Jack’s panic subsided… marginally. His spacesuit was cracked and smoking where the plasma bolt had hit, but it hadn’t burned through. He doubted it would survive a second shot, though. Neither would he, for that matter.
Klik gave the back of the generator a hard punch.
“What the hell are we gonna do, Jack?” She held up her forearms to show him her bone-blades. “These really aren’t much good from a distance, you know.”
Jack frantically looked around for a weapon besides his own pistol. He spotted a plasma rifle lying on the floor a couple of metres away from them, not far from the clawed hand of the Raklett Jack had shot in the back of the head. A couple metres was a long way to walk in a firefight, however.
“Do you reckon you can get to that?” he yelled over the sound of metal buckling and electronics short-circuiting. “If I cover you, I mean.”
Klik bit the corner of her lip. Her mandibles twitched nervously. Then she sighed and retracted her bone-blades.
“I guess?”
“Don’t worry,” he shouted, trying to hide the smouldering crater in his spacesuit. “They’re not usually that good a shot.”
Klik got into a sprinting position while Jack prepared to pop up above the generator and return fire. They waited for a break in the Rakletts’ attack. The rumble of gunfire quietened.
“Now!” shouted Jack.
Klik leapt for the plasma rifle. Jack stood up and began shooting indiscriminately in the direction of the guards. He was fortunate a few of them were standing so close together. Out of the six or seven shots he fired, at least two were fatal. The Rakletts quickly turned their attention away from the insectoid darting out from cover and back towards the human picking them off from behind it.
Jack ducked down just as a fresh stream of gunfire peppered the generator. Klik slid back into cover with the bloody plasma rifle in hand. She aimed at the wall behind them and pulled the trigger. It left a charred patch about a foot in diameter.
“Just checking I remember how to use it,” she replied.
“It’s mostly just aim and shoot,” said Jack, sarcastically. “On the count of three?”
“Why not? It’s as good as any other number.”
“One… two…”
But Jack’s countdown never got to three. His brow furrowed and his eyes grew slowly more fearful.
“Why aren’t they shooting at us anymore?” he whispered.
Slowly and with their guns at the ready, they poked their heads out of cover.
The four surviving Rakletts were hurrying back out the door through which they arrived. One of them was limping. There appeared to be a more urgent skirmish taking place in the next hall over, one presumably instigated by the automata 11-P-53 mentioned sneaking on board. The door locked shut behind them with a slam.
“Why are they running away, Jack?” Klik laughed nervously. “Did we… Did we beat them?”
A slow and heavy thudding shook the floor.
“I don’t think they’re running away,” said Jack, turning to face the industrial bay doors on the wall directly opposite the window, “so much as they’re making room.”
The doors grunted open.
Something monstrous came grunting out.
A gangly automata sprinted up to 11-P-53 at the front of the Lexi’s bridge. The pistons in its pencil-thin legs wheezed from the exertion.
“We’ve already lost half of our fighters,” it reported, barely audible above the sirens, “and the Lexi is rapidly losing pressure from a direct hit on her underside. We’ve closed off the affected area and the rest of her shields should hold a little while longer, but…”
“But we should think about retreating,” 11-P-53 finished. It nodded. “Thank you, YC-14.”
Brackitt looked up from his terminal as the other automata sprinted back to its post.
“What are your orders, Captain?”
“We can’t just give up,” said 11-P-53, tearing itself away from the ship’s viewing window. “We’ve already run away from the Iris once before.”
Another explosion from a Raklett torpedo rocked the Lexi’s shields.
“I admire the sentiment,” replied Brackitt, “but we’re not much use to Jack and the others if we’re dead.”
11-P-53 turned to face the war being waged outside. There were noticeably more Raklett fighters left than automata ships – at least ones outfitted with armaments, anyhow. Grey shrapnel swam across the battlefield like a snow flurry at dusk. 11-P-53 watched in awe as the Adeona dived through the wreckage of a frigate, both of her rotary cannons spinning at full power, and decimated a pair of Raklett bombers on an attack run towards the Lexi.
Could they still win this?
Had that ever been a possibility?
“No.” 11-P-53 shook its head. “We still have friends down on that ring trying to stop Charon. We’re not leaving anyone behind.”
“If we all die,” Brackitt pleaded, “there’ll be nobody left to get them back off it after! They’re already on their own, and we can’t hold the Rakletts off any longer. There’s nothing more we can do.”
11-P-53 stayed silent, trying to process everything. Everybody in the bridge was waiting for an answer. It could guess which one they all hoped it would be.
“Fine,” it eventually said, nodding solemnly. “Turn the Lexi around and prepare to jump into subspace.”
Brackitt nodded. 11-P-53 looked out at the Iris and all the automata still trapped inside.
“I’m sorry,” it added quietly.
The Lexi immediately started turning away from the battle. A message to follow her lead was sent out to all of the sentient and piloted ships.
“Wait!” 11-P-53 held up a hand as it spotted something on the far side of Charon’s space station. “What is that?”
A nebulous cloud of gemstones was gliding into the system. They flashed gold as they caught the white dwarf’s starlight. Even some of the Raklett ships seemed to slow their attack to take notice.
“Bolts alive,” said a panicked Brackitt. “Those aren’t more Raklett reinforcements, are they?”
“No – they’re reinforcements for us.” Its mood brightened, 11-P-53 turned and addressed all the automata in the bridge. “Everyone, get back to your stations. We’re not going anywhere.”
The lumbering creature rose to full height as it stepped through the industrial bay doors.
It was a Raklett… or it had been once upon a time, at least. Unlike the others, this one stood eleven or twelve feet tall. Sheets of metal had been strapped and bolted across its mammoth body like armour so only narrow slivers of flesh and fur remained. A pneumatic exoskeleton ran along its arms and legs to help it support the weight. At least a dozen gold rings had been pierced through its muzzle. In each clawed hand it carried a gnarly chain mace the size of an iron beachball.
“Good grief,” cried a horrified Jack. “How the hell are we supposed to get past that?”
“I’ve got a suggestion,” said Klik, standing up from behind the generator.
She fired a single bolt from her plasma rifle. Normally that would be enough to turn any Raklett’s head into a matted clump of bloody hair, but not this one. It tucked in its chin and the plasma bolt burned harmlessly against the metal plate welded over its skull. It looked up and grinned while the armour was still smoking.
Klik looked at Jack with frightened eyes.
“Nope. All out of ideas.”
It stomped towards their hiding spot, swinging one of its chains around its head. Jack and Klik leapt towards the viewing window just as the mace smashed through the generator. It had been broken and spitting sparks before. Now, nothing remained save for a bunch of rivets and cables sticking out from the floor.
They picked themselves up and backed away from the Raklett. Klik fired another shot – at the inside of its arm, this time – and once again the creature paused so that its metal plates could absorb the hit.
“Keep shooting at it,” said Jack, running over to the
door through which the other Rakletts had retreated. “Buy me a little time!”
That sure sounded fine to Klik. She fired her plasma rifle at the giant Raklett as fast as she could squeeze the trigger. It was sluggish, not even semi-automatic, but the time between each shot was short enough that the Raklett could only advance a few feet before having to stop and guard its vulnerable spots again.
“Come on,” Jack groaned, trying to unlock the door. The screen flashed red no matter what he pressed on the security pad. He wished Tuner was with him. Right now, any automata with a digital interface would do.
Speaking of which, the voice of 11-P-53 suddenly burst through his helmet’s comm system.
“Friends of yours, I assume?”
Jack scrunched up his face.
“Sorry, what are you on about?”
“The golden fleet tearing through the Raklett attack ships. Haven’t you been paying attention?”
Jack glanced out the viewing window and instantly recognised the elegant, knifelike battlecruisers lurking on the edge of battle. Nimble attack ships were cutting through the enemy forces with high-precision lasers.
He shook his head in disbelief. Of all the races in the galaxy, the Mansa Empire had answered his call for help. Or maybe they’d just come to cover up their mistakes instead.
“Sorry.” He went back to collecting frustrating responses from the security pad. “A tiny bit preoccupied right now.”
“Running out of room here, Jack!” shouted Klik. Both her voice and her gunshots sounded worryingly close behind him.
“What?” replied 11-P-53, surprised. “Why aren’t you at the command chamber yet?” Jack heard the whirring of computers on the other end. “Right, I’ve got your position. Help’s on the way.”
“Much obliged,” said Jack as he punched a fresh passcode into the pad.
“Move!” Klik screamed, pulling him away from the door.
A second later, one of the Raklett’s maces demolished the security pad. A small crater remained in the wall where it had been. The Raklett dragged that mace back across the floor by its chain while it swung the other in circles around its head.
“Jesus Christ,” Jack gasped. “We should be grateful this freak wasn’t outfitted with rocket launchers. I guess this is what you get when you leave Rakletts to arm themselves.”
The giant Raklett released the second mace in a wide, low arc. Klik leapt spritely over the incoming chain. Jack wasn’t quite so lucky.
His boot got caught on one of its links and he slammed down hard on the metal floor. Even though his helmet took the brunt of the impact, a terrible, high-pitched ringing echoed through his head. His ribs, healed by the Ministry physician only hours earlier, suddenly felt a bit broken again.
He rolled onto his back and discovered the armoured Raklett towering over him. It grinned. Thick drool dripped onto Jack’s visor. Klik shot at the creature from the other side of the hall with her plasma rifle, but none of the bolts got through the cracks in its metal plates. Jack reached down for his pistol but found it missing. He must have dropped it back when he ran out from behind the generator.
The Raklett raised an arm high into the air, ready for the downward swing that would splatter Jack once and for all.
Suddenly a large section of the wall beside them exploded outwards, staggering the beast. Jack lay on the floor and watched as an enormous, midnight blue mech climbed confidently through the hole. It grabbed the Raklett’s raised arm and twisted it back so hard the bone snapped. The Raklett howled and tried to swing its other mace around, but the mech was too quick. It punched the Raklett in the head over and over again until both its skull and its makeshift metal helmet buckled inwards. When it finally let go, the Raklett collapsed into a large but lifeless heap.
Then the mech swung a fist towards Jack.
Jack shut his eyes and waited to become a pulp. After a couple of relatively painless seconds passed, he cautiously opened them again.
The mech’s hand was open. It was offering to help him up.
“What’s up, Jack?” it said. “Don’t you recognise me?”
No, he didn’t. He’d never seen anything like the machine before in his life. It was over twice Jack’s size, with a rotund, almost spherical torso and arms powerful enough to punch through… well, to punch through a reinforced space station wall. One of them doubled as a plasma cannon. The short, narrow row of LED lights near the top of its body flashed expectantly.
But its voice… There was no mistaking it. Jack would have recognised that voice anywhere in the galaxy.
“Tuner? Is that you?”
“Of course! Who else would I be?” The automata yanked Jack onto his feet. “Hello there, Klik!”
Klik jumped. She’d been approaching the mech slowly from behind with her rifle raised.
“I guess I have changed a bit since we were back on Krett,” said the robot, sheepishly inspecting its limbs. “Purely cosmetic differences, I’ll have you know.”
A loose panel was kicked out from the hole in the wall. Rogan dropped down after it.
“Jack!” She ran across the hall towards him. “11-P-53 sent us to help. Thank goodness you’re still alive!”
“All thanks to this big guy here,” said Jack, awkwardly gesturing to the hulking automata. “Are you… Is he really…?”
Rogan smiled warmly.
“Oh, it’s Tuner all right.”
“Oh my God.” Jack threw his arms around Tuner’s bulky midriff. “I thought I’d lost you, buddy. I am so, so sorry.”
Tuner tilted his entire body the same way he used to tilt his tiny, cassette-shaped head.
“What for?”
“For getting you killed. Or broken. Or whatever happened to you before. For forcing you to come along on my stupid, selfish crusade.”
“Don’t be silly, Jack.” He patted him on the head. “You didn’t force me to do anything. You’re my friend. I’ll always be by your side.”
Tuner paused.
“Unless you do something that gets me crushed again, of course. Then I’m afraid I can’t really be of much use to anyone.”
“I hate to break up the reunion,” said Rogan, “but we really do need to get moving. Sorry.”
“No, you’re right.” Jack gave Tuner an affectionate slap on the side and reopened communications with the Lexi. “Hey, 11-P-53. Rogan and Tuner just got here. We’re headed for the command chamber now.”
No reply.
“11-P-53? Captain?”
“Oh no.” Klik shuffled over to the viewing window, her rifle hanging loose by her side. “Guys, look.”
The Lexi’s thrusters were off. Great plumes of smoke billowed out from long gashes along her flank, the fires inside stoked by the rush of escaping oxygen. She was listing to one side. The Mansa armada had wiped out most of the Raklett attack ships, but the few that were left seemed to be focussing their suicidal efforts on the one battlecruiser they still had any chance against.
“Why isn’t she firing back?” asked Tuner, pressing a large, mechanical palm against the glass.
Rogan put a sympathetic hand on his arm, but said nothing.
“Brackitt,” said Jack. His fleeting happiness at being reunited with Tuner dissipated. He didn’t know what else to say except their names. “11-P-53.”
They all watched in silence as a final Raklett ship hurtled towards the Lexi’s bridge. Two colossal anti-spacecraft cannons stood in its way, but neither so much as twitched in its direction. The Lexi’s artillery defence system was no more online than her shields.
It crashed through the Lexi’s bridge in a fiery rage. Everyone but Tuner turned and looked away.
“No,” the big guy whispered. “No, it can’t be. We were supposed to win.”
“I’m sorry, guys,” said Klik, looking down at the floor. “Seriously. I really am.”
Rogan pulled a despondent Tuner away from the window, then addressed all three of them together.
“Brackitt and 11-P-53 re
cognised how important this fight could be for automata across the whole galaxy.” Her hands balled into fists as she spoke. “They knew the risk, and yet they both voted to come here and stop Charon anyway. But that’s what we all came here to do, right? Stop Charon?”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“Right.” Rogan picked Gaskan’s pistol up off the floor and offered it back to Jack. “So let’s go make sure their deaths weren’t in vain.”
26
Styx and Stones
Everett Reeves stood in the command chamber and watched as his grand experiment neared its conclusion. Finally. For almost thirty years he had fought without rest, without respite – first to survive, and then for the opportunity to build the Iris. For almost thirty years he had lived with the possibility that humanity was long dead, having failed to escape its murderous sun thousands of years prior.
Now he stood on the precipice of mankind’s resurrection. Soon he would be standing on the very edge of time and space itself.
He would save humanity, or he would join them in death trying.
The command chamber was little more than a glass dome bulging out from inside the ring of the Iris. The plasma beam being fired into the Garnidian sun lay directly below it. Near its front was a lone computer terminal, though it functioned as little more than a screen on which Everett could monitor the operation’s progress.
The conditions were perfect. Everything matched his specifications. When the star reached critical mass it would collapse into a black hole, and the antigravitational stabilisers positioned around the inside of the Iris would catch and contain it long enough for him to pilot a ship through the resulting wormhole and return with a fleet of Arks. Even if the wormhole closed behind him, he’d be back on Earth again. He could pass on the secret of faster-than-light travel and humanity would live on in another epoch entirely.
A Dark Horizon (Final Dawn, Book 3) Page 19
