The Final Wars Rage

by S A Asthana

“That is an assumption. We didn’t want to find out whether they could reach us or not.” Frank fancied himself a good liar. “And even if they couldn’t, they could have certainly created problems for our water cargo haulers that make daily rounds to Earth. We gather those resources for the preservation of life. Our lifeline would have been threatened in such a scenario.”

  “I think you are seeing shadows where there aren’t any, General.”

  “No, I am not, your Highness.” Frank’s tone turned curt, his Sydneysider twang sharper than before. “It was a scenario that had a high likelihood of occurring, more than fifty percent to be exact.”

  “Is that you talking?” Akiyama leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him. “Or is that the High Council talking?”

  The questions had a bite to them. One of Frank’s chess pieces had just been taken out.

  “I do not recall the Martians being this impulsive in the past,” Akiyama continued. “Such a retaliation was not warranted, and yet, it was carried out — and by the solar system’s so-called peace keepers.”

  Akiyama was not in a pleasant mood. Understandable, when his subjects and journalists were questioning his lack of response in the aftermath of a Martian invasion of New Paris. He’d been deflecting for the past two weeks. Frank had monitored the Nipponese media broadcasts up at Port Sydney very closely, so as to prepare for this moment.

  “Let’s talk about the future,” Frank pivoted. “The past is done — you and I may not see eye to eye on the reasoning behind those events, but we can certainly see eye to eye on where our two colonies’ destinies are headed.”

  Akiyama leaned back in the leather chair. His scowl loosened.

  Yes, focus on the future, not the past. “Peace,” Frank continued. “There is nothing but peace ahead. Nippon One and Port Sydney have strong relations going back to World War Three. We comply with the Trilateral Treaty and it keeps us both safe. And—”

  “I must say, relying on nothing more than machines to guide your decisions is a slippery slope, General,” Akiyama interjected. He wasn’t in the mood to listen. “And you know that I speak from experience.”

  It was true — the Nipponese had succumbed to the allure of machines in their past, and it had led to a civil war in 2191. A sizeable portion of the lunar population had wanted machines to play a broader role in the colony’s leadership, on account of the machines’ perceived intelligence. But another, much larger contingent, had wanted to keep humans in charge. Civil war ensued. The conflict had threatened the colony’s existence, so much so that the Martian army, the solar system’s peacekeepers, had to get involved. The ProMachiners, as the rebels were called, were defeated. But there had been a cost. Entire neighborhoods had been razed, and temporary loss of commerce had submerged the economy. A solar system-wide recession had followed for the next two years.

  “It wasn’t pretty,” Akiyama said. “You should remember, General. You helped me crush the insurgency.”

  “I do remember.” Frank’s face was grim. A memory of him and Akiyama, both brimming with confidence, flashed at him. They’d shaken hands and patted one another on the shoulder. While Frank was much younger and skinnier, the emperor looked the same as he did today. He never seemed to age. Frank’s earlier recollections from childhood of Akiyama’s broadcasts showed no difference in appearance either — the man was Dorian Grey himself, made immortal not by some wish and painting, but by the latest Nipponese biotechnology.

  “In that era, you must remember we both thought machines weren’t the answer.” Akiyama crossed his arms across the chest. “Seems like one of us has forgotten that now.”

  Further advancement of chess pieces. “Our situation is very different than yours,” Frank shot back. Nippon One hadn’t been busy chasing unattainable dreams of terraforming for the past century, after all. Port Sydney had done exactly that and failed miserably. The Martian landscape was littered with massive biodomes, bacterial incubators, and other terraforming systems now defunct. Once the tip of the spear, now nothing more than vestiges of a dead dream. There were even patches of genetically engineered foliage clustered around the red planet, shriveled to nothing more than trunks and branches, completely devoid of photosynthesis.

  “Sydneysiders never quite figured out how prevent their Martian atmosphere from leaking into space,” Akiyama said. Was that a grin? Condescending bastard. But he was right. Nothing had worked in keeping the newly created atmosphere intact — not even the orbiting magnetic shields meant to reduce impact from solar winds. It had all been futile. To have come so close to achieving one of humanity’s boldest dreams, only to end in a pratfall.

  “Machines can guide Port Sydney in the right direction,” Frank said. “The High Council knows best.” He didn’t believe it. Not any longer. But appearances mattered here in the moment more than ever.

  “Perhaps.” Akiyama caressed his long, black beard. “But what do they have in mind in terms of diplomacy with us?”

  “Like I said, your highness… as long as the Trilateral Treaty is being adhered to, the High Council will want nothing but peace.”

  There was silence. It was as if both parties tired of the standoff. Frank rapped his fingers on the table to fill in the deafening quiet. The elephant in the room still needed addressing.

  “Marie is dead,” Frank proclaimed, locking eyes with Akiyama once more. “I know the Nipponese had… diplomatic ties with her.” He cleared his throat. Diplomatic ties, sexual ties — same thing. “I am sorry to deliver the news. But she died in the attack.”

  He held his breath in anticipation of a response.

  “We are aware,” Akiyama said, his stare unwavering from Frank’s. “We confirmed her death via satellite feeds as well.”

  It was a bold-faced lie the emperor was joining, but Frank was grateful to hear it. While he exhaled, his executive administrator jotted down the confirmation in the minutes. They would be published after the meeting. Those minutes would be fed to the media, and within hours Marie’s death would join the annals of history as fact.

  The High Council would never know the truth — as long as Alice was successful in her mission. Oh Alice, do not fail me.

  Akiyama stood to announce, “I believe we all have what we need. I will let my eldest continue the dialogue on my behalf. Thank you for your time, General.”

  Curt. No bow, no nothing. Akiyama left the room with a few guards while his two sons remained behind. The conversation had been short and pointed. Frank held hope it had been as satisfactory for the Nipponese as it had for the Sydneysiders.

  Etsuji had one of his assistants pull out a folder that was handed across to the Martian Finance Minister. “Now that talks of peace have been had,” Etsuji said, “let us pivot and address some upcoming contract negotiations for our aluminum exports.” He spoke in a similar baritone and accent to his father. A spitting image — the two could be brothers.

  Frank nodded. He and Akiyama were at different ends of the spectrum of technological dependence. No matter, for Etsuji was poised to take over in a month. A relationship with the eldest son mattered more than the years Frank had allied with his father. The son was taller, broader — intimidating in physique. But he was easier to read. Frank had already picked up tells. The heir’s tendency to look away when lies were being spread as truth, for example. Frank welcomed the change. He could finally be the stronger player at the board.

  CHAPTER 3: BASTIEN

  Bastien finished the last of his cheap Suntory Toki and set the tumbler down. A drop of whiskey trailed down his chin and fell onto his jeans. Wiping his mouth, he stared at Alice like a lion studying a deer. She stood at the opposite end of the studio apartment and stared out a window. Dull electronic beats thumped outside, probably from a club or someone’s car. A tattered mattress lay on the ground separating Bastien and Alice. It was the only piece of furniture in this coffin. Grey, drab — the apartment mirrored Bastien’s will.

  Wonder what she thinks of my condition? And my place?


  A mouse peeked from a hole in the wall next to Alice’s boot. Bastien imagined it laugh and squeak, “You brought a woman here? You fool. Even I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  Alice was a woman, indeed — a tall, synthetically crafted human, one whose full figure was molded in a lab from desirable spliced genes of a thousand different Martian citizens. She was the first and only born and bred Sydneysider without parents in the traditional sense. An orphan of sorts in her own way, she was an experiment gone right, at least on paper. With a low statistical probability of succumbing to cardio diseases, a boosted immune system, and the ability to function without sleep for weeks amongst other abilities, she was the closest to a flawless, more productive human — again, on paper.

  An opaque vision stood in the corner. It was Belle. She eyed Alice and then looked over at Bastien. “You two had something, didn’t you?” Bastien ignored the apparition’s question. His eyes remained on Alice. With the physique of a warrior and the natural looks of a model, she cut a striking figure. But she didn’t seem to care about appearances. A disheveled, blonde ponytail, and a pale face, one which had never felt blush or mascara, were all signs of her laissez-faire approach to appearances. Then there was her demeanor. A fawn in the body of a muscular tigress. Meek, awkward — those were apropos. But despite these characteristics, Alice had risen through the Martian military ranks fast. Her success mirrored Bastien’s. Where he had displayed raw grit, she showed unparalleled smarts. There was no denying her natural horsepower. She was ace with technology, an asset in a world ruled by machines.

  Nine gold stars glinted across her heavy bosom under the apartment’s fluorescent lighting. They used to belong to Bastien. So did Alice, even if for only an hour. Bastien glared at her, imagining her without clothes. The recollection of a pirate raid from years back flooded his mind. There had been a battle at the edges of the inner solar system to subdue a lone pirate ship. Bastien, with Alice under his command, had flown a 1.V8. The entire ordeal had been tense on account of an all-out tactical dogfight. The Martian craft had incurred damage but remained operational nonetheless. Eventually the two soldiers had come out victorious. Elation, along with a simmering physical and mental chemistry, had led to sex in the 1.V8’s storage bay, a coupling at the great risk of additional pirate ships finding them and taking revenge. But Bastien and Alice had not cared. They’d given in to lust.

  The sweat, the smell, everything — even the fact Alice hadn’t shut her eyes once during the act remained fresh in his mind. She’d just stared at him, throughout moans and all, the entire time. Despite the release, the sex had been machine-like. Strange. Mechanical.

  “Our intercourse was good on that day,” she noted, as if she’d somehow picked up the reason behind his lingering gaze. Her voice was deadpan. “Do you remember it?”

  Bastien blinked blankly.

  He heard Belle laugh. “That’s one way to break the ice. The sex was good, certainly — how are you doing these days? I’m fine and you?”

  “Yes,” he answered. Was he talking to Belle or Alice? He couldn’t tell.

  “We were one in that moment,” Alice said. “We were bound together like… two machines in a data center.” She didn’t flinch at the weirdness of her comparison. It probably made perfect sense to her.

  “Poetic.” Belle laughed again. “But mostly fucking weird.”

  Alice turned around. “You gave me multiple orgasms — four I think?”

  “Oh, man!” Belle said, now coming into view next to Bastien. “She doesn’t hold back. What is this all about?”

  Alice released Bastien’s persistent stare and looked down. “I lost my virginity to you.”

  “Okay, she’s layin’ it on thick, but what’s the fuckin’ point?” Belle crossed her arms. The imagined vision didn’t seem to be enjoying the small talk anymore, or so Bastien thought. Would Belle really have been jealous of his past dalliance with Alice?

  “This city is alive.” Alice turned back to the window abruptly. An odd transition, but that was her — just odd. “It feels like what the old-world must have felt like. The Nipponese have deliberately made it that way.” She was just as awkward at conversation now as she had been before. What was the point of this discussion? She was beating around the bush. “The cars, the music — it’s like World War Three never happe—”

  “How did you find me, Alice?” Bastien cut in. His tone was curt.

  She didn’t respond. Distant dance music and police sirens filled the silence. Bastien kept his stare trained on her.

  “I did a scan for departing vehicles from New Paris’ destruction.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to find Marie. I figured if she was alive, she’d want to escape to Nippon One. I spotted your Nipponese cargo hauler via my scan, the Kitsune. I hacked its systems immediately in hopes of finding her. But instead, the craft’s cameras showed… you.”

  That escape, while having happened only two weeks back, was as if a different life, separate from Viktor’s.

  “Why did you not accept my communication ping?” There was a sharp edge to Alice’s question. She turned around to face him again. “Why did you ignore me?” The words were equal parts accusation and interrogation.

  “Why do you think?” Bastien countered. “I didn’t want to get arrested. Obviously.” He skimmed the walls with a long face, soaking in the bleakness of his apartment, and of his situation. A once lauded Lieutenant General in the Martian armed forces, now a gaijin assassin. A monster hiding amongst humanity’s filth. “No good would have come of me accepting your ping.”

  Alice took a few steps forward, her hands in her pant pockets. “I am not here to arrest you. I am here to ask for help. You can avert disaster.”

  Bastien’s insides raged. “Do not talk to me about averting disasters, Alice. If it weren’t for The High Council’s ways, I wouldn’t be here. New Paris wouldn’t be destroyed.”

  “The High Council knows best, Bastien — you should have accepted that when you were asked to do what was needed.”

  “I’m not getting into this with you.” Bastien threw up his arms. “I already had this argument with your boss.” He paused, his eyes focused on nothing. “I… I bet you completed what I declined?”

  Alice nodded.

  “A thousand people… you just erased them without blinking?”

  “It wasn’t easy, Bastien,” she said through gritted teeth. “But I had no choice.”

  “Yes, you did!” He punched a fist into his left hand. “But you cherished those nine stars more than moral obligations.”

  Alice crossed her arms across her chest. She said, “Still as righteous as the day I first met you.”

  A chaotic memory engulfed Bastien’s mind — Martian cadets running within a massive exercise facility. The drill had called for teams of recruits to hunt one another within a simulated steel labyrinth using faux-rifles that shot harmless light beams. The goal was to be the last team standing. The scene unfolded outside and below a bay window overlooking the facility. He’d had full view of the activities. It was a crucial vantage point, considering he was supervising the exercise.

  He’d laid eyes on Alice Smith for the first time then. It had stirred something within, but he’d kept his emotions at bay. She had been one of the hunters, her faux-rifle aimed ahead. Expectations were high for the new recruit — she was, after all, an expensive project for Port Sydney. The military higher ups wanted to gauge how she’d fare during her first week in the army. A prototype always needed testing.

  She did well during the exercise. But there’d been an issue Bastien couldn’t overlook. Alice won at the expense of her team. There was no comradery, no looking out for those teammates slower than her — nothing. She’d simply taken off on her own at the exercise’s start, as if she wasn’t on any team. A hunting party of one. This had severely disadvantaged her crew at first, for they’d been a man short right from the get-go. Defeat had come swiftly for them, but Alice remained undeterred. She took down men
bigger than her and woman faster than her. Her marksmanship was only second to Bastien, as was her martial aptitude. Within a matter of twenty minutes, the intensity of the exercise had given way to her solitary victory.

  A lesson had needed teaching. As she’d thrust her rifle into the air in a show of victory, Bastien had announced over the intercom system there were no winners. Her face had gone from ghost pale to blood red immediately. A confrontation had ensued. Bastian said, “There is no victory in selfish actions, Officer Cadet Smith.”

  Alice balked at the decision. “Selfish?” she shouted up to the bay window. “I’m the last soldier standing. I win fair and square. The rules are black and white, Captain Lyons.”

  “Yes, but we aren’t machines, so there’s some grey. There are moral considerations. You left your entire team behind to fend for themselves. They could have used your skills and, perhaps then it would have been you and your fellow soldiers celebrating victory right now. That’s not how the solar system’s peacekeepers operate.”

  Murmurs of agreement spread among the soldiers in the facility. The term “Frankenstein monster” was whispered as it had often been in her life. Bastien’s very public admonishment had cemented Alice as a pariah among her fellow recruits. A small price to pay for learning a valuable lesson. But this lesson had skewed Alice’s frame of reference. It had shaken her to the core, as subsequent assessments would point out. Perhaps he’d been too hard on her.

  Bastien stared at Alice across the apartment. He sighed. “No, I am not as righteous as we first met. I’m unlike anything when we first met.” He leaned back against the wall and slid to the ground. Curling his knees into his chin, he stared at the cracked cement between his boots. Why can’t she just leave?

  Alice sat cross-legged on the mattress. “I know you want me to leave, Bastien,” she said, “but I need your help.”

  Bastien’s stare remained to the floor.

  “Will you help us?” she pressed.

  “Help? You’re joking.”