CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Snatched from the grasp of his torment, Soran's chaperone yanked him through a series of crudely constructed archways into a room dense with grizzled bodies. Every man, hard at work loading the weapon cache and arming the cannons with a determined fervor. The pirates were preparing for war. The boy stumbled forward into the center of the room, silent stillness replacing the cacophony of feverish movement. The pirates turned, staring at the bloodstained boy with expressions that ranged from curiosity to total disinterest. The men were disheveled, bearded, tattooed, and augmented. Not one of them was fully human and all bore Kaligan’s signature golden canines, welded deep into the diseased gums of their lower jaws. Abruptly, one of the men let out a triumphant roar and raised his fist victoriously in Soran's direction. He was accompanied by more and more men, all jutting their fists toward the boy in solidarity. He was raised by the duo behind him, held high for all to see. An ocean of defiance lay before him. The entire crew had adopted him into their ranks, honoring an act that bought him nothing but despair. As he rode on the shoulders of lost souls, all he could do was weep.

Soran meandered too and fro, pulling large crates and trying to ignore the metallic stench of dried blood that clung to his soiled clothing. The deafening sound of the engines sparking to life engulfed the ship in a thick mist of spent fuel.

“Rise!” One of the pirates yelled into a rickety shoot that connected to the engine room below them. As soon as the command was heard, the Gallowmare tilted backward around forty-five degrees and Soran quickly adjusted his stance to compensate. Above the ship was a huge tunnel that connected the expansive caverns to the surface. The boy felt the gravitational pressure constrict his entire body as they began their ascension. So swift was the advancing velocity that his joints began to creak, his knees wavering under the stress. The Gallowmare’s intimidating bow pierced through a veil of smog that lay thick on the moon's surface; A byproduct of the mining operation, the cloud was was tinted pink from the Bohlatite vapors. The pressure from their ascent subsided. Soran let out a deep pained sigh as his lungs began to decompress. Hovering motionless over the crater-filled expanse of the moon's outer shell, the Gallowmare’s innumerable metal spikes shone in the sunlight like barbs jutting from a mace. Silence fell in the ship's lower decks, the men surrounding the boy gathered to look from the portholes that supported the canons. Curiosity's temptation lured Soran over, sleuthing through a group of pirates and catching a glimpse of what had them so captivated. What met his glance was something he had seen before. Only once that is when he was just a young boy. On the same occasion, he had almost encountered one of the Navy's formidable Admirals. It was a Citadel class vessel, that fact alone would have been reason enough to escape. But this particular ship was the pride of the Navy, second only to the fabled Eureka that had gone down in flames during the infamous calamity. The Plata Lanza.

The ships were mirrors of each other in size, the Plata Lanza however, was iconic for the sharp point that extruded from the bow of the ship. The spear was the same length as the vessel's body, its tip, piercing out into the heavens it stalked. It seemed the Navy was readily prepared for the arrival of the Gallowmare, their ship facing the enemy head-on. The near iridescent glow of the Lanza’s smooth metallic shell was blinding, the sunlight reflected directly into the window Soran and the men were peering through.

The door behind them burst open, smashing into a stack of ammunition and sending bullets and plasma grenades flying around the room. Kaligan had returned. The men offered nothing but open-mouthed stares, dumbfounded at the peculiar stance of their enigmatic leader. Probably hoping that they wouldn't be taking a one-way trip to his office for a session of ‘discipline’.

“I believe it's about time we said hello to our friend the Admiral. He will surely be awaiting his welcoming gift.” Kaligan said, expectantly. The men seemed to understand the vague statement, Soran however, was left perplexed.

Ripping open the outer casing at the apex of each cannon, the pirates stuffed each weapon with plasma grenades until all were brimming with the cobalt glow of the activated spheres. Without hesitation, they cranked a lever on the rear of each canon, bolting their palms to their ears in preparation. Soran quickly followed suit, ducking down with his head tucked between his arms. His childish display was met with great amusement from the other pirates.

A volley of successive cannon fire cascaded from the starboard side, sending violent waves rolling through the entire ship. Soran lifted his head and watched the blue lights sail at incredible speed over the surface of the moon. He stared in amazement as the orbs danced in formation, a ballet of imminent destruction. They exploded spectacularly mere meters before the Naval ship, colliding with the resonance field that had been erected. Most modern ships were equipped with at least some form of resonance protection but the hexagonal grid protecting the Lanza was unfamiliar to Soran. It shimmered defiantly in a mixture of earthy hues after each impact then returned to its original translucent state. It was advanced technology, most likely having been developed by the NRAD division of the government. NRAD was rumored to operate numerous questionable projects, most notably the unethical testing of chemical and biological weapons on sentient beings. Lanic had had his suspicions when he worked for them once going so far as to confront a scientist directly. This noble action had unfortunately resulted in a lengthy stay in solitary for the audacious engineer. Since then, trusting the government was never something Soran had much faith in. Despite their mutual disdain for Pirates, his suspicions of those that held power would remain forever unchanged.

Even amongst the ensuing chaos, the bridge of the Plata Lanza retained a stoic atmosphere. The silver-haired Captain manned the bridge with a slew of nervous personnel awaiting her command. She observed as the incoming barrage of plasma grenades evaporate before the might of her shields, like flies smashing against glass.

“Captain Noctei, how do we respond?” asked her Vice-Captain in a meek voice, not wanting to agitate his short-tempered superior. She jostled a coin between her fingers, contemplating her answer for a few moments.

“Ready the Banshee. We don’t want to disappoint Admiral Hail.” She replied calmly. The man quickly scurried over to a set of pristine consoles and began to input various security codes to reveal a previously hidden hatch. A triangular formation of switches rose from the hatch, to which the man timidly backed away. The potential of the devastation they represented overwhelmed him. He plunged his stubby fingers onto the panel and activated the switches simultaneously. The Lanza whirred to life, the Vice-Capitan's actions rippling through the hull. A vast forest of pistons, the centerpiece of the weapons bay, spurred into overdrive as they initiated the launch. The underside of the ship craned open like a monstrous hawk unfurling its wings, bathing the lunar surface in shadow. Huge segments of folded Nanomaterial bloomed out, displaying an ornately decorated Plasma canon which focused in on the central mast of the Gallowmare.

Kaligan haunted the thoroughfares of his ship, barking orders at his crew as he hastily stalked his way to the bridge. Upon arrival he crashed down into a bizarre contraption, his giant frame swallowed by its shadow. Innumerable tubes sprung to life in his presence, proximity sensors rooting them into fleshy sockets that decorated his arms, chest, and legs. The device began furiously pumping Nano-diesel directly into his veins, inducing an adrenalin-fuelled stare, tainted with an air of wickedness. Orders were no longer necessary, his men knew exactly what to do. A crescent of operators fanned out before their captain under the gaze of a panoramic glass screen, currently displaying a wide-angle view of the Lanza. A key was twisted into each control console and the operators tapped furiously at their screens. The Gallowmare roared.

The metal spikes protruding from her exterior extended, almost doubling in size and emitting a spark of light from their tips. Thousands of tiny bulbs shone from the Gallowmare, coalescing into a perfectly spherical resonance field. Kaligan's body swelled with the viscous cocktail. He feverishly gripped the shell of his throne, attempting to regain some semblance of sobriety. Despite having to recharge his artificial body regularly, Kaligan found himself consistently overwhelmed by the experience. He refused to be on the losing end of the exchange again, determined best his foe. His crew had remained loyal after his previous defeat, however, a second humiliation would not be forgiven.

The Admirals stood atop an adversarial peak for all pirate-kind. Slaying this most mythic opponent would catapult the heroic individual into the chronicles of pirate history; Scrawled for all eternity into the sacred pages of Atlazar, their courageous tale would endure until the end of days. Every pirate that had met an Admiral in combat das perished, all witnesses to these legendary clashes along with them. This meant that any information that would aid in the destruction of the Admirals was lost to time. To achieve this most highly sought after honor, the pirates were forced to enter the enemy's lair blind. For Kaligan, this challenge was a challenge he was more than eager to accept.

The cannon beneath the Plata Lanza began to charge, collecting particles from its surroundings. Soran watched in awe as the very surface of the moon was atomized and inhaled by the cannon, fusing the physical material with plasma and causing the reservoir of energy inside to swell. The gathering ceased abruptly. The Gallowmare's crew braced themselves for the impact, diving to the ground with hands cradling their heads. A flash of light erupted from the Banshee and a concentrated beam smashed against the pirate shields. The outer layer of the moon was torn asunder. An immense fissure bore its way deep below the surface, exposing the mines inside. Dust clouds plumed miles into the sky, creating an ethereal curtain between the two ships. Captain Noctei waited patiently to gaze upon the wreckage of the pirate abomination. Impressing the Admiral, who was viewing the affair from his vantage point, was the Captain's highest priority. He would surely be delighted with her for dispatching their enemy with such swiftness, a demonstration of the Galactic Navy's undeniable might.

As the dust settled, the red glow from the Bohlatite mines pierced through the clouds and revealed the effects of the Banshee's power. Nocetei's expression soured. Her fingers curled into fists and her lips tightened to cage the scream behind them. The pirate shields remained intact. A large red scorch mark had torched the outer layers in a spider web pattern, but, not so much as a single particle had passed through. The Gallowmare was left unaffected.