ACT 1 - THE APPRENTICE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Scalding steam jets encroached from all angles. Molten heat choked the final shreds of oxygen. Constricted by a tangle of pipes and valves that hissed, groaned, and spat boiling liquid at the unwelcome intruder. Soran's stomach wound into a tight knot, a familiar pang of reluctance for once again failing to look before leaping. He held the blinking device closer to his face. He couldn't make heads or tails of what he was looking at for his life, squinting to examine the confusing array of dials. Rows of Xeno-cuneiform taunted him with their insolubility; deciphering them was next to impossible. Breathe. He said to himself, rotating one of the dials until he heard a promising click. He paused. Inspecting his surroundings, thoughts of an explosive death ricocheted through his mind. Guysers of steam continued to assault him, the fetid air thickening to a porridge-like consistency. Each gulp felt like a mouthful of moist cotton. Cumulative beads of sweat obscured his vision, and with another heavy breath, he pushed on. Time was running out.

  Flipping the device, he flicked open its rear panel and exposed a snarl of wires. Two of them hung loose, and there was only one available jack. With arms trembling, his eyes shot to the left. A sudden fresh stream of sweltering air engulfed the tight duct as one of the overhead pipes burst, the building pressure proving too much for the archaic plumbing. A fountain of bubbling liquid pulsed from the crack, cascading over the steel-sheathed veins of machinery. With a skillful head tilt, he managed to avoid the boiling fluid. The foam escaped through the grates surrounding him, but the back end of the searing mist was inescapable.

  Each breath became more shallow, and he could feel his concentration slipping. It's always the longer one; it has to be. He grabbed for the wire but tore himself away as a sharp pain shot up his forearm. His muscles spasmed with the unexpected shock. A tendril of exposed pipe had glanced his arm, its white-hot shell delivering a blistering sting. His careless motions would likely birth another scar, adding to his sizable collection of clumsy silver streaks. With a more deliberate movement, he took the wire from the device. He pushed a cautious hand through the tangled mass of hanging cable. Droplets formed on the pipes leaped from their surface, shattering on the boy's soot-stained skin. Distracting twinges tensed his body, hindering his movements. With a shaky hand, he reattached the wire into the open jack. A steady hum from above followed another satisfying click. All that remained was to wait for the fallout.

  The hum petered out, and silence fell in the shadowy duct. The fiery hues faded to grey as the heat from the pipes dispersed. For a brief moment, it wasn't clear if Soran had been successful or made what was to be his final error. One painful second after another ticked by, and still nothing. Without warning, a turbulent crash shook his surroundings. He reached out and grabbed at one of the pipes, receiving yet another piercing scold to his right hand. The ominous hum returned. Emanating from below, it swelled into a crescendo of whirls and hisses. The pipes regained their fiery glow, and the strange symbols on the device above shone a bright, reassuring green.

  "Are you about done in there, kid?" Croaked a deep voice from a few feet away. With a careful backward crawl, Soran avoided the obstacle course of burning instruments. He emerged from the hexagonal entrance hatch to a towering figure. It squinted down at him through several thick layers of magnifying glass and offered an oil-stained hand of assistance. The boy reemerged into the cluttered hanger, the glare of the fluorescent lighting taking a few seconds to adjust to.

  "A tricky one to repair the Juno series. Looks like the Foreman won't be feeding you to the Crater Wurms after all." He chuckled, wiping the sweat and dirt from the young boy's face. Cigar smoke pluming through the cracks in his teeth.

  "What do you say we call it a day, eh Soran? It's time to eat." He rubbed at his extended stomach, hunger growling under his tar-stained vest.

  "I don't remember seeing you do much back there. As I recall, Lanic, it was me who fixed the engine. That also means I stopped us from feeling the Foreman's wrath. So, I expect dinners on you tonight."

  "Ha!" Lanic exclaimed. "I shook it back to life with sturdy Matilda here. I didn't hear so much as a buzz from her before that." He said, stroking his battered wrench as the two made their way out of the engineering bay.

  "You could have killed me! A warning would have been nice, given your partner was still inside," grumbled Soran; this was not the first time Lanic had taken matters into his own hands.

  "Apprentice." Said Lanic, his eyebrows raised in superiority. Soran shrugged and continued to walk, engulfed in the shadow of his master's elongated frame.

  The station was a mass of bustling gangways criss-crossing through its cylindrical structure. Located around halfway up the station was the maintenance level. Its position kept the vacuum traffic away from the engine core at the base and luxury quarters at its peak. The higher-ups avoided associating with the rabble of merchants and hunters who frequented the station. After traversing a mile of oxygen-ferrying pipework, the pair arrived at the Kantina, which was usually pretty swamped with diners at this hour. On this particular evening, only a handful of personnel grazed at the tables of the sizable hall. Soran and Lanic perched on wooden stools before a lengthy conveyor belt, watching the meals crawl past with bulging eyes. Some of the "food" offered was not precisely what Soran considered suitable for human consumption. A general rule he stuck to was if it moves, it stays on the belt. Lanic had no problem gulping down as much as he could get his four hands on. The Ven were not a people who shied away at feeding time. Their voracious appetite was matched only by their dedication to work. Something that looked like soup passed by, and Soran decided to risk it. He skimmed around with his spoon to ensure no surprises lurked within the murky broth.

  Lanic reached deep into his work belt and slid a stack of credit slates across the counter.

  "That's for today's job, kid. It was tough, but you pulled it off. With relative competence this time." Lanic smirked while glugging down whatever creature had been calling his bowl home.

  "This is way more than my share. I only want what I earned." Soran slid two of the slates back over.

  "I don't want you to spend them." He slurped at the tentacle that was attempting to escape his mouth. "The time will come when you'll want to leave this station. You know, to go and explore what's left of the galaxy. It's not much to look at these days, but it beats slaving away your days fixing engines for scraps."

  Lanic looked down at his waist, running his fingers over a small metal insignia tied to his belt. Soran had seen it before but wasn't privy to its significance and knew much better than to ask. Lanic was easy to talk to when it came to work but preferred not to divulge much about personal matters. It had worked fine for the last twenty years, and what wasn't broken needn't be fixed.

  The murky strip lighting in the Kantina crackled with an abrupt flash, and the room plunged into shadow. The pair continued to eat as if nothing had happened, blackouts being a regular occurrence on older stations. With a bright green glow, emergency floor lighting pulsed to life, and an announcement crackled through the loudspeakers. It was the Foreman.

  "All Hyacinth personnel report to Hangar One immediately. Unauthorized access to the station has been detected." Lanic reached out, grabbing Soran by the shoulder and covering him with the prosthetic metal arms on his right side. His grip was tight, and Soran knew this was no ordinary blackout.

  "What's happening?" asked Soran. Without warning, Lanic pulled him to his feet, darting in the direction of the hangar. He had never seen Lanic act like this before. What kind of trouble are we in now? He thought to himself, trying to match Lanic's speed with little success. He looked at his mentor and saw a frightened glare gripping his aged features. It was a look he hadn't experienced and wished never to see again.

  "What's wrong with you, Lanic? Something I should know?" Soran said, unable to mask the concern in his voice.

  "Pirates." The toxic word came bubbling through a reticent grimace. A meager gasp escaped Soran's lips as he wrestled with the gravity of the situation.

  Pirate raids were a severe and bloody business that, up until this moment, he had been fortunate enough to avoid. Lanic, however, was all too familiar; his missing limbs were a constant reminder of that grim encounter.

  Panting and dripping with fear, they arrived at the steel blast doors of Hangar One. Lanic turned, grabbing Soran with all four arms. An intense stare burned onto his face, urgency tugging at the valleys of his creased skin.

  "If you see them, you run. Run until your body gives out. Don't turn back, and don't wait for anyone, especially me." Lanic was never this serious about anything. Soran didn't know how to respond. He returned a nod of confirmation and tried to think of something constructive to say. Before he could reply, the doors yawned with a grinding shriek, the metal clawing across the uneven ground. Without warning, security whisked them inside, and a careless throw filed them into formation with the other staff. Soran looked around at what must have been hundreds of personnel lined up like toy soldiers.

  The Hyacinth was home to many sentient lifeforms, both organic and machine. The majority of the station's denizens struggled to get through each day to earn enough to fill their bellies and make rent for their scanty hovels. Every face was stricken with worry, and for good reason. Never had there been a retelling of a raid that hadn't involved a handful of deaths. Even the lucky few who escaped with their lives sometimes wish they hadn't. Unforgettable horrors were now carved into their minds, a burden they would carry until the end of their days.

  Soran noticed activity on the scaffold used for repairing the larger ships. He clocked the Foreman at its peak, huddled amongst a handful of Navy personnel. They had only recently been stationed on the Hyacinth due to a need for 'increased vigilance,' whatever that meant. The Foreman, like Lanic, was a member of the Ven race and a tough one at that. His fur-coated arms hung like the weathered trunks of ancient trees. The decades of shipbuilding had sculpted his body into an intimidating silhouette. Half-cast in shadow, his face was adorned with oily black eyes that cast a permanent dead stare over the Hyacinth's residents. An effective trait for hurrying along reticent workers, but chased off any friendly conversation that otherwise might have come his way. Soran wasn't fond of Foreman Zyre, to say the least. He berated Lanic constantly without reason, and his master would take it day after day.

  Zyre lunged forward, pressing two hands on the rusted metal of the scaffold. He crossed the other two arms over his chest so there was no mistaking he was in anything but the foulest of moods.

  "Looks like we have an infestation in the lower decks," Zyre grunted and spat on the floor beside him.

  "The Galactic Navy has seen fit to handle the matter themselves. That means you sit tight, and we'll be operating again shortly." As he turned back around, the quiet hum of worried chatter spread throughout the room. "And make sure to keep it down." He yelled, immediately culling the noise into yet another uncomfortable silence.

  Soran followed Lanic to a set of benches that sat under the balustrade of the hanger's upper deck. They needed to remain calm, knowing there was no use in allowing the situation to overwhelm them. The Navy had been keeping the pirate hordes at bay for the better part of twenty years. Having them on board was a relief to everyone. Yet, with so few of their personnel stationed on the Hyacinth and the sustained unease of his mentor, it was difficult for Soran to relax.

  "It's gonna be OK, isn't it, Lanic? The Navy is here now, right?" Soran fumbled with hope woven into his words.

  Lanic looked down, opening and closing the fists of his prosthetic arms. He watched the flecks of rusted metal glint under the spotlights. He looked up and smiled, resting a gentle arm around Soran's shoulders and nodding his head. Even though he knew it was only to make him feel better, seeing the fear depart Lanic's face was comforting. The timeworn engineer retrieved a deck of cards and dealt them onto the bench. Although not much of a player, Soran was happy for the distraction. He picked up his hand and began mulling over all the terrible decisions he was about to make. A naive attempt to cloud the unwelcome thoughts gnawing away in his mind.