CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ranna remained unconscious for most of the return journey to Valaterra. His arm had taken the better part of a full day to regrow, and appeared a more youthful shade to the rest of his body; missing the signature scars and tattoos that had adorned its predecessor.

Soran stared at the peeling paint that flaked from the ceiling of the living quarters, still processing his hideous indoctrination into the Gallowmare's crew.

Lanic's predicament swirled in his mind. With the current mission still unconcluded, he had no idea when his rescue effort would even begin. Soran remained unclear as to the true depths of the Veng situation. How tight must the leash around Ranna’s neck be to justify such a dangerous mission? The boy had contemplated coming clean to the hunters, about who and what he was. Apprentice engineer didn't quite have the same ring to it as Pirate-Lord hunter, but at least it was honest. He remained apprehensive about Ranna's eventual awakening and how the Captain would react to his presence. The man was an incoherent puzzle and Soran expected never to unveil the truth beneath the mantle of misdirection Ranna had cultivated over the decades. From the scars that ornamented his flesh, to the mysterious Negessen Visor, something about the Captain didn't add up.

He shelved his investigation, burrowing deep under the tattered rags that masqueraded as a blanket for some much-needed rest. They would be arriving back at Valaterra ahead of schedule thanks to the helping hand of a rouge Aphelion current. Knowing the embrace of the luminous crystal spires was near made it easier for the boy to close his eyes and for just a moment, allow himself to forget.

Successive clangs assaulted the walls of the living quarters as Tugg roused his fellow hunters from their slumber. Soran rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, felt somewhat refreshed. The usual horror-filled nightmares had seen fit to subside for the night, and he could not have been more grateful.

Pulling on his tattered leather work boots, he sauntered sleepily into the main section of the ship. In a moment of dread and surprise, he saw that the Captain was awake and piloting his ship. Ranna was appraising his new appendage, flicking a multitude of switches on the dash as he prepared for landing.

The pilot's seat swiveled with an antique whine.

Their eyes connected and despite his best efforts, Soran was unable to gauge his mood; the stelliferous twilight of his augmented vision betrayed no emotion. El and Tugg remained silent, hesitantly observing and unable to predict their Captain's next move. Ranna's capriciousness was a double-edged blade. It had often given the crew a tactical edge, their Captain's ability to function in the heat of the moment had saved them on more than one occasion. Though the catalyst of those perilous situations was often the transgression of that very same trait.

Without a word, Ranna pounced from his seat. He advanced on the boy until only a foot remained to separate them.

“Heard you’re responsible for this,” Ranna said, twisting his newly grown limb at the wrist, stretching out his fingers. The scars and tattoos may have disappeared but the vein-laden muscles had retained their violent potential.

Ranna allowed the accusation to ferment in the tense atmosphere, preventing even a sliver of emotion from intruding onto his face. The apology Soran wanted to give sat caged behind his jaw like a mouthful of glass; a timid string of unfit words that wouldn't scratch the surface of his regret.

“Can't say I don’t miss the original, but I guess beggars can't be choosers eh kid,” said Ranna, stretching out his hand. Soran stilled the emotion before it could fall from his eyes, jumping at the gesture of redemption. Their grips locked tight, both relieved that the regrettable actions of the recent past need not be exhumed. As far as Ranna was concerned, the boy had more than paid back his debt to him and his crew. It was due solely to his actions that they were still alive to make such a reconciliation.

“Let's deposit what's left of Kaligan. After that, we'll see what Veng has on your missing pal. Sound good?” Ranna proposed, his foot resting on the cryo-cylinder that housed the aforementioned Pirate-Lord.

With the weight of his earlier hesitation lifted and the first step to finding Lanic about to be taken, Soran nodded to his captain. He slinked back onto a bench by the rear door and gazed into the distance at the faint yet marvelous glow of the crystal city.

-------

Eerie calm rested upon the luminous spires of Valaterra. A subtle yet unmistakable peculiarity had infiltrated the city's welcoming aura and everyone on board the Horizon could feel it.

“Anyone home?” El asked, gazing into the unusual stillness of the upper reaches. The frenzied gaggle of vehicles that would usually be crowding the skyways was absent. In their place, a strange silence lingered.

Only a handful of vehicles dared prowl the muted network of streets. With their lights dimmed and pilots sheltered in shadow, the stragglers darted between buildings as if avoiding an invisible danger. Ranna muted the headlights, retracting the Horizon's wings to prevent drawing unwanted attention. In order to bring clarity to what triggered the impromptu exodus, Ranna would need to probe deeper into the city's unwelcoming lower reaches.

The Captain maneuvered his ship through the twists and turns of Valaterra’s murky slums. The bright overhead lights of the city were abruptly eclipsed by a blade of shadow. Soran and Tugg gazed through the small porthole windows that ran along the Horizon's spine and were met with the shimmering underside of a long narrow ship. A magnificent ornamental bird adorned the vessel's bow, its golden beak lancing through the fetid fog of pollution.

Without hesitation, Ranna buried the Horizon deeper into the shroud of gloom, switching to low power and sinking the crew into the dim amber light of the dashboard.

“What's got you spooked?” Soran asked, leaning up against the headrest of the pilot's seat.

“Another guy we don’t want to tangle with. More time in the galactic Navy’s company gets a hard pass from me.” Ranna replied. Not giving any hints as to the owner of the opulent vessel. The Naval presence gave the scarcity of Valaterra’s denizens some clarity. After barely escaping their encounter with the Gallowmare, they couldn't afford to tangle with yet another dangerous and unpredictable character. The mere sight of the vessel gave Soran an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, glimpses of his grizzly deed flashing before his eyes. Mercy was the most acceptable form of rationality Soran could ascribe to his actions. After all, if he had not 'dealt' with Hallow, Kaligan would have seen to the prolonged torturous dispatch of them both. Whatever justification the boy managed to conjure, it was insufficient in satisfying his insatiable guilt.

Tugg plucked the Cryo-cylinder from the passenger seat, once again holding it out at arm's length. Still unsettled by the object's contents, his face contorted into a series of bizarre expressions, all four of his eyes tangled in a scowl of disgust. El pried the device from his grip, rolling her eyes at the apparent lack of fortitude possessed by the hulking brute.

They docked at the port closest to Veng’s hideout. The Horizon's rear doors hissed open to reveal abandoned streets, blanketed with unbroken shade. The lanterns that had previously illuminated the walkways remained dormant, and the ambient glow that spilled from the surrounding establishments was eerily absent.

Ranna activated the barrel-mounted torch on his pistol, leading the way through the narrow alley toward the large steel doors.

He pulled back in hesitation. The door to the hideout was already ajar. The scanning mechanism sparked angry white flashes, it's display a fractured mirror of blinking light.

Engaging the plasma charge of his weapon, Ranna crept inside the shadow-soaked foyer. Rustic paintings and drapery lay in piles of extinguished decadence. The banister leading up to Veng’s office was broken in several places, the obvious aftermath of a prolonged struggle. Dark patches of blood-stained the ivory carpets, forming a crimson path that led to the ruins of Veng's magnificent office doors.

Ranna raised his left hand to the side of his head, a silent signal for his crew. Tugg and El initiated a scouting routine, fanning out to locate the source of the disturbance. Soran followed their lead, taking up guard by the entrance to ensure no surprises were lurking outside. As Ranna ascended the staircase, meticulous care was taken in each forward motion, tactfully avoiding the smatterings of broken glass that littered the ground. He overheard the muffled hum of a discussion seeping through the debris-clogged entrance. Ranna crept as close as his bravery would allow. Shivers of light streamed from the bullet-shaped holes in the polished mahogany, landing upon Ranna's face and revealing the perpetrators of the destruction.

Veng knelt before three shadowed figures, all with their backs turned to the door. They were surrounded by the mutilated remains of Veng's security detail, explaining his servile demeanor. Crux, his most prized bodyguard, appeared to have taken the brunt of the attack, three of his four lumbering arms scattered around his brutalized torso. Ranna’s breath became shallow as his eyes rested on the back of the central figure. A Navy branded cape boasting a pristine fur collar draped the shoulders of a man with slicked black hair. He spoke in an amalgam of raspy tones, his voice never rising above a whisper. Even at such a short distance, Ranna unable to decipher their discussion. He didn't need to hear the voice to recognize the man; Having just encountered his ship, he knew exactly who they were dealing with.

The caped man abruptly unsheathed his plasma pistol, planting its decorative barrel against Veng’s forehead. The disfigured hunchback responded by pleading for his life in exchange for information. Ranna lent in closer, pressing his ear up against the splintered wood of the door.

"I, I can give you Kaligan.” Veng stammered, his hands clasped in desperation.

“I’m listening” the man replied in a hushed tone, moving his weapon in a deadly wave between Veng’s forehead and mouth.

“I, I sent some hunters for the bounty. They dropped a retrieval confirmation yesterday. They’re on their way back here right now. Just give me time and…”

A bolt of light illuminated the room; The conversation concluded in a violent flash. Ranna’s eyes sprung wide at the sight of Veng’s headless body. Within an instant, his neck was cauterized by the heat of the plasma. The typical visceral gore was minimized to a spattering of brain matter on the desk behind him. Close up shots usually had that effect. Without time to cool, the plasma would erase whatever it was aimed at. Often a punishment used for dissident pirates who owed a limb or two to their respective Lord.

“I guess ill just wait here then.” The man holstered his pistol and took a seat at Veng's desk. He retrieved a holo panel from a concealed draw and pulled up information on the Horizon crew and their mission.

Ranna peeled himself away from the door, retreating down the staircase with feline-esque stealth and chopping with his hand in a foreword motion. El and Tugg took slow, delicate steps backward, monitoring the office door with hands gripped on their weapons. Unable to take a breath, they watched for even the faintest sign of movement. Their retreat came to an abrupt halt as a crackle sounded from above them. Ranna pulled his gaze to the ceiling. An antique chandelier hung precariously over the foyer. Its remaining unbroken links struggling with the heavy strings of ornamented jewels. His breathing merged with its movement, each perilous sway threatening to be its last. A bead of sweat slithered over Ranna's cheek as the final chime of decay sounded. The strained links snapped, triggering a cascade of ornamented spheres and half-burned candles. The decadent centerpiece hurtled to the ground, exploding in a fountain of pearlescent shards.

The crew burst into a sprint. Evacuating the stairway within seconds and thundering toward the bulky iron doors. The deafening crash of metal and glass sliced through their veil of secrecy and the Naval officer's entourage emerged just in time to witness the hunter's escape. Without hesitation, the two men opened fire on the fleeing crew. A hail of plasma destroyed the few vestiges of decadence that remained, though connected shy of the intended targets. The men let out growls of exasperation as the hunters vanished into the underside's gloom-coated alleys.

Soran and El headed up the retreat, with a beleaguered Tugg traipsing not too far behind. His heavy panting punctuated the hiss of plasma rounds; Neither his marine biology nor warlike nature was compatible with fleeing a fight. The Accran was far more accustomed to being the one doing the shooting and preferred it that way.

Separated from his crew by a dozen feet, Ranna was in a desperate struggle to catch up. He spied over his shoulder in a series of snatched glances, avoiding the bullet barrage in a clumsy series of dives and leaps. The assailant's advance increased at a rapid pace. Unimpeded by the smog-laden atmosphere, the prospect of them abandoning their pursuit seemed ever more unlikely.

The hunters ducked around the final corner and bundled into the Horizon, diving behind the stacks of cargo for cover. They now held the elevated position and the tactical advantage was theirs. They returned fire on the naval officers with everything they could muster. El made a beeline straight for the pilot's seat, setting the controls to manual and spooling the engine to maximum thrust. The Horizon unfurled her wings and ascended from the docking platform. With an abrupt metallic twang, the entire ship jolted to port side. Something was preventing their departure. An aggressive warning image flashed on the console above her head.

“Dammit! The blasted repair bots were fuelling the ship. The hose is still attached!” El cursed, pulling out her plasma pistol and trying to get a clear shot at their anchor. The resonance field crackled with violent emerald sparks as waves of plasma smashed against the Horizon's shields. Every second they remained tethered to the bay, the likelihood of escape diminished and the threat of leaving Valaterra in Naval custody became an increasingly terrifying reality.

“Any non-lethal options?” Ranna inquired. He knew that if one of the officers were to perish in their little exchange, the entire Galactic fleet would hunt them to the far reaches and beyond. El sparked to life and darted into the living quarters, rummaging around under her bunk like a canine digging for bones. Moments later she reappeared, carrying a box covered in runic symbols. Soran recognized it as cipher-tongue, an encrypted language used by smugglers that trafficked in contraband. She laid it down, effortlessly deciphering the locking mechanism and retrieving a large rocket-shaped object from inside. Between retaliation shots, the crew looked back at El and her contraption, knowing better than to question her. She had, after all, been the mastermind behind Kaligan's capture. Lighting the rocket lengthy wick with her laser torch, she chuckled maniacally at her perceived genius. The cackling Vrell launched the burning torpedo through the rear doors and slammed them shut behind it. All four of the hunters pressed their faces against the glass and watched the explosive spear hurtle toward the platform.

“Get down!” El ordered. The hunters plunged into a brace position, cradling their heads.

Bathed under an immense aurora, the docking area gleamed with opalescent radiance. Scores of light-crafted creatures stampeded through the sky, surrounded by coiling geometric shapes that danced through the air like living dreams. The display shone off into the far distance, illuminating structures up to a mile away. Soran glanced up at the brilliant flashes, mesmerized by the infinite array of color and form. After a full minute of the light forged theatre, the bestial apparitions dissipating into a crackling mist, coming to the end of their brief existence. A deafening bang filled the streets, and the ensuing shock wave shook the Horizon, her crew barreling around inside like drunken sailors. El slammed on the door controls, initiating the rear ramp's withdrawal. She aimed her rifle at the fuel hose that tethered the ship and with marksman-like precision, she severed the link. Free from her manacle, the Horizon sailed into the bright lights of the city above, her aggressors fading into the gloom.

Cradled on their backs like upturned beetles, the partially blinded Naval officers struggled to right themselves. Their leader strode over and cast a glare of unsurprised disappointment at his underlings. His men were nothing more than a nuisance, an incompetent thorn in his side which he was forced to begrudgingly endure. He sighed and pulled a communication device from the inner pouch of his cape. He rotated the concentric dials in a clockwise direction until a link was established with Naval HQ.

“Kaligan is heading your way. Alert him” he said in a slow drawl, flipping the device closed immediately upon finishing his sentence.

“I’m heading back to base,” he said, leaving the scene with an unusual swiftness that betrayed the frustration of his failure. It was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling, leaving his destination empty-handed. His men clawed their way to their feet and followed their leader in a humiliated shamble. It would be a long and uncomfortable journey back to Naval HQ.