A timid sun had barely risen behind the mountains when Suzanne finally set foot outside. For two hours now, the archaeologist had buckled down to repair his arm with Jinko, and she hoped that the two of them would cease their squabbles once they were in the open.

The young woman found the cyborg lying down in the brown grass a few meters away. Her head rested on a canvas bag as her tattoos glowed red in the sun. “Were you able to analyze Erol’s pendant?” Suzanne asked the technomancer who was about to fall asleep on her tactile keyboard.

A shroud of steam emanated from Byte’s skin. The circuits around her body produced a constant stream of heat which might explain why Byte was not freezing despite the morning coolness. “Yes,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It is indeed the code of the compound, among other things. It’s a miracle that the Inquisition did not manage to get their hands on it.”

“If the group waiting for you at Trisstiss was the one we saw, it’s not surprising that they weren’t interested in it,” Suzanne answered, looking at the tormented skies.

Byte disconnected the portable reader and closed her computer. She then handed Marian’s necklace back to her. “You do not wish to go back to the compound, do you?” she asked.

“I’m scared of what I might find down there,” Suzanne admitted.

“He doesn’t want to go back either.” With her chin, she pointed towards the mound where Jinko and Erol’s quarrel was once again gaining steam. “What past does he have with the Inquisition?”

Suzanne knew parts of it. Although she had only been with Octave for a brief instant, his brutal death had profoundly upset her. Seeing Suzanne lost in her thoughts, Byte did not insist further as the man in the hat got out of the mound, covered in gray oil and coagulated blood. He strummed the emptiness with his new fingers made of polymeric fibers.

“And what was the reason for this constant bickering?” asked Byte.

“Disagreements over technical matters,” Erol answered. “But your spouse finally convinced me. The Carbon-5 nanofibers are definitely less heavy than my old alloy.” He then thanked the technomancer and, more surprisingly, Jinko.

“We didn’t have any use for it anyway,” Byte replied, pointing towards a bucket of water that Erol could use to clean himself.

“The Judge is still far away? When should Suzanne and I depart to disarm that cursed missile?”

“Once you have gathered your things, we shall leave. It would be smart to take advantage of the morning chill.”

“You are coming with us?” Suzanne asked.

Byte sighed. “By all accounts, they are sending men here. We are no longer safe here.”

Suzanne apologized. It was because of her implant that her host was now being chased away from her home. Again.

“It’s nothing,” Byte pursued. “There is enough energy remaining in Jinko to find shelter.”

Suzanne and Erol shared a surprised look. But once they had gathered their things and joined their horses, they finally understood what Byte had meant. With a low rumble, the mound rose from the ground. Eight spider-like steel legs screeched as they folded. Byte’s shelter was walking on its own.

“What the hell is this?” Erol choked out.

Suzanne was stunned although she recognized a prototype of the titanic Sentinel. And yet, these monsters had never left Lionheardt’s laboratories. “Are we going to Lucerne with this?”

“Yes, discretion-wise, it might not really be the most optimal way…” Erol commented.

Byte had already mounted her wolf. “Idiots!” she burst out in front of their incredulity. “Jinko will simply reposition itself a bit farther down in the valley. You are taking the horses!”

Jinko, the tank that had transformed into a mobile home, performed a whimsical military salute. Making its engine roar, it began its retreat deeper into the valley.

Suzanne saw a tear run down the cyborg’s cheek. But, without any further delays, Byte ordered them to get going. “We are going south. If we go straight east, we will run directly into our pursuers.”

“By the acid lakes?” asked Erol. “That is going to be rather dangerous.”

Alas, Byte made him understand that their choices were rather limited.

A few hours later, the path that led to the deadly lakes turned out to be even more arduous than the one that had brought them to the valley of the mounds. Some trails were so tight that Erol considered abandoning their horses so they could continue on foot. Byte understandably rejected that proposition. Without their horses, they would be overtaken in no time.

The technomancer had assured them that no other caravan had taken this dangerous route for years now. Moreover, phantom stagecoaches littered the side of the road at the point where it widened. Carts and vehicles with modified engines, all rolled around with their sinister cargos.

Suzanne was steadily contemplating the never-ending desolation unfolding before them. This world could not be the work of Thomas Lioneheardt as Tom hated wasting time. I can’t imagine him, not even for one second, destroying all that he had built or could have built. All of this makes no sense.

Byte slowed the gallop of her uncommon mount to move down to its level. Before them stood the carcass of a vehicle as old as their world. It had been mowed down by large caliber bullets. “Bandits were rampant here many moons ago,” confirmed their guide.

“What happened to them? Don’t we risk coming across a few?” asked Erol, after inspecting the content of this old mobile command post, now embedded in the mountain.

“Swept away by the lakes,” Byte answered as her agile wolf climbed up the obstacle.

“How can you be so certain?”

“We pushed them in ourselves,” she smiled and caressed her canine mount. “Isn’t that so, Jinko?”

The beast growled, as if it were laughing.

“I don’t understand a sache about those two birds,” Erol murmured in her direction after making sure that Byte had crossed to the other side of the truck.

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders. Byte and Jinko, a presumably decentralized AI, were two curious characters indeed.

The young woman endured the morning chill that lasted until the sun reached its zenith. From that moment on, the valley and its mounds made way to two rocky peaks that flanked a large passage. Except what she had mistaken for mountains turned out to be two immense robot wrecks lying on the reef. Having been at the mercy of the weather for centuries, they were in a dilapidated state. Frankly, it was almost impossible to differentiate between the steel from which they were built and the granite rock that covered them partially.

The giants guarded the entrance to a desert red as blood, empty but for the piles of flayed rocks at the mercy of a torrid and nauseating wind. A metal or concrete chimney hid behind almost every rock, regurgitating their poison into the atmosphere. As Byte had told them, these lands were sick. Fumes emanated also directly from the earth, evidence of the ebbing activity of the old underground factories.

“The contamination has not dispersed even after a whole millennium?” asked Suzanne.

“Part of it has.” Byte then rummaged inside the canvas bag she had brought and handed them a pair of masks each, one for themselves and another for their horses. She was content with a small yellow module that she clipped above her nose.

“Gas mask?” asked Suzanne after adjusting hers.

Byte nodded, helping Erol recuperate his hat.

They then advanced at a choppy rhythm. Several times, their expedition had to turn around because the rivulets of acid moved around constantly. In a single instant, a pool that was almost ten meters wide could disappear under the red dust or materialize just in front of the riders and dark clouds in the air would occasionally rain acid over them.

One such cloud surprised Erol suddenly who did not have time to escape its downpour. Several pearls attacked its mechanic arm, but the polymers survived unscathed. “I can no longer breathe,” Erol coughed out unexpectedly at the corner of a pile of sand that the wind had blasted in his direction.

“Don’t remove your mask! Pat the beak!” the technomancer screamed at him before coming to his aid.

As a powerless Erol fought to contain his horse, the same blast hit Suzanne in the face, blinding her. Gravel violently struck the glass monocles, threatening to break them. She protected herself using her hands, thus letting go of the reins of her horse. The animal, frightened by such a tempest, reared up, dropping the young woman into an ardent vortex.

When her head hit the ground, she stopped breathing. Carried away by the wind, her mask had slid a few meters from her. Her stomach was filled with sand and dust, her steed returned and fell backwards next to her. Closing her eyes and holding her breath, Suzanne searched by touch for her protective mask, but it was in vain. The sand corroded her skin and the pain became more and more unbearable. If she breathed while at the heart of this onslaught, it would mean signing her own death sentence.

But all of a sudden, it became impossible to hold on like that. While the wind retreated as fast as it had appeared, Suzanne took a small breath of air just before her fingers managed to grip the leather strap of her own mask. It was like having a blade slash through her esophagus, a red-hot tiller plunged in the lungs.

Her cry of pain was stifled by Erol who had rushed to close her mouth. Pushing her to the ground, he helped her put on the mask that he held in his hands. When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, she saw the archaeologist’s face: he was not wearing his protective gear and blood appeared at the corners of his lips.

Suzanne finished putting on her guide’s mask. Byte gave the archaeologist the young woman’s gear that had slid below a dune. After spitting out an okra-colored and viscous mix of blood and sand, Erol assisted her with the aid of the technomancer.

“Are you okay?” asked the cyborg.

Suzanne looked worried. “Erol—you—”

“Nothing but a few bites of dust. No big deal, but it did obliterate my gums—your horse, on the other hand…” the archaeologist said, pointing towards the animal that had slid to the bottom of the dune. The horse was already dead, and a pool of acid appeared to drag it away.

Having put on the mask that had escaped the young woman, Erol went in search of his steed and found it holed up behind some gnawed metal sheets. A little after, Byte climbed back on her wolf that wasn’t bothered by the ardent blizzard. She invited Suzanne to join her. “These lakes do not forgive,” she urged.

“Something tells me that the pools are not going to be the biggest of our concerns,” yelped the archaeologist who had come back by their side.

“What is going on?” Suzanne asked.

“On the crest. A group of eight riders!” Byte answered now that the wolf had detected them also.

“Who are these men? Bandits?” Suzanne tried to make out what the riders were, but they stood with their backs to the sun that had just risen above the dunes. Nevertheless, she had a terrible hunch. “The Judge-Executor,” Suzanne spit out.

“What? How? Where did they come from?” Erol lashed out before dragging out his sword from its sheath.

“And it’s not just that half-imbecile.” Byte muttered between her teeth. “He is accompanied by mercenaries and they are all armed to their teeth.”

“Can we bypass them?” Suzanne inquired, turning towards Erol.

“And rush straight into the expanses of acid? Dying here would be faster.”

“Can we force our way through?” she insisted.

“They seem to have guns on them. They would shower us with bullets,” Byte answered, scouring the bottom of the valley, looking for a way out.

Erol’s horse pranced. Something moved on the hill. Suzanne was the only one who had kept her eyes fixed towards the group now pointing their guns at them.

The neck of Erol’s beast was pierced by several projectiles and the animal collapsed to the ground. The archaeologist jumped backwards and immediately took cover behind his steed. Ordering Byte to imitate him, he whipped out his weapon.

“Keep them occupied. We are going to get them from behind,” the technomancer ordered him, placing Suzanne at Erol’s side.

“From behind? With what army?” Suzanne asked, riddled with worry.

But Byte and Jinko had already departed.

“You take the gun, you are a better shot than I am.”

“Wait! Something’s moving!”

The group of their pursuers had split into two. A half dozen of them had moved to the right, in the direction towards which Byte had disappeared. The other riders were still in line next to the Judge. They remained perfectly immobile until one of them emerged from the hillock with a strange equipment on his shoulder.

“What is that?” Erol asked. His hands on his forehead, he scrutinized the crest.

Suzanne imitated him. Despite the sunlight behind them, she was able to discern a long metallic tube that the man was struggling to maneuver. They figured out what it was useful for when a smokescreen erupted from it, followed by the noise of an explosion.

Suzanne held back a swear and threw Erol to the ground, but the explosion from the rocket propelled them into the air and she landed against a rock a few meters beyond.

As she opened her eyes, she found the horse’s corpse aflame and Erol sprawled across the opposite dune. They had both lost their masks. “Erol!” she screamed, getting up with difficulty. But the sound of neighing warned her that the other peloton was already charging at them. Suzanne’s stare alternated between Erol and the rocky formation that stood behind her. Suzanne found her mask and put it on right away. “Where the hell did Byte go?”

Several gunshots resonated and a rider was thrown to the ground. Erol had just gotten up and was visibly ready to battle it out. “Towards the rocks! Go towards the reefs!” He then left out a huge scream when two attackers dropped on him. They wore black armor, a patchwork of rubber and chromed metal. Orange tubes sprouted from their mouths and circled their necks to connect to a bottle of compressed air hidden on their backs. “I will take care of them! Run!” Erol was no longer wearing his protective leather mask and blood was running down his chin.

Suzanne did not have the time to reflect. Another mercenary was charging in her direction. Behind him, the Judge that she had come across at Renaissance whipped out his steel rod. He shouted orders through a mask that covered only his jaw.

Another gunshot rang out. Something began to whistle and Suzanne’s assailant exploded as Erol must have touched his oxygen tank.

The shredded body of the mercenary collided with Suzanne as she ran and climbed the dune that separated her from a rocky reef. The torso slid away. An automatic gun slipped from his hand and sank in the fine sand. Suzanne wanted to retrieve the weapon, but the assailant’s horse almost crushed her. Skidding on the sand, he fell backwards and she rolled with him on the other side of the mound. Just like the horse, she finally hit a wall of stones full of sharp angles.

Gathering her spirits, she finally managed to get back on her feet. From her position, she could again see the crest where the rest of the riders were fighting against Byte and Jinko. The wolf swirled between the horses, sowing confusion. As for Byte, she jumped from target to target, hitting and biting them like a tigress. It was an incredibly savage tableau.

Suzanne managed to find her mask, but the glasses were broken, rendering it unusable. She no longer heard any gunshots resonating from the other side of the dune where Erol was probably still located. Suzanne hoped to see the archaeologist appear, but the mercenaries materialized instead, their rifles in hand, and the Executor-Judge in their tow.

An easy target, she did not manage to take shelter in time. A bullet grazed her arm, tearing the sleeve of her suit. She heard the other ricochet in the rocks behind her. Despite the pressure she was under, she managed to hold her breath as best she could.

Shit! They were pointing their guns in her direction. It was over. She had nowhere to go. Her back to the wall, Suzanne looked at her firing squad.

But she heard no gunshot. The mercenaries lowered their arms when the Judge raised his right hand. “Because we, glorieux serviteurs de l'Inquisition, cannot trust these arms of the Devil,” cried the Inquisitor, mixing English and French. “I propose that we go back to the basics.” He dismounted from his horse, his rod between his fingers. He advanced slowly, his face the epitome of condescension.

A new gunshot resonated behind him. Erol must still be fighting. His enemies turned around and she took advantage of that distraction to grab a handful of pebbles that she hid in her fist. Under the orders of the Judge, the mercenaries disappeared.

“Are you that tired that I have to be the one to come to you, Madame?” the Judge asked, still incredibly sure of himself as he descended rapidly down the dune until he reached the edge of the steaming pool.

In that moment, Suzanne threw the contents of her right fist in the corrosive pond, splashing her adversary with acid and forcing him to back off. Not wasting any seconds, she exploited the diversion to jump over the caustic liquid, supporting herself against the wall that had almost condemned her to death. Bypassing her enemy, she rushed towards the peak, but the Judge had grabbed her foot when she was halfway there. His face scraped against Suzanne’s soles several times and they tumbled down the length of the hillock, shattering their back on the protruding rocks, trying in vain to grab each other’s throats.

Miraculously, they fell a few centimeters from the corroded shoreline and separated. The Judge had lost his makeshift mask that had remained above. They were now on an equal footing but for, Suzanne, every intake of breath was a torture. The acid was gnawing at her from inside. She could feel her own tongue wither and her eyes become muddled.

“Why such relentless fury against us?” Suzanne asked between gasps. Whether she pounced towards the Judge or ran away, the result would be the same. A rapid death now versus a slow demise a few weeks later because of the effects of the gas. The scenario was the same for her assailant.

The Judge panicked and tightened his grip around his rod. He had chosen. “I have been disgraced because of Feuerhammer. The Sainte and I, we no longer have the same goals. She tasked me with finding you, you, the young woman with the implant, but I, I will not be bringing you to her,” he explained, removing a piece of his lips that was already detaching because of the acid.

“Why is the Sainte so interested in me?” Suzanne was surprised.

“The Sainte is a blasphemer. She had compromised our millenary chapter. First, she stopped the Inquisiteurs, and then half of the Juges. Then came the arrival of the nuns with implants and finally research on prohibited technologies. Only this two-faced démon whose gaze is lost among the stars knows why she needs you!”

Demon? Stars? Was he alluding to—no! Impossible!

The Judge leaped towards her after finishing his monologue. Running alongside the edge of the lake that dissolved the soles of his boots, he rushed towards the young woman who was waiting for him firmly, one leg braced. A meter from his target, he whipped his rod, aiming for her head.

Helped by her implant, Suzanne dodged his attack and then immediately aimed her fist to his face and then his head.

She let out a cry when he finally managed to grab her throat with his left hand. He was now on her, in a position of power. His knees were crushing her sides.

A violent shock rang on her temple. The Judge had deliberately aimed for her digital assistant and was now tightening his grip on her throat. Raising his rod, he prepared to give her the final blow.

Suzanne’s eyesight was clouded. Her eyes and her implant no longer responded to her brain. She pushed back against him with her arm, but his weapon tore her hand away. The mutilated limb sank into the acid.

Despite the hold that her assailant had on her throat, she still managed to scream. A grin ripped through the Judge’s face. His teeth were nothing more than blackened stumps. His cheeks cracked in places. He was ready, willing to hit her too, when he mysteriously dropped his rod.

Fueled by hopelessness, Suzanne hit him with her remaining hand, again and again, until he moved backwards and then fell apart a bit farther away.

He had not reacted. Something had stopped his murderous rage. “Vous… Non! Who are you then?” Suzanne could read terror in his battered traits.

She looked at her damaged arm. Everything was hazy. Her blood sparked under the sun. This was strange. My blood is … blue?

A scream tore her away from her hypnosis. The Judge was lying on the ground a few meters away from her. A puddle of acid had formed a few centimeters from his neck and gas fumes covered his beard. His head was in flames. The Inquisitor rolled and convulsed in the burning sand, splashing around in the devouring sludge forming around him.

Suzanne got up, overtaken by pity, and drew him away from the nascent greenish pool with the little strength still remaining in her. The clothes and the skin of her executioner stuck on her palm. The screams of her adversary began in full and as his carbonized cheeks fell apart, torn to pieces by his cries. And Suzanne lost consciousness due to the toxic gas.