The Tin Soldiers (Final Dawn, Book 5)

by T W M Ashford

  “Kansas!” Jack laughed and clapped his hands together. “Good to see you again, buddy. Are you a minister, too?”

  “Only in training,” Kansas replied. “They need a backup in case misery-bolts here blows a gasket.”

  “Which I pray to the Great Engineer happens any day now,” Kay-13 wheezed. “When I left Detri for the Ministry, I thought I’d just be campaigning for automata rights. But there’s so much paperwork to process – for fleshies! I’m sure I don’t remember working this hard back when I was in servitude.”

  “At least now you get paid for it,” said Klik, shrugging.

  “I’m an automata,” Kay-13 replied cantankerously. “I sleep in a closet and I don’t like doing things. What do I need credits for?”

  “Well, we’re all very thankful for your service,” said Rogan. “And it’s wonderful to see you both again. But why in the galaxy have you come all the way out here to see us?”

  “Yes, about that.” Kay-13 shuffled awkwardly to one side. “The Ministry needs your help. Perhaps Kansas here ought to explain. It was his idea to come speak to you. It’s not as if anyone else would listen…”

  “Hold on a second,” said Jack. “We didn’t come all the way out to the middle of galactic nowhere because we wanted to pick up temp gigs for the Ministry. I’m flattered we were the first people you thought to ask—”

  “Third, actually,” said Kansas.

  “—but if it’s anything to do with the Ministry, count us out. I’ve had enough of getting mixed up in other people’s politics. I always come out the other side having made everything worse.”

  “Oh.” The ring of lights circling the top of Kansas’ head flashed a morose shade of blue. “That was a long trip for nothing, then.”

  “Told you,” Kay-13 grumbled. “Waste of time.”

  “It’s nothing personal,” Jack quickly added. “If it’s a private matter then sure, I’ll help. Need a place to stay, some credits wired? You’ve got it. Hell, I’d love to catch up with you over a drink back in Kapamentis. But I won’t start throwing fists in a fight that’s not my own. Not anymore.”

  “You stay right where you are,” said Rogan, stopping Kansas from rolling himself back up the ramp of his shuttle. She turned to Jack. “Our friends have travelled lightyears across the galaxy to ask for our help, and what – you’re just going to send them back home without even so much as listening to what they have to say? I know that things have been hard for you the past year or so, but come on, Jack. That’s just rude.”

  Jack opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. Everyone in their circle was looking at him – everyone except Klik, who was avoiding eye contact by staring down at the sodden earth beneath her feet. He felt his face grow hot and red.

  “You’re right, Rogan.” Jack nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry, Kansas. Please, tell us why you came.”

  Kansas turned on the spot to face Rogan. She gestured at the little automata encouragingly.

  “Well,” he said hesitantly, “I expect that even all the way out here, you’ve heard about some of the, erm, incidents the Ministerium is currently dealing with?”

  “We’ve picked up a few transmissions over Adi’s comm system,” said Tuner, “and we hear fresh rumours each time we visit the next outpost over. Sounds like you guys have got your hands full.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” grumbled Kay-13.

  “The Ministry will never admit it publicly, but the council is stretched way too thin,” said Kansas. “More than normal, I mean. So thin, actually, that it might just snap at any moment.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Klik.

  “The stuff that leaks out to the public – the raiders, peace treaties being broken, that sort of thing – that’s nothing. We’re on the verge of about a dozen galactic wars. Half the member planets of the Ministerium are threatening to quit if we don’t support them or cut their council contributions. The Grand Ministers will probably have us dismantled for even telling you this, you know.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” said Kay-13. “If it means an end to the paperwork…”

  Jack chewed his lip and said nothing. The more Kansas talked about the strife affecting every other corner of the galaxy, the less inclined he felt to help. And it wasn’t as if he felt good about it. He knew it was wrong to think like that, but he really didn’t want to find himself in another goddamn firefight again.

  If that attitude made him rude, so be it.

  At least it also kept him breathing.

  “So, why come to us?” Rogan crossed her arms. “It’s not like we have many connections you don’t. And with the few people we do know, it’s not as if we’re on the best of terms.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t dream of asking you to get involved in the political side of things,” Kansas quickly explained. Jack felt this was mostly for his sake. “Besides, that would be a diplomatic disaster. Most planetary members would interpret a civilian emissary being sent instead of a minister as a deliberate slight. Especially a human civilian. No offence, but you lot don’t even have an official representative yet.”

  Jack nodded. It was a fair point. Humanity was too busy fighting its bug war to formally acquaint itself with its new neighbours. Perhaps, given the present turmoil, that wasn’t such a bad move for the time being.

  “What else, then?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “If what you need doing is more ‘off-the-books’, shall we say, I can think of a dozen freelancers and mercenaries better qualified for the job than us.”

  Kay-13 laughed. It sounded like a bucket of pennies being emptied into a storm drain.

  “Yes,” he said, “but mercenaries tend to expect payment. The Ministry’s purse strings are drawn tighter than ever, especially when it’s a pair of automata asking for money. They don’t exactly take us seriously.”

  “This would be more of a favour,” Kansas added sheepishly.

  “Ah.” Jack nodded slowly as a self-satisfied smile crept onto his face. “Of course.”

  “And what would that favour be, exactly?” asked Rogan, shooting Jack another disapproving look.

  “Nothing hard!” Kansas’ lights flashed rapidly. “Nothing dangerous! It’s just… erm… have you ever heard of Cyclone Manufacturing?”

  Jack hadn’t, and was about to say as much when he caught sight of Tuner and Rogan’s expressions. Or rather, Rogan’s expression of disdain and Tuner’s sudden rigidity. It wasn’t a company his metallic companions were fond of, clearly.

  “Of course we have,” said Tuner. He lowered his cassette-shaped head onto his square shoulders as if the mere thought of the factory made him uncomfortable. “It’s an automata production plant. Not a particularly upmarket one, either. They skimp on costs and their parts start failing after a decade or two. I feel sorry for the poor guys who come out of that place.”

  “Yeah.” Kay-13 laughed sarcastically, waving a battered arm that must have been a good couple of centuries old. “They sure don’t make us like they used to.”

  “No,” said Rogan, smiling wryly. “They don’t.”

  “I thought you were working to get those places shut down,” Jack said to Kay-13, who laughed again.

  “Working on it, yes. Not exactly an easy request when nearly half the galaxy’s corporations adopt automata workforces to avoid paying salaries. And only those that refuse to install an automata overseer will actually be shut down. We might be synthetic, but we don’t want to go extinct any more than you do.”

  “And I’m guessing this Cyclone group are refusing to comply?” said Jack.

  “Oh, no,” said Kansas. “They shut down production the second the Ministry mentioned the new regulations. Something about the margins not being worth it, or something. There’s nothing more than a skeleton crew there now.”

  “Good riddance,” said Tuner.

  “So, what is the problem?” Rogan asked.

  “A couple of days ago, production ramped back up again. We tried reaching out to Cyclone Manufa
cturing’s directors, but most have left the company and we can’t get through to the rest. Though it’s not like they’d take a pair of automata seriously, anyway.”

  “And you want us to fly to this factory and find out why they’ve suddenly started producing automata again?” Jack sighed. “Maybe even put a stop to it, if we can?”

  “Would you?” Kansas’ lights flashed a hopeful orange. “With everything else going on at the moment, the Ministry has designated automata rights issues such a low priority that even we can’t afford to work on them. And Kay-13 and I would go ourselves if we could, but… well, the two of us going to a remote automata production plant alone is probably not the safest idea right now. Please, Jack. Will you do it?”

  Jack uncrossed his arms.

  “No.”

  Everyone looked at him in surprise. Jack didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t said no right from the start.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands in self-defence. “I understand your concern. If it were up to me, there’d be no automata factories save for the ones you run yourselves. If there’s ever a vote, I’ll support it. But my position hasn’t changed. I’m not getting involved.”

  “Come on, Jack.” Tuner waddled over to him. “Don’t be like that. It’s not like Kansas is asking us to blow up another battlecruiser or anything.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Jack, walking back to the Adeona. “I’m out. It was really good to see you, Kansas. Pleasure to meet you too, Kay-13. I hope you get this Cyclone matter sorted soon, I really do.”

  He squelched through the mud and moss and dripped water all the way up the open loading ramp. Rogan shouted something after him, but he couldn’t hear what it was over the sound of rain drumming against the Adeona’s metal hull.

  It didn’t matter. He imagined he’d find out sooner or later.

  It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

  There was a knock on Jack’s door a few minutes later.

  “Come in,” he sighed, sitting on his bunk.

  The door to his quarters hissed open. Rogan stepped through. Before the door shut behind her, Jack briefly heard Klik and Tuner chatting in the galley. They didn’t sound anywhere near as miserable as he felt.

  “May I?” said Rogan, pointing to the empty seat on the other side of the room.

  “Be my guest,” he said, nodding. She sat down.

  “What’s wrong, Jack? And don’t just tell me you’re worried about messing everything up. We’re talking about knocking on somebody’s front door and asking them a couple of questions, that’s all. What’s really bothering you?”

  Jack looked up from the data pad in his hands and watched the storm grow more violent through the window beside Rogan’s chair. That was one of the downsides of living on such a remote moon. When the weather got bad, it got really bad.

  “I’m tired of putting everybody in harm’s way,” he said, shaking his head. “Especially when it rarely turns out to be in anyone’s best interests, and certainly least my own. If it weren’t for me, Tuner would have never been crushed back on Krett.”

  “But he’s fine, Jack. We saved him. Everything worked out all right in the end.”

  “No thanks to me, though. And how many Flo’wud died on New Eden because I took us to that volcano where we ended up freeing the Jörubor? How many more human marines might have lived had we never got involved?”

  “Don’t, Jack. You said it yourself – Kaine would have ordered the whole Flo’wud city burned to the ground if it meant establishing a colony base and earning himself a promotion. And may I remind you that I was the one who let the Jörubor loose, not you?”

  “Only because you had to free me from the ancient tower’s hypnosis. If it weren’t for me always sticking my nose where it isn’t needed, we wouldn’t have been up there in the first place.”

  The speaker in the centre of the ceiling crackled on.

  “And let’s not forget the time you pitted me against a supersonic mech and almost got my rear end torn off,” the Adeona said cheerfully.

  “Thank you, Adi.” Rogan crossed her arms and glared at the speaker. “Really helpful.”

  “She’s right, though,” said Jack, sighing. “I’ve almost got everyone here killed twice over.”

  “But you’ve saved us all that many times, too,” said the ship. “If it weren’t for you, the automata and I would have been wiped and scrapped by Gaskan Troi, the black hole from Charon’s Iris project would have torn at least one star system apart, and Klik would either be a slave or hiding in an old sewer back on Paryx.”

  “At least she’d be hiding with her father,” said Jack. “It was my crusade to get back to Earth that got him killed, too.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Jack,” said Rogan. “You’re stretching, and you know it. Charon was to blame for Sek’s death, and Charon alone. Sure, you’ve made mistakes. We all have, Jack. But you’ve done plenty of good, too. It’s no reason to shut yourself off from the rest of the galaxy.”

  “I know. But Amber’s gone, and I don’t know how I’d find Ginger even if she did want to hear from me. You guys are the only family I have left. I can’t lose you as well.”

  “Well, tough. That’s not your decision to make. And neither is whether we go to Cyclone Manufacturing or not, for that matter. You gave up your captain rights, remember?”

  Jack laughed dryly.

  “Yeah, I remember. I was hoping you wouldn’t. I assume everyone else is on board with going?”

  Rogan nodded.

  “This is important to us. It might not seem like much, but if even a single automata factory defies the Ministry’s new regulations, they’ll all start doing it. If we don’t stand up for ourselves now, we’ll never be granted the same freedoms as everyone else. And besides, I think Klik’s going to lose her mind if she doesn’t get off this wet rock soon.”

  “All right. If it’s what everyone else wants, then sure, we can go. But we’re just paying them a visit, okay? Don’t let Tuner overload the plant’s reactor or whatever.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” Rogan rose from the chair. “The change of scenery will be good for all of us.”

  “Uh huh. Just don’t describe it as a breath of fresh air.”

  “With the amount of carbon dioxide those plants belch into the atmosphere? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Is Kansas still here?”

  “No, he and Kay-13 had to fly back to the Ministerium right away. They were barely granted permission to take the shuttle out here in the first place. Don’t worry,” she added, noticing the look of disappointment spreading across Jack’s face, “Kansas wasn’t upset. He knows why you said what you did. And he also knows we’re going anyway.”

  “Shame I couldn’t say goodbye, though. Oh well. Give me a few minutes to bring the last few crates inside and then we can be off.”

  “Already done.” Rogan opened the door and paused in the corridor outside. “Come join us in the cockpit whenever you’re ready.”

  The door hissed shut and Jack was left alone once more.

  He switched the data pad back on. It opened where he’d left it, on a picture of Amber from the records he received back on the Final Dawn. She looked just how he remembered her.

  Jack smiled sadly, tossed the data pad onto the mattress of his bunk, and climbed to his feet.

  “Here we go again,” he sighed.

  3

  Monzeich

  The Cyclone Manufacturing plant was located in the Aldebaran system on Monzeich, a planet home to many similar facilities due to its abundance of ore and lack of an indigenous population. The Adeona passed through its thermosphere with barely a shudder.

  “I don’t understand why I have to wear this stupid thing,” said Klik, squeezing her arm into one of the sleeves of her spacesuit. “It’s hardly going to protect me if I can’t use my blades.”

  “I told you,” said Jack, helping to lock the arm in place. “It’s not about armour, it’s about being able to breath
e. Monzeich never had much of an atmosphere to begin with, and that which remains is mostly thanks to the fumes getting pumped out of all the factories. It’s either this or stay on the ship. I’m wearing mine, too.”

  Jack wasn’t super keen on the idea himself. He’d worn only loose-fitting trousers, shirts and jackets for the past twelve months. The idea of a shock-absorbing suit that hugged his body and clamped over his head made him feel more than a little claustrophobic, no matter how comfortable it was inside.

  “Is she complaining about the suit I made her again?” asked Tuner, wandering into the Adeona’s rec room. “Next time I tweak it, I’m going to leave a tiny hole somewhere you can’t see. Let’s see how much you complain when your innards are being sucked out into a vacuum like curdled milk through a straw.”

  Klik shot Tuner a deadpan stare before hurriedly putting the other sleeve on.

  “How’s yours doing?” Tuner asked Jack. “Are the air filters working better now?”

  Jack’s own suit had taken quite a beating in the short time since Tuner first built it for him. Its climate control and other life-preserving features had been busted during their escape from Krett. Fixing it had become another one of Tuner’s projects.

  “Better than ever, thanks.” Jack patted Tuner’s square shoulder. “Won’t be able to test it properly until we’re down on the planet’s surface, but I stood in the engine room for ten minutes and didn’t even break a sweat.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said the Adeona, “but we’ll be approaching the Cyclone facility shortly. Rogan has requested everyone join her in my cockpit. By the way, Klik, I think your new suit makes you look very grown up.”

  “Erm, thanks,” said Klik, picking her helmet up off the table. “I guess. Not sure I should be taking fashion advice from a ship, though.”

  “No, probably not. But I know a good paint job when I see one.”

  The three of them left the rec room and followed the corridor to the cockpit. Though the spacesuits were comfortably snug and weighed no more than a thick trench coat, Klik was having trouble adjusting to her reinforced boots. Then again, she’d taken a while to get used to wearing shoes at all.