25
New Horizons
Great sentient excavators chewed through the rocky earth, building a world from the ruins of a dead one. Ground was broken. Through the resulting cracks grew homes.
Jack stood at the top of a cliff on the outskirts of Detri's lone city, overlooking the construction. He liked being out there. Despite the noise of the digging machines, it somehow seemed quieter.
Perhaps he was getting too accustomed to being alone.
Four days had passed since the Adeona's admittance into Detri. For a while, few of the automata knew what to do with their newfound freedom. They huddled together in their temporary accommodation, only daring to venture outside if 11-P-53 or Tork gave the order. But one by one they mustered the courage to set out on their own, or in pairs, and explore their new community.
Rogan and Tuner had no such trouble settling in. Rogan frequented their archives every chance she could – adding as much to their data banks as she learned from them, probably – while Tuner couldn't keep away from the city's core engine rooms. Brackitt volunteered to work at the hangar as soon as he got out from having his arm replaced.
Jack was happy for them. Truly. For the first time in their lives, they were free.
But he wasn't free. Not really. He felt the same way everyone on Earth had, back when it was first announced their planet had a best-before date and there weren't enough tickets off-world to go around.
He felt trapped, for want of a better word.
Trapped on Detri. Trapped in a damn spacesuit.
Not that he wasn't grateful for the latter – it was pretty much the only thing keeping him alive. Using his old, broken helmet as a makeshift oxygen mask had done the job, but it had only ever been a temporary solution. While Jack slowly recovered in a hastily constructed isolation chamber, Tuner had plundered from Detri's not insubstantial supply warehouses the rare resources for a new and improved spacesuit.
And boy, had the little guy added all the trimmings.
For one, it was a lot sleeker than the previous model. Tuner had based its design on the scans Doc took of Jack aboard the Confession. It had a matte black, carbon-fibre appearance. Despite the flexibility of the material, Tuner was adamant it could stop most slugs and plasma bolts. Jack hoped he wouldn't get a chance to put that to the test.
The interior was comfortably snug, able to regulate his body heat in case of extreme highs and lows in temperature, and cushioned to absorb the impacts from high falls or heavy projectiles.
Most importantly, given his present circumstances, it had a functioning helmet. The transparent front was scratch-proof – Tuner had originally intended to install a miniature forcefield over the front of the helmet, but opted for a more practical solution having considered the disastrous consequences of a system failure during a spacewalk – and automatically darkened when exposed to bright lights. It also sported a miniature version of the artificial atmosphere device on board the Adeona, which made it capable of producing its own clean air not quite indefinitely, but for far longer than Jack intended to be away from a viable source of oxygen ever again.
"Ah. We thought we'd find you out here."
Rogan and Tuner approached Jack from behind. Rogan had buffed out some of her scratches and dents, and both looked as if they'd had a good polish since the last time he'd seen them.
"Just watching these guys work," he said, gesturing towards the construction crew. "It's really impressive how coordinated they all are. Amazing stuff."
He pretended not to notice the concerned glance Rogan and Tuner shared with each other.
"How are you holding up, Jack?" asked Tuner.
"Oh, not bad. Feeling a lot better. This suit is an absolute dream, by the way."
Rogan stood beside him.
"Homesick?"
Jack went to say something, then only sighed instead. There was no point in keeping up the facade any longer. Not with them.
"I can't stay here, guys," he said, shrugging. "I don't belong here. I can't even breathe the air."
"Yes—"
"It's been at least a week since I left Earth," Jack continued, cutting Rogan off, "and I'm still no closer to finding my way back home. Amber surely thinks I'm dead by now. She must be going out of her mind."
"We hear you." Rogan took his hand. "We understand. Come with us. There's something we want you to see."
The two automata led Jack on a long and winding walk through the city. Jack didn't mind. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time. Eventually they arrived outside a large workshop with a retractable roof.
The twin doors at the front were wide open. Brackitt came wandering out, wiping his hands on an oily rag.
"Hey! I was wondering when you lot were going to show up. You're looking healthy, Jack."
"Thanks. How's the arm?"
"Better than ever. Double-jointed, too." He turned to Rogan and nodded towards the doors. "You ready to show him?"
"Show me what?" asked Jack.
Tuner hopped from one foot to the other, as if he were desperate for an oil change.
"Oh, this is very exciting!"
They ushered him inside the workshop, smirking the whole time. It was pitch black inside. Brackitt flicked a switch on the wall, and all around them strips of light came spluttering to life.
Jack's mouth dropped open.
Before him stood the Adeona, but she was a far different Adeona to the one he'd flown before. Her battered, copper-coloured hull had been replaced – or possibly reinforced – with pristine plates of dark silver armour. Her rear thrusters had been repaired and upgraded. But Jack was most surprised by the turrets mounted on her sides. They looked like massive Gatling guns.
"She looks amazing!" He pointed at the cannons. "Where the hell did you find those?"
"One of the ships in the hangar is ex-military." Brackitt admired his handiwork. "They reminded her of sadder times, and she wanted rid of them. Adeona was happy to take them off her hands, so to speak."
"I bet she was." Jack put his hands on his hips and whistled. "I don't expect she'll get much chance to use them, but they look great."
"Oh, I don't know about that." 11-P-53 walked in behind them. "If her journey back is anything like as bad as the way here, she might need to fire off a round or two."
"Journey back?" Jack looked around at everyone. "Is she leaving?"
"Yes," said Rogan. "With you."
"What?"
"I spoke about it at length with Tork," said 11-P-53. "He's agreed for you to go, providing you never tell anybody about this place. He's being serious. If you ever breathe a word about Detri, you're going to find a bounty on your head."
"Of course." Jack gawped, struggling to find the words. "But are you sure you're okay with this? Isn't the Adeona your ship?"
11-P-53 shook its head.
"She's not anyone's ship but her own." It stuck out its hand. "But for all intents and purposes, she's yours now. While she'll have you."
Jack shook it.
"Thanks, 11-P-53. I really mean it."
"Ah, call me Captain," said 11-P-53, waving the name away. "Not that I have a ship anymore…"
Jack stared up at the Adeona. His own ship. He never thought he'd see the day.
"I barely know how to fly her," he said, suppressing a hysterical laugh. "And I've no way of knowing where I'm going…"
"That's why we're going with you."
Jack spun around. Rogan and Tuner stood side by side, beaming. Well, Rogan did. Jack had to guess Tuner's mood from his excited fidgeting.
"But you only just got here!"
"True, and Detri is wonderful." Rogan shrugged. "But we just got a taste of freedom for the very first time. The safety and security of the sanctuary might be what some automata are after, but it's not the right fit for us. Not yet. There's a whole universe out there to explore. Now that we're free, we want to see it."
"You helped us find our home," said Tuner. "It's only fair that we help you f
ind yours in return."
"Be honest. You're hoping for another firefight, aren't you?"
Tuner shrugged sheepishly.
"I mean, if we happen to run into anybody unsavoury…"
Brackitt clapped his hands together and nodded towards the loading ramp.
"So, do you want to see inside?"
"You mean there's more you want to show me?"
Brackitt laughed. "Oh, just you wait."
"I'll leave you to it," said 11-P-53, heading back to the doors. "Take care, Jack. I hope you find what you're looking for."
Jack waved goodbye and then followed the others up.
He could see the difference as soon as he reached the top of the ramp. Everything inside the Adeona had been scrubbed down, all traces of rust removed. Damaged parts had been replaced with new ones. She looked less like a steampunk submarine and more like, well, a proper spaceship.
"We've upgraded her engines, but I won't bore you with the details," said Brackitt, pointing down the corridor towards the rear of the ship. "Just know that both the main combustion engine and the skip drive have vastly increased capacity and should burn more efficiently than before."
"That means no more drifting for days without power," whispered Tuner.
"Thanks, Tuner. I got that."
"No more limiting our jumps to old subspace routes, either," said Rogan, crossing her arms. "We could get halfway across the galaxy without making a single stop, if we wanted."
"We made some functional and cosmetic changes to the quarters and washrooms too, but I'll let you discover them for yourself." Brackitt gestured for everyone to follow him up to the cockpit. "Come on up. This is the best bit."
They went upstairs. At a glance, everything looked the same. Swept, scrubbed and polished, but otherwise identical to how Jack had seen it last.
"Notice anything different?" asked Brackitt.
Jack searched for something out of place. Had the computer terminals been upgraded? It wasn't as if he'd ever used them. He thought that maybe the seats up front had been replaced, but they were the same as well.
Then he noticed them – small, circular speakers in the walls and ceiling.
"Nice. You put a sound system in. That'll come in handy for the long flights."
Tuner laughed. Rogan groaned and covered her face with her hand.
"Perhaps you should go ahead and introduce yourself," said Brackitt.
"Hello, Jack Bishop," said a bright voice from inside the speakers. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Well. Speak to you, at least."
Jack jerked his head around.
"Er… what's happening?"
"The Adeona has always had a voice," said Brackitt. "It's about time somebody heard it other than me."
"Incredible." Jack approached the captain's chair at the front. "It's a pleasure to meet you too."
"Go ahead," said Brackitt, noticing Jack's hesitation.
Jack sat down. The chair felt different this time – not because any part of it had been swapped out, and not because its strange fabric adapted to the contours of his body any differently than before. Rather, it was because he fitted the chair better. For the first time in a long while, he felt as if he'd found his place.
He smiled. It was a good feeling.
"Where do you want to go, handsome?" the Adeona asked.
"Earth. But I don't know how to get there yet."
Tuner leaned against the railings behind him. "Well, where do you want to start looking?"
Jack strapped himself in and took a deep breath. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day – one day he'd make it home.
He shrugged.
"I guess we'd better start with everywhere."
Thank you for reading!
The adventure continues in Thief of Stars. You can grab a copy here.
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About the Author
T.W.M. Ashford is a British novelist living in London. You can call him Tom.
He's written hundreds of scripts and copy for some of the biggest companies in the world, and provides a variety of creative content for Mark Dawson’s Self Publishing Formula. He’s even been known to play a bass guitar on occasion, and sometimes well.
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Books By T.W.M. Ashford
Books in the “Final Dawn” Series
The Final Dawn
Thief of Stars
Other Books
Everything Ends
Blackwater: Vol. One
Checking Out
Mouth of Midnight
Blackwater: Vol. Two
The Portrait Lingers Like a Whisper
Blackwater: Vol. Three
Checking Out: Clockwise
Checking Out: Anticlockwise
Gerald Oddman
The Final Dawn Page 21
