CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Harsh winds bit at their extremities as the hunters shuffled through miles of thick snow, each step gulping at their meager well of energy. Despite the durable Nano-fibres of their suits, complete protection from the elements was impossible. The landscape was an accumulation of irregular mounds, the constant blizzard making it a chore to penetrate even a few feet ahead.
Their trek was interrupted by a unified chime from the suits. Fifty minutes had passed in what seemed like moments. Without exchanging a single word or even a glance, they continued on their way, not wanting to discuss the improbability of a return journey. Ranna's attention was commandeered by a primal need for survival, the dwindling time only feeding his determination. He had escaped far more unfavorable situations and wasn't about to himself and his crew freeze to death on this godforsaken rock.
Tugg lead 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 that polluted an otherwise unbroken sea of white cloud. The origin of the smoky plume was no more than half a mile down the track. Someone else was here.
Immediately, their minds raced to the worst and most obvious conclusion. The Navy had already arrived.
Ranna glanced at his Holo-display and continued his march. He had always played the odds; Taken chances in unfavorable situations and often reaped the rewards. He was confident that in this terrain his crew would have the advantage. He pushed a slider on his Holo-display and 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, they were greeted by the wreckage of the ship that had so far managed to elude them.
What remained of the Bassalark was ensnared in the glacial jaws of an ice-choked reservoir. The once ornate hull, now a collection of splintered metal, a nest of complex circuitry spilling from the fractures like the innards of an eviscerated beast. In its wake, miles of jagged rock had burst from the snow like blackened teeth, exhumed from the planet when the gargantuan vessel tore through 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.
The boy charged over 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 the uncertainty to shield him from lurked within.
A partially submerged section of the cargo-hold doors peeked through the lake's surface. An impenetrable spiral of steel, adorned with the iron-scaled body of a huge serpent. The access panel appeared to be operational, a faint glow flickering beneath the icebound glass.
Soran pulled a multi-tool from his belt. He attempted to pry away the various fixings to no avail. It was frozen solid. Unfortunately for the crew, time was a commodity of which they were in short supply, though 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's near impossible to decipher.
Another chime leaped from the hunter's wrists. One hour remained. They knew what they needed was inside the Bassalark. Diesel, food, weapons, and more awaited them beyond the impassable portal. Under a furrowed brow and with little faith in what he was about to do, 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 and after a few moments of hesitant digging, he was 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. A familiar object dangled from the chain and as he watched its pendulous motion, an unwelcome weight descended upon Soran. He had felt it once before. It was the day he first encountered the Bassalark's crew. The day Malig had attempted to take his life. The day he had lost his mentor.
It was the relic.
Ranna saw an unfamiliar longing in Soran's eyes. The metallic shard swung hypnotically and he could feel himself begin to sway with its movement. The Captain promptly pocketed the mysterious item, his attention returning to their frigid guest. The boy was unsure of how much his Captain knew about the ethereal power he had just stuffed into his suit. The abilities it possessed were surely 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 pasture of ruin that was left in the wake of his encounter. A crackling wind chilled his extremities, instantly forcing him back to the urgency of their situation. His suspicions would have to be stored, for now.
“Lifelines El.” Ranna pointed to the small satchel attached to her waist. Two needle-pointed cables were retrieved and handed to the Captain. One end was attached to the collar that bolted into Kaligan's neck. 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 the blood was siphoned from his body and pumped directly into the pirate's dormant.
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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 diesel-induced coma, Kaligan scowled as he looked around 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.” He 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 the fates will 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 translation fluid that swam through his veins, Soran was unable a comprehend the slightest utterance. Collections of clicks and raspy inhales comprised the more bizarre languages. Each character that Kaligan sounded was cataloged by the ship, materializing as a white symbol on the screen. All forty-five characters gleamed together and the metal serpent that hugged the door's spiral frame began to unwind. The simulacrum coiled in on itself until it has 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 as the vessel collided with a submerged rock, bringing it to a halt once more.
Kaligan muttered some nonsensical rant about the passage of time, trying to get under their skin. His rambling was drowned out by yet another portent chime. 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. The metallic boardwalks were coated in a thick layer of ice, a perilous fall risked with each step. With the interior in ruins and half of the ship underwater, any false move carried with it a fatal promise.
As they traversed the Basilisk’s winding corridors, they were forced to witness the preserved savagery of the crew's final moments. Half-eaten corpses were surrounded by the frozen bodies of those that had attempted to survive. Malig’s crew were known to be vicious and it appeared that even peers were not exempt from their barbarity. Bullet-ridden bodies littered the halls and the ever-deepening pockets of water contained the lifeless husks of those that 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 the order 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 had 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 hunter's the provisions that it was greedily hoarding. 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 was positioned at a diagonal angle, tainting each step 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 region was currently swarming with Citadel and Destroyer class vessels, so it wasn't difficult to imagine the Basslark being caught off guard, outnumbered, and outgunned. Its current lack of leadership and thinned ranks from the assault on the Hyacinth proved a lethal combination of handicaps. Even at full capacity and under Malig's command, the outcome would have been the same. The Horizon crew had experienced it first hand. Naval might on that scale had not been witnessed since the Penumbra Onslaught. 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.
Upon emerging into the engine room, the hunters were 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, and looming copper vats of spent diesel studded the walls. Each vat had been artisanally sculpted into the form of a pregnant humanoid. Their swollen stomachs were crafted with glass to reveal the chamber that once stored gallons of precious crimson liquid. Each wore a sorrowful expression, burdening the hunters with a growing melancholy.
A second set of stairs sat at the far end of the room, leading down to the extraction engine. Ranna took one reluctant step after another. The hunter's suits had begun to freeze, and each step required more effort than the last. The icy material clung tighter, every movement inflicting sharp grazes that tore at their 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. They 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. A guarantee they would be cast into the hell they so deserved.