CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Concluding their obsequious display, the androids fell into line with their fellow Lords. Volka reached for the contraption embedded in his chest, basking in the tranquil, virescent glow that pulsed at its core. With the need for words exhausted and time of the essence, he grabbed at the latches harnessing the device to his body. As he attempted to unlock the fixings, his fingers twitched in defiance. An invisible force repelled his movements. His fingers hovered millimeters above the latch, a familiar tightness constricting his joints. He gasped as his entire body contorted, trembling in a battle against itself.

  "She's alive." Spoken as a hiss, Volka's words trickled through gritted teeth, his warning far too late. All seven Lords were pinned to the ground, caught in a shrouded snare. Metallic limbs groaned under the immense pressure, bones cracking to the point of splintering. Soran and Ranna trembled, unaffected by whatever ailed the pirates but nonetheless terrified of the unseen assailant. An immense presence dominated the atmosphere like the relentless storms of the surface. Echoing from the black, the clap of feet on stone approached. The Lords struggled to tilt their heads, desperate to glance at the source of the unhurried steps. A thud of finality halted the advance; the entryway suffocated with an alarming form. Standing atop the melted ruins was a vision of dread, larger than any being had the business to be — a colossal, shimmering suit of armor adorned with a network of intricately sculpted vines. Sharp as a butcher's blade, a nest of thorns rose from the surface of the pristine plate metal. As Soran's gaze probed the silhouette of the monstrous knight, his eyes fell upon a terrifying face. A howling, contorted grimace glared down upon him, a nightmare loose in the waking realm. He was standing before the demon that kept the Pirate Lords awake at night, the nether-thing that hunted them through the vast, shadowy expanse of space. Behind them towered the iron queen, Admiral Gesa.

  She stood resplendent. Leaving her vessel to fend for itself had spared her from its fiery end, though vengeance for her loss had only begun its prolonged administration.

  With the aid of her immense gauntlets, she forced the pirates to the ground. The advanced Naval technology magnetized the iron in their blood and the metals they wore as flesh, disrupting the flow of Nano-particles to shackle them where they lay, squirming like worms on a hook. The twins and Kaligan suffered the most, their bodies almost entirely forged of Nanoalloy. She turned her right gauntlet forty-five degrees, and a chorus of clicks summoned Volka's body. He flew through the air, landing in the iron claws of her vice grip. The impact echoed through the chamber. Her mammoth fingers tightened around his throat as his arms flailed in the air, clawing for her shadow-drenched eyes that lay just beyond his reach. The other Lords hissed and grunted; their futile attempts to get loose only worsened the crushing pressure.

  Amidst the madness instigated by the Admiral's presence, a long, drawn-out groan crawled from the fossilized mouth of the bound King. A powdery mist escaped his lips, tasting the air for the first time in decades. His body struggled against the bondage of his restraints. It seemed he was trying to say something, his withered tongue too decayed to comply. Volka felt Gesa's grip loosen slightly, distracted by the distant murmur. Capitalizing on the momentary diversion, he tore the device from his chest and sent it hurtling across the room. Gesa could not react, keeping the Pirate Lords stationery her highest priority. The device smashed on the ground, and a stream of leafy mist poured from its core, slithering over the glass paneling toward the King's tomb.

  "You lose." Volka croaked. Those two words were all he would be permitted. Gesa refused to even glance at his defiant grin, crushing his head in her behemoth grasp, erasing his synthetic brain in an instant. Over a century of toil, decades of feverish devotion to a singular objective, only to have his light extinguished mere moments before the task's completion. A burst of sparks careened from the android's shattered skull in a final explosion of brilliant light. Gesa showed no remorse, throwing the defunct shell to the side of the room like a discarded rag. Rage burbled in Khan's throat until it escaped in a distorted roar. His vocal cords malfunctioned, producing a bestial scream so horrifying that even Gesa appeared to wince.

  The Pirate Lord Volka was no more, condemned to die in the synthetic vehicle purposed to ferry him to the hereafter. To join his King as they sailed into Elyssia and wave farewell to the cruel and indifferent galaxy that had swallowed everything he ever loved was a desire that would remain forever out of reach.

  A subsequent decrepit groan drawled from the glass chamber. A deep inhale caused the restraints around the occupant's chest to expand as the verdant mist seeped through his withered lips. Beneath a heavy-lidded glare, his glazed eyes brimmed with emerald energy, and a shiver swept through the atmosphere's arid haze.

  In an instant, a brilliant light submerged the dome in unnatural radiance, summoning a ferocious gale that flung everyone into the curved walls. Dazed, Soran placed his hands on the ground to steady himself. The terror that had so fiercely gripped him retreated. Enamored by the pristine glow that bathed his bruised body, he felt at peace. He could sense the pulse of what hid beyond this radiance; it felt alive. Reminiscent of the buoyant energy of the keystone, a raw vitality flooded him. As the light dimmed, exposing the source of the divine glare. Atop the glass chamber, there stood a golden man.

  Clad in a beautiful, ivory robe, his attire handsomely contrasted the honeyed chestnut of a creased face and sculpted cimmerian beard. Ornaments of burning gold clung desperately to elaborate fabrics, pinching the loose folds into tight bunches around his wrists and ankles. A tall, wrapped turban crowned his head, clasped with a golden anchor, concealing within a lifetime of flowing umber curls. Without question, he was a man of advanced vintage; Soran guessed fifty years of life had been whittled onto his skin. Uncounted miles of exquisite adventure were secreted away in bottomless sapphire eyes, gazing curiously upon the strewn bodies of the ignoble intruders. With a precise, sweeping motion, the gilded arrival flicked back his robe. A plethora of black orbs clung to his body, each the size of a human eye and strung together like the pearls of an aristocratic collar. Invoking a rhythmic whistle, the orbs fell from his shadow, engulfing the emaciated King. Clinging to his skin, the spherical payload erupted in a fountain of foul sludge. Within seconds, the substance congealed into a coffin of smoldering muck, entombing the prisoner once more.

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  Suffused by the putrid aroma, Soran recognized the stench from a harrowing incident in his younger years — the stink of acid on flesh.

  With the pageantry of his display concluded the resplendent figure floated down from his perch. His descent was unnaturally slow, as if collecting a favor from the wind itself.

  "Well, that was a close call, wasn't it?" The man chuckled as he watched the steaming fleshy mist collect into the grates above the tank. His accent was thick with the grandeur of earth's eastern kingdoms, something Soran thought long extinguished, a cadence preserved only in centuries-old recordings. Gesa remained motionless. Determined to keep the remaining Lords pinned, she increased the output of her gauntlets to discourage any unwise ventures of bravery.

  "Now, Gesa, is there any need? Have they not suffered enough?" the man asked in a playful tone, feigning concern for the Lord's misfortune. He knew attempting a dialogue was ineffectual, for Gesa hadn't uttered so much as a word in all the years he had known her. Despite this curious fact, it was his kindness to offer her the comfort of occasional conversation.

  A strange malaise permeated the chamber, and Soran felt beads of sweat gather on his forehead. He noticed an odd glow in the pipes, and the liquid sustenance that flowed through them began to boil.

  The life-support?

  His first thought being damage to the facility from the chaotic confrontation. The fabric of his suit clung with an uncomfortable fervor to his slender torso, so much so that he could see his heart beating through his chest. Breaths became labored and shallow as a fresh set of footsteps lurked in the distance.

  "Did I miss the party?" A gruff voice reverberated from behind Gesa's intimidating frame. With eyes wide -- some a little more than others -- an incredulous wave washed over the Lords. Admiral Hail strode amidst the scattering of pinned pirates, his smug grin inflicting more damage than any weapon. He crouched next to Noctei and lifted the patch that covered his eye, exposing a lattice of thick scars, a memento of her traitorous betrayal.

  "Thought you were a good shot?" He asked mockingly, watching the seething rage leak from her mouth like a rabid dog. His face sagged slightly, the artificial bone replacement not granted sufficient time to recover his usual doggish grimace.

  "All of them in one go. Nothing to be sniffed at, I guess." Hail said begrudgingly. He looked down his nose at the pirates, their battered bodies crucified on the chamber floor by Gesa's gauntlets.

  "We waited as long as we could, but things were about to get out of hand." Indra motioned over to the still-steaming tomb containing what little remained of the Pirate King.

  "I see chuckles over there did a number on Volka. Exactly what he deserved." Said Hail

  "Yes, it seems Admiral Gesa was a little 'heavy-handed' with our android friend. Regrettably, he won't be able to stand trial and atone for all the harm he has caused. Though, some semblance of justice was administered at the very least."

  "Agreed. A death fit for a beast." Hail spat as he spoke, his eyes in a fierce battle with Khan, whose trembling body was ready to tear them apart, given a chance. Gesa took a few steps forward, and metallic skittering echoed inside her iron carapace. A platoon of artificial insects poured from her armor. Long segmented bodies with hundreds of legs scurried over to the Lords and made quick work of forming spiked restraints that bound their limbs.

  "Scuttlecuffs, Gesa? A little archaic, even for someone with as peculiar taste as you." Indra questioned as he watched the robotic arthropods constrict the pirate's extremities. Gesa freed her magnetic grip and the Lords fell limp, the restraints more than sufficient to hold them. They writhed in pain, reeling in the aftermath of Gesa's bone-crushing technique. Her gauntlets were indeed instruments of terror and one of the several spine-tingling reasons that tales of her exploits rarely made it into circulation around the colonies. If the iron in your blood wasn't torn straight through your skin, then the impact against her steel palms would surely finish the job. Very rarely was even an ounce of strength employed to fell her enemies. For her, Volka had been nothing more than some much-needed exercise.

  The Admirals converged in the center of the chamber. Surrounding them were the gnarled bodies of the six Lords and two confused bounty hunters huddled in a shadowed recess.

  "What about them?" Asked Hail inquisitively. He knew neither Ranna nor Soran and cared little for introductions.

  "The boy can go, though I imagine he and Mr.Thane will want some form of pardon. After all, they masterminded this plot. Cunningly luring the Pirate Lords here to be apprehended. Am I right, Mr.Thane?" Indra asked through a sly grin. Ranna swallowed his disbelief and returned a nod to the gold-soaked Admiral, knowing words could not convey the true extent of his gratitude. The Admirals were well aware of the part he had played in the Eureka Calamity, a crime that would bring a life sentence in the Hive or perhaps even a cell adjacent to the Pirate King himself. However, the betrayal endured had been far more insidious than any fate they could have condemned him to.

  "Well then, shall we be rid of this godforsaken place?" Indra asked with a smile. Soran found him an unusual man. Even in a circumstance such as this, he could unearth the glimmer of light buried in the darkness. From his careful articulations to the jewel-laden robe, his ostentatious facade was doubtless hiding something, perhaps a buried darkness of his own.

  Gesa forced the Lords to their feet. A lifetime of suffering in shadow had culminated in failure. Volka had promised them a glorious victory over their naval oppressors — a grandiose vision, a path to a heavenly realm where they would sail together eternally. Now, bound, bruised, and broken, they shuffled their way to an existence of back-breaking servitude and humiliation. They were to be branded as failures and traitors by their brethren — the six that killed the Pirate King, the slayers of Talas.