CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Sporatine, a world of perpetual light. By day, twin stars bathe her lavish, viridescent surface, bestowing life upon the opulent swell of flora that thrives in its rich soils. As the stars set, the Bio-luminescence of the deep jungles coat the planet with an aquatic glow, tinged with the warm hues of fireflies and glow bugs. Before El ventured off into the starlit murk of deep space, she had never felt that fear. That fear of staring into the dark, not knowing what lurked beyond the limits of your vision. Most of the galaxy's inhabitants had grown used to this, some even learning to relish in the unknowns of the night. El remained a victim of the terror that the dark inspired. So, like a frightened child after the lights went out, she sat deathly still, consumed by the paralyzing dread of nothingness.

Teege's ship touched down on the landing pad and was immediately set upon by a group of oddly dressed transporters and security. To conceal his savagery, Kaligan dumped the inanimate bodies of Tugg and Ranna into the lower deck. After a few ‘delicate’ shakes he had managed to awaken Soran from his assault-induced slumber. A Navy issue Mag-tech suit was slung at the boy, a welcome upgrade from the antique getup's Volka had gifted them. The hazard protection helmet covered his significantly damaged face, and the breathing apparatus masked the immaturity in his voice. He slouched up against a wall, unable to hold the weight of his body due to a multitude of broken ribs.

“This will not do.” Kaligan barked. He pulled Soran up by the shoulders, straightening his back through a loud wheeze of pain.

“If you are unable to enact a convincing performance for our guests then I will have to deal with them, personally. I assure you that although my predisposition is the latter, it would most certainly involve the demise of you and those pathetic husks below. The choice is yours.” Kaligan said as he transferred himself to the lower section of the ship. Soran was left alone with the pneumatic hiss of the exit ramp, welcoming in the fetid breath of a cursed world.

The Naval personnel huddled together in their matching attire like a platoon of toy soldiers. Wasting no time, they marched onto the ship to retrieve the aforementioned toxic cargo. One of the men approached Soran and held out Holo-tablet for him to sign over the goods.

“Teege still getting his beauty sleep?” He asked sarcastically to the amusement of his co-workers. Soran nodded, swiftly returning the tablet in hopes of ending their conversation. The Barrel -- in which El resided --was tipped onto its side and a magnetic clamp was attached at either end. With the clamps locked into place, the barrel was hoisted a few feet into the air. A second man approached holding a device that Soran was unfortunately familiar with. Cargo scanner. Soran cursed to himself, unable to believe that Kaligan had overlooked such an obvious flaw in his scheme. Green scan-lines licked the barrel's outer shell, combing the contents for explosives and other occupational hazards. The rhythmic bleating of the device synchronized with the chased palpitations of the boy's racing heart. The mirrored visor of the technician was leveled directly at Soran, and he feared an accusatory gaze lurked beneath.

"Long way to come for venomous plant matter. Better here than in the hands of pirate scum though ey?" said the technician as he pocketed the device. The barrel floated eerily out of the ship, suspended by an anti-gravitational field.

“Tell Teege his payment has been transferred. As usual, it was lovely not having to deal with him face to face.” Another chuckle ensued as the men departed for the underground tunnel that led into the base.

Existing mainly as a subterranean structure, the only above-ground elements of Fort-Terabus were huge rods that soared from the surface, concluding what must have been 100 feet into the air. Affixed to a maze-like system of tracks, they moved in irregular patterns. Soran assumed them to be satellite receivers of some kind, communicating with the orbital defense stations.

Whatever their true function, it was of no concern to Soran. He had done his part and thankfully, Kaligan's involvement had been avoided.

As the exit ramp clamped shut Kaligan reappeared from the ship's bowels with an oddly satisfied look etched onto his face. Soran winced as he strode past, expecting an elbow or fist to come flying his way.

Nothing happened.

Kaligan slouched into the pilot seat, reclining smugly at the apparent ease in which his plan was succeeding. Although the pirate hordes were not among the galaxy's best and brightest, their Lords were an exception to the rule; most of whom had managed to not only evade the Navy’s watchful eye but continue operating their criminal enterprises for decades. Kaligan had chosen a different route, sacrificing everything for power. Pure physical strength was all that he desired, the ability to dominate and oppress all those in his way. This ethic was reflected in his crew who were known for their barbarous raids and love of hand-to-hand brawls. Even so, this brute had managed to conjure a half-baked plan that had outwitted the security of the galaxy's most secure locations. Although commandeering Teege's ship had been the catalyst for success, Kaligan would be convinced of nothing but the genius of his augmented mind.

He thumbed over the keystones that were now proudly back in pirate possession. As he did so, a strange tone began to slither through his pursed lips. Engine hums, blips from the Holo-screens, and the static radio chatter all dimmed to silence as Soran’s world was drained of sound. His breathing slowed until it came to an utter standstill. Kaligan’s eyes were transfixed by the ancient relics, enchanted by the mystery they harbored. The tune that slipped through the pirate's lips perplexed Soran, so familiar yet implacable. No matter how much he resisted its call or his desperate attempts to shake himself back to reality, he was unable to shirk the melody's hypnotic spell.

“Soran” whispered a voice into the emptiness. It was happening again. The wind had returned and it knew his name. Again it called and again he was unable to answer. Ensnared by the sounds as they danced through his mind, lost by his inability to remember.

A blunt impact struck his leg, frightening him into the present. He noticed a small battery pack had appeared. Turning to the left he was met with a pair of swollen purple clouds. The ruined sockets of Ranna's midnight eyes glared at him. He had been trying to get the boy's attention for the last who knows how long. The Captain pushed something through the small gap in the hatch opening. Glistening in the dim overhead lighting was a blade. A hunting knife that had garnered a serrated edge from years of relinquishing life, likely a memento from Teege's ruthless career. With a forceful push, it spun across the floor and landed perfectly before the boy's outstretched fingers. Kaligan was still enamored with his prize, lost in the endless melodic loop.

Soran’s eyes bounced between the weapon and the intended target. Ranna’s expectant gaze was a call to action, a wordless order. An opportunity had presented itself and it was time to act.

Grasping the blade between his fingers, Soran pulled himself silently to his feet. Assuming a crouched position, he prepared himself for the one shot he would get at freedom. A silent, predatory crawl ensued, his instrument of death gripped tightly between trembling fingers. Captain Hallow would get the revenge he deserved and the galaxy would be rid of a most malignant ghoul.

______

After navigating winding corridors, countless elevators, and several uncomfortable stair descents, El’s transport came to a standstill. The muffled chatter of her chauffeurs receded into silence and the familiar clap of bolts against metal signaled her isolation. Alone once more and with precious little time, she slowed her breathing, pacifying the fear elicited by her blackened cage. Gradually soothing her mind to a state of placidity, her skin faded into its near translucent state. She was relieved to be removing the mag-tech suit, the oceanic stench retained in its fibers having lost its novel appeal. Disseapered from unsuspecting eyes, she was would attempt to undertake the impossible.

Gently turning the seal from the inside, El separated the lid from her confines, carefully placing it down to ensure that silence was maintained. Released from her cloistered detention, she stretched her aching limbs. Craning her neck to the diamond-plated ceiling, she noticed large spores floating through the air. Thick green mounds of poisonous moss blossomed over everything the spores touched. Far from the pristine aesthetic typical of such a facility, Terabus expressed the characteristics of a foul swamp, abandoned to whims of nature.

Although immune to the fatal aspects of the planet's toxins, El was not completely unaffected. A wave of unease progressed through her system, causing her limbs to become weak and less responsive. Like a fresh-faced sailor stumbling their way out of a bar, she wobbled forward, scouting for a way out of the steel storage chamber she was sealed inside.

She was shaken to her knees as the ground beneath her shifted, the clank of mechanical teeth shattering her attempts at silent infiltration. The chorus of machinery chattered harmoniously, pulling the steel cage at rigid angles. The room shifted to the right, then descended for a few seconds before jolting sharply forward. Imagining this to be the effect of the poison, El shook off the haze and tried to focus. Still, the room continued its disorderly voyage, zig-zagging its way around for a full minute until it abruptly stopped. Ending its journey how it began, the room slotted into place with a deafening series of clicks.

After stilling her shaking limbs, El approached the door's locking mechanism. She peeled back the mossy outer casing to reveal the complex inner workings. An Armillary Cypher. Though not an unfamiliar form of security, the complexity of this particular lock was like nothing she had seen. She had, on more than one occasion, been required to ‘escort’ her way out of Naval prisons, and had expected Terabus to share at least some similarities. This was not the case.

Concentric circles of light rotated within one another, decreasing in size as they approached the center. Each ring transported an ever-evolving stream of encryption into the door's multiple mag-bolts. Breaking the code of one of the circles would cause it to dim and its movement to cease. She would have to complete seven consecutive cycles to achieve a full break. If a mistake were to be made at any stage in the process, the rooms were set to fill with a cement-like substance, entombing the valuable contents and the would-be thief. This gave security personnel no immediate need to attend the incident as a leisurely arrest could be made at a later time.

With the life of her crew dependant on her success, El initiated the break. Her fingers moved in a blur of unfaltering motion. After only fifteen seconds, four of the circles were motionless. She continued to peel through the cipher and assemble the correct pass-codes for the remaining rings. However, with each successful unlock the difficulty of her task increased. Seven digits had to align perfectly for the ring to register success, and leaving even one out of place would result in failure. The fifth ring dimmed.

She was almost there. Without warning, the room once again began to shift. Swiftly elevating what felt like several floors and swinging right. The lock's automatic timeout would engage if the attempt was unsuccessful after 60 seconds. With no idea how much time had elapsed, she planted her feet firmly, striking the cipher ring with a procession of lightning-fast inputs.

The glow from the sixth ring faded. So tiny was the final ring that it was difficult to discern the individual strands that ran its circumference. With her head craned forward, she was grasped by the meticulous precision her task required.

Five.

Six.

As the seventh character slid into place, a green glow of safety illuminated her transparent silhouette. The consecutive grinding of gliding bolts filled her heart with relief. With a deep exhale, she stood triumphantly before the opening door, only to be greeted by a plasma-filled barrel aimed at her chest.

A hallucination? She thought to herself. Blinking her eyes vigorously to test her reality, awestruck by her perpetual misfortune. The shaky hand of the pistol-wielding ensign was indeed real, and so too was the danger it presented.

She examined her hands to confirm her camouflage had not failed her. Through the miraged outline of her outstretched fingers, she discovered the culprit of her disclosure. Creeping tendrils of moss wound their way up her leg, forming web-like structures that grasped at her thigh. The airborne spores seem to have taken advantage of her stationary position and found her flora-based genetics a perfect habitat to bloom.

“Show yourself!” The ensign croaked through the silver grill of his breathing apparatus, managing to summon the least intimidating order El had ever heard. Although his eyes were shrouded, he was unable to mask his inexperience; still carrying himself like a boy, he did not yet possess the inimitable confidence of a more seasoned officer.

El de-cloaked, her hands raised in surrender. The boy backed away instinctively, his face doubtless flush with embarrassment. A female Vrell clad only in a skin-suit was not what he was expecting. After a murderous glare from El, his eyes retreated from where they were not welcome.

He reached for the restraints that hung from his belt when his movement abruptly ceased, the pistol falling from his grip. El saw a tremor rattle in his gloved fingers as a tear appeared around the midsection of his protective suit. The pure clinical white was stained an inky crimson, blossoming in a cross pattern that culminated over his chest. His hands pawed at the breach in a panicked frenzy. His bloodstained glove reached up toward El who stumbled backward in fear. Before his arm could reach its full extent, it was severed at the elbow in one clean cut. Grisly screams poured through the suit's ventilation grill in muffled bursts of anguish which were hastily silenced. El watched helplessly as the ensign was torn apart. Thousands of cuts dissected his body, reducing him to nothing more than a pile of bloodstained rags; a soup of flesh and bone. A pink mist rose from the remains and the stench of burning flesh and hair assaulted El's senses.

Trembling in the presence of the unseen butcher, her wildest nightmares were unable to conjure a beast that could slay a man in such a fashion. Even a hive of Dimmubor Hornets or a swarm of Palidion Scythe Mites would take hours to ingest a man that size.

A torrid gust crept through the exposed hallway. El noticed orbs of blood falling from behind where the Ensign had stood. More droplets fell to either side of the doorway as if being expelled from the spores that hovered silently around the room.

El was startled by the hiss of hidden pistons. With a buzz of static, the cloaks of deception were unfurled. El’s gaze lowered to a row of ferocious grins. Children, no older than ten or eleven, stared back at her through transparent masks. Curled ventilation cylinders, fashioned into menacing tusks, sat below wide skull-like sockets that framed their beady black eyes; fitting seats for the darkness harbored behind them. Tight black uniforms -- riddled with straps and stained with the remains of their most recent victim -- were adorned with blades, darts, and vials of what was likely hideous toxins; no doubt acquired through the galaxy's innumerable black markets. The most prominent curiosity of the young assassins was their hands. Claws tipped with white-hot razor wire hissed as fresh droplets of blood hit the searing metal. The callousness required to tear a man apart with your bare hands was beyond El's comprehension. The cross-winged raven that adorned their belts showed exactly where their allegiance lay, informing El of all that she needed to know.

The gust returned and the children morphed their menacing grins into gleeful fanged smiles.

“So, this is Kaligan’s pet?” A protracted, venomous drawl wormed its way over El’s shoulder. She felt an unfamiliar presence press up against her. Icy fingers ran down her spine as a gentle, sinister breath rolled across her neck. Through her periphery, she glanced at a deathly pale face of indescribable beauty. Thick curls of dark mahogany rested peacefully on a mountain of feathers, trailing into a thick, satin cape that engulfed a slender frame. A pair of breathing tubes twisted from the apparatus over her mouth and nose, disappearing into a tank held by another sneering child at her side.

Without any indication, a clawed hand shot out of the cloak, gripping El by the throat and sweeping her from her feet. Despite being shielded by petal-shaped lenses, the indifference in her eyes was chilling. El’s body fell limp. As her vision faded, she heard the nightmarish cackle of the children, reveling as she suffered.