La Guerre des Mondes – Part Ten
Fourteen days after stumbling upon the Paris branch of the GIB, the royalists were finally ready to return to the surface and start looking for the brothers Montgolfier. After their dunk in the lethe chamber, Rugue and Lisette were fully recovered – and yet strangely altered. Lisette’s skin (horribly burnt by a Martian heat ray) had healed smooth and pink, but her hair had regrown with a curious blue tinge to it; and while Rugue’s wounds had closed, the resultant scar seemed to move around his body like a burrowing worm.
“I’ve located the Montgolfier brothers,” Monsieur G advised, having summoned the royalists to the briefing room, “Joseph Montgolfier has been apprehended by the Jacobins and is being detained within the Bastille. The fortress is under siege by the Martians but I don’t know how they’ve managed to hold out this long. Jacques Montgolfier was rounded up by a Martian patrol and has been taken to the slaughter yard district on the other side of the river, along with most of their other human prisoners. I’m not sure what they’re up to, but it cannot be good.
“I’ve also identified a few side quests that you might be interested in. A group of human survivors calling themselves ‘les bâtards’ have been attacking Martian outposts across the city. If you can make contact with their leader, they might be prepared to aid you with manpower or equipment. Also, since you arrived here, the Martians have introduced an virulent red weed to the ecosystem. It’s spreading like wildfire and chokes the river with crimson creepers. The source of the blight seems to be the Royal botanical gardens near the palace, if you can infiltrate the greenhouse and collect a sample, I can synthesize a toxin to kill the weed. Traversing the streets will be dangerous due to Martian patrols and low flying UFO, you might have better luck moving around unmolested if you use the network of catacombs beneath the city, the one entrance I know of is below Notre-Dame cathedral.
“Finally, if you manage to capture any Martian prisoners or alien technology, you can bring them back here for further study.”
The royalists decided to head for the Bastille and rescue Joseph Montgolfier from the clutches of the Jacobins. Hopefully, they could convince the revolutionaries to set their old grudges aside and work together; Frenchmen vs Martians. Leaving the university, the royalists immediately noticed a dense, green fog covering the city.
“It appears the mothership is pumping methane into the atmosphere,” Andre explained, “It’s not harmful to humans, although it won’t be pleasant to breathe. They must be doing that to make the environment more comfortable for their own kind.”
“It’s like trying to suck air through a cow’s arse,” Rugue added with all his usual charm and eloquence.
Forewarned that the Bastille was under siege, the party decided to sneak under the Martian cordon by accessing the Paris catacombs. Notre-Dame stood upon an island in the center of the Seine and all of the bridges had been destroyed.
“I don’t like our chances in the water,” Marcel said warily. The red weed writhed below the surface of the river like the tentacles of a giant squid.
“I’ve got an idea!” said Rugue, scampering over to the charred ruins of one of the many little cafes that had lined the waterfront in happier times. Breaking the legs off the stout wooden tables, Rugue was able to fashion a pontoon bridge across to the cathedral. The royalists crossed quickly, as the red weed thrashed at their legs.
Approaching Notre-Dame, the royalists noted that a number of large crucifixes had been erected outside the cathedral. Pathetic figures moaned and writhed upon their crosses, their hands and feet nailed to the wood. Tendrils of red weed had already begun to climb the crucifixes and and around the victim’s legs.
“We have to get these poor people down!” Marcel decided, sinking his axe into the base of the nearest cross. Wood splintered and the red weed spurted bloody sap across his chest. The rest of the royalists spread out and prepared to catch the crucifix as it toppled.
“Timber!!!” Marcel cried as the cross began to fall.
The doors of Notre-Dame groaned open and a mob of turbulent priests spilled forth from the depths of the cathedral. At their head came a large, muscular parson, his eyes bright with the wild fire of fanaticism.
“Why are you aiding these demons?” the pastor demanded.
“They’re not demons, they’re people!” Lisette cried.
“I don’t believe it is so!” the parson howled, “Didn’t I warn them this would happen? Be on guard, I said – for the evil one never rests! I said exorcise the devil! But no, they wouldn’t listen and the demons inside them grew and grew – until Satan gave his signal and destroyed the world we knew!”
“That’s enough of that noise,” Lisette said primly, flashing the deranged cleric with the neuroliser that Monsieur G had handed her as she left the GIB base, “These are not demons, they are people and you are going to tell your grubby minions to help get them down immediately!”
“These are not demons…” the pastor repeated gormlessly, “Get them down.”
Working together, the group managed to rescue four of the five victims when an alien screech rent the air.
UUUUUUUULLAAAAAAAAAAAA!
“Listen!” the pastor cried, “Do you hear them drawing near in their search for the sinners? Feeding on the power of our fear and the evil within us?”
Lisette flashed him with the neuroliser again.
“Get everyone into the cathedral!” Marcel yelled, “We’ll cut down the last cross and carry it inside.”
A Martian fighting machine entered the plaza, flagstones shattering beneath its tripod legs. It raised its funnel and an invisible wave of heat washed over the party. The last cross burst into flame like dry kindling and the man affixed to it began to scream. Rugue aimed the sonic blaster at the cockpit of the fighting machine and fired, shattering the tough, alien glass. The Martian pilot howled in frustration as it was showered with broken shards. Remembering that Professor Ogilvy had warned them that the Martian power cores could explode at any time, Marcel ejected the core from his own weapon and tossed it into the exposed cockpit.
BOOM!!
The fighting machine collapsed as bloody pieces of its pilot rained down on the royalists. Using one of the fallen crucifixes as an impromptu ladder, Andre clambered into the smoking cockpit to salvage whatever was still intact. Unfortunately, the explosion had destroyed the controls for maneuvering the fighting machine. Fortunately, it had not detonated the much larger power core within the tripod.
To be continued….