It wasn't Gaskan. It was the medical automata.
Honestly, Jack didn't know which was worse.
It hovered towards him in complete silence. There was no rumble to its motors, and it didn't say a word. It just… floated.
Jack felt his blood turn cold. Every inch of his body screamed at him to run. But all he could do was watch, without daring to even blink, as the automata descended upon him the way a mad surgeon might lean over his paralysed patient.
From inside its barrel-shaped body extended a long, sharp drill.
"Oh Jesus, no…" Jack’s eyes grew wide. He shuddered against his restraints. "Please don't do this. Please don't…
The drill began to spin, emitting a high-pitched whine that made his eyes water and set his teeth on edge.
"Stop. Stop! I'll do whatever you want. For Christ's sake, what do you want? Tell Gaskan—"
The automata darted forwards… and rammed the whirring drill bit into a hole in the side of the clamp around his left arm. It retracted its drill a moment later, and the two halves of the clamp popped open.
"What the hell?" Jack flexed his arm to get the blood pumping again. It had started to go numb.
The automata floated over to Jack's other arm and did the same, then started on the clamps on his legs. With a swelling heart Jack realised the robot wasn't using a drill, but a screwdriver. It was setting him free.
"What's happening?" he asked, as the automata unlocked the last of his restraints. "Why are you doing this?"
The medical automata folded its mechanical arm back inside its body.
"The automata Gaskan brought on board," it said. "You were with them, yes?"
"Yes, I suppose I was," said Jack, steadying himself against the gurney.
"Is it really true they stole the blueprints to Charon's project? And that they’re headed to the sanctuary on Detri?"
Jack eyed the robot carefully, cautious about where its line of questioning might be headed.
"That's what I'm told, yes."
The automata beeped excitedly and leaned in close.
"Vive la résistance!" it whispered, before hurrying back out the door.
Jack stood in stunned silence. Vive la résistance. Seriously? That was the best his translator chip could come up with?
"Hey, wait!" he said, hobbling to the doorway. "Why did you free me? And which way do I go to find the ships?"
But the robot was already gone, the corridor outside empty.
He sighed. Never mind. He was free, which was a start.
Now all he had to do was figure out a way off an alien battlecruiser.
How hard could that be?
21
The Crossroads
The corridors, wide and for the most part featureless, seemed to stretch on forever. The panels of light running along the ceiling weren't half as bright as those of the medical room. The angular walls and floors were built from a strange, grey plastic-metal alloy stained with oil and covered in unswept dirt. It gave the battlecruiser's artificial air a peculiar though not wholly unpleasant smell – a cocktail of the natural and mechanical, of an old submarine crossed with a burrow.
Jack started off by tiptoeing down the corridors, keeping his back close to the wall in case he ran into any patrolling guards. There had been nobody stationed outside the door of the medical room, and he hadn't seen anybody since. He increased his pace to a light jog, grateful that his footsteps didn't ring out against the floor the way they would have on board the Adeona.
He was surprised by the lack of security aboard the Confession, but he supposed it made sense. To effectively patrol a ship that size would require a small army. Why waste the manpower when everyone you brought on board would be either disassembled or strapped to a gurney?
Gaskan hadn't expected anyone in his crew to unlock the door and free Jack from his restraints. Perhaps his mistake was not considering his medical automata part of the crew.
Speaking of which, he needed to keep an eye out for drones. Jack hadn't spotted any security cameras so far – none visible to the human eye, at least – but that didn't mean there weren't less "liberated" automata who wouldn't hesitate to sound the alarm if they saw him.
He came to a crossroads between corridors. A small pile of industrial metal crates had been stacked up in the corner. He crouched behind them and peered between the gaps.
Finally, a sign of life.
Two Rakletts stood outside an open doorway, talking. They were too far away for Jack's translator chip to kick in, and so all he heard was a series of snarls and grunts. They seemed irritated about something, but with Rakletts it was hard to tell. They could have just as easily been telling jokes.
It was the first chance Jack had to study them since the incident in the market on Kapamentis, and that had been mostly a blur. They looked no less unpleasant under calmer circumstances. Their hair was matted and greasy like that of a stray dog, their hands and ears war-torn and scarred. Their armour was cobbled together from second-hand scrap, from their loose chest plates to their weathered leather boots. Through each of their stumpy muzzles was pierced a single gold ring.
It wasn't that Jack was relieved to run into them, exactly – their presence severely decreased his chance of survival, let alone escape. But it did dash his growing suspicion that he was alone in a prison adrift through space. Plus, if there were guards stationed, he had to be getting close to something. With any luck it would be a dock with a spaceship he could steal.
Presuming he could get one up and running, of course… but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
One of the Rakletts said something abrupt to the other, and then they both started marching down the corridor towards Jack's hiding spot.
Jack ducked down. There was nowhere else to hide. Nowhere better, at any rate. He'd passed a small loading vehicle a good thirty seconds or so back down the corridor, but there was no way he could make it there without the Rakletts seeing him.
He wrapped his arms around his knees and made himself as small as possible.
The Rakletts stopped at the crossroads, sniffed, then continued their march down the corridor from which Jack came. Neither so much as glanced in his direction. Jack let out out a sigh of relief, then caught a strong whiff of their sharp, pungent odour as he went to inhale again. They stank of sweat and raw meat.
He wondered if they were headed that way on account of his escape. Did anyone even know yet? Wouldn't somebody have sounded the alarm if they did? He supposed it didn't matter too much in the long run… so long as he was gone by the time they figured it out.
He stood up from behind the crates and made a quick beeline for the room the two Rakletts had been guarding. With his back up against the wall, he took a nervous peek around the open doorway.
His heart leapt. He couldn't believe what he saw.
"Rogan? Tuner? Is that you?"
Two complicated mechanical contraptions like iron ribcages stood side by side – Rogan hung suspended in one, Tuner in the other. Beside each contraption was a computer terminal, from which wires and cables ran into panels on Rogan and Tuner's sides.
The lights of Tuner's eyes were dim, as if the machine was draining him of power. When he noticed Jack standing in the doorway, they grew a little brighter.
"Jack? Look Rogan, it's Jack! He's alive!"
Rogan lifted her head. She looked as exhausted as Tuner. There were scratches and dents all over her chassis.
"Huh. We were sure the Rakletts killed you when they came to take us. Glad they didn't."
"Gaskan brought me on board for questioning," said Jack, looking up and down the corridor. "Then he decided to keep me around as a gift for Charon, or something. I don't know. Anyway, enough about me. You're alive! Gaskan told me you'd been disassembled already."
"Not yet," said Tuner. His head sagged. "They had to make sure they retrieved the blueprints first. Then we'll be processed along with everyone else."
"Not if Jack gets us out of thes
e machines." Rogan nodded at the computer console beside her. "Try unlocking me with this."
Jack gave the corridor another glance and then hurried over to the terminal. What he saw on the screen made no sense. Each numerically-labelled directory led to a dozen others. He had no way of knowing if executing any of the commands he stumbled across would free Rogan or fry her circuits.
"Hurry up," whispered Rogan.
"I'm trying!" Jack tapped fruitlessly at the keyboard. "None of this means anything to me!"
"They're coming back," said Tuner.
Jack froze.
"What?"
"The Raklett guards." Tuner frantically tried to wriggle free. "I can hear them coming back to get us."
Jack listened. Tuner was right – down the otherwise silent corridors, he could just make out the faint marching of heavy boots against the floor.
He stared at the incomprehensible folder system on the computer screen, then apologetically turned to face Rogan.
"Don't you dare," she said, as fear flooded her eyes.
"Look, I…"
"Jack?" Tuner flopped against his restraints. "What's going on?"
"He's leaving us behind," said Rogan, shaking her head. "I always knew you were a coward, Jack Bishop. Afraid to step up. Afraid to do the right thing."
"Rogan…"
"Tell me I'm wrong, Jack. Please. Tell me you don't run away from something the second you get scared."
"I've got to get back to Earth," he said, gritting his teeth. "If they catch me here, I'll never get back to my wife. I can't lose her. She's all I have."
"Do you know what we've lost, Jack? Do you have any idea what we've had to sacrifice to get this far? Of course not. Who cares about a few stupid automata, right? All you think about is yourself."
"No. All I think about is her."
The sound of footsteps grew louder, the Rakletts closer. Rogan turned her face away from him.
"You'd better leave."
Jack shrugged. He didn't know what else to say.
"I'm sorry," was the best he could manage.
Jack only stopped running a minute later. He collapsed onto the bottom step of the first stairwell he came across and buried his head in his hands.
He felt sick – even more so than before running out and grabbing the plasma rifle back on Haldeir-B.
Without his help, Rogan and Tuner would be dismantled… or disassembled… or whatever the hell Gaskan had planned for them. But if he went back to rescue them, he'd be caught for sure.
He screamed into the palms of his hands.
Rogan was wrong. He wasn't a coward. A coward wouldn't risk their life standing up to a bounty hunter, would they?
Except a part of Jack knew she was right. Deep down, he knew. His heroics back on Haldeir's moon hadn't been due to bravery alone – it had been desperation, too. Desperation to not be left behind on an alien world… to not lose the one chance he had of finding a way back home.
He'd been fighting for himself as much as for anyone else.
That's why he'd shot the bounty hunter. That's why he'd flown the Adeona through Ceros-VI. And that's why he was getting off this ship, by any means necessary.
Still. What else was he expected to do?
He took a deep breath, stood up, and turned left into the adjacent corridor.
Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the entire right-hand wall. Following a quick and panicked search up and down the corridor's length, Jack dared to press his hands against the thick glass and gaze upon the busy scene below.
Two dozen Raklett guards marched down the central aisle of a large hall filled with missile-carrying gunships, bulky supply ships, and even a small, private exploratory vessel. Massive bronze fuel drums stood behind each bay. Showers of golden sparks rained down from repair work being conducted in the iron rafters above. Engines rumbled and thrusters roared. Crates branded with the Negoti logo were loaded onto the spacefaring equivalent of forklift trucks and transported elsewhere on the ship.
The hangar! He'd found it.
For a split second Jack thought the wall on the opposite side of the hangar was missing, open to the dark, empty depths of space beyond the Ceros system… but then he caught the subtle shimmer of a forcefield as it danced across the starry vista, trapping the battlecruiser's artificial atmosphere inside while permitting ships – and the occasional unlucky prisoner – to pass through like a pebble breaking the surface of a pond.
He half ran, half sidestepped his way down the remainder of the hallway, marvelling at the range of ships on display. Any of them would do for his escape, providing he could fly it.
Another empty stairwell brought the corridor down to the same level as the hangar floor. Jack approached the open door at the bottom in stunned disbelief, then threw himself to the side as a pair of guards walked past.
Had he really seen what he thought he saw?
He inched his head back out, then shook it.
"What have they done to you?"
The Adeona stood only a couple of bays away from the door. Somebody had wrapped thick chains around her hull, pinning her to the floor as if she were a wild beast in a travelling circus. She may have tried fighting her way out at first, but her spirit was long gone now.
Harsh scratches and dents lined her flank, but Jack suspected these were due more to his erratic flying through the wreckage of Ceros-VI than any abuse from the Rakletts.
That said, a few of the ratty bastards were standing not too far from her bay, batting a drone back and forth with the butt of their rifles. All the sense had been knocked out of it. One of the Rakletts gave it a particularly hard whack and it spun onto the floor, buzzing and twitching.
Jack recognised it from back at the settlement on Haldeir-B. The bounty hunter had planted it on the Adeona following the removal of his disrupter mine.
So that was how the Confession had tracked them to Ceros.
Jack sighed. He wanted to rescue the Adeona. He could save her, if nobody else. Plus, he knew how to fly her already… and when it came to elements such as the skip drive, she could probably even fly herself.
But that was if he could get those chains off her back. And that was if she was willing to leave all of her automata crew behind… a big thing to ask something – someone – who had apparently rescued them from Charon in the first place. Even if he were able to commandeer her controls against her will – something he seriously doubted was possible – he'd be stealing her from one kidnapper just to take her hostage himself.
No, he needed a new ship. One without a conscience, preferably. One with a healthy supply of fuel would be even better.
A ship on the other side of the hangar caught his eye. Sharp and sleek, it resembled a chrome arrowhead. It was much smaller than the cumbersome Adeona – with space for a pilot and perhaps a couple of passengers, there was far less risk of taking off only to discover a confused engineer hiding in the fuselage. It might attract more attention flying out of the hangar than if he left in one of the supply ships, but getting away completely unnoticed was likely too much to hope for anyway.
Besides, he had more pressing concerns. How he would get across the hangar and learn to fly an alien spaceship without being seen and subsequently shot, for starters.
Jack had barely begun to assess the hiding place potential of various crate stacks, fuel tanks and transport vehicles when he noticed a familiar presence floating behind one of the hall's thick iron supports. The medical automata that had freed him earlier didn't look entirely out of place in the hangar – there were a few other automata tending to the ships – but its agitated hovering gave Jack the distinct impression it would have rather been anywhere else.
Almost as if it were waiting for somebody.
As if it were waiting for something.
An escape attempt, perhaps.
Jack shut his eyes and clenched his jaw.
Goddammit. He didn't have a choice, did he?
He reached into the trouser compartment of his
spacesuit and pulled out what remained of his photograph. His last rope tethering him to Earth as he forever drifted further away. The edges were even more scuffed and faded than before. Some of it, where it had been burned by the corrosive slug, had first blackened and then flaked away into dust.
Jack could still stitch the photograph back together with the help of his memory – see the coastal wind blowing Amber’s hair, see the white of her beaming smile. But how long would it take before he lost that, too?
He had to find a way home. For Amber. For the future of humanity.
For his own sanity.
You've got a good heart, Jack. That's what Amber had said to him the last time he saw her. You're always trying to do the right thing.
God, he hated it when she was right.
22
Revolution
Tuner was the first to be disconnected from the arms and cables of his skeletal prison. He swung a small fist at the Raklett pulling him down. It laughed and casually tossed Tuner onto the floor.
The second Raklett yanked a wire out of Rogan hard enough to send sparks flying. She stumbled forwards, clutching at the panel on her side.
"Get up," grumbled the two guards. They grabbed an automata each and pulled them to their feet. "You're wanted downstairs."
Tuner tried pummelling the Raklett's midriff. The Raklett held him at arm's length with a single hand.
"You tell Gaskan that I'm telling him nothing," yelled the small robot.
"Good, because he ain't asking. You're going through processing with the rest of your bolt-bucket crew. Now, get moving."
The Raklett let go of Tuner's head. Tuner went sprawling across the floor again. He picked himself up and reluctantly allowed himself to be marched out of the door.
Something whizzed over the top of his head and smacked into the face of the Raklett behind him with an unpleasant crunch. The alien fell to the ground like a heavy, hairy sack. Tuner looked up to see Jack hiding on the other side of the doorway, wielding a gas canister.
The Final Dawn Page 17
