Overture to War

Chapter 1

Most people living in the city hardly ever had to check a clock to tell time. The artificial lighting in Phobos perfectly complemented the regimented and tightly scheduled life inside the underground shelter. Judging by the tint of the diffused neon colors around him, Bastien knew precisely what time it was. The transition from orange tones to a pale shade of grey-blue signaling the start of the evening hadn’t concerned him. But that had been two hours ago. His eyes glanced at the neon tubes and noticed the shadows of the midnight dark purple creeping inside. In the next couple of minutes, ten at most, the clock would pass the 8 p.m. marker, causing him to be late. Again.  

He sighed while making his way to the office to bring in the day’s reports. As he reached the entrance, he caught a shadow pass behind him with the corner of his eyes. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and minuscule drops of sweat rose to the surface of his forehead. There was no reason for anyone to be in this corner of the city so late at night.  

And it wasn’t the first time he had noticed things shift in the dark near him . The thought that they would have an interest in his mundane life made him feel claustrophobic and lightheaded. His hands began to shake while his heart pumped at a frantic pace.  

Taking a long breath, he steadied his nerves, and slowly turned around to face whatever danger, real or imaginary, was waiting behind him; nothing except the cold breeze of the night cycle and the tranquility of solitude as far as the eye could see. Perhaps the strain on his nerves has begun to show. With a steadier arm, Bastien reached for the contact handle on the door to the Auditor’s archive.  

 The Auditors’ building stood mostly vacant, with only the Auxiliary Hans slowly making the rounds. It had been hours since the last of his colleagues had left. Any other day it wouldn’t have mattered, but tonight he had promised not to be late. Another broken commitment to add to an ever-increasing list.  

Seeing Bastien approach, the auxiliary did a small bow in his direction but said nothing and turned his face away to avoid eye contact. No surprise there. Bastien just nodded his head slightly in response and continued on his way toward his office. The man’s stare burned into the back of his head but nobody could blame him for his anxiousness. Most people weren’t comfortable with Institute auditors around them during the daytime, let alone late at night in a dimly lit office. It had even surprised him in his early days to see how quickly the specter of authority latched on like a shadow to anyone representing the interests of the Inquisition. Being an Imprint didn’t make any difference. If anything, it made it worse since it displayed a conscious decision to work for those so many considered to be their oppressors.  

He had gotten used to it at this point but did feel the need to offer some courtesy for disturbing the auxiliary so late at night, even if it was for the umpteenth time. Truthfully, he didn’t need to be there physically since everything could be uploaded to the mainframe via the remote network. Having print-outs was a luxury. Paper and ink were rare, but, unlike the data sets in a database, he could touch and feel the robustness of the ring binders sitting on the rows upon rows of shelves in his house. Also, unlike their digital counterparts, his archives wouldn’t be as easy to alter. His mind returned to the fateful day when, going over some of his old reports, he had found slight changes had been done to them.  

“You work too hard, Auditor Hughes. Try not to strain so much every day, it can start to play tricks on your memory” his superior, a lanky inquisitor had told him. But he knew what he had written inside those documents. Ever since then, he began keeping a second set of records on old-fashioned pen and paper, even though no other irregularities appeared.  

After the prints finished, his hands moved automatically to grab a new folder and carefully place the copies inside, labeling it with the date and sector. Seeing and feeling the thick dossier gave him a sense of stability. Usually, it would follow him home and find its place in Bastien’s growing physical archive.  

Not tonight, however. After shelving the thing, Bastien started toward the exit with a brisk pace. Stopping next to the door and straightening his uniform’s jacket, he said, “Sorry to disturb you again, Auxiliary Hans.” It came out awkward and insincere, even though it hadn’t been.  

“No worries Auditor Hughes, we all need to do our part,” Hans responded.  

“I wish I could say you’re one hundred percent correct,” Bastien said to himself, but replied, “Thank you for being so understanding, Hans.”  

Ever since then, a shadow of doubt had been trailing him. Those records had been altered, no doubt in his mind about it. But why would the Inquisition go about changing random reports about grid stability? His supervisor’s apathy also surprised him. More than any other branch of the Institute, the Inquisition prided itself on being the strictest when it came to keeping records. It just didn’t add up.  

The auxiliary, however, just nodded his head in agreement. It wasn’t his mandate to worry about such things. The city had people like The Auditors and The Inquisitors running around for that purpose. After one final check to make sure everything looked alright, he left the building, jumping off the entrance stairway and landing directly on the belt. The moving pedestrian conveyor system acted as the primary public transport through Phobos. It linked the various districts through a myriad of hubs. His destination for tonight would take him through no less than twelve junctions. 

 Most citizens never went outside their circle of the city, or at most, four to five intersections maximum. By now, however, he knew the entire city like the back of his hand. The belt gave him only a trusted sense of familiarity, no matter where it carried him. Something else entirely made him uncomfortable. Taking a detour to go back home and change meant missing the get-together entirely. Heading out straight from work came with another set of challenges: uniforms of authority wouldn’t blend well in the place he was going to. Finally, he decided on the latter. 

As Bastien traveled through hub after hub, the growing state of the belt’s disrepair signaled the beginning of the city’s outskirts. There, among the deviant’s living areas stood The Refuge with its giant neon pink and green sign. The district had burned after one of the first earthquakes hit the city back in its early days. Afterwards, it never made it on the list for repairs since the redundant housing more than made up for the shortfall. Building materials were a very precious resource. So, in the centuries following the fire, New Amsterdam earned somewhat of a bad reputation for itself as a nexus of the disenfranchised citizens of Phobos.  

Inquisitors opted to mostly stay out of it too, letting it behave like a giant sync for the angry and frustrated. However, any engineer who knew a thing or two and didn't fear to venture off knew this was the best place to eat. His heart shrunk when noticing nobody waiting for him at the entrance. Sighing, he walked inside.  

The cajoling smell of steamed cricket legs in tomato sauce hit him instantly. The Refuge had a unique ambiance that people either loved or hated. It consisted of a blend of mild voiced chatter combined with the clatter of silverware and the occasional confrontation. The dim lighting was a reminder how far from the first ring they were. The outer circles tended to have to make due with less. Tonight, it seemed more packed than usual. So much for the hope his auditor uniform wouldn't attract too much attention. Not more than a couple of steps inside and heads started turning in his direction, making him regret the decision not to go home and change.  

He reached the table after enduring a couple of elbows and a failed attempt at tripping him over. Fitting punishment owed for bringing the Black and Tan uniform to the tavern. If those were to be all the consequences, it would be a good night. After all, they were his brethren Imprints, bound together in the same chains of fate. Seeing himself also want to send a message to someone bringing in the specter of authority wasn’t hard to do.  

The two men he was late to meet sat with their backs turned toward him and having a heated conversation. It flowed back and forth between the two. Bastien approached them from behind and placed one hand on each of their shoulders. Both men turned around with a jovial attitude. The smiles vanished from their faces, and they jumped to their feet as soon as their eyes landed on the color pattern of his attire. Barely managing to suppress a gasp, the one on the left rolled his eyes and sat back down. The other one let his hand drop from his mouth where it had helped keep in a scream.  

“Bastien you nut! What do you think you’re doing?” he said, still gasping for air and letting his eyes wander up and down the uniform. The color in his cheeks had started to return.  

“Sorry Vince, I ran late again and didn’t know if I’d make it at all. I came here straight from the office,” Bastien said, moving to take the remaining empty chair at the table. “Figured I’d take my chances.”  

Engineer Vincenzo Martinez was around 1.60 meters tall and by far the shortest of the group. That was more than compensated for, however, by the substantial incidence of his Italian heritage that gave him curly black hair, tanned skin and above all else, an expansive personality. Leaning back in his chair he rubbed his eyes and said, “You know, Bastien, people have gotten into trouble down here for much less stupid things than what you’re doing right now. And of all the times you could have chosen to pull this stunt, it had to be today…” 

Bastien took one of the soy beers from the refrigerated container underneath the table and popped the cap. “Cheers!” he said in an intentionally low tone, extending it forward. Two other bottles clanked with his. “What happened?” Bastien said, after taking a large sip from his bottle.  

“Another raid… is what happened,” Walter, the other man at the table said. “Your pals in the Black and Tan just raided a family of four up on Principe Amadeo street. Engineer Jan Erikson’s flat. All of them are gone… The girls were only eight and ten years old.”  

Walter was a real giant even by grey-eyes standards, towering at just under two meters tall. Well-built to boot and with broad shoulders, a large torso, and arms bulky enough to compete with the thighs of most imprints. “I can’t believe I actually agree with Vince for once, but you really picked the worst time to bring those colors here.” He took a sip of his beer, but it didn’t help relieve the anguish and loathing chiseled on his face. Walter Jan quite close.  

Indeed a terrible time to show up wearing auditor garments. Bastien took the jacket off the back of his chair and turned it inside out before putting it back. Probably too little too late by that point. Vince chuckled, “Maybe you should have thought of doing that before coming inside in the first place.” His eyes roamed around to what went on behind Bastien, but it didn’t take an imprint in order to make an educated guess. Taking into consideration what had happened, any hope they wouldn’t receive any attention had long since evaporated. The best they could hope for was for people to just go about their business and not risk a direct confrontation.  

“On what charges?” Bastien asked.  

“Corruption,” Vince said laconically. “Everyone knows it’s just a pretext. Corruption doesn’t work on a household level the last time I checked. Even more so, my wife works as a teacher for the very same class those two girls were enrolled in. I asked her when I got home if she had noticed any change in the girl's behavior over the last couple of weeks or months. She called nonsense on it. Those two girls were as healthy, happy and normal as possible. Just a load of lies.”  

“Not good,” Bastien said.  

“Not good at all,” Walter agreed.  

“Also, as bad as this looks, it’s even worse when you consider this is the fourth raid this month,” Vince said. “Don’t think it’s lost on anyone this has become the status quo for the last three months. Hard to believe it’s just a coincidence how each week a family disappears and is never heard from again.” 

“So, this is what the heated conversation was about,” Bastien said, looking at Walter.  

“Yeah, hot-head Vince over here thinks there’s some hidden agenda going on to try and intimidate us imprints for some reason or another… keeps on babbling something about unrest… some nonsense like that.” 

Vince rolled his eyes in his characteristic way and turned toward Bastien. “I think our friend over here” – he shot Walter a glance – “is suffering from oxygen deprivation from living underground for so long. His brain is slower to catch on.”  

Bastien chuckled and glimpsed back at Walter in time to see him propping up his head in his palm. “Why didn’t I just leave it be,” he said, in a disheartened voice. Even slouched forward, the man’s impressive stature made all the furniture look smaller than it actually was. 

Vince turned toward Walter, and continued in a lecturing tone, “You know, if you ever bothered to remove the wax from your ears and listen to the people around you, you’d probably also notice there has been a lot of chatter about civil unrest recently. Just visit almost any place not in earshot of a uniform and listen.”  

Walter looked exasperated, but said, “Alright, Captain Conspiracy, I’ll bite. Please, tell me, what could we as imprints possibly do against the armed forces of the Institute. No, even better, let’s say they decide to handicap themselves and not use any of their kinetic weaponry of which we have none of. You’re off your rock if you think we could beat them in hand-to-hand even with our ration of 7-to-1.”  

That wasn’t just pessimism. As the last protectors of the species, the average Inquisition soldier stood at least 1.90 meters tall, genetically enhanced with a plethora of advantages over the regular imprints. Dampened pain receptors, an incredible muscle-to-weight ratio with a fantastic metabolism, heightened hearing and smell senses. Their increased sight during darkness was responsible for the blue-greyish tint of their retinas for which they bore the moniker of grey-eyes. Unlike the regular imprints, which had various genetic memories attached to them at sixteen years old, the grey-eyes all shared the same one. What this meant had been debated since the beginning of time and included telepathy, telekinesis, the ability to access genetic memory offline and many others. None of these had been proven or disproven and as such the debate continued to rage on.  

“You just don’t get it! It’s not about us doing anything, it’s about the threat of us doing something,” Vince said, contracting his mouth into a smug smile.  

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Walter asked. By this point, he seemed bored with the topic, but unfortunately for him, Vince was just getting warmed up.  

“Ask yourself: when did the Inquisition Guards ever fight against an external foe?” Vince said. Walter and Bastien glanced at each other. Vince took a sip from his beer. “The reason you can’t think of a time where they did is because it never happened. How old is Phobos? Three, four centuries old? We were never in any danger from the outside all this time. Yet, we continue to spend valuable energy resources to maintain a subset of the population completely unproductive to our society.”  

“Just because we were never attacked down here it doesn’t mean there’s no real danger outside. Consider the colonies we tried to set up topside all went dark,” Bastien said. “Something must have happened to them.” 

“Something! Yes, something did happen to them but what exactly? There is absolutely no data to indicate a hostile human force had anything to do with it. It might have well been the Inquisition's topside teams who did them in,” Vince said.  

“There’s no data period! And everyone knows the rumor about the Inquisition having their own topside team is complete trash. I told you a million times already, and Ed told you the same another million times. Only the simple minded like yourself could believe in such nonsense.” Walter snapped. “It could have just as well been magnetic interference from the atmosphere messing up with the Clock Signal broadcast from Phobos making them all forget how to operate any sort of equipment. See? I can come up with unsubstantiated theories much like anyone else!” 

Vince looked annoyed. After taking another sip from the bottle, he swiveled around on his chair to face Walter directly. “Do you honestly think that could happen? Earth’s sake man! The whole reason we go through ten years of schooling is so we don’t forget how to breathe if the signal is cut off. Not to mention all our equipment for topside is mostly automated. It’s designed to work autonomously for a good time without human input. The signal is important, yeah, but I’m sick of people talking about it like we would fall off our feet and break our necks if it ever got shut off. “ 

“I’m just saying, don’t put forward dumb, senseless theories,” Walter said, starring at his almost empty beer bottle. “Why would the inquisitors ever consider us a threat? We can’t do anything to them even if we wanted to.”  

“You’re wrong,” Vince said. “Not all of us can’t do anything.”  

Walter snapped, “Oh, so, let me get this straight! The Inquisitors are our enemies, keeping us suppressed and in constant fear for some reason, but those madmen who blow up buildings with innocent people in them are our friends somehow.” Realizing what he had just said, he immediately turned toward Bastien. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up…” Bastien looked away for a second to hide a wave of emotion, but got it together fast and turned back toward Walter smiling.  

“It’s fine, Walt, don’t worry about it. It happened a long time ago,” Bastien said.  

“Now see what you made me do?” Walter said, turning toward Vince who had also become also a little uncomfortable with the direction the discussion had taken. “You spew out your ridiculous theories, and it just brings out the worst in me. I don’t even know why I bother having these discussions anyway.”  

“It’s what happens because you tend to get so worked up over what should clearly be an impersonal conversation,” Vince said. “Furthermore, I you had no right to – “  

He got cut off when an auxiliary came up to them with a big plateau of steamed cricket legs and placed it in the middle of the table. Bastien nodded to the man and then turned around to face the smitten expressions on the faces of both Vince and Walter. 

“My compensation for being late… again,” Bastien said, glad to see he had gotten the desired effect. It was a pretty easy mark; in Phobos, insects were the most delicious source of protein and as such by far the most expensive. In the city, agriculture got done through impressive engineering feats. Sunlight reached the city through a complex network of mirrors going all the way to the top. However, the dust in the atmosphere meant there was little of it in the first place. With limited sunlight, they had to rely on optimizing everything. As such, insects were the most accessible to farm but not even those in the quantities required to feed everyone. Most of the citizens would have to get their protein much like everything else from the plant that kept the city running: soy. “Go on, dig in while they’re hot!” Bastien said.  

“Earth’s sake man, this must have cost you half your salary,” Vince said, while at the same time using the combination of his spoon and fork like a shovel to hoist as much of the valuable protein from the plateau and onto his plate as fast as possible.  

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Walter said, already munching on a cricket leg while using his other hand to scoop up more from the plateau. Bastien was just about to take the first bite from the moderate amount he placed in his own plate when a voice erupted behind him, cutting through all the chatter in the room.  

“Well, Mr. Black and Tan, I hope you and the other lap dogs are enjoying your expensive meal!” a voice echoed through the room. The chatter in the room evaporated. Bastien put down the cricket leg in his hand and waited without turning around. Hopefully, someone just had one too many bottles of soy beer and would just move along.  

“Hey! Black and Tan, I’m talking to you!” the same voice shouted. It came in clearer now, meaning the noise behind him was, as he had feared, people making way for the person to move up. A bad sign. The crowd at The Refuge could usually be counted upon to calm people down to not risk bringing the Inquisitors into the fray. The fact nobody intervened to stop him meant they all felt the same way. Did he really attract so much attention without noticing? By now the voice seemed only a dozen or so meters away and closing. “Oh! So, I’m not worthy of your attention, am I? Hear that everyone? Little old Ejvind isn’t worthy of the attention! But maybe I should be glad? After all, my friend Jan definitely got the attention but it didn’t do him much good. I wonder how he did it since obviously shouting at the rich auditor during his meal time isn’t enough. Oh! I think I know how! Poor Jan kept on running his mouth about needing bigger rations for his family because his little girls were always hungry! Definitely sounds like a corrupted man, doesn’t it?” 

Walter and Vince had stopped eating and stood staring at the approaching engineer with their backs coiled and ready to pounce. “Earth’s sake, Bastien, you sure do know how to pick a day to do something so glaringly stupid,” Walter whispered through his teeth. Bastien raised his palm and motioned them to stand down. If they intervened this would turn into a brawl. He could handle this by himself. The voice erupted again, this time only three to four meters behind him. With the corner of his eye, he saw Ejvind picking up the pace and raising his beer bottle to strike.  

“You look at me when I’m talking to you, you piece of –“ Ejvind stopped mid-sentence and gasped as something hard rammed itself into his abdomen. The bottle fell to the floor and burst into pieces. Bastien had lept just as the man prepared to strike, giving the chair a strong kick in the man’s direction. Snapping out of it, Ejvind looked up just in time to see the elbow smashing into his face. The engineer went to the floor with a thud. Bastien jumped immediately on top of him, twisting his hand behind his back.  

“Listen to me, Engineer, I’m sorry for what happened to your friend. But I’m not an accomplice in any way, and you need to get your head sorted out. I’m going to let you get up now, promise me you’ll behave.”  

Under the pressure of both his arms twisted behind his back and the knee resting on top of his kidneys, Ejvin started to sob. “Jan was always so good to me… he gave me his rations during that horrible shortage, so my family didn’t go hungry… But I couldn’t do the same for him now… I have my boys to think of… It’s not right, Jan is a good man!”  

Bastien released his grip and helped him back to his feet while gesturing with his head toward Vince and Walter. They placed the cricket legs in a bag and brought it over. Bastien handed it to the bruised engineer now leaning on the wall next to him and continuing to sob.  

“Here, take these to your family. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can give you for the loss of your friend,” Bastien said, extending his arm with the bag. Ejvind tried to get a grip, but it was all too much. After taking the bag, he could only muster a small nod toward Bastien and his friends before turning around and leaving. Institute employees didn’t need to ever fear hunger. Their rations alone were big enough to live off which meant most could spend their allowance on something else rather than food. Unfortunately, as the night proved, not everyone had the same fortune.  

“Do you think the drunk was telling the truth?” Vince said in a muffled voice. “Do you really think they would go after someone just for protesting food rations?”  

“Don’t be silly,” Walter said and gestured them back to their table. Popping the cap of a new bottle, he continued, “Just the ramblings of a drunk, old man.”  

Bastien, however, continued to watch in the wake of the man who had now left the tavern. “I wish I could be as sure as you are, Walt.”  

“Now you're acting dumb too,” Walter said, before sipping from the fresh bottle. “It’s just an unfortunate coincidence, end of discussion.” But for the first time, Bastien couldn’t feel the reassuring categorical tone behind the words.  

“There sure are a lot of weird coincidences these days,” Vince said, popping himself another cap, then, in a quiet tone, said, “Cheers!”