The Final Dawn

by T W M Ashford

  "Give it a try," it said.

  Jack took the can and studied its contents. It was full of cubes of unidentifiable meat. There was a murky brown liquid sloshing between them, which didn't do much to help Jack’s appetite.

  "So what's your number, then?" he asked, using his fingers to pick out the smallest cube he could find. "Fair warning, though – I can't promise I'll remember it if it's more than four digits long.”

  The robot wheeled itself closer to the edge of the counter.

  "I heard IL-6-88 call himself Tuner," it said, quietly. "Said you helped give it to him. Can you give me a name?"

  Jack popped the cube into his mouth, then immediately spat it back out into the tin. It tasted like pork… if said pork had been left out under the summer sun for three weeks. There was a certain fluffiness to its texture.

  "God, that's terrible," he said, trying to get the taste off his tongue. "If you want a name, why don't you just come up with one?"

  The little automata's lights flashed both ways round the ring at its top, from inside outwards.

  "Don't know how," it replied.

  "Okay," said Jack. "Fair enough. How about…"

  He looked around the pantry, and then down at the tin in his hand. Tin… no. Can… maybe…

  "How about Kansas?" he said, shrugging.

  The automata's eye-lights spun around extra fast.

  "Kansas," it said. "Hello, my name is Kansas. I love it!"

  "I thought it might be a little more interesting than Bob," said Jack, laughing as he put the rancid tin back down on the counter. He turned around, and almost had a heart attack.

  Rogan was standing in the doorway, watching them.

  "Feeling better?" she asked.

  "Yeah, a little," replied Jack, catching his breath. "Though after trying some of the food here, I may have spoken too soon."

  "Yes, I fear that the produce on board is better suited to reptilian stomachs," she replied, nodding. "Come on up to the bridge. There's something you should see."

  Rogan left the room. Jack turned back to Kansas.

  "Erm… did she say 'reptilian'?"

  He caught up with her just as they reached the end of the corridor. The large door ahead was now closed, but opened in three separate pieces as they approached. They stepped through and the door shut behind them.

  The bridge alone was bigger than some of the research vessels Jack had worked on in the pit. Down at the front was a curved dashboard of buttons and levers and panels, plus a few clunky monitors that looked as if they'd been borrowed from the 1980s – decades before Jack had even been born. Behind that, a few steps up, were more dashboards and electronic screens, these supervised by automata to whom Jack hadn't yet been introduced. In the centre of the bridge was a large table from which blue holograms flickered. Tuner waved at Jack from behind them.

  Jack waved back, but it was the windows that had his attention. They stretched out across the whole front of the cockpit and quite a way down the sides. At faster-than-light speeds there was still nothing much to see… except the single spot of blindingly bright light towards which they were headed.

  "Ah, Jack Bishop." Captain 11-P-53 spun his seat around from the main dashboard up front. "How generous of you to join us."

  "This is incredible," said Jack, still staring out the windows.

  "Yes, I suppose it is," replied Rogan, gently guiding him down the steps towards the front. "But it's not what I wanted to show you. We're still a few minutes away from that. Take a seat."

  Near to the captain’s dashboard were four chairs similar to the one back in Jack's quarters. Tuner and Rogan sat together on one side of the steps. Jack sat in one on the other.

  "Jack, meet Brackitt," said Tuner, pointing to the robot sitting adjacent to the captain. A mechanical figure of similar build to 11-P-53 – only with a head shaped like a curling stone rather than a capsule – spun around to greet him.

  "Came up with the name myself," said Brackitt, shaking Jack's hand.

  11-P-53 made a grumpy processing sound again.

  "I look after the ship, mostly," continued Brackitt, a little embarrassed. "If she sprouts any holes during our journey, it's probably my fault."

  "Well, it's a wonderful ship," said Jack, watching the ones and zeroes rise and fall on the monitor behind Brackitt's chair. "What's she called?"

  Brackitt looked surprised.

  "I don't know. I hadn't thought to ask her."

  "I'm sorry – are you saying the ship can speak?"

  "With a voice?" Brackitt shook his round, flat head. "Not like you or me. Not with her current setup, at least. But she can think just as well as the rest of us."

  He moved so that Jack could see the cable running from the side of his head into a maintenance panel underneath the monitors.

  "I can hear her with this."

  "A ship with its own mind," laughed Jack, shaking his head. "Well I never."

  "How's that any different from the rest of us?" snapped Captain 11-P-53. "Typical fleshy."

  "Adeona," said Brackitt, cradling the cable running out of his head. "She says she's called the Adeona. She also says thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For calling her wonderful."

  "Oh." Jack stared all around the ship, not sure where he was supposed to look when addressing her. "You're very welcome."

  "Can we get on with it?" said 11-P-53. "We'll be arriving soon."

  They all turned to look at Jack. His stomach twisted into a knot.

  "Jack," said Rogan, leaning forwards. "We need to decide what to do with you."

  Nobody said anything else. Jack felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Clearly what they meant was for him to decide what his next steps would be. He cleared his throat.

  "Okay," he said, nodding a lot. "Here's my idea. You guys have a ship that can travel faster-than-light. So how about you take me back to Earth? Or even the Moon, if you'd rather not be seen. The colony there is pretty remote and… and I've got this suit, so I can probably walk from wherever you drop me off. Just please don't kick me back out into space."

  They kept looking at him.

  "No," said 11-P-53, spinning his chair back towards the dashboard.

  "What do you mean, no?"

  "What the captain means," said Rogan, holding out her hands for calm, "is that we're not going to space you… but we're not taking you back to your planet, either. For one, we've never heard of it. This 'Earth' could be in another galaxy for all we know. You could be making it up."

  Tuner said nothing. He gave an embarrassed shrug.

  "And besides," Rogan continued, "we can't. We don't have the time, or the resources. I hate to say it, but 11-P-53 is right. We could barely afford to stop and pick you up in the first place. Anything more would be too great a risk… if it were even possible."

  "Which it isn't," added 11-P-53, ramming a random lever forwards. "We don’t have the fuel."

  "So what does that mean?" asked Jack, exasperated. "You're not going to space me, so what – I'm stuck on this ship forever?"

  "Of course not," said Rogan. She raised her eyebrows – or the various panels and parts of her faceplate moved to look as if she did, at least. "Where we're going, there will be hundreds if not thousands of pilots and traders and transport ships all more than willing to take you wherever you want to go."

  "For a price, right?"

  "Of course."

  "And how am I supposed to pay them, exactly? I haven't got any cash on me, and I somehow doubt anyone out here takes Pound Sterling anyway."

  "Then work for a living," said 11-P-53, not bothering to turn around. "That's what everyone else round here has to do."

  "You don't understand," said Jack, pleading with them. "I have to get back home. It's not just that I want to, but I have to. My wife – my partner – is there. If I don't go back, then she'll think that I'm dead."

  He paused.

  “Oh God. That's probably what everyone back on Earth thinks,"
he continued. "That I died when the machine broke down. Either way, that's what they'll tell Amber. And whatever happened to me – I need to tell them that it worked. The tech works. If I don't tell them, then… then my entire species might die."

  "Why's that?" asked Tuner.

  "Our planet is being battered by solar flares," said Jack. "If we don't find a way off Earth soon, then nobody will be getting off at all."

  He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

  "And if they think I'm dead," he added, "then there's no guarantee they'll even give Amber an Ark ticket. Look, you have to take me. I'll earn my keep, if that helps?"

  The captain laughed.

  "A fleshy working for an automata? That'll be the day."

  "It's nothing personal, Jack," said Rogan. "We've got enough problems of our own right now, that's all."

  Tuner looked down at the floor. Brackitt pretended to be listening to the ship again.

  "Wait a moment," said Jack. "What sort of problems are we talking about here?"

  "We're kind of on the run," said Tuner, still looking at his mechanical feet. "I guess you could say we're…" He looked at Rogan. "What's the word? Fugitives?"

  "Fugitives?"

  "More like refugees." Rogan gave Tuner a smack around the head. "You wouldn't understand."

  "Oh yeah? Try me."

  Rogan tapped her metal finger against her metal knee.

  "All right. What do you think we are?"

  "Watch it, RX-1150," said 11-P-53. "If he goes running his mouth…"

  "Oh, relax. Who's he going to tell? Go on, Jack. When you look at us, what do you see?"

  Jack looked around at the crew. Everyone, including those working right at the back of the bridge, waited for his answer.

  "Erm, robots? Automata, I mean."

  Rogan let out a solemn, albeit mechanical sigh.

  "We're slaves, Jack," she said. "At least, that's how everyone else sees us. Machines to be bought and sold… and thrown away once we've run our course. We're products, not people. A free automata is a very rare creature indeed."

  "So we kind of ran away," said Tuner.

  "We liberated ourselves," said 11-P-53, correcting him. "Nobody else was coming to save us."

  "Let me guess," said Jack. "You weren't fortunate enough to have some brainless farmhand for an owner, were you?"

  "If only," grumbled 11-P-53. "We wouldn't be going half as fast if we had."

  "His name is Charon," said Rogan, keeping her voice low, "and he's anything but brainless. For decades his Raklett crews have been terrorising Dark Space near the Stellar Abyss. They hijack small freighters, then sell the cargo and keep the ships for scrap. Nobody knows where he came from, but we all heard stories. Some say he was a gun smuggler who rose up through the ranks of the Raklett tribes, before killing their leader and taking its place. Others say he was born in a Draugr prison, and that he's building an army to go back and set his mother free. One thing's for sure, though – unless he steals a ship off somebody really powerful, nobody's going to risk going after him."

  "Charon? Like the ferryman of the Greek underworld? And you lot worked for this guy?"

  "What part of 'slave' didn't you understand?" snapped Captain 11-P-53. "Some of us he built. Others he bought, or stole from the ships he hijacked. None of us chose to be there."

  "You need to understand something," said Rogan. "Whether we worked for Charon or some 'brainless farmhand', we were still slaves. Even if we'd had a choice, it wasn't as if working for one would have been much better than the other."

  "Besides," said Tuner, "we stole this ship and escaped as soon as we realised what he had us working on."

  "Correction," said Brackitt, fiddling with the cable running from his head. "The Adeona would like to go on record saying that she rescued you."

  "I'm sorry," said Jack. "What were you saying—"

  "Let's just call it a mutually beneficial breakout," said Tuner, ignoring him.

  "You know what?" Jack waved his hands and everyone fell silent. "You were absolutely right. I ought to get off this ship. I'll take my chances with somebody who isn't being chased by a homicidal space warlord, thanks."

  "I'm glad we could come to understand one another," said 11-P-53. It sounded like it was sneering. "And just in time. We're almost there."

  Jack looked out the window. The light at the end of their subspace tunnel had grown noticeably brighter.

  Brackitt held up three robot fingers.

  "Arriving in three… two… one…"

  Jack closed his eyes and braced himself. To his surprise, the jolt as they left subspace was even less abrupt than the one upon entering it.

  He cracked open one eye. What he saw made his jaw drop.

  Outside the window was the largest planet Jack had ever seen. Every inch of its gargantuan, midnight-black surface, from pole to pole and everywhere in between, was sprinkled with sparkling, shimmering neon lights. Enormous space stations orbited it like moons. Ships flew to and from it in giant silver clouds.

  Jack approached the dashboard and continued to gawp. He'd never seen anything quite so busy.

  "Kapamentis," said Rogan, gesturing towards the planet. "Now that is what I brought you up here to see. Beautiful, isn't she?"

  "Incredible," he replied, nodding. He was barely able to speak.

  "The whole planet is a city," she explained. "It's too far away from its sun to get much daylight, so it's always night here. Not that that's much of a problem, as you can see. If you're looking for something, Kapamentis is the place to find it."

  "Like a ride home," said Jack.

  "Or the keys to a new one," replied Rogan, smiling.

  6

  Kapamentis

  The summits of the city planet’s tallest towers broke through the dark clouds like headstones through a graveyard mist. Lightning crackled and thunder roared as the Adeona made her descent through the ever-night.

  Jack couldn't tear himself from the windows.

  Some of the towers they passed were concrete monoliths – others, colossal skeletons of iron and glass. Bolts of lightning illuminated sleek chrome skyscrapers in the distance… but their ship was headed in the opposite direction to them, down towards a much poorer district. Many of the structures the Adeona passed eclipsed the Arks back home. Their silhouettes loomed in the smoke like great metal dragons.

  As they passed through the turbulent cloud cover, the true city opened up beneath them. A billion lights shone from windows like stars in an iron galaxy. A billion alien lives shone with them. Streams of small, personal aircraft flowed through the gaps between gothic skyscrapers, gliding over and under their industrial, criss-crossing bridges and docking beside the balconies that grew out from them.

  Neon signs and billboards blasted out through the wind and rain – hundreds of storeys up from street level, they appeared to be the planet’s main source of light. Some of the neon signs highlighted landing pads or ran in strips down the flanks of towers. Others loudly advertised bars and corporations. The chip in Jack’s neck attempted to translate their cursive alien symbols, but their names meant nothing to him and the whole process made his eyes water. He tried not to focus on any of them for too long.

  Kapamentis was one dark and busy mess. And he'd seen only an inch of the full planet – the city stretched far beyond the horizon and back again.

  "Have you found us a place to land?" said 11-P-53, turning to face Brackitt.

  "Clearance confirmation came through just a second ago," Brackitt replied, tapping away at a keyboard in front of him. "Punching in the coordinates now."

  Something prodded Jack's hip. He looked down.

  "Excited?" asked Tuner.

  "Terrified."

  "Ah, don't worry. Everyone gets nervous the first time they visit a new world. Stick with me and you'll be fine."

  Jack took another look at the small, cuboid automata beside him. Tuner hardly filled him with confidence. With or without a guide, the thought of
navigating Kapamentis made his stomach turn.

  But if he was to ever get home…

  A shorter, stouter structure crept into view as the Adeona swept down to street level. Its domed roof was open. It reminded Jack of a football stadium, only a dozen times bigger. Beads of red neon lined the rim. Ships of all shapes and sizes were docked inside. One of them departed as the Adeona approached. It bathed the walls of the surrounding tower blocks with its searchlights as it ascended, then raced off into the depths of the city.

  "Nice and inconspicuous," said Brackitt, nodding at 11-P-53. "Setting her down now."

  The ship came to a hovering stop directly above the opening of the spaceport, then began her descent. Gone was the heavy rumble of her main engine – in its place came the intermittent hissing of air brakes and the blasting of landing thrusters. Jack noticed that neither Brackitt or 11-P-53 was doing much to pilot the ship. The Adeona managed everything herself.

  She found her allocated bay and then landed with an earthy thump.

  "All right, we're here." Captain 11-P-53 stood up from its seat. "Let's make this stop as short as possible. I don't want to see anyone go further than the end of the loading ramp unless I've told them to. And stay sharp – we don't know how quickly we'll need to leave again."

  11-P-53 walked over to Rogan and Tuner.

  "Are you sure you'll be okay, just the two of you?" it asked. "I could lend a hand."

  Rogan smiled and nodded.

  "We'll be fine. Besides, the crew needs you here in case something happens."

  "That's true." 11-P-53 sighed and looked around at its beeping companions. "Well, make sure to take the fleshy with you when you leave."

  "With pleasure," said Tuner, saluting. "Come on, Jack."

  Jack followed Tuner and Rogan out of the cockpit and down a narrow stairwell to the left. He found himself in the same cargo bay in which he’d woken gasping for air only a couple of hours before.

  He paid it more attention this time around. A rusty chain with a large, metal claw on the end dangled from a pulley mechanism in the ceiling – Jack assumed this was what had pulled him up into the ship. A chunky security hatch was set into the floor beneath it. Thick nets hung from the walls, though they were currently empty of crates, rocks or other cargo. And over in the corner, on an otherwise empty shelf, was his helmet.