by S A Asthana
Reo leaned back in his chair. “What happened? To Port Sydney, its dreams?”
“Lots of theories. Lots of conjecture. A hard question to answer. It fell.”
Bastien’s gaze remained trained on the crimson tones outside. “Maybe…” he trailed into thought for a moment. “It never truly stood. Maybe it was always fallen.” The colony was in many ways a metaphor for Bastien himself. He was no different – he used to stand tall but had fallen. He could stand back up. Would Port Sydney ever stand again one day?
Olympus Mons loomed. The 374-mile wide volcano with a four-mile-high rim at its peak was hard to miss. A breathtaking sight that put Mount Everest to shame. Humans had dreamed of taming the mountain along with the remaining wild land. How could they have been so foolish?
“We’re not far from Port Sydney,” Bastien said.
“Less than ten minutes, my friend,” Reo said. “What’s your plan?”
“Drop me off some distance from the colony,” Bastien instructed. “That way you won’t be spotted.”
“How will you get in?”
The million-dollar question. How to get inside a mile by mile by mile cubed structure that’s an artificially intelligent quantum computer hell-bent on killing you? “I know a way in.” Nothing was invincible. Not even a monster like the High Council. “I’m still a fugitive. They wouldn’t turn me away.”
“You’re going to give yourself up? But that’s extremely dangerous. Even deadly.”
“It’s the only way.” Bastien’s jaw clenched. “There’s no way in or out unless this white block allows it.” It was barely a plan. More wishful thinking than anything else. Like the time he’d hunted Belle in the sewers, hoping to assassinate her. Or when Reo had enlisted his help to kill Marie. Both attempts had failed miserably. This time must deliver a positive outcome, surely. It had to.
The spacecraft swerved sideways and decreased altitude. The red, rocky terrain expanded. Ravines and boulders became clear, their edges mercilessly sharp. The Outback was as dead as it had ever been. A strange homecoming for Bastien. He never expected to be back. Yet here he was, putting himself in danger to save as many lives as he could. And Belle, his love – would she still be alive?
As the landscape enlarged, so did his memories. Military drills, dangerous missions across the land – all came flooding like water breaching a dam. This had been his home for ten years. He had been a Martian. Their dreams and hopes had been his. That is, until the High Council came into power. Then he’d become a foreigner again. A righteous Parisian who didn’t know how the world worked, at least according to Crone.
Port Sydney came into view. The giant white box loomed on the horizon, its color stark against the surroundings. The artificially intelligent cube. A world wonder in its own right – perhaps man’s final wonder. The undoing of him, even. The Pyramids of Giza falling upon Pharaoh Khufu. The Taj Mahal crumbling upon Shah Jahan himself. While those wonders had been obliterated in World War Three, would this one fall in World War Four?
The Kitsune Two decreased its speed as it came in for a landing. Orange clouds danced all about until the ion propulsion engines turned off. The craft’s purr waned. Reo said, “You sure about this?”
A snarling pit-bull, Bastien’s imaginary creature borne of anxiety, stood outside upon a lone boulder in the distance. The dog’s silhouette was unmistakable. Bastien’s gaze remained fixed on it. “Surer than I’ve ever been.”
Reo nodded. “Good luck. There won’t be any way to communicate with the bunker via your suit. You’d have to reach out using Port Sydney’s systems, I suspect. I look forward to hearing from you.” Extra emphasis was applied to the last sentence. His face was grim and belied his optimism.
Bastien patted Reo on the shoulder. “You’re a good person. Your people would be proud.”
He exited the cockpit. With the press of a button along the wall, he shut its door, sealing the space tight. The helmet was adjusted and clicked into place. Oxygen rushed through within. It cooled the cheeks. Another button was pressed along the wall, this one allowing for the craft’s main exit door to slide open. The Martian atmosphere leaked in. He couldn’t smell the planet’s rotten egg stink, but was sure it enveloped him.
He stepped out, his boots crunching familiar red soil. Mars was beautiful, dead and everything strange all at once. Despite the surface suit’s self-correcting internal temperature mechanism, Bastien’s cheeks cooled more so than his legs. Standing on Mars allowed one to feel spring-like temperatures of seventy-five degrees by the feet and winter cold of thirty-two degrees at the head. No matter how hard a surface suit worked to correct, there was a delta in temperatures at the various body parts. Then there was Martian gravity – one third of that of Earth’s, and it made for a more cautious gait. Despite having been away for almost a month, Bastien adjusted right away. It was like riding a bicycle.
He ambled over to the craft’s nose and waved at the cockpit. Reo waved back from within and displayed a thumbs up. It was time to depart. Bastien took several steps back as the Kitsune’s engines shook to life. A cloud of dust swept away from underneath the spaceship. Reo rose through the air like a feather. The craft turned about as if it swiveled atop an imagined pole. It was gone soon after.
Bastien was alone again. He’d gotten used to it by now. Loneliness was a companion. An empty landscape spread away. The Outback swallowed all in its vastness. It could be unnerving, but not for Bastien. He’d been out here alone plenty of times before. A low growl interrupted. It said, “Why, you aren’t alone. I am here with you, after all.” The black pit bull jumped off the boulder and stood not far away. “Oh, are you going to imagine that stupid white fence of yours again?” It mocked him with an almost humanlike grin. Teeth and wickedness.
Bastien’s muscles tightened. His breathing hastened. Was another anxiety attack around the corner? His lifelong enemy.
As the dog barked toward the orange sky, Father Paul appeared to the right. He sported a soft smile and wore a plain, dark robe. Thick black dreads hung around the tan face and its gentle smile. The eyes moved from Bastien to the roaring dog and back. “You are anxious, my lion.” He’d always had a way of knowing his orphans’ fears and worries, a true father-figure.
“I am,” Bastien said as he trekked towards the giant white colony two miles away. “I fear for humanity.”
“The end times.”
The canine spat a reply. “Yes, indeed. The death of your pitiful lot.”
Ignoring the beast, Father Paul continued, “I have feared for humanity for as long as I can remember.” His stare fixed on the horizon. “Too many monsters.”
The pit bull howled to the sky. “Silly old man. This world is for monsters. You were once one yourself.”
“I was, yes,” the good father confirmed. “But then I saw the error of my ways.” The lines etched in his face brimmed with wisdom, as if each was a result of a hard lesson.
“Most don’t see,” Bastien said. He marched forward. “Most never climb out of that hole.”
“Sometimes those in deep, dark holes wage war, my child. The apparatus of destruction is most dangerous in the hands of such beings.”
Yukito. Marie. Crone. Alice. Cube. The High Council. Bastien sighed. Too many monsters.
The pit bull cut across their path. It flashed an unnatural grin. “I revealed to you what would come of New Paris some time back. Remember? Back in that filthy sewer?”
The nightmare remained vivid. The laughing canine. Visions of destruction within its gaping jaws. The cries of the dying. It was all still fresh.
“I was right,” the dog said, drool dangling from its mouth. “War did come to New Paris, after all. And now, it has come to Nippon One.” It let out a guttural laugh. “And soon, Parisian carnage will be nothing compared to what the Nipponese will experience.”
“No,” Bastien shot back as the Martian wind howled outside his helmet. “I will save them.”
“Oh?” The dog stared at him and then
at Father Paul. “With the help of the old man’s wise musings, eh?” It laughed hard again. Gaping its jaws, it enlarged in that moment to the height of a mountain. A monstrous illusion. A vision of destruction played within its incisors. Tall buildings crumbled. People fell to their deaths. Children cried untended.
“Stop!” Bastien shouted. He took a step back, for he didn’t want to be sucked into the mouth like during that nightmare in the sewer. He didn’t want to walk among that kind of death and rubble.
Father Paul stepped forward with arm raised. “Onward and upward.” The black dog persisted, its mouth still barking out the horror film. “Onward!” Father Paul took another step forward to banish the beast. “And upward!” He turned to look at Bastien.
“Onward!” Bastien shouted, his spirit bolstered by the good father’s memory. He took a step forward. “And upward.”
The two shouted in unison several times and the vile creature diminished in size. Soon, it was the proportion it’d been moments earlier. It withered in the Martian dust, its limbs trembling in agony, but it said, “I will never leave you, Bastien. Just like the scar I put on your wrist.”
Bastien clenched his left metal fist. His strong, cyborg arm straightened. He smiled and said, “That’s long gone. Like you.”
The black creature vanished.
Bastien took a deep breath. His muscles loosened. Anxiety faded. Father Paul put a hand on his shoulder and the skin warmed some, or so he imagined.
“I must keep walking,” Bastien said. Port Sydney towered despite the distance still. After a few steps, he stopped short. Father Paul wasn’t next to him any longer. Turning about, he envisioned the old man standing some distance away with black robe transparent against the orange sky. A Martian mirage.
“You don’t need me anymore, my child.”
Bastien opened his mouth to protest but stayed mum. The good father was right. Even in death he was often right.
“Talking to ghosts is unbecoming of a strong man like you.” Father Paul smiled. “Go forth and be the savior you were meant to be. Do not fear personal sacrifice in your mission. Embrace it. Be a lion. No more voices. No more visions. I’ll see you in heaven one day.”
The vision vanished. Bastien didn’t have to talk to walls any longer to stay firm. His back straightened and he faced his destination. It would, perhaps, be his final one. With the resolve of a hunter, he strode forward again, closing the distance between him and the quantum computer. The good father’s words echoed in his ears – do not fear personal sacrifice in your mission. Perhaps the old man knew something Bastien didn’t yet.
Bastien stood at the massive cube’s entrance. Port Sydney’s mile high front wall reached to the orange sky and stood over him like a giant. The white, solar arrays lining it gleamed brilliantly. They soaked whatever sunlight they could and helped power the complex. It was a breathtaking sight. Those who’d built it had once espoused dreams of terraforming this land. No one would have contested the idea back then. They’d built this quantum computer, after all, the largest in human history. Surely, they could mold Mars to their liking. Even the Nipponese had been in awe, and they weren’t impressed easily. Sadly, Sydneysiders were now consumed by their creation. Thrown about like slaves, and worse – purged when deemed useless. No, this complex was a monstrosity in disguise.
A rectangular door, twenty feet high and a hundred feet long, interrupted the otherwise smooth base. This was the ground entrance – the only other was on the roof. That one offered spacecraft a passage into the docking bay. In the past, both entrances had opened for him automatically. But not anymore. He’d lost access when he’d dug the military tracker out of his forearm upon escaping to Earth. The only way he’d be allowed in would be if someone inside opened the entrance.
Bastien gulped. If his gambit proved unfruitful, he’d be stranded on the surface. Average surface suits allowed three hours of oxygen supply. He’d already burned through an hour trekking to Port Sydney. The Martian surface, like the sand dunes on Earth, didn’t make for easy walks or light jogs. Effort was required to traverse the difficult terrain. A few miles could take hours to cross.
A small, black camera positioned above the entrance whizzed toward him. Its green light blinked three times. He was being assessed, and his image was being matched against JPEGs within Martian databases, Bastien was sure of the protocol. A speaker built into the pale wall crackled, “Bastien Lyons.” The voice was familiar. “You are alive and well.” The High Council. It was the child council member – malicious and evil. “We’d expected you to go into hiding and not ever be seen again. But sometimes, even we can be surprised by you lowly humans.”
The conceit. Lowly humans had designed them. “I have had a change of heart. I come to turn myself in.” He kept a straight face, no hint of the untruth he spewed contorting his forehead or any other features. He conversed with a lie detector, after all. Caution was of the utmost importance. “My act of desertion has led to the mess our solar system finds itself in today. It breaks my heart. I must be held accountable for my sins.” Bastien held out his palms as if awaiting punishment. A convincing case?
“You were a different man than the lot serving with you,” the prepubescent council member said, its voice unnerving as if a child was overtaken by demonic forces. “Right and wrong. Black and white. That’s how you see life. It is a machine-like quality and it is admirable.”
They bought my lie.
“You will be brought back in, and your fate will be decided shortly. We are not discounting the possibility of you being reinstated into the military. You were one of our best, after all.”
Bastien would have scoffed were he not so in control of his emotions. He’d rather die than be reinstated into the High Council machinations. If they only knew, he was there to destroy them from the inside out.
The entrance door slid up inch by inch. Two soldiers outfitted in red surface suits walked out, their Shift X rifles pointed at Bastien. One ordered via the speaker built into his helmet, “Bastien Lyons, you are under arrest by decree of the High Council.”
The Martian wind cut off some of the words, but Bastien knew the commands by heart. “Their judgement alone will now determine your destiny.” He voiced the words. “Resist and we will end you.” The words were said to him when Crone had wanted him arrested. “Comply, and you will afford yourself leniency if allowed by the High Council.” He’d said those words himself, while making his own arrests.
The other shouted, “Put your hands up.” Bastien followed instructions. The goal was to get inside the complex, not be shot point blank outside. “Walk slow towards us.” Bastien did. Soon, he ambled ahead of the two men, their rifles butting up against his oxygen tank. As the entrance door shut, the Martian orange gave way to Port Sydney white. He’d forgotten how bland the colony was. No paintings on its walls, no character – nothing. It was just austere facades, minimalist lines and cold metal.
Inside the first floor’s large holding bay, helmets were removed and set aside in the ample oxygen. Cameras lined the walls, all trained on him. Bastien was familiar with the process – he’d be administered here, then escorted to the fifth floor’s Police Wing where he’d be put into a cell until further notice from the High Council. Very efficient and straightforward. The first smell to greet his nostrils belonged to the complex’s cleaner fluids. Walls and floors were wiped regularly so as to keep the place free of biological hazards. Underneath it, there was another smell – the stench of metal. It had always been there, since the first time Bastien had walked through that sliding door wide-eyed, looking to join the army. The scent would never dissipate. Taking it in was like taking a cold shower. It shook you awake. Even when you wanted nothing but to sleep.
A sinewy humanoid, one resembling a white mannequin, sat in a grey cubicle to the right. Removing its stare from the wall, it trained its pale, white eyes on Bastien. He smiled at the creature he knew as Sally – the robot serving as the Entrance Process Manager for as long
as he could remember. “Good to see you again, Sally,” Bastien said with his back straight. He was full of confidence like he’d been when he’d walked these halls and rooms as Lieutenant General. There was clarity in his mind. Nothing mattered but the task ahead. Singular focus.
The robot nodded and eyed the two men behind him. “Welcome back, defector.” A few beeps later, it said, “Processing prisoner.”
The holding bay was empty as always. Port Sydney’s processes and technology called for minimal human presence. One human to do the work of ten. It was the way of a people that controlled their population in order to ensure survival.
“Processing complete,” said Sally. Her eyes flashed green. Cartoonish, really – the whole thing.
Bastien was urged forward. “Keep walking.” He followed the guard’s order without hesitation. His heart raced in anticipation of what he was about to execute. It all had to be done with speed – timing was crucial. The guards took him to the bay’s far wall lined with elevator doors. One of them would allow access to the busy fifth floor. Wonder what morale is like during wartime? Is everyone going about their day as normal? They had to feign normalcy, after all, so as to not incur the council’s wrath.
The trio stepped into the sleek elevator, the two soldiers flanking their prisoner. It rose to the second floor. Bastien punched the man to his left in the chin with his metal fist and kicked the other in the knee simultaneously, sending him screaming to the floor. He moved like lightning despite the constricting surface suit. A rifle went off but bullets ricocheted off the metal above Bastien's body. Another strike to the face ensured the second man was knocked out cold as well.
Bastien slung the man’s Shift X rifle over his shoulder as the third floor was crossed. He pressed a button and a hatch door slid open in the car’s roof, an escape route in case of elevator malfunction. He climbed out. He shut the door as the elevator slowed to a halt on the fifth floor. The dim shaft stretched up for half a mile, its end shrouded in darkness. Double doors to the remaining five floors lined the grey interior wall intermittently. Between them were openings to narrow tunnels used by maintenance personnel. Those passages were his targets – they allowed access to the colony’s guts. They would serve a better cover than Port Sydney’s highly trafficked halls and chambers. At least for now.
