Thief of Stars (Final Dawn, Book 2)

by T W M Ashford

  Klik rolled her eyes.

  “I’m so glad I signed up for this.”

  “Hey! We’re inside, aren’t we?” Tuner shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how close we came to getting caught, just as long as we weren’t.”

  “You’re right,” said Jack, sneaking over to the doors at the other end of the airlock. “Nobody saw us. Let’s try and keep it that way.”

  He peered into the ship’s interior through the slim security windows. The corridor on the other side seemed deserted, though Jack had only a limited field of vision to go on. He supposed it made sense that the ship would be running a skeleton crew, given the clandestine nature of Charon’s operation. Most of the guards were probably stationed outside. It wasn’t as if anyone else in the galaxy knew they were here, anyway.

  “Looks clear,” he said, reaching for the handle.

  “Hold on a second.” Rogan grabbed his hand. “We don’t know where we’re going yet.”

  “Yes, we do. Don’t we?” Jack looked around at the crew. “We’re going to find Charon, and we’re going to stop him.”

  “That’s really not so much a plan as it is an outcome,” said Tuner. “Just saying,” he added.

  “Sure, we’re here to stop Charon. But where is he? We can’t comb the entire ship looking for him… if he’s even here. We don’t know that for certain.”

  “If?” Jack was in too much of a hurry to share Rogan’s skepticism. “Well, what do you suggest we do?”

  “Find a schematic of the spacecraft or some kind of security camera feed. Getting access to the ship’s mainframe would be ideal – the servers are probably near the front of the ship, away from the heat of its rear thrusters – but any terminal connected to the core system should do. Tuner or I should be able to get in without too much trouble. Once we have an idea of how this ship is laid out, we can isolate Charon’s most likely location and start from there.”

  Jack sulkily mulled this over with his hands placed firmly on his hips.

  “Well yes, that does sound like a decent plan.”

  “I imagine Charon has his mainframes on a pretty tight lockdown ever since I stole those Iris blueprints of his,” said Tuner, kicking his heels. “Let’s start in the corridor and try the first terminal we run into.”

  Rogan peeked through the security windows just as Jack had done. Jack stepped aside, his arms crossed.

  “It’s still clear,” she announced. She pulled the handle down. The doors slid open with much less resistance than their exterior counterparts.

  “Psst. Jack.” Klik tapped him on the shoulder as Rogan and Tuner stepped cautiously into the corridor. “Can I ask you something quickly?”

  “Sure.”

  “These guards, these… Rakletts. What happens if we run into any more of them? Should I feel bad about…?”

  She sheepishly raised her forearms.

  “Oh! Well, you probably shouldn’t feel good about it, but… Well, what would you do if a rabid animal came running at you?”

  “Put it down, probably.”

  “Right. And what would you do if a rabid animal came running at you holding a plasma rifle?”

  “Put it down and start asking some serious questions.”

  “Exactly. Rakletts are vile, vicious creatures from the outer edge of the galaxy, and somebody stuck guns in their hands and made them soldiers. Let’s just try and avoid them whenever possible, all right? I’d never go so far as to say killing one is doing the universe a favour, but don’t ever feel bad for defending yourself. I dunno. Does that help at all?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Good. And definitely don’t feel sorry for Charon. After everything he’s done to you, to the automata…”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” The thick bristles on Klik’s arm-plates stood on end. “When we find that monster, I’ll gladly kill him myself.”

  Jack rather hoped Klik wouldn’t kill Charon. Not yet, anyway. They had a plan now – a proper plan. If there was any chance of surviving this whole mess, it meant sticking to it.

  The corridor outside the airlock remained deserted. Rogan and Tuner wandered further down in the direction that didn’t lead to a dead end. Jack and Klik were quick to follow.

  The ship was eerily quiet. Jack could always hear something in the Adeona, whether it was the echoes of voices ricocheting through the narrow metal corridors like an aural pinball or the clanking and gurgling of her tired pipes. The snarls of Raklett guards and plasma gunfire had filled the halls of Gaskan Troi’s battlecruiser. But here…

  Well, it was like there was nobody here at all. If they’d come across the ship out in space, Jack would have assumed it had been abandoned, left to drift.

  Perhaps that was Charon’s intention, he wondered. To play dead, like a possum to the Mansa’s bobcat?

  Or had Charon expected the crew’s arrival and laid yet another trap for them?

  Jack pushed the fear back down. They were already inside the ship – it was far too late to start worrying about that now.

  As he caught up to the two automata, Rogan pulled her head back from peering inside one of the rooms running along the corridor.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  “Not yet. Just another storeroom for spacesuits.” They continued to the next door along. “This place is starting to give me the creeps. It’s not like the Rakletts to be so…”

  “Subtle?”

  “I was going to say stealthy, but yes. Subtle works too.”

  “That’s because it’s Charon’s operation, not theirs.” Tuner mimicked a shudder. “I don’t know which species he belongs to, but he sure isn’t a Raklett. Far too wily.”

  “Far too spineless,” Klik muttered.

  The door on their right slid aside. Rogan stepped inside with her rifle raised, then relaxed. This new room was just as empty as the last.

  She nodded towards a defunct computer console at the far end. “Think you can get that working?” she asked Tuner.

  “Easiest thing in the world,” he said, hurrying towards it.

  She held him back.

  “Think you can get that working without setting off the ship’s self-destruct sequence?”

  Tuner bowed his head.

  “I’ll do my best,” he replied, sulking over to it.

  Jack inspected the room while Tuner worked to get the computer online. It had once been designed for storage – armaments of some kind, he guessed – but all the gun racks and shelves were empty. Not cleared out, as one might expect from a ship in “active service”, but bare, as if the ship hadn’t held such supplies in quite some time. The large, round table in the centre of the room was covered in mathematical instruments, algebraic worksheets, and more stolen blueprints for Mansa technology.

  “Bit odd for a warlord, isn’t it?” he whispered to Rogan. “This place feels more like a flying research station than a battleship.”

  She only shrugged.

  It was remarkably clean, too. The corridors of Gaskan’s ship had practically overflowed with the Rakletts’ filth, but not this one. This one put even the Adeona to shame.

  “I’m in.” The terminal whined into life. Tuner waved them all over. “Now, let me see…”

  “Is there any way you can check that this actually is Charon’s ship?” said Jack, edging his way to the front.

  “Well I doubt he popped down to the Ministry and got the ship registered under his name,” Tuner said sarcastically, “but if he synced the ship’s comms up to his own, then…”

  Tuner stopped typing and spun around.

  “Oh boy,” he laughed. “Are you going to like this.”

  “Are those the messages Charon sent to the Mansa high command?” Rogan stared at the lines of code on the screen. “Look, there’s the one he sent to Scara Li Ka! He wasn’t lying. It’s time-stamped just minutes before the attack on the resistance base.”

  “Can you see which comm address he’s been sending the messages to?” asked Jack. He tried readin
g the code himself, but it was no use. “Could we send them something?”

  “Already got it saved,” Tuner replied, shooting Jack a thumbs up. “And I purged it from Charon’s system, just because.”

  “Perfect.” Jack gave him a pat on the back. “That’s one problem solved at least.”

  “What about Charon himself?” Rogan pointed back at the screen. “Can you tell if he’s here?”

  Tuner hummed to himself as he navigated a series of incomprehensible files and folders.

  “Their security camera feeds are offline,” he eventually said, “and I reckon activating them would send off half a dozen alarms through the system. The ship schematics aren’t protected, though.”

  “Well, open them.”

  The screen blinked. Gone were the lines of code, replaced with a green, three-dimensional grid map.

  “What do those squiggles say?” asked Klik, peering over Jack’s shoulder.

  “I have no idea.” Rogan shrugged, just as surprised as everyone else. “This language is ancient. Who knows how old that makes this ship…”

  Jack studied the immaculately clean armoury-research room around them. He shrugged.

  “Seems pretty modern to me.”

  “Still, I think I can make a decent guess.” Rogan nodded and straightened up. “Most of the rooms look like they’ve been repurposed, but there’s one which I’m sure Charon would have kept the same.”

  “The engine room?” suggested Tuner.

  Rogan paused.

  “Well, yes… but I was thinking of the Captain’s Quarters. They’re directly above the bridge.”

  “Ah.” Tuner nodded sagely. “Yes, I suppose we’d probably have better luck finding him there.”

  “Okay. Great.” Jack tightened his grip on his rifle and hurried over to the room’s other doorway. The coast was clear. “So what are we looking for? A shuttle unit? Another fancy high-speed elevator like on Gaskan’s battlecruiser?”

  Rogan sighed and pointed past him.

  “It’s not that big a ship, Jack. I thought we’d just take the stairs.”

  The first flight of stairs opened up onto a curved corridor which ran around the length of the ship’s wide, semi-circular bridge. Translucent walls trapped misty shadows. Muffled Raklett voices could be heard inside.

  The crew of the Adeona ignored them and quietly followed the stairs up to the third level. They dived into the shadowed cover of an alcove as soon as they reached the top.

  Two Raklett guards marched along the length of the corridor beyond. Even for Rakletts, this pair was particularly ugly. Their stumpy snouts were hacked with scars. One of them was missing an ear. They paused outside the stairwell and sniffed.

  “You got summin?” one of them asked the other.

  More sniffing.

  “Nah. Just picking up the boss’ stink, I reckon.”

  The guards laughed to themselves as they carried on to a room at the end of the corridor. It wasn’t all that pleasant a sound. One by one the crew stepped out from the nook behind the doorway.

  “I’m guessing we’re close,” Jack whispered.

  “It should be right down there,” said Rogan.

  The corridors of the top floor were set out like a capital H laid on its side. Jack followed Rogan’s pointed finger to a pair of large, fancy doors on the opposite side.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” asked Klik, setting off towards them.

  Jack, Rogan and Tuner hurried after her, casting their eyes left and right down the corridors for fear of being spotted. They got lucky. Wherever the other Rakletts had been headed, they didn’t seem likely to make another pass.

  They caught up with her only a moment before she could pull open the twin doors.

  “Hold on just a moment,” said Rogan, blocking her outstretched arm. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Of course I am,” Klik sneered, snatching her hand back.

  “I’m not talking about you.” Rogan turned her head. “It’s Jack I’m worried about.”

  “Me?” Jack laughed. Nobody else did. “What are you worried about me for? This is personal for all of us.”

  “Yes, but…” Rogan paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Tuner and I want to stop Charon from abusing any more automata. Klik wants revenge for the death of her friends and father. But you’re different, Jack. You’re trying to stop something that hasn’t happened yet.”

  “So what? What difference does that make?”

  “It makes all the difference. You could still change your mind. You might suddenly decide that you don’t want to stop Charon after all.”

  “Okay.” Jack shook his head, confused. “Skip ahead, please. What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Earth!” Rogan struggled to keep her voice at a volume that wouldn’t bring half the ship’s guards running. “That’s exactly it – Earth! You’ve spent months trying to find a way back home. It’s all you’ve been interested in, all you’ve ever talked about. Amber this, Amber that. ‘I’ve got to save the human race.’ You’ve put all of us in danger trying to get there. And now you can’t. Not unless you go with Charon. He offered to take you with him before – who’s to say you won’t accept his offer the second time around?”

  Jack remained silent for a good few seconds after Rogan finished talking. Everyone waited for him to answer.

  “I am,” he whispered, hurt. “I’m to say I won’t.”

  “We’re just worried for you, Jack.” Tuner reached out and took Jack’s hand in his own. “We know how much finding Earth meant to you. Means to you.”

  “But I—” Jack stopped and swallowed the anger down. Now wasn’t the time. “Thank you. I appreciate the concern. But you don’t need to worry about me. There’s no way I’m letting Charon go to Earth, with or without me. If I have to stay out here to make sure everyone back home stays safe, so be it.”

  “See? He’s fine.” Klik looked just about ready to slash the doors off their hinges. “Can we get this over with, please?”

  Rogan sighed and nodded.

  “Be ready to lock the doors behind us as soon as we’re through.” She prepared to barge them open with her shoulder. “We won’t want to be disturbed.”

  “And Klik?” said Jack. “Hold off on killing the guy until we have everything we need, all right?”

  Klik mumbled vague agreement.

  “On the count of three?” suggested Tuner.

  Klik groaned. “Now!”

  All four of them charged at the doors as one. They swung open with remarkably little resistance. Klik sprawled onto her front on the carpeted floor beyond. Tuner rolled forwards like a cuboid bowling ball. Rogan grabbed each of the splayed doors and concentrated on getting them to lock again – if they’d ever been locked to begin with.

  Oblivious to all of this, Jack walked further into the Captain’s Quarters with his mouth hanging open.

  Charon had been standing with his back to them, his helmet planted on a grand desk. He spun around at the sound of their entrance. A snarl of furious surprise spread across his bearded face. He scrambled in the drawers of his desk for a weapon.

  “No,” said Jack. “No, it can’t be.”

  “Don’t just stand there, Jack!” Rogan screamed as she struggled to secure the door. “Grab him!”

  But Jack stopped dead halfway across the room. He felt as if somebody had sucked the air from his lungs and poured ice in its place. All that seemed to matter was the next question.

  “Everett Reeves, is that you?”

  20

  The Damned Planet

  The intergalactic criminal known as Charon pulled a bronze, stub-nosed pistol from one of the desk drawers and pointed it at Jack. A short blade jutted out from underneath the barrel.

  “Why did you come here, Jack?” he snapped.

  “Put that gun down right now!” screamed Tuner.

  He rushed forward to stand beside Jack with his rifle raised. Charon smirked at the pint-sized autom
ata and kept his pistol levelled at Jack’s head. His smile faltered only when he recognised the Krettelian who came hurrying to lend her own rifle to the standoff.

  Distantly, as if watching all this unfold through a telescope from a whole other shore of reality, Jack found himself impressed that Klik had the self-control not to shoot Charon where he stood.

  Charon reluctantly let the pistol fall from his hand. The doors to the Captain’s Quarters now secure, Rogan marched over and kicked the discarded gun into the corner of the room. Then she violently shoved Charon down into the chair behind his desk.

  “What’s the matter with you, Jack?” she asked, turning back to him with a stare of disbelief.

  “Poor boy looks like he’s seen a ghost,” muttered Charon, fixing him with two cold, sparkling eyes.

  “Tuner, can you see anything we can tie him up with?”

  Taking a brief sabbatical from aiming his rifle to canvass the room, Tuner shook his head.

  “I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” he said.

  “So, Jack.” Rogan grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to shake him out of his stupor. “This is your plan. What do we do now?”

  But Jack didn’t know what to do. His last question still hadn’t been answered.

  Everett Reeves, is that you?

  Except it had been answered, hadn’t it? There was zero doubt in Jack’s mind that the man sat before him was from Earth. He’d encountered all sorts of humanoid species in the three months since arriving on this side of the galaxy, but compared to Charon, none of them came even close.

  But it wasn’t just that. Even the redecorated Captain’s Quarters screamed human taste. The desk – it looked as if it had been carved from ancient oak. How many wooden desks had he seen since leaving Earth? Same with the rest of the room – the retrofitted wooden panels, soft carpet and warm tulip lamps gave Charon’s quarters the look and feel of an upper-class gentleman’s private study. Only the smell seemed wrong – Jack guessed there was no way to authentically manufacture their home world’s air.