanting to discuss the improbability of a return journey. A primal need for survival commandeered Ranna's attention, the dwindling time only feeding his determination. He had escaped far more unfavorable situations and wasn't about to let himself and his crew freeze to death on this godforsaken rock.

  Tugg led the pack, clearing the way with broad strokes of his wideset feet. He slowed to a standstill and glanced upward at a snaking ebony fissure polluting an otherwise unbroken sea of white cloud. The origin of the smoky plume was no more than half a mile down the track. It appeared they were not alone.

  Immediately, their minds raced to the worst and most obvious conclusion. The Navy had already arrived. Ranna glared at his Holo-display and continued his march. He had always played the odds, taken chances in unfavorable situations, and often reaped the rewards. Confident that his crew would have the advantage in this terrain, he pushed a slider on his wrist console. His suit shimmered, morphing from the standard charcoal to pure white. The others followed their Captains' lead and faded into their surroundings, lost in the torrent of silvery mist.

  As they approached the source of the mysterious smoke, it appeared that they had jumped to conclusions a little too swiftly. Instead of a Naval hunting party, the wreckage of the ship that had so far managed to elude them presented itself on an icy platter.

  What remained of the Bassalark sat ensnared in the glacial jaws of an ice-choked reservoir. The once ornate hull, now a collection of splintered metal, erupted with reems of complex circuitry that spilled from fractures like the innards of an eviscerated beast. In its wake, miles of jagged rock protruded from the snow like blackened teeth, exhumed from the planet as the gargantuan vessel annihilated its surface. Tides of possibility carried Soran back to the tormented realms he'd wandered during his nights on the Horizon. He prayed his dreams would remain just that.

  Unable to govern his yearning for clarity, the boy charged to the sinking ship. They could have taken him somewhere, locked him up, or pawned him off to the highest bidder. He cycled through realities that placed Lanic anywhere but amongst the wreckage. Until proven otherwise, he would allow uncertainty to shield him from the grim potential lurking within.

  A partially submerged section of the cargo-hold doors peeked through the lake's surface. It was an impenetrable spiral of steel adorned with the iron-scaled body of an imposing serpent. The access panel appeared to be operational, a faint glow flickering beneath the icebound glass.

  Soran pulled a multi-tool from his belt, attempting to pry away the various fixings to no avail. It was frozen solid. Unfortunately for the crew, time was a commodity in short supply. Removing the locking mechanism with force would likely render the entire panel unusable; their only option was to input the codes. Three rows of 15 characters, taken from hundreds of different languages, many of which had been retired to the annals of history. The Pirate-Lord's vessels were the jewels of the vagabond armada. Although many had attempted it, the cryptic nature of their security made the system nearly impossible to decipher.

  Another chime leaped from the hunter's wrists. One hour remained. They knew what they needed was inside the Bassalark. Shimmersene, food, weapons, and more awaited them beyond the impassable portal. Under a furrowed brow and with little faith in his judgment, Ranna grabbed the cryo-chamber from Tugg's back and activated the release valve. With a protracted hiss, mist spilled from the rim of the cylinder, gradually revealing the disembodied head. Ranna peeled back the casing created by the crawlers. After a few moments of hesitant digging, Ranna met with the wild expression of intoxication that still haunted Kaligan's eyes. Something dropped from the disheveled webbing, burying itself in the deep snow. Ranna bent down to inspect the fallen object, glistening amongst the fresh powder. He retrieved what looked like a necklace affixed with a strange object. Showcasing the chain to the others, the hunters watched its pendulous motion, and an unwelcome weight descended upon Soran. A familiar sensation, one he had felt upon first encountering the Bassalark's crew. The day Malig had attempted to take his life. The day he lost his mentor.

  It was the shard.

  Ranna saw an unfamiliar longing in Soran's eyes. The shard swung hypnotically, and the boy began to sway with its movement. The Captain promptly pocketed the mysterious item, his attention returning to their frigid guest. The boy was unsure how much Ranna knew about the ethereal power stuffed into his suit, its abilities enough to drive even the most stoic of beings to madness. He couldn't be sure. Ranna seemed to handle the strange object with ease, and Soran pondered the absence of devastation. The environment remained unmoved by the object's presence, no pasture of ruin summoned in its wake. A crackling wind chilled the boy's extremities, instantly forcing him back to the urgency of their situation. His suspicions would remain just that. For now.

  "Lifelines El." Ranna pointed to the small pouch attached to her waist. El retrieved two needle-pointed cables and handed them over. One end was attached to the collar that bolted into Kaligan's neck, and the other into the oxygen tube socket that crowned the spine of Ranna's suit. Without hesitation, he jammed the needle just shy of his upper vertebrae. His eyelashes fluttered as blood siphoned from his body and pumped directly into the pirate's dormant skull.

  After only a few seconds, Kaligan's eyes twitched. His mouth slid ajar, and a gasp of vitality plucked him from suspended animation. Barely awake and still recovering from the effects of his Shimmersene-induced coma, Kaligan scowled at the huddled bodies of the half-frozen hunters.

  "What... what is this frozen hell?" Kaligan shivered, his words muttered through chattering teeth.

  "Codes now, or we're all dead." Ranna held Kaligan at arm's length, bringing him face-to-face with the access panel. He could see his reflection on the frozen surface and smiled at the sight of his disembodied form.

  "A lesser man might die of fright," Kaligan said as he admired himself, his callous demeanor unaffected by his immobility.

  "The codes Kaligan." Ranna barked again in an attempt to elicit focus.

  "Or we'll all die? Our futures are already spoken for. If the path we are on ends today, it is because fate wills it. In the interest of the great work, however, I am obliged to oblige. Listen closely." A furious cascade of syllables fell from Kaligan's lips, an incantation of long-forgotten elder tongues. Despite the voxhazard inoculation provided by El, Soran remained unable to comprehend the slightest utterance. Collections of clicks and raspy inhales comprised the more bizarre languages, stinging the ears with their vicious syllables. Each character that Kaligan sounded was cataloged by the ship, materializing as a white symbol on the screen. Upon completion of the feverish mantra, all forty-five characters gleamed, and the metal serpent that hugged the door's spiral frame began to unwind. The simulacrum coiled in on itself until it had consumed its tail. Its eyes glowed a frightful amber, and the door slid open from either side, allowing the reservoir to consume more of the ship.

  The Bassalark reacted with a haunting groan, and the hunters jumped back in alarm. An inhalation of distress calcified their bodies. They watched the screaming faces of the ship's mural-laden hull sink further into the icy water. The scraping of metal echoed through the brumal expanse until the vessel settled on a submerged rock, bringing it to a halt once more.

  Kaligan muttered a nonsensical rant about the passage of time in an attempt to get under their skin before another portent chime drowned out his rambling. Their struggle with the door had consumed a further fifteen minutes. The dusk of their expedition was upon them.

  Delving into the bowels of the ship, the crew advanced with meticulous footwork. A thick layer of ice coated the metallic boardwalks, imbuing each step with perilous risk. With the interior in ruins and half of the ship underwater, any false move carried with it a fatal promise.

  As they traversed the Bassalark's winding corridors, the hunters witnessed the preserved savagery of the crew's final moments. Half-eaten corpses surrounded the frozen bodies of those who had attempted to survive. Known for their viciousness, it appeared that even peers were not exempt from the barbarity of Malig's crew. Bullet-ridden bodies littered the halls, and the ever-deepening pockets of water contained the lifeless husks of those who tried to swim to freedom. The wreckage was a chilling reminder of what a man can become when he hears death's approach but refuses to die. Staring at the gaunt faces of the frozen pirates was especially frightening for Soran. He feared that the next face he laid eyes on could be one that he recognized, the face of a friend.

  The near-endless maze of frost-cloaked gangways shepherded the crew to a dead end. Sculpted into the contorted grimace of a punished soul, an iron vault door blocked their path. A voiceless howl of mockery spilled from its gaping mouth, denying the hunters the provisions it greedily hoarded. Tugg volunteered to perform some enthusiastic maintenance on the hinges. Despite his shivering body, the frozen bolts snapped with relative ease, and the iron face was cleaved in two. Beyond the threshold of the hideous blockade, a staircase descended into a thick wintry mist.

  Due to the peculiar elevation of the ship, the staircase sat at a diagonal angle, tainting the descent with an added dimension of peril. Thus far, Kaligan had been relatively quiet. He seemed to be contemplating the devastation that had been inflicted on his comrade, silently plotting revenge against those responsible. The galactic region was currently swarming with Citadel and Destroyer class Naval vessels, and it was easy to imagine the Bassalark caught off guard, outnumbered, and outgunned. Her current lack of leadership and thinned ranks from the assault on the Hyacinth presented a lethal combination of handicaps. Even at optimal capacity and under Malig's command, the outcome would have been the same. The Horizon crew had experienced it firsthand. The explanation behind the armada's assembly was as mystifying as the Levantikar's sudden appearance. Answers would have to wait as the treacherous descent demanded the hunter's full attention.

  Despite a few close calls, the hunters disembarked the staircase intact and emerged into the engine room, immersed in a flurry of whaling winds. The network of tubes that once ferried fuel around the ship now carried nothing but the furious skirls of an endless blizzard. The spinal architecture of the vaulted ceiling hung over the protracted walkway like a cage. Looming copper vats of spent diesel studded the walls, each artisanally sculpted into the form of a pregnant humanoid with a sorrowful expression, burdening the hunters with a growing melancholy. Their swollen stomachs were crafted with glass to reveal the chamber that once stored gallons of precious Shimmersene.

  A second set of stairs stood at the room's end, leading down to the extraction engine. Ranna took one reluctant step after another. The hunter's suits had begun to freeze, each step demanding more effort than the last. The icy material clung tighter, every movement inflicting sharp grazes that tore at the skin. All that kept their frigid bodies moving was the stark possibility of becoming a permanent fixture of the Bassalark's suspended womb.

  Upon reaching the far side of the brumal expanse, Ranna paused at the top of the second staircase. He stared at the platform below, unblinking and unable to breathe. Soran brushed past the Captain and stopped dead in his tracks. Both stood silently, captured by the desperate hope of being mistaken. The pirate's final act of sedition lay strewn before them, an imprint of villainy for the world to remember them by. This was the stage of their ultimate murder.