CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Flashes of light crept in from the glass-covered holes that masqueraded as windows. Soran observed the fleeting dance of caustics reflections on the exhausted faces of the others. The mounting pressure of their descent weighed heavily on his body and it was clear the planet was unwelcoming to visitors in more ways than one. The feeling brought him back to his interactions with the relic. With both Malig and the Bassalark, his body reacted the same but he struggled to find a reason. Why him? Ranna was seemingly unaffected, handling the object without so much as a wince. How could that be? Soran was no closer to finding an answer than when he first laid eyes on the shard. Fortunately for them, it had managed to go unnoticed by Teege and would remain their secret for now. The temptation to once again harness its power was overwhelming. To feel the energies flow through his body, to bring destruction upon those who would harm him.

A naive fantasy.

He could no more control the shard than the fate that had landed him here. The object was dangerous and belonged in the hands of those that it could do no harm. Soran knew that if he was to survive, he needed to stay as far away from the shard as possible; His vulnerability to its call kept secret.

Moments later, the tunnel came to an abrupt end and the cart was flooded with light. Tugg’s four eyes sprang open, greeted by the sight of the Accran capital city. Due to the translation issue, the cities true name was unknown to everyone except the denizens, uttered as an undulating grunt. The structure was unmistakably that of ingenuity, a cyclopean monument to the Accrans architectural prowess. Sculpted from a mountain of coral, the spectrum of vivid color was incredible, running in geological bands that spanned millennia. Mile-high steps separated each of the city's five levels, clearly a divide of the haves and have not’s. It was fitting that each layer was physically out of reach for the one below. The Accra were confined to the level they were born, and that's how it would remain for the majority. To those above, moving down remained an ever-present threat, and retaining one's position required strict adherence to the laws and customs.

As the cart continued to descend, each level of the city became clearer. Through squinted eyes, Soran was able to discern the more prominent features. The pinnacle was a masterfully carved conch-shaped palace, adorning the city like a jeweled crown. Nested in a thorny glade of amaranthine flora, its radiance showered over everything, bestowing a tainted beauty to even the lowest reaches. The slums that littered the ground sprawled out like a labyrinth, usurping every square inch of available space. Buildings jutted out from the wall that connected the destitute to the level above, strapped to protruding tendrils of coral with lengths of rope and crude scaffolding; a transparent attempt to assert dominance over their fellow bottom-feeders. He struggled to discern the difference between the other levels. A mixture of industry, commerce, and entertainment permeated the winding streets, likely the dwelling of a thriving middle-class.

A sudden halt jostled the cart's passengers. Rusty hinges moaned as the saloon-style doors swung outward and the motorized engine sighed a breath of relief as it powered down. A heavily armed guard greeted them, growing immediately agitated upon sighting Tugg. He proceeded to escort the group through a narrow corridor and out into the cities bustling main strip. The sights, sounds, and odors flung Soran back the Hyacinth. Back to the disorderly amusement he had felt strolling the lanes of the Umbra Market.

Thrust into the heaving crowds, it was obvious by the rags draped over their scarred bodies that they were individuals of limited means. Cheap augmentations ornamented their skin and mismatched prosthetics were used to replace lost limbs.

Just as before, Tugg quickly became the center of attention. Familiar jeers echoed all around them. Nervous whispers were making the rounds, and the innumerable sand-crafted huts hummed with judgment. Something landed at Soran’s feet. His confused gaze and was met with the dead eyes of a fish staring back at him. Another rotten projectile was hurled, this time connecting with its intended target. Tugg winced as a barrage of carcasses came flying toward him. The accusatory chanting grew louder and more virulent but goaded no reaction. It was obvious that seeing one of their own in Naval custody was a serious dishonor.

Soran glared scornfully at the mob, not that his disapproval had any chance of halting their aggression. He looked back at Ranna, though the Captain's gaze remained locked to the ground. Ever since awakening on Teege’s ship, he had been silent and unresponsive, shambling forward like a man gallow-bound. The Ranna he knew would have jumped to his crew-mates defense, protected him as a Captain should. Although mired in the same sullen guise, this man was a stranger.

“They do not like you, do they?” Teege snickered, skulking through the parade of hostility with glee. Tugg stoically endured the abuse. By the time they arrived at their destination, the base of a huge freight elevator, Tugg dripped with the entrails of rotten produce. A vulgar stench trailed the demeaned him, a gaseous cloak of shame bestowed by his fellow Accra. Soran wondered whether their disdain was justified, an unforgotten transgression. After all, with his past confined to secrecy by the Horizon code, erstwhile acts of villainy could well linger in that unspoken history.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Clad in luminous armor, the freight platform guards were fanned out in an arrowhead formation. Unlike the shark-mouthed guards of the surface, these Accran were long-necked and snout-faced, sheathing their innumerable teeth behind a curtain of fleshy growths that hung from the upper lip. Nano-material exoskeletons cocooned their bodies in brilliant chrome and each wielded a halberd-type weapon held menacingly at arm's length. Increased protection around the only means of ascending to the next level was unsurprising. Teege flashed his identification and the guards stepped to one side. Like the cart before, the elevator was operated by thick rope and pulleys; a strange contrast to the modern armor worn by the guards. The machine sprang to life and the slums below blurred into abstract geometry as Teege and his captives ascended to the second tier.

Upon disembarkment, the crew noticed the second level differed significantly from the one below. The architecture was significantly more advanced with tall blocks of single occupancy rooms lining the streets. Restaurants and merchants commandeered the ground floor of each building, filling the streets with an endless stream of bartering locals. Once more Tugg was brought into sharp focus, a sea of hate-filled glares piercing him from all sides. Teege slowed his pace, forcing Ranna and his crew to linger in the vitriol. Too dignified to hurl scraps of rotten flesh, these Accra displayed their contempt in silent condemnation. A swamp of dark-eyed judgment gathered around them, bubbling with the threat of violence.

Their slow march culminated at the center of the plateau, though the third level was not to be their destination. A beautifully carved silver door, embedded deep into the ascending wall, loomed threateningly before them. Three Accran guards stood on either side. Again brandishing halberd-type weapons, crossed to block their path. Once the identification had been recognized, one of the guards lifted a huge, bronze cog that sat beside the door. After a round of strenuous grunting, he slotted it into a nest of smaller gears that made up the door's inner workings. Immediately, the machinery whirred to life. The incredible weight was apparent as the door struggled to open, the mechanism hissing in frustration. Although the city had presented a novel exhibition for the crew so far, what lay beyond the silvery gateway was unfortunately very familiar. Rows of cells coiled down a seemingly endless spiral staircase, the cries of the imprisoned echoing from the blackness below. The core of the Accran city being a prison was as impressive as it was terrifying. If you wanted to keep someone hidden, away from official government records, and out of reach from prying eyes, this would be the place to do it.

A guard approached them, extending an expectant hand. Teege forked over a handful of credit slates along with a disk containing the incarceration protocol for his prisoners. The restraint orb that bound them was relieved into the guard's custody, the power it represented reflected in all four of his eyes. Teege sauntered out the way he came, but not before parting with a disingenuous wave.

“I'll return for you... one day.” He said callously as the silver doors crashed closed behind him.

Wasting no time, the jailer began to test the limits of the orb. He dropped the hunters to their knees then hoisted them back into the air, grunting with perverse enjoyment. After his appetite for cruelty had been satiated, he escorted the Horizon crew to their temporary dwellings. Ranna was first. A cell door opened to a meter square pool of water, a freezing mist rising from its surface. He fell forward, plunging into the icy water after a swift kick to the back of his knees. The door was immediately slammed shut and the others were pulled to the next cell. Tugg and El both suffered the same fate; cast into their cages and plummeted into darkness. The ruthless efficiency with which the incarceration was carried out startled Soran. He had never witnessed such callous handling of another's life. Sentient beings discarded like unwanted objects. Tossed into a box with no afterthought, left to gather dust and decay.

After a short march forward, Soran was confronted with his cell. The punishing boot of the guard flung him forward, relinquishing his custody to the unyielding embrace of the icy pool. As his face broke the tension of the water's surface, his lungs flooded with a frigid torrent.

Disoriented, he pushed off the cell floor in an attempt to surface but the sudden manifestation of a translucent pane prevented his emergence. Panicked and still bound at the wrist, he reached up, trying to force his way through the impassable portal. On his third push, he found an opening. He breached the surface, gulping at the frigid air.

The hole was only large enough for his head, his shoulders resting against the frozen glass. Barely having time to catch his breath, the opening snapped shut, constricting around his neck. The glass collar pushed against his windpipe, its grip tightening until his breaths were shallow and wheezing. One painful gasp after another crept down his throat, his legs kicking and arms struggling through the arctic cocoon that surrounded him.

Less than a minute passed before the futility of resistance kicked in. There would be no escape.

Until Teege saw fit to return he would remain trapped, suspended on the edge of suffocation.