Future Lovecraft

by Anthony Boulanger

  “ДOБPO ПOЖAЛOBATЬ HA MAPC. 3ДECЬ MЫ CTPOИM COЦИЯЛИCM.”

  “Welcome to Mars. Here, we build the new socialism.” Such bullshit....

  They arrived, finally, under a vast dome whose walls were totally transparent. There, for the first time, their haggard eyes could contemplate a Martian landscape. Shacks were planted in the middle of a crimson valley on the cracked surface. They noticed immediately that there was no line of barbed wire, no watchtower. The Martian environment was the antidote to any attempt to flee. An unbreathable atmosphere, a sterile world situated millions of kilometers from Earth. This was explained to them, shouted out, by the head of the base, under the guise of a welcoming speech.

  A little farther to the left, in the region of one hundred metres, the prisoners could see the cyclopean profiles of the Fathers of the Revolution, which had been carved in the rock of a cliff. Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin stared down at the pestiferous unfortunates, which included Maxim. The scene immediately evoked for him an old, dog-eared postcard given to him by his father when he had been only a child. The image, which had risen from his memories like a bubble of air to the surface of the water, represented the American presidents sculpted onto a mountain.

  The filthy mass of men was then pushed toward the decontamination rooms. They were washed, dressed, then directed to the refectory.

  There, while they ate, slogans to the glory of the empire echoed. Obviously, brainwashing was part of the treatment inflicted in the Marslag....

  Then, once they had hed, they were sent to the boarding area. Now, their lives as pariahs could begin.

  It remained to exploit the riches that abounded on Mars, and of which the Motherland was fond. As no volunteer was crazy enough to come here, the authorities had decided to create a new paradise from forced labour. The Marslag. The prisoners represented a mass of free and exploitable labour, even if their life expectancy was not very high. Between the beatings by prison guards, the lack of food, and work to the limits of human capacity, the existence of a convict did not weigh very heavily with the authorities.

  They brought the prisoners into a locker room with cracked walls, filled with outdated and dirty lockers. There, they put on their spacesuits and then, under the watchful eye of supervisors, they boarded the craft that would lead them to the mine.

  Once inside, Maxim stuck to the glass porthole. The desolate land of Mars marched under his wide eyes: stony hills, speckled with brown stones and cutting the horizon out of sight, fields of somber rocks in jagged shapes, a sky reddish and sad. A little farther, cliffs plunged toward an immense, scarlet plain. Immobile and silent.

  “Look over there, at the bottom.”

  These words emanated from a stony voice. That of an old man, sitting next to Maxim. Dirty-looking, the Ancestor...His face, cracked and weary, reflected the many years abandoned here, but in his grey-green eyes still danced the flame of intelligence. Max did not blink, leaving the stranger to continue:

  “That’s Mount Olympus. An altitude of 27 km. The highest summit on Mars. And in the Solar System.”

  Max did not know how to respond to the stranger. They always said to remain on guard and say nothing of import to anyone...The Marslag had a reputation as a nest of crabs, each one ready to eat the others. Finally, it was the grandfather who decided to continue:

  “We’re braking. We’re arriving at our destination.”

  Max opened his eyes wide and what he saw unmanned him:

  “Jesus Christ!”

  ***

  Faced with the immense, open-pit mine, he believed he found himself at the mouth of Hell. The spectacle was enough to shake the strongest of souls. There, resembling an army of insects, worked thousands of men, turning the soil over a surface, and at a depth, that was staggering. Their effort was colossal.

  The prisoners were hustled outside. My first steps on Mars....

  “You risk having some difficulties in adapting, but you should master your movements pretty rapidly. Here, it’s necessary to move in small steps that are facilitated by the weak gravity. On the Red Planet, you weigh three times less than on Earth.”

  Always the same old man. This time, Maxim decided to respond to him.

  “Okay, thanks, Comrade.”

  “Spare me the ceremony. In Marslag, we are all pariahs. The only goal that drives us is summed up in one word: ‘Survive’. My name is ‘Fyodor’. Welcome to Hell.”

  “Mine is Maxim Brahms. Everyone calls me Max.”

  The guards gave their orders. As he did not know what to do, Maxim imitated his new companion. There ran, some steps away from the condemned, a four-wheel-drive, diesel robot. Its steel legs methodically searched the red soil and mined ore. The mission for Brahms and his comrades was simple: to transport the ore to cargo containers. They then had to push carts weighing several tons over hundreds of meters. Despite the feeble gravity, it was exhausting work. A grueling task that shriveled the brain and reduced those executing it to the state of a machine. Turning back and forth like hungry wasps, the warders perched on their quads, which functioned on solar energy, keeping a constant eye on their charges and ensuring that the cadences of labour did not decrease.

  “Your spacesuit is your best protection. It allows you to deal with the radiation and dust. Ensure that your water supply and air ventilation systems remain in perfect condition in your backpack. The equipment is often obsolete and mortal accidents are legion. So, take good care of....”

  Old Fyodor had definitely wanted to talk....

  “You seem to know a thing or two. How long have you been here?” Maxim asked.

  The exhausted face of the convict stared so hard at him that Maxim was embarrassed.

  “I’ve been in this shithole for almost seventeen years...accused, without proof, of counterespionage. And you? Why are you here?”

  “Shut up, Old Man! Concentrate on your work!”

  One of the guards came over to strike him with a rifle butt. The old man sank to his knees. He began to implore this cerberus for mercy. The other insulted him. Max believed the guard might execute the old man, but finally, he was called away to other tasks.

  “Those guards are garbage, scum, dogs that have the taste of blood, said Fyodor. Always ready to fuck you over. Watch out for them like the plague.”

  ***

  In the evening, when they returned to their Spartan dormitories, the convicts ate and were directed immediately to their bunks, exhausted as they were by their life of slavery. Maxim Brahms was no exception. This first day in the Marslag had exhausted his strength. I will never last several years....Here, no Sunday, no weekend, let alone any vacation. The Marslag worked round the clock, with no stops.

  Some men already slept, but Max joined the group around an old samovar that smoked in the corner. Tortured by curiosity, he started the discussion.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever succeeded in escaping the Marslag?”

  The other prisoners stared at him, flabbergasted as if Max had suggested they take their vacations on a sandy beach.

  “It’s impossible to get out of here,” said one of them, whose face was streaked with a huge scar. “It’s said that two or three convicts managed to stow away in a compartment and get off this cursed planet. They left and were never caught. But how did they do it? The rest is a mystery....”

  The other detainees regarded him in exhaustion. Fyodor took the opportunity to speak.

  “In every prison, and since their birth in the dawn of Man, there have existed such tales, touched perhaps by myth. These legendary escapes have a base in reality; I’m sure of it.”

  The man with the scar could not repress a grin. In contrast, Maxim became curious.

  “What have you heard about that, Fyodor?”

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s just a crazy old man.”

  Scarface does not appear to agree with my friend. Fyodor was uncowed. His face radiated calm. He replied:

  “I believe in less-rational explanations. In times im
memorial, Mars was a world as joyous as Earth, with forests, prairies, seas, and oceans. It possessed a fauna and flora both rich and diverse...In this antediluvian epoch, some kind of Gods ruled on the surface of Mars. One called them the Great Old Ones.”

  “You’re completely cracked, Fyodor! You’ve said all that before. It’s just bullshit!” the scarred man insisted.

  “But where did you hear all this, Fyodor?” Maxim asked, curious to know more.

  “I’m just repeating what someone told me. It was a long time ago.”

  “But how do you explain that, today, there is nothing left of that time?”

  “I don’t know. It was a very long time ago. That time has been forgotten by us.”

  “And where did these Great Old Ones go?”

  “They live hidden in the entrails of the Red Planet....”

  “I’ve heard enough for tonight! I leave you now. Until tomorrow.”

  The man with the scar stood up. He persuaded a goodly part of the audience to imitate him.

  “Same for me. All this nonsense has exhausted me. Good night, everyone!” said another man.

  Finally, only Max remained with the old man, who went on, murmuring:

  “Watch yourself. Here, you can be betrayed by the most unimportant thing, especially if you speak of escape. Be on your guard....”

  “All right...and these histories of the Great Old Ones...do you truly believe them?”

  Without responding, Fyodor stood up slowly and headed toward his bed. He lifted his dusty mattress and pulled out a piece of rock.

  “Look. I found this one day, not far from the mine.”

  With curiosity, Max inspected the object. It was a red rock, typical of the Martian surface. On one side, it was cut in a chaotic fashion, but on the other, it was smooth, flat, almost...polished. And on the surface, there was painted a design representing a sort of mouth. Or rather, the mouth of an animal, almost reptilian, with teeth pointed and large.

  “What is it?”

  “The proof of the existence of the Gods.”

  Stunned, Maxim didn’t know what to say. It seemed that reality was collapsing under his feet. It was too feeble to face the rantings of this old mujik. He decided to flee.

  “I’m going to sleep. Good night.”

  Maxim retired and went to bed, yet Fyodor, himself, remained sitting near the samovar and candle with its flickering flame. Alone, he calmly drank his tea, while the plumes of smoke drifted through the obscurity of the dormitory. Under the rough sheets, Maxim watched him for a long time without attracting his attention. I like you a lot, Fyodor. That doesn’t prevent you from being an old fool. He turned over in his bed and abandoned himself to sleep.

  Crime and Peace

  Maxim admired his dacha, planted on the edge of a birch forest. The sun shone down from heaven in long, golden firmaments. In the sky without snow, he noticed a blue planet...Could that be Terra? Where am I? On Mars? In Paradise?

  He pushed the door open and entered the house. The interior was not particularly rich, but was decorated with taste. Slowly, he advanced across the floor, which creaked as he passed. On the wall, he found photographs of his family. Photos in black-and-white of his parents, of his brothers, of beautiful Natasha and of little Alex.

  “Papa...Papa, is it you?”

  The call came from the foyer. Max turned on the carpet. The door opened and Alex appeared, running. He threw himself into the arms of his father.

  “My little boy! Oh, I’m so happy!”

  “Papa! I love our dacha a lot, but without you, it’s not the same. Why did you abandon us?”

  Maxim knelt in such a way as to hold his offspring in his arms.

  “But I didn’t abandon you!”

  “Why did you leave us, Mama and me?”

  “But I told you...ALEX! What is happening to you?”

  The face of his gamin child engaged in a monstrous mutation. It swelled visibly, transforming into a creature most disquieting: His skin was covered in scales, his traits taking the form of a snake. In his mouth, there quivered a tongue, pink and forked.

  “WHY, PAPA?”

  Max recoiled, horrified by the terrifying spectacle. Then a feminine voice came from upstairs.

  “MAXIM! MAXIM!”

  Terrorised, Maxim ran and mounted the stairs to the second story, from where she continued to call.

  He recognised the voice of the woman.

  “MAXIM! MAXIM!”

  In a rage, he ran and opened the door from which came the incessant cries.

  Inside, he saw Natasha, his spouse, tied to a bed. She struggled while, around her, stood monsters from the abyss of time. Dinosaurs with the feet of goats, birds with brown fur, hydras issued from the worst nightmares of Humanity. Their yellow eyes nailed him with terror.

  “MAXIM! WHY DID YOU ABANDON US?” cried his wife.

  While the beasts growled, a sort of hideous mouth appeared from the shadows, just above the head of his wife. Four hooked mandibles chattered with ferocity.

  “NO! There’s nothing I can do, Natasha! NOTHING!”

  “Max! Max, wake up!” A voice from beyond the grave hailed him. And dragged his limbs from sleep.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw the weathered face of Fyodor looming over him.

  “What is...What happened to me?”

  “You were screaming in your sleep. You woke up everyone!”

  Maxim sat up on the edge of the bed, his face still marked by his dream.

  “I had a horrible nightmare.”

  “Everyone has them here, you know.”

  “There were these unclean monsters....”

  “The Great Old Ones have visited you.”

  “What? Stop it with all your legends....”

  “So, you, too, you take me for an old fool?”

  “No, Fyodor. I have always listened to you with great attention, but....”

  “Know that, for all of these years, I was not simply relating stories from a long oral tradition.”

  “I just find it difficult to swallow all these stories...It’s not based on any concrete proof.”

  “We are mystical creatures. We need to believe in something. Of what material do you make yours?”

  Fyodor paused, as if to catch his breath from panting. This gave Max a chance to describe his nightmare.

  “I saw my...my wife and my son...It was disgusting....”

  “I had the same kind of dream in the beginning. And then, little by little, it faded. Time effaced all memories.”

  “You know, Fyodor, that makes four years, to the day, that I haven’t seen them again...four years that I’ve been in this hell.”

  Fyodor fixed him with his empty stare. Any speech was unnecessary.

  “Registration number 25B43!”

  A guard had just entered the dormitory with a crash. He was shouting, spit flying from his mouth.

  “Yes, that’s me, said Maxim,” who got up and mechanically followed the guard. Here, he was only a number.

  ***

  Max was simply designated. The fruit of hazard. The whim of a bureaucracy. Should he rejoice or worry? He hesitated. But he quickly accepted his part because, in any case, he had little choice.

  He must accompany a geological expedition into the zones as yet unexploited. The guy in question had need of a flunky and they had assigned Brahms to this utterly thankless task, but it would change his monotonous routine. And that was priceless.

  ‘Leon Kelonen’. That was his name, inscribed on his suit. With a gruff air, blond hair, and skin like milk, his name indicated that he was certainly of Finnish origin, but Maxim couldn’t verify it.

  The two men practically didn’t communicate and when the other spoke to him, he used a sort of rumbling, tinged hatred that Maxim only understood half the time. No species of consideration transpired in his words and in his scientific spirit, devoted body and soul to the regime. The convict must be reduced to a simple beast of burden.

  The two of them lef
t on an exploration trip, far from camp. The prison guards were very confident of them: They could leave the prisoner alone with this stranger. He would make no attempt to escape, even though, of course, this possibility passed through his head. But go where? Escape to where? In any case, his reserves of air were not inexhaustible, and in less time than it takes to say, he would have eventually suffocated after a few hours, if by chance he had wanted to run. Escape from this hole would be impossible.

  They took a six-wheel-drive jeep, setting a course straight toward a region situated farther to the west. They attained their objective after three hours’ journey. The place they had to explore was streaked by large canyons that wound through the middle of a vast, reddish plain. Deep ravines with vertiginous slopes. Kelonen stopped the engine near one of them and ordered Maxim to help him get out all of the paraphernalia that would permit them to use the levels and measures. There were a lot of electronic devices of which the convict was ignorant about their true value. Although fascinated by science, he had never been very gifted in this domain....

  He obeyed promptly each order from his new master because he savoured with delectation this little moment of liberty that was offered to him. He was happy. Happy to be out of the camp, happy to see something else. If I behave myself, who knows? Perhaps I could gain the right to be called again for another mission. Better to be here than in the mine, slaving away like a donkey!

  Gusts of wind raised the reddish dust, which evaporated in elegant swirls. Encumbered by all their material, the two men roamed the border of the principal canyon, which was run through by ravines, giving the impression of ripples on the surface of a sea. Souvenirs of an epoch when water streamed across the surface of Mars.

  Max then lifted his head toward the sky to try to find Phobos, one of the two natural satellites of the Red Planet. It was Fyodor who had taught him to spot the moon. The old man knew a lot about this desolate world.

  Kelonen ordered his acolyte to quit daydreaming and pick up the pace. It was at this moment that a detail drew his attention to the geology. On a sort of natural platform, in a slight depression, stood an opening in the rock. The convict immediately thought of the entrance to a cave.