CHAPTER ELEVEN
Soran dawned on a rather embarrassing realization; he knew nothing about their mission. How exactly Ranna planned to stroll in and capture a Pirate Lord and somehow make it out alive remained a puzzling mystery. Thinking back to his encounter with Malig, he would undoubtedly be dead had it not been for that strange shard. By now, it would be tucked away deep in a secured facility, unable to assist in the capture of yet another infamous villain.
"Looks like we're on time to catch our ride," Ranna said, focusing the Holo-projector on the moon's orbit. Plotted in the innumerable points of thrumming light was a flight path. Soran assumed it to be their projected landing route, but that was far from the reality.
"Our ride?" The boy asked, walking over to get a closer look.
"Yeah, our ticket to get onto the moon. Unseen. Can't just land and say hi." Ranna said, chuckling to himself. Soran looked closer at the projection and realized that the flight path was not that of the Horizon but something that bordered on the insane.
"That's your plan?" He asked, unable to believe the Captain saw this as feasible.
"The train is the only way onto the surface without drawing attention. Unless you have a better idea? After all, you're our secret weapon." Ranna said with a wink. The remark caught Soran off guard, almost forgetting the entire reason for his kidnapping. They expected him to apprehend Kaligan, the mechanic's apprentice from the Hyacinth. Without some genius strategy, he and the crew were marching to a certain and unpleasant death.
Soran had refueled many cargo trains in his time, confident in his knowledge of their inner workings. They were not actual trains. A more apt description would be a protracted ship, split up into hundreds of equidistant sections and tasked with hauling massive quantities of merchandise by prominent galactic corporations. This one, in particular, was a mineral deposit vessel. The three hundred extra-wide carts used by the Vercinial mining company were unmistakable. Based on this fact, their destination was most likely a platinum ore mine. Highly desirable for the construction of both weapons and ships, the scarcity and value of the resource gave Vercinial eager protection from the Navy, who, to Soran's dismay, would almost certainly be on guard.
"The cargo train moves at transonic speed. How are you planning to dock in an environment like that?" Soran asked.
"Who said anything about docking?" He replied with a smile that the boy translated as trouble.
"The Horizon glides faster than transonic so we can sail right alongside the train. Once we're close enough, we use the Magtech on our suits to cling to the hull. And away we go, down to the mineral loading station and on with the mission." He said, confident in his plan's validity. The Maglev feature of the voidsuits made it easy for the wearer to cling to any surface. Soran employed it when cleaning the centuries of grime from the underbelly of the Hyacinth. It was the safest method to perform all manner of vacuum-based tasks. However, walking along the hull of a stationary structure and moving from one vessel to another at transonic speed were very different things.
"What about the train guards?" Soran asked.
"We'll pull up on the underside of the train as it passes through the moon's asteroid belt. The scanners will be so overwhelmed with foreign objects that they won't even notice us." He replied, looking over at El for confirmation. She returned an unconvinced head tilt and continued to review the diagnostic charts.
"We will only have around sixty seconds to make our jump. The trains system is pretty outdated, but we won't be able to fool it forever." She said, concerned. Ranna seemed unaffected by the detail.
"Just gotta make the jump quick, and it should be smooth sailing."
Soran mulled over the plan but couldn't conclude anything shy of insanity. One thing was abundantly clear: Ranna was the only one with even a degree of certainty. Even Tugg seemed nervous, tapping his feet away behind them as heavy purrs trembled from his vocal sack.
"Don't mind Tugg. He always gets nervous before heading out. Poor guy must miss his glory days, swimming in his fishbowl." Ranna said sarcastically. A snarl and loud clang met his off-color remark as Tugg struck the wall.
"Home's a touchy subject, you know?" Ranna whispered.
Soran knew little about Tugg's planet besides it being designated a class one world. Class one referred to planets that were to be avoided at all costs unless suicide was the intent. In the majority of expeditions to the surface of Accrakos, the landing party had disappeared, likely swallowed by a rogue wave or one of the horrors that dwelt beneath them. Those fortunate enough to make a return were often so traumatized they were unable to recount their experience. Physically incapable of speaking most galactic languages, the Accran people developed a complex pantomime of gestures. These strange hand signals were often confusing and had led to a breakdown in communication between them and the galaxy's space-dwelling inhabitants. As one of the last remaining habitable worlds, the galactic government had decided to reschedule the planet as class one, leaving the Accran to their own devices while keeping a watchful eye from a safe distance. A war with the Accra was the last thing that this galaxy needed.
"Suit up," Ranna ordered, marching to the lockers in the common area. Unlatching the widest of four steel chambers, he revealed a set of charcoal Magtech suits. The dull shine of the sleek matte finish quivered under the artificial lighting. A white stripe accented the length of the arms and legs, brimming with stealth and temperature regulation technologies. He bent down and slid out the lower compartment of the chamber. Contained within was a pile of scuffed boots that matched the design of the suit. The deep soles housed the magnetic technology and three buckles to secure the occupant. If not sufficiently secured, the pull of the powerful magnets could easily pluck the boot -- and containing foot -- from the unfortunate astronaut. Ranna tossed Soran a suit and pair of boots, the onerous weight and signature oiled scent a welcome familiarity. Once the suit touched skin, it conformed to the shape of their bodies, designed to be a perfect fit for all sizes and species. Magtech was another big player amongst the galaxy's monopolies, possessing the dubious reputation one might expect.
Soran watched as the Plastrite spread over his skin, ending in the formation of tight gloves that hugged the grooves in his bony hands, sheathing each finger with a circular pad of micro magnets.
The Horizon's autopilot system engaged their descent. Ranna and El exchanged an urgent glance.
"It's time," Ranna exclaimed, making a swift beeline to the cargo hold and initiating jump preparations. The Horizon weaved itself into the asteroid belt, and through the small sections of unbroken glass, Soran saw the bright headlights of the train approaching. Although not the most elegant of vessels, its size was magnificent, plowing through the asteroids like motes of dust floating through the air. Ranna switched to manual control, clutching a steering lever in each hand and guiding the Horizon into place. After leveling her out and synchronizing the acceleration, they hovered directly in the path of the oncoming ship.
No more than a few seconds passed before the train shot above them, missing their hull by a matter of feet. Soran stared in amazement through the skylight, sharp green lighting on the underside of each segment beaming onto his face. A nervous smile broke through the fear as he contemplated what he was about to attempt. He wondered what Lanic would say if he could see him now, joined up with a bunch of scoundrels and on a mission to tackle a Pirate Lord. Not in his wildest dreams would this reality have played out, but making the best of a bad situation had always been his talent. Ever since arriving on the Hyacinth, he had no say in how the events in his life played out. Learning to accept that if he couldn't control something, he wouldn't allow it to bother him. This was one of those situations.
"Increase acceleration. We want section forty-five." El ordered as Ranna scanned the imprinted numbers on the underside of each segment. Currently hovering beneath number two-hundred-seven, it was time to show what the Horizon could do. Ranna titled the twin sticks under his palms and released two blades of the Horizon's crown, hastening their ascent through the numbered carriages. Each of the Horizons' eight dorsal blades contributed significantly to her speed, though it made her a much easier target for an enemy combatant and, thus, generally remained retracted.
"There it is," El said, pointing to the glowing digits under segment forty-five. Ranna plotted a fresh course into the navigation chart. The Horizon would shepherd itself to a nearby planetoid, awaiting his signal to assist in the crew's getaway. Soran was surprised at the meticulousness of the plan despite an air of suspicion around the uneventful way it was playing out.
Pulling up alongside the cargo train, their presence remained unnoticed.
"Sixty seconds starts now. Tugg, get those doors open." Ranna barked his commands, pressing the clamps on his neck and triggering a thin film of liquid that began enveloping his face. Intruding over every inch of skin, the liquid entered his mouth, nose, and ears. Once the process was complete, he took a deep breath, confirming the oxygen was flowing into his lungs without issue. The other crew members followed suit. All except Tugg, whose breathing apparatus had vacuum-negating technology already built in. Interlocking metal plates sprung from the device, cocooning his head in a protective dome. Two glass viewing portals on either side allowed him to retain a complete range of vision. They engaged their Magtech boots to avoid vacuum expulsion, and the rear hatch swung upward, revealing the underside of the cargo train only a few feet above their heads.
Ranna pointed upward and initiated the treacherous climb onto the roof of his ship. The Horizon had her wings fanned into four segments, which maximized stability and minimized the probability of a fatal incident. Ranna positioned himself for the climb, signaling the others to follow once his footing was secured. Soran and El went first, closely examining the passing asteroids and maintaining constant vigilance to avoid passing beyond the protective shielding of the Horizon's wings. The ship was generating a gravitational field, and one false step out of bounds would expose them to the actual velocity at which they were traveling. Magtech or no, they would be torn from the hull before they could even blink. Tugg was last up, sealing the rear door behind him before performing a graceless ascent to join the crew. With the four of them in formation, they were ready to jump.
Ranna looked down at the Holo-screen orbiting his wrist. Twenty seconds remained. He pointed two fingers into the air and stood up, clasping his magnet-tipped fingers to the underside of the train. The gravitational fields of both vessels had merged, creating a brief pocket of transference. His boots released their grip on the Horizon, and he pulled himself up, re-engaging the boot's magnetic locks and attaching himself firmly to the cargo train. Once secured, he signaled his crew to follow. El and Tugg copied his motions exactly, and transference was achieved in one fluid motion. Only Soran remained. He watched Ranna stare at his wrist, a glaze of panic bleaching his Captain's ghostly complexion. With a sudden jolt, the gap between himself and the crew widened, the Horizon proceeding with its new course. Time was up, and Soran was out of choices. He stretched his body to its physical limits, unable to reach the receding surface above. Without hesitation, he crouched, disengaged the locks on his boots, and propelled himself upward using all of his strength. He reached to the outstretched hands of the Horizon crew. Soran locked eyes with Ranna, the Captain's expression soured with dismay. In a flash of emerald lightning, the train hurtled into the distance. The Horizon crew propelled into the distance. Verdant bursts of light were passing overhead at dizzying speeds. With a final burst of energy, he lunged his hand forward, clasping the magnetic grip of his glove onto the underside of a carriage.
An intense, throbbing pain followed a dull clunk. Although successful, his unorthodox transference attempt had left his arm a splintered wreck. Exploded blood vessels formed a dark jungle of crimson vines that twisted around his shaking limb. Shuddering with the pain, he turned his head and watched the train depart from the asteroid belt, descending to the moon's surface. An emerald glow flickered in his periphery, a fluorescent number engraved into the hull. He smiled as he mouthed the words. Three hundred.
