Thief of Stars (Final Dawn, Book 2)

by T W M Ashford

  Jack ducked down behind a short stone wall. Guards were stationed outside the building’s grand entrance. Others patrolled the empty street. These ones looked different to those he witnessed escorting the floating slave cart. Their armour was less decorative and more… clandestine.

  He swore under his breath. There was no way he was getting past all that security without being seen. He suspected they’d shoot him on sight just for breaking curfew, whether they thought he was part of the resistance or not.

  That meant retracing his steps and finding a different route. If there were any different routes, that is.

  Jack was about to sneak away when he spotted a small contingency of armed Mansa guards marching through a centuries-old archway to the right of the golden tower. There were smaller figures amongst their number. Jack squinted, then gasped. They were Krettelian children abducted from the resistance. Their hands and ankles were shackled with tiny magnetic cuffs. They shuffled their feet as the guards shoved them down the street.

  So the Mansa do take prisoners, he thought. Not that slavery was necessarily a better fate than death, mind. But maybe… maybe it meant that Rogan and Tuner were still alive as well.

  Dirt crumbled behind him. Jack spun around to face a Mansa guard stood only a couple feet away, the butt of his plasma rifle raised in the air.

  “Oh, bugger.”

  Everything went black.

  14

  Lock and Key

  Jack regained consciousness to discover he was being dragged by his arms down a dark, torch-lit corridor. He groggily turned his head towards his captors.

  “What’s going on?” His jaw ached and the words came out sluggish and garbled. “Where are you taking me?”

  The guards wore fancy ceremonial attire, unlike their armoured counterparts back in the street. They didn’t reply. Apart from dragging him through the dirt floor, they didn’t acknowledge his existence at all.

  That was fine by him. Jack had expected to be dead already. This was a noticeable improvement.

  They stopped outside a thick iron door. A third guard dressed hammerhead-to-toe in black who’d been following them in hallowed silence stepped forward and unlocked it with a large, medieval-looking key. They swung the door open and chucked Jack’s helmet inside. They did the same to Jack shortly after.

  He landed in the dirt with a crunch, coughing as the dust swept up into his lungs. God, he missed his helmet already. He hoped it wasn’t broken. The Mansa guard must have given it one hell of a whack in order to knock him out.

  He looked up from the dirt and came face-to-face with a wide, cassette-shaped head with curious yellow eyes.

  “Tuner?” Jack broke into a painful grin. “How in the world are you still alive?”

  “Hey, it is Jack!” said Tuner, looking up. “I told you he made it out!”

  Jack hurried to his feet. Rogan was leaning against the wall opposite, her arms crossed and an incredulous expression on her face. Klik sat further away on the cell’s only bench, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands.

  “Oh, good.” Rogan wasn’t smiling. “You succeeded in saving your own skin, once again.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair. I hung about for ages trying to figure out if the rest of you were still breathing. Or functioning, or whatever. If I’d waited any longer, I’d probably be dead.”

  “Or stuck in here with us,” said Tuner. “Though that hasn’t worked out much different, it seems…”

  “Yeah, how come you’re all still in one piece, anyway? I didn’t think the Mansa were the prisoner-taking type, especially after what they did to their own supply ship.”

  “They aren’t.” Rogan uncrossed her arms and stepped away from the wall, lowering her voice so Klik couldn’t hear. “They killed all the resistance fighters. Most of the adult refugees, too. The children will be made into slaves.”

  “What about us?” He nodded towards Klik. “And her?”

  “I think they’re going to make an example of us. The resistance leader’s daughter and the foreign devils who helped them? Should make for a pretty good show come the public execution.”

  “We should probably work on getting out of here, then.”

  “Oh, good idea, Jack! We hadn’t thought of that. Why don’t you go and check if the door’s unlocked?”

  He did. It wasn’t.

  “Feel better for that?”

  “Not really, no. What’s the deal with this whole primitive schtick, anyway?” He gestured to the stone and mud brick walls. “I would have thought a Mansa jail would be all laser grids and plastic cubes floating in impossible voids.”

  “I’m sure their proper ones are. These look like holding cells to me.”

  “The Mansa prefer to avoid exposing outsiders to their technology whenever possible,” said Klik, looking over from the bench. “To use it to imprison foreign criminals or Krettelian slaves… well, they wouldn’t even think of it. It would be an affront to their own culture. We’re so low in their estimations, we’re lucky they didn’t throw us in a literal hole in the ground.”

  “She speaks!” Jack pushed past Rogan and Tuner. “Do you have anything else you want to say to us?”

  Klik shrugged.

  “How about sorry?” Jack suggested, peering down at her. “Sorry for lying to us? Sorry for leading us into a trap? Or maybe even sorry for getting us all killed?”

  “I didn’t know!” Klik threw her hands in the air and screamed. “I was trying to save my whole species! That Charon guy smuggled me off-world and told me to convince you to come help the resistance, that’s all. Well, he told me you were some big hero who saved a bunch of robots. I guess he lied to me, too.”

  “Come on, Jack.” Rogan grabbed him by the arm. “She just saw her father die. Her whole way of life has been destroyed. She didn’t see this coming any more than we did.”

  “That still doesn’t mean she isn’t the reason we’re all in this mess,” Jack replied.

  Klik glared at him for a moment with her fists clenched. Then she rose to her feet and marched over to the cell door.

  “It’s locked, by the way,” Jack called after her.

  Klik flicked an offensive Krettelian gesture in his direction and crouched down by the keyhole.

  “Either of you got a plan?” Jack asked, turning back to the automata.

  Rogan shook her head. Tuner shrugged and extended the blow torch instrument from his hand.

  “The metal of the door is too thick for me to cut,” he explained. “I tried.”

  “So we’re stuck in here until the guards come back to get us. Brilliant.”

  Now it was Jack’s turn to sag onto the bench. He picked up his helmet and turned it over in his hands, inspecting the damage. There wasn’t any, save for a few minor scratches.

  “Sorry, guys. I guess we should have gone and seen the Marteusse.”

  “I’m starting to think we should have stayed in Detri,” Rogan replied. “But oh well. Not much we can do about it now.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. Today was supposed to end with me knowing how to get back to Earth. And now Charon’s going in my place!” Jack laughed hysterically. “What the hell does he even want with Earth, anyway?”

  Tuner shrugged. “Maybe there’s something hidden there? An ancient precursor temple, or some unique element?”

  “Maybe. But I’m pretty sure we’ve dug up everything there is to dig on our planet. It’s not that interesting.” Jack’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think he plans to make slaves of us? Like the Mansa did with the Krettelians?”

  “Or like he did with us and that Iris project out in Dark Space?” Rogan shook her head. “Seems unlikely. There are far easier ways of getting free labour. And taking over an entire planet is a bit much, even for Charon.”

  “Then what? What could he possibly be planning to do? Use Earth as an out-of-the-way testing site for that super weapon he had you guys build for him?”

  Rogan and Tuner shared a glance. />
  “It’s possible,” Rogan replied. “But honestly, we haven’t got a clue. It makes no sense to me, either.”

  “Oh, God.” Jack put his head between his knees. “I’ve got to get back to Earth. Whatever Charon’s planning, somebody has to stop him. And seeing as nobody else will, it’s going to have to be me.”

  “Good luck saving the world from the end of a Mansa noose,” Rogan replied, not without a little pity.

  “Well somebody has to do something!” he yelled, rising to his feet again. “The same person who kidnapped and enslaved you, and who happily got the whole Krettelian resistance wiped out, is headed to my home world. The only world us humans have, remember! Nobody else knows he’s coming. Just us. What he did to you, he will do to Amber, and my friends, and every other man, woman and child on Earth. We can’t just sit here and let that happen!”

  Jack peered over Rogan’s shoulder at Klik, who was still crouched by the door and spitting into the lock.

  “And for crying out loud – will somebody tell me what the hell that girl thinks she’s doing?”

  Klik looked up from the keyhole, an exasperated expression plastered across her insectoid face.

  “You’re such an idiot.”

  “I’m sorry? Am I missing something?”

  “Krettelians have a few natural defence mechanisms,” she replied. “These are surgically removed by the Mansa once we’re in captivity, usually while we’re infants.”

  “But you’ve never been a slave,” said Rogan, the faintest hint of a smile slowly dawning across her face. “I see where this is going.”

  “See? She catches on quick. You? Not so much.”

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Because I was brought up inside the resistance, I still have my saliva glands. Normally we use the acid in them to dissolve food – or we did thousands of years ago, before the Mansa came and started cutting them out. Now we eat the mush they give us. But the acid’s also good for spitting at people, if there’s nothing else to hand. And the more we’re stressed or pissed off—” she emphasised those last words in particular “—the stronger the acid gets.”

  “Projectile saliva sacs. I can see why a slave owner wouldn’t be too pleased about that.”

  “No.” Klik turned back to the door and spat out a streak of pale green liquid. It shot into the keyhole like a poisoned dart. Jack could have sworn he saw it bubbling. “I guess the guards who brought us here assumed I’d been fixed. No way they would have taken me somewhere so crude otherwise.”

  “Are you saying you can get us out of here?”

  A dull thunk happened somewhere inside the keyhole. Klik paused with her hand on the door.

  “That depends. With my father…” She sighed and started again. “With the resistance gone, I’ve got nowhere left to go. Don’t suppose there’s room for one more on that ship of yours?”

  “I think that’s the least we could do,” said Rogan, “given the circumstances.”

  Klik smiled sadly and let the iron door swing open.

  “Then yes, I think I can get us out.”

  “Klik, you’re a genius,” said Jack. He tentatively rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Sorry for being so hard on you.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” she replied, shrugging him off.

  Jack and the automata followed Klik out of the cell. The corridor outside was deserted. Good.

  The Mansa had taken them prisoner once. He didn’t think they’d extend the courtesy a second time.

  15

  Tower of Sand

  Jack peered around the corner at one end of the corridor while Rogan did the same down the other. They hurried back to rejoin Klik and Tuner in the middle by the cell door.

  “Deserted,” said Rogan. “What about you?”

  Jack shook his head. “There’s some sort of security room back that way. The warden with the keys was reviewing case files on a hologram monitor. I spotted a couple other guards standing to attention outside his door.”

  “I guess we know which way we’re headed, then,” said Tuner, shrugging.

  “Wherever we’re going, we ought to head there quick.” Klik went back to fiddling with the sleeves of her cloak. Her mandibles clacked nervously. “The guards made two rounds in the hour before you showed up, checking the cells both times. They might be back any moment.”

  “Lead the way,” said Jack, gesturing to Rogan.

  The next corridor was barely distinguishable from the first. Sandy golden-brown walls; immaculately swept floors of soft dirt; a similarly mud brick ceiling reinforced with strong, ancient wood. Iron cell doors were embedded in the walls to the left and right. A small, sliding sliver of a window offered a hint as to who each of their unwilling occupants might be, but most were bolted shut.

  The only technology more advanced than a lock, hinge or broom was the series of lights installed in the ceiling. They looked too ethereal to be anything natural, yet Jack couldn’t see wires or any other power source. The juxtaposition bothered him.

  “Out of curiosity,” he asked, “does anybody actually know where we’re escaping from?”

  Rogan slowed down as she approached the next corner. She turned back to Jack and raised a finger to her lips, gesturing for quiet.

  “I downloaded some maps of Ankhir before we came to Paryx the first time. Obviously I didn’t have access to any of the old sewer blueprints, so I can’t be absolutely sure which way the Mansa guards brought us out of the resistance base… but I think we’re in Meratyk Tower.”

  “That would be my guess too,” whispered Klik, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Meratyk Tower. Okay.” Jack looked at them both expectantly. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

  “I think it would be a stretch to describe anything about this as good…” Tuner muttered.

  “Relatively speaking,” Jack added through gritted teeth.

  “Well, on the plus side, it’s not one of the Mansa’s maximum-security facilities. So no laser grids or void cubes.”

  “But…?”

  “But Meratyk Tower is a site of great historical importance to the Mansa Empire. It’s situated right in the very heart of Ankhir, and the exterior will be heavily guarded. It’s millennia old and it used to be the tallest building on Paryx, until they discovered how to construct towers from metal instead of rock and sand. And with no windows until the top few floors, it’s impossible to tell if we’re on floor one or thirty-one.”

  “Yep. Sounds like a bad thing.”

  Tuner raised his hand. Everyone turned to face him.

  “May I suggest we take the stairs downwards whenever possible?”

  “How is this place still standing?” Jack was so perplexed he almost forgot the gravity of their situation. “You did say thirty-one floors, right? As in three one?”

  “I told you before,” said Klik. “My people are master architects. Or they used to be, I guess.”

  “Prior to their technological revolution, was there anything the Mansa actually bothered to build for themselves?”

  Klik pondered this for a moment.

  “The primitive ships they flew to Krett in so they could colonise us,” she eventually replied. “They were rubbish, apparently. Barely kept the air from leaking out.”

  “As much as I’m loving this history lesson,” said Tuner, hopping from foot to foot, “is there any chance we could keep moving?”

  “Tuner’s right,” said Rogan, checking around the corner again. The corridor beyond was still clear. “The full force of the Mansa Empire will be crashing down on us soon enough. We may as well give ourselves a head start.”

  The exterior of Meratyk Tower must have been massive, because they were on their fifth identical corridor and they still hadn’t looped back on themselves.

  Along the way, Tuner thought it important to mention that the three of them had been escorted up to their cell via an old, wooden, pulley-driven elevator. Having been unconscious for al
most the entire time he’d been dragged into the tower, Jack never would have known they weren’t on the ground floor otherwise.

  Knowing that really dampened his optimism.

  Just when Jack finally convinced himself that the Mansa had in fact imprisoned them in some sort of temporal loop, they arrived at the elevator Tuner had told him about. Rogan quickly ushered everyone back into cover. A metal grille was pulled across the elevator shaft. In front of it stood a Mansa guard in full decorative uniform, ceremonial pike in hand.

  “Damn it.” Jack rested his head against the brittle wall behind them. “Guess we’re not going that way, then.”

  “And what other way would you have us go?” Rogan sounded distracted, as if she wasn’t really listening to him. “There some secret backdoor you’re aware of? Come take another look.”

  He sighed and stuck his head around the corner.

  “Be careful!” hissed Rogan, grabbing the arm of his spacesuit. “Over to the right of the guard. What do you see?”

  At first all Jack could make out was yet another stretch of bland, cracked wall, supported by the usual wooden beams. He couldn’t see what was all that special or interesting about it, quite frankly.

  Then it hit him. Opposite the elevator and its guard was a narrow, dimly lit archway. On the other side of that archway was a winding spiral staircase. One way went up the tower. The other went down.

  “That’s gonna be a lot of steps,” Jack whispered to Rogan, subtly nodding towards Tuner.

  Tuner tilted his head in what he probably intended to be a threatening fashion.

  “I can handle stairs, Jack.”

  “Let’s consider it the backup plan, shall we?” Rogan risked another peek. “Our focus should be on getting that elevator running. We need to be on it before anyone sounds the alarm in case they lock it down.”

  “In case they lock it down? There’s a guard stationed by it already, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Yes. One guard. I dare say they’ll consider sending more.”

  “Well, we ought to explore all our options.” Jack crouched down so he was face to face with Tuner. Klik did the same. “Come up with an actionable plan with minimal risk. Maybe—”