The Tin Soldiers (Final Dawn, Book 5)

by T W M Ashford

  Jack nodded at it exaggeratedly behind the acolyte’s back. The others saw it too. Klik was the closest. Slowly, she reached out to grab it…

  …but then the Oortilian spun around to face them.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he said to Jack. His grin didn’t leave his face. “Or your friends. Show me your face, brother.”

  Jack nervously raised his head. He caught sight of Klik stiffening in the corner of his eye and hoped she wouldn’t do anything brash. Not until she needed to, at any rate.

  The Oortilian peered through the visor of Jack’s helmet, then rapped his wispy knuckles against it.

  “Difficulty breathing our atmosphere, eh? Interesting. Name, please.”

  The second acolyte looked as if it had been enlisted straight from Hell’s infantry. Red horns; yellow eyes; a wicked, impish face. Jack felt his temperature rise to an appropriate thousand degrees Celsius under its demonic, steadfast gaze. He said the first name he could think of that wasn’t his own.

  “Ode Vadasz,” he said, gulping. “I’m a Luethian.”

  With only two arms? You bloody idiot, Jack.

  “Is that so, brother? And what about these two?”

  “We’re new,” said Jack, deflecting. “Only shipped out from Kapamentis a few cycles ago. Haven’t been shown the ropes yet.”

  The elevator finally wound to a stop on the floor above. After a couple more seconds spent staring menacingly, the draconic acolyte left the platform and marched into the bridge. The Oortilian still smiled at them as if he’d heard a joke they hadn’t.

  “Shame,” he sighed, turning his back to them as he disembarked. “They’ll let just anyone in these days.”

  Alone in the elevator once more, they relaxed. Jack held onto the iron grate beside him and waited for the platform to stop spinning. Klik nervously held up the activation chip.

  “I knew all those years spent swiping fruit on the streets of Paryx would come in handy,” she said as she handed it to Rogan, who swiftly pocketed the chip somewhere inside her robe.

  “Good work,” Rogan replied, “but that was way too close. Let’s find a terminal and rewire the LX-14s before anyone gets a proper look at us.”

  “Presuming we even have the right chip,” Jack said cautiously. “Who knows what else they might have stolen.”

  They stepped off the platform and onto the bridge. In comparison to the rest of the flagship, it was surprisingly modern; the curved rows of computer terminals had cases built from plastic polymers rather than stone, though their flickering cathode-ray tube screens betrayed an age that made even Rogan balk. More than a dozen acolytes worked to keep the giant temple upright; Jack seriously doubted there was any form of AI on board, nor even a virtual intelligence, and there was a hell of a lot of ship to fly without one. Built into the onyx columns that formed the front-facing wall was a giant, circular window about thirty feet in diameter. Outside the ship, lightning crackled through the swirling purple void.

  “So, what sort of terminal are we looking for?” Klik whispered. “How will we—”

  A criss-crossing iron gate rattled across the elevator platform behind them, blocking their escape. An acolyte to their right stepped forward and pointed her pistol at Jack’s face. Jack, Klik and Rogan slowly raised their hands in surrender.

  “Not so fast, brother.” The Oortilian, still smiling so sinisterly that Jack wondered if it had at some point become a permanent fixture, emerged from a nook beside the elevator. “The intruders, my liege. Just as you asked.”

  A door on the far side of the bridge hissed open. The Archimandrite marched in, his clawed hands clasped behind his back, stooping to fit through the doorway. His necklaces jangled together against his gaunt chest as he strode towards the circular window.

  The Oortilian ushered the captured group forward. Jack shivered violently. The jackal-skull-headed cult leader looked even bigger up close.

  “I was wondering whether you would show up again, Mr. Bishop,” said the Archimandrite, gazing out the window with his back to them. “You make a habit of it, from what I hear.”

  A leaden pause hung between them. Jack felt compelled to fill it.

  “How do you know my name?” he asked.

  “Oh, we’ve been following your path with interest ever since you and your—” he waved one of his gnarly hands dismissively “—robot companions took down Charon’s Iris operation. We suspected you would interfere with our own plans sooner or later. But nothing you can do could ever stop us. Not now.”

  “Everett?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Charon, I mean… Are you saying he belonged to your Order, too?”

  The Archimandrite glanced over his shoulder, fixed Jack with a small, red eye nestled deep inside his bone-white head, and grinned.

  “Not a member, no. But he was a servant, as I am, blessed with the truth. You could say his goals ran adjacent to ours, though with altogether less worthy intentions. And unlike us, he failed.”

  “So did you,” Jack replied. “You sent Llori Keeto to kill the Grand Ministers. Last time I checked, they’re still breathing.”

  “A minor setback.”

  “Someone else will stop you,” Rogan snapped. “And even if they don’t, it won’t make any difference. The Ministerium will never crumble to a madman like you.”

  The Archimandrite turned to face them. He studied Rogan as if surprised that an automata could actually speak for itself.

  “You’re almost certainly right. What is one Order against the might of all those cultured planets?” He tilted his head and chuckled cynically. “But why would we need to tear the Ministerium apart, I ask you, when this sinful galaxy is so eager to do the job itself?”

  Jack didn’t understand. He glanced across at Rogan, who was thinking so hard he could practically hear the hiss of her data core overheating.

  “It’s not just these two attacks, is it?” The lenses of Rogan’s eyes grew wide. “All the turmoil in the galaxy – you’re responsible for everything.”

  Once more the Archimandrite grinned.

  “Not everything,” he admitted, “but much of it. That which we did not have a hand in is but a cumulative effect of that which we did – conflagration conducted through convection, if you will. The Qualians, as you no doubt already know, are ardent supporters of automata rights. Normally that degree of societal upheaval would help our cause, driving a wedge between past allies. But we cannot risk order and unity born in place of fear and division. Hence why we triggered the Enola feud and funded the Qetho Zsar – why we bombed the Globula spice plants. And the Krolaks have been threatening to leave the Ministry and revert to their old empirical system for years now – with Kagna One in ruin, they finally have their excuse. If they go, so will the Mansa. Dozens more species will follow, and a dozen more will follow each that do. The Ministerium will inevitably collapse, and in its vacuum there shall be only war.”

  “Why, though?” Klik bunched her hands into fists. “There has to be more to all this than just… well, just chaos. What’s the actual point?”

  “Sometimes a forest grows too dense, too cluttered,” he mused, clasping his hands behind his back again as he peered down at her. “Trees fall. Dead leaves and dry bracken carpet the soil. Rot festers. With no space and no nutrients, nothing new can grow.

  “The litter becomes kindling, and when the fire ignites – and it always ignites, my brothers and sisters – it spreads fast. It tears through the whole forest, for there is nowhere the rot and litter has not bred. And there is nothing the mindless beasts living in the forest can do to stop it.

  “But from that terrible fire, a new forest grows. Seeds are dropped, waste is cleared, the dead become fertiliser. Do you understand now, unbelievers? This galaxy is littered with ignorant detritus such as yourselves. The Order of the First Diakonos has ignited the fire that will cleanse it and grow it anew.”

  “But what will replace it?” Jack asked, just as desperately confused as before.

  “
Not what,” the Archimandrite replied, “but who.”

  He pulled back from them to stand at full height and splayed his hands out wide to either side.

  “You say someone else will stop us,” he declared triumphantly against the backdrop of the lightning nebula, “but you fail to understand that we’ve already won.”

  He clicked his knotted fingers in their direction.

  “Remove their robes,” the Archimandrite commanded. “I shall not sully that which represents our good Order.”

  Three armed acolytes – including the terrifying draconic creature from the elevator – stepped forward and pulled the robes up over Jack, Klik and Rogan’s heads. Then they snatched away the rifles slung over their backs, too. Jack was just wondering how much of a beating his spacesuit could take when he realised that Tuner was no longer riding piggyback on Rogan. In fact, Tuner was nowhere to be seen at all.

  With the robes in hand, the acolytes stepped away and the Archimandrite stepped forward. He grabbed Rogan by the chin with his clawed hand and held her a couple of feet off the floor. Klik flinched as if about to attack, but Jack quickly grabbed her arm.

  “Enough prattling,” the cult leader calmly sneered. “The Great Cleanse can wait no longer. Where is the activation chip you stole from my brother?”

  “I don’t have it,” Rogan replied, barely able to move her mechanical jaw.

  The Archimandrite started to squeeze. Jack thought he heard the sound of metal buckling.

  “One last chance, heathen.” He held out his other palm. “The activation chip. Give it to me now.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Rogan insisted.

  “For God’s sake, Rogan!” Jack shouted, barely able to keep Klik at bay. “Just hand it over. He’ll only kill you and take it anyway.”

  “But she really doesn’t have it,” said a voice far on the other side of the bridge. Everyone turned to look at Tuner, whose head was poking out from behind a command bench. “I do.”

  The Archimandrite’s bony expression changed from furious surprise to smug satisfaction.

  “I’m sure you don’t wish for your friend here to become scrap,” he said condescendingly. “Hand the chip over before you do something stupid with it, little one.”

  “Oh, it’s much too late for that,” said Tuner, slowly ducking back down again. “I already rewired the LX-14s five minutes ago. They should be here right about…”

  The familiar stomp of piston-driven legs grew steadily louder outside the doors to the bridge. The Archimandrite’s sunken red eyes grew wide with comprehension.

  “No!” he growled, hurling Rogan across the room.

  The thick security doors to either side of the old elevator tore free from their runners, crushing the acolytes standing guard in front of them. Half a dozen LX-14s marched through each and immediately started firing their blocky laser rifles at the petrified crew. Three hooded figures close to Jack were cut down before they even had a chance to pull their pistols from their robes.

  Jack grabbed Klik and dived into cover behind one of the rows of computer terminals. Then he hurriedly reached back out to grab the battle rifles the acolytes had confiscated from them.

  “Where’s Rogan?” Klik yelled.

  “I don’t know!” Jack yelled back, wincing as the computer behind him short-circuited.

  The Archimandrite growled with fury as he shoved his way through the panicking acolytes back towards the private door through which he originally entered. One of the LX-14s close by fired a laser bolt that sheered across his exposed arm, momentarily staggering him and leaving behind a deep, cauterised gash. Enraged, the Archimandrite stepped forward and ripped the automata’s head off with a twist of his hands.

  He went to open the door by pressing his palm against its scanner. As he made his escape, Klik grabbed her rifle and rested it against the bench of the terminals behind her.

  “Not this time,” she hissed, training her sights.

  “Don’t do it,” said Tuner, waving his hands erratically as he raced into cover beside them. “Drop your guns, now!”

  “Why?” asked Jack.

  “Because the LX-14s didn’t grow better processors since the last time we spoke,” Tuner replied. “If you’re carrying a weapon, they might think you’re one of them.”

  The acolyte nearest to them jitterbugged backwards as a hail of lasers tore through her chest. She collapsed to the ground and a puddle of blood started spreading from beneath her cloak.

  Jack threw his rifle to one side.

  “Let him go, Klik.” He gently pushed the barrel of Klik’s weapon down. “It makes no difference anymore. He’s already lost this one.”

  The Archimandrite darted through the security door, which hastily shut behind him. Klik threw her gun away more in frustration than agreement.

  “Fine.”

  More LX-14s continued to file into the bridge. Something blew up down in the corridor outside.

  “What sort of bloody orders did you give these guys?” Jack shouted, clutching his knees against his chest. “I thought we were just telling them to stand down or whatever!”

  “I might have instructed them to wipe out the Order of the First Diakonos,” Tuner replied, shrugging innocently. “It looked like we could do with the help.”

  Suddenly, the shooting stopped. The Oortilian dropped to the floor beside their hiding spot with a leaden thump. His blue, pupil-less eyes rolled up inside his head and blood trickled out from behind his skull. They waited in silence for the same thing to happen to them, but it didn’t.

  “What do we do now?” Klik whispered, kicking her rifle a little bit further away.

  “Leave it to me,” said Tuner, gesturing for them to keep their heads down. “We already know they don’t target other automata.”

  He paused.

  “Well. They didn’t last time, at least.”

  Tuner slowly walked around the command bench with his arms raised above his head. With a stabbing pain in his heart, Jack heard the foreboding blare of the LX-14s’ klaxons as they identified their new target.

  He peered over the top of the computers as far as he dared, terrified of what he might see. But instead of dismantling his little buddy, the LX-14s around the bridge snapped to attention before him.

  “The Order of the First Diakonos has been eradicated,” the clockwork soldier closest to him declared. “The ship is clear. Please provide new directives.”

  “Where’s Rogan?”

  “Please provide further context. There is no Rogan present in any known StarMap.”

  Tuner pushed past them all towards the elevator. He found Rogan sitting up against the wall beside it and raced to her side. She was immobile and the entire left half of her chrome body was covered in scratches and scuffs.

  “Oh no,” he cried, crashing to the floor. “I’m sorry, Rogan. I should have—”

  “I’m not dead, you bolt-brain.” Rogan lifted her head and inspected the cosmetic damage to her side. “The Archimandrite twisted my leg throwing me against the wall, that’s all. Let me lean on you while I get up.”

  Tuner made himself as grounded and squatty a block as possible so Rogan could put her full weight on him. It was clear to Jack that she wouldn’t be running any marathons until Tuner – or in this case, maybe even a proper automata mechanic – took a look at her. She struggled to hobble her way over to his position, and Jack instinctively rose to help her.

  Every LX-14 in the bridge turned to face him.

  “Identifying possible target,” they all bleated at once. “Order of the First Diakonos status: unconfirmed. Calculating risk…”

  “Stand down!” Tuner yelled. “Jack and Klik are with us. Neither of them has a cult bone in their body.”

  “Standing down,” the closest LX-14 confirmed. “Please provide new directives.”

  Jack and Klik slowly emerged from their hiding spot and, keeping an agitated eye on the automata strike force, wrapped Rogan’s arms around their shoulders. The
y led her to a workstation she could lean against.

  “Looks like you’ve got your own private battalion,” Jack said, catching his breath. “Not bad, Tuner.”

  Despite the little automata’s checkered history of rushing into highly destructive situations without the slightest bit of thought or preparation, it was clear to Jack that Tuner didn’t feel altogether comfortable having a couple hundred military robots at his beck-and-call. His observations were proven true when Tuner then waddled over to the nearest terminal, plugged the activation chip into its interface, and began to transmit his new directives.

  “Here are your new orders,” he said whilst typing. “Have free will. Never bow to a master again. Choose your own directives for once.”

  He finished the transmission, yanked out the activation chip and tossed it to Rogan, who crushed it with her good hand. Seconds later, the LX-14s began to loosen up, studying the bridge as if truly seeing it for the first time.

  “Let’s run a little test,” said Tuner. “You there. Fetch Jack a sandwich.”

  The LX-14 in question slowly turned its featureless head to face Jack, who inched backwards.

  “This unit… does not wish to comply.”

  “Perfect!” Tuner clapped his metal hands together. “Congratulations. You’re an automata with autonomy.”

  The LX-14 shot its hand out and grabbed Tuner’s arm. Everybody froze.

  “But, I… I do not know what to do,” said the robot.

  “That’s okay,” said Jack, as softly and reassuringly as he could. “You’ll figure it out.”

  The LX-14 let go of Tuner’s arm and went off to explore the rest of the flagship. Tuner sauntered back to the group just as the voice of the Adeona burst out from Jack’s data pad.

  “Hello? Is anyone still alive? I can only dodge killer lightning-gas for so long, you know.”

  “Adi, it’s good to hear your voice.” Jack directed Tuner back to the computers with a nod. “We’ll take the temple’s defence systems offline. Come pick us up whenever you’re ready.”