A Dark Horizon (Final Dawn, Book 3)

by T W M Ashford

  “Maybe that’s the whole idea.” Klik stared transfixed at a pulsating purple shop sign. “Get us trapped in here so we’ve got no choice but to spend, spend, spend…”

  “We still seem to be in the Welcome Lobby somehow.” Jack studied the surrounding banners and balconies. A sign on the ceiling said Shuttle Port H. “Maybe we ought to just pick a path, wherever we end up. But not there,” he added, pulling Klik back from the shop with the purple sign. “I don’t know what they’re selling, but I can promise you we can’t afford it. Besides, it’s probably tacky.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “May I remind you that Everett Reeves might create a black hole anywhere in the galaxy at any moment, and that our only chance of getting anybody at the Ministry to stop him now rests on us finding out why somebody who works there tried to have me killed?” Jack threw his hands in the air. “This is hardly the time for window shopping!”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” snapped Klik. “I want to stop Charon even more permanently than you do, remember! But I dare say that our best lead hasn’t exactly led us anywhere!”

  A few people stopped their conversations to look over at them. Jack and Klik dropped their eyes and fell into an awkward silence until the hall returned to its usual bustle.

  “How about through there?”

  Klik pointed at a big, round doorway on the balcony across from them. Hundreds of lights twinkled around it like the salt around the rim of a martini glass.

  “There? Why there?” Jack pulled a face. “It looks awful. It looks… it looks like a Christmas tree, for crying out loud!”

  “Exactly! Wait, what’s a Christmas tree?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I think it’s fair to say that the residential floors aren’t found that way.”

  “Look.” Klik grabbed Jack by the shoulders. “We keep going around in circles and getting nowhere. What’s the worst that can happen – we get more lost? And anyway, why do you think they put so many lights around the entrance? Because they want us to go there. Maybe if we try somewhere new, we’ll find one of those blasted information machines!”

  Jack sighed and shrugged. People were like magpies, he supposed.

  “Sure. It’s worth a shot, I guess.”

  They hurried round to the other balcony. The sparkling crystalline bulbs around the door forced Jack to lower his eyes, but the corridor beyond was almost pitch-black. The only light inside came from a white mist that glided across the glass walls. Jack wasn’t sure if he was watching a complex video screen or something ghostly floating on the other side.

  “Look at our feet!” said Klik.

  Each step they took left a little white glow amongst the darkness of the floor. Klik hopped from one bare foot to the other, transfixed by the way the light would burst into existence and then slowly fade away. Every few seconds a thin pulse of the same light would rush down the black hallway to the doors at the other end.

  “Shall we?” said Jack, hurrying her along. Anxiety gnawed away at his gut and he still couldn’t shake the suspicion they were headed someplace they shouldn’t.

  The doors slipped open almost imperceptibly in the darkness. The chamber that lay on the other side wasn’t much brighter, but they certainly weren’t alone anymore.

  Two pits sat below a narrow suspended walkway, and in each pit lay two dozen pods of various different specifications. Automata and aliens alike attended these pods, monitoring vital signs and adjusting doses from nearby chemical tanks. Each snow-white unit had a glass panel through which an upturned face smiled.

  “Are they dead?” whispered Jack.

  “Far from it!” replied the fluffy orb that came floating down the walkway towards them. “Our clients have never felt so alive. Don’t worry. You won’t wake them. I presume you don’t have an appointment.”

  “What’s happening to them?” asked Klik.

  “They’re escaping from reality for a little while,” replied the orb. Jack couldn’t tell if it was a living creature or an automata decorated by a five-year old girl. It glowed a soft and calming pink colour. “Some customers simply want to be put under so they can get some sleep. Others have elaborate fantasies – often illegal or physically impossible in the real world – which we orchestrate for them in their dreams.”

  “But… it’s not real?”

  “Oh, it’s very real – for them. What shapes and defines us, if not our experiences? Those experiences may be defined by chemicals and electrical signals rather than events in our objective reality, but what difference does that make to the individual who lives them? Perhaps the two of you might be interested in a demonstration.”

  “Another time, perhaps.” Jack smiled awkwardly. “We’re in a hurry to reach the residential district, but we’ve managed to get a bit lost. I don’t suppose…”

  “Ah! Your first time in Celest Verte, I see. Well, that’s easy. Head through the doors on the other side, keep going past the oxygen bar and then take any of the elevators you see in front of you. Oh, except the one on the far right as you come out. That’s for maintenance crews only.”

  “Thank you,” said Jack, dragging Klik away.

  “You’re very welcome,” it called after them. “Be sure to swing by next time you’re back here. We don’t just make memories, by the way. We can help you relive old ones, too.”

  They wasted no time in getting through the other doors. A mirrored replica of the earlier pitch-black corridor led them to another blinding, twinkly opening.

  “Oh.” Klik stopped short as they exited. “So this is where all the dead people go.”

  They’d entered some kind of restaurant or cafe, but the only item on the menu appeared to be oxygen. Decrepit aliens sat alone at tables, sucking from large cylinders through gas masks whilst spinning the wheels of arcade games on their data pads. A few younger creatures sat scattered amongst the ancient crowd, but judging by their delirious giggles and titters Jack guessed they enjoyed the purified oxygen for more than simply survival’s sake. A bulky but well-maintained automata tended a counter near the main entrance and sold single-use canisters to passing customers who wanted their oxygen hit to go.

  None of the older patrons looked up from their digital roulette wheels as Jack and Klik edged their way towards the front of the bar. They just kept on sucking air and swiping at their screens like zombies, emotionless to their wins and losses.

  “OxyCan, sir?” the automata asked as they squeezed past the last of the tables. “Only twenty credits for one or thirty-five for a pair. Finer stuff than they pump through the vents around here, I can tell you!”

  Jack ignored it. Outside the bar was a public square around which a host of other small hole-in-the-wall outlets sold food and drink. A large, exotic tree grew from a patch of artificial soil in the centre, its fruit-bearing canopy casting shade over the surrounding brass benches. Decorative fountains spat water in twenty foot jets. Over to Jack’s left, people queued up for single-seat pods that rocketed to other parts of the space station through vacuum tubes. And not far from them…

  “There!” Jack led Klik’s gaze to the row of cylindrical glass elevators on the far side of the square. They looked like the pipes of a church organ. “Finally. Our way out of this maze.”

  “Or into a new maze, you mean.”

  “Three canisters for forty-five credits,” the automata called after them. “Best I can do…”

  They raced to the elevators, only slowing down to avoid a grubby vendor selling knock-off cigarettes. Klik pushed past him to press the call-button. One of the elevators rushed down to their floor only a few seconds later. Nobody else joined them inside the cabin.

  “Residential district,” said Jack, scanning the hundreds of buttons. “Ah. Second from top.”

  The doors slid shut and the elevator began to rise. Through its glass walls they watched floor after floor of the resort sweep by. Aliens dancing behind ruby-curtained windows; rowdy bars swapped out for sophisticated cocktail lounges; sunbathers s
tretched out beside wave pools; augmented reality gaming halls; a floor entirely submerged in saltwater; carnivals and sideshows and rollercoasters; a grand dining hall; a rifle range; a deluxe starship dealership and accompanying spaceport; legions of gamblers around casino tables; the empty hall of a conference centre; a cyberpunk racing circuit; and a few things Jack wasn’t sure he and Klik had any business seeing. They may have inadvertently made a trip through the PleasureDome after all.

  The elevator arrived and the doors slid open.

  “Right.” Klik clapped her hands together. “Let’s go house hunting.”

  19

  The Residential District

  Kapamentis seemed to be built of lobbies, and Celest Verte offered no respite. Jack and Klik stepped out of the elevator into one with marble floors, high red walls, an elegant ruby carpet that ran to a grand reception desk, and golden light fittings that cast everything in a warm, homely glow.

  They’d found the Residential District.

  Jack struggled to believe anyone could want to live in a place like Celest Verte. He understood the need to offer a hotel for those who wished to stay at the resort for days or weeks at a time – God knows there was enough to occupy oneself with – but to live there? Listing a casino as one’s permanent address was something only Howard Hughes types were supposed to do.

  Then again, who was he to criticise people’s life choices? He was penniless, one of only two humans left in existence, and he had only a shoeless insect for company. An apartment? He should be so lucky.

  One of the other elevators arrived beside them. A family of three hulking, rhino-skinned creatures – two adults and one child – disembarked with their luggage, which looked to Jack like a rope-bound sack of plastic cubes. An automatic drone buzzed down the hall towards them, snatched up their belongings and shuttled them over to the reception desk. Bemused, the family hurried after it.

  “Five star service,” muttered Jack, raising an eyebrow.

  “Just think,” said Klik, gazing up at the ceiling as if she could see through it. “This is the bog standard residential area. Imagine what the fancy penthouses are like.”

  “I’m sure they offer the very best views of Kapamentis. Or the best views of its storm clouds, at least.”

  The receptionist was making short work of the queue building up at her desk. All around them, endless streams of aliens either sluggishly returned to their rooms or excitedly left them for the resort. Jack looked down every corridor from which guests were coming and going but he could never see the end, no matter how hard he squinted.

  “This place goes on forever,” he sighed. “It’s like a labyrinth in here. A stuffy labyrinth full of doors we can’t open. We’ll never find Minister Keeto’s apartment.”

  Klik elbowed him in the ribs. The bulky, leathery family was shuffling off in the direction of its room.

  “The queue at reception is gone. Go ask.”

  Jack bit his lip and approached the desk. He couldn’t tell which he found more anxiety-inducing: the ticking clock behind Everett’s black hole, or having to stop and ask for help.

  “Hello,” said the preoccupied receptionist. She had two eyes on stalks; Jack didn’t know which one he was supposed to look at, because neither seemed all that interested in him. “My name is Errepir. How may I help you today?”

  “Well, I need—”

  “Do you have a booking?” Both of her eyes remained focussed on the monitor on her desk. “Would you like to book a room?”

  Jack waited to see if there was any more questions coming. There weren’t.

  “We’re here to see a friend, actually. The problem is, I’ve only gone and bloody forgotten her room number!” He laughed unconvincingly. “I don’t suppose you could remind me, could you? It’s Minister Keeto. Llori Keeto. I’m having trouble getting hold of her.”

  One of the receptionist’s eye-stalks turned to scrutinise him.

  “You’re not Minister Keeto?”

  “Erm, no. I am not.”

  “Then I can’t tell you which apartment Minister Keeto is staying in,” she replied, turning both eyes back to her screen. “Not that I’m confirming we have a Keeto staying here, of course. Client confidentiality. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. The thing is, she’s expecting me, and if—”

  “And if she’s expecting you, she’ll see that you’re running late and try to get hold of you, at which point you can ask her for her apartment number. If she’s staying here, that is. Anything else?”

  Jack ground his teeth as he watched her type.

  “No. That’s it, thanks.”

  The next person in the queue stepped forward and bumped him out of the way. Casting a grumpy look over his bruised shoulder and muttering to himself, Jack regrouped with Klik further down the corridor.

  “That went about as well as I expected,” he said, shaking his head. “How the hell are we supposed to find Keeto’s apartment? There must be thousands of rooms here. We can’t knock on the door of every one of them.”

  “You’re sure the Crimson Crosshairs didn’t mention a specific number or anything?”

  “Nope. Just ‘Celest Verte’ and nothing else. I guess I wouldn’t bother to list the specific room number of a hotel if I was filling out a form either, just the address of the hotel itself.”

  They both ducked as something rushed down the corridor above their heads. A tiny robot whizzed along a rail set inconspicuously into the ceiling, stopped above one of the many doors, and deposited something into what looked like a mailbox set into the wall beside it. Then the robot rocketed off towards the next door on its list.

  Jack and Klik glanced at each other, then ran over to the compartment. The panel opened easily. It was full of semi-holographic advertising slips similar to the one Jack had been given by Nai, the Crimson Crosshairs’ AI.

  “Ronda Tai, Ronda Tai, Ronda Tai.” Jack grew excited as he rifled through them. “Look! They’re all customised and addressed to the same person. And 6021 – the same number as on the door.” His eyes grew wide. “Jesus, that’s a lot of doors.”

  “What does this mean?” Now it was Klik’s turn to get excited. “That these adverts are all tailored and shipped out from some depot that has every resident’s address listed? Because if that’s the case, then this place probably has Minister Keeto’s apartment number too… right?”

  “Right!” Jack’s premature smile sagged. “But there are miles of corridors. How on earth would we find it?”

  Klik laughed and pointed at the ceiling.

  “Easy! We just follow the rails backwards.”

  Easy was not how Jack would have put it.

  The corridors weren’t just endless – aside from the numbers on the doors, they were almost identical, too. And “following the rails backwards,” as Klik put it, was a lot simpler said than done. It wasn’t as if they had stripy yellow and black arrows painted on them. In fact, Jack wasn’t convinced the rails were even a one-way system at all.

  Yet, after about twenty minutes of abrupt u-turns and borderline nervous breakdowns from Jack, they found it – a single metal door that stood out from all the rest. There were two small slots above the door through which mail-bots were dispatched and received.

  “Please tell me it isn’t locked,” Jack groaned.

  Klik gave it a nervous push and, much to their relief, it swung open… albeit a tad reluctantly, as if nobody had come to check on the mail-bots in quite some time. They cautiously peered inside.

  It was chaos. An organised sort of chaos, but still – chaos. Rails criss-crossed around the high ceiling like a plate of steel spaghetti, merging with one another and running out through a dozen holes in the walls (not counting the two above the door). The walls themselves were lined with chunky black servers that printed advertising slips in a continuous stream, which fell into wheeled baskets that then frantically drove to the other side of the room where they were bundled together in a pneumatic blur by a mult
i-armed sorting machine. And one by one the mail-bots would blindly grab the next package of holographic video flyers and rocket off in the direction of their corresponding door. Every sound was either a clunk, whir or grind.

  Jack was pretty sure all the robots were automated rather than automata. There was little point in trying to convince them to help.

  “What?” he asked Klik, struggling to hear her over the noise.

  “I said it’s very loud,” she shouted, her mouth an inch away from his ear. “This isn’t quite what I imagined it would be. There aren’t any computer terminals. What should we do now?”

  Jack clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. He pointed towards the back of the room.

  “Over there – the sorting machine. There are tonnes of packages behind it. Maybe one of them will be for Keeto.”

  “You really think there’ll be any for her?” Klik yelled.

  “No, but you’re welcome to stand by the printers and check every single slip as they come out if you’d prefer.”

  They crossed the room as quickly as they could, ducking under the rails and stepping tentatively as the little baskets wheeled around their feet. They gave the spinning sorting machine as wide a berth as they could, though this did result in Jack banging his head against a passing mail-bot and cursing.

  “All right.” Jack rubbed the back of his head. “You take that pile and I’ll start digging through this one. And mind your fingers. These mail-bots seem pretty grabby.”

  The advertisement slips were wrapped together with a thin and translucent band of plastic. Jack started grabbing them at random and then throwing them aside when he didn’t recognise the name printed on them. A mail-bot came to retrieve one and had immense difficulty prising it out of Jack’s hands.

  “There must be hundreds of people’s tickets here,” Klik yelled after about ten minutes of frustrated digging. “Thousands, maybe. We’ll never find it.”