It Ends With a Broken Heart

TW: Self harm and stabbing.

“Sign the confidentiality agreement here.” The agent pointed a long finger to a highlighted line. “Date it here,” said the man whose eyebrows were trying to compensate for his thinning hair.

Arthas Jacques’ finger slid across the screen, leaving a scrawl that few would recognise as his name.

“You know of course that you can’t tell anyone about our investigation,” said Agent Jones of the Martian Security Agency.

“Yes. I understand.” His Martian capital accent was the typical mix of French and Arabic. “I can’t tell anyone about the lunatic who injected rogue mercenaries with an experimental performance enhancer. I can’t tell anyone that Agent Belle Nguyen was dumb enough to volunteer. She’s now infested with some nonsense and none of us know what it is.” He picked a packet of gum from Agent Jones’ pocket and popped one into his mouth. Shoving the packet back into the agent’s pocket, he gave the man a vicious smile that said I’ve seen combat, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

Belle raised a glass of non-alcoholic champagne to Arthas as he left the processing office of the Mars Security Agency headquarters. “Happy Independence Day. Weird that we don’t start our years from the anniversary of our emancipation, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” He shrugged. “The next meeting with Dr Mengele is tomorrow.”

“You know his name?” Belle asked.

“No! I was being,” he frowned, “read a history book.”

“A book? How old are you?” she asked in a high voice.

“Nevermind that,” Arthas said with a snap, pushing away a plate of halawa truffles she offered. “Have you had the message to tell us where we’re going next? We have to catch this nut job.”

“Nothing so far. The tech department is looking at it.” Throwing a truffle into the air, Agent Nguyen caught it in her mouth and chewed. Even as the bulge of the halawa vanished, the stoic undercover operative recovered her air of Cleopatran elegance.

“Has your tech department been able to help my Spectrum droid?” asked Arthas, holding his breath.

Shaking her head, Belle sipped the last of her beverage. Frowning, she held the empty glass upside down and shook it. “Why don’t we go and ask about the communicator?”

Dragging the shoulder of Detective Jacques’ black and orange police jacket, she pulled him along behind her. Clearly used to her behaviour, agents in paper hats only gave the briefest glance as the duo pushed past identical fibreglass desks covered with unique piles of evidence.

In a basement covered with documentation procedure instructions stood Arthas’ droid. The black biped had been repainted, and many of the dents removed.

“Belle!” A young woman coughed, red faced. “I mean, Agent Nguyen. I was going to call you. We’ve had a message on the comm.”

“What is it?” asked Belle, so loudly that Arthas and the woman declared Agent Smythe by her name badge, jumped.

“We don’t know.” The blonde tucked a stray strand of her wild hair behind her ear. “It’s encrypted.” Arthas’ eyes rushed over a lump of fluff on Smythe’s head she presumably hadn’t noticed.

The steel block vibrated on Bella’s palm. “I can read it! I know where to go.” She showed them all a random series of letters. “What? Can’t you see it?”

Two shaking heads answered her.

“Caldwell Station, Pluto. It’s in plain Vietnamese.” Her brown eyes met blank stares. “Come on, fly boy. We’re taking your ship.”

“Why mine?” he asked, sighing.

“Because that flying gold mine of yours is the sort of thing our mad scientist entrepreneur would expect a potential buyer to have instead of the impounded junk buckets my department budget will stretch to.”

“You’re a depressing prick, Arthas, but your ship is beautiful. What’s her name?” She ran her hand along the sleek black plates of the craft’s belly.

“The Morrigan,” said the detective, giving his ship a loving grin.

“Ex girlfriend?” asked Agent Nguyen cynically.

“Irish goddess of ravens. Come on Purple, are you alright to pilot?” Concern crossed Jacques' face.

“I’m fine, boss. Don’t worry about me.” The ebony droid saluted, amethyst eyes lingering on Belle.

The Morrigan sailed away from Mars, Agent Nguyen bemoaning Detective Jacques’ taste in music. “Nirvana aren’t the peak of musical achievement you know.”

“My ship, my music.” His pale, spiteful finger turned up the volume. Soon he accompanied the music with snoring.

“I’m watching you,” said Purple, holding two metallic fingers over its glowing amethyst eyes, then pointing them at Agent Nguyen.

“That’s nice.” She showed him her teeth. “Fly quickly.”

With nothing but a cynical cyborg and a dozing detective for company, she set her eyes to the stars in the endless midnight of space.

“He trusted you.” The droid's words snapped Belle out of a daydream. “He has little trust left. You threw another piece of it away by lying to him.”

“He’ll get over it,” she replied with an anger founded on guilt.

“He never gets over it,” said Purple in his dismissive Newcastle accent. He steered the Morrigan through the void. The love child of a razor and raven cut through vacuum with murderous haste.

“Caldwell Station looks like a bagel,” said Belle. Purple turned in the pilot’s chair to look at her. “It does though,” she said. “Look at it. Round with a hole in the middle, like a bagel. Needs some smoked salmon and cream cheese.”

“Hungry?” Purple’s Newcastle tones had a hint of mirth beneath them.

“Very.” She prodded the snoring detective. “Does he have a limitless supply of Linkin Park b-sides?”

“He has an artificial intelligence to generate new songs.” As the droid spoke, a unique duet with Chester Bennington and Amy Winehouse reached a crescendo.

A black eyebrow rose as she nodded. “Not a surprise. Ah. We’re here.”

Docking clamps plucked the curvaceous Morrigan from the void.

“Soldier down, send backup!” Arthas jerked awake, hands jumped into place to hold an imagined assault rifle in firing position. Gulping, he cupped his face in his hands. “Raul.” Coming to his senses, he turned to Agent Nguyen and Purple. “Caldwell Station?” He threw on civilian clothes over a bulletproof vest. Belle was already wearing hers.

Welcome to Caldwell Station, Pluto’s number one nitrogen refinery, read a sign on the hangar door. It would have been just as accurate to say it was the only refinery orbiting the dwarf planet.

“It’s huge,” said Arthas, “I’ve never been this far out before.

“It’s been used as a getaway for fugitives recently, for that reason. No one comes looking for them here,” Agent Belle whispered.

“Here for the demonstration I presume?” asked a man dressed as a butler in a pearlescent purple uniform. His Oxbridge accent was at odds with the brutal frontier mining aesthetic of the docking bay.

“Yes.” Agent Nguyen held up her communicator.

“Wonderful. We’ve been expecting you, Agent.” The butler said the last word with his hand held between his mouth and the rest of the dock workers. “Don’t be shocked,” he said with a chuckle, “we knew exactly who you were. And Mister Jacques as well. You’re as welcome to the demonstration as anyone. Storage yard MGMT41. Follow the red line on the floor. It will take you straight there.”

From the dusty forefront of the mining industry, the interior graduated to a suburban feel. Potted plants lined the hallways. Fake windows played visions of rolling hills. Steel walls were hidden behind fake brick. Birdsong was played by unseen speakers.

An identically dressed butler ushered them into a realm of luxury. Arthas wiped his combat boots before they could leave dusty footprints on the rich red carpet that lined the hallways. Paintings lined the walls. A fountain danced with the the colours of the rainbow.

Martian made security droids, the best in the system, stood guard. They wore armour reminiscent of medieval knights.

The gathering had many similarities with the ancient knightly tournaments. Swarms of soldiers from all over the solar system looked this way and that, watching a distant stage. Stadium seating surrounded a platform on which a familiar droid waited. The virtual presence device had been polished to a brighter shine than the last time Arthas had seen it.

“We will of course wait for the late comers to arrive. Please have a seat. Safety is guaranteed for those who behave, and death to those who don’t.” Glee in the aristocratic voice was at fever pitch. “While we pass the time, let me remind you of previous demonstrations. In the first, we saw the initial uptick in strength afforded by the Deus ex Sapaiens technology. Then I showed the advanced healing of a test subject in the second demonstration. Today I will show the effect my creation has had on volunteers. Strength, healing, reflexes and more.” Flamboyant hand gestures accompanied the rendition.

Soldiers in the uniforms of a coalition from Earth entered the stadium. Their eyes assessed threats only to see that they were everywhere. Wanting to keep the bulk of the threats in front of them, the men in forest camouflage stood by the doorway. They were ushered aside by droids to make way for Martian Marines in black uniforms with rust coloured lapels. Fellow Martians were no reassurance to Arthas in his civilian clothes, looking like any of the other scoundrels who had come to stake a claim in the future.

“That’s everyone. Wonderful.” A hologram of the droid blinked into life over the droid. Somewhere far away the blue blooded man with a taste for theatricality was smiling. “I see familiar faces in the audience. Thank you for coming, Earthlings.” His chuckle outlasted Arthas’ patience for it. “I need a volunteer, someone who was lucky enough to try a free sample. Is Belle Nguyen in the audience?” The droid standing in for the host put a hand over its eyes as if to peer through blinding light.

“I’m here,” yelled the agent. She had not been outed yet as a spy for the Martian Security Agency and no doubt wanted to keep it that way.

“Come to the stage my dear. No dress today? Such a shame. You hide a marvellous figure beneath the jacket and trousers.” He laughed again. Reaching a hand into the crowd beneath him, he held it out for her.

Belle cut through the crowd with the haste of an unwanted crowd surfer.

Agent Nguyen was projected alongside the host, two storeys high. Arthas couldn’t count the guns in the room. The Martian sergeant turned detective kept a hand on the holster for his tranquiliser gun. No one else around him seemed as worried about preservation of life.

“I have another gift for you, my dear. Have you ever wielded a sword before?”

“Can’t say I have,” Agent Nguyen admitted, peering around as her voice was blasted to the audience.

“Try this,” the droid opened a box that had been waiting on a table next to it and handed Belle a single handed sword with a blade barely longer than her forearm.

“Excuse me?” It was odd to note that when heard after the host, Belle’s private school blend of English and French accent barely sounded moneyed at all. Her voice said she owned a fast car or two. His voice said he owned a motor company or two, inherited from his ancestors.

“The test is very simple, dear. I’ll give you a mini to get acquainted with the movement of the sword, then you’ll need to deflect some cricket balls. You understand?”

“But I-” said Nguyen, about to protest.

“Excellent. And now I’ll activate your abilities. You’ll feel momentary discomfort, nothing to worry about.”

Agent Belle’s body tensed.

“Careful now. That blade is mono molecular. Exquisitely sharp. The balls will be coming from over there.” The titanic projection pointed off to the right. Arthas looked but saw nothing. “One three,” said the host. “Two. One.”

Agent Nguyen’s projection flickered.

“Wonderful,” the host’s droid clapped. “A good clean cut. I think we can do better?” his upward inflection at the end made it a question for the audience. Cheers rained down upon Belle.

Pushed into his droid by a man with bullets tattooed on his neck, Arthas noted the spare clip on Purple’s assault rifle. Stun rounds were in blue clips. The red clip the droid had in reserve was filled with armour piercing bullets.

“The red clip?” Detective Jacques asked.

“Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”

More cricket balls began flying across the stage at Agent Nguyen. Lightning fast swipes sent them hurtling in halves to the floor.

“Wonderful. Isn’t she marvellous? Never held a sword before she says. Who else wants to have a go?”

Instead of raising their hands, soldiers for a fortune roared out to volunteer.

“Such a shame, I would have asked Cain Ableman of the Bullet Donors, but I hear he’s unavoidably detained.” Only Arthas and Belle knew that the host referred to them arresting Cain after the previous demonstration. Jacques’ mouth went dry at the mention of it. Half of the warriors in the room were wanted men. Being a known officer among them would be a death sentence. “Ezekiel Gamora of the Pale Horsemen, come on up. Show everyone what you can do now!”

A man dressed in white combat gear from head to toe leapt up to the stage. Black hand logos with a white horse inset graced the shoulders of all of his men in the crowd.

“My dear,” the host spoke to Agent Nguyen, “if you would pass the sword to Mister Gamora.” Belle handed the weapon over. “Ezekiel. May I be so bold as to use your forename? Indulge me. Cut your palm.”

The man with a skull shaped combat helmet strapped to his back dragged the blade across his hand. As it had in the second demonstration with the host’s slave, the wound healed rapidly.

“Perhaps something a little more grievous now, Mister Gamora. Let’s show the crowd what Deus ex Sapiens can really do.” The projected host robot aimed jazz hands at the mercenary in white.

“DO IT!” chanted the crowd. His men wanted to see magic. His rivals no doubt wouldn’t mind if it all went horribly wrong.

Arthas noted that Belle remained beside the host on the stage. Far from lost out of the limelight, she looked bored.

Nodding, working himself up to go against his survival instincts, Ezekiel roared. “Come on!” He dragged the sword down his arm, cutting from shoulder to wrist. Blood flowed from the wound. The white of the Pale Horseman’s uniform turned crimson. His blue eyes stared wide eyed at the droid in accusation.

The flow ceased. Ezekiel pulling at the ragged edges of his sleeve to check where the wound had been.

“It’s not instantaneous, my dear boy. Not yet. Given time the Deus ex Machina will work faster and you will be able to face death around the clock without fear.”

Arthas noted the phrase around the clock. The host has not said the ability would be at Gamora’s disposal whenever he wanted or needed it. Around the clock was a phrase more often used in relation to work. No spark of realisation glinted in the eyes around him. Did no one else hear that?

“The last test tonight will be the most dramatic. Mister Ezekiel, if you please. Stab the blade in and out of this beautiful woman’s heart.”

The deed was done before Arthas could so much as gasp. Belle had dodged, but too slow to avoid the tip of the sword in her chest. She fell backwards, clutching at the wound.