A Dark Horizon (Final Dawn, Book 3)

by T W M Ashford

  Had he made the right choice?

  Sure, Everett had done terrible things in the hope of saving humanity. Unforgivable things. But Jack understood why Everett had done them far better than he could explain why he’d fought so hard against them. All he’d wanted the past few months was a way to get back home to Amber. Everett had offered him one, and he didn’t just refuse it – he destroyed it.

  And now he would never see her again.

  He remembered one of the last things Amber had said to him before he kissed her goodbye and set off to the lab that fateful evening.

  You’ve got a good heart, Jack. You’re always trying to do the right thing.

  She was wrong. Deep down, he didn’t have a good heart. He had a pretty selfish one, usually. Yes, he’d been willing to risk his life to get her a ticket on board the Final Dawn. He loved her. Always would. But even now, Jack couldn’t say for sure he wouldn’t do something immensely stupid and calamitous if it meant seeing her one last time.

  No, he hadn’t stopped Everett and given up on ever going home just because he wanted to save the galaxy – though in fairness, that much was true. He did it because it’s what he knew Amber would have wanted him to do. “One life is never worth a million,” is what she would have told him. “Try to look for where you can do the most good right now,” or something insightful like that. She always had been his moral compass. Even in death, Jack couldn’t see that changing any time soon.

  Finally, the tears started to flow.

  Don’t turn this Everett thing into another one of your crusades, he remembered the projected-memory version of Amber saying. There’s a whole universe in which to find yourself.

  Now he understood what she meant. With his self-imposed goal of stopping Everett complete, he was left hollow save for one burning question.

  What was he supposed to do now?

  27

  Diplomacy

  Numerous ships docked with the Iris. The Adeona, much to everyone’s relief, was one of them. The golden flagship of the Mansa armada was another, as was a bleak, industrial frigate sent by the Ministry. It had arrived about ten minutes after the battle was already won.

  Too little too late, as per usual.

  Everyone agreed to gather in an unused briefing room on board the Ministry’s ship to discuss what would happen next. It was an eclectic group, and the briefing room provided neutral ground. Grand Minister Zsal was present along with a few guards and junior ministers. The dark hisses from her breathing apparatus dominated the tense ambience of the room. Jack was there, still a little sad and subdued. Rogan and Tuner stood as equals at the table beside him. So did Klik, though not half as confidently. She had no mask to hide behind, and already the ministers were giving her curious looks.

  Unsurprisingly, Everett Reeves was not amongst their number. His arm had been cauterised and treated with the same efficiency Jack’s ribs had received back in the Ministry headquarters. Afterwards, a Ministry task force had quickly taken him to a secure infirmary elsewhere on the ship. There he would be prepared for punishment… whatever that turned out to be.

  The Mansa delegation was, predictably, the last to show up. They arrived fifteen minutes after everyone else with zero apologies and their usual air of superiority.

  Jack felt his bowels turn to water as he recognised the military leader marching into the room. He could only imagine how Klik was feeling. They’d both been keen for her to return to the Adeona, but Grand Minister Zsal had insisted that everybody involved be present.

  Scara Li Ka took his place around the round, featureless table and scanned each of the other representatives in turn. His fleshy, incredulous eyebrows twitched furiously when he reached Klik, and his mouth snaked into a sneer… but he said nothing. For now.

  “Are we all here?” asked Grand Minister Zsal. “Should we be expecting anybody else?”

  Jack looked across at the empty space on the other side of the table. 11-P-53 and Brackitt had led the automata charge against the Raklett fleet and paid for it with their lives. They ought to have been standing there alongside everyone else. At least the ship carrying Kansas and Doc had made it back to Detri in one piece.

  “This is it,” he said, nodding curtly.

  “Very well,” she continued. “Then let me begin by thanking Jack Bishop for alerting us to Charon’s intentions. If it hadn’t been for him, none of us would have known to come here.”

  “If you’d taken action back when I addressed the Ministerium, perhaps it would never have come this far.” Jack tried to control his temper as best he could. “If the Ministry had answered my emergency broadcast earlier like the Mansa did, the automata wouldn’t have suffered such heavy losses.”

  Scara Li Ka harrumphed as if Jack had made a joke.

  “So what? You appear to be rich enough to own a whole fleet of them. I’m sure you can buy some more.”

  “Own?” Rogan stepped towards Scara Li Ka. His armed entourage collectively stiffened. “Jack doesn’t own us. The automata who sacrificed their lives to stop Charon today were free. Nobody made them come and fight. They did so because they believed it was the right thing to do. They believed it would encourage people to reconsider the rights of automata elsewhere in the galaxy. My friends had a lot more character than you ever will, Ka. We’re individuals. We can’t be replaced any more than you can.”

  “The rights of automata,” he mocked. “You’re tools. Why don’t we just grant our spears and skip drives their freedom while we’re at it?”

  But Grand Minister Zsal wasn’t laughing. Admittedly, Jack had zero evidence to suggest her species even could laugh… but there was something in the way she stared at Rogan that suggested to him she was taking Rogan’s idea of a free automata very seriously indeed.

  “There are billions of automata in registered servitude,” she finally said. “Trillions, maybe. You are manufactured, not born. I’m sure you understand that suddenly giving each and every one of them the same rights as the rest of us would be… problematic. There would be widespread disruption across the galaxy. Some members of the council would rebel. Entire industries would collapse under the new legislation.”

  “That,” said the new, hulking version of Tuner, “sounds like your problem.”

  Grand Minister Zsal fixed Tuner with the same expressionless, metallic stare she always wore. There was no indication of when she would speak again. The tension around the table rose.

  “Elect a representative to join the Ministry,” she eventually said, matter-of-factly. “Change is incremental. It takes time.”

  Jack was astonished. Zsal was actually suggesting an automata join the ranks of the Ministerium council. That was a huge and controversial step, even if it did fall short of the immediate and widespread freedom the automata wanted.

  “An automata minister?” Scara Li Ka was furious. “Are you—”

  Zsal rose one of her four hands and the Mansa general stopped mid-sentence.

  “Not your concern. And besides, it’s not what we’re gathered here to discuss. Can Garnidia be saved?”

  “Yes.” Scara Li Ka looked at Rogan begrudgingly. “The robots did an adequate job of reversing the plasma beam. Only time will tell if there’s been any lasting damage to the star, but we believe we can use the Iris to revert the system back to how it was. If you hand over custody of the prisoner, that is.”

  “Charon? Absolutely not. He was captured in Ministry-controlled space, not Mansa territory. The council will decide his fate.”

  “May I remind you,” spat Scara Li Ka, barely controlling his voice, “that this criminal – with him as an accomplice,” he added, pointing at Jack, “stole a Solar Core from one of our cargo ships.”

  “I hardly think that property theft compares to illegally harvesting a star from one populated system and using it to create a black hole in another, do you?” Zsal pressed all four of her hands down on the table and leaned towards him. “Especially when Solar Cores are a protected technology that the E
mpire has an obligation to keep from falling into the wrong hands. I would have thought you’d be all too eager to keep that particular indiscretion from going public.”

  Scara Li Ka glared at Jack in disgust… then turned back to Grand Minister Zsal and flashed her a sycophantic smile.

  “Of course…”

  “Good.” Zsal stood up straight and addressed everyone as a whole. “Then our business together—”

  “…and we shall be taking our slave with us when we leave.”

  At first, Jack was confused. What slave? It was only when he casually glanced to his right and saw Klik’s terror-stricken face that he realised to whom Scara Li Ka had been referring.

  “No… no I won’t go,” she said, backing away towards the corner of the room. “You can’t make me…”

  Klik extended both of her bone-blades. The Mansa contingency brandished their plasma-charged pikes and the Ministry task force raised their rifles. Jack, Rogan and Tuner formed a semi-circular shield in front of her.

  “Absolutely not,” said Jack, suddenly aware that their group was the only one without weapons. “Klik’s one of us. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Yes, she is.” Scara Li Ka spoke slowly and patronisingly. “The entire Krettelian race is under sole ownership of the Mansa Empire. Paryx’s planetary laws are still recognised by the Ministry, correct?”

  Grand Minister Zsal didn’t deny it.

  “That Krettelian is our property and you stole it,” Ka continued. “We’re a merciful people, Jack Bishop. We won’t press charges… but only if we get our slave back.”

  “Please don’t let them take me,” Klik whimpered.

  Everybody started shouting. Rogan, Tuner, the Mansa – Jack found it impossible to separate one voice from another. Then Zsal slammed her metallic hands down on the table again. Everybody shut up. A few Mansa even lowered their weapons.

  She turned to face Klik.

  “That is Mansa law,” she said, a complete lack of emotion in her voice. “The Ministerium of Cultured Planets forbids slavery, but the Empire is entitled to introduce and enforce whatever laws it likes within its own territories. Like it or not, we have to respect that. It’s the only way to keep peace between all the races in the galaxy.”

  Scara Li Ka puffed himself up.

  “However,” Zsal added, turning back to the Mansa general. “We aren’t in Mansa territory… are we?”

  “What? No, of course not, but—”

  “And I assume you’re only too aware that slavery, even between the Mansa and Krettelians, is illegal in Ministry space, not to mention under many other species’ local laws? That is why the Mansa Empire never puts Krettelians into service on board its battlecruisers, and why its slave transporters and cargo ships only ever skip between Mansa systems, is it not?”

  Scara Li Ka scoffed indignantly.

  “I’ll have your head for this, Zsal,” he grumbled. “You’ve always stood against the Mansa’s demands.”

  “Nonsense. It would simply be unlawful of me to let you take the poor girl into servitude, that’s all. If you don’t like it, take it up with your council representative.”

  “You can bet that I will,” he snapped. Ka raised his hand and the ceremonial guards around him stood to attention. “Is that all?”

  “I believe we’re done here. Your cooperation is much appreciated as always, General.”

  Scara Li Ka did not answer. He turned brusquely and left the briefing room via the same doors through which he came. The guards marched after him in a tide of gold and red robes.

  An awkward silence hung in the cold air.

  “Thank you, Grand Minister,” said Klik, anxiously creeping out from behind Jack, Rogan and Tuner. Her blades were hidden again.

  “Don’t thank me,” Grand Minister Zsal replied. “I didn’t help you because I’m nice or because it was the right thing to do. My job isn’t to make everybody happy – it’s to stop the thousands of species out here from tearing each other apart. I did it because it’s the law, and the technicality of law is all that keeps the galaxy from falling into chaos. If we were on Paryx, you’d already be in a cage by now.”

  “Oh.”

  The Grand Minister went to leave, then paused. When she turned back to face Klik, she lowered her voice so the rest of her entourage couldn’t hear her speak.

  “Though just between you and me, it does give me great satisfaction to watch that old sand-shark squirm.”

  She nodded to the task force and they marched out of the briefing room. The crew of the Adeona were left standing on their own.

  “So… that’s it?” Tuner’s entire body sagged. “It’s all over?”

  “I know,” said Rogan. “It feels like we’re missing something, doesn’t it? Like we should be doing something… more.”

  “Maybe it’s not something we’re missing,” Klik said sheepishly, “but someone.”

  Everybody went quiet as they thought of Brackitt. Jack bowed his head and sighed. Brackitt had been a grumpy little git sometimes, but he’d also been a friend.

  “Come on,” he said, patting Klik on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to the Adeona before the Mansa find a loophole and put us all in chains.”

  “But where will we go?” asked Tuner.

  “Nowhere, I guess.” Jack shrugged. “For the first time, none of us have anywhere we need to be.”

  28

  The Transmission

  Rogan, Tuner, Jack and Klik sat in a circle around a wooden crate in the middle of the Adeona’s cargo bay. They would have done it in the ship’s recreation room instead, but Tuner’s chunky new shell meant he no longer fit up the stairs.

  Jack was teaching everyone how to play poker.

  Trying to, at least.

  “What did you say this game was called?” asked Tuner, looking at his pair of homemade cards. Jack had cut out a set from an old box in the galley.

  “Texas Hold ’em,” Jack replied. “Now, it’s a pretty simple game to play once you know how it works. These three cards down on the table are called the flop—”

  “Do I have to hold them?” asked Klik, leaning back on her stool and eyeing her cards with an expression halfway between boredom and disappointment. “Like, all the time?”

  “What? No, of course not. You can put them on the table if you want, just make sure—”

  Klik put them down face up. She had a pair of threes.

  “—nobody else can see what you’ve got.”

  “Oh.” Klik pulled her cards back out of sight at a glacial pace. “Well, are they any good? I feel like they’re very good.”

  “Erm, no. They’re not great. It really depends on what other cards get added to the table, though.”

  Frustrated, Klik threw her cards back on the crate again.

  “I don’t think I want to play this game anymore. What do you even win, anyway?”

  Jack sighed.

  “Money, usually. Like credits.”

  “But we don’t have any credits,” said Rogan. Jack got the impression she was being deliberately obtuse to wind him up. “Well, you do. Barely. But not us poor, penniless automata.”

  “Hmm.” Tuner studied his cards intensely. They looked tiny in his giant hands. “What cards do you have, Jack?”

  “I just told you,” he groaned. “You’re supposed to keep them a secret until the end.”

  “Jack is holding a two and a seven,” said the cheerful voice of the Adeona. “I’m not sure what the squiggles next to the numbers are supposed to mean.”

  “For crying out loud,” sighed Jack, dropping his cards. “Whose side are you on, Adi?”

  “Hey!” Klik picked up Jack’s cards. “These look even worse than mine!”

  “You do realise how pointless it is teaching a game of chance to a computer, right?” Rogan gave him a pitying look. “You’ll never win another round ever again.”

  “That’s it.” Jack threw his hands in the air in mock surrender. “I give up.”

 
All he wanted was to teach them the tiniest bit of humanity’s history. They needed something to whittle away the time spent tearing through subspace. Sure, his data pad contained a thousand libraries’ worth of knowledge to scroll through… but it was hardly an easy beach read. Life on a repurposed mining vessel could get so damn boring when you weren’t hunting down galactic terrorists.

  They weren’t even going anywhere right now. The Adeona was just floating in empty space, outside of any particular star system. She seemed perfectly happy to laze about following the battle for the Iris. The only damage she had was superficial. And it wasn’t as if they were low on fuel or anything – they simply didn’t have anywhere in particular to go.

  Rogan and Tuner were in no great rush to return to Detri, especially if there was even the slightest chance a Ministry or Mansa ship might track them there. Having never set foot anywhere except Paryx and Kapamentis, and relishing her newly (and officially) granted freedom, Klik wanted to set out and explore the entire universe. And Jack didn’t know what he wanted to do, let alone where he wanted to do it. He was lost without the goal of finding Earth to guide him.

  Having seen it once, he had no great desire to go back.

  “Perhaps we ought to start with something a little simpler,” said Rogan, laying a hand on top of Jack’s.

  Jack nodded thoughtfully.

  “I don’t suppose anyone’s ever heard of the game Snap?”

  “Sorry to interrupt all the fun,” said the Adeona, “but could you come up to the cockpit for a moment? I need you to take a look at something.”

  Jack shrugged and got up from his stool.

  “Sure thing. Tuner, you okay to hang down here on your own for a while?”

  Tuner continued to scrutinise the cards in his hands. Jack wasn’t sure if he knew the game wasn’t being played anymore.