by S A Asthana
>NAME: Belle Dubois
>AGE: 32
>CURRENT OCCUPATION(S): 1) Hacker 2) Anarchist
>PREVIOUS OCCUPATION(S): 1) Heir to New Paris
“Very interesting,” Cube noted. Heir to New Paris. Could be useful. General Crone would be much appreciative. A communication ping interrupted, its marker denoting a royal source. Queen Marie.
A difficult conversation lay ahead.
Three seconds later, her face pixelated into a hologram within Cube’s line of sight. The sharp features were crunched together making Marie appear a caricature of herself. Her eyes were bloodshot and trails of mascara ran down her cheeks, their ends blending in with dark lipstick. It was as if she wore a twisted mask.
“How dare you?” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You came into my kingdom and killed my most trusted man.”
Cube tilted its head as it processed the words.
“You will pay for this mistake, you piece of scrap metal.” Marie slapped her hands together.
“I can have you arrested for treason,” Cube responded in a monotone. It would have sounded no different had it been reading the instruction manual for the spacecraft. “You gave me your word, but then I found your soldier in possession of Lieutenant General Bastien Lyons. That is inexcusable. You are—”
“Shut up!” Marie shrieked back. A ball of emotions arguing with flat steel. “If I ever see you back here again, I will personally dismantle every screw on your fucking body.” A line of blood trailed from her nostril.
“You are threatening me, Your Highness. That means you are threatening the Martian Military,” Cube stated, its eye darker now than before. “The High Council will deem that an act of war. I advise you to rethink your position.”
“Fuck you!” Marie spat to the floor in defiance. “Fuck you, fuck Crone, and fuck your High Council.” She ended communication abruptly.
Cube sent a recording of the conversation to its chain of command. General Crone would not be pleased about the interaction. But he needed to know. About a minute later, as if on cue, Crone requested contact. A transparent, grey-hued figure displayed in Cube’s line of sight soon after.
“What the hell was that?” the General demanded, his long, narrow nostrils flaring with each angered breath.
“A direct affront to Martian command, General. The Queen disobeyed, even after you ordered her to aid in recovering Bastien. She let her second in command hold the fugitive and serve as an obstacle. Bastien was being hidden from us.”
“And that was her response… when you took care of the situation?” The General scratched his broad chin as he studied the robot’s damaged exterior.
Cube nodded.
“You bring back Bastien,” Crone instructed. “I will figure a response. That two-bit, drugged up whore oversteps her boundaries. Doesn’t she understand treaties? A real thorn in my side.”
“Understood,” Cube stated and prepared to sign-off. “For the High Coun—”
An ear-shattering explosion rocked the spaceship, jerking it to the right first and then sending it into free fall. Screens shut off and alarm lights blinked red. The computer boomed, “Warning! Damage incurred. Engine running at ten percent capacity. Craft descending—one thousand feet… nine hundred feet… eight hundred feet…”
Cube linked with the engine’s diagnostics to better understand what had happened. Within a split-second it was clear. The engine had been meddled with—it was sped up to such an extent it had overheated and exploded. Computer logs listed telltale markers of a hack. By who was unclear. But there was definitely evidence of external interference.
>RUN HACK ANALYSIS
>CONCLUSION: Likely culprit = Marie Dubois; >99% statistical probability
Dunes became larger. "Two hundred feet… One hundred feet… Impact.”
Every inch of the 1.V4, the metal, the glass, the circuitry, everything shook violently. Cube was launched forward at extreme velocity and crashed through the cockpit’s glass window, disappearing somewhere beyond the vehicle’s nose. Large, robotic feet remained behind, clamped securely to the craft's floor, the ankles now ripped open. Torn wiring hung out and crackled.
CHAPTER 13: BELLE
The shattered windshield crumbled onto the console and flames burst across the buttons. Several screens exploded as the systems underneath overheated. Thick smoke ballooned in the mangled cockpit—soon it would swell into the storage bay like a black phantasm and envelop the prisoners. Both Belle and Bastien remained tied in their respective chairs, although Belle’s polymer restraint band had been loosened by the crash’s tremendous force.
As flames raged, she squirmed and twisted, trying hard to loosen whole her ties. A sharp pain, as if from a muscle being stretched too far too quickly, shot up her left side. Fucking robot got me good. At least there weren’t any other injuries. The crash could have been worse had it not been for the famed Martian polymer bands, the sturdiest of their kind in the Solar System.
Belle tweaked a micro-jammer in her right hand. When she’d managed to slip out the tiny device from her pocket upon launch, she’d known well the dangers of using it. Jammers were capable of disrupting all computer activity within a hundred-foot radius. The little suckers did so indiscriminately. Sometimes the consequences were predictable. Other times, spaceships crashed. It had been worth the risk. Being held captive at Port Sydney was not part of the agenda. Period.
The dashboard exploded and rocked the craft, sending pieces flying back into the storage bay. A bit of computer panel crashed a foot away from Belle, its metal on fire. The situation was going downhill fast.
Flinging away the jammer, she wriggled back and forth until the restraining band finally came loose. It fell untangled to the floor. Belle bent over and retched bile. The crash had violently shaken everything, including her insides. As she spat the last of it, a loud bang shook the cockpit again—the craft was falling apart by the second. She needed to get out fast.
Glancing left and right, Belle hunted for an exit against the backdrop of crackling flames. A door stood out through swirling smoke. It was dented in the middle with several of the hinges dangling. All it needed was a strong kick.
The computerized voice came on once more, this time severely garbled, “Evac…c…uate vehicle! Expl…o…sion imminent.”
Belle tried untying Bastien but his band didn’t budge. It was tied too tight. Sparks spat from exposed circuitry just to his left. He’d be burnt to a crisp if left behind.
“Wake up, goddammit!”
It was no use. Bastien was still knocked out cold. Smoke stung Belle’s eyes and filled her lungs, but she remained focused on the man’s band nonetheless. Only another minute or so before smoke inhalation made breathing impossible. A voice deep inside urged Belle to leave him behind and save herself, but another part, the part that sparked logic, called on her to stay.
Bastien could still be of use. Her one shot at Marie.
With strength like steel, she strained every muscle to release Bastien. Veins bulged and crisscrossed her sinewy arms. She kept pulling and tugging until a single loop had been loosened. It was all she needed to untangle the rest. Fighting exhaustion, she freed Bastien—unraveling his band loop by loop, and then, as if a weightlifter, she slung him over her back and straightened. Fuck, he’s heavy. She plodded forward with careful steps, her muscles bulging all the while. It was like hauling a side of meat. Dragging his body to the door wasn’t an option on account of the metal floor being burning hot. It would char the man’s skin. Her knees almost buckled under the weight—her hundred and thirty-five pounds carrying his hundred and seventy. Difficult, but doable only because of all those hours of squats. And the adrenaline. The prospect of dying could spur near superhuman strength.
Taking a deep breath, she lumbered to the exit. C’mon, I got this. With a primal scream, she kicked the door with all her might, the hard edge of her boot banging hot metal.
It didn't budge. Not even an inch. Shit!
&nbs
p; Flames licked at them, but she remained fixed on the task at hand. She kicked the door again—this time it shifted half an inch. Progress. Sparks crackled behind her and the ship’s walls screeched as steel bent and twisted in the searing heat. It was an oven, one hell-bent on cooking her. Her skin was a deep pink, as if on the verge of melting her into a glob on the floor.
“Not going to die!” she screamed and kicked once more, this time sending the door flying. She stumbled out the craft with Bastien in tow and fell straight down a steep dune. The two slid and rolled like tumbleweed. Sand stung her eyes with a thousand pricks on her corneas. The world became a blur with sky blue and desert yellow mixing together like a kaleidoscope. It was an eternity, but the journey to the dune’s bottom ended eventually. She bowled to a stop and coughed, desperately trying to hack away the sand lining her throat. Gasps for cool air found only the afternoon’s sweltering gusts. Still better than the burning tin can.
An explosion quaked the landscape, shooting clouds of metal into the sky—the 1.V4’s final act. Clumps of sand rained down and buried Belle. It was as if a storm had descended upon the scene. All that was missing were thunderbolts.
The craft belched dark smoke from its splintered cockpit before its pieces settled. The plume rose against a cloudless blue sky like a fallen dragon’s breath. Belle was knee-deep in desert. Several pieces of circuitry littered her immediate surroundings like metal insects. Luckily none had smacked her. No more explosions, please.
Bastien. He’s unconscious over there, parts of him wholly covered by sand. Is he dead? I swear I heard him groan moments back. Blood drenched the man’s left pant leg. The calf wound had gotten worse and it would soon bleed him to death. Shit, I need to do-
The whistle of something heavy falling from the sky became apparent. Like a boulder. Or a robot.
Cube crashed only a few feet away—holy fucking shit! Belle jumped along with clouds of sand. The explosion had thrown the six-hundred-pound metal-monster here. Just a few feet to the left and it would have flattened Belle like paper.
Her fists clenched. She was ready if Cube stood. But it was clear the robot was done for. Its skeleton face and cyclopoid eye were twisted together beyond repair, though even in death they seemed foreboding. The once smooth exterior was now a fusion of charred metal and burnt wires, all melted into one another.
Belle hauled her legs out of the sand, grunting in pain. Her stomach still throbbed. And every single muscle ached like it had taken a hundred punches. Lucky to be alive, nonetheless. There was still danger. Being marooned on the Earth’s roasting surface was no vacation. It could be a death sentence. New Paris needed to be reached quickly. But before she could find a way back, some immediate issues required attention—her growing thirst and Bastien’s wounds. Her tongue was sandpaper and his calf looked like a rack of lamb. Not resolving these two problems would result in death sooner rather than later. Top priority.
Belle got to work immediately. She took off her sweat-drenched shirt and tied it tightly around Bastien’s calf, using it as a substitute for a tourniquet. It was a temporary fix to stop the free-flowing blood.
On to problem two. She twisted her bra into a more comfortable position and stood and pulled down her tight track pants along with her underwear. The smoky breeze felt cold against her sweaty buttocks. Crouching down, she urinated with one hand cupped under her. The goal was to aim and get as much urine into the palm. She took sips of it periodically, trying her best not to spill any. It tasted unpleasant, but it would do—a healthy person's urine was about ninety-five percent water and sterile, so it was safe to drink in the short term. Not the first time she’d needed such desperate measures.
Second problem solved… sort of.
Drying her hands in the desert air, she pulled up her pants and eyed the dunes all around. Her focus could finally shift to finding a way back to civilization. New Paris couldn’t be far. The spaceship had crashed before covering much distance, maybe a mile. Best bet would be to climb atop a dune to get a better vantage point— and the Parisian runes could be spotted immediately. An exceptionally tall one to the right seemed promising.
“It w-was self-defense,” Bastien groaned. He’d come to his senses. Somewhat.
Belle knelt beside him. “Can you stand up?” The words brimmed with urgency.
Feeling at his left leg, Bastien just winced in pain. He didn’t seem capable of much at the moment. A slab of useless meat.
Belle propped him into an upright sitting position. Fuck, why is he so heavy? Then, she situated herself behind him, slid her hands into his sweaty underarms and curled her biceps. It was like lifting a boulder. A sticky boulder. Fuck me, so damn large! After several false starts, she managed to help him stand and swung his arm over her shoulders. As his humid body leaned into hers, she said, “We need to move, big boy.”
He regained some balance, grimacing all the while. With eyes half shut, he stammered, “W-Where are we?”
“Hell, baby.” Belle helped him walk away from the crash site.
CHAPTER 14: BASTIEN
The sun beat down mercilessly, scorching Bastien’s skin red. His priority at the moment was to get Belle and himself back to safety as quickly as possible. After about an hour of leading him, she’d become disoriented because of exhaustion and Bastien had taken over. She was slung over his shoulder.
Parisian ruins lay a mile away, their concrete edges dancing in the sweltering heat. Despite the short distance, they still seemed very far. The Eiffel Tower loomed large amongst the ruins as if it was a giant desert rose, refusing to wither away. Oh, how magnificent it must have stood in the old times. A once great symbol of peace and prosperity, now nothing more than a lace of rusted metal. “The bombs fell, BUT I STILL SURVIVE!” The graffiti’s red cursive was stark against a brown, grey rusted beam. A sad sight, one Bastien identified with—the tower would come down soon enough. Only a matter of time.
Up here on the surface, between the fogs and the heat, there was nothing but the certainty of death. And if either of those two didn’t do one in, starvation would take care of the job.
At least lingering radiation from the nuclear fall-out wasn’t a concern. Earth’s ecosystem had flushed out contamination a long time ago. A silver lining, of sorts. Bastien couldn’t help but smile. He was grasping at straws, sure, but there was always a positive in the negative.
Father Paul stood in the distance. The man shouted over the hot wind. “Look for the positive in the negative.”
Typical. That had been his advice to orphans. Got chased by the Spider Gang but managed to escape? Look for the positive—you’re still alive. Javier got killed for stealing bread in the market? Look for the positive—he’s in a better place.
Stranded on Earth’s surface? Look for the positive—at least radiation won’t kill you.
The good father disappeared from view. A convincing desert mirage. Or was it delirium? Bastien’s mouth was dry and his legs were rubber bands.
Belle slipped from his grasp and rolled down the dune like a rag doll.
“Hell!” Bastien cursed and followed.
Belle slid to a stop on her back, her lips cracked, and her tongue hanging out to the side. Water was needed fast. If he was hallucinating, then she was dying. Something needed to be done. He saved lives, after all. It was part of his training—like muscle memory, one that was hard to forget. Belle dying was not acceptable. But what could he do out here in the desert?
A dry breeze blew through his hair and pushed aside sand from his boots, revealing a manhole cover. Lady luck! His lips curled into a smile—maybe Father Paul is watching over me after all?
The colony didn’t extend all the way out here, but that didn’t mean there weren’t sewer tunnels crisscrossing below. This must have been the city’s outskirts before the last world war. Perhaps there was water down there?
Only one way to find out.
Lifting the cover was harder than anticipated, but several attempts later, Bastien managed to
loosen it and remove it. Unlike the lids right above New Paris, the ones on the peripheries had never been sealed. There hadn’t been a need since the tunnels stretching out here weren’t inhabited. The sealing was meant to keep fogs from making it inside the habitable portions of the sewer. If they did, Parisians would die. New Paris would effectively cease to exist. But none of that was a concern all the way out here.
As he threw aside the cover, a cold sensation rushed his face—mist.
Emboldened with hope, he slung Belle over his shoulder, dropped down the manhole and landed firmly within a narrow sewer tunnel. Its walls were only an arm's length across. Sunlight seeped through the entrance above and spotlit a stream snaking its way between his boots. The water sparkled as if flowing with diamonds. He knelt to inspect, and a quick sip revealed it to be fresh. Or at least as fresh as it could be down here—it still tasted of dirt and muck. But it would do.
Several pipes snaked across the wall to his left, and Bastien figured one to have a leak somewhere in the distance. Why they were carrying water all the way out here was beyond him. Perhaps there were plans to expand the city’s perimeters? The extra space would do its residents good. Although knowing Marie, it would end up an addition to her sprawling personal quarters.
Cradling Belle across his lap, he cupped water in his hands and fed her several times. He washed her face and head, rubbing off grime and sand carefully, letting drops trail down her neck to her small breasts. This was the second time he’d gotten a good look at the rebel. There was a softness to the features, despite the strong nose and thick eyebrows. He found his stare lingering.
The shadows outside the sun’s narrow beam interrupted his attention. They spread away in both directions like a black sea. Bastien squinted but couldn’t discern anything within their darkness. It was unclear where they led, although the path on the right probably snaked to New Paris given its direction. Trekking it would be difficult without a light source but possible—he’d just have to feel his way forward. With a deep breath, he prepared to carry Belle but exhaustion stopped him from moving.