“Oh, thank you,” the ship replied sarcastically. “Lucky me. You really know how to treat a lady, Jack.”
“Adi…”
“I’m sorry. I’m just grumpy. You would not believe the state Silo and Dev have left my rec room in.”
A sudden quake caught them all by surprise. They crowded around the large, circular window and watched as the Archimandrite’s personal interceptor tore a path through the vacuum tunnels of the lightning nebula.
“I should have killed him,” Klik grumbled. “You never let me have any fun.”
“He’s a shepherd without a flock,” said Jack, shaking his head. “It’s over. He’s not a threat anymore.”
“Maybe not now,” Rogan said darkly, inspecting her twisted leg, “but wait until he finds some new sheep.”
23
It All Comes Crumbling Down
A Ghuk in fancy corporate-wear emerged from the chamber and bowed to the four visitors sitting outside.
“The council will see you now.”
Jack, Klik, Rogan and Tuner rose from their bench, glad to be leaving the waiting room in which they’d spent the past hour and twenty minutes doing just that. Jack hurriedly straightened out his clothes – the smartest he could find amongst his admittedly rather casual collection.
Given his present surroundings, they weren’t nearly smart enough. The Negoti Corporation’s headquarters was one of the most illustrious skyscrapers in the most expensive commercial district on Kapamentis, an accolade befitting a company with the greatest net profit in the whole galaxy. They were known for cutting costs wherever they could, especially when it came to subsidiaries like Cyclone Manufacturing. But apparently that same attitude didn’t apply when it came to the upper echelons of management.
All of the waiting room’s walls were half a dozen metres high and plated from floor to ceiling with gold, as had been those of the elevator that brought them up from the lobby one hundred and twenty-nine storeys below. The benches were cushioned with the softest down. Even the crystal water decanters on the ornate onyx table looked like they cost more than Jack could ever hope to earn in a lifetime. He wondered how many planets Negoti had cracked and mined just to source the rare minerals for it all.
Well, at least he’d made an effort with his hair. And Klik was even wearing shoes today, too. Few citizens were ever granted an audience with the Negoti council, and Jack doubted this one had been extended their way for altogether celebratory reasons.
The doors were closed behind them as soon as they were through. Jack was glad to see that Rogan wasn’t walking with a limp anymore; Tuner had simply reset the leg into the correct groove in her socket. They still needed to do something about the bullet hole in her shoulder, though.
The chamber was large, dark and, as far as Jack could tell, completely unoccupied. But once the four of them reached the circular stage in the centre of the hall, three lights blossomed high on the balcony opposite them, each softly illuminating a different board member. They stood about five metres apart from one another with the lofty demeanour of judges, and looked remarkably tall, even for Ghuks. Jack suspected some sort of optical illusion was being used to make them appear larger than they truly were.
Or maybe this was how one reached the top of Ghuk society – by eating the competition.
“You are the crew of the ship, the Adeona, yes?” asked one of the board members. She was old with a dry, crusty exoskeleton and thin spines covering most of her head, and she wore a red cloak with gold trim that swallowed everything from her neck down.
“That is correct,” Jack replied, bowing his head as a sign of respect. He’d brushed up on Ghuk customs on the way there. It didn’t seem wise to offend people who could afford to make anyone in the known universe disappear, no questions asked.
The three Ghuk turned and whispered to one another.
“We were expecting your team to be somewhat more… formidable,” said the Ghuk on the left.
Jack gritted his teeth and smiled politely. They hadn’t asked a question; he didn’t feel the need to give an answer.
“We understand that the Ministerium saw fit to send you to the factory of one of our subsidiaries,” continued the Ghuk on the right, who appeared, at least from where Jack was standing, to be the youngest of the three. “What did you find there, pray tell?”
Jack relayed everything that happened to them, from first arriving on Monzeich and finding the production plant hijacked by cultists, to trying and failing to warn Kagna One of the impending attack, to wiping out almost all of the Order before they could leave the lightning nebula and attack Queflia. The three Ghuk board members listened to the whole monologue without so much as a single interruption – no questions, not even a grunt of surprise. He supposed he wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know, given their position.
“They wanted to destabilise as many corners of the galaxy as possible,” Jack added as he came to the end of the story. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they hoped to hurt Negoti’s reputation, too. They used shuttles with your branding. Maybe that’s why they chose to use the LX-14 line in the first place.”
He expected more whispered discussion amongst the Ghuk council after those last remarks, but the next question came almost instantly.
“And what of the remaining LX-14s?” the old Ghuk in the middle asked. “Where can we find them?”
Jack had to physically keep himself from clenching his fists. Even after everything he’d told them, Negoti didn’t care one iota about the galaxy being thrown into turmoil. Hell, maybe that would actually help their bottom line. They only wanted to know how and when they could get their stock back.
“Regarding those that attacked Kagna One,” he replied, “I have no idea. The Krolaks have surely captured or destroyed them by now. But those on board the Archimandrite’s ship are free and on their way to…”
Jack glanced across at Rogan, who shook her head almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t a good idea to mention Detri in the company of any fleshies, let alone Negoti. The company would likely try to recapture and enslave every automata there.
“Well, let’s just say they’ve taken the flagship somewhere safe,” he said.
Now that got a reaction. All three Ghuks chittered and clacked their mandibles together. The frills on the back of their necks flared furiously.
“Those units belong to the Negoti Corporation,” yelled the eldest Ghuk, the thin spines covering her head quivering with fury. “They were not yours to give away!”
“We didn’t give them away,” said Tuner. “They chose to leave.”
“Choose?” The youngest of the three board members let out a rapid, high-pitched laugh. “Automata do not ‘choose’ – they serve. Enough of this nonsense. Tell us where they are so we can make them—” he shook his head incredulously “—unchoose.”
“No can do,” Jack replied. “Not my call to make. But ask yourselves this: after such a highly-publicised attack on a Krolak space station, wouldn’t you prefer any evidence of a second LX-14 battalion to just simply… go away?”
“I’m sure your clients on Queflia wouldn’t be too pleased to hear how close they came to being killed by your product,” Klik added.
The Ghuk grumbled amongst themselves.
“You’d written off the factory anyway,” said Rogan, crossing her arms. “I’m sure you won’t miss them.”
“Perhaps no further action needs to be taken,” the left-hand Ghuk said guardedly. “Perhaps we may all consider the matter closed.”
Jack smiled politely once more.
“Agreed. We just thought you ought to know. That, and make sure Silo got here safe.”
“Yes, employee number 42-1138. Our gratitude for returning him, at least. He is being processed as we speak.”
Processed. From the mouths of Negoti, that word could either mean a promotion or a death sentence. Given Silo’s dedication to the company, Jack was sure he’d find a way of viewing either outcome as a positive care
er move.
“What will happen to the factory on Monzeich?” he asked. “If you don’t replace the security, you—”
“That is none of your concern,” the central Ghuk snapped, waving one of her large, folded forearms at him. “Do not mistake courtesy for cooperation. This meeting has ended.”
The spotlights dimmed, darkness flooded the entire chamber, and when the doors opened behind them to let in golden light from the waiting room, the three Negoti board members were gone.
Holograms, Jack reckoned. It was quite possible that the top brass of Negoti had never even been in the building at all.
“I guess we’ve outstayed our welcome,” he said to the others, shrugging.
“We did what we could,” said Rogan, guiding everyone towards the exit. “Let their PR team handle the rest.”
They descended the pristine steps outside the Negoti Corporation’s headquarters towards a busy, waterlogged street. It was raining. On Kapamentis, it was always raining.
They ran into Kansas and Kay-13 coming up the other way.
“Nice timing,” said Jack. “You got a meeting with the board, too?”
“You got an audience with the board?” The lights around the top of Kansas’ cylindrical frame flashed a surprised amber colour. “No, we’re only here to ask some questions about the Cyclone Manufacturing incident. Their representative won’t let a pair of automata past the lobby.”
“Taken half a week to even get invited through the front doors,” Kay-13 grumbled.
“How’s the Ministry doing?” Rogan asked. “I saw that the Krolaks have declared their independence, as expected.”
“It’s a horrible mess,” Kansas replied, awkwardly wheeling one of his tracks back and forth. “It seems as if every other member species is talking about quitting. Those who aren’t are only staying because they think they can get an even bigger slice of power with the others gone. I can’t see Kay-13 and me keeping our positions there for long. We passed on the message you sent us explaining everything that happened, by the way. Grand Minister Zsal believes you, but there’s not a lot she can do about it without evidence. Or without a working Ministerium, for that matter.”
“Tell her to speak to a human called Dev,” said Tuner. “He was at Kagna One when the attack happened. We dropped him off at the Ministry earlier so he could try and get in touch with his Ark. Maybe he can help.”
“We’d better get moving,” Kay-13 grunted, a piston inside his chassis letting out a grey hiss of air. “We’ll never get another appointment if we’re late.”
“Okay.” Kansas whizzed off after the shambling automata. “Good luck, everyone. See you again soon.”
Jack sighed and gazed around at the dazzling, rain-drenched cityscape of chrome towers and neon lights. A thousand different species hurried amongst one another in begrudging harmony, totally oblivious to the social disorder lying just around the corner.
“It’s all crumbling down, isn’t it?” he said.
“Looks that way,” Klik mumbled. “Just when I was getting used to such a free and open universe, too.”
“As if life wasn’t hard enough,” sighed Tuner. “With every race in the galaxy choosing its own laws, there’ll be no chance of automata ever being treated as equals.”
“Welcome to the club,” Klik spat.
“I just wish I could figure out why all this is happening,” said Rogan. “No matter how hard I think, I can’t fathom the reason. And there’s always a reason.”
“The Archimandrite said this was all for some greater purpose, right?” Jack huffed and chewed his lip. “Someone out there is set to benefit from all this. Probably the same person who bankrolled the Order. I think it’s our responsibility to finally find out who.”
Tuner perked up.
“Nobody else in the galaxy will, that’s for sure. Count me in.”
“I admire the gusto,” said Rogan, “but I don’t fancy our odds. Everyone with any connection to this mysterious benefactor has either died or fled into the unknown. We’ll never track down anyone who knows anything.”
“Maybe we don’t need to track anyone down,” said Jack. “Maybe… maybe the person we need to speak to can’t go anywhere at all.”
Klik’s eyes grew wide. She barked out an angry laugh and shook her head. Tuner looked around at everyone, confused.
“Be serious,” said Rogan. “You don’t mean—”
“Yes, I do,” said Jack, crossing his arms. “I think it’s time we go pay Everett Reeves a visit.”
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About the Author
T.W.M. Ashford is a British novelist living in London. You can call him Tom.
He's written hundreds of scripts and copy for some of the biggest companies in the world, and provides a variety of creative content for Mark Dawson’s Self Publishing Formula. He’s even been known to play a bass guitar on occasion, and sometimes well.
But, of course, his main passion is writing fiction. He’s currently setting up an interconnected space opera universe called the Dark Star Panorama, of which Final Dawn is the first series.
Send him an email at [email protected]. He'll enjoy the attention.
Books By T.W.M. Ashford
Books in the Dark Star Panorama Universe
Final Dawn Series
The Final Dawn
Thief of Stars
A Dark Horizon
The New World
The Tin Soldiers
War for New Terra Series
Sigma
The Tin Soldiers (Final Dawn, Book 5) Page 21