The Final Wars End

by S A Asthana

  “Perhaps,” Bastien said.

  “We can make it work,” Reo said. “Somehow. There’s got to be way for you onboard this craft. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I do,” Bastien said. “There’s no other way.”

  Silence came over the scene. Eyes fell to the floor. Reo broke the quiet. “I… I don’t know how to thank you, Bastien.”

  Bastien held Reo by the shoulders and straightened his back. “My friend, you don’t have to. Take charge of the ship and lead the last of our people to their new home. Repeat my words – onward and upward.”

  Reo’s lips trembled.

  “You are up to it. Come on, say it with me, please, for the sake of humanity. Onward. And upward.”

  “Onward and upward, Bastien.”

  “Good. You must remember those words. They aren’t hollow.”

  “You can’t do this to yourself,” Greg implored.

  “There’s no other way, Greg,” Bastien said. His voice was calm. He’d resigned himself to his fate.

  Both Dr. Bala and Greg patted his shoulders. Greg said, “You are a giving soul.” He held back tears. So did Dr. Bala. “We will remember you, your actions and certainly, your words. Onwards and upwards.”

  “And I will remember you all. Now, you should get going,” Bastien said, wiping away tears of his own. “Each second the 1.V10 remains non-operational is one less second’s worth of energy reserves. The solar powered batteries that fuel its ion propulsion engines will lose their stores.”

  Heads nodded. Time was of the essence. The food stores were transferred, one batch left with Bastien, and the coordinates to Saturn were inputted into the 1.V10. Bastien set the craft into automatic flight mode. Reo would only need to pilot it once it needed landing at its destination – a task he was sure the royal could handle, given what Bastien had seen of his aircraft experience.

  Within a few minutes, the craft had exited the colony and departed. And just like that, Bastien was alone again. The last man standing on Mars in silence. By himself with the dull humming of his thoughts. No explosions, no screams – only peace. He took a deep breath to compose himself. The time had come for him to depart, as well. The 1.V9, while smaller than its counterpart, still loomed in the docking bay. The craft would do.

  Leaving the command center, he boarded the craft. A diagnostic check revealed the 1.V9 to be in top condition. She hadn’t sustained damage during the invasion on Nippon One. Lucky break for Bastien, of sorts. There’s that silver lining. Humanity and civilization destroyed in World War Four? Well, at least the 1.V9 was operational. Bastien smiled thinly. “Father Paul always had the answer for everything.”

  The craft’s door shut. “Computer, set coordinates for Earth.”

  “Coordinates set.”

  The docking bay’s door slid open, revealing the orange sky once again. Bastien said, “Engage.” The autopilot kicked in and the spacecraft’s ion engines hummed ever louder as she lifted. The sleek, white craft exited the colony. As Bastien leaned back in the plush, pilot chair, the whisper came to him again – “Bastien.”

  EPILOGUE

  The morning sun baked the desert terrain, its rays unrelenting. A blue sky stretched to the horizon empty of any clouds. Those almost exclusively appeared over oceans. There was no wind, and not a single, green fog roamed the dunes in any direction. Perfect morning for a hunt. And today was going to be especially lucky. A giant rat, the height of a child and the weight of an adult, lumbered against the backdrop of yellow sand. How it had managed to survive was a miracle – most likely by cannibalizing others of its kind that still existed. Finding terrestrial creatures was rare, given that the ecosystem was destroyed. The seas, on the other hand, offered an easier route to sustenance. Various fish still lived. They survived under the islands of centuries old plastic polluting the water. It wasn’t exactly gourmet cuisine, but it was better than starvation. But today, seafood wasn’t on his mind. It was rats. To have bleak prospects on most days, and then come across such a large specimen, was heaven-sent.

  A smile cut across Bastien’s thick, black beard. He remained buried in the sand, watching and waiting. Wrinkles etched across his tan forehead, and black, scruffy locks fell about his gaunt cheekbones. He imagined himself as meat cooking on a grill, but despite the uncomfortable heat, he remained focused on the prey.

  The rodent trekked a good three hundred feet away and stopped now and then to sniff the hot air. It too hunted. Bastien kept his breathing to a minimum. He didn’t want the rat hearing him. Or smelling him. The sand covering his sweaty, unwashed limbs would mask the body odor. He had no gun – his Shift X had run out of ammunition long ago. There was a knife upon him, though, one he’d found in the 1.V9. The craft rested not far from him, a cable connecting it to New Paris’ solar farm that spread to the left. The tall, Hitachi solar arrays had survived the final wars. They were still operational even after all these years and perfectly equipped to juice the spacecraft. How much time has it been again since the wars? The 1.V9 indicated it had been a little over three years. By now Belle must surely be long gone, having lived out her second life. And Reo and the others, they would have arrived on Titan, with good fortune. He imagined them from time to time, laughing and talking. Thriving in an alien world. The idea of their untimely demise pierced him during nightmares. The 1.V10 exploding. Or its oxygen running out before the trip concluded. But he’d shake off those dreams when he woke under this sun.

  He hoped he wasn’t the last of his kind. Bastien hadn’t come across any other human since his time back on Earth. Not a single soul. No pirates, no surviving Parisians, nobody. He’d inherited Earth, and he lived amongst rats, roaches and the sea creatures that continued their lives ignorant of their terrestrial cousins’ fate. Sharks, dolphins, whales – they all lived. And he’d tasted each. Their meat had been foreign to him at first, but hunger pangs knew no bounds. Mother Earth still gave him enough to live. Despite the fogs that stalked the planet, some as tall as mountains.

  The rat worked its way up a dune, and Bastien cracked a wicked smile. Shaking free of the desert, he sprinted toward the creature. Despite having lost close to twenty pounds, this man of skin and bones and some muscle still retained his martial skills. Before the rat realized the danger, Bastien was upon it.

  The knife’s blade cut though fur and skin. Blood splattered across Bastien’s face and he remained locked onto the rodent’s body. A scream left the rat. It thrashed about but to no avail. The hunter couldn’t be shaken off. Within seconds, it was dead. Bastien slipped off and fell to the sand, his metal chest heaving. As the adrenaline wore off, he winced in pain. A red gash cut across his left thigh. The rat must have scratched him at some point during the scuffle. No matter. Nothing the skin regenerator paste couldn’t fix. There was plenty of it in the 1.V9.

  She was a sturdy vehicle, despite the years on her. Minimal upkeep was required on account of the automatic system self-maintenance. She hadn’t seen any action since leaving Mars. There were only trips around the Earth. Bastien hadn’t flown out into space, even though it was a short thirty-minute journey from the surface. He didn’t miss that cold, black vacuum. Despite Earth’s challenges, he had grown to love the planet more than ever. It was home, shortcomings and all. And he was its caretaker.

  Bastien pulled the dead rat by its long, fleshy tail toward the 1.V9 using all his strength. Such a task would have proved herculean when New Paris existed, for the rodents back then were well fed and robust. He remembered the one he’d escaped from along with Belle in a sewer tunnel. Now, the creatures were scrawnier. Bastien strained under the sun, his focus on the spacecraft. Its metal hull shone bright, but the sparkle was nothing compared to the glare glinting off of the farm of a hundred solar arrays. The metal landscape stamped the desert. Jarring sight, sure, but a life giver nonetheless. It had been a lucky break figuring out how to connect his craft to the farm – the cord that had extended out of the 1.V9 and plugged into Port Sydney’s ports could easily
be plugged into the ports that adorned each array. Worrying about losing solar energy had never proven to be a concern. But the craft was beginning to show wear and tear from the dust storms and the green fogs. Eventually it would fall apart. Bastien shook his head. Such concerns, if left unchecked, cluttered his mind to the point of inertia. And that was the worst thing that could happen. Bastien had to keep moving, had to keep plugging away. He could very well be the last of his kind. He needed to represent his species well. He would go onward, if not upward.

  The craft’s cargo door swiveled open on its hinges, and it allowed access within. Bastien pulled the rat up into the vast cargo space. The vehicle could house fifty soldiers in its heyday. Now, it was a metal palace for one man. He grunted and strained as he pulled and tugged the carcass. Once in the middle of the space, Bastien knelt next to the creature and started upon the next task – skinning. The knife cut through the epidermis, removing it along with fur. As he sliced, Bastien, his face drenched with blood, mumbled, “Then Jesus said, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.'” He paused and his brow furrowed. “Wait a minute. Was it whoever believes in me, or whoever loves me?”

  The exact words from John 6:35 escaped him. A lot from his past escaped him. Father Paul’s teachings. His mind was cloudy now more than ever before. Three years of isolation from any other soul could do that to a man. He scoffed at his concern and continued to repeat the statement. “Then Jesus said, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’ ”

  Within thirty minutes, the rat lay skinned. Bastien went on to hack off the tail. It hadn’t tasted good the last time he’d eaten a rodent. It was months ago, but the bitter flavor of that appendage remained fresh in his memory. The unwanted bits were discarded outside. Then, the corpse was hoisted to a hatch door at the end of the bay, closer to the engine room. Bastien slid it open and threw the rat down into a small, metal compartment. The door was shut. With the press of a button, parts of the engine were turned on. The rat would be roasted within five minutes inside the compartment with the help of one of the ion engines. The Martian engineers had thought of everything when building the 1.V9 – cooking large meals wasn’t an issue.

  While he waited, Bastien walked over to a first aid kit resting within a section in the wall. Removing it, he pulled out a tube of yellow regeneration paste. The medicine was applied across the wound on his thigh. It would serve him well for another month before expiring. Luckily, there were hundreds of such tubes stored in the ship. Unfortunately, those would lose their effectiveness in another year at most. Beyond that, he’d have to rely on other measures to heal himself – primitive ones, perhaps. Survival would get more and more difficult as the days went by. The first sign had been when his ammunition had run out. He’d resorted to the knife and a makeshift fishing tackle to secure food. That hadn’t been too difficult. But sooner rather than later, medicines would run out aboard the ship. Then, eventually, the ship itself would fall apart. The solar arrays would die as well in the absence of maintenance.

  “Bah,” he said and grunted. “Onward and upward, Bas. Come one, keep an eye on the silver lining. I’m still alive. I’m still here.”

  The button was finally pressed and Bastien’s mouth salivated. He slid open the door, and grey smoke and the scent of cooked meat warmed his face. He smiled and wiped away blood from his beard with the right forearm. An animal eating an animal.

  There was enough to last several weeks. The hard work of stalking, killing and hoisting had paid off. Bastien slapped his metal chest with pride. He barked, “I get it done.”

  Then he remembered his latest worry – his cyborg capabilities would one day give out as well. Sure they offered him strength, but for how long? His insides could stop working because the mechanical fusions with his nervous system might break away, or they could overheat. Whatever the case, he lived on borrowed time. Of that he was sure.

  Shaking his head to rid the worry, he stared down at the meat. Juicy, plump – it looked delicious. Bastien lifted the rat and carried it over to a long freezer on the left side. The meat was stowed except for a chunk that Bastien devoured. His stomach had been empty for two days now. If it could speak, it would sing praises. Bastien burped loud. Pieces of meat clung to his unruly beard.

  A strange sound came from the desert. His stare fixed on the dune just outside the open cargo door. A gust of wind shifted the sands. Countless particles moved about, and sounded like the hissing of a snake. But this strange sound, this otherworldly sound, wasn’t the desert itself. No, this was something different. There was a familiarity to it. It resounded every few months. Wiping his dirty hands across his red camouflage pants, Bastien exited the craft.

  People stood on the surrounding dunes. There must have been hundreds of thousands as far as the eyes could see. Men, women and children of all races. Dark skinned like Hani Islam, and white skinned like himself. There were Nipponese and Parisians, young and old. Sydneysiders in white garments. Marie Dubois stood by an old man, no expression on her face. Behind her stood Hafiz, his expression no different than hers. In fact, every person’s face was vacant with eyes unseeing. There was Frank Crone. Alice Smith was there too. Nox and Raul stood not too far away, hand in hand. Father Paul stood near them. Bastien saw himself as well, standing along with a gaggle of orphans. It was as if those who’d perished in the final wars or those he’d known in his childhood were back. His illusions from a world long gone. They were always around, following him without noise. Sometimes, they made their presence known.

  Bastien locked eyes with Belle Dubois. She stood atop a dune. He smiled and shouted over the howling wind, “Queen of New Paris.”

  She stared back and shouted down, “Bastien.” The rest of the imagined crowd said his name and it filled the sky. Bastien. So loud was the echo, he had to cover his ears. As the sound died, he shouted, “I won’t join you today. Not today.” He turned to enter the craft. The crowd repeated his name, this time softer than before. As he pressed a button to shut the cargo bay’s door, the people disappeared. Their voices flitted away with the wind.

  Soon, a green fog would roll by upon the gusts. Humanity and its recollections would never leave him. But at least they didn’t haunt him the way memories once did. Those used to cling to him like the smell of cigarettes to a smoker. He had figured out how to hold memories at bay without getting carried away in the emotions they brought with them.

  No, he wouldn’t get caught up with them any longer.

  Bastien strapped himself into the cockpit’s pilot seat. With belly full, he was satisfied. The last time he’d had this much food stored in the freezer, he’d taken off for the rocky terrain at the South Pole – Antarctica. The heat there was more manageable. The vast continent offered him much room to roam. No desert to roast in. The 1.V9 could last two weeks without a charge, so losing power wasn’t a concern. He’d spend those weeks enjoying a vacation of sorts. Earth’s southernmost landmass offered a reprieve from the scorching heat baking the other continents. Longer nights were a welcome break. A return would be nice. He smiled. The little things now made a huge difference. Plump rodents and Antarctica. They had to, if he wished to remain sane.

  “Got to… I need to keep moving.” Bastien switched on the spacecraft. Lights blinked across the dashboard and a gentle whir stirred the walls. Something clicked in his mind and he asked, “Computer, what day is it today?”

  “It is December 24,” the female voice answered.

  Christmas was tomorrow. How could he forget? And the new year was almost here. Brilliant. A holiday would serve him well. It would alleviate the concerns plaguing the many folds in his brain.

  “Onwards. And…” He blinked with his mouth gaped. “What the hell comes after onwards?” He threw up his hands in frustration.

  “Upwards,” the computer responded.

  “Upwards!” he rejoiced
, “Yes, onwards and upwards. Of course. How could I forget?”

  END OF BOOK THREE

  Author's Note: If you enjoyed reading this book (or even if you didn't!), please consider writing an honest review on Amazon, Goodreads or wherever you hang out online, to help others decide if they would like it.

  APPENDIX I: THE TRILATERAL TREATY

  TREATY OF PEACE BETWEEN NIPPON ONE, PORT SYDNEY, AND NEW PARIS

  Archived in Nippon One’s Governmental Library

  Treaty and protocol signed at Port Sydney, conference room 101, floor 1 on June 28, 2112, by representatives of all three colonies.

  Entered into force January 10, 2113, as between contracting parties.

  The contracting parties represented by:

  Port Sydney – The honorable Alan Stephenson, Prime Minister

  Nippon One – The honorable Haruto Honda, Emperor

  New Paris – The honorable Louis Dubois, King

  THE COVENANT OF THE THREE COLONIES

  The contracting parties, in order to promote intercolonial cooperation and to achieve Solar System-wide peace and security, align

  by acceptance of obligations not to resort to war,

  by the prescription of open, just and honorable relations between the colonies,

  by the firm establishment of the understandings of Solar System laws laid out in this treaty, and

  by the maintenance of justice and a scrupulous respect for all treaty obligations (Articles 1 – 13) in the dealing of organized peoples with one another.

  ARTICLE 1: FAIR AND JUST REPRESENTATION

  Each colony must provide a treaty representative, one individual or a body of individuals, on a yearly basis. This is to ensure equal representation in matters governing intercolonial agreements and contracts, and other such matters involving the rights of each colony.

  ARTICLE 2: THE RIGHT TO DEFEND