The Final Dawn

by T W M Ashford

  "Jack!" he said, beaming. "I knew you'd come back!"

  The Raklett escorting Rogan watched its colleague collapse with confusion. Now, seeing Jack poke his head out from the other side of the wall, it pushed Rogan aside and drew up the plasma rifle it had slung over one shoulder.

  Before it could fire, its spine arched backwards with a jerk and it started jitterbugging across the floor. Its clawed hands coiled in agony and short, crackling zigzags of blue lightning danced across the metal of its patchwork armour.

  It collapsed in a smoking heap a moment later, revealing an excited medical automata floating behind it.

  "Thank you," said Jack, emerging from cover. He dragged the first Raklett back inside the room. "That's twice you’ve saved me now."

  "Good to see you again," said Rogan, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "I thought you'd be halfway across the galaxy by this point."

  Jack stood up, sighed, and wiped his hands against the legs of his spacesuit. They stank of Raklett.

  "Well." He looked down at his boots. "I couldn't go giving us fleshies a bad name now, could I?"

  Tuner hurried over and gave Jack a hug. Then he jerked upright.

  "We've got to help the others," said Tuner, growing frantic. "They're going to have their drives wiped any moment!"

  "I suppose we'd better go put a stop to that, then," said Jack. He picked up the Rakletts' rifles and tossed one of them over to Rogan.

  "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked.

  "Your brain is a literal supercomputer," said Jack, studying the gun. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

  "I'd rather not." She handed the rifle to Tuner. "Here, take this."

  "So what's it gonna be, Doc?" Jack waved the medical automata over. "You staying here or coming with us?"

  "The revolution is now!" it declared with glee.

  "Is there something wrong with my translator chip?" asked Jack, showing Rogan the back of his neck.

  "No, our new friend really is that enthusiastic," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Come on. Which way's the hangar?"

  All four of them crammed around the doorway at the bottom of the stairwell and peered inside the hangar.

  "Quite busy, isn't it?" said Tuner.

  "It is, but there's a lot of cover and I don't think anyone's looking for us yet." Jack pointed over to the left wall. "There's the Adeona. They've got her chained to the floor. Anything we can do about that?"

  Rogan cracked a smile.

  "Don't worry. This won't be the first time we've broken her out of chains. Tuner, you want to do the honours?"

  "No, you and I will help the ship." Jack shook his head. "Tuner needs to go rescue the others. Do you know where they were taken?"

  Tuner nodded and pointed down the other end of the hangar.

  "I came around from the EMP blast just as we were landing," he said. "They took Rogan and me up to those data-extraction chambers, but everybody else they led through those doors there."

  "Hopefully wherever they're being held isn't too far on the other side. Take Doc and break them free. But don't do anything stupid, all right? And use the Rakletts' prejudice to your advantage. If you act as if you're supposed to be there, they might not even notice you."

  "I've never been so happy to be discriminated against," said Tuner, tilting his head sarcastically.

  "I'm being serious. If you can't get to them, come right back."

  "We're getting everyone off this battlecruiser," said Rogan, her tone extra serious.

  "I know," said Jack. "But I'd rather five of us made it out than none at all. Be safe, okay?"

  Tuner offered a mock salute and then hurried out the door. Doc floated after him.

  "Well, at least he's not walking into a trap this time," said Rogan, watching Tuner dart from shadowy cover to shadowy cover. "Probably."

  "He'll be all right," said Jack, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Now come and show me how to free our ship."

  Tuner and Doc made it across the hangar floor without being noticed. The door to the Confession's holding centre hissed shut behind them.

  The hall of the holding centre was dark and cold, though neither presented much issue to the two automata. A few bulbs dangled on wires from the ceiling high above, creating stark spotlights amongst the deep shadows. Jack's human eyes may have struggled to navigate the room, but to Tuner the darkness was as bright as a summer day and the spotlights as dark as a winter morning.

  Stepping (and floating) quietly, they pressed further into the hall.

  They passed cage after cage. Most lay empty. Scraps of clothing hung on some of their iron bars. Others had floors speckled with dirt and blood, and one was home to a single shard of bone.

  The hall smelled of copper and bleach, and it was quiet – much too quiet. Tuner started to think that maybe Jack had a point. If rescuing the rest of the crew proved too dangerous, maybe it was best to turn back.

  No. He had to be brave. Either everyone got off the ship, or none of them did.

  Besides, he had a plasma rifle now. He reckoned he could take on the whole Raklett army with an actual plasma rifle in his hands.

  He readjusted the rifle's strap on his shoulder.

  Even if it was a bit too big to hold properly.

  Something moved in a cage not far from the aisle down which Tuner and Doc were walking. They sneaked across, keeping to the gaps between cells.

  Even with night vision, it was hard to tell who was inside.

  "11-P-53, is that you?"

  The creature lunged at the bars with enough force to raise the back end of its cage an inch off the ground. Spittle sprayed across the two automata. Doc spun backwards, flailing numerous surgical appendages in defence. Teeth like scythes scraped against rusty iron. A paw the size of a dinner plate lashed out at them.

  "Shh!" Tuner backed away, casting his eyes around for guards. Surely they could hear the creature barking? "Well we definitely won't be bringing you on board the Adeona with us…"

  "IL-8-66?" whispered a voice from a few cages away. "Get over here!"

  Tuner sprinted over. The entire crew of the Adeona had been crammed into a cage big enough to house maybe half their number. Some of the smaller automata were held aloft by their companions. Others, such as 11-P-53, were pressed hard against the bars.

  "11-P-53! You're alive! They haven't erased you yet, have they?"

  "I wouldn't have recognised you if they had, idiot. How in the galaxy did you escape?"

  "Jack saved us. He's helping Rogan free the ship as we speak."

  "Really? Huh. And who is this?"

  "This is Doc. It's coming with us."

  "Oh, is it now? Well none of us will be going anywhere unless you can get the keys to this blasted cage."

  Tuner stepped out of the way and the medical automata hovered in front of the cell door. There was no electronic keypad to hack – the door was locked the old fashioned way, with tumblers, bolts and a keyhole.

  From inside Doc's chest extended a cutting torch. A hot blue flame erupted from the end.

  "Stand back, please."

  The automata inside the cage inched away from the door as best they could. Doc began cutting through the bolts. It was slow and delicate work. In the darkness of the holding centre, the resulting sparks burst out like fireworks.

  Tuner tapped his foot against the floor. He could have sworn he heard a door open on the far end of the hall.

  "Come on…"

  Yep. Footsteps. Lots of them. Guards were definitely on their way.

  "Any time now…"

  Doc's torch sliced through the last bolt and the door to the cage swung free. 11-P-53 was closest – it dashed out and held the door open for everyone else.

  "Head towards that door," said Tuner, pointing towards the exit to the hangar. "Quickly as you can!"

  11-P-53 turned to Tuner as the last automata left the cage.

  "Be honest. How's the hangar looking? Is the coast clear?"

  "
Absolutely not. We'll be shot to pieces."

  11-P-53 contemplated this.

  "Well. There are worse things to die for than freedom, right?"

  A plasma bolt exploded against the side of the cage. 11-P-53 and Tuner jumped. Three Rakletts stood snarling at the far end of the hall, each with a rifle aimed in their direction.

  "Run!"

  They sprinted down the row of cages towards the rest of the automata. The rifle around Tuner's neck swung wildly from side to side with every step. Plasma bolts shot past on their left and right, ricocheting off cells and blowing up light fixtures. The beast in the cage started to roar again.

  "Go through the door!" yelled Tuner. Everyone was crowded around it, waiting. "Don't wait, just go!"

  "It's locked," said Kansas, wheeling out from between the legs of the other automata.

  "What?" Tuner stopped beside them and ducked as another bolt from the Rakletts buried itself in the wall above. "What do you mean, it's locked?"

  "It won't open," said another robot, frantically tapping at the panel beside the door. "The guards must have shut us in."

  "How long would it take you to hack it?" asked 11-P-53, pulling Tuner into cover.

  "Longer than it would take for those guards to round us all up," replied Tuner, looking around. "Hey. Where's Doc?"

  Brackitt poked his head out from behind one of the cages.

  "That medical automata you brought with you?" He pointed towards the wall to the far left of the door. "Isn't that it, over there?"

  Tuner peered across the hall. Doc appeared too preoccupied with cutting open a mesh cabinet with its torch to notice all the gunfire going on around it.

  "What does that bolt-head think it's doing?" asked 11-P-53.

  Doc finished cutting through the cabinet's lock. It threw the twin doors aside.

  Inside were rifles. Lots of rifles.

  Tuner and 11-P-53 looked at each other.

  "You have got to be joking," said 11-P-53.

  "Well, you wanted freedom," said Tuner, shrugging. "Fight for it."

  Jack and Rogan waited until they saw Tuner and Doc sneak through the door to the holding centre before making their own move.

  The Rakletts were stretched too thin (and on top of that, too stupid) to notice two strangers dart from cover to cover at the back of the hangar. Jack and Rogan had to hide behind a stack of engine parts while two guards marched past – one of them stopped to suspiciously sniff the air, then caught up with his partner – but otherwise their sprint to the Adeona went without incident.

  The ship perked up as they ducked into cover beside her. The metal chains holding her to the floor creaked and groaned as she fired off a couple of air thrusters.

  "It's good to see you too," said Jack, reaching up to pat the side of her landing gear. "Stay still. We don't want to attract attention."

  Rogan tapped at the keypad of the computer terminal beside the Adeona's bay. She turned to Jack and nodded.

  "I can get the chains off her from here," she said, ducking back down, "but it won't be quiet. The guards will notice."

  Jack took a deep breath and weighed the rifle in his hands.

  "Well, they're going to notice sooner or later. But maybe we should wait until the rest of the crew get here first?"

  They peered around the terminal. From where they hid, the door on the opposite end of the hangar was little more than a black speck.

  "How do you think Tuner's doing in there?" asked Rogan, tapping her foot. "Maybe we should have gone with him."

  "I'm sure he's fine. If something had gone wrong, I'm sure we'd know about it."

  A bellowing alarm rang out. Red emergency lights started flashing on the walls.

  "Yes, I'm sure we would." She punched Jack on the arm and went to stand up. "If Tuner's—"

  "Wait," said Jack, pulling her back down. "What is that?"

  The door through which Tuner and Doc had entered remained closed. But a door far to the right of the holding centre had slid open, and from inside hissed a thick cloud of grey-white smoke. Loud bangs could be heard down the corridor beyond. All the Rakletts in the hangar edged forwards, their rifles trained on the opening.

  Silence fell, if only for the slightest of moments.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Dozens of plasma bolts shot out from inside the smoke. Some missed, burning through crates and canisters – one of the latter rocketed upwards and detonated against the hangar ceiling, showering everyone with red-hot shrapnel. Others tore holes through the Raklett guards lying in wait. Those left alive made a hasty retreat back towards the nearest pieces of cover.

  The automata came out screaming.

  Those with arms carried plasma rifles. Those without, and those too small to wield anything bigger than a pocket knife, sprinted towards the Adeona. Tuner, Brackitt and 11-P-53 led the charge, firing wildly upon the spacecraft and fuel drums the remaining Rakletts had taken cover behind.

  "Get those chains off the ship," said Jack, shaking Rogan out of her stupor. "Hurry!"

  Rogan stood up and pressed a single key on the terminal. The chains unlocked from one another and retracted into pits in the bay floor with a great rattling sound. The Adeona rose up, flexing her air vents and igniting her secondary thrusters.

  "Watch the fuel tankers!" yelled Jack, wincing as her flames licked across the massive bronze drums behind.

  The first of the fleeing automata rushed into cover beside them. The Rakletts were returning fire now, their plasma bolts scorching the wall behind the Adeona. Jack stood up and fired a couple of shots back in their direction. Tuner slid over to the terminal just as Jack was ducking down again.

  "You made it," said Rogan, giving him a hug.

  "What the hell happened to playing it safe?" asked Jack.

  "We had to fight our way out." Tuner leaned to the side of the terminal and fired off a couple of shots. "There was no other way. I've killed three guards already!"

  "That's horrible!" Rogan gave Tuner a stern look.

  "They started it," grumbled Tuner.

  "Hey, Adeona." Jack struggled to raise his voice above the gunfire. "Lower your loading ramp! We need to get everyone inside."

  The ship turned on the spot, her landing gear spitting sparks as it scraped against the hangar floor. She bumped into a small shuttle parked in the bay beside her, and it toppled over. Her loading ramp began to descend.

  "Everybody on board!" shouted Jack, firing off a few more shots. "Hurry!"

  The Adeona positioned herself so that she stood between the unarmed automata and the Rakletts, blocking their line of sight. A few of the guards fired on her hull, but her shields – though weaker than those of any gunship – soaked up most of the damage.

  Rogan began shepherding all the automata without guns into the ship. Jack and Tuner pushed past the Adeona to a stack of crates behind which 11-P-53 was crouched.

  "How's it going?" asked Jack, out of breath. "Are we winning?"

  "Take a look for yourself," replied 11-P-53, nodding towards the battlefield in front.

  Doc had hung back from the rest of the automata, preferring to take a more… guerrilla approach. It sped from Raklett to Raklett, spinning its saws and slashing its scalpels and igniting its cutting torches like a deranged Swiss-army knife. Furry body parts went flying. Its chassis was painted with blood.

  "Good grief. I'm sure glad that thing's on our side."

  "Doesn't matter," sighed 11-P-53. "We've got a much bigger problem than a dozen guards to deal with."

  Jack's blood turned cold.

  "We do?"

  "You see the forcefield over the hangar entrance?"

  Jack nodded. It was hard to ignore, given the chilling vacuum of space lurking on the other side.

  "Look to the right. What do you think they are?"

  Sticking out from the wall on the other side of the Confession's forcefield were two pairs of long, angry-looking cannons, each twice the size of even the largest anti-aircraft gun
back on Earth. They swivelled in unison.

  "Ah."

  "It's hardly surprising," 11-P-53 continued. The crates beside them shook from another wayward plasma bolt. "We are on a Class-S Raklett battlecruiser, after all. More guards will be on their way down, but those guns are the real threat."

  "How do we shut them off?" asked Jack.

  "Shut what off?" asked Rogan, joining them.

  They all pointed at the cannons.

  "Ah, bolts! Tuner, do you think you could override them?"

  Tuner shrugged. "If I can get onto their system, maybe."

  "Give me a second." Rogan sprinted back to the terminal beside the Adeona's bay. She punched a frustrated hole through its screen a moment later.

  "Good news, then?" said Jack, flinching.

  "The Confession's defence systems are kept completely separate from the rest of the ship's subroutines. There's no way to access it from here."

  "But you found out where we can access it, yes?"

  She lowered her eyes.

  "The main security terminal… on the bridge."

  Everyone went quiet.

  "So that's it, then," said Tuner, letting his rifle sag. "It's over."

  "Hey." 11-P-53 tapped him on the arm. "Better to die fighting for freedom than live as a mindless drone, right?"

  More silence. Jack knew he ought to say something, but he didn't know what.

  "Everyone else is on board the Adeona," said Rogan, sighing. "We can leave as soon as you give the order."

  "We won't make it more than a hundred metres before the Confession blows us into dust," said 11-P-53, continuing to lay down fire against the few remaining Rakletts.

  "The rest of the crew don't know that," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Let them believe a little longer, while there's still hope in their hearts."

  Jack looked to his left. A number of automata stood at the top of the Adeona's loading ramp, waiting. Anxious lights flashed around the top of Kansas' tiny cylindrical head.

  Knowing what he did, Jack had to turn his head away.

  Sod it. He was never getting home anyway.

  "I don't suppose you saw how to get to the bridge, did you?"