CHAPTER TWENTY
El met with a muddled scene of damaged consoles, loose cables, and scurrying pirates desperately attempting to quell the Shimmersene leak. Despite the transparency of her appearance, her silhouette remained distinguishable under the harsh overhead lighting as she crept between cover; a crouched stance and unhurried pace were paramount in maintaining the illusion.
Kaligan dwelt in the grasp of the steel-armed contraption, reveling in the rich ether that flowed from its core. The mass of translucent tubes pumped ceaseless streams of crimson fluid into the mockery of human form. Though an inconvenient requirement, daily maintenance was crucial to keeping his advanced exoskeleton free from malfunction. His gaze remained fixed on the Lanza as she struggled against the tendrils of his ship, thrashing like an ensnared beast.
El waited, patiently observing the Lord as he reveled in the struggle of his prey. The sadistic pleasure he took in the chaos of war enhanced the Shimmersene high.
Once Kaligan was deemed sufficiently occupied, El began her furtive approach. She skulked through shadows of chattering machinery to mask her presence. A constant rumbling wracked the ship's oxidized bones as the engines strained to sustain power. The Banshee had inflicted severe damage with its subsequent attack, leaving the Gallowmare's crew with precious little time to waste.
Her target was mere steps away. She could sense Kaligan's lust for cruelty, his aura so overwhelming that it choked the air with a threat of violence. He was at least double her size, dwarfing her in every way. Even in his current state of vulnerability, he remained a terrible and dangerous being. Suddenly, he leaped up from his throne. Several cables detached from his upper body, hissing with cries of steam and fuel, startling El into a state of paralysis.
"Retract the boarding tubes. A most glorious waltz is at hand," Kaligan exclaimed theatrically. Through the viewing screen, El glimpsed a pinprick of light. Particles began to coalesce on the Lanza's underside. What remained of the moon's devastated surface was atomized, processed into energy to satiate the Banshee as she prepared her final assault.
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The monstrous tentacles detached from the Lanza, slithering over the battered moon's shell before retracting into the Gallowmare's smoldering hull. Kaligan had no issue leaving his men to fend for themselves, knowing that a heroic death was the greatest gift he could bestow. The only fueling tubes still attached to Kaligan's body were those plugged into his spine and legs; the rest lay scattered at his feet, expelling diesel into ever-expanding pools.
El needed to act now. The revitalizing process was nearing completion, and her target would soon regain autonomy, unsheathed from the restraints of his throne.
Creeping as close as she dared, El opened the paneling at the base of the humming throne. A myriad of control valves and knobs saturated the device's inner workings, purposed to regulate the flow and filter the fuel entering Kaligan's body. Although she had never dealt with a device quite like this, the setup was similar to the Horizon's fuel processor. With a few lines of illegal code, the processor could transmute the stable energy of refined Shimmersene into a volatile concoction of raw power. Although the illicit technique provided the ship with unparalleled speed, the boost was to the detriment of the engine, increasing the probability of burnout or an explosion of unthinkable magnitude.
Kaligan let out an impassioned scream that petered out into a staggered chuckle. He watched the Banshee cannon sheath itself in defeat, retreating into the belly of the Lanza. His men had done it, infiltrated deep enough into the enemy ship to manually shut down the Navy's biggest threat. The winds of battle had altered course and now seemed to blow in Kaligan's favor.
Like an arachnid ensnaring its prey, El's fingers moved with unsettling precision and purpose. She flicked various switches, prompting a hatch to spring open and expose the flow dial. She stared up at the towering man and watched the affected sway of his arms as he continued to dictate his orders. He thrived on the anarchy, clearly at home amidst senseless destruction and death.
With cautious precision, her hand edged forward until her fingertips glanced at the worn edges of the metal dial. She studied the engraved numbers, trying to discern how far she could amplify the flow while remaining undetected. As she rotated her hand counterclockwise, the dial muttered a series of muted clicks. Before she had completed the required degree of rotation, a fearsome shadow plummeted towards her. An immense force slammed down onto her skull like a hammer driving a nail. Clasped in a vice-grip and hoisted skyward, a stare of bewildered discovery confronted her.
"Terrible timing for an infestation," Kaligan whispered, revealing his golden fangs. "Though dealing with vermin is not a task I would usually attend to, under the circumstances, I think I can make an exception." He inhaled the ashen fragrance of terror that wept from her skin, tasting the honey-sweet hope fleeing her darkening eyes. The translucent property of her hair and skin had faded, turning such a deep shade of mottled green that it could easily be mistaken for black. El writhed in pain as Kaligan tightened his grip, the crackling of bone fractures escaping the gaps in his monstrous fingers. Unable to scream, she utilized every ounce of her energy to remain conscious. She kicked her legs wildly, her nimble fingers tightening their grip on his trunk-like arm, squeezing with all her might in a feeble attempt to sever his hold. She was no match for him. Kaligan's body was an impenetrable instrument of war. To a being such as him, her struggle was meaningless.
Unwilling to accept her death, El continued her manic flailing. A loud clang sounded. Her foot recoiled in pain, colliding with a solid, metallic surface. Kaligan's grip loosened slightly, and his pupils swallowed the whites of his eyes. The Pirate-Lord's bloated gaze fell upon the tampered inner workings of his throne. The dial had exceeded the advisable dilation settings, now resting at maximum flow. Jet-black pools of chemical sludge clouded his vision. The pirate fell into an insouciant stupor as the unrefined diesel flooded his system, overwhelming the intricate series of cyber-kinetic implants that interfaced his body and mind.
Kaligan collapsed in a heap of pungent steam, freeing El from the stranglehold. Her slender frame struck the unyielding plated ground, and she released the trapped scream that begged clawing for freedom. A tear escaped her waxen eyes; the sudden rush of relief brought a timid wintry blue back to her bruised flesh.
The shackle-laden gate burst open in a catastrophic explosion of metal, rocking the bridge with its thunderous impact. Tugg erupted onto the bridge, panting with urgency burned into all four of his eyes. The Accran had little trouble tearing through the thick steel like paper. Ranna threw a plasma pistol to El and the three of them dealt with the remaining crew. As Tugg approached, the operators could do little else but pray for a swift end.
Surrounded by lifeless bodies, the three bounty hunters stood breathless as the violent mist of spent plasma cleared, and the bridge fell silent. Kaligan's body twitched erratically, still struggling against the psychosis of the Shimmersene overload. Overwhelmed by chemically induced hallucinations, his brain began the process of deterioration. Ranna handed El her clothes, and she immediately covered herself with her arms, forgetting how vividly the stealth-skin accented her silhouette. Ranna looked over at Kaligan's trembling body and then back at El. The swift takedown was a fine testament to her aptitude. Though he would never admit it, he was consistently intimidated by the results the Vrell girl produced. The actual limits of her potential remained a frightening unknown.
"Let's take what we came for and get out," Ranna said, tampering with the contraption that connected Kaligan's head to the Nanoalloy body. After detaching several sealed clasps, a click sounded, and Ranna gripped the sides of the head, twisting slowly. A long trail of greasy spinal cord followed the head as it departed the body.
"Quickly," Ranna said, placing the Pirate-Lord's detached head onto the ground. El retrieved a small cylinder from one of her many pockets and pushed the small buttons at its base. The device split open into four segments, unfurling in a spiral pattern. A stampede of ten-legged insects poured from the metallic shell, scuttling towards their target. The tiny creatures scurried over Kaligan's lifeless features, weaving a web of frosted silk to conceal the ghastly visage.
"Frystian-Crawlers never disappoint. That should keep Kaligan fresh until we get back to Veng," Ranna commented, watching the insects finish their work and march back to their cylindrical home.
El was known to carry many strange gadgets on her person at any one time, collecting esoteric and exciting wares becoming somewhat of a hobby. She would often barter with the various dealers wherever the Horizon would dock, eager to add another oddity to her inventory. The Frystian-Crawlers, in particular, hailed from a forgotten world and were thought to be long extinct. Their home had faded into nothingness due to the mining efforts of the Navy and their trusted friends, the Kahbohl. Fortunately, the insects survived due to Naval pilfering of the planet's flora and fauna for their numerous research divisions. Now, the insect's primary function was preserving and transporting organic materials.
Ranna retrieved the icy head of the Pirate-Lord and attached it to his belt via three hooked straps. By some miracle, they had acquired what they came for and were somehow still alive.
The Gallowmare shuddered, a crippling groan rising from her tarnished foundations. Ranna faltered as the entire room tilted diagonally. A shower of debris rained down, pelting him and his crew. The ship was sinking. Without hesitation, they sprinted away from the bridge, fighting off the remnant crew through the malaise of Shimmersene fog that had now engulfed the entire ship. Without a Lord to guide their fury, the pirate masses ceased to function. Many opted to abandon ship, a favorable alternative to dying in a ferocious blaze. Not an action taken out of cowardice but the fear of dying dishonorably; an accidental death, according to the pirate code, is considered the equivalent of taking one's life. So they escaped, prolonging their lives to fight another day and be awarded their demise in the glory of combat.
Sinking ever closer to the moon's battle-scarred surface, the Gallowmare neared her end. Most of the gravitational stabilizers had failed, the few that remained unsubstantial to support the sheer mass of the Dreadnought.
Ranna was overwhelmed by the quickening descent, his stomach sinking with the certainty of an imminent crash. The impact would ignite the Shimmersene, and there was little ambiguity about the subsequent events.
They arrived back at the hull breach, darting into a nook of smoldering metal to avoid detection. The area swarmed with loyalists who refused to abandon their Lord, diligently repairing the critically wounded vessel. The Gallowmare was their home; they were as much a part of the ship as the metal that bound it together.
The Plata Lanza hadn't discharged so much as a single shot since the Banshee's deactivation. She hovered motionless above the violated moon as the pirate crew ravaged her heart. The ceaseless waves of invaders had forced the naval officers into an unending retreat from the instant the invasion commenced. With nowhere left to go, the immovable palisade of lustrous warriors defended their final objective with valorous determination. Their last line of defense was a vaulted corridor leading to the engine room. To this gateway of plated silver, the men had bound their lives.
In total, the platoon numbered fifty. Most were traumatized by the savagery of pirate warfare, no longer fit to engage in battle. On their front line stood Captain Noctei. She struggled to catch her breath, exhausted after felling innumerable foes. Even with her crew, ship, and reputation on the line, Admiral Hail consumed her thoughts. This engagement was her chance to prove herself as a competent leader. To demonstrate, beyond any doubt, that she deserved to be in permanent command of the Plata Lanza.
The Navy was currently constructing its next leap forward in space-faring technology — a ship to surpass the Eureka. Admiral Hail was favored to take the reins once development was complete, so finding a suitable replacement to inherit command of the Lanza had become a priority. Noctei's current predicament was not casting her in a particularly favorable light. The Lanza was overrun, and half of her crew was either wounded or dead. Guarding the last remnant of her career and listening to the encroaching footsteps of the enemy, she couldn't help but smile at the irony. She had been here before, only last time, she wasn't the one on the defensive.
A gaggle of battle-raged men burst into the engine room's narrow corridor. Rather than hesitation, the Navy's impressive bulwark generated an enthusiastic roar. The pirates charged forward, unperturbed by the oncoming barrage of plasma fire. Men fell by the dozen, cast down in a sea of fire and blood. Employing a callous yet tactile strategy, the pirates utilized the corpses of their fallen brethren as shields, forming a blood-soaked wall of tattered armor and severed limbs. Captain Noctei drew her sword and held it high for all to see. Her men followed her initiative, unsheathing their silver blades and raising them in solidarity with their leader.
"We are the light!" Noctei cheered as she charged forward to meet the pirates head-on.
The two opposing forces clashed together like a breaking wave, melding in a fierce torrent of steel and plasma. The juxtaposition of the battle induced ecstasy that filled the pirate's eyes, and the terror-marked grimaces of the navy recruits troubled Noctei. Confronted with men who were not only prepared to die but welcomed it, the emblematic Naval courage withered. Noctei and her men had already dispatched countless pirates, demonstrated by the bodies that clogged the Lanza's lower decks. Despite this, their dwindling ranks replenished in an unending stream of chaos. Noctei, on the other hand, needed more soldiers and, more importantly, time. If they could not stave off the attack and allowed a breach of the engine room, there wouldn't be a ship left to command.
Noctei's blade tasted the cold sting of the enemy's serrated steel, slicing through her aggressors with faultless technique. With each swing of her weapon, energy dissipated in waves. She knew that soon enough, even her obstinate fortitude would not be enough to save her.
She heard yet another swarm of footsteps in the distance, and a lingering sigh crept from her lips. All she had to give had been relinquished. This final assault would be her end.
In an instant, a brilliant, white light swallowed everything. An awed gasp escaped the slackened jaws of the defeated platoon, and a wind of disbelief stilled the advancing pirate horde. The cavalry had arrived.
A Tornado of glistening silk robes filled the corridor, coiled around a wall of impossibly sharp spears. The quadrumvirate carved a path through the corridor with unrivaled precision, a tempestuous gale of blades reducing the pirates to a bloody mound.
Valkyries, Admiral Hail's personal bodyguards. Despite the welcome rescue, Noctei shuddered. Her assessment was over.
With the Navy insignia proudly branded onto their opulent steel chest-plates, the Valkyries embodied the peak of the government's might. They dispatched the intruders in seconds and returned to their signature diamond formation. The four women sheathed their spears and knelt before the Captain.
"Admiral Hail requests your presence," said the frontmost warrior. Noctei knew what fate awaited her. She dismissed her men without delay and followed the Valkyries with unmasked haste. As she departed, she held her head high so as not to let up appearances, her men offering what could be their final salute. The weight of her approaching judgment had her body screaming to turn and run, her every fiber strained to quell the urge.
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Back in the Gallowmare's depths, Ranna and his crew searched with fevered desperation for an exit. Tugg and El knelt with bated breath for the ingenious plan their Captain was surely brewing. However, the nervous look on Ranna's face betrayed he was drawing a blank. He had done it again, led the only two people he could call friends to a dead-end. With nothing to offer but a blank stare and seeds of an apology lodged in his throat, he let his head drop in defeat.
Before he could lament their misfortune further, a set of intense lights filled a breach in the Gallowmare's hull. Ranna flashed through the layered filters of his augmented eyes, attempting to identify the source. His vision adjusted to the burning illumination, carving out a familiar silhouette through the glare. Decaying, autumnal hues permeated the blemished carapace of the veiled intruder, followed by an unmistakable arc of metallic wings. Thunderous exhaust vents growled breaths of azure fire and brought forth the coherent form of a friend. The Horizon had arrived.
Ranna had no time for hows or whys. A miracle needed no explanation. The crew disengaged their Mag-locks in unison and soared into the air on steam jets. With expected immediacy, the pirates opened fire on the ship, forcing her to employ evasive maneuvers. The Horizon submerged beneath the pirate's line of sight, and the rear doors snapped open. The familiar, welcoming sight of their cargo hold greeted the crew. Ranna reached out, almost able to touch the rear doors. In that instant, seconds from salvation, his body lost all feeling. His eyes widened, and his mouth slid agape. His outstretched arm burst into a bloody mist, a stray plasma bullet incinerating everything from the elbow down. The Nanofibre of his suit instantaneously morphed around the wound, preventing the oxygen from escaping. Entering the artificial atmosphere with severe velocity, Ranna's body catapulted into the stack of crates, his bones shattering on impact. Tugg and El dived after their Captain, assaulted over the comms' by a primal roar of unfathomable pain.
