by Oliver Higgs
On the fourth day, we lose an older man. He’d kept separate from the group. Barely talked. Went out into the road with a knife when no one was looking, sat beneath the white trees and turned the fallen petals red. I wonder why he stopped after ten steps instead of twelve, or fourteen or forty-four. Why that particular moment? Why not just keep walking? Ran out of reasons to take another step, I guess. Or maybe he looked at what was behind him, what lay ahead, and he saw no place for himself in either. A team of volunteers bury him not far outside the walls. I help them dig.
On the sixth day, a girl is found with shallow cuts along her arms. It’s obvious what she was contemplating. It becomes clear that everyone needs a structured network of support. We need to organize. The task falls to Echo and myself. It’s a strange feeling; we’ve never been responsible for anyone but ourselves. We work well together though. We hold talks in the courtyard. We make it mandatory to attend two meals each day. The sense of routine helps. We put people to work doing whatever they can, mostly to keep them busy. At night, we have bonfires. Stories are shared. Relationships are forged. Those hanging by a thread weave themselves a second string.
All the activity is strangely empowering. People turn to us for help. It’s a foreign feeling. Enlarging, in a way. Exhausting too. The little community draws closer despite itself. Now and then someone leaves to look for lost loved ones. As we get to know them, their loss is felt among us. We worry for them and wish them luck. We gather at the gates to send them off. Others step up and take an active interest in Haven’s communal health. Soon we actually get a new arrival–a wanderer from the north, drawn by rumors of Haven. He tells us of Cyberia, the robot-only city-state up in Laska. Archon’s persecution of humankind is an ominous threat and adds to my long-term worries. That’s a struggle for another day, however.
Others take on new roles as the days pass. A man named Cormac takes a hand in leading the recovery effort. Sometimes we disagree. He argues about the right and wrong way to do things. He’s older and more experienced than us, and it becomes clear he had a leadership role in some isolated community far to the west–not that that makes him right, but sometimes he does have good points. In any case, the debate is good for Haven. Sometimes a government is meant to do things, but sometimes it must be stopped from doing anything, and when there’s enough arguing, the latter is admirably accomplished.
Echo, myself, Cormac and a few others form a council of sorts. A community is a lot like an aggregated person. We become the voices in its head, questioning things, balancing each other, establishing policies. Too much dissent and the community becomes divided and half-crazed, but too little and it could march itself smiling off a cliff.
Haven was designed more to store people than accommodate them. Vermillion had stacked quadruple-decker bunks along the walls of an unadorned dormitory. He’d left his slaves there without regard for their comfort or privacy, like toys in a box. As part of the recovery effort, we redistribute the beds into as many private rooms as possible. Echo and I have one together, though in good weather we prefer to sleep on the roof of the renamed Haven Hall. The fact is we’re used to sleeping under the stars. It feels safer to us, more natural. Octavia and Jarvis often join us there.
The two of them tend to stick together. Jarvis is younger and still shows signs of his former infatuation with Echo, but the mutual trauma has forged something deeper with Octavia. Those who are burned together share the pain of the fire, I suppose. It fuses them. I’m glad they’ve got this bond because Haven has changed them, and one day I want to see them as they were–happy and free.
In relationship terms, Echo and I draw closer. We bathe often in a hidden stream north of Haven. The sun shimmering on the water, filtering through the trees, feels more crisp and real than all those dark days in the desert. I learn things about her I never knew before. She even talks about the terrible nights that followed the fires in Farmington. She says things she’s never dare said aloud. I’ve never felt closer to anyone. It’s better than I ever expected. In fact, I’m … happy. It’s a strange thought. I mean, when did this happen? How? What can I do to keep it from fading? Haven may be a terrible place for some. Vermillion put the residents through a lot. But for me, it’s–well, a haven.
As the days pass, Jarvis and Octavia open up more about their experiences, and some of what they say both scares and intrigues me. We’re all lying awake on the roof, staring up at the stars one night, when Jarvis talks slowly and thoughtfully about Vermillion’s takeover.
“It was like being trapped in a nightmare. I could see through my eyes, but they weren’t mine anymore. I could feel a body, but that wasn’t mine either. It was worse than being paralyzed. I couldn’t do anything, not even call for help, and I felt like I might be trapped that way forever. It was the worst feeling in the world.”
“I thought I was dead,” Octavia says. “I thought I was a ghost looking through someone else’s eyes. Then that person’s body grew distant. I … retreated. It was like going into a dream. I remember flying and going so high and thinking it was great, only then I became afraid and fell, and suddenly I was terrified because I just knew something was after me. I never saw it, but it chased me through the forest for days. I couldn’t get away. It caught me and I died, and then I was looking through my eyes again.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Jarvis says. “I popped back and forth between places in my head. Like I would be a passenger in my body one moment, then thrown into a nightmare the next. For a while I got eaten by zombies, over and over again, until I forgot Haven even existed. Things got … jumbled. I went into my own memory, just as if I were there again, but I could skip through time. That part was awesome, except I couldn’t make it last. Another time I flew into space, but when I got to a planet, it was one big view of the greenhouse in Haven–and I realized I was looking through my body’s eyes. I’d forgotten I’d even a body at that point. Then everything came back to me and I got that same panicky feeling and I retreated, like you said Octavia. Sometimes I knew exactly what was happening. Other times I had no idea. Once, I was sure I was somewhere else entirely, not in my head at all; somewhere quiet and natural and … and people spoke to me there. Real people–not like us. I know that sounds crazy, but that’s how it was. That place was real. More real than this. Ever since I came back–I mean, since you killed Vermillion–I … I’m not so sure this world is real anymore. Not the way that I thought it was. This … This is more like a dream.”
After talking to them, I think about the Doctor. Am I angry he didn’t tell us about Vermillion? Yes. He risked our lives without giving us a choice. He had no right to do that. I wouldn’t blindly trust him again. At the same time, I’m aware that he did what he felt was necessary, and he really did act in the interests of humankind. More to the point, if it weren’t for the Doctor’s deception, Jarvis and Octavia and everyone else in Haven would still be in Vermillion’s clutches. We would’ve steered clear of the place, but that wouldn’t have stopped Byron from getting on the caravan, or the Grass Man from selling its people into slavery. So no, I can’t really blame the Doctor for what he did. He may have played fast and loose with our very lives, but at least his gamble was a good one, and he ended up forcing us to do far more good for the world than we otherwise would have. Wade’s voice pops into my head.
Sure, we all live for ourselves. That’s the way of it. But good folk live for each other too. Ain’t one or the other. ‘S both.
In Haven, our lives have taken a turn for the surreal, but we rolled with the punches and came up standing pretty. When I fall asleep next to Echo that night, I think about what Jarvis said, and I don’t know if this world is more or less real than any other, but I do know that, for once, I’m at peace with it.
The next day, the envoy from Last Bastion arrives.
Haven, it turns out, had been somewhat of a mystery to Last Bastion. They’d sent scouts to the community, yet none had returned. It had been assumed they’d all been killed or
captured by hostile factions. With their attention elsewhere, interest in the enigmatic little community had fallen by the wayside. Since Vermillion’s death, however, some of those same scouts, formerly brain-jacked, finally left Haven and headed home, where they shared their stories.
Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones telling tales in Last Bastion …
The envoy arrives on a sleek black horse, accompanied by an escort of six soldiers. He meets with Echo, myself and the rest of Haven’s Council in Haven Hall. Last Bastion, he tells us, was overjoyed to hear of the defeat of Vermillion–a hidden threat of the worst kind, which they knew nothing about. As a result, there was a call to become fast allies with Haven, or to make the community a protectorate of Last Bastion.
“There are two problems with this,” says the envoy, a dark-eyed man with a calm, no-nonsense demeanor. “First, you barely have a community. Your walls are strong, but less than a hundred people are left to hold them. Our reports say you had to take out much of the town’s electrical power to overcome the … Abomination. I can see that you’ve managed to restore some since then, but it will only help so much. Cyberia’s scouts have been known to venture this far south. They’re known for making blitzkrieg raids on isolated towns. If we leave Haven as it is, there’s a good chance it simply won’t be here when we return.
“But let’s say by some miracle you escape that fate–for years, even decades. Have you given any thought to the town’s future? Since arriving, I’ve seen few young women within these walls. The fact is, without children, Haven has no future. You’ve done a marvelous thing here, but what’s next? This is a problem we can solve. Last Bastion’s first and best aim is the survival of humanity. We can seed your town with new residents. Give it a real chance. We’re planning not just for the attacks that will come tomorrow, but for those our children may face a century from now. We want Haven to survive.”
There’s a pause. I can see Cormac and the others listening intently, brows furrowed.
“And the second problem?” I ask.
The envoy shifts slightly.
“The second problem is more personal. It concerns you two,” he says, his eyes going from me to Echo. We’re taken aback.
“Us?” Echo asks.
“Not long before the first of our scouts returned from Haven, a wounded soldier arrived, by the name of Sampson…”
I wonder if the curse in my head shows on my face. The envoy monitors our reactions.
“… The soldier told us of a young man and woman who bludgeoned him and killed his fellow soldier while being escorted to Last Bastion. There was a third prisoner, but he was killed as well. The names of this young couple? Tristan and Echo. I imagine there are not so many going by those names in these parts, not to mention your descriptions. You have been accused of trafficking with robots, betraying a peaceful caravan to its enslavement, and murdering your fellow man.”
The envoy holds up a hand, palm outward, as if to catch the shocked and angry outbursts from our friends on the Haven’s Council.
“The truth of these matters is not for me to decide. The story is confused and Sampson himself is unsure what happened. However, you can see how it presents us with a dilemma. Given that the only other prisoner was killed, your situation is certainly a suspicious one–and yet in Haven, you are called heroes. In Last Bastion, some would like to see you hanged, while others wish to reward you. There has even been speculation that you are an agent for some other Abomination, whose aim is to gain our trust. When machines possess whole towns, who is to say what can and can’t be true?”
Echo responds in outrage, talking of Byron and lies and the Grass Man–but I’m noticing the envoy’s physical strength, half-lidded eyes and disciplined bearing. Last Bastion is a militarized society and this is a military man, not strictly a diplomat. He’s been chosen to handle whatever might arise.
“What do you propose?” I ask as Echo winds down.
“As I said, we would like to make Haven a Protectorate. We have skilled laborers waiting to emigrate. Farmers to sow crops and raise livestock. Merchants eager to trade their wares. Not so many women. But enough to start some families here. In return, we ask only for your goodwill. Keep Last Bastion informed of enemy activity in the area. Trade exclusively with us. Harbor no robots and suffer no machines to walk within your borders. In addition, we’ll place a small garrison here–to help safeguard your town.
“As for the personal matter, Last Bastion does not wish to interfere with your government. You will be allowed to remain with this … Council. When a Justicar arrives, there will be an investigation. Your future position will be determined by the outcome. However, in light of the deeds you’ve performed here, I can see a certain amount of lenience being proffered, should the trial turn against you … We’re not interested in hanging heroes, Tristan.”
There’s a silence following his speech. I look at Echo, who looks grim and worried. I may not know much about running a town, but I know this is a time for careful words.
“Thank you–for your proposal,” I say. “Will you wait outside while we discuss it?”
The envoy gets to his feet, setting a rolled paper on the table.
“I’ve had a document drawn up formalizing the arrangement. I’ll need an answer by tomorrow,” he says.
When he’s gone, the tension remains, though it changes flavor. I and Echo, while having freed the town’s residents, are now a potential hazard.
“Thoughts?” asks Miriam, a middle-aged blonde woman hailing from the north. There are six of us on the Council in all.
“You will be allowed to remain,” Cormac mutters. “Did you hear him? He talks like he already runs us. That’s the kind of ‘alliance’ we can expect from Last Bastion …”
He sighs before going on.
“The worst part is he has every reason to talk that way. They do have power over us. They can conquer us. If we send back a poor enough answer, they’ll do just that.”
“I thought Last Bastion only fought robots. Would they really attack us?” Echo asks.
“Without a doubt,” Cormac says. “You and Tristan aren’t the real issue. They want the town. The infrastructure is already in place, and it can serve as a useful outpost. It extends their effective power. Haven wasn’t high on their radar before. Now it is. This trouble with you two just gives them more leverage.”
“Unfortunately, he’s right about the other part too,” Miriam says, scowling. “We’re few in number, and there are almost no children here. We could eek out a living, but the next generation will be fewer still and even more vulnerable to attack.”
There’s a brief silence.
“Seed the town, he said–do you know what he means?” Cormac asks, smirking sadly. “Before Vermillion got a hold of me, I heard Last Bastion was flooded with refugees from some city-state further north. They don’t have room for them all. They’ll send us all we can hold and more–all the ones they don’t want. Then what do you think will happen?”
I just shake my head, at a loss for where he’s going.
“We have no formal government. No written laws, as yet. We appointed ourselves out of necessity. But Last Bastion’s emigrants will outnumber us three or four to one, and the city-state will hide its own loyalists among them. They’ll demand elections and procedures, and they’ll get them through sheer numbers. Last Bastion will take over the town from the inside. That’s what it means.”
“Is there no way to stop them?” Echo asks.
“Do we want to stop them?” asks another councilmember, Hendricks; a stocky, middle-aged bald man. “He had some good points. We may not last out here on our own. How long before brigands or slavers or Cyberians decide we’re too weak to hold the town? At least with the backing of a larger city-state, we’d have a chance.”
“So that’s it? Just hand over what we fought for? And what about Tristan? What if they find him guilty?”
Echo is rising from her seat, outraged. I put a hand on her arm and coax
her back down.
“As I said, Tristan isn’t the real issue,” Cormac says.
“That doesn’t mean they won’t hang him. They’ll send a ‘Justicar,’ and who knows what’ll happen then,” Echo says.
“Echo, please,” I say. “I don’t want to be a part of a town that supports Last Bastion. It was their men who murdered Starbucks. Shot him on sight when he hadn’t done a thing wrong. Letric was a robot too, my only friend for three years, and under their policies he’d be put down. If it was just me, I know what I’d do. But it’s not just us anymore. We have to do what’s best for everyone … So far our choices are: agree to their terms and let Last Bastion have Haven, or send them back empty-handed and let them take the town by force. Is that it? Are those our only options?”
“We could kill them all and pretend they never arrived.”
It’s Forman who suggests this, a tall, gray-flecked man who rarely speaks. He’d proven himself a man of broad knowledge in the days following Haven’s liberation, and he’d recovered from Vermillion’s slavery faster than most.
Everyone looks at him.
“You’re not serious,” Miriam says.
He gives a non-committal shrug.
“It’s an option,” he says.
“A bad one. Last Bastion would just send someone else. Plus, everyone saw them arrive. Word would get out. It doesn’t solve our problem, only delays and complicates things,” Cormac says.
“Then the choice is clear. We have to agree to the terms,” I say.
“And let them do whatever they want with us?” Echo asks, aghast.
“Echo, the truth is they’re going to get Haven either way. If one of those ways ends in them sieging the town and killing us all, then yeah, don’t you think we should go with the other one? Even if it means facing a ‘Justicar?’ Risking our lives is better than risking everyone’s.”
“They’ll show us the same mercy they showed Starbucks,” Echo says.
There’s a brief silence.
“We may disagree sometimes, but I’ll not soon forget who it was that freed me from Vermillion’s grasp,” Cormac says. “If we oppose Last Bastion, they’ll conquer us, plain and simple. They’re Rome, and we’re a little Celtic village in Caesar’s path. Agreeing to their terms makes sense–but we don’t necessarily have to risk your lives or freedom in the process.”
