by S A Asthana
He didn’t have the strength left to carry on. Instead he took several drinks of water himself, and after laying Belle on the ground next to him, began washing his wound clean. Despite the stinging he continued.
He washed and cleaned, then cleaned and washed until his eyelids became heavier. When was the last time I had a good night’s rest? Bastien sat back against the wall, staring at the darkness. It seemed so still. Lifeless. Soon it had melted him into the blackness of sleep.
∆∆∆
The pit bull loomed large beyond the white picket fence as if a wolf waiting to pounce sheep. It snarled to reveal long fangs drenched in rabid foam. A bark echoed in the surrounding darkness, followed by a roar stretched out to fill the silence. Bastien shook with fear. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t a memory, or a dream. It was a nightmare.
The barking continued incessantly and then evolved into a giddy cackle. Like an evil clown. The wolf-dog now stood on its hind legs and towered over the fence. How could this be? The animal could simply step over and disrupt the safe space.
A smile, almost human, separated its jaws. Bastien didn’t understand what he was seeing. With parched lips, he repeated the mantra, “Onward and upward. Onward. And upward.”
“Onward and upward, onward and upward,” the dog mocked. It could speak. But how? It howled then, an evil demonic sound like the baying of hell itself.
“What are you?” Bastien stammered, his eyes wide. Muscles cramped one by one. Sweat soaked the lengths of his black locks.
“You still don’t know me, Bastien?” the dog boomed. “I have been with you for so long.”
“Get away from me,” Bastien yelled back, his fists clenched.
The giant mutt laughed and teased in a hoarse voice, “You’re so scared of me! A real treat to watch.”
Bastien couldn’t argue. He was, after all, a grown military man still terrified by the memory of childhood trauma. He asked, “What do you want from me?”
The maniacal grin cut the creature’s face again. It said, “There are already many who want something from you. I am merely here to show you what will be.”
With brows crunched Bastien grunted. “What?”
The animal stretched open its jaws and they spread wide. An image of carnage displayed within the teeth and spit. A strange sight of slaughter revealed Parisian chambers crumbled into ruins. Where there had once been mud and filth now lay broken bricks. Torn limbs, all bloodied, stuck out from the destruction. Moans echoed within the bloodshed.
“Stop it,” Bastien mumbled. Cries for help rang in his ears. The imagery became more prominent and the jaws larger. “Stop!”
The destruction now surrounded Bastien and he found himself amongst New Paris’ ruins. The jaws had closed in around him. His boots crushed stone underneath with each step — or perhaps bone — and the stink of decay attacked him. He almost lost his footing. The wails of misery drowned out any other sound.
An arm, wispy and grey and rotten, shot up from the carnage and grabbed his calf. Its touch was cold. Before he could make any sense of it, another emerged to seize his ankle. Hundreds of arms, decomposed and broken, shot up from the rubble and waved to and fro as if a cornfield of limbs swaying in the wind. New Paris’ dead were reaching out for help.
“Make it stop.” Bastien shut his eyes. But the demon-dog continued its cackle.
∆∆∆
A violent shaking jolted Bastien awake. A white moonbeam shot down through the manhole. Must have slept the entire afternoon and evening.
“Bastien, wake up,” Belle whispered. She shook him by the shoulders repeatedly.
“I’m awake.”
She handed him night vision goggles. Belle appeared a grainy green and pointed frantically to the right. The most massive rat he’d ever seen, a creature so rotund it filled up the tunnel, stood several hundred feet out in the dark. It sniffed the air, its fluffy head bobbing from side to side as if having picked up a scent—their scent.
Adrenaline kicked Bastien in the face and the grogginess from his slumber fell away. His chest tightened. “Oh, hell!”
“Keep the noise down,” Belle hissed.
Rumors of 400-pound rodents living at the edges of civilization were all about. Of the millions of rats that thrived in and around New Paris, some had gained incredible size in the race for survival during the last century. It was evolution at its most efficient, but Bastien didn’t care to admire the process at the moment. Instead, he jumped to his feet and reached for a gun. No weapon.
Belle said, “I lost mine during the crash, too.”
Facing off against this creature with bare hands was a death sentence. It was scurrying closer—no more than a hundred feet away now. Soon the rodent would be upon them with incisors that could rip flesh from bones with ease, or knuckles from clenched fists.
An escape route was needed—fast. The tunnel behind him, its walls green and grainy, melted eventually into darkness. Bastien couldn’t tell what lay beyond. For all he knew, it dead-ended. Or worse, more giant rats. No, that wasn't an option.
Getting back up to the surface was their best bet.
“It’s coming!” Belle cried. The rat was darting towards them, its plump body grazing against the walls. Food had been spotted. Incisors were going to cut bones. The feverish plodding of its heavy feet echoed in the tunnel.
Bastien went into response mode. He grabbed Belle by the waist and lifted her to the manhole. She scrambled out with legs flailing, her right boot kicking the back of his head in the process. “You’re welcome,” Bastien said.
The beast was almost upon him. The stench of feces and wet fur filled the air. Bastien jumped, grabbed onto the manhole’s edges and pulled himself out just as the creature snapped its teeth within inches of his boots. He lifted the manhole cover and threw it back in place. Muffled squeals echoed beneath. The rat was too fat to squeeze through the manhole. It would go hungry tonight.
With a long sigh, Bastien fell back onto the sand, his arms and legs spread out, his mind limp. “First a robot, now a rat.” His breathing was quick. Fortunately, the air was cooler now—a pleasant breeze even flirted with the dunes. The full moon offered the land a reprieve from the sun. It was an exceptionally brilliant night. Black spots peppered the gleaming, lunar surface. A tiny red dot could be made out within one of them even from this distance. It was Nippon One's beacon—a guide for incoming and outgoing spacecraft. A bright lighthouse built on foreign shores.
Bastien handed back the night goggles to Belle.
“Good thing Cube didn’t confiscate my gadgets.” She stowed the item into her knapsack. “Don’t know what I’d do without them.”
She was in better shape. It was the right time to press some burning questions. Bastien asked her about the crash. “How did it happen?”
Looking down at him, she answered, “It was me. I used a jammer.”
Bastien mulled over the response for a few short breaths. “Okay. But we could have died.”
“Still better than ending up captive on Mars.” Belle shrugged.
“Yeah, but—”
“But I saved your life.” Belle’s eyes locked with his. “A thank you might be nice. Especially considering you were on your way to kill me.”
“Oh, I see.” Bastien clenched his teeth. His French accent was on full display. “Well, I saved you from both dehydration and a giant rat. So, I guess we’re even.”
“We’ll be even when you keep your end of the bargain,” Belle spat back. She was standing over him with a Parisian accent thicker than his. Touché.
“My end of the bargain?” Bastien stood and came face to face with her, his voice heavier than usual. “You still think your plan is going to work? You’re out of your mind.”
“I didn’t fuckin’ save you so you could have a change of heart.” She pressed her finger into his chest.
Bastien swatted away her hand. “And I’m not taking orders from you anymore. The situation has changed. It’s completely chan
ged. For one, I’m not tied up and at your mercy. And two, things are about to get much worse between Earth and Mars.”
Belle blinked a couple of times as if the gears in her mind shifted. Taking a few steps back, she eyed Bastien’s six-foot frame head to toe. “What… what are you talking about?” Before Bastien could answer, she pressed, “Wait a minute. You think… you think that Mars will believe the craft was brought down by Earth?”
“That’s why I asked how it crashed.” Bastien’s hands were crossed over his head. The anger from seconds back had given way to concern.
“But it wasn’t Marie. It was me.” Belle was staring up at the sky, looking, peering, as if Mars was visible to the naked eye.
“Yeah. But nobody knows that.” Bastien took a deep breath. “When making the arrest Cube asked Hafiz to hand me over, but Hafiz refused. Remember? Then when Hafiz was told Marie had given her word to Mars about me, he said he was not aware of such an agreement.”
“Cube must have realized Marie wasn’t true to her word at that point.” Belle paced back and forth, hands at her waist.
“Exactly, and there’s no way Cube didn’t message that to General Crone.”
“Crone?” Belle crunched her face. “The Martian military lead?”
“In charge of all attack and defense operations. Yes, him.”
“Okay. Even so, it’s a political spat at best.” Belle shrugged. “The two don’t have any trading ties as it is. Not a huge deal.”
“It’s a breach of the Trilateral Treaty, article eleven—The Extradition of Criminals Act,” Bastien said. “Each colony must aid another colony for extradition of a known criminal if he or she hides out within its borders. Penalty for non-compliance is trade tariffs, et cetera.”
“Thank you, professor,” Belle snapped but then stopped. “But then… what about a military craft getting blown up?”
“Now, that is an act of war,” he said. “If you play this out, you will reach the same conclusion. After the altercation between Cube and Hafiz, Cube took me to the spacecraft.”
“Which then blew up upon takeoff from New Paris,” Belle cut in. “Fuck. Mars will think it was Marie retaliating for Hafiz’s death.”
“Article two of the Trilateral Treaty—The Right to Defend.” Bastien’s tone was solemn. That damn treaty was undeniable. “Each colony has the right to defend itself against another with any means necessary if provoked and or attacked. And in this case, both sides can claim the other broke the agreement. Marie, because of Hafiz’s death. And Mars… because of Cube’s.”
“So, what happens next?” There was urgency in Belle’s voice.
Bastien sighed, “We had attack protocols for an event like this.”
“What are you saying?” Belle screamed. “They’re fuckin’ going to war with New Paris?”
A tear trailed down her dirty face. Bastien was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected such emotion. Rocks cry? She was cracking. Understandable. “Look, Belle.” He took a few steps towards her. “This isn't your fault.”
Pressing her eyes with the back of her hands, she declared, “Yes, it is. Because the Martians will think it was Marie who’d…” Her voice trailed off as she blinked.
“Look… if anything, it was because of me. If I hadn’t come down here, none of this would have happened. Hell, I should have escaped to Nippon One.”
His words bounced off Belle. She’d completely broken down. The political brainstorm had ended. She plopped to the sand and rested her chin on her knees like a child. Her shoulders shook as a thick cloud of guilt consumed her. The poor soul. She needed saving. What would Father Paul have done?
Kneeling next to her, Bastien softened his voice as if talking to a child, "Maybe… I was a bit hard on you. You did what you felt was right.”
“All I wanted to do was save this city.” Belle’s eyes were shut tight, but tears still escaped down her cheeks. “Those people need saving.”
“This isn't your fault, Belle. I know you feel like it is right now, but it isn't. This is out of your control. Onward and upward."
The crying continued. Words were useless at this point. So, Bastien sat alongside in silence. It was now obvious what the Jacobins saw in her. She didn’t care about the throne for the sake of being queen. No. She cared for the people. The mark of a true leader. And to think he had damn near assassinated her—how shameful.
If only there were something I could do. Bastien drew patterns in the sand with his mind. Lines and curves swirled about on the desert floor, their points moving aimlessly. After several spins, a few curves formed a crude face. It was Father Paul. He seemed to say, “Just because we are surrounded by monsters…”
“Doesn’t mean we have to become monsters ourselves,” Bastien finished. The words seemed to echo in his ears. Maybe the old man had it right all along.
He turned to Belle and said, “I think I can stop all this.”
Pausing her sobs, Belle looked over with puffy eyes. “How?”
“By turning myself in.” Bastien took a deep breath.
“You think that would solve this?”
Bastien nodded. “It’s worth a shot. I can… I can tell both parties that… it was a misunderstanding. That I was the reason for the crash. That I was the cause for Hafiz’s death… that I was behind everything.”
You’d… do that?” Belle’s eyes were wide.
Bastien pursed his lips for a few breaths.
“I’ve been running all my life,” he confessed. “I ran as an orphan to save my skin. Then when Marie came to power I ran to save my skin. And I ran away when things got out of control up at Mars. Also to save my skin. Always running away. It’s all I’ve been doing. Running. And hiding. Just surviving.”
The pitter-patter of an eight-year old’s feet splashing hard against mud echoed in his ear. The sound reached out through time.
“This time I’m not going to run. This time… I’m going to save.”
Silence once again. Belle had stopped crying. She stared at him. “You could save thousands of lives,” she said after a time.
Bastien nodded. “We both could… together.”
Belle flashed a faint smile. She was a kindred spirit. A concoction of righteousness underneath the hard exterior.
“We need to get back to New Paris,” Bastien said. “From there, we can figure out how to get in touch with Crone.” His life was never going to be the same again. Saving the city was much more important than anything else now.
CHAPTER 15: CRONE
Port Sydney’s main datacenter was outfitted with a hundred servers, their twenty-foot tall peaks nearly grazing the metal ceiling. It was the heart of the colony. The fourth subfloor sheltered the Information Science Center, the safest location for storage of zettabytes of data. Information stored here in neat rows of server after server interacted with the other much smaller datacenters sprinkled about the facility. Data backups were stored and recovered as needed. If a Martian computer system crashed, this was the place to recover the data. If an AI robot was destroyed and its data and memory logs had to be recovered, this was the place for that resurrection.
Four towers stood against the back wall in a square formation to hold heavy machinery in place. Robotic arms with drills and screwdrivers worked sequentially on a humanoid robot. The humanoid was seven feet tall, its gunmetal black armor smooth and built to withstand any damage. There were no markings except for a barcode on the back of the skull. A cyclops eye, bright red and swollen, was centered on the face.
“Glad to have you back, Cube,” General Crone shouted over the whirring robotic machinery.
“I am also glad,” Cube responded in a monotone.
The body had been a shell until just now—a fourth generation humanoid attack-bot manufactured by the Martian military waiting for a soul. That soul, in this instance, was the data recovered wirelessly using multiple satellite feeds from Cube’s original body, now charred metal down on Earth.
“You salvaged everything, Alice?
” Crone asked his Lieutenant General, his eyes fixed on the robot.
“I was able to get all the logs up till the crash,” she answered. “Beyond that, there wasn’t anything left to recover.”
“So, you have memories, files, conclusions, decisions—everything?”
“Yes.” Alice smiled. It was faint. She could be pretty if she tried. It was obvious she didn’t.
“Good work. Your talents with tech make you shine,” he said. “Now we can get confirmations. Cube, what is your assessment of the attack on your craft?”
Cube’s eye reddened to a color almost black. “According to my calculations, there is a 99.1 percent chance Queen Marie was the culprit. My correspondence with her right before the crash was volatile. She was not happy with me killing her right hand. There was a motive to bring down my spacecraft.”
Crone nodded. “And what about Bastien Lyons?” he pressed.
“Low probability of survival. Per my calculation, less than .05%.”
Crone took a deep breath to inhale the number. The High Council would be pleased with this particular data point. An end to chasing Bastien was a good thing. Resources could now pivot to more pressing matters. Unfortunately, that meant Article Two of the Treaty—The Right to Defend. That was a bad thing. Crone swallowed hard.
There was no way in hell the High Council wouldn’t uphold the treaty and its consequences. They were strong adherents to logic and process, after all. No, they would not ignore this incident. The prospect of war between two colonies, something unimaginable since World War Three, was becoming likely. Because of what? Bastien. Chasing him had pushed the Solar System’s peace into question. Who could have known the hunt for a righteous buffoon would lead to a direct confrontation with Marie herself? The Butterfly Effect, the results of a slightest change shifting everything around it, was now set in motion.