The Final Wars Rage

by S A Asthana

  Reo shook his head. “Someone around here has to be the boring one, big brother.”

  Etsuji stowed away the pack back into his pocket. “Look, that mission is now as old as you. We have no idea if the crew is even alive. The spacecraft’s communication died six months into the journey. It’s done.”

  “Or… they made it to Titan and set up the colony per plan,” Reo interjected. “Maybe their comms died, but not them. Shouldn’t we try to find out at least?”

  Etsuji shrugged. “It would exacerbate tensions with Port Sydney — not having included them in the decision-making process behind the idea of a fourth colony would ruffle their feathers. You know this. I am surprised I must remind you. They’d see it as illegal expansion per the treaty. We don’t need this headache right now. Let sleeping dogs lie.” Article Nine of the Trilateral Treaty was explicit — no one colony could claim ownership of outer space or any celestial body.

  “My concern at moment is Marie — she should be yours as well.” Etsuji’s gaze lingered on the door. “Father might look in his forties, but he’s bloody old.” It was true. Father was almost as old as Nippon One itself. He was probably the oldest man alive in the colony now. “All those genetic enhancers can work wonders for the face, but not the mind. He’s sliding into lunacy — why else would he think protecting Marie is a good idea? Etsuji chuckled and answered his own question, “The pussy is probably too good for the old windbag.”

  “Please do not speak of him this way,” Reo said, his nose crinkled. Etsuji could be a real brat sometimes. No different than the drugged up middle brother. But unlike Yukito, Etsuji had enough restraint to play the part of the eldest, more mature son. One had to learn to act if one was to be taking over the role of emperor.

  “It’s true, Reo. You know it.”

  “Maybe she reminds him of mother somehow,” Reo said, more to himself than his brother. “Maybe there’s companionship there?”

  Etsuji stroked his goatee as if considering the conjecture. Shaking his head, he said, “I hope to Great Buddha you aren’t right. What would that say about mother?” Vulgarity and violence were synonymous with Marie, after all. There would be much dishonor in the deceased empress having been cut from the same cloth.

  Reo cringed at having suggested it in the first place.

  “She is a liability,” Etsuji remarked, “and he doesn’t realize it. Or maybe he does, but doesn’t care.”

  The truth. She was indeed a thorn in the royal garden. If the High Council found out she was being offered refuge by the Nipponese leadership, not only would diplomatic ties be severed for breaking the Trilateral treaty, conflict would erupt most likely.

  “But I care.” Etsuji patted his chest. “In a month, it will be my headache, not his. I will be the one negotiating with the Martians, not him.” He took another pull from the cigarette and let its smoke blow through nostrils. “I want her dead.”

  Reo remained silent. Etsuji obviously had a lot on his chest. The telltale signs were there — reddened face, quickened breaths.

  “I want you to kill her, Reo.”

  “Big brother, you know I cannot just kill her,” Reo protested.

  “If you can’t, then get someone who can.” Etsuji pointed the cigarette at his sibling. “I want her gone before the end of October. She should be history by the time I take over. I don’t want her sticking around, waiting to blow up our diplomacy with the only other civilization left.”

  He was right. There was no getting around it — Marie was a burden. The emperor had had a relationship with her dating back five years. All those secret visits to New Paris, the siphoning of countless state funds to her coffers — if there was ever a black mark on his reign, it was her.

  “I will take care of it.” Reo accepted that upholding family legacy was important.

  Putting out his cigarette, Etsuji stood. “Good, little samurai.” He then walked to the door, but before exiting, he said, “Don’t let Yukito get wind of this. I do not trust him anymore. And neither should you. I fear he listens to secrets not meant for his ears.”

  “He is a garden snake,” Reo said. “Harmless.”

  “Harmless but still a snake,” Etsuji countered. “Stay vigilant.” The door was swung open for him and shut quickly.

  The directive was clear. Marie needed to die — but how? It wasn’t like Reo could just walk into her bedroom and shoot her. Father was there often. No, it would be too risky. He didn’t want to fall short of father’s graces. Flawed, emotionless and depleted as he was, he was still father. Blood. A man of grit who’d raised three sons in the absence of their mother. But his dirty little secret needed erasing.

  Reo’s watch beeped and shook him from his thoughts. A text ran across its screen. “We need to meet — matter of national urgency. - Lt. Gen. Smith.”

  CHAPTER 7: CRONE

  The Nipponese Secretary of Agriculture greeted the Martian congregation with a warm smile. Vertical metal stacks, one atop the other, layered behind her from floor to high ceiling. Each supported different types of produce. The large room belonged to one of the many skyscrapers housing vertical farms in Nippon One. Frank was familiar with the practice it was used for at Port Sydney but there was always something new to be learned. Innovations and efficiencies sprouted sporadically, and so sessions like these were crucial. Plus, such conversations cemented ties further. Nippon One exported numerous pounds of produce annually to Port Sydney, while Port Sydney supported Nippon One’s farming needs by providing fifty percent of the energy required for such indoor facilities. However boring Frank found discussions of year over year lettuce yields or tomato farming procedures, he had to feign amusement. His Agricultural Minister, on the other hand, was all smiles without effort.

  “O-Kyaku-san.” The Nipponese secretary greeted and bowed. She then continued in a thick Japanese accent, “My name is Aiko Ito, and I welcome you to our city’s most productive farm.”

  Frank along with the rest of his team bowed. Straightening, he said, “Thank you for having us today.” Cameras flashed. Ten journalists looked on with mild curiosity. The media was present to telecast the meeting. Frank pointed to a stocky man and said, “Charles will be on point today.” The Martian minister delivered an awkward smile and an even more awkward bow to the cameras, eliciting snickers from the journalists. Frank nearly rolled his eyes.

  Aiko led the group towards a stack of turnips, with Frank in tow. While his eyes remained on the produce his mind obsessed over the latest meeting with Akiyama. The secretary noted, “Our hydroponic systems are lit by LEDs that mimic sunlight — just like yours. Our Agri Software 2.0 ensures all the plants get the same amount of light, water and nutrients. Proper management means no herbicides or pesticides are required.” She flashed a proud grin.

  Frank responded with a smile of his own, although his mind now pivoted to Marie Dubois. Her death had been confirmed as indisputable fact. Just after his meeting with the royal family, the agreement on Marie’s demise had been fed to all major Nipponese news outlets. The lie he had aligned with Akiyama was for all practical purposes part of recorded history. As far as the world was concerned, as far as The High Council was concerned, Marie was already dead.

  He should have been elated, but butterflies still flitted inside. He was a magician hoping to not have his secret discovered. It was this secret, the death of Marie, now balancing the solar system’s peace on a tightrope. A circus act of the upmost importance. Frank’s grin disappeared.

  “In the old world, an acre of land would net you an acre of lettuce,” Aiko continued with a giddy smile, posing for cameras along the way, her dark blue uniform turning white with each blinding flash. “Indoors, an acre of building, like this one, with plants stacked to the ceiling can grow many acres of lettuce.”

  Frank almost yawned but then caught himself just as a camera flashed in his face.

  “Traditional horizontal farming is limited by its two dimensions. But if we stack plants ten or fifty levels high, that acr
e can do the work of ten or fifty farmed acres.”

  Frank let out an exasperated sigh — the Martians were already familiar with vertical farming fundamentals. It was obvious Aiko had an agenda. The spectacle was meant to highlight Nipponese superiority to the citizenry. Look how smart we are in front of these dumb Martians. Look at how we teach them to feed themselves. Perhaps Aiko had forgotten none of this would be possible if Port Sydney didn’t provide solar energy to help run the facility in the first place. Perhaps he should bring it up? No, that wouldn’t be prudent. Orders had declined for the batteries filled with stored solar energy from the hundred Martian harnessing satellites orbiting the Sun. A ten percent drop, recently. Now wasn’t the time to contest Aiko’s show of superiority, not when trade tensions were high.

  His name was called out as Alice rushed in, her hair frizzy and disheveled as always. It was a disruptive entry. The journalists, Aiko, and the rest of the Sydneysider congregation stared at her. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need the General.”

  “All right, carry on,” Frank instructed the rest. He walked away with Alice as Aiko continued her presentation on carrot farming.

  Alice spoke in Japanese to a security guard, “We need privacy.” He motioned them to follow. She was fluent in their tongue — one of the many reasons promoting her had made sense. A perfect liaison not only to the machines up at Port Sydney, but also to the Nipponese.

  Frank and Alice were escorted to a plain white conference room. As the guard exited and shut the door, Frank said, “So where are you wi—”

  Alice put a finger to her lips. The conference room needed examination to ensure it wasn’t bugged with listening or viewing devices. Nippon One was friendly territory, sure, but the topic required upmost secrecy. She pulled a tiny device from her pocket and activated it with a quick voice command. The cube beeped as it scanned the room for electronic signatures. Within seconds, it flashed a green light. The room was sans technology, a rarity for Nippon One.

  “All right then,” Frank started in his nasally twang, “where are you with your efforts?”

  “We are getting closer to our end goal,” Alice noted as she stowed away the device.

  “You found someone to take care of Marie then?” Frank flashed an expectant grin.

  “Yes, I found Bastien.”

  Frank’s lungs emptied as if he’d been punched in the sternum. He blinked blankly. “Did you, did you say… Bastien?”

  “Yes, General.” Alice stood tall, a rare display of confidence from the Lieutenant General. “I found him. He was hiding under a fake identity but I sought him out. He will be our assass—”

  Frank slapped her. His face was deep red and it matched his military dress. “You imbecile!” His teeth clenched. Shook by his response, Alice took a few steps back, her left hand covering her cheek. Frank moved towards her and barked, “Of all the damn people in this city of two million, you found Bastien for the job?”

  “General, I don’t understand? Why such anger?”

  “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.” Frank rubbed his temples. “Let me explain to you yet again — the High Council believes Bastien to be dead. Finished. History. And yet, here you are trying to thrust him right back into the spotlight.”

  “Not true, General.” Alice’s voice cracked.

  Are her eyes wet? Weakling. “Of course, it is true, Alice. What if he fails? What if he is found out? Then, not only will we have Marie alive still, but we’ll also have to worry about Bastien. The High Council think both are dead, remember?”

  He took another step forward, his fists clenched. Sweat soaked his forehead and he sneered. “How is any of this not a concern for you?”

  Holding her palm up in defense, Alice replied, “This is part of my plan, General. Please hear me out.”

  Frank grumbled, his grey eyes searing her brown ones.

  “I… I am confident Bastien will get the job done. He can get close to Marie without rousing suspicion. I’ll oversee the entire operation. He’ll kill her. And then… at the first chance… I will kill him. It is simple. No Marie, no Bastien. It will all happen in one night.”

  Everything stood still for several breaths. Not a word was spoken. Information was being processed.

  Frank finally broke the silence. “I see.” He unlocked his stare from Alice’s and gazed to the floor. Chess pieces moved at his feet, or so he imagined. A black pawn stood out — lowly and unassuming. It crept towards its target, the white queen. She stood some squares away. Seconds later, the pawn moved diagonally, mowing down the queen. As she fell flat on the chessboard, the pawn itself came under attack. Its compatriot, another black pawn, delivered a fatal blow. Frank imagined Bastien lying in a pool of blood alongside Marie. The pruning of two thorns. The end of the magic act.

  “This better work, Alice.”

  Her hunched back straightened. “It will.”

  “I am counting on you.”

  Frank’s earpiece beeped. There was an incoming call. Blood drained from his face. “General Crone,” a familiar, melodic voice pierced, “the High Council will like a briefing as soon as possible on your lunar visit.”

  “Of course,” He wiped sweat off his brow. “I will be back within five hours.” He took off the earpiece and repeated, almost to himself, “It’s not a lie if it isn’t found out. It’s not a lie if it isn’t found out.”

  CHAPTER 8: MARIE

  Marie curled into herself, and her sweat soaked satin bedsheets. The pain was overwhelming. It coursed through her veins, shaking her wildly. Withdrawal from Euphoria was eating her raw from the inside out. How long will it last this time around? It’s so fucking cold.

  Everything in her small bedroom appeared fuzzy — the bedside mahogany table, the navy curtains over the window, everything. But the hallucination of her father stood crystal clear in the corner. King Alexandre Dubois. The mighty benevolent ruler whom every Parisian once worshipped. The strategic statesman who’d ensured New Paris’ survival against insurmountable odds. The greatest thing to happen to Earth’s last enclave. A towering man. He stood in the corner, stark naked with penis erect, and stared down at her, just as he had on many occasions since her seventh birthday.

  Stroking himself, he said, “My sweet, little girl. Beautiful lily. You are the pretty one. A goddess amongst mortals.” As he took a step, Marie coiled further into herself. “You do want to make père happy, don’t you?” Another step.

  Marie coughed and stammered, “Papa, p-please. Don’t.”

  No stopping him. He took another step, his right hand reaching out. The fingers quivered with the want of touch. Marie was transported to that moment, a child again, alone, scared, and unable to stop what was to come. The unwanted touching — it was all seared into her memory from that birthday onwards. He’d taken from her, over and over through the years as she grew, but when she’d asked for the throne he’d scolded her.

  “It belongs to your older sister, you know this,” he’d shouted. “How dare you question tradition?” The sick pedophile cloaked himself in age-old customs when she’d asked for her fair share. Apparently, raping a child was fair game. The hypocrisy of men.

  Marie wanted to cut herself again, just as she’d done hundreds of times throughout her childhood to help ease the suffering. The coping mechanism had eventually turned into a habit, and finally, an obsession. Cut. Slice. Let the blood flow, draining away father’s sins.

  He stood next to her in the hellish vision and caressed her sweaty hair. “Take care of me, my Aphrodite. Fais moi l’amour.”

  “Papa, don’t.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. There was no use. He’d done so much to her.

  The door burst open and the mirage disappeared, replaced by another man — Akiyama. He too stood naked. His legs wobbled as if flimsy plastic, his face a picture of drunken stupor. In this state of undress the emperor always appeared his age. Scrawny, pot-bellied and covered in white hair, upon his chest and below as well. There was no crisp suit to mask him from
the neck down. The emperor with no clothes was just like any other man — lecherous and drunk. They were all the same, ultimately, wanting the same things.

  He stumbled into the room and another wave of pain rushed over Marie as if it was a low tide. It wet her toes with sweat, spread up her legs and drowned her head in an intense fatigue. She couldn’t move, nor speak. The symptoms thrashed her. She needed euphoria.

  Akiyama stood over her, staring down like a bearded demon. “Take care of me, my desert rose.” He was too drunk to realize she was in no state to comfort him. A line of spittle trailed down into his dyed black beard.

  “Take care of me,” he repeated, his aged member inches from her mouth. Marie babbled as her muscles cramped one by one. Her eyes trailed from him to the door where a troupe of geishas spied on the grisly attack, giggling amongst themselves.

  Akiyama pounced atop her and tore apart her white dress as if he was a rabid dog. When he thrust himself, her eyes widened in pain. She fixed her gaze on a crack in the wall. Her breasts were groped and scratched. He bit her shoulder. A line of blood trailed away. “Look at me!” he shouted as he thrust. “Where is your fire tonight?”

  Marie’s gaze remained on the wall’s crack. Some time later he sat at the edge of the bed, his caved chest heaving. “Get me water and my clothes,” he barked at the geishas. The girls scampered away. Marie was torn — shredded from the inside out, a nightingale in a gilded cage. But the euphoria withdrawal was subsiding in the wake of his attack. She could breathe again.

  “I… I want to be by your side, Akiyama,” she spoke in a daze. The rapes in her life didn’t shock her anymore. The power in their aftermath stoked her ambition, which was all consuming.

  Without looking over, he said, “You are by my side.”

  “No,” she protested, although the word nearly faded on her lips. “I want to be involved more. I am a queen. I understand all you and your sons go through…” She trailed off in fatigue.